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Ci&e CtJurdb ot tie dfatfjer^ 
 
On the title-page of the Fourth Edition, instead of the English appears 
 the Vulgate version of the text, thus — 
 
 "Quae est ista, quae progreditur quasi aurora consurgens, 
 terribilis ut castrorum acies ordinata?" 
 

 (^ftertoarira datJiinal) 
 
 " Wiio (9 site tliat looiutti foit;* as ti^r morning, fair as t!ie moon, 
 cltar as tlit sun, anil terrAU as an arms )»>'4 ianntrs ! " 
 
 miicccc 
 
t0 tlj^ ytrst anh ^ttonb (Sitlt0na 
 
 Heinrtnte^ in tire i^lrirb atttr yourtlj (BJritiona 
 '*in:tlT a itio literary rorrwtiona" 
 
 'T^HE following sketches, which, with two or three 
 exceptions, have appeared in the British Magazine 
 during 1833 and the following years, do not, as the 
 author is very conscious, warrant a title of such high 
 pretension as that which was there prefixed to them 
 and is here preserved. But that title will at least show 
 the object with which they were written; viz. to illus- 
 trate, as far as they go, the tone and modes of thought, 
 the habits and manners of the early times of the 
 Church. 
 
 The author is aware how much a work is open to 
 imperfection, and therefore to criticism, which is made 
 up in so great measure of minute historical details and 
 of translations; nor would he subject himself either 
 to the one or the other did he not think that the chance 
 of bringing out or recommending one or two of the 
 characteristics of primitive Christianity was worth the 
 risk of mistakes which, after all, would but affect him- 
 self and not his readers. 
 
 As to the translations, he is very sensible what con- 
 stant and unflagging attention is requisite to catch the 
 sense of the original, and what discrimination in the 
 
vi '^hbtximmmt 
 
 choice of English to do justice to it. And further, over 
 and above actual faults, variety of tastes and fluctuation 
 of moods among readers, make it impossible so to 
 translate as to please every one ; and if a translator be 
 conscious to himself, as he may well be, of viewing 
 either his original or version differently, according to 
 the time or feeling with which he takes it up, much 
 more will he resign himself to such differences of 
 judgment in the case of other minds. It should be 
 considered, too, that translation in itself is, after all, 
 but a problem — how, two languages being given, the 
 nearest approximation may be made in the second to 
 the expression of ideas already conveyed through the 
 medium of the first. The problem almost starts with 
 the assumption that something must be sacrificed, and 
 the chief question is. What is the least sacrifice? In 
 a balance of difficulties one translator will aim at being 
 critically correct, and will become obscure, cumbrous, 
 and foreign; another will aim at being English, and 
 will appear deficient in scholarship. While grammatical 
 particles are followed out the spirit evaporates; and, 
 while ease is secured, new ideas are intruded, or the 
 point of the original is lost, or the drift of the context 
 broken. 
 
 Under these circumstances perhaps it is fair to lay 
 down that, while every care must be taken against the 
 introduction of new or the omission of existing ideas 
 in the original text, yet in a book intended for general 
 reading faithfulness may be considered simply to consist 
 in expressing in English the sense of the original, the 
 actual words of the latter being viewed mainly as directions 
 into its meaning, and scholarship being necessary in 
 order to gain the full insight which they afford; and 
 next that, where something must be sacrificed, precision 
 or intelligibility, it is better in a popular work to be 
 
^hbtxiiummt vii 
 
 understood by those who are not critics than to be 
 applauded by those who are. 
 
 In the present translations this principle has been 
 taken to justify the omission of passages, and now and 
 then the condensation of sentences, when the extract 
 otherwise would have been too long, a studious en- 
 deavour being all along made to preserve the sense 
 from injury. 
 
 February 21 st, 1 840. 
 
1857 
 
 T^HE volume here presented to the reader contains 
 -^ some of the earliest compositions of what is called 
 the Oxford, or Tractarian, School. They are portions 
 of a series which appeared in the British Magazine of 
 1833 and the following years, and they are here reprinted 
 from the Edition of 1842 with such trivial alterations as 
 were rendered necessary by the circumstances under 
 which they were written. 
 
 No alterations, however, many or few, can obliterate 
 the polemical character of a work directed originally 
 against Protestant ideas. And this consideration must 
 plead for certain peculiarities which it exhibits, such as 
 its freedom in dealing with saintly persons, the gratuitous 
 character of some of its assertions, and the liberality of 
 many of its concessions. It must be recollected that, 
 in controversy, a writer grants all that he can afford to 
 grant, and avails himself of all that he can get granted : 
 in other words, if he seems to admit, it is mainly "for 
 argument's sake " ; and if he seems to assert, it is mainly 
 as an " argumentum ad hotftinem." As to positive state- 
 ments of his own, he commits himself to as few as he 
 can, just as a soldier in campaign takes no more 
 baggage than is enough, and considers the conveniences 
 of home life as only impedimenta in his march. 
 
 This being kept in view, it follows that, if the author 
 of this volume allows the appearance of infirmity or 
 
X ^hbtxtiummt 
 
 error in St. Basil or St. Gregory or St. Martin, he allows 
 it because he can afford to say "transeat" to allegations 
 which, even though they were ever so well founded, 
 would not at all interfere with the heroic sanctity of 
 their lives or the doctrinal authority of their words. 
 And if he can bear to hear St. Anthony called an en- 
 thusiast without protesting, it is because that hypothesis 
 does not even tend to destroy the force of the argument 
 against the religion of Protestants, which is suggested by 
 the contrast existing between their spirit and his. 
 
 Nor is this the sole consideration on which an author 
 may be justified in the use of frankness, after the 
 manner of Scripture, in speaking of the saints ; for their 
 lingering imperfections surely make us love them more, 
 without leading us to reverence them less, and act as a 
 relief to the discouragement and despondency which 
 may come over those who, in the midst of much error 
 and sin, are striving to imitate them, according to the 
 saying of St. Gregory on a graver occasion, " Plus nobis 
 Thomae infidelitas ad fidem, quam fides credentium 
 discipulorum profuit." 
 
 And in like manner, the dissatisfaction of Saints, of 
 St. Basil, or again of St. Thomas, with the contemporary 
 policy or conduct of the Holy See, while it is no justi- 
 fication of ordinary men, bishops, clergy, or laity, in 
 feeling the same, is no reflection either on those Saints 
 or on the Vicar of Christ. Nor is his infallibility in 
 dogmatic decisions compromised by any personal and 
 temporary error into which he may have fallen, in his 
 estimate, whether of a heretic, such as Pelagius, or of a 
 Doctor of the Church, such as Basil. Accidents of this 
 nature are unavoidable in the state of being which we 
 are allotted here below. 
 
 Lady day, 1857. 
 
T N an Advertisement to the fourth Edition the author 
 "*■ states that the omissions made in the third Edition 
 are of the chapters on St. Ambrose, on Vincent of 
 Lerins, on Jovinian and his companions, and on the 
 Canons of the Apostles. The chapters on St. Ambrose 
 he withdrew " with the hope of rewriting them at some 
 future day with care and pains less unworthy of the 
 great Saint commemorated in them, and because one 
 of them had already been rewritten in his Essay on 
 Ecclesiastical Miracles." The chapter on the celebrated 
 Treatise of Vincentius he considered to have been super- 
 seded by the extracts made from that Treatise in one of 
 the Oxford Tracts {Records of the Church)^ and by the 
 Oxford Edition of the whole work. The chapters on 
 Jovinian and the rest, and on the Apostolical Canons, 
 he rejected on account of their controversial and anti- 
 quarian character. The two chapters on St. Martin he 
 abridged and brought into one. 
 
 The text here given is that of the original edition. 
 
to tire yirst mh §^zcox\b (Btritnms 
 
 TO 
 
 MY DEAR AND MUCH ADMIRED 
 
 ISAAC WILLIAMS, B.D. 
 
 PBLLOW or TRINITY COLLEGE, OXFORD 
 
 THE SIGHT OF WHOM 
 
 CARRIES BACK HIS FRIENDS 
 
 TO ANCIENT, HOLY, AND HAPPY TIMES 
 
t0 tlje i^lritrtr ant} sinbztqntxtt (Bhitianz 
 
 TO 
 
 A FRIEND 
 
 WHO IS AS DEAR TO ME NOW 
 
 AS WHEN HIS NAME STOOD HERE 
 
 AND THREW LIGHT OVER MY PAGES 
 
 WHOSE HEART IS IN GOD'S HAND 
 
 TO BRING INTO THAT SACRED HERITAGE 
 
 WHICH IS BOTH THE CHURCH OF THE FATHERS 
 
 AND THE HOME OF THE CHILDREN 
 
 March 3^t/i, 1857 
 
mt €hnuh of iht f atljm 
 
 ^mhtost ani Jtiatina 
 
 ** No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper : and every 
 tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment, thou shall 
 condemn. " 
 
 NO considerate person will deny, that there is much 
 in the spirit of the times, and in the actual changes 
 which the British constitution has lately undergone, 
 which makes it probable, or not improbable, that a 
 material alteration will soon take place in the relations 
 of the Church towards the State, to which it has been 
 hitherto united. I do not say that it is out of the 
 question that things may return to their former quiet 
 and pleasant course, as in the good old time of king 
 George III. ; but the very chance that they will not, 
 makes it a practical concern for every churchman to 
 prepare himself for a change, and a practical question 
 for the clergy, by w/ia^ iiistrurnents the authority of 
 religion is to be supported, should the protection and 
 recommendation of the government be withdrawn. 
 Truth, indeed, will always support itself in the world by 
 its native vigour; it will never die while heaven and 
 earth last, but be handed down from saint to saint until 
 the end of all things. But this was the case before our 
 Lord came, and is still the case, as we may humbly 
 trust, in heathen countries. My question concerns the 
 
, 2 _ jgtljij fflljurrlj of tlj^ fati^tx^. [chap. 
 
 ^^ Church, that'p^uliar institution which Christ set up as 
 ;': v : k viBibJe JiQme and memorial of truth ; and which, as 
 ** 'being in'thiV v/orld, must be manifested by means of 
 this world. I know it is common to make light of this 
 solicitude about the Church, under the notion that the 
 Gospel may be propagated without it, — or that men are 
 about the same under every dispensation, their hearts 
 being in fault, and not their circumstances, — or for other 
 reasons, better or worse as it may be ; to all which 1 am 
 accustomed to answer, (and I do not see how I can be 
 in error,) that, if Christ had not meant His Church to 
 answer a purpose, He would not have set it up, and that 
 our business is not to speculate about possible dispensa- 
 tions of religion, but to resign and devote ourselves to 
 that in which we are actually placed. 
 
 Hitherto the English Church has depended on the 
 State, i.e. on the ruling powers in the country — the king 
 and the aristocracy ; and this is so natural and religious 
 a position of things when viewed in the abstract, and in 
 its actual working has been productive of such excellent 
 fruits in the Church, such quietness, such sobriety, such 
 external propriety of conduct, and such freedom from 
 doctrinal excesses, that we must ever look back upon the 
 period of ecclesiastical history so characterised with 
 affectionate thoughts ; particularly on the reigns of our 
 blessed martyr St. Charles, and king George the Good. 
 But these recollections of the past must not engross our 
 minds, or hinder us from looking at things as they are, 
 and as they will be soon, and from inquiring what is 
 intended by Providence to take the place of the time- 
 honoured instrument, which He has broken (if it be yet 
 broken), the regal and aristocratical power. I shall 
 offend many men when I say, we must look to the people ; 
 but let them give me a hearing. 
 
 Well can I understand their feelings. Who at first 
 sight does not dislike the thoughts of gentlemen and 
 clergymen depending for their maintenance and their 
 reputation on their flocks ? of their strength, as a visible 
 power, lying not in their birth, the patronage of the 
 great, and the endowment of the Church (as hitherto), 
 but in the homage of a multitude? I confess I have 
 before now had a great repugnance to the notion myself; 
 
I.] ^mhxo^t anb luattna- 3 
 
 and if I have overcome it, and turned from the govern- 
 ment to the people, it has been simply because I was 
 forced to do so. It is not we who desert the government, 
 but the government that has left us ; we are forced back 
 upon those below us, because those above us will not 
 honour us : there is no help for it, I say. But, in truth, 
 the prospect is not so bad as it seems at first sight. The 
 chief and obvious objection to the clergy being thrown 
 on the people, lies in the probable lowering of Christian 
 views, and the adulation of the vulgar, which would be 
 its consequence ; and the state of dissenters is appealed 
 to as an evidence of the danger. But let us recollect 
 that we are an apostolical body ; we were not made^ nor 
 can be tmmade by our flocks ; and if our influence is to 
 depend on them^ yet the sacraments reside with us. We 
 have that with us, which none but ourselves possess, the 
 mantle of the Apostles; and this, properly understood 
 and cherished, will ever keep us from being the creatures 
 of a populace. 
 
 And what in time to come may become necessary, is a 
 more religious state of things also. It will not be denied 
 that, according to the Scripture view of the Church, 
 though all are admitted into her pale, and the rich in- 
 clusively, yet, the poor are her members with a peculiar 
 suitableness, and by a special right. Scripture is ever 
 casting slurs upon wealth, and making much of poverty. 
 " To the poor the Gospel is preached." " God hath 
 chosen the poor of this world, rich in faith and heirs of 
 the kingdom." "If thou wilt be perfect, sell all that 
 thou hast, and give to the poor." To this must be 
 added, the undeniable fact that the Church, when purest 
 and when most powerful, has depended for its influence 
 on its consideration with the many. Becket's letters, 
 lately published,^ have struck me not a Httle; but of 
 course I now refer, not to such dark ages as most 
 Englishmen consider these, but to the primitive Church, 
 — the Church of St. Athanasius and St. Ambrose. With 
 a view of showing the power of the Church at that time, 
 I will in this chapter give some account of certain eccle- 
 siastical proceedings in the city of Milan, a.d. 385, 
 
 ^ Vide British Magazine, 1832, &c. And Froude's Remains, 
 Part ii. vol. II. 
 
4 ffilj^ fflburrb oi iht IFatlj^rs- [chap. 
 
 during the holy season of Lent, — Ambrose being bishop, 
 and Justina and her son, the younger Valentinian, the 
 reigning powers. 
 
 Ambrose was eminently a popular bishop, as every 
 one knows who has read ever so little of his history. 
 His very promotion to the sacred office was owing to 
 an excitement of the populace. Auxentius, his Arian 
 predecessor in the see of Milan, died, a.d. 374, upon 
 which the bishops of the province wrote to the then 
 emperor, Valentinian the First, who was in Gaul, re- 
 questing him to name the person who was to succeed 
 him. This was a prudent step on their part, Arianism 
 having introduced such matter for discord and faction 
 among the Milanese, that it was dangerous to submit 
 the election to the people at large, though the majority 
 of them were orthodox. Valentinian, however, declined 
 to avail himself of the permission thus given him ; the 
 choice was thrown upon the voices of the people, and 
 the cathedral, which was the place of assembling, was 
 soon a scene of disgraceful uproar, as the bishops had 
 anticipated. Ambrose was at that time civil governor of 
 the province of which Milan was the capital : and, the 
 tumult increasing, he was obliged to interfere in person, 
 with a view of preventing its ending in open sedition. 
 He was a man of grave character, and had been in 
 youth brought up with a sister who had devoted herself 
 to the service of God in a single hfe; but as yet was 
 only a catechumen, though above thirty years of age. 
 Arrived at the scene of tumult, he addressed the as- 
 sembled crowds, exhorting them to peace and order. 
 While he was speaking, a child's voice, as is reported, 
 was heard in the midst of the crowd to say, " Ambrose 
 is bishop;" the populace took up the cry, and both 
 parties in the Church, Catholic and Arian, whether in- 
 fluenced by a sudden enthusiasm, or willing to take a 
 man who was unconnected with party, voted unanimously 
 for the election of Ambrose. It is not wonderful that 
 the subject of this sudden decision should have been 
 unwilling to quit his civil office for a station of such 
 high responsibility ; for many days he fought against the 
 popular voice, and that by the most extravagant ex- 
 pedients. He absconded, and was not recovered till 
 
I] ^mbrns^ antr Juatina. 5 
 
 the emperor, confirming the act of the people of Milan, 
 published an edict against all who should conceal him. 
 Under these strange circumstances, Ambrose was at 
 length consecrated bishop. His ordination was canonical 
 only on the supposition that it came under those rare 
 exceptions, for which the rules of the Church allow, 
 when they speak of election "by divine grace," by the 
 immediate suggestion of God; and if ever a bishop's 
 character and works might be appealed to as evidence 
 of the divine purpose, surely Ambrose was the subject 
 of that singular and extraordinary favour. From the 
 time of his call he devoted his life and abilities to the 
 service of Christ. He bestowed his personal property 
 on the poor : his lands on the Church ; making his 
 sister tenant for life. Next he gave himself up to the 
 peculiar studies necessary for the due execution of his 
 high duties, till he gained that deep insight into Catholic 
 truth, which is evidenced in his works, and in no 
 common measure in relation to Arianism, which had 
 been the dominant creed in Milan for the twenty years 
 preceding his elevation. Basil of Csesarea was at this 
 time the main pillar of Catholic truth in the East, 
 having succeeded Athanasius of Alexandria, who died 
 about the time that both Basil and Ambrose were ad- 
 vanced to their respective sees. He addresses the new 
 bishop in these words in an extant epistle : — 
 
 " Proceed in thy work, thou man of God ; and since 
 thou hast not received the Gospel of Christ of men, 
 neither wast taught it, but the Lord Himself translated 
 thee from among the world's judges to the chair of the 
 Apostles, fight the good fight, set right the infirmities of 
 the people, wherever the Arian madness has affected 
 them ; renew the old foot-prints of the Fathers, and 
 by frequent correspondence build up thy love towards 
 us, of which thou hast already laid the foundation." — 
 Ep. 197. 
 
 Ambrose had presided in his see about eleven years 
 at the time when the events took place which are here to 
 be related. Valentinian was dead, as well as his eldest 
 son Gratian. His second son, who bore his own name, 
 
6 ®lje Cljurrlj of t\}t IFatb^rs. [chap. 
 
 was emperor of the West, under the tutelage of Justina, 
 who had been his second wife. 
 
 Justina was an Arian, and brought up her son in her 
 own heretical views. This was about the time when the 
 heresy was finally subdued in the Eastern Churches ; 
 the council of Constantinople had lately been held, 
 many Arian bishops had conformed, and laws had been 
 passed by Theodosius against those who held out. It 
 was natural under such circumstances that a number of 
 the latter should flock to the court of Milan for pro- 
 tection and patronage. The Gothic officers of the 
 palace were Arians also, as might be supposed, after the 
 creed of their nation. At length they obtained a bishop 
 of their persuasion from the East ; and having now the 
 form of an ecclesiastical body, they used the influence 
 of Valentinian, or rather of his mother, to extort from 
 Ambrose one of the churches of Milan for their worship. 
 
 The bishop was summoned to the palace before the 
 assembled court, and was formally asked to relinquish 
 St. Victor's Church, then called the Portian Basilica, 
 which was without the walls, for the Arian worship. His 
 duty was plain ; the churches were the property of 
 Christ; he was the representative of Christ, and was 
 therefore bound not to cede what was committed to him 
 in trust. This is the account of the matter given by 
 himself: — 
 
 "Do not," he says, "O emperor, embarrass yourself 
 with the thought that you have an emperor's right over 
 sacred things. Exalt not yourself, but, as you would 
 enjoy a continuance of power, be God's subject. It is 
 written, God's to God, and Caesar's to Caesar. The 
 palace is the emperor's, the churches are the bishop's." 
 — £p. 20. 
 
 This argument, which is true at all times, was much 
 more convincing in an age like the primitive, before 
 men had begun to deny that Christ had left a visible 
 representative of Himself in His Church. If there was 
 a body to whom the concerns of religion were intrusted, 
 there could be no doubt it was that over which Ambrose 
 presided. It had been there planted ever since Milan 
 
I.] ^mhxou anh luatina, 7 
 
 became Christian, its ministers were descended from the 
 Apostles, and it was the legitimate trustee of the sacred 
 property. But in our day men have been taught to 
 doubt whether there ts one Apostolic Church, though it 
 is mentioned in the Creed : nay, it is grievous to say, 
 clergymen have sometimes forgotten, sometimes made 
 light of their own privileges. Accordingly, when a 
 question arises now about the spoliation of the Church, 
 we are obliged to betake ourselves to the rules of 
 national law ; we appeal to precedents, or we urge the 
 civil consequences of the measure, or we use other 
 arguments which, good as they may be, are too refined 
 to be very popular. Ambrose rested his resistance on 
 grounds which the people understood at once, and 
 recognised as irrefragable. They felt that he was only 
 refusing to surrender a trust. They rose in a body, and 
 thronged the palace gates. A company of soldiers was 
 sent to disperse them ; and a riot was on the point of 
 ensuing, when the ministers of the court became alarmed, 
 and despatched Ambrose to appease the tumult, with the 
 pledge that no further attempt should be made on the 
 possessions of the Church. Now some reader will here 
 interrupt the narrative, perhaps, with something of an 
 indignant burst about connecting the cause of religion 
 with mobs and outbreaks. To whom I would reply, 
 that the multitude of men is always rude and intem- 
 perate, and needs restraint, — religion does not make 
 them so. But being so, it is better they should be 
 zealous about religion, and repressed by religion, as 
 in this case, than flow and ebb again under the irra- 
 tional influences of this world. A mob, indeed, is 
 always wayward and faithless \ but it is a good sign 
 when it is susceptible of the hopes and fears of the 
 world to come. Is it not probable that, when religion 
 is thus a popular subject, it may penetrate, soften, or 
 stimulate hearts which otherwise would know^ nothing 
 of its power? However, this is not, properly speak- 
 ing, my present point, which is to show how a Church 
 may be in "favour with all the people" without any 
 subserviency to them. To return to our history. 
 
 Justina, failing to intimidate, made various underhand 
 attempts to remove the champion of orthodoxy. She 
 
8 ^)jt ©burrlj 0f iht JFatb^ra* [chap. 
 
 endeavoured to raise the people against him. Failing 
 in this object, next, by the promise of offices and places 
 of dignity, she set on foot various projects to seize him 
 in church, and carry him off into banishment. One man 
 went so far as to take lodgings near the church, and had 
 a carriage in readiness, in order to avail himself of any 
 opportunity which offered to convey him away. But 
 none of these attempts succeeded. 
 
 This was in the month of March ; as Easter drew on, 
 more vigorous steps were taken by the court. On April 4, 
 the Friday before Palm Sunday, the demand of a church 
 for the Arians was renewed; the pledges which the 
 government had given, that no further steps should be 
 taken in the matter, being perhaps evaded by changing 
 the church which was demanded. Ambrose was now 
 asked for the New or Roman Basilica, which was within 
 the walls, and larger than the Portian. It was dedicated 
 to the Apostles, and (I may add, for the sake of the 
 antiquarian) was built in the form of a cross. When 
 the bishop refused in the same language as before, the 
 imperial minister returned to the demand of the Portian 
 Church ; but the people interfering, and being clamorous 
 against the proposal, he was obliged to retire to the 
 palace to report how matters stood. 
 
 On Palm Sunday, after the lessons and sermon had 
 been read in the Basilica, in which he officiated, Ambrose 
 was engaged in teaching the creed to the candidates for 
 baptism, who, as was customary, had been catechized 
 during Lent, and were to be admitted into the Church 
 on the night before Easter-day. News was brought him 
 that the officers of the court had taken possession of the 
 Portian Church, and were arranging the imperial hang- 
 ings in token of its being confiscated to the emperor; 
 on the other hand, that the people were flocking thither. 
 Ambrose continued the service of the day; but, when 
 he was in the midst of the celebration of the Eucharisti- 
 cal rite, a second message came that one of the Arian 
 priests was in the hands of the populace. 
 
 " On this news (he says, writing to his sister), I could 
 not keep from shedding many bitter tears, and, while 
 I made oblation, I prayed God's protection that no 
 
I.] ^mbr0Si^ antr luattna. 9 
 
 blood might be shed in the Church's quarrel : or if so, 
 that it might be mine, and that, not for my people only, 
 but for the ungodly." — Ep. 20. 
 
 At the same time he despatched a number of his 
 clergy to the spot, who had influence enough to rescue 
 the unfortunate man from the mob. 
 
 Though Ambrose so far seems to have been supported 
 by a popular movement, yet the proceedings of the 
 following week showed that he had the great mass of 
 respectable citizens on his side. The imprudent mea- 
 sures of the court, in punishing those whom it considered 
 its enemies, disclosed to the world their number and 
 importance. The tradesmen of the city were fined two 
 hundred pounds of gold, and many were thrown into 
 prison. All the officers, moreover, and dependents of 
 the courts of justice, were ordered to keep in-doors 
 during the continuance of the disorders; and men of 
 higher rank were menaced with severe consequences, 
 unless the Basilica were surrendered. 
 
 Such were the acts by which the imperial court 
 solemnized Passion week. At length a fresh interview 
 was sought with Ambrose, which shall be described in 
 his own words : — 
 
 " I had a meeting with the counts and tribunes, who 
 urged me to give up the Basilica without delay, on the 
 ground that the emperor was but acting on his undoubted 
 rights, as possessing sovereign power over all things. 
 I made answer, that if he asked me for what was my 
 own — for instance, my estate, my money, or the like — 
 I would make no opposition : though, to tell the truth, 
 all that was mine was the property of the poor; but 
 that he had no sovereignty over things sacred. If my 
 patrimony is demanded, seize upon it ; my person, here 
 I am. Would you take to prison or to death ? I go with 
 pleasure. Far be it from me to entrench myself within 
 the circle of a multitude, or to clasp the altar in suppli- 
 cation for my life; rather I will be a sacrifice for the 
 altar-sake. 
 
 " In good truth, when I heard that soldiers were sent 
 to take possession of the Basilica, I was horrified at the 
 prospect of bloodshed, which might issue in ruin to the 
 
lo ©Ij^ ffiijurrlj 0f iht IFatbrs. [chap. 
 
 whole city. I prayed God that I might not survive 
 the ruin, which might ensue, of such a place; nay, of 
 Italy itself. I shrunk from the odium of having occa- 
 sioned slaughter, and would sooner have given my own 
 throat to the knife. . . . Presently they bade me calm 
 the people. I replied, that all I could do was not to 
 inflame them ; but God alone could appease them. For 
 myself, if I appeared to have instigated them, it was the 
 duty of the government to proceed against me, or to 
 banish me. Upon this they left me." 
 
 Ambrose spent the rest of Palm Sunday in the same 
 Basilica in which he had been officiating in the morning : 
 at night he went to his own house, that the civil power 
 might have the opportunity of arresting him if it was 
 thought advisable. 
 
 The attempt to gain the Portian seems now to have 
 been dropped; but on the Wednesday troops were 
 marched before day-break to take possession of the 
 New Church, which was within the walls. Ambrose, 
 upon the news of this fresh movement, used the weapons 
 of an apostle. He did not seek to disturb them in their 
 possession ; but, attending service at his own church, he 
 was content to threaten the soldiers with a sentence of 
 excommunication. Meanwhile the New Church, where 
 the soldiers were posted, began to fill with a larger con- 
 gregation than it ever contained before the persecution. 
 Ambrose was requested to go thither, but, desirous of 
 drawing the people away from the scene of imperial 
 tyranny, lest a riot should ensue, he remained in the 
 Portian, and began a comment on the lesson of the day, 
 which was from the book of Job. First, he commended 
 them for the Christian patience and resignation with 
 which they had hitherto borne their trial, which indeed 
 was, on the whole, surprising, considering the usual 
 inflammable nature of a multitude. "We petition your 
 majesty," they said to the emperor ; " we use no force, 
 we feel no fear, but we petition." It is common in the 
 leader of a multitude to profess peaceableness, but very 
 unusual for the multitude itself to persevere in doing so. 
 Ambrose went on to observe, that both they and he had 
 in their way been tempted, as Job was, by the powers of 
 
I.] ^ntbrnse antr Justina, n 
 
 evil. For himself, his peculiar trial had lain in the 
 reflection that the extraordinary measures of the govern- 
 ment, the movements of the Gothic guards, the fines of 
 the tradesmen, the various sufferings of the saints, all 
 arose from what might be considered his obsti7iacy in not 
 yielding to what seemed an overwhelming necessity, and 
 giving the Basilica to the Arians. Yet he felt that to do 
 so would be to peril his soul; so that the request was 
 but the voice of the tempter, as he spoke in Job's wife, 
 to make him "say a word against God, and die," to 
 betray his trust, and incur the sentence of spiritual 
 death. 
 
 Before this time the soldiers who had been sent to the 
 New Church, from dread of the threat of excommunica- 
 tion, had declared against the sacrilege, and joined his 
 congregation at the Portian ; and now the news came 
 that the royal hangings had been taken down. Soon 
 after, as he was continuing his address to the people, 
 a fresh message came to him from the court, to ask him, 
 whether he had an intention of domineering over his 
 sovereign? Ambrose, in answer, showed the pains he 
 had taken to observe a passive obedience to the 
 emperor's will, and to hinder disturbance : then he 
 added — 
 
 "Priests have by old right bestowed sovereignty, 
 never assumed it; and it is a common saying, that 
 sovereigns have coveted the priesthood more than 
 priests the sovereignty. Christ hid Himself, lest He 
 should be made a king. Yes ! we have a dominion 
 of our own. The dominion of the priest lies in his 
 helplessness, as it is said, * When I am weak, then am 
 I strong.' " 
 
 And so ended the dispute for a time. On Good 
 Friday the court gave way; the guards were ordered 
 from the Basilica, and the fines were remitted. I end 
 for the present with the view which Ambrose took of the 
 prospect before him : — 
 
 "Thus the matter rests; I wish I could say, has 
 ended : but the emperor's words are of that angry sort 
 which shows that a more severe contest is in store. He 
 
1 2 ^\jt ©burrlj of tb^ IFatb^ra. [ch. i. 
 
 calls me a tyrant, or what is worse still. He implied 
 this when his ministers were entreating him, on the 
 petition of the soldiers, to attend Church. 'Should 
 Ambrose bid you,' he made answer, 'doubtless you 
 would give me to him in chains.' I leave you to judge 
 what these words promise. Persons present were all 
 shocked at hearing them ; but there are parties who 
 exasperate him." 
 
chapter fi 
 ^tnbr0S^ anh ^almtinian 
 
 *' Look unto Zion, the city of our solemnities : thine eyes shall see 
 Jerusalem a quiet habitation, a tabernacle that shall not be 
 taken down : not one of the stakes thereof shall ever be re- 
 moved, neither shall any of the cords thereof be broken." 
 
 IN the opposition which Ambrose made to the Arians, 
 as already related, there is no appearance of his 
 appealing to any law of the empire in justification of 
 his refusal to surrender the Basilica to them. He rested 
 it upon the simple basis of the Divine law, a common- 
 sense argument which there was no evading. "The 
 Basilica has been made over to Christ; the Church 
 is His trustee ; I am its ruler. I dare not alienate the 
 Lord's property. He who does so, does it at his peril." 
 Indeed he elsewhere expressly repudiates the principle 
 of dependence on human law. "Law," he says, "has 
 not brought the Church together, but the faith of 
 Christ." However, Justina determined to have human 
 law on her side. She persuaded her son to make it 
 a capital offence in any one, either publicly or privately, 
 even by petition, to interfere with the assemblies of the 
 Arians ; a provision which admitted a fair, and might 
 also bear, and did in fact receive, a most tyrannical 
 interpretation. Benevolus, the secretary of state, from 
 whose office the edict was to proceed, refused to draw it 
 up, and resigned his place; but of course others less 
 scrupulous w^ere easily found to succeed him. At length 
 it was promulgated on the 21st of January of the next 
 year, a.d. 386, and a fresh attempt soon followed on 
 the part of the court to get possession of the Portian 
 Basilica, which was without the walls. 
 
14 ffib^ Cbttttlj of iht IFatljers- [chap. 
 
 The line of conduct which Ambrose had adopted 
 remained equally clear and straight, whether before or 
 after the promulgation of this edict. It was his duty to 
 use all the means which Christ has given the Church to 
 prevent the profanation of the Basilica. But soon a 
 new question arose for his determination. An imperial 
 message was brought him to retire from the city at once, 
 with any friends who chose to attend him. It is not 
 certain whether this was intended as an absolute com- 
 mand, or (as his words rather imply) a recommendation 
 on the part of government to save themselves the odium, 
 and him the suffering, of public and more severe pro- 
 ceedings. Even if it were the former, it does not appear 
 that a Christian bishop, so circumstanced, need obey it ; 
 for what was it but in other words to say, " Depart from 
 the Basilica, and leave it us " ?— the very order which he 
 had already withstood. The words of Scripture, which 
 bid Christians, if persecuted in one city, flee to another, 
 are evidently, from the form of them, a discretionary 
 rule, grounded on the expediency of each occasion, as it 
 arises. A mere threat is not a persecution, nor is a 
 command ; and, though we are bound to obey our civil 
 rulers, the welfare of the Church has a prior claim upon 
 our obedience. Other bishops took the same view of 
 the case with Ambrose ; and, accordingly, he determined 
 to stay in Milan till removed by main force, or cut off 
 by violence. The reader shall hear his own words in a 
 sermon which he delivered upon the occasion : — 
 
 " I see what is unusual with you, that you are under a 
 sudden excitement, and are turning your eyes on me. 
 What can be the reason of this ? Is it that you saw or 
 heard that an imperial message has been brought to me 
 by the tribunes desiring me to depart hence whither I 
 would, and to take with me all who would follow me? 
 What ! did you fear that I would desert the Church, and, 
 for fear of my life, abandon you ? Yet you might have 
 attended to my answer. I said that I could not, for an 
 instant, entertain the thought of deserting the Church, 
 in that I feared the Lord of all more than the emperor 
 of the day : in truth, that, should force hurry me off, it 
 would be my body, not my mind, which suffered the 
 
II.] ^mhva^t ani 3ffaUntintan» 15 
 
 violence ; that, should he act in the way of kingly power, 
 I was prepared to suffer after the manner of a priest. 
 
 " Why, then, are you thus disturbed ? I will never 
 leave you of my own will ; but if compelled, I may not 
 resist. I shall still have the power of lamenting, of 
 weeping, of moaning : when weapons, soldiers, Goths 
 assail me, tears are my weapons, for such are the defence 
 of a priest. In any other way I neither ought to resist, 
 nor am able ; but as to retiring and deserting the 
 Church, this is not like me; and for this reason, lest I 
 seem to do so from dread of some heavier punishment. 
 Ye yourselves know that it is my principle to submit to 
 our rulers, but not to give way to them ; to present my- 
 self readily to legal punishment, and not to fear what is 
 in contemplation. 
 
 "A proposal was made to me to deliver up at once 
 the church plate. I made answer that I was ready to 
 give anything that was my own, estate or house, gold or 
 silver; but that I could withdraw no property from 
 God's temple, nor surrender what was put into my hands 
 to preserve, and not to surrender. Besides, that I had 
 a care for the emperor's well-being ; since it was as little 
 safe for him to receive as for me to surrender : and I 
 entreated him to suffer the words of a free-spoken priest 
 for his own good, and to keep clear of injuring his 
 Lord. 
 
 "You recollect to-day's lesson about holy Naboth and 
 his vineyard. The king asked him to make it over to 
 him, as a ground, not for vines, but for common pot- 
 herbs. What was his answer? 'God forbid I should 
 give to thee the inheritance of my fathers ! ' The king 
 was saddened when another's property was justly denied 
 him ; next he was beguiled by a woman's counsel. 
 Naboth shed his blood rather than give up his vines. 
 Shall he refuse his vineyard, and we surrender the 
 Church of Christ ? 
 
 "What contumacy then was there in my answer? I 
 did but say at the interview, 'God forbid I should 
 surrender Christ's heritage ! ' I added, ' the heritage of 
 our fathers;' yes, of our Dionysius, who died in exile 
 for the faith's sake, of Eustorgius the Confessor, of 
 Myrocles, and of all the other faithful bishops back. I 
 
1 6 Stlj^ fflljxtrrlj oi tin fatljtxs, [chap. 
 
 answered as a priest: let the emperor act as an emperor; 
 he shall rob me of my life sooner than of my fidelity. 
 
 "In what respect was my answer other than respectful? 
 Does the emperor wish to tax us? I do not refuse it. 
 The church lands pay taxes. Does he require our lands? 
 He has power to claim them ; we will not prevent him. 
 The contributions of the people will suffice for the poor. 
 Let not our enemies take umbrage at our lands; they 
 may take them, if it please the emperor ; not that I give 
 them, but I make no opposition. Do they seek my 
 gold? I truly say, silver and gold I seek not. But 
 they bring against me my raising contributions. I have 
 no great fear of the charge. I confess I have stipen- 
 diaries; they are ^ke poor of Chrisfs flock} ; a treasure 
 which I am well used in collecting. May this at all 
 times be my offence, to exact contributions for the poor. 
 And if they accuse me of defending myself by means 
 of them, I am far from denying, I court the charge. 
 The poor are my defenders, but it is by their prayers. 
 Blind though they be, lame, feeble, and aged, yet they 
 have a strength greater than that of the stout warriors. 
 In a word, charity to them is a claim upon the Lord; 
 as it is written, ' He who giveth to the poor, lendeth to 
 God ; ' whereas a warrior's protection has oftentimes no 
 hold upon Divine grace. 
 
 "They say, too, that the people are misled by the 
 verses of my hymns. I frankly confess this also. Truly 
 they have in them a high strain above all other in- 
 fluence. For can any strain have more of influence 
 than the confession of the Holy Trinity, which is pro- 
 claimed day by day by the voice of the whole people ? 
 Each is eager to rival his fellows in confessing, as he 
 well knows how, in sacred verses, his faith in Father, 
 Son, and Holy Spirit. Thus all are made teachers, who 
 else were scarce equal to being scholars. 
 
 " No one can deny that in what we say we pay to our 
 sovereign due honour. What indeed can be higher than 
 to style him a son of the Church? In saying this, we 
 are loyal to him without sinning against God. For the 
 emperor is within the Church, but 7iot over the Church ; 
 
 ^ Pauperes Christi. 
 
II.] ^mbr0ja^ anh UaUnixntan* 17 
 
 and a religious sovereign seeks, not rejects, the Church's 
 aid. This is our doctrine, modestly avowed, but en- 
 forced without wavering. Though they threaten fire, or 
 the sword, or transportation, we, Christ's poor servants, 
 have learned not to fear. And to the fearless nothing 
 is frightful ; as Scripture says, ' Their blows are Hke the 
 arrows of a child.'" — Serm. coiitr. Auxent. 
 
 Mention is made in this extract of the Psalmody 
 which Ambrose adopted about this time. The history 
 of its introduction is curiously connected with the sub- 
 ject before us, and interesting, inasmuch as this was the 
 beginning of a change in the style of Church music, 
 which spread over the West, and continues even among 
 ourselves to this day. 
 
 Soldiers had been sent, as in the former year, to 
 surround the Portian Basilica, in order to prevent the 
 catholic service there ; but being themselves Christians, 
 and afraid of excommunication, they went so far as to 
 allow the people to enter, but would not let them leave 
 the building. This was not so great an inconvenience 
 to them as might appear at first sight; for the early 
 Basilicas were not unlike the heathen temples, or our 
 own collegiate chapels, that is, part of a range of build- 
 ings, which contained the lodgings of the ecclesiastics, 
 and formed a fortress in themselves, which could easily 
 be blockaded from within or without. Accordingly, 
 the people remained shut up within the sacred pre- 
 cincts some days, and the bishop with them. There 
 seems to have been a notion, too, that he was to be 
 seized for exile, or put to death ; and they naturally 
 kept about him to "see the end," to suffer with him or 
 for him, according as their tempers and principles led 
 them. Some went so far as to barricade the doors of 
 the BasiHca^ ; nor could Ambrose prevent this proceed- 
 ing, unnecessary as it was, from the good feelings of the 
 soldiery towards them, and indeed impracticable in such 
 completeness as might be sufficient for security. 
 
 Some persons may think that Ambrose ought to 
 have used his utmost influence against it, whereas in his 
 
 ^ Vide 2 Kings vi. 32. 
 
1 8 ®Ij^ ©Ijurrlj 0f tlj^ JFatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 sermon to the people he merely insists on its uselessness, 
 and urges the propriety of looking simply to God, and 
 not at all to such expedients, for deliverance. It must 
 be recollected, however, that he and his people in no 
 sense drew the sword from its sheath ; he confined him- 
 self to passive resistance. He had violated no law; 
 the Church's property was sought by a tyrant : without 
 using any violence, he took possession of that which he 
 was bound to defend with his life. He placed himself 
 upon the sacred territory, and bade them take it and 
 him together, after St. Laurence's pattern, who submitted 
 to be burned rather than deliver up the goods with 
 which he had been entrusted for the sake of the poor. 
 However, it was evidently a very uncomfortable state of 
 things for a Christian bishop, who might seem to be 
 responsible for all the consequences, yet was without 
 control over them. A riot might commence any moment, 
 which it would not be in his power to arrest. Under 
 these circumstances, with admirable presence of mind, 
 he contrived to keep the people quiet, and to direct 
 their minds to higher objects than those around them, 
 by psalmody. Sacred chanting had been one especial 
 way in which the catholics of Antioch had kept alive, 
 in Arian times, the spirit of orthodoxy. And from the 
 first a peculiar kind of singing — the antiphonal or re- 
 sponsorial, answering to our cathedral chanting — had 
 been used in honour of the sacred doctrine which heresy 
 assailed. Ignatius, the disciple of St. Peter, was reported 
 to have introduced the practice into the Church of 
 Antioch, in the doxology to the Trinity. Flavian, after- 
 wards bishop of that see, revived it during the Arian 
 usurpation, to the great edification and encouragement 
 of the oppressed catholics. Chrysostom used it in the 
 vigils at Constantinople, in opposition to the same 
 heretical party; and similar vigils had been established 
 by Basil in the monasteries of Cappadocia. The as- 
 sembled multitude, confined day and night within the 
 gates of the Basilica, were in the situation of a monastic 
 body without its discipline, and Ambrose rightly con- 
 sidered that the novelty and solemnity of the oriental 
 chants, in praise of the blessed Trinity, would both 
 interest and sober them during the dangerous temptation 
 
II.] ^mbroa^ anb WaUniinian. 19 
 
 to which they were now exposed. The expedient had 
 even more successful results than the bishop anticipated ; 
 the soldiers were affected by the music, and took part in 
 it; and, as we hear nothing more of the blockade, we 
 must suppose that it thus ended, the government being 
 obliged to overlook what they could not prevent. 
 
 It may be interesting to the reader to see Augustine's 
 notice of this occurrence, and the effect of the psalmody 
 upon himself, at the time of his baptism. 
 
 "The pious populace, (he says in his Confessions,) 
 was keeping vigils in the Church, prepared to die, O 
 Lord, with their bishop, thy servant. There was my 
 mother, thy handmaid, surpassing others in anxiety and 
 watching, and making prayers her life. I, uninfluenced as 
 yet by the fire of thy Spirit, was roused however by the 
 terror and agitation of the city. Then it was that hymns 
 and psalms, after the oriental rite, were introduced, lest 
 the spirits of the flock should fail under the wearisome 
 delay." — Confess, ix. 15. 
 
 In the same passage, speaking of his baptism, he says : 
 
 "How many tears I shed during the performance of 
 thy hymns and chants, keenly affected by the notes of 
 thy melodious Church ! My ears drank up those sounds, 
 and they distilled into my heart as sacred truths, and 
 overflowed thence again in pious emotion, and gushed 
 forth into tears, and I was happy in them." — Ibid. 14. 
 
 Elsewhere he says : — 
 
 " Sometimes, from over-jealousy, I would entirely put 
 from me and from the Church the melodies of the sweet 
 chants which we use in the Psalter, lest our ears seduce 
 us ; and the way of Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria, 
 seems the safer, who, as I have often heard, made the 
 reader chant with so slight a change of note, that it was 
 more like speaking than singing. And yet when I call 
 to mind the tears I shed when I heard the chants of thy 
 Church in the infancy of my recovered faith, and reflect 
 that at this time I am affected, not by the mere music, 
 but by the subject, brought out, as it is, by clear voices 
 and appropriate tune, then, in turn, I confess how useful 
 is the practice." — Ibid. x. 50. 
 
20 ^)jt dljnnlj ai i)jt JFatlj^ra. [chap. 
 
 Such was the influence of the Ambrosian chants 
 when first introduced at Milan by the great bishop 
 whose name they bear; there they are in use still, in 
 all the majestic austerity which gave them their original 
 power, and a great part of the western Church uses that 
 modification of them which pope Gregory introduced at 
 Rome in the beginning of the seventh century. 
 
 Ambrose implies, in the sermon from which extracts 
 were given above, that a persecution, reaching even to 
 the infliction of bodily sufferings, was at this time afflict- 
 ing the bishops of the Exarchate. Certainly he himself 
 was all along in imminent peril of his hfe, or of sudden 
 removal from Milan. However, he made it a point to 
 frequent the public places and religious meetings, as 
 usual ; and indeed, it appears that he was as safe there 
 as at home, for he narrowly escaped assassination from 
 a hired ruffian of the empress's, who made his way to 
 his bed-chamber for the purpose. Magical arts were 
 also practised against him, as a more secret and certain 
 method of ensuring his destruction. 
 
 I ought to have mentioned, before this, the challenge 
 sent to him by the Arian bishop to dispute publicly with 
 him on the sacred doctrine in controversy ; but was un- 
 willing to interrupt the narrative of the contest about 
 the Basilica. I will here translate portions of a letter 
 sent by him, on the occasion, to the emperor. 
 
 " Clementissimo Imperatori et beatissimo Augusto 
 Valentiniano, Ambrosius episcopus — 
 
 " Dalmatius, tribune and notary, has come to me, at 
 your majesty's desire, as he assures me, to require me to 
 choose umpires, as Auxentius^ has done on his part. 
 Not that he informed me who they were which had 
 already been named ; but merely said that the dispute 
 was to take place in the consistory, in your majesty's 
 presence, as final arbitrator of it. 
 
 " I trust my answer will prove satisfactory. No one 
 should call me contumacious, if I allege what your 
 
 ^ The Arian bishop, who had lately come from the East to 
 Milan, had taken the name of Auxentius, the heretical predecessor 
 of Ambrose. 
 
II.] ^mbrnsB antr 5JaUnttnian« 21 
 
 father, of blessed memory, not only sanctioned by word 
 of mouth, but even by a law : — That in cases of faith, 
 or any ecclesiastical function, the judges should be both 
 * competent by office and quaHfied by profession,' thus 
 the rescript runs ; in other words, he would have priests 
 decide about priests. And this extended even to the 
 case of allegations of immoraUty. 
 
 " When was it you ever heard, most gracious sovereign, 
 that in a question of faith laymen should be judges of a 
 bishop ? What ! have courtly manners so bent our 
 backs that we have forgotten the rights of the priest- 
 hood, that I should of myself put into another's hands 
 what God has bestowed upon me ? Once grant that a 
 layman may set a bishop right, and see what will follow. 
 The layman must discuss, while the bishop listens ; the 
 bishop must be the pupil of the layman. Yet, whether 
 we turn to Scripture or history, who will venture to deny 
 that in a question of faith, in a question, I say, of faith, 
 it has ever been the bishop's business to judge a 
 Christian emperor, not the emperor's to judge the 
 bishop ? 
 
 "When, through God's blessing, you live to be old, 
 then you will have your thoughts concerning the fidelity 
 of that bishop who places the rights of the priesthood 
 at the mercy of laymen. Your father, who arrived, 
 through God's blessing, at maturer years, was in the 
 habit of saying, ' I have no right to judge between 
 bishops j' but your majesty says, *I ought to judge.' 
 He, even though baptised into Christ's body, thought 
 himself unequal to the burden of such a judgment; 
 your majesty, who still has to earn a title to the sacra- 
 ment, claims to judge in a matter of faith, a stranger to 
 the sacrament to which that faith belongs. 
 
 " But Ambrose is not so precious, as to dare for his 
 own sake to degrade the priesthood. One man's life is 
 not so precious as the dignity of all those bishops who 
 have advised me to this address; and who suggested 
 that heathens, perhaps, or Jews, might be the choice 
 of Auxentius, whom allowing to decide concerning 
 Christ, we should be granting a triumph over Him. 
 What would pleasure them but blasphemies against Him ? 
 — What would satisfy them but the shocking denial of 
 
22 s;ij^ fflljurrlr 0f iht IFatljers. [ch. n. 
 
 His divinity — agreeing, as they do, full well with the 
 Arian, who pronounces Christ to be a creature, after the 
 very creed of Jews and heathens ? I would have come 
 to your majesty's court, to offer these remarks in person ; 
 but neither my bishops nor my people would let me ; for 
 they said, that, when matters of faith were discussed in 
 the Church, the people ought to be present. 
 
 " I could have wished your majesty had omitted the 
 alternative, which you sent me, — of betaking myself to 
 exile, whither I would. I was abroad every day ; no one 
 guarded me. I was at the mercy of all the world; 
 surely then you should have secured my departure to a 
 place of your own choosing. Now the priests say to 
 me, ' There is little difference between voluntarily leaving 
 and betraying the altar of Christ ; for when you leave, 
 you betray it.' 
 
 "May it please your majesty graciously to accept 
 this apology of mine for declining to appear in the 
 imperial court. I have not learnt to attend it, except 
 in your behalf ; nor have I the skill to strive for victory 
 within the palace, neither knowing, nor caring to know, 
 its secrets." — £/>. 21. 
 
 The reader will observe an allusion in the last sentence 
 of this defence to a service Ambrose had rendered the 
 emperor and his mother, upon the murder of Gratian ; 
 when at the request of Justina, he undertook the 
 difficult embassy to the usurper Maximus, and was the 
 means of preserving the peace of Italy. This Maximus 
 now interfered to defend him against the parties whom 
 he had on a former occasion defended against Maximus ; 
 but other and more remarkable occurrences interposed 
 in his behalf, which shall be mentioned in the next 
 chapter. 
 
(S^ftapler in 
 Mht Jttartjrs (Btxbasin^ anir 5pr0iaaiua 
 
 "All Thy garments smell of myrrh, aloes, and cassia, out of the 
 ivory palaces, whereby they have made thee glad." 
 
 A TERMINATION was at length put to the persecu- 
 tion of the Church of Milan, by an occurrence of 
 a very different nature from any which take place in 
 these days. And since such events as I am to mention 
 do not occur now, we are apt to argue, not very logically, 
 that they did not occur then. I conceive this to be the 
 main objection which will be felt against the following 
 narrative. Miracles never took place then, because we 
 do not see reason to believe that they take place now. 
 But it should be recollected, that if there are no miracles 
 at present, neither are there at present any martyrs. 
 Might we not as cogently argue that no martyrdoms 
 took place then, because no martyrdoms take place 
 now? And might not St. Ambrose and his brethren 
 have as reasonably disbelieved the possible existence of 
 parsonages and pony carriages in the nineteenth century, 
 as we the existence of martyrs and miracles in the primi- 
 tive age? Now the account which is to follow does 
 indeed relate to miracles, but then it relates to martyrs 
 also. 
 
 Another objection which may be more reasonably 
 urged against the narrative is this : that in the fourth 
 century there were many miraculous tales which even 
 Fathers of the Church believed, but which no one of 
 any way of thinking believes now. It will be argued, 
 that because some miracles are alleged which did not 
 really take place, that therefore none which are alleged 
 took place either. But I am disposed to reason just 
 
 23 
 
H ^ht ©Ijurrlj 0f tift IFatb^ra- [chap. 
 
 the contrary way. Pretences to revelation make it 
 probable that there is a true revelation ; pretences to 
 miracles make it probable that there are real ones ; 
 falsehood is the mockery of truth; false Christs argue 
 a true Christ; a shadow implies a substance. If it 
 be repUed that the Scripture miracles are these true 
 miracles, and that it is they, and none other but they, 
 none after them, which suggested the counterfeit ; I 
 ask in turn, if so, what becomes of the original ob- 
 jection, that no miracles are true, because some are 
 false? If this be so, the Scripture miracles are to 
 be believed as little as those after them ; and this is 
 the very plea which infidels have urged. No; it is not 
 reasonable to limit the scope of an argument accord- 
 ing to the exigency of our particular conclusions; we 
 have no leave to apply the argument /or miracles only 
 to the first century, and that against miracles only to 
 the fourth. If forgery in some miracles proves forgery 
 in all, this tells against the first as well as against the 
 fourth century ; if forgery in some argues truth in others, 
 this avails for the fourth as well as for the first. 
 
 And I will add, that even credulousness on other 
 occasions does not necessarily disqualify a person's 
 evidence for a particular alleged miracle ; for the sight 
 of one true miracle could not but dispose a man to 
 believe others readily, nay too readily, that is, would 
 make him what is called credulous. 
 
 Now let these remarks be kept in mind while I go on 
 to describe the alleged occurrence which has led to 
 them. I know of no intrinsic objection to it in par- 
 ticular, viewed in itself; the main objections are such 
 antecedent considerations as I have been noticing. If 
 Elisha's bones restored a dead man to life, I know of 
 no antecedent reason why the relics of Gervasius and 
 Protasius should not, as in the instance to be con- 
 sidered, have given sight to the blind. 
 
 The circumstances were these : — St. Ambrose, at the 
 juncture of affairs which I have described in the fore- 
 going pages, was proceeding to the dedication of a 
 certain church at Milan, which remains there to this 
 day, with the name of "St. Ambrose the Greater:" 
 and was urged by the people to bury relics of martyrs 
 
III.] dBrlraaius antr ^P^^^^s^^^- ^5 
 
 under the altar, as he had lately done in the case of the 
 Basilica of the Apostles. This was according to the 
 usage of those times, desirous thereby both of honour- 
 ing those who had braved death for Christ's sake, and 
 of hallowing religious places with the mortal instruments 
 of their triumph. Ambrose in consequence gave orders 
 to open the ground in the church of St. Nabor, as a 
 spot likely to have been the burying-place of martyrs 
 during the heathen persecutions. 
 
 Augustine, who was in Milan at the time, alleges that 
 Ambrose was directed in his search by a dream. 
 Ambrose himself is evidently reserved on the subject 
 in his letter to his sister, though he was accustomed 
 to make her his confidant in his ecclesiastical proceed- 
 ings; he only speaks of his heart having burnt within 
 him in presage of what was to happen. The digging 
 commenced, and in due time two skeletons were dis- 
 covered, of great size, perfect, and disposed in an 
 orderly way ; the head of each, however, separated 
 from the body, and a quantity of blood about. That 
 they were the remains of martyrs, none could reason- 
 ably doubt; and their names were ascertained to be 
 Gervasius and Protasius ; how, it does not appear, but 
 certainly it was not so alleged on any traditionary in- 
 formation or for any popular object, since they proved 
 to be quite new names to the Church of the day, 
 though some elderly men at length recollected hearing 
 them in former years. Nor is it wonderful that the 
 saints should have been forgotten, considering the 
 number of the Apostolic martyrs, among whom Ger- 
 vasius and Protasius appear to have a place. 
 
 It seems to have been usual in that day to verify the 
 genuineness of relics by bringing some of the energu- 
 menij or possessed with devils, to them. Such afflicted 
 persons were present with St. Ambrose during the 
 search ; and, before the service for exorcism commenced, 
 one of them gave the well-known signs of horror and 
 distress which were customarily excited by the presence 
 of what had been the tabernacle of divine grace. 
 
 The skeletons were raised and transported to the 
 neighbouring church of Fausta. The next day, June 
 1 8th, on which they were to be conveyed to their 
 
26 i;ij^ ®!jurrb of tift Jfatlj^ra- [chap. 
 
 destination, a vast concourse of people attended the 
 procession. This was the moment chosen by Divine 
 Providence to give, as it were, signal to his Church, 
 that, though years passed on. He was still what He had 
 been from the beginning, a living and a faithful God, 
 wonder-working as in the lifetime of the Apostles, and 
 true to his word as spoken by his prophets unto a 
 thousand generations. There was in Milan a man of 
 middle age, well known in the place, by name Severus, 
 who, having become blind, had given up his trade, and 
 was now supported by charitable persons. Being told 
 the cause of the shoutings in the streets, he persuaded 
 his guide to lead him to the sacred relics. He came 
 near ; he touched the cloth which covered them ; and 
 he regained his sight immediately. 
 
 This relation deserves our special notice from its 
 distinct miraculousness and its circumstantial character ; 
 but numerous other miracles are stated to have followed. 
 Various diseases were cured and demoniacs dispossessed 
 by the touch of the holy bodies or their envelopments. 
 
 Now for the evidence on which the whole matter 
 rests. Our witnesses are three ; St. Augustine, St. 
 Ambrose, and Paulinus, the secretary of the latter, who 
 after his death addressed a short memoir of his life to 
 the former. 
 
 St, Augustine, in three separate passages in his works, 
 two of which shall here be quoted, gives his testimony. 
 First, in his City of God, in an enumeration of miracles 
 which had taken place since the Apostles' time. He 
 begins with that which he himself had witnessed in the 
 city of St. Ambrose : — 
 
 "The miracle," he says, "which occurred at Milan, 
 while I was there, when a blind man gained sight, was of 
 a kind to come to the knowledge of many, because the 
 city is large, and the emperor was there at the time, and 
 it was wrought with the witness of a vast multitude, who 
 had come together to the bodies of the martyrs Protasius 
 and Gervasius ; which, being at the time concealed and 
 altogether unknown, were discovered on the revelation 
 of a dream to Ambrose the bishop; upon which that 
 blind man was released from his former darkness, and 
 saw the day." — xxii. 8. 
 
III.] d^rbasms atttr fprntaaius. 27 
 
 And next in his sermon upon the feast-day of the 
 two martyrs : — 
 
 " We are celebrating, my brethren, the day on which, 
 by Ambrose the bishop, that man of God, there was 
 discovered, precious in the sight of the Lord, the death 
 of His Saints ; of which so great glory of the martyrs, 
 then accruing, even I was a witness. I was there, I was 
 at Milan, I know the miracles which were done, God 
 attesting to the precious death of His Saints; that by 
 those miracles henceforth, not in the Lord's sight only, 
 but in the sight of men also, that death might be 
 precious. A blind man, perfectly well known to the 
 whole city, was restored to sight, and ran : he caused 
 himself to be brought near, he returned without a guide. 
 We have not yet heard of his death ; perhaps he is still 
 alive. In the very Church where their bodies are, he 
 has vowed his whole life to religious service. We re- 
 joiced in his restoration, we left him in service." 
 
 The third passage will be found in the ninth book of 
 St. Augustine's Confessions, and adds to the foregoing 
 extracts the important fact that the miracle was the 
 cause of Justina's relinquishing her persecution of the 
 Catholics. 
 
 Now let us proceed to the evidence of St. Ambrose, 
 as contained in the sermons which he preached upon 
 the occasion. In the former of the two, he speaks as 
 follows of the miracles wrought by the relics : — 
 
 "Ye know, nay, ye have yourselves seen many 
 cleansed from evil spirits, and numbers loosed from 
 their infirmities, on laying their hands on the garment 
 of the saints. Ye see renewed the miracles of the old 
 time, when, through the advent of the Lord Jesus, a 
 fuller grace poured itself upon the earth ; ye see most 
 men healed by the very shadow of the sacred bodies. 
 How many were the napkins which passed to and fro ! 
 what anxiety for garments which had been laid upon the 
 most holy relics, and made salutary by their very touch ! 
 It is an object with all to reach even to the extreme 
 border, and he who reaches it will be made whole. 
 Thanks be to Thee, Lord Jesus, for awakening for us 
 
28 ®lj^ Cijurrlj of % fatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 at this time the spirits of the holy martyrs, when Thy 
 Church needs greater guardianship. Let all understand 
 the sort of champions I ask for, — those who may act as 
 champions, not as assailants. And such have I gained 
 for thee, my people, a benefit to all, a harm to none. 
 Such defenders I solicit, such soldiers I possess, not the 
 world's soldiers, but soldiers of Christ. I fear not that 
 such will excite envy; because the higher in their 
 guardianship, the less exceptionable is it also. Nay, 
 for them even who envy me the martyrs, do I wish 
 that they may be patrons. So let them come and see 
 my body-guard; I own I have such arms about me. 
 * These put their trust in chariots, and these in horses ; 
 but we will exalt ourselves in the name of the Lord our 
 God.' 
 
 "EHssaeus, as the course of Holy Scripture tells us, 
 when surrounded by the Syrian army, said to his fright- 
 ened servant, by way of calming him, 'There are more 
 that are for us than are against us.' And to prove this, 
 he begged that Gehazi's eyes might be opened; upon 
 which the latter saw innumerable hosts of Angels 
 present. We, though we cannot see them, yet are 
 sensible of them. Our eyes were held as long as the 
 bodies of the saints lay hid in their graves. The Lord 
 has opened our eyes : we saw those aids by which we 
 have often been defended. We had not the sight of 
 these, yet we had the possession. And so, as though 
 the Lord said to us in our alarm, ' Behold what martyrs 
 I have given you ! ' in like manner our eyes are unclosed, 
 and we see the glory of the Lord, which showed itself 
 once in the passion of the martyrs, and now in their 
 efficacy. We have got clear, my brethren, of no slight 
 a load of shame; we had patrons yet we knew it not. 
 We have found this one thing, in which we have the 
 advantage of our forefathers, — they lost the knowledge 
 of these holy martyrs, and we have gained it. 
 
 "Bring the victorious victims to the spot where is 
 Christ the sacrifice. But He upon the altar, who 
 suffered for all; they under it, who were redeemed 
 by His passion. I had intended this spot for myself, 
 for it is fitting that where the priest had been used to 
 offer, there he should repose; but I yield the right side 
 
III.] d^rbasma anJr ^protaaius. 29 
 
 to the sacred victims ; that spot was due to the martyrs. 
 Therefore let us bury the hallowed relics, and introduce 
 them into a fitting home; and celebrate the whole day 
 with sincere devotion." 
 
 In his latter sermon, preached the following day, he 
 pursues the subject : — 
 
 "This your celebration, they are jealous of who are 
 wont to be ; and being jealous of it, they hate the cause 
 of it, and are extravagant enough to deny the merits 
 of those martyrs, whose works the very devils confess. 
 Nor is it wonderful ; it commonly happens that the 
 faithlessness of unbelievers is more extreme than the 
 confession of the devil. For the devil said, ' Jesus, Son 
 of the living God, why hast Thou come to torment 
 us before the time ? ' And, whereas the Jews heard 
 this, yet they were the very men to deny the Son of 
 God. And now ye have heard the evil spirits crying 
 out, and confessing to the martyrs, that they cannot 
 bear their pains, and saying, 'Why are ye come to 
 torment us so heavily?' And the Arians say, 'They 
 are not martyrs, nor can they torment the devil, nor 
 dispossess any one;' while the torments of the evil 
 spirits are evidenced by their own voice, and the 
 benefits of the martyrs by the recovery of the healed, 
 and the proofs of the dispossessed. 
 
 " The Arians say, ' These are not real torments of evil 
 spirits, but they are pretended and counterfeit.' I have 
 heard of many things pretended, but no one ever could 
 succeed in feigning himself a devil. How is it we see 
 them in such distress when the hand is laid on them ? 
 What room is here for fraud? what suspicion of im- 
 posture ? 
 
 "They deny that the Wind received sight; but he 
 does not deny that he was cured. He says, ' I see, who 
 afore saw not.' He says, ' I ceased to be blind,' and he 
 evidences it by the fact. They deny the benefit, who 
 cannot deny the fact. The man is well known ; em- 
 ployed as he was, before his affliction, in a public trade, 
 Severus his name, a butcher his business : he had given 
 it up when this misfortune befell him. He refers to 
 the testimony of men whose charities were supporting 
 
30 ®ljB Ctljurclj 0f i\^t IFatlj^rs* [chap. 
 
 him ; he summons them as evidence of his present 
 visitation, who were witnesses and judges of his blind- 
 ness. He cries out that, on his touching the hem of 
 the martyrs' garment, which covered the reUcs, his sight 
 was restored to him. We read in the Gospel, that when 
 the Jews saw the cure of the blind man, they sought 
 the testimony of the parents. Ask others, if you dis- 
 trust me; ask persons unconnected with him, if you 
 think that his parents would take a side. The obstinacy 
 of these Arians is more hateful than that of the Jews. 
 When the latter doubted, they inquired of the parents ; 
 these inquire secretly, deny openly, as giving credit to 
 the fact, but denying the author." — Ep. 22. 
 
 We may corroborate the evidence of those two 
 Fathers with that of Paulinus, who was secretary to 
 St. Ambrose, and wrote his life, about a.d. 411. 
 
 " About the same time," he says, " the holy martyrs 
 Protasius and Gervasius revealed themselves to God's 
 priest. They lay in the Basilica, where, at present, are 
 the bodies of the martyrs Nabor and Felix; while, 
 however, the holy martyrs Nabor and Felix had crowds 
 to visit them, as well the names as the graves of the 
 martyrs Protasius and Gervasius were unknown ; so that 
 all who wished to come to the rails which protected the 
 graves of the martyrs Nabor and Felix, were used to 
 walk on the graves of the others. But when the bodies 
 of the holy martyrs were raised and placed on litters, 
 thereupon many possessions of the devil were detected. 
 Moreover, a blind man, by name Severus, who up to 
 this day performs reHgious service in the Basilica called 
 Ambrosian, into which the bodies of the martyrs have 
 been translated, when he had touched the garment of 
 the martyrs, forthwith received sight. Moreover, bodies 
 possessed by unclean spirits were restored, and with 
 all blessedness returned home. And by means of 
 these benefits of the martyrs, while the faith of the 
 Catholic Church made increase, by so much did Arian 
 misbelief decline." — § 14. 
 
 Now I want to know what reason is there for stumbling 
 at the above narrative, which will not throw uncertainty 
 
III.] ®erbasius antr ^r0tastus. 3^ 
 
 upon the very fact that there was such a bishop as 
 Ambrose, or such an empress as Justina, or such an 
 heresy as the Arian, or any Church at all in Milan. 
 Let us consider some of the circumstances under which 
 it comes to us, 
 
 1. We have the concordant evidence of three distinct 
 witnesses, of whom at least two were on the spot when 
 the alleged miracles were wrought, one writing at the 
 time, another some years afterwards in a distant country. 
 And the third, writing after an interval of twenty-six 
 years, agrees minutely with the evidence of the two 
 former, not adding to the miraculous narrative, as in 
 the manner of those who lose their delicate care for 
 exactness in their admiration of the things and persons 
 of whom they speak. 
 
 2. The miracle was wrought in public, in the case 
 of a person well known, one who continued to live in 
 the place where it was professedly wrought, and who, 
 by devoting himself to the service of the martyrs who 
 were the instruments of his cure, was a continual 
 memorial of the mercy which he professed to have 
 received, and challenged inquiry into it, and refutation 
 if that were possible. 
 
 3. Ambrose, one of our informants, publicly appealed, 
 at the time when the occurrence took place, to the 
 general belief, claimed it for the miracle, and that in 
 a sermon which is still extant. 
 
 4. He made his statement in the presence of bitter 
 and most powerful enemies, who were much concerned, 
 and very able to expose the fraud if there was one ; who 
 did, as might be expected, deny the hand of God in 
 the matter; but who, for all that appears, did nothing 
 but deny what they could not consistently confess, with- 
 out ceasing to be what they were. 
 
 5. A great and practical impression was made upon 
 the popular mind in consequence of the alleged miracles : 
 or, in the words of an historian whose profession it is 
 to disbelieve them, "Their effect on the minds of the 
 people was rapid and irresistible; and the feeble sove- 
 reign of Italy found himself unable to contend with the 
 favourite of heaven." ^ 
 
 ^ Gibbon's Hist. ch. 27. 
 
6. And so powerfully did all this press upon the 
 court, that, as the last words of this extract intimate, 
 the persecution was given up, and the Catholics left 
 in quiet possession of the churches. 
 
 On the whole, then, are we not in the following 
 dilemma : — If the miracle did not take place, then 
 St. Ambrose and St. Augustine, men of name, said they 
 had ascertained a fact which they did not ascertain, 
 and said it in the face of enemies, with an appeal to a 
 whole city, and that continued during a quarter of a 
 century. What instrument of refutation shall we devise 
 against a case Uke this, neither so violently a priori as 
 to supersede the Apostles' testimony, nor so fastidious 
 of evidence as to imperil Tacitus or Caesar? On the 
 other hand, if the miracle did take place, a certain 
 measure of authority, more or less, surely must thereby 
 attach to St. Ambrose, — to his doctrine and his life, 
 to his ecclesiastical principles and proceedings, to the 
 Church itself of the fourth century, of which he is one 
 main pillar. The miracle gives a certain sanction to 
 three things at once, to the Catholic doctrine of the 
 Trinity, to the Church's resistance of the civil power, 
 and to the commemoration of saints and martyrs. 
 
 Which alternative shall the Protestant accept? shall 
 we retreat, or shall we advance? shall we relapse into 
 scepticism upon all subjects, or sacrifice our deep-rooted 
 prejudices? shall we give up our knowledge of times 
 past altogether, or endure to gain a knowledge which 
 we think we have already, — the knowledge of divine 
 truth ? 
 
€Japter ib 
 
 " Be wise now, therefore, O ye kings ; be learned, ye that are 
 judges of the earth. Serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice unto 
 Him with reverence. Kiss the Son, lest He be angry, and so 
 ye perish from the right way." 
 
 IT is very satisfactory to find that the Christian forti- 
 tude of St. Ambrose was not thrown away upon 
 Valentinian. This young prince, who died prematurely, 
 nay, before his baptism, gave signs during several of his 
 last years, of a very altered state of mind towards the 
 Church and her vigorous champion. Such was the fruit 
 of braving the frown of royalty in a good cause. 
 Perhaps St. Ambrose would not have done as much 
 by what men call more prudent conduct ; by temporizing 
 and conceding. There is no sort of doubt, that had the 
 scene been laid in England in the nineteenth century, 
 not to speak in very generosity of the sixteenth, courtH- 
 ness would have been the order of the day. The 
 Basilica would have been surrendered to the heretics; 
 yet I fear without any such change of heart in con- 
 sequence in prince or prime minister, by a timid policy 
 on the part of the Church, as Valentinian underwent on 
 meeting with resistance. Certainly we have not made 
 great men more religious by letting them have their own 
 way. As for Valentinian, he was cut off under very sad 
 yet interesting circumstances. Being engaged in Gaul 
 in an attempt to reduce the power of Arbogastes, the 
 Frank, who was secretly conspiring against him, he wrote 
 to St. Ambrose to come to him, both to assist him in his 
 negotiations and to baptize him. Before Ambrose could 
 arrive, Arbogastes had murdered the emperor. 
 
 D 33 
 
34 ®lj^ ffiburrlr oi the Fatb^ra. [chap. 
 
 But, leaving Valentinian, let us turn to the considera- 
 tion of a still more striking and salutary instance of 
 episcopal vigour, exerted in the case of a more powerful 
 emperor; I mean the conduct of St. Ambrose towards 
 Theodosius, on occasion of the massacre at Thessalonica. 
 This is the most instructive passage in his history ; nay, 
 perhaps in the history of the whole Church ; for what 
 sight can be more edifying to the Christian, or more 
 impressive to the world at large, than that of a bishop 
 conscientiously and calmly rebuking a great warrior, and 
 that warrior and sovereign humbly confessing and re- 
 penting of his sin ? 
 
 The circumstances which led to this memorable 
 display of Apostolical severity were as follows : — Theo- 
 dosius was of a choleric temper, which hurried him on 
 to visit, with the power of an emperor, insults which 
 every one, prince and subject, naturally feels. In the 
 year 390, a tumult took place in Thessalonica on some 
 supposed grievance, such as commonly excites a popu- 
 lace, which ended in the murder of the commander 
 of the imperial forces, who had given the offence, and 
 other officers. The first burst of the emperor's in- 
 dignation was overcome by the interposition of the 
 clergy, particularly Ambrose ; and he promised to 
 pardon the Thessalonians. But his minister considered 
 the outrage too great to be passed over with safety 
 to the empire: a similar tumult had lately been pardoned 
 at Antioch ; and, in the present instance, there had been 
 no tyranny or impolitic rigour on the part of the un- 
 fortunate general who had been the victim of the 
 insurrection. So far, their judgment was doubtless 
 right ; but the sentence, which they succeeded in recom- 
 mending to their sovereign, was so shocking, as suffi- 
 ciently to account for the previous intercession of the 
 Church in behalf of the offenders. The purpose of 
 vengeance was kept secret; the Thessalonians were invited 
 to the circus, which was silently surrounded by soldiery; 
 and, when they expected the races to commence, a 
 signal was given, and a promiscuous massacre followed. 
 It continued for three hours; and 7000, without dis- 
 crimination of age or sex, are said to have been 
 slaughtered. Theodosius had revoked the cruel order 
 
IV.] ffilj^ ^tniima of Sflj^nbnatua. 35 
 
 soon after it was given, but too late to prevent its 
 execution. 
 
 These events took place in the early spring ; and soon 
 afterwards Theodosius returned to Milan. Ambrose 
 had been in the custom of attending the court on its 
 arrival : but now he retired into the country two or three 
 days beforehand. Thence he despatched the following 
 letter to the emperor, who seems to have expressed 
 surprise at his absence : — 
 
 "Augustissimo Imperatori Theodosio, Ambrosius 
 episcopus. 
 
 " I bear an affectionate memory of your former friend- 
 ship towards me, and of your great condescension in so 
 often granting favours to others at my instance. Accord- 
 ingly, it is not ingratitude that leads me to shun a 
 presence which hitherto has ever been most coveted 
 by me. I will briefly explain to you my reasons for 
 doing so. 
 
 " I found that I was forbidden, I alone of your whole 
 court, the natural right of hearing what went on about 
 me, with a view of depriving me of the privilege of 
 speaking. I know you have not unfrequently been 
 displeased at my knowledge of measures which were 
 determined on in your council. Thus I am deprived 
 of this liberty, though the Lord Jesus says, that ' there 
 is nothing hid, but shall be made manifest.' However, 
 I acquiesced in the imperial will with all dutifulness ; 
 and I took measures for obviating your displeasure, by 
 providing that no news about the imperial statutes 
 should be brought me. 
 
 "What else then could I do? Not hear? as if my 
 ears could be closed with the wax which ancient fables 
 speak of. Say what I heard? I could not without 
 hazarding by my words what I feared in your counsels, 
 — some act of blood. Be silent ? This would be most 
 wretched of all — to have one's conscience bound and 
 one's lips closed. Is it not written, 'If God's minister 
 fail to speak to the sinner, the latter shall die in his sin ; 
 but he shall answer for not speaking ' ? 
 
 " Suffer me, gracious emperor. You have zeal for the 
 faith, I own it ; and the fear of God, I confess it ; but 
 
36 Wljiz €\jmth oi tlj^ IFatlj^ra. [chap. 
 
 you have an impetuosity of nature at offenders, which a 
 counsellor may either soothe into compassion, or stimu- 
 late till self-government is almost lost. O that those 
 about you were as backward in rousing as they are in 
 appeasing it ! I would gladly leave it altogether to your 
 own management ; since you can recover yourself, and 
 get the better of this violence of nature by an effort to 
 be merciful. 
 
 "I thought it best to leave your own reflections to 
 overcome it, instead of running the risk of increasing it 
 by some public interposition. So I resolved rather to 
 be wanting in my dut}^ towards my office, than in my 
 deference towards my sovereign ; and that the world 
 should think me deficient in episcopal vigour rather than 
 that you should accuse my loyalty, so that repressing 
 your anger, you might have free opportunity for deter- 
 mining your course of action. I excused my attendance 
 on the plea of my health, which indeed was severely 
 tried, and which men of merciful minds alone could 
 improve ; yet I would rather have died than have been 
 behindhand by a day or two in presenting myself on 
 your arrival. But I knew not what to do. 
 
 "A deed has been perpetrated in Thessalonica, which 
 has no parallel in history ; which I in vain attempted to 
 prevent ; yes, which I protested would be most atrocious, 
 in the frequent expostulations I addressed to you before- 
 hand ; nor could I extenuate a deed which you, by your 
 own attempt to recall it, have confessed to be heinous. 
 When the news came, I was engaged in a synod, held on 
 the arrival of the Gallic bishops. All assembled deplored 
 it, none viewed it leniently; your friendship with Ambrose 
 weighed nothing in your favour. Surely the odium of 
 the crime would fall even more heavily on me, should 
 no reconciliation to Almighty God be required of you. 
 
 "O emperor, why should you feel shame to act as 
 David acted, — he was a prophet as well as a king, and a 
 forefather of Christ according to the flesh ? A parable 
 was set before him ; and, when he found that by it he 
 himself was condemned, he said, ' I have sinned before 
 the Lord.' Take it not ill, then, O emperor, if the same 
 words are used towards you as the prophet used to 
 David — *Thou art the man.' For if you give due 
 
IV.] ffilj^ ^tniimtt of ffilj^0it0ams. 37 
 
 attention to them, and answer, ' I have sinned against 
 the Lord,' if you utter that royal and prophetic strain, 
 ' O come, let us worship, and fall down, and kneel 
 before the Lord our Maker,' then it will be said to you, 
 ' Since it repenteth thee, the Lord putteth away thy sin : 
 thou shalt not die.' 
 
 " I have written this, not to overpower you, but to 
 induce you, by a royal example, to put away this sin 
 from your kingdom, — that is, — by humbling your soul to 
 God. You are a man ; temptation has come upon you : 
 get the better of it. Tears and penitence are the only 
 remedy for sin, neither angel nor archangel can take 
 it away ; the Lord Himself, who alone can say, ' I am 
 with you always,' even He pardons not except upon 
 penitence. 
 
 " I entreat, I demand, I exhort, I admonish ; for it 
 sorrows me to think that one, who was a pattern of 
 singular mercy, who was remarkable for clemency, and 
 rescued even individual culprits from their difficulties, 
 should now feel no remorse at the death of a guiltless 
 multitude. Successful as you have been in battle, and 
 great in other respects, yet it was mercy which crowned 
 all your doings. The devil has envied your chief ex- 
 cellence. Overcome him while you have the means. 
 Add not one sin to another by conduct from which too 
 many suffer. 
 
 " For my part, debtor as I am to your clemency in 
 all other things, grateful as I must ever be to it, greater 
 as I have ever thought it than that of all other emperors 
 but one, and unsuspicious though I am as yet of con- 
 tumacy on your part, still I have apprehension ; I dare 
 not offer sacrifice if you resolve to attend. Is that 
 lawful when many innocents have bled, w^hich is not 
 lawful in a solitary murder? 1 trow not. 
 
 " O emperor, I much regret that, in the beginning of 
 this business, I left it to the risk of your temper instead 
 of moving in it myself. When I consider that your 
 pardon is suddenly given, suddenly recalled, as often 
 before it would appear that you have been overtaken, 
 and I have not averted what it was not right perhaps to 
 anticipate. But thanks be to God, who is pleased to 
 chastise His poor servants lest He lose them altogether. 
 
3^ 9Clj^ ffiljurrlj of tlj^ JFatb^rs- [chap. 
 
 This is my lot in common with the prophets; be it 
 yours in common with the saints. 
 
 " Do not I love the father of Gratian more even than 
 my own eyes ? Your other innocent children seem to 
 intercede for you also. I mention that beloved youth, 
 not to exclude, but to represent the rest. You have my 
 love, my affection, my prayers. If you have confidence 
 in me, obey me, and allow what I say : if not, make 
 allowance for what I do, in that I prefer God to my 
 sovereign. Gracious emperor, may you and your dear 
 children enjoy everlasting peace." — Ep. 51. 
 
 This letter, which is written rather with the familiarity 
 and affection of a friend than with the measured pre- 
 cision of an ecclesiastical censure, is thus summarily 
 treated by the historian Gibbon : — " His epistle is a 
 miserable rhapsody on a noble subject. Ambrose could 
 act better than he could write. His compositions are 
 destitute of taste or genius " — a remark which may be 
 taken as one instance out of many of obliquity of mind 
 or rapidity of judgment in that able writer. In spite of 
 his apparent candour, few persons have been such 
 genuine haters of Christianity and the Church ; and 
 Ambrose was one of those who most especially merited 
 his disgust, by the intrepidity with which he thrust 
 the claims of sacred truth upon the world, — claims, 
 which unbelievers would fain shut up in the library of 
 the theologian, or within the limits of consecrated 
 ground. 
 
 There is nothing to show how Theodosius bore the 
 remonstrance of Ambrose on the first receipt of it. We 
 next hear of him as attempting to attend divine service 
 at Milan, where Ambrose oflficiated, having by this 
 time returned to the city. He was met at the entrance 
 by the man of God, who thus addressed him : — 
 
 "Surely your majesty is not aware of the heinousness 
 of the slaughter which has taken place. Passion is 
 over ; yet reason does not yet estimate the crime. Per- 
 chance kingly rule is an obstacle to repentance, and 
 sovereignty prevents reflection. Yet it is as well for a 
 man to feel his perishable nature, and remember that 
 dust is his beginning and his end, in spite of that 
 
IV.] ffljB ^znitma oi ^h^ohasinz. 39 
 
 gorgeous purple which may beguile the heart, but can- 
 not reverse the feebleness of the frame it covers. Your 
 subjects, emperor, are your fellow-creatures; I should 
 rather say, your fellow-servants, — servants of one 
 universal Lord and King, the Maker of the universe. 
 Dare you, then, look upon His shrine, who is Lord 
 of low as well as high ? — dare you tread His holy pave- 
 ment? — dare you stretch forth hands, which are yet 
 reeking with the blood of innocent victims ? — dare you 
 receive in them the most holy body of your Lord? — 
 dare you taste His precious blood with lips which have 
 spoken their rage in an unjust slaughter? Go hence; 
 add not a new offence to what is past ; submit to the 
 bond which is placed upon you according to the will of 
 the Most High. Take it as medicine to restore your 
 soul." 
 
 Theodosius yielded to the voice of the Church ; — he 
 retired home, where he remained suspended from 
 Christian communion for eight months. 
 
 Christmas was now come, and the emperor made a 
 second attempt to join in public worship, considering 
 doubtless that he had already suffered a sufficient 
 penance for his crime. His minister, Ruffinus, who had 
 been the adviser of the massacre, had found him in 
 tears ; and on inquiring the cause of his grief, had been 
 reminded of his state of separation from the Church. 
 " Servants and beggars," said the emperor, " may enter 
 freely to join in prayer; but against me the gates of 
 heaven are shut; for well I know what the Lord has 
 so clearly said, 'Whom ye bind shall be bound in 
 heaven.'" Ruflfinus persuaded him to let him go to 
 Ambrose; and Theodosius, impatient at his delay, set 
 out towards the church before his return. When he had 
 got as far as the forum, he was met by his minister, who 
 reported to him the ill success of his mission ; on 
 which, with a noble resolution, he declared he would 
 proceed onwards, and undergo the shame which he had 
 deserved. 
 
 The bishop's apartments, as has already been noticed, 
 were contained within a range of buildings, of which 
 the Basilica formed a part; and thither, not to the 
 
4p ®lj^ ©Ijurrb oi i\ft JFatb^rs. [chap. 
 
 Basilica, Theodosius now betook himself. In the 
 interview which followed, he consented to undergo a. 
 public penance ; and promised to pass a law that thirty 
 days should, in future, intervene between sentence and 
 execution in all cases of death and confiscation. On 
 these terms he reconciled himself to the Church. 
 
 His first appearance in public worship after his absolu- 
 tion, had itself the character of a penance. With all 
 signs of vehement grief, he prostrated himself upon the 
 pavement, and applied the words of the Psalmist to his 
 own situation : — " My soul cleaveth unto the dust : 
 quicken Thou me, according to Thy word." It so 
 happened, when the time came for presenting the 
 oblation at the altar, instead of retiring from the 
 chancel, he remained, through forgetfulness, within 
 the rails, according to the custom of the Eastern 
 Church, there to receive the sacrament. Ambrose 
 ventured not to relax one tittle of the stern discipHne 
 of the Latins, even to reward a penitent monarch. He 
 sent his archdeacon to signify to him that none but 
 ordained persons were allowed to remain in the 
 sanctuary ; on which the emperor promptly retired. 
 Some writers, however, consider that this took place on 
 his first arrival at Milan from the East. 
 
 Theodoret adds, that, on his return to Constanti- 
 nople, one day after making his offering at the altar as 
 usual, he retired, as he had learned from Ambrose, with- 
 out the rails, and was recalled by the Patriarch Nectarius. 
 Upon this he observed, "Of all whom I have met, 
 Ambrose is the only Bishop." 
 
 Perhaps an unlearned reader might imagine Theo- 
 dosius some weak prince, such as might be expected in 
 the latter days of Rome, the offspring and the instru- 
 ment of her degeneracy. For such an one I will quote 
 the unsuspicious evidence of that same historian to whom 
 I have already referred : — 
 
 "The wisdom of his laws, and the success of his 
 arms, rendered his administration respectable in the 
 eyes both of his subjects and of his enemies. He 
 loved and practised the virtues of domestic life, which 
 seldom hold their residence in the palaces of kings. 
 
IV.] ffib^ ^mximtt ai ^Iftobosins. 41 
 
 Theodosius was chaste and temperate ; he enjoyed, 
 without excess, the sensual and social pleasures of the 
 table; and the warmth of his amorous passions was 
 never diverted from their lawful objects. The proud 
 titles of imperial greatness were adorned by the tender 
 names of a faithful husband, an indulgent father. His 
 uncle was raised, by his affectionate esteem, to the rank 
 of a second parent. Theodosius embraced, as his own, 
 the children of his brother and sister; and the ex- 
 pressions of his regard were extended to the most 
 distant and obscure branches of his numerous kindred. 
 His familiar friends were judiciously selected from 
 among those persons who, in the intercourse of private 
 life, had appeared before his eyes without a mask ; the 
 consciousness of personal and superior merit enabled 
 him to despise the accidental distinction of the purple ; 
 and he proved, by his conduct, that he had forgotten 
 all the injuries, while he most gratefully remembered 
 all the favours and services, which he had received 
 before he ascended the throne of the Roman empire. 
 The serious or lively tone of his conversation was 
 adapted to the age, the rank, or the character of his 
 subjects whom he admitted into his society; and the 
 affability of his manners displayed the image of his 
 mind. Theodosius respected the simplicity of the good 
 and virtuous ; every art, every talent of an useful, or 
 even of an innocent nature, was rewarded by his 
 judicious liberality ; and, except the heretics, whom he 
 persecuted with implacable hatred, the diffusive circle 
 of his benevolence was circumscribed only by the limits 
 of the human race. The government of a mighty 
 empire may assuredly suffice to occupy the time and 
 abilities of a mortal : yet the diligent prince, without 
 aspiring to the unsuitable reputation of profound learn- 
 ing, always reserved some moments of his leisure for 
 the instructive amusement of reading. History, whic'i 
 enlarged his experience, was his favourite study. . . . 
 His disinterested opinion of past events was usefully 
 applied as the rule of his own actions ; and Theodosius 
 has deserved the singular commendation, that his 
 virtues always seemed to expand with his fortune ; the 
 season of his prosperity was that of his moderation; 
 
42 ®It^ djurrb oi iht JFatb^rs. [ch. iv. 
 
 and his clemency appeared the most conspicuous after 
 the danger and success of the civil war. But the 
 emperor showed himself much more attentive to relieve 
 the innocent than to chastise the guilty. The oppressed 
 subjects of the West, who would have deemed them- 
 selves happy in the restoration of their lands, were 
 astonished to receive a sum of money equivalent to 
 their losses ; and the liberality of the conqueror sup- 
 ported the aged mother, and educated the orphan 
 daughter of Maximus. A character thus accomplished 
 might almost excuse the extravagant supposition of the 
 orator Pacatus, — that, if the elder Brutus could be per- 
 mitted to revisit the earth, the stern republican would 
 abjure, at the feet of Theodosius, his hatred of kings ; 
 and ingenuously confess, that such a monarch was the 
 most faithful guardian of the happiness and dignity of 
 the Roman people." 
 
 Such was the Great Theodosius : — such in his virtues, 
 in his offence, and in his penitence. 
 
IBaatl tlj4 (gwat 
 
 " Be not afraid of their words, nor be dismayed at their looks, 
 though they be a rebellious house. And thou shalt speak 
 my words unto them, whether they will hear or whether they 
 will forbear ; for they are most rebellious." 
 
 AS Athanasius was the great champion of catholic 
 truth, during the incursions of Arianism upon it, 
 so were Basil and Ambrose, in the East and in the 
 West, the chief instruments in the hands of Providence 
 for repairing and strengthening the bulwarks of the 
 Church, when the fury of the inroad was over. Both 
 had to contend with an Arian sovereign, and both 
 gained their victory by the same means, their popularity 
 with the laity and the vigour of their discipline. From 
 Milan, which had been in heretical possession for twenty 
 years, " round about unto Illyricum," Ambrose preached 
 in the West the gospel of Christ. Basil, whose cares 
 extended from Illyricum down to Egypt,^ was called to 
 a still more arduous post. These countries had from 
 the first been over-run by the Arians, and were, by the 
 middle of the fourth century, in a deplorable state of 
 religious ignorance. Asia Minor was the especial scene 
 of Basil's labours, first as priest, then as bishop of the 
 church of Caesarea and Exarch of Cappadocia, from 
 A.D. 358 to A.D. 379. 
 
 At the former of these dates, Dianius was in posses- 
 sion of the see. He seems to have baptized Basil, who 
 speaks warmly in his praise, expressing the affection and 
 respect he felt for him, and the pleasure he took in his 
 society; and describing him as a man remarkable for 
 
 1 Vide £p. 70. 
 
 43 
 
44 ffib^ Cburrlj of tlj^ JFatb^rs. [chap. 
 
 his virtue, as frank, generous, and venerable, while he 
 was amiable and agreeable in his manners. However, 
 he fell in with the fashion of the age, and had for nearly 
 twenty years sided with the court faction against Athana- 
 sius and his holy cause. Accordingly he signed without 
 scruple the formulary of the council of Ariminum, which 
 was presented to him a.d. 360, and in which the ortho- 
 dox test of the Homoiision being given up, the catholic 
 doctrine was evaded under the pretence of expressing it 
 only in terms of Scripture. Basil felt bitterly this weak- 
 ness, to give it its mildest name, on the part of one he 
 so much loved ; and though he did not consider that 
 there was a call on him for any public protest, he ceased 
 to hold intercourse with him, nor did he come near him 
 till two years afterwards, when Dianius sent for him to 
 attend his death-bed, and professed solemnly his adher- 
 ence to the faith of Nicaea. 
 
 Eusebius, the successor of Dianius, was a bishop 
 of orthodox views, but had little of the theological 
 knowledge or force of character necessary for coping 
 with the formidable heresy with which the Church was 
 assailed. For some reason or other, perhaps from 
 a feeling of jealousy, he manifested a coldness towards 
 the rising theologian, who is to be the subject of this 
 chapter ; and Basil, who was now a priest, unwilling to 
 excite the people, or create parties in the Church, retired 
 from the metropolitan city. 
 
 His retreat, both now and in the lifetime of Dianius, 
 was in Pontus, where he had founded a number of 
 monasteries, over one of which he presided. He had 
 retired thither first about a.d. 355, the year in which 
 St. Anthony died, for the purposes of study and self- 
 discipline ; and to a mind ardent, and sensitive, such as 
 his, nothing was more suitable than such a temporary 
 retreat from the turbulence of ecclesiastical politics. 
 Nor was his life at this time one of inaction or solitude. 
 On occasion of a famine in the neighbouring town and 
 country, he converted his lands into money, to supply 
 the wants of the people ; taking upon himself particu- 
 larly the charge of their children, besides relieving all 
 who applied to him, among whom the Jews are men- 
 tioned as receiving a share in his liberality. His mon- 
 
v.] IBaail tl^t (Bxtat 45 
 
 asteries became, in a short time, schools of that holy 
 teaching which had been almost banished from the sees 
 of Asia; and it is said that he was in the practice of 
 making a circuit of the neighbouring towns, from time 
 to time, to preach to them the Nicene doctrine. This 
 indeed was a benefit which was not unfrequently rendered 
 to the Church, in that hour of apostasy, by these ascetics, 
 and for which we who now live have reason to be grate- 
 ful to them, 
 
 " The reason," says Sozomen, who, however, is some- 
 what too fond of them, "why the doctrines" of Eunomius 
 and ApoUinaris "had not any extensive success, in 
 addition to the causes above mentioned, is, that the 
 Solitaries of the day took part against them. For those 
 of Syria and Cappadocia, and the neighbouring districts, 
 firmly adhered to the creed of Nicaea. At one time, the 
 oriental provinces, from Cilicia to Phoenicia, were near 
 becoming Apollinarian, while those from Cilicia and the 
 Taurus to the Hellespont and Constantinople were ex- 
 posed to the heresy of Eunomius ; each heresiarch having 
 success in his own neighbourhood. And then the history 
 of Arianism was acted over again ; for the populace in 
 those parts had that reverence for the characters and the 
 works of the Sohtaries, as to trust their doctrine as 
 orthodox ; and they shrank from those who held other- 
 wise, as impure, for their adulterate doctrine ; just as the 
 Egyptians followed the Solitaries of Egypt and opposed 
 the Arians." — H/s^. vi. 27. 
 
 Basil had lived in his second retirement about three 
 years, when the attack of the Arians upon the Church 
 of Caesarea, under the emperor Valens, made his loss 
 felt, and his friend, Gregory of Nazianzus, successfully 
 interposed his mediation between him and Eusebius. 
 Gregory's letters are extant, and I here present them to 
 the reader. 
 
 GREGORY TO BASIL. 
 
 " This is a time for good counsel and fortitude. We 
 must surpass others in courage, nor suffer that all our 
 past toil and labour should be undone in a moment. 
 Why do I write thus ? Because our most gracious 
 
4^ ®b^ ffiljurrlj of tlj^ faihtv^, [chap. 
 
 bishop (for such we ought to think and call Eusebius 
 henceforth) has most amicable and kind feelings towards 
 us, and like steel in the fire, is softened by time. I even 
 expect that you will receive a communication from him, 
 with pleasant words, and a summons, as he himself 
 hinted to me, and many of his confidential friends 
 assure me. Let us then anticipate his advances, either 
 by our presence or by writing, or, what would be better 
 still, by first writing and then making our appearance, 
 lest we be hereafter worsted with disgrace, when we 
 might have conquered by a worsting which was honour- 
 able and dignified; which, indeed, most men expect of 
 us. Come, then, according to my entreaty, both on 
 this account, and for the times' sake. In truth, the 
 heretical faction is trampling the Church under foot; 
 some of them are already among us and are at work; 
 others, it is said, will follow soon. Surely there is 
 danger of their sweeping away the word of truth, unless 
 the spirit of our Bezaleel speedily awake, that cunning 
 master-builder of argument and doctrine. If you wish 
 me to be present and to assist in this business, or to 
 be the companion of your journey, I am at your service." 
 —£p. 19. 
 
 It is impossible not to be struck with Gregory's 
 delicacy in this letter, in which he speaks as if he 
 himself were estranged from Eusebius, as well as Basil, 
 though he stood at the time high in his favour. His 
 next letter is to the bishop himself, whose intentions he 
 anticipates with equal delicacy. 
 
 GREGORY TO EUSEBIUS, BISHOP OF CiESAREA. 
 
 " I know I am addressing one who hates insincerity 
 himself, and is especially keen in detecting it in another, 
 though cloaked in ever so artful and subtle a disguise ; 
 and indeed, I may say, if you will pardon the imperti- 
 nence, I am myself averse to it, both by natural disposi- 
 tion and from Christian education. So I write what is 
 uppermost on my mind, and beg you to excuse my free- 
 dom. Indeed it would be an injury to me to restrain 
 me and bid me keep my pain to myself, as a sore 
 
v.] 18asil tlj^ ®nat. 47 
 
 festering in my heart. Proud as I am of your notice, 
 (for I am a man, as some one says before me,) and 
 of your invitations to religious consultations and meet- 
 ings, yet I cannot bear your holiness's past and present 
 slight of my most honoured brother Basil, whom I 
 selected from the first and still possess as my friend, 
 to live with me and study with me, and search with me 
 into the deepest wisdom. I have no need to be dis- 
 satisfied with the opinion I have formed of him, and 
 if I do not say more to his praise, it is lest, in enlarging 
 on his admirable qualities, I should seem to be praising 
 myself. Now, your favour towards me, and discount- 
 enance of him, is as if a man should stroke one's head 
 with one hand, and with the other strike one's cheek ; 
 or decorate a house with paintings and beautify the 
 outside, while he was undermining its foundations. If 
 there is any thing you will grant me, let it be this ; and 
 I trust you will, for really it is equitable. He will 
 certainly defer to you, if you do but pay a reasonable 
 deference to him. For myself, I shall come after him 
 as shadows follow bodies, being small, and a lover of 
 quiet. Miserable indeed should we be, if while we were 
 desirous of wisdom in other matters, and of choosing 
 the better part, we yet thought little of that grace, which 
 is the end of all our doctrine — charity; especially in 
 the case of one who is our bishop, and so eminent, 
 as we well know, in Hfe, in doctrine, and in the govern- 
 ment of his diocese; for the truth must be spoken, 
 whatever be our private feelings." — Ep. 20. 
 
 Great men love to be courted, and little men must 
 not mind rebuffs. Gregory did not succeed in this first 
 attempt with Eusebius, who seems to have been offended 
 at his freedom ; and he himself was disgusted in turn, 
 at the bishop's stiffness. However, the danger of the 
 Church was too great to allow of the continuance of 
 such feelings on either side, and Gregory had, in a little 
 while, the satisfaction of seeing Basil at Caesarea. 
 
 The vigorous talents of Basil soon put to rights the 
 disorders and variances which had been the scandal of 
 the Church of Caesarea; and with the assistance of 
 Gregory, he completely vanquished the Eunomian dis- 
 
4^ ®lj^ fflburrlj 0f iht Jatlr^ra. [chap. 
 
 putants, from whose subtlety the peace of the Church 
 had principally suffered. What was of more consequence 
 to its permanent welfare, he was successful in obliterating 
 all the suspicions his bishop had entertained of him, 
 and at length gained such influence over him, that he 
 had really the government of the see in his own hands. 
 This was the more desirable as Eusebius had not been 
 regularly educated for the ministerial office, but had 
 been called by the caprice of the people to fill the 
 episcopal chair. At length (a.d. 370) Eusebius died ; 
 and Basil, as might be expected, though not without 
 a strong opposition, was elected to supply his place. 
 This opposition was excited by the governing powers of 
 the country, who might naturally be supposed to fear 
 a man of Basil's commanding character, and who were 
 joined by some of the bishops of the exarchate, and by 
 an irreligious party in the city itself. 
 
 He had not been long in his see when he was brought 
 into open collision with the civil power. Valens made 
 a progress through the East, from Constantinople to 
 Antioch, in a.d. 371, 372, with the determination of de- 
 posing the cathoHc bishops in the countries which he 
 traversed ; and about the end of the former year he 
 came to Caesarea. There he called before him the 
 prefect Modestus, as he had done in the other cities, 
 and bade him propose to Basil the alternative of com- 
 municating with the Arians, or losing his see. Modestus 
 conveyed his pleasure to the bishop, and set before him 
 the arguments which had been already found successful 
 with the inferior sort of men, that it was foolish to 
 resist the times, and to trouble the Church about 
 questions of inconsiderable importance ; and he pro- 
 mised him the prince's favour for him and his friends, 
 if he complied. FaiHng by soft language, he adopted a 
 higher tone. Gregory has preserved the dialogue which 
 passed between them. 
 
 "What is the meaning of this, you Basil, (said the 
 prefect, not deigning to style him bishop,) that you 
 stand out against so great a prince, and are self-willed 
 when others yield ? 
 
 " Basil. What would you : and what is my ex- 
 travagance? I have not yet learned it. 
 
v.] Saatl tlj^ (Bvtat, 49 
 
 " MoDESTUS. Your not worshipping after the em- 
 peror's manner, when the rest of your party have given 
 way and been overcome. 
 
 "Basil. I have a Sovereign whose will is otherwise, 
 nor can I bring myself to worship any creature, — I a 
 creature of God, and commanded to be a god. 
 
 " MoDESTUS. For whom do you take me ? 
 
 " Basil. For a thing of nought, while such are your 
 commands. 
 
 " MoDESTUS. Is it, then, a mere nothing for one ' 
 like you to have rank like myself, and to have my 
 fellowship ? 
 
 " Basil. You are prefect, and in noble place : I own 
 it. Yet God's majesty is greater ; and it is much for 
 me to have your fellowship, for we are both God's 
 creatures. But it is as great to be fellow to any other 
 of my flock, for Christianity lies not in distinction of 
 persons, but in faith. 
 
 "The prefect was angered at this, and rose from his 
 chair, and abruptly asked Basil if he did not fear his 
 power. 
 
 " Basil. Fear what consequences ? what sufferings ? 
 
 " MoDESTUS. One of those many pains a prefect can 
 inflict. 
 
 " Basil. Let me know them. 
 
 " MoDESTUS. Confiscation, exile, tortures, death. 
 
 " Basil. Think of some other threat. These have no 
 influence upon me. He runs no risk of confiscation 
 who has nothing to lose, except these mean garments 
 and a few books. Nor does he care for exile, who is not 
 circumscribed by place, who makes it not a home where 
 he now dwells, but everywhere a home whithersoever he 
 be cast, or rather everywhere God's home, whose pilgrim 
 he is and wanderer. Nor can tortures harm a frame so 
 frail as to break under the first blow. You could but 
 strike once, and death would be gain. It would but 
 send me the sooner to Him for whom I live and labour, 
 nay, am dead rather than live, to whom I have long 
 been journeying. 
 
 " MoDESTUs. No one yet ever spoke to Modestus 
 with such freedom. 
 
 " Basil. Peradventure Modestus never yet fell in with 
 
50 ®ij^ ffiljurrfj ai tlj^ IFatlj^rs* [chap. 
 
 a bishop ; or surely in a like trial you would have heard 
 like language. O Prefect, in other things we are gentle, 
 and more humble than all men living, for such is the 
 commandment; so as not to raise our brow, I say not 
 against ' so great a prince,' but even against one of least 
 account. But when God's honour is at stake, we think 
 of nothing else, looking simply to Him. Fire and the 
 sword, beasts of prey, irons to rend the flesh, are an 
 indulgence rather than a terror to a Christian. There- 
 fore insult, threaten, do your worst, make the most of 
 your power. Let the emperor be informed of my 
 purpose. Me you gain not, you persuade not, to an 
 impious creed, by menaces even more frightful." — Greg. 
 Orat. 20, p. 349. 
 
 Modestus parted with him with the respect which 
 firmness necessarily inspires in those who witness it; 
 and, going to the emperor, repeated the failure of his 
 attempt. A second conversation between the bishop 
 and the ministers of the court took place in the presence, 
 as some suppose, of Valens himself, who had generosity 
 enough to admire his high spirit, and to dismiss him 
 without punishment. Indeed, his admiration of Basil 
 occasioned a fresh trial of the archbishop's constancy, 
 more distressing, perhaps, than any which he had 
 hitherto undergone. On the feast of the Epiphany, 
 he attended the church where Basil officiated, with all 
 his court, and heard his sermon. Afterwards followed 
 the ceremony of bringing oblations to the altar, in 
 commemoration of the offerings of the Magi. Valens 
 is said to have been much affected by the chants which 
 accompanied the service, and the order which reigned 
 through the congregation, and almost to have fainted 
 away. At length he made an effort to approach the holy 
 table to offer the oblation ; but none of the ministers of 
 the church presenting himself to receive it from him, his 
 limbs again gave way, and it was only by the assistance 
 of one of them that he was kept from falling. 
 
 It cannot be too much insisted on that the Church 
 gains the respect of the great, not by courting them, 
 but by treating them as her children. It would be a 
 satisfaction, however, to be able to indulge a hope that 
 
v.] aSasU tlj^ (Buat. 51 
 
 the good feelings of the emperor were more than the 
 excitement of the moment, but his persevering persecu- 
 tion of the Catholics for years afterwards forbids the 
 favourable supposition. Yet it was not once only that 
 he trembled before the majestic presence of the exarch 
 of Caesarea, who ensured for his own provinces an 
 immunity, in great measure, of the sufferings with which 
 the Catholics elsewhere were visited, and exerted an 
 influence over him so far, as to gain some of the 
 best of the imperial lands in the neighbourhood, for 
 the endowment of an hospital which he had founded 
 for lepers. 
 
OrSaptet t)i 
 ©rials 0f laatl 
 
 '*As a servant earnestly desireth the shadow, and as an hireling 
 looketh for the reward of his work, so am I made to possess 
 months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed to me." 
 
 ON various occasions, before his episcopate, Basil had 
 shown his care for the poor and afflicted. His 
 sale of his lands to alleviate the miseries of a famine, 
 has already been mentioned : he raised funds for erect- 
 ing and endowing a hospital near Caesarea, principally 
 for lepers, whom he treated with a studious familiarity 
 in order to remove the horror at their persons which 
 their malady commonly excited. The buildings also 
 contained accommodation for travellers, and were so 
 extensive as to go by the name of the "New Town." 
 Institutions such as these have been ever felt as especially 
 characteristic of Christianity, and St. Basil seems to 
 have succeeded in introducing them throughout his 
 province. 
 
 If personal suffering be the providential means of 
 sympathising in the sufferings of others, Basil had 
 abundant opportunities of learning this Christian grace. 
 From his multiplied trials he may be called the Jeremiah 
 or Job of the fourth century, though occupying the 
 honoured place of a ruler in the Church at a time when 
 heathen violence was over. He had a very sickly consti- 
 tution, to which he added the rigour of an ascetic life. 
 He was surrounded by jealousies and dissensions at 
 home ; he was accused of heterodoxy in the world ; he 
 was insulted and roughly treated by great men : and he 
 laboured, apparently without fruit, in the endeavour to 
 restore unity and stabiHty to the Catholic Church. 
 
 52 
 
CH. VI.] ©rials 0f SasiL 53 
 
 If temporal afflictions work out for the saints "an ex- 
 ceeding weight of glory," who is higher in the kingdom 
 of heaven than Basil ? 
 
 I will first give some specimens of his private trials, 
 reserving for the present those which more especially 
 belong to him as bishop. As to his austerities, we 
 know something of them from his own picture what 
 a monk's Hfe should be, and from Gregory's descrip- 
 tion of them. In a letter to the latter, (Ep. 2.) Basil 
 limits the food of his recluses to bread, water, herbs, 
 and but one meal a day, and allows of sleep only till 
 midnight, when they were to rise for prayer. And he 
 says to the emperor Julian, " Cookery with us is idle ; 
 no knife is familiar with blood ; our daintiest meal is 
 vegetables with coarsest bread and vapid wine." £/>. 41. 
 Gregory, in like manner, when expecting a visit from 
 Basil, writes to Amphilochius to send him "some fine 
 pot-herbs, if he did not wish to find Basil hungry and 
 cross." jE/>. 12. And in his account of his friend, after 
 his death, he says, that "he had but one inner and 
 outer garment ; his bed was the ground ; little sleep, no 
 bath ; his food bread and salt, his drink the running 
 stream." Ora^. 20. He slept in a hair-shirt, or other 
 rough garment ; the sun was his fire ; and he braved the 
 severest frosts. Even when bishop he was supported 
 by the continual charity of his friends. He kept 
 nothing. 
 
 His constitution was naturally weak, or rather un- 
 healthy. What his principal malady was, is told us in 
 the following passage of his history, which sets before us 
 another kind of trial, of which one specimen has already 
 come before us. — A widow of rank being importuned 
 with a proposal of marriage from a powerful quarter, 
 fled for refuge to the altar. St. Basil received her. 
 This brought him into trouble with the sub-prefect of 
 Pontus, who summoned him. When he had presented^ 
 himself, the magistrate gave orders to pull off his outer 
 garment. His inner garment, which remained, did not 
 conceal his emaciated body. The brutal persecutor 
 threatened to tear out his liver. Basil smiled and 
 answered, " Thanks for your intention : where it is at 
 present, it has been no slight annoyance." 
 
54 ffifr^ Qtfrurrlj of tlj^ l^atlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 On one occasion he gives the following account of his 
 maladies to Eusebius, bishop of Samosata. 
 
 "What was my state of mind, think you, when I 
 received your piety's letter? When I thought of the 
 feelings which its language expressed, I was eager to fly 
 straight to Syria ; but when I thought of the bodily 
 illness, under which I lay bound, I saw myself unequal, 
 not only to flying, but to turning even on my bed. 
 This is the fiftieth day of my illness, on which our 
 beloved and excellent brother and deacon Elpidius has 
 arrived. I am much reduced by the fever, which, fail- 
 ing what it might feed on, lingers in this dry flesh as in 
 an expiring wick, and so has brought on a wasting and 
 tedious illness. Next, my old plague, the liver, coming 
 upon it, has kept me from taking nourishment, prevented 
 sleep, and held me on the confines of life and death, 
 granting just life enough to feel its inflictions. In 
 consequence I have had recourse to the hot springs, 
 and have availed myself of aid from medical men." — 
 Ep. 138. 
 
 The fever here mentioned seems to have been an 
 epidemic, and so far unusual : but his ordinary state of 
 health will be understood from the following letter, 
 written to the same friend in the beginning of his illness, 
 in which he describes the fever as almost a change for 
 the better. 
 
 "In what state the good Isaaces has found me, he 
 himself will best explain to you ; though his tongue 
 cannot be tragic enough to describe my sufferings, so 
 great was my illness. However, any one who knows 
 me ever so little, will be able to conjecture what it was. 
 For if when I am called well, I am weaker even than 
 persons who are given over, you may fancy what I was 
 when thus ill. Yet since disease is my natural state, it 
 would follow (let a fever have its jest) that in this change 
 of habit, my health became especially flourishing. But 
 it is the scourge of the Lord which goes on increasing 
 my pain according to my deserts ; therefore, I have 
 received illness upon illness, so that now even a child 
 may see that this shell of mine must for certain fail, 
 
VI.] ffidals 0f SaatL 55 
 
 unless perchance God's mercy, vouchsafing to me, in 
 His long-suffering, time for repentance, now, as often 
 before, extricate me from evils beyond human cure. 
 This shall be, as it is pleasing to Him and good for 
 myself." — Ep. 136. 
 
 Eusebius seems to have been especially the confidant 
 of his bodily sufferings. Five years before, he writes to 
 him a similar description in answer to a similar call. 
 " When," he says, " by God's grace and the aid of your 
 prayers, I seemed to be somewhat recovering from my 
 illness and rallied my strength, then the winter came 
 upon me, keeping me indoors and confining me where 
 I was. It was, indeed, much milder than usual, yet 
 enough to prevent, not only my traveUing during it, but 
 even my putting out my head even a little from my 
 room." Ep, 27. And nine years later than this, and 
 three years before his death, he says, that for a time 
 "all remaining hope of life had left him." "I cannot 
 number," he adds, "the various affections which have 
 befallen me, my weakness, the violence of the fever, and 
 the bad state of my constitution." Ep. 198. One 
 especial effect of his complaints was to hinder his 
 travelling, which, as his presence was continually needed, 
 accounts for his frequently insisting on them. To 
 Amphilochius, bishop of Iconium, he writes in the same 
 year : " The remains of my illness are sufficient to keep 
 me from the least motion. I went in a carriage as far 
 as the Martyrs, and had very nearly a relapse ; so I am 
 obliged to beg you to excuse me. If the matter could 
 be put off for a few days, then, by God's grace, I will be 
 with you, and share your counsels." Ep. 202. To a 
 friend, whom at an earlier date he was urging to visit 
 him in his retreat, he says, " You must not answer with 
 Diogenes to Alexander, It is no further from you to me, 
 than from me to you. For my sickness almost makes 
 me like a plant, confined ever to one spot; besides, to 
 live in concealment I account among the first of goods." 
 Ep. 9. He elsewhere speaks of his state of health as 
 " bodily weakness, natural to him from childhood to age, 
 and chastening him according to the just judgment of 
 an Allwise Governor." Ep. 203. At forty-five he calls 
 
5^ ^ht fflburtlj 0f tlj^ Jfatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 himself an old man ; and by the next year he had lost 
 his teeth. He died at the age of fifty. Yet, in spite of 
 his infirmities, he does not seem at all to have spared 
 himself the fatigue of travelling. He writes to Meletius, 
 bishop of Antioch, " Many other journeys from my 
 own country have engaged me. I crossed over to 
 Pisidia, to arrange, in conjunction with the bishops 
 there, the affairs of our Isaurian brethren. The journey 
 to Pontus followed, Eustathius having put Dazimon in 
 sufficient confusion, and persuaded many there to 
 separate from my church. I went as far as my brother 
 Peter's cottage near Neocaesarea. On my return, when 
 I was very ill from the rains and despondency, letters 
 arrived forthwith from the East," &c. — £^. 216. 
 
 Something of St. Basil's tone of mind is seen in the 
 above extracts ; it will be seen more fully in three letters 
 of expostulation to friends, written under very different 
 circumstances. 
 
 The first is a familiar letter to one who, having con- 
 gratulated him on his elevation to the see of Csesarea, 
 was disappointed at not receiving a reply. 
 
 BASIL TO PERGAMIUS. 
 
 " I am naturally forgetful, and have had a multitude 
 of engagements, which has increased my infirmity. If 
 I do not remember receiving a letter from your noble- 
 ness, I believe you sent it to me ; it is impossible you 
 should be incorrect. Yet I am hardly in fault, but he 
 who did not ask for an answer. However, you now 
 receive from me what will at once account for what is 
 past, and have a claim on you for a reply. So, when 
 you next write, you must not think that you are making 
 a second beginning of our correspondence, but merely 
 paying your debt for my present letter. For though it 
 be an acknowledgment of what has gone before, yet 
 being more than twice as long, it will answer the other 
 office too. Do you observe how sharp leisure makes 
 me? My good friend, let me beg of you not to turn, 
 as you have done, what is a small matter into a charge 
 so great, that perhaps no greater baseness could be 
 
VI.] Srtals 0f SasiL 57 
 
 imputed to me. For a forgetfulness of friendships, 
 and insolence from power, contain in them all that is 
 wretched Whether it is that we do not love, as the 
 Lord has bid us, then we have lost His image ; or 
 whether we are puffed up and gorged with vain glory 
 and boasting, we fall into the sure condemnation of the 
 devil. Therefore, if you have accused me advisedly, 
 pray for my escape from the sin which you discern in 
 my conduct; if, on the other hand, from a habit I do 
 not understand, you have fallen upon those words, I 
 shall take comfort and shall tax your goodness to adduce 
 facts in proof of it. Be sure of this, that my present 
 annoyance has been the means of humbling me. I am 
 not likely to forget you till I forget myself; so, for the 
 future, do not take my engagements as a proof of a bad 
 disposition." — Ep. 56. 
 
 Basil's election had been very distasteful to a certain 
 number of the bishops of his province; who, finding 
 they could not prevent it, refused to be present at his 
 consecration, or to hold intercourse with him. Among 
 these was Basil's uncle, Gregory. This was more than 
 usually distressing, inasmuch as Gregory had been more 
 than a common uncle to him. He had been closely 
 connected with Basil's family circle, which was a sort 
 of nursery of bishops and saints. His father, whose 
 name also was Basil, and whose profession was that of 
 rhetoric, was a man of landed property in Pontus and 
 Cappadocia, and of good family, as was his wife 
 Emmelia, Basil's mother. He numbered on the line 
 of both his parents, high functionaries, military and 
 civil. Nor was his descent less illustrious in a Christian 
 aspect. His maternal grandfather was a martyr; his 
 father's parents had been driven to live seven years 
 in the woods and mountains of Pontus, during the 
 Dioclesian persecution. Basil was one of ten children ; 
 three of them Hved to be bishops; four of them are 
 held in remembrance as saints, St. Basil, St. Gregory 
 Nyssen, St. Peter, and St. Macrina, besides his mother 
 St. Emmelia. Another brother, Naucratius, embraced 
 the life of a solitary, and was drowned while engaged 
 in works of mercy. Such being the character of Basil's 
 
58 ®lj^ ©Ijurrlj af i\jt IFatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 paternal home, a difference with Gregory, his paternal 
 uncle, would, under any circumstances, have been 
 painful ; but it so happened that the latter had been 
 called to take on him a father's duties towards Basil 
 and his brothers. His father had died when he was 
 young, and Gregory, who was one of the bishops of 
 Cappadocia, had superintended what remained of his 
 education. His mind had already been formed by 
 three women, his grandmother Macrina, his mother 
 Emmelia, and another Macrina, his eldest sister. 
 
 Basil had conceived that his uncle's estrangement 
 from him was removed ; but on his saying so, his uncle 
 wrote to him to deny the fact. On this he wrote the 
 following letter, which happily had the desired effect. 
 
 BASIL TO HIS UNCLE GREGORY. 
 
 " I have kept silence ; must there be no end of it ? 
 Shall I bear any longer to enforce this most heavy 
 penalty of silence against myself — neither writing nor 
 conversing with you ? Indeed, in persisting hitherto in 
 this melancholy determination, I seem to have a right 
 to use the prophet's words — ' I have been still, and 
 refrained myself as a woman in travail ; ' — always anxious 
 to see or hear from you, always disappointed for my 
 sins. No other cause can be assigned for the present 
 state of things, except that my estrangement from your 
 affection is certainly an infliction on me for old trans- 
 gressions. Yet, if the very name of estrangement be 
 not irreligious, as shown towards you by whomsoever, 
 yet certainly by me, to whom you have been from the 
 first in place of a father. However, the time of my 
 punishment has been long indeed. So I can hold no 
 longer, and am the first to speak : beseeching you to^ 
 remember both me and yourself, who have treated me, 
 all through my life, with a greater tenderness than 
 relationship could claim, and to love the city which I 
 govern for my sake, instead of alienating yourself from 
 it on my account. 
 
 "If, therefore, there is any consolation in Christ, if 
 there is any fellowship of the Spirit, if any bowels and 
 
VI.] Striala ai BasiL 59 
 
 mercies, fulfil my prayer; put an end at once to this 
 gloom, making a beginning of a more cheerful state of 
 things for the future, becoming yourself the guide of 
 the rest towards right, not following another towards 
 wrong. No one's features were ever more strongly 
 marked, than your soul is characterised with peaceable- 
 ness and mildness. It becomes such an one to draw 
 others to him, and to give to all who approach him 
 to be filled, as it were, with the fragrant oil of his own 
 amiableness. There may be obstacles just now; but, 
 in a short time, the blessedness of peace will be recog- 
 nised. But while our dissension gives opportunity to 
 tale-bearers, our complaints of each other must neces- 
 sarily be increasing. It is unbecoming in other parties 
 to neglect me, but more than any, in your venerableness. 
 Tell me if I am anywhere wrong, and I shall be the 
 better in future. But it is impossible to do so without 
 intercourse. If, on the other hand, I have committed 
 no offence, why am I hated ? This I say by way of self- 
 defence. 
 
 " What those churches will say for themselves, which 
 are so unbecomingly partners in our dispute, I will not 
 ask, for I have no wish to give offence by this letter, 
 but to remove it. You are too clear-sighted for any 
 thing of this kind to escape you ; and will take and 
 lay before others a much more accurate view than I can. 
 Indeed, you were sensible of the existing evils in the 
 churches before I was, and have felt them more keenly, 
 having long ago learnt of the Lord not to despise any 
 of the least of His matters. At present, however, the 
 mischief is not confined to one or two individuals, but 
 whole cities and communities are partners in our mis- 
 fortune. Comfort me then, either by coming to see me, 
 or by writing, or by sending for me, or in any way you 
 will. My own earnest wish is, that you would make 
 your appearance in my church, so that both I and my 
 people might be benefited by the sight and the words of 
 your grace. This will be best, if possible ; but I shall 
 welcome any proposition which you will make. Only, 
 let me beg of you to give me some sure intelligence of 
 your intention." — Ep. 59. 
 
6o ^\ft (&hnxt\j ai i\^t fatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 This misunderstanding he surmounted : but the 
 following was of a far more painful matter, being not 
 so much a misunderstanding between friends, as a real 
 difference of view, which did not admit of removal. 
 
 Eustathius had been one of the pupils of Arius at 
 Alexandria, and was admitted into orders at Antioch 
 by the Arians. After a time, he joined the Semi-Arian 
 party in Asia Minor, with whom he continued some 
 years. On the death of Constantius, this party lost the 
 patronage of the court ; and during the reign of Valens, 
 an Arian prince, Eustathius deserted them, and, after 
 a time, professed himself of the emperor's religion. 
 Up to this date he had the friendship of Basil, as 
 bearing about him all the marks of a zealous and honest, 
 though inconsistent, man. He was austere in his 
 manner of life, professed a most strict adherence to 
 truth, and seemed to be possessed of the genuine spirit 
 of Christian love. On occasion of his first lapsing after 
 the death of Constantius, he carried the appearance of 
 sincerity so far as even to betake himself to Rome for 
 the purpose of subscribing the orthodox creed, and to 
 acknowledge publicly his offence. Afterwards he became 
 a bitter enemy of Basil. The following letter was written 
 A.D. 375, about the time of the first rupture between him 
 and Basil, and is interesting as disclosing some particu- 
 lars of the early life of the latter. 
 
 BASIL IN ANSWER TO EUSTATHIUS, BISHOP OF SEBASTE. 
 
 " There is a time for silence, and a time for speaking, 
 as the preacher says ; so now, after keeping silence 
 a sufficient time, it is seasonable to open my mouth 
 in order to explain what is unknown. For great Job 
 himself endured his afflictions silently a long while, 
 manifesting his fortitude by bearing up against the 
 heaviest afflictions. But after fulfilling that silent con- 
 flict, that continued confinement of his grief in the deep 
 of his heart, then he opened his mouth and uttered 
 what all know, and spoke aloud what is told us in 
 Scripture. I too have been near three years silent, 
 and may aspire to the prophet's boast, being as one 
 
VI.] ©rials 0f ISastL 6i 
 
 who heard not, and in whose mouth are no reproofs. 
 Thus I shut up within me the pain I felt from the 
 calumnies heaped upon me. I expected the evil would 
 cure itself; for I supposed that things were said against 
 me, not from any bad feeling, but from ignorance. 
 Now, however, that I perceive the enmity against me 
 continues, and that the parties who manifest it show 
 no sorrow for what they have said, nor are anxious 
 to heal what is past, but increase their united efforts 
 towards the same end which they originally proposed, 
 to annoy me and injure my reputation with the brethren, 
 silence is no longer safe. 
 
 "After long time spent in vanity, and almost the 
 whole of my youth vanishing in the idle toil of studying 
 that wisdom which God has made folly ; when at length, 
 roused as from a deep sleep, I gazed upon the mar- 
 vellous light of Gospel truth, and discerned the un- 
 profitableness of the wisdom taught by the perishing 
 authorities of this world, much did I bewail my wretched 
 life, and pray that guidance would be vouchsafed to 
 me for an entrance into the doctrines of godliness. 
 And above all was it a care to me to reform my heart, 
 which the long society of the corrupt had perverted. 
 So when I read the Gospel, and perceived thence that 
 the best start towards perfection was to sell my goods 
 and share them with indigent brethren, and altogether 
 to be reckless of this life, and to rid my soul of all 
 sympathy with things on earth, I earnestly desired to 
 find some brother who had made the same choice, and 
 who might passage with me over the brief wave of this 
 life. Many did I find in Alexandria, many in the 
 rest of Egypt, and in Palestine, in Coele-Syria and 
 Mesopotamia, whose abstinence and endurance I ad- 
 mired, and whose constancy in prayer I was amazed at ; 
 how they overcame sleep, being broken by no natural 
 necessity, bearing ever a high and free spirit in hunger 
 and thirst, in cold and nakedness, not regarding the 
 body, nor enduring to spend any thought upon it, but 
 living as if in flesh not their own ; how they showed in 
 deed what it is to sojourn in this world, what it is to 
 have our conversation in heaven. Admiring and ex- 
 tolling the life of these men, who could so in deed 
 
62 ®lj^ Cljurrlj 0f tllj^ fsdlnvs. [chap. 
 
 carry about with them the dying of the Lord Jesus, 
 I desired that I myself, as far as I could attain, might 
 be an imitator of them. 
 
 "With this object, finding that there were persons 
 in my own country attempting to rival them, I deemed 
 I had found some aid towards my own salvation, and 
 I made what was seen the token of what was hidden. 
 And since it is difficult to get at the secret heart of 
 a man, I reckoned it was argument enough of humble- 
 ness to have an humble clothing ; and I gave my 
 faith to the coarse garment, and the girdle, and the 
 untanned sandals. And when many would have 
 seduced me from their converse, I bore it not, seeing 
 that these preferred an hardness of life to self-indul- 
 gence: and being taken with their extraordinary life, I 
 was zealous in my defence of them. It followed that 
 1 would not admit of any attack upon their doctrines, 
 though many contended that they were unsound in 
 creed, and secretly disseminated the doctrines of their 
 master, the founder of the now prevailing heresy. 
 Having never myself heard such from them, I thought 
 the report calumnious. Afterwards, when called to the 
 government of the church, what these chosen guardians 
 and keepers of my life turned out to be, with their 
 pretences to loving aid and intercourse, I say not, lest 
 its seeming incredibility should reflect upon myself, 
 or the belief of it should infect the hearer with mis- 
 anthropy. This, indeed, was almost my calamity, had 
 not God's mercies quickly prevented me ; for I well 
 nigh fell into a suspicion of every one, thinking truth 
 was nowhere to be found, being wounded in my mind 
 by their deceitful blows. Yet for a while I kept up 
 some sort of intercourse with them ; and we had several 
 discussions about doctrinal points, and it appeared as 
 if we really agreed. They heard from me the same 
 doctrine which I had ever expressed ; for though I have 
 done many things worthy of groans, yet so much I may 
 boast in the Lord, that I never held erroneous views 
 concerning the Divine nature, nor have had to change 
 my profession. The idea of God which I had from 
 my blessed mother and her mother, Macrina, that has 
 ever grown within me. I did not change about, as 
 
VI.] ©rials 0f %amL 63 
 
 reason unfolded, but perfected the rudiments of faith 
 thus delivered to me. 
 
 " I am charged of blasphemy towards God, though 
 neither former writing, nor word of mouth uttered 
 publicly, as is usual without book in the churches of 
 God, can be brought against me. Ask yourself. How 
 often have you visited me at my monastery on the Iris, 
 when my most religious brother, Gregory, was with me, 
 following the same rule of life as myself? Did you then 
 hear from me any such thing ? or catch any hint of it, 
 strong or slight ? How many days did we pass together 
 as friends in the village opposite with my mother, and 
 discussed subjects night and day, in which we found 
 each other sympathise ? 
 
 "A man ought to take much thought — nay, pass 
 many sleepless nights, and seek his duty from God 
 with many tears, ere he ventures to break up a friend- 
 ship. They ground their conduct altogether on one 
 letter, and that a doubtful one. But in reality this letter 
 is not the cause of their separation. I am ashamed to 
 mention the real reason ; and I should not tell it now, 
 nor indeed ever, had not their present proceedings made 
 it necessary for the general good to publish an account 
 of their whole design. These honest persons considered 
 that intimacy with me would stand in the way of their 
 promotion ; so, since they had committed themselves 
 by a subscription to a creed which I imposed on them, 
 (not that I at that time distrusted their views, I own it, 
 but from a wish to obviate the suspicions which most of 
 my brethren who felt with me entertained against them,) 
 to prevent their rejection on the part of the now 
 ascendant party, on account of this confession, they 
 then renounced my communion ; and this letter was 
 pitched upon as a pretext for the rupture. There cannot 
 be a clearer proof of this than the fact, that on their 
 disowning me, they circulated their accusations on every 
 side before acquainting me with them. Their charge 
 was in the hands of others seven days before it reached 
 me : and these persons had received it from others, and 
 intended to send it on. I knew this at the time from 
 friends who sent me certain intelligence of their 
 measures; but I determined to keep silence, till He, 
 
64 ffilj^ fflljurrb 0f iht fatbits, [chap. 
 
 who brings to light the deep secrets, should make 
 manifest their plans by the clearest and most cogent 
 evidence." — Ep. 223. 
 
 Sensitive, anxious, and affectionate as Basil appears 
 in his letters, he had a reserve and sedateness of 
 manner which his contemporaries sometimes attributed 
 to pride, sometimes to timidity. Gregory Nazianzen 
 notices the former charge, and exclaims, " Is it possible 
 for a man to embrace lepers, abasing himself so far, and 
 yet to be supercilious towards those who are in health ? 
 to waste his flesh with continence, yet be swollen in soul 
 with empty elation? to condemn the Pharisee, and to 
 enlarge on his fall through pride, and to know that 
 Christ descended even to a servant's form, and ate with 
 publicans, and washed the disciples' feet, and disdained 
 not the Cross, that He might nail to it my sin, and yet 
 to soar beyond the clouds and count no one his equal ; 
 as appears to them who are jealous of him ? But 
 I suppose it was the self-possession of his character, 
 and composure and polish, which they named pride." — 
 Oraf. 20. This testimony is the stronger, as coming 
 from one whom on one occasion, as we shall see by and 
 by, Basil did offend, by behaviour which is specified by 
 a modern historian as the great specimen of his pride. 
 Gregory certainly did not so feel it afterwards, though 
 Gibbon thereupon calls Basil a "haughty prelate," as 
 elsewhere for his resistance to Modestus he reproaches 
 him with "inflexible pride." Indeed, Basil's doctrinal 
 views on the subject of pride have even approved them- 
 selves to the fastidious judgment of Protestant contro- 
 versialists, who, in their warfare with Rome, have often 
 alleged with great satisfaction a passage which it will not 
 be out of place here to quote. 
 
 "This is the perfect and absolute glorying in God," 
 says Basil, " when a man is not elated by his own right- 
 eousness, but knows himself to be wanting in true 
 righteousness, and justified by faith alone, which is in 
 Christ. And Paul glories in despising his own right- 
 eousness and seeking that which is through Christ, a 
 ' righteousness which is of God unto faith, in order that 
 he may know Him, and the power of His resurrection, 
 
VI.] frtda of SaatL 65 
 
 and the fellowship of His sufferings, being brought into 
 the form of His death, if by any means he may attain 
 unto the resurrection from the dead.' Here is cast 
 down all height of haughtiness ; nothing is left to thee 
 for boasting, O man, whose glorying and hope lies in 
 mortifying all that is thine, and living the life to come, 
 which is in Christ; of which we, as having the first 
 fruits, already pursue, living wholly in the grace and 
 gift of God. And God it is ' who worketh in us to will 
 and to do of His good pleasure.' That Pharisee, in- 
 trusive and extreme in pride, who not only was confident 
 in himself, but even scoffed at the publican in God's 
 presence, lost the glory of justification for the cause 
 of his pride. Such, too, was the fall of the IsraeHtes ; 
 for being elated against the Gentiles, as unclean, they 
 became really unclean, and the Gentiles were cleansed. 
 And the righteousness of the one became as a filthy 
 rag: while the iniquity and the ungodliness of the 
 Gentiles was wiped out through faith. 
 
 " How, then, shall we attain to saving humiUty, 
 abandoning the deadly elevation of pride? by practis- 
 ing something which is humble in all we do, and by 
 overlooking nothing, from an idea that we shall gain no 
 harm from it. For the soul is influenced by outward 
 observances, and is shaped and fashioned according to 
 its actions. Let, then, thy appearance, and garment, 
 and gait, and sitting, and table, and bedroom, and 
 house, and its furniture, all be directed according to 
 lowliness. And thy speech and singing and conversa- 
 tion, in like manner, look towards meanness, and not 
 exaltation. But perhaps thou art awarded the highest 
 seat, and men observe and honour thee ? Become 
 equal to those who are in subjection ; ' not lording it 
 over God's heritage,' saith scripture; be not Hke to 
 rulers of this world. For whoso would be first, him our 
 Lord bids be servant of all. In a word, follow after 
 humility, as one enamoured of it. Be in love with it, 
 and it shall glorify thee. So shalt thou nobly journey 
 on to true glory, which is among the Angels, which is 
 with God ; and Christ will acknowledge thee as His own 
 disciple, before the Angels, and will glorify thee, if thou 
 learn to copy His humility." — Horn, de Humil. 
 
66 ^]jt ffiljurrlj of tlje JFatl^^rs. [chap. 
 
 The opposite charge to which his reserve gave rise, 
 was that of timidity. It is remarkable that he himself, 
 writing to a friend, playfully notices "the want of 
 spirit" and "the sluggishness" of the Cappadocians, 
 and attributes these qualities to himself. EJj. 48. Ac- 
 cordingly, after his death, the heretic Eunomius accuses 
 the opponent of Valens and Modestus of being " a 
 coward and craven, and skulking from the heavier 
 labours," speaking contemptuously of his "retired 
 cottage and his closely fastened door, and his fluttered 
 manner on persons entering, and his voice, and look, 
 and expression of countenance, and the other symptoms 
 of fear." Greg. Nyss. App. p. 46. This malicious 
 account may be just so far founded on truth, as to 
 make it worth while noticing a curious difference in a 
 little matter which it brings out between Ambrose and 
 Basil ; for while the latter is here represented as fasten- 
 ing his door, it was the peculiarity of Ambrose never to 
 shut himself into his house, but to be accessible at all 
 times. Philostorgius, the Arian historian, in like manner 
 speaks of Basil, as "superior to many in the power of 
 discussion ; but, from timidity of mind, withdrawing 
 from public disputations." And Gregory makes several 
 remarks of his friend, which serve to illustrate the shy- 
 ness or refinement of mind complained of by these 
 writers. The following is curious, as bringing Basil 
 before our eyes. 
 
 " Such were the virtues of the man, such the fulness 
 of his celebrity, that others, in order to gain reputation, 
 copied many even of his peculiarities, nay, his bodily 
 imperfections ; I mean, for instance, his paleness, his 
 beard, the character of his gait, his deliberateness in 
 speaking, as being generally deep in thought, and intent 
 on his subject ; which things most of them copying ill, 
 and indeed not understanding, turned into gloom; — 
 moreover, the quality of his garment, and the shape 
 of his bed, and his mode of eating, nothing of which 
 was studied in him, but natural and spontaneous. And 
 you may fall in with many Basils as far as outside goes, 
 figures in shadow ; it is too much to say echoes. For 
 echo, at least, repeats the last syllables even more 
 
VI.] ©rials ai IBaaiL 67 
 
 clearly ; but these are much farther off from Basil than 
 they desire to be near him. Moreover, it is no longer a 
 common, but the greatest of honours, and with reason, 
 to have ever happened to have been in his company, or 
 to have shown attentions to him, or to carry the memory 
 of any thing said or done by him, playfully or in earnest, 
 since the by-doings of this man are more precious and 
 illustrious than what others do with labour." — Oraf. 20. 
 
 Allusion is made in these last words to Basil's play- 
 fulness. This quality his letters abundantly vindicate to 
 him, though it is of a pensive sort. Lest the reader 
 should go away with a more austere notion of him, I 
 will add the following passage from St. Gregory. 
 
 "Who made himself more amiable than he to the 
 well-conducted ? or more severe when men were in sin ? 
 whose very smile was many a time praise, whose silence 
 a reproof, punishing the evil in a man's own conscience. 
 If he was not full of talk, nor a jester, nor a holder 
 forth, nor generally acceptable from being all things 
 to all men, and showing good-nature ; what then ? Is 
 not this to his praise, not his blame, among sensible 
 men ? Yet, if we ask for this, who so pleasant as he in 
 social intercourse, as I know who have had such ex- 
 perience of him? Who could tell a story with more 
 wit? who could jest so playfully? who could give a hint 
 more delicately, so as neither to be overstrong in his 
 rebuke, nor remiss through his gentleness." — Ora/. 20. 
 
 Basil died on the first of January, a.d. 379, having 
 been born in 329. He rallied before his death, and his 
 last discourses were delivered with more strength than 
 usual. His last act was to ordain some of his im- 
 mediate disciples, that " the things which he had heard " 
 and taught might be transmitted to the next generation, 
 together with the sacred ministry itself. He died with 
 the words " Into Thy hands I commend my spirit." 
 
(Kfiapur bit 
 
 " Then I said, I have laboured in vain ; I have spent my strength 
 for nought, and in vain : yet surely my judgment is with the 
 Lord, and my work with my God." 
 
 THE instruments raised up by Almighty God for the 
 accomplishment of His purposes are of two kinds, 
 equally gifted with faith and piety, but from natural 
 temper and talent, education, or other circumstances, 
 differing in the means by which they promote their 
 sacred cause. The first of these are men of acute and 
 ready mind, with accurate knowledge of human nature, 
 and large plans, and persuasive and attractive bearing, 
 endued with prudence, patience, instinctive tact and 
 decision in conducting matters, as well as boldness 
 and zeal. Such have been many churchmen, in ages 
 whether of more or of less religious error. Such 
 seems to have been the intrepid and single-minded 
 Hildebrand, whose misfortune it was (as they tell us 
 who have studied his times) to have to choose between 
 the popular religion and philosophy, and the entire 
 abandonment of religion. Such, in a purer age, was 
 the majestic Ambrose; such the never-wearied Athan- 
 asius. These latter luminaries of the Church came 
 into public life early, and thus learned how to cope 
 with the various tempers, views, and measures of the 
 men they encountered there. Athanasius was but 
 twenty-seven when he went with Alexander to the 
 Nicene Council, and the year after he was Bishop 
 of Alexandria. Ambrose was consecrated soon after 
 the age of thirty. 
 
 68 
 
CH. VII.] Iab0urs oi ISaaiL 69 
 
 Again, there is an instrument in the hand of Pro- 
 vidence, of less elaborate and splendid workmanship, 
 less marvellous in its political endowments, so to call 
 them, yet not less beautiful in its texture, nor less 
 precious its material. Such is the retired and thought- 
 ful student, who remains years and years in the solitude 
 of a college or a monastery, chastening his soul in secret, 
 raising it to high thought and single-minded purpose, 
 and when at length called into active life, conducting 
 himself with firmness, guilelessness, zeal Hke a flaming 
 fire, and all the sweetness of pureness and integrity. 
 Unlike the first-mentioned weapon of God's designs, 
 such an one is generally unsuccessful in his own day ; 
 he is too artless to persuade, too severe to please : un- 
 skilled in the weaknesses of human nature, unfurnished 
 in the resources of ready wit, negligent of men's 
 applause, unsuspicious, open-hearted, he does his work, 
 and so leaves it ; and it seems to die ; but in the genera- 
 tion after him it lives again, and at a distance of time it 
 is difficult to say, which of the two classes of men have 
 served the cause of truth the more effectually. Such, 
 perhaps, was Basil, who issued from the solitudes of 
 Pontus to rule Hke a king, and minister like the lowest 
 in the kingdom ; yet to meet little but disappointment, 
 and to quit life prematurely in pain and sorrow. Such 
 was his friend, the accomplished Gregory, however 
 different in other respects from him, who left his father's 
 roof for an heretical city, raised a church there, and was 
 driven back into retirement by his own people, as soon 
 as his triumph over the false doctrine was secured. 
 And such, too, we may account the bold and munificent 
 Laud, who was more than forty years old before he 
 quitted Oxford ; firm, energetic, unfortunate in his 
 generation, but in the event "the second founder," 
 as one has called him, " of the English Church." No 
 comparison is, of course, attempted here between the 
 religious excellence of the two descriptions of men ; 
 each of them serves God according to the peculiar gifts 
 given to him. If we might continue our instances by 
 way of comparison, we should say that St. Paul reminds 
 us of the former, and Jeremiah of the latter. 
 
 These remarks are intended as introductory to portions 
 
70 ®b^ ffiljutrlj 0f tift IFatljers. [chap. 
 
 of Basil's letters, on various subjects indeed, but all 
 illustrative of the then distracted state of the Church in 
 his part of Christendom, and of his labours, apparently 
 fruitless at the time, in restoring it to truth and peace. 
 
 The disorders of Christendom, and especially of the 
 East, and still more of Asia Minor, were so great in 
 Basil's day, that a spectator might have foretold the 
 total overthrow of the Church. So violent a convulsion 
 never has been experienced in Christendom since; it 
 would almost seem as if the powers of evil, foreseeing 
 what the kingdom of the saints would be, when once 
 heathen persecutions ceased, were making a final effort 
 to destroy it. In Asia Minor the Church was almost 
 "without form and void;" religious interests were re- 
 duced, as it were, to a state of chaos, and Basil seems 
 to have been the principal of truth and order, divinely 
 formed, divinely raised up, for harmonising the dis- 
 cordant elements, and bringing them to unity of faith 
 and love. However, the fruit did not show itself in his 
 day. Valens persecuted in b.ehalf of Arianism till the 
 year before his death; the Semi-Arians continued their 
 schism after it : and trying to lead them towards the 
 truth, he at once exposed himself to calumnies from his 
 brethren, as if favouring their heresy, and from them, as 
 if maintaining an opposite one. There were dissensions, 
 too, within the Church, as well as without it. I have 
 already spoken of Basil's difference with his predecessor 
 Eusebius, and of a party which his uncle joined, which 
 was formed against him on his succeeding him. 
 Jealousies or suspicions, of which he was the subject, 
 extended throughout his exarchate. He seems to have 
 had authority, more or less defined, over the whole of 
 the country which the Romans called Pontus, which 
 was more than half Asia Minor, and comprised in it 
 eleven provinces. Ancyra, Neocsesarea, Tyana, among 
 other metropolitan sees, acknowledged him more or less 
 as their ecclesiastical superior. Now we have records 
 of his being opposed by the bishops of each of these 
 cities. When he passed out of his own district into the 
 neighbouring patriarchate of Antioch, he found that 
 metropolis distracted by schism ; four bishops in the 
 see at once, two heretical, a third acknowledged by the 
 
VII.] ItabontB oi ^astL 71 
 
 Latins and Alexandrians, a fourth in communion with 
 himself. When he went on to the South and West, and 
 negociated with Alexandria and Rome for the settlement 
 of these disorders, he met with nothing but disappoint- 
 ment, or rather slight and want of sympathy. Such is 
 the history of his episcopate, — for which he exchanged 
 his sweet monastic life. 
 
 As to the party who withstood his election, he over- 
 came most of them in the course of a few years, as he 
 did his uncle, by firmness and kindness, though for a 
 time they gave him trouble. " Our friends," he says to 
 Eusebius of Samosata, shortly after his elevation, "have 
 not shown themselves at all better than we expected. 
 They made their appearance immediately you were gone, 
 and said and did many disagreeable things; and at 
 length departed, confirming their schism with us." — 
 jEp. 20. Three years afterwards he complains to the 
 same friend of the impediments their conduct threw in 
 the way of his exertions for the Church. "That you 
 may not suppose," he says, "that the interests of the 
 Churches are betrayed to our enemies by my negligence, 
 I would have your reverence know, that the bishops in 
 communion with me, whether from disinclination, or 
 from continued suspicion of me and want of frankness, 
 or from that opposition to right measures, which the 
 devil engenders, refuse to act with me. In profession, 
 indeed, the greater number of us are all together, in- 
 cluding the excellent Bosporius ; but in truth they act 
 with me in not one even of the most important matters. 
 The despondency which this occasions is the principal 
 cause why I do not get well, indisposition returning to 
 me continually from excessive grief. What can I do by 
 myself? the canons, as you yourself know, do not permit 
 one man to put them in force. Yet what remedy have I 
 not tried? What rule is there to which I have not 
 called their attention, by letter or in conversation ? For 
 they came up into town on the news of my death ; 
 and when it pleased God that they found me alive, I 
 represented to them what was reasonable. And they 
 defer to me when present, and promise all that is reason- 
 able ; but when they have gone away, they recur to their 
 own opinion." — Ep. 141. 
 
72 ffib^ ClrurrlT oi iht Ifatlj^rjS- [chap. 
 
 Among the injuries which Eustathius inflicted upon 
 Basil, was that of spreading a report that he was a 
 follower of Apollinaris. This calumny, which is alluded 
 to in the letter which I extracted in the last chapter, 
 seems to have reached and been believed by the bishop 
 of Ancyra, by name Athanasius ; who having been once 
 an Arian, had since conformed, and shown a good deal 
 of zeal for the true faith. This bishop said some very 
 harsh things of Basil in consequence ; which led the 
 latter, who had an esteem for him, to write him the 
 following letter : — 
 
 BASIL TO ATHANASIUS, BISHOP OF ANCYRA. 
 
 " I am told by persons who come to me from Ancyra, 
 and that by many more than I can number, and all 
 saying the same thing, that you, dear friend (how may I 
 use mild terms ?) have not the kindest recollections of 
 me, nor feel in the way natural to you. For myself, 
 nothing that can happen astonishes me, be sure of that ; 
 there is no one at all whose change would contradict my 
 expectation, since I have long learned the weakness of 
 human nature and its proneness to turn right round. 
 Hence I think it no great matter, though my cause has 
 fallen back, and for the honour which I had, calumny 
 and slight are my present portion. But this is what 
 seems to me so very strange and preternatural, that 
 you should be the man to be angry or incensed with 
 me; nay, and to use threats against me, as they say 
 who heard them. Now, as to the threats, I must 
 speak frankly, I plainly laughed at them. Indeed, 
 I should be a very child to fear such bugbears. But 
 what is a real cause of apprehension to me, and of 
 much anxiety, is, that an accurate judgment, such as 
 yours, which I believed was preserved for the comfort of 
 the Churches, both as a rare foundation of orthodoxy 
 and a seed of ancient and genuine love, that it should 
 so far yield to the existing state of things, as to trust the 
 calumnies of chance-comers more than your long ex- 
 perience of myself, and to be carried away, without 
 evidence, to such extravagant suspicions. Yet why do 
 I say suspicions ? for a person who was indignant, and 
 
VII.] labcura of IBastL 1^ 
 
 who threatened, as they report of you, seems to have 
 manifested the anger, not of suspicion, but of clear and 
 unanswerable conviction. 
 
 " But as I have said, I ascribe it all to the times ; for 
 what was the trouble, excellent man, in a short letter, to 
 have, as it were, discoursed with me by myself about 
 what you would? or, if you did not like to trust such 
 things to writing, to send for me? But if it was alto- 
 gether necessary to speak out, and the impetuosity of 
 anger left no time for delay, at any rate you might have 
 made use of some intimate friend, who could keep a 
 secret, to convey your message to us. But as things are, 
 who has come to you on any business, whose ears have 
 not been filled with the charge, that I am writing and 
 putting together certain mischievous things? For this 
 was your very word, as accurate reporters say. I have 
 thought a good deal on the subject, but am in as great 
 difficulty as ever. It has come into my mind whether 
 some heretic, maliciously giving my name to his own 
 writing, has not distressed your orthodoxy, and led you 
 to utter that speech. You yourself may free me from 
 my perplexity, if you would kindly state, without reserve, 
 what has induced you to take such offence at me." — 
 Ep. 25. 
 
 Another achievement of the same Eustathius was the 
 separation of a portion of the coast of Pontus from 
 the Church of Csesarea, which for a time caused Basil 
 great despondency, as if he were being left solitary in all 
 Christendom, without communion with other places. 
 With the advice of the bishops of Cappadocia, he 
 addressed an expostulation to these separatists for not 
 coming to him ; a portion of which runs as follows : — 
 
 " Up to this day I live in much affliction and grief, 
 having the feeling present before me, that you are want- 
 ing to me. For when God tells me, who took on Him 
 His sojourn in the flesh for the very purpose that, by 
 patterns of duty, He might regulate our life, and might 
 by His own voice announce to us the Gospel of the 
 kingdom, — when He says, ' By this shall all men know 
 that ye are My disciples, if ye love one another,' and 
 whereas the Lord left His own peace to His disciples as 
 
74 ^ht Cljurrlr oi tht IFatlj^rs- [chap. 
 
 a farewell gift, when about to complete the dispensation 
 in the flesh, saying, * Peace I leave with you, My peace 
 I give you,' I cannot persuade myself that without love 
 to others, and without, as far as rests with me, peaceable- 
 ness towards all, I can be called a worthy servant of 
 Jesus Christ. I have waited a long while for the chance 
 of your love paying us a visit. For ye are not ignorant 
 that we, being exposed to all, as rocks running out in 
 the sea, sustain the fury of the heretical waves, which, 
 in that they break around us, do not cover the district 
 behind. I say 'we,' in order to refer it, not to human 
 power, but to the grace of God, who by the weakness 
 of men shows His power, as says the prophet in the 
 person of the Lord, 'Will ye not fear Me, who have 
 placed the sand as a boundary to the sea ? ' for by the 
 weakest and most contemptible of all things, the sand, the 
 Mighty One has bounded the great and full sea. Since, 
 then, this is our position, it became your love to be 
 frequent in sending true brothers to visit us who labour 
 with the storm, and more frequently letters of love, partly 
 to confirm our courage, partly to correct any mistake of 
 ours. For we confess that we are liable to numberless 
 mistakes, being men, and living in the flesh. 
 
 "Let not this consideration influence you, — 'We 
 dwell on the sea, we are exempt from the sufferings 
 of the generality, we need no succour from others; so 
 what is the good to us of foreign communion?' For 
 the same Lord who divided the islands from the continent 
 by the sea, bound the island Christians to the continental 
 by love. Nothing, brethren, separates us from each other, 
 but deliberate estrangement. We have one Lord, one 
 faith, the same hope. The hands need each other ; the 
 feet steady each other. The eyes possess their clear 
 apprehension from agreement. We, for our part, confess 
 our own weakness, and we seek your fellow-feeling. For 
 we are assured, that though ye are not present in body, 
 yet by the aid of prayer, ye will do us much benefit 
 in these most critical times. It is neither decorous 
 before men, nor pleasing to God, that you should make 
 avowals which not even the Gentiles adopt, which know 
 not God. Even they, as we hear, though the country 
 they live in be sufficient for all things, yet, on account 
 
VII.] labours of SasiL 75 
 
 of the uncertainty of the future, make much of alliances 
 with each other, and seek mutual intercourse as being 
 advantageous to them. Yet we, the sons of fathers, who 
 have laid down the law, that by brief notes the proofs 
 of communion should be carried about from one end 
 of the earth to the other, and that all should be citizens 
 and familiars with all, now sever ourselves from the whole 
 world, and are neither ashamed at our solitariness, nor 
 shudder that on us is fallen the fearful prophecy of the 
 Lord, ' Because of lawlessness abounding, the love of the 
 many shall wax cold.'" — Ep. 203. 
 
 It does not appear what success attended this appeal ; 
 difficulties of a similar but more painful nature, which 
 occurred at the same time, hide from us the sequel of the 
 history. I allude to the alienation of the Church of 
 Neocsesarea, a place dear to Basil as having been his 
 residence in youth, the home of many of his relations, 
 and the see of St. Gregory Thaumaturgus in the third 
 century, from whom, through his father's family, Basil 
 had received his principal traditions of Christian truth. 
 A secret attachment to Sabellian doctrine in the leading 
 persons in the Church seems to have been one chief 
 cause to the opposition shown him ; but there were other 
 causes unknown. It is remarkable that the coolness 
 began in the episcopate of Musonius, whom Basil, how- 
 ever, mentions with much respect and gratitude. He 
 thus speaks of him, on his death, in a letter of condole- 
 ment addressed to the Neocsesareans. This was before 
 Basil's elevation to the episcopate. 
 
 "A man is gone, undeniably pre-eminent among his 
 contemporaries for all earthly endowments, the bulwark 
 of his country, the ornament of the Churches, a pillar 
 and ground of the truth, the firm stay of faith in Christ, 
 a protection to his friends, invincible by his adversaries, 
 a guardian of the rules of the Fathers, a foe to inno- 
 vation ; exemplifying in himself the Church's primitive 
 fashion, moulding the form of the Church committed to 
 him after its ancient constitution, as after some sacred 
 image, so that those who lived with him seemed to have 
 lived with those who have been luminaries in it for two 
 hundred years, and more." He adds, "I would have 
 
7^ ®{r^ Cljurrlj of tlj^ yatb^rs. [chap. 
 
 you aware, that if this blessed man did not concur with 
 me in the pacification of the Churches, on account 
 of certain previous views, as he avowed to me, yet at 
 least I omitted no opportunity, as God knows, and men 
 who have had experience of me, of fellowship of senti- 
 ment with him, and of inviting his assistance in the 
 struggle against heretics." — Ep. 28. 
 
 If Basil's Semi-Arian connexions brought suspicion 
 upon himself in the eyes of Catholic believers, much more 
 would they be obnoxious to persons attached, as certain 
 Neocaesareans were, to the Sabellian party, who were in 
 the opposite extreme to Semi-Arians, and their especial 
 enemies in those times. It is not wonderful, then, that 
 he had, some years after, to write to the Church in 
 question in a strain like the following: — 
 
 " There has been a long silence on both sides, revered 
 and well-beloved brethren, just as if there were angry 
 feelings between us. Yet who is there so sullen and 
 implacable towards the party which has injured him, as 
 to lengthen out the resentment which has begun in 
 disgust through almost a whole life of man? which is 
 happening in our case, no just occasion of estrangement 
 existing, as far as I myself know, but on the contrary, 
 there being, from the first, many strong reasons for the 
 closest friendship and unity. The greatest and first is 
 this, our Lord's command, pointedly saying, *By this 
 shall all men know that ye are My disciples, if ye have 
 love one to another.' Next, if it tend much towards 
 intimacy to have the same teachers, there are to you and 
 to me the same teachers of God's mysteries and spiritual 
 Fathers, who from the beginning were the founders 
 of your Church. I mean the great Gregory, and all 
 who succeeding in order to the throne of your episcopate, 
 Hke stars rising one after another, have tracked the same 
 course, so as to leave the tokens of the heavenly polity 
 most clear to all who desire them. Why is it, then, O 
 venerable among cities, for through you I address the 
 whole city, that no civil writing comes from you, no 
 welcome voice, but your ears are opened to those who 
 aim at slander ? What say I, brethren ? not that I am a 
 sinless person ; not that my life is not full of numberless 
 
VII.] Wabanxs oi !6asiL 77 
 
 faults. I know myself ; and indeed I cease not my tears 
 for my sins, if by any means I may be able to appease 
 my God, and to escape the punishment threatened 
 against them. But this I say : let him who judges me, 
 hunt for motes in my eye, if he can say that his own 
 is clear. And in a word, brethren, if my offences admit 
 of cure, why does not such a one obey the Teacher 
 of the Churches, saying, ' Reprove, rebuke, exhort ' ? 
 If, on the other hand, my iniquity be past cure, why 
 does he not withstand me to the face, and by pubHshing 
 my transgressions, deliver the Churches from the mis- 
 chief which I bring on them ? There are bishops ; let 
 appeal be made to them. There is a clergy in each 
 of God's dioceses; let the most eminent be assembled. 
 Let whoso will, speak freely, that I may have to deal 
 with a charge, not a slander. If the fault be in a point 
 of faith, let the document be pointed out to me. Again, 
 let a fair and impartial inquiry be appointed. Let the 
 accusation be read ; let it be brought to the test, whether 
 it does not arise from ignorance in the accuser, not from 
 blame in the matter of the writing. For right things 
 often do not seem such to those who are deficient in 
 accurate judgment. Equal weights seem unequal, when 
 the arms of the balance are of different sizes. Let no 
 one suppose I am making excuses to evade the charge. 
 It is put into your hands, dearest brethren, to investigate 
 for yourselves the points alleged against me. If there be 
 any thing you do not understand, put questions to me 
 through appointed persons who will do justice to me ; or 
 ask of me explanations in writing. And take all kinds 
 of pains, that nothing may be left unsifted. 
 
 "What clearer evidence can there be of my faith, 
 than that I was brought up by my grandmother, blessed 
 woman, who came from you? I mean the celebrated 
 Macrina, who taught me the words of the most blessed 
 Gregory ; which, as far as memory had preserved down 
 to her day, she cherished herself, while she fashioned 
 and formed me while yet a child, upon the doctrines of 
 piety. And when I gained the capacity of thought, my 
 reason being matured by full age, I travelled over much 
 sea and land, and whomever I found walking in the rule 
 of godliness delivered, those I set down as Fathers. 
 
78 SClj^ ©Ijurrfj af tlj£ JFatlj^ra. [chap. 
 
 "The fair thing would be to judge of me, not from 
 one or two who do not walk uprightly in the truth, but 
 from the multitude of bishops throughout the world, 
 connected with me through the grace of the Lord. 
 Make inquiry of Pisidians, Lycaonians, Isaurians, Phry- 
 gians of both provinces, Armenians your neighbours, 
 Macedonians, Achaeans, Illyrians, Gauls, Spaniards, the 
 whole of Italy, SiciHans, Africans, the healthy part of 
 Egypt, whatever is left of Syria; all of whom send 
 letters to me, and in turn receive them from me. Whoso 
 shuns communion with me, he, it cannot escape your 
 accuracy, cuts himself off from the whole Church. 
 Look round about, brethren, with whom do you hold 
 communion? if you will not receive it from me, who 
 remains to acknowledge you? Do not reduce me to 
 the necessity of counselling any thing unpleasant con- 
 cerning a Church so dear to me. Ask your Fathers, and 
 they will tell you that though our districts were divided 
 in position, yet in mind they were one, and were 
 governed by one sentiment. Intercourse of the people 
 was frequent; frequent the visits of the clergy; the 
 pastors, too, had such mutual affection, that each used 
 the other as teacher and guide in things pertaining to 
 the Lord."—Ep. 204. 
 
 No good could come of these expostulations, however 
 sincere and affectionate, when there was an heretical 
 spirit at work at bottom. But now let us turn from the 
 North to the South, from Basil's own neighbourhood to 
 foreign Churches, from the small Sabellian party to the 
 extended Arian. We shall find fresh trials befalling 
 Basil. Arianism, indeed, itself, in spite of the patron- 
 age of Valens, languished and gave tokens of dying a 
 natural death; but its disputants had raised questions 
 which perplexed numbers whom they did not draw over ; 
 till at length the sacred subject in controversy was so 
 clouded and confused by explanations, refinements, and 
 distinctions, that there seemed no chance of Christians 
 ever becoming unanimous in the orthodox creed. The 
 particular party labouring under this mistiness of theo- 
 logical opinions were called Semi-Arians, or Mace- 
 donians, for reasons it is not necessary here to detail. 
 
VII.] Jtahanx^ oi UaatL 79 
 
 They were zealous opponents of the Arians, though 
 originating from among them ; and, after the death of 
 Constantius (a.d. 361), showed a disposition to come 
 back to the Catholics. A union was partially effected, 
 but matters were still in an unsatisfactory state on Basil's 
 elevation (a.d. 371), when he wrote the following letter 
 concerning them to the great Athanasius, then on the 
 point of removal from the Church below : — 
 
 BASIL TO ATHANASIUS, BISHOP OF ALEXANDRIA. 
 
 *'I suppose there is no one feels such pain at the 
 present condition, or rather want of condition of the 
 Churches, as your Grace; comparing, as you naturally 
 must, the present with the past, and considering the 
 difference between them, and the certainty there is, if 
 the evil proceeds at its present pace, that in a short 
 time the Churches will altogether lose their present 
 constitution. I have often thought with myself, if the 
 corruption of the Churches seems so sad to me, what 
 must be the feelings of one who has witnessed their 
 former stability and unanimity in the faith. And as 
 your Holiness has more abundant grief, so one must 
 suppose you have greater anxiety for their welfare. For 
 myself, I have been long of opinion, according to my 
 imperfect understanding of ecclesiastical matters, that 
 there was one way of succouring our Churches — viz., 
 the co-operation of the bishops of the West. If they 
 would but show, as regards our part of Christendom, the 
 zeal which they manifested in the case of one or two 
 heretics among themselves, there would be some chance 
 of benefit to our common interests; the civil power 
 would be persuaded by the argument derived from their 
 number, and the laity in each place would follow their 
 lead without hesitation. Now there is no one more 
 able to accomplish this than yourself, from sagacity in 
 counsel, and energy in action, and sympathy for the 
 troubles of the brethren, and the reverence felt by the 
 West for your hoary head. Most Reverend Father, 
 leave the world some memorial worthy of your former 
 deeds. Crown your former numberless combats for 
 religion with this one additional achievement. Send to 
 
8o s;ij^ CJljurrlj 0f tlj^ faihtvs. [chap. 
 
 the bishops of the West, from your Holy Church, men 
 powerful in sound doctrine : relate to them our present 
 calamities; suggest to them the mode of relieving us. 
 Be a Samuel to the Churches ; condole with flocks 
 harassed by war; offer prayers of peace; ask grace of 
 the Lord, that He may give some token of peace to the 
 Churches. I know letters are but feeble instruments to 
 persuade so great a thing ; but while you need not to be 
 urged on by others, more than generous combatants by 
 the acclamation of boys, I, on the other hand, am not 
 as if lecturing the ignorant, but adding speed to the 
 earnest. 
 
 " As to the remaining matters of the East, you would 
 perhaps wish the assistance of others, and think it 
 necessary to wait for the arrival of the Western bishops. 
 However, there is one Church, the prosperity of which 
 depends entirely on yourself — Antioch. It is in your 
 power so to manage the one party, and to moderate the 
 other, as at length to restore strength to the Church by 
 their union. You know, better than any one can tell 
 you, that, as wise physicians prescribe, it is necessary to 
 begin with treating the more vital matters. Now what 
 can be more vital to Christendom than the welfare of 
 Antioch? If we could but settle the differences there, 
 the head being restored, the whole body would regain 
 health."— i^:/. 66. 
 
 I have already observed, that there were two orthodox 
 bishops at Antioch, one of the original succession, the 
 other of the Arian, who had conformed. At the period 
 under review, the Eastern bishops, and Basil among 
 them, had bound themselves in communion with the 
 bishop of the Arian stock ; whereas Athanasius, as well 
 as the Western Churches, were, from the very first, on 
 terms of friendship and intercourse with the representa- 
 tive of the original line. In this letter, then, Basil 
 invites Athanasius to what was, in fact, impossible, even 
 to the influence and talents of the primate of Egypt ; 
 for, being committed to one side in dispute, he could 
 not mediate between them. Nothing, then, came of the 
 application. 
 
 Basil next addressed himself to the Western Churches. 
 
VII.] labnurs oi UaatL 8i 
 
 A letter is extant which is seemingly written to the then 
 Pope Damasus, on the subject of the East. "What," 
 he says, " can be more pleasant than to see persons who 
 are so far disjoined by place, yet, by the union of love, 
 connected into harmony of members in the body of 
 Christ? Nearly the whole East, most reverend Father, 
 by which I mean the country from Illyricum to Egypt, 
 labours under a heavy storm and surge. We have been 
 in expectation of a visitation from your tender com- 
 passion, as the one remedy of these evils. Your extra- 
 ordinary love has in past time ever charmed our souls, 
 and they were encouraged for a while by the glad report 
 that there was to be a visitation from you. Send persons 
 like minded with us, either to reconcile the parties at 
 variance, or to bring the Churches of God to unity, or 
 at least to give you a clearer understanding of the 
 authors of the confusion : so that you may be clear in 
 future with whom it is fitting to hold communion. We 
 are pressing for nothing at all new, but what was 
 customary to the other blessed and divinely favoured 
 men of old time, and especially to you. We know, 
 from the memory of former times, as we learn on 
 questioning our Fathers, and from documents which we 
 still preserve, that Dionysius^, that most blessed bishop, 
 who was eminent with you for orthodoxy and other 
 virtues, visited by letter our Church of Caesarea, and 
 consoled by letter our Fathers, and sent persons to 
 ransom the brotherhood from captivity." — Ep. 70. 
 
 He next addressed the Western bishops generally, in 
 two letters, which gave a most painful account of the 
 state of the East. 
 
 BASIL TO HIS HOLY BRETHREN, THE BISHOPS OF 
 THE WEST. 
 
 "The merciful God, who ever joins comfort to 
 affliction, has lately given me some consolation amid 
 my sorrows, in the letters which our most Reverend 
 Father, Athanasius, has transmitted to us from your 
 Holiness. Our afflictions are well known without my 
 
 ^ Bishop of Rome, about A.D. 260. 
 
82 atlj^ Cljurrlj 0f iht Fathers, [chap. 
 
 telling ; the sound of them has now gone forth over all 
 Christendom. The doctrines of the Fathers are despised; 
 apostolical traditions are set at nought ; the speculations 
 of innovators hold sway in the Churches. Men have 
 learned to be theorists instead of theologians. The 
 wisdom of the world has the place of honour, having 
 dispossessed the boasting of the Cross. The pastors 
 are driven away, grievous wolves are brought in instead, 
 and plunder the flock of Christ. Houses of prayer are 
 destitute of preachers ; the deserts are full of mourners : 
 the old bewail, comparing what is with what was ; more 
 pitiable the young, as not knowing what they are de- 
 prived of. What has been said is sufficient to kindle 
 the sympathy of those who are taught in the love of 
 Christ, yet compared with the facts, it is far from 
 reaching their seriousness." — £j>. 90. 
 
 In the second letter, addressed to the bishops of 
 Italy and Gaul, he says : — 
 
 " The danger is not confined to one Church ; not 
 two or three only have fallen in with this heavy tempest. 
 Almost from the borders of Illyricum down to the 
 Thebais, this evil of heresy spreads itself. The doctrines 
 of godliness are overturned ; the rules of the Church 
 are in confusion ; the ambition of the unprincipled 
 seizes upon places of authority; and the chief seat 
 is now openly proposed as a reward for impiety; so 
 that he whose blasphemies are the more shocking is 
 more eligible for the oversight of the people. Priestly 
 gravity has perished ; there are none left to feed the 
 Lord's flock with knowledge ; ambitious men are ever 
 spending in purposes of self-indulgence and bribery, 
 possessions which they hold in trust for the poor. 
 The accurate observance of the canons is no more; 
 there is no restraint upon sin. Unbelievers laugh at 
 what they see, and the weak are unsettled ; faith is 
 doubtful, ignorance is poured over their souls, because 
 the adulterators of the word in wickedness imitate the 
 truth. Religious people keep silence ; but every blas- 
 pheming tongue is let loose. Sacred things are profaned; 
 those of the laity who are sound in faith avoid the 
 places of worship, as schools of impiety, and raise 
 
VII.] labnurs oi fSaatl. S;^ 
 
 their hands in solitude with groans and tears to the 
 Lord in heaven. 
 
 "While, then, any Christians seem yet to be standing, 
 hasten to us ; hasten then to us, our own brothers ; yea, 
 we beseech you. Stretch out your hands, and raise us 
 from our knees, suffer not the half of the world to 
 be swallowed up by error ; nor faith to be extinguished 
 in the countries whence it first shone forth. What is 
 most melancholy of all, even the portion among us 
 which seems to be sound is divided in itself, so that 
 calamities beset us like those which came upon Jeru- 
 salem when it was besieged." — £j>. 93. 
 
 Elsewhere Basil says — "The name of the episcopate has 
 at length attached to wretched men, the slaves of slaves, 
 none of the servants of God choosing to make himself 
 their rivals, none but the abandoned." — £/>. 239. His 
 friend Gregory gives us, in various parts of his works, the 
 very same account of the Eastern Church in his day. 
 "At this time," he says, "the most holy order is like 
 to become the most contemptible portion of all that is 
 ours. For the chief seat is gained by evil doing more 
 than by virtue; and the sees belong not to the more 
 worthy, but to the more powerful. A ruler is easily 
 found, without effort, but recent in point of reputation, 
 sown and sprung up both at once, as fable speaks of 
 giants. We make saints in a day, and we bid men have 
 wisdom who have not learned it, nor brought before- 
 hand anything to their Order, besides the will to rise 
 to it"— Ora^. 20. 
 
 The letters addressed to the Western bishops which 
 have already been reviewed, were written in 372. In 
 the course of three years, Basil's tone changes about his 
 brethren : he had cause to be dissatisfied with them, and 
 above all with Pope Damasus, who showed little zeal for 
 the welfare of the East. Basil's opinion of him is ex- 
 pressed in various letters. For instance, a fresh envoy 
 was needed for the Roman mission ; he had thoughts 
 of engaging his brother Gregory, bishop of Nyssa. 
 "But," he says, "I see no persons who can go with 
 him, and I feel that he is altogether inexperienced in 
 ecclesiastical matters ; and that though a candid person 
 
84 3tlj^ fflljtrrrlj 0f tlje IFatlj^rs* [chap. 
 
 would both value and improve his acquaintance, yet 
 when a majt is high and haughty^ and sits aloft, and is, 
 in consequence, unable to hear such as speak truth to 
 him from the earth, what good can come for the 
 Common weal, from his intercourse with one who is 
 not of the temper to give in to low fiatteryV — Ep. 215. 
 This is not complimentary to Damasus. In another 
 letter, he says to his friend Eusebius, "The saying of 
 Diomede suggests itself as applicable, 'I would thou 
 hadst not begged, for haughty is that man.' For, in 
 truth, an elated mind, if courted, is sure to become 
 only still more contemptuous. Besides, if the Lord 
 be intreated, what need we more? but if God's wrath 
 remain, what succour lies for us in Western siipercilious- 
 ness?'^ They neither know nor bear to learn the true 
 state of things, but pre-occupied by false suspicions, 
 they are now doing just what they did before in the 
 case of Marcellus, when they quarrelled with those who 
 told them the truth, and by their measures strengthened 
 the heresy. As to myself, I had in mind to write to 
 their leader, putting aside form, nothing, indeed, ecclesi- 
 astical, but just so much as to insinuate that they do 
 not know our real state, nor go the way to learn it ; and 
 generally, concerning the impropriety of pressing upon 
 those who are humbled by temptations, or of consider- 
 ing haughtiness as dignity, a sin which is, by itself, 
 sufficient to make God our enemy." — £p. 239. 
 
 Though he began to despair of aid from the West, 
 he did not less need it. By the year 376 matters had 
 got worse in the East, and in spite of his dissatisfaction, 
 he was induced to make a fresh application to his 
 distant brethren. His main object was to reconcile 
 the East and West together, whereas the latter, so far 
 from supporting the Catholics of Asia against the Arians, 
 had been led to acknowledge a separate communion at 
 Antioch, and had thrown suspicion upon the orthodoxy 
 of Basil and his friends. "Why," he expostulates, "has 
 no writing of consolation come to us, no visitation of 
 the brethren, no other of such attentions as are due 
 to us from the law of love ? This is the thirteenth year 
 
 ^ r^s dvTiKTJs 6<ppiJ0i. 
 
VII.] labnitra nf l§astL 85 
 
 since the heretical war rose against us, during which 
 more afflictions have come on the Churches than are 
 remembered since Christ's Gospel was preached. Matters 
 have come to this : — the people have left their houses of 
 prayer, and assemble in deserts ; a pitiable sight, women 
 and children, old men and others infirm, wretchedly 
 faring in the open air amid the most profuse rains, and 
 snow-storms, and winds, and frosts of winter ; and again 
 in summer under a scorching sun. To this they submit, 
 because they will not have part in the wicked Arian 
 leaven." — Ep. 342. He repeats this miserable descrip- 
 tion in another letter, addressed about the same time 
 specially to the bishops of Italy and Gaul. " Only one 
 offence is now vigorously punished, an accurate ob- 
 servance of our fathers' traditions. For this cause the 
 pious are driven from their countries and transported 
 into the deserts. The iniquitous judges have no 
 reverence for the hoary head,, nor for pious abstinence, 
 nor for a Gospel life continued from youth to age. 
 The people are in lamentation ; in continual tears at 
 home and abroad ; condoling in each other's sufferings. 
 Not a heart so stony but at a father's loss must feel 
 bereavement. There is a cry in the city, a cry in the 
 country, in the roads, in the deserts ; one pitiable voice 
 of all uttering melancholy things. Joy and spiritual 
 cheerfulness are no more ; our feasts are turned to 
 mourning ; our houses of prayer are shut up ; our 
 altars deprived of the spiritual worship. No longer 
 are there Christians assembling, teachers presiding, 
 saving instructions, celebrations, hymns by night, or 
 that blessed exultation of souls, which arises from 
 communion and fellowship of spiritual gifts. Lament 
 for us ; that the Only-begotten is blasphemed, and 
 there is no one to protest ; the Holy Spirit is set at 
 nought, and he who could refute is an exile. Polytheism 
 has got possession. They have among them a great 
 God and a lesser; 'Son' is considered not to denote 
 nature but to be a title of honour. The Holy Spirit 
 does not complete the Trinity, nor partake in the divine 
 and Blessed Nature, but, as if one among creatures, 
 is carelessly and idly added to Father and Son. The 
 ears of the simple are led astray, and have become 
 
86 a;i^e ffiljurrlj ai i\^t JFati^^ra. [chap. 
 
 accustomed to heretical profaneness. The infants of 
 the Church are fed in the words of impiety. For 
 what can they do ? Baptisms are in Arian hands ; 
 the care of travellers ; visitation of the sick ; consola- 
 tion of mourners ; succour of the distressed ; helps of 
 all sorts ; administration of the mysteries ; which all, 
 being performed by them, become a bond to the people 
 to be on a good understanding with them ; so that in 
 a little while, even though liberty be granted us, no hope 
 will remain that they, who are encompassed by so lasting 
 a deceit, should be brought back again to the acknow- 
 ledgment of the truth." — Ej>. 243. 
 
 I will add one letter more ; written several years 
 before these last; and addressed to Evagrius, a priest 
 of Antioch, who had taken part in Basil's negociations 
 with Rome, and had expressed an intention, which he 
 did not fulfil, of communicating with Meletius, the 
 bishop of Antioch, whom Basil and the East acknow- 
 ledged. The letter insinuates the same charges against 
 the Western bishops, which we have seen him afterwards 
 expressing with freedom. 
 
 BASIL TO EVAGRIUS, PRESBYTER. 
 
 "So far from being impatient at the length of your 
 letter, I assure you I thought it even short, from the 
 pleasure it gave me reading it. For is there any thing 
 more pleasing than the idea of peace ? Or, is any thing 
 more suitable to the sacred office, or more acceptable 
 to the Lord, than to take measures for effecting it? 
 May you have the reward of the peacemaker, since 
 so blessed an office has been the object of your good 
 desires and earnest efforts. At the same time, believe 
 me, my reverend friend, I will yield to none in my 
 earnest wish and prayer to see the day when those 
 who are one in sentiment shall all fill the same assembly, 
 Indeed, it would be monstrous to feel pleasure in the 
 schisms and divisions of the Churches, and not to 
 consider that the greatest of goods consists in the 
 knitting together the members of Christ's body. But, 
 alas ! my inability is as real as my desire. No one 
 
VII.] Habanvs nf ISastL 87 
 
 knows better than yourself that time alone is the remedy 
 of ills that time has matured. Besides, a strong and 
 vigorous treatment is necessary to get at the root of the 
 complaint. You will understand this hint, though there 
 is no reason why I should not speak out. 
 
 " Self-importance, when rooted by habit in the mind, 
 yields to the exertions of no one man, nor one letter, 
 nor a short time ; unless there be some arbiter in whom 
 all parties have confidence, suspicions and collisions 
 will never altogether cease. If indeed the influence of 
 Divine grace were shed upon me, and gave me power 
 in word and deed and spiritual gifts to prevail with these 
 rival parties, then this daring experiment might be de- 
 manded of me ; though, perhaps, even then you would 
 not advise me to attempt this adjustment of things by 
 myself, without the co-operation of the bishop [Meletius 
 of Antioch] on whom principally falls the care of the 
 Church. But he cannot come hither, nor can I easily 
 undertake a long journey while the winter lasts, or rather 
 I cannot anyhow, for the Armenian mountains will be 
 soon impassable even to the young and vigorous, to say 
 nothing of my continued bodily ailments. I have no 
 objection to write to tell him all this; but I have no 
 expectation that writing will lead to anything, for I know 
 his cautious character, and after all, written words have 
 little power to convince the mind. There are so many 
 things to urge, and to hear, and to reply to, and to 
 object, that a letter has no soul, and is in fact but waste 
 paper. However, as I have said, I will write. Only 
 give me credit, most religious and dear brother, for 
 having no private feeling in the matter. Thank God, 
 I have such towards no one. I have not busied myself 
 in the investigation of the supposed or real complaints 
 which are brought against this or that man ; so my 
 opinion has a claim on your attention as that of one 
 who really cannot act from partiality or prejudice. I 
 only desire, through the Lord's good-will, that all things 
 may be done with ecclesiastical propriety. 
 
 "I was vexed to find from my dear son, Dorotheus, 
 our associate in the ministry, that you had been un- 
 willing to communicate with him. This was not the 
 kind of conversation which you had with me, as well as 
 
88 a;tj^ CItljurdj 0f tlj^ IFatljm. [ch. vh. 
 
 I recollect. As to my sending to the West, it is quite 
 out of the question. I have no one fit for the service. 
 Indeed, when I look round, I seem to have no one on 
 my side. I can but pray I may be found in the number 
 of those seven thousand who have not bent the knee to 
 Baal. I know the present persecutors of us all seek my 
 life ; yet that shall not diminish ought of the zeal which 
 I owe to the Churches of God." — Ep. 156. 
 
 The reader cannot have failed to remark the studiously 
 courteous tone which the foregoing letters display. The 
 truth is, Basil had to deal on all hands with most un- 
 toward materials, which one single harsh or heedless 
 word would have served to set into a blaze. Thus he, 
 the Exarch of Caesarea, made himself the servant of all. 
 " My brother Dorotheus," he writes to Peter of Alex- 
 andria in 377, "distressed me by failing, as you report, 
 in gentleness and mildness in his conversations with 
 your Excellency. I attribute this to the unkindness 
 of the times. For I seem, for my sins, to prosper in 
 nothing, since the worthiest brethren are found deficient 
 in gentleness and fitness for their office, from not acting 
 according to my wishes." — Bp. 266. 
 
 Basil did not live to see the Churches, for which he 
 laboured, in a more Catholic condition. The notes of 
 the Church were impaired and obscured in his part of 
 Christendom, and he had to fare on as he best might, — 
 admiring, courting, yet coldly treated by the Latin world, 
 desiring the friendship of Rome, yet wounded by her 
 superciliousness, — suspected of heresy by Damasus, and 
 accused by Jerome of pride. 
 
IBasil antr ®r^g0r5 
 
 "What manner of communications are these that ye have 
 one to another, as ye walk and are sad ? " 
 
 IT often happens that men of very dissimilar talents 
 and tastes are attracted together by their very dis- 
 similitude. They live in intimacy for a time, perhaps 
 a long time, till their circumstances alter, or some sudden 
 event comes to try them. Then the peculiarities of 
 their respective minds are brought out into action ; and 
 quarrels ensue, which end in coolness or separation. 
 It would not be right or true to say that this is ex- 
 emplified in the instance of the two blessed Apostles, 
 whose " sharp contention " is related in the book of 
 Acts ; for they had been united in spirit once for all by 
 a divine leading ; and yet their strife reminds us of what 
 takes place in life continually. And it so far resembled 
 the every-day quarrels of friends, in that it arose from 
 difference of temper and character in those exalted 
 servants of God. The zealous heart of the Apostle of 
 the Gentiles endured not the presence of one who had 
 swerved in his course; the compassionate spirit of 
 Barnabas felt that a first fault ought not to be a last 
 trial. Such are the two main characters which are 
 found in the Church, — high energy, and sweetness of 
 temper; far from incompatible of course, united in 
 Apostles, though in different relative proportions, yet 
 only partially combined in ordinary Christians, and 
 often altogether parted from each other. 
 
 This contrast of character, leading, first, to intimacy, 
 then to difference, is interestingly displayed, though 
 painfully, in one passage of the history of Basil and 
 
 89 
 
90 ®b^ CljurtlT oi ti^t Jatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 Gregory; — Gregory the affectionate, the tender-hearted, 
 the man of quick feelings, the accomplished, the elo- 
 quent preacher, — and Basil, the man of firm resolve 
 and hard deeds, the high-minded ruler of Christ's flock, 
 the diligent labourer in the field of ecclesiastical politics. 
 Thus they differed ; yet not as if they had not much in 
 common still ; both had the blessing and discomfort 
 of a sensitive mind ; both were devoted to an ascetic 
 life ; both were men of classical tastes ; both were 
 special champions of the orthodox creed; both were 
 skilled in argument, and successful in their use of it; 
 both were in highest place in the Church, the one 
 Exarch of Caesarea, the other Patriarch of Constanti- 
 nople. I will now attempt to sketch the history of their 
 intimacy. 
 
 Basil and Gregory were both natives of Cappadocia, 
 but here, again, under different circumstances ; Basil 
 was born of a good family, and with Christian ancestors ; 
 Gregory was the son of the bishop of Nazianzus, who 
 had been brought up an idolater, or rather an Hypsis- 
 tarian, a mongrel sort of religionist, part Jew, part 
 Pagan. He was brought over to Christianity by the 
 efforts of his wife Nonna, and at Nazianzus admitted 
 by baptism into the Church. In process of time he 
 was made bishop of that city ; but not having very clear 
 doctrinal views, he was betrayed in 360 into signing the 
 Ariminian creed, which caused him much trouble, and 
 from which at length his son rescued him. Caesarea 
 being at no unsurmountable distance from Nazianzus, 
 the two friends had known each other in their own 
 country ; but their intimacy began at Athens, whither 
 they separately repaired for the purposes of education. 
 This was about a.d. 351, when each of them was twenty- 
 two years of age. Gregory came to the seat of learning 
 shortly before Basil, and thus was able to be his host and 
 guide on his arrival ; but fame had reported Basil's merits 
 before he came, and he seems to have made his way, in a 
 place of all others most difficult to a stranger, with a facility 
 peculiar to himself. He soon found himself admired 
 and respected by his fellow- students ; but Gregory was 
 his only friend, and shared with him the reputation of 
 talent and attainments. They remained at Athens four 
 
VIII.] IBaatl anb Clr^gorg* 91 
 
 or five years ; and, at the end of the time, made the 
 acquaintance of Julian, since of evil name in history 
 as the Apostate. Gregory thus describes in after life 
 his early intimacy with Basil : — 
 
 ** Athens and letters followed on my stage ; 
 Others may tell how I encountered them ; — 
 How in the fear of God, and foremost found 
 Of those who knew a more than mortal lore ; — 
 And how, amid the venture and the rush 
 Of maddened youth with youth in rivalry, 
 My tranquil course ran like some fabled spring, 
 Which bubbles fresh beneath the turbid brine ; 
 Not drawn away by those who lure to ill, 
 But drawing dear ones to the better part. 
 There, too, I gained a further gift of God, 
 Who made me friends with one of wisdom high, 
 Without compeer in learning and in life. 
 Ask ye his name?— in sooth, 'twas Basil, since 
 My life's great gain, — and then my fellow dear 
 In home, and studious search, and knowledge earned. 
 May I not boast how in our day we moved 
 A truest pair, not without name in Greece ; 
 Had all things common, and one only soul 
 In lodgement of a double outward frame ? 
 Our special bond, the thought of God above. 
 And the high longing after holy things. 
 And each of us was bold to trust in each, 
 Unto the emptying of our deepest hearts. 
 And then we loved the more, for sympathy 
 Pleaded in each, and knit the twain in one." 
 
 The friends had been educated for rhetoricians, and 
 their oratorical powers were such, that they seemed 
 to have every prize in prospect which a secular ambition 
 could desire. Their names were known far and wide, 
 their attainments acknowledged by enemies, and they 
 themselves personally popular in their circle of acquaint- 
 ance. It was under these circumstances that they took 
 the extraordinary resolution of quitting the world to- 
 gether, — extraordinary the world calls it, utterly perplexed 
 to find that any conceivable objects can, by any sane 
 person, be accounted better than its own gifts and 
 favours. They resolved to seek baptism of the Church, 
 and to consecrate their gifts to the service of the Giver. 
 With characters of mind very different, — the one grave, 
 the other lively; the one desponding, the other san- 
 guine ; the one with deep feeHngs, the other with acute 
 
92 ^\jt Clmrclj 0f the IFatljBra. [chap. 
 
 and warm; — they agreed together in holding, that the 
 things that are seen are not to be compared to the 
 things that are not seen. They quitted the world, while 
 it entreated them to stay. What passed when they 
 were about to leave Athens, represents as in a figure 
 the parting which they and the world took of each 
 other. When the day of valediction arrived, their 
 companions and equals, nay some of their tutors came 
 about them, and resisted their departure by entreaties, 
 arguments, and even by violence. This occasion showed, 
 also, their respective dispositions ; for the firm Basil 
 persevered, and went; the tender-hearted Gregory was 
 softened, and stayed a while longer. Basil, indeed, in 
 spite of the reputation which attended him, had, from 
 the first, felt disappointment with the celebrated abode 
 of philosophy and literature ; and seems to have given 
 up the world from a conviction of its emptiness. " He," 
 says Gregory, "according to the way of human nature, 
 when, on suddenly faUing in with what we hoped to be 
 greater, we find it beneath its fame, experienced some 
 such feeling, began to be sad, grew impatient, and could 
 not congratulate himself on his place of residence. He 
 sought an object which hope had drawn ; and he called 
 Athens ' hollow blessedness.' " Gregory himself, on the 
 contrary, looked at things more cheerfully; as the 
 succeeding sentences show. "Thus Basil; but I re- 
 moved the greater part of his sorrow, meeting it with 
 reason, and soothing it with reflections, and saying, what 
 was the truth, that character is not at once understood, 
 nor except by long time and perfect intimacy, nor are 
 studies estimated by those who are submitted to them, 
 on a brief trial and by slight evidence. Thus I re- 
 assured him, and by continual trials of each other, I 
 bound myself to him." — Oraf. 20. Yet Gregory had 
 inducements of his own to leave the world, not to insist 
 on his love of Basil's company. His mother had 
 devoted him to God, both before and after his birth ; 
 and when he was a child he had a remarkable dream, 
 which made a great impression upon him. "While I 
 was asleep," he says in one of his poems, which runs 
 thus in prose, "a dream came to me, which drew me 
 readily to the desire of incorruptness. Two virgin forms, 
 
VIII.] Sasil antr (Bxtsax^. 93 
 
 in white garments, seemed to shine close to me. Both 
 were fair and of one age, and their ornament lay in their 
 want of ornament, which is a woman's beauty. No gold 
 adorned their neck, nor hyacinth ; nor had they the 
 delicate spinning of the silkworm. Their fair robe was 
 bound with a girdle, and it reached down to their ankles. 
 Their head and face were concealed by a veil, and 
 their eyes were fixed on the ground. The fair glow of 
 modesty was on both of them, as far as could be seen 
 under their thick covering. Their lips were closed in 
 silence, as the rose in its dewy leaves. When I saw them, 
 I rejoiced much ; for I said that they were far more than 
 mortals. And they in turn kept kissing me, who drew 
 light from their lips, fondling me as a dear son. And 
 when I asked who and whence the women were, the 
 one answered, 'Purity,' the other, 'Sobriety;' 'We 
 stand by Christ, the King, and delight in the beauty of 
 the celestial virgins. Come, then, child, unite thy mind 
 to our mind, thy light to our light ; so shall we carry 
 thee aloft in all brightness through the air, and place 
 thee by the radiance of the immortal Trinity.'" — Carm. 
 5. He goes on to say, that he never lost the impression 
 thus made upon him, as " a spark of heavenly fire," or 
 " a taste of divine milk and honey." 
 
 As far, then, as these descriptions go, one might say 
 that Gregory's abandonment of the world arose from an 
 early passion, as it may be called, for a purity higher 
 than his own nature ; and Basil's from a profound sense 
 of the world's nothingness and the world's defilements. 
 Both seem to have viewed it as a sort of penitential 
 exercise, as well as a means towards perfection. 
 
 When they had once resolved to devote themselves 
 to the service of religion, the question arose, how they 
 might best improve and employ the talents committed 
 to them. Somehow, the idea of marrying and taking 
 orders, or taking orders and marrying, building or 
 improving their parsonage, and showing forth the 
 charities, the humanities, and the gentilities of a family 
 man, did not suggest itself to their minds. They fancied 
 that they must give up wife, children, property, if they 
 would be perfect ; and this being taken for granted, that 
 their choice did but lie between two modes of Hfe, both 
 
94 ®b^ fflljurrlj of iht IFatbera. [chap. 
 
 of which they regarded as extreme. Here, then, for a 
 time, they were in some perplexity. Gregory speaks of 
 two ascetic disciplines, that of the solitary, and that of 
 the secular^ ; one of which, he says, profits a man's self, 
 the other his neighbour. Midway, however, between 
 these lay the Coenobite, or what we commonly call the 
 monastic; removed from the world, yet acting in a 
 certain select circle. And this was the rule which the 
 friends at length determined to adopt, withdrawing from 
 mixed society in order to be of the greater service to it. 
 
 The following is the passage in which Gregory de- 
 scribes the life which was the common choice of both 
 of them: — 
 
 Fierce was the whirlwind of my storm-toss'd mind, 
 
 Searching, mid holiest ways, a holier still. 
 
 Long had I nerved me, in the depths to sink 
 
 Thoughts of the flesh, and then more strenuously. 
 
 Yet, while I gazed upon diviner aims, 
 
 I had not wit to single out the best : 
 
 For, as is aye the wont in things of earth. 
 
 Each had its evil, each its nobleness. 
 
 I was the pilgrim of a toilsome course, 
 
 Who had o'erpast the waves, and now look'd round, 
 
 With anxious eye, to track his road by land. 
 
 Then did the awful Tishbite's image rise, 
 
 His highest Carmel, and his food uncouth ; 
 
 The Baptist wealthy in his solitude ; 
 
 And the unencumbered sons of Jonadab. 
 
 But soon I felt the love of holy books, 
 
 The spirit beaming bright in learned lore, 
 
 Which deserts could not hear, nor silence tell. 
 
 Long was the inward strife, till ended thus : — 
 
 I saw, when men lived in the fretful world. 
 
 They vantaged other men, but wrong'd the while 
 
 Their own calm hearts, which straight by storms were tried. 
 
 They who retired held an uprighter port. 
 
 And raised their eyes with quiet strength towards God ; 
 
 Yet served self only on moroser plan. 
 
 And so, 'twixt these and those, I struck my path, 
 
 To meditate with the free solitary, 
 
 Yet to live secular, and serve mankind. 
 
 Not many years passed after their leaving Athens, 
 when Basil put his resolution into practice ; and, having 
 fixed upon Pontus for his retirement, wrote to Gregory 
 to remind him of his promise. Gregory hesitated. Then 
 
 ^ A^vyes and /xiyddes. 
 
viii.] SasU antr (gr^gcrj. 95 
 
 he wrote to expostulate with him. Gregory's answer 
 was as follows : — 
 
 "I have not stood to my word, I own it; having 
 protested, ever since Athens and our friendship and 
 union of heart there, that I would be your companion, 
 and follow a strict life with you. Yet I act against my 
 wish, duty annulled by duty, the duty of friendship by 
 
 the duty of filial reverence However, I still shall 
 
 be able to perform my promise in a measure, if you 
 will accept thus much. I will come to you for a time, 
 if, in turn, you will give me your company here; thus 
 we shall be quits in friendly service, while we have all 
 things common. And thus I shall avoid distressing my 
 parents, without losing yoM "-^Ep. 5. 
 
 When we bear in mind what has been already men- 
 tioned about Gregory's father, we may well believe that 
 there really were very urgent reasons against the son 
 leaving him, when it came to the point, over and above 
 the ties which would keep him with a father and mother 
 both advanced in years. Basil, however, was dis- 
 appointed ; and instead of retiring to Pontus, devoted a 
 year to visiting the monastic institutions of Syria and 
 Egypt. On his return, his thoughts again settled on his 
 friend Gregory; and he attempted to overcome the 
 obstacle in the way of their old project, by placing him- 
 self in a district called Tiberina, near Gregory's own 
 home. Finding, however, the spot cold and damp, he 
 gave up the idea of it. On one occasion, while he was 
 yet living in Caesarea, where for a time he had taught 
 rhetoric, Gregory wrote to him the following familiar 
 letter, as from a countryman to an inhabitant of town, 
 not without a glance at Basil's peculiarities : — 
 
 " You shall not charge Tiberina upon me, with its ice 
 and bad weather ; O, mudless, tip-toeing, capering man ! 
 O, feathered, flighty man, mounted on Abaris's arrow, 
 who, Cappadocian though you be, shun Cappadocia ! A 
 vast injury it is, when you townspeople are sallow, and 
 have not your breath full, and dole out the sun ; and we 
 are plump and in plenty, and have elbow-room ! How- 
 ever, such is your condition ; you are gentlemanlike, and 
 
9^ ®fj^ fflljurrlj 0f tht Jatljers. [chap. 
 
 wealthy, and a man of the world ; I cannot praise it. 
 Say not a word more, then, against our mud (you did not 
 make the town, nor I the winter) ; if you do, I will match 
 our wading with your trading i, and all the wretched 
 things which are found in cities." — Ep. 6. 
 
 Meanwhile Basil had chosen for his retreat, a spot 
 near Neocsesarea, in Pontus, close by the village where 
 lay his father's property, where he had been brought up 
 in childhood by his grandmother Macrina, and whither 
 his mother and sister had retired for a monastic hfe 
 after his father's death. The river Iris ran between the 
 two places. Within a mile of their monastery was the 
 Church of the Forty Martyrs, where father, mother, and 
 sister were successively buried. These Martyrs were a 
 number of the victims of the persecution of Licinius at 
 Sebaste; Emmeha, Basil's mother, had collected their 
 remains, and he himself and his brother Gregory of 
 Nyssa have left us homilies in celebration of them. 
 Here, then, it was that St. Basil dwelt in holy retirement 
 for five or six years. On settHng there, he again wrote 
 to Gregory : — 
 
 " My brother Gregory writes me word that he has 
 long been wishing to be with me, and adds, that you are 
 of the same mind ; however, I could not wait, partly as 
 being hard of belief, considering I have been so often 
 disappointed, and partly because I find myself pulled all 
 ways with business. I must at once make for Pontus, 
 where, perhaps, God wiUing, I may make an end of 
 wandering. After renouncing, with trouble, the idle 
 hopes which I once had, or rather the dreams (for it is 
 well said, that hopes are waking dreams), I departed into 
 Pontus in quest of a place to live in. There God has 
 opened on me a spot exactly answering to my taste, 
 so that I actually see before my eyes what I have often 
 pictured to my mind in idle fancy. 
 
 *' There is a lofty mountain, covered with thick woods, 
 watered towards the north with cool and transparent 
 streams. A plain lies beneath,' enriched by the waters 
 which are ever draining off upon it; and skirted by 
 a spontaneous profusion of trees almost thick enough 
 
VIII.] Uajsil anb (^xtgax^. 97 
 
 to be a fence; so as even to surpass Calypso's Island, 
 which Homer seems to have considered the most beauti- 
 ful spot on earth. Indeed, it is like an island, inclosed 
 as it is on all sides ; for deep hollows cut off two sides 
 of it ; the river, which has lately fallen down a precipice, 
 runs all along the front, and is impassable as a wall; 
 while the mountain extending itself behind, and meeting 
 the hollows in a crescent, stops up the path at its roots. 
 There is but one pass, and I am master of it. Behind 
 my abode there is another gorge, rising into a ledge up 
 above, so as to command the extent of the plain and 
 the stream which bounds it, which is not less beautiful 
 to my taste, than the Strymon, as seen from Amphipolis. 
 For while the latter flows leisurely, and swells into a lake 
 almost, and is too still to be a river, the former is 
 the most rapid stream I know, and somewhat turbid, 
 too, from the rocks just above; from which, shooting 
 down, and eddying in a deep pool, it forms a most 
 pleasant scene for myself or any one else; and is an 
 inexhaustible resource to the country people, in the 
 countless fish which its depths contain. What need 
 to tell of the exhalations from the earth, or the breezes 
 from the river? Another might admire the multitude 
 of flowers, and singing-birds; but leisure I have none 
 for such thoughts. However, the chief praise of the 
 place is, that being happily disposed for produce of 
 every kind, it nurtures what to me is the sweetest 
 produce of all, quietness ; indeed, it is not only rid 
 of the bustle of the city, but is even unfrequented by 
 travellers, except a chance hunter. It abounds indeed 
 in game, as well as other things, but not, I am glad 
 to say, in bears or wolves, such as you have, but in deer, 
 and wild goats, and hares, and the like. Does it not 
 strike you what a foolish mistake I was near making 
 when I was eager to change this spot for your Tiberina, 
 the very pit of the whole earth ? Pardon me, then, if I 
 am now set upon it ; for not Alcmaeon himself, I suppose, 
 would endure to wander further when he had found the 
 Echinades." — E/>. 14. 
 
 Gregory answered this letter by one which is still 
 extant, in which he satirizes, point by point, the picture 
 
9^ ®lj^ (Kfrutrlj 0f tht JFatljera. [chap. 
 
 of the Pontine solitude which Basil had drawn to allure 
 him, perhaps from distaste for it, perhaps in the temper 
 of one who studiously disparages what, if he had 
 admitted the thought, might prove too great a tempta- 
 tion to him. He ends thus : " This is longer, perhaps, 
 than a letter, but shorter than a comedy. For yourself, 
 it will be good of you to take this castigation well ; but 
 if you do not, I will give you some more of it." — JSp. 7. 
 Basil dtd take it well ; but this did not save him from 
 the infliction of the concluding threat ; for Gregory, 
 after paying him a visit, continues in the same bantering 
 strain in a later epistle. 
 
 GREGORY TO BASIL. 
 
 " Since you take my castigation well, I will now give 
 you more of it ; and, to set off with Homer, let us 
 
 ' Pass on, and sing thy garniture within,' 
 
 to wit, the dweUing without roof and without door, — the 
 hearth without fire and smoke, — walls, however, baked 
 enough, lest the mud should trickle on us, while we 
 suffer Tantalus's penalty, thirst amid wet ; — that sad and 
 hungry banquet, for which you called me from Cappa- 
 docia, not as for the frugal fare of the Lotophagi, but as 
 if for Alcinous's board for one lately shipwrecked and 
 wretched. I have remembrance of the bread and of 
 the broth — so they were named — and shall remember 
 them : how my teeth got stuck in your hunches, and 
 next lifted and heaved themselves as out of paste. You, 
 indeed, will set it out in tragic style yourself, taking a 
 sublime tone from your own sufferings. But for me, 
 unless that true lady Bountiful, your mother, had rescued 
 me quickly, showing herself in need, like a haven to the 
 tempest-tossed, I had been dead long ago, getting myself 
 little honour, but much pity, from Pontic hospitality. 
 How shall I omit those ungardenlike gardens, void of 
 pot-herbs ? or the Augean store, which we cleared out 
 and spread over them ; what time we worked the hillside 
 plough, vine-planter I, and awful you, with this neck and 
 hands, which still bear the marks of the toil (O earth 
 and sun, air and virtue ! for I will tragicize a bit), not 
 
VIII.] Sasil anh (^xtigoT^. 99 
 
 the Hellespont to yoke, but to level the steep. If you 
 are not annoyed at this description, nor am I ; but if you 
 are, much more I at the reality. Yet I pass over the 
 greater part, for tender remembrance of those other 
 many things which I have shared with you." — £p. 8. 
 
 This certainly is not a picture of comfort; and 
 curiously contrasts with Basil's romantic view of the 
 same things. But for the following letter, one could 
 fancy that it was too much even for Gregory; but on 
 Basil seeming to be hurt, he wrote thus : — 
 
 GREGORY TO BASIL. 
 
 " What I wrote before, concerning your Pontic abode, 
 was in jest, not in earnest ; but now I write very much 
 in earnest. ' Who shall make me, as in months past, as 
 in the days ' when I had the luxury of suffering hardship 
 with you ? since voluntary pain is higher than involuntary 
 comfort. Who shall restore me to those psalmodies, 
 and vigils, and departures to God through prayer, and 
 that (as it were) immaterial and incorporeal life ? or to 
 that union of brethren, in nature and soul, who are made 
 gods by you, and carried on high ? or to that rivalry in 
 virtue and sharpening of heart which we consigned to 
 written decrees and canons ? or to that loving study of 
 divine oracles, and the light we found in them, with the 
 guidance of the Spirit ? or, to speak of lesser and lower 
 things, to the bodily labours of the day, the wood-drawing 
 and the stone-hewing, the planting and the draining ? or 
 that golden plane, more honourable than that of Xerxes, 
 under which, not a jaded king, but a weary monk did 
 sit ? — planted by me, watered by Apollos, (that is, your 
 honourable self,) increased by God, unto my honour; 
 that there should be preserved with you a memorial of 
 my loving toil, as Aaron's rod that budded was, as 
 Scripture says and we believe, kept in the ark. It is 
 very easy to wish all this, not easy to gain. Do you, 
 however, come to me, and revive my virtue, and work 
 with me ; and whatever benefit we once gained together, 
 preserve for me by your prayers, lest otherwise I fade 
 away by little and little, as a shadow, while the day 
 
loo ^)jt €hnnh oi iht fatlj^ra- [chap. 
 
 declines. For you are my breath, more than the air, 
 and so far only do I live, as I am in your company, 
 either present, or, if absent, by your image." — Ep. 9. 
 
 From this letter it appears that Basil had made up for 
 Gregory's absence by collecting a brotherhood around 
 him, in which he had such success that he is con- 
 sidered the founder of the monastic, that is, the coeno- 
 bitic discipline in Pontus, — a discipline to which the 
 Church gave her sanction as soon as the conversion of 
 the temporal power, by bestowing upon her prosperity 
 for persecution, had increased the reasons for asceticism, 
 and increasing its professors, had created the necessity of 
 order and method among them. The following letter, 
 written at the time of the foregoing letters of Gregory, 
 gives us some insight into the nature of his rule, and the 
 motives and feelings which influenced him : it is too long 
 to do more than extract portions of it. 
 
 BASIL TO GREGORY. 
 
 "Your letter brought you before me, just as one 
 recognizes a friend in his children. It is just like you, 
 to tell me it was little to describe the place without 
 mentioning my habits and method of life, if I wished to 
 make you desirous to join me ; it was worthy of a soul 
 w^hich counts all things of earth as nothing, compared 
 with that blessedness which the promises reserve for us. 
 Yet really I am ashamed to tell you how I pass night 
 and day in this lonely nook. Though I have left the 
 city's haunts, as the source of innumerable ills, yet I 
 have not yet learned to leave myself. I am like a man 
 who, on account of sea-sickness, is angry with the size 
 of his vessel as tossing overmuch, and leaves it for the 
 pinnace or boat, and is sea-sick and miserable still, as 
 carrying his delicacy of stomach along with him. So I 
 have got no great good from this retirement. How- 
 ever, what follows is an account of what I proposed to 
 do, with a view of tracking the footsteps of Him who 
 is our guide unto salvation, and who has said, ' If any 
 one will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take 
 up his cross, and follow Me.' 
 
VIII.] Sajsil antr Clr^gnrj* . -iqi 
 
 "We must strive after a quiet minci.' - As'well' miglit' 
 the eye ascertain an object put before it, while it is 
 wandering restless up and down, and sideways, without 
 fixing a steady gaze upon it, as a mind, distracted by 
 a thousand worldly cares, be able clearly to apprehend 
 the truth. He who is not yet yoked in the bonds of 
 matrimony, is harassed by frenzied cravings, and re- 
 bellious impulses, and hopeless attachments ; he who 
 has found his mate is encompassed with his own tumult 
 of cares : if he is childless, there is desire of children ; 
 has he children, anxiety about their education ; attention 
 to his wife, care of his house, oversight of his servants, 
 misfortunes in trade, quarrels with his neighbours, law- 
 suits, the risks of the merchant, the toil of the farmer. 
 Each day, as it comes, darkens the soul in its own way ; 
 and night after night takes up the day's anxieties, and 
 cheats the mind with illusions in accordance. Now one 
 way of escaping all this is separation from the whole 
 world; that is, not bodily separation, but the severance 
 of the soul's sympathy with the body, and to live so 
 without city, home, goods, society, possessions, means 
 of life, business, engagements, human learning, that the 
 heart may readily receive every impress of divine doctrine. 
 Preparation of heart is the unlearning the prejudices of 
 evil converse. It is the smoothing the waxen tablet 
 before attempting to write on it. Now solitude is of the 
 greatest use for this purpose, inasmuch as it stills our 
 passions, and gives room for principle to cut them out of 
 the soul. Let there, then, be a place such as ours, 
 separate from intercourse with men, that the tenour of 
 our exercises be not interrupted from without. Pious 
 exercises nourish the soul with divine thoughts. What 
 state can be more blessed than to imitate on earth the 
 choruses of Angels ? — to begin the day with prayer, and 
 honour our Maker with hymns and songs ? — as the day 
 brightens, to betake ourselves, with prayer attending on 
 it throughout, to our labours, and to sweeten our work 
 with hymns, as if with salt? Soothing hymns compose 
 the mind to a cheerful and calm state. Quiet, then, as 
 I have said, is the first step in our sanctification : the 
 tongue purified from the gossip of the world ; the eyes 
 unexcited by fair colour or comely shape ; the ear not 
 
I02 gffr^ fltljurcllT 0f iht feAhtxs. [chap. 
 
 relaxing ' the tbtie of mind by voluptuous songs, nor by 
 that especial mischief, the talk of light men and jesters. 
 Thus the mind, saved from dissipation from without, 
 nor, through the senses, thrown upon the world, falls 
 back upon itself, and thereby ascends to the contempla- 
 tion of God. 
 
 " The study of inspired Scripture is the chief way of 
 finding our duty ; for in it we find both instruction about 
 conduct, and the lives of blessed men delivered in writing, 
 as some breathing images of godly living, for the imita- 
 tion of their good works. Hence, in whatever respect 
 each one feels himself deficient, devoting himself to this 
 imitation, he finds, as from some dispensary, the due 
 medicine for his ailment. He who is enamoured of 
 chastity, dwells upon the history of Joseph, and from 
 him learns chaste actions, finding him not only possessed 
 of self-command over pleasure, but virtuously-minded in 
 habit. He is taught endurance from Job. Or, should 
 he be inquiring how to be at once meek and great- 
 hearted, hearty against sin, meek towards men, he will 
 find David noble in warlike exploits, meek and unruffled 
 as regards revenge on enemies. Such, too, was Moses, 
 rising up with great heart upon sinners against God, 
 but with meek soul bearing their evil speaking against 
 himself. 
 
 "This, too, is a very principal point to attend to, — 
 knowledge how to converse ; to interrogate without over- 
 earnestness ; to answer without desire of display ; not to 
 interrupt a profitable speaker, or to desire ambitiously 
 to put in a word of one's own ; to be measured in 
 speaking and hearing ; not to be ashamed of receiving, 
 or to be grudging in giving, information, nor to pass 
 another's knowledge for one's own, as depraved women 
 their supposititious children, but to refer it candidly to 
 the true parent. The middle tone of voice is best, 
 neither so low as to be inaudible, nor ill-bred from its 
 high pitch. One should reflect first what one is going 
 to say, and then give it utterance ; be courteous when 
 addressed, amiable in social intercourse ; not aiming to 
 be pleasant by facetiousness, but cultivating gentleness 
 in kind admonitions. Harshness is ever to be put aside, 
 even in censuring." — jE/>. 2. 
 
VIII.] Saail antr (Bxt^otQ. 103 
 
 These last remarks are curious, considering the account 
 which, as we have seen, Gregory has left us of Basil's 
 own manner. In another epistle, of an apologetic 
 character, he thus speaks of the devotional exercises 
 of his monastery : — 
 
 "Our people rise while it is yet night, for the house 
 of prayer ; and after confessing to God, in distress and 
 affliction and continued tears, they rise up and turn to 
 psalm-singing. And now, being divided into two, they 
 respond to each other, thereby deepening their study of 
 the holy oracles, and securing withal attention of heart 
 without wandering. Next, letting one lead the chant, 
 the rest follow him ; and thus, with variety of psalmody, 
 spending the night, with prayers interspersed ; when day 
 begins to dawn, all in common, as from one mouth 
 and one heart, lift up to the Lord the psalm of con- 
 fession, each making the words of repentance his own." 
 — £p. 207. 
 
 Such was Basil's life till he was called to the priest- 
 hood, which led to his leaving his retirement for Cassarea ; 
 — by night, prayer; by day, manual labour, theological 
 study, and mercy to the poor. 
 
 The next kindly intercourse between Basil and Gregory 
 took place on occasion of the difference between Basil 
 and his bishop, Eusebius; when, as has been already 
 related, Gregory interfered successfully to reconcile them. 
 And the next arose out of circumstances which followed 
 the death of Gregory's brother, Caesarius. On his death- 
 bed he had left all his goods to the poor ; a bequest 
 which was interfered with, first, by servants and others 
 about him, who carried off at once all the valuables on 
 which they could lay hands ; and, after Gregory had come 
 into possession of the residue, by the fraud of certain 
 pretended creditors, who appealed to the law on his 
 refusing to satisfy them. Basil, on this occasion, gained 
 him the interest of the Prefect of Constantinople, and 
 another, whose influence was great at court. 
 
 We now come to the election of Basil to the Exar- 
 chate of Cappadocia, which was owing in no small 
 degree to the exertions of Gregory and his father in 
 his favour. This event, which was attended with con- 
 
I04 €\}t (^hntth oi tht fatlj^ra* [chap. 
 
 siderable hazard of defeat from the strength of the 
 civil party, and an episcopal faction opposed to Basil, 
 doubtless was at the moment a cause of increased 
 affection between the friends, though it was soon 
 the occasion of the difference and coolness which I 
 spoke of in the beginning of this chapter. Gregory, 
 as I have said, was of an amiable temper, fond of retire- 
 ment and literary pursuits, and cultivating Christianity 
 in its domestic and friendly aspect, rather than amid the 
 toils of ecclesiastical warfare. I have also said enough 
 to show that I have no thoughts whatever of accusing 
 him of any approach to self-indulgence ; and his subse- 
 quent conduct at Constantinople made it clear how well 
 he could undergo and fight up against persecution in the 
 quarrel of the Gospel. But such scenes of commotion 
 were real sufferings to him, even independently of the 
 personal danger of them ; he was unequal to the task of 
 ruling, and Basil in vain endeavoured to engage him as 
 his coadjutor and comrade in the government of his 
 exarchate. Let the following letter of Gregory explain 
 his feelings : — 
 
 GREGORY TO BASIL. 
 
 " I own I was delighted to find you seated on the 
 high throne, and to see the victory of the Spirit, in lifting 
 up a light upon its candlestick, which even before did 
 not shine dimly. Could I be otherwise, seeing the 
 general interests of the Church so depressed, and need- 
 ing a guiding hand like yours? However, I did not 
 hasten to you at once, nor will I ; you must not ask it 
 of me. First, I did not, from delicacy towards your own 
 character, that you might not seem to be collecting your 
 partizans about you with indecency and heat, as objectors 
 would say ; next, for my own peace and reputation. 
 Perhaps you will say, 'When, then, will you come, and 
 till when will you delay ? ' till God bids, till the shadows 
 of opposition and jealousy are passed. And I am con- 
 fident it cannot be long before the blind and the lame 
 give way, who shut out David from Jerusalem." — Ej>. 24. 
 
 At length Gregory came to Caesarea, where Basil 
 showed him all marks of affection and respect: and 
 
viii] Uasil antr (BxtQOX^. 105 
 
 when Gregory declined any public attentions, from a 
 fear of the jealousy it might occasion, his friend let 
 him do as he would, regardless, as Gregory observes, 
 of the charge which might fall on himself, of neglecting 
 Gregory, from those who were ignorant of the circum- 
 stances. However, Basil could not detain him long in 
 the metropolitan city, as the following letter shows, 
 which was written on occasion of a charge of heterodoxy 
 being advanced against the archbishop by a monk of 
 Nazianzus, which Gregory had publicly and indignantly 
 opposed, but had written to him for a clearer explana- 
 tion from himself. Basil was much hurt to find he had 
 any thing to explain to Gregory. He answers : — 
 
 " I have received the letter of your religiousness, by 
 the most reverend brother Hellenius ; and what you 
 have intimated, he has told me in plain terms. How 
 I felt on hearing it, you cannot doubt at all. However, 
 since I have determined that my affection for you shall 
 outweigh my pain, whatever it is, I have accepted it as I 
 ought to do, and I pray the Holy God, that my remain- 
 ing days or hours may be as carefully conducted in their 
 disposition towards you, as they have been in past time, 
 during which, my conscience tells me, I have been want- 
 ing to you in nothing, small or great." After saying 
 that his life was a practical refutation of the calumny, 
 that a brief letter would not do what years had failed 
 in doing, and hinting that the matter ought never to 
 have been brought before him, and that they who listen 
 to tales against others will have tales told of themselves, 
 he continues : — 
 
 " I know what has led to all this, and have urged 
 every topic to hinder it ; but now I am sick of the 
 subject, and will say no more about it, — I mean our 
 little intercourse. For had we kept our old promise 
 to each other, and had due regard to the claims which 
 the Churches have on us, we should have been the 
 greater part of the year together ; and then there would 
 have been no opening for these calumniators. Pray 
 have nothing to say to them ; let me persuade you to 
 come here and assist me in my labours, particularly in 
 my contest with the individual who is now assailing me. 
 
io6 ^Ift €hnxth nf tijt faH^tv^. [chap. 
 
 Your very appearance would have the effect of stopping 
 him; directly you show these disturbers of our home 
 that you will, by God's blessing, place yourself at the 
 head of our party, you will break up their cabal, and 
 you will 'shut every unjust mouth that speaketh un- 
 righteousness against God.' And thus facts will show 
 who are your followers in good, and who are the halters 
 and cowardly betrayers of the word of truth. If, how- 
 ever, the Church be betrayed, why then I shall care 
 little to set men right about myself by means of words, 
 who account of me as men would naturally account who 
 have not yet learned to measure themselves. Perhaps, 
 in a short time, by God's grace, I shall be able to refute 
 their slanders by very deed, for it seems likely that I 
 shall have soon to suffer somewhat for the truth's sake 
 more than usual ; the best I can expect is banishment. 
 Or, if this hope fails, after all Christ's judgment-seat is 
 not far distant." — E/>. 71. 
 
 About two years after Basil's elevation, a dispute arose 
 between him and Anthimus, Bishop of Tyana. Cappa- 
 docia had been divided by the civil power into two 
 parts; and Anthimus contended that an ecclesiastical 
 division must necessarily follow the civil, and that, in 
 consequence, he himself, as holding the chief see in the 
 second Cappadocia, was the rightful metropolitan of that 
 province. The justice of the case was with Basil, but 
 he was opposed by the party of bishops who were 
 secretly Arianizers, and had already opposed themselves 
 to his election. Accordingly, having might on his side, 
 Anthimus began to alienate the monks from Basil, to 
 appropriate the revenues of the Church of Caesarea, 
 which lay in his province, and to expel or gain over the 
 presbyters, giving, as an excuse, that respect and offer- 
 ings ought not to be paid to heterodox persons. 
 
 Gregory at once offered his assistance to his friend, 
 hinting to him, at the same time, that some of those 
 about him had some share of blame in the dispute. It 
 happened unfortunately for their intimacy that they 
 were respectively connected with distinct parties in the 
 Church. Basil knew and valued, and gained over many 
 of the Semi-Arians, who dissented from the orthodox 
 
VIII.] ISasil antr (Bxt^otQ. 107 
 
 doctrine more from over-subtlety, or want of clearness 
 of mind, than from unbelief. Gregory was in habits of 
 intimacy with the religious brethren of Nazianzus, his 
 father's see, and these were eager for orthodoxy, almost 
 as a badge of party. In the letter last cited, Basil 
 reflects upon these monks; and, on this occasion, 
 Gregory warned him against Eustathius and his friends, 
 whose orthodoxy was suspicious, and who, being ill- 
 disposed towards Anthimus, were likely to increase the 
 difference between the latter and Basil. It may be 
 observed that it was this connexion between Basil and 
 Eustathius, to which Anthimus alluded, when he ob- 
 jected to pay offerings to the heterodox. 
 
 Gregory's offer of assistance to Basil was frankly 
 made, and seems to have been as frankly accepted. " I 
 will come, if you wish me," he had said, " if so be, to 
 advise with you, if the sea wants water, or you a coun- 
 sellor; at all events, to gain benefit, and to act the 
 philosopher, by bearing ill-usage in your company." — 
 £p. 25. Accordingly, they set out together for Mount 
 Taurus, in the second Cappadocia, where there was an 
 estate or Church dedicated to St. Orestes, the property 
 of the see of Caesarea. On their return with the pro- 
 duce of the farm, they were encountered by the retainers 
 of Anthimus, who blocked up the pass, and attacked 
 their company. This warfare between Christian bishops 
 was obviously a great scandal to the Church, and Basil 
 adopted a measure which he considered would put an 
 end to it. He increased the number of bishopricks in 
 that district, considering that residents might be able to 
 secure the produce of the estate without disturbance, 
 and to quiet and gain over the minds of those who had 
 encouraged Anthimus in his opposition. Sasima was 
 a village in this neighbourhood, and here he determined 
 to place his friend Gregory, doubtless considering that 
 he could not show him a greater mark of confidence 
 than to commit to him the management of the quarrel, 
 or confer on him a post, to his own high spirit more 
 desirable, than the place of risk and responsibiUty. 
 
 Gregory had been unwilling even to be made a priest ; 
 but he shrunk with fear from the office of a bishop. 
 He had on his mind that overpowering sense of the 
 
io8 ®Jj^ OtburrJj 0f i\^t ja%rs. [chap. 
 
 awfulness of the ministerial commission which then 
 prevailed in more serious minds. " I feel myself to 
 be unequal to this warfare," he had said on his ordina- 
 tion, ''and therefore have hid my face, and slunk away. 
 And I sought to sit down in solitude, being filled with 
 bitterness, and to keep silence, from a conviction that 
 the days were evil, since God's beloved have kicked 
 against the truth, and we have become revolting 
 children. And besides this, there is the eternal war- 
 fare with one's passions, which my body of humiliation 
 wages with me night and day, part hidden, part open ; — 
 and the tossing to and fro and whirling through the 
 senses and the delights of life ; and the deep mire in 
 which I stick fast ; and the law of sin warring against 
 the law of the spirit, and striving to efface the royal 
 image in us, and whatever of a divine effluence has 
 been vested in us. Before one has subdued with all 
 one's might the principle which drags one down, and 
 has cleansed the mind duly, and has surpassed others 
 much in approach to God, I consider it unsafe either 
 to undertake cure of souls, or mediatorship between 
 God and man, for some such thing is a priest." — Or. i. 
 With these admirable feelings the weakness of man 
 mingled itself: at the urgent command of his father 
 he submitted to be consecrated; but the reluctance 
 which he had felt to undertake the office was now 
 transferred to his occupying the see to which he had 
 been appointed. An ascetic, like Gregory, ought not 
 to have complained of the country as deficient in beauty 
 and interest, even though he might be allowed to feel 
 the responsibility of a situation which made him a 
 neighbour of Anthimus. Yet such was his infirmity; 
 and he repelled the accusations of his mind against 
 himself by charging Basil with unkindness in placing 
 him at Sasima. On the other hand, it is possible that 
 Basil, in his eagerness for the settlement of his exarchate, 
 too little consulted the character and taste of Gregory ; 
 and, above all, the feelings of duty which bound him to 
 Nazianzus. This is the latter's account of the matter, 
 in a letter which displays much heat, and even resent- 
 ment, against Basil:— "Give me," he says, "peace and 
 quiet above all things. Why should I be fighting for 
 
VIII.] Sajsil antr (^xtQotQ, 109 
 
 sucklings and birds, which are not mine, as if in a 
 matter of souls and church rules ? Well, play the man, 
 be strong, turn every thing to your own glory, as rivers 
 suck up the mountain rill, thinking little of friendship or 
 intimacy, compared with high aims and piety, and dis- 
 regarding what the world will think of you for all this, 
 being the property of the Spirit alone ; while, on my 
 part, so much shall I gain from this your friendship, 
 not to trust in friends, nor to put any thing above God." 
 — ^/. 31. 
 
 In the beginning of the same letter, he throws the 
 blame upon Basil's episcopal throne, which suddenly 
 made him higher than himself. Elsewhere he accuses 
 him of ambition, and desire of aggrandizing himself. 
 Basil, on the other hand, seems to have accused him 
 of indolence and want of spirit. 
 
 Such was the melancholy crisis of an estrangement 
 which had been for some time in preparation. Hence- 
 forth no letters, which are preserved, passed between 
 the two friends; and but one act of intercourse is 
 discoverable in their history. That exception indeed 
 is one of much interest : Basil went to see Gregory 
 at Nazianzus in 374 on the death of Gregory's father. 
 But this was only like a sudden gleam, as if to show 
 that they were "walking in the light," and in that 
 unseen " fellowship one with another " which is justifica- 
 tion and peace; and scarcely mitigates the sorrowful 
 catastrophe, as we are viewing it. Anthimus appointed 
 a rival bishop to Sasima; and Gregory, refusing to 
 contest the see with him, returned to Nazianzus. Basil 
 laboured by himself. Gregory retained his feeling of 
 Basil's unkindness even after his death; though he 
 revered and admired him not less, or even more than 
 before; and attributed his conduct to a sense of duty. 
 In his commemorative oration, after praising his erection 
 of new sees, he says, " Into this measure I myself was 
 brought in by the way. I do not seem bound to use a 
 soft phrase. For admiring as I do all he did, more than 
 I can say, this one thing I cannot praise, for I will con- 
 fess my feeling, which is in other ways not unknown 
 to the world, his extraordinary and unfriendly conduct 
 
no %)jt ©Ijurrlj 0f ttr^ Jatlj^ra- [ch. vm. 
 
 towards me, of which time has not removed the pain. 
 For to this I trace all the irregularity and confusion 
 of my life, and my not being able, or not seeming, 
 to command my feelings, though the latter of the two 
 is a small matter; unless, indeed, I may be suffered 
 to make this excuse for him, that, having views beyond 
 this earth, and having departed hence even before life 
 was over, he viewed everything as the Spirit's ; and 
 knowing how to reverence friendship, then only slighted 
 it, when it was a duty to prefer God, and to make more 
 account of the things hoped for, than things perishable." 
 — Orat 20. 
 
 This lamentable occurrence took place eight or nine 
 years before Basil's death ; he had, before and after it, 
 many trials, many sorrows; but this probably was the 
 greatest of all. 
 
chapter fx 
 
 "O, that I had in the wilderness a lodging-place of wayfaring 
 men, that I might leave my people and go from them ; for 
 they be all adulterers, an assembly of treacherous men." 
 
 "nPHIS, O Basil, to thee, from me,"— thus Gregory 
 -L winds up his sermon upon Basil, — "this offering 
 to thee from a tongue once most dear to thee ! thy 
 fellow in honour and in age ! If it be near thy worth, 
 it is thy favour; for, encouraged by thee, I have set 
 about this oration upon thee. But if it be far from, 
 and much beside my hope, what is to be expected 
 from one worn down with years, sickness, and regret 
 for thee? However, the best we can, is acceptable 
 to God. But O, that thou, divine and sacred heart, 
 mayest watch over me from above, and that thorn in 
 my flesh, which God has given for my discipline, either 
 end it by thy intercessions, or persuade me to bear it 
 bravely ! and mayest thou direct my whole life, even 
 to the end, towards that which is most convenient ! 
 and if I depart hence, then mayest thou receive me 
 there in thy tabernacles." — Ep. 20. The English Church 
 has removed such addresses from her services, on 
 account of the abuses to which they have led ; and 
 she pointedly condemns what she calls, the Romish 
 doctrine concerning Invocation of Saints, as "a fond 
 thing : " however Gregory, not knowing what would 
 come after his day, thus expressed the yearnings of 
 his heart, and, as we may almost suppose, at the time 
 he thus made them public, had already received an 
 answer to them. He delivered the discourse from which 
 I have been quoting, on his return to Csesarea from 
 
 III 
 
112 ^\jt ffiljurrlj 0f ilr^ failnv^. [chap. 
 
 Constantinople, three years after St. Basil's death ; an 
 eventful three years, in which he had been quite a 
 different man from what he was before, though it was 
 all past and over now, and about to be succeeded by 
 a return to the retirement in which Basil's death found 
 him. 
 
 Gregory disliked the routine intercourse of life ; he 
 disliked ecclesiastical business, he disliked publicity, he 
 disliked strife, he felt his own manifold imperfections, 
 he feared to disgrace his profession, and to lose his 
 hope ; he loved the independence of solitude, the tran- 
 quillity of private life ; leisure for meditation, reflection, 
 self-government, study, and Hterature. He admired, yet 
 he playfully satirized, Basil's romantic views and lofty 
 efforts. Yet, upon Basil's death, Basil's spirit, as it 
 were, came into him; and within four months of it, 
 he had become a preacher of the orthodox faith in an 
 heretical metropolis, had formed a congregation, had set 
 apart a place of worship, and had been stoned by the 
 populace. Was it Gregory, or was it Basil, that blew 
 the trumpet in Constantinople, and waged a successful 
 war in the very seat of the enemy, in despite of all 
 fluctuations of mind, misgivings, fastidiousness, disgust 
 with self, and love of quiet? Such was the power of 
 the great Basil, triumphing in his death, though failing 
 up to it. Within four or five years of it, all the objects 
 were either realized, or in the way to be realized, which 
 he had in vain attempted, and sadly waited for. His 
 eyes had failed in longing ; they waited for the morning, 
 and death closed them ere it came. He died on the 
 I St of January, 379; on the 19th of the same month 
 Theodosius was invested with the imperial purple ; by 
 the 20th of April Gregory had formed a Church in 
 Constantinople ; in February, in the following year, 
 Theodosius declared for the Church ; in November 
 he restored the Churches of Constantinople to the 
 Catholics. In the next May he convoked, in that 
 city, the second General Council, which issued in the 
 pacification of the Eastern Church, the overthrow of 
 the great heresy which troubled it, and in a measure 
 and in prospect its union with the West. " Pretiosa in 
 conspectu Domini mors sanctorum ejus." 
 
IX.] Jlis^ ani |FaU oi (Bxts^v^* ^^3 
 
 Under such circumstances it was, when he had passed 
 through many things, and done a great work, when he, a 
 recluse hitherto, had all at once been preacher, con- 
 fessor, metropolitan, president of a General Council, 
 and now was come back again to Asia as plain 
 Gregory — to be what he had been before, to meditate 
 and to do penance, and to read, and to write poems, 
 and to be silent, as in former years, except that he 
 was now lonely, — his friend dead, his father dead, 
 mother dead, brother Caesarius, sister Gorgonia dead, 
 and himself dead in this world, though still to live in 
 the flesh for some eight dreary years, — in such a time 
 and in such a place, at Csesarea, the scene of Basil's 
 labours, he made the oration, which the above invocation 
 terminates ; and he closed it thus : — 
 
 "And when I depart hence, mayest thou receive me 
 into thy tabernacles, so that living together with one 
 another, and beholding together more clearly and more 
 perfectly the holy and Blessed Trinity, whose vision we 
 now receive in poor glimpses, we may there end all our 
 desires, the reward of the warfare which we have waged, 
 which we have endured ! To thee, then, these words 
 from me ; but me who is there to praise, leaving life 
 after thee? even should I do ought praiseworthy, in 
 Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be glory for ever. — 
 Amen." 
 
 The circumstances which brought Gregory to Con- 
 stantinople were as follow : — It was now about forty 
 years since the Church of Constantinople enjoyed the 
 blessing of orthodox teaching and worship. Paul, who 
 had been elected bishop at the beginning of this period, 
 had been visited with four successive banishments from 
 the Arian party, and at length with martyrdom. He 
 had been superseded, first, by Eusebius, the leader of 
 the Arians ; then by Macedonius, the head of the sect 
 which denied the divinity of the Holy Spirit ; and then 
 by Eudoxius, the Arianizer of the Gothic tribes. On 
 the death of the last mentioned, a.d. 370, the remnant 
 of the orthodox elected for their bishop, Evagrius, who 
 was immediately banished by the emperor Valens ; and, 
 when they petitioned him to reverse his decision, eighty 
 
114 ®It^ ffifrurrlj 0f iht fathtx^* [chap. 
 
 of their ecclesiastics, who were the bearers of their 
 complaints, were subjected to a sentence severer even 
 than our celebrated prcemunire^ being burned at sea 
 in the ship in which they were embarked. In the 
 year 379, the orthodox Theodosius succeeded to the 
 empire of the East; but this event did not at once 
 alter the fortunes of the Church in his metropolis. 
 The body of the people, nay, the populace itself, and, 
 what is stranger, numbers of the female population, were 
 eagerly attached to Arianism, and menaced violence to 
 any who was bold enough to preach the true doctrine. 
 Such was the calamitous state of the Church itself; in 
 addition to which must be added, the attitude of 
 its external enemies : — the Novatians, who, orthodox 
 themselves in doctrine, yet possessed a schismatical 
 episcopacy, and a number of places of worship in the 
 city; — the Eunomians, professors of the Arian heresy 
 in its most undisguised blasphemy, who also had 
 established a bishop there; — and the Semi-Arians and 
 Apollinarists, whose heretical sentiments have been, or 
 will be hereafter, alluded to. This was the condition 
 of Constantinople when the orthodox members of its 
 Church, under the sanction and with the co-operation 
 of the neighbouring bishops, invited Gregory, whose 
 gifts, religious and intellectual, were well known to them, 
 to preside over it, instead of the heretical Demophilus, 
 whom Valens, three years before, had placed there. 
 
 The history of Gregory's doings and fortunes at Con- 
 stantinople may be told in a few words. A place of 
 worship was prepared for him by the kindness of a 
 relative. There he began to preach the true doctrine — 
 first, amid the contempt, then amid the rage and hatred 
 of the Arian population. His congregation increased; 
 he was stoned by the multitude, and brought before the 
 civil authorities on the charge of creating a riot. At 
 length, however, on Theodosius visiting the capital, he 
 was recognized as bishop, and established in the tem- 
 poralities of the see. However, on the continued 
 opposition of the people, and vexatious combinations 
 against him on the part of his brother bishops, he 
 resigned his episcopate during the session of the second 
 General Council, and retired to Asia Minor. 
 
IX.] Hxse anh Fall 0f ^n^ox^. 115 
 
 I do not intend to say more upon St. Gregory's public 
 career ; but before leaving the subject, I am tempted to 
 make two reflections. 
 
 First, he was fifty years old when he was called to 
 Constantinople ; a consolatory thought to those who 
 see their span of life crumbling away under their feet, 
 and they apparently doing nothing. Gregory was 
 nothing till he was almost an old man; had he died 
 at Basil's age, he would have died nothing. He seems 
 to have been exactly the same age as Basil; but 
 Basil had done his work, and was taken away before 
 he began his. 
 
 The second reflection that suggests itself is this : in 
 what a little time men move through the work which 
 is, as it were, the end for which they are born, and 
 which is to give a character to their names with posterity. 
 They are known in history as the prime movers in this, 
 or the instruments of that ; as rulers, or politicians, or 
 philosophers, or warriors ; and when we examine dates, 
 we often find that the exploits, or discoveries, or sway 
 which make them famous, lasted but a few years out of 
 a long life, like plants that bloom once, and never again. 
 Their energy of existence, moral character, talents, 
 acquirements, seems concentrated upon a crisis, and is 
 invisible and silent in the world's annals, both before 
 and after. Gregory lived sixty years ; his ecclesiastical 
 life was barely three. 
 
 When, leaving Gregory's public, we turn to his 
 personal character, we have before us a man of warm 
 affections, amiable disposition, and innocent life. As 
 a son, full of piety, tenderness, and watchful solicitude ; 
 as a friend or companion, lively, cheerful, and open- 
 hearted ; overflowing with natural feelings, and easy in 
 the expression of them ; simple, good, humble, primitive. 
 His aspirations were high, as became a saint, his life 
 ascetic in the extreme, and his conscience still more 
 sensitive of sin and infirmity. At the same time he was 
 subject to alternations of feeling ; was deficient all along 
 in strength of mind and self-control ; and was harassed, 
 even in his old age, by irritability, fear, and other 
 passions, which one would think that even years, not 
 to say self-discipline, would have brought into subjec- 
 
ii6 ©Ij^ ©Ijurrlj 0f tlj^ yatlj^ra, [chap. 
 
 tion. These are some of the conspicuous points in 
 Gregory's character ; and the following extracts from his 
 writings, in verse and prose, are intended in some 
 measure to illustrate them. 
 
 At first sight, many persons may feel surprised at the 
 rhetorical style of his sermons, or orations, as they are 
 more fitly called : the following passage explains this. 
 He considered he had gained at Athens, while yet in 
 the world, a rare talent, the science of thought and 
 speech ; and he considered that what had cost him 
 so much, should not be renounced, but consecrated 
 to religious uses. "This I offer to God," he says, 
 "this I dedicate, which alone I have left myself, in 
 which only I am rich. For all other things I have sur- 
 rendered to the commandment and the Spirit, and have 
 exchanged for the all-precious pearl whatever I had, and 
 have become, or rather long to become, a great mer- 
 chant, buying things great and imperishable with what 
 is small and will certainly decay. Discourse alone I 
 retain, as being the servant of the Word, nor should 
 I ever willingly neglect this possession ; rather I honour 
 and embrace and take more pleasure in it than in 
 all other things in which the many take pleasure; and 
 I make it my life's companion, and good counsellor, 
 and associate, and guide heavenward, and ready com- 
 rade. I have said to wisdom, 'Thou art my sister.' 
 With this I bridle my impetuous anger, with this I 
 appease wasting envy, with this I lull to rest sorrow, 
 the chain of the heart ; with this I sober the flood of 
 pleasure, with this I put a measure, not on friendship, 
 but on dislike. This makes me temperate in good 
 fortune, and high-souled in poverty ; this encourages 
 me to run with the prosperous traveller, to stretch 
 a hand to the falling, to be weak with the weak, and 
 to be merry with the strong. With this, home and 
 foreign land are all one to me, and change of places, 
 which are foreign to me equally, and not mine own. 
 This discriminates for me between two worlds, withdraws 
 me from one, joins me to the other." — Orat. 12. 
 
 When he was ordained priest, he betook himself in 
 haste to Pontus, and only ' after a time returned to 
 Nazianzus. He thus speaks of this proceeding : — 
 
IX.] Eis^ anb fall oi (BxtQOX^. 117 
 
 " The chief cause was my surprise at the unexpected 
 event; as they who are astounded by sudden noises, I 
 did not retain my power of reflection, and therefore 
 I offended against modesty, which I had cherished my 
 whole time. Next, a certain love insinuated itself, of 
 the moral beauty of quiet, and of retirement, of which 
 whereas I had been enamoured from the beginning, 
 more perhaps than any who have studied letters, and 
 had vowed to God in the greatest and most severe 
 of dangers, nay, had even reached so far as to be in 
 the threshold, I did not endure being tyrannized over, 
 and being thrust into the midst of tumult, and dragged 
 forcibly away from this mode of life, as if from some 
 sacred asylum. For nothing seemed to me so great, 
 as by closing the senses, and being rid of flesh and 
 world, and retiring upon one's self, and touching nothing 
 human, except when absolutely necessary, and con- 
 versing with one's self and God, to live above things 
 visible, and to bear the divine vision always clear 
 within one, pure from the shifting impressions of earth, 
 — a true mirror unsullied, of God and the things of 
 God, now and ever, adding light to light, the brighter 
 to the dimmer, gathering in hope even now the blessed- 
 ness of the world to come, — and to associate with 
 Angels, being still on earth, leaving the earth and raised 
 aloft by the spirit. Whoso of you is smitten with this 
 love, knows what I say, and will be indulgent to my then 
 feeling." — Oraf. i. 
 
 He professes that he could not bring himself to make 
 a great risk, and to venture ambitiously, but preferred to 
 be safe and sure. " Who is there when he has not yet 
 devoted himself and learned to receive God's hidden 
 wisdom in mystery, being yet a babe, yet fed on milk, 
 yet unnumbered in Israel, yet unenlisted in God's army, 
 yet unable to take up Christ's Cross as a man, not yet 
 an honoured member of Him at all, who would in spite 
 of this submit with joy and readiness to be placed at the 
 head of Christ's fulness?^ No one, if I am to be his 
 counsellor; for this is the greatest of alarms, this the 
 extreme of dangers, to every one who understands the 
 
 1 Vide Eph. i. 23. 
 
ii8 SIjB CS^Ijurrb ai i^z |Fat!j£rs. [chap. 
 
 preciousness of success, and the ruin which attends on 
 failure. Let another sail for traffick, so I said, and cross 
 the expanse of ocean, and keep constant company with 
 winds and waves, to gain much, if so be, and to risk 
 much. This may suit a man apt in sailing, apt in 
 trafficking; but what I prefer is to remain on land, 
 to plough a small glebe and a dear one, to pay distant 
 compliments to lucre and the sea, and thus to Uve, 
 as I may be able, with a small and scanty loaf, and 
 to lead on a life safe and surgeless, not to risk a vast 
 and mighty danger for mighty gains. To a lofty mind, 
 indeed, it is a penalty not to attempt great things, not 
 to exercise his powers upon many persons, but to abide 
 in what is small, as if lighting a small house with 
 a great light, or covering a child's body with a youth's 
 armour; but to the small it is safety to carry a small 
 burden, not, by undertaking things beyond his powers, 
 both to incur ridicule and a risk; just as to build a 
 tower becomes him only who has wherewith to finish." 
 —Orat I. 
 
 It is notorious that the gentle and humble-minded 
 Gregory proved himself unequal to the government of 
 the Church and province of Constantinople, which were 
 as unworthy as they were impatient of him. Charges of 
 his incompetency formed part of the ground on which 
 a successful opposition was made to him in the second 
 General Council. What notions, however, his enemies 
 had of fitness, is plain, from the following extract. 
 The truth is, Gregory was in no sense what is called, 
 rightly or wrongly, a party man ; and while he was 
 deficient, perhaps, in the sagacity, keenness, vigour, 
 and decision for which a public man too often incurs 
 the reproach of that name, he also had that kindness 
 of heart, dispassionateness, and placabiUty, which more 
 justly avail to rescue a person from it. It was imputed 
 to him that he was not severe enough with his fallen 
 persecutors. He thus replies : — 
 
 " Consider what is charged against me. ' So much 
 time is passed,' they say, * of your governing the Church, 
 with the crisis in your favour, and the emperor's in- 
 fluence, so great a thing. What symptom of the change 
 
IX.] Hia^ anir JFall of (Sregorg. 119 
 
 is there ? How many persecutors had we before ! what 
 misery did we not suffer ! what insults, what threats, 
 what exiles, what plunderings, what confiscations, what 
 burnings of our clergy at sea, what temples pro- 
 faned with blood of saints, and for temples made 
 charnel-houses ! What has followed ! We have become 
 stronger than our persecutors, and they have escaped ! ' 
 So it is. For me it is enough of vengeance upon our 
 injurers, to have the power of retaliation. But these 
 objectors think otherwise : for they are very precise and 
 righteous in the matter of reprisals, and therefore they 
 claim what belongs to the opportunity. ' What prefect,' 
 they ask, ' has been punished ? or populace brought to 
 their senses ? or incendiaries ? what fear of ourselves 
 have we secured to us for the time to come?"' — 
 Orat. 32. 
 
 Gregory had by far too little pomp and pretence to 
 satisfy a luxurious and fastidious city. They wanted " a 
 king like the nations ; " a man who had a presence, who 
 would figure and parade and rustle in silk, and hold 
 forth and lay down the law, and be what is thought 
 dignified and grand ; whereas they had no one but 
 "poor, dear, good Gregory," a monk of Nazianzus, a 
 personage, who, in spite of his acknowledged eloquence, 
 was but a child, had no knowledge of the world, no 
 manners, no conversation, and no address; who was 
 flurried and put out in high society, and who would have 
 been singularly ill-adapted to keep a modern vestry in 
 order. "Perhaps, too," he continues, "they may cast 
 this slur upon me, as indeed they have, that I do not 
 keep a good table, nor dress respectably ; and that there 
 is a want of style when I go abroad, and a want of 
 pomp when people address me. Certainly, I forgot that 
 I had to rival consuls and prefects and illustrious com- 
 manders, who have more wealth than they know where 
 to squander. If all this is heinous, it has slipped my 
 mind ; forgive me this wrong ; choose a ruler instead of 
 me, who will please the many ; restore me to solitude, 
 to rusticity, and to God, whom only I shall please, 
 though in my narrow circumstances." 
 
 And shortly before, " This is my character : I do not 
 
120 ffilje fflj^xtrclr 0f tlj^ fatlj^ra* [chap. 
 
 concur in many points with the many; I cannot per- 
 suade myself to walk their pace ; this may be rudeness 
 and awkwardness, but still it is my character. What to 
 others are pleasures, annoy me ; and what I am pleased 
 with, annoys others. Indeed, it would not surprise me, 
 even were I put into confinement as a nuisance, and 
 considered to be without common wits by the multitude, 
 as is said to have happened to a Greek philosopher, 
 whose good sense was accused of being derangement, 
 because he made jest of all things, seeing that the 
 serious objects of the many were really ridiculous; or 
 if I were accounted full of new wine, as Christ's disciples 
 from their speaking with tongues, the power of the 
 Spirit being mistaken in them for excitement of mind." 
 —Ibid. 
 
 He has a similar passage, written after his resignation, 
 in verse, which must here be unworthily exhibited in 
 prose. "This good," he says, "alone will be free, and 
 secure from restraint or capture, — a mind raised up to 
 Christ. No more shall I be entertained by mortal 
 prince, as heretofore; I, Gregory, to pack a few com- 
 forts in me, set down in the midst, bashful and speech- 
 less, not breathing freely, feasting like a slave. No 
 magistrate shall punish me with a certain seat, or a 
 certain neighbour, giving its due place to a groveUing 
 spirit. No more shall I clasp blood-stained hands, or 
 take hold of beard, to gain some small favour. Nor 
 hurrying with a crowd to sacred feast of birth-day, 
 burial, or marriage, shall I seize on all I can, some for 
 my jaws, and some for attendants with their greedy 
 palms, hke Briareus's; and then carrying myself off, a 
 breathing grave, late in the evening, drag along home- 
 ward my aihng carcase, worn out, panting with satiety, 
 yet hastening to another fat feast, before I have shaken 
 off the former infliction." — Carni. lo. One who is used 
 to bread and water is over-set by even a family dinner ; 
 much less could Gregory bear a city feast or conservative 
 banquet. 
 
 When he had retired back to Asia, first he had stayed 
 for a time at Nazianzus; thence he went to Arianzus, 
 the place of his birth. Here he passed the whole of 
 
IX.] ilisB anb IFall of (Ir^gorj. 121 
 
 Lent, without speaking, with a view of gaining com- 
 mand over his tongue, in which, as in other respects, he 
 painfully felt his existing deficiency. He writes the 
 following notes to a friend ! — 
 
 "You ask what my silence means? it means measure- 
 ment of speaking, and not speaking. For he who can 
 do it in whole, will more easily do it in part. Besides, 
 it allays anger, when it is not brought out into words, 
 but is extinguished in itself." — Ep. 96. Again : " I do 
 not forbid your coming to me; though my tongue be 
 still, my ears shall be gladly open to your conversation ; 
 since to hear what is fitting is not less precious than to 
 speak it." — 97. And again: "I am silent in conversa- 
 tion, as learning to speak what I ought to speak ; more- 
 over, I am exercising myself in mastery of the passions. 
 If this satisfies the inquirer, it is well; if not, at least 
 silence brings this gain, that I have not to enter into 
 explanations. " — 98. 
 
 Gregory was now fifty-two or three ; there is something 
 very remarkable in a man so advanced in life taking such 
 vigorous measures to overcome himself. 
 
 The following passages from his poems allude to the 
 same, or similar infirmities : — 
 
 I lost, O Lord, the use of yesterday ; 
 
 Anger came on, and stole my heart away. 
 
 O may I find this morn some inward-piercing ray ! 
 
 Again, 
 
 The serpent comes anew ! I hold thy feet, 
 
 O David ! list, and strike thy harp-strings sweet ! 
 
 Hence ! choking spirit, hence ! for saintly minds unmeet. 
 
 Some temptation or other is alluded to in the follow- 
 ing poems ; though perhaps it is not fair to make a poet 
 responsible, in his own person, for all he speaks as if 
 from himself. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 I rise, and yield my clasped hands to thee ! 
 Henceforth no deed of dark shall trouble me, 
 
 Thy sacrifice this day ; 
 Calm, stationed at my post, and with free soul 
 Stemming the waves of passion as they roll. 
 
122 SCljB ffiljurcb 0f iht IFatlr^ra- [chap. 
 
 Ah ! should I from Thee stray, 
 My hoary head, Thy table where I bow, 
 Will be my shame, which are mine honour now. 
 . Thus I set out ; — Lord ! lead me on my way ! 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 O Holiest Truth ! how have I lied to Thee ! 
 This day I vowed Thy festival should be ; 
 
 Yet I am dim ere night. 
 Surely I made my prayer, and I did deem 
 That I could keep in me Thy morning beam. 
 
 Immaculate and bright. 
 But my foot slipped, and, as I lay, he came, 
 My gloomy foe, and robbed me of heaven's flame. 
 Help Thou my darkness, Lord ! till I am light. 
 
 In the verses on Morning, an allusion may be observed 
 to his priesthood. The following lines bear a more 
 express reference : — 
 
 In service o'er the mystic feast I stand, 
 
 I cleanse Thy victim-flock, and bring them near 
 
 In holiest wise, and by a bloodless rite. 
 
 O bounteous blaze ! O gushing Fount of Light ! 
 
 (As best I know, who need Thy cleansing hand,) 
 
 Dread ofiice this, bemired souls to clear 
 
 Of their defilement, and again make bright. 
 
 These lines may have an allusion which introduces 
 us to the following, which are on a subject to which I 
 have already invited the reader's attention, and shall 
 again. 
 
 As viewing sin, e'en in its faintest trace ^, 
 
 Murder in wrath, and in the wanton oath 
 
 The perjured tongue, and therefore shunning them, 
 
 So deem'd I safe a strict virginity. 
 
 And hence our ample choir of holiest souls 
 
 Are followers of the unfleshly seraphim. 
 
 And Him who 'mid them reigns in lonely light. 
 
 These, one and all, rush towards the thought of death, 
 
 And hope of second life, with single heart, 
 
 Loosed from the law and chain of marriage-vow. 
 
 For I was but a captive at my birth. 
 
 Sin my first being, till its base discipline 
 
 Revolted me towards a nobler path. 
 
 ^ Fertur S. Basilii districta sententia. Et mulierem, inquit, 
 ignoro, et virgo non sum. In tantum intellexit incorruptionem 
 carnis non tam in mulieris esse abstinentia, quam in integritate 
 cordis. — Cassian. Instit, vi. 19. 
 
IX.] Htse ani l^all nf ©r^gorg. 123 
 
 Then Christ drew near me, and the Virgin-born 
 
 Spoke the new call to join His virgin-train. 
 
 So now towards highest heaven my innocent brow 
 
 I raise exultingly, sans let or bond, ^ 
 
 Leaving no heir of this poor tabernacle 
 
 To ape me when my proper frame is broke ; 
 
 But solitary with my only God, 
 
 And truest souls to bear me company. 
 
 It SO happens that we have a vast deal of Gregory's 
 poetry, which he doubtless never intended for publica- 
 tion, but which formed the recreation of his retirement. 
 From one of these compositions, the following playful 
 extract, on the same subject, is selected : — 
 
 As when the hand some mimic form would paint, 
 It marks its purpose first in shadows faint, 
 And next its store of varied hues applies, 
 Till outlines fade, and the full limbs arise ; 
 So the Lord's holy choice, the virgin heart, 
 Once held in duty but a lesser part. 
 When the Law swayed us in Religion's youth, 
 Tracing, with lustre pale, the angelic truth, 
 But, when the Christ came by a virgin-birth, — 
 His radiant chariot -course from heaven to earth, — 
 And, spurning father for His mortal state. 
 Did Eve and all her daughters consecrate ; 
 Solved fleshly laws, and in the letter's place 
 Gave us the spirit and the word of grace ; — 
 Then shone the glorious Celibate at length. 
 Robed in the dazzling lightnings of its strength, 
 Surpassing spells of earth and marriage-vow. 
 As soul the body, — heaven this world below, 
 The eternal peace of saints life's troubled span, 
 And the high throne of God the haunts of man. 
 So now there circles round the King of Light, 
 A heaven on earth, a blameless court and bright, 
 Aiming as emblems of their God to shine, 
 Christ in their heart, and on their brow His sign. 
 Soft funeral lights in the world's twilight dim, 
 Seeing their God, and ever one with Him. 
 
 Ye countless brethren of the marriage -band, 
 Slaves of the enfeebled heart and plighted hand ! 
 I see you bear aloft your haughty gaze. 
 Gems deck your hair, and silk your limbs arrays ; 
 Come, tell the gain which wedlock has conferred 
 On man ; and then the single shall be heard. 
 The married many thus might plead, I ween ; 
 Full glib their tongue, full confident their mien : — 
 
124 ®It^ ffibtttrlj 0f tlj^ faihtts. [chap. 
 
 '* Hear, all who live ! to whom the nuptial rite 
 Has brought the privilege of life and light, 
 We, who are wedded, but the law obey, 
 Stamped at creation on our blood and clay, 
 What time the Demiurge our line began, 
 Oped Adam's side, and out of man drew man. 
 Thenceforth let children of a mortal sod 
 Honour the law of earth, the primal law of God. 
 
 "List, you shall hear the gifts of price that lie 
 
 Gathered and bound within the marriage-tie. 
 
 Who taught the arts of life, the truths that sleep 
 
 In earth, or highest heaven, or vasty deep ? 
 
 Who raised the town ?— who gave the type and germ 
 
 Of social union, and of sceptre firm ? 
 
 Who filled the mart, and urged the vessel brave 
 
 To link in one far countries o'er the wave ? 
 
 Who the first husbandman, the glebe to plough, 
 
 And rear the garden, but the marriage-vow ? 
 
 "Nay, list again ! who seek its kindly chain, 
 A second self, a double presence gain ; 
 Hands, eyes, and ears, to act or suffer here, 
 Till e'en the weak inspire both love and fear — 
 A comrade's sigh, to soothe when cares annoy — 
 A comrade's smile, to elevate his joy. 
 
 '* Nor say it binds to an ungodly life ; 
 
 When want is urgent, prayers and vows are rife. 
 
 Light heart he bears, who has no yoke at home. 
 
 Scant need of blessings as the seasons come. 
 
 But wife, and offspring, and the treasured hoard. 
 
 Raise us in dread and faith towards the Lord. 
 
 Take love away, and life would be defaced, 
 
 A ghastly vision on the mountain-waste, 
 
 Heartless, and stern, bereft of the soft charm 
 
 Which steals from age its woes, from passion's sting its harm. 
 
 No child's sweet pranks once more to make us young ; 
 
 No ties of place about our heart-strings flung ; 
 
 No public haunts to cheer ; no festive tide, 
 
 Where harmless mirth and smiling wit preside ; 
 
 A life, which scorns the gifts which Heaven assign'd. 
 
 Nor knows the sympathy of human kind. 
 
 " Prophets and teachers, priests and victor kings. 
 Decked with each grace, which heaven-taught nature brings, 
 These were no giant offspring of the earth, 
 But to the marriage-promise owe their birth : — 
 Moses and Samuel, David, David's son. 
 The blessed Tishbite, and more blessed John, 
 The sacred twelve in apostolic choir, 
 Strong-hearted Paul, instinct with seraph-fire, 
 
IX.] Hm anir |FaU of (BxtsatQ. 125 
 
 And others, now or erst, who to high heaven aspire. 
 Bethink ye ; should the single state be best, 
 Yet who the single, but my offspring blest ? 
 My sons, be still, nor with your parents strive, 
 They coupled in their day, and so ye live." 
 
 Thus marriage pleads. Now let her rival speak ; 
 
 Dim is her downcast eye, and pale her cheek ; 
 
 Untrimmed her gear ; no sandals on her feet ; 
 
 A sparest form for austere tenant meet. 
 
 She drops her veil her modest face around, 
 
 And her lips open, but we hear no sound. 
 
 I will address her : — *' Hail ! O child of heaven, 
 
 Glorious within ! to whom a post is given 
 
 Hard by the throne, where Angels bow and fear, . 
 
 E'en while thou hast a name and mission here, 
 
 deign thy voice, unveil thy brow, and see 
 Thy ready guard and minister in me. 
 
 Oft hast thou come heaven-wafted to my breast, 
 Bright Spirit ! so come again, and give me rest ! " 
 
 . . . **Ah ! who has hither drawn my backward feet, 
 Changing for worldly strife my lone retreat ? 
 Where, in the silent chant of holy deeds, 
 
 1 praise my God, and tend the sick soul's needs ; 
 By toils of day, and vigils of the night, 
 
 By gushing tears, and blessed lustral rite. 
 I have no sway amid the crowd, no art 
 In speech, no place in council or in mart ; 
 Nor human law, nor judges throned on high. 
 Smile on my face, and grant my words reply. 
 Let others seek earth's honours ; be it mine 
 One law to cherish, and to track one line ; 
 Straight on towards heaven to press with single bent, 
 To know and love my God, and then to die content." 
 &c. &c. 
 
 It would take up too much time to continue the 
 poem, of which I have attempted the above rude and 
 very free translation, as indeed are all the foregoing; 
 nor is it to the purpose to set forth at length before the 
 reader of the present day a formal defence and recom- 
 mendation of celibacy, though there is no reason why 
 Gregory should not have his own opinion about it as 
 well as another. 
 
 I end with one or two stanzas, which give an account 
 of the place and circumstances of his retirement. I am 
 obliged again to warn the reader, that he must not fancy 
 he has gained an idea of Gregory's poetry from my 
 
126 %)jt (&hvinh oi iht Jatljers, [ch. ix. 
 
 attemps at translation ; and should it be objected that 
 this is not treating Gregory well, I answer, that at least 
 I am as true to the original as if I exhibited it in plain 
 prose. 
 
 Some one whispered yesterday 
 Of the rich and fashionable, 
 '* Gregory, in his own small way, 
 Easy was, and comfortable. 
 
 " Had he not of wealth his fill, 
 
 Whom a garden gay did bless, 
 And a gently trickling rill. 
 
 And the sweets of idleness ? " 
 
 I made answer, '* Is it ease, 
 
 Fasts to keep, and tears to shed ? 
 
 Vigil hours and wounded knees, 
 Call you such a pleasant bed ? 
 
 " Thus a veritable monk 
 
 Does to death his fleshly frame ; 
 
 Be there who in sloth are sunk. 
 They have forfeited the name." 
 
Wintmiin^ of !E^rina 
 
 ** Though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water 
 of affliction, yet shall not thy Teachers be removed into a 
 corner any more, but thine eyes shall see thy Teachers ; and 
 thine ears shall hear a Word behind thee, saying, This is the 
 way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand and when ye 
 turn to the left." 
 
 IT is pretty clear that most persons of this day will be 
 - disposed to wonder at the earnestness shown by those 
 ancient bishops who have formed the subject of the 
 foregoing pages, Ambrose, Basil, and Gregory, in defence 
 of the Catholic faith. Ambrose would not give up a 
 Church to the Arians, because their creed was unsound. 
 Basil incessantly importuned the West to interfere in 
 the concerns of the East, for the overthrow of these 
 selfsame Arians. Gregory thought he had acquitted 
 himself well, when he consented to be pelted with 
 stones for preaching against these Arians in Constanti- 
 nople. Yet these repeated protests and efforts were all 
 about what? The man of the world will answer, 
 "strifes of words, perverse disputings, curious questions, 
 which do not tend to advance what ought to be the one 
 end of all religion, peace and love. This is what comes 
 of insisting on orthodoxy ; putting the whole world into 
 a fever !" Tantum religio potuit, &c., as the Epicurean 
 poet says. 
 
 Such certainly is the phenomena which we have to 
 contemplate : theirs was a state of mind seldom ex- 
 perienced, and little understood, in this day; however, 
 for that reason, it is at least interesting to the antiquary, 
 even were it not a sound and Christian state also. The 
 highest end of Church union, to which the mass of 
 
 127 
 
128 '^\ft ffiljurrlj 0f ilj^ fatijtvs. [chap. 
 
 educated men now look, is quiet and unanimity; as if 
 the Church were not rather built upon faith, and truth 
 really the first object of the Christian's efforts, — peace 
 but the second. The one idea which statesmen, and 
 lawyers, and journalists, and men of letters have of a 
 clergyman, is that he is by profession "a man of peace:" 
 and if he has occasion to denounce, or to resist, or to 
 protest, a cry is raised, " O how disgraceful in a minister 
 of peace ! " The Church is thought invaluable as a 
 promoter of good order and sobriety; but is regarded 
 as nothing more. Far be it from me to seem to dis- 
 parage what is really one of her high functions ; but 
 still a part of her duty will never be tantamount to the 
 whole of it. At present the l^eau ideal of a clergyman 
 in the eyes of many is a "reverend gentleman," who has 
 a large family, and "administers spiritual consolation." 
 Now I make bold to say, that confessorship for the 
 Catholic faith is one part of the duty of Christian 
 ministers, nay, and Christian laymen too. Yet in this 
 day, if at any time there is any difference in matters of 
 doctrine between Christians, the first and last wish — 
 the one sovereign object — of so-called judicious men, is 
 to hush it up. No matter what the difference is about ; 
 that is thought so little to the purpose, that your well- 
 judging men will not even take the trouble to inquire 
 what it is. It may be, for what they know, a question 
 of theism or atheism ; but they will not admit, whatever 
 it is, that it can be more than secondary to the preserva- 
 tion of a good understanding between Christians. They 
 think, whatever it is, it may safely be postponed for 
 future consideration — that things will right themselves — 
 the one pressing object being to present a bold and 
 extended front to our external enemies, to prevent the 
 outward fabric of the Church from being weakened by 
 dissensions, and insulted by those who witness them. 
 The Church exists, in an especial way, for the sake of 
 the Faith committed to her keeping. But our practica 
 men forget there may be remedies worse than the 
 disease ; that latent heresy may be worse than a contest 
 of " party ; " and, in their treatment of the Church, they 
 fulfil the satirist's well-known Hne : — 
 
 ** Propter vitam vivendi perdere causas." 
 
X.] 3ltnantttta oi %mm, 129 
 
 No wonder they do so, when they have been so long 
 accustomed to merge the Church in the nations, and to 
 talk of "protestantism" in the abstract as synonymous 
 with true religion ; to consider that the characteristic 
 merit of our Church is its tolerance^ as they call it, and 
 that its greatest misfortune is the exposure to the world 
 of those opposite principles and views which are really 
 at work within it. But talking of exposure, what a 
 scandal it was in St. Peter to exert his apostoHcal powers 
 on Ananias; and in St. John to threaten Diotrephes? 
 What an exposure in St. Paul, to tell the Corinthians he 
 had " a rod " for them, were they disobedient ! One 
 should have thought, indeed, that weapons were com- 
 mitted to the Church for use as well as for show; but 
 the present age apparently holds otherwise, considering 
 that the Church is then most primitive, when it neither 
 cares for the faith itself, nor uses the divinely ordained 
 means by which it is to be guarded. Now, to people 
 who acquiesce in this view, I know well that Basil and 
 Gregory have not more of authority than an English 
 non-juror; still, to those who do not acquiesce in it, it 
 may be some little comfort, some encouragement, some 
 satisfaction, to see that they are not the first persons in 
 the world who have felt and judged of religion in that 
 particular way now in disrepute. 
 
 However, some persons will allow, perhaps, that 
 doctrinal truth ought to be maintained, and that the 
 clergy ought to maintain it : but then they will urge 
 that we should not make the path of truth too narrow ; 
 that it is a royal and a broad highway by which we 
 travel heavenward, whereas it has been the one object 
 of theologians, in every age, to encroach upon it, till 
 at length it has become scarcely broad enough for two 
 to walk abreast in. And moreover, it will be objected, 
 that over-exactness was the very fault of the fourth and 
 fifth centuries in particular, which refined upon the 
 doctrines of the Holy Trinity and our Lord's Incarna- 
 tion, till the way of life became like the razor's edge, 
 which is said in the Koran to be drawn over the place 
 of punishment, and must be traversed by every one at 
 the end of the world. 
 
 Now I cannot possibly deny, however disadvantageous 
 
I30 ®lj^ fflbttrrlj 0f tlj^ IFatlr^rs. [chap. 
 
 it may be to their reputation, that the Fathers do repre- 
 sent the way of faith as narrow, nay, and even as being 
 the more divine and the more royal for that very narrow- 
 ness. Such orthodoxy certainly is ; but here it is 
 obvious to ask whether this very characteristic of it may 
 not possibly be rather an argument for than against its 
 divine origin. Certain it is, that such nicety, as it is 
 called, is not unknown to other religious dispensations, 
 creeds, and covenants, besides that which the primitive 
 Church identified with Christianity. Nor is it a paradox 
 to maintain that the whole system of religion, natural 
 as well as revealed, is full of similar appointments. As 
 to the subject of ethics, even a heathen philosopher 
 tells us, that virtue consists in a mean, — that is, in a 
 point between indefinitely-extending extremes ; " men 
 being in one way good, and many ways bad." The 
 same principle, again, is seen in the revealed system 
 of spiritual communications; the grant of grace and 
 privilege depending on positive ordinances, simple and 
 definite, — on the use of a little water, the utterance of 
 a few words, the imposition of hands, and the like; 
 which, it will perhaps be granted, are really essential to 
 the conveyance of spiritual blessings, yet are confessedly 
 as formal and technical as any creed can be represented 
 to be. In a word, such technicality is involved in the 
 very idea of a means, which may even be defined to be 
 a something appointed at God's inscrutable pleasure, 
 as the necessary condition of something else ; and the 
 simple question before us is, merely the matter of fad^ 
 viz., whether any doctrine is set forth by revelation as 
 necessary to be believed i7t order to salvation ? Ante- 
 cedent difficulty in the question there is none; or rather, 
 the probabiHty is in favour of there being some necessary 
 doctrine, from the analogy of the other parts of religion. 
 The question is simply about the matter of fact. This 
 analogy is perspicuously expressed in one of the sermons 
 of St. Leo: — "Not only," he says, "in the exercise of 
 virtue and the observance of the commandments, but 
 also in the path of faith, strait and difficult is the way 
 which leads to life ; and it requires great pains, and in- 
 volves great risks, to walk [without stumbling along the 
 one footway of sound doctrine, amid the uncertain 
 
X.] Jffxnantius of Wtxxn^. 131 
 
 opinions and the plausible untruths of the unskilful, 
 and to escape all peril of mistake when the toils of 
 error are on every side." — Serm. 25. 
 
 St. Gregory says the same thing : — " We have bid 
 farewell to contentious deviations of doctrine, and com- 
 pensations on either side, neither Sabellianizing nor 
 Arianizing. These are the sports of the evil one, who 
 is a bad arbiter of our matters. But we, pacing along 
 the middle and royal way, m which also the essence of 
 the virtues lies^ in the judgment of the learned, believe 
 in Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." — Or at. 32. 
 
 On the whole, then, I see nothing very strange either 
 in orthodoxy lying in what at first sight appears like 
 subtle and minute exactness of doctrine, or in its being 
 our duty to contend even to confessorship for such ex- 
 actness. Whether it be thus exact, and whether the 
 exactness of Ambrose or Gregory be the true and re- 
 vealed exactness, is quite another question : all I say 
 is, that it is no great difficulty to believe that it may 
 be v^^hat they say it is, both as to its truth and its im- 
 portance. 
 
 But now supposing the question is asked, is Ambrose 
 or Gregory right? and is our Church right in main- 
 taining with them the Athanasian doctrine on those 
 sacred points to which it relates, and condemning those 
 who hold otherwise? what answer is to be given? I 
 answer by asking, if anyone inquired how we know 
 that Gregory or Ambrose was right, and our Church 
 right, in receiving St. Paul's Epistles, what answer we 
 should make ? The answer would be, that it is a matter 
 of history that the Apostle wrote those which are ascribed 
 to him. And what is meant by its being a matter of 
 history? why, that it has ever been so believed, so de- 
 clared, so recorded, so acted on, from the first down 
 to this day ; that there is no assignable point of time 
 when it was not believed, no assignable point at which 
 the belief was int;roduced ; that the records of past ages 
 fade away and vanish in the beHef ; that in proportion 
 as past ages speak at all, they speak in one way, and 
 only fail to bear a witness when they fail to have a voice. 
 What stronger testimony can we have of a past fact ? 
 
 Now the same evidence have we for the Catholic 
 
132 ®lj^ ffiljurrb oi tht fatlj^rjs. [chap. 
 
 doctrines which Ambrose or Gregory maintained; they 
 have never and no where, no^ been maintained; or in 
 other words, wherever we know any thing positive of 
 ancient times and places, there we are told of these 
 doctrines also. As far as the records of history extend, 
 they include these doctrines, as avowed always, every 
 where, and by all. This is the great canon of the Qiwd 
 semper, quod ubique, quod ab Ofn?nbus, which saves us 
 from the misery of having to find out the truth for our- 
 selves from Scripture on our independent and private 
 judgment. He who gave Scripture, also gave us the 
 interpretation of Scripture; and He gave the one and 
 the other gift in the same way, by the testimony of 
 past ages, as matter of historical knowledge, or what 
 is sometimes called, by tradition. We receive the 
 Catholic doctrines as we receive the canon of Scripture, 
 because, as our Article expresses it, "^ their authority " 
 there *'was never any doubt in the Church.^^ 
 
 We receive them on Catholic tradition, and therefore 
 they are called Catholic doctrines. And that they are 
 Catholic, is a proof that they are Apostolic ; they never 
 could have been universally received in the Church, 
 unless they had had their origin in the origin of the 
 Church, unless they had been made the foundation of 
 the Church by its founders. As the separate successions 
 of bishops in various countries have but one common 
 origin, the Apostles, so what has been handed down 
 through these separate successions comes from that one 
 origin. The Apostolic College is the only point in 
 which all the lines converge, and from which they 
 spring. Private traditions, wandering unconnected 
 traditions, are of no authority; but permanent, recog- 
 nised, public, definite, intelligible, multiplied, con- 
 cordant testimonies to one and the same doctrine, 
 bring with them an overwhelming evidence of apos- 
 tolical origin. We ground the claims of orthodoxy 
 on no powers of reasoning, however great, on the 
 credit of no names, however imposing, but on an 
 external fact, on an argument the same as that by 
 which we prove the genuineness and authority of the 
 four gospels. The unanimous tradition of all the 
 churches to certain articles of faith is surely an irre- 
 
X.] Jlittantius of Ht^rtns. ^33 
 
 sistible evidence, more trustworthy far than that of 
 witnesses to certain facts in a court of law, by how 
 much the testimony of a number is more cogent than 
 the testimony of two or three. That this really is the 
 ground on which the narrow line of orthodoxy was 
 maintained in ancient times, is plain from an inspection 
 of the writings of the very men who maintained it, 
 Ambrose and Gregory, or Athanasius and Hilary, and 
 the rest, who set forth its Catholic character in more 
 ways than it is possible here to instance or even explain. 
 However, in order to give the general reader some idea 
 of the state of the case, I will make some copious ex- 
 tracts from the famous tract of Vincent of Lerins on 
 Heresy. He wrote in the early part of the fifth century, 
 was originally a layman, and by profession a soldier. In 
 after life he became a monk and took orders. Lerins, 
 the site of his monastery, is one of the small islands off 
 the south coast of France. He first states what the 
 principle is he would maintain, and the circumstances 
 under which he maintains it ; and if his principle is 
 reasonable and valuable in itself, so does it come to 
 us with great weight under the circumstances which led 
 him to his exposition of it.^ 
 
 "Inquiring often," he says, "with great desire, and 
 attention, of very many excellent, holy, and learned 
 men, how and by what means I might assuredly, and 
 as it were by some general and ordinary way, discern the 
 true Catholic faith from false and wicked heresy ; to this 
 question I had usually this answer from them all, that 
 whether I or any other desired to find out the fraud 
 of heretics, daily springing up, and to escape their 
 snares, and willingly would continue in a sound faith, 
 himself safe and sound, that he ought two manner 
 of ways by God's assistance to defend and preserve his 
 faith ; that is, ^rsf, by the authority of the law of God; 
 secondly^ by the tradition of the Catholic Church.^^ — Ch. 2. 
 
 It will be observed, he is speaking of the mode in 
 which an individual is to seek and attain the truth; 
 
 ^ The Oxford translation of 1837 is used in the following extracts. 
 The whole volume, with appendix, &c., consists of no more than 
 137 duodecimo pages. 
 
134 ®fr^ Ctljttrrfr oi tlj^ Ifatlj^rs* [chap. 
 
 and it will be observed also, as the revered Bishop Jebb 
 has pointed out, that he is suffering and sanctioning the 
 use of personal inquiry. He proceeds : — 
 
 " Here some man, perhaps, may ask, seeing the canon 
 of the Scripture is perfect, and most abundantly of itself 
 sufficient for all things, what need we join unto it the 
 authority of the Church's understanding and interpreta- 
 tion? The reason is this, because the Scripture being 
 of itself so deep and profound, all men do not under- 
 stand it in one and the same sense, but divers men 
 diversely, this man and that man, this way and that way, 
 expound and interpret the sayings thereof, so that to 
 one's thinking, so many men, so many opinions almost 
 may be gathered out of them : for Novatian expoundeth 
 it one way, Photinus another, Sabellius after this sort, 
 Donatus after that ; Arius, Eunomius, Macedonius will 
 have this exposition ; Apollinaris and Priscilian will have 
 that ; Jovinian, Pelagius, Celestius, gather this sense ; 
 and to conclude, Nestorius findeth out that; and there- 
 fore very necessary it is for the avoiding of so great 
 windings and turnings of errors so various, that the line 
 of expounding the Prophets and Apostles be directed 
 and drawn, according to the rule of the Ecclesiastical 
 and Catholic sense. 
 
 "Again, within the Catholic Church itself we are 
 greatly to consider, that we hold that, which hath been 
 believed every w/iere, a/ways, and of all men : for that 
 is truly and properly Catholic (as the very force and 
 nature of the word doth declare) which comprehendeth 
 all things in general after an universal manner, and that 
 shall we do if we follow universality^ antiquity^ consent. 
 Universality shall we follow thus, if we profess that one 
 faith to be true which the whole Church throughout the 
 world acknowledgeth and confesseth. Antiquity shall 
 we follow, if we depart not any whit from those senses 
 which it is plain that our holy elders and fathers generally 
 held. Consent shall we likewise follow, if in this very 
 antiquity itself we hold the definitions and opinions 
 of all, or at any rate almost all, the priests and doctors 
 together." — Ch. 2, 3. 
 
 It is sometimes said, that what is called orthodoxy or 
 
X.] Jfiitattiiuis nf lEmtta. 135 
 
 Catholicism is only the opinion of one or two Fathers, — 
 fallible men, however able they might be or persuasive, 
 — who created a theology, and imposed it on their 
 generation, and thereby superseded Scriptural truth and 
 the real gospel. Let us see how Vincent treats such 
 individual teachers, however highly gifted. He is speak- 
 ing of the Judaizers of the Apostles' time in the opening 
 sentence : — 
 
 "When, therefore, such kind of men, wandering up 
 and down through provinces and cities to set their errors 
 to sale, came also unto the Galatians, and these after 
 they had heard them were delighted with the filthy drugs 
 of heretical novelty, loathing the truth, and casting up 
 again the heavenly manna of the Apostolic and CathoUc 
 doctrine: the authority of his Apostolic office so puts 
 itself forth as to decree very severely in this sort. ' But 
 although (quoth he) we or an Angel from heaven 
 evangelize unto you beside that which we have evange- 
 lized, be he Anathema^.' What meaneth this that he 
 saith, 'But although we?' why did he not rather say, 
 * But although I ? ' that is to say. Although Peter, 
 although Andrew, although John, yea, finally, although 
 the whole company of the Apostles, evangelize unto you 
 otherwise than we have evangeHzed, be he accursed. 
 A terrible censure, in that for maintaining the possession 
 of the first faith he spared not himself, nor any other 
 of the Apostles ! But this is a small matter : 'Although 
 an Angel from heaven (quoth he) evangelize unto you, 
 beside that which I have evangelized, be he Anathema,' 
 he was not contented for keeping the faith once delivered 
 to make mention of man's weak nature, unless also he 
 included those excellent creatures the Angels. 'Although 
 we (quoth he) or an Angel from heaven,' not that the 
 holy Angels of heaven can now sin, but this is the mean- 
 ing of that he saith : Although (quoth he) that might 
 be which cannot be, whosoever he be that goeth about 
 to change the faith which was once delivered, be he 
 accursed. But peradventure he uttered those words 
 slightly, and cast them forth rather of human affection 
 than decreed them by divine direction. God forbid : 
 
 1 Gal. i. 8. 
 
13^ ®lj^ Cljurrlj 0f iht '^at)jtx%. [chap. 
 
 for it followeth, and that urged with great earnestness 
 of repeated inculcation, 'As I have foretold you (quoth 
 he), and now again I tell you, If any body evangelize 
 unto you beside that which you have received, be he 
 Anathema.' He said not, If any man preach unto you 
 beside that which you have received, let him be blessed, 
 let him be commended, let him be received, but let him 
 be Anathema^ that is, separated, thrust out, excluded, lest 
 the cruel infection of one sheep with his poisoned 
 company corrupt the sound flock of Christ." — Ch. 12 
 and 13. 
 
 Here, then, is a point of doctrine which must be 
 carefully insisted on. The Fathers are principally to 
 be considered as witnesses^ not as authorities. They are 
 witnesses of an existing state of things, and their treatises 
 are, as it were, histories^ — teaching us, in the first instance, 
 matters of fact, not of opinion. Whatever they them- 
 selves might be, whether deeply or poorly taught irt 
 Christian faith and love, they speak, not their own 
 thoughts, but the received views of their respective ages. 
 The especial value of their works lies in their opening 
 upon us a state of the Church which else we should 
 have no notion of. We read in their writings a great 
 number of high and glorious doings and customs ; and 
 we say, " All this must have had an existence somewhere 
 or other in those times. These very men, indeed, may 
 be merely speaking by rote, and not understand what 
 they say ; but it matters not to the profit of their writings 
 what they were themselves." It matters not to the profit 
 of their writings, nor again to the authority resulting 
 from them ; for the times in which they wrote of course 
 are of authority, though the Fathers themselves have 
 none. They may be nothing more than bare witnesses ; 
 yet so much as this they have a claim to be considered. 
 
 This is even the strict Protestant view. We are not 
 obliged to take the Fathers as authorities^ only as 
 witnesses. Charity, indeed, and piety will prompt the 
 Christian student to go further, and to believe that men 
 who laboured so unremittingly, and suffered so severely 
 in the cause of the Gospel, really did possess somewhat 
 of that earnest love of the truth which they professed, 
 
X.] 3ffhtatttiuj5 of Uttim* 137 
 
 and were enlightened by that influence for which they 
 prayed; but I am stating the strict Protestant doctrine, 
 the great polemical principle ever to be borne in mind, 
 that the Fathers are to be adduced in controversy merely 
 as testimonies to an existing state of things, not as 
 authorities. At the same time, no candid Protestant 
 will be loath to admit, that the state of things to which 
 they bear witness, is, as I have already said, a most 
 grave and conclusive authority in guiding us in those 
 particulars of our duty about which Scripture is silent; 
 succeeding, as it does, so very close upon the age of the 
 Apostles. 
 
 Thus much I claim of consistent Protestants, and 
 thus much I grant to them. Gregory and the rest may 
 have been but nominal Christians. Athanasius himself 
 may have been very dark in all points of doctrine, in 
 spite of his twenty years' exile and his innumerable 
 perils by sea and land ; the noble Ambrose, a mere high 
 churchman ; and Basil, a mere monk. I do not dispute 
 these points ; though I claim " the right of private judg- 
 ment," so far as to have my own very definite opinion in 
 the matter, which I keep to myself. 
 
 However, Vincent does not scruple to treat as severely 
 as a Protestant could desire, some at least of those who 
 commonly are included under the name of Fathers. Let 
 us hear what he says of Origen and Tertullian. 
 
 "I suppose that, although I could bring forth many 
 to show this kind of temptation, yet there is almost none 
 which can be compared to the temptation of Origen, in 
 whom were very many gifts, so rare, so singular, so 
 strange, that in the beginning any would have thought 
 that his opinions might have been believed of all men. 
 For if life procureth authority, he was a man of great 
 industry, of great chastity, patience, and labour : if 
 family or learning, who more noble? being in the first 
 place of that house which was honourable for martyr- 
 dom, himself afterward for Christ deprived not of his 
 father only, but also spoiled of all his patrimony; and 
 so much he profited in the straits of holy poverty, that, 
 as it is reported, for the confession of Christ's name he 
 often endured affliction. Neither had he only these 
 gifts, all which afterward served for temptation, but 
 
13S ©fr^ Ctfi«rrlj 0f the Ifatlr^ra. [chap. 
 
 also a force of wit, so profound, so quick, so elegant, 
 that he far excelled almost all other whatsoever. A 
 man of such learning and universal erudition, that there 
 were few things in divinity, in human philosophy per- 
 haps almost none, which he had not perfectly attained ; 
 who having gotten the Greek tongue, laboured also with 
 success about the Hebrew. And for his eloquence, why 
 should I speak of it? whose language was so pleasant, 
 so soft, so sweet, that in my opinion not words but 
 honey flowed from his mouth. What things were so 
 hard to believe, which with force of argument he made 
 not plain? what so difficult to bring to pass, which he 
 made not to seem easy ? But perchance he maintained 
 his assertions by arguments only. Nay, without question 
 there was never any doctor which used more examples 
 of Holy Scripture. But yet haply he wrote not much. 
 No man living more; yea so much, that all his works 
 seem to me not only more than can be read, but even 
 more than can be found ; who, not to lack any further- 
 ance to learning, lived also until he was passing old. 
 But yet perchance unfortunate in his scholars. What 
 man ever more happy? for of his nursing grew up 
 doctors and priests without number, yea, confessors and 
 martyrs. Further, who is able to prosecute in words 
 in what admiration he was with all men ? in what glory ? 
 in what favour ? Who that was more zealous of religion, 
 repaired not to him from the furthest parts of the 
 world ? What Christian did not venerate him almost as 
 a prophet ? What philosopher did not honour him as a 
 master ? And how greatly he was reverenced not only 
 of private men, but also of the empire itself, histories 
 do speak, which report that he was sent for of Alexander 
 the emperor's mother, to wit, for the merit of his 
 heavenly wisdom, with the grace whereof he was full, as 
 was she of love to the same. His epistles also testify 
 the same thing, which with the authority of a Christian 
 master he wrote unto Philip the emperor, the first 
 Christian amongst all the Roman princes. And if any 
 man upon our report admitteth not the testimony of a 
 Christian touching his wonderful knowledge, at least let 
 him receive an heathen confession in the testimony of 
 philosophers. For that impious Porphyry saith, that 
 
X.] 3ttnanttus oi Wtxim. 139 
 
 himself, being but yet, as it were, a boy, moved with his 
 fame, travelled unto Alexandria, where he did see him, 
 being then old, but yet such an one and so learned, as 
 that he had builded him a fortress of universal know- 
 ledge. Time would sooner fail me, than I could touch, 
 though briefly, upon those notable gifts which were in 
 that man, all which notwithstanding pertained not only 
 to the glory of reHgion, but also to the greatness of the 
 temptation. For among how many is there one that 
 would willingly have forsaken a man of such wit, of so 
 deep learning, of so rare grace, and would not sooner 
 have used that saying, that he had rather err with 
 Origen, than believe aright with others? And why 
 should I say more ? the matter came to that issue, that, 
 as the end showed, not an usual and common, but a 
 passing dangerous temptation of so great a man, so 
 great a doctor, so great a prophet, carried away very 
 many from soundness of faith: wherefore this Origen, 
 so rare and singular a man, too presumptuously abusing 
 the grace of God, indulging too much his own wit, 
 trusting himself as sufficient, little esteeming the old 
 simphcity of the Christian religion, presuming to be 
 wiser than all other, contemning the traditions of the 
 Church, and the old Fathers' teaching, expounding 
 certain chapters of the Scriptures after a new fashion, 
 deserved that the Church of God should also say of 
 him, ' If there arise up in the midst of thee a prophet ; ' 
 and a Httle after, *Thou shalt not hear (quoth he) the 
 words of that prophet ; ' and again, ' Because (quoth he) 
 your Lord God doth tempt you, whether you love him 
 or no.' And surely it is not only a temptation, but also 
 a great temptation, when a man seduceth secretly and 
 by little and httle the Church depending upon him, 
 (admiring his wit, knowledge, eloquence, conversation, 
 and grace, nothing suspecting him, nothing fearing him) 
 suddenly from the old religion to new profaneness. 
 But some will say that Origen's books be corrupted : I 
 will not gainsay it, but rather wish it were so : for that 
 hath been both said and written by some, not only 
 catholics, but also heretics. But this is now the point 
 we are to consider, that although not he, yet the books 
 passing abroad under his name, are a great temptation, 
 
I40 ®It^ ©iTttrrlr oi t\jt JfatHr^rs- [chap. 
 
 which, full of many hurtful blasphemies, are read and 
 loved, not as the books of others, but as his ; so that 
 although Origen gave no cause of originating erroneous 
 doctrine, yet his authority hath been the occasion why 
 the error hath been received ^ 
 
 "The case also of Tertullian is the very same with 
 the former: for as Origen is to be thought the best 
 among the Greek doctors, so Tertullian among the 
 Latins without controversy is the chief of all our writers. 
 For who was more learned than he? Who in divinity 
 or humanity more practised ? for by a certain wonderful 
 capacity of mind, he attained to, and understood, all 
 philosophy, all the sects of philosophers, all their 
 founders and supporters, all their systems, all sorts of 
 histories and studies. And for his wit, was he not so 
 excellent, so grave, so forcible, that he almost undertook 
 the overthrow of nothing, which either by quickness of 
 wit or weight of reason he crushed not ? Further, who 
 is able to express the praises which his style of speech 
 deserves, which is fraught (I know not how) with that 
 force of reason, that such as it cannot persuade, it 
 compels to assent : whose so many words almost are 
 so many sentences; whose so many senses, so many 
 victories. This know Marcion and Apelles, Praxeas 
 and Hermogenes, Jews, Gentiles, Gnostics, and divers 
 others : whose blasphemous opinions he hath over- 
 thrown with his many and great volumes, as it had 
 been with thunderbolts. And yet this man after all this, 
 this Tertullian, I say, not holding the Catholic doctrine, 
 that is, the universal and old faith, being far more 
 eloquent than faithful, changing afterwards his mind, at 
 last did that which the blessed confessor Hilary in a 
 
 ^ The tenets imputed to the Origenists in Vincent's age were 
 these : i. That the Son of God could not see the Father, nor the 
 Holy Spirit the Son. 2. That the soul had sinned in a pre- 
 existent state, and the body was its prison. 3. That the devil and 
 the fallen spirits would one time repent. 4. That Adam and Eve 
 had no bodies before the fall. 5. That the flesh would not rise 
 again. 6. That the terrestrial paradise was spoken of allegorically. 
 7. That "the waters above the heavens" were angels, and those 
 above and under the earth, evil spirits. 8. That man by sinning 
 effaced the image of God. — Vide Huet. Origen. ii. 4. § i. n. 12. 
 Giesler, Eccles, Hist. vol. i. § 83. 
 
X.] Hfittrenthta ai lEmns. 141 
 
 certain place writeth of him; 'He discredited (quoth 
 he) with his latter error his worthy writings : ' and he 
 also was a great temptation in the Church. But hereof 
 I would not say more; only this I will add, that by 
 his defending, against the precept of Moses, for true 
 prophecies the new madness of Montanus springing up 
 in the Church, and those mad dreams about new 
 doctrine of frantic women, he deserved that we should 
 also say of him and his writings, ' If a prophet shall 
 rise up in the midst of thee,' and straight after, 'thou 
 shalt not hear the words of that prophet.' Why so? 
 'Because (quoth he) your Lord God doth tempt you, 
 whether you love Him or no.' 
 
 "We ought, therefore, evidently to note by these, 
 so many, so great, and divers other such weighty ex- 
 amples in the Church, and according to the laws of 
 Deuteronomy most clearly to understand, that if at any 
 time any ecclesiastical teacher strayeth from the faith, 
 that God's providence doth suffer that for our trial, 
 whether we love Him or no in our whole heart, and in 
 our whole soul." — Ch. 23, 24. 
 
 Vincentius proceeds to speak of the misery of 
 doubting : — 
 
 "Which being so, he is a true and genuine Catholic 
 that loveth the truth of God, the Church, the body of 
 Christ; that preferreth nothing before the religion of 
 God ; nothing before the Catholic faith ; not any man's 
 authority, not love, not wit, not eloquence, not phil- 
 osophy ; but contemning all these things, and in faith 
 abiding fixed and stable, whatsoever he knoweth the 
 Catholic Church universally in old times to have holden, 
 that only he purposeth with himself to hold and believe ; 
 but whatsoever doctrine, new and not before heard of, 
 such an one shall perceive to be afterwards brought in 
 of some one man, beside all or contrary to all the saints, 
 let him know that doctrine doth not pertain to religion, 
 but rather to temptation, especially being instructed with 
 the sayings of the blessed Aposde St. Paul. For this 
 is that which he writeth in his first Epistle to the Corin- 
 thians ; ' There must (quoth he) be heresies also, that 
 they which are approved may be made manifest among 
 
142 ^\jt ffiljurrlj 0f t!j^ JFailj^rs. [chap. 
 
 you.' As though he should say ; This is the cause why 
 the authors of heresies are not straight rooted out by 
 God, that the approved may be made manifest, that is, 
 that every one may appear how steadfastly, faithfully, 
 and constantly, he loveth the Catholic faith. And 
 certain it is, that upon the springing up of any novelty, 
 straightway is discerned both the weight of the corn and 
 the lightness of the chaff j then is that easily blown out 
 of the floor which before lightly remained in the floor ; 
 for some by and by fly away, others only shaken, are 
 both afraid to perish, and ashamed to return, remaining 
 wounded, half dead, half alive, like unto those which 
 have drunk so much poison, as neither killeth, nor well 
 digesteth, neither bringeth death, nor yet permitteth to 
 live. O the miserable state of such persons ! with what 
 seas of cares, with what storms, are they tossed ! for 
 now at one time, as the wind driveth them, they are 
 carried away headlong in error ; at another time, coming 
 again to themselves, they are beaten back like contrary 
 waves; sometime with rash presumption they allow 
 such things as seem uncertain, at another time of pusil- 
 lanimity they are in fear even about those things which 
 are certain ; doubtful which way to take, which way to 
 return, what to desire, what to avoid, what to hold, what 
 to let go ; which misery and affliction of a wavering and 
 unsettled heart, were they wise, is as a medicine of God's 
 mercy towards them. For this is the reason why (being 
 out of the safe port of the CathoHc faith) they are 
 shaken, tossed, and almost killed with storms and 
 troubles, that they should take down the sails of their 
 proud mind, which they vainly hoisted up to the winds 
 of novelties, and so retire and keep themselves within 
 the most sure port of their calm and good mother, and 
 first cast up those bitter and turbulent waters of errors, 
 that afterwards they may drink of the flowing rivers 
 of lively and pure water. Let them learn well to forget 
 that, which well they never learned ; and those articles 
 which the Church teacheth, and by reason are to be 
 attained to, let them endeavour to understand ; and 
 those which surpass reason, let them believe. 
 
 "Which being so, oftentimes calling to mind and 
 remembering the selfsame thing, I cannot sufficiently 
 
X.] UinrMms oi l^rxna. 143 
 
 marvel at the great madness of some men, at so great 
 impiety, of their Winded hearts, lastly, at so great a 
 licentious desire of error, that they be not content with 
 the rule of faith once delivered us, and received from 
 our ancestors, but do every day search and seek for new 
 doctrine, ever desirous to add to, to change, and to take 
 away something from, religion ; as though that were not 
 the doctrine of God, which it is enough to have once 
 revealed, but rather man's institution, which cannot but 
 by continual amendment (or rather correction) be per- 
 fected. 
 
 "Whereas the Divine Scriptures cry out, 'Do not 
 transfer the bounds which thy fathers have set down;' 
 and 'Do not judge over thy judge;' and, 'The serpent 
 will bite him that cutteth the hedge;' and that saying 
 of the Apostle, by which all wicked novelties of all 
 heretics have often been cut in pieces, as it were by a 
 spiritual sword, and always hereafter shall be.^ 'O 
 Timothy, keep the depositum^ avoiding the profane 
 novelties of voices, and oppositions of falsely-called 
 knowledge, which certain promising have erred about 
 the faith.'"— Ch. 25, 26. 
 
 If the general reader has but the twentieth part of 
 the pleasure in perusing, perhaps for the first time, 
 which I have in quoting for the twentieth, he will let me 
 continue a Httle longer : — 
 
 " ' O Timothy (quoth he), keep the depositum^ avoid- 
 ing profane novelties of voices.' This exclamation O, 
 both showeth foresight, and also argueth charity : for he 
 foresaw certain errors, which beforehand he was sorry 
 for. Who at this day is Timothy, but either generally 
 the whole Church, or especially the whole body of pre- 
 lates, who ought either themselves to have a sound 
 knowledge of divine religion, or who ought to infuse 
 it into others? What is meant by keep the depositiim? 
 Keep it (quoth he) for fear of thieves, for danger of 
 enemies, lest when men be asleep, they oversow cockle 
 among that good seed of wheat, which the Son of man 
 hath sowed in His field. ' Keep (quoth he) the deposi- 
 tu77i.^ What is meant by this deposiium? that is, that 
 
 1 I Tim. vi. 20. 
 
144 SCJt^ Otijurrlj oi the JFatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 which is committed to thee, not that which is invented 
 of thee : that which thou hast received, not that which 
 thou hast devised : a thing not of wit, but of learning ; 
 not of private assumption, but of public tradition; a 
 thing brought to thee, not brought forth of thee; 
 wherein thou must not be an author, but a keeper ; not 
 a beginner, but a follower ; not a leader, but an observer. 
 Keep the depositu7n. Preserve the talent of the Catholic 
 faith safe and undiminished; that which is committed 
 to thee, let that remain with thee, and that deliver. 
 Thou hast received gold, render then gold ; I will not 
 have one thing for another; do not for gold render 
 either impudently lead, or craftily brass ; I will not the 
 show, but the very nature of gold itself. O Timothy, 
 O priest, O teacher, O doctor, if God's gift hath made 
 thee meet and sufficient for thy wit, exercise, and 
 learning, be the Beseleel of the spiritual tabernacle, 
 engrave the precious stones of God's doctrine, faithfully 
 set them, wisely adorn them, give them brightness, give 
 them grace, give them beauty. That which men before 
 believed obscurely, let them by thy exposition under- 
 stand more clearly. Let posterity rejoice for coming 
 to the understanding of that by thy means, which 
 antiquity without that understanding had in veneration. 
 Yet for all this, in such sort deliver the same things 
 which thou hast learned, that albeit thou teachest after 
 a new manner yet thou never teach new things. 
 
 " * O Timothy (quoth he), keep the depositu77i, avoid 
 profane novelties of voices.' Avoid (quoth he) as a 
 viper, as a scorpion, as a basilisk, lest they infect thee 
 not only by touching, but also with their very eyes and 
 breath. What is meant by avoid^ 1 that is, not so much 
 as to eat with any such. What importeth this avoid 1 
 ' If any man (quoth he) come unto you, and bring not 
 this doctrine 2,' what doctrine but the Catholic and 
 universal, and that which, with incorrupt tradition of 
 the truth, hath continued one and the selfsame, through 
 all successions of times, and that which shall continue 
 for ever and ever? What then? 'Receive him not 
 (quoth he) into the house, nor say God speed; for he 
 that saith unto him God speed, communicateth with his 
 
 ^ I Cor. V. II. » 2 John lo, ii. 
 
X.] Jfittatttitia of %txim. i45 
 
 wicked works.' 'Profane novelties of voices' (quoth 
 he) ; what is profane ? Those which have no hoHness 
 in them, nought of rehgion, wholly external to the 
 sanctuary of the Church, which is the temple of God. 
 'Profane novelties of voices (quoth he), of voices, that 
 is, novelties of doctrines, novelties of things, novelties 
 of opinions, contrary to old usage, contrary to antiquity, 
 which if we receive, of necessity the faith of our blessed 
 ancestors, either all, or a great part of it, must be over- 
 thrown; the faithful people of all ages and times, all 
 holy saints, all the chaste, all the continent, all the 
 virgins, all the clergy, the deacons, the priests, so many 
 thousands of confessors, so great armies of martyrs, so 
 many famous and populous cities and commonwealths, so 
 many islands, provinces, kings, tribes, kingdoms, nations ; 
 to conclude, almost now the whole world, incorporated 
 by the Catholic faith to Christ their Head, must needs 
 be said, so many hundreds of years, to have been 
 ignorant, to have erred, to have blasphemed, to have 
 beheved they knew not what. ' Avoid (quoth he) pro- 
 fane novelties of voices,' to receive and follow which 
 was never the custom of Catholics, but always of 
 heretics. And, to say truth, what heresy hath ever 
 burst forth, but under the name of some certain man, 
 in some certain place, and at some certain time ? Who 
 ever set up any heresy, who first divided not himself 
 from the consent of the universality and antiquity of 
 the Catholic Church? Which to be true, examples do 
 plainly prove. For who ever before that profane 
 Pelagius presumed so much of man's free will, that he 
 thought not the grace of God necessary to aid it in 
 every particular good act? Who ever before his 
 monstrous disciple Celestius, denied all mankind to 
 be bound with the guilt of Adam's transgression ? Who 
 ever before sacrilegious Arius durst rend in pieces the 
 unity of Trinity? Who ever before wicked SabeUius 
 durst confound the Trinity of unity ? Who ever before 
 cruel Novatian affirmed God to be merciless, in that He 
 had rather the death of a sinner than he should return 
 and live ? Who ever before Simon Magus (stricken by 
 Apostolical censure, from whom that old sink of all 
 filthiness came, by continual and secret succession, unto 
 
146 ®lj^ ©IjutrrlT oi tht JFatlj^ra. [chap. 
 
 this last Priscilian) durst ever affirm that God our 
 Creator was the Author of evil, that is, of our wicked- 
 ness, impieties, and crimes ; because God (as he said) 
 so with His own hands made man's very nature, that 
 by a certain proper motion and impulse of an enforced 
 will, it can do nothing else, desire nothing else, but to 
 sin, because, being provoked and inflamed with the 
 furious rage of all vices, it is with an insatiable desire 
 carried away headlong into the pit and sink of all filthi- 
 ness? Such examples are infinite, which for brevity 
 sake I omit, by all which notwithstanding it appeareth 
 plainly and clearly enough, that it is, as it were, a custom 
 and law in all heresies, ever to take great pleasure in 
 profane novelties, to loathe the decrees of our forefathers, 
 and to make shipwreck of faith, by oppositions of 
 falsely-called knowledge ; contrariwise that this is usually 
 proper to all Catholics, to keep those things which the 
 holy Fathers have left, and committed to their charge, 
 to condemn profane novelties, and, as the Apostle hath 
 said, and again forewarned, ' if any man shall preach 
 otherwise than that which is received,' to anathematize 
 him." — Ch. 27-34. 
 
 It is presumed that these extracts have sufficiently 
 explained on what grounds we contend for that exact 
 and strict creed, which we call orthodoxy. According 
 to the doctrine of Vincentius, these grounds are twofold; 
 the ground of Scripture, and the ground of Catholic 
 tradition : — tradition first, then Scripture, in order of 
 teaching ; Scripture first, then tradition in point of 
 authority ; Scripture proving, tradition declaring ; tradi- 
 tion interpreting Scripture, Scripture verifying tradition ; 
 and the personal mind and will of the individual being, 
 at least in the theory, the ultimate court of appeal. 
 But here one or two remarks suggest themselves, which 
 will serve to bring this chapter to an end. 
 
 What the primitive Church declared to be the faith 
 is plain enough, and a sure guide; but supposing a 
 person alleges that he himself cannot see that primitive 
 doctrine in Scripture, what is to be said in answer to 
 him ? Are we to oblige him to accept that doctrine, 
 whether he can see it in Scripture or not ? or may he 
 
X.] 3ffxnantma ai Imns* i47 
 
 reject it till he sees it in Scripture? If he may reject 
 it, what is the use of tradition ? and if he must accept 
 it, where is our reverence for Scripture ? 
 
 I answer first, that though it is abstractedly the right 
 of every individual to verify tradition by Scripture for 
 himself, yet it is not so in matter of fact. It is as 
 wrong for the generality of Christians to attempt it, as 
 if there was no right at all. This is evident, even at 
 first sight. Everyone may plead his own cause, or 
 prescribe for his neighbour, — that is, there is no law 
 of the land against it; yet most men would but bring 
 upon themselves vexation and ridicule if they attempted 
 to do either. Now, it is as certain that the inter- 
 pretation of Scripture requires qualifications for the due 
 performance of it, as pleading or prescribing ; know- 
 ledge of the languages, for instance, does not come by 
 nature. It may, indeed, be urged that a divine 
 illumination is promised us to lead us into truth; but 
 this is not so easy of proof. Rather, it is evident, at 
 first sight, that no promise of a guidance into truth has 
 been made to each individual, educated or not, and 
 that by means of the bare Greek or Hebrew text, which 
 is the point which must be maintained ; and moreover, 
 as far as we may judge, Almighty God is not wont to 
 effect supernaturally, what may be effected in the way 
 of nature. Now, as to saving faith, considered as a 
 te?nper of mind, this cannot be obtained, except super- 
 naturally, on account of Adam's fall; therefore, for 
 the obtaining of it, each individual must ask, and may 
 humbly expect the aid of divine grace. But saving 
 knowledge, and of it I am now speaking, though it might 
 be, and has sometimes been, supernaturally vouchsafed, 
 as by inspiration, may also be gained by natural means, 
 and therefore it is unlikely that it should be given by 
 divine illumination. Catholic tradition does that which 
 individual examination might do, were men inspired, or 
 were they learned. And whereas they are ordinarily 
 neither, this said private inquiry is, in the case of 
 ordinary men, a mistake ; and they who attempt to 
 exercise it are as reasonable and wise as anyone else 
 who goes out of his depth in a matter of this world. 
 
 In the next place I would say that the juxtaposition 
 
14S Wht (&hnxt\ji ai Hjt IFatlj^ra, [chap. 
 
 of Scripture with tradition is ordinarily but a negative 
 comparison of the latter with the former ; though it may 
 be, if it so happen, much more. I mean, it must be 
 rather used to see that tradition is not wrong than to 
 prove that it is right. This is the very meaning of the 
 word " test " or " verification ; " a test is satisfied if there 
 is no actual disagreement, it does not ask for more. I 
 must explain myself. Scripture has but one sense, 
 undoubtedly ; but it does not bring out upon its surface 
 that one sense, in system and fulness; it only implies, 
 and in a certain sense hides it. Be men ever so learned 
 it requires, in addition, a singularly unprejudiced and 
 straightgoing mind to enter into Scripture as it is ; to 
 penetrate and, as it were, become diffused throughout 
 its recesses; and to apprehend "the whole counsel 
 of God" contained in it. Most persons, whatever be 
 their attainments and talents, will mistake its meaning, 
 from not apprehending its entire meaning ; and that 
 in opposite ways, from the accident of their opposite 
 circumstances. Catholic tradition, then, has been 
 mercifully given to supply to Scripture what it does 
 not supply to itself, its true interpretation; and since, 
 by the very hypothesis, it is to teach men what other- 
 wise they might not infer from Scripture, there is nothing 
 wonderful in its not at once annihilating, when given, 
 all other inferences from Scripture. That which was 
 before an unknown sense does not at once become 
 the only conceivable sense. Each man before had an 
 interpretation of his own ; those private interpretations 
 remain ; they do not become impossible, merely because 
 there is found to be an older. The Catholic sense 
 comes as a mediator or arbiter between disputants; 
 and if it at once approved itself to any one party, it 
 could not approve itself to the rest. Tradition super- 
 sedes, not reverses, the inferences of private inquirers. 
 All that inquirers can demand to perceive, what they 
 will perceive abundantly, is, that the Catholic sense is 
 at least one of those senses which Scripture may have. 
 They will indeed, in fact, perceive a great deal more; 
 they will have a continually growing perception that 
 it is the one only true sense; but, in order to their 
 accepting it, it ought to be enough that they perceive 
 
X.] JUinantttts oi %mnz. 149 
 
 that it is not excluded by the text of Scripture from 
 being true. Few men, perhaps, if left to themselves, 
 would see any one sense in Scripture, such as to be 
 sure that there could be none other but it; yet I sup- 
 pose few men, indeed, if they examined diligently, but 
 would also confess that, whatever other sense the sacred 
 text might admit, it would, at least, admit the Catholic 
 sense. 
 
 This, then, is the true mode of verifying or proving 
 the tradition of the Church universal by Scripture, not 
 to insist upon seeing o?ily that one sense in the text 
 of Scripture whidi the tradition assigns, but to examine 
 whether there is anything in the text inconsistent with 
 that one sense; and after all not to forget that there 
 is a previous question, viz. whether the inquirer is duly 
 qualified to be a judge of the sense either of tradition 
 or of Scripture at all. And now, perhaps, the reader 
 has heard enough of tradition. 
 
" Behold, thou art wiser than Daniel ; there is no secret that they 
 can hide from thee. By thy great wisdom, and by thy traffic, 
 hast thou increased thy riches, and thine heart is lifted up because 
 of thy riches." 
 
 NO passage of early ecclesiastical history is more 
 painful and more instructive than the fall of 
 ApoUinaris into heresy. It becomes so from his high 
 repute for learning and virtue, his intimacy with the 
 great Catholic champions of his day, his former services 
 to the Church, the temptation which seems to have led 
 to it, the comparative insignificance of his error at first, 
 yet the deplorable defection from the faith at which he, 
 or at least his school, in no long time arrived. He 
 began with the denial of our Lord's human soul, or 
 rather of the intellectual part of it, which he considered 
 was suppHed by the Eternal Word incarnate. His object 
 in this was to secure more completely the doctrine of 
 the divinity of our Lord's person, to impjess upon the 
 mind that He who came on earth, who taught, acted, 
 and suffered, was God, and not a man, in every thought, 
 word, and deed, though acting through and in human 
 nature; and he did so with an especial view of over- 
 throwing Arianism, which denied our Lord's divinity. 
 His error, slight as it may appear in itself to orthodox 
 Christians of this day, is, at first sight, in one point of 
 view, even slighter still in the judgment of the theologian, 
 who bears in mind that, according to the Catholic creed, 
 our Lord, though perfect man, as far as nature is con- 
 cerned, is not a man in the sense in which any given 
 individual of the species is such. His person or sub- 
 sistence not being human, but divine. ApoUinaris 
 
 ISO 
 
CH. XI.] ^}j0lUttarxa* 151 
 
 seemed to say no more than this, that our Lord, not 
 having a human person, had not that particular part 
 of human nature in which personality may be considered 
 to reside — viz. the rational part of the soul. Such was 
 the seemingly trivial character of his doctrinal error ; it 
 ended, however, as the history of his school shows us, 
 in no many years, and by no difficult or complicated 
 process, when we come to inspect it, in a variety, or 
 rather an alternative, of the most grievous and wildest 
 tenets — in the belief, on the one hand, that Christ's 
 body was only in appearance flesh ; or, on the other, 
 that it was created out of the very substance of Almighty 
 God. 
 
 This was the incredible aberration of a grave, a 
 literary, an aged man, some of whose writings are still 
 extant, and evince a vigour and elegance of mind not 
 inferior to any writer of his day. An impious and 
 ; monstrous gnosticism seemed to revive, in the person 
 of a dialectician, versed in all the accomplishments of 
 Grecian philosophy and rhetoric. A brief sketch of 
 his history, and of the conduct of the Church towards 
 him, may not be out of place in this series of views, as 
 they are intended to be, of ancient Christianity. 
 
 His father, who bore the same name, was a native of 
 Alexandria, by profession a grammarian or schoolmaster; 
 who, passing from Berytus to the Syrian Laodicea, 
 married and settled there, and eventually rose to the 
 presbyterate in the Church of that city. Apollinaris, 
 the son, was born there in the early part of the fourth 
 century, and was educated for the profession of rhetoric. 
 After a season of suspense, as to the ultimate destination 
 of his talents, he resolved on dedicating them to the 
 service of the Church; and, after being admitted into 
 reader's orders, he began to distinguish himself by his 
 opposition to philosophical infidelity. His work against 
 Porphyry, the most valuable and elaborate of his writings, 
 was extended to as many as thirty books. During the 
 reign of JuHan, when the Christian schools were shut 
 up, and the Christian youth debarred from the use of 
 the classics, the two Apollinares, father and son, exerted 
 themselves to supply the inconvenience thence resulting 
 from their own resources. They wrote heroical pieces. 
 
152 Stlj^ dljurrlT ai th IFatlrm* [chap. 
 
 odes, tragedies, and dialogues, after the style of Homer 
 and Plato, and other standard authors, upon Christian 
 subjects; and the younger wrote and dedicated to Julian 
 a refutation of Paganism, on grounds of reason. 
 
 Nor did ApoUinaris confine himself to the mere ex- 
 ternal defence of the Gospel, or the preparatory training 
 of its disciples. His expositions on Scripture were the 
 most numerous of his works; he especially excelled in 
 eliciting and illustrating its sacred meaning, and had 
 sufficient acquaintance with the Hebrew to enable him 
 to translate or comment on the original text. There was 
 scarcely a controversy of the age, prolific as it was in 
 heresies, into which he did not enter. He wrote against 
 the Arians, Eunomians, Macedonians, and Manichees; 
 against Origen and Marcellus; and in defence of the 
 Millenarians. 
 
 Such a man seemed to be raised up providentially for 
 the Church's defence in an evil day; and for a while 
 he might be said resolutely and nobly to fulfil his 
 divinely appointed destiny. The Church of Laodicea, 
 with the other cities of Syria, was at the time in Arian 
 possession ; when the great Athanasius passed through 
 on his return to Egypt, after his second exile (a.d. 348), 
 ApoUinaris communicated with him, and was in con- 
 sequence put out of the Church by the bishop in 
 possession. On the death of Constantius the cause 
 of orthodoxy prevailed; and ApoUinaris was consecrated 
 to that see, or to that in Asia Minor which bears the 
 same name. 
 
 Such was the station, such the reputation of Apol- 
 linaris, at the date of the Council thereupon held at 
 Alexandria, a.d. 362, for settHng the disorders of the 
 Church ; and yet, in the proceedings of this celebrated 
 assembly, the first intimation occurs of the existence 
 of that doctrinal error by which he has been since 
 known in history, though it is not there connected with 
 his name. The troubles under Julian succeeded, and 
 diverted the minds of all parties to other objects. The 
 infant heresy slept till about the year 369 ; when it gave 
 fresh evidence of its existence by the presence of a 
 number of persons, scattered about Syria and Greece, and 
 professing it in one form or other, and by the solemn 
 
XL] ^pnUittaris. i53 
 
 meeting of a Council in the former country, in which its 
 distinctive tenets were condemned. We find that even 
 at this date it had run the full length of the extrava- 
 gances already specified ; still the name of Apollinaris 
 is not connected with them. The Council, as I have 
 said, was held in Syria, but the heresy which occasioned 
 it had already, it seems, extended into Greece; for a 
 communication which the assembled bishops addressed 
 to Athanasius elicited from him a letter, still extant, 
 addressed to Epictetus, bishop of Corinth, who had also 
 written to him on the subject. This letter, whether 
 from tenderness to Apollinaris, or from difficulty in 
 bringing the heresy home to him, still does not mention 
 his name. A work written by Athanasius against the 
 heresy, at the very end of his life, with the keenness 
 and richness of thought which distinguish his writings 
 generally, is equally silent ; as are two letters to friends 
 about the same date, which touch more or less on the 
 theological points in question. All these treatises seem 
 to be forced from the writer, and are characterised 
 by considerable energy of expression : as if the Catholics 
 were really perplexed with the novel statements of doc- 
 trine, and doubtful how Athanasius would meet them, 
 or at least required his authority before pronouncing 
 upon them ; and, on the other hand, as if the writer 
 himself were fearful of conniving at them, whatever 
 private reasons he might have for wishing to pass them 
 over. Yet there is nothing in the history or documents 
 of the times to lead one to suppose that more than 
 a general suspicion attached to Apollinaris ; and, if we 
 may beHeve his own statement, Athanasius died in 
 persuasion of his orthodoxy. A letter is extant, written 
 by Apollinaris on this subject, in which he speaks of 
 the kind intercourse he had with the Primate of Egypt, 
 and of their agreement in faith, as acknowledged by 
 Athanasius himself. He claims him as his master, and 
 at the same time slightly hints that there had been 
 points to settle between them, in which he himself 
 had given way. In another, written to an Egyptian 
 bishop, he seems to refer to the very epistle to Epictetus 
 noticed above, expressing his approbation of it. It is 
 known, moreover, that Athanasius gave letters of intro- 
 
154 ®lj^ Cbttrrlr 0f iht fallr^ra- [chap. 
 
 duction to the western bishops, to Timotheus, Apolli- 
 narius' intimate friend, and afterwards the most ex- 
 travagant teacher of his sect, on the ground of his 
 controversial talents against the Arians. 
 
 Athanasius died in a. d. 371 or 373 ; and that bereave- 
 ment of the Church was followed, among its calamities, 
 by the open avowal of heresy on the part of Apollinaris. 
 In a letter already referred to, he claims Athanasius 
 as agreeing with him, yet proceeds to profess one of 
 the very tenets against which Athanasius had written. 
 In saying this, I have no intention of accusing so 
 considerable a man of that disingenuousness which is 
 almost the characteristic mark of heresy. It was 
 natural that Athanasius should exercise an influence 
 over his mind; and it was as natural that, when his 
 fellow-champion was taken to his rest, he should find 
 himself able to breathe more freely, yet be unwilling 
 to own it. While indulging the speculations of a private 
 judgment, he might still endeavour to persuade himself 
 that he was not outstepping the range which Scripture 
 had prescribed, and the Church Catholic witnessed. 
 On the other hand, it appears that the ecclesiastical 
 authorities of the day, even when he professed his 
 heresy, were for a while incredulous about the fact, 
 from their recollection of his former services and faith, 
 and the hope that he was but carried on into verbal 
 extravagances by his opposition to Arianism. Thus 
 they were as unwilling to denounce him as a heretic 
 as he to confess it. Nay, even when he had lost shame, 
 attacked the Catholics with violence, and formed his 
 disciples into a sect, not even then was he himself 
 at once pubhcly animadverted on, though his creed 
 was anathematized. His first condemnation was at 
 Rome, several years after Athanasius' death, in com- 
 pany with Timotheus, his disciple. In the General 
 Council of Constantinople, several years later, his sect 
 is mentioned as existing, with directions how to 
 receive back into the Church those who applied for 
 reconciliation. He outlived this Council about ten 
 years; his sect lasted only twenty years beyond him; 
 but in that short time it had split into three distinct 
 persuasions, of various degrees of heterodoxy, and is 
 
XL] ^pnlUitaria. i55 
 
 said to have fallen more or less into the errors of 
 Judaism. 
 
 Such is the outline of a melancholy history. We may 
 fitly conclude our review of it by attending to what con- 
 temporary writers say of him and his sect. Epiphanius 
 speaks thus mournfully : — 
 
 "That aged and venerable man, who was ever so 
 singularly dear to us, and to the holy father, Athanasius 
 of blessed memory, and to all orthodox men, Apollinaris 
 of Laodicea, he it was who originally struck out and 
 propagated this doctrine. And at first, when we were 
 assured of it by some of his disciples, we disbelieved 
 that such a man could admit such an error into his walk, 
 and patiently waited in hope, till we might ascertain the 
 state of the case. For we argued that his youths, who 
 came to us, not entering into the profound views of 
 so learned and clear-minded a master, had invented 
 these statements of themselves, not learned them from 
 him. For there were many points in which those who 
 came to us were at variance with each other : some of 
 them ventured to say that Christ had brought down His 
 body from above (and this strange theory, admitted into 
 the mind, developed itself into worse notions) ; others of 
 them denied that Christ had taken a soul; and some 
 ventured to say that Christ's body was consubstantial 
 with the Godhead, and thereby caused great confusion 
 in the East." — Ifcsr. Ixxvii. 2. 
 
 He proceeds afterwards : — 
 
 " Full of distress became our life at that time, that 
 between brethren so exemplary as the forementioned, a 
 quarrel should at all have arisen, that the enemy of man 
 might work divisions among us. And great, my brethren, 
 is the mischief done to the mind from such a cause. 
 For were no question ever raised on the subject, the 
 matter would be most simple : (for what gain has accrued 
 to the world from such novel doctrine, or what benefit to 
 the Church ? rather has it not been an injury, as causing 
 hatred and dissension?) but when the question was 
 raised, it became formidable ; it did not tend to good ; 
 for whether a man disallows this particular point, or even 
 
15^ Stlj^ €\jnxt\j 0f t\jt Ifatlj^ra. [chap. 
 
 the slightest, still it is a denial. For we must not, even 
 in a trivial matter, turn aside from the path of truth. 
 No one of the ancients ever maintained it — prophet or 
 apostle, or evangelist, or commentator — down to these 
 our times, when this so perplexing doctrine proceeded 
 from the most learned man aforesaid. His was a mind 
 of no common cultivation ; first in the preliminaries of 
 literature in Greek education, then as a master of dia- 
 lectics and argumentation. Moreover, he was most 
 grave in his whole life, and reckoned among the very 
 first of those who ever deserved the love of the orthodox, 
 and so continued till the maintenance of this doctrine. 
 Nay, he had undergone banishment, for not submitting 
 to the Arians ; — but why enlarge on it ? It afflicted us 
 much, and gave us a sorrowful time, as our enemy is 
 ever accustomed to do." — IMd. 24. 
 
 I have already noticed, in a former chapter, that 
 St. Basil got into trouble from a supposed intimacy with 
 Apollinaris. He had written one letter to him on an 
 indifferent matter, in 356, when he himself was as yet a 
 layman, and Apollinaris orthodox, and scarcely in orders. 
 This was magnified by Eustathius into a correspondence 
 and intercommunion between the archbishop and the 
 heresiarch. As in reality he knew very little even of his 
 works, the description which the following passages give 
 is valuable, as being, in fact, a sort of popular testimony 
 to Apollinaris, more than an individual opinion. Basil 
 wrote the former in defence of himself; in the latter of 
 the two, other errors of Apollinaris are mentioned, 
 besides those to which I have had occasion to allude, 
 for errors seldom are found single. " For myself," says 
 Basil, "I never indeed considered Apollinaris as an 
 enemy; nay, there are respects in which I reverence 
 him ; however, I did not so connect myself with him, as 
 to make myself answerable for his alleged faults, con- 
 sidering, too, that I have a complaint of my own against 
 him, on reading some of his compositions. I hear, 
 indeed, that he is become the most copious of all 
 writers ; yet I have fallen in with but few of his works, 
 for I have not leisure to search into such, and besides, I 
 am difficult of introduction to recent writers, being 
 
XI.] ^p0Utttaris. 157 
 
 hindered by bodily health from continuing even the 
 study of inspired Scripture laboriously, and as is 
 fitting."—^/. 244, § 3. 
 
 The other runs thus: — "After Eustathius comes 
 Apollinaris ; he, too, no slight disturber of the Church ; 
 for having a facility in writing, and a tongue which 
 served him on every subject, he has filled the world with 
 his compositions, despising the warning, 'Beware of 
 making many books,' because in the many are many 
 faults. For how is it possible, in much speaking, to 
 escape sin? First, there are his theological opinions, 
 resting not on proofs from Scripture, but on human con- 
 siderations. Again, there are his views on the resurrec- 
 tion, made up of fables, or rather of Judaisms ; in which 
 he says, that we shall again turn to the legal worship : 
 again be circumcised, keep Sabbath, abstain from meat, 
 offer sacrifices to God, worship in Jerusalem at the 
 temple, and, in short, become Jews for Christians. 
 What can be more absurd? or rather, more foreign to 
 the Evangelical doctrine? Also, his views of the 
 Incarnation have caused much confusion among my 
 brethren, that few of those who have read them, preserve 
 the ancient marks of piety, but the mass, attending to 
 novelties, have turned aside to questions, and con- 
 tentious speculations of these unprofitable theories." — 
 Ep, 264, § 4. 
 
 It is a solemn and pregnant fact, that two of the most 
 zealous and forward of Athanasius's companions in his 
 good fight against Arianism, Marcellus and Apollinaris, 
 fell away into heresies of their own — Marcellus seems to 
 have denied our Lord's personality, Apollinaris His 
 humanity. "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take 
 heed lest he fall." 
 
 Alas, my brother ! round thy tomb 
 
 In sorrow kneeling, and in fear, 
 We read the pastor's doom 
 
 Who speaks, and will not hear. 
 
 The gray-haired saint may fail at last, 
 The surest guide a wanderer prove, 
 
 Death only binds us fast 
 To the bright shore of love. 
 
QPfiaptcr xii 
 ^ugustxn^ antr tlj^ Han&als 
 
 ** Lo, Eli sat on a seat by the way-side watching, for his heart 
 trembled for the ark of God." 
 
 T HAVE lately directed the reader's attention to the 
 -■- labours of a missionary bishop, who restored the light 
 of Christianity where it had long been obscured. In 
 my present, I will put before him, by way of contrast, a 
 scene of the overthrow of religion, the extinction of a 
 candlestick, effected, too, by champions of the same 
 heretical creed which Gregory successfully resisted. It 
 will be found in the history of the last days of the great 
 Augustine, bishop of Hippo, in Africa. 
 
 Though it may not be given us to appropriate the 
 prophecies of the Apocalypse to the real events to which 
 they respectively belong, yet it is impossible to read its 
 inspired pages, and then to turn to the history of the 
 dissolution of the Roman empire, without seeing a 
 remarkable adaptation, on the whole, between the 
 calamities of that period and the sacred prediction. 
 There is a plain announcement in the inspired page, of 
 " Woe, woe, woe, to the inhabiters of the earth ; " an 
 announcement of "hail and fire mingled with blood," 
 the conflagration of "trees and green grass," the des- 
 truction of ships, the darkening of the sun, and the 
 poisoning of the waters over a third of the earth. There 
 is a clear prophecy of revolutions on the face of the 
 earth and in the structure of society. And on the other 
 hand, let us observe how fully such general foretoken- 
 ings are borne out among other passages of history, in 
 the Vandalic conquest of Africa. 
 
 The coast of Africa, between the great desert and the 
 
 158 
 
CH. XII.] ^ttgusttn^ attir tlj^ JJanlrala. i59 
 
 Mediterranean, was one of the most fruitful and opulent 
 portions of the Roman world. The eastern extremity of 
 it was more especially connected with the empire, 
 containing in it Carthage, Hippo, and other towns, 
 celebrated as being sees of the Christian Church, as well 
 as places of civil importance. In the spring of the year 
 428, the Vandals, Arians by creed, and barbarians by 
 birth and conduct, crossed the Straits of Gibraltar, and 
 proceeded along this fertile district, bringing with them 
 devastation and captivity on every side. They abandoned 
 themselves to the most savage cruelties and excesses. 
 They pillaged, ravaged, burned, massacred all that came 
 in their way, sparing not even the fruit trees, which 
 might have afforded some poor food to the remnant of 
 the population, who had escaped from them into caves, 
 the recesses of the mountains, or into vaults. Twice 
 did this desolating pestilence sweep over the face of the 
 country. 
 
 The fury of the Vandals was especially exercised to- 
 wards the memorials of religion. Churches, cemeteries, 
 monasteries, were objects of their fiercest hatred and 
 most violent assaults. They broke into the places of 
 worship, cut to pieces all internal decorations, and then 
 set fire to them. They tortured bishops and clergy with 
 the hope of obtaining treasure. The names of some of 
 the victims of their ferocity are preserved. Mansuetus, 
 bishop of Utica, was burnt alive; Papinianus, bishop of 
 Vite, was laid upon red-hot plates of iron. This was 
 near upon the time when the third General Council 
 was assembling at Ephesus, which, from the insecure 
 state of the road, and the universal misery which 
 reigned among them, the African bishops were prevented 
 from attending. The clergy, the religious brotherhoods, 
 the holy virgins, were scattered all over the country. 
 The daily service was stopped, the sacraments could not 
 be obtained, the festivals of the Church passed un- 
 noticed. At length, only three cities remained unvisited 
 by the general desolation, — Carthage, Hippo, and 
 Cirtha. 
 
 Hippo was the see of St. Austin, at that time seventy- 
 four years of age (forty almost of which had been passed 
 in ministerial labours), and warned, by the decay of 
 
i6o gcije CIjttrriT of iht Ifatfr^ra. [chap. 
 
 nature, of the approach of dissolution. It was as if the 
 light of prosperity and peace were fading away from the 
 African Church, as sank the bodily powers of its great 
 earthly ornament and stay. At this time, when the 
 terrors of the barbaric invasion spread on all sides, a 
 bishop wrote to him to ask whether it was allowable in 
 the ruler of a Church to leave the scene of his pastoral 
 duties in order to save his life. Different opinions 
 had heretofore been expressed on this question. In 
 Augustine's own country Tertullian had maintained that 
 flight was unlawful, but he was a Montanist at the time. 
 On the other hand, Cyprian had actually fled, and had 
 defended his conduct when censured by the clergy of 
 Rome. His contemporaries, Dionysius of Alexandria, 
 and Gregory of Neocsesarea, had fled also ; as had 
 Polycarp before them, and Athanasius after them. 
 
 Athanasius's reasons for flight, in his published 
 defence of himself, are as follows : — First, he observes, 
 it has the sanction of numerous Scripture precedents. 
 Thus, in the instance of confessors under the old 
 covenant, Jacob fled from Esau, Moses from Pharaoh, 
 David from Saul, Elijah concealed himself from Ahab 
 three years, and the sons of the prophets were hid by 
 Obadiah in a cave from Jezebel. In like manner under 
 the Gospel, the disciples hid themselves for fear of the 
 Jews, and St. Paul was let down in a basket over the 
 wall at Damascus. On the other hand, no instance can 
 be adduced of over-boldness and head-strong daring in 
 the saints of Scripture. Christ Himself is the chief 
 exemplar of flying from persecution. As a child in arms 
 He had to flee into Egypt. When He returned, He still 
 shunned Judea, and retired to Nazareth. After raising 
 Lazarus, on the Jews seeking His life, " He did not any 
 more walk openly among them," but retreated to the 
 neighbourhood of the wilderness. When they took up 
 stones to cast at Him, He hid Himself; when they 
 attempted to cast Him down headlong, He made His 
 way through them; when He heard of the Baptist's 
 death. He retired across the lake into a desert place, 
 apart. If it be said that He did so, because His time 
 was not yet come, and that when it was come. He 
 delivered up Himself, we must ask, in reply, how a man 
 
XII.] ^ugustim anh tlj^ JJaniala. i6i 
 
 can know that his time is come, so as to have a right to 
 do the same. And as not knowing, we must have 
 patience, and, till God by His own act, determines the 
 time, we must "wander in sheep-skins and goat-skins," 
 rather than take the matter into our own hands; as 
 David, in opposite circumstances, left Saul in the hands 
 of God, whether He would "smite him, or his day 
 should come to die, or he should descend into battle 
 and perish." 
 
 If God's servants, proceeds Athanasius, have ever 
 presented themselves before their persecutors, it was at 
 God's command : thus Elijah showed himself to Ahab ; 
 so did the prophet from Judah, to Jeroboam ; and St. 
 Paul appealed to Caesar. Flight, so far from implying 
 cowardice, requires often greater courage than remaining. 
 It is a greater trial of the heart. Death is an end of 
 all trouble; he who flees is ever expecting death, and 
 dies daily. Job's life was not to be touched by Satan, 
 yet was not his fortitude shown in what he suffered? 
 Exile is full of miseries. The after-conduct of the saints 
 showed they had not fled for fear. Jacob, on his 
 death-bed, contemned death, and exultingly blessed the 
 twelve Patriarchs ; Moses returned, and presented him- 
 self before Pharaoh; David was a valiant warrior; Elijah 
 rebuked Ahab and Ahaziah ; Peter and Paul, who had 
 once hid themselves, offered themselves to martyrdom 
 at Rome. And so acceptable was the previous flight of 
 these men to the Almighty God, that we read of His 
 showing them some special favour during it. Jacob had 
 the vision of Angels; Moses saw the burning bush; 
 David wrote his prophetic Psalms ; Elijah raised the 
 dead, and at length gathered the people on Mount 
 Carmel. How would the Gospel ever have been 
 preached throughout the world, if the Apostles had not 
 fled? And, since their time, those, too, who have 
 become martyrs, at first fled; or, if they advanced to 
 meet their persecutors, it was by some secret suggestion 
 of the Divine Spirit. But, above all, while these 
 instances abundantly illustrate the rule of duty in per- 
 secution, and the animus necessary in obeying it, we 
 have that duty itself declared in a plain precept by no 
 other than our Lord : " When they persecute you in one 
 
1 62 ^)jt Cljttrrlj 0f i\}t Jatlr^rs. [chap. 
 
 city," He says, " flee ye unto another ; " and " let them 
 that are in Judea flee to the mountains." 
 
 Thus argues the great Athanasius, Uving in spirit with 
 the saints departed, while full of labour and business 
 here on earth. For the arguments on the other side, 
 let us turn to a writer, not less vigorous in mind, but less 
 subdued. Thus writes Tertullian on the same subject, 
 then a Montanist, a century and a half earlier : — Nothing 
 happens, he says, without God's will. Persecution is 
 sent by Him, to put His servants to the test ; to divide 
 between good and bad : it is a trial ; what man has any 
 right to interfere ? He who gives the prize, alone can 
 assign the combat. Persecution is more than permitted, 
 it is actually appointed by Almighty God. It does the 
 Church much good, as leading Christians to increased 
 seriousness while it lasts. It comes and goes at God's 
 ordering. Satan could not touch Job, except so far as 
 God gave permission. He could not touch the Apostles, 
 except as far as an opening was allowed in the words, 
 " Satan hath desired to have you, but I have prayed for 
 thee," Peter, " and when thou art converted strengthen 
 thy brethren." We pray, " Lead us not into temptation, 
 but deliver us from evil ; " why, if we may deliver our- 
 selves? Satan is permitted access to us, either for 
 punishment, as in Saul's case, or for our chastisement. 
 Since the persecution comes from God, we may not law- 
 fully avoid it, nor can we avoid it. We cannot, because 
 He is all powerful ; we must not, because He is all good. 
 We should leave the matter entirely to God. As to the 
 command of fleeing from city to city, this was temporary. 
 It was intended to secure the preaching of the Gospel 
 to the nations. While the Apostles preached to the 
 Jews, — till they had preached to the Gentiles, — they 
 were to flee ; but one might as well argue, that we now 
 are not to go "into the way of the Gentiles," but to 
 confine ourselves to "the lost sheep of the house of 
 Israel," as that we are now to "flee from city to city." 
 Nor, indeed, was going from city to city a flight ; it was 
 a continued preaching ; not an accident, but a rule : 
 whether persecuted or not, they were to go about ; and 
 before they had gone through the cities of Israel, the 
 Lord was to come. The command contemplated only 
 
XII.] '^ngn^iim mh Djt JJanbals. 163 
 
 those very cities. If St. Paul escaped out of Damascus 
 by night, yet afterwards, against the prayers of the 
 disciples, and the prophecy of Agabus, he went up to 
 Jerusalem. Thus the command to flee did not even last 
 through the lifetime of the Apostles; and, indeed, why 
 should God introduce persecution, if He bids us retire 
 from it? This is imputing inconsistency to His acts. 
 If we want texts to justify remaining. He says, *' Whoso 
 shall confess Me before men, I will confess him before 
 My Father." "Blessed are they that are persecuted;" 
 "He who shall endure to the end, the same shall be 
 saved;" "Fear not them that kill the body;" "Whoso 
 taketh not up his cross and followeth Me, cannot be My 
 disciple." How are these texts fulfilled when a man 
 flies? Christ who is our pattern, did not more than 
 pray, " If it be possible, let the cup pass : " we, too, 
 should both stay and pray as He did. And it is ex- 
 pressly told us, that " We also should lay down our lives 
 for the brethren." Again, it is said, "Perfect love 
 casteth out fear;" he who flees, fears; he who fears, "is 
 not perfect in love." The Greek proverb is sometimes 
 urged, " He who flees, will fight another day ; " yes, and 
 he may flee another day, also. Again, if bishops, priests, 
 and deacons flee, why must the laity stay ? or must they 
 flee also? "The good shepherd," on the contrary, 
 "layeth down his life for the sheep;" whereas, the 
 bad shepherd "seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the 
 sheep, and fleeth." At no time, as Jeremiah, Ezekiel, 
 and Zechariah tell us, is the flock in greater danger of 
 being scattered, than when it loses its shepherd. Ter- 
 tulHan ends thus : — " This doctrine, my brother, perhaps 
 appears to you hard; nay, intolerable. But recollect 
 that God has said, 'Whoso receives, let him receive it;' 
 that is, he who receives not, let him depart. He who 
 fears to suffer, cannot belong to Him who has suffered. 
 He who fears not to suffer, is perfect in love, that is, of 
 God. Many are called, few are chosen. Not he who 
 would walk the broad way, is sought by God, but he 
 who walks the narrow." Thus the ingenious and vehe- 
 ment TertuUian. 
 
 With these remarks for and against flight in persecu- 
 tion, we shall be prepared to listen to Augustine on the 
 
1 64 ^\jt ©Ijurrlj 0f tljB Jatlj^ra. [chap. 
 
 subject; I have said, it was brought before him by a 
 brother bishop, with reference to the impending visita- 
 tion of the barbarians. His answer, happily, is preserved 
 to us, and extracts from it shall now be set before the 
 reader. 
 
 "to his holy brother and fellow-bishop, honoratus, 
 augustine sends health in the lord. 
 
 "I thought the copy of my letter to our brother 
 Quodvultdeus, which I sent to you, would have been 
 sufficient, dear brother, without the task you put on me 
 of counselling you on the proper course to pursue under 
 our existing dangers. It was certainly a short letter ; 
 yet I included every question which it was necessary to 
 ask and answer, when I said that no persons were to be 
 hindered retiring to such fortified places as they were 
 able and desirous to secure ; while, on the other hand, 
 we might not break the bonds of our ministry, by which 
 the love of Christ has engaged us not to desert the 
 Church, where we are bound to serve. The following is 
 what I laid down in the letter I refer to : — ' It remains, 
 then,' I say, 'that, be God's people where we are, ever 
 so little, yet, if it does stay, we, whose ministration is 
 necessary to its staying, must say to the Lord, " Thou art 
 our strong rock and house of defence." ' 
 
 " But you tell me that this view is not sufficient for 
 you, from an apprehension lest we should be running 
 counter to our Lord's command and example, to fly 
 from city to city. Yet is it conceivable that He meant, 
 that our flocks, whom He bought with His own blood, 
 should be deprived of that necessary ministration without 
 which they cannot live ? Is He a precedent for this, who 
 was carried in flight into Egypt by His parents when but 
 a child, before He had formed Churches which we can 
 talk of His leaving ? Or, when St. Paul was let down in 
 a basket through a window, lest the enemy should seize 
 him, and so escaped his hands, was the Church of that 
 place bereft of its necessary ministration, seeing there 
 were other brethren stationed there to fulfil what was 
 necessary? Evidently it was their wish that he, who 
 was the direct object of the persecutors' search, should 
 
XII.] ^ugualim attlr tlj^ Wanhah. 165 
 
 preserve himself for the sake of the Church. Let, then, 
 the servants of Christ, the ministers of His word and 
 sacrament, do in such cases, as He enjoined or per- 
 mitted. Let such of them, by all means, fly from city 
 to city, as are special objects of persecution; so that 
 Ihey who are not thus attacked desert not the Church, 
 but give meat to those their fellow-servants, who they 
 know cannot Hve without it. But in a case when all 
 classes — I mean bishops, clergy, and people — are in 
 some common danger, let not those who need the aid of 
 others, be deserted by those whom they need. Either 
 let one and all remove into some fortified place, or, if 
 any are obliged to remain, let them not be left by those 
 who have to supply their ecclesiastical necessity, so that 
 they may survive in common, or suffer in common, what 
 their Father decrees they should undergo. 
 
 " I understand that a certain bishop has argued,- that 
 if our Lord has enjoined flight upon us in persecutions 
 which may ripen into martyrdom, much more is it 
 necessary to flee from barren sufierings in a barbarian 
 and hostile invasion. This is true and reasonable ; but 
 in the case of such as have no ecclesiastical office to tie 
 them. For he who awaits, when he might escape, the 
 murderous career of a foe, lest he should desert Christ's 
 ministry, without which, men can neither become nor 
 continue Christians, has attained a greater fruit of charity 
 than he who, after flying not for the brethren's sake, but 
 for himself, and then, being captured, confesses Christ, 
 and accepts martyrdom. 
 
 "Why should men make no question about obeying 
 the precept about fleeing from city to city, and yet have 
 no dread of *the hireling who seeth the wolf coming, 
 and fleeth, because he careth not for the sheep ? ' Why 
 do they not try to reconcile (as they assuredly can) these 
 two incontrovertible declarations of our Lord, one of 
 which suffers and commands flight, the other arraigns 
 and condemns it? And what other mode is there of 
 reconciling them, than that which I have above main- 
 tained? viz. that we, the ministers of Christ, when 
 under the pressure of persecution, are then at liberty to 
 leave our posts, when no flock is left for us to serve; 
 or again, when, though there be a flock, yet there are 
 
1 66 ©Jj^ Cburrlj oi tht IFatlT^ra. [chap. 
 
 others to supply our necessary ministry, who have not 
 the same reason for flying, as in the case of St. Paul; 
 or, again, of the holy Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria, 
 who was especially sought after by the emperor Con- 
 stantius, while the Catholic people, who remained 
 together in Alexandria, were in no measure deserted 
 by the other ministers. But when the people remain, 
 and the ministers flee, and the ministration is suspended, 
 what is that but the guilty flight of hirelings, who care 
 not for the sheep? For then the wolf will come, not 
 man, but the devil, who is used to persuade such 
 believers to apostasy who are bereft of the daily minis- 
 tration of the Lord's Body ; and by your, not knowledge, 
 but ignorance of duty, the weak brother will perish, for 
 whom Christ died. 
 
 "Let us only consider, when matters come to an 
 extremity of danger, and there is no longer any means 
 of escape, how persons flock together to the Church, 
 of both sexes, and all ages, begging for baptism, or 
 reconciliation, or for even the observance of penance, 
 and one and all of them for consolation, and the con- 
 secration and application of the sacraments. Now, if 
 ministers are wanting, what ruin awaits those who depart 
 from this Hfe unregenerate, or unabsolved? Consider 
 the grief of their believing relatives, who will not have 
 them as partakers with themselves in the rest of eternal 
 life; consider the anguish of the whole multitude, nay, 
 the cursings of some of them, at the absence of minis- 
 tration and ministers. 
 
 " It may be said, however, that the ministers of God 
 ought to avoid such imminent perils, in order to preserve 
 themselves for the profit of the Church for more tran- 
 quil times. I grant it where others are present to 
 supply the ecclesiastical ministry, as in the case of 
 Athanasius. How necessary it was to the Church, 
 how beneficial, that such a man should remain in the 
 flesh, the Catholic faith bears witness, which was main- 
 tained against the Arians by his voice and love. But 
 when there is a common danger, and when there is 
 rather reason to apprehend lest a man should be thought 
 to flee from purpose of prudence, but from dread of 
 dying, and when the example of flight does more harm 
 
XII.] ^uguatim antr tlj^ ^aniah. 167 
 
 than the service of living does good, it is by no means 
 to be done. To be brief, holy David withdrew himself 
 from the hazard of war, lest perchance he should 
 * quench the light of Israel,' at the instance of his 
 people, not on his own motion. Otherwise, he would 
 have occasioned many imitators of an inactivity which 
 they had ascribed, not to regard for the welfare of others, 
 but to cowardice. 
 
 " There is another question which demands considera- 
 tion. If there is a plain expedience in some ministers 
 flying at the prospect of a sweeping calamity, in order 
 that the remnant of the flock, when the slaughter is 
 over, may still have those who can minister to them, 
 what is to be done in a case where all are likely to 
 perish, unless some escape? What, for instance, if the 
 destruction rages only with the view of reaching the 
 ministers of the Church? O, that there may be then 
 a quarrel between God's ministers, w/io are to remain, 
 and w/io to flee, lest the Church should be deserted, 
 whether by all fleeing or all dying. Surely there will 
 ever be such a quarrel, where each party burns in its 
 own charity, yet indulges the charity of the other. In 
 such a difficulty, the lot seems the fairest decision, 
 in default of others. God judges better than man in 
 perplexities of this sort; whether it be His will to 
 reward the holier among them with the crown of martyr- 
 dom and to spare the weak, or again, to strengthen the 
 latter to endure evil, removing those from life whom the 
 Church of God can spare the better. Should it, how- 
 ever, seem inexpedient to cast lots, — a measure for 
 which I cannot bring precedent, — at least, let no one's 
 flight be the cause of the Church's losing those minis- 
 trations which, in such dangers, are so necessary and so 
 imperative. Let no one make himself an exception, on 
 the plea of certain grace, which gives him a claim to life, 
 and therefore to flight. 
 
 "It is sometimes supposed, that bishops and clergy, 
 remaining at their posts in dangers of this kind, deceive 
 their flocks into staying, by their example. But it is 
 easy for us to remove this objection or imputation, by 
 frankly telling them not to be misled by our remaining. 
 *We are remaining for your sake,' we must say, 'lest 
 
i68 mjt €\jnxth oi tljt IFatb^rs. [chap. 
 
 you should fail to obtain whatever ministration we know 
 to be necessary to your salvation in Christ. Make your 
 escape, and you will then set us free.' The occasion 
 for saying this is when there seems some real advantage 
 in retiring to a safer position. Should all or some make 
 answer, ' We are in His hands from whose anger no one 
 can flee anywhere; whose mercy every one may find 
 everywhere, though he stir not, whether some necessary 
 tie detains him, or the uncertainty of safe escape deters 
 him ; ' most undoubtedly such persons are not to be left 
 destitute of Christian ministrations. 
 
 "I have written these lines, dearest brother, in truth, 
 as I think — certainly in love — by way of reply, since 
 you have consulted me; but not as dictating, if, per- 
 chance, you may find some better view to guide you. 
 However, better we cannot do in these perils than pray 
 the Lord our God to have mercy upon us." — JS/>. 228. 
 
 The clear-sighted perception of duty, the calm faith, 
 and the single-minded obedience which this letter ex- 
 hibits, were fully maintained in the conduct of the 
 far-famed writer, in the events which followed. It was 
 written on the first entrance of the Vandals into Africa, 
 about two years before they laid siege to Hippo; and 
 during this interval of dreadful suspense and excitement 
 to the Church, as well as of actual suffering, amid the 
 desolation of the Church around him, with the prospect 
 of his own personal trials, we find this unwearied teacher 
 carrying on his works of love by pen, and word of mouth, 
 — eagerly, as if his time were short, but tranquilly, as if 
 it were a season of prosperity. He commenced a fresh 
 work against the opinions of Julian, a friend of his, 
 who, beginning to run well, had unhappily taken up a 
 bold profession of Pelagianism ; wrote a treatise on Pre- 
 destination, at the suggestion of his friends, to meet the 
 objections urged against former works of his on the 
 same subject ; sustained a controversy with the Arians ; 
 and began a history of heresies. What makes Augus- 
 tine's diligence at this season, in the duties of his 
 episcopate, more remarkable is, his being actually 
 engaged at the same time in political affairs, as a 
 confidential friend and counsellor of Boniface, the 
 
XII.] ^ugustim anir il}t Uatttrals* 169 
 
 governor of Africa (who had first invited and then 
 opposed the entrance of the Vandals), and accordingly 
 being in circumstances especially likely to unsettle and 
 agitate his mind. 
 
 At length events hastened unto a close. Fugitive 
 multitudes betook themselves to Hippo. Boniface 
 threw himself into it. The Vandals appeared before 
 it, and laid siege to it. Meanwhile, Augustine fell ill. 
 He had about him many of the African bishops, and 
 among other friends, Possidius, whose account of his 
 last hour is preserved to us. "We used continually to 
 converse together," says Possidius, "about the mis- 
 fortunes in which we were involved, and contemplated 
 God's tremendous judgments which were before our 
 eyes, saying, ' Righteous art Thou, O Lord, and true are 
 thy judgments.' One day, at meal time, as we talked 
 together, he said, 'Know ye that in this our present 
 calamity, I pray God to vouchsafe to rescue this be- 
 sieged city, or (if otherwise) to give His servants strength 
 to bear His will, or, at least, to take me to Himself out 
 of this world.' We followed his advice, and both our- 
 selves, and our friends, and the whole city offered up 
 the same prayer with him. On the third month of the 
 siege, he was seized with a fever and took to his bed, 
 and was reduced to the extreme of sickness." 
 
 Thus, the latter part of his prayer was put in train 
 for accomplishment, as the former part was subsequently 
 granted by the retreat of the enemy from Hippo. But 
 to continue our narrative : — " He had been used to say, 
 in his familiar conversation, that after receiving baptism, 
 even approved Christians and priests ought not to 
 depart from the body without a fitting and sufficient 
 course of penitence. Accordingly, in the last illness, 
 of which he died, he set himself to write out the special 
 penitential psalms of David, and to place them four by 
 four against the wall, so that, as he lay in bed, in the 
 days of his sickness, he could see them. And so he 
 used to read and weep abundantly. And lest his 
 attention should be distracted by any one, about ten 
 days before his death, he begged us who were with 
 him to hinder persons entering his room except at the 
 times when his medical attendants came to see him, or 
 
1 70 '^h^ Ctljurrlr o{ iljit fsiljtx^. [ch. xh. 
 
 his meals were brought him. This was strictly attended 
 to, and all that time given to prayer. Till this last ill- 
 ness, he had been able to preach the word of God in 
 the church without intermission with energy and 
 boldness, with healthy mind and judgment. He slept 
 with his fathers in a good old age, sound in limb, un- 
 impaired in sight and hearing, and, as it is written, 
 while we stood by, beheld, and prayed with him. We 
 took part in the sacrifice to God at his funeral, and so 
 buried him." 
 
 Though the Vandals failed in their first attack upon 
 Hippo, during Augustine's last illness, they renewed it 
 shortly after his death, under more favourable circum- 
 stances. Boniface was defeated in the field, and retired 
 to Italy; and the inhabitants of Hippo left their city. 
 The Vandals entered and burned it, excepting the library 
 of Augustine, which was providentially preserved. 
 
 The desolation which, at that era, swept over the 
 face of Africa, was completed by the subsequent in- 
 vasion of the Saracens. Its five hundred churches 
 are no more. The voyager gazes on the sullen rocks 
 which line its coast, and discovers no token of Christi- 
 anity to cheer the gloom. Hippo has ceased to be an 
 episcopal city; but its great teacher, though dead, yet 
 speaks; his voice is gone out into all lands, and his 
 words unto the ends of the world. He needs no 
 dwelling-place, whose home is the Catholic Church; 
 he fears no barbarian or heretical desolation, whose 
 creed is to last unto the end. 
 
€0ntorat0n oi ^ugustttu 
 
 "Thou hast chastised me and I was chastised, as a bullock 
 unaccustomed to the yoke. Turn Thou me and I shall be 
 turned, for Thou art the Lord my God. Surely after that 
 I was turned, I repented, and after that I was instructed, I 
 smote upon my thigh. I was ashamed, yea was confounded, 
 because I did bear the reproach of my youth." 
 
 A CHANCE reader may ask, What was the history 
 of that celebrated Father whose death was the 
 subject of my last chapter? What had his life been, 
 what his early years, what his labours? Surely he was 
 no ordinary man, whose end, in all its circumstances, 
 is so impressive. We may answer in a few words, that 
 Augustine was the son of a pious mother, who had the 
 pain of witnessing, for many years, his wanderings in 
 doubt and unbelief, who prayed incessantly for his 
 conversion, and at length was blessed with the sight 
 of it. From early youth he had given himself up to 
 a course of life quite inconsistent with the profession 
 of a catechumen, into which he had been admitted in 
 infancy. How far he had fallen into any profligate 
 excesses is doubtful. He uses language of himself 
 which may have the worst of meanings, but may, on 
 the other hand, be but the expression of deep re- 
 pentance and spiritual sensitiveness. In his twentieth 
 year he embraced the Manichaean heresy, in which he 
 continued nine years. Towards the end of that time, 
 leaving Africa, his native country, first for Rome, then 
 for Milan, he fell in with St. Ambrose; and his con- 
 version and baptism followed in the course of his 
 thirty-fourth year. This memorable event, his conver- 
 sion, is celebrated in the Latin Church from early times, 
 
 171 
 
172 ^ht €\jnxt\} oi the Ifatlr^rjS, [chap. 
 
 being the only event of the kind thus distinguished, ex- 
 cepting the conversion of St. Paul. 
 
 His life had been for many years one of great anxiety 
 and discomfort, the life of one dissatisfied with himself, 
 and despairing of finding the truth. Men of ordinary 
 minds are not so circumstanced as to feel the misery 
 of irreligion. That misery consists in the perverted and 
 discordant action of the various faculties and functions 
 of the soul, which have lost their legitimate governing 
 power, and are unable to regain it except at the hands 
 of their Maker. Now the run of irreligious men do 
 not suffer in any great degree from this disorder, and 
 are not miserable; they have neither great talents nor 
 strong passions; they have not within them the 
 materials of rebellion in such measure as to threaten 
 their peace. They follow their own wishes, they yield 
 to the bent of the moment, they act on incHnation, 
 not on principle, but their motive powers are neither 
 strong nor various enough to be troublesome. Their 
 minds are in no sense under rule ; but anarchy is not 
 in their case a state of confusion, but of deadness ; 
 like what is said to be the internal condition of eastern 
 cities and provinces at present, in which, though the 
 government is weak or null, the body politic goes on 
 without any great embarrassment or collision of its 
 members one with another, by the force of inveterate 
 habit. It is very different when the moral and intel- 
 lectual principles are vigorous, active, and developed. 
 Then, if the governing power be feeble, all the sub- 
 ordinates are in the position of rebels in arms; and 
 what the state of a mind is under such circumstances, 
 the analogy of a civil community will suggest to us. 
 Then we have before us the melancholy spectacle of 
 high aspirations without an aim, a hunger of the soul 
 unsatisfied, and a never-ending restlessness and inward 
 warfare of its various faculties. Gifted minds, if not 
 submitted to the rightful authority of religion, become 
 the most unhappy and the most mischievous. They 
 need at once an object to feed upon, and the power 
 of self-mastery; and the love of their Maker, and 
 nothing but it, supplies both the one and the other. 
 We have seen in our own day, in the case of a popular 
 
XIII.] ®0ttli^rat0n oi ^ugustiit^- i73 
 
 poet, an impressive instance of a great genius throwing 
 off the fear of God, seeking for happiness in the creature, 
 roaming unsatisfied from one object to another, breaking 
 his mind upon itself, and bitterly confessing and impart- 
 ing his wretchedness to all around him. I have no 
 wish at all to compare him to St. Augustine; indeed, 
 if we may say it without presumption, the very different 
 termination of their trial seems to indicate some great 
 difference in their respective modes of encountering it. 
 The one dies of premature decay, to all appearance, 
 a hardened infidel ; and if he is still to have a name, 
 will live in the mouths of men by writings at once 
 blasphemous and immoral : the other is a Saint and 
 Doctor of the Church. Each makes confessions, the 
 one to the saints, the other to the powers of evil. 
 And does not the difference of the two discover itself 
 in some measure even to our eyes in the very history 
 of their wanderings and pinings? At least, there is 
 no appearance in St. Augustine's case of that dread- 
 ful haughtiness, sullenness, love of singularity, vanity, 
 irritability, and misanthropy, which were too certainly 
 the characteristics of our own countryman. Augustine 
 was, as his early history shows, a man of affectionate 
 and tender feelings, and open and amiable temper ; and, 
 above all, he sought for some excellence external to his 
 own mind, instead of concentrating all his contemplations 
 on himself. 
 
 But let us consider what his misery was ; it was that 
 of a mind imprisoned, solitary, and wild with spiritual 
 thirst; and forced to betake itself to the strongest ex- 
 citements, by way of relieving itself of the rush and 
 violence of feelings of which the knowledge of the 
 Divine Perfections was the true and sole sustenance. 
 He ran into excess, not from love of it, but from this 
 fierce fever of mind. " I sought what I might love i," 
 he says in his Confessions, "in love with loving, and 
 safety I hated, and a way without snares. For within 
 me was a famine of that inward food. Thyself, my God ; 
 yet through that famine I was not hungered, but was 
 without all longing for incorruptible sustenance, not 
 because filled therewith, but the more empty, the more 
 
 ^ Most of these translations are from the Oxford edition of 1838. 
 
174 ®b Cburrlj of iht IFatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 I loathed it. For this cause my soul was sickly and 
 full of sores; it miserably cast itself forth, desiring to 
 be scraped by the touch of objects of sense." — iii. i. 
 "O foolish man that I then was," he says elsewhere, 
 " enduring impatiently the lot of man ! So I fretted, 
 sighed, wept, was distracted; had neither rest nor 
 counsel. For I bore about a shattered and bleeding 
 soul, impatient of being borne by me, yet where to 
 repose it I found not ; not in calm groves, nor in games 
 and music, nor in fragrant spots, nor in curious banquet- 
 ings, nor in indulgence of the bed and the couch, nor, 
 finally, in books or poesy found it repose. All things 
 looked ghastly, yea, the very light. In groaning and 
 tears alone found I a little refreshment. But when my 
 soul was withdrawn from them, a huge load of misery 
 weighed me down. To Thee, O Lord, it ought to have 
 been raised, for Thee to lighten ; I knew it, but neither 
 could nor would; the more, since when I thought of 
 Thee, Thou wast not to me any solid or substantial 
 thing. For Thou wert not Thyself, but a mere phantom, 
 and my error was my God. If I offered to discharge 
 my load thereon, that it might rest, it glided through the 
 void, and came rushing down against me; and I had 
 remained to myself a hapless spot, where I could neither 
 be, nor be from thence. For whither should my heart 
 flee from my heart? whither should I flee from myself? 
 whither not follow myself? And yet I fled out of my 
 country ; for so should mine eyes look less for kimy when 
 they were not wont to see him." — iv. 12. 
 
 He is speaking in this last sentence of a friend he 
 had lost, whose death-bed was very remarkable, and 
 whose dear familiar name he apparently has not courage 
 to mention. " He had grown up of a child with me," 
 he says, " and we had been both schoolfellows and play- 
 fellows." Augustine had misled him into the heresy 
 which he had adopted himself, and when he grew to 
 have more and more sympathy in Augustine's pursuits, 
 the latter united himself to him in a close intimacy. 
 Scarcely had he thus given him his heart, when God 
 took him. " Thou tookest him," he says, " out of this 
 life, when he had scarce completed one whole year of 
 my friendship, sweet to me above all sweetness in that 
 
XIII.] €anbtxsion ai ^ugustin^. i75 
 
 life of mine. A long while, sore sick of a fever, he lay 
 senseless in the dews of death, and being given over, he 
 was baptized unwitting ; I, meanwhile, little regarding or 
 presuming that his soul would retain rather what it had 
 received of me, than what was wrought on his uncon- 
 scious body." The Manichees, it should be observed, 
 rejected baptism. He proceeds : " But it proved far 
 otherwise; for he was refreshed and restored. Forth- 
 with, as soon as I could speak with him, (and I could as 
 soon as he was able, for I never left him, and we hung 
 but too much upon each other,) I essayed to jest with 
 him, as though he would jest with me at that baptism 
 which he had received, when utterly absent in mind and 
 feeling, but had now understood that he had received. 
 But he shrunk from me, as from an enemy ; and with a 
 wonderful and sudden freedom bade me, if I would 
 continue his friend, forbear such language to him. I, 
 all astonished and amazed, suppressed all my emotions 
 till he should grow well, and his health were strong 
 enough for me to deal with him as I would. But he 
 was taken away from my madness, that with Thee he 
 might be preserved for my comfort : a few days after, in 
 my absence, he was attacked again by fever, and so 
 departed." — iv. 8. 
 
 From distress of mind Augustine left his native place 
 Thagaste, and came to Carthage, where he became a 
 teacher in rhetoric. Here he fell in with Faustus, an 
 eminent Manichsean bishop and disputant, in whom, 
 however, he was disappointed ; and the disappointment 
 abated his attachment to his sect, and disposed him to 
 look for truth elsewhere. Disgusted with the license 
 which prevailed among the students at Carthage, he 
 determined to proceed to Rome, and disregarding and 
 eluding the entreaties of his mother Monnica, who 
 dreaded his removal from his own country, he went 
 thither. At Rome he resumed his profession ; but 
 inconveniences as great, though of another kind, en- 
 countered him in that city; and upon the people of 
 Milan sending for a rhetoric reader, he made application 
 for the appointment, and obtained it. To Milan then 
 he came, the city of St, Ambrose, in the year of our 
 Lord 385. 
 
17^ ^ht Clljitrrlj 0f iljt IFatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 Ambrose, though weak in his voice, had the reputation 
 of eloquence ; and Augustine, who seems to have gone 
 with introductions to him, and was won by his kindness 
 of manner, attended his sermons with curiosity and 
 interest. " I listened," he says, " not in the frame of 
 mind which became me, but in order to see whether his 
 eloquence answered what was reported of it : I hung on 
 his words attentively, but of the matter I was but an 
 unconcerned and contemptuous spectator." — v. 23 His 
 impression of his style of preaching is worth noticing : 
 " I was delighted with the sweetness of his discourse, 
 more full of knowledge, yet in manner less pleasurable 
 and soothing than that of Faustus." Augustine was 
 insensibly moved : he determined on leaving the 
 Manichees, and returning to the state of a catechumen 
 in the Catholic Church, into which he had been admitted 
 by his parents. He began to eye and muse upon the 
 great bishop of Milan more and more, and tried in vain 
 to penetrate his secret heart, and to ascertain the 
 thoughts and feehngs which swayed him. He felt he 
 did not understand him. If the respect and intimacy 
 of the great could make a man happy, these advantages 
 he perceived Ambrose to possess ; yet he was not satis- 
 fied that he was a happy man. His celibacy seemed a 
 drawback : what constituted his hidden life ? or was he 
 cold at heart? or was he of a famished and restless 
 spirit ? He felt his own malady, and longed to ask him 
 some questions about it. But Ambrose could not easily 
 be spoken with. Though accessible to all, yet that very 
 circumstance made it difficult for an individual, especially 
 one who was not of his flock, to get a private interview 
 with him. When he was not taken up with the Christian 
 people who surrounded him, he was either at his meals 
 or engaged in private reading. Augustine used to enter, 
 as all persons might, without being announced; but after 
 staying awhile, afraid of interrupting him, he departed 
 again. However, he heard his expositions of Scripture 
 every Sunday, and gradually made progress. 
 
 He was now in his thirtieth year, and since he was a 
 youth of eighteen had been searching after truth ; yet he 
 was still "in the same mire, greedy of things present," 
 but finding nothing stable. "To-morrow," he said to 
 
XIII.] €onbtv^xan ai ^tigtiattm- i77 
 
 himself, " I shall find it ; it will appear manifestly, and I 
 shall grasp it ; lo, Faustus the Manichaean will come and 
 clear every thing ! O you great men, ye academicians, is 
 it true then, that no certainty can be attained for the 
 ordering of life? Nay, let us search diligently, and 
 despair not. Lo, things in the ecclesiastical books are 
 not absurd to us now, which sometimes seemed absurd, 
 and may be otherwise taken and in a good sense. I will 
 take my stand where, as a child, my parents placed me, 
 until the clear truth be found out. But where shall it be 
 sought, or when ? Ambrose has no leisure ; we have no 
 leisure to read; where shall we find even the books? 
 where, or when, procure them? Let set times be 
 appointed, and certain hours be ordered for the health 
 of our soul. Great hope has dawned; the Catholic faith 
 teaches not what we thought; and do we doubt to knock, 
 that the rest may be opened? The forenoons, indeed, 
 our scholars take up : what do we during the rest ? why 
 not this? But if so, when pay we court to our great 
 friend, whose favours we need ? when compose what we 
 may sell to scholars ? when refresh ourselves, unbending 
 our minds from this intenseness of care ? 
 
 *' Perish every thing : dismiss we these empty vanities ; 
 and betake ourselves to the one search for truth ! Life 
 is a poor thing, death is certain; if it surprises us, in 
 what state shall we depart hence? and when shall we 
 learn what here we have neglected? and shall we not 
 rather suffer the punishment of this negligence ? What 
 if death itself cut off and end all care and feeling? 
 Then must this be ascertained. But God forbid this ! 
 It is no vain and empty thing, that the excellent dignity 
 of the Christian faith has overspread the whole world. 
 Never would such and so great things be wrought for us 
 by God, if with the body the soul also came to an end. 
 Wherefore delay then to abandon worldly hopes, and 
 give ourselves wholly to seek after God and the blessed 
 life ? But wait : even those things are pleasant ; they 
 have some and no small sweetness. We must not 
 hghtly abandon them, for it were a shame to return 
 again to them. See, it is no great matter now to obtain 
 some station, and then what should we wish for more? 
 We have store of powerful friends; if nothing else 
 
17^ ^)jt Cljttrrlj 0f tb fatfr^rs. [chap. 
 
 offers, and we be in much haste, at least a presidency 
 may be given us ; and a wife with some fortune, that she 
 increase not our charges; and this shall be the bound 
 of desire. Many great men, and most worthy of imita- 
 tion, have given themselves to the study of wisdom in 
 the state of marriage." — vi. i8, 19. 
 
 In spite of this reluctance to give up a secular life, 
 yet in proportion as the view of Christian truth opened 
 on Augustine's mind, so was he drawn on to that 
 higher state of Christian conversation on which our 
 Lord and His Apostle have bestowed special praise. 
 So it was, and not unnaturally in those times, that high 
 and earnest minds, when they had found the truth, were 
 not content to embrace it by halves; they would take 
 all or none, they would go all lengths, they would covet 
 the most excellent gifts, or they would remain as they 
 were. It seemed to them absurd to take so much 
 trouble to find the truth, and to submit to such a revolu- 
 tion in their opinions and motives as its reception 
 involved ; and yet, after all, to content themselves with 
 a second-best profession, unless there was a plain duty 
 to oblige them to live the secular Hfe they had hitherto 
 led. The cares of this world, and the deceitfulness 
 of riches, the pomp of life, the pride of station, and the 
 indulgence of sense, are tolerated by the Christian only 
 when it would be a sin to renounce them. The pursuit 
 of gain may be an act of submission to the will of 
 parents ; a married life is the fulfilment of a solemn and 
 voluntary vow ; but it may often happen, and did happen 
 in Augustine's day especially, that there were no religious 
 reasons against a man's giving up the world, as our 
 Lord and his Apostles renounced it. When his parents 
 were heathen, or were Christians of his own high temper, 
 when he had no fixed engagement or position in life, 
 when the State itself was either infidel or but partially 
 emerging out of its old pollutions, and when grace was 
 given to desire and strive after, if not fully to exercise 
 the hoHness of the Lamb's virginal company, duty would 
 often lie, not in shunning, but in embracing an ascetic 
 life. Besides, the Church in the fourth century had 
 had no experience yet of temporal prosperity ; she knew 
 religion only amid the storms of persecution, or the 
 
XIII.] ®0ttfa^rar0n nf ^tigtiatin^ i79 
 
 uncertain lull between them, in the desert or the cata- 
 comb, in insult, contempt, and calumny. She had not 
 yet seen, how opulence, and luxury, and splendour, and 
 polite refinement, and fashion, were compatible with the 
 Christian name; and her Saints imagined, with a sim- 
 plicity or narrowness of mind which will in this day 
 provoke a smile, that they must imitate Cyprian and 
 Dionysius in their mode of living and their habits, as 
 well as in their feelings, frames of mind, professions, and 
 spiritual knowledge. Riches, power, rank, and literary 
 eminence, were then thought misfortunes; the atmo- 
 sphere of the world was thought unhealthy : Augustine 
 then, in proportion as he approached the Church, 
 ascended towards heaven. 
 
 Time went on ; he was in his thirty-second year ; 
 he still was gaining light ; he renounced his belief in 
 fataHsm ; he addressed himself to St. Paul's Epistles. 
 He began to give up the desire of distinction in his 
 profession : this was a great step ; however, still his 
 spirit mounted higher than his heart as yet could follow. 
 " I was displeased," he says, " that I led a secular life ; 
 yea, now that my desires no longer inflamed me, as of 
 old, with hopes of honour and profit, a very grievous 
 burden it was to undergo so heavy a bondage. For 
 in comparison of Thy sweetness, and ' the beauty of Thy 
 honour, which I loved,' these things delighted me no 
 longer. But still I was enthralled with the love of 
 woman ; nor did the Apostle forbid me to marry, 
 although he advised me to something better, chiefly 
 wishing that all men were as he himself. But I, being 
 weak, chose the more indulgent place; and, because 
 of this alone, was tossed up and down in all beside, 
 faint and wasted with withering cares, because in other 
 matters I was constrained, against my will, to conform 
 myself to a married life, to which I was given up and 
 enthralled. I had now found the goodly pearl, which 
 selling all that I had, I ought to have bought; and 
 I hesitated." — viii. 2. 
 
 Finding Ambrose thus reserved, though kind and 
 accessible, he went to an aged man named Simpli- 
 cian, who seems to have baptized St. Ambrose, and 
 eventually succeeded him in his see. He opened his 
 
i8o ^\jt (S^)jnxt)j of iljt Jatljera^ [chap. 
 
 mind to him, and happening in the course of his com- 
 munications to mention Victorinus's translation of some 
 Platonistic works, Simplician asked him if he knew that 
 person's history. It seems he was a professor of rhetoric 
 at Rome, was well versed in literature and philosophy, 
 had been tutor of many of the senators, and had re- 
 ceived the high honour of a statue in the Forum. Up 
 to his old age he had professed, and defended with his 
 eloquence, the old pagan worship. He was led to read 
 the Holy Scriptures, and was brought, in consequence, 
 to a belief in their divinity. For a while he did not feel 
 the necessity of changing his profession ; he looked upon 
 Christianity as a philosophy, he embraced it as such, but 
 did not propose to join what he considered the Christian 
 sect, or, as Christians would call it, the Catholic Church. 
 He let Simplician into his secret; but whenever the 
 latter pressed him to conform, he was accustomed to 
 ask, " whether walls made a Christian." However, such 
 a state could not continue with a man of earnest mind : 
 the leaven worked; at length he unexpectedly called 
 upon Simplician to lead him to church. He was 
 admitted a catechumen, and in due time baptized, 
 "Rome wondering, the Church rejoicing." It was 
 customary at Rome for the candidates for baptism to 
 profess their faith from a raised place in the church, in a 
 set form of words. An offer was made to Victorinus, 
 which was not unusual in the case of bashful and timid 
 persons, to make his profession in private. But he pre- 
 ferred to make it in the ordinary way. " I was public 
 enough," he made answer, " in my profession of rhetoric, 
 and ought not to be frightened when professing salva- 
 tion." He continued his school as before he became a 
 Christian, till the edict of Julian forced him to close it. 
 This story went to Augustine's heart, but it did not melt 
 it. There was still the struggle of two wills, the high 
 aspiration and the habitual inertness. 
 
 "I was weighed down with the encumbrance of this 
 world pleasantly, as one is used to be with sleep; and 
 my meditations upon Thee were like the efforts of men 
 who would awake, yet are steeped again under the depth 
 of their slumber. And as no one would wish always 
 to be asleep, and in the sane judgment of all waking is 
 
XIII.] ®0tttorsi0tt 0f ^uguatim* i8i 
 
 better, yet a man commonly delays to shake off sleep, 
 when a heavy torpor is on his limbs, and though it is 
 time to rise, he enjoys it the more heartily while he 
 ceases to approve it : so, in spite of my conviction 
 that Thy love was to be obeyed rather than my own 
 lusts, yet I yielded to the approval, but was taken 
 prisoner by the enjoyment. When Thou saidst to me, 
 'Wake, thou that sleepest, and rise from the dead, and 
 Christ shall give thee light,' and showedst the plain 
 reasonableness of Thy word, convinced by its truth, 
 I could but give the slow and sleepy answer, 'Pre- 
 sently;' 'yes, presently,' 'wait awhile;' though that 
 presently was never present, and that while became 
 long. It was in vain that I delighted in Thy law in the 
 inner man, while another law in my members fought 
 against the law of my mind, and led me captive to the 
 law of sin, which was in my members." — viii. 12. 
 
 One day, when he and his friend Alypius were to- 
 gether at home, a countryman, named Pontitian, who 
 held an office in the imperial court, called on him on 
 some matter of business. As they sat talking, he 
 observed a book upon the table, and on opening it 
 found it was St. Paul's Epistles. A strict Christian 
 himself, he was agreeably surprised to find an Apostle, 
 where he expected to meet with some work bearing 
 upon Augustine's profession. The discourse fell upon 
 St. Antony, the celebrated Egyptian solitary, and while 
 it added to Pontitian's surprise to find that they did not 
 even know his name, they, on the other hand, were still 
 more struck with wonder at the relation of his life, and 
 the recent date of it. Thence the conversation passed 
 to the subject of monasteries, the purity and sweetness 
 of their discipline, and the treasures of grace which 
 through them had been manifested in the desert. It 
 turned out that Augustine and his friend did not even 
 know of the monastery, of which Ambrose had been 
 the patron, outside of the walls of Milan. . Pontitian 
 went on to give an account of the conversion of two 
 among his fellow-officers under the following circum- 
 stances. When he was at Treves, one afternoon, while 
 the emperor was in the circus, he happened to stroll 
 out, with three companions, into the gardens close 
 
1 82 ^\jt CKrurrlj 0f tlj^ fatfr^rs, [chap. 
 
 upon the city wall. After a time they split into two 
 parties, and while he and another went their own way, 
 the other two came upon a cottage, which they were 
 induced to enter. It was the abode of certain recluses, 
 "poor in spirit," as Augustine says, "of whom is the 
 kingdom of heaven;" and here they found the hfe of 
 St. Antony, which Athanasius had written about twenty 
 years before (a.d. 364-366). One of them began to 
 peruse it; and, moved by the narrative, they both of 
 them resolved on adopting the monastic life. 
 
 The effect produced by this relation on Augustine 
 was not less than was caused by the history of Antony 
 itself upon the imperial officers, and almost as im- 
 mediately productive of a religious issue. He felt that 
 they did but represent to him, in their obedience, the 
 very desideratum in his own, a remedy for his disordered 
 and distressing state of mind. He says — 
 
 " The more ardently I loved these men, whose health- 
 ful state of soul was shown in surrendering themselves 
 to Thee for healing, so much the more execrable and 
 hateful did I seem to myself in comparison of them. 
 For now many years had passed with me, as many 
 perhaps as twelve, since my nineteenth, when, upon 
 reading Cicero's * Hortensius,' I was first incited to seek 
 for wisdom ; and still I was putting off renunciation of 
 earthly happiness, and simple search after a treasure 
 which, even in the search, not to speak of the discovery, 
 was better than the actual possession of heathen wealth 
 and power, and the pleasures of sense poured around 
 me at my will. But I, wretched, wretched youth, in 
 that spring-time of my life, had asked indeed of Thee 
 the gift of chastity, but had said, ' Give me chastity and 
 continence, but not at once.' I feared, alas, lest Thou 
 shouldest hear me too soon, and cure a thirst at once, 
 which I would fain have had satisfied, not extinguished 
 . . But now . . disturbed in countenance as well as 
 mind, I turn upon Alypius, *What ails us?' say I, 
 'what is this? what is this story? See; the unlearned 
 rise and take heaven by violence, while we, with all our 
 learning, all our want of heart, see where we wallow 
 in flesh and blood ! Shall I feel shame to follow their 
 
XIII.] 0t0ntorst0tt oi ^ugustim* 183 
 
 lead, and not rather to let alone what alone is left to 
 me ? ' Something of this kind I said to him, and while 
 he eyed me in silent wonder, rushed from him in the 
 ferment of my feehngs." — viii. 17-19. 
 
 He betook himself to the garden of the house where 
 he lodged, Alypius following him, and sat for a while 
 in bitter meditation on the impotence and slavery of 
 the human will. The thought of giving up his old 
 habits of life once for all pressed upon him with over- 
 powering force, and, on the other hand, the beauty 
 of religious obedience pierced and disordered him. 
 He says — 
 
 " The very toys of toys, and vanities of vanities, my 
 old mistresses, kept hold of me; they plucked my 
 garment of flesh, and whispered softly, * Are you indeed 
 giving us up ? What ! from this moment are we to be 
 strangers to you for ever ? This and that, shall it be 
 allowed you from this moment never again ? ' Yet, 
 what a view began to open on the other side, whither 
 I had set my face and was in a flutter to go ; the chaste 
 majesty of Continency, serene, cheerful yet without 
 excess, winning me in a holy way to come without 
 doubting, and ready to embrace me with religious 
 hands full stored with honourable patterns ! So many 
 boys and young maidens, a multitude of youth and 
 every age, grave widows and aged virgins, and Con- 
 tinence herself in all, not barren, but a fruitful mother 
 of children, of joys by Thee, O Lord, her Husband. 
 She seemed to mock me into emulation, saying, 'Canst 
 not thou what these have done, youths and maidens? 
 Can they in their own strength or in the strength of 
 their Lord God? The Lord their God gave me unto 
 them. Why rely on thyself and fall ? Cast thyself 
 upon His arm. Be not afraid. He will not let you slip. 
 Cast thyself in confidence, He will receive thee and 
 heal thee.' Meanwhile Alypius kept close to my side, 
 silently waiting for the end of my unwonted agitation." 
 
 He then proceeds to give an account of the termi- 
 nation of this struggle — 
 
 "At length burst forth a mighty storm, bringing a 
 
184 ^ht Cljurrlr 0f tlj^ IFatlr^ra- [chap. 
 
 mighty flood of tears; and to indulge it to the full, 
 even unto cries, in solitude, I rose up from Alypius, 
 . . . who perceived from my choked voice how it was 
 with me. He remained where we had been sitting, 
 in deep astonishment. I threw myself down under a 
 fig-tree, I know not how, and allowing my tears full 
 vent, offered up to Thee the acceptable sacrifice of my 
 streaming eyes. And I cried out to this effect : ' And 
 Thou, O Lord, how long, how long. Lord, wilt Thou 
 be angry ? For ever ? Remember not our old sins ; ' 
 for I felt that they were my tyrants. I cried out 
 piteously, *How long? how long? to-morrow and to- 
 morrow? why not now? why not in this very hour 
 put an end to this my vileness ? ' While I thus spoke, 
 with tears, in the bitter contrition of my heart, suddenly 
 I heard a voice, as if from a house near me, of a boy 
 or girl chanting forth again and again, 'take up and 
 READ, TAKE UP AND READ ! ' Changing countenance 
 at these words, I began intently to think whether boys 
 used them in any game, but could not recollect that 
 I had ever heard them. I left weeping and rose up, 
 considering it a Divine intimation to open the Scriptures 
 and read what first presented itself. I had heard that 
 Antony had come in during the reading of the Gospel, 
 and had taken to himself the admonition, 'Go, sell 
 all that thou hast,' &c., and had turned to Thee at 
 once, in consequence of that oracle. I had left St. 
 Paul's volume where Alypius was sitting, when I rose 
 thence. I returned thither, seized it, opened, and read 
 in silence the following passage, which first met my 
 eyes, ' JVbf in rioting and drunkenness^ not in chambering 
 and wantonness^ not in strife and envying^ but put ye on 
 the Lord Jesus Christy and make not provision for the 
 flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof^ I had neither desire 
 nor need to read farther. As I finished the sentence, 
 as though the light of peace had been poured into my 
 heart, all the shadows of doubt dispersed. Thus hast 
 Thou converted me to Thee, so as no longer to seek 
 either for wife or other hope of this world, standing 
 fast in that rule of faith in which Thou so many years 
 before revealedst me to my mother." — viii. 26-30. 
 
XIII.] C0tttorst0tt 0f ^ugttstitt^. 185 
 
 The last words of this extract relate to a dream which 
 his mother had had some years before concerning his 
 conversion. On his first turning Manichee, abhorring 
 his opinions, she would not for a while even eat with 
 him, when she had this dream, in which she had an 
 intimation that where she stood there Augustine should 
 one day be with her. At another time she derived 
 great comfort from the casual words of a bishop, who, 
 when importuned by her to converse with her son, 
 said at length with some impatience, "Go thy ways, 
 and God bless thee, for it is not possible that the son 
 of these tears should perish ! " It would be out of 
 place, and is perhaps unnecessary, to enter here into 
 the affecting and well-known history of her tender 
 anxieties and persevering prayers for Augustine. Suffice 
 it to say she saw the accomplishment of them ; she 
 lived till Augustine became a Catholic; and she died 
 in her way back to Africa with him. Her last words 
 were, " Lay this body anywhere ; let not the care of it 
 in any way distress you ; this only I ask, that wherever 
 you be you remember me at the Altar of the Lord." 
 "May she," says her son, in dutiful remembrance of 
 her words, "rest in peace with her husband, before 
 and after whom she never had any ; whom she obeyed, 
 with patience bringing forth fruit unto Thee, that she 
 might win him also unto Thee. And inspire, O Lord 
 my God, inspire Thy servants, my brethren, — Thy sons, 
 my masters, — whom, in heart, voice, and writing I serve, 
 that so many as read these confessions may at thy altar 
 remember Monnica, Thy handmaid, with Patricius, her 
 sometime husband, from whom Thou broughtest me 
 into this life; how, I know not. May they with pious 
 affection remember those who were my parents in this 
 transitory light, — my brethren under Thee, our Father, 
 in our Catholic Mother, — my fellow -citizens in the 
 eternal Jerusalem, after which Thy pilgrim people sigh 
 from their going forth unto their return ; that so her 
 last request of me may in the prayers of many receive 
 a fulfilment, through my confessions, more abundant 
 than through my prayers." — ix. 37. 
 
 But to return to St. Augustine himself. His conver- 
 sion took place in the summer of 386 (as seems most 
 
1 86 ^}jt a^hnxth 0f tllj^ Ifatfj^rs, [chap. 
 
 probable), and about three weeks after it, taking ad- 
 vantage of the vintage holidays, he gave up his school, 
 assigning as a reason a pulmonary attack which had 
 given him already much uneasiness. He retired to a 
 friend's villa in the country for the rest of the year, with 
 a view of preparing himself for baptism at the Easter 
 following. His religious views were still very imperfect 
 and vague. He had no settled notion concerning the 
 nature of the soul, and was ignorant of the mission of 
 the Holy Ghost. And still more, as might be expected, 
 he needed correction and reformation in his conduct. 
 During this time he broke himself of a habit of pro- 
 fane swearing, and, in various ways, disciplined himself 
 for the sacred rite for which he was a candidate. It 
 need scarcely be said that he was constant in devotional 
 and penitential exercises. 
 
 In due time the sacrament of baptism was ad- 
 ministered to him by St. Ambrose, who had been the 
 principal instrument of his conversion ; and he resolved 
 on ridding himself of his worldly possessions, except 
 what might be necessary for his bare subsistence, and 
 retiring to Africa with the purpose of following the rule 
 of life which it had cost him so severe a struggle to 
 adopt. Thagaste, his native place, was his first abode, 
 and he stationed himself in the suburbs, so as to be at 
 once in retirement and in the way for usefulness, if any 
 opening should arise in the city. His conversion had 
 been followed by that of some of his friends, who, 
 together with certain of his fellow-citizens, whom he 
 succeeded in persuading, joined him, and who naturally 
 looked up to him as the head of their religious com- 
 munity. One of their fundamental regulations was the 
 apostolic usage of casting their property into a common 
 stock, whence distribution was made according to the 
 need of each. Fasting and prayer, alms and Scripture- 
 reading, were their stated occupations ; and Augustine 
 took upon himself the task of forming their minds upon 
 those religious principles which they at present held 
 chiefly upon his authority. This design he signified in 
 answer to a friend who wished him to leave Thagaste 
 and join him in a religious retirement elsewhere : " You," 
 he said, " have obtained the gift of dwelling comfortably 
 
XIII.] C0ntorat0tt oi ^ujusite. 187 
 
 with your own mind, but my friends about me are but 
 acquiring it, and cannot yet go alone." The conse- 
 quence naturally was, that while he busied himself in 
 forming others to devotional habits, his own leisure was 
 taken from him. His fame spread, and serious engage- 
 ments were pressed upon him of a nature little congenial 
 with the life to which he had hoped to dedicate himself. 
 Indeed, his talents were of too active and influential a 
 character to allow of his secluding himself from the 
 world, however he might wish it. 
 
 Thus he passed the first three years of his return to 
 Africa, at the end of which time, a.d. 389, he was 
 admitted into holy orders. The circumstances under 
 which this change of state took place are curious, and, 
 as in the instance of other Fathers, characteristic of the 
 primitive times. His reputation having become con- 
 siderable, he was afraid to approach any place where 
 a bishop was wanted, lest he should be forcibly conse- 
 crated to the see. He seems to have set his heart on 
 remaining for a time a layman, from a feeling of the 
 responsibility of the ministerial commission. He con- 
 sidered he had not yet mastered the nature and the 
 duties of it. But it so happened, that at the time in 
 question, an imperial agent or commissioner, Hving at 
 Hippo, a Christian and a serious man, signified his 
 desire to have some conversation with him, as to a 
 design he had of quitting secular pursuits and de- 
 voting himself to a religious life. This brought Augus- 
 tine to Hippo, whither he went with the less anxiety, 
 because that city had at that time a bishop in the 
 person of Valerius. However, it so happened that a pres- 
 byter was wanted there, though a bishop was not, and 
 Augustine, little suspicious of what was to happen, 
 joined the congregation in which the election was to 
 take place. When Valerius addressed the people and 
 demanded whom they desired for their pastor, they at 
 once named the stranger, whose reputation had already 
 spread among them. Augustine burst into tears, and 
 some of the people, mistaking the cause of his agitation, 
 observed to him, that though the presbyterate was lower 
 than his desert, yet, notwithstanding, it stood next to 
 the episcopate. His ordination followed, in performing 
 
1 88 ®Ij^ CIjurrlT oi iht failjtx^. [chap. 
 
 which, Valerius, being a Greek, and unable to speak 
 Latin fluently, was chiefly influenced by a wish to secure 
 an able preacher in his own place. It may be remarked, 
 as a singular custom in the African Church hitherto, 
 that presbyters either never preached, or never in the 
 presence of a bishop. Valerius was the first to break 
 through the rule in favour of Augustine. 
 
 On his coming to Hippo, Valerius gave him a garden 
 belonging to the Church to build a monastery upon ; 
 and shortly afterwards we find him thanking Aurelius, 
 bishop of Carthage, for bestowing an estate either on 
 the brotherhood of Hippo or of Thagaste. Soon after 
 we hear of monasteries at Carthage, and other places, 
 besides two additional ones at Hippo. Others branched 
 ofl" from his own society, which he took care to make 
 also a school of the Church. It became an object with 
 the African Churches to obtain clergy from his monas- 
 tery. Possidius, his pupil and friend, mentions as many 
 as ten bishops out of his own acquaintance, who had 
 been supplied from the school of Augustine. 
 
 Little more need be said to conclude this sketch of 
 an eventful history. Many years had not passed, be- 
 fore Valerius, feeling the infirmities of age, appointed 
 Augustine his coadjutor in the see of Hippo, and in 
 this way secured his succeeding him on his death; an 
 object which he had much at heart, but which he feared 
 might be frustrated by Augustine's being called to the 
 government of some other church. This elevation 
 necessarily produced some change in the accidents of 
 his life, but his personal habits remained the same. He 
 left his monastery, as being too secluded to suit with 
 an oflice which especially obliges its holder to the duties 
 of hospitality ; and he formed a religious, or rather a 
 clerical society in the see-house. This society consisted 
 chiefly of presbyters, deacons, and sub-deacons, who 
 gave up all personal property, and were supported upon 
 a common fund. He himself strictly conformed to the 
 rule he imposed on others. Far from appropriating to 
 any private purpose any portion of his ecclesiastical 
 income, he placed the whole charge of it in the hands 
 of his clergy, who took by turns the yearly management 
 of it, he being auditor of their accounts. He never 
 
XIII.] (Kntttorsinn of ^uguattm. 189 
 
 indulged himself in house or land, considering the 
 property of the see no more his own than his private 
 possessions, which he had formerly given up. He 
 employed it, in one way or other, directly or in- 
 directly, as if the property of the poor, ignorant, and 
 sinful. He had "counted the cost," and he acted like 
 a man whose slowness to begin a course was a pledge of 
 zeal when he had once begun it. 
 
OTfiapUr xtb 
 
 * ' He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord ; for not he that 
 commendeth himself is approved, but whom the Lord com- 
 mendeth." 
 
 AUGUSTINE was the founder of the monastic 
 system in Africa; a system which, with all its 
 possible perversions, (and none could be more sensible 
 of these than he was,) has undoubtedly some especial 
 place in the providential conduct of our dispensation. 
 Even viewed as a mere human addition to the peculiarly 
 apostoUcal institutions, Monachism has as fair a claim 
 on us for a respectful treatment as the traditionary 
 usages of the Rechabites had upon the Jews, which 
 are implicitly countenanced in the reward divinely ac- 
 corded to the filial piety which occasioned them. To 
 say that it may be abused, is only what may be objected 
 with equal force against many Protestant doctrines, such 
 as justification by faith only, which are considered true 
 and important nevertheless. But even if it be convicted 
 of superstition, fanaticism, priestcraft, and the other 
 charges brought against it by Protestants, still anyhow 
 it must be acknowledged to be, not a simple self- 
 originated error, but merely a corruption of what is in 
 itself good — the result of a misunderstanding of primi- 
 tive faith and strictness ; nothing more. A reader, 
 indeed, may instantly ask what is the force of merely 
 and nothing more; as if a corruption were not an evil 
 great enough in itself. But let me ask him in turn, 
 could our present system, in which we glory so much, by 
 any possibility be corrupted into monasticism ? is there 
 any sort of tendency towards — rather, are not all our 
 
 190 
 
CH. XIV.] ©^ntdrtas. 1 9 1 
 
 tendencies from — such a result ? If so, it is plain the 
 religious temper of these times is not like that of the 
 primitive Church, the existing liability to certain de- 
 generacies being a sort of index of certain tempers re- 
 spectively. Clearly, then, whether or not Monachism is 
 right, we at least are wrong, as differing in mind and 
 spirit from the first ages of Christianity. 
 
 I would maintain, then, that the monastic hfe holds 
 a real place in the dispensation of the Gospel, at least 
 providentially. 
 
 One great purpose answered by it in the primitive 
 ages was the maintenance of the truth, at times and 
 places in which the Church had let it slip from her. 
 Under such sad circumstances, the spouse of Christ 
 " fled into the wilderness, where she hath a place 
 prepared of God." Thus in that noxious Arian " flood " 
 which " the serpent cast out after the woman," 
 
 When withering blasts of error swept the sky, 
 
 And Love's last flower seemed fain to droop and die, 
 
 How sweet, how lone the ray benign 
 
 On sheltered nooks of Palestine ! 
 Then to his early home did Love repair, 
 And cheered his sickening heart with his own native air. 
 
 Augustine's monasteries indeed were not meant for 
 this purpose. They were intended as the refuge of 
 Christian piety and holiness, when the increasing spread 
 of religion made the Church more secular. And we 
 may confidently pronounce that such provisions, in one 
 shape or other, will always be attempted by the more 
 serious and anxious part of the community, whenever 
 Christianity is generally professed. In Protestant 
 countries, where monastic orders are unknown, men 
 run into separatism with this object. Methodism has 
 carried off into its own exceptionable discipline many 
 a sincere and zealous Christian, whose heart needed 
 what he found not in the Established Church. This 
 defect in the appointments of the latter is the less 
 excusable, because, I beHeve, there is no praviunire 
 attached to the formation of such a subsidiary system 
 as I am speaking of. That the formation of it requires 
 the most wary judgment, special insight into human 
 nature and Christian truth, and extensive knowledge 
 
192 '^ht Cljttrrlj 0f i\^t IFatlj^rs, [chap. 
 
 of history, and, above all, a singular measure of the 
 temper of obedience in those who are to be subjects 
 of it, need scarcely be said; but there is no reason 
 why the English Church should not, from among its 
 members, supply these requisites. 
 
 Let it be considered, too, whether there is any other 
 way of evangelizing large towns but that of posting 
 bodies of a monastic character, for the purpose of 
 preaching and visiting, among the dense and ignorant 
 population. 
 
 There is another reason for such establishments, 
 which applies particularly to women; religious sister- 
 hoods are as much demanded in the model of a perfect 
 Church by Christian charity, as religious fraternities 
 can be by Christian zeal. I know not any more dis- 
 tressing development of the cruel spirit of Protestant- 
 ism, than the determined, bitter, and scoffing spirit in 
 which it has set itself against institutions which give 
 dignity and independence to the position of women in 
 society. As matters stand, marriage is almost the only 
 shelter which a defenceless portion of the community 
 has against the rude world; — a maiden life, that holy 
 estate, is not only left in desolateness, but oppressed 
 with heartless ridicule and insult; — whereas, foundations 
 for single females, under proper precautions, at once 
 hold out protection to those who avail themselves of 
 them, and give consideration to the single state itself, 
 thus saving numbers from the temptation of throwing 
 themselves rashly away upon unworthy objects, trans- 
 gressing their sense of propriety, and embittering their 
 future life. 
 
 And if women have themselves lost so much by our 
 present state of things, what has been the loss of the 
 poor, sick, and aged, to whose service they might con- 
 secrate that life which they refuse to shackle by the 
 marriage-vow? what has been the loss of the ignorant, 
 sinful, and miserable, among whom they only can move 
 without indignity who bear a religious character upon 
 them ; for whom they only can intercede or exert them- 
 selves, who have taken leave of earthly hopes and fears ; 
 who are secured by their holy resolve, from the admiring 
 eye or the persuasive tongue, and can address themselves 
 
XIV.] ^tmttxxm. 193 
 
 to the one heavenly duty to which they have set them- 
 selves with singleness of mind? Those who are un- 
 married, and who know, and know that others know, 
 that they are likely one day to marry, who are exposed 
 to the thousand subtle and fitful feelings of propriety, 
 which under such circumstances, are ever springing up 
 in the modest breast, with a keen sensitiveness ever 
 awake, and the chance of indefinable sympathies with 
 others any moment arising, such persons surely may be 
 beautiful in mind, and noble and admirable in conduct, 
 but they cannot take on them the high office of Sisters 
 of Mercy. 
 
 However, this chapter is to have nothing to do with 
 monasteries or societies, if this is any reHef to the 
 reader, but to furnish a specimen of what to some 
 persons may seem as bad, yet has been undeniably a 
 practice of Christians, not from the fourth century, but 
 from the time of St. Paul and St. Phihp's daughters, the 
 private and soHtary observance of an ascetic life for 
 religion's sake, and to the honour of Christ. 
 
 "There were always ascetics in the Church," says 
 Bingham, " but not always monks retiring to the deserts 
 and mountains, or living in monasteries and cells, as 
 in after ages. Such were all those that inured them- 
 selves to greater degrees of abstinence and fasting than 
 other men. In like manner, they who were more than 
 ordinarily intent upon the exercise of prayer, and spent 
 their time in devotion, were justly thought to deserve 
 the name of ascetics. The exercise of charity and 
 contempt of the world in any extraordinary degree, as 
 when men gave up their whole estate to the service of 
 God or use of the poor, was another thing that gave 
 men the denomination and title of ascetics. The 
 widows and virgins of the Church, and all such as con- 
 fined themselves to a single life, were reckoned among 
 the number of ascetics, though there was then neither 
 cloister nor vow to keep them under this obHgation. 
 Origen alludes to this name, when he says, the number 
 of those who exercised themselves in perpetual virginity 
 among the Christians, was great in comparison of those 
 few who did it among the Gentiles. Lastly, all such 
 
194 ®lj^ OtKrurrlj of tijt IFatlj^rs- [chap. 
 
 as exercised themselves with uncommon hardships or 
 austerities, for the greater promotion of piety and 
 religion, as in frequent watchings, humicubations, and 
 the Uke, had the name ascetics also." — Antiqu. vii. i, 
 §1-3- 
 
 At present the only apparent remains among us, at 
 least in the apprehension of the many, of these isolated 
 persons, exist in what are commonly called old maids 
 and single gentlemen; and it sometimes is seriously 
 objected to the primitive doctrine of celibacy, that 
 " bachelors are just the most selfish, unaccommodating, 
 particular, and arbitrary persons in the community ; " 
 while "ancient spinsters are the more disagreeable, 
 cross, gossiping, and miserable of their sex." Dreariness 
 unmitigated, a shivering and hungry spirit, a soul 
 preying on itself, a heart without an object, affections 
 unemployed, life wasted, self-indulgence in prosperous 
 circumstances, envy and malice in straitened ; deadness 
 of feeling in the male specimen, and impotence of 
 feeling in the female ; such are the only attributes with 
 which the imagination of modern times can invest 
 St. Ambrose, bishop and confessor, or St. Macrina, 
 sister of the great Basil. Now it may seem an un- 
 accountable waywardness in one brought up in the 
 pure light of the nineteenth century, but I am going 
 to say a few words about such an old maid, or holy 
 virgin, as we please to call her. In the year 413, the 
 rich and noble Demetrias, a descendant of some of 
 the most illustrious Roman houses, and moving in the 
 highest circles, as we now speak, of the metropolis of 
 the world, devoted herself at Carthage to a single life. 
 It will be worth while to relate some particulars of 
 her history. 
 
 She was the daughter of Anicius Hermogenianus 
 Olybrius, who was consul a.d. 395, and Anicia Juliana, 
 his relation. Her father, who died young, was son of 
 the celebrated Sextus Petronius Probus, prefect of 
 Italy from 368 to 375, who addressed St. Ambrose, 
 while yet a catechumen, and appointed to a civil post 
 in Liguria, in the celebrated and almost prophetic 
 words, "Act not as magistrate, but as bishop." His 
 
XIV.] IB^mrfrias* 195 
 
 riches were so abundant, that some Persian noblemen, 
 who in the year 390 came to Milan to St. Ambrose, 
 went, as the second object of curiosity, to Rome, to 
 see the grandeur of Probus. His wife, that is, the 
 paternal grandmother of Demetrias, Anicia Faltonia 
 Proba, belonged, as her first name shows, to one of 
 the most noble families in Rome. The consulate 
 seemed hereditary in it; its riches and influence were 
 unbounded; while its members appear to have been 
 Christians from the time of Constantine, or, as some 
 suppose, from the time of the persecutions. Of the 
 same illustrious house was Juliana, the mother of 
 Demetrias. 
 
 Rome was taken by Alaric in 410; and on this 
 most awful visitation, among other heirs of grace, three 
 females were found in the devoted city, — Faltonia 
 Proba, Juliana, and Demetrias, — grandmother, mother, 
 and daughter, — two widows and a girl. Faltonia, and 
 Juliana, her daughter-in-law, had, in the days of their 
 prosperity, exerted themselves at Rome in favour of 
 St. Chrysostom, then under persecution, and now, in 
 their own troubles, they found a comforter and guide 
 in St. Augustine. So closely was Christendom united 
 then, that ladies in Rome ministered to one bishop 
 at Constantinople, and took refuge with another in 
 Africa. At first they seem all to have fallen into the 
 hands of the barbarians, and many of the holy virgins 
 of the city, who had sought protection with Proba, were 
 torn from her house. At length, obtaining liberty to 
 leave Rome, she embarked for Africa with her daughter- 
 in-law and grand-daughter, and a number of widows 
 and virgins who availed themselves of her departure 
 to escape likewise. Our history shall be continued in 
 the following letter, written by St. Augustine to this 
 high-born and well-connected lady : — 
 
 "augustine, bishop, servant of christ and of 
 Christ's servants, to that religious handmaid 
 of god, proba, health in the lord of lords. 
 
 ** Bearing in mind your request and my promise, that 
 I would write to you on the subject of prayer, when He 
 
19^ ®b^ ffiJittrrlr 0f t\jt JFatlr^rjs, [chap. 
 
 to whom we pray had given me time and power, I ought, 
 without delay, to discharge my engagement, and in the 
 love of Christ consult your pious desire. How much that 
 request of yours delighted me, as showing your high 
 sense of a high duty, words cannot express. Indeed, 
 how should you rather employ your widowhood than 
 in continued prayer, night and day, according to the 
 admonition of the Apostle? For he says, 'Now she 
 that is a widow indeed, and desolate, trusteth in God, 
 and continueth in suppHcations and prayers night and 
 day ; ' although it is at first sight strang-e, that one who 
 is noble according to this world, like you, rich, and 
 mother of such a family, and, therefore, though a 
 widow, not desolate, should have her heart engaged 
 and supremely possessed by the care to pray, save that 
 you have the wisdom to perceive that in this world and 
 in this life no soul can be beyond care. 
 
 "Therefore, He who has given you that thought, 
 is in truth doing therein what He promised so wonder- 
 fully and pitifully to His disciples, when saddened, 
 not for themselves, but for the race of man, and de- 
 spairing that any could be saved, on His saying that 
 it was easier for a camel to enter a needle's eye, than 
 for a rich man the kingdom of heaven, — He answered, 
 ' With God is easy what with man is impossible.' He, 
 even while He was yet here in the flesh, sent the rich 
 Zacchseus into the kingdom of heaven; and after He 
 was glorified by His resurrection and ascension, im- 
 parting His Holy Spirit, He made many rich persons 
 to contemn this world, and to increase in riches by 
 losing the desire of them. For why should you, for 
 instance, be thus anxious to pray to God, but that you 
 trusted in Him ? and why should you trust in Him, did 
 you trust in uncertain riches, and despise that most 
 wholesome precept of the Apostle, 'Charge them that 
 are rich in this world, that they be not highminded, nor 
 trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God, that they 
 may lay hold of true life ? ' 
 
 "And so, for love for that true life, you ought to 
 think yourself, even in this world, desolate, whatever 
 be your outward prosperity. In this life's darkness, 
 in which we are pilgrims from the Lord, and walk by 
 
XIV.] ^tmdnas. i97 
 
 faith, not by sight, the Christian soul ought to esteem 
 itself desolate, lest it cease from prayer; and to learn 
 to fix the eye of faith on the words of divine and holy 
 Scriptures, as a lamp in a dark place, until the day 
 dawn and the day-star arise in our hearts. This lamp 
 is ineffably suppHed from the Light which so shines 
 in the darkness as not to be comprehended by it; by 
 the sight of which the heart is cleansed through faith. 
 For 'blessed are the clean in heart, for they shall see 
 God.' And 'we know, that when He shall appear, we 
 shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.' 
 Then will be true life after death, and true consolation 
 after desolation. 'When Christ, who is your life, shall 
 appear, then shall ye also appear with Him in glory.' 
 This is the true life, which the rich are bid lay hold 
 of by good works; and this is true consolation, for 
 which the widow now has desolation, and though she 
 have sons and grandsons, and order her household 
 piously, urging it on all of hers that they put their trust 
 in God, yet she says in prayer, ' My soul thirsteth for 
 Thee, my flesh also longeth after Thee, in a barren 
 and dry land, where no water is;' that is, in this our 
 dying life, by whatsoever mortal consolations it be 
 thronged, by whatsoever travellers followed, or abund- 
 ance stored. In truth, you understand how uncertain 
 all these things are; nay, were they not uncertain, 
 what are they in comparison of that promised felicity ? 
 
 "To obtain this blessed life, we are taught by the 
 true blessed Life Himself to pray, not in much speak- 
 ing, as though the more wordy we were, the surer we 
 were heard; since we pray to Him, who, as the Lord 
 Himself says, knows our necessities before we ask of 
 Him. But if so, it may seem strange, why, though 
 He has forbidden much speaking, yet, while knowing 
 our necessities before we ask of Him, He has en- 
 couraged us to pray, in the words, 'One ought always 
 to pray, and not to faint.' It may surprise us, until 
 we understand, that our Lord and God does not wish 
 our will to be made clear to Him, which He cannot 
 but know, but that, our desire being exercised in 
 prayers, we may be able to receive what He prepares 
 to give. In faith indeed, and hope, and charity, we 
 
198 ^\jt (&hnxth oi tht fatl^^rs. [chap. 
 
 are always praying, with uninterrupted desire; but we 
 ask God in words, also, at certain intervals of hours 
 and times, that by those outward signs we may 
 admonish ourselves, and may see into ourselves, what 
 progress we have made in this desire, and may stimulate 
 ourselves the more to heighten it. We recall our minds 
 at certain hours to the business of prayer, from those 
 other cares and businesses, by which that desire itself 
 is, in a measure, chilled ; admonishing ourselves, by the 
 words of prayer, to reach forward to that which we 
 desire, lest what is already chilling may altogether cool, 
 and may be altogether quenched, unless now and then 
 rekindled. 
 
 "This being the case, even prolonged prayer, when 
 one has time for it, — that is, when other good and 
 necessary actions are not superseded, though even in 
 the midst of them, we ought in desire ever to be 
 praying, — such long prayer is neither wrong nor use- 
 less. Nor is this continued prayer, as some think, 
 much speaking : many words is one thing, a continued 
 affection another. For it is written of the Lord Him- 
 self, that He ' passed the night in prayer,' and that 
 He prayed 'more largely;' in which what did He but 
 set us an example ? — in this world making supplications 
 in season, with the Father hearing them for evermore. 
 
 "The brethren in Egypt are said to make frequent 
 prayers, but those as short as possible, and somehow 
 darted forward rapidly, lest lively attention, which is 
 so necessary in praying, should become faint and dull 
 by a slow performance ; and thus they themselves show 
 plainly, that this attention, as it should not be wearied 
 out if it cannot be sustained, so it is not prematurely to 
 be broken if it can. To speak much, is to urge our 
 necessities in prayer with superfluous words ; but to pray 
 much, is to knock for Him to whom we pray, with pro- 
 longed and pious exercise of the heart. This is often 
 done more by groans then speeches, by weeping than by 
 addresses. For He sets our tears in His sight, and our 
 groaning is not hid from Him, who, having made all 
 things by His Word, does not ask for words of man. 
 
 " Pray, then, as a widow of Christ, who have not yet 
 the sight of Him whose aid you entreat. And though 
 
XIV.] ©iittrfriaa. i99 
 
 you be most opulent, pray as one of the poor ; for you 
 have not yet the true riches of the world to come, where 
 there is no dread of loss. Though you have children 
 and grandchildren, and a numerous household, yet pray 
 as one desolate; for all temporal things are uncertain, 
 though they are to remain even to the end of this life 
 for our consolation. And surely, remember to pray with 
 earnestness for me. For I am unwilling that you should 
 render to me my dangerous honour, yet should withhold 
 that my necessary support. Christ's household prayed 
 for Peter and for Paul ; and while it is my joy that you 
 are of his household, it is my need incomparably more 
 than Peter or Paul, that brotherly prayers should be my 
 succour. Strive ye in prayer, in a peaceable and holy 
 strife; not striving against each other, but against the 
 devil, the enemy of all saints. In fastings, and watch- 
 ings, and all chastisement of the body, prayer is 
 especially aided. Let each of you do what she can ; 
 what one cannot, she does in her who can ; if in her 
 she loves that, which she therefore does not do herself 
 because she cannot. Accordingly, she who has less 
 strength, must not hinder her who has more, and she 
 who has more, must not be hard with her who has less. 
 For your conscience is owed to God ; to none of your- 
 selves owe any thing, but to love one another. May 
 God hear you, who is able to do above what we ask or 
 understand." — Ep. 130. 
 
 These are some portions of St. Augustine's letter to 
 Proba, in which his remarks upon set times of prayer 
 must not be understood, contrary to the very drift of 
 his whole advice, as confining their use to what is called 
 their " moral effect " upon the mind ; but to mean that, 
 whereas God hears those who are intent on the words 
 they use, not those who are not, we are likely to pray 
 more acceptably, because more attentively, in prayer at 
 set times, than in habitual mental prayer, and in short 
 pointed prayers, than in long addresses. 
 
 The exiled ladies seem to have lived in Carthage, and 
 we hear nothing of them for several years. At the end 
 of this time, a remarkable event happened ; Demetrias, 
 who now had arrived at woman's estate, declared her 
 
200 g;ij^ dljurrlr 0f tht Jfatlr^rs. [CHAP. 
 
 resolve of devoting herself to a single life ; as it would 
 seem, at her own instance, though Augustine and 
 Alypius, by this time bishop of Thagaste, were un- 
 conscious instruments in her determination. Her 
 mother and grandmother appear to have been back- 
 ward in the matter, or rather to have destined her, as 
 a matter of course, to a married life, and to have pro- 
 vided her with a husband. Fame was not slow in 
 spreading the news of her singular resolve far and wide. 
 The rank and prospects of the party making it, and the 
 intercommunion of the Catholic Church, afforded reason 
 and means for its dissemination. It reached the East, 
 where Proba had possessions, and it penetrated into 
 the monastery at Bethlehem, which was the home of 
 St. Jerome. This celebrated Father was then in his 
 eighty-third year; but "his eye was not dim, nor his 
 natural force abated." Old age neither hindered nor 
 disinclined him from taking an interest in the general 
 concerns of the Church. At the instance of Proba and 
 Juliana, he addressed to Demetrias a letter, or rather 
 tract, in order to encourage her in her determination ; 
 and as it happens to relate some of the circumstances 
 under which that determination was made, it may suit- 
 ably here be introduced to the reader's notice. 
 
 Before beginning them, a word or two about St. 
 Jerome. I do not scruple then to say, that were he 
 not a saint, there are things in his writings and views 
 from which I should shrink; but as the case stands, I 
 shrink rather from putting myself in opposition to some- 
 thing like a judgment of the Catholic world in favour of 
 his saintly perfection. I cannot, indeed, force myself 
 to approve or like against my judgment or feeling ; but 
 I can receive things on faith against both the one and 
 the other. And I am willing to take certain charac- 
 teristics of this learned and highly-gifted man on faith ; 
 and there is, perhaps, need of some exercise of this 
 kind, even in the striking letter from which extracts are 
 now to be made. 
 
 " It is the rule of rhetoricians," says he, " to adduce 
 grandfathers, and forefathers, and every past distinction 
 of the line, for the glory of him who is the subject of 
 
XIV.] B^mrfrias. 201 
 
 praise; that fertile root may make up for barren 
 branches, and what is wanting in the fruit may show 
 to advantage in the stem. I ought to recount the 
 famous names of the Probi or Olybrii, and the illus- 
 trious line of Anician blood, in which none, or next 
 to none, has failed of the consulate; or I ought to 
 bring forward Olybrius, our virgin's father, who, to the 
 grief of all Rome, was unmaturely carried off. I dare 
 not say more, lest I deal ungently with the holy matron's 
 wound, and the recounting of his virtues be a renewing 
 of her grief. A pious son, a dear husband, a kind lord, 
 a courteous citizen, a consul when a boy, but a senator 
 more illustrious in the amiableness of his life. Happy 
 in his death, who saw not his country's ruin ; still happier 
 in his offspring, who has added to the nobihty of his 
 ancestress Demetrias, by the perpetual chastity of De- 
 metrias his daughter. 
 
 "But what am I about? In forgetfulness of my 
 purpose, while I advise this young maiden, I have been 
 praising the world's goods, whereas, rather it is the very 
 praise of our virgin, that she has despised them all, 
 regarding herself not as noble, not as surpassing rich, 
 but as a child of man. An incredible fortitude, amid 
 jewels and silk, troops of slaves and waiting women, the 
 obsequiousness and attentions of a thronging household, 
 and the refined dainties of a lordly establishment, to 
 have longed for painful fastings, coarse garments, spare 
 diet ! In truth, she had read the Lord's words, ' They 
 who are clothed in soft raiment are in kings' houses.' 
 She gazed in wonder at the life of Elias and John 
 Baptist, both of them with their loins girt and mortified 
 with a leathern belt ; and one of them appearing in the 
 spirit and power of EHas, the Lord's forerunner pro- 
 phesying in his parent's womb, and even before the 
 day of judgment praised by the Judge's voice. She 
 admired the ardour of Anna, daughter of Phanuel, 
 who, up to the extreme of age, served the Lord in 
 His temple with prayer and fastings. She longed for 
 the choir of Philip's four virgin daughters, and wished 
 herself one of these, who, by virginal chastity, had 
 gained the gift of prophecy. By these and like medi- 
 tations, she nourished her mind, fearing nothing more 
 
202 ®;ij^ Cfrurrlr oi i\jt feihtt^* [CHAP. 
 
 than to grieve grandmother and mother, whose pattern 
 encouraged her, whose intention frightened her, — not 
 that the holy resolve displeased them, but, for the 
 greatness of the thing, they durst not wish it. A 
 trouble came upon that recruit of Christ, and like 
 Esther, a hatred of her apparel. They say who saw 
 her and know, holy and noble ladies, whom the fierce 
 tempest of enemies drave from the Gallic coast to 
 inhabit these holy places, by way of Africa, that at 
 nights, when no one knew except the virgins in her 
 mother's and grandmother's company, she was never 
 clad in linen, never reposed on soft down; but on the 
 bare earth, with her tiny hair-cloth for bedding, and 
 her face bedewed with continual tears, there was she, 
 prostrate in heart at her Saviour's knees, that He would 
 accept her resolve, fulfil her longing, and soften grand- 
 mother and mother. 
 
 " Why so many words ? When now the day of her 
 marriage was at hand, and the wedding apartment was 
 preparing, secretly, and without witnesses, and with the 
 night for her comforter, it is said she armed herself 
 by counsels such as these : ' What doest thou, Demetrias ? 
 why such fright in defending thy honour? thou must 
 be free and bold. If such thy fear in peace, what had 
 been thy deed in martyrdom ? If thou canst not brook 
 the look of relatives, how couldest thou brook the tribunal 
 of persecutors ? If man's pattern does not stir thee, let 
 Agnes, blessed martyr, encourage and quiet thee, who 
 overcame her age and her tyrant, and consecrated by 
 martyrdom her profession of chastity. Thou knowest 
 not, poor maid, though knowest not, it seems, to whom 
 thou owest thy virginity. It is a while since thou didst 
 tremble amid barbarian hands, and didst hide thyself in 
 the bosom and the dress of grandmother and mother. 
 Thou didst see thyself a captive, and thy honour not 
 thine own. Thou didst shudder at the savage faces 
 of the foe; didst see with silent groan God's virgins 
 carried off. Thy city, once the head of the world, is the 
 Roman people's grave; and wilt thou on the Libyan 
 shore, an exile, accept an exile spouse? Who shall be 
 thy bridemaid ? What train shall conduct thee ? Shall 
 the harsh Punic sing thy liberal Fescennine? Away 
 
XIV.] ^tmdxia^* 203 
 
 with all delay. God's "perfect love casteth out fear." 
 Take the shield of faith, the breast-plate of righteousness, 
 the helmet of salvation : go out to battle. Honour 
 rescued has its own martyrdom. Why apprehensive of 
 thy grandmother ? why in fear of thy parent ? Perhaps 
 they have a will, because they deem that you have 
 none.' On fire with these incentives, and many more, 
 she cast from her the ornaments of her person and 
 secular dress, as if encumbrances to her resolve. Costly 
 necklaces, expensive pearls, brilliant jewels, she replaces 
 in their cabinet ; she puts on a common tunic, and over 
 it a more common cloak ; and, without notice, suddenly 
 throws herself at her grandmother's knees, showing who 
 she was, only by weeping and lamentation. Aghast was 
 that holy and venerable lady, seeing the altered dress of 
 her grandchild ; while her mother stood astounded with 
 deHght. What they wished, they could not believe. 
 Their voice was gone; their cheek flushed and paled, 
 they feared, they rejoiced ; their thronging thoughts 
 went to and fro. Grandchild and grandmother, daughter 
 and mother, rush tumultuously upon each other's Hps. 
 They weep abundantly for joy, they raise the sinking maid 
 with their hands, they clasp her trembling form. They 
 acknowledge in her resolve their own mind, and they 
 express their joy that the virgin was making a noble 
 family more noble by her virginity. She had found a 
 deed she might offer to her race, — a deed to slake the 
 ashes of the Roman city. Gracious Jesus ! what exulta- 
 tion then in the whole house. As if from a fruitful root, 
 many virgins budded out at once, and a crowd of 
 dependents and handmaidens followed the example of 
 their patroness and mistress. The profession of virginity 
 became rife in every house; their rank in the flesh 
 various, their reward of chastity the same. I say too 
 little. All the Churches through Africa almost danced 
 for joy. Not cities alone, towns, villages, even cottages, 
 were pervaded by the manifold fame of it. All the 
 islands between Africa and Italy were filled with this 
 news ; it tripped not in its course, and the rejoicing ran 
 forward. Then Italy put off her mourning garb, and 
 the shattered walls of Rome in part recovered their 
 pristine splendour, thinking that God was propitious to 
 
204 Stlj^ CIjitrrlT oi t\jt fatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 themselves in the perfect conversion of their nursling. 
 The report penetrated to the shores of the East, and 
 even in the inland cities the triumph of Christian glory 
 was heard. Who of Christ's virgins but boasted in her 
 fellowship with Demetrias ? what mother but cried 
 blessing upon thy womb, O Juliana? I never praised 
 in Proba the antiquity of her race, the greatness of her 
 wealth and influence, either as a wife or a widow, as 
 others, perhaps, in a mercenary strain. My object is, 
 in ecclesiastical style, to praise the grandmother of my 
 virgin, and to render thanks that she has strengthened 
 her grandchild's will by her own. Else my monastic 
 cell, common food, mean dress, and age upon the eve 
 of death, and store for a brief span, rid me of all 
 reproach of flattery. And now, what remains of my 
 treatise shall be directed to the virgin herself; a noble 
 virgin : noble not less by sanctity than by birth, who 
 is in the more danger of a lapse, the higher she has 
 ascended. 
 
 " One thing especially, child of God, will I admonish 
 you, to possess your mind with a love of sacred reading. 
 When you were in the world, you loved the things of 
 the world; to rouge and whiten your complexion, to 
 deck your hair, and rear a tower of borrowed locks. 
 Now, since you have left the world, and by a second 
 step after baptism have made engagement with your 
 adversary, saying to him, 'I renounce thee, devil, with 
 thy words, thy pomp, and thy works : ' keep the covenant 
 thou hast pledged. I speak this, not from any misgiving 
 about you, but according to the duty of a fearful and 
 cautious monitor, dreading in you even what is so safe. 
 
 "The arms of fasting are also to be taken up, and 
 David's words to be sung, * I humbled my soul in 
 fasting ; ' and ' I ate ashes as it were bread ; ' and ' When 
 they were sick I put on sackcloth.' For a meal. Eve 
 was cast out of Paradise; Elias, exercised by a fast of 
 forty days, is carred off to heaven in a chariot of fire. 
 Moses is fed forty days and nights by intercourse and 
 converse with God ; proving, in his own instance, the 
 exact truth of the saying, ' Man shall not live by bread 
 only, but by every word which proceedeth from the 
 mouth of God.' The Saviour of man, who left us the 
 
XIV.] IB^metrtasi. 205 
 
 pattern of His perfection and life, after baptism, is forth- 
 with taken in the Spirit to fight against the devil, and 
 after beating down and crushing him, to give him over 
 to His own disciples to trample on. Against the young 
 of either sex our enemy uses the ardour of their time of 
 life, and ' setteth on fire the course of nature,' and fulfils 
 Osee's saying, ' They are all adulterers, they have made 
 ready their heart like an oven,' which is cooled again by 
 God's pity and the rigour of fastings. These are the 
 fiery darts of the devil, which both wound and inflame, 
 and are prepared by the king of Babylon for the three 
 children. And as then a Fourth, having the form as of 
 the Son of man, mitigated the infinite heat, and amid 
 the conflagration of a raging furnace, taught the flame to 
 lose its virtue, and to threaten to the eye what to the 
 touch it did not fulfil ; so, also, in a virginal mind, by 
 celestial dew and strict fasts, the warmth of youth is 
 quenched, and the life of Angels is compassed in a 
 human frame. 
 
 " Nor yet do we enjoin on you unmeasured fastings, 
 or an extravagant abstinence from food, which at once 
 breaks delicate frames, and makes them sickly, ere the 
 foundation of holy conversation is yet laid. Even 
 philosophers have held that ' virtues are a mean, vices 
 extremes;' and hence one of the seven sages says, 
 * Nothing too much.' You should fast short of panting 
 and failing in breath, and of being carried or led by 
 your companions ; but so far as to subdue your appetite, 
 yet to be able to attend to sacred reading. Psalms, and 
 watching as usual. Fasting is not an absolute virtue, 
 but the foundation of other virtues ; and ' sanctification 
 and honour,' ' without which no one shall see the Lord,' 
 is a step for such as are mounting to the highest, nor 
 will it crown the virgin, if it be alone. 
 
 " Imitate your heavenly Spouse ; ' be subject ' to your 
 grandmother and mother. See no man, youths especially, 
 except with them. It is their pattern, it is the holy 
 conduct of their house, which has taught you to seek 
 virginity to know Christ's precepts, to know what is 
 expedient for you, what you ought to choose. Therefore, 
 do not think that what you are belongs to yourself 
 alone; it is theirs who have brought out in you their 
 
2o6 ^\jt (&hvixt)j of tht IFatfr^rs. [chap. 
 
 own virtue, and budded forth in you, as the most costly 
 flower of ' honourable marriage and the bed undefiled ; ' 
 a flower which will not bear its perfect fruit till you 
 humble yourself under the mighty hand of God, and 
 ever remember what is written, ' God resisteth the proud, 
 and giveth grace to the humble.' Now where grace is 
 in question, there is not recompensing of works, but 
 bounty of a giver, according to the Apostles saying, 
 ' Not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but 
 of God that showeth mercy.' And yet to will and not 
 to will is ours ; yet not ours, what is even ours, without 
 God's showing mercy. 
 
 " I end as I began, not content with one admonition. 
 Love Holy Scriptures, and wisdom will love thee; love 
 her, and she will keep thee; honour her, and she will 
 embrace thee. Let these be the ornaments abiding on 
 thy neck and in thine ears. Let thy tongue know 
 nought but Christ; let it have power to utter nought 
 but what is holy. Let the sweetness of thy grandmother 
 and mother ever be in thy mouth, whose following is the 
 very form of holiness." — £p. 130. 
 
 Sage and sobering as is the advice here given, (and I 
 wish I had room to extract more of it,) yet, I suppose, 
 under the circumstances, a calm looker-on might have 
 thought it not uncalled for, — might have apprehended, 
 as perhaps St. Jerome did himself, that when a young 
 lady was brought out as a pattern to the whole Catholic 
 world, written to and about by bishops and doctors of 
 the Church, by grave and aged men, the most remark- 
 able personages of their time, under such circumstances, 
 without some special and almost miraculous gift of grace, 
 the said maiden's head stood in danger of being turned 
 by the compHment. And holy and admirable as Deme- 
 trias was, she was, in fact, for a while in hazard, and that 
 from the influence of the particular heresy of the day, 
 which was a temptation especially adapted to her case. 
 When sinners repent and turn to God, and, by way of 
 showing sorrow and amendment, subject themselves to 
 voluntary mortifications, the memory of what they were, 
 and the prospect of judgment to come, are likely, it is 
 to be hoped, to keep them from spiritual pride. But 
 
XIV.] ji^mrfrias, 207 
 
 when a young and innocent female, whose baptismal 
 robe the world has not sullied, takes up a self-denying 
 life in order to be nearer to God, and to please Him 
 more entirely, who does not see the danger she is in 
 of self-importance, or what is in this day called self- 
 righteousness, — the danger of forgetting that she is by 
 nature a sinner, as others, and that whatever she has 
 of excellence, and whatever she does praiseworthy, is 
 entirely of God's supernatural grace ? And to a person 
 so disposed, Pelagius was at that day at hand a ready 
 tempter, prepared to sanctify all these evil feelings, and 
 to seal and fix them as if on the basis of religious 
 principle. The heresiarch was on the earth in person, 
 when Demetrias renounced the world, and he did not 
 neglect the occasion. By this time the noble exiles had 
 apparently returned to Rome ; and Pelagius despatched 
 a letter, or rather treatise, still extant, with a view of 
 instructing and guiding the daughter of the Olybrii and 
 Anicii. He professes to write it at the instance of 
 Juliana; nor is it surprising that the latter should not 
 have been able to detect the doctrinal errors of a man 
 of unblemished life, who, three years after, contrived to 
 mislead the Apostolic see into a defence of him against 
 the Africans, — the very see which St. Jerome, in a part 
 of the foregoing letter not translated, recommends to 
 Demetrias as a safe guide of her faith. 
 
 It is not to my purpose here to make extracts from 
 Pelagius's treatise, which is full of good advice, and does 
 no more than imply, though it does imply, his un- 
 catholic and unscriptural views about the power and 
 perfectibiHty of unaided human nature. These views 
 one would almost suspect that Jerome was indirectly 
 opposing in some portions of the foregoing letter, as if 
 the aged saint, now near his end, had a forecast of the 
 temptation which was coming on mother and daughter. 
 But however this may be, we have, in the year 417, 
 a direct remonstrance, addressed by Augustine and 
 Alypius to Juliana, on the subject of Pelagius's treatise, 
 of which, however, they did not know for certain the 
 author at the time. Proba, at this date, seems to have 
 been dead. 
 
2o8 g;ij^ dlrurrlT oi tfi^ IFatlj^ra* [chap. 
 
 " It was a great satisfaction to us, lady, honoured for 
 services of Christian duty, and our deservedly illustrious 
 daughter, that your letter happened to find us together 
 at Hippo, and able to convey to you our joint gratula- 
 tions at the news of your welfare, and lovingly assure 
 you of ours, which we trust is dear to you. For we are 
 sure you understand the debt of religious affection we 
 owe you, and the care we have for you in the sight of 
 God and man. So highly, indeed, has our ministry been 
 blessed in your house, by our Saviour's grace and pity, 
 that when a human marriage had already been arranged, 
 the holy Demetrias preferred the spiritual embrace of 
 that Spouse who is fairer than the children of men, and 
 who is wedded in order that the spirit may be more 
 fruitful while the flesh remains inviolate. Yet this in- 
 fluence of our exhortations on that believing and noble 
 virgin had been unknown to us, had not your own 
 letters most happily and authentically informed us, after 
 our departure, when in a little while she had made 
 profession of virginal chastity, that this great gift of 
 God, which He plants and waters by His servants, 
 Himself giving the increase, had been the produce of 
 our husbandry. 
 
 "No one, under these circumstances, can call it in- 
 trusion, if, with a most affectionate interest, we are 
 solicitous in warning you against doctrines contrary to 
 the grace of God. For though the Apostle bids us be 
 instant in preaching the word, not in season only, but 
 out of season, we do not reckon you among such as 
 would deem our word or writing out of season, when we 
 speak to warn you seriously against unsound doctrine. 
 Accordingly, you accepted with gratitude our former 
 admonition in the letter to which we now reply, saying, 
 ' I am full of thanks for your reverences' pious advice, 
 bidding me deny my ears to these men, who often cor- 
 rupt our venerable faith with their erroneous writing.' 
 
 "Your following words, in which you say that 'you 
 and your small household are far removed from such 
 men ; and that your whole family so strictly follows the 
 Catholic faith as never to have deviated, never been 
 betrayed into any heresy, not only fatal, but even small,' 
 give us still greater ground for speaking to you concern- 
 
XIV.] JB^metrias. 209 
 
 ing those who are trying to corrupt what hitherto has 
 been sound. How can we forbear to warn those we are 
 so bound to love, after reading a treatise which some 
 one has written to the holy Demetrias, or which came to 
 yourself, (you shall inform us on this point in your 
 reply,) from which that virgin of Christ may learn, if so 
 be, that her virginal sanctity and all her spiritual riches 
 are her own work; and, as a perfection of her blessed- 
 ness may be taught (if we may say the words) to be 
 ungrateful to her God ? So it is ; these are the words, 
 
 * You are possessed of that for which you are deservedly 
 preferred to others ; nay, the more, in that your personal 
 nobility and opulence belong to your friends, not to 
 you ; but spiritual riches none but yourself can provide 
 for you. In that is your right praise, your deserved 
 preference, which cannot be except of thee and in thee.' 
 Forbid it, that a virgin of Christ should take pleasure in 
 such words, who has a religious understanding of the 
 innate poverty of the human heart, and therefore wears 
 no ornaments there but the gifts of her Bridegroom ! 
 Who was it that separated you from the mass of death 
 and perdition which is in Adam ? He surely, who came 
 to seek and to save that which was lost. When, then, a 
 man hears the Apostle ask, ' Who made thee to differ ? ' 
 shall he answer, 'my religious will, my faith, my right- 
 eousness?' and not rather go on to hear what follows, 
 
 * What hast thou which thou hast not received ? ' 
 
 " We have that opinion of the Christian conduct and 
 humility in which this pious maiden has been trained, as 
 to feel assured, that on reading the words in question, if 
 she read them, she sighed deeply, and humbly struck her 
 breast, perhaps wept, and earnestly prayed the Lord, to 
 whom she is dedicated, and by whom she is sanctified, 
 that as the words were not her's, but another's, so her 
 faith may not be of such a temper as to admit of the 
 thought that she has what may give her title to glory in 
 herself, not in the Lord. For her glory is indeed in 
 herself, not in the words of others, according to the 
 Apostle's saying, ' Let every one prove his own work, and 
 then he shall have glory in himself, and not in another.' 
 But forbid it that she should be her own glory, and not 
 He, to whom it is said, ' My glory, and the lifter up of 
 
2IO flj^ ffiljurrlj 0f ilj^ ^Fatljera. [chap. 
 
 my head.' For then is her glory religiously in her, when 
 God who is in her, is Himself her glory ; from whom she 
 has all the goods which make her good, and will have all 
 which will make her better, as far as in this life she can 
 be better ; and which will make her perfect, when she is 
 perfected by divine grace, not by human praise. 
 
 "However, we had rather have your assurance in 
 writing, that we are not deceived in this view of her 
 feelings. We know full well that you and all yours 
 are, and ever have been, worshippers of the undivided 
 Trinity. But there are fatal heresies on other points 
 of doctrine. Such is that which has been the subject of 
 this letter, on which, perhaps, we have said more than 
 is sufficient to a judgment so faithful and conscientious 
 as yours is." — Ep. i88. 
 
 That this letter produced the result intended, cannot 
 be doubted. What became of JuHana after this does 
 not appear, though it is supposed she died at Rome. 
 As to Demetrias, it is interesting to find extant a treatise 
 of a later date addressed to her on the subject of 
 humility. It has been ascribed by some to St. Prosper, 
 by others to St. Leo, and introduces the subject of 
 Pelagianism. A sentence or two will show us the style 
 of the work. "Enter," says the author, "into the 
 chamber of thy mind, and in the secret place of that 
 thy most pure conscience, look round on what ornaments 
 are there stored up for thee; and, whatever splendid, 
 whatever beautiful and costly, you shall there find, doubt 
 not it is of Divine workmanship and gift, so that in 
 all the goods of thy opulence acknowledge both the 
 grace of the Giver, and His right of ownership. For 
 thou hast received what thou hast, and whatever has 
 accrued to thee by the diligence of thy efforts, through 
 Him has it been increased by whom it was begun. 
 Therefore, thou must use what God has bestowed ; and 
 must even beg of Him to use His gifts faithfully and 
 wisely." — c. 22. It may be observed that this author, 
 whoever he is, seems not to have seen St. Austin's letter 
 to Juliana on the same subject. It is pleasant to find 
 that, while the ancient bishops and teachers exhorted the 
 rich to renunciation of the world, they did not flatter 
 
XIV.] ^tmtivias. 211 
 
 them on their complying, but kept a vigilant eye on 
 them, from youth to age, lest they should find a tempta- 
 tion where they looked for a blessing. 
 
 This work was written about a.d. 430 ; the last notice 
 which history has preserved to us of this holy and inter- 
 esting lady is after the sack of Rome by Genseric, when 
 she might be about sixty years of age. She ends as she 
 began. The sacred edifices had suffered in various ways 
 from the fury and cupidity of the barbarians ; St. Leo, 
 who had dissuaded Genseric from burning the city, after 
 his retiring, exerted his influence in various directions to 
 add to the number of churches. Under his advice, 
 Demetrias built the Basilica of St. Stephen, on property 
 of her own, situated on the Latin road, three miles from 
 Rome. With mention of this good deed, of which there 
 is yearly memory in the Roman breviary on the nth of 
 April, the festival of St. Leo, we may suitably take our 
 leave of one who preferred to give her wealth to the 
 Church, to spending it in the aggrandizement of some 
 patrician house. 
 
OrSapter xb 
 Inlrintan anh Ijis Ol0mpant0na 
 
 "And he said unto him, I am a prophet also as thou art, and an 
 angel spoke unto me by the Word of the Lord, saying, Bring 
 him back with thee into thine house, that he may eat bread and 
 drink water. But he lied unto him." 
 
 "\^7E sometimes hear it said that, true* though it be, 
 * '' that the Cathohc system, as we Anglicans maintain 
 it, existed in the fourth century, yet that nevertheless it 
 was a system foreign to the pure Gospel, though intro- 
 duced at a very early age ; a system of Pagan or Jewish 
 origin, which crept in unawares, and was established on 
 the ruins of the Apostolic faith by the episcopal con- 
 federation, which mainly depended on it for its own 
 maintenance. In other words, it is considered by some 
 persons to be a system of priestcraft, destructive of 
 Christian liberty. 
 
 Now, it is no paradox to say, that this would be a 
 sufficient answer to such a speculation, were there no 
 other, viz. that no answer can be made to it. I say, 
 supposing it could not be answered at all, that fact 
 would be an answer. All discussion must have data to 
 go upon; without data, neither one party can dispute, 
 nor the other. If I maintained there were negroes in 
 the moon, I should like to know how these same 
 philosophers would answer me. Of course they would 
 not attempt it : they would confess they had no grounds 
 for denying it, only they would add, that I had no 
 grounds for asserting it. They would not prove that 
 I was wrong, but call upon me to prove that I was right. 
 They would consider such a mode of talking idle and 
 childish, and unworthy the consideration of a serious 
 
 212 
 
CH. XV.] |l0titman anh Ijts Contpam0tts. 213 
 
 man; else there would be no end of speculation, no 
 hope of certainty and unanimity in anything. Is a man 
 to be allowed to say what he will, and bring no reasons 
 for it? Even if his hypothesis fitted into the facts of 
 the case, still it would be but an hypothesis, and might 
 be met perhaps, in the course of time, by another hypo- 
 thesis, presenting as satisfactory a solution of them. 
 But if it would not be necessarily true, though it were 
 adequate, much less is it entitled to consideration, before 
 it is proved to be adequate, — before it is actually recon- 
 ciled with the facts of the case; and when another 
 hypothesis has, from the beginning, been in the 
 possession of the field. From the first it has been 
 believed, that the Catholic system is Apostolic; con- 
 vincing reasons must be brought against this belief, and 
 in favour of another, before that other is to be preferred 
 to it. 
 
 Now the new and gratuitous hypothesis in question 
 does not appear, when examined, even to harmonize 
 with the facts of the case. I will give two instances of 
 this. First, if the Church system be not Apostolic, it 
 must, some time or other, have been introduced; and 
 then comes the question, w/ien ? We maintain, that the 
 known circumstances of the previous history are such as 
 to preclude the possibility of any time being assigned, 
 ever so close upon the Apostles, at which it did not 
 exist. Not only cannot a time be shown when the free- 
 and-easy system now in fashion did generally exist, but 
 no time can be shown in which it can be colourably 
 maintained that the Church system did not exist. It 
 will be said, of course, that the Church system was 
 gradually introduced. I do not say there have never 
 been introductions of any kind; but let us see what 
 they amount to here. Select for yourself your doclrifie^ or 
 your ordinance, which you say was introduced, and try to 
 give the history of its introduction. Hypothetical that 
 history will be, of course; but we will not scruple at 
 that; — we will only ask one thing, that it should cut 
 clean between the real facts of the case, though it bring 
 none in its favour; but it will not be able to do even 
 this. The rise of the doctrine of the Holy Trinity, of 
 the usage of baptizing infants, of the eucharistic offering, 
 
214 '^ht €hnvti) oi i\jt fatijtx^. [chap. 
 
 of the episcopal prerogatives, do what one will, cannot 
 be made short of Apostolical times. This is not the 
 place to prove all this ; but so fully is it felt to be so, by 
 those who are determined not to admit these portions of 
 Catholicism, that in their despair of drawing the line 
 between the first and following centuries, they make up 
 their minds to intrude into the first, and boldly pursue 
 their supposed error into the very presence of some 
 Apostle or EvangeHst. Thus St. John is sometimes 
 made the voluntary or involuntary originator of some 
 portions of our creed. Dr. Priestley, I believe, con- 
 jectures that his amanuensis played him false, as regards 
 the sacred doctrine which that philosopher opposed. 
 Others denounced St. Barnabas the Apostle as a puerile 
 and nonsensical writer, on the ground of the epistle, 
 which many think is not his, but which these persons 
 are eager in ascribing to him. Others have gone a step 
 further, and have said, *'Not Paul, but Jesus." Infidel, 
 Socinian, and Protestant, agree in assailing the Apostles, 
 rather than submitting to the Church. 
 
 This, then, is one obstacle in the way of the op- 
 ponents of the Catholic system ; they cannot disconnect 
 it from Apostolic times. Another, which leads to the 
 subject of this paper, is as follows : — That, let them go 
 to what quarter of Christendom they will, let them hunt 
 among heretics, or schismatics, into Gnosticism outside 
 the Church, or Arianism within it, still they will find no 
 hint or vestige anywhere of that system which they are 
 now pleased to call scriptural. Granting that Catholicism 
 be a corruption, is it possible that it should be a corrup- 
 tion springing up everywhere at once? Is it conceiv- 
 able, that at least no opponent should have retained any 
 remnant of the system it supplanted ? — that no tradition 
 of primitive purity should remain in any part of Christen- 
 dom? — that no protest, or controversy, should have 
 been raised, as a monument against the victorious error ? 
 This argument, conclusive against modern Socinianism, 
 is still more cogent and striking, when directed against 
 Puritanism. At least, there were divines in those early 
 days who denied the sacred doctrine which Socinianism 
 also disowns, though commonly they did not profess to 
 do so on authority of tradition; but who ever heard 
 
XV.] |0tiintan antr Irta (^ampaniam* 215 
 
 of Erastians, Supralapsarians, Independents, Sacramen- 
 tarians, and the like, before the sixteenth and seven- 
 teenth centuries ? It would be too bold to go to prove 
 a negative : I can only say, that I do not know in what 
 quarter to search for the representatives, in the early 
 Church, of that peculiarity, or peculiarism in religion 
 (if I may give it a significant appellation), which is now 
 so much in favour. At first sight one is tempted to say 
 that all errors come over and over again ; that this and 
 that notion, now in vogue, has been refuted in times 
 past. This is indeed a general truth — nay, for what 
 I know, these same bold speculatists will bring it as an 
 argument for their not being in error, that antiquity says 
 nothing at all, good or bad, about their opinions. I 
 cannot answer for the extent to which they will throw 
 the onus prodandi on us; but I protest — be it for us, or 
 be it against us — I cannot find this very peculiarism of 
 theirs in ancient times, whether in friend or foe, Jew or 
 Pagan, Montanist or Novatian; though I find surely 
 enough, and in plenty, the general characteristics, which 
 are conspicuous in their philosophy, of self-will, eccen- 
 tricity, and love of paradox. 
 
 So far from it, that if we wish to find the rudiments 
 of the Catholic system clearly laid down in writing, 
 those who are accounted least orthodox will prove as 
 liberal in their information about it as the strictest 
 Churchmen. We can endure even the heretics better 
 than our opponents can endure the Apostles. Tertullian, 
 though a Montanist, gives no sort of encouragement 
 to the so-called Bible Christian of this day; rather 
 he would be the object of their decided abhorrence and 
 disgust. Origen is not a whit more of a Protestant, 
 though he, if any, ought, from the circumstances of his 
 history, to be a witness against us. It is averred that 
 the alleged revolution of doctrine and ritual was intro- 
 duced by the influence of the episcopal system; well, 
 here is a victim of episcopacy, brought forward by our 
 opponents as such. Here is a man who was persecuted 
 by his bishop, and driven out of his country; and 
 whose name after his death has been dishonourably 
 mentioned, both by councils and fathers. He surely 
 was not in the episcopal conspiracy, at least ; and per- 
 
2i6 ^Ijt (&hmt\j 0f tb yatlj^rs- [chap. 
 
 chance may give the latitudinarian, the anabaptist, the 
 Erastian, and the utihtarian, some countenance. Far 
 from it ; he is as high, and as keen, as removed from 
 softness and mawkishness, as ascetic and as reverential, 
 as any bishop among them. He is as superstitious (as 
 men now talk), as fanatical, as formal, as Athanasius or 
 Augustine. Certainly, there seems something provi- 
 dential in the place which Origen holds in the early 
 Church, considering the direction which theories about 
 it are now taking; and much might be said on that 
 subject. 
 
 Take another instance : — there was, in the fourth 
 century, a party of divines who were politically opposed 
 to the line of ecclesiastics, whose principles had been, 
 and were afterwards, dominant in the Church, such as 
 Athanasius, Jerome, and Epiphanius; I mean, for in- 
 stance, Eusebius, Cyril of Jerusalem, and others who 
 were more or less connected with the Semi-Arians. If, 
 then, we see that in all points, as regards the sacraments 
 and sacramentals, the Church and its ministers, the 
 form of worship, and other religious duties of Christians, 
 Eusebius and Cyril agree entirely with the most ortho- 
 dox of their contemporaries, with those by party and 
 country most separated from them, we have a proof 
 that that system, whatever it turns out to be, was 
 Catholic before their time — i.e. before the establishment 
 of Christianity under Constantine ; in other words, that 
 we must look for the gradual corruption of the Church, 
 if it is to be found, not when wealth pampered it, and 
 power and peace brought its distant portions together, 
 but while it was yet poor, humble, and persecuted, in 
 those times which are commonly considered pure and 
 primitive. Again, the genius of Arianism, as a party 
 and a doctrine, was to discard antiquity and mystery; 
 that is, to resist and expose what is commonly called 
 priestcraft. In proportion, then, as Cyril and Eusebius 
 partook of that spirit, so far would they be in their own 
 cast of mind indisposed to the Catholic system, both 
 considered in itself and as being imposed on them. 
 
 Now have the writers in question any leaning or 
 tenderness for the theology of Luther and Calvin ? 
 rather they are as unconscious of its existence as of 
 
XV.] Jnbinian mh Ijia ®0tnpam0ns» 217 
 
 modern chemistry or astronomy. That faith is a closing 
 with Divine mercy, not a submission to a Divine 
 announcement, that justification and sanctification are 
 distinct, that good works do not benefit the Christian, 
 that the Church is not Christ's ordinance and instru- 
 ment, and that heresy and dissent are not necessarily 
 and intrinsically evil : notions such as these they do not 
 oppose, simply because, to all appearance, they never 
 heard of them. To take a single passage, which first 
 occurs, in which Eusebius gives us his notion of the 
 Catholic Church. " These attempts," he says, speaking 
 of the arts of the enemy, " did not long avail him. 
 Truth ever consolidating itself, and, as time goes on, 
 shining into broader day. For while the devices of 
 adversaries were extinguished at once, undone by their 
 very impetuosity, — one heresy after another presenting 
 its own novelty, the former specimens ever dissolving 
 and wasting variously in manifold and multiform shapes, 
 — the brightness of the CathoHc and only true Church 
 went forward increasing and enlarging, yet ever in the 
 same things and in the same way, beaming on the 
 whole race of Greeks and barbarians with the awfulness, 
 and simplicity, and nobleness, and sobriety, and purity 
 of its divine pohty and philosophy. Thus the calumny 
 against our whole creed died with its day, and there 
 continued alone our discipHne, sovereign among all, and 
 acknowledged to be pre-eminent in awfulness, sobriety, 
 and divine and philosophical doctrines ; so that no one 
 of this day dares to cast any base reproach upon our 
 faith, nor any such calumny such as it was once usual 
 for our enemies to use." — A^i'st iv. 7. 
 
 Or to take a passage on a different subject, which 
 almost comes first to hand from St. Cyril : — " Only be 
 of good cheer, only work, only strive cheerfully; for 
 nothing is lost. Every prayer of thine, every psalm thou 
 singest is recorded; every alms-deed, every fast is re- 
 corded ; every marriage duly observed is recorded ; con- 
 tinence kept for God's sake is recorded; but the first 
 crowns in record are those of virginity and purity; 
 and thou shalt shine as an Angel. But as thou hast 
 gladly listened to the good things, listen without shrink- 
 ing to the contrary. Every covetous deed of thine is 
 
2i8 W\jt Cljurrfr 0f tlj^ JFatljm. [chap. 
 
 recorded; every fleshly deed, every perjury, every blas- 
 phemy, every sorcery, every theft, every murder. All 
 these things are henceforth recorded, if thou do these 
 after baptism ; for thy former deeds are blotted out." — 
 Cat XV. 23. 
 
 Cyril and Eusebius, I conceive, do not serve at all 
 better than Origen to show that faith is a feeling ; that 
 it makes a man independent of the Church, and is 
 efficacious apart from baptism or works. I do not know 
 any ancient divines of whom more can be made. How- 
 ever, in a hopeless case, as it seems to me, let us turn to 
 what promises best at first sight for modern divinity, — 
 the history of Aerius, Jovinian, and Vigilantius, who 
 may be called, though by a very lax analogy, the Luther, 
 Calvin, and Zwingle, of the fourth century. And they 
 have been so considered both by Protestants and by their 
 opponents ; so covetous after all of precedent are inno- 
 vators, so prepared are Catholics to believe that there 
 is nothing new under the sun. Let me, then, briefly 
 state the history and tenets of these three religionists. 
 
 Aerius was an intimate friend of Eustathius, bishop 
 of Sebaste, in Armenia, of whom we have already heard 
 in the history of St. Basil. Both had embraced a 
 monastic life; and both were Arians in creed. Eusta- 
 thius, being raised to the episcopate, ordained his friend 
 presbyter, and set him over the almshouse, or hospital 
 of the see. A quarrel followed, from whatever cause; 
 Aerius left his post, and accused Eustathius of covetous- 
 ness, as it would appear, unjustly. Next he collected 
 a large number of persons of both sexes in the open 
 country, where they braved the severe weather of that 
 climate. A congregation implies a creed, and Aerius 
 founded or formed his own on the following: i. That 
 there was no difference between bishop and presbyter. 
 2. That it was Judaical to observe Easter, because Christ 
 is our Passover. 3. That it was useless, or rather mis- 
 chievous, to name the dead in prayer, or to give alms 
 for them. 4. That fasting was Judaical, and a yoke of 
 bondage. If it be right to fast, he added, each should 
 choose his own day; for instance, Sunday rather than 
 Wednesday and Friday : while Passion Week he spent 
 in feasting and merriment. And this is pretty nearly 
 
XV.] |0iittttan antr (rts C0mpattt0tts« 219 
 
 all we know of Aerius, who flourished between a.d. 360 
 and 370. 
 
 Jovinian was a Roman monk, and was condemned, 
 first by Siricius at Rome, then by St. Ambrose, and 
 other bishops, at Milan, about a.d. 390. He taught, 
 I. That eating with thanksgiving was just as good as 
 fasting. 2. That, cceferis paribus, celibacy, widowhood, 
 and marriage, were on a level in the baptized. 3. That 
 there was no difference of rewards hereafter for those 
 who had preserved their baptism; and, 4. That those 
 who had been baptized with full faith could not fall; 
 if they did, they had been baptized, like Simon Magus, 
 only with water. He persuaded persons of both sexes 
 at Rome, who had for years led a single life, to desert it. 
 The emperor Honorius had him transported to an island 
 on the coast of Dalmatia ; he died in the beginning of 
 the fifth century. 
 
 Vigilantius was a priest of Gaul or Spain, and flourished 
 just at the time Jovinian died : he taught that those who 
 reverenced relics were idolaters; that continence and 
 ceHbacy were wrong, as leading to the worst scandals ; 
 that lighting candles in churches during the day, in 
 honour of the martyrs, was wrong, as being a heathen 
 rite ; that apostles and martyrs had no presence at their 
 tombs ; that it was useless to pray for the dead ; that it 
 was better to keep wealth, and practise habitual charity, 
 than to strip one's self of one's property once for all ; 
 and that it was wrong to retire into the desert. This is 
 what we learn of these three (so-called) reformers, from 
 the writings of Epiphanius and Jerome. 
 
 Now it may be argued, " What can you require more 
 than this ? Here you have at the time of a great catas- 
 trophe, Scriptural truth preserved, as it were, fossile, in 
 the burning matter which destroyed it, in the persecuting 
 language of Epiphanius and Jerome. When corruptions 
 began to press themselves on the notice of Christians, 
 here you find three witnesses, raising their distinct and 
 solemn protest in different parts of the Church, in- 
 dependently of each other, in Gaul, in Italy, and in 
 Asia Minor, against prayers for the dead, veneration of 
 relics, candles in the daytime, the merit of celibacy, the 
 need of fasting, the observance of days, difference in 
 
2 20 flj^ Cljurrlj 0f t\}t IFatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 future rewards, the defectibility of the regenerate, and 
 the divine origin of episcopacy. Here is pure and scrip- 
 tural Protestantism." Such is the phenomenon on which 
 a few remarks are now to be offered. 
 
 I. I observe then, first, that this case so presented to 
 us, does not answer the purpose required. The doctrine 
 of these three Protestants, if I am to be forced into 
 calHng them so, is, after all, but negative. We know what 
 they protested against^ not what they protested y^r. We 
 do not know what the system of doctrine and ritual was 
 which they substituted for the Catholic, or whether they 
 had any such. Though they differed from the ancients, 
 there is no proof that they agreed with the moderns. 
 Parties which differ from a common third, do not 
 necessarily agree with each other ; from two negative pro- 
 positions nothing is inferred. For instance, the moral 
 temper and doctrinal character of the sixteenth century 
 is best symbolised by its views about faith and justifica- 
 tion, to which I have already referred. This is its 
 positive shape, as far as it may be considered positive 
 at all. Now, does any one mean to maintain, that 
 Aerius, Jovinian, or Vigilantius, held justification by 
 faith only in the sense of John Wesley, or of John 
 Newton? Did they consider that baptism was a thing 
 of nought; that faith did every thing; that faith was 
 trust, and the perfection of faith assurance; that it 
 consisted in believing that " I am pardoned ; " and that 
 works might be left to themselves, to come as they 
 might, as being necessary fruits of faith, without our 
 trouble ? Did they know anything of the " apprehen- 
 sive " power of faith, or of man's proneness to consider 
 his imperfect services, done in and by grace, as adequate 
 to purchase eternal life ? There is no proof they did. 
 Let them — these three protesters — be ever so cogent an 
 argument against the Catholic creed, this does not bring 
 them a whit nearer to the Protestant ; though in fact they 
 are little of an argument, even at first sight, against the 
 Catholic, since most of the views and practices which 
 they oppose in the fourth century, had been held in the 
 Church in the first, second, and third. 
 
 Further, even if a modern wished, he would not be 
 able to confine himself to the negative creed of these 
 
XV.] |[0trtman mh bis ®0mpam0ns» 221 
 
 primitive protesters, whatever his particular persuasion 
 might be. Their protest suits no sect whatever of this 
 day. It is either too narrow or too liberal. The 
 Episcopalian, as he is styled, will not go along with 
 Aerius's notions about bishops ; nor will the Lutheran 
 subscribe to the final perseverance of the saints ; nor 
 will the strict Calvinist allow that all fasting is Judaical ; 
 nor will the Baptist admit the efficacy of baptism : one 
 man will wonder why none of the three protested against 
 the existence of the Church itself; another that none of 
 them denied the received doctrine of penance ; a third, 
 that all three let pass the received doctrine of the 
 Eucharist. Their protestations are either too much or 
 too little for any one of their present admirers. 
 
 Or, again, do we wish to fix upon what can be de- 
 tected in their creed of a positive character, and distinct 
 from their protests ? We happen to be told what it was 
 in the case of one of them. Aerius was an Arian : does 
 this mend matters? Is there any agreement at all 
 between him and Luther here ? If Aerius is an authority 
 against bishops, or against set fasts, why is he not an 
 authority against the Creed of St. Athanasius ? 
 
 2. What has been last said, leads to a further remark. 
 I observe, then, that if two or three men in the fourth 
 century are sufficient, against the general voice of the 
 Church, to disprove one doctrine, then, still more, are 
 two or three of an early century able to disprove another. 
 Why should protesters in century four be more entitled 
 to a hearing than protesters in century three? Now 
 it so happens, that as Aerius, Jovinian, and Vigilantius 
 in the fourth protested against austerities, so did Praxeas, 
 Noetus, and Sabellius in the third protest against the 
 Catholic or Athanasian doctrine of the Holy Trinity. A 
 much stronger case surely could be made out in favour 
 of the latter protest than of the former. Noetus was of 
 Asia Minor, Praxeas taught in Rome, Sabellius in Africa. 
 Nay, we read, that in the latter country it prevailed 
 among the common people, then, and at an earlier date, 
 to a very great extent, and that the true doctrine was 
 hardly preached in the Churches. 
 
 3. Again, the only value of the protest of these three 
 men would be, of course, that they represented others ; 
 
222 ^\jz ©Jjttrrlj 0f tlj^ IFatljers. [chap. 
 
 that they were exponents of a state of opinion which 
 prevailed either in their day or before them, and which 
 was being overpowered by the popular corruptions. 
 What are Aerius and Jovinian to me as individuals? 
 They are worth nothing, unless they can be considered 
 as organs and witnesses of an expiring cause. Now, it 
 does not appear that they had any notion themselves 
 that they were speaking in behalf of any Hving or dead 
 besides themselves. They argued against prayers for 
 the departed from reason, and against celibacy, hopeless 
 as the case might seem, from Scripture. They ridiculed 
 one usage, and showed the ill consequence of another. 
 All this might be very cogent in itself, but it was the 
 conduct of men who stood by themselves and were 
 conscious of it. If Jovinian had known of writers of 
 the second and third centuries holding the same views, 
 Jovinian would have been as prompt to quote them, 
 as Lutherans are to quote Jovinians. Why, then, is 
 the fourth century to prove what the second and third 
 disavow ? Surely we may fairly ask for pure and primi- 
 tive heretics, independents of the Apostolic age, before 
 we defer to them, and must not be put off with the dark 
 and fallible protests of the Nicene era. 
 
 Far different is the tone of Epiphanius in his answer 
 to Aerius : "If one need refer," he says, speaking of 
 fasting, "to the constitution of the Apostles, why did 
 they there determine the fourth and sixth day to be ever 
 a fast, except Pentecost ? and concerning the six days of 
 the Pascha, why do they order us to take nothing at all 
 but bread, salt, and water? Which of these parties is 
 the rather correct ? this deceived man, who but now has 
 come into public, and is still ahve, or they who were 
 witnesses before us, possessing before our time the 
 tradition in the Church, and they, having received it 
 from their fathers, and those very fathers again having 
 learned it from those who lived before them. The 
 Church has received it, and it is unanimously confessed 
 in the whole world, before Aerius and Aerians were 
 horn."— Ifcsr. 75. § 6. 
 
 4. Once more, there is this very observable fact in the 
 case of each of the three, that their respective protests 
 seem to have arisen from some personal motive. Cer- 
 
XV.] |f0ijxnxan atttr Ijts C0tttpam0ns. 223 
 
 tainly what happens to a man's self often brings a thing 
 home to his mind more forcibly, makes him contemplate 
 it steadily, and leads to a successful investigation into its 
 merits. Yet still, where we know personal feelings to 
 exist in the maintenance of any doctrine, we look more 
 narrowly at the proof for ourselves ; thinking it not im- 
 possible that the parties may have made up their minds 
 on grounds short of reason. It is natural to feel distrust 
 of controversiaHsts, who, to all appearance, would not 
 have been earnest against a doctrine or practice, except 
 that it galled them. Now it so happens, that each of 
 these three Reformers lies open to this imputation. 
 Aerius is expressly declared by Epiphanius to have been 
 Eustathius's competitor for the see of Sebaste, and to 
 have been disgusted at failing. He is the preacher 
 against bishops. Jovinian was bound by a monastic 
 vow, and he protests against fasting and coarse raiment. 
 Vigilantius was a priest; and, therefore, he disapproves 
 the celibacy of the clergy. No opinion at all is here 
 ventured in favour of clerical celibacy ; still it is remark- 
 able that in the latter, as in the two former cases, private 
 feeling and public protest should have gone together. 
 
 These distinct considerations are surely quite suffi- 
 cient to take away our interest in these three Reformers. 
 These men are not an historical clue to a lost primitive 
 creed, more than Origen or Tertullian; and much less 
 do they afford any support to the creed of those moderns 
 who would fain shelter themselves behind them. That 
 there were abuses in the Church then, as at all times, 
 no one, I suppose, will deny. There may have been 
 extreme opinions and extreme acts, over-honour paid to 
 saints, fraud in the production of relics, extravagance in 
 praising celibacy, formality in fasting; and such errors 
 would justify a protest, which the Catholic Fathers 
 themselves are not slow to make; but they would not 
 justify that utter reprobation of relics, of celibacy, and 
 of fasting, of episcopacy, of prayers for the dead, and of 
 the doctrine of defectibility, which these men avowed, 
 — avowed without the warrant of the first ages, on 
 grounds of private reason, under the influence of per- 
 sonal feeling, and with the accompaniment of but 
 suspicious orthodoxy. For the present, then, I give up 
 
224 Stlr^ (&l^mth 0f tht IFailj^rs- [chap. 
 
 the search after Protestantism in Antiquity as a failure ; 
 — however, before ending the chapter, it may be as well 
 to give a specimen of the kind of answer which the 
 Catholic writers made to these heretics ; so I will extract 
 two passages from St. Jerome, one in behalf of fasting 
 against Jovinian, and one in behalf of the martyrs against 
 Vigilantius. The Scriptural tone of both should be 
 observed. 
 
 I. Adam, he observes to Jovinian, received the com- 
 mand in Paradise to observe fast as to one tree, while he 
 ate of the rest. The blessedness of Paradise could not 
 be confirmed to him without abstinence from food. As 
 long as he fasted, he was in Paradise : he ate, and was 
 cast out. How lost Esau his birthright? for the sake 
 of food, with an impatience which tears would not wash 
 away. Israel, when making for the land flowing with 
 milk and honey, longs after the flesh, gourds, and leeks 
 of Egypt, and despises the food of Angels. Moses, 
 fasting on Sinai for forty days and nights, proved in the 
 very letter, that man doth not live by bread only, but by 
 every word of God ; whereas the full people were the 
 while fashioning their idol. Nor were the tables of the 
 law inscribed a second time without a second fast. 
 What excesses had lost, abstinence regained ; to show us 
 that as eating forfeited Paradise, fasting recovers it. 
 Elias, after a forty days' fast, saw God in Horeb. 
 Samuel and Hezekiah gained victory over the enemy 
 by a fast ; by a fast, Nineveh averted God's wrath ; by 
 a fast, impious Ahab delayed it. Hannah, by fasting, 
 gained a son ; by fasting, Daniel gained to interpret the 
 king's dream. After an abstinence of three weeks from 
 pleasant meat, an Angel was sent to him. David 
 humbled himself with fasting. The prophet from Judah 
 lost his life from not fasting ; and the lion shamed him 
 by not eating the ass. In the New Testament, Anna 
 by fasting gained a sight of her Lord. The Baptist lived 
 on locusts and wild honey. Cornelius fasted, and was 
 rewarded by Baptism. Paul adds fastings to his ship- 
 wrecks and perils. Timothy, his disciple, drank water 
 only. " Once," he presently continues, addressing 
 Jovinian, "once, your foot was bare; now it has not 
 only a shoe, but an ornamental one. Then you wore 
 
XV.] |0ljiman antr Ijis (I0ntpattt0nj3. 225 
 
 a shaggy tunic and a black vest ; you were in mourning 
 garb, pale in face, and rough in hand ; now you parade 
 in linen, in silk, in the figured stuffs of Atrebatas, and 
 the attire of Laodicea. Your cheeks are red j your skin 
 is sleek; your hair is dressed behind and before; your 
 paunch is protuberant ; your shoulders are round ; your 
 throat is full ; and your jaws are so fat that your words 
 are almost strangled. Certainly, in such a contrast 
 of food and clothing, there must be fault on one side 
 or the other. Not that I will impute sin to food or 
 to dress ; but that the variation and change for the worse 
 is next door to a reproach." — ii. 21. 
 
 2. The same Father is even more energetic in defence 
 of the martyrs against Vigilantius : — " Who, madman, 
 ever at any time, adored the martyrs ? who took man for 
 God? did not Paul and Barnabas, when thought to be 
 Jupiter and Mercury by the Lycaonians, who would 
 sacrifice to them, tear their garments, and say they were 
 men ? We read the same of Peter, who raised Cornelius 
 when desirous to worship him, saying, ' Rise, for I also 
 am a man.' And do you venture to talk of that ' some- 
 thing or other which we honour by carrying about in 
 a small urn?' I want to know what you mean by 
 
 * something or other.' Speak out, and blaspheme freely. 
 
 * Some dust or other,' you say, ' wrapped up in precious 
 linen in a small urn.' He grieves that the remains 
 of martyrs have a precious covering, and are not tied 
 up in rags or sackcloth, or cast on the dunghill; that 
 Vigilantius alone may be worshipped in his liquor and 
 his sleep ! What ! are we sacrilegious in entering the 
 Basilicas of the Apostles? Then was the Emperor 
 Constantius so, who translated the sacred remains of 
 Andrew, Luke, and Timothy to Constantinople, at which 
 demons howl, yea, the tenants of Vigilantius acknow- 
 ledge their presence. Sacrilegious, too, is Arcadius, 
 Augustus at this time, who has translated, after so long 
 a period, the bones of blessed Samuel from Judea into 
 Thrace. All the bishops, not only sacrilegious but 
 infatuate, who carried in silk and gold a vile thing 
 and crumbling ashes. Fools, the people of all the 
 Churches, who met the sacred rehcs, and received them 
 as joyfully as if they saw the prophet present and alive ; 
 
2 26 ^\)t Cljurrb of tlj^ IFatlj^ra. [chap. 
 
 so that, from Palestine even unto Chalcedon, swarms 
 of people intermingled continuously, and with one voice 
 resounded the praises of Christ. It seems they were 
 adoring Samuel, not Christ, whose Levite and prophet 
 Samuel was ! 
 
 " * You reverence the dead, and therefore you 
 blaspheme.' Read the Gospel, 'I am the God of 
 Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; He is not God of the 
 dead, but of the living.' If then, they live, they are not 
 shut up in an honourable prison, as you would have 
 it. For you say that the souls of Apostles and martyrs 
 rest either in Abraham's bosom, or under the altar of 
 God, nor can be present from their tombs, and where 
 they will. It seems they have a sort of senatorial 
 dignity, not shut up, indeed, with murderers in the most 
 horrible prison, but in free and honourable confinement 
 in isles of the blessed and the Elysian fields ! Are you 
 the man to prescribe laws to God ? will you put chains 
 on Apostles? so that, till the judgment-day, those are 
 kept in ward, and are not with their Lord, of whom it 
 is written, 'They follow the Lamb, whithersoever He 
 goeth?' If the Lamb be everywhere, they, too, must 
 be considered everywhere who are with the Lamb. 
 And, whereas the devil and the demons range the whole 
 earth, and by their extreme rapidity are everywhere pre- 
 sent, shall martyrs, after the outpouring of their blood, 
 be shut up under the altar so to be unable to leave it ? 
 
 " You say, in your book, that ' while we live we can 
 pray for each other, but after death no one's prayer for 
 another is to be heard ; especially since martyrs, though 
 praying for the vengeance of their own blood, have not 
 availed to obtain it.' If Apostles and martyrs, while in 
 the body, can pray for others, when they ought as yet 
 to be solicitous about themselves, how much rather after 
 their crown, their victory, and their triumph ? Paul, the 
 Apostle, says, that two hundred and seventy-six souls in 
 the ship were granted to him ; shall Vigilantius, a living 
 dog, be better than he, a dead lion ? So I might rightly 
 argue from Ecclesiastes, could I confess that Paul was 
 dead in spirit. In short, saints are not said to be dead, 
 but asleep. 
 
 " We do not light wax tapers in the broad day, as you 
 
XV.] Jnbtman anb bis flt0mpani0ns. 227 
 
 idly slander us, but to relieve the darkness of night by 
 this substitute ; and we watch unto the light, lest, blinded 
 with you, we may sleep in the dark. If any secular 
 men, or at least religious women, through ignorance and 
 simplicity, of whom we may truly say, ' They have a zeal 
 of God, but not according to knowledge ; ' if such have 
 done this for the honour of martyrs, what do you lose 
 by it? Once, even Apostles complained of the loss 
 of the ointment, but they were reproved by the Lord's 
 voice. Not that Christ needed ointment, nor the martyrs 
 wax lights; and yet that woman so acted in Christ's 
 honour, and her devotion was accepted. And whoever 
 light wax tapers are rewarded according to their faith, as 
 the Apostle speaks, 'Let every one be fully persuaded 
 in his own mind.' Do you call such men idolaters ? I 
 do not deny that all of us who believe in Christ have 
 come out of the errors of idolatry ; for we are not born, 
 but new-born Christians. And because we once honoured 
 idols, ought we now not to honour God, lest we seem to 
 venerate Him with an honour like that paid to idols? 
 That was done to idols, and therefore was detestable; 
 this is done to martyrs, and therefore is allowable. For, 
 even without the remains of martyrs, throughout the 
 Churches of the East, when the Gospel is read, lights 
 are lit, while the sun is bright, not at all to chase 
 away the dark, but as a sign of rejoicing. Whence, too, 
 those virgins in the Gospel have always their lamps lit. 
 And the Apostles are told to have their loins girded, and 
 burning lights in their hands : and John Baptist is said 
 to be a ' burning and shining light ; ' that under the type 
 of material light might be signified that light of which 
 we read in the Psalter, ' Thy word, O Lord, is a lanthorn 
 unto my feet, and a light unto my paths.' " — 5 — 8. 
 
 I have already allowed that there are points in 
 Jerome's tone of mind which I receive at the Church's 
 hands without judging; and, again, that superstitions 
 existed in the Church of his day about the holy relics, 
 as, indeed, he seems to grant in the above extract ; yet, 
 after all allowances on this, and the other subjects which 
 have here come before us, I do not see that our Protestant 
 brethren gain much by their appeal to the history of 
 Aerius, Jovinian, and Vigilantius. 
 
ODSapter xbi 
 Can0na ai ti^t ^p0stUa 
 
 "Let Thy Thummim and Thy Urim be with Thy holy one, whom 
 Thou didst prove at Massah, and with whom Thou didst strive 
 at the waters of Meribah ; who said unto his father and to his 
 mother, I have not seen him; neither did he acknowledge his 
 brethren, nor knew his own children: for they have observed 
 Thy word and kept Thy covenant." 
 
 SUCH is the testimony borne in different ways by 
 Origen, Eusebius, and Cyril, Aerius, Jovinian, and 
 Vigilantius, to the immemorial reception, among Chris- 
 tians, of those doctrines and practices which the private 
 judgment of this age considers to be unscriptural. Let 
 the object with which they have been adduced be clearly 
 understood : not thereby directly to prove the truth of 
 those doctrines and practices; but, the hypothesis 
 having been hazarded in some quarters, that perhaps 
 those doctrines and practices were an early corruption, 
 and the burden of proving a negative being thrown 
 upon us by men who are better pleased to suggest 
 doubts than to settle anything, we, in our excess of 
 consideration, are going about from one quarter to 
 another, prying and extravagating beyond the beaten 
 paths of orthodoxy, for the chance of detecting some 
 sort of testimony in favour of our opponents. With 
 this object I have fallen upon the writers aforesaid, 
 and since they have been more or less accused of 
 heterodoxy, I thought there was a chance of their sub- 
 serving the cause of Protestantism, which the Catholic 
 Fathers certainly do not subserve ; but they, though 
 differing from each other most materially, and some 
 of them differing from the Church, do not any one 
 
 228 
 
CH. XVI.] (&anans ai tlj^ ^p0stUa* 229 
 
 of them approximate to the tone or language of the 
 movement of 1517. Every additional instance of this 
 kind goes indirectly to corroborate the testimony of 
 the Catholic Church. 
 
 The more we can vary our witnesses, the better. 
 The consent of Fathers is one sort of witness to 
 Apostohcal truth; the accordance of heretics is another; 
 received usage is a third. I shall now give, at some 
 length, an instance of this last mentioned, as afforded 
 in the existence of the Apostolical Canons^; and with 
 that view, I must beg indulgence once in a way, to 
 engage myself in a dry and somewhat tedious dis- 
 cussion. These Canons were once supposed to be, 
 strictly speaking, Apostohcal, and published before 
 A.D. 50. On the other hand, it has been contended 
 that they were composed by some heretic after 450. 
 Our own divines maintain that they were published 
 before 325, and were undoubtedly the digest of Catholic 
 authorities in the course of the second and third, or at 
 the end of the second century, and were received and 
 used in most parts of Christendom. This view has 
 since been acquiesced in by the theological world, so 
 far as this, to suppose the matter and the enactment 
 of the Canons of the highest antiquity, even though 
 the edition which we possess was not published so 
 early as Bishop Beveridge, for instance, supposes. At 
 the same time it is acknowledged by all parties, that 
 they, as well as some other early documents, have 
 suffered from interpolation, and perhaps by an heretical 
 hand. 
 
 They are in number eighty-five, of which the first 
 fifty are considered of superior authority to the re- 
 maining thirty-five. What has been conjectured to be 
 their origin will explain the distinction. It was the 
 custom of the early Church, as is well known, to settle 
 in council such points in her discipline, ordinances, and 
 worship, as the Apostles had not prescribed in Scripture, 
 as the occasion arose, after the pattern of their own pro- 
 ceedings in the fifteenth chapter of the Acts ; and this, 
 as far as might be, after their unwritten directions, or 
 
 ^ The following account is principally from Bishops Beveridge 
 and Pearson. 
 
230 ^l}t Cburrlr 0f tlj^ IFatlj^rs* [chap. 
 
 their practice, or, at least, their mind, or as it is called 
 in Scripture, their " minding " or " spirit^." Thus she 
 decided upon the question of Easter, upon that of 
 heretical baptism, and the like. And after the same 
 precedent in the Acts, she recorded her decisions in 
 formal decrees, and "delivered them for to keep" 
 through the cities in which her members were found. 
 The Canons in question are supposed to be some of 
 these decrees, of which, first and nearest to the Aposdes' 
 times, or in the time of their immediate successors, 
 were published fifty; and in the following age, thirty- 
 five more, which had been enacted in the interval. 
 They claim, then, to be, first, the recorded judgment 
 of great portions of the Ante-Nicene Church, chiefly 
 in the eastern provinces, upon certain matters in dispute, 
 and to be of authority so far as that Church may be 
 considered a representative of the mind of the Apostles ; 
 next, they profess to embody in themselves positive 
 decisions and injunctions of the Apostles, though with- 
 out clearly discriminating how much is thus directly 
 Apostohcal, and how much not. I will here attempt 
 to state some of the considerations which show both 
 their antiquity and authority, and afterwards use them 
 for the purpose which has led me to mention them. 
 
 I. In the first place, it would seem quite certain that, 
 as, on the one hand. Councils were held in the primi- 
 tive Church, so on the other, they enacted certain 
 Canons. When, then, a collection presents itself pro- 
 fessing to consist of the Ante-Nicene Canons, there 
 is nothing at all to startle us; it only professes to set 
 before us that which we know any how must have 
 existed. We may conjecture, if we please, that the 
 fact that there were Canons may have suggested and 
 encouraged a counterfeit. Certainly; but though the 
 fact that there were such will account for a counterfeit, 
 it will not account for the original being lost; on the 
 contrary, what is known to have once existed as a rule 
 of conduct, is likely to continue in existence, except 
 under particular circumstances. Which of the two this 
 collection is, the genuine or the counterfeit, must depend 
 on other considerations ; but if these be in favour of its 
 1 <pp6v7i(ia. 
 
XVI.] €anom oi th^ ^p0sika- 231 
 
 genuineness, then this antecedent probability will be an 
 important confirmation. 
 
 Canons, I say, must have existed, whether these be 
 the real ones or no; and the circumstance that there 
 were real ones, must have tended to make it difficult 
 to substitute others. It would be no easy thing in our 
 own Church to pass off another set of articles for the 
 Thirty-nine, and obliterate the genuine : Canons are 
 public property, and have to be acted upon by large 
 bodies. Accordingly, as might be expected, the Nicene 
 Council, when enacting Canons of its own, refers to 
 certain Canons as already existing, and speaks of them 
 in that familiar and indirect way which would be natural 
 under the circumstances, just as we speak of our Rubrics 
 or Articles. The Fathers of that Council mention 
 certain descriptions of persons whom " f/ie Canon ad- 
 mits into holy orders;" they determine that a certain 
 rule shall be in force, "according to the Canon which 
 says so and so;" they speak of a transgression of the 
 Canon, and proceed to explain and enforce it. Nor 
 is the Nicene the only Council which recognizes the 
 existence of certain Canons, or rules, by which the 
 Church was at that time bound. The Councils of 
 Antioch, Gangra, Constantinople, and Carthage, in the 
 same century, do so likewise : so do individual Fathers, 
 Alexander, Athanasius, Basil, Julius, and others. 
 
 Now here we have Hghted upon an important circum- 
 stance, whatever becomes of the particular collection of 
 Canons before us. It seems that at the Nicene Council, 
 only two centuries and a quarter after St. John's death, 
 about the distance of time at which we live from the 
 Hampton Court Conference, all Christendom confessed, 
 that from time immemorial it had been guided by certain 
 ecclesiastical rules, which it considered of authority, 
 which it did not ascribe to any particular persons or 
 synods, (a sign of great antiquity,) and which writers of 
 the day assigned to the Apostles. I suppose we know 
 pretty well, at this day, what the customs of our Church 
 have been since James the First's time, or the Refor- 
 mation ; and if respectable writers at present were to 
 state some of them, — for instance, that it is the rule of 
 the Protestant Church that the king should name the 
 
232 ®lr^ Cljurrlr oi ih fatb^rs- [chap. 
 
 bishops, that convocation should not sit without his 
 leave, or that Easter should be kept according to the 
 Roman rule, — we should think foreigners very unreason- 
 able who doubted their word. Now, in the case before 
 us, we find the Church Catholic, the first time it had 
 ever met together since the Apostles' days, speaking as 
 a matter of course of the rules to which it had ever 
 been accustomed to defer. If we knew no more than 
 this^ and did not know what the rules were ; or if, 
 knowing what they were, we yet decide, as we well may, 
 that the particular rules are not of continual obligation ; 
 yet, in knowing that rules of some kind were in force, 
 we shall possess a fact incompatible with that free-and- 
 easy mode of reHgion in which Protestants glory. They 
 glory in being independent : they think it a beauty to 
 be all pulling different ways, and to have as many 
 various rites and regimens as there are tastes and Hkings 
 in the world. They can be quite sentimental and 
 poetical on the subject ; expatiate on the excellence 
 of "agreeing to differ;" descant on the variety of 
 nature, and insist, as philosophers, upon the imma- 
 teriality of "differences in Church government," while 
 what they call "doctrine" is preserved, or while hearts 
 are one. There is a popular story of a woman fainting 
 on a Sunday, as the whole town was coming from 
 worship, and an Anabaptist providing a chair, and a 
 Quaker a smeUing-bottle, and a Roman Catholic a hand- 
 kerchief, and a Churchman running for a doctor, and 
 the doctor turning out to be a Swedenborgian. It is 
 something of this kind; and then a sagacious father, 
 who seems to have been leading his son round the town 
 instead of taking him to divine service anywhere, points 
 it out to his notice thus : — " See, my boy, what mankind 
 were made to agree in, and what to differ in ! " What 
 would the stern old fathers of Nicsea have said to this ? 
 — with their notions of " the Canon " what would they 
 have said to a mixed set of religionists, zoms so/uU's, 
 who glory in having nothing external in common, and 
 who prate about "the superiority of unanimity to uni- 
 formity?" Or, as I should rather put it, what do our 
 religionists say to it ? or do they get themselves to con- 
 template the fact, of a vast number of leading men, (to 
 
XVI.] OEan0tts ai tijt ^p0atbj5. 233 
 
 put the matter at the lowest,) from all parts of Christen- 
 dom, witnessing to the existence of a state of things 
 which they must have known as perfectly as we know 
 what has happened ever since the Reformation, nay, 
 which occupies a less period, and describing circum- 
 stances which are quite irreconcilable with modern 
 notions, in the same unhesitating and quiet tone which 
 we should use in speaking of the last three centuries ? 
 I believe when they get themselves to consider it, they 
 are obliged, — they do not scruple, — to say, that an 
 universal corruption, a sudden lapse of the Church, 
 took place immediately after the Apostles ; though how 
 they can support this hypothesis, when it is narrowly 
 considered, does not appear. 
 
 But to return. Even though the Canons we possess 
 were not genuine, and though the Fathers and the 
 Councils which refer to Canons did not mention what 
 was the subject of them, yet the very fact, I say, 
 that there were Canons from time immemorial, would 
 be a sufficient confutation of the antithesis now so 
 popular between unanimity and uniformity — it estab- 
 lishes the principle of uniformity as being Apostolical. 
 But we do know, from the works of the Fathers, the 
 subjects of these Canons, and that to the number of 
 thirty or forty of them ; so that we might form a code, 
 as far as it goes, of primitive discipline, quite indepen- 
 dent of the particular Collection which is under dis- 
 cussion. However, it is remarkable that all of these 
 thirty or forty are found in this collection, being 
 altogether nearly half the whole number, so that the 
 only question is, whether the rest are of the same value 
 of which we know a great proportion of them to be. 
 It is worth noticing, that no Ecclesiastical Canon is 
 mentioned in the historical documents of the primitive 
 era which is not found in the Collection, for it shows 
 that, whoever compiled it, the work was done with 
 considerable care. The opponents to its genuineness 
 bring, indeed, several exceptions, as they wish to 
 consider them ; but these admit of so satisfactory an 
 explanation as to illustrate the proverb, that exceptio 
 probat regulafn. 
 
 Before going on, however, to consider the whole 
 
234 ®1t^ Cburrlj oi tl^t JFatHj^rs. [chap. 
 
 Collection, let us see in what terms the ancient writers 
 referred to speak of those particular Canons which they 
 cite. 
 
 Athanasius speaks as follows: — "Canons an^ forms,'* 
 he says, when describing the extraordinary violences of 
 the Arians, " were not given to the Churches in this day, 
 but were handed downfrofn our fathers well and securely. 
 Nor again, has the faith had its beginning in this day, 
 but has passed on even to us from the Lord through 
 His disciples. Rouse yourselves, then, my brethren, 
 to prevent that from perishing unawares in the present 
 day ivhich has been observed in the Churches from ancient 
 times down to us, and ourselves from incurring a re- 
 sponsibility in what has been intrusted to us.'' — Ep. 
 Encycl. i. It is remarkable, in this extract, that St. 
 Athanasius accurately distinguishes between the Faith 
 which came from Christ, and the Canons received from 
 the Fathers of old time : which is just the distinction 
 which our divines are accustomed to make. 
 
 Again : the Arians, by simoniacal dealings with the 
 civil power, had placed Gregory in the see of Alexandria. 
 Athanasius observes upon this — "Such conduct is both 
 a violation of the Ecclesiastical Cano?is, and forces the 
 heathen to blaspheme, as if appointments were made, 
 not by Divine ordinance, but by merchandise and 
 secular influence." — Ibid. 2. 
 
 Arsenius, bishop of Hypsela, who had been involved 
 in the Meletian^ schism, and had acted in a hostile way 
 towards Athanasius, at length reconciled himself to the 
 Church. In his letter to Athanasius he promises "to 
 be obedient to the Ecclesiastical Canon, according to 
 ancient usage, and never to put forth any regulation, 
 whether about bishops or any other public ecclesiastical 
 matter, without the sanction of his metropolitan, but to 
 submit to all the established Canofis." — Apol. contr. 
 Arian. 69. 
 
 In like manner, St. Basil, after speaking of certain 
 crimes for which a deacon should be reduced to lay 
 communion, proceeds, "for it is an ancieftt Canon, that 
 they who lose their degree should be subjected to this 
 
 ^ The Egyptian Meletius, from which this schism has its name, 
 must not be confounded with Meletius of Antioch. 
 
XVI.] OIan0tts 0f iljt ^pa^ths. 235 
 
 kind of punishment only." — Ep. i88. Again — " T/ie 
 Canon altogether excludes from the ministry those who 
 have been twice married." 
 
 When Arius and his abettors were excommunicated 
 by Alexander of Alexandria, they betook themselves to 
 Palestine, and were re-admitted into the Church by the 
 bishops of that country. On this, Alexander observes 
 as follows : — " A very heavy imputation, doubtless, Kes 
 upon such of my brethren as have ventured on this act, 
 in that it is a violation of the Apostolical Ca?ion." — 
 Theod. Hist. i. 4. 
 
 When Eusebius dechned being translated from the 
 see of Csesarea to Antioch, Constantine complimented 
 him on his "observance of the commandments of God, 
 the Apostolical Canon^ and the rule of the Church ; " — 
 Vit. Constant, iii. 61 — which last seems to mean the 
 regulation passed at Nicsea. 
 
 In like manner, Julius, bishop of Rome, speaks of 
 a violation of ^^ the Apostles^ Canons;'^ and a Council 
 held at Constantinople, a.d. 394, which was attended by 
 Gregory Nyssen, Amphilochius, and Flavian, of a deter- 
 mination of " the Apostolical Cano?is.^^ 
 
 It will be observed, that in some of these instances 
 the Canons are spoken of in the plural, when the 
 particular infraction which occasions their mention is 
 in the singular. This shows they were collected into 
 a code, if, indeed, that need be proved ; for in truth, 
 that various Canons should exist, and be in force, and 
 yet not be put together, is just as unlikely as that no 
 collection should be made of the statutes passed in a 
 session of parliament. 
 
 With this historical information about the existence, 
 authority, and subject matter of certain Canons in the 
 Church from time immemorial, we should come to many 
 anti-Protestant conclusions, even if the particular code 
 we possess turn out to have no intrinsic authority. 
 And now let us see how the matter stands as regards 
 this code of eighty-five Canons. 
 
 2. If this collection existed as a collection in the 
 time of the above writers and councils, then, consider- 
 ing they allude to nearly half its Canons, and that no 
 Canons are anywhere producible which are not in it, 
 
2 3^ ®lj^ CljurrHr ci tijt IFatlj^rs* [chap. 
 
 and that they do seem to allude to a collection, and 
 that no other collection is producible, we certainly could 
 not avoid the conclusion that they referred to //, and 
 that therefore, in quoting parts of it they sanction the 
 whole. If no book is to be accounted genuine except 
 such parts of it as happen to be expressly cited by 
 other writers, — if it may not be regarded as a whole, 
 and what is actually cited made to bear up and carry 
 with it what is not cited, — no ancient book extant can 
 be proved to be genuine. We beUeve Virgil's ^neid to 
 be Virgil's, because we know he wrote an ^neid, and 
 because particular passages which we find in it, and in 
 no other book, are contained, under the name of Virgil, 
 in subsequent writers or in criticisms, or in accounts of 
 it. We do not divide it into rhapsodies, because it only 
 exists in fragments in the testimony of later literature. 
 For the same reason, if the Canons before us can be 
 shown to have existed as one book in Athanasius' time, 
 it is natural to conceive that they are the very book to 
 which he and others refer. AH depends on this. If 
 the collection was made after his time, of course he 
 referred to some other ; but if it existed in his time, it 
 is more natural to suppose that there was one collection 
 than two distinct ones, so similar, especially since history 
 is silent about there being two. 
 
 However, I conceive it is not worth while to insist 
 upon so early a formation of the existing collection. 
 Whether it existed in Athanasius' time, or was formed 
 afterwards, and formed by friend or foe, heretic or 
 Catholic, seems to me immaterial, as I shall by and by 
 show. First, however, I will state, as candidly as I can, 
 the arguments for and against its antiquity as a collection. 
 
 Now there can be no doubt that the early Canons 
 were formed into one body; moreover, certain early 
 writers speak of them under the name of " the Apostles' 
 Canons," and " the Apostolical Canons." So far I have 
 already said. Now, certain collectors of canons, of a.d. 
 (more or less) 550, and they no common authorities, 
 also speak of " the Apostolical Canons," and incorporate 
 them into their own larger collections ; and these which 
 they speak of are the very body of Canons which we 
 now possess under the name. We know it, for the digest 
 
XVI.] €mom 0f ilj^ ^.p0atUa« 237 
 
 of these collectors is preserved. No reason can be 
 assigned why they should not be speaking of the same 
 collection which Gregory Nyssen and Amphilochius 
 speak of, who lived a century and a half before them ; 
 no reason, again, why Nyssen and Amphilochius should 
 not mean the same as Athanasius and JuHus, who 
 lived fifty to seventy years earlier than themselves. 
 The writers of a.d. 550 might be just as certain that 
 they and St. Athanasius quoted the same work, as we, 
 at this day, that our copy of it is the same as Beveridge's, 
 Pearson's, or Ussher's. 
 
 The authorities at the specified date (a.d. 550) are 
 three, — Dionysius Exiguus, John of Antioch, patriarch 
 of Constantinople, and the Emperor Justinian. The 
 learning of Justinian is well known, not to mention that 
 he speaks the opinion of the ecclesiastical lawyers of 
 his age. As to John of Antioch, and Dionysius, since 
 their names are not so famiHar to most of us, it may 
 be advisable to say thus much, — that John had been 
 a lawyer, and was well versed both in civil and eccle- 
 siastical matters ; hence he has the title of Scholasticus ; 
 while Dionysius is the framer of the Christian era, as 
 we still reckon it. They both made Collections of the 
 Canons of the Church, the latter in Latin, and they 
 both include the Apostolical Canons, as we have them, 
 in their editions; with this difference, however, (which 
 does not at present concern us,) that Dionysius publishes 
 but the first fifty, while John of Antioch enumerates the 
 whole eighty-five. 
 
 Such is the main argument for the existence of the 
 collection which we possess, at the end of the third 
 century; viz. that, whereas a collection is acknow- 
 ledged at that date, this collection is acknowledged 
 by competent authorities at the end of the fifth. On 
 the other hand, when we inspect the language which 
 Dionysius uses concerning them, in his prefatory epistle, 
 we shall find something which requires explanation. 
 His words are these, addressed to Stephen, bishop of 
 Salona : — " We have, in the first place, translated from 
 the Greek what are called the Canons of the Apostles ; 
 which^ as we wish to apprise your holiness^ have not 
 gained an easy credit from very many persons. At the 
 
238 ®b^ (&hnvth oi t\jt fathm. [chap. 
 
 same time, some of the decrees of the [Roman] pontiffs, 
 at a later date, seem to be taken from these very Canons." 
 Dionysius must mean, that they were not received as 
 the Apostles'; for that they were received, or at least 
 nearly half of them, is, as I have said, an historical fact, 
 whatever becomes of the collection as a collection. He 
 must mean, that a claim had been advanced that they 
 were to be received as part of the apostolic revelation ; 
 and he must deny that they had more than ecclesiastical 
 authority. The distinction between divine and eccle- 
 siastical injunctions requires little explanation : the latter 
 are imposed by the Church for the sake of decency and 
 order, as a matter of expedience, safety, propriety, or 
 piety. Such is the rule among ourselves, that dissenting 
 teachers conforming must remain silent three years 
 before they can be ordained ; or that a certain form of 
 prayer should be prescribed for universal use in public 
 service. On the other hand, the appointment of the 
 Sacraments is apostolic and divine. So again, that no 
 one can be a bishop unless consecrated by a bishop, 
 is apostolic ; that three bishops are necessary in conse- 
 cration is ecclesiastical; and, though ordinarily an 
 imperative rule, yet, under circumstances, admits of 
 dispensation. Or again, it has, for instance, in this day, 
 been debated whether the sanctification of the Lord's 
 day is a divine or an ecclesiastical appointment. 
 Dionysius, then, in the above extract, means nothing 
 more than to deny that the Apostles enacted these 
 canons ; or, again, that they enacted them as Apostles ; 
 and he goes on to say, that the popes had acknowledged 
 the ecclesiastical authority of some of them by embody- 
 ing them in their decrees. At the same time, his 
 language certainly seems to show as much as this, and 
 it is confirmed by that of other writers, that the Latin 
 Church, though using them separately as authority, did 
 not receive them as a collection with the implicit 
 deference which they met with in the East ; indeed, the 
 last thirty-five, though two of them were cited at Nicaea, 
 and one at Constantinople, a.d. 394, seem to have been 
 in inferior account. The Canons of the General Councils 
 took their place, and the decrees of the popes. And this 
 conclusion would be abundantly confirmed by a remark- 
 
XVI.] dannna of t)jt ^poatUs. 239 
 
 able decree of Pope Gelasius, if it could be trusted as 
 genuine, and which, any how, shows the feelings of the 
 Latins even at a later date. Gelasius is said to have 
 held a council of seventy bishops at Rome, a.d. 494, 
 and to have passed a decree concerning books received 
 in the Church, which may be made to accord to what 
 Dionysius wrote six years later. In this decree, after 
 enumerating the books of the Old and New Testament, 
 the determinations of the first four General Councils, 
 and the works of certain of the Fathers, as being of 
 authority, he proceeds, " But the compositions or teach- 
 ing of heretics or schismatics are in nowise received by 
 the Catholic and Apostolic Roman Church ; of which a 
 few that are extant shall be specified, which are to be 
 avoided by Catholics." Then follows a list of "apocry- 
 phal " books, such as the works of Hermas, Clement of 
 Alexandria, TertuUian, Eusebius's History, Lactantius, 
 and, among them, "the Apocryphal Book of Canons 
 of the Apostles." Perhaps the utmost this could be 
 taken to mean would be, that the Book of Canons 
 had never been received in the Roman Church. That 
 some of the Canons were received in it, we know, indeed, 
 from the words of Pope Julius already cited, and from 
 the fact that many of them were incorporated in the 
 decrees of the four General Councils; still the '■''body 
 of canons " may have been peculiar to the East, — as we 
 know, in fact, the traditions of the East and West varied 
 from each other on certain points, as in the questions of 
 the observance of Easter, and of heretical baptism, in 
 the former of which, at least. Apostles themselves 
 seem to have determined variously. Even if the decree 
 is literally taken to mean, that the Book of Canons is 
 the compilation of heretics, (though, if so, the works 
 of Hermas and of Clement of Alexandria are strangely 
 involved in the same imputation), no serious conclusion 
 will follow. For though the Canons were put together 
 by heretics, it does not follow that they themselves are 
 heretical; and that a great number are not, we know, 
 from the testimony of the Fathers in their favour, as 
 above insisted on. If, indeed, the compiler altered, or 
 suppressed, or invented canons, that is another matter ; 
 then he was something more than a compiler; but in 
 
240 SI)^ ffiljurrb ai tl;^ ^atijtx^, [chap. 
 
 merely collecting them, he as little impaired the Canons 
 themselves as Bucer or Peter Martyr would have hurt 
 the doctrine of our Prayer Book, had they collected 
 together in one, without altering, the Catholic devotions 
 of the Church before them. At the same time, if 
 heretics did add to the matter of the Canons, f/ien the 
 witness these Canons afford to the primitive religion is 
 still more remarkable. We know, independently of 
 these Canons, what the kind of worship and discipHne 
 was which obtained in the Catholic Church; and in 
 these Canons we shall then possess an heretical testimony 
 to it quite in accordance. In that case. Protestantism 
 will lose the chance even of heretical support, which 
 was all it had from the first to look for. 
 
 But, as the fact really is, this decree of Gelasius is 
 not genuine. It is not mentioned till three hundred 
 years after its supposed promulgation, and there is 
 reason to believe that Gelasius, so far from rejecting, 
 actually did receive and use the Canons in question. 
 But the discussion of this point would be a deviation 
 from the subject before us. 
 
 This, then, seems to be the state of the case as 
 regards the collection or edition of Canons, whether 
 fifty or eighty-five, which is under consideration. Speak- 
 ing, not of the Canons themselves, but of this particular 
 publication of them, I thus conclude about it, — that, 
 whether it was made at the end of the third century, 
 or later, there is no sufficient proof that it was of 
 authority ; but that it is not very material that it should 
 be proved to be of authority, nay, or to have existed in 
 early times. Give us the Canons themselves, and we 
 shall be able to prove the point for which I am adducing 
 them, even though they were not formed into a collec- 
 tion in early times. 
 
 Indeed, it must be confessed, that probability is 
 against this collection having ever been regarded as an 
 authority by the ancient Church. It was an anonymous 
 collection; and, as being anonymous, seemed to have 
 no claim upon Christians. They would consider that 
 a collection or body of Canons could only be imposed 
 by a Council ; and since the Council could not be 
 produced which imposed this in particular, they had 
 
XVI.] (Ian0ns of tht ^p0atUs. 241 
 
 no reason to admit it. They might have been in the 
 practice of acting upon this Canon, and that, and the 
 third, and so on to the eighty-fifth, from time im- 
 memorial, and that as Canons, not as mere customs, 
 and might confess the obligation of each : and yet might 
 say, "We never looked upon them as a code," which 
 should be something complete, and limited to itself. 
 The true sanction of each was the immemorial observ- 
 ance of each, not its place in the collection, which 
 implied a competent framer. Moreover, in proportion 
 as General Councils were held, and enacted Canons, 
 so did the vague title of mere custom, without definite 
 sanction, become less influential, and the ancient Canons 
 fell into disregard. And what made this still more 
 natural, was the circumstance that the Nicene Council 
 did re-enact a considerable number of those which it 
 found existing. It substituted then a definite authority, 
 which, in after ages, would be much more intelligible 
 than what had then become a mere matter of obscure 
 antiquity. Nor did it tend to restore their authority, 
 when their advocates, feeling the difficulty of their case, 
 referred the collection to the Apostles themselves ; first, 
 because this assertion could not be maintained; next, 
 because if it could, it would have seemingly deprived the 
 Church of the privilege of making Canons. It would 
 have made those usages divine which had ever been ac- 
 counted only ecclesiastical. It would have become a 
 question, whether, under such circumstances, the Church 
 had more right to add to the code of really Apostolic 
 Canons than to Scripture ; discipline, as well as doctrine, 
 would have been given by direct revelation, and have 
 been included in the fundamentals of religion. 
 
 If, however, all this be so, it follows that we are not 
 at liberty to argue, from one part of this Collection 
 being received, that therefore the other is ; as if it were 
 one authoritative work. No number of individual 
 Canons being proved to be of the first age, will tend to 
 prove that the remainder are of the same. It is true; 
 and I do not think it worth while to contest the point. 
 For argument sake I will grant, that the bond, which 
 ties them into one, is not of the most trustworthy and 
 authoritative description, and will proceed to show, that 
 
242 ©Ij^ ©Jjurrlj 0f tlj^ |Fatlr^rj5. [chap. 
 
 even those Canons which are not formally quoted by 
 early writers ought to be received as the rules of the 
 Ante-Nicene Church, independently of their being found 
 in one compilation. 
 
 3. I have already said, that nearly half of the Canons, 
 as they stand in the Collection, are quoted as Canons by 
 early writers, and thus placed beyond all question, as 
 remains of the Ante-Nicene period : the following argu- 
 ments may be offered in behalf of the rest : — 
 
 (i.) They are otherwise known to express usages or 
 opmions of the Ante-Nicene centuries. The simple 
 question is, whether they had been reflected on, re- 
 cognised, converted into principles, enacted, obeyed; 
 whether they were the unconscious and unanimous 
 result of the one Christian spirit ^ in every place, or 
 were formal determinations from authority claiming 
 obedience. This being the case, there is very little 
 worth disputing about ; for (whether we regard them as 
 being Christian, or in the light of Christian antiquities) 
 if uniform custom was agreeable to them, it does not 
 matter whether they were enacted or not. If they were 
 not, their universal observance is a still greater evidence 
 of their extreme antiquity, which, in that case, can be 
 hardly short of the Apostolic age; and we shall refer 
 to them in the existing Collection, merely for con- 
 venience' sake, as being brought together in a short 
 compass. 
 
 Nay, a still more serious conclusion will follow, from 
 supposing them not to be enactments, — much more 
 serious than any we are disposed to draw. If it be 
 maintained, that these observances did not arise from 
 formal injunctions on the part of the Church, then, it 
 might be argued, the Church has no power over them. 
 As not having imposed, she cannot abrogate, suspend, 
 or modify them. They must be referred to a higher 
 source, even to the inspired Apostles ; and their authority 
 is not ecclesiastical, but divine. We are almost forced, 
 then, to consider them as enactments, even when not 
 appealed to by ancient writers as such, lest we should 
 increase the authority of some of them more than seems 
 consistent with their subject-matter. 
 
 ^ The iKkXrjffiaffTiKbv (ppdvqfM. 
 
XVI.] (&anam nf tlj^ ^pnatUs. 243 
 
 Again, if such Canons as are not appealed to by 
 ancient writers are nevertheless allowed to have been 
 really enacted, on the ground of our finding historically 
 that usage corresponds to them; it may so be that 
 others, about which the usage is not so clearly known, 
 are real Canons also. There is a ckance of their being 
 genuine ; for why, in drawing the line, should we decide 
 by the mere accident of the usage admitting or not ad- 
 mitting of clear historical proof? 
 
 (2.) Again, all these Canons, or at least the first fifty, 
 are composed in a similar style; there is no reason, as 
 far as the internal evidence goes, why one should be 
 more primitive than another, and many, we know, cer- 
 tainly, were in force as Canons from the earliest times. 
 
 (3.) This argument becomes much more cogent when 
 we consider zv/ia^ that style is. It carries with it evident 
 marks of primitive simplicity, some of which I shall 
 instance. The first remark which would be made on 
 reading them relates to their brevity, the breadth of the 
 rules which they lay down, and their plain and un- 
 artificial mode of stating them. A good instance of 
 this will be suppHed by a comparison of the thirty-fifth 
 Canon with one of a number of Canons passed at 
 Antioch by an Arian council, held a.d. 341, and ap- 
 parently using the Apostolical Canons as a basis for its 
 own. The former says, simply, — 
 
 "The bishops of every nation are bound to acknow- 
 ledge the principal among them, and to count him as a 
 head, and to do nothing extraordinary without his advice, 
 but to do those things alone individually which relate to 
 the diocese of each respectively and its towns. He, in 
 turn, must not act without the advice of all." 
 
 These plain directions are thus amplified in the Canon 
 of Antioch : — 
 
 " The bishops in each province are bound to acknow- 
 ledge the bishop ruling in the metropolitan see, and 
 that he has the care of the whole province, because all 
 who have business have recourse from every quarter to 
 the metropolis. Whence it has seemed good that he 
 should be first in honour also, and that the other bishops 
 should do nothing extraordinary without him, (according 
 
244 ^ht Cljurrlj 0f i\jt fatb^rs. [chap. 
 
 to that most ancient canon which has been in force 
 from our fathers' time,) or such things only as relate to 
 the diocese of each and the places under it. For, each 
 bishop has power over his own diocese to administer it 
 according to his own conscience, and to provide for the 
 whole territory subject to his own city, so as to ordain 
 presbyters and deacons, and to dispose all things with 
 consideration, but to attempt no proceedings beyond 
 this without the metropolitan bishop; and he, in turn, 
 must not act without the advice of the rest." 
 
 Or, again, take the following instance; which, when 
 read with the words in brackets, agrees, with but slight 
 exceptions, with the Antiochene, and, without them, 
 with the Apostolical Canon : — 
 
 "All who come [to church] and hear the [holy] 
 Scriptures read, but do not remain to prayer [with the 
 people,] and [refuse] the holy communion [of the 
 Eucharist] contumaciously, [these] must be put out of 
 the Church, [until, by confession, and by showing fruits 
 of penitence, and by entreaty, they are able to gain for- 
 giveness."] 
 
 Now these instances will serve to illustrate the antiquity 
 of the Apostolical Canons in several ways, besides the 
 evidence deducible from the simplicity of their structure. 
 It will be observed that the word " metropolis " is intro- 
 duced into the Canon of Antioch ; no such word occurs 
 in that from which it is apparently formed. There it is 
 simply said, "the principal bishop;" or, literally, the 
 primus. This accords with the historical fact, that the 
 word metropolitan was not introduced till the fourth 
 century. The same remark might be made on the word 
 " province," which occurs in the Canon of Antioch, not 
 in the other. This contrast is strikingly brought out in 
 two other Canons, which correspond in the two Col- 
 lections. Both treat of the possessions of the Church ; 
 but the Apostolical Canon says simply, "the interests 
 of the Church," " the goods of the Church ; " but the 
 Antiochene, composed after Christianity had been 
 acknowledged by the civil power, speaks of " the revenue 
 of the Church," and "the produce of the land." Again, 
 attempts have been made to show that certain words are 
 
XVI.] Otatt0na oi iljt ^p0atUs^ 245 
 
 contained in the Canons before us which were not in 
 use in the ante-Nicene times, but they have in every 
 case failed, which surely may be considered as a positive 
 evidence in favour of their genuineness. For instance, 
 the word "clergy," for the ministerial body, which is 
 found in the Canons, is also used by Origen, Tertullian, 
 and Cyprian. The word "reader," for an inferior order 
 in the clergy, is used by Cornelius, bishop of Rome ; 
 nay, by Justin Martyr. "Altar," which is used in the 
 Canons, is the only word used for the Lord's table by 
 St. Cyprian, and, before him, by Tertullian and Ignatius. 
 " Sacrifice " and "oblation," for the consecrated elements, 
 by Clement of Rome, Justin, Irenaeus, and TertulHan. 
 This negative evidence of genuineness extends to other 
 points, and surely is of no inconsiderable weight. We 
 know how difficult it is so to word a forgery as to avoid 
 all detection from incongruities of time, place, and the 
 hke. A forgery, indeed, it is hardly possible to suppose 
 this Collection to be, both because great part of it is 
 known to be genuine, and because no 'assignable object 
 would be answered by it : but let us imagine the com- 
 piler hastily took up with erroneous traditions, or recent 
 enactments, and joined them to the rest. Is it possible 
 to conceive, under such circumstances, that there would 
 be no anachronisms or other means of detection ? And 
 if there are none such, and much more if the compiler, 
 who lived perhaps as early as the fourth century, found 
 none such, (supposing we may assume him willing and 
 qualified to judge of them,) nay, if Dionysius Exiguus 
 found none such, what reasons have we for denying that 
 they are the produce of those early times to which they 
 claim to belong ? Yet so it is ; neither rite, nor heresy, 
 nor observance, nor phrase, is found in them which is 
 foreign to the ante-Nicene period. Indeed, the only 
 reason one or two persons have thrown suspicion on 
 them has been, an unwillingness on their part to admit 
 episcopacy, which the Canons assert ; a necessity which 
 led the same parties to deny the genuineness of St. 
 Ignatius' epistles. And now I congratulate the reader 
 on having come to the end of a discussion which re- 
 quires more careful attention than this small work has a 
 right to demand. 
 
€anom tai t\jt ^pnstUs 
 
 ' ' They shall teach Jacob Thy judgments, and Israel Thy law : they 
 shall put incense before Thee, and whole burnt sacrifice upon 
 Thine altar. Bless, Lord, his substance, and accept the work of 
 his hands : smite through the loins of them that rise against 
 him, and of them that hate him, that they rise not again." 
 
 FROM what has been said, it would appear that the 
 Canons called Apostolical come to us under circum- 
 stances which make them of especial service in an 
 inquiry which we are desirous of seeing carefully insti- 
 tuted, but which would not suit these pages. Are there 
 discoverable in the records of antiquity any fraces of 
 that sudden corruption or declension of primitive 
 Christianity which out-and-out Protestants say certainly 
 di{^ take place, or else Christianity, as we find it in 
 history, would not be so unlike their own Christianity? 
 or, on the other hand, is not this argument itself, after 
 all, the real and sole ground of the alleged fact, — viz. 
 " Christians must necessarily have fallen away, or else 
 Protestantism is not divine?" Is the supposed de- 
 clension proved historically, or is it argued and inferred 
 that it cannot but be so, as being a necessary hypothesis, 
 or key-stone, for reconciling discordant evidence, — viz. 
 ancient facts with modern opinions ? In short, is there, 
 or is there not, any ground for the imputation thus cast 
 upon the Christianity of the second and third centuries, 
 beyond the necessity of casting it on the part of the 
 caster, — beyond the right of self-defence, and the duty 
 of self-preservation ? 
 
 However necessary and becoming as is such a struggle 
 for life, I do not think it will avail the Protestant who 
 makes it. The problem before him is to draw a line 
 
 246 
 
CH. XVII.] danam of th^ ^pOjstUs. 247 
 
 between the periods of purity and alleged corruption, 
 such, as may have all the Apostles on one side, and all 
 the Fathers on the other, which may insinuate and 
 meander through the dove-tailings and inosculations of 
 historical facts, and cut clean between St. John and 
 St. Ignatius, St. Paul and St. Clement ; low enough not 
 to encroach upon the book of Acts, yet so high as to be 
 out of the reach of all extant documents besides. And 
 at any rate, whether he succeeds or not, so much he 
 must grant, that if such a system of doctrine as he 
 would now introduce ever existed in early times, it has 
 been clean swept away as if by a deluge, suddenly, 
 silently, and without memorial ; by a deluge coming in 
 a night, and utterly soaking, rotting, heaving up, and 
 hurrying off, every vestige of what it found in the 
 Church, before cock-crowing ; so that " when they rose 
 in the morning " her true seed " were all dead corpses " 
 — nay, dead and buried — and without grave-stone. 
 " The waters went over them ; there was not one of 
 them left; they sunk like lead in the mighty waters." 
 Strange antitype, indeed, to the early fortunes of Israel ! 
 — then the enemy was drowned, and " Israel saw them 
 dead upon the sea-shore." But now, it would seem, 
 water proceeded as a flood " out of the serpent's mouth," 
 and covered all the witnesses, so that not even their 
 dead bodies "lay in the streets of the great city." Let 
 him take which of his doctrines he will, his peculiar 
 view of self-righteousness, of formality, of superstition ; 
 his notion of faith, or the spirituality in religious 
 worship; his denial of the virtue of the sacraments, or 
 of the ministerial commission, or of the visible Church ; 
 or his doctrine of the divine efficacy of the Scriptures 
 as the one appointed instrument of religious teaching ; 
 and let him consider how far antiquity, as it has come 
 down to us, will countenance him in it. No ; he must 
 allow that the alleged deluge has done its work; yes, 
 and has in turn disappeared itself; it has been swallowed 
 up in the earth, mercilessly as itself was merciless. 
 
 This representation has been usually met by saying, 
 that the extant records of primitive Christianity are 
 scanty, and that, for what we know^ what is not extant, 
 had it survived, would have told a different tale. But 
 
248 mn Cljurrfr 0f tht IFatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 granting this, the hypothesis that history mig/if contain 
 facts which it does not contain, is no positive evidence 
 for the truth of those facts; and this is the question, 
 what is the positive evidence that the Church ever 
 beheved or taught a Gospel substantially different from 
 that which her extant documents contain? All the 
 evidence that is extant, be it much or be it little, is on 
 our side : Protestants have none. Is none better than 
 some? Scarcity of records — granting for argument's 
 sake there is scarcity — may be taken to account for 
 Protestants having no evidence ; it will not account for 
 our having all that is to be had ; it cannot become a 
 positive evidence in their behalf. That records are few 
 does not show that they are worthless. 
 
 Whether, however, there be a scarcity of primitive 
 documents or not, I consider that, supposing the appeal 
 to facts be allowed at all, not only there is none for 
 them, but there is enough for us. But the advocates 
 of Protestantism do not allow the appeal; they aver 
 that the Apostolic system of the Church was certainly 
 lost, when they know not, how they know not, without 
 assignable instruments, but by a great revolution, — 
 of that they are certain; and then they challenge us 
 to prove it was not so. "Prove," they say, "if you 
 can, that the real and very truth is not so entirely 
 hid in primitive history, as to leave not a particle of 
 evidence betraying it. This is the very thing which 
 misleads you, that all the arguments are in your favour. 
 Is it not possible that an error has got the place of 
 the truth, and has destroyed all the evidence but what 
 witnesses on its side? Is it not possible that all the 
 Churches should everywhere have given up and stifled 
 the scheme of doctrine they received from the Apostles, 
 and have substituted another for it? Of course it is; 
 it is plain to common sense it may be so. Well, we 
 say, what may be^ is ; this is our great principle : we 
 say that the Apostles considered episcopacy an in- 
 different matter, though Ignatius says it is essential. 
 We say that the table is not an altar, though Ignatius 
 says it is. We ■ say there is no priest's office under 
 the Gospel, though Clement affirms it. We say that 
 baptism is not an enlightening, though Justin takes it 
 
XVII.] Otan0na 0f tlj^ ^p0stUa* 249 
 
 for granted. We say that heresy is a misfortune, though 
 Ignatius accounts it a deadly sin ; and all this, because 
 it is our right, and our duty, to interpret Scripture in 
 our own way. We uphold the pure unmutilated Scrip- 
 ture; the Bible, and Bible only, is the religion of 
 Protestants ; the Bible and our own sense of the Bible. 
 We claim a sort of parliamentary privilege to interpret 
 laws our own way, and not to suffer an appeal to any 
 court beyond ourselves. We know, and we view it 
 with consternation, that all antiquity runs counter to 
 our interpretation ; and therefore, alas, the Church was 
 corrupt from very early times indeed. But mind, we 
 hold all this in a truly Catholic spirit, not in bigotry. 
 We allow in others the right of private judgment, and 
 confess that we, as others, are fallible men. We confess 
 facts are against us; we do but claim the liberty of 
 theorising in spite of them. Far be it from us to 
 say, that we are certainly right; we only say, that the 
 whole early Church was certainly wrong. We do not 
 impose our belief on any one ; we only say, that those 
 who take the contrary side are Papists, firebrands, 
 persecutors, madmen, zealots, bigots, and an insult to 
 the nineteenth century." 
 
 To such an argument, I am aware, it avails little 
 to oppose historical evidence, of whatever kind. It 
 sets out by protesting against all evidence, however 
 early and consistent, as the testimony of fallible men ; 
 yet at least, the imagination is affected by an array 
 of facts ; and I am not unwilling to appeal to the 
 imagination of those who refuse to let me address 
 their reason. With this view I have been inquiring 
 into certain early works, unpopular either in their day 
 or afterwards, to see if any vestige of the hypothetical 
 system in question can be discovered there; for as to 
 the body of orthodox Fathers, it is pretty well acknow- 
 ledged that there is nothing Protestant in them. With 
 this object, then, I have been discussing the Canons 
 called Apostolical. 
 
 The especial circumstance which recommends these 
 Canons to our notice is this; that they contain what 
 there is reason to consider a fair portrait of the customs 
 and opinions of the ante-Nicene Church. This judg- 
 
250 '^\}t Cbttrrb 0f iht Jatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 ment about them, which depends on historical evidence, 
 is confirmed by the two following considerations : the 
 Canons in question were in a great measure neglected, 
 or at least superseded in the Church, after Constantine's 
 day, especially in the West. Let this be recollected 
 by those who dwell upon the corruptions which they 
 suppose resulted from the Church's estabHshment by 
 Constantine, Rome being the fountain-head. Further, 
 there is ground, weak or strong, for suspecting that 
 the collection or edition of Canons, as we have it, was 
 made by heretics — probably Arians — though they have 
 not meddled with the contents of them. Thus, while 
 the neglect of later times separates these Canons from 
 Romanism, the assent of the Arians, if so, is a second 
 witness, in addition to the judgment and practice of 
 the early Church, in proof of their Apostolical origin. 
 The first ages observe them; even heretics respect 
 them ; later and corrupt ages neglect them. Now, the 
 argument to be derived from these Canons, in behalf 
 of the Catholic system, is twofold : first, from what they 
 assume; secondly, from what they enjoin. I shall set 
 down some points of detail under each of these heads. 
 
 I. First, as to what is implied in the Canons, as if 
 an existing system on which they are built. Let it 
 be observed, they do but contain directions as to 
 particular matters; they do not begin a religion; they 
 do not form a Church ; nor are they reformations ; they 
 presuppose something existing, recognise it, and carry 
 on its principles into their minute appHcations or 
 developments. They are but ecclesiastical appoint- 
 ments, and assume Apostolical appointments as their 
 basis. Here, then, an argument arises in favour of 
 what they assume, for the very reason that they do 
 assume it. That they do not enjoin, but assume it, is 
 not only a stronger evidence of its existence, but even 
 of its importance. It is but a common remark, that 
 indirect notice of facts and events in an historical 
 document is a stronger evidence that they existed, or 
 took place, than direct. But, over and above this, such 
 implication is, in the present case, a stronger evidence 
 also of the authority and moment of the points assumed. 
 For Canons themselves are enacted on the authority 
 
XVII.] Catt0tts 0f i)jt ^p0atUs. 251 
 
 of the Church; what they assume as principles, and, 
 instead of touching, only attempt to carry out, may 
 seem to depend on an authority higher than the 
 Church, which the Church cannot touch, and to come 
 from the Apostles. This distinction has already been 
 noticed, and is very obvious. For instance, we are 
 accustomed to place the Sacraments among the Divine 
 and ApostoHcal ordinances which Christ gave, and 
 Christ only can annul; among ecclesiastical, the sub- 
 ordinate rites connected with them, the particular 
 prayers, and the provision about sponsors. Among 
 Divine and ApostoHcal ordinances, we place the 
 Lord's-day festival; among Ecclesiastical, are Saints' 
 days. Among the Divine, are a number of, more or 
 less, abstract or (what may be called) disembodied 
 rites, to which the Church gives a substance and form 
 — such as public worship, imposition of hands, 
 benedictions, and the sign of the cross, which are 
 first elements of actual ordinances, and the instrumental 
 principles of grace, and are variously applied and dis- 
 pensed according to the decision of the Church. Hence 
 arise orders of service, the rites of confirmation, 
 absolution, marriage, and the like, which are of a 
 mixed nature, ecclesiastical in form, divine and life- 
 giving in their principle. Now, then, let us see what 
 these observances are, on which the canons build their 
 system, and we shall have some insight into what were 
 considered Apostolical at the time these Canons were 
 framed. 
 
 They are such as these : the Canons take for granted 
 the principle of ministerial superintendence, and the 
 principle of ministerial succession, and consider them 
 both vested in one and the same individual func- 
 tionary. They take for granted that ordination is 
 necessary, and that it is given by imposition of 
 hands. They presuppose the three orders of bishops, 
 priests, and deacons. They take for granted the one 
 baptism for the remission of sins. They assume that 
 there is an altar and a sacrifice in the visible Church 
 under the Gospel, and that by "the Lord's appoint- 
 ment." They take for granted the rite of holy 
 communion. They take for granted the practice of 
 
252 ©Ij^ CIjurrlT of tlj^ Jatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 excommunication. They speak of heretics, or sec- 
 tarians, and of their being in a state of serious 
 disadvantage ; they use concerning them the same (what 
 is now called) fierce and contemptuous language which 
 occurs in later centuries. They take for granted a 
 local and diocesan episcopacy. They take for granted 
 an order of precedence among the bishops of each 
 nation. They take for granted that councils are com- 
 posed of bishops. They take for granted that men 
 who have married may be clergy — nay, may be bishops. 
 They recognise the observances of ceUbacy and fasting. 
 They recognise the fast of the great Sabbath, or Easter- 
 eve, and of Lent, and of Wednesday and Friday. They 
 imply the observance of Easter; they imply the exist- 
 ence of festival days. They recognise the use of 
 churches ; and of wax, and of oil, gold and silver 
 vessels, and linen, in the worship of God, and these 
 as consecrated. They speak of demoniacal possession 
 and exorcism. 
 
 These are the usages and the points of discipline 
 which these Canons recognise as established. As to 
 doctrine, besides the sacred truths of the Trinity and 
 Atonement, which are incidentally mentioned, there are 
 the following : — that the Church may not inflict corporal 
 punishments; that to pay for preferment is simony; 
 that unanimity is a chief duty of Christians; that on 
 the bishop solely falls the cure of souls, and its re- 
 sponsibility ; that those who serve the altar should live 
 of the altar ; that to acknowledge heretics is to associate 
 Christ with Belial; that there is a difference, under 
 the Gospel, between true priests and false priests ; that 
 baptism is the cross and death of the Lord; and that 
 persons who fast on festivals fulfil the prophecy in the 
 beginning of the fourth chapter of St. Paul's first Epistle 
 to Timothy. 
 
 2. So much on what these Canons imply : now, what 
 do they enjoin ? Here, however, I would observe, lest 
 I should be mistaken, that I do not conceive that the 
 injunctions contained in them have any direct binding 
 force on us as Canons, but I take them as an historical 
 evidence of the sort of religion which was in that age 
 considered as included under the idea of Christianity. 
 
XVII.] fflannns oi tijt ^pnjstUa. 253 
 
 They will be found to breathe a certain spirit, very unlike 
 what is now popular, and to be developments of prin- 
 ciples which must be counted false, unless modern 
 received principles are false instead. I shall set down 
 some of them, without any great care to be systematic : — 
 
 It was provided, then, that every bishop should be 
 consecrated by two or three bishops, and the inferior 
 orders always by a bishop ; that no bishop, priest, or 
 deacon, should take on him secular cares ; that, unless 
 under very extraordinary circumstances and with leave 
 from his brethren, a bishop should not move from 
 see to see; that he should not admit into his diocese 
 the clergy of another; that he should not ordain out 
 of his diocese; that neither bishop, priest, nor deacon, 
 might put away his wife on pretext of religion ; that 
 a person who married a second time after baptism 
 should not hold any office in the ministry, nor one 
 who had married two sisters or a niece ; that a cleric 
 should not become surety ; that neither bishop, priest, 
 nor deacon, might take interest of money; that clergy 
 who had entered the sacred pale single might marry, 
 provided they were only readers or chanters; that no 
 secular influence should interfere with appointment 
 of bishops ; that letters of introduction should be re- 
 quired of foreign ecclesiastics; that no suffragan could 
 act in extra-diocesan matters without his metropolitan, 
 nor the metropoHtan without his suffragans; that councils 
 should be held twice a year for doctrine and settlement 
 of disputes; that the bishop should have the oversight 
 of all Church property, but might not give to his relatives, 
 who, if poor, were to receive the alms of the poor, — nor 
 to himself, unless for his necessary maintenance and 
 that of brethren who were his guests ; that the inferior 
 clergy might not move without him ; and that a distinc- 
 tion should be preserved between the Church property 
 and his private property, the latter of which he might 
 bequeath to wife, children, relatives, and servants, as 
 he would. 
 
 Moreover, these Canons enjoin that no bishop, priest, 
 or deacon, might join in prayer with sectaries,^ much 
 less allow them to perform any ministerial acts ; or 
 
 ^ aiperiKoTs. 
 
254 ®ij^ fltlrurrlj 0f tlj^ Ifailjers- [chap. 
 
 acknowledge their baptism, sacrifice, or ordination ; 
 or re-baptize, or re-ordain, or be re-ordained, or neg- 
 lect trine immersion, or refuse to restore a penitent; 
 or allow the forged scriptures of the sectaries to be 
 read in church; or ridicule the maim, deaf, blind, or 
 lame; or eat flesh with the blood; or fast on Sun- 
 days, or on Saturdays,^ except Easter-eve; or not fast 
 in Lent, and on Wednesday and Fridays, except on 
 account of bodily weakness ; or enter a sectarian meet- 
 ing or synagogue to pray, whether cleric or layman; 
 or apply to common uses consecrated vessels or linen ; 
 that such bodily infirmities, and such only, should be 
 a bar to ordination as interfered with ministerial use- 
 fulness ; that kings and civil magistrates should not 
 be insulted ; and household slaves not ordained without 
 the leave of their masters and the grant of freedom. 
 
 Now let us picture to ourselves the irksome position 
 of a modern Protestant in a communion where such 
 points were first principles ; with his societies instead 
 of the Church — his committees, boards, and platforms, 
 instead of bishops — his Record or Patriot newspaper 
 instead of councils — his " concerts for prayer " instead 
 of anathemas on heretics and sectaries — his harangues 
 at public meetings instead of exorcisms — his fourths 
 of October instead of festival days — his glorious 
 memories instead of holy commemorations — his cheap 
 religion instead of gold and silver vessels — his gas 
 and stoves for wax and oil — and his denunciations of 
 self-righteousness for fasting and celibacy. Can there 
 be any doubt that such Canons imply altogether a 
 different notion of Christianity from that which he 
 has been accustomed to entertain? This^ indeed, 
 would be the very fault he would find with the whole 
 system, — he would say he was not at home in it, or, 
 that there is nothing Evangelical in such ecclesiastical 
 regulations; and yet after all, there is quite as much 
 surely as in the rules laid down by St. Paul, as in the 
 fifth, or seventh, or eleventh and twelfth, or fourteenth 
 
 ^ Mr. James, in the notes on his Four Sermons preached before 
 the University of Oxford, has given weighty reasons for doubting 
 the antiquity of the Saturday Feast ; this is not the place, however, 
 for discussing the subject. 
 
XVII.] fflan0ns ci tht ^pnstUa. 255 
 
 chapters of his first epistle to the Corinthians; the 
 ninth chapter of his second ; or the fourth and fifth 
 of his first to Timothy. I do not mean to allow that 
 the essential Gospel doctrines are absent from the 
 Canons, which no one will say who has studied them. 
 But even if they were, such absence is not in point, 
 unless it is a proof that rulers of the Church do not hold 
 doctrines, because they a/so give rules of discipline, 
 and, when giving the latter, do not deliver the former 
 instead. Certain doctrines may be true, and certain 
 ordinances also ; the one may be prescribed in Canons, 
 the other taught in Confessions. It does not follow that 
 those who enforce the one do not enforce the other; 
 but it does follow that those who enforce the latter to the 
 exclusion of the former, do not enforce both. Those 
 who enforce the discipline need not deny the doctrine ; 
 but those who think to escape the discipline by profess- 
 ing the doctrine are more careful of doctrine than the 
 early Church was, and have no congeniality of feeling 
 with times which considered it better to follow out what 
 they had received, than to reason against it, "to do 
 these, and not leave the other undone." 
 
 Such, then, is a sketch of the main rules of discipline 
 in the primitive Church, as they have come down to us, 
 and which I offer for those whom it may concern. 
 They show clearly enough the sort of religion which 
 was then considered Apostolic; not that which we 
 should term the "free-and-easy" religion, but what 
 our opponents would call the "formal and superstitious." 
 
(jrjapter xbiii 
 '^nion^ in ffi0nflirt 
 
 " He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilder- 
 ness ; He led him about, He instructed him, He kept him as the 
 apple of His eye. He made him ride on the high places of the 
 earth, that he might eat the increase of the fields; and He 
 made him to suck honey out of the rock, and oil out of the 
 flinty rock." 
 
 IT is a great mistake to suppose we need quit our 
 temporal calling, and go into retirement, in order to 
 serve God acceptably. Christianity is a religion for 
 this world, for the busy and influential, for the rich and 
 powerful, as well as for the poor. A writer of the age 
 of Justin Martyr expresses this clearly and elegantly : — 
 
 "Christians differ not," he says, "from other men, 
 in country, or language, or customs. They do not live 
 in any certain cities, or employ any particular dialect, or 
 cultivate peculiar habits of life. They dwell in cities, 
 Greek and barbarian, each where he finds himself 
 placed; and while they submit to the fashion of their 
 country in dress and food, and the general conduct of 
 life, they yet maintain a system of interior polity, which, 
 beyond all controversy, is admirable and strange. The 
 countries they inhabit are their own, but they dwell like 
 aliens. They marry, like other men, and do not exclude 
 their children from their affections ; their table is open 
 to all around them; they live in the flesh, but not 
 according to the flesh ; they walk on earth, but their 
 conversation is in heaven." — Ad Diogn. 5. 
 
 Yet, undeniable as it is, that there is never an obliga- 
 tion upon Christians to leave, and often an obligation 
 against leaving their worldly engagements and posses- 
 
 256 
 
CH. XVIII.] ^nt0n5 in €0nflxrt. 257 
 
 sions, still it is as undeniable that such an abandonment 
 is often allowable, and when allowable praiseworthy. 
 Our Saviour expressly told one, who was rich and young, 
 " to sell all and give to the poor ; " and surely He does 
 not speak in order to immortalize exceptions, or extreme 
 cases, or fugitive forms of argument, refutation, or 
 censure. Even looking at the subject in a merely 
 human light, one may pronounce it to be a narrow and 
 shallow system, that same Protestantism, which forbids 
 all the higher and more noble impulses of the mind, and 
 forces men to eat, drink, and be merry, whether they 
 will or no. But the mind of true Catholic Christianity 
 is expansive enough to admit high and low, rich and 
 poor, one with another. 
 
 If the primitive Christians are to be trusted as wit- 
 nesses of the genius of the Gospel system, certainly it 
 is of that elastic and comprehensive character which 
 removes the more powerful temptations to schism, by 
 giving, as far as possible, a sort of indulgence to the 
 feelings and motives which lead to it, correcting them 
 the while, purifying them, and reining them in, ere they 
 get excessive. Thus, whereas the reason naturally loves 
 to expatiate at will through all things known and 
 unknown, true Catholicism does not, like the schools of 
 human masters, place us within a strict and rigid creed, 
 extending to the very minutest details of thought, so that 
 a man can never have an opinion of his own ; yet, while 
 its creed is short and simple, and it is cautious and 
 gentle in its decisions, and distinguishes between things 
 necessary and things pious to beheve, between wilfulness 
 and ignorance, still it asserts the supremacy of faith, the 
 guilt of unbelief, and the duty of deference to the 
 Church; so that reason is brought round against and 
 subdued to the obedience of Christ, at the very time 
 when it seems to be launching forth without chart upon 
 the ocean of speculation. It opposes the intolerance of 
 what are called ''^sensible Protestants," as much as that 
 of Romanists. It is shocked at the tyranny of those 
 who will not let a man do anything out of the way with- 
 out stamping him with the name of a fanatic. It deals 
 softly with the ardent and impetuous, saying, in effect — 
 " My child, you may do as many great things as you will; 
 
258 ®;ij^ ©Ijurrlj 0f ti}t IFatl^^ra* [chap. 
 
 but I have already made a list for you to select from. 
 You are too docile to pursue ends merely because they 
 are of your own choosing ; you seek them because they 
 are great. You wish to live above the common course 
 of a Christian ; — I can teach you to do this, yet without 
 arrogance." Meanwhile the sensible Protestant keeps 
 to his point, urging every one to be as every one else, 
 and moulding all minds upon his one small model ; and 
 when he has made his ground good to his own admira- 
 tion, he finds after all that half his charge have turned 
 schismatics, by way of searching for something divine 
 and extraordinary. 
 
 These remarks are intended as introductory to some 
 notice of the life of St. Antony, the first hermit, whom I 
 had occasion to notice in a former chapter. A hermit's 
 life, indeed — that is, a strictly monastic or solitary life — 
 may be called unnatural, and is not sanctioned by the 
 Gospel. Christ sent His apostles by two and two ; and 
 surely He knew what was in man from the day that He 
 said — " It is not good for him to be alone." So far, 
 then, Antony's manner of life may be said to have no 
 claim upon our admiration, unless it was the suggestion 
 of some extraordinary providence ; but this part of his 
 pattern did not extend to his imitators, who by their 
 numbers were soon led to the formation of monastic 
 societies, and who, after a while, entangled even Antony 
 himself in the tie of becoming in a certain sense their 
 religious head and teacher. Monachism consisting, not 
 in solitariness, but in austerities, prayers, retirement, and 
 obedience, had nothing in it, so far, but what was 
 perfectly Christian, and, under circumstances, exemplary; 
 especially when viewed in its connexion with the relative 
 duties, which were soon afterwards appropriated to it, of 
 being almoner of the poor, educating the clergy, and 
 defending the faith as delivered to us. In short, 
 Monachism became, in a little while, nothing else than a 
 peculiar department of the Christian ministry — a ministry 
 not of the sacraments, or clerical, but especially of the 
 word and doctrine; not indeed by any formal ordination 
 to it, for it was as yet a lay profession, but by the 
 common right, or rather duty, which attaches to all of us 
 to avow, propagate, and defend the truth, especially when 
 
XVIII.] ^ntonj in C0nflut. 259 
 
 our devotion to it has the countenance and encourage- 
 ment of Church authorities. 
 
 St. Antony's life, written by his friend the great 
 Athanasius, has come down to us. Some critics, indeed, 
 doubt its genuineness, or consider it interpolated. 
 Rivetus and others reject it ; Du Pin decides, on the 
 whole, that it is his, but with additions; the Benedictines 
 and Tillemont ascribe it to him unhesitatingly. I con- 
 ceive no question can be raised with justice about its 
 substantial integrity; and on rising from the perusal of 
 it, we are able to pronounce Antony an extraordinary 
 man. Enthusiastic he certainly must be accounted; had 
 he lived in this day and this country, he would have 
 been exposed to a considerable (though, of course, not 
 insuperable) temptation to become a sectarian. Panting 
 after some higher rule of life than that which the ordinary 
 forms of society admit of, and finding our present lines 
 too rigidly drawn to include any style of mind that is 
 out of the way, any rule that is not "gentlemanlike," 
 "comfortable," and "established," he might possibly 
 have broken what he could not bend. The question is 
 not whether he would have been justified in so doing (of 
 course not) ; nor whether the most angelic temper of all 
 is not that which settles down contented with what is 
 every-day (as Abraham's heavenly guests ate of the calf 
 which he had dressed, and as our Saviour went down to 
 Nazareth and was subject to His parents) ; but whether 
 such resignation to worldly comforts is not quite as often, 
 at least, the characteristic of a very grovelling mind also; 
 — whether there are not minds between the lowest and 
 the highest, of ardent feelings, keen imaginations, and 
 undisciplined tempers, who are under a strong irritation 
 prompting them to run wild, — whether it is not our duty 
 (so to speak) to play with such, carefully letting out line 
 enough lest they snap it, — and whether our established 
 system is as indulgent and as wise as is desirable in its treat- 
 ment of such persons, inasmuch as it provides no occupa- 
 tion for them, does not understand how to turn them to 
 account, lets them run to waste, tempts them to schism, 
 loses them, and is weakened by the loss. For instance, 
 had we some regular Missionary Seminary, such an institu- 
 tion would in oae way supply the deficiency I speak of. 
 
26o ^)jt fflljurrb of tlje ITatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 But to return to Antony. Did I see him before me, 
 I might be tempted to consider him somewhat of an 
 enthusiast ; but what I desire to point out to the reader 
 is the subdued and Christian form which his enthusiasm 
 took; it was not vulgar, bustUng, imbecile, unstable, 
 undutiful; it was calm and composed, manly, intrepid, 
 magnanimous, full of affectionate loyalty to the Church 
 and to the Truth. 
 
 Antony was born a.d. 251, while Origen was still 
 alive, while Cyprian was bishop of Carthage, Dionysius 
 bishop of Alexandria, and Gregory Thaumaturgus of 
 Neocaesarea; he lived till a.d. 356, to the age of 105, 
 nine years after the birth of St. Chrysostom, and two 
 years after that of St. Augustine. He was an Egyptian 
 by birth, and the son of noble, opulent, and Christian 
 parents. He was brought up as a Christian, and, from 
 his boyhood, showed a strong disposition towards a 
 solitary life. Shrinking from the society of his equals, 
 and despising the external world in comparison of the 
 world within him, he set himself against what is con- 
 sidered a liberal education — that is, the acquisition 
 of foreign languages. At the same time he was very 
 dutiful to his parents, simple and self-denying in his 
 habits, and attentive to the sacred services and readings 
 of the Church. 
 
 Before he arrived at man's estate he had lost both 
 his parents, and was left with a sister, who was a child, 
 and an ample inheritance. His mind at this time was 
 earnestly set upon imitating the Apostles and their 
 converts, who gave up their possessions and followed 
 Christ. One day, about six months after his parents' 
 death, as he went to church as usual, the subject 
 pressed seriously upon him. The Gospel of the day 
 happened to contain the text — " If thou wilt be perfect, 
 go sell all that thou hast," &c. Antony applied it to 
 himself, and acted upon it. He had three hundred 
 acres,^ of especial fertility, even in Egypt ; these he at 
 once made over to the uses of the poor of his own 
 neighbourhood. Next, he turned into money all his 
 personal property, and reserving a portion for his sister's 
 use, gave the rest to the poor. After a while he was 
 ^ Arura — three-quarters of an English acre. — Gibbon. 
 
XVIII.] ^tttnnj in Otnttflirt^ 261 
 
 struck by hearing in church the text — "Take no thought 
 for the morrow ; " and considering he had not yet fully 
 satisfied the Evangelical precept, he gave away what 
 he had reserved, placing his sister in the care of some 
 trustworthy female acquaintances, who had devoted 
 themselves to a single life. 
 
 He commenced his ascetic life, according to the 
 custom hitherto observed, by retiring to a place not 
 far from his own home. Here he remained for a while 
 to steady and fix his mind in his new habits, and to 
 gain what advice he could towards the formation of 
 them, from such as had already engaged in the like. 
 This is a remarkable trait, as Athanasius records it, as 
 showing how little he was influenced by self-will or 
 sectarian spirit in what he was doing, how ardently 
 he pursued an ascetic life as in itself good, and how 
 wiUing he was to become the servant of any who might 
 give him directions in his pursuit. But this will be 
 best shown by an extract : — 
 
 "There was, in the next village, an aged man who 
 had lived a solitary Hfe from his youth. Antony, seeing 
 him, 'was zealously affected in a good matter,' and 
 first of all adopted a similar retirement in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the village. And did he hear of any 
 zealous man anywhere, he used to go and seek him 
 out, like a wise man; not returning home till he had 
 seen him, and gained from him some stock, as it were, 
 for his journey towards holiness. He laboured with 
 his hands, according to the words — * If anyone is 
 without work, let him not eat;' laying out part of his 
 produce in bread, part on the poor. He prayed con- 
 tinually, having learned that it is a duty to pray in 
 private without ceasing. So attentive, indeed, was he 
 to sacred reading that he let no part of the Scripture 
 fall from him to the ground, but retained all, memory 
 serving in place of book. In this way he gained the 
 affections of all ; he, in turn, subjecting himself sincerely 
 to the zealous men whom he visited, and marking 
 down in his own thoughts the special attainment of 
 each in zeal and ascetic life — the refined manners 
 of one, another's continuance in prayer, the meekness 
 
262 %}jt atburrlj ai tlj^ ftAhtx^* [chap. 
 
 of a third, the kindness of a fourth, the long vigils of 
 a fifth, the studiousness of a sixth. This had a mar- 
 vellous gift of endurance, that of fasting and sleeping 
 on the ground; this v^ras gentle, that long-suifering ; 
 and in one and all he noted the adoration of Christ, 
 and love one towards another. Thus furnished, he 
 returned to his own ascetic retreat, henceforth com- 
 bining in himself their separate exercises, and zealously 
 minded to exempHfy them all. This, indeed, was his 
 only point of emulation with those of his own age, 
 that he might not come off second to them in good 
 things ; and this he so pursued as to annoy no one, 
 rather to make all take delight in him. Accordingly, 
 all the villagers of the place, and religious persons who 
 were acquainted with him, seeing him such, called 
 him God's beloved, and cherished him as a son or 
 as a brother." — § 4. 
 
 Of course this account is the mere relation of a 
 fact; but, over and above its historical character, it 
 evidently is meant as the description of a character 
 which both the writer and those for whom he wrote 
 thought eminently Christian. Taking it then as being, 
 in a certain line, the ^eau ideal of what we should 
 call the enthusiasm of the time, I would request the 
 reader to compare it with the sort of Christianity into 
 which the unhappy enthusiast of the present day is 
 precipitated by the influences of sectarianism ; and he 
 will see how much was gained to Christianity, in purity, 
 as well as unity, by that monastic system, the place 
 of which among ourselves is filled by methodism and 
 dissent. 
 
 After a while, our youth's enthusiasm began to take 
 its usual course. His spirits fell, his courage flagged; 
 a reaction followed, and the temptations of this world 
 assaulted him with a violence which showed that as 
 yet he scarcely understood the true meaning of his 
 profession. Had he been nothing more than an 
 enthusiast, he would have gone back to the world. 
 His abandoned property, the guardianship of his sister, 
 his family connexions, the conveniences of wealth, 
 worldly reputation, disgust of the sameness and coarse- 
 
XVIII.] ^ttt0nj in ffi0ttfltrt- 263 
 
 ness of his food, bodily infirmity, the tediousness of 
 his mode of Hving, and the painfulness of idleness, 
 became instruments of temptation. Other and fiercer 
 assaults arose. However, his faith rose above them 
 all, or rather, as Athanasius says, "not himself, but 
 the grace of God that was in him." His biographer 
 proceeds : — 
 
 "Such was Antony's first victory over the devil, or 
 rather the Saviour's glorious achievement in him, 'who 
 hath condemned sin in the flesh, that the righteousness 
 of the law may be fulfilled in us, who walk not after 
 the flesh, but after the Spirit' Not, however, as if 
 Antony, imagining the devil was subdued, was neglect- 
 ful afterwards, and secure ; knowing from the Scriptures 
 that there are many devices of the enemy, he was 
 persevering in his ascetic life. He was the more 
 earnest in keeping under his body, and bringing it 
 into subjection, lest, triumphing in some things, yet 
 in others he might be brought low. His vigils were 
 often through the whole night. He ate but once in 
 the day, after sunset; sometimes after two days, often 
 after four; his food was bread and salt, — his drink, 
 water only. He never had more than a mat to sleep 
 on, but generally lay down on the ground. He put 
 aside oil for anointing, saying that the youthful ought 
 to be forward in their asceticism, and, instead of seeking 
 what might relax the body, to accustom it to hardships, 
 remembering the Apostle's words — 'When I am weak, 
 then am I strong.' He thought it unsuitable to measure 
 either holy living, or retirement for the sake of it, by 
 length of time ; but by the earnest desire and deliberate 
 resolve of being holy. Accordingly, he never himself 
 used to take any account of the time gone by; but, 
 day by day, as if ever fresh beginning his exercise, he 
 made still greater efforts to advance, repeating to him- 
 self continually the saying of the Apostle, 'forgetting 
 the things which are behind, and reaching forward to 
 those which are before.'" — § 7. 
 
 Such was his life for about fifteen years. At the 
 end of this time, being now thirty-five, he betook 
 himself to the desert, having first spent some days in 
 
264 ^\}t ©IjurrllT 0f tlj^ fatlj^ra* [chap. 
 
 prayers and holy exercises in the tombs. Here, how- 
 ever, we are necessarily introduced to another subject, 
 which has already entered into Athanasius's text, 
 though it has not been necessary to notice it, — his 
 alleged conflicts with the evil spirits; to it, then, let 
 us proceed. 
 
 It is quite certain, then, that Antony believed him- 
 self to be subjected to sensible and visible conflicts 
 with evil spirits. It is far from my desire to rescue 
 him from the imputation of enthusiasm; the very drift 
 of my account of him being to show how enthusiasm 
 is sobered and refined by being submitted to the dis- 
 cipline of the Church, instead of being allowed to run 
 wild externally to it. If he were not an enthusiast, 
 or in danger of being such, we should lose one chief 
 instruction his life conveys. This admission, however, 
 does not settle the question to which the narrative of 
 his spiritual conflicts gives rise; so I shall first make 
 some extracts descriptive of them, and then comment 
 upon them. 
 
 The following is the account of his visit to the 
 tombs : — 
 
 "Thus bracing himself after the pattern of Elias, 
 he set off to the tombs which were some distance from 
 his village; and giving directions to an acquaintance 
 to bring him bread after some days' interval, he entered 
 into one of them, suffered himself to be shut in, and 
 remained there by himself. This the enemy not 
 enduring, yea, rather dreading, lest before long he 
 should engross the desert also with his holy exercise, 
 assaulted him one night with a host of spirits, and 
 so lashed him, that he lay speechless on the ground 
 from the torture, which, he declared, was far more 
 severe than from strokes which man could inflict. But, 
 by God's Providence, who does not overlook those who 
 hope in Him, on the next day his acquaintance came 
 with the bread; and, on opening the door, saw him 
 lying on the ground as if dead. Whereupon he carried 
 him to the village church, and laid him on the 
 ground; and many of his relations and the villagers 
 took their places by the body, as if he were already 
 
XVIII.] ^ttt0ng in C0ttflid. 265 
 
 dead. However, about midnight his senses returned, 
 and collecting himself, he observed that they were all 
 asleep except his aforesaid acquaintance; whereupon, 
 he beckoned him to his side, and asked of him, with- 
 out waking any of them, to carry him back again to 
 the tombs. 
 
 " The man took him back : and when he was shut 
 in, as before, by himself, being unable to stand from 
 his wounds, he lay down and began to pray. Then 
 he cried out loudly, 'Here am I, Antony; I do not 
 shun your blows. Though ye add to them, yet nothing 
 shall separate me from the love of Christ.' And then 
 he began to sing, 'Though a host should encamp 
 against me, yet shall not my heart be afraid.' The 
 devil has no trouble in devising diverse shapes of evil. 
 During the night, therefore, the evil ones made so great 
 a tumult, that the whole place seemed to be shaken, 
 and, as if they broke down the four walls of the 
 building, they seemed to rush in, in the form of wild 
 beasts and reptiles. . . . But Antony, though scourged 
 and pierced, felt indeed his bodily pain, but the rather 
 kept vigil in his soul. So, as he lay groaning in body, 
 yet a watcher in his mind, he spoke in taunt — 'Had 
 ye any power, one of you would be enough to assail 
 me; you try, if possible, to frighten me with your 
 number, because the Lord has spoiled you of your 
 strength. Those pretended forms are the proof of your 
 impotence. Our seal and wall of defence is faith in 
 our Lord.* After many attempts, then, they gnashed 
 their teeth at him, because they were rather making 
 themselves a sport than him. But the Lord a second 
 time remembered the conflict of Antony, and came 
 to his help. Raising his eyes, he saw the roof as if 
 opening, and a beam of light descending towards him ; 
 suddenly the devils vanished, his pain ceased, and the 
 building was whole again. Upon this Antony said, 
 'Where art thou. Lord? why didst thou not appear 
 at the first, to ease my pain?' A voice answered, 
 'Antony, I was here, but waited to see thy bearing in 
 the contest; since, then, thou hast sustained and not 
 been worsted, I will be to thee an aid for ever, and will 
 make thy name famous in every place.* " — § 9, 10. 
 
266 Wht atljitrrlT oi tijt fatlrm, [chap. 
 
 After this preliminary vigil, Antony made for the 
 desert, where he spent the next twenty years in soli- 
 tude. Athanasius gives the following account of his 
 life there : — 
 
 " The following day he left the tombs, and his piety 
 becoming still more eager, he went to the old man 
 before mentioned, and prayed him to accompany him 
 into the desert. When he declined by reason of his 
 age and the novelty of the proposal, he set off for 
 the mountain by himself .... and finding beyond 
 the river a fortified spot, deserted so long a while 
 that venomous reptiles abounded there, he went 
 thither, and took possession of it, they farther re- 
 treating, as if one pursued them. Blocking up the 
 entrance, and laying in bread for six months (as 
 the Thebans are wont, often keeping their bread 
 a whole year), and having a well of water indoors, he 
 remained, as if in a shrine, neither going abroad him- 
 self, nor seeing any of those who came to him. . . . 
 He did not allow his acquaintance to enter; so, while 
 they remained often days and nights without, they used 
 to hear noises within ; blows, pitiable cries, such as 
 ' Depart from our realm ! what part hast thou in the 
 desert? thou shalt perforce yield to our devices.' 
 At first they thought he was in dispute with some 
 men who had entered by means of ladders ; but when 
 they had contrived to peep in through a chink, and 
 saw no one, then they reckoned it was devils that they 
 heard, and, in terror, called Antony. He cared for 
 them more than for the spirits, and coming at once near 
 the door, bade them go away and not fear; 'for,' he 
 said, ' the devils make all this feint to alarm the timid. 
 Ye, then, sign yourselves, and depart in confidence, and 
 let them mock their ownselves.'" — § 12, 13. 
 
 To enter into the state of opinion and feeling which 
 such accounts imply, it is necessary to observe, that 
 as regards the Church's warfare with the devil, the 
 primitive Christians considered themselves to be 
 similarly circumstanced with the Apostles. They did 
 not draw a line between the condition of the Church 
 in their day and in the first age, but beheved that 
 
XVIII.] ^nt0n5 in ffi0nfltrt. 267 
 
 what it had been, such it was still in its trials and 
 in its powers ; that the open assaults of Satan, 
 and their own means of repelling them, were such as 
 they are described in the Gospels. Exorcism was a 
 sacred function in the primitive Church, and the ener- 
 gumen took his place with catechumens and penitents, 
 as in the number of those who had the especial prayers, 
 and were allowed some of the privileges, of the 
 Christian body. Our Saviour speaks of the power of 
 exorcising as depending on fasting and prayer, in certain 
 special cases, and thus seems to countenance the 
 notion of a direct conflict between the Christian athlete 
 and the powers of evil, a conflict carried on, on the side 
 of the former, by definite weapons, for definite ends, 
 and not that indirect warfare merely which the religious 
 conduct of life implies. "This kind can come forth 
 by nothing but by prayer and fasting." Surely none 
 of Christ's words are chance words ; He spoke with a 
 purpose^ and the Holy Spirit guided the Evangelists 
 in their selection of them with a purpose ; and if so, 
 this text is a rule and an admonition, and was acted 
 upon as such by the primitive Christians, whether from 
 their received principles of interpretation or the tradi- 
 tionary practice of the Church. 
 
 In like manner, whether from their mode of inter- 
 preting Scripture, or from the opinions and practices 
 which came down to them, they conceived the devil 
 to have that power over certain brute animals which 
 Scripture sometimes assigns to him. He is known 
 on one memorable occasion to have taken the form 
 of a serpent; at another time, a legion of devils 
 possessed a herd of swine. These instances may, for 
 what we know, be revealed specimens of a whole side 
 of the Divine dispensation, viz. the interference of 
 spiritual agencies, good and bad, with the course 
 of the world, under which, perhaps, the speaking of 
 Balaam's ass falls; and the early Christians, whether 
 so understanding Scripture, or from their traditionary 
 system, acted as if they were so. They considered 
 that brute nature was widely subjected to the power 
 of spirits; as, on the other hand, there had been a 
 time when even the Creator Spirit had condescended 
 
268 ^\jt CKrurrKr 0f tlr^ IFatlr^rs- [CHAP. 
 
 to manifest Himself in the bodily form of a dove. 
 Their notions concerning local demoniacal influences 
 in oracles and idols, in which they were sanctioned 
 by Scripture, confirmed this belief. Accordingly, they 
 took passages like the following literally, and used them 
 as a corroborative proof: — "Behold, I give unto you 
 power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over 
 all the power of the enemy." " They shall take up 
 serpents, and if they drink any deadly thing it shall 
 not hurt them." "Your adversary, the devil, as a 
 roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may 
 devour." " I saw three unclean spirits, like frogs .... 
 they are the spirits of devils, working miracles." Add 
 to these, Dan. vii. 3, 4, about the four beasts ; Isa. xiii. 
 21, 22, about satyrs or jackals; and Job xli., about the 
 leviathan, which they interpreted of the evil spirit. 
 
 Moreover, there is a ground of deep philosophy on 
 which such notions may be based, and which appears 
 to have been held by the primitive Christians ; viz. 
 that visible things are types and earnests of things 
 invisible. The elements are, in some sense, symbols 
 and tokens of spiritual agents, good and bad. Satan 
 is called the prince of the power of the air. Still more 
 mysterious than inanimate nature is the family of brute 
 animals, the real intelligence of which, if they have no 
 souls, is a supernatural something which makes use of 
 their outward forms as its organs and instruments. If, 
 on the other hand, they, have souls, it is natural to 
 attribute to them a moral nature, and a place, however 
 subordinate, in the great conflict which is going on 
 between good and evil. As to the exact connexion 
 between the visible and invisible, the when, where, 
 how, and how far, this it is doubtless idle to attempt 
 to settle ; but surely there is nothing abstractedly absurd 
 in considering certain hideous developments of nature 
 as tokens of the presence of the unseen principle of 
 evil, when we once admit that it exists. Certainly the 
 sight of a beast of prey, with his malevolent passions, 
 savage cruelty, implacable rage, malice, cunning, sullen- 
 ness, restlessness, brute hunger, irresistible strength, 
 awakens very awful and complicated musings in a 
 religious mind. Here, then, a philosophical view of 
 
XVIII.] ^ntonj in €onfiut 269 
 
 nature would be considered, in primitive times, to 
 corroborate the method of Scripture interpretation then 
 adopted. 
 
 But, moreover, Scripture itself seemed, in the parallel 
 case of demoniacs, to become its own interpreter. It 
 was notorious that in the Apostolic age devils made 
 human beings their organs ; why, then, much more, 
 should not brute beasts be such ? The simple question 
 was, whether the state of things in the third century 
 was substantially the same as it was in the first; and 
 this, I say, the early Christians assumed in the affirma- 
 tive, and certainly, whether they were judges of this 
 question or not, I suppose they were as good judges 
 as we are. The case of demoniacs should be carefully 
 considered, since their sufferings often seem to have 
 been neither more nor less than what would now be 
 attributed to natural diseases, and might be treated 
 (and rightly, nay, perhaps, successfully) by medical 
 rules. We have no right to be sure that the demoniac 
 whom the Apostles could not cure, might not have 
 recovered under the remedies usually administered in 
 epilepsy. Again, the woman who was bowed together 
 for eighteen years, and was cured by Christ, is said 
 to have had "a spirit of infirmity," to have been 
 "bound by Satan." If, then, diseases may be tokens 
 of demoniacal presence and power, though ordinarily 
 admitting of medical treatment, why is it an objection 
 to the connexion of the material or animal world with 
 spirits, that the laws of mineral agents, or the peculiar- 
 ities of brute natures can also be drawn out into system 
 on paper, and counteracted or aided by our knowledge 
 of them? The same objection lies, nay avails, against 
 the one and the other. The very same scoffing temper 
 which rejects, at once and in the mass^ the opinions of 
 the early Church concerning Satan's power, as " Pagan," 
 "Oriental," and the like, does actually assail the in- 
 spired statements respecting it, explains away demoniacal 
 possessions as unreal, and maintains that Christ and His 
 Apostles spoke by way of accommodation, and in the 
 language of their day, when they said that Satan bound 
 us with diseases and plagues, and was "prince of the 
 power of the air." 
 
270 SCfr^ fflbttrrl^ of i)jt IFatlj^rja- [chap. 
 
 Dreams are another department of our present state 
 of being, through which, as Scripture informs us, the 
 Supernatural seems to act; and in the same general 
 way; i.e. not always, and by ascertainable rules, but 
 by the virtue of indefinite, though real, connexion with 
 them. 
 
 On the whole, then, the ancients seem to have con- 
 sidered all that is seen as but a type or instrument of 
 what is unseen, as external indications, to us practically 
 influential, of the Supernatural. This will explain what 
 seems, at first sight, credulity and superstition in many 
 great men. It is objected to them that they mistook 
 what is natural for what is above nature; and it is 
 condescendingly observed, that had they lived when 
 " science " had made the advances which it has effected 
 in these enlightened days, such men would not have 
 been exposed to such errors. But, in truth, their 
 theory, whether right or wrong, runs much deeper 
 than we sciolists dream ; for they take the whole of 
 nature^ not certain detached parts of it, to be some- 
 thing supernatural; and the critics in question do not 
 advance one inch towards removing them from their 
 position, by showing a certain connexion and order 
 between various parts of nature which before seemed 
 unconnected, and by using that connexion for certain 
 present and temporal purposes. The plain astronomer 
 speaks as if the sun went round the earth, the physical 
 philosopher as if the earth went round the sun; this 
 may be viewed as a question of practical convenience, 
 the assumption of a theory or fiction necessary as an 
 artifice for arriving at certain practical ends. On the 
 other hand, it does not make the fire from heaven on 
 Sodom less Divine because it came from a volcano; 
 nor, in like manner, need a comet or eclipse be less a 
 sign of tumult and change because it proceeds upon 
 a certain physical law. It is another matter whether 
 it is such a sign, — that is a question oi fact ; and to 
 us mortals, who have a difficulty at arriving at facts, 
 it may be a matter of greater or less probability, and • 
 of a probability which may be affected by the circum- 
 stance of the phenomenon harmonizing or not with the 
 established order of things ; but it is one which modern 
 
XVIII.] ^ttt0n5 in ffi0ttflirt. 271 
 
 " discoveries " (as they are called) do not and cannot 
 settle. And in like manner, since evil spirits are known 
 before now to have entered into brute animals, it is a 
 question of probabilities whether they do now, — whether 
 certain passages in Scripture which seem to assert it, 
 are, or are not, to be understood literally ; and supposing 
 I found a narrative, such as Antony's, of the Apostles' 
 age, I must think it would be sufficiently agreeable to 
 Scripture doctrine to make me dismiss from my mind 
 all antecedent difficulties in believing it. On the other 
 hand, did the miracle of the swine occur in the life 
 of St. Antony, I venture to maintain that we of this 
 scientific day should not merely suspend our judgment, 
 or pronounce it improbable (which we might have a 
 right to do), but should at once, and peremptorily, 
 pronounce it altogether incredible and false : so as to 
 make it appear that, 
 
 * * There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." 
 
 What I have been saying comes to this, that there are 
 a number of phenomena in the world, tokens of good 
 and evil, which we may or may not, according as we 
 please, refer to the presence and agency of invisible 
 beings, — such as the course of nature, the accidents of 
 life, the bearing upon us of brute animals, the phantoms 
 which occur in dreams, the influences of the imagina- 
 tion, and the like. If we Hved in an age of miracles, 
 the (in that case) acknowledged presence of a super- 
 natural power would lead us, doubtless, to refer many 
 things to it, and reasonably, which otherwise we should 
 have left as we found them ; and in proportion as we 
 come near in time or place to miraculous agency, in the 
 same proportion will this persuasion affect us. When, 
 then, we read of Antony's sensible contests with the 
 powers of evil, the abstract probability of these is to 
 be decided by the existence, in his day, of such parallel 
 facts as demoniacal possessions, which certainly are 
 witnessed unanimously by his contemporaries; and the 
 really superhuman character of what seem like natural 
 occurrences is to be estimated, not by the mere circum- 
 stance that they may be brought under natural laws. 
 
272 ^)jt ®b«rr!j of tlje Jatb^rja. [chap. 
 
 as demoniacal possessions also may be by the physician, 
 but by the known actual presence of unseen agents to 
 which they may be referred. Antony's conflict in the 
 tombs may be solved into a dream, or into an attack 
 from jackals ; yet this only removes the real agent a step 
 further back. Satan may still have been the real agent 
 at the bottom, and have been discerned by Antony 
 through the shadows of things sensible. 
 
 I have no wish to trifle, or argue subtilly. We are 
 upon a very deep subject. This earth had been Satan's 
 kingdom ; Christ came to end his usurpation ; but Satan 
 retreated only inch by inch. The Church of Christ is 
 hallowed ground, but external to it is still the kingdom 
 of darkness. Many serious persons think that the evil 
 powers have, even now, extraordinary powers there, 
 whether through or beyond the order of nature. A 
 venerable bishop, who had had to do with heathen 
 lands, once told the writer of these pages, that he did 
 not at all doubt, from his own experience, that Satan 
 had power in them which he has not with us. Certainly 
 there are strange stories among them of sorcerers and 
 the like. Nay, how strange are the stories which only in 
 half-heathen, or even Christian places, have come perhaps 
 to our own knowledge ! How unaccountable to him 
 who has met with them are the sudden sounds, the 
 footsteps, and the noises which he has heard in solitary 
 places, or when in company with others ! 
 
 These things being considered, I judge of Antony's 
 life thus : — There may be enthusiasm here ; there may 
 be, at times, exaggerations and misconceptions of what, 
 as they really happened, meant nothing. And still, it 
 may be true that that conflict begun by our Lord, when 
 He was interrogated and assaulted by Satan, was con- 
 tinued in the experience of Antony, who lived not so 
 very long after Him. How far the evil spirit acted, how 
 far he was present in natural objects, how far was dream, 
 how far fancy, is little to the purpose. I see, any how, 
 the root of a great truth here, and think that those 
 are wiser who admit something than those who deny all. 
 I see Satan frightened at the invasions of the Church 
 upon his kingdom; I see him dispossessed by fasting 
 and prayer, as was predicted ; and I see him retreating 
 
XVIII.] ^nt0n5 in CInnflirt 273 
 
 step by step; I see him doing his utmost in whatever 
 way to resist. Nor is there anything uncongenial to the 
 Gospel system, that so direct a war should be waged 
 upon him ; a war without the ordinary duties of life and 
 of society for its subject-matter and instruments. The 
 text already referred to is (as it were) a canon in sanction 
 of it ; our Saviour Himself was forty days in the wilder- 
 ness; and St. Paul in prison, St. Peter at Joppa, and 
 St. John at Patmos, show us that social duties may 
 be providentially suspended under the Gospel, and a 
 direct intercourse with the next world be imposed upon 
 the Christian. And if so much be allowed, certainly 
 there is nothing in Antony's life to make us sus- 
 picious of him personally. His doctrine was pure and 
 unimpeachable; and his temper is high and heavenly, 
 — without cowardice, without gloom, without formaUty, 
 and without self-complacency. Superstition is abject 
 and crouching, it is full of thoughts of guilt ; it distrusts 
 God, and dreads the powers of evil. Antony at least has 
 nothing of this, being full of holy confidence, divine 
 peace, cheerfulness, and valorousness, be he (as some 
 men may judge) ever so much an enthusiast. But on 
 this subject I shall say something in the next chapter. 
 
^ttt0n5 in ffialttt 
 
 " The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them, and 
 the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose, and the parched 
 ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of 
 water ; in the habitations of dragons, where each lay, shall be 
 grass, with reeds and rushes." 
 
 I HAVE said enough about St. Antony's history; let 
 me now introduce the reader to his character, which 
 I shall best do by setting before him some unconnected 
 passages, as they occur in the narrative of his life. 
 
 It is remarkable that his attempts at curing diseases 
 were not always successful; his prayers being, as ours 
 may be, experimental^ not, as in the case of the Apostles, 
 immediately suggested by the same Power which was 
 about openly to manifest Itself. I am not denying 
 that there were then in the Church extraordinary and 
 heavenly gifts; but, whatever they were, they were 
 distinct from those peculiar powers which we technically 
 call miraculous. 
 
 "He united in sympathy and prayer with those who 
 were in suffering ; and often^ and in 77iany cases, the 
 Lord heard him. When heard, he did not boast ; when 
 unsuccessful^ he did not murmur ; but, under all circum- 
 stances, he gave thanks himself to the Lord, and ex- 
 horted the sufferers to be patient, and be assured that 
 their cure was out of the power of himself, and, indeed, 
 of any man, and lay with God only, who wrought when 
 He would^ and towards whom He chose. The patients in 
 consequence accepted even the words of the old man as a 
 medicine, learning themselves not to despise the means, 
 but rather to be patient, while those who were healed 
 
 274 
 
CH. XIX.] ^nt0ttg in ®alm. 275 
 
 were instructed not to give thanks to Antony, but to 
 God only."— § 56. 
 
 This passage deserves notice also, as showing the 
 unvarnished character of the narrative. Superstitious 
 legends are not candid enough to admit such failures as 
 are implied in it. The following is to the same purpose. 
 He was asked to allow a paralytic female and her parents 
 to visit him, with the hope of a cure, and he refused, on 
 the ground that, if her life was to be preserved, her 
 prayers might be efficacious without him. 
 
 " 'Go,' he answered, 'and, unless she be dead already^ 
 you will find her cured. This happy event is not my 
 doing, that she should come to me, a miserable man, to 
 secure it; but the cure is of the Saviour, who shows 
 mercy in every place^ on those who call upon Him. 
 To her prayers^ then, the Lord has been gracious ; to 
 me is but revealed, by His lovingkindness, that He 
 means to cure her where she is.'" — § 58. 
 
 Antony held that faith had power with God for any 
 work : and he took delight in contrasting the privilege 
 of beheving with that poor and barren measure of know- 
 ledge which sight and reason open on us at the utmost 
 He considered, contrariwise to present notions, that the 
 consciousness was no necessary condition^ of being rational. 
 I mean, it is the present opinion, that no one can 
 be acting according to reason, unless he reflects on 
 himself and recognises his own rationality. A peasant, 
 who cannot tell why he believes, is supposed to have 
 no reason for believing. This is worth noticing, for it 
 is parallel to many other dogmas into which a civilized 
 age will be sure to fall. Antony, on the other hand, 
 considered there was something great and noble in 
 believing and acting on the Gospel, without asking for 
 proof; making experiment of it, and being rewarded by 
 the success of it. He put the arguments for belief, 
 to speak paradoxically, cifter^ not before believing — that 
 is, he seems to have felt there was a divine spirit and 
 power in Christianity such as irresistibly to commend it 
 to religious and honest minds, coming home to the 
 
'2.1 (i Wc\t Cfrttrrlj 0f tlj^ fatlj^ra. [chap. 
 
 heart with the same conviction which any high moral 
 precept carries with it, and leaving argumentation behind 
 as comparatively useless, except by way of curiously 
 investigating motives and reasons for the satisfaction 
 of the philosophical analyst. Probably he would not 
 have been at all disconcerted, even could it have been 
 proved to him that his cures were the statural effect of 
 imagination in the patient : accounting them as rewards 
 to faith, any how, not as evidence to the reason. 
 Perhaps this consideration will tend to solve Paley's 
 difficulty, better than he does himself, why the early 
 Fathers appeal so faintly and scantily to the argument 
 from miracles. That argument is not ordinarily the 
 actual mode by which the mind is subdued to the 
 obedience of Christ. 
 
 Some philosophers came to discourse with him; he 
 says to them, — 
 
 " ' Since you prefer to insist upon words of proof, and 
 being skilled in the science of it, would have us also 
 refrain from worshipping God without a proof drawn 
 out in words, tell me first, how is the knowledge of 
 things in general, and especially of religion, exactly 
 ascertained? Is it by a verbal proof, or through the 
 operative power of faith? And which of the two will 
 you put first?' They said. Faith, owning that it was 
 exact knowledge. Then Antony rejoined, 'Well said, 
 for faith results from a disposition of the soul; but 
 dialectics are from the art of their contriver. They, 
 then, who possess the operative power of faith, can 
 supersede, nay, are but cumbered with proof in words ; 
 for what we comprehend by faith, you are merely 
 endeavouring to arrive at by words, and sometimes 
 cannot throw into words at all. Faith, then, which 
 acts, is better and surer than your subtle syllogisms.'" 
 -§77. 
 
 Again,— 
 
 " ' We prove, not in the persuasive words of Gentile 
 wisdom, as our Teacher says, but we persuade by faith, 
 which vividly anticipates a process through words.'" 
 — §80. 
 
XIX.] ^ni0n5 in ffialm^ 277 
 
 After curing some demoniacs with the sign of the 
 cross, he adds, — 
 
 "'Why wonder ye at this? It is not we who do it, 
 but Christ, by means of those who believe on Him. 
 Do ye too beUeve, and ye shall see that our religion lies 
 not in some art of words, but in faith, which worketh 
 by love towards Christ; which if ye attained, ye too 
 would no longer seek for proofs drawn out in language, 
 but would account faith in Christ sufficient.' " — Ibid. 
 
 As Antony would not have been startled at his cures 
 being set down to the power of imagination, so I con- 
 ceive he would have also admitted his gift of prescience 
 to be, not miraculous, but the result of deep and con- 
 tinued meditation, acute reflection, and that calmness 
 and dispassionateness of mind which self-denying habits 
 naturally create, aided, of course, by the special evan- 
 gelical influences of the Spirit, which, in his age, were 
 manifested far more fully than in our own. 
 
 He is far from boasting of his spiritual attainments : 
 
 "It is not right to glory in casting out devils, nor 
 in curing diseases, nor to make much of him only who 
 casts out devils, and to undervalue him who does not. 
 On the contrary, study the ascetic Hfe of this man and 
 that, and either imitate and emulate or improve it. For 
 to do miracles is not ours, but the Saviour's ; wherefore 
 He said to His disciples, 'Rejoice not that the devils 
 are subject unto you,' &c. To those who take con- 
 fidence, not in holiness but in miracles, and say, * Lord, 
 did we not cast out devils in Thy name?' He makes 
 answer, ' Verily I say unto you, I know you not ; ' for 
 the Lord does not acknowledge the ways of the ungodly. 
 On the whole, then, we must pray for the gift of dis- 
 cerning spirits, that, as it is written, we may not believe 
 every spirit." — § 38. 
 
 In like manner he dissuades his hearers from seeking 
 the gift of prophecy; in which he remarkably diflers 
 from heathen ascetics, such as the Neo-platonists, who 
 considered a knowledge of the secret principles of 
 nature the great reward of their austerities. 
 
278 Wht ffiJjurrlb oi t\jt Fatljm* [chap. 
 
 *' What is the use of hearing beforehand from the evil 
 ones what is to happen? Or, why be desirous of such 
 knowledge, even though it be true ? It does not make 
 us better men; nor is it a token of religious excellence 
 at all. None of us is judged for what he does not 
 know, nor accounted happy for his learning and acquire- 
 ments; but in each case the question is this, whether 
 or not he has kept the faith, and honestly obeyed the 
 commandments ? Wherefore we must not account these 
 great matters, nor live ascetically for the sake of them — 
 viz. in order to know the future ; but to please God by 
 a good conversation. But if we are anxious at all to 
 foresee what is to be, it is necessary to be pure in mind. 
 Certainly, I believe that that soul, which is clean on 
 every side, and established in its highest nature, becomes 
 keen-sighted, and is able to see things more and further 
 than the devils, having the Lord to reveal them to it. 
 Such was Elisha's soul, which witnessed Gehazi's con- 
 duct, and discerned the heavenly hosts standing by it." 
 —§34- 
 
 These extracts have incidentally furnished some 
 evidence of the calmness, and, I may say, good sense 
 of Antony — i.e. granting that his view of things is 
 correct. I am aware that an objector would urge that 
 this is the very peculiarity of madness, to reason 
 correctly upon false premises; and that Antony in no 
 way differs from many men, now-a-days, whom we 
 consider unable to take care of themselves. Yet surely, 
 in considering the evidence of the divine mission of the 
 Apostles, we do think it allowable to point out their 
 judiciousness and composure of mind, though the same 
 objection applies there. And considering how extrava- 
 gant and capricious the conduct of enthusiasts commonly 
 is, how rude their manners, how inconstant their resolu- 
 tions, how variable their principles, it is certainly a 
 recommendation to our solitary to find him so grave, 
 manly, considerate and refined, — or, to speak familiarly, 
 so gentlemanlike, in the true sense of that word. We 
 see something of this in the account which Athanasius 
 gives us of his personal appearance after his twenty 
 years' seclusion, which has nothing of the emaciated 
 
XIX.] ^ttt0n5 in ffialtn. 279 
 
 character, or the uncouth expression, of one who had 
 thrown himself out of the society of his fellow-men. 
 I shall be obliged to make a long extract, if I begin; 
 and yet I cannot help hoping that the reader will be 
 pleased to read it. 
 
 "He had now spent nearly twenty years exercising 
 himself thus by himself, neither going abroad nor being 
 seen for any time by any one. But at this date, many 
 longing to copy his ascetic life, and acquaintances com- 
 ing and forcibly breaking down and driving in the door, 
 Antony came forth as from some shrine, fully perfected 
 in its mysteries, and instinct with God. This was his 
 first appearance outside the enclosure, and those who 
 had come to see him were struck with surprise at the 
 little change his person had undergone, having neither 
 a full habit, as being without exercise, nor the shrivelled 
 character which betokens fasts and conflicts with the 
 evil ones. He was the same as they had known him 
 before his retreat. His mind also was serene, neither 
 narrowed by sadness nor relaxed by indulgence, neither 
 over-merry nor melancholy. He showed no confusion 
 at the sight of the multitude, no elation at their respect- 
 ful greetings. The Lord gave him grace in speech, so 
 that he comforted many who were in sorrow, and recon- 
 ciled those who were at variance, adding in every case, 
 that they ought to set nothing of this world before love 
 towards Christ. And while he conversed with the 
 people, and exhorted them to remember the bliss to 
 come, and God's lovingkindness to us men in not 
 sparing His own Son, but giving Him up for us all, 
 he persuaded many to choose the monastic life. And 
 from that time monasteries have been raised among 
 the mountains, and the desert is made a city by monks 
 leaving their all and enrolling themselves in the heavenly 
 citizenship. 
 
 "One day, going forth, when all the monks were 
 collected about him, and begged him to discourse to 
 them, he spoke as follows, in the Egyptian language : — 
 
 "Holy Scripture is sufficient for teaching, yet it is 
 good to exhort one another in the faith, and refresh 
 one another with our discourses. You then, as children, 
 
28o gCIj^ ©IjurrHr ci t\}t JFatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 bring hither to your father whatever you have learned; 
 and I in turn, as being your elder, will now impart to 
 you what I know and what I have experienced. Let 
 this pre-eminently be the common purpose of every one 
 of you, not to give in when once you have begun, not to 
 faint in your toil, not to say, ' We have been long enough 
 at these exercises.' Rather as though, day after day, we 
 were beginning for the first time, let our zeal grow 
 stronger; for even the whole of human life is very 
 short compared with eternity, or rather nothing. And 
 every thing in this world has its price, and you get but 
 an equivalent; yet the promise of everlasting life is 
 bought at a trifling purchase. ' The days of our Hfe are 
 threescore years and ten,' as Scripture says, * and, if men 
 be so strong, fourscore;' yet did we persist in our 
 exercises for the whole fourscore, or for a hundred, this 
 would not be the measure of our reign in glory. In- 
 stead of a hundred years, we shall reign for ages upon 
 ages ; not upon this poor earth on which is our struggle, 
 but our promised inheritance is in heaven. We lose a 
 corruptible body to receive it back incorruptible. 
 
 " Wherefore, my children, let us not weary, nor think 
 we have been a long while toiling, or that we are doing 
 any great thing ; for our present sufferings are not to be 
 compared to the glory which shall be revealed towards 
 us. Let us not look at the world, or reckon we have 
 made great sacrifices, for even the whole earth is but a 
 small spot compared to the expanse of heaven. Though 
 we had possessed it all, and had given it up all, it is 
 nothing to the kingdom of heaven. It is no more than 
 a man's making little of one copper coin in order to 
 gain a hundred gold ones; thus he who is lord of the 
 whole earth, and bids it farewell, does but give up little 
 and gains a hundredfold. But if the whole earth be so 
 little, what is it to leave a few acres? or a house? or 
 a store of gold? Surely we should not boast or be 
 dejected upon such a sacrifice. If we do not let them 
 go for virtue's sake, on death at length we shall leave 
 them, and often to whom we would not, as says the 
 Preacher. What gain is it to acquire what we cannot 
 carry away with us ? Far different are prudence, justice, 
 temperance, fortitude, understanding, charity, love of the 
 
XIX.] ^ntnnj in ffialm. 281 
 
 poor, faith towards Christ, gentleness, hospitality ; obtain 
 we these, and we shall find them there before us, making 
 ready a dwelling for us in the country of the meek. 
 
 "Let us, then, apply ourselves to our rehgious exer- 
 cise, and not be downcast. We have the Lord to work 
 with us, as it is written. It is well to study the Apostle's 
 saying, * I die daily.' We shall not sin if we so live as to 
 be dying daily ; that is, if we rise as though we should 
 not last till evening, and go to rest as though we should 
 not rise ; life being of an uncertain nature, doled out by 
 Providence from day to day. Thus we shall be ever 
 militant and looking forward for the day of judgment ; 
 and this more urgent fear and peril of torment will ever 
 rid pleasure of its sweetness, and restore the wavering 
 soul. 
 
 "Therefore, having now set out upon the path of 
 virtue, let us the rather reach forward to what is before. 
 Be not alarmed when you hear speak of virtue, nor 
 regard the name as strangers to it; for it is not far 
 from us, it is not external to us ; the work is in us, and 
 the thing is easy, if we have but the will. Greeks travel 
 beyond sea to learn letters, — we need not travel for the 
 kingdom of heaven, or cross the sea for virtue. Christ 
 anticipates us, 'The kingdom of heaven (He says) is 
 within you ; ' virtue needs but the will. 
 
 "We have able and subtle enemies, the evil spirits; 
 with these we must wrestle, as the Apostle says. There 
 is need of much prayer and self-discipline to gain, 
 through the Holy Spirit, the gift of discerning of spirits, 
 to detect their nature, viz. which of them are the less 
 abandoned, which the more, what is the aim of each, 
 what each affects, and how each is overthrown and 
 ejected. When the Lord came on earth the enemy fell, 
 and his power waxed weak ; therefore, as being a tyrant, 
 though powerless, he keeps not quiet even in his fall, but 
 threats, for he can do no more. Let each of you con- 
 sider this, and he may scorn the evil spirits. Behold, 
 we are here met together and speak against them, and 
 they know that as we make progress they will grow 
 feebler. Had they then leave, they would suffer none 
 of us Christians to live; had they power, they would 
 not come on with a noise, or put forth phantoms, or 
 
282 ^\jz Cljurrlj 0f tlj^ Jatlj^ra. [chap. 
 
 change their shapes to further their plans ; one of them 
 would be enough, did he come, to do what he could and 
 wished to do. Such as have power do not make a dis- 
 play in order to kill another, nor alarm by noises, but 
 use their power to effect at once what they wish. But 
 evil spirits, since they can do nothing, are but actors 
 in a play, changing their appearance and frightening 
 children by their tumult and their make-belief; whereas 
 the true Angel of the Lord, sent by Him against the 
 Assyrians, needed not tumult, appearances, noise, or 
 clatter ; but, in that quiet exercise of his power, he slew 
 at once a hundred fourscore and five thousand. But 
 the devils have not power even over the swine : much 
 less over man made in God's image." — § 14 — 29. 
 
 What can be more calm, more fearless, more noble 
 than his bearing in this passage ? Call his life a romance, 
 if you will ; still, I say, at least, we have in the narrative 
 the ideal of a hermit, according to the views of the 
 fourth century. Antony was no savage saint, no osten- 
 tatious dervise; he had no pomposity or affectation, 
 nothing of cunning and hypocrisy. According to 
 Athanasius's description, who was personally acquainted 
 with him — 
 
 "His countenance had a great and extraordinary 
 beauty in it. This was a gift from the Saviour; for, 
 if he was in company with a number of monks, and 
 any stranger wished to have a sight of him, directly he 
 came to them, he would pass by the rest, and run to 
 Antony, as being attracted by his appearance. Not that 
 he was taller or larger than others ; but there was a 
 peculiar composure of manner and purity of soul in 
 him. For, being unruffled in soul, all his outward 
 expressions of feeling were free from perturbation also ; 
 so that the joy of his soul made his very face cheerful, 
 and from the gestures of the body might be understood 
 the composure of his soul, according to the text, *A 
 merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance ; but sorrow 
 of the heart overcasts it with gloom.' Thus Jacob de- 
 tected Laban's treachery, and said to his wives, 'I see 
 your father's countenance, that it is not toward me as 
 before.' Thus Samuel, too, discovered David; for he 
 
XIX.] ^ni0ng in ffialm* 283 
 
 had beaming eyes, and teeth white as milk. In Hke 
 manner one might recognise Antony ; for he was never 
 agitated, his soul being in a deep calm, — never changed 
 countenance, from his inward joyfulness." — § 67. 
 
 His own words assign one of the causes of this tran- 
 quillity. He says — 
 
 "The vision granted us of the holy ones is not 
 tumultuous ; for ' He shall not strive, nor cry,' nor shall 
 any one hear their voice. So quietly and gently does 
 it come, that the soul is straightway filled with joy, 
 exultation, and confidence, knowing that the Lord is 
 with them, who is our joy, and God the Father's power. 
 And its thoughts are preserved from tumult and tempest ; 
 so that, being itself illuminated fully, it is able of 
 itself to contemplate the beings that appear before it. 
 A longing after divine and future things takes posses- 
 sion of it, till it desires altogether to be joined unto 
 them, and to depart with them. Nay, and if there be 
 some who, from the infirmity of man, dread the sight of 
 these good ones, those apparitions remove their alarm 
 at once by their love, as Gabriel did to Zacharias, and 
 the Angel at the divine tomb to the women, and that 
 other who said to the shepherds in the Gospel, 'Fear 
 not."'-§35. 
 
 This might be considered mysticism, but for Antony's 
 constant profession and practice of self-denying and 
 active virtue, and the plain practical sense of his exhorta- 
 tions. He took a vigorous part in the religious contro- 
 versies of his day, reverencing the authorities of the 
 Church, and strenuously opposing both the Meletian 
 schismatics, and the Arians. The following is an ac- 
 count of another of his interviews with heathen philo- 
 sophers. They came with the hope of jeering at his 
 ignorance of literature: — 
 
 " Antony said to them, ' What do you say ? which is 
 prior, the mind or letters? And which gives rise to 
 which, mind to letters, or letters to mind ? ' When they 
 answered that mind was prior, and invented letters, 
 Antony replied, 'He, then, whose mind is in health, 
 does not need letters.' This answer struck all who were 
 
284 S;ij^ €hnxt)j of tlj^ failj^ra- [chap. 
 
 present, as well as them. They went away surprised 
 that an uneducated man should show such understand- 
 ing. For, indeed, he had nothing of the wildness of 
 one who had lived and grown old on a mountain ; but 
 was polished in his manners, and a man of the world.'* 
 -§73. 
 
 It has often been remarked, that the common run of 
 legends and the like fail in point of dignity when they 
 introduce miraculous occurrences. Thus there is some- 
 thing unbecoming, something unlike Scripture, in the 
 account of the flies killed by lightning for settling on a 
 Rabbi's face, or the stones of the heathen temples weep- 
 ing at the persecutions of the Christians. Now Antony's 
 miracles and visions are so far clear of this defect, that 
 had they been ascribed to St. Peter, or St. Paul, I 
 conceive they would not have been questioned, evidence 
 being supposed. For instance : — 
 
 " Once, when he was going to take food, having stood 
 up to pray, about the ninth hour, he felt himself carried 
 away in spirit, and, strange to say, he saw himself, as if 
 out of himself, while he stood looking on, and borne 
 into the air by certain beings. Next, he saw some hate- 
 ful and terrible shapes, stationed in the air, and stopping 
 the way to prevent his passing on. His conductors 
 resisted, but they asked whether he was not impeachable. 
 But on their beginning to reckon up from his birth, his 
 conductors interrupted them, saying, 'The Lord has 
 wiped out all his earlier sins; but a reckoning may 
 lawfully be made from the time he became a monk, and 
 promised himself to God.' His accusers, hereupon, 
 began ; but when they could prove nothing, the way 
 became clear and open; and immediately he found 
 himself returned, as it were, to himself, and forming 
 with himself one Antony as before. Then forgetting 
 his meal, he remained the rest of that day, and the 
 whole of the following night, groaning and praying ; for 
 he was astonished at finding against how many we have 
 to wrestle, and by what an effort we must pass through 
 the air heavenward. He remembered that this is what 
 the Apostle said, * the prince of the power of the air,' — 
 and his special exhortation in consequence, ' Put on the 
 
XIX.] ^ntcitg in (lalm* 285 
 
 panoply of God, that ye may be able to withstand in 
 the evil day.' When we heard it, we called to mind 
 the Apostle's words, 'Whether in the body, I know 
 not, and whether out of the body, I know not, God 
 knoweth.'"— §65. 
 
 Again,— 
 
 "He had had a discussion with some persons, who 
 had come to him, concerning the intermediate state and 
 place. On the following night, some one calls him from 
 above in these words, 'Antony, rise, go forth, and be- 
 hold.' Accordingly he went forth, knowing whom he 
 should obey, and, looking up, he saw a huge something, 
 unsightly and horrid, standing and reaching up to the 
 clouds, and persons were ascending as if with wings, and 
 it was catching at them with its hands. Of these, it 
 brought some to a stand; while others, flying past it, 
 went upwards without further trouble. In such cases, 
 that huge monster would gnash its teeth; rejoicing, on 
 the other hand, over those whom it cast down. Im- 
 mediately Antony heard a voice, saying, 'Look, and 
 understand.' And his mind was opened, and he com- 
 prehended that he saw the passage of souls, and the 
 enemy, envious of believers, seizing and stopping those 
 whom he had an advantage over, but foiled in his 
 attempts upon those who had not obeyed him. After 
 this vision, taking it as a warning, he made still more 
 strenuous efforts to advance forward daily." — § 66. 
 
 Once more, — 
 
 "Once, when he was sitting and working, he fell into 
 a trance, and groaned much at the sight he saw. After 
 a while, he turned to those who were with him groaning, 
 and prayed with much trembling, remaining a long time 
 on his knees. When, at length, he rose, the old man 
 began to weep. His friends, trembling and in great 
 alarm themselves, begged to know what it was, and 
 urged him till he was forced to tell. ' O, my children,' 
 he said at length, with a deep sigh, 'it were better to 
 die before that vision is fulfilled.' On their pressing 
 him, he continued with tears, 'Wrath is about to over- 
 take the Church, which is to be given over to men like 
 
286 a;ij^ Otijurrtr oi iht IFat^m, [chap. 
 
 irrational brutes. For I saw the table of the Lord's 
 house hemmed in by mules, who were striking about 
 with their hoofs at every thing within, as is the way with 
 unmannered beasts. You see, now, why I groaned so 
 much; for I heard a voice, saying, 'My altar shall be 
 polluted.' This the old man saw; two years after, the 
 assault of the Arians took place, when the churches 
 were plundered, and the sacred vessels given to heathens 
 to carry off, and heathens from the workshops compelled 
 to attend the holy communion with them, and in their 
 presence wanton insults offered to the Lord's table." — 
 §82. 
 
 It is remarkable what anticipated protests Antony 
 makes against the errors so popular at present in the 
 Roman Church. For instance : the appeal to Scripture, 
 in the narrative of Athanasius, is so frequent and 
 reverential, as to be a virtual proof of his holding our 
 doctrine of its exclusive authority as the record of 
 necessary truth. Some instances have occurred in the 
 course of the citations made above, to which I add the 
 following by way of illustration : — 
 
 When he was at Alexandria, during the Maximinian 
 persecution — 
 
 " He was like a man in grief, because he did not 
 attain martyrdom; but the Lord was his preserver for 
 the benefit of us and others, in order that he might be 
 to many an instructor in that ascetic life zv/ikk he him- 
 self had learned from the Scriptures^ — § 46. 
 
 It is as well that the (so-called) Bible-Christian of this 
 day should be reminded by such instances as this, that 
 there are doctrines which a plain, unlettered, but honest 
 mind, may draw from Scripture over and above that 
 jejune frame-work of words which he identifies with the 
 whole counsel of God. 
 
 Again,— 
 
 "This was his constant commandment to all the 
 monks who came to him — to beheve in the Lord, and 
 to love Him ; to preserve themselves from evil thoughts 
 and carnal pleasures, and, as it is written in the Proverbs, 
 * not to be seduced by a full meal ; ' to flee vain glory ; 
 
XIX.] ^ntnng in Calm. 287 
 
 to pray continually; to sing before and after sleep; to 
 commit to their hearts the Scripture commandments^ and 
 to remember the lives of the saints ; so that the soul, 
 being warned by the one, might shape itself into an 
 imitation of the other. . . . Let every one take daily 
 account of his deeds, by day and night; if he has 
 sinned in aught, let him amend; if not, let him not 
 boast, but persevere in what is holy, not be negligent, 
 not condemn his neighbour, nor justify himself (as the 
 blessed Apostle Paul has said) before the Lord come, 
 who searcheth what is secret. For it often happens, 
 that we do not understand ourselves in what we do; 
 we do not know, but the Lord detects all things." — § 56. 
 
 And in his last address to the brethren before his 
 death, he says — 
 
 "Keep yourselves pure from them [the Arians and 
 Meletians], holding safe the tradition of the Fathers, 
 and, above all, that pious faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 which ye have learned from the Scriptures^ and have often 
 been reminded of by me." — § 89. 
 
 Again, the tenet of purgatory, in its popular accepta- 
 tion, is plainly, though indirectly, contravened in the 
 second, not to say the first also, of those visions related 
 above. 
 
 And again, in his last instructions before his death, 
 we have a clear protest against superstitions respecting 
 relics, which were at that time spreading in the Church, 
 which he condemns, be it observed, as being in his age 
 not a Catholic, but a local custom of Egypt. This, 
 however, introduces us to the account of his last illness 
 and death, which follows the extract just made. The 
 address, of which it is part, was spoken when he was on 
 a sort of visitation of his brethren, as it may be called. 
 The narrative runs thus : — 
 
 "The brethren urging him to remain with them, and 
 there finish his course, he would not hear of it, as for 
 other reasons, which were evident, even though he did 
 not mention them, so especially because of the custom 
 of the Egyptians in respect to the dead. For the bodies 
 of good men, especially of the holy martyrs, they used to 
 
288 ^)jt €hnxth oi iht fnthm. [chap. 
 
 enfold in linen cloths ; and, instead of burying, to place 
 them upon biers, and keep them within their houses, 
 thinking thus to honour the departed. Antony had 
 applied even to bishops on this subject, begging them to 
 admonish their people ; and had urged it upon laymen, 
 and rebuked women, saying, that the practice was con- 
 sistent neither with received rule, nor at all with religion. 
 * The bodies of patriarchs and prophets are preserved to 
 this day in sepulchres ; and the Lord's body itself was 
 laid in a tomb, and a stone at the entrance kept it 
 hidden till He rose the third day.' By such arguments 
 he showed the irregularity of not burying the dead, how- 
 ever holy ; ' for what can be more precious or holy than 
 the Lord's body ? ' And he persuaded many to bury for 
 the future, with thanksgivings to the Lord for such good 
 instruction. 
 
 "Antony, then, being aware of this, and fearing lest 
 the same should be done to his own body, bidding fare- 
 well to the monks in the outer mountain, made hastily 
 for the inner mountain, where he commonly dwelt, and, 
 after a few months, fell ill. Then calling to him two 
 who lived with him, as ascetics, for fifteen years past, 
 and ministered to him on account of his age, he said to 
 them, ' I, as it is written, go the way of my fathers ; for 
 I perceive I am called by the Lord. You, then, be 
 sober, and forfeit not the reward of your long asceticism; 
 but, as those who have made a beginning, be diligent to 
 hold fast your earnestness. Ye know the assaults of 
 the evil spirits, how fierce they are, yet how powerless. 
 Fear them not ; rather breathe the Spirit of Christ, and 
 beHeve in Him always. Live as if dying daily; take 
 heed to yourselves, and remember the admonitions you 
 have heard from me. Have no fellowship with the 
 schismatics, nor at all with the heretical Arians. Be 
 diligent the rather to join yourselves, first of all, to the 
 Lord, next to the saints, that after death they may 
 receive you as friends and intimates into the eternal 
 habitations. Such be your thoughts, such your spirit; 
 and if you have any care for me, remember me as a 
 father. Do not let them carry my body into Egypt, lest 
 they store it in their houses. One of my reasons for 
 coming to this mountain was to hinder this. You know 
 
XIX.] ^ninnj in fflalm. 289 
 
 I have ever reproved those who have done this, and 
 charged them to cease from the custom. Bury, then, 
 my body in the earth, in obedience to my word, so that 
 no one may know the place, except yourselves. In the 
 resurrection of the dead it will be restored to me in- 
 corruptible by the Saviour. Distribute my garments as 
 follows : — Let Athanasius, the bishop, have the one 
 sheep-skin and the garment I sleep on, which he gave 
 me new, and which has grown old with me. Let 
 Serapion, the bishop, have the other sheep-skin. As to 
 the hair-shirt, keep it for yourselves. And now, my 
 children, farewell; Antony is going, and is no longer 
 with you.' 
 
 "After these words, they kissed him. Then he 
 stretched himself out, and seemed to see friends come 
 to him, and to be very joyful at the sight, (to judge 
 from the cheerfulness of his countenance as he lay;) 
 and so he breathed his last, and was gathered to his 
 fathers. His attendants, as he had bidden them, 
 wrapped his body up, and buried it ; and no one knows 
 yet where it Hes, except these two. As to the two 
 friends who were bequeathed a sheep-skin apiece of the 
 blessed Antony, and his tattered garment, each of 
 them preserves it as a great possession. For when he 
 looks at it, he thinks he sees Antony: and when he 
 puts it on, he is, as it were, carrying about him his in- 
 structions with joy." — § 90, 92. 
 
 Such was in life and death the first founder of the 
 monastic system; and his example, both as seen, and 
 far more in the narrative of his biographer, was like a 
 fire kindled in Christendom, which " many waters could 
 not quench." Not that I would panegyrize any popular 
 form of religion, considering that its popularity implies 
 some condescension to the weaknesses of human nature ; 
 yet, if I must choose between the fashionable doctrines 
 of one age and of another, certainly I shall prefer that 
 which requires self-denial, and creates hardihood and con- 
 tempt of the world, to some of the creeds now in esteem, 
 which rob faith of all its substance, its grace, its noble- 
 ness, and its strength, and excuse self-indulgence by the 
 arguments of spiritual pride, self-confidence and security 
 
290 gtlj^ ffiljurrlr 0f t)jt IFatlj^ra. [chap.xix. 
 
 — which in short make it their boast that they are much 
 more comfortable than that ancient creed which, together 
 with joy, leads men to continual smiting on the breast, 
 and prayers for pardon, and looking forward to the 
 judgment-day, as to an event really to happen to them- 
 selves individually. 
 
 The following is Athanasius's account of the effect 
 produced by Antony in Egypt, even in his hfetime; 
 which, rhetorical as it may seem, is, after all, a correct 
 representation of the visible change in the world wrought 
 by his example, and affords a pleasing hope that, out of 
 so much of outward manifestation, there was much of 
 the substance of religion within. 
 
 "Among the mountains there were monasteries, as if 
 tabernacles filled with divine choirs, singing, studying, 
 fasting, praying, exulting in the hope of things to come, 
 and working for almsdeeds, having love and harmony 
 one towards another. And truly it was given one there 
 to see a pecuHar country of piety and righteousness. 
 Neither injurer nor injured was there, nor chiding of the 
 tax-collector; but a multitude of ascetics, whose one 
 feeUng was towards holiness. So that a stranger, seeing 
 the monasteries and their order, would be led to cry out, 
 'How beauteous are thy homes, O Jacob, and thy 
 tabernacles, O Israel; as shady groves, as a garden on 
 a river, as tents which the Lord has pitched, and as 
 cedars by the waters.' " — § 44. 
 
 I cannot conclude more appropriately than by Herbert's 
 lines on the subject. Speaking of Religion he says : — 
 
 " To Egypt first she came ; where they did prove 
 Wonders of anger once, but now of love. 
 The Ten Commandments there did flourish, more 
 Than the ten bitter plagues had done before. 
 Holy Macarius and great Antony 
 Made Pharaoh, Moses ; changing the history. 
 Goshen was darkness ; Egypt, full of lights ; 
 Nilus, for monsters, brought forth Israelites. 
 Such power hath mighty baptism to produce, 
 For things misshapen, things of highest use. 
 How dear to me, O God, thy counsels are ! 
 Who may with thee compare ? " 
 
 Church Militant.— V, 37, 38. 
 
iRartin, tlr^ ^pnatle oi (Bml 
 
 "Gird Thee with Thy sword upon Thy thigh, O Thou Most 
 Mighty, according to Thy worship and renown ; good luck have 
 Thou with Thine honour ; ride on because of the word of truth, 
 of meekness, and righteousness ; and Thy right hand shall teach 
 Thee terrible things." 
 
 WHO has not heard of St. Martin, Bishop of Tours, 
 and Confessor? In our part of the world at 
 least he is well known, as far as name goes, by the 
 churches dedicated to him. Even from British times a 
 church has existed under his tutelage in the afterwards 
 metropolitan city of Canterbury ; though we know little 
 or nothing of churches to St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, 
 St. Jerome, St. Basil, or St. Athanasius. Considering 
 how many of our temples are called after the Apostles, 
 and how many of them piously preserve the earthly 
 name of those who almost " have no remembrance, and 
 are as if they had not been," as St. George, or St. 
 Nicolas ; it is a peculiarity in St. Martin's history that he 
 should at once be so well known and so widely vener- 
 ated ; renowned in this life yet honoured after it. And 
 such honour has been paid him from the first. He 
 died in the last years of the fourth century; his suc- 
 cessor at Tours built a chapel over his tomb in that 
 city; St. Perpetuus, another successor, about 70 years 
 afterwards, built a church and conveyed his relics thither. 
 In the course of another 70 years his name had taken 
 up its abode in Canterbury, where it remains. Soon 
 after a church was dedicated to him at Rome, and soon 
 after in Spain. He alone of the Confessors had a service 
 of his own in the more ancient breviaries ; he is named 
 
 291 
 
292 ^}jt Cljurrlr 0f tlj^ JFatfrm. [chap. 
 
 too in the mass service of Pope Gregory, — which com- 
 memorates, after St. Mary and the Apostles, "Linus, 
 Cletus, Clement, Sextus, Cornelius, Cyprian, Laurence, 
 Chrysostom, John and Paul, Cosmas and Damian, 
 Hilary, Martin^ Augustine, Gregory, Jerome, Benedict, 
 and all Saints." 
 
 I am not going to present the reader with more than a 
 slight sketch of his history, which we have received on 
 very authentic testimony, as in the case of St. Antony, 
 though St. Martin like him has left no writings behind 
 him. Nay, perhaps more so, for the biographer of St. 
 Martin is not merely a friend, who sometimes saw him, 
 though a great authority in himself, but a disciple, and 
 intimate, and eyewitness, as well as a man of cultivated 
 and classical mind, — Sulpicius Severus, who wrote his 
 memoir even while the subject of it was alive, and while 
 his memory was fresh. 
 
 Martin was born about the year 316, in Pannonia, in 
 a town which now forms part of Hungary; his father 
 was a pagan, and had risen from the ranks to the com- 
 mand of a cohort. A soldier has no home, and his son 
 was brought up at Pavia in North Italy with very little 
 education. What influenced Martin is not known ; but 
 at the age of ten he fled to the Church against the wish 
 of his parents, and enrolled himself as a catechumen. 
 Under these first impressions, he formed the desire of 
 retiring to the desert as a solitary; however, things do 
 not happen here below after our wishes ; so at fifteen, 
 he was seized, upon his father's instance, and enlisted in 
 the army. In consequence, he remained a soldier five 
 years, and was sent into Gaul. It is recorded of him, 
 that at a time when he was stationed at Amiens, being 
 then eighteen, he encountered at the gate of the city a 
 poor man without clothes. It was mid-winter, and the 
 weather more than ordinarily severe ; he had nothing on 
 him but his single military cloak and his arms. The 
 youth took his sword, cut the cloak in two, and gave 
 half to the beggar. The bystanders jeered or admired, 
 according to their turn of mind; and he went away. 
 Next night he had a dream : he saw our Lord clad in 
 the half cloak which he had bestowed on the poor man. 
 Christ commanded his notice, and then said to. thfL 
 
XX.] iKartitt, iht ^postb 0f (Banl 293 
 
 Angels who stood around, " Martin, yet a catechumen, 
 hath wrapped me in this garment." On this Martin 
 proceeded forthwith to baptism, and two years afterwards 
 left the army. 
 
 He then had recourse to the celebrated St. Hilary, 
 who was afterwards bishop of Poictiers, and an illustrious 
 confessor in the Arian troubles. Martin, however, was 
 destined to precede him in suffering, and that in the 
 same holy cause. He undertook a visit to his parents, 
 who now seem to have retired into Pannonia, with 
 a view to their conversion. When he was in the passes 
 of the Alps he fell in with bandits. Sulpicius gives this 
 account of what happened : — " One of them raised an 
 axe and aimed it at his head, but another intercepted 
 the blow. However, his hands were bound behind him, 
 and he was given in custody to one of them for plunder. 
 This man took him aside, and began to ask him who he 
 was. He answered, 'A Christian.' He then inquired 
 whether he felt afraid. He avowed, without wavering, 
 that he never felt so much at ease, being confident that 
 the Lord's mercy would be specially with him in tempta- 
 tions ; rather he felt sorry for him, who, living by robbery, 
 was unworthy of the mercy of Christ. Entering, then, 
 on the subject of the Gospel, he preached the Word of 
 God to him. To be brief, the robber believed, attended 
 on him, and set him on his way, begging his prayers. 
 This man afterwards was seen in the profession of reli- 
 gion ; so that the above narrative is given as he was 
 heard to state it." — F/V. M. c. 4. 
 
 He gained his mother, but his father persisted in 
 paganism. At this time Illyricum was almost given over 
 to Arianism. He did not scruple to confess the orthodox 
 doctrine there, was seized, beaten with rods publicly, and 
 cast out of the city. Little, however, is known of these 
 years of his life. Driven from Illyricum, he betook 
 himself to Milan, a.d. 356, when he was about forty 
 years old. Here he lived several years in solitude, till he 
 was again driven out by the Arian bishop Auxentius. On 
 leaving Hilary, he had promised to return to him ; and 
 now Hilary being restored from exile, he kept his word, 
 after a separation of about nine or ten years. He came 
 to Poictiers, and formed in the neighbourhood the first 
 
294 tht Cfjurrlr 0f iht Ifaib^ra, [chap. 
 
 monastic establishment which is known to have existed 
 in France. 
 
 St. Martin is famous for his alleged miraculous power. 
 Sulpicius's memoir is full of accounts of miracles wrought 
 by him. He is even said to have raised the dead. I 
 cannot deny that a chance reader would regard his life 
 merely as an early specimen of demonology. Whether 
 the works attributed to him were really miracles, and 
 whether they really took place, I leave to the private 
 judgment of each reader of them. What has been said 
 in former chapters applies here; it is difficult often to 
 draw the line between real and apparent interruptions 
 of the course of nature; and, in an age of miracles, 
 ordinary events will be exaggerated into supernatural ; 
 veneration, too, for an individual, will, at such a time, 
 occasion the ordinary effects of his sagacity or presence 
 of mind to be accounted more than human. 
 
 He was made bishop of Tours in the year 372, about 
 the time that Ambrose and Basil were raised to their 
 respective sees, and that Athanasius died. There were 
 parties who opposed Martin's election, alleging, as 
 Sulpicius tells us, that "he was a contemptible person, 
 unworthy of the episcopate, despicable in countenance, 
 mean in dress, rough in his hair." Such were the 
 outward signs of a monk ; and a monk he did not cease 
 to be after he had become a bishop. Indeed, as far 
 as was possible, he wished to be still just what he had 
 been, and looked back to the period of his life when 
 he was a private man, as a time when he was more 
 sensibly favoured with divine power than afterwards. 
 Sulpicius thus speaks of him in his episcopate : — 
 
 "He remained just what he was before; with the 
 same humbleness of heart, the same meanness of dress, 
 and with a fulness of authority and grace which responded 
 to the dignity of a bishop without infringing on the rule 
 and the virtue of a monk. For a while he lived in a cell 
 built on to the church ; but, unable to bear the interrup- 
 tions of visitors, he made himself a monastery about 
 two miles out of the city. So secret and retired was 
 the place, that he did not miss the solitude of the desert. 
 On one side it was bounded by the high and precipitous 
 
XX.] iEartin, tlj^ ^pnatU oi (BanL 295 
 
 rock of a mountain, on the other the level was shut 
 in by the river Loire, which makes a gentle bend. There 
 was but one way into it, and that very narrow. His own 
 cell was of wood. Many of the brethren made them- 
 selves dwelhngs of the same kind, but most hollowed 
 out the stone of the mountain which was above them. 
 There were eighty scholars who were under training after 
 the pattern of their saintly master. No one had aught 
 his own; all things were thrown into a common stock. 
 It was not lawful, as to most monks, to buy or sell 
 any thing. They had no art except that of transcribing, 
 which was assigned to the younger : the older gave 
 themselves up to prayer. They seldom left their cell, 
 except to attend the place of prayer. They took their 
 meal together after the time of fasting. No one tasted 
 wine, except compelled by bodily weakness. Most of 
 them were clad in camel's hair; a softer garment was 
 a crime ; and what of course makes it more remarkable 
 is, that many of them were accounted noble, who, after 
 a very different education, had forced themselves to this 
 humility and patience ; and we have lived to see a great 
 many of them bishops. For what is that city or church 
 which did not covet priests from the monastery of 
 Martin?"— F//. J/, c. 7. 
 
 Once on a time, a person whom he had benefited by 
 his prayers, sent him a hundred pounds of silver. Martin 
 put it aside for redeeming captives. Some of the 
 brothers suggested that their own fare was scanty and 
 their clothing deficient. "We," he made answer, "are 
 fed and clad by the Church, provided we seem to 
 appropriate nothing to ourselves." — JDia/. iii. 19. 
 
 It will be seen from the former of these passages, that 
 St. Martin, though not himself a man of learning, made 
 his monastic institution subservient to theological pur- 
 poses. This monastery became afterwards famous under 
 the name of the Abbey of Marmoutier ; and eventually 
 it conformed to the Benedictine rule. 
 
 St. Martin was a man of action still more than he was 
 a man of meditation ; and his episcopate is marked with 
 strenuous deeds sufficient to convince all readers of his 
 history, that, whatever blame this age may be disposed to 
 
296 ^]jz ©Jjurrlr 0f i\}t Ifailj^rs. [chap. 
 
 throw on him, it cannot be made on the side of mysti- 
 cism or indolence. Gaul was, even at this time, almost 
 pagan : its cities, indeed, had long enjoyed the light 
 of Christianity, and had had the singular privilege of 
 contributing both Greek and Latin Fathers to the 
 Catholic Church. Marseilles, Lyons, Vienne, Toulouse, 
 Tours, Aries, Narbonne, Orleans, Paris, Clermont, and 
 Limoges, seem to have been episcopal sees; but the 
 country people had never been evangelized, and still 
 frequented their idol temples. In the first years of 
 Martin's episcopate, heathen sacrifices were forbidden 
 by law; and the resignation with which the pagans 
 submitted to the edict, showed at least, what the history 
 of the times so often shows otherwise, that their religion 
 had no great hold upon their hearts. Martin took upon 
 him to enter and destroy the kingdom of Satan with his 
 own hands. He went, unarmed, among the temples, 
 the altars, the statues, the groves, and the processions 
 of the false worship, attended by his monastic brethren : 
 he presented himself to the barbarian multitude, con- 
 verted them, and made them join with him in the 
 destruction of their time-honoured estabHshment of evil. 
 What were his weapons of success does not appear, 
 unless we are willing to accept his contemporary bio- 
 grapher's statement, that he was attended by a divine 
 influence manifesting itself in distinct and emphatic 
 miracles. 
 
 It is difficult to assign the limits of his diocese, and 
 perhaps they were not very accurately determined. On 
 the east of Tours, we hear of his evangelical prowess in 
 Burgundy and the neighbourhood of Autun, and on the 
 north towards Chartres; the nearest sees round about 
 were Poictiers, Limoges, Clermont, and Orleans; and 
 his presence is mentioned, though perhaps on political 
 or synodal business, at Paris, Treves, and Vienne. In 
 consequence of his triumphant exertions, he is con- 
 sidered the apostle of God; and this function, let it 
 be observed, may account for his having that special gift 
 of miracles which is ascribed to him, though this general 
 admission does not oblige us to put credit in each 
 particular statement made concerning its exercise. 
 
 It may probably occur to someone to ask how it 
 
XX.] iltarttn, tfr^ ^pnstl^ ai (Banl 297 
 
 is that miraculous narratives, such as those which occur 
 in the lives of St. Martin and St. Antony, belong to 
 places removed from the populous thoroughfares of the 
 world, and the keen eyes of science. The supernatural 
 incidents in Antony's life are for the most part the 
 produce of the desert; and in Martin's they were the 
 persuasives of a barbarous people. The obvious answer 
 is, that towns had already been converted by miracle, 
 and the divine gift travelled onwards. It is remarkable, 
 too, that St. Paul did no miracle among the heathens 
 of Athens, and scarcely at Corinth, but among the 
 barbarous I>ycaonians who had faith, and the ignorant 
 people of Melita. Nay, as if some unknown law of 
 divine agency were in operation, it is expressly said 
 of our Blessed Lord Himself, that in one place " He 
 did not many mighty works, because of their unbelief." 
 A living writer of great genius has suggested the exist- 
 ence of a parallel law of connexion between barbarous 
 countries and demoniacal influence. 
 
 "Many travellers," he says, "who have been conver- 
 sant with savages, have been fully persuaded that their 
 jugglers actually possessed some means of communica- 
 tion with the invisible world, and exercised a super- 
 natural power which they derived from it. And not 
 missionaries only have believed this, and old travellers 
 who lived in ages of credulity, but more recent observers, 
 such as Carver and Bruce, whose testimony is of great 
 weight, and who were neither ignorant, nor weak, nor 
 credulous men. What I have read concerning ordeals, 
 also staggers me ; and I am sometimes inclined to think 
 it more possible, that where there has been full faith on 
 all sides, these appeals to divine justice may have been 
 answered by Him who sees the secrets of all hearts, 
 than that mode of trial should have been provided so 
 long and so generally, from some of which no person 
 could ever have escaped without an interposition of 
 Providence. . . . May it not be, that by such means 
 in dark ages, and among blind nations, the purpose 
 is effected of preserving conscience and the belief of 
 our immortality, without which the life of our life would 
 be extinct? And with regard to the conjurers of the 
 African and American savages, would it be unreasonable 
 
298 ^\jt €hnxtl} oi ti^t fatJj^rsi. [chap. 
 
 to suppose that, as the most elevated devotion brings us 
 into fellowship with the Holy Spirit, a correspondent 
 degree of wickedness may effect a communion with evil 
 intelligences^?" If then there be some special Satanic 
 influence in a pagan country, it is not surprising that 
 Christianity should meet it with a correspondent super- 
 natural power on its side. 
 
 Martin was not content with destroying the heathen 
 temples; he built churches in their place. At first 
 sight it may be questioned whether the better course 
 would not have been to spare the temples and to con- 
 secrate them to Christian uses ; but probably they were 
 very rude and miserable buildings, and either not worth 
 preserving, or not capable of a convenient adaptation. 
 In the cities the Church seems to have preserved and 
 retained them; except, indeed, at first, when there was 
 an obvious wisdom in accepting the state's permission to 
 destroy them, when their abiding presence would have 
 suggested to the pagans hopes of the future restoration 
 of their idolatry. Add to this, it cannot be denied 
 there was a difference of opinion in the early Fathers, 
 whether, and how far, the fine arts which had been 
 exercised on the temples of idolatry, might lawfully 
 be applied to the service of religion. The conversion 
 of the emperors brought with it into the Church wealth, 
 and the skill to use it; it seemed pious and dutiful to 
 dedicate these gifts to God : and, moreover, a direct 
 fulfilment of the prophecy, that "the glory of Lebanon 
 should come unto" the Church, "to glorify the place 
 of the sanctuary," that "the sons of strangers should 
 build her walls," and the ships of Tarshish bring silver 
 and gold, and that " her windows should be agates, and 
 gates carbuncles ; " illustrated too, as this prophecy had 
 been by the offering of the Magi, who brought gold, 
 frankincense, and myrrh, to their divine Lord, when as 
 yet an infant in arms, with temptation and suffering 
 before Him. However, a natural jealousy would be 
 sure to exist in holy men, lest the inward glory of the 
 Gospel should be sacrificed to its material decorations ; 
 the Arian or rather semi-Arian faction had been busy in 
 the erection of churches ; and we find Jerome, Epipha- 
 * Soulhey's Colloquies. Introduction. 
 
XX.] iJtarttn, tlj^ ^p0stU oi (^anl 299 
 
 nius, and Isidore, not to search deeply into the history 
 of the times, discouraging the spirit which was rising on 
 all sides of them. 
 
 For instance, Jerome says, in the letter to Demetrias, 
 which has already come before us, speaking of the dis- 
 posal of her property : " Let others build churches, 
 incase the walls with marble, transport immense columns, 
 and gild their heads, which cannot feel the precious 
 decoration : let them ornament the folding-doors with 
 ivory and silver, and the altars with gold and jewels. 
 I do not blame, I do not dissent ; let every one be fully 
 persuaded in his own mind. It is better so to do, than 
 to brood over one's store of wealth. But something 
 else is proposed to you ; to clothe Christ in the poor, 
 to visit Him in the sick, to feed Him in the hungry, 
 to entertain Him in the houseless, especially in 'the 
 household of faith,' to maintain monasteries of virgins, 
 to have a care of the servants of God, and poor in 
 spirit, who day and night serve your Lord, who, though 
 on earth, imitate the life of Angels, and speak nothing 
 but God's praises, and ' having food and raiment,' rejoice 
 in this wealth as desirous of nought besides, that is, if 
 they keep their resolve. Else, if they desire more, they 
 show themselves unworthy too of what is necessary. I 
 speak to a rich virgin, and a noble virgin." — £^. 130. 
 
 But to return to St. Martin : one other passage of his 
 history shall here be mentioned, if that can so be called 
 which brings before us his departure from this life into 
 the unseen world. Something more of his deeds in the 
 flesh shall be reserved for the next and concluding 
 chapter. 
 
 He had been at a place, at the extremity of his charge, 
 to settle a quarrel existing between the clergy there. 
 When he set out to return, his strength suddenly failed 
 him, and he felt his end was approaching. A fever had 
 already got possession of him. He assembled his dis- 
 ciples, and announced to them that he was going : they, 
 with passionate laments, deprecated such a dispensation, 
 as involving the exposure of his flock to the wolves. 
 The saint was moved, and used words which have 
 become famous in the Church, "Lord, if I be yet 
 necessary to Thy people, I decline not the labour ; Thy 
 
300 ®{je ffiburrlr ai tht ^Fatllj^rs* [chap. 
 
 will be done ! " His wish was heard, not his prayer. 
 His fever lay upon him; during the trial he continued 
 his devotions as usual, causing himself to be laid in 
 sackcloth and ashes. On his disciples asking to be 
 allowed to place straw under him instead, he made 
 answer, "Sons, it becomes a Christian to die in ashes. 
 Did I set other example, I should sin myself." They 
 wished to turn him on his side, to ease his position; 
 but he expressed a wish to see heaven rather than earth, 
 that his spirit might, as it were, be setting out on its 
 journey. It is said, that on this he saw the evil spirit 
 at his side; and he addressed him in words expressive 
 of his assurance, that his Lord's merits were fully im- 
 parted to him, and his soul perfected. "Beast of 
 blood," he exclaimed, " why standest thou here ? Deadly 
 one, thou shalt find nothing in me; Abraham's bosom 
 is receiving me." With these words he died. 
 
 At this time Sulpicius his biographer was away, ap- 
 parently at Toulouse. One morning a friend had just 
 departed from him; he was sitting alone in his cell, 
 thinking of the future and the past, his sins, and the 
 last judgment. "My Umbs," he writes to the friend 
 who had thus left him, "being wearied by the anguish 
 of my mind, I laid them down on my bed, and, as 
 is customary in sorrow, fell into a sleep; — the sleep of 
 the morning hours, light and broken, and taking but 
 wavering and doubtful possession of the limbs, when 
 one seems, contrary to the nature of deep slumber, 
 to be almost awake in one's sleep. Then suddenly I 
 seem to myself to see holy Martin, the bishop, clad in 
 a white robe, with face like a flame, eyes like stars, and 
 glittering hair; and, while his person was what I had 
 known it to be, yet, what can hardly be expressed, I 
 could not look at him, though I could recognise him. 
 He slightly smiled on me, and bore in his right hand 
 the book which I had written of his life. I embrace 
 his sacred knees, and ask the blessing as usual; and 
 feel the soft touch of his hand on my head, while, 
 together with the usual words of blessing, he repeats 
 the name of the cross, familiar in his mouth : next, 
 while I gaze upon him, and cannot take my fill of his 
 face and look, suddenly he is caught aloft, till, after 
 
XX.] iKartin, t\^e ^p0atU of (BanL 301 
 
 completing the immense spaces of the air, I following 
 with my eyes the swift cloud that carried him, he is 
 received into the open heaven, and can be seen no 
 more. Not long after, I see the holy presbyter Clare, 
 his disciple, who had lately died, ascending after his 
 master. I, shameless one, desire to follow; while I 
 set about it, and strain after lofty steps, I wake up, and, 
 shaking off my sleep, begin to rejoice in the vision, 
 when a boy, who was with me, enters sadder than 
 usual, with a speaking and sorrowful countenance : 
 ' Why so sad and eager to speak ? ' say I : ' Two monks,' 
 he answers, * are just come from Tours ; they bring the 
 news that Martin is departed.' I was overcome, I 
 confess ; my tears burst forth, I wept abundantly. Even 
 now while I write, my brother, my tears are flowing, 
 nor is any comfort adequate to this most unruly grief. 
 However, when the news came, I felt a wish that you 
 should be partner in my grief, who were companion 
 in my love. Come then to me at once, that we may 
 mourn together, whom we love together; although I 
 am aware that such a man is not really to be mourned, 
 who, after conquering and triumphing over the world, 
 has at length received the crown of righteousness." — 
 EJ>. 2. 
 
 This letter is written to a private friend, at the time 
 of St. Martin's death, as appears on the face of it ; the 
 memoirs of the saint are written with equal earnestness 
 and simplicity. They were circulated throughout Christ- 
 endom, with astonishing rapidity : but the miraculous 
 accounts they contained were a difficulty with great 
 numbers. Accordingly, in the last of his publications, 
 Sulpicius gave the names of living witnesses in corrobora- 
 tion of his own statements. " Far be such suspicion," 
 he adds, "from any one who lives under God's eye; for 
 Martin does not need support from fictions; however, 
 I open before thee, O Christ, the fidelity of my whole 
 narrative, that I have neither said, nor will say, ought 
 but that I have either seen myself, or have ascertained 
 from plain authorities, or for the most part from his 
 own mouth." — Dial iii. 5. 
 
 Martin was buried at Tours, and two thousand of his 
 qfipnks attended the funeral. He was more than eighty. 
 
302 SClj^ ©burrfj nf ti}e Ifailj^ra, [chap. xx. 
 
 years old at the time of his death, out of which he had 
 been Bishop twenty-five. Some say that he died on 
 a Sunday, at midnight. His festival in our calendar, 
 as in the Latin Church, is placed on the nth of 
 November, the day either of his death or of his burial. 
 His remains were preserved in his episcopal city, till the 
 latter days, when the Huguenots seized and burned them. 
 Some bones, however, are said still to remain. 
 
ODfiapter xxi 
 Martin antr Iprianllian 
 
 ** Destroy him not ; for who can stretch forth his hand against the 
 Lord's anointed and be guihless ? As the Lord Hveth, the Lord 
 shall smite him, or his day shall come to die, or he shall descend 
 into battle, and perish." 
 
 AS I began, so will I end, with a story of a bishop 
 and a king ; but with this addition, that, as in the 
 former case, Ambrose showed how a Christian might 
 be persecuted, so, in this, Martin, and Ambrose too, 
 shall show how a Christian may not persecute. Per- 
 secution, indeed, has a variety of meanings, some 
 persons thinking themselves ipso facto persecuted, when 
 men in power merely refuse to adopt and promote their 
 opinions. What I mean here by persecution will be 
 clear as I proceed. 
 
 The sovereign with whom Martin came in contact 
 was Maximus, the usurper of Britain, Gaul, and Spain, 
 of whom we have already heard in the history of 
 St. Ambrose. Gratian becoming unpopular, Maximus 
 had been proclaimed emperor by the soldiers in Britain, 
 had landed on the opposite coast with a great portion 
 of the British nation (who emigrated on the occasion, 
 and settled afterwards in Bretagne), and had been joined 
 by the armies of Gaul. Gratian had fled from Paris 
 to Lyons, attended by only 300 horse ; the governor 
 of the Lyonese had played the traitor, and Maximus's 
 general of horse had come up and murdered the 
 emperor. The usurper incurred, not unjustly, the 
 stigma of the crime by which he profited, though he 
 protested, whether truly or not, that he was not privy 
 to the intentions of his subordinate. He was equally 
 
 303 
 
304 ®IjB ffiljurrlj oi t\jt Ifatlj^ra, [chap. 
 
 earnest, and perhaps sincere, in maintaining that he had 
 been proclaimed by the legions of Britain against his 
 will. So much Sulpicius confirms, speaking of him as 
 "a man to be named for every excellence of life, if it 
 had been allowed him either to refuse a diadem placed 
 upon him, not legitimately, by a mutinous soldiery, or 
 to abstain from civil war ; " " but," he continues, " a 
 great sway could neither be refused without hazard, nor 
 be held without arms." — jDi'a/. ii. 7. 
 
 Maximus established his court at Treves, and thither 
 proceeded a number of bishops to intercede, as in duty 
 bound, for criminals, captives, exiles, proscribed persons, 
 and others whom the civil commotion had involved. 
 Martin went up with the rest, and it soon became 
 obvious to the world that there was some vast difference 
 between him and them; that they allowed themselves 
 in flattery and subserviency towards the usurper, but 
 that Martin recollected that he had the authority of 
 an Apostle, and was bound to treat the fortunate soldier 
 not according to his success, but according to his conduct. 
 In this behaviour he had been anticipated by St. Ambrose, 
 shortly before, who, on his former embassy to Maximus 
 from Justina, had refused to communicate with him, or 
 with those bishops who had communicated with him. 
 
 It was Martin's office to give this miHtary sovereign 
 a second lesson of the spirit of that religion, which, 
 being from heaven, knows not the distinctions between 
 man and man. Maximus asked him, again and again, 
 to the imperial table, but in vain; he declined, "alleging," 
 according to Sulpicius, "that he could not partake in 
 the hospitality of one who had deprived one emperor 
 of his dominions, another of his life." " However," 
 continues our biographer, "when Maximus declared that 
 he had not of his own will assumed the imperial power ; 
 that he had but defended in arms that forced sovereignty 
 which the troops had, by a Divine Providence, imposed 
 on him ; that God's favour did not seem estranged from 
 one who had gained such incredible success ; and that 
 he had killed no enemy, except in the field : at length, 
 overcome either by his arguments or his prayers, he 
 came to supper, the emperor rejoicing wonderfully that 
 Ije. h^d prevailed with him," — Vit. M. 23. 
 
XXI.] ^arttn an& f mriUtan, 305 
 
 Martin seems to have been not quite satisfied with 
 his concession, and Maximus seemed determined to 
 make the most of it. The day of entertainment was 
 made quite a gala day; the first personages were invited; 
 the monk Martin was placed on a couch close to the 
 king, and near him was his attendant presbyter, seated 
 between two counts of the highest rank, the brother 
 and uncle of the emperor. In the middle of the 
 banquet, according to custom, the wine-cup was handed 
 to Maximus ; he transferred it to Martin, wishing him 
 first to taste, and then to pass it to himself with the 
 blessing and good auspice which a bishop would convey. 
 Martin took it, and drank; but he saw through the 
 artifice; and, instead of handing it to the emperor, 
 passed it to his own presbyter, as being higher in true 
 rank, as Sulpicius says, than any other, even the most 
 noble, who were there assembled. 
 
 Maximus was a crafty man ; and perhaps he thought 
 he had discovered a weak point in Martin. He broke 
 out into admiration of his conduct, and his guests did 
 the like. Martin gained more by loftiness than others 
 by servility. The feast ended; not so the emperor's 
 assaults upon a saintly personage. He presented him 
 with a vase of porphyry, and it was accepted. 
 
 Maximus now became a penitent, with what sincerity 
 it is impossible to say. And at length, it would appear, 
 he obtained absolution from Martin for his crimes ; he 
 sent for him often, and communed with him on the 
 present and the future, on the glory of the faithful 
 and the immortality of saints. Meanwhile the empress 
 took her part in humbling herself before one who, of 
 all men alive, had, in his miraculous power, the clearest 
 credentials of his commission from the Author of all 
 grace. She attended the exhortations of the aged 
 bishop, and wept at his feet : but let us hear Sulpicius's 
 account of what happened. " Martin," he says, " who 
 never had been touched by any woman, could not 
 escape this lady's assiduous, or rather servile attentions. 
 Neither the power of dominion, nor the dignity of 
 empire, nor the diadem, nor the purple did she regard. 
 Prostrate on the ground, they could not tear her from 
 Martin's feet. At length she begged her husband, and 
 
3o6 s;ij^ fltljurrtr oi tht Fatlj^rjS, [chap. 
 
 then both begged Martin, to allow her, by herself, with- 
 out assistance of attendants, to serve him up a repast; 
 nor could the blessed man hold out longer. The hands 
 of the empress go through the chaste service; she 
 spreads a seat : she places a table by it ; water she 
 offer for his hands ; food, which she herself had cooked, 
 she sets before him ; she at a distance, as servants are 
 taught, stands motionless, as if fixed to the ground, 
 while he sits ; showing in all things the reverence of 
 an attendant, and the humbleness of a handmaid. She 
 mixes his draught, she presents it to him. When the 
 small meal is ended she sweeps up with all carefulness the 
 broken bits and crumbs of bread, preferring such relics 
 to imperial dainties. Blessed woman, in such devotion 
 willing to be compared to her who came from the ends 
 of the earth to hear Solomon ! " — Di'a/. ii. 7. Yes, 
 blessed the princess who performs such humble service ; 
 but more blessed she who gives than he who takes. Let 
 us see what came of it. 
 
 Maximus was not only a penitent, but he was a 
 champion of the orthodox faith; nay, even to en- 
 forcing it with the sword. And Martin, while at 
 court, had not only to intercede for the partisans of 
 Gratian, but also, if possible, to rescue from the said 
 imperial sword, and from the cruel zeal of some brother 
 bishops, certain heretics who had been treated with 
 unjustifiable severity, both by Church and state. These 
 were the Priscillianists of Spain, and their principal 
 persecutor was Ithacius, a bishop of the same country. 
 Their history was as follows : — Priscillian, a man of 
 birth, ability, and character, undertook in Spain the 
 dissemination of an Egyptian form of the Gnostic or 
 Manichsean heresy, and formed a party. The new 
 opinions spread through all parts of the country, and 
 that the more, in consequence of indiscreet violence 
 on the part of the metropolitan of Lusitania. Next, 
 a council was held of Spanish and Aquitain bishops, 
 who condemned several of their brethren who had 
 embraced the heresy, and all who should associate 
 with them. The denounced bishops met this proceed- 
 ing by consecrating Priscillian to the see of Avila ; and 
 Idacius, the metropolitan aforesaid, and Ithacius, who 
 
XXI.] iStartin anft |prianllian» 307 
 
 were charged with the execution of the synodal decree, 
 retaliated by calling on the civil power to drive the 
 heretics out of the cities. This was what Sulpicius 
 calls a "foul" request; however, by repeated solicita- 
 tions, Idacius obtained a rescript from Gratian, then 
 emperor, commanding the extermination of the heretics, 
 one and all, not only from churches and cities, but from 
 every country. The heretic bishops made for Rome, 
 with the hope of gaining Damasus; failing with the 
 see of St. Peter, they betook themselves to Milan. 
 Failing equally with Ambrose, they adopted a new 
 line of conduct, bribed the officers of the court, 
 gained a rescript of just an opposite character, com- 
 manding their restoration to the churches, and secured 
 its zealous execution. This was the state of things 
 when Gratian lost his life by the revolt of Maximus, 
 who was in consequence naturally disposed to take 
 part against the heretics whom the fallen court had 
 supported. 
 
 Ithacius had been obliged to fly to Gaul ; and in 
 A.D. 384, when the civil troubles were over, he went up 
 to Treves, had an interview with Maximus, and obtained 
 from him a summons of the heretics to a council to be 
 held at Bordeaux. Priscillian was obliged to attend; 
 but being put on his defence, instead of answering, he 
 appealed to the emperor, and the orthodox bishops 
 committed the second scandalous fault of allowing his 
 appeal. 
 
 Such an appeal, in a matter of faith or internal disci- 
 pline, was contrary at once to principle and precedent. It 
 was inconsistent with the due maintenance of our Lord's 
 canon, " Caesar's to Caesar, and God's to God ; " and 
 with the rule contained in St. Paul's charge to Timothy, 
 to "keep the deposit;" and it had been already con- 
 demned in the case of the Donatists, who, on appealing 
 to Constantine against the Church, had incurred both the 
 protest of the Catholic Fathers, and the indignant refusal 
 of the emperor. However, the Ithacians, having allowed 
 the state to persecute, found it difficult to withstand its 
 right to interfere. This is the point of time in which 
 Martin enters into the history of the dispute; Priscil- 
 lian was brought to Treves; Ithacius and Idacius, his 
 
3o8 a;ij^ Cljttrrlj oi ti^t fathtxs. [chap. 
 
 accusers, followed; and there they found Martin, come 
 thither, as we have seen, on matters of his own. 
 
 If it is necessary to state in a few words as near as 
 may be what seems to be the doctrine of early times on 
 the subject of persecution, I suppose it would be some- 
 thing like this : that the Church availed herself of the offer 
 of the civil power to confirm her judgments so far as to 
 silence heretical teachers, no difficult matter at a time 
 when the idea of absolute power was fully apprehended, 
 the habit of liberty of speech unknown, and transporta- 
 tion an ultima ratio^ if the threat of it was not sufficient. 
 The Church having once denounced a doctrine as false, 
 left it to the conscience of the state to prevent its dis- 
 semination; but she abhorred cruelty and bloodshed, 
 and she denied the state's right of taking direct cog- 
 nizance of error, and of punishing it as such, or otherwise 
 than as an offence against herself, the divinely appointed 
 teacher of the faith. Martin, then, on every account, 
 viewed the Ithacian faction with displeasure; he con- 
 demned the appeals which in a matter of faith had been 
 made to the civil power, and he looked forward with 
 horror at the sort of punishment which that power was 
 likely to inflict. Accordingly, he remonstrated inces- 
 santly with Ithacius on the course he was pursuing ; and 
 Ithacius, who seems to have been a man of loud speech, 
 and luxurious and prodigal habits, did not scruple to 
 retort upon the devout and ascetic Martin, that he him- 
 self was a Gnostic, and therefore naturally took the part 
 of the Priscillianists. 
 
 Unable to persuade his brother bishops, he addressed 
 himself to Maximus, representing to him, to use the 
 words of Sulpicius, " that it was more than enough, that, 
 after the heretics had been condemned by an episcopal 
 decision, they should be removed from their churches; 
 but that it was a new and unheard-of impiety for a 
 temporal judge to take cognizance of an ecclesiastical 
 cause." — Hist. ii. The interposition of one to whom 
 the emperor and empress were paying such extraordinary 
 court, of course was of no slight weight. It was 
 effectual for protecting the Priscillianists all the time he 
 continued at Treves ; but the time came when he must 
 take his departure for Tours; and before doing so, he 
 
XXL] iKartin anir ^rianUian* 309 
 
 exacted a promise from the ursurper, that nothing san- 
 guinary should be perpetrated against the heretics. 
 
 He went ; Ithacius did not go ; the promise was for- 
 gotten ; matters went on as if Martin had never been at 
 Treves; the heretics were tried by the judge of the 
 palace, and were found guilty of witchcraft and various 
 immorahties. Priscillian and others were beheaded, and 
 others were killed and banished afterwards; Ithacius 
 sheltered himself under the protection of Maximus, and 
 Maximus wrote to the see of St. Peter, not to justify, but 
 to take credit for his conduct. 
 
 What return he, or rather his ecclesiastical advisers, 
 received from Siricius, the pope of the day, and from the 
 body of the Church, need not here be mentioned in 
 detail. Suffice it to say, that a solemn protest was 
 entered against them, in the course of the following 
 years, by Siricius, St. Ambrose, and councils at Milan 
 and Turin. Ithacius was deposed, excommunicated, 
 and banished. Felix, bishop of Treves, though a 
 man of irreproachable character, and not bishop at 
 the time of the crime, yet, as a partisan of the guilty 
 bishops, was excommunicated with all who supported 
 him ; and when St. Ambrose came to Treves, on his 
 second embassy, he separated himself not only from the 
 adherents of Mamimus, but of Ithacius too. This, how- 
 ever, is to anticipate and to digress upon subsequent and 
 general history ; let us confine ourselves to St. Martin. 
 
 On the year that followed the death of Priscillian, 
 Martin had again to visit Treves, as a mediator for 
 certain civil governors, Narses and Leucadius, whose 
 loyalty to Gratian had gained them the resentment of 
 his conqueror, — a council of bishops being then as- 
 sembled in the imperial city, with the double purpose of 
 formally acquitting Ithacius, and of consecrating Felix, 
 one of their own party, to the vacant see of Treves. 
 The news arrived that Martin was coming; and spread 
 great dismay among the assembled Fathers. They 
 betook themselves to Maximus, and gained his consent 
 to forbid his entrance into the city, except on a promise 
 of communicating with themselves. Martin eluded their 
 vigilance, and entered at night. He had come, as I 
 have said, on political business, though such as became 
 
3IO ®lj^ fflburrlr oi tij^ yat\jzxs. [chap. 
 
 a bishop to undertake ; but when he got to Treves, he 
 was met with news which more intimately concerned 
 every Catholic, and needed more prompt and urgent 
 intercession. A day or two before he came, the Ithacian 
 party had prevailed on the emperor to send military 
 commissioners into Spain to detect, arrest, pillage, and 
 kill all heretics; a mission which, considering that the 
 broad test of heresy which the soldiers adopted was 
 paleness of face and peculiarity of dress, was likely to 
 terminate in a great accession, doubtless, of wealth to 
 the imperial treasury, but in as great a destruction of 
 innocent persons and orthodox believers. This grievous 
 consequence pressed upon Martin, over and above the 
 cruelty of persecuting heretics ; though " he was piously 
 solicitous," says Sulpicius, "to rescue the heretics them- 
 selves, as well as the Christians, who were to be troubled 
 under this pretence." — Z>ia/. iii. i6. Accordingly, he 
 was pressing in his intervention at court, but Maximus 
 had by this time forgotten the lesson of humility which, 
 two years since, he and the empress had so dutifully 
 learned; or perhaps he thought, for one reason or 
 another, that he had got an advantage over the bishop, 
 and understood him. Any how, he put off from day to 
 day his answer to Martin's request, whether in behalf of 
 the Spanish Catholics or of the two friends of Gratian. 
 
 Meanwhile Martin refused to communicate with the 
 party of Ithacius, a vigorous step, to which only one 
 bishop out of all who assembled had found himself 
 equal. The Ithacians betook themselves in haste to 
 Maximus, "complaining," says Sulpicius, "that they 
 were prejudged, predisposed of, if the pertinacity of 
 Theognistus," the protesting party, "was armed by the 
 authority of Martin ; that the latter ought never to have 
 been allowed to enter ; that he was no longer engaged in 
 the mere defence, but in the rescue of the heretics; 
 that nothing was gained by the death of Priscillian, if 
 Martin took satisfaction for it. And last, they threw 
 themselves on the ground, and with tears and lamenta- 
 tions implored the imperial power to show its vigour 
 in its dealings with after all but one individual." — 
 Dial. iii. i6. Maximus began to believe that Martin 
 really was a Priscillianist. 
 
XXI.] Martin anir ^risnUian* 311 
 
 However, he both felt a reverence for him, whatever 
 were the grounds of it, and he understood perfectly well 
 that Martin was not to be prevailed on by threats of 
 personal violence. He pursued a way with him which 
 perhaps he had successfully adopted on a former 
 occasion. He gave Martin a private interview, and 
 addressed him in a complimentary manner. He alleged, 
 that the heretics had been punished, not at the instance 
 of the bishops, but by the secular courts in a regular 
 way for their evil deserts ; that such a procedure formed 
 no reason for blaming and separating from Ithacius and 
 the rest ; that Theognistus, the only outstanding bishop, 
 had been influenced by personal feelings; and that a 
 Council had acquitted Ithacius. Finding, however, he 
 made no way with Martin, the emperor burst out in 
 anger, quitted him hastily, and gave orders for the 
 execution of the partisans of Gratian. The news of this 
 determination came to Martin during the following night : 
 no time was to be lost ; he gave way ; he entered the 
 palace ; he promised to communicate with the Ithacians, 
 on condition that Narses and Leucadius should be spared, 
 and that the military inquisitors which had been sent into 
 Spain should be recalled. The emperor readily granted 
 his terms in full, and the next day Felix was consecrated, 
 Martin assisting and communicating with the persecutors 
 of Priscillian. They urged him with much earnestness to 
 sign an instrument in attestation of his concession, but 
 this he refused. 
 
 Writers of great piety ^ have not been unwilling to 
 suggest, that extraordinary as was St. Martin's habitual 
 humility, yet he might have experienced some elation 
 of mind from the remarkable honours which he had 
 received from the court on his first visit to Treves; 
 but whatever was the cause, that he might have done 
 better, was soon confessed by himself. Thus ended 
 his intercourse with the great world. He had gained 
 che object which had brought him to Treves ; Maximus, 
 loo, had gained his : there was nothing more to detain 
 him in the imperial city, and the day after his act of 
 concession he set off on his return to Tours. 
 
 He went on his way with downcast mind, sighing, 
 
 1 Tillemont, Life of S. Mart. lo. 
 
312 ®Jj^ ©Ijurrlj 0f iht JFatlj^rs. [chap. 
 
 as his biographer tells us, to think that he had even 
 for an hour shared in a communion so unhealthy to 
 the soul; when now an occurrence took place, which, 
 it seems, he ever studiously concealed, though his 
 intimate friends got acquainted with it. About ten 
 miles from Treves, his journey lay through deep and 
 lonely woods; he let his companions go forward, and 
 remained by himself, examining his conscience, and 
 first blaming, and then again defending what he had 
 done. While he was thus engaged he was favoured 
 with a supernatural vision : an Angel appeared to him, 
 and said, " Martin, thou art pricked in heart with 
 reason ; but no other escape opened to thee. Retrieve 
 thy virtue ; resume thy firmness ; lest thou risk, not thy 
 renown, but thy salvation." 
 
 Martin lived eleven years after this, but he never 
 went to council or meeting of bishops again. And 
 afterwards, when he was engaged with the energumem, 
 or demoniacs, "he used from time to time, to confess 
 to us," says Sulpicius, "with tears, that from the mis- 
 chief of that communion, which he joined for a moment 
 and that not in heart, but on compulsion, he was 
 sensible of a diminution of his supernatural gift." 
 Sulpicius also happens to mention in another con- 
 nexion, and without alluding to what had passed at 
 Treves, that in the last years of his life, "when the 
 prefect Vincentius, a person of singular worth, and 
 as excellent a man in every respect as was to be found 
 in any part of Gaul, passed through Tours, he often 
 begged of Martin to entertain him in his monastery; 
 alleging the example of blessed Ambrose the bishop, 
 who at that time was said now and then to dine con- 
 suls and prefects, but that the man of high mind would 
 not, lest it should give secret entrance to vanity and 
 elation of spirit." — I?ia/. i. 17. 
 
 Such self-imposed penances were quite in the spirit 
 of those ages of sanctity. Notice has been taken of 
 Gregory's silence during Lent in a former chapter ; 
 and Sulpicius in his old age, on being betrayed for 
 an instant into an advocacy of the doctrines of Pelagius, 
 punished himself with silence to the end of his life. 
 
 It may not be out of place to append to this passage 
 
XXI.] iltartin antr f rianUian* 3^3 
 
 of St. Martin's history an account of one of his visions, 
 which seems in various ways to be illustrative, or even 
 mythical of much in it. 
 
 "While Martin was praying in his cell, the evil 
 spirit stood before him, environed in a glittering 
 radiance, by such pretence more easily to deceive him, 
 clad also in royal robes, crowned with a golden and 
 jewelled diadem, with shoes covered with gold, with 
 serene face, and bright looks, so as to seem nothing 
 so little as what he was. Martin at first was dazzled 
 at the sight : and for a long while both parties kept 
 silence. At length the evil one began: — 'Acknowledge,' 
 he says, 'O Martin, whom thou seest. I am Christ; 
 I am now descending upon earth, and I wished first 
 to manifest myself to thee.' Martin still kept silent, 
 and returned no answer. The devil ventured to repeat 
 his bold pretence. * Martin, why hesitate in believing, 
 when thou seest I am Christ ? ' Then he, understanding 
 by revelation of the Spirit, that it was the evil one 
 and not God, answered, 'Jesus, the Lord, announced 
 not that He should come in glittering clothing, and 
 radiant with a diadem. I will not believe that Christ 
 is come, save in that state and form in which He 
 suffered, save with the show of the wounds of the Cross.* 
 At these words, the other vanished forthwith as smoke, 
 and filled the cell with so horrible an odour as to 
 leave indubitable proofs who he was. That this so 
 took place, I know from the mouth of Martin himself, 
 lest anyone should think it fabulous." — Vit. B. M. 25. 
 
 The application of this vision to Martin's age, is 
 obvious; I suppose it means in this day, that Christ 
 comes not in pride of intellect, or reputation for ability. 
 These are the glittering robes in which Satan is now 
 arraying. Many spirits are abroad, more are issuing 
 from the pit : the credentials which they display, are 
 the precious gifts of mind, beauty, richness, depth, 
 originahty. Christian, look hard at them with Martin 
 in silence, and then ask for the print of the nails. 
 
Essays on Subjects Connected with the 
 Reformation in England. 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 SAMUEL ROFFEY MAITLAND, D.D., F.R.S., F.S.A., 
 
 Sometime Librarian to Archbishop Howley, and Keeper 
 of tlie Manuscripts at Lambeth; Author of ^^ The Dark Ages." 
 
 With an Introduction by 
 ARTHUR WOLLASTON HUTTON, M.A. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. net. 
 
 " Dr. Maitland was a student of ecclesiastical history who kept 
 an open mind and was scrupulously fair to opponents. He antici- 
 pated to some extent the scientific method of the later school of 
 historians, and he undoubtedly succeeded in making the Reforma- 
 tion live to modern imagination. , . . Mr. Hutton does well to 
 plead that such a book deserves to be read just now, since it 
 presents a view of the controversy which Anglicans of the more 
 pronounced type are only too liable to neglect." — Standard. 
 
 "The republication of Dr. Maitland's famous Essays may certainly 
 be regarded as timely. ... In the present re-issue the Essays are 
 printed without alteration or annotation ; and this was undoubtedly 
 the best method, though the temptation to illustrate must have been 
 considerable. . . . But while the mere re-issue of the book itself 
 will excite interest, it is probable that the greater attraction will be 
 the cogent and interesting Preface, which is contributed by Mr. A. 
 W. Hutton, whose literary and theological antecedents give a 
 peculiar interest to his present work. There is much in his Intro- 
 duction which is extremely well said, and which was well worth 
 saying. . . . Perhaps the most interesting point in a very interesting 
 sketch is the view which is taken of Somerset as the real hero of 
 the Reformation, to whom "the religious emancipation of England" 
 is due. The apology for him is extremely curious ; we are almost 
 inclined to say that it reminds us of Mr. Morse Stephens' treatment 
 of Marat. It is, at any rate, among modern writers original, and 
 we should like to see it developed at length." — Guardian. 
 
 * ' The volume throws a flood of side-lights on the earlier part of 
 what we loosely term the Reformation ; the style is strong and 
 lucid ; and the Rev. A. W. Hutton contributes a very able Intro- 
 duction, in which he sketches the intellectual strength and weakness 
 of the author impartially and with spirit. Without this Introduction 
 the book would not have half its value." — Church Gazette. 
 
OPINIONS OF THE FRESS— continued. 
 
 " Mr. Hutton is right in thinking that this is a volume which, in 
 spite of its limitations in certain directions, is not likely to grow 
 obsolete ; a statement of the case, in fact, which no one who really 
 desires to understand the inner history of the Reformation can 
 afford to leave unmastered. . . . The luminous Introduction is 
 partly critical and partly biographical, and is entirely frank and 
 fair-minded. " — Speaker. 
 
 " Mr. Lane has done well to reprint the late Dr. S. R. Maitland's 
 truly remarkable Essays. . . . Every serious student recognises 
 their value. . . . Apart from the particular views which are 
 advocated in them, they are worth reading as examples of first-rate 
 historical criticism, written in a style which is singularly pure, 
 vigorous, and attractive. . . . Mr. A. W. Hutton contributes a 
 brief but interesting Preface." — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 "A work that was highly valued at the time of its publication, 
 and well worth study now, as its author was a theologian and critic 
 of very considerable power. In the valuable and scholarly Intro- 
 duction Maitland's impartiality and excellence as an historian are 
 vindicated, while certain shortcomings are pointed out." 
 
 Liverpool Mercury. 
 
 " This is a handy and pleasant reprint of Maitland's famous 
 work. . . . We agree with Mr. Hutton, whose Introduction is 
 particularly good, that it is certainly a book that no student of the 
 Reformation can afford to be without." — Literary World. 
 
 " In this handsome volume we have a reprint of a score of 
 thoughtfiil Essays on subjects of great interest to all concerned in 
 Church development in England. . . . Mr. Hutton is to be thanked 
 for his opportune revival of it." — Observer, 
 
 "A reprint that should have particular interest at this time. . . . 
 Mr. Hutton claims, with due modesty, that the Essays, though 
 necessarily out-of-date in many respects, still deserve to be read." 
 
 Echo. 
 
 " Here are Dr. Maitland's Essays in a neat and handy shape." 
 
 G/ode. 
 
 * * Maitland's Essays were well worth reprinting ; but we have 
 been more interested in Mr. Hutton's apologetic Introduction, in 
 which he says many true and wise things concerning the fashionable 
 Anglican theory of the origin and history of the State Church. . . . 
 There is much to be learnt from this book." — Christian World. 
 
 JOHN LANE, LONDON AND NEW YORK. 
 
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