{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_41310/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_41310","id":"gutenberg_41310","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41310","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","English essays -- 19th century"],"text":"[Illustration: CARDINAL NEWMAN.]\n\n\n\n\n _MAYNARD'S ENGLISH CLASSIC SERIES.--SPECIAL NUMBER_\n\n SELECTIONS\n\n FROM THE PROSE WRITINGS\n\n OF\n\n JOHN HENRY CARDINAL NEWMAN\n\n _FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS_\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n NEW YORK\n CHARLES E. MERRILL CO.\n\n\n COPYRIGHT, 1906,\n by\n MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO.\n\n\n\n\n CONTENTS\n\n\n PAGE\n\n INTRODUCTION 5\n\n CHARACTER SKETCHES:\n\n Saul 13\n\n Early Years of David 28\n\n Basil and Gregory 45\n\n Augustine and the Vandals 56\n\n Chrysostom 84\n\n THE TURK:\n\n The Tartar and the Turk 111\n\n The Turk and the Saracen 122\n\n The Past and Present of the Ottomans 143\n\n UNIVERSITIES:\n\n What is a University? 155\n\n University Life: Athens 163\n\n Supply and Demand: The Schoolmen 180\n\n The Strength and Weakness of Universities:\n Abelard 186\n\n MISCELLANEOUS:\n\n Poetry, with Reference to Aristotle's Poetics 200\n\n The Infinitude of the Divine Attributes 218\n\n Christ upon the Waters 222\n\n The Second Spring 229\n\n St. Paul's Characteristic Gift 251\n\n NOTES 269\n\n\n\n\n INTRODUCTION\n\n\nIt has come to be universally admitted that Cardinal Newman fulfills his\nown definition of a great author: \"One whose aim is to give forth what\nhe has within him; and from his very earnestness it happens that\nwhatever be the splendor of his diction, or the harmony of his periods,\nhe has with him the charm of an incommunicable simplicity.\n\n\"Whatever be his subject, high or low, he treats it suitably and for its\nown sake.... He writes passionately because he feels keenly; forcibly,\nbecause he conceives vividly; he sees too clearly to be vague; he is too\nserious to be otiose; he can analyze his subject, and therefore he is\nrich; he embraces it as a whole and in its parts, and therefore he is\nconsistent; he has a firm hold of it, and therefore he is luminous.\n\n\"When his imagination wells up, it overflows in ornament; when his heart\nis touched, it thrills along his verse. He always has the right word for\nthe right idea, and never a word too much....\n\n\"He expresses what all feel but cannot say; and his sayings pass into\nproverbs among his people, and his phrases become household words,\nidioms of their daily speech, which is tessellated with the rich\nfragments of his language, as we see in foreign lands the marbles of\nRoman grandeur worked into the walls and pavements of modern palaces.\"\n\nNewman may be said to have handled England's prose as Shakespeare\nhandled her verse. His language was wrought up little by little to a\nfinish and refinement, a strength and a subtlety, thrown into the form\nof eloquence, beyond which no English writer of prose has gone. Nor is\nhis excellence that of mere art in form; he possesses not only skill,\nwhich he calls an exercise of talent, but power--a second name for\ngenius--which itself implies personality and points to inspiration.\n\nHis mind was large, logical, profoundly thoughtful, imaginative,\nintense, sincere, and above all, spiritual; his soul was keen, delicate,\nsympathetic, heroic; and his life, at once severe and tender, passionate\nand self-controlled, alone and unlonely, stands out in its loftiness and\nsaintliness, a strange, majestic contrast to the agitation and turmoil\nof \"confused passions, hesitating ideals, tentative virtues, and groping\nphilanthropies\" amidst which it was lived.\n\nBoth by word and work did Newman lead forth his generation on the long\npilgrimage to the shrine of Truth, and England of the nineteenth century\nhas no surer claim to holiness and genius for her great sons than that\nset upon John Henry Newman.\n\nHe was born in London, 1801; studied, taught, and preached at Oxford;\nbecame the chief promoter of the Tractarian Movement of 1833; entered\nthe Catholic Church in 1845; founded the Oratory at Birmingham, 1848;\nwas created Cardinal by Pope Leo XIII 1879; died at Edgbaston, 1890.\n\nAny attempt to choose from the writings of Newman what seems most\ndesirable for brief class studies is certain to be woefully embarrassed\nby the very wealth of matter; and apology for risking the choice would\nbe due, were it not lost sight of in the desire to see a literary model\nso pure, varied, animated, forceful, luminous--\"a thing of light and\nbeauty\"--given to our students.\n\nWhat is more significant of the Life Book of the saintly Oxford Scholar\nthan his self-written epitaph: \"Ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem?\"\n\n\n\n\n APPRECIATIONS\n\n\nNewman's best essays display a delicate and flexible treatment of\nlanguage, without emphasis, without oddity, which hardly arrests the\nattention at first,--the reader being absorbed in the argument or\nstatement,--but which, in course of time, fascinates, as a thing\nmiraculous in its limpid grace and suavity.\n\n --_Edmund Gosse's History of Modern English Literature._\n\nThe work of Newman reveals him as one of the great masters of graceful,\nscholarly, finished prose. It is individual, it has charm, and this is\nthe secret of its power to interest. No writer of our time has reflected\nhis mind and heart in his pages as has Newman. He has light for the\nintellect and warmth for the heart.\n\n --_A. J. George's Types of Literary Art._\n\nNewman towers, with only three or four compeers, above his generation;\nand now that the benignity of his great nature has passed from our\nsight, its majesty is more evident year by year.\n\n --_Scudder's Modern English Poets._\n\nThe finish and urbanity of Newman's prose have been universally\ncommended even by those who are most strenuously opposed to his\nopinions.\n\n --_H. J. Nicoll._\n\nAll the resources of a master of English style are at Newman's command:\npure diction, clear arrangement, delicate irony, gracious dignity, a\ncopious command of words combined with a chaste reserve in using them.\nAll these qualities go to make up the charm of Newman's style--the\nfinest flower that the earliest system of a purely classical education\nhas produced.\n\n --_J. Jacobs's Literary Studies._\n\nNewman combines a thoroughly classical training, a scholarly form, with\nthe incommunicable and almost inexplicable power to move audiences and\nreaders.\n\n --_George Saintsbury._\n\nThe pure style of Newman may be compared in its distinguishing quality\nto the atmosphere. It is at once simple and subtle, vigorous and\nelastic; it penetrates into every recess of its subject; it is\ntransparent, allowing each object it touches to display its own proper\ncolor.\n\n --_H. E. Beeching's English Prose._\n\nThere are touching passages characteristic of Newman's writings which\ngive them a peculiar charm. They are those which yield momentary\nglimpses of a very tender heart that has a burden of its own, unrevealed\nto man.... It is, as I have heard it described, as though he suddenly\nopened a book and gave you a glimpse for a moment of wonderful secrets,\nand then as quickly closed it.... In Newman's Sermons, how the old truth\nbecame new; how it came home, as he spoke, with a meaning never felt\nbefore! He laid his finger how gently, yet how powerfully, on some inner\nplace in the hearer's heart, and told him things about himself he had\nnever known till then. Subtlest truths, which it would have taken\nphilosophers pages of circumlocution and big words to state, were\ndropped out by the way in a sentence or two of the most transparent\nSaxon. What delicacy of style, yet what strength! how simple, yet how\nsuggestive! how penetrating, yet how refined! how homely, yet how\ntender-hearted! You might come away still not believing the tenets\npeculiar to the High Church System, but you would be harder than most\nmen if you did not feel more than ever ashamed of coarseness,\nselfishness, worldliness, if you did not feel the things of faith\nbrought closer to the soul.... Newman's innate and intense idealism is,\nperhaps, his most striking characteristic.... It is a thought of his,\nalways deeply felt and many times repeated, that this visible world is\nbut the outward shell of an invisible kingdom, a screen which hides from\nour view things far greater and more wonderful than any which we see,\nand that the unseen world is close to us and ever ready to break through\nthe shell and manifest itself.\n\n --_Shairp._\n\nNewman's great reputation for prose and the supreme interest attaching\nto his life seem to have obscured the fame he might have won as a poet.\nHe was in poetry, as in theology, a more masculine Keble, but with all\nthe real purity of Keble, with also the indispensable flavor of\nearth.\n\n --_H. Walker._\n\nThe _Dream of Gerontius_ resembles Dante more than any other poetry\nwritten since the great Tuscan's time.\n\n --_Sir Henry Taylor._\n\nThe _Dream_ is a rare poetic rendering into English verse of that high\nritual which from the death-bed to the Mass of Supplication encompasses\nthe faithful soul.... Newman has no marked affinities with English\nwriters of his day. He is strikingly different from Macaulay, whose\neloquence betrays the fury, as it is annealed in the fire, of the\nWestern Celt. To Ruskin, who deliberately built up a monument, stately\nas the palace of Kubla Khan, he is a contrast, for the very reason that\nhe does not handle words as if they were settings in architecture or\ncolors in a palette; rather, he would look upon them as transparencies\nwhich let his meaning through. He is more like De Quincey, but again no\nplayer upon the organ for the sake of its music; and that which is\ncommon to both is the literary tradition of the eighteenth century\nenhanced by a power to which abstract and concrete yielded in almost\nequal degree.... With so prompt and intense an intellect at his call,\nthere was no subject, outside purely technical criticism, which Newman\ncould not have mastered.\n\n --_Barry's Literary Lives._\n\nIt is when Newman exerts his flexible and vivid imagination in depicting\nthe deepest religious passion that we are most carried away by him and\nfeel his great genius most truly.... Whether tried by the test of\nnobility, intensity, and steadfastness of his work, or by the test of\nthe greatness of the powers which have been consecrated to that work,\nCardinal Newman has been one of the greatest of our modern great men.\n\n --_R. H. Hutton's Life of Newman._\n\nNewman's mind was world-wide. He was interested in everything that was\ngoing on in science, in the highest form of politics, in literature....\nNothing was too large for him, nothing too trivial, if it threw light\nupon the central question,--what man really is and what is his destiny.\n\n --_J. A. Froude._\n\nIn Newman's sketch of the influence of Abelard on his disciples is seen\nhis belief in the immense power for good or ill of a dominating\npersonality. And he himself supplied an object-lesson in his theory.\nShairp, Froude, Church, Wilberforce, Gladstone, are only a few of those\nwho have borne testimony to the personal magnetism which left its mark\non the whole of thinking Oxford. \"Cor ad cor loquitur,\" the motto chosen\nby Newman on his receiving the Cardinal's hat, expressed to him the\nwhole reality of intercourse between man and man, and man and God.\n\n --_Wilfrid Ward's Problems and Persons._\n\nNewman's mind swung through a wide arc, and thoughts apparently\nantagonistic often were to him supplemental each to each.... A man of\ndauntless courage and profound thoughtfulness, while his intellect was\npre\u00ebminently a logical one, both the heart and the moral sense possessed\nwith him their sacred tribunals in matters of reasoning as well as of\nsentiment.... The extreme subtlety of his intelligence opposed no\nhindrance to his power of exciting vehement emotion.\n\n --_A. De Vere's Literary Reminiscences._\n\n\n\n\n I. CHARACTER SKETCHES\n\n\n\n\n SAUL\n\n \"I gave them a king in mine anger, and took him away in my\n wrath.\"--_Hosea_ xiii. 11.\n\n\n The Israelites seem to have asked for a king\n from an unthankful caprice and waywardness.\n The ill conduct, indeed, of Samuel's sons was the\n occasion of the sin, but \"an evil heart of\n unbelief,\" to use Scripture language, was the real cause 5\n of it. They had ever been restless and\n dissatisfied, asking for flesh when they had manna,\n fretful for water, impatient of the wilderness, bent\n on returning to Egypt, fearing their enemies,\n murmuring against Moses. They had miracles 10\n even to satiety; and then, for a change, they\n wished a king like the nations. This was the\n chief reason of their sinful demand. And further,\n they were dazzled with the pomp and splendor\n of the heathen monarchs around them, and they 15\n desired some one to fight their battles, some\n visible succor to depend on, instead of having\n to wait for an invisible Providence, which came in\n its own way and time, by little and little, being\n dispensed silently, or tardily, or (as they might 20\n consider) unsuitably. Their carnal hearts did\n not love the neighborhood of heaven; and, like\n the inhabitants of Gadara afterwards, they prayed\n that Almighty God would depart from their\n coasts. 5\n\n Such were some of the feelings under which they\n desired a king like the nations; and God at length\n granted their request. To punish them, He gave\n them a king _after their own heart_, Saul, the son of\n Kish, a Benjamite; of whom the text speaks in 10\n these terms, \"I gave them a king in Mine anger,\n and took him away in My wrath.\"\n\n There is, in true religion, a sameness, an absence\n of hue and brilliancy, in the eyes of the natural\n man; a plainness, austereness, and (what he 15\n considers) sadness. It is like the heavenly manna of\n which the Israelites complained, insipid, and at\n length wearisome, \"like wafers made with honey.\"\n They complained that \"their soul was dried\n away.\" \"There is nothing at all,\" they said, 20\n \"beside this manna, before our eyes.... We\n remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt\n freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the\n leeks, and the onions, and the garlick.\"[1] Such\n were the dainty meats in which their soul 25\n delighted; and for the same reason they desired a\n king. Samuel had too much of primitive\n simplicity about him to please them, they felt they\n were behind the world, and clamored to be put\n on a level with the heathen. 30\n\n [1] Exod. xvi.; Numb. xi. 5.\n\n Saul, the king whom God gave them, had much\n to recommend him to minds thus greedy of the\n dust of the earth. He was brave, daring,\n resolute; gifted, too, with strength of body as well\n as of mind--a circumstance which seems to 5\n have attracted their admiration. He is described\n in person as if one of those sons of Anak, before\n whose giant-forms the spies of the Israelites in the\n wilderness were as grasshoppers--\"a choice\n young man, and a goodly; there was not among 10\n the children of Israel a goodlier person than he:\n from his shoulders and upward he was higher\n than any of the people.\"[2] Both his virtues and\n his faults were such as became an eastern monarch,\n and were adapted to secure the fear and 15\n submission of his subjects. Pride, haughtiness,\n obstinacy, reserve, jealousy, caprice--these, in\n their way, were not unbecoming qualities in the\n king after whom their imaginations roved. On\n the other hand, the better parts of his character 20\n were of an excellence sufficient to engage the\n affection of Samuel himself.\n\n [2] 1 Sam. ix. 2--_vide ibid._ x. 23.\n\n As to Samuel, his conduct is far above human\n praise. Though injuriously treated by his countrymen,\n who cast him off after he had served them 25\n faithfully till he was \"old and gray-headed,\"[3] and\n who resolved on setting over themselves a king\n against his earnest entreaties, still we find no trace\n of coldness or jealousy in his behavior towards\n Saul. On his first meeting with him, he addressed 30\n him in the words of loyalty--\"On whom\n is all the desire of Israel? is it not on thee, and\n on all thy father's house?\" Afterwards, when he\n anointed him king, he \"kissed him, and said, Is it\n not because the Lord hath anointed thee to be 5\n captain over His inheritance?\" When he announced\n him to the people as their king, he said,\n \"See ye him whom the Lord hath chosen, that\n there is none like him among all the people?\"\n And, some time after, when Saul had irrecoverably 10\n lost God's favor, we are told, \"Samuel came no\n more to see Saul until the day of his death:\n _nevertheless Samuel mourned for Saul_.\" In the\n next chapter he is even rebuked for immoderate\n grief--\"How long wilt thou mourn for Saul, 15\n seeing I have rejected him from reigning over\n Israel?\"[4] Such sorrow speaks favorably for\n Saul as well as for Samuel; it is not only the grief\n of a loyal subject and a zealous prophet, but,\n moreover, of an attached friend; and, indeed, 20\n instances are recorded, in the first years of his\n reign, of forbearance, generosity, and neglect of\n self, which sufficiently account for the feelings\n with which Samuel regarded him. David, under\n very different circumstances, seems to have felt 25\n for him a similar affection.\n\n [3] _Ibid._ xii. 2.\n\n [4] 1 Sam. ix. 20; x. 1, 24; xv. 35; xvi. 1.\n\n The higher points of his character are brought\n out in instances such as the following: The\n first announcement of his elevation came upon\n him suddenly, but apparently without unsettling 30\n him. He kept it secret, leaving it to Samuel, who\n had made it to him, to publish it. \"Saul said\n unto his uncle, He\" (that is, Samuel) \"told us\n plainly that the asses were found. But of the\n matter of the kingdom, whereof Samuel spake, 5\n _he told him not_.\" Nay, it would even seem he\n was averse to the dignity intended for him; for\n when the Divine lot fell upon him, he hid himself,\n and was not discovered by the people, without\n recourse to Divine assistance. The appointment 10\n was at first unpopular. \"The children of Belial\n said, How shall this man save us? They despised\n him, and brought him no presents, _but he held his\n peace_.\" Soon the Ammonites invaded the\n country beyond Jordan, with the avowed intention of 15\n subjugating it. The people sent to Saul for relief\n almost in despair; and the panic spread in the\n interior as well as among those whose country\n was immediately threatened. The history\n proceeds: \"_Behold, Saul came after the herd out of 20\n the field_; and Saul said, What aileth the people\n that they weep? and they told him the tidings\n of the men of Jabesh. And the Spirit of God\n came upon Saul, and his anger was kindled\n greatly.\" His order for an immediate gathering 25\n throughout Israel was obeyed with the alacrity\n with which the multitude serve the strong-minded\n in times of danger. A decisive victory over the\n enemy followed; then the popular cry became,\n \"Who is he that said, Shall Saul reign over us? 30\n bring the men, that we may put them to death.\n And Saul said, _There shall not a man be put to\n death this day_, for to-day the Lord hath wrought\n salvation in Israel.\"[5]\n\n [5] 1 Sam. xi. 12, 13.\n\n Thus personally qualified, Saul was, moreover,\n a prosperous king. He had been appointed to 5\n subdue the enemies of Israel, and success attended\n his arms. At the end of the fourteenth chapter,\n we read: \"So Saul took the kingdom over Israel\n and fought against all his enemies on every side,\n against Moab, and against the children of 10\n Ammon, and against Edom, and against the kings of\n Zobah, and against the Philistines; and\n whithersoever he turned himself, he vexed them. And\n he gathered an host, and smote the Amalekites,\n and delivered Israel out of the hands of them that 15\n spoiled them.\"\n\n Such was Saul's character and success; his\n character faulty, yet not without promise; his\n success in arms as great as his carnal subjects\n could have desired. Yet, in spite of Samuel's 20\n private liking for him, and in spite of the good\n fortune which actually attended him, we find that\n from the beginning the prophet's voice is raised\n both against people and king in warnings and\n rebukes, which are omens of his destined 25\n destruction, according to the text, \"I gave them a king in\n Mine anger, and took him away in My wrath.\"\n At the very time that Saul is publicly received as\n king, Samuel protests, \"Ye have this day rejected\n your God, who Himself saved you out of all your 30\n adversities and your tribulations.\"[6] In a\n subsequent assembly of the people, in which he\n testified his uprightness, he says, \"Is it not wheat\n harvest to-day? I will call unto the Lord, and\n He shall send thunder and rain; _that ye may 5\n perceive and see that your wickedness is great_, in asking\n you a king.\" Again, \"If ye shall still do wickedly,\n ye shall be consumed, both ye and your king.\"[7]\n And after this, on the first instance of disobedience\n and at first sight no very heinous sin, the sentence 10\n of rejection is passed upon him: \"Thy kingdom\n shall not continue; the Lord hath sought Him a\n man after His own heart.\"[8]\n\n [6] 1 Sam. x. 19.\n\n [7] _Ibid._ xii. 17, 25.\n\n [8] _Ibid._ xiii. 14.\n\n Here, then, a question may be raised--Why\n was Saul thus marked for vengeance from the 15\n beginning? Why these presages of misfortune,\n which from the first hung over him, gathered, fell\n in storm and tempest, and at length overwhelmed\n him? Is his character so essentially faulty that\n it must be thus distinguished for reprobation 20\n above all the anointed kings after him? Why,\n while David is called a man after God's own heart,\n should Saul be put aside as worthless?\n\n This question leads us to a deeper inspection of,\n his character. Now, we know, the first duty of 25\n every man is the fear of God--a reverence for His\n word, a love of Him, and a desire to obey Him; and,\n besides, it was peculiarly incumbent on the king of\n Israel, as God's vicegerent, by virtue of his office, to\n promote His glory whom his subjects had rejected. 30\n\n Now Saul \"lacked this one thing.\" His\n character, indeed, is obscure, and we must be cautious\n while considering it; still, as Scripture is given us\n for our instruction, it is surely right to make the\n most of what we find there, and to form our 5\n judgment by such lights as we possess. It would\n appear, then, that Saul was never under the\n abiding influence of religion, or, in Scripture language,\n \"the fear of God,\" however he might be at times\n moved and softened. Some men are inconsistent 10\n in their conduct, as Samson; or as Eli, in a\n different way; and yet may have lived by faith,\n though a weak faith. Others have sudden falls,\n as David had. Others are corrupted by\n prosperity, as Solomon. But as to Saul, there is no 15\n proof that he had any deep-seated religious\n principle at all; rather, it is to be feared, that his\n history is a lesson to us, that the \"heart of unbelief\"\n may exist in the very sight of God, may rule a man\n in spite of many natural advantages of character, 20\n in the midst of much that is virtuous, amiable,\n and commendable.\n\n Saul, it would seem, was naturally brave,\n active, generous, and patient; and what nature\n made him, such he remained, that is, without 25\n improvement; with virtues which had no value,\n because they required no effort, and implied the\n influence of no principle. On the other hand,\n when we look for evidence of his faith, that is, his\n practical sense of things unseen, we discover 30\n instead a deadness to all considerations not connected\n with the present world. It is his habit to\n treat prophet and priest with a coldness, to say\n the least, which seems to argue some great internal\n defect. It would not be inconsistent with the\n Scripture account of him, even should the real 5\n fact be, that (with some general notions\n concerning the being and providence of God) he doubted\n of the divinity of the Dispensation of which he was\n an instrument. The circumstance which first\n introduces him to the inspired history is not in his 10\n favor. While in search of his father's asses,\n which were lost, he came to the city where\n Samuel was; and though Samuel was now an old\n man, and from childhood known as the especial\n minister and prophet of the God of Israel, Saul 15\n seems to have considered him as a mere diviner,\n such as might be found among the heathen, who,\n for \"the fourth part of a shekel of silver,\" would\n tell him his way.\n\n The narrative goes on to mention, that after his 20\n leaving Samuel \"God gave him another heart,\"\n and on meeting a company of prophets, \"the\n Spirit of God came upon him, and he prophesied\n among them.\" Upon this, \"all that knew him\n beforetime\" said, \"What is this that is come unto 25\n the son of Kish: is Saul also among the prophets?\n ... therefore it became a proverb.\" From this\n narrative we gather, that his carelessness and\n coldness in religious matters were so notorious,\n that, in the eyes of his acquaintance, there was 30\n a certain strangeness and incongruity, which at\n once struck the mind, in his being associated with\n a school of the prophets.\n\n Nor have we any reason to believe, from the\n after history, that the Divine gift, then first\n imparted, left any religious effect upon his mind. 5\n At a later period of his life we find him suddenly\n brought under the same sacred influence on his\n entering the school where Samuel taught; but,\n instead of softening him, its effect upon his\n outward conduct did but testify the fruitlessness of 10\n Divine grace when acting upon a will obstinately\n set upon evil.\n\n The immediate occasion of his rejection was his\n failing under a specific trial of his obedience, as\n set before him at the very time he was anointed. 15\n He had collected with difficulty an army against\n the Philistines; while waiting for Samuel to offer\n the sacrifice, his people became dispirited, and\n began to fall off and return home. Here he was\n doubtless exposed to the temptation of taking 20\n unlawful measures to put a stop to their defection.\n But when we consider that the act to which he was\n persuaded was no less than that of his offering\n sacrifice--he being neither priest nor prophet,\n nor having any commission thus to interfere 25\n with the Mosaic ritual--it is plain \"his _forcing\n himself_\" to do so (as he tenderly described his\n sin) was a direct profaneness--a profaneness\n which implied that he was careless about forms,\n which in this world will ever be essential to 30\n things supernatural, and thought it mattered\n little whether he acted in God's way or in his\n own.\n\n After this, he seems to have separated himself\n from Samuel, whom he found unwilling to become\n his instrument, and to have had recourse to the 5\n priesthood instead. Ahijah or Ahimelech (as he\n is afterwards called), the high priest, followed his\n camp; and the ark, too, in spite of the warning\n conveyed by the disasters which attended the\n presumptuous use of it in the time of Eli. \"And 10\n Saul said unto Ahijah, Bring hither the ark of\n God;\" while it was brought, a tumult which was\n heard in the camp of the Philistines increased.\n On this interruption Saul irreverently put the ark\n aside, and went out to the battle. 15\n\n It will be observed, that there was no professed\n or intentional irreverence in Saul's conduct; he\n was still on the whole the same he had ever been.\n He outwardly respected the Mosaic\n ritual--about this time he built his first altar to the Lord,[9] 20\n and in a certain sense seemed to acknowledge God's\n authority. But nothing shows he considered that\n there was any vast distinction between Israel and\n the nations around them. He was _indifferent_, and\n cared for none of these things. The chosen people 25\n desired a king like the nations, and such a one\n they received.\n\n [9] 1 Sam. xiv. 35.\n\n After this he was commanded to \"go and smite\n the sinners, the Amalekites, and utterly destroy\n them and their cattle.\" This was a judgment on 30\n them which God had long decreed, though He had\n delayed it; and He now made Saul the minister\n of His vengeance. But Saul performed it so far\n only as fell in with his own inclination and\n purposes. He smote, indeed, the Amalekites, and 5\n \"destroyed all the people with the edge of the\n sword\"--this exploit had its glory; the best of\n the flocks and herds he spared, and why? to\n sacrifice therewith to the Lord. But since God\n had expressly told him to destroy them, what 10\n was this but to imply, that Divine intimations had\n nothing to do with such matters? what was it but\n to consider that the established religion was but\n a useful institution, or a splendid pageant\n suitable to the dignity of monarchy, but resting on no 15\n unseen supernatural sanction? Certainly he in\n no sense acted in the fear of God, with the wish\n to please Him, and the conviction that he was in\n His sight. One might consider it mere pride and\n willfulness in him, acting in his own way because 20\n it was his own (which doubtless it was in great\n measure), except that he appears to have had an\n eye to the feelings and opinions of men as to his\n conduct, though not to God's judgment. He\n \"feared the people and obeyed their voice.\" 25\n Again, he spared Agag, the king of the\n Amalekites. Doubtless he considered Agag as \"his\n brother,\" as Ahab afterwards called Ben-hadad.\n Agag was a king, and Saul observed towards him\n that courtesy and clemency which earthly 30\n monarchs observe one towards another, and rightly\n when no Divine command comes in the way. But\n the God of Israel required a king after His own\n heart, jealous of idolatry; the people had desired\n a king like the nations around them.\n\n It is remarkable, moreover, that while he spared 5\n Agag, he attempted to exterminate the Gibeonites\n with the sword, who were tolerated in Israel by\n virtue of an oath taken in their favor by Joshua\n and \"the princes of the congregation.\" This he\n did \"_in his zeal_ to the children of Israel and 10\n Judah.\"[10]\n\n [10] Josh. ix. 2; 2 Sam. xxi. 1-5.\n\n From the time of his disobedience in the matter\n of Amalek, Samuel came no more to see Saul,\n whose season of probation was over. The evil\n spirit exerted a more visible influence upon him; 15\n and God sent Samuel to anoint David privately,\n as the future king of Israel. I need not trace\n further the course of moral degradation which is\n exemplified in Saul's subsequent history. Mere\n natural virtue wears away, when men neglect to 20\n deepen it into religious principle. Saul appears\n in his youth to be unassuming and forbearing;\n in advanced life he is not only proud and gloomy\n (as he ever was in a degree), but cruel, resentful,\n and hard-hearted, which he was not in his youth. 25\n His injurious treatment of David is a long\n history; but his conduct to Ahimelech, the high\n priest, admits of being mentioned here.\n Ahimelech assisted David in his escape. Saul resolved\n on the death of Ahimelech and all his father's 30\n house.[11] On his guards refusing to execute his\n command, Doeg, a man of Edom, one of the\n nations which Saul was raised up to withstand,\n undertook the atrocious deed. On that day,\n eighty-five priests were slain. Afterwards Nob, 5\n the city of the priests, was smitten with the edge\n of the sword, and all destroyed, \"men and women,\n children and sucklings, and oxen, and asses, and\n sheep.\" That is, Saul executed more complete\n vengeance on the descendants of Levi, the sacred 10\n tribe, than on the sinners, the Amalekites, who\n laid wait for Israel in the way, on their going up\n from Egypt.\n\n [11] 1 Sam. xxii. 16.\n\n Last of all, he finishes his bad history by an open\n act of apostasy from the God of Israel. His last 15\n act is like his first, but more significant. He\n began, as we saw, by consulting Samuel as a diviner;\n this showed the direction of his mind. It steadily\n persevered in its evil way--and he ends by\n consulting a professed sorceress at Endor. The 20\n Philistines had assembled their hosts; Saul's\n heart trembled greatly--he had no advisers or\n comforters; Samuel was dead--the priests he had\n himself slain with the sword. He hoped, by magic\n rites, which he had formerly denounced, to 25\n foresee the issue of the approaching battle. God\n meets him even in the cave of Satanic\n delusions--but as an Antagonist. The reprobate king\n receives, by the mouth of dead Samuel, who had\n once anointed him, the news that he is to be 30\n \"taken away in God's wrath\"--that the Lord\n would deliver Israel, with him, into the hands of\n the Philistines, and that on the morrow he and his\n sons should be numbered with the dead.[12]\n\n [12] 1 Sam. xxviii. 19.\n\n The next day \"the battle went sore against him, 5\n the archers hit him; and he was sore wounded of\n the archers.\"[13] \"Anguish came upon him,\"[14] and\n he feared to fall into the hands of the\n uncircumcised. He desired his armor-bearer to draw his\n sword and thrust him through therewith. On his 10\n refusing, he fell upon his own sword, and so came\n to his end.\n\n [13] _Ibid._ xxxi. 3.\n\n [14] 2 Sam. i. 9.\n\n\n\n\n EARLY YEARS OF DAVID\n\n \"Behold, I have seen a son of Jesse the Beth-lehemite, that is\n cunning in playing, and a mighty valiant man, and a man of war, and\n prudent in matters, and a comely person, and the Lord is with\n him.\"--1 _Samuel_ xvi. 18.\n\n\n Such is the account given to Saul of David, in\n many respects the most favored of the ancient\n Saints. David is to be accounted the most\n favored, first as being the principal type of Christ,\n next as being the author of a great part of the book 5\n of Psalms, which have been used as the Church's\n form of devotion ever since his time. Besides, he\n was a chief instrument of God's providence, both\n in repressing idolatry and in preparing for the\n gospel; and he prophesied in an especial manner 10\n of that Saviour whom he prefigured and preceded.\n Moreover, he was the chosen king of Israel, a man\n after God's own heart, and blessed, not only in\n himself, but in his seed after him. And, further,\n to the history of his life a greater share is given of 15\n the inspired pages than to that of any other of\n God's favored servants. Lastly, he displays in\n his personal character that very temper of mind\n in which his nation, or rather human nature\n itself, is especially deficient. Pride and unbelief 20\n disgrace the history of the chosen people; the\n deliberate love of this world, which was the sin of\n Balaam, and the presumptuous willfulness which\n is exhibited in Saul. But David is conspicuous\n for an affectionate, a thankful, a loyal heart 5\n towards his God and defender, a zeal which was\n as fervent and as docile as Saul's was sullen,\n and as keen-sighted and as pure as Balaam's was\n selfish and double-minded. Such was the son\n of Jesse the Beth-lehemite; he stands midway 10\n between Abraham and his predicted seed, Judah\n and the Shiloh, receiving and transmitting the\n promises; a figure of the Christ, and an inspired\n prophet, living in the Church even to the end of\n time, in his office, his history, and his sacred 15\n writings.\n\n Some remarks on his early life, and on his\n character, as therein displayed, may profitably\n engage our attention at the present time.\n\n When Saul was finally rejected for not 20\n destroying the Amalekites, Samuel was bid go to\n Bethlehem, and anoint, as future king of Israel, one\n of the sons of Jesse, who should be pointed out to\n him when he was come there. Samuel\n accordingly went thither and held a sacrifice; when, at 25\n his command, Jesse's seven sons were brought by\n their father, one by one, before the prophet; but\n none of them proved to be the choice of Almighty\n God. David was the youngest and out of the\n way, and it seemed to Jesse as unlikely that God's 30\n choice should fall upon him, as it appeared to\n Joseph's brethren and to his father, that he and\n his mother and brethren should, as his dreams\n foretold, bow down before him. On Samuel's\n inquiring, Jesse said, \"There remaineth yet the\n youngest, and, behold, he keepeth the sheep.\" 5\n On Samuel's bidding, he was sent for. \"Now\n he was ruddy,\" the sacred historian proceeds,\n \"and withal of a beautiful countenance, and\n goodly to look to. And the Lord said, Arise,\n anoint him, for this is he.\" After Samuel had 10\n anointed him, \"the Spirit of the Lord came upon\n David from that day forward.\" It is added,\n \"But the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul.\"\n\n David's anointing was followed by no other\n immediate mark of God's favor. He was tried 15\n by being sent back again, in spite of the promise,\n to the care of his sheep, till an unexpected\n occasion introduced him to Saul's court. The\n withdrawing of the Spirit of the Lord from Saul was\n followed by frequent attacks from an evil spirit, as 20\n a judgment upon him. His mind was depressed,\n and a \"trouble,\" as it is called, came upon him,\n with symptoms very like those which we now\n refer to derangement. His servants thought that\n music, such, perhaps, as was used in the schools 25\n of the prophets, might soothe and restore him;\n and David was recommended by one of them for\n that purpose, in the words of the text: \"Behold,\n I have seen a son of Jesse the Beth-lehemite,\n that is cunning in playing, and a mighty valiant 30\n man, and a man of war, and prudent in matters,\n and a comely person, and the Lord is with\n him.\"\n\n David came in the power of that sacred\n influence whom Saul had grieved and rejected.\n The Spirit which inspired his tongue guided his 5\n hand also, and his sacred songs became a medicine\n to Saul's diseased mind. \"When the evil spirit\n from God was upon Saul, ... David took an\n harp, and played with his hand; so Saul was\n refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed 10\n from him.\" Thus he is first introduced to us in\n that character in which he still has praise in the\n Church, as \"the anointed of the God of Jacob,\n and the sweet psalmist of Israel.\"[15]\n\n [15] 2 Sam. xxiii. 1.\n\n Saul \"loved David greatly, and he became his 15\n armor-bearer;\" but the first trial of his humility\n and patience was not over, while many other trials\n were in store. After a while he was a second time\n sent back to his sheep; and though there was war\n with the Philistines, and his three eldest brethren 20\n were in the army with Saul, and he had already\n essayed his strength in defending his father's\n flocks from wild beasts, and was \"a mighty\n valiant man,\" yet he contentedly stayed at home\n as a private person, keeping his promise of 25\n greatness to himself, till his father bade him go to his\n brethren to take them a present from him, and\n report how they fared. An accident, as it\n appeared to the world, brought him forward. On\n his arrival at the army, he heard the challenge of 30\n the Philistine champion, Goliath of Gath. I need\n not relate how he was divinely urged to engage\n the giant, how he killed him, and how he was, in\n consequence, again raised to Saul's favor; who,\n with an infirmity not inconsistent with the 5\n deranged state of his mind, seems to have altogether\n forgotten him.\n\n From this time began David's public life; but\n not yet the fulfillment of the promise made to him\n by Samuel. He had a second and severer trial 10\n of patience to endure for many years; the trial\n of \"being still\" and doing nothing before God's\n time, though he had (apparently) the means in his\n hands of accomplishing the promise for himself.\n It was to this trial that Jeroboam afterwards 15\n showed himself unequal. He, too, was promised\n a kingdom, but he was tempted to seize upon it\n in his own way, and so forfeited God's protection.\n\n David's victory over Goliath so endeared him\n to Saul, that he would not let him go back to his 20\n father's house. Jonathan, too, Saul's son, at once\n felt for him a warm affection, which deepened into\n a firm friendship. \"Saul set him over the men\n of war, and he was accepted in the sight of all the\n people, and also in the sight of Saul's servants.\"[16] 25\n This prosperous fortune, however, did not long\n continue. As Saul passed through the cities from\n his victory over his enemies, the women of Israel\n came out to meet him, singing and dancing, and\n they said, \"Saul hath slain his thousands, and 30\n David his ten thousands.\" Immediately the\n jealous king was \"very wroth, and the saying\n displeased him;\" his sullenness returned; he\n feared David as a rival; and \"eyed him from that\n day and forward.\" On the morrow, as David 5\n was playing before him, as at other times, Saul\n threw his javelin at him. After this, Saul\n displaced him from his situation at his court, and\n sent him to the war, hoping so to rid himself of\n him by his falling in battle; but, by God's 10\n blessing, David returned victorious.\n\n [16] 1 Sam. xviii. 5.\n\n In a second war with the Philistines, David was\n successful as before; and Saul, overcome with\n gloomy and malevolent passions, again cast at him\n with his javelin, as he played before him, with the 15\n hope of killing him.\n\n This repeated attempt on his life drove David\n from Saul's court; and for some years after, that\n is, till Saul's death, he was a wanderer upon the\n earth, persecuted in that country which was 20\n afterwards to be his own kingdom. Here, as in his\n victory over Goliath, Almighty God purposed to\n show us, that it was _His_ hand which set David on\n the throne of Israel. David conquered his enemy\n by a sling and stone, in order, as he said at the 25\n time, that all ... might know \"that the Lord\n saveth not with sword and spear; for the battle\n is the Lord's.\"[17] Now again, but in a different\n way, His guiding providence was displayed. As\n David slew Goliath without arms, so now he 30\n refrained himself and used them not, though he\n possessed them. Like Abraham, he traversed\n the land of promise \"as a strange land,\"[18] waiting\n for God's good time. Nay, far more exactly, even\n than to Abraham, was it given to David to act and 5\n suffer that life of faith which the Apostle describes,\n and by which \"the elders obtained a good report.\"\n By faith he wandered about, \"being destitute,\n afflicted, evil-entreated, in deserts, and in\n mountains, and in dens, and in caves of the earth.\" 10\n On the other hand, through the same faith, he\n \"subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness,\n obtained promises, waxed valiant in fight, turned to\n flight the armies of the aliens.\"\n\n [17] 1 Sam. xvii. 47.\n\n [18] Heb. xi. 9.\n\n On escaping from Saul, he first went to Samuel 15\n to ask his advice. With him he dwelt some time.\n Driven thence by Saul he went to Bethlehem, his\n father's city, then to Ahimelech, the high priest,\n at Nob. Thence he fled, still through fear of Saul,\n to Achish, the Philistine king of Gath; and 20\n finding his life in danger there, he escaped to Adullam,\n where he was joined by his kindred, and put\n himself at the head of an irregular band of men, such\n as, in the unsettled state of the country, might be\n usefully and lawfully employed against the 25\n remnant of the heathen. After this he was driven to\n Hareth, to Keilah, which he rescued from the\n Philistines, to the wilderness of Ziph among the\n mountains, to the wilderness of Maon, to the\n strongholds of Engedi, to the wilderness of Paran. After 30\n a time he again betook himself to Achish, king of\n Gath, who gave him a city; and there it was that\n the news was brought him of the death of Saul in\n battle, which was the occasion of his elevation first\n to the throne of Judah, afterwards to that of all 5\n Israel, according to the promise of God made to\n him by Samuel.\n\n It need not be denied that, during these years of\n wandering, we find in David's conduct instances\n of infirmity and inconsistency, and some things 10\n which, without being clearly wrong, are yet\n strange and startling in so favored a servant of\n God. With these we are not concerned, except\n so far as a lesson may be gained from them for\n ourselves. We are not at all concerned with them 15\n as regards our estimate of David's character.\n That character is ascertained and sealed by the\n plain word of Scripture, by the praise of Almighty\n God, and is no subject for our criticism; and if we\n find in it traits which we cannot fully reconcile 20\n with the approbation divinely given to him, we\n must take it in faith to be what it is said to be,\n and wait for the future revelations of Him who\n \"overcomes when He is judged.\" Therefore I\n dismiss these matters now, when I am engaged 25\n in exhibiting the eminent obedience and\n manifold virtues of David. On the whole his situation\n during these years of trial was certainly that of a\n witness for Almighty God, one who does good and\n suffers for it, nay, suffers on rather than rid 30\n himself from suffering by any unlawful act.\n\n Now, then, let us consider what was, as far as\n we can understand, his especial grace, what is his\n gift; as faith was Abraham's distinguishing virtue,\n meekness the excellence of Moses, self-mastery the\n gift especially conspicuous in Joseph. 5\n\n This question may best be answered by\n considering the purpose for which he was raised up.\n When Saul was disobedient, Samuel said to him,\n \"Thy kingdom shall not continue: the Lord hath\n sought Him _a man after His own heart_, and the 10\n Lord hath commanded him to be captain over\n His people, because thou hast not kept that which\n the Lord commanded thee.\"[19] The office to\n which first Saul and then David were called was\n different from that with which other favored 15\n men before them had been intrusted. From the\n time of Moses, when Israel became a nation, God\n had been the king of Israel, and His chosen\n servants, not delegates, but mere organs of His\n will. Moses did not direct the Israelites by his 20\n own wisdom, but he spake to them, as God spake\n from the pillar of the cloud. Joshua, again, was\n merely a sword in the hand of God. Samuel was\n but His minister and interpreter. God acted, the\n Israelites \"stood still and saw\" His miracles, then 25\n followed. But, when they had rejected Him\n from being king over them, then their chief ruler\n was no longer a mere organ of His power and will,\n but had a certain authority intrusted to him,\n more or less independent of supernatural direction; 30\n and acted, not so much _from_ God, as _for_\n God, and _in the place of_ God. David, when taken\n from the sheepfolds \"to feed Jacob His people and\n Israel His inheritance,\" \"fed them,\" in the words\n of the Psalm, \"with a faithful and true heart; 5\n and ruled them prudently with all his power.\"[20]\n From this account of his office, it is obvious that\n his very first duty was that of _fidelity to Almighty\n God_ in the trust committed to him. He had\n power put into his hands, in a sense in which 10\n neither Moses had it nor Samuel. He was charged\n with a certain office, which he was bound to\n administer according to his ability, so as best to\n promote the interests of Him who appointed him.\n Saul had neglected his Master's honor; but 15\n David, in this an eminent type of Christ, \"came\n to do God's will\" as a viceroy in Israel, and, as\n being tried and found faithful, he is especially\n called \"a man after God's own heart.\"\n\n [19] 1 Sam. xiii. 14.\n\n [20] Ps. lxxviii. 71-73.\n\n David's peculiar excellence, then, is that of 20\n _fidelity to the trust committed to him_; a firm,\n uncompromising, single-hearted devotion to the\n cause of his God, and a burning zeal for His\n honor.\n\n This characteristic virtue is especially 25\n illustrated in the early years of his life which have\n engaged our attention. He was tried therein and\n found faithful; before he was put in power, it\n was proved whether he could obey. Till he came\n to the throne, he was like Moses or Samuel, an 30\n instrument in God's hands, bid do what was told\n him and nothing more;--having borne this trial\n of obedience well, in which Saul had failed, then\n at length he was intrusted with a sort of\n discretionary power, to use in his Master's service. 5\n\n Observe how David was tried, and what\n various high qualities of mind he displayed in\n the course of the trial. First, the promise of\n greatness was given him, and Samuel anointed\n him. Still he stayed in the sheepfolds; and 10\n though called away by Saul for a time, yet\n returned contentedly when Saul released him from\n attendance. How difficult is it for such as know\n they have gifts suitable to the Church's need to\n refrain themselves, till God make a way for their 15\n use! and the trial would be the more severe in\n David's case, in proportion to the ardor and\n energy of his mind; yet he fainted not under it.\n Afterwards for seven years, as the time appears\n to be, he withstood the strong temptation, ever 20\n before his eyes, of acting without God's guidance,\n when he had the means of doing so. Though\n skillful in arms, popular with his countrymen,\n successful against the enemy, the king's\n son-in-law, and on the other hand grievously injured by 25\n Saul, who not only continually sought his life,\n but even suggested to him a traitor's conduct\n by accusing him of treason, and whose life was\n several times in his hands, yet he kept his\n honor pure and unimpeachable. He feared God 30\n and honored the king; and this at a time of\n life especially exposed to the temptations of\n ambition.\n\n There is a resemblance between the early\n history of David and that of Joseph. Both\n distinguished for piety in youth, the youngest and 5\n the despised of their respective brethren, they\n are raised, after a long trial to a high station,\n as ministers of God's Providence. Joseph was\n tempted to a degrading adultery; David was\n tempted by ambition. Both were tempted to 10\n be traitors to their masters and benefactors.\n Joseph's trial was brief; but his conduct under it\n evidenced settled habits of virtue which he could\n call to his aid at a moment's notice. A long\n imprisonment followed, the consequence of his 15\n obedience, and borne with meekness and patience;\n but it was no part of his temptation, because,\n when once incurred, release was out of his power.\n David's trial, on the other hand, lasted for years,\n and grew stronger as time went on. His master, 20\n too, far from \"putting all that he had into his\n hand,\"[21] sought his life. Continual opportunity\n of avenging himself incited his passions;\n self-defense, and the Divine promise, were specious\n arguments to seduce his reason. Yet he mastered 25\n his heart--he was \"still;\" he kept his hands clean\n and his lips guileless--he was loyal\n throughout--and in due time inherited the promise.\n\n [21] Gen. xxxix. 4.\n\n Let us call to mind some of the circumstances\n of his steadfastness recorded in the history. 30\n\n He was about twenty-three years old when he\n slew the Philistine; yet, when placed over Saul's\n men of war, in the first transport of his victory,\n we are told he \"behaved himself wisely.\"[22]\n When fortune turned, and Saul became jealous 5\n of him, still \"David behaved himself wisely in\n all his ways, and the Lord was with him.\" How\n like is this to Joseph under different circumstances!\n \"Wherefore when Saul saw that he behaved\n himself very wisely he was afraid of him; and all 10\n Israel and Judah loved David.\" Again, \"And\n David behaved himself more wisely than all the\n servants of Saul, so that his name was much set\n by.\" Here, in shifting fortunes, is evidence of\n that staid, composed frame of mind in his youth, 15\n which he himself describes in the one hundred\n and thirty-first Psalm. \"My heart is not haughty,\n nor mine eyes lofty.... Surely I have behaved\n and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his\n mother.\" 20\n\n [22] 1 Sam. xviii. 5-30.\n\n The same modest deportment marks his\n subsequent conduct. He consistently seeks counsel\n of God. When he fled from Saul he went to\n Samuel; afterwards we find him following the\n directions of the prophet Gad, and afterwards of 25\n Abiathar the high priest.[23] Here his character is\n in full contrast to the character of Saul.\n\n [23] _Ibid._ xxii. 5, 20; xxiii. 6.\n\n Further, consider his behavior towards Saul,\n when he had him in his power; it displays a most\n striking and admirable union of simple faith and 30\n unblemished loyalty.\n\n Saul, while in pursuit of him, went into a cave\n in Engedi. David surprised him there, and his\n companions advised to seize him, if not to take 5\n his life. They said, \"Behold the day of which the\n Lord said unto thee.\"[24] David, in order to show\n Saul how entirely his life had been in his power,\n arose and cut off a part of his robe privately.\n After he had done it, his \"heart smote him\" even 10\n for this slight freedom, as if it were a disrespect\n offered towards his king and father. \"He said\n unto his men, The Lord forbid that I should do\n this thing unto my master, the Lord's anointed,\n to stretch forth mine hand against him, seeing he 15\n is the anointed of the Lord.\" When Saul left\n the cave, David followed him and cried, \"My\n Lord the king. And when Saul looked behind\n him, David stooped with his face to the earth\n and bowed himself.\" He hoped that he could 20\n now convince Saul of his integrity. \"Wherefore\n hearest thou men's words,\" he asked, \"saying,\n Behold, David seeketh thy hurt? Behold, this\n day thine eyes have seen how that the Lord had\n delivered thee to-day into mine hand in the cave: 25\n and some bade me kill thee.... Moreover, my\n father, see, yea see the skirt of thy robe in my\n hand: for in that I cut off the skirt of thy robe,\n and killed thee not, know thou and see, that\n there is neither evil nor transgression in mine 30\n hand, and I have not sinned against thee: yet\n thou huntest my soul to take it. The Lord judge\n between me and thee, and the Lord avenge me\n of thee: but mine hand shall not be upon\n thee.... After whom is the king of Israel come out? 5\n after whom dost thou pursue? after a dead dog,\n after a flea. The Lord therefore judge ... and\n see, and plead my cause, and deliver me out of\n thine hand.\" Saul was for the time overcome;\n he said, \"Is this thy voice, my son David? and 10\n Saul lifted up his voice and wept.\" And he said,\n \"Thou art more righteous than I; for thou hast\n rewarded me good, whereas I have rewarded thee\n evil.\" He added, \"And now, behold, I know well\n that thou shalt surely be king.\" At another time 15\n David surprised Saul in the midst of his camp,\n and his companion would have killed him; but\n he said, \"Destroy him not, for who can stretch\n forth his hand against the Lord's anointed and\n be guiltless?\"[25] Then, as he stood over him, he 20\n meditated sorrowfully on his master's future\n fortunes, while he himself refrained from\n interfering with God's purposes. \"Surely the Lord\n shall smite him; or his day shall come to die; or\n he shall descend into battle and perish.\" David 25\n retired from the enemy's camp; and when at a safe\n distance, roused Saul's guards, and blamed them\n for their negligent watch, which had allowed a\n stranger to approach the person of their king. Saul\n was moved the second time; the miserable man, 30\n as if waking from a dream which hung about\n him, said, \"I have sinned; return, my son David\n ... behold, I have played the fool, and have erred\n exceedingly.\" He added, truth overcoming him,\n \"Blessed be thou, my son David; thou shalt 5\n both do great things, and also shalt still prevail.\"\n\n [24] 1 Sam. xxiv. 4.\n\n [25] 1 Sam. xxvi. 9.\n\n How beautiful are these passages in the history\n of the chosen king of Israel! How do they draw\n our hearts towards him, as one whom in his\n private character it must have been an extreme 10\n privilege and a great delight to know! Surely,\n the blessings of the patriarchs descended in a\n united flood upon \"the lion of the tribe of Judah,\"\n the type of the true Redeemer who was to come.\n He inherits the prompt faith and magnanimity 15\n of Abraham; he is simple as Isaac; he is humble\n as Jacob; he has the youthful wisdom and\n self-possession, the tenderness, the affectionateness,\n and the firmness of Joseph. And, as his own\n especial gift, he has an overflowing thankfulness, 20\n an ever-burning devotion, a zealous fidelity to\n his God, a high unshaken loyalty towards his\n king, an heroic bearing in all circumstances, such\n as the multitude of men see to be great, but\n cannot understand. Be it our blessedness, unless 25\n the wish be presumptuous, so to acquit ourselves\n in troubled times; cheerful amid anxieties,\n collected in dangers, generous towards enemies,\n patient in pain and sorrow, subdued in good\n fortune! How manifold are the ways of the 30\n Spirit, how various the graces which He imparts;\n what depth and width is there in that moral truth\n and virtue for which we are created! Contrast\n one with another the Scripture Saints; how\n different are they, yet how alike! how fitted for\n their respective circumstances, yet how unearthly, 5\n how settled and composed in the faith and fear\n of God! As in the Services, so in the patterns of\n the Church, God has met all our needs, all our\n frames of mind. \"Is any afflicted? let him\n pray; is any merry? let him sing Psalms.\"[26] 10\n Is any in joy or in sorrow? there are Saints at\n hand to encourage and guide him. There is\n Abraham for nobles, Job for men of wealth and\n merchandise, Moses for patriots, Samuel for\n rulers, Elijah for reformers, Joseph for those who 15\n rise into distinction; there is Daniel for the\n forlorn, Jeremiah for the persecuted, Hannah for the\n downcast, Ruth for the friendless, the\n Shunamite for the matron, Caleb for the soldier, Boaz\n for the farmer, Mephibosheth for the subject; 20\n but none is vouchsafed to us in more varied lights,\n and with more abundant and more affecting\n lessons, whether in his history or in his writings,\n than he whose eulogy is contained in the words of\n the text, as cunning in playing, and a mighty 25\n valiant man, and prudent in matters, and comely\n in person, and favored by Almighty God. May\n we be taught, as he was, to employ the gifts, in\n whatever measure given us, to God's honor and\n glory, and to the extension of that true and only 30\n faith which is the salvation of the soul!\n\n [26] James v. 13.\n\n\n\n\n BASIL AND GREGORY\n\n \"What are these discourses that you hold one with another, as you\n walk and are sad?\"\n\n\n I\n\n The instruments raised up by Almighty God\n for the accomplishment of His purposes are of\n two kinds, equally gifted with faith and piety,\n but from natural temper and talent, education,\n or other circumstances, differing in the means by 5\n which they promote their sacred cause. The\n first of these are men of acute and ready mind,\n with accurate knowledge of human nature, and\n large plans, and persuasive and attractive\n bearing, genial, sociable, and popular, endued with 10\n prudence, patience, instinctive tact and decision\n in conducting matters, as well as boldness and\n zeal. Such in a measure we may imagine the\n single-minded, the intrepid, the much-enduring\n Hildebrand, who, at a time when society was 15\n forming itself anew, was the saviour, humanly\n speaking, of the City of God. Such, in an earlier age,\n was the majestic Ambrose; such the\n never-wearied Athanasius. These last-named\n luminaries of the Church came into public life early, 20\n and thus learned how to cope with the various\n tempers, views, and measures of the men they\n encountered there. Athanasius was but\n twenty-seven when he went with Alexander to the Nicene\n Council, and the year after he was Bishop of\n Alexandria. Ambrose was consecrated soon after 5\n the age of thirty.\n\n Again, there is an instrument in the hand of\n Providence, of less elaborate and splendid\n workmanship, less rich in its political endowments,\n so to call them, yet not less beautiful in its 10\n texture, nor less precious in its material. Such is\n the retired and thoughtful student, who remains\n years and years in the solitude of a college or a\n monastery, chastening his soul in secret, raising\n it to high thought and single-minded purpose, 15\n and when at length called into active life,\n conducting himself with firmness, guilelessness, zeal\n like a flaming fire, and all the sweetness of purity\n and integrity. Such an one is often unsuccessful\n in his own day; he is too artless to persuade, too 20\n severe to please; unskilled in the weaknesses of\n human nature, unfurnished in the resources of\n ready wit, negligent of men's applause,\n unsuspicious, open-hearted, he does his work, and so\n leaves it; and it seems to die; but in the 25\n generation after him it lives again, and on the long run\n it is difficult to say which of the two classes of\n men has served the cause of truth the more\n effectually. Such, perhaps, was Basil, who issued\n from the solitudes of Pontus to rule like a king, 30\n and minister like the lowest in the kingdom; yet\n to meet little but disappointment, and to quit\n life prematurely in pain and sorrow. Such was\n his friend, the accomplished Gregory, however\n different in other respects from him, who left his\n father's roof for an heretical city, raised a church 5\n there, and was driven back into retirement by\n his own people, as soon as his triumph over the\n false creed was secured. Such, perhaps, St. Peter\n Damiani in the middle age; such St. Anselm,\n such St. Edmund. No comparison is, of course, 10\n attempted here between the religious excellence\n of the two descriptions of men; each of them\n serves God according to the peculiar gifts given\n to him. If we might continue our instances\n by way of comparison, we should say that St. 15\n Paul reminds us of the former, and Jeremiah of\n the latter....\n\n It often happens that men of very dissimilar\n talents and tastes are attracted together by their\n very dissimilitude. They live in intimacy for a 20\n time, perhaps a long time, till their circumstances\n alter, or some sudden event comes, to try them.\n Then the peculiarities of their respective minds\n are brought out into action; and quarrels ensue,\n which end in coolness or separation. It would 25\n not be right or true to say that this is exemplified\n in the instance of the two blessed Apostles, whose\n \"sharp contention\" is related in the Book of\n Acts; for they had been united in spirit once for\n all by a Divine gift; and yet their strife reminds 30\n us of what takes place in life continually. And it\n so far resembled the everyday quarrels of friends,\n in that it arose from difference of temper and\n character in those favored servants of God.\n The zealous heart of the Apostle of the Gentiles\n endured not the presence of one who had swerved 5\n in his course; the indulgent spirit of Barnabas\n felt that a first fault ought not to be a last trial.\n Such are the two main characters which are found\n in the Church,--high energy, and sweetness of\n temper; far from incompatible, of course, united 10\n in Apostles, though in different relative\n proportions, yet only partially combined in ordinary\n Christians, and often altogether parted from each\n other.\n\n This contrast of character, leading, first, to 15\n intimacy, then to differences, is interestingly\n displayed, though painfully, in one passage of the\n history of Basil and Gregory: Gregory the\n affectionate, the tender-hearted, the man of quick\n feelings, the accomplished, the eloquent 20\n preacher,--and Basil, the man of firm resolve and hard\n deeds, the high-minded ruler of Christ's flock,\n the diligent laborer in the field of ecclesiastical\n politics. Thus they differed; yet not as if they\n had not much in common still; both had the 25\n blessing and the discomfort of a sensitive mind;\n both were devoted to an ascetic life; both were\n men of classical tastes; both were special\n champions of the Catholic creed; both were skilled\n in argument, and successful in their use of it; 30\n both were in highest place in the Church, the one\n Exarch of C\u00e6sarea, the other Patriarch of\n Constantinople. I will now attempt to sketch the\n history of their intimacy.\n\n\n II\n\n Basil and Gregory were both natives of\n Cappadocia, but here, again, under different 5\n circumstances; Basil was born of a good family, and\n with Christian ancestors: Gregory was the son of\n the Bishop of Nazianzus, who had been brought\n up an idolater, or rather an Hypsistarian, a\n mongrel sort of religionist, part Jew, part Pagan. 10\n He was brought over to Christianity by the efforts\n of his wife Nonna, and at Nazianzus admitted by\n baptism into the Church. In process of time he\n was made bishop of that city; but not having a\n very firm hold of the faith, he was betrayed in 15\n 360 into signing the Ariminian creed, which caused\n him much trouble, and from which at length his\n son recovered him. C\u00e6sarea being at no\n unsurmountable distance from Nazianzus, the two\n friends had known each other in their own country; 20\n but their intimacy began at Athens, whither\n they separately repaired for the purposes of\n education. This was about A.D. 350, when each of\n them was twenty-one years of age. Gregory\n came to the seat of learning shortly before Basil, 25\n and thus was able to be his host and guide on his\n arrival; but fame had reported Basil's merits\n before he came, and he seems to have made his\n way, in a place of all others most difficult to a\n stranger, with a facility peculiar to himself. He\n soon found himself admired and respected by\n his fellow-students; but Gregory was his only\n friend, and shared with him the reputation of 5\n talents and attainments. They remained at\n Athens four or five years; and, at the end of that\n time, made the acquaintance of Julian, since of\n evil name in history as the Apostate. Gregory\n thus describes in after life his early intimacy 10\n with Basil:\n\n \"Athens and letters followed on my stage;\n Others may tell how I encountered them;--\n How in the fear of God, and foremost found\n Of those who knew a more than mortal lore;-- 15\n And how, amid the venture and the rush\n Of maddened youth with youth in rivalry,\n My tranquil course ran like some fabled spring,\n Which bubbles fresh beneath the turbid brine;\n Not drawn away by those who lure to ill, 20\n But drawing dear ones to the better part.\n There, too, I gained a further gift of God,\n Who made me friends with one of wisdom high,\n Without compeer in learning and in life.\n Ask ye his name?--in sooth, 'twas Basil, since 25\n My life's great gain,--and then my fellow dear\n In home, and studious search, and knowledge earned.\n May I not boast how in our day we moved\n A truest pair, not without name in Greece;\n Had all things common, and one only soul 30\n In lodgment of a double outward frame?\n Our special bond, the thought of God above,\n And the high longing after holy things.\n And each of us was bold to trust in each,\n Unto the emptying of our deepest hearts;\n And then we loved the more, for sympathy\n Pleaded in each, and knit the twain in one.\"\n\n The friends had been educated for rhetoricians,\n and their oratorical powers were such, that they 5\n seemed to have every prize in prospect which a\n secular ambition could desire. Their names were\n known far and wide, their attainments\n acknowledged by enemies, and they themselves personally\n popular in their circle of acquaintance. It was 10\n under these circumstances that they took the\n extraordinary resolution of quitting the world\n together,--extraordinary the world calls it,\n utterly perplexed to find that any conceivable\n objects can, by any sane person, be accounted 15\n better than its own gifts and favors. They\n resolved to seek baptism of the Church, and to\n consecrate their gifts to the service of the Giver.\n With characters of mind very different--the\n one grave, the other lively; the one desponding, 20\n the other sanguine; the one with deep feelings,\n the other with feelings acute and warm;--they\n agreed together in holding, that the things that\n are seen are not to be compared to the things that\n are not seen. They quitted the world, while it 25\n entreated them to stay.\n\n What passed when they were about to leave\n Athens represents as in a figure the parting which\n they and the world took of each other. When\n the day of valediction arrived, their companions 30\n and equals, nay, some of their tutors, came about\n them, and resisted their departure by entreaties,\n arguments, and even by violence. This occasion\n showed, also, their respective dispositions; for\n the firm Basil persevered, and went; the\n tender-hearted Gregory was softened, and stayed awhile 5\n longer. Basil, indeed, in spite of the reputation\n which attended him, had, from the first, felt\n disappointment with the celebrated abode of\n philosophy and literature; and seems to have given up\n the world from a simple conviction of its emptiness. 10\n\n \"He,\" says Gregory, \"according to the way of human\n nature, when, on suddenly falling in with what we hoped\n to be greater, we find it less than its fame, experienced\n some such feeling, began to be sad, grew impatient, and\n could not congratulate himself on his place of residence. 15\n He sought an object which hope had drawn for him;\n and he called Athens 'hollow blessedness.'\"\n\n Gregory himself, on the contrary, looked at\n things more cheerfully; as the succeeding\n sentences show. 20\n\n \"Thus Basil; but I removed the greater part of his\n sorrow, meeting it with reason, and smoothing it with\n reflections, and saying (what was most true) that\n character is not at once understood, nor except by long time\n and perfect intimacy; nor are studies estimated, by 25\n those who are submitted to them, on a brief trial and\n by slight evidence. Thus I reassured him, and by\n continual trials of each other, I bound myself to him.\"\n --_Orat._ 43.\n\n\n III\n\n Yet Gregory had inducements of his own to 30\n leave the world, not to insist on his love of Basil's\n company. His mother had devoted him to God,\n both before and after his birth; and when he was\n a child he had a remarkable dream, which made\n a great impression upon him.\n\n \"While I was asleep,\" he says in one of his poems, 5\n which runs thus in prose, \"a dream came to me, which\n drew me readily to the desire of chastity. Two virgin\n forms, in white garments, seemed to shine close to me.\n Both were fair and of one age, and their ornament lay\n in their want of ornament, which is a woman's beauty. 10\n No gold adorned their neck, nor jacinth; nor had they\n the delicate spinning of the silkworm. Their fair robe\n was bound with a girdle, and it reached down to their\n ankles. Their head and face were concealed by a veil,\n and their eyes were fixed on the ground. The fair glow 15\n of modesty was on both of them, as far as could be seen\n under their thick covering. Their lips were closed in\n silence, as the rose in its dewy leaves. When I saw\n them, I rejoiced much; for I said that they were far\n more than mortals. And they in turn kept kissing me, 20\n while I drew light from their lips, fondling me as a dear\n son. And when I asked who and whence the women\n were, the one answered, 'Purity,' the other, 'Sobriety';\n 'We stand by Christ, the King, and delight in the beauty\n of the celestial virgins. Come, then, child, unite thy 25\n mind to our mind, thy light to our light; so shall we carry\n thee aloft in all brightness through the air, and place\n thee by the radiance of the immortal Trinity.'\"\n\n --_Carm._ p. 930.\n\n He goes on to say, that he never lost the 30\n impression this made upon him, as \"a spark of\n heavenly fire,\" or \"a taste of divine milk and\n honey.\"\n\n As far, then, as these descriptions go, one might\n say that Gregory's abandonment of the world\n arose from an early passion, as it may be called,\n for a purity higher than his own nature; and\n Basil's, from a profound sense of the world's\n nothingness and the world's defilements. Both 5\n seem to have viewed it as a sort of penitential\n exercise, as well as a means towards perfection.\n\n When they had once resolved to devote\n themselves to the service of religion, the question\n arose, how they might best improve and employ 10\n the talents committed to them. Somehow, the\n idea of marrying and taking orders, or taking\n orders and marrying, building or improving their\n parsonages, and showing forth the charities, the\n humanities, and the gentilities of a family man, 15\n did not suggest itself to their minds. They fancied\n that they must give up wife, children, property,\n if they would be perfect; and, this being taken\n for granted, that their choice lay between two\n modes of life, both of which they regarded as 20\n extremes. Here, then, for a time, they were in\n some perplexity. Gregory speaks of two ascetic\n disciplines, that of the solitary or hermit, and that\n of the secular;[27] one of which, he says, profits\n a man's self, the other his neighbor. Midway, 25\n however, between these lay the Coenobite, or\n what we commonly call the monastic; removed\n from the world, yet acting in a certain select\n circle. And this was the rule which the friends\n at length determined to adopt, withdrawing from 30\n mixed society in order to be of the greater service\n to it.\n\n [27] [Greek: azyges] and [Greek: migades].\n\n The following is the passage in which Gregory\n describes the life which was the common choice\n of both of them: 5\n\n \"Fierce was the whirlwind of my storm-toss'd mind,\n Searching,'mid holiest ways, a holier still.\n Long had I nerved me, in the depths to sink\n Thoughts of the flesh, and then more strenuously.\n Yet, while I gazed upon diviner aims, 10\n I had not wit to single out the best:\n For, as is aye the wont in things of earth,\n Each had its evil, each its nobleness.\n I was the pilgrim of a toilsome course,\n Who had o'erpast the waves, and now look'd round, 15\n With anxious eye, to track his road by land.\n Then did the awful Thesbite's image rise,\n His highest Carmel, and his food uncouth;\n The Baptist wealthy in his solitude;\n And the unencumbered sons of Jonadab. 20\n But soon I felt the love of holy books,\n The spirit beaming bright in learned lore,\n Which deserts could not hear, nor silence tell.\n Long was the inward strife, till ended thus:--\n I saw, when men lived in the fretful world, 25\n They vantaged other men, but risked the while\n The calmness and the pureness of their hearts.\n They who retired held an uprighter port,\n And raised their eyes with quiet strength towards heaven;\n Yet served self only, unfraternally. 30\n And so, 'twixt these and those, I struck my path,\n To meditate with the free solitary,\n Yet to live secular, and serve mankind.\"\n\n\n\n\n AUGUSTINE AND THE VANDALS\n\n \"The just perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart; and men of\n mercy are taken away, for there is none to understand; for the just\n man is taken away from before the face of evil.\"\n\n\n I\n\n I began by directing the reader's attention to\n the labors of two great bishops, who restored\n the faith of Christianity where it had long been\n obscured. Now, I will put before him, by way\n of contrast, a scene of the overthrow of 5\n religion,--the extinction of a candlestick,--effected, too,\n by champions of the same heretical creed which\n Basil and Gregory successfully resisted. It will\n be found in the history of the last days of the\n great Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, in Africa. 10\n The truth triumphed in the East by the power of\n preaching; it was extirpated in the South by the\n edge of the sword.\n\n Though it may not be given us to appropriate\n the prophecies of the Apocalypse to the real 15\n events to which they belong, yet it is impossible\n to read its inspired pages, and then to turn to\n the dissolution of the Roman empire, without\n seeing a remarkable agreement, on the whole,\n between the calamities of that period and the 20\n sacred prediction. There is a plain announcement\n in the inspired page, of \"Woe, woe, woe, to\n the inhabitants of the earth;\" an announcement\n of \"hail and fire mingled with blood,\" the\n conflagration of \"trees and green grass,\" the\n destruction of ships, the darkening of the sun, and the 5\n poisoning of the rivers over a third of their course.\n There is a clear prophecy of revolutions on the\n face of the earth and in the structure of society.\n And, on the other hand, let us observe how fully\n such general foretokenings are borne out, among 10\n other passages of history, in the Vandalic\n conquest of Africa.\n\n The coast of Africa, between the great desert\n and the Mediterranean, was one of the most\n fruitful and opulent portions of the Roman world. 15\n The eastern extremity of it was more especially\n connected with the empire, containing in it\n Carthage, Hippo, and other towns, celebrated as\n being sees of the Christian Church, as well as\n places of civil importance. In the spring of the 20\n year 428, the Vandals, Arians by creed, and\n barbarians by birth and disposition, crossed the\n Straits of Gibraltar, and proceeded along this\n fertile district, bringing with them devastation\n and captivity on every side. They abandoned 25\n themselves to the most savage cruelties and\n excesses. They pillaged, ravaged, burned,\n massacred all that came in their way, sparing not even\n the fruit trees, which might have afforded some\n poor food to the remnant of the population, who 30\n had escaped from them into caves, the recesses\n of the mountains, or into vaults. Twice did this\n desolating pestilence sweep over the face of the\n country.\n\n The fury of the Vandals was especially exercised\n towards the memorials of religion. Churches, 5\n cemeteries, monasteries, were objects of their\n fiercest hatred and most violent assaults. They\n broke into the places of worship, cut to pieces all\n internal decorations, and then set fire to them.\n They tortured bishops and clergy with the hope of 10\n obtaining treasure. The names of some of the\n victims of their ferocity are preserved. Mansuetus,\n Bishop of Utica, was burnt alive; Papinianus,\n Bishop of Vite, was laid upon red-hot plates of\n iron. This was near upon the time when the 15\n third General Council was assembling at Ephesus,\n which, from the insecure state of the roads, and\n the universal misery which reigned among them,\n the African bishops were prevented from\n attending. The Clergy, the religious brotherhoods, the 20\n holy virgins, were scattered all over the country.\n The daily sacrifice was stopped, the sacraments\n could not be obtained, the festivals of the Church\n passed unnoticed. At length, only three cities\n remained unvisited by the general 25\n desolation,--Carthage, Hippo, and Cirtha.\n\n\n II\n\n Hippo was the see of St. Austin, then\n seventy-four years of age (forty almost of which had been\n passed in ministerial labors), and warned, by\n the law of nature, of the approach of dissolution.\n It was as if the light of prosperity and peace\n were fading away from the African Church, as\n sank the bodily powers of its great earthly\n ornament and stay. At this time, when the terrors 5\n of the barbaric invasion spread on all sides, a\n bishop wrote to him to ask whether it was allowable\n for the ruler of a Church to leave the scene of his\n pastoral duties in order to save his life.\n Different opinions had heretofore been expressed on 10\n this question. In Augustine's own country\n Tertullian had maintained that flight was unlawful,\n but he was a Montanist when he so wrote. On\n the other hand, Cyprian had actually fled, and\n had defended his conduct when questioned by 15\n the clergy of Rome. His contemporaries,\n Dionysius of Alexandria, and Gregory of Neoc\u00e6sarea,\n had fled also; as had Polycarp before them, and\n Athanasius after them.\n\n Athanasius also had to defend his flight, and he 20\n defended it, in a work still extant, thus: First,\n he observes, it has the sanction of numerous\n Scripture precedents. Thus, in the instance of\n confessors under the old covenant, Jacob fled\n from Esau, Moses from Pharao, David from Saul; 25\n Elias concealed himself from Achab three years,\n and the sons of the prophets were hid by Abdias\n in a cave from Jezebel. In like manner under\n the Gospel, the disciples hid themselves for fear\n of the Jews, and St. Paul was let down in a basket 30\n over the wall at Damascus. On the other hand,\n no instance can be adduced of overboldness and\n headstrong daring in the saints of Scripture.\n But our Lord Himself is the chief exemplar of\n fleeing from persecution. As a child in arms He\n had to flee into Egypt. When He returned, He 5\n still shunned Judea, and retired to Nazareth.\n After raising Lazarus, on the Jews seeking His\n life, \"He walked no more openly among them,\"\n but retreated to the neighborhood of the desert.\n When they took up stones to cast at Him, He 10\n hid Himself; when they attempted to cast Him\n down headlong, He made His way through them;\n when He heard of the Baptist's death, He retired\n across the lake into a desert place, apart. If it\n be said that He did so, because His time was not 15\n yet come, and that when it was come, He\n delivered up Himself, we must ask, in reply, how a\n man can know that his time is come, so as to\n have a right to act as Christ acted? And since\n we do not know, we must have patience; and, 20\n till God by His own act determines the time, we\n must \"wander in sheepskins and goatskins,\"\n rather than take the matter into our own hands;\n as even Saul, the persecutor, was left by David\n in the hands of God, whether He would \"strike 25\n him, or his day should come to die, or he should\n go down to battle and perish.\"\n\n If God's servants, proceeds Athanasius, have\n at any time presented themselves before their\n persecutors, it was at God's command: thus Elias 30\n showed himself to Achab; so did the prophet\n from Juda, to Jeroboam; and St. Paul appealed\n to C\u00e6sar. Flight, so far from implying\n cowardice, requires often greater courage than not to\n flee. It is a greater trial of heart. Death is an\n end of all trouble; he who flees is ever expecting 5\n death, and dies daily. Job's life was not to be\n touched by Satan, yet was not his fortitude\n shown in what he suffered? Exile is full of\n miseries. The after-conduct of the saints showed\n they had not fled for fear. Jacob, on his 10\n death-bed, contemned death, and blessed each of the\n twelve Patriarchs; Moses returned, and\n presented himself before Pharao; David was a\n valiant warrior; Elias rebuked Achab and\n Ochazias; Peter and Paul, who had once hid 15\n themselves, offered themselves to martyrdom at\n Rome. And so acceptable was the previous\n flight of these men to Almighty God, that we\n read of His showing them some special favor\n during it. Then it was that Jacob had the 20\n vision of Angels; Moses saw the burning bush;\n David wrote his prophetic Psalms; Elias raised\n the dead, and gathered the people on Mount\n Carmel. How would the Gospel ever have been\n preached throughout the world, if the Apostles 25\n had not fled? And, since their time, those, too,\n who have become martyrs, at first fled; or, if they\n advanced to meet their persecutors, it was by\n some secret suggestion of the Divine Spirit. But,\n above all, while these instances abundantly 30\n illustrate the rule of duty in persecution, and the\n temper of mind necessary in those who observe\n it, we have that duty itself declared in a plain\n precept by no other than our Lord: \"When they\n shall persecute you in this city,\" He says, \"flee\n into another;\" and \"let them that are in Judea 5\n flee unto the mountains.\"\n\n Thus argues the great Athanasius, living in\n spirit with the saints departed, while full of\n labor and care here on earth. For the\n arguments on the other side, let us turn to a writer, 10\n not less vigorous in mind, but less subdued in\n temper. Thus writes Tertullian on the same\n subject, then a Montanist, a century and a half\n earlier: Nothing happens, he says, without\n God's will. Persecution is sent by Him, to put 15\n His servants to the test; to divide between good\n and bad: it is a trial; what man has any right\n to interfere? He who gives the prize, alone can\n assign the combat. Persecution is more than\n permitted, it is actually appointed by Almighty 20\n God. It does the Church much good, as leading\n Christians to increased seriousness while it lasts.\n It comes and goes at God's ordering. Satan\n could not touch Job, except so far as God gave\n permission. He could not touch the Apostles, 25\n except as far as an opening was allowed in the\n words, \"Satan hath desired to have you, but I\n have prayed for thee,\" Peter, \"and thou, being\n once converted, confirm thy brethren.\" We\n pray, \"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver 30\n us from evil;\" why, if we may deliver ourselves?\n Satan is permitted access to us, either for\n punishment, as in Saul's case, or for our chastisement.\n Since the persecution comes from God, we may\n not lawfully avoid it, nor can we avoid it. We\n cannot, because He is all powerful; we must not, 5\n because He is all good. We should leave the\n matter entirely to God. As to the command of\n fleeing from city to city, this was temporary. It\n was intended to secure the preaching of the\n Gospel to the nations. While the Apostles preached 10\n to the Jews,--till they had preached to the\n Gentiles,--they were to flee; but one might as\n well argue, that we now are not to go \"into the\n way of the Gentiles,\" but to confine ourselves\n to \"the lost sheep of the house of Israel,\" as that 15\n we are now to \"flee from city to city.\" Nor,\n indeed, was going from city to city a flight; it was\n a continued preaching; not an accident, but a\n rule: whether persecuted or not, they were to go\n about; and before they had gone through the 20\n cities of Israel, the Lord was to come. The\n command contemplated only those very cities.\n If St. Paul escaped out of Damascus by night,\n yet afterwards, against the prayers of the disciples\n and the prophecy of Agabus, he went up to 25\n Jerusalem. Thus the command to flee did not last\n even through the lifetime of the Apostles; and,\n indeed, why should God introduce persecution,\n if He bids us retire from it? This is imputing\n inconsistency to His acts. If we want texts to 30\n justify our not fleeing, He says, \"Whoso shall\n confess Me before men, I will confess him before\n My Father.\" \"Blessed are they that suffer\n persecution;\" \"He that shall persevere to the end,\n he shall be saved;\" \"Be not afraid of them that\n kill the body;\" \"Whosoever does not carry his 5\n cross and come after Me, cannot be My disciple.\"\n How are these texts fulfilled when a man flees?\n Christ, who is our pattern, did not more than\n pray, \"If it be possible, let this chalice pass;\"\n we, too, should both stay and pray as He did. 10\n And it is expressly told us, that \"We also ought\n to lay down our lives for the brethren.\" Again, it\n is said, \"Perfect charity casteth out fear;\" he\n who flees, fears; he who fears, \"is not perfected\n in charity.\" The Greek proverb is sometimes 15\n urged, \"He who flees, will fight another day;\"\n yes, and he may flee another day, also. Again,\n if bishops, priests, and deacons flee, why must\n the laity stay? or must they flee also? \"The\n good shepherd,\" on the contrary, \"layeth down 20\n his life for his sheep;\" whereas, the bad shepherd\n \"seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep,\n and fleeth.\" At no time, as Jeremiah, Ezekiel,\n and Zechariah tell us, is the flock in greater\n danger of being scattered than when it loses its 25\n shepherd. Tertullian ends thus: \"This doctrine, my\n brother, perhaps appears to you hard; nay,\n intolerable. But recollect that God has said, 'He\n that can take, let him take it;' that is, he who\n receives it not, let him depart. He who fears to 30\n suffer cannot belong to Him who has suffered.\n He who does not fear to suffer is perfect in love,\n that is, of God. Many are called, few are chosen.\n Not he who would walk the broad way is sought\n out by God, but he who walks the narrow.\"\n Thus the ingenious and vehement Tertullian. 5\n\n\n III\n\n With these remarks for and against flight in\n persecution, we shall be prepared to listen to\n Augustine on the subject; I have said, it was\n brought under his notice by a brother bishop,\n with reference to the impending visitation of the 10\n barbarians. His answer happily is preserved to\n us, and extracts from it shall now be set before\n the reader.\n\n \"TO HIS HOLY BROTHERS AND FELLOW-BISHOP HONORATUS, AUGUSTINE SENDS\n HEALTH IN THE LORD\n\n \"I thought the copy of my letter to our brother\n Quodvultdeus, which I sent to you, would have been 15\n sufficient, dear brother, without the task you put on me\n of counseling you on the proper course to pursue under\n our existing dangers. It was certainly a short letter;\n yet I included every question which it was necessary to\n ask and answer, when I said that no persons were 20\n hindered from retiring to such fortified places as they were\n able and desirous to secure; while, on the other hand, we\n might not break the bonds of our ministry, by which\n the love of Christ has engaged us not to desert the Church,\n where we are bound to serve. The following is what I 25\n laid down in the letter I refer to: 'It remains, then,'\n I say, 'that, though God's people in the place where we\n are be ever so few, yet, if it does stay, we, whose ministration\n is necessary to its staying, must say to the Lord,\n Thou art our strong rock and place of defense.'\n\n \"But you tell me that this view is not sufficient for\n you, from an apprehension lest we should be running\n counter to our Lord's command and example, to flee 5\n from city to city. Yet is it conceivable that He meant\n that our flocks, whom He bought with His own blood,\n should be deprived of that necessary ministration\n without which they cannot live? Is He a precedent for\n this, who was carried in flight into Egypt by His parents 10\n when but a child, before He had formed Churches which\n we can talk of His leaving? Or, when St. Paul was let\n down in a basket through a window, lest the enemy\n should seize him, and so escaped his hands, was the Church\n of that place bereft of its necessary ministration, seeing 15\n there were other brethren stationed there to fulfill what\n was necessary? Evidently it was their wish that he,\n who was the direct object of the persecutors' search,\n should preserve himself for the sake of the Church.\n Let then, the servants of Christ, the ministers of His 20\n word and sacraments, do in such cases as He enjoined\n or permitted. Let such of them, by all means, flee from\n city to city, as are special objects of persecution; so\n that they who are not thus attacked desert not the\n Church, but give meat to those their fellow-servants, 25\n who they know cannot live without it. But in a case\n when all classes--I mean bishops, clergy, and\n people--are in some common danger, let not those who need the\n aid of others be deserted by those whom they need. Either\n let one and all remove into some fortified place, or, if 30\n any are obliged to remain, let them not be abandoned\n by those who have to supply their ecclesiastical necessity,\n so that they may survive in common, or suffer in common\n what their Father decrees they should undergo.\"\n\n Then he makes mention of the argument of a 35\n certain bishop, that \"if our Lord has enjoined\n upon us flight, in persecutions which may ripen\n into martyrdom, much more is it necessary to\n flee from barren sufferings in a barbarian and\n hostile invasion,\" and he says, \"this is true and\n reasonable, in the case of such as have no 5\n ecclesiastical office to tie them;\" but he continues:\n\n \"Why should men make no question about obeying\n the precept of fleeing from city to city, and yet have\n no dread of 'the hireling who seeth the wolf coming, and\n fleeth, because he careth not for the sheep'? Why do 10\n they not try to reconcile (as they assuredly can) these\n two incontrovertible declarations of our Lord, one of\n which suffers and commands flight, the other arraigns\n and condemns it? And what other mode is there of\n reconciling them than that which I have above laid down? 15\n viz., that we, the ministers of Christ, who are under the\n pressure of persecution, are _then_ at liberty to leave our\n posts, when no flock is left for us to serve; or again,\n when, though there be a flock, yet there are others to\n supply our necessary ministry, who have not the same 20\n reason for fleeing,--as in the case of St. Paul; or,\n again, of the holy Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria,\n who was especially sought after by the emperor\n Constantius, while the Catholic people, who remained\n together in Alexandria, were in no measure deserted by the 25\n other ministers. But when the people remain, and the\n ministers flee, and the ministration is suspended, what\n is that but the guilty flight of hirelings, who care not for\n the sheep? For then the wolf will come,--not man, but\n the devil, who is accustomed to persuade such believers 30\n to apostasy, who are bereft of the daily ministration of\n the Lord's Body; and by your, not knowledge, but\n ignorance of duty, the weak brother will perish, for whom\n Christ died.\n\n \"Let us only consider, when matters come to an 35\n extremity of danger, and there is no longer any means\n of escape, how persons flock together to the Church, of\n both sexes, and all ages, begging for baptism, or\n reconciliation, or even for works of penance, and one and\n all of them for consolation, and the consecration and 5\n application of the sacraments. Now, if ministers are\n wanting, what ruin awaits those, who depart from this\n life unregenerate or unabsolved! Consider the grief\n of their believing relatives, who will not have them as\n partakers with themselves in the rest of eternal life; 10\n consider the anguish of the whole multitude, nay, the\n cursings of some of them, at the absence of ministration\n and ministers.\n\n \"It may be said, however, that the ministers of God\n ought to avoid such imminent perils, in order to 15\n preserve themselves for the profit of the Church for more\n tranquil times. I grant it where others are present to\n supply the ecclesiastical ministry, as in the case of\n Athanasius. How necessary it was to the Church, how\n beneficial, that such a man should remain in the flesh, the 20\n Catholic faith bears witness, which was maintained\n against the Arians by his voice and his love. But when\n there is a common danger, and when there is rather\n reason to apprehend lest a man should be thought to\n flee, not from purpose of prudence, but from dread of 25\n dying, and when the example of flight does more harm\n than the service of living does good, it is by no means\n to be done. To be brief, holy David withdrew himself\n from the hazard of war, lest perchance he should 'quench\n the light of Israel,' at the instance of his people, not on 30\n his own motion. Otherwise, he would have occasioned\n many imitators of an inactivity which they had in that\n case ascribed, not to regard for the welfare of others,\n but to cowardice.\"\n\n Then he goes on to a further question, what is 35\n to be done in a case where all ministers are likely\n to perish, unless some of them take to flight? or\n when persecution is set on foot only with the view\n of reaching the ministers of the Church? This\n leads him to exclaim:\n\n \"O, that there may be then a quarrel between God's 5\n ministers, _who_ are to remain, and _who_ to flee, lest the\n Church should be deserted, whether by all fleeing or all\n dying! Surely there will ever be such a quarrel, where\n each party burns in its own charity, yet indulges the\n charity of the other. In such a difficulty, the lot seems 10\n the fairest decision, in default of others. God judges\n better than man in perplexities of this sort; whether it\n be His will to reward the holier among them with the\n crown of martyrdom, and to spare the weak, or again,\n to strengthen the latter to endure evil, removing those 15\n from life whom the Church of God can spare the better.\n Should it, however, seem inexpedient to cast\n lots,--a measure for which I cannot bring precedent,--at\n least, let no one's flight be the cause of the Church's\n losing those ministrations which, in such dangers, are 20\n so necessary and so imperative. Let no one make\n himself an exception, on the plea of having some particular\n grace, which gives him a claim to life, and therefore to\n flight.\n\n \"It is sometimes supposed that bishops and clergy, 25\n remaining at their posts in dangers of this kind, mislead\n their flocks into staying, by their example. But it is\n easy for us to remove this objection or imputation, by\n frankly telling them not to be misled by our remaining.\n 'We are remaining for your sake,' we must say, 'lest you 30\n should fail to obtain such ministration, as we know to\n be necessary to your salvation in Christ. Make your\n escape, and you will then set us free.' The occasion for\n saying this is when there seems some real advantage in\n retiring to a safer position. Should all or some make 35\n answer, 'We are in His hands from whose anger no one\n can flee anywhere; whose mercy every one may find\n everywhere, though he stir not, whether some necessary\n tie detains him, or the uncertainty of safe escape deters\n him'; most undoubtedly such persons are not to be\n left destitute of Christian ministrations. 5\n\n \"I have written these lines, dearest brother, in truth,\n as I think, and in sure charity, by way of reply, since you\n have consulted me; but not as dictating, if, perchance,\n you may find some better view to guide you. However,\n better we cannot do in these perils than pray the Lord 10\n our God to have mercy upon us.\"--_Ep._ 228.\n\n\n IV\n\n The luminous judgment, the calm faith, and\n the single-minded devotion which this letter\n exhibits, were fully maintained in the conduct of\n the far-famed writer, in the events which 15\n followed. It was written on the first entrance of\n the Vandals into Africa, about two years before\n they laid siege to Hippo; and during this\n interval of dreadful suspense and excitement, as well\n as of actual suffering, amid the desolation of the 20\n Church around him, with the prospect of his own\n personal trials, we find this unwearied teacher\n carrying on his works of love by pen, and word\n of mouth,--eagerly, as knowing his time was\n short, but tranquilly, as if it were a season of 25\n prosperity....\n\n His life had been for many years one of great\n anxiety and discomfort, the life of one dissatisfied\n with himself, and despairing of finding the truth.\n Men of ordinary minds are not so circumstanced 30\n as to feel the misery of irreligion. That misery\n consists in the perverted and discordant action\n of the various faculties and functions of the soul,\n which have lost their legitimate governing power,\n and are unable to regain it, except at the hands 5\n of their Maker. Now the run of irreligious men\n do not suffer in any great degree from this\n disorder, and are not miserable; they have neither\n great talents nor strong passions; they have not\n within them the materials of rebellion in such 10\n measure as to threaten their peace. They follow\n their own wishes, they yield to the bent of the\n moment, they act on inclination, not on principle,\n but their motive powers are neither strong nor\n various enough to be troublesome. Their minds 15\n are in no sense under rule; but anarchy is not in\n their case a state of confusion, but of deadness;\n not unlike the internal condition as it is reported\n of eastern cities and provinces at present, in\n which, though the government is weak or null, 20\n the body politic goes on without any great\n embarrassment or collision of its members one with\n another, by the force of inveterate habit. It is\n very different when the moral and intellectual\n principles are vigorous, active, and developed. 25\n Then, if the governing power be feeble, all the\n subordinates are in the position of rebels in arms;\n and what the state of a mind is under such\n circumstances, the analogy of a civil community will\n suggest to us. Then we have before us the 30\n melancholy spectacle of high aspirations without\n an aim, a hunger of the soul unsatisfied, and a\n never ending restlessness and inward warfare of\n its various faculties. Gifted minds, if not\n submitted to the rightful authority of religion,\n become the most unhappy and the most mischievous. 5\n They need both an object to feed upon, and the\n power of self-mastery; and the love of their\n Maker, and nothing but it, supplies both the one\n and the other. We have seen in our own day, in\n the case of a popular poet, an impressive instance 10\n of a great genius throwing off the fear of God,\n seeking for happiness in the creature, roaming\n unsatisfied from one object to another, breaking\n his soul upon itself, and bitterly confessing and\n imparting his wretchedness to all around him. 15\n I have no wish at all to compare him to St.\n Augustine; indeed, if we may say it without\n presumption, the very different termination of their trial\n seems to indicate some great difference in their\n respective modes of encountering it. The one 20\n dies of premature decay, to all appearance, a\n hardened infidel; and if he is still to have a name,\n will live in the mouths of men by writings at once\n blasphemous and immoral: the other is a Saint\n and Doctor of the Church. Each makes 25\n confessions, the one to the saints, the other to the\n powers of evil. And does not the difference of\n the two discover itself in some measure, even to\n our eyes, in the very history of their wanderings\n and pinings? At least, there is no appearance in 30\n St. Augustine's case of that dreadful haughtiness,\n sullenness, love of singularity, vanity, irritability,\n and misanthropy, which were too certainly the\n characteristics of our own countryman.\n Augustine was, as his early history shows, a man of\n affectionate and tender feelings, and open and 5\n amiable temper; and, above all, he sought for some\n excellence external to his own mind, instead of\n concentrating all his contemplations on himself.\n\n But let us consider what his misery was; it\n was that of a mind imprisoned, solitary, and wild 10\n with spiritual thirst; and forced to betake itself\n to the strongest excitements, by way of relieving\n itself of the rush and violence of feelings, of which\n the knowledge of the Divine Perfections was the\n true and sole sustenance. He ran into excess, 15\n not from love of it, but from this fierce fever of\n mind. \"I sought what I might love,\"[28] he says\n in his Confessions, \"in love with loving, and safety\n I hated, and a way without snares. For within\n me was a famine of that inward food, Thyself, 20\n my God; yet throughout that famine I was not\n hungered, but was without any longing for\n incorruptible sustenance, not because filled therewith,\n but the more empty, the more I loathed it. For\n this cause my soul was sickly and full of sores; it 25\n miserably cast itself forth, desiring to be scraped\n by the touch of objects of sense.\"--iii. I.\n\n [28] Most of these translations are from the Oxford edition of 1838.\n\n \"O foolish man that I then was,\" he says elsewhere,\n \"enduring impatiently the lot of man! So I fretted,\n sighed, wept, was distracted; had neither rest nor\n counsel. For I bore about a shattered and bleeding\n soul, impatient of being borne by me, yet where to repose\n it I found not; not in calm groves, nor in games and\n music, nor in fragrant spots, nor in curious banquetings, 5\n nor in indulgence of the bed and the couch, nor, finally, in\n books or poetry found it repose. All things looked ghastly,\n yea, the very light. In groaning and tears alone found\n I a little refreshment. But when my soul was withdrawn\n from them, a huge load of misery weighed me down. 10\n To Thee, O Lord, it ought to have been raised, for Thee\n to lighten; I knew it, but neither could, nor would;\n the more, since when I thought of Thee, Thou wast not\n to me any solid or substantial thing. For Thou wert not\n Thyself, but a mere phantom, and my error was my God. 15\n If I offered to discharge my load thereon, that it might\n rest, it glided through the void, and came rushing down\n against me; and I had remained to myself a hapless\n spot, where I could neither be, nor be from thence. For\n whither should my heart flee from my heart? whither 20\n should I flee from myself? whither not follow myself?\n And yet I fled out of my country; for so should mine\n eyes look less for _him_, where they were not wont to see\n him.\"--iv. 12.\n\n He is speaking in this last sentence of a friend he 25\n had lost, whose death-bed was very remarkable,\n and whose dear familiar name he apparently has\n not courage to mention. \"He had grown from a\n child with me,\" he says, \"and we had been both\n schoolfellows and playfellows.\" Augustine had 30\n misled him into the heresy which he had adopted\n himself, and when he grew to have more and more\n sympathy in Augustine's pursuits, the latter united\n himself to him in a closer intimacy. Scarcely had\n he thus given him his heart, when God took him. 35\n\n \"Thou tookest him,\" he says, \"out of this life, when he\n had scarce completed one whole year of my friendship,\n sweet to me above all sweetness in that life of mine.\n A long while, sore sick of a fever, he lay senseless in the\n dews of death, and being given over, he was baptized 5\n unwitting; I, meanwhile little regarding, or presuming\n that his soul would retain rather what it had received\n of me than what was wrought on his unconscious body.\"\n\n The Manichees, it should be observed, rejected\n baptism. He proceeds: 10\n\n \"But it proved far otherwise; for he was refreshed\n and restored. Forthwith, as soon as I could speak with\n him (and I could as soon as he was able, for I never left\n him, and we hung but too much upon each other), I\n essayed to jest with him, as though he would jest with 15\n me at that baptism, which he had received, when\n utterly absent in mind and feeling, but had now understood\n that he had received. But he shrunk from me, as from\n an enemy; and with a wonderful and sudden freedom\n bade me, if I would continue his friend, forbear such 20\n language to him. I, all astonished and amazed,\n suppressed all my emotions till he should grow well, and his\n health were strong enough for me to deal with him as I\n would. But he was taken away from my madness, that\n with Thee he might be preserved for my comfort: a few 25\n days after, in my absence, he was attacked again by\n fever, and so departed.\"--iv. 8.\n\n\n V\n\n From distress of mind Augustine left his native\n place, Thagaste, and came to Carthage, where he\n became a teacher in rhetoric. Here he fell in 30\n with Faustus, an eminent Manichean bishop and\n disputant, in whom, however, he was\n disappointed; and the disappointment abated his\n attachment to his sect, and disposed him to look\n for truth elsewhere. Disgusted with the license\n which prevailed among the students at Carthage, 5\n he determined to proceed to Rome, and\n disregarding and eluding the entreaties of his mother,\n Monica, who dreaded his removal from his own\n country, he went thither. At Rome he resumed\n his professions; but inconveniences as great, 10\n though of another kind, encountered him in that\n city; and upon the people of Milan sending for a\n rhetoric reader, he made application for the\n appointment, and obtained it. To Milan then he\n came, the city of St. Ambrose, in the year of our 15\n Lord 385.\n\n Ambrose, though weak in voice, had the\n reputation of eloquence; and Augustine, who seems\n to have gone with introductions to him, and was\n won by his kindness of manner, attended his 20\n sermons with curiosity and interest. \"I listened,\"\n he says, \"not in the frame of mind which became\n me, but in order to see whether his eloquence\n answered what was reported of it: I hung on his\n words attentively, but of the matter I was but an 25\n unconcerned and contemptuous hearer.\"--v. 23.\n His impression of his style of preaching is worth\n noticing: \"I was delighted with the sweetness\n of his discourse, more full of knowledge, yet in\n manner less pleasurable and soothing, than that 30\n of Faustus.\" Augustine was insensibly moved:\n he determined on leaving the Manichees, and\n returning to the state of a catechumen in the\n Catholic Church, into which he had been admitted\n by his parents. He began to eye and muse upon\n the great bishop of Milan more and more, and tried 5\n in vain to penetrate his secret heart, and to\n ascertain the thoughts and feelings which swayed him.\n He felt he did not understand him. If the\n respect and intimacy of the great could make\n a man happy, these advantages he perceived 10\n Ambrose to possess; yet he was not satisfied that\n he was a happy man. His celibacy seemed a\n drawback: what constituted his hidden life? or\n was he cold at heart? or was he of a famished\n and restless spirit? He felt his own malady, and 15\n longed to ask him some questions about it. But\n Ambrose could not easily be spoken with. Though\n accessible to all, yet that very circumstance\n made it difficult for an individual, especially one\n who was not of his flock, to get a private 20\n interview with him. When he was not taken up with\n the Christian people who surrounded him, he\n was either at his meals or engaged in private\n reading. Augustine used to enter, as all persons\n might, without being announced; but after 25\n staying awhile, afraid of interrupting him, he\n departed again. However, he heard his expositions\n of Scripture every Sunday, and gradually made\n progress.\n\n He was now in his thirtieth year, and since he 30\n was a youth of eighteen had been searching after\n truth; yet he was still \"in the same mire, greedy of\n things present,\" but finding nothing stable.\n\n \"To-morrow,\" he said to himself, \"I shall find it; it\n will appear manifestly, and I shall grasp it: lo, Faustus\n the Manichee will come and clear everything! O you 5\n great men, ye academics, is it true, then, that no\n certainty can be attained for the ordering of life? Nay,\n let us search diligently, and despair not. Lo, things in\n the ecclesiastical books are not absurd to us now, which\n sometimes seemed absurd, and may be otherwise taken 10\n and in a good sense. I will take my stand where, as a\n child, my parents placed me, until the clear truth be\n found out. But where shall it be sought, or when?\n Ambrose has no leisure; we have no leisure to read;\n where shall we find even the books? where, or when, 15\n procure them? Let set times be appointed, and\n certain hours be ordered for the health of our soul. Great\n hope has dawned; the Catholic faith teaches not what\n we thought; and do we doubt to knock, that the rest\n may be opened? The forenoons, indeed, our scholars 20\n take up; what do we during the rest of our time? why\n not this? But if so, when pay we court to our great\n friend, whose favors we need? when compose what we\n may sell to scholars? when refresh ourselves, unbending\n our minds from this intenseness of care? 25\n\n \"Perish everything: dismiss we these empty\n vanities; and betake ourselves to the one search for truth!\n Life is a poor thing, death is uncertain; if it surprises\n us, in what state shall we depart hence? and when shall\n we learn what here we have neglected? and shall we not 30\n rather suffer the punishment of this negligence? What\n if death itself cut off and end all care and feeling?\n Then must this be ascertained. But God forbid this!\n It is no vain and empty thing, that the excellent dignity\n of the Christian faith has overspread the whole world. 35\n Never would such and so great things be wrought for\n us by God, if with the body the soul also came to an\n end. Wherefore delay then to abandon worldly hopes,\n and give ourselves wholly to seek after God and the\n blessed life?...\"\n\n Finding Ambrose, though kind and accessible, 5\n yet reserved, he went to an aged man named\n Simplician, who, as some say, baptized St.\n Ambrose, and eventually succeeded him in his\n see. He opened his mind to him, and\n happening in the course of his communications to 10\n mention Victorinus's translation of some Platonic\n works, Simplician asked him if he knew that\n person's history. It seems he was a professor of\n rhetoric at Rome, was well versed in literature and\n philosophy, had been tutor to many of the 15\n senators, and had received the high honor of a statue\n in the Forum. Up to his old age he had\n professed, and defended with his eloquence, the old\n pagan worship. He was led to read the Holy\n Scriptures, and was brought, in consequence, to 20\n a belief in their divinity. For a while he did not\n feel the necessity of changing his profession; he\n looked upon Christianity as a philosophy, he\n embraced it as such, but did not propose to join\n what he considered the Christian sect, or, as 25\n Christians would call it, the Catholic Church.\n He let Simplician into his secret; but whenever\n the latter pressed him to take the step, he was\n accustomed to ask, \"whether walls made a\n Christian.\" However, such a state could not 30\n continue with a man of earnest mind: the leaven\n worked; at length he unexpectedly called upon\n Simplician to lead him to church. He was\n admitted a catechumen, and in due time baptized,\n \"Rome wondering, the Church rejoicing.\" It\n was customary at Rome for the candidates for 5\n baptism to profess their faith from a raised place\n in the church, in a set form of words. An offer\n was made to Victorinus, which was not unusual\n in the case of bashful and timid persons, to make\n his profession in private. But he preferred to 10\n make it in the ordinary way. \"I was public\n enough,\" he made answer, \"in my profession of\n rhetoric, and ought not to be frightened when\n professing salvation.\" He continued the school\n which he had before he became a Christian, till 15\n the edict of Julian forced him to close it. This\n story went to Augustine's heart, but it did not\n melt it. There was still the struggle of two wills,\n the high aspiration and the habitual inertness.\n His conversion took place in the summer of 386. 20\n\n * * * * *\n\n He gives an account of the termination of the\n conflict he underwent:\n\n \"At length burst forth a mighty storm, bringing\n a mighty flood of tears; and to indulge it to the full\n even unto cries, in solitude, I rose up from Alypius, ... 25\n who perceived from my choked voice how it was with\n me. He remained where we had been sitting, in deep\n astonishment. I threw myself down under a fig tree, I\n know not how, and allowing my tears full vent, offered\n up to Thee the acceptable sacrifice of my streaming eyes. 30\n\n \"And I cried out to this effect: 'And Thou, O Lord,\n how long, how long, Lord, wilt Thou be angry?\n Forever? Remember not our old sins!' for I felt that they\n were my tyrants. I cried out, piteously, 'How long?\n how long? to-morrow and to-morrow? why not _now_? 5\n why not in this very hour put an end to this my vileness?'\n While I thus spoke, with tears, in the bitter contrition\n of my heart, suddenly I heard a voice, as if from a house\n near me, of a boy or girl chanting forth again and again,\n 'TAKE UP AND READ, TAKE UP AND READ!' Changing 10\n countenance at these words, I began intently to think\n whether boys used them in any game, but could not\n recollect that I had ever heard them. I left weeping and\n rose up, considering it a divine intimation to open the\n Scriptures and read what first presented itself. I had 15\n heard that Antony had come in during the reading of the\n Gospel, and had taken to himself the admonition, 'Go,\n sell all that thou hast,' etc., and had turned to Thee at\n once, in consequence of that oracle. I had left St.\n Paul's volume where Alypius was sitting, when I rose 20\n thence. I returned thither, seized it, opened, and read\n in silence the following passage, which first met my eyes,\n '_Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and\n impurities, not in contention and envy, but put ye on the\n Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh in 25\n its concupiscences_.' I had neither desire nor need to\n read farther. As I finished the sentence, as though the\n light of peace had been poured into my heart, all the\n shadows of doubt dispersed. Thus hast Thou converted\n me to Thee, so as no longer to seek either for wife or 30\n other hope of this world, standing fast in that rule of\n faith in which Thou so many years before hadst revealed\n me to my mother.\"--viii. 26-30.\n\n The last words of this extract relate to a dream\n which his mother had had some years before, 35\n concerning his conversion. On his first turning\n Manichee, abhorring his opinions, she would not\n for a while even eat with him, when she had this\n dream, in which she had an intimation that where\n she stood, there Augustine should one day be\n with her. At another time she derived great 5\n comfort from the casual words of a bishop, who,\n when importuned by her to converse with her\n son, said at length with some impatience, \"Go\n thy ways, and God bless thee, for it is not possible\n that the son of these tears should perish!\" 10\n would be out of place, and is perhaps unnecessary,\n to enter here into the affecting and well-known\n history of her tender anxieties and persevering\n prayers for Augustine. Suffice it to say, she saw\n the accomplishment of them; she lived till 15\n Augustine became a Catholic; and she died on her way\n back to Africa with him. Her last words were,\n \"Lay this body anywhere; let not the care of it\n in any way distress you; this only I ask, that\n wherever you be, you remember me at the Altar 20\n of the Lord.\"\n\n \"May she,\" says her son, in dutiful remembrance of\n her words, \"rest in peace with her husband, before and\n after whom she never had any; whom she obeyed, with\n patience bringing forth fruit unto Thee, that she might 25\n win him also unto Thee. And inspire, O Lord my God,\n inspire Thy servants, my brethren,--Thy sons, my\n masters,--whom, in heart, voice, and writing I serve,\n that so many as read these confessions, may at Thy altar\n remember Monica, Thy handmaid, with Patricius, her 30\n sometime husband, from whom Thou broughtest me into\n this life; how, I know not. May they with pious affection\n remember those who were my parents in this\n transitory light,--my brethren under Thee, our Father,\n in our Catholic Mother,--my fellow-citizens in the\n eternal Jerusalem, after which Thy pilgrim people sigh\n from their going forth unto their return: that so, her 5\n last request of me may in the prayers of many receive\n a fulfillment, through my confessions, more abundant\n than through my prayers.\"--ix. 37.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\n CHRYSOSTOM\n\n INTRODUCTORY\n\n\n I confess to a delight in reading the lives, and\n dwelling on the characters and actions, of the\n Saints of the first ages, such as I receive from none\n besides them; and for this reason, because we\n know so much more about them than about most 5\n of the Saints who come after them. People are\n variously constituted; what influences one does\n not influence another. There are persons of\n warm imaginations, who can easily picture to\n themselves what they never saw. They can at 10\n will see Angels and Saints hovering over them\n when they are in church; they see their\n lineaments, their features, their motions, their\n gestures, their smile or their grief. They can go\n home and draw what they have seen, from the 15\n vivid memory of what, while it lasted, was so\n transporting. I am not one of such; I am touched\n by my five senses, by what my eyes behold and\n my ears hear. I am touched by what I read\n about, not by what I myself create. As faith 20\n need not lead to practice, so in me mere\n imagination does not lead to devotion. I gain more\n from the life of our Lord in the Gospels than from\n a treatise _de Deo_. I gain more from three verses\n of St. John than from the three points of a\n meditation. I like a Spanish crucifix of painted wood\n more than one from Italy, which is made of gold.\n I am more touched by the Seven Dolors than by\n the Immaculate Conception; I am more devout 5\n to St. Gabriel than to one of Isaiah's seraphim.\n I love St. Paul more than one of those first\n Carmelites, his contemporaries, whose names and acts\n no one ever heard of; I feel affectionately towards\n the Alexandrian Dionysius, I do homage to St. 10\n George. I do not say that my way is better than\n another's; but it is my way, and an allowable\n way. And it is the reason why I am so specially\n attached to the Saints of the third and fourth\n century, because we know so much about them. 15\n This is why I feel a devout affection for St.\n Chrysostom. He and the rest of them have\n written autobiography on a large scale; they\n have given us their own histories, their thoughts,\n words, and actions, in a number of goodly folios, 20\n productions which are in themselves some of their\n meritorious works....\n\n The Ancient Saints have left behind them just\n that kind of literature which more than any other\n represents the abundance of the heart, which 25\n more than any other approaches to conversation;\n I mean correspondence. Why is it that we feel\n an interest in Cicero which we cannot feel in\n Demosthenes or Plato? Plato is the very type\n of soaring philosophy, and Demosthenes of 30\n forcible eloquence; Cicero is something more than\n an orator and a sage; he is not a mere ideality, he\n is a man and a brother; he is one of ourselves.\n We do not merely believe it, or infer it, but we\n have the enduring and living evidence of\n it--how? In his letters. He can be studied, 5\n criticised if you will; but still dwelt upon and\n sympathized with also. Now the case of the Ancient\n Saints is parallel to that of Cicero. We have their\n letters in a marvelous profusion. We have\n above 400 letters of St. Basil's; above 200 of 10\n St. Augustine's. St. Chrysostom has left us\n about 240; St. Gregory Nazianzen the same\n number; Pope St. Gregory as many as 840....\n\n A Saint's writings are to me his real \"Life;\"\n and what _is called_ his \"Life\" is not the outline 15\n of an individual, but either of the _auto-saint_ or\n of a myth. Perhaps I shall be asked what I\n mean by \"Life.\" I mean a narrative which\n impresses the reader with the idea of moral unity,\n identity, growth, continuity, personality. When 20\n a Saint converses with me, I am conscious of the\n presence of one active principle of thought, one\n individual character, flowing on and into the\n various matters which he discusses, and the\n different transactions in which he mixes. It is 25\n what no memorials can reach, however skillfully\n elaborated, however free from effort or study,\n however conscientiously faithful, however\n guaranteed by the veracity of the writers. Why\n cannot art rival the lily or the rose? Because the 30\n colors of the flower are developed and blended\n by the force of an inward life; while on the other\n hand, the lights and shades of the painter are\n diligently laid on from without. A magnifying\n glass will show the difference. Nor will it\n improve matters, though not one only, but a dozen 5\n good artists successively take part in the picture;\n even if the outline is unbroken, the coloring is\n muddy. Commonly, what is called \"the Life,\"\n is little more than a collection of anecdotes brought\n together from a number of independent quarters; 10\n anecdotes striking, indeed, and edifying, but\n valuable in themselves rather than valuable as parts\n of a biography; valuable whoever was the\n subject of them, not valuable as illustrating a\n particular Saint. It would be difficult to mistake 15\n for each other a paragraph of St. Ambrose, or of\n St. Jerome, or of St. Augustine; it would be very\n easy to mistake a chapter in the life of one holy\n missionary or nun for a chapter in the life of\n another. 20\n\n An almsgiving here, an instance of meekness\n there, a severity of penance, a round of religious\n duties,--all these things humble me, instruct\n me, improve me; I cannot desire anything\n better of their kind; but they do not necessarily 25\n coalesce into the image of a person. From such\n works I do but learn to pay devotion to an\n abstract and typical perfection under a certain\n particular name; I do not know more of the real\n Saint who bore it than before. Saints, as other 30\n men, differ from each other in this, that the\n multitude of qualities which they have in\n common are differently combined in each of them.\n This forms one great part of their personality.\n One Saint is remarkable for fortitude; not that\n he has not other heroic virtues by _concomitance_, 5\n as it may be called, but by virtue of that one gift\n in particular he has won his crown. Another is\n remarkable for patient hope, another for\n renunciation of the world. Such a particular virtue\n may be said to give form to all the rest which are 10\n grouped round it, and are molded and modified\n by means of it. Thus it is that often what is\n right in one would be wrong in another; and, in\n fact, the very same action is allowed or chosen\n by one, and shunned by another, as being 15\n consistent or inconsistent with their respective\n characters,--pretty much as in the combination of\n colors, each separate tint takes a shade from\n the rest, and is good or bad from its company.\n The whole gives a meaning to the parts; but it 20\n is difficult to rise from the parts to the whole.\n When I read St. Augustine or St. Basil, I hold\n converse with a beautiful grace-illumined soul,\n looking out into this world of sense, and leavening\n it with itself; when I read a professed life of him, 25\n I am wandering in a labyrinth of which I cannot\n find the center and heart, and am but conducted\n out of doors again when I do my best to penetrate\n within.\n\n This seems to me, to tell the truth, a sort of 30\n pantheistic treatment of the Saints. I ask something\n more than to stumble upon the _disjecta\n membra_ of what ought to be a living whole. I\n take but a secondary interest in books which\n chop up a Saint into chapters of faith, hope,\n charity, and the cardinal virtues. They are too 5\n scientific to be devotional. They have their\n great utility, but it is not the utility which they\n profess. They do not manifest a Saint, they\n mince him into spiritual lessons. They are\n rightly called spiritual reading, that is just what 10\n they are, and they cannot possibly be anything\n better; but they are not anything else. They\n contain a series of points of meditation on\n particular virtues, made easier because those points\n are put under the patronage and the invocation 15\n of a Saint. With a view to learning real\n devotion to him, I prefer (speaking for myself) to have\n any one action or event of his life drawn out\n minutely, with his own comments upon it, than\n a score of virtues, or of acts of one virtue, strung 20\n together in as many sentences. Now, in the\n ancient writings I have spoken of, certain\n transactions are thoroughly worked out. We know all\n that happened to a Saint on such or such an\n occasion, all that was done by him. We have a view 25\n of his character, his tastes, his natural infirmities,\n his struggles and victories over them, which in\n no other way can be attained. And therefore it\n is that, without quarreling with the devotion of\n others, I give the preference to my own. 30\n\n Here another great subject opens upon us,\n when I ought to be bringing these remarks to\n an end; I mean the endemic perennial fidget\n which possesses us about giving scandal; facts\n are omitted in great histories, or glosses are put\n upon memorable acts, because they are thought 5\n not edifying, whereas of all scandals such\n omissions, such glosses, are the greatest. But I am\n getting far more argumentative than I thought\n to be when I began; so I lay my pen down, and\n retire into myself. 10\n\n\n I\n\n John of Antioch, from his sanctity and his\n eloquence called Chrysostom, was approaching\n sixty years of age, when he had to deliver himself\n up to the imperial officers, and to leave\n Constantinople for a distant exile. He had been the great 15\n preacher of the day now for nearly twenty years;\n first at Antioch, then in the metropolis of the\n East; and his gift of speech, as in the instance of\n the two great classical orators before him, was to\n be his ruin. He had made an Empress his enemy, 20\n more powerful than Antipater,--as passionate,\n if not so vindictive, as Fulvia. Nor was this all;\n a zealous Christian preacher offends not\n individuals merely, but classes of men, and much more\n so when he is pastor and ruler too, and has to 25\n punish as well as to denounce. Eudoxia, the\n Empress, might be taken off suddenly,--as\n indeed she was taken off a few weeks after the\n Saint arrived at the place of exile, which she personally, 30\n in spite of his entreaties, had marked out\n for him; but her death did but serve to increase\n the violence of the persecution directed against\n him. She had done her part in it, perhaps she\n might have even changed her mind in his favor; 5\n probably the agitation of a bad conscience was,\n in her critical condition, the cause of her death.\n She was taken out of the way; but her partisans,\n who had made use of her, went on vigorously\n with the evil work which she had begun. When 10\n Cucusus would not kill him, they sent him on his\n travels anew, across a far wilder country than he\n had already traversed, to a remote town on the\n eastern coast of the Euxine; and he sank under\n this fresh trial. 15\n\n The Euxine! that strange mysterious sea,\n which typifies the abyss of outer darkness, as\n the blue Mediterranean basks under the smile of\n heaven in the center of civilization and religion.\n The awful, yet splendid drama of man's history 20\n has mainly been carried on upon the\n Mediterranean shores; while the Black Sea has ever been\n on the very outskirts of the habitable world,\n and the scene of wild unnatural portents; with\n legends of Prometheus on the savage Caucasus, 25\n of Medea gathering witch herbs in the moist\n meadows of the Phasis, and of Iphigenia\n sacrificing the shipwrecked stranger in Taurica; and\n then again, with the more historical, yet not more\n grateful visions of barbarous tribes, Goths, Huns, 30\n Scythians, Tartars, flitting over the steppes and\n wastes which encircle its inhospitable waters.\n To be driven from the bright cities and sunny\n clime of Italy or Greece to such a region, was\n worse than death; and the luxurious Roman\n actually preferred death to exile. The suicide 5\n of Gallus, under this dread doom, is well known;\n Ovid, too cowardly to be desperate, drained out\n the dregs of a vicious life on the cold marshes\n between the Danube and the sea. I need scarcely\n allude to the heroic Popes who patiently lived on 10\n in the Crimea, till a martyrdom, in which they\n had not part but the suffering, released them.\n\n But banishment was an immense evil in itself.\n Cicero, even though he had liberty of person, the\n choice of a home, and the prospect of a return, 15\n roamed disconsolate through the cities of Greece,\n because he was debarred access to the\n senate-house and forum. Chrysostom had his own\n _rostra_, his own _curia_; it was the Holy Temple,\n where his eloquence gained for him victories not 20\n less real, and more momentous, than the\n detection and overthrow of Catiline. Great as was\n his gift of oratory, it was not by the fertility of\n his imagination, or the splendor of his diction\n that he gained the surname of \"Mouth of Gold.\" 25\n We shall be very wrong if we suppose that fine\n expressions, or rounded periods, or figures of\n speech, were the credentials by which he claimed\n to be the first doctor of the East. His oratorical\n power was but the instrument by which he 30\n readily, gracefully, adequately expressed--expressed\n without effort and with felicity--the\n keen feelings, the living ideas, the earnest\n practical lessons which he had to communicate to his\n hearers. He spoke, because his heart, his head,\n were brimful of things to speak about. His 5\n elocution corresponded to that strength and\n flexibility of limb, that quickness of eye, hand, and\n foot, by which a man excels in manly games or\n in mechanical skill. It would be a great mistake,\n in speaking of it, to ask whether it was Attic or 10\n Asiatic, terse or flowing, when its distinctive\n praise was that it was natural. His unrivaled\n charm, as that of every really eloquent man, lies\n in his singleness of purpose, his fixed grasp of his\n aim, his noble earnestness. 15\n\n A bright, cheerful, gentle soul; a sensitive\n heart, a temperament open to emotion and\n impulse; and all this elevated, refined, transformed\n by the touch of heaven,--such was St. John\n Chrysostom; winning followers, riveting 20\n affections, by his sweetness, frankness, and neglect\n of self. In his labors, in his preaching, he\n thought of others only. \"I am always in\n admiration of that thrice-blessed man,\" says an able\n critic,[29] \"because he ever in all his writings puts 25\n before him as his object, to be useful to his\n hearers; and as to all other matters, he either\n simply put them aside, or took the least possible\n notice of them. Nay, as to his seeming ignorant\n of some of the thoughts of Scripture, or careless of 30\n entering into its depths, and similar defects, all\n this he utterly disregarded in comparison of the\n profit of his hearers.\"\n\n [29] Photius, p. 387.\n\n There was as little affectation of sanctity in his\n dress or living as there was effort in his eloquence. 5\n In his youth he had been one of the most austere\n of men; at the age of twenty-one, renouncing\n bright prospects of the world, he had devoted\n himself to prayer and study of the Scriptures.\n He had retired to the mountains near Antioch, 10\n his native place, and had lived among the monks.\n This had been his home for six years, and he had\n chosen it in order to subdue the daintiness of his\n natural appetite. \"Lately,\" he wrote to a friend\n at the time,--\"lately, when I had made up my 15\n mind to leave the city and betake myself to the\n tabernacle of the monks, I was forever\n inquiring and busying myself how I was to get a\n supply of provisions; whether it would be possible\n to procure fresh bread for my eating, whether 20\n I should be ordered to use the same oil for my\n lamp and for my food, to undergo the hardship\n of peas and beans, or of severe toil, such as\n digging, carrying wood or water, and the like; in\n a word, I made much account of bodily comfort.\"[30] 25\n Such was the nervous anxiety and fidget of mind\n with which he had begun: but this rough\n discipline soon effected its object, and at length, even\n by preference, he took upon him mortifications\n which at first were a trouble to him. For the 30\n last two years of his monastic exercise, he lived\n by himself in a cave; he slept, when he did sleep,\n without lying down; he exposed himself to the\n extremities of cold. At length he found he was\n passing the bounds of discretion, nature would 5\n bear no more; he fell ill, and returned to the\n city.\n\n [30] Ad Demetrium, i. 6.\n\n A course of ascetic practice such as this would\n leave its spiritual effects upon him for life. It\n sank deep into him, though the surface might 10\n not show it. His duty at Constantinople was to\n mix with the world; and he lived as others,\n except as regards such restraints as his sacred\n office and archiepiscopal station demanded of\n him. He wore shoes, and an under garment; 15\n but his stomach was ever delicate, and at meals\n he was obliged to have his own dish, such as it\n was, to himself. However, he mixed freely with\n all ranks of men; and he made friends,\n affectionate friends, of young and old, men and women, 20\n rich and poor, by condescending to all of every\n degree. How he was loved at Antioch, is shown\n by the expedient used to transfer him thence to\n Constantinople. Asterius, count of the East, had\n orders to send for him, and ask his company to a 25\n church without the city. Having got him into\n his carriage, he drove off with him to the first\n station on the highroad to Constantinople, where\n imperial officers were in readiness to convey him\n thither. Thus he was brought upon the scene of 30\n those trials which have given him a name in history,\n and a place in the catalogue of the Saints.\n At the imperial city he was as much followed, if\n not as popular, as at Antioch. \"The people\n flocked to him,\" says Sozomen, \"as often as he\n preached; some of them to hear what would 5\n profit them, others to make trial of him. He\n carried them away, one and all, and persuaded\n them to think as he did about the Divine Nature.\n They hung upon his words, and could not have\n enough of them; so that, when they thrust and 10\n jammed themselves together in an alarming way,\n every one making an effort to get nearer to him,\n and to hear him more perfectly, he took his seat\n in the midst of them, and taught from the pulpit\n of the Reader.\"[31] He was, indeed, a man to make 15\n both friends and enemies; to inspire affection,\n and to kindle resentment; but his friends loved\n him with a love \"stronger\" than \"death,\" and\n more burning than \"hell;\" and it was well to be\n so hated, if he was so beloved. 20\n\n [31] Hist. viii. 5.\n\n Here he differs, as far as I can judge, from his\n brother saints and doctors of the Greek Church,\n St. Basil and St. Gregory Nazianzen. They were\n scholars, shy perhaps and reserved; and though\n they had not given up the secular state, they were 25\n essentially monks. There is no evidence, that I\n remember, to show that they attached men to\n their persons. They, as well as John, had a\n multitude of enemies; and were regarded, the\n one with dislike, the other perhaps with contempt; 30\n but they had not, on the other hand,\n warm, eager, sympathetic, indignant, agonized\n friends. There is another characteristic in\n Chrysostom, which perhaps gained for him this great\n blessing. He had, as it would seem, a vigor, 5\n elasticity, and, what may be called, sunniness of\n mind, all his own. He was ever sanguine,\n seldom sad. Basil had a life-long malady, involving\n continual gnawing pain and a weight of physical\n dejection. He bore his burden well and 10\n gracefully, like the great Saint he was, as Job bore his;\n but it was a burden like Job's. He was a calm, mild,\n grave, autumnal day; St. John Chrysostom was\n a day in spring-time, bright and rainy, and\n glittering through its rain. Gregory was the full 15\n summer, with a long spell of pleasant stillness, its\n monotony relieved by thunder and lightning.\n And St. Athanasius figures to us the stern\n persecuting winter, with its wild winds, its dreary\n wastes, its sleep of the great mother, and the 20\n bright stars shining overhead. He and\n Chrysostom have no points in common; but Gregory was\n a dethroned Archbishop of Constantinople, like\n Chrysostom, and, again, dethroned by his\n brethren the Bishops. Like Basil, too, Chrysostom was 25\n bowed with infirmities of body; he was often ill;\n he was thin and wizened; cold was a misery to\n him; heat affected his head; he scarcely dare\n touch wine; he was obliged to use the bath;\n obliged to take exercise, or rather to be 30\n continually on the move. Whether from a nervous or\n febrile complexion, he was warm in temper; or\n at least, at certain times, his emotion struggled\n hard with his reason. But he had that noble\n spirit which complains as little as possible; which\n makes the best of things; which soon recovers 5\n its equanimity, and hopes on in circumstances\n when others sink down in despair....\n\n\n II\n\n Whence is this devotion to St. John\n Chrysostom, which leads me to dwell upon the thought of\n him, and makes me kindle at his name, when so 10\n many other great Saints, as the year brings round\n their festivals, command indeed my veneration,\n but exert no personal claim upon my heart?\n Many holy men have died in exile, many holy\n men have been successful preachers; and what 15\n more can we write upon St. Chrysostom's\n monument than this, that he was eloquent and that he\n suffered persecution? He is not an Athanasius,\n expounding a sacred dogma with a luminousness\n which is almost an inspiration; nor is he 20\n Athanasius, again, in his romantic life-long adventures,\n in his sublime solitariness, in his ascendency over\n all classes of men, in his series of triumphs over\n material force and civil tyranny. Nor, except\n by the contrast, does he remind us of that 25\n Ambrose who kept his ground obstinately in an\n imperial city, and fortified himself against the\n heresy of a court by the living rampart of a\n devoted population. Nor is he Gregory or Basil,\n rich in the literature and philosophy of Greece,\n and embellishing the Church with the spoils of\n heathenism. Again, he is not an Augustine,\n devoting long years to one masterpiece of thought, 5\n and laying, in successive controversies, the\n foundations of theology. Nor is he a Jerome, so dead to\n the world that he can imitate the point and wit\n of its writers without danger to himself or\n scandal to his brethren. He has not trampled upon 10\n heresy, nor smitten emperors, nor beautified the\n house or the service of God, nor knit together the\n portions of Christendom, nor founded a religious\n order, nor built up the framework of doctrine, nor\n expounded the science of the Saints; yet I love 15\n him, as I love David or St. Paul.\n\n How am I to account for it? It has not\n happened to me, as it might happen to many a man,\n that I have devoted time and toil to the study of\n his writings or of his history, and cry up that 20\n upon which I have made an outlay, or love what\n has become familiar to me. Cases may occur\n when our admiration for an author is only\n admiration of our own comments on him, and when\n our love of an old acquaintance is only our love 25\n of old times. For me, I have not written the\n life of Chrysostom, nor translated his works, nor\n studied Scripture in his exposition, nor forged\n weapons of controversy out of his sayings or his\n doings. Nor is his eloquence of a kind to carry 30\n any one away who has ever so little knowledge\n of the oratory of Greece and Rome. It is not\n force of words, nor cogency of argument, nor\n harmony of composition, nor depth or richness of\n thought, which constitute his power,--whence,\n then, has he this influence, so mysterious, yet so 5\n strong?\n\n I consider St. Chrysostom's charm to lie in his\n intimate sympathy and compassionateness for\n the whole world, not only in its strength, but in\n its weakness; in the lively regard with which he 10\n views everything that comes before him, taken\n in the concrete, whether as made after its own\n kind or as gifted with a nature higher than its\n own. Not that any religious man--above all,\n not that any Saint--could possibly contrive to 15\n abstract the love of the work from the love of\n its Maker, or could feel a tenderness for earth\n which did not spring from devotion to heaven;\n or as if he would not love everything just in that\n degree in which the Creator loves it, and 20\n according to the measure of gifts which the Creator\n has bestowed upon it, and pre\u00ebminently for the\n Creator's sake. But this is the characteristic\n of all Saints; and I am speaking, not of what St.\n Chrysostom had in common with others, but what 25\n he had special to himself; and this specialty, I\n conceive, is the interest which he takes in all\n things, not so far as God has made them alike,\n but as He has made them different from each\n other. I speak of the discriminating 30\n affectionateness with which he accepts every one for what is\n personal in him and unlike others. I speak of his\n versatile recognition of men, one by one, for the\n sake of that portion of good, be it more or less,\n of a lower order or a higher, which has severally\n been lodged in them; his eager contemplation of 5\n the many things they do, effect, or produce, of\n all their great works, as nations or as states;\n nay, even as they are corrupted or disguised by\n evil, so far as that evil may in imagination be\n disjoined from their proper nature, or may be 10\n regarded as a mere material disorder apart from\n its formal character of guilt. I speak of the\n kindly spirit and the genial temper with which\n he looks round at all things which this\n wonderful world contains; of the graphic fidelity with 15\n which he notes them down upon the tablets of\n his mind, and of the promptitude and propriety\n with which he calls them up as arguments or\n illustrations in the course of his teaching as the\n occasion requires. Possessed though he be by 20\n the fire of Divine charity, he has not lost one\n fiber, he does not miss one vibration, of the\n complicated whole of human sentiment and affection;\n like the miraculous bush in the desert, which, for\n all the flame that wrapt it round, was not thereby 25\n consumed.\n\n Such, in a transcendent perfection, was the\n gaze, as we may reverently suppose, with which\n the loving Father of all surveyed in eternity that\n universe even in its minutest details which He 30\n had decreed to create, such the loving pity with\n which He spoke the word when the due moment\n came, and began to mold the finite, as He\n created it, in His infinite hands; such the watchful\n solicitude with which he now keeps His\n catalogue of the innumerable birds of heaven, and 5\n counts day by day the very hairs of our head and\n the alternations of our breathing. Such, much\n more, is the awful contemplation with which He\n encompasses incessantly every one of those souls\n on whom He heaps His mercies here, in order 10\n to make them the intimate associates of His own\n eternity hereafter. And we too, in our measure,\n are bound to imitate Him in our exact and vivid\n apprehension of Himself and of His works. As to\n Himself, we love Him, not simply in His nature, 15\n but in His triple personality, lest we become mere\n pantheists. And so, again, we choose our patron\n Saints, not for what they have in common with\n each other (else there could be no room for choice\n at all), but for what is peculiar to them severally. 20\n That which is my warrant, therefore, for particular\n devotions at all, becomes itself my reason for\n devotion to St. John Chrysostom. In him I\n recognize a special pattern of that very gift of\n discrimination. He may indeed be said in some sense to 25\n have a devotion of his own for every one who\n comes across him,--for persons, ranks, classes,\n callings, societies, considered as Divine works and\n the subjects of his good offices or good will, and\n therefore I have a devotion for him. 30\n\n It is this observant benevolence which gives to\n his exposition of Scripture its chief characteristic.\n He is known in ecclesiastical literature as the\n expounder, above all others, of its literal sense.\n Now in mystical comments the direct object which\n the writer sets before him is the Divine Author 5\n Himself of the written Word. Such a writer\n sees in Scripture, not so much the works of God,\n as His nature and attributes; the Teacher more\n than the definite teaching, or its human\n instruments, with their drifts and motives, their courses 10\n of thought, their circumstances and personal\n peculiarities. He loses the creature in the glory\n which surrounds the Creator. The problem\n before him is not what the inspired writer directly\n meant, and why, but, out of the myriad of 15\n meanings present to the Infinite Being who inspired him,\n which it is that is most illustrative of that Great\n Being's all-holy attributes and solemn dispositions.\n Thus, in the Psalter, he will drop David and Israel\n and the Temple together, and will recognize 20\n nothing there but the shadows of those greater truths\n which remain forever. Accordingly, the\n mystical comment will be of an objective character;\n whereas a writer who delights to ponder human\n nature and human affairs, to analyze the 25\n workings of the mind, and to contemplate what is\n subjective to it, is naturally drawn to investigate\n the sense of the sacred writer himself, who was the\n organ of the revelation, that is, he will investigate\n the literal sense. Now, in the instance of St. 30\n Chrysostom, it so happens that literal exposition\n is the historical characteristic of the school in\n which he was brought up; so that if he commented\n on Scripture at all, he anyhow would have\n adopted that method; still, there have been\n many literal expositors, but only one 5\n Chrysostom. It is St. Chrysostom who is the charm of\n the method, not the method that is the charm\n of St. Chrysostom.\n\n That charm lies, as I have said, in his habit and\n his power of throwing himself into the minds 10\n of others, of imagining with exactness and with\n sympathy circumstances or scenes which were\n not before him, and of bringing out what he has\n apprehended in words as direct and vivid as the\n apprehension. His page is like the table of a 15\n _camera lucida_, which represents to us the living\n action and interaction of all that goes on around\n us. That loving scrutiny, with which he follows\n the Apostles as they reveal themselves to us in\n their writings, he practices in various ways 20\n towards all men, living and dead, high and low,\n those whom he admires and those whom he weeps\n over. He writes as one who was ever looking\n out with sharp but kind eyes upon the world of\n men and their history; and hence he has always 25\n something to produce about them, new or old,\n to the purpose of his argument, whether from\n books or from the experience of life. Head and\n heart were full to overflowing with a stream of\n mingled \"wine and milk,\" of rich vigorous thought 30\n and affectionate feeling. This is why his manner\n of writing is so rare and special; and why, when\n once a student enters into it, he will ever\n recognize him, wherever he meets with extracts from\n him.\n\n\n LETTERS OF CHRYSOSTOM, WRITTEN IN EXILE\n\n\n \"TO OLYMPIAS\n\n \"Why do you bewail me? Why beat your breast, 5\n and abandon yourself to the tyranny of despondency?\n Why are you grieved because you have failed in\n effecting my removal from Cucusus? Yet, as far as your own\n part is concerned, you have effected it, since you have\n left nothing undone in attempting it. Nor have you any 10\n reason to grieve for your ill success; perhaps it has seemed\n good to God to make my race course longer that my\n crown may be brighter. You ought to leap and dance and\n crown yourself for this, viz., that I should be accounted\n worthy of so great a matter, which far exceeds my merit. 15\n Does my present loneliness distress you? On the\n contrary, what can be more pleasant than my sojourn here?\n I have quiet, calm, much leisure, excellent health. To\n be sure, there is no market in the city, nor anything\n on sale; but this does not affect me; for all things, as if 20\n from some fountains, flow in upon me. Here is my lord,\n the Bishop of the place, and my lord Dioscorus, making\n it their sole business to make me comfortable. That\n excellent person Patricius will tell you in what good\n spirits and lightness of mind, and amid what kind 25\n attentions, I am passing my time.\"--_Ep._ 14.\n\n The same is his report to his friends at C\u00e6esarea,\n and the same are his expressions of gratitude\n and affection towards them. The following is\n addressed to the President of Cappodocia 30\n\n\n TO CARTERIUS\n\n \"Cucusus is a place desolate in the extreme; however,\n it does not annoy me so much by its desolateness as it\n relieves me by its quiet and its leisure. Accordingly, I\n have found a sort of harbor in this desolateness; and\n have set me down to recover breath after the miseries 5\n of the journey, and have availed myself of the quiet to\n dispose of what remained both of my illness and of the\n other troubles which I have undergone. I say this to\n your illustriousness, knowing well the joy you feel in\n this rest of mine. I can never forget what you did for 10\n me in C\u00e6sarea, in quelling those furious and senseless\n tumults, and striving to the utmost, as far as your powers\n extended, to place me in security. I give this out\n publicly wherever I go, feeling the liveliest gratitude to you,\n my most worshipful lord, for so great solicitude towards 15\n me.\"--_Ep._ 236.\n\n\n \"TO DIOGENES\n\n \"Cucusus is indeed a desolate spot, and moreover\n unsafe to dwell in, from the continual danger to which\n it is exposed of brigands. You, however, though away,\n have turned it for me into a paradise. For, when I 20\n hear of your abundant zeal and charity in my behalf,\n so genuine and warm (it does not at all escape me, far\n removed as I am from you), I possess a great treasure\n and untold wealth in such affection, and feel myself\n to be dwelling in the safest of cities, by reason of the 25\n great gladness which bears me up, and the high\n consolation which I enjoy.\"--_Ep._ 144.\n\n Diogenes was one of the friends who sent him\n supplies, he writes in answer:\n\n \"You know very well yourself that I have ever been 30\n one of your most warmly attached admirers; therefore\n I beg you will not be hurt at my having returned your\n presents. I have pressed out of them and have quaffed\n the honor which they did me; and if I return the things\n themselves, it has been from no slight or distrust of you,\n but because I was in no need of them. I have done the\n same in the case of many others; for many others too,\n with a generosity like yours, ardent friends of mine, have 5\n made me the same offers; and the same apology has set\n me right with them which I now ask you to receive. If\n I am in want, I will ask these things of you with much\n freedom, as if they were my own property, nay with\n more, as the event will show. Receive them back, then, 10\n and keep them carefully; so that, if there is a call for\n them some time hence, I may reckon on them.\"--_Ep._ 50.\n\n As a fellow to the above, I add one of his\n letters:\n\n\n \"TO CARTERIA\n\n \"What are you saying? that your unintermitting 15\n ailments have hindered you from visiting me? but you\n _have_ come, you are present with me. From your very\n intention I have gained all this, nor have you any need\n to excuse yourself in this matter. That warm and true\n charity of yours, so vigorous, so constant, suffices to 20\n make me very happy. What I have ever declared in\n my letters, I now declare again, that, wherever I may be,\n though I be transported to a still more desolate place\n than this, you and your matters I never shall forget.\n Such pledges of your warm and true charity have you 25\n stored up for me, pledges which length of time can never\n obliterate nor waste; but, whether I am near you or far\n away, ever do I cherish that same charity, being\n assured of the loyalty and sincerity of your affection for\n me, which has been my comfort hitherto.\"--_Ep._ 227. 30\n\n\n \"TO OLYMPIAS\n\n \"It is not a light effort,\" he says (_Ep._ 2), \"but\n it demands an energetic soul and a great mind to\n bear separation from one whom we love in the\n charity of Christ. Every one knows this who\n knows what it is to love sincerely, who knows\n the power of supernatural love. Take the blessed\n Paul: here was a man who had stripped himself 5\n of the flesh, and who went about the world\n almost with a disembodied soul, who had\n exterminated from his heart every wild impulse, and\n who imitated the passionless sereneness of the\n immaterial intelligences, and who stood on high 10\n with the Cherubim, and shared with them in their\n mystical music, and bore prisons, chains,\n transportations, scourges, stoning, shipwreck, and every\n form of suffering; yet he, when separated from\n one soul loved by him in Christian charity, was 15\n so confounded and distracted as all at once to\n rush out of that city, in which he did not find the\n beloved one whom he expected. 'When I was\n come to Troas,' he says, 'for the gospel of Christ,\n and a door was opened to me in the Lord, I had 20\n no rest in my spirit, because I found not Titus\n my brother; but bidding them farewell, I went\n into Macedonia.'\n\n \"Is it Paul who says this?\" he continues;\n \"Paul who, even when fastened in the stocks, 25\n when confined in a dungeon, when torn with\n the bloody scourge, did nevertheless convert and\n baptize and offer sacrifice, and was chary even\n of one soul which was seeking salvation? and\n now, when he has arrived at Troas, and sees the 30\n field cleansed of weeds, and ready for the sowing,\n and the floor full, and ready to his hand,\n suddenly he flings away the profit, though he came\n thither expressly for it. 'So it was,' he answers\n me, 'just so; I was possessed by a predominating\n tyranny of sorrow, for Titus was away; and this 5\n so wrought upon me as to compel me to this\n course.' Those who have the grace of charity\n are not content to be united in soul only, they\n seek for the personal presence of him they love.\n\n \"Turn once more to this scholar of charity, and 10\n you will find that so it is. 'We, brethren,' he\n says, 'being bereaved of you for the time of an\n hour, in sight, not in heart, have hastened the\n more abundantly to see your face with great\n desire. For we would have come unto you, I, 15\n Paul, indeed, once and again, but Satan hath\n hindered us. For which cause, forbearing no\n longer, we thought it good to remain at Athens\n alone, and we sent Timothy.' What force is\n there in each expression! That flame of charity 20\n living in his soul is manifested with singular\n luminousness. He does not say so much as\n 'separated from you,' nor 'torn,' nor 'divided,'\n nor 'abandoned,' but only 'bereaved'; moreover\n not 'for a certain period,' but merely 'for the 25\n time of an hour'; and separated, 'not in heart,\n but in presence only'; again, 'have hastened\n the more abundantly to see your face.' What!\n it seems charity so captivated you that you\n desiderated their sight, you longed to gaze upon 30\n their earthly, fleshly countenance? 'Indeed I\n did,' he answers: 'I am not ashamed to say so;\n for in that seeing all the channels of the senses\n meet together. I desire to see your presence;\n for there is the tongue which utters sounds and\n announces the secret feelings; there is the 5\n hearing which receives words, and there the eyes\n which image the movements of the soul.' But\n this is not all: not content with writing to them\n letters, he actually sends to them Timothy, who\n was with him, and who was more than any letters. 10\n And, 'We thought it good to remain alone;'\n that is, when he is divided from one brother,\n he says, he is left alone, though he had so many\n others with him.\"\n\n\n\n\n II THE TURK\n\n\n\n\n THE TARTAR AND THE TURK\n\n\n You may think, Gentlemen, I have been very\n long in coming to the Turks, and indeed I have\n been longer than I could have wished; but I\n have thought it necessary, in order to your taking\n a just view of them, that you should survey them 5\n first of all in their original condition. When they\n first appear in history they are Huns or Tartars,\n and nothing else; they are indeed in no\n unimportant respects Tartars even now; but, had they\n never been made something more than Tartars, 10\n they never would have had much to do with the\n history of the world. In that case, they would\n have had only the fortunes of Attila and Zingis;\n they might have swept over the face of the earth,\n and scourged the human race, powerful to destroy, 15\n helpless to construct, and in consequence\n ephemeral; but this would have been all. But this has\n not been all, as regards the Turks; for, in spite\n of their intimate resemblance or relationship to\n the Tartar tribes, in spite of their essential 20\n barbarism to this day, still they, or at least great\n portions of the race, have been put under\n education; they have been submitted to a slow\n course of change, with a long history and a profitable\n discipline and fortunes of a peculiar kind;\n and thus they have gained those qualities of\n mind, which alone enable a nation to wield and\n to consolidate imperial power.\n\n I have said that, when first they distinctly 5\n appear on the scene of history, they are\n indistinguishable from Tartars. Mount Altai, the\n high metropolis of Tartary, is surrounded by a\n hilly district, rich not only in the useful, but in\n the precious metals. Gold is said to abound 10\n there; but it is still more fertile in veins of iron,\n which indeed is said to be the most plentiful in\n the world. There have been iron works there\n from time immemorial, and at the time that the\n Huns descended on the Roman Empire (in the 15\n fifth century of the Christian era), we find\n the Turks nothing more than a family of slaves,\n employed as workers of the ore and as blacksmiths\n by the dominant tribe. Suddenly in the course\n of fifty years, soon after the fall of the Hunnish 20\n power in Europe, with the sudden development\n peculiar to Tartars, we find these Turks spread\n from East to West, and lords of a territory so\n extensive, that they were connected, by relations\n of peace or war, at once with the Chinese, the 25\n Persians, and the Romans. They had reached\n Kamtchatka on the North, the Caspian on the\n West, and perhaps even the mouth of the Indus\n on the South. Here then we have an\n intermediate empire of Tartars, placed between the 30\n eras of Attila and Zingis; but in this sketch it has\n no place, except as belonging to Turkish history,\n because it was contained within the limits of\n Asia, and, though it lasted for 200 years, it only\n faintly affected the political transactions of\n Europe. However, it was not without some sort 5\n of influence on Christendom, for the Romans\n interchanged embassies with its sovereign in the\n reign of the then Greek Emperor Justin the\n younger (A.D. 570), with the view of engaging\n him in a warlike alliance against Persia. The 10\n account of one of these embassies remains, and\n the picture it presents of the Turks is important,\n because it seems clearly to identify them with\n the Tartar race.\n\n For instance, in the mission to the Tartars 15\n from the Pope, which I have already spoken of,\n the friars were led between two fires, when they\n approached the Khan, and they at first refused\n to follow, thinking they might be countenancing\n some magical rite. Now we find it recorded of 20\n this Roman embassy, that, on its arrival, it was\n purified by the Turks with fire and incense. As\n to incense, which seems out of place among such\n barbarians, it is remarkable that it is used in\n the ceremonial of the Turkish court to this day. 25\n At least Sir Charles Fellows, in his work on the\n Antiquities of Asia Minor, in 1838, speaks of the\n Sultan as going to the festival of Bairam with\n incense-bearers before him. Again, when the\n Romans were presented to the great Khan, they 30\n found him in his tent, seated on a throne, to which\n wheels were attached and horses attachable, in\n other words, a Tartar wagon. Moreover, they\n were entertained at a banquet which lasted the\n greater part of the day; and an intoxicating\n liquor, not wine, which was sweet and pleasant, 5\n was freely presented to them; evidently the\n Tartar _koumiss_.[32] The next day they had a\n second entertainment in a still more splendid\n tent; the hangings were of embroidered silk, and\n the throne, the cups, and the vases were of gold. 10\n On the third day, the pavilion, in which they were\n received, was supported on gilt columns; a couch\n of massive gold was raised on four gold peacocks;\n and before the entrance to the tent was what\n might be called a sideboard, only that it was a 15\n sort of barricade of wagons, laden with dishes,\n basins, and statues of solid silver. All these\n points in the description--the silk hangings, the\n gold vessels, the successively increasing splendor\n of the entertainments--remind us of the courts 20\n of Zingis and Timour, 700 and 900 years\n afterwards.\n\n [32] Univ. Hist. Modern, vol. iii. p. 346.\n\n This empire, then, of the Turks was of a Tartar\n character; yet it was the first step of their\n passing from barbarism to that degree of civilization 25\n which is their historical badge. And it was their\n first step in civilization, not so much by what\n it did in its day, as (unless it be a paradox to\n say so) by its coming to an end. Indeed it so\n happens, that those Turkish tribes which have 30\n changed their original character and have a place\n in the history of the world, have obtained their\n _status_ and their qualifications for it, by a process\n very different from that which took place in the\n nations most familiar to us. What this process 5\n has been I will say presently; first, however, let\n us observe that, fortunately for our purpose, we\n have still specimens existing of those other\n Turkish tribes, which were never submitted to\n this process of education and change, and, in 10\n looking at them as they now exist, we see at this\n very day the Turkish nationality in something\n very like its original form, and are able to decide\n for ourselves on its close approximation to the\n Tartar. You may recollect I pointed out to 15\n you, Gentlemen, in the opening of these lectures,\n the course which the pastoral tribes, or nomads\n as they are often called, must necessarily take\n in their emigrations. They were forced along\n in one direction till they emerged from their 20\n mountain valleys, and descended their high\n plateau at the end of Tartary, and then they had\n the opportunity of turning south. If they did\n not avail themselves of this opening, but went on\n still westward, their next southern pass would 25\n be the defiles of the Caucasus and Circassia, to\n the west of the Caspian. If they did not use this,\n they would skirt the top of the Black Sea, and\n so reach Europe. Thus in the emigration of the\n Huns from China, you may recollect a tribe of 30\n them turned to the South as soon as they could,\n and settled themselves between the high Tartar\n land and the sea of Aral, while the main body\n went on to the furthest West by the north of the\n Black Sea. Now with this last passage into\n Europe we are not here concerned, for the Turks 5\n have never introduced themselves to Europe by\n means of it;[33] but with those two southward\n passages which are Asiatic, viz., that to the east\n of the Aral, and that to the west of the Caspian.\n The Turkish tribes have all descended upon the 10\n civilized world by one or other of these two roads;\n and I observe, that those which have descended\n along the east of the Aral have changed their\n social habits and gained political power, while\n those which descended to the west of the Caspian 15\n remain pretty much what they ever were. The\n former of these go among us by the general\n name of Turks; the latter are the Turcomans\n or Turkmans.... At the very date at which\n Heraclius called the Turcomans into Georgia, at 20\n the very date when their Eastern brethren\n crossed the northern border of Sogdiana, an event\n of most momentous import had occurred in the\n South. A new religion had arisen in Arabia.\n The impostor Mahomet, announcing himself the 25\n Prophet of God, was writing the pages of that\n book, and molding the faith of that people, which\n was to subdue half the known world. The Turks\n passed the Jaxartes southward in A.D. 626; just\n four years before Mahomet had assumed the royal\n dignity, and just six years after, on his death,\n his followers began the conquest of the Persian\n Empire. In the course of 20 years they effected\n it; Sogdiana was at its very extremity, or its 5\n borderland; there the last king of Persia took\n refuge from the south, while the Turks were\n pouring into it from the north. There was little to\n choose for the unfortunate prince between the\n Turk and the Saracen; the Turks were his 10\n hereditary foe; they had been the giants and\n monsters of the popular poetry; but he threw\n himself into their arms. They engaged in his\n service, betrayed him, murdered him, and\n measured themselves with the Saracens in his stead. 15\n Thus the military strength of the north and south\n of Asia, the Saracenic and the Turkish, came into\n memorable conflict in the regions of which I have\n said so much. The struggle was a fierce one, and\n lasted many years; the Turks striving to force 20\n their way down to the ocean, the Saracens to\n drive them back into their Scythian deserts.\n They first fought this issue in Bactriana or\n Khorasan; the Turks got the worst of the fight,\n and then it was thrown back upon Sogdiana 25\n itself, and there it ended again in favor of the\n Saracens. At the end of 90 years from the time\n of the first Turkish descent on this fair region,\n they relinquished it to their Mahometan\n opponents. The conquerors found it rich, populous, 30\n and powerful; its cities, Carisme, Bokhara, and\n Samarcand, were surrounded beyond their\n fortifications by a suburb of fields and gardens, which\n was in turn protected by exterior works; its plains\n were well cultivated, and its commerce extended\n from China to Europe. Its riches were 5\n proportionally great; the Saracens were able to extort\n a tribute of two million gold pieces from the\n inhabitants; we read, moreover, of the crown\n jewels of one of the Turkish princesses; and of\n the buskin of another, which she dropt in her 10\n flight from Bokhara, as being worth two\n thousand pieces of gold.[34] Such had been the prosperity\n of the barbarian invaders, such was its end; but\n not _their_ end, for adversity did them service, as\n well as prosperity, as we shall see. 15\n\n [33] I am here assuming that the Magyars are not of the Turkish\n stock; vid. Gibbon and Pritchard.\n\n [34] Gibbon.\n\n It is usual for historians to say, that the\n triumph of the South threw the Turks back again\n upon their northern solitudes; and this might\n easily be the case with some of the many hordes,\n which were ever passing the boundary and 20\n flocking down; but it is no just account of the\n historical fact, viewed as a whole. Not often indeed\n do the Oriental nations present us with an\n example of versatility of character; the Turks, for\n instance, of this day are substantially what they 25\n were four centuries ago. We cannot conceive,\n were Turkey overrun by the Russians at the\n present moment, that the fanatical tribes, which\n are pouring into Constantinople from Asia Minor,\n would submit to the foreign yoke, take service 30\n under their conquerors, become soldiers,\n custom-officers, police, men of business, attaches,\n statesmen, working their way up from the ranks and\n from the masses into influence and power; but,\n whether from skill in the Saracens, or from 5\n far-reaching sagacity in the Turks (and it is difficult\n to assign it to either cause), so it was, that a\n process of this nature followed close upon the\n Mahometan conquest of Sogdiana. It is to be\n traced in detail to a variety of accidents. Many 10\n of the Turks probably were made slaves, and the\n service to which they were subjected was no\n matter of choice. Numbers had got attached to\n the soil; and inheriting the blood of Persians,\n White Huns, or aboriginal inhabitants for three 15\n generations, had simply unlearned the wildness\n of the Tartar shepherd. Others fell victims to\n the religion of their conquerors, which ultimately,\n as we know, exercised a most remarkable\n influence upon them. Not all at once, but as 20\n tribe descended after tribe, and generation\n followed generation, they succumbed to the creed\n of Mahomet; and they embraced it with the\n ardor and enthusiasm which Franks and Saxons\n so gloriously and meritoriously manifested in their 25\n conversion to Christianity.\n\n Here again was a very powerful instrument\n in modification of their national character. Let\n me illustrate it in one particular. If there is one\n peculiarity above another, proper to the savage 30\n and to the Tartar, it is that of excitability and\n impetuosity on ordinary occasions; the Turks,\n on the other hand, are nationally remarkable for\n gravity and almost apathy of demeanor. Now\n there are evidently elements in the Mahometan\n creed, which would tend to change them from 5\n the one temperament to the other. Its\n sternness, its coldness, its doctrine of fatalism; even\n the truths which it borrowed from Revelation,\n when separated from the truths it rejected, its\n monotheism untempered by mediation, its severe 10\n view of the Divine attributes, of the law, and of a\n sure retribution to come, wrought both a gloom\n and also an improvement in the barbarian, not\n very unlike the effect which some forms of\n Protestantism produce among ourselves. But 15\n whatever was the mode of operation, certainly\n it is to their religion that this peculiarity of the\n Turks is ascribed by competent judges.\n Lieutenant Wood in his journal gives us a lively\n account of a peculiarity of theirs, which he 20\n unhesitatingly attributes to Islamism. \"Nowhere,\"\n he says, \"is the difference between European and\n Mahometan society more strongly marked than\n in the lower walks of life.... A Kasid, or\n messenger, for example, will come into a public 25\n department, deliver his letters in full durbar, and\n demean himself throughout the interview with\n so much composure and self-possession, that an\n European can hardly believe that his grade in\n society is so low. After he has delivered his 30\n letters, he takes his seat among the crowd, and\n answers, calmly and without hesitation, all the\n questions which may be addressed to him, or\n communicates the verbal instructions with which\n he has been intrusted by his employer, and\n which are often of more importance than the 5\n letters themselves. Indeed, all the inferior classes\n possess an innate self-respect, and a natural\n gravity of deportment, which differs as far from\n the suppleness of a Hindustani as from the\n awkward rusticity of an English clown.\" ... \"Even 10\n children,\" he continues, \"in Mahometan countries\n have an unusual degree of gravity in their\n deportment. The boy, who can but lisp his 'Peace be\n with you,' has imbibed this portion of the national\n character. In passing through a village, these 15\n little men will place their hands upon their\n breasts, and give the usual greeting. Frequently\n have I seen the children of chiefs approach their\n father's durbar, and stopping short at the\n threshold of the door, utter the shout of 'Salam 20\n Ali-Kum,' so as to draw all eyes upon them; but\n nothing daunted, they marched boldly into the\n room, and sliding down upon their knees, folded\n their arms and took their seat upon the musnad\n with all the gravity of grown-up persons.\" 25\n\n As Islamism has changed the demeanor of the\n Turks, so doubtless it has in other ways materially\n innovated on their Tartar nature. It has given\n an aim to their military efforts, a political\n principle, and a social bond. It has laid them under 30\n a sense of responsibility, has molded them into\n consistency, and taught them a course of policy\n and perseverance in it. But to treat this part\n of the subject adequately to its importance would\n require, Gentlemen, a research and a fullness of\n discussion unsuitable to the historical sketch 5\n which I have undertaken. I have said enough\n for my purpose upon this topic; and indeed\n on the general question of the modification of\n national character to which the Turks were at\n this period subjected. 10\n\n\n\n\n THE TURK AND THE SARACEN\n\n\n Mere occupation of a rich country is not\n enough for civilization, as I have granted already.\n The Turks came into the pleasant plains and\n valleys of Sogdiana; the Turcomans into the\n well-wooded mountains and sunny slopes of Asia 15\n Minor. The Turcomans were brought out of\n their dreary deserts, yet they retained their old\n habits, and they remain barbarians to this day.\n But why? it must be borne in mind, they neither\n subjugated the inhabitants of their new country 20\n on the one hand, nor were subjugated by them\n on the other. They never had direct or intimate\n relations with it; they were brought into it by\n the Roman Government at Constantinople as its\n auxiliaries, but they never naturalized themselves 25\n there. They were like gypsies in England, except\n that they were mounted freebooters instead of\n pilferers and fortune tellers. It was far otherwise\n with their brethren in Sogdiana; they were\n there first as conquerors, then as conquered.\n First they held it in possession as their prize for\n 90 or 100 years; they came into the usufruct and\n enjoyment of it. Next, their political ascendency 5\n over it involved, as in the case of the White Huns,\n some sort of moral surrender of themselves to it.\n What was the first consequence of this? that,\n like the White Huns, they intermarried with the\n races they found there. We know the custom 10\n of the Tartars and Turks; under such\n circumstances they would avail themselves of their\n national practice of polygamy to its full extent\n of license. In the course of twenty years a new\n generation would arise of a mixed race; and 15\n these in turn would marry into the native\n population, and at the end of ninety or a hundred\n years we should find the great-grandsons or the\n great-great-grandsons of the wild marauders who\n first crossed the Jaxartes, so different from their 20\n ancestors in features both of mind and body,\n that they hardly would be recognized as deserving\n the Tartar name. At the end of that period their\n power came to an end, the Saracens became\n masters of them and of their country, but the 25\n process of emigration southward from the\n Scythian desert, which had never intermitted during\n the years of their domination, continued still,\n though that domination was no more.\n\n Here it is necessary to have a clear idea of the 30\n nature of that association of the Turkish tribes\n from the Volga to the Eastern Sea, to which I\n have given the name of Empire: it was not so\n much of a political as of a national character;\n it was the power, not of a system, but of a race.\n They were not one well-organized state, but a 5\n number of independent tribes, acting generally\n together, acknowledging one leader or not,\n according to circumstances, combining and\n co\u00f6perating from the identity of object which acted\n on them, and often jealous of each other and 10\n quarreling with each other on account of that\n very identity. Each tribe made its way down to\n the south as it could; one blocked up the way of\n the other for a time; there were stoppages and\n collisions, but there was a continual movement 15\n and progress. Down they came one after another,\n like wolves after their prey; and as the tribes\n which came first became partially civilized, and\n as a mixed generation arose, these would naturally\n be desirous of keeping back their less polished 20\n uncles or cousins, if they could; and would do so\n successfully for a while: but cupidity is stronger\n than conservatism; and so, in spite of delay and\n difficulty, down they would keep coming, and\n down they did come, even after and in spite of 25\n the overthrow of their Empire; crowding down\n as to a new world, to get what they could, as\n adventurers, ready to turn to the right or the\n left, prepared to struggle on anyhow, willing to\n be forced forward into countries farther still, 30\n careless what might turn up, so that they did but\n get down. And this was the process which went\n on (whatever were their fortunes when they\n actually got down, prosperous or adverse) for\n 400, nay, I will say for 700 years. The\n storehouse of the north was never exhausted; it 5\n sustained the never ending run upon its resources.\n\n I was just now referring to a change in the\n Turks, which I have mentioned before, and\n which had as important a bearing as any other\n of their changes upon their subsequent fortunes. 10\n It was a change in their physiognomy and shape,\n so striking as to recommend them to their\n masters for the purposes of war or of display.\n Instead of bearing any longer the hideous exterior\n which in the Huns frightened the Romans and 15\n Goths, they were remarkable, even as early as the\n ninth century, when they had been among the\n natives of Sogdiana only two hundred years,\n for the beauty of their persons. An important\n political event was the result: hence the 20\n introduction of the Turks into the heart of the\n Saracenic empire. By this time the Caliphs had\n removed from Damascus to Bagdad; Persia was\n the imperial province, and into Persia they were\n introduced for the reason I have mentioned, 25\n sometimes as slaves, sometimes as captives taken\n in war, sometimes as mercenaries for the\n Saracenic armies: at length they were enrolled as\n guards to the Caliph, and even appointed to\n offices in the palace, to the command of the forces, 30\n and to governorships in the provinces. The son\n of the celebrated Harun al Raschid had as many\n as 50,000 of these troops in Bagdad itself. And\n thus slowly and silently they made their way to\n the south, not with the pomp and pretense of\n conquest, but by means of that ordinary 5\n inter-communion which connected one portion of the\n empire of the Caliphs with another. In this\n manner they were introduced even into Egypt.\n\n This was their history for a hundred and fifty\n years, and what do we suppose would be the 10\n result of this importation of barbarians into the\n heart of a nourishing empire? Would they be\n absorbed as slaves or settlers in the mass of the\n population, or would they, like mercenaries\n elsewhere, be fatal to the power that introduced 15\n them? The answer is not difficult, considering\n that their very introduction argued a want of\n energy and resource in the rulers whom they\n served. To employ them was a confession of\n weakness; the Saracenic power indeed was not 20\n very aged, but the Turkish was much younger,\n and more vigorous; then too must be\n considered the difference of national character\n between the Turks and the Saracens. A writer of\n the beginning of the present century[35] compares 25\n the Turks to the Romans; such parallels are\n generally fanciful and fallacious; but, if we must\n accept it in the present instance, we may\n complete the picture by likening the Saracens and\n Persians to the Greeks, and we know what was 30\n the result of the collision between Greece and\n Rome. The Persians were poets, the Saracens\n were philosophers. The mathematics, astronomy,\n and botany were especial subjects of the studies of\n the latter. Their observatories were celebrated, 5\n and they may be considered to have originated\n the science of chemistry. The Turks, on the\n other hand, though they are said to have a\n literature, and though certain of their princes have\n been patrons of letters, have never distinguished 10\n themselves in exercises of pure intellect; but\n they have had an energy of character, a\n pertinacity, a perseverance, and a political talent, in\n a word, they then had the qualities of mind\n necessary for ruling, in far greater measure, than 15\n the people they were serving. The Saracens,\n like the Greeks, carried their arms over the\n surface of the earth with an unrivaled brilliancy\n and an uncheckered success; but their dominion,\n like that of Greece, did not last for more than 20\n 200 or 300 years. Rome grew slowly through\n many centuries, and its influence lasts to this\n day; the Turkish race battled with difficulties\n and reverses, and made its way on amid tumult\n and complication, for a good 1000 years from 25\n first to last, till at length it found itself in\n possession of Constantinople, and a terror to the\n whole of Europe. It has ended its career upon\n the throne of Constantine; it began it as the\n slave and hireling of the rulers of a great empire, 30\n of Persia and Sogdiana.\n\n [35] Thornton.\n\n As to Sogdiana, we have already reviewed one\n season of power and then in turn of reverse which\n there befell the Turks; and next a more\n remarkable outbreak and its reaction mark their presence\n in Persia. I have spoken of the formidable force, 5\n consisting of Turks, which formed the guard of\n the Caliphs immediately after the time of Harun\n al Raschid: suddenly they rebelled against\n their master, burst into his apartment at the\n hour of supper, murdered him, and cut his body 10\n into seven pieces. They got possession of the\n symbols of imperial power, the garment and the\n staff of Mahomet, and proceeded to make and\n unmake Caliphs at their pleasure. In the course\n of four years they had elevated, deposed, and 15\n murdered as many as three. At their wanton\n caprice, they made these successors of the false\n prophet the sport of their insults and their blows.\n They dragged them by the feet, stripped them,\n and exposed them to the burning sun, beat them 20\n with iron clubs, and left them for days without\n food. At length, however, the people of Bagdad\n were roused in defense of the Caliphate, and the\n Turks for a time were brought under; but they\n remained in the country, or rather, by the 25\n short-sighted policy of the moment, were dispersed\n throughout it, and thus became in the sequel\n ready-made elements of revolution for the\n purposes of other traitors of their own race, who, at\n a later period, as we shall presently see, descended 30\n on Persia from Turkistan.\n\n Indeed, events were opening the way slowly,\n but surely, to their ascendency. Throughout the\n whole of the tenth century, which followed, they\n seem to disappear from history; but a silent\n revolution was all along in progress, leading them 5\n forward to their great destiny. The empire of\n the Caliphate was already dying in its\n extremities, and Sogdiana was one of the first countries\n to be detached from his power. The Turks were\n still there, and, as in Persia, filled the ranks of the 10\n army and the offices of the government; but the\n political changes which took place were not at\n first to their visible advantage. What first\n occurred was the revolt of the Caliph's viceroy,\n who made himself a great kingdom or empire out 15\n of the provinces around, extending it from the\n Jaxartes, which was the northern boundary of\n Sogdiana, almost to the Indian Ocean, and\n from the confines of Georgia to the mountains\n of Afghanistan. The dynasty thus established 20\n lasted for four generations and for the space of\n ninety years. Then the successor happened to\n be a boy; and one of his servants, the governor\n of Khorasan, an able and experienced man, was\n forced by circumstances to rebellion against him. 25\n He was successful, and the whole power of this\n great kingdom fell into his hands; now he was a\n Tartar or Turk; and thus at length the Turks\n suddenly appear in history, the acknowledged\n masters of a southern dominion. 30\n\n This is the origin of the celebrated Turkish\n dynasty of the Gaznevides, so called after Gazneh,\n or Ghizni, or Ghuznee, the principal city, and it\n lasted for two hundred years. We are not\n particularly concerned in it, because it has no direct\n relations with Europe; but it falls into our 5\n subject, as having been instrumental to the advance\n of the Turks towards the West. Its most\n distinguished monarch was Mahmood, and he\n conquered Hindostan, which became eventually\n the seat of the empire. In Mahmood the 10\n Gaznevide we have a prince of true Oriental splendor.\n For him the title of Sultan or Soldan was invented,\n which henceforth became the special badge of the\n Turkish monarchs; as Khan is the title of the\n sovereign of the Tartars, and Caliph of the 15\n sovereign of the Saracens. I have already described\n generally the extent of his dominions: he\n inherited Sogdiana, Carisme, Khorasan, and Cabul;\n but, being a zealous Mussulman, he obtained the\n title of Gazi, or champion, by his reduction of 20\n Hindostan, and his destruction of its idol\n temples. There was no need, however, of religious\n enthusiasm to stimulate him to the war: the\n riches, which he amassed in the course of it, were\n a recompense amply sufficient. His Indian 25\n expeditions in all amounted to twelve, and they abound\n in battles and sieges of a truly Oriental cast....\n\n We have now arrived at what may literally be\n called the turning point of Turkish history. We\n have seen them gradually descend from the north, 30\n and in a certain degree become acclimated in the\n countries where they settled. They first appear\n across the Jaxartes in the beginning of the seventh\n century; they have now come to the beginning\n of the eleventh. Four centuries or thereabout\n have they been out of their deserts, gaining 5\n experience and educating themselves in such\n measure as was necessary for playing their part in\n the civilized world. First they came down into\n Sogdiana and Khorasan, and the country below\n it, as conquerors; they continued in it as 10\n subjects and slaves. They offered their services to\n the race which had subdued them; they made\n their way by means of their new masters down to\n the west and the south; they laid the foundations\n for their future supremacy in Persia, and 15\n gradually rose upwards through the social fabric to\n which they had been admitted, till they found\n themselves at length at the head of it. The\n sovereign power which they had acquired in the\n line of the Gaznevides, drifted off to Hindostan; 20\n but still fresh tribes of their race poured down\n from the north, and filled up the gap; and while\n one dynasty of Turks was established in the\n peninsula, a second dynasty arose in the former\n seat of their power. 25\n\n Now I call the era at which I have arrived the\n turning point of their fortunes, because, when\n they had descended down to Khorasan and the\n countries below it, they might have turned to the\n East or to the West, as they chose. They were 30\n at liberty to turn their forces eastward against\n their kindred in Hindostan, whom they had driven\n out of Ghizni and Afghanistan, or to face towards\n the west, and make their way thither through the\n Saracens of Persia and its neighboring countries.\n It was an era which determined the history of the 5\n world....\n\n But this era was a turning point in their\n history in another and more serious respect. In\n Sogdiana and Khorasan, they had become\n converts to the Mahometan faith. You will not 10\n suppose I am going to praise a religious imposture,\n but no Catholic need deny that it is, considered\n in itself, a great improvement upon Paganism.\n Paganism has no rule of right and wrong, no\n supreme and immutable judge, no intelligible 15\n revelation, no fixed dogma whatever; on the\n other hand, the being of one God, the fact of His\n revelation, His faithfulness to His promises, the\n eternity of the moral law, the certainty of future\n retribution, were borrowed by Mahomet from the 20\n Church, and are steadfastly held by his followers.\n The false prophet taught much which is materially\n true and objectively important, whatever be its\n subjective and formal value and influence in the\n individuals who profess it. He stands in his 25\n creed between the religion of God and the religion\n of devils, between Christianity and idolatry,\n between the West and the extreme East. And\n so stood the Turks, on adopting his faith, at\n the date I am speaking of; they stood between 30\n Christ in the West, and Satan in the East, and\n they had to make their choice; and, alas! they\n were led by the circumstances of the time to\n oppose themselves, not to Paganism, but to\n Christianity. A happier lot indeed had befallen\n poor Sultan Mahmood than befell his kindred 5\n who followed in his wake. Mahmood, a\n Mahometan, went eastward and found a superstition\n worse than his own, and fought against it, and\n smote it; and the sandal doors which he tore\n away from the idol temple and hung up at his 10\n tomb at Gazneh, almost seemed to plead for him\n through centuries as the soldier and the\n instrument of Heaven. The tribes which followed him,\n Moslem also, faced westward, and found, not\n error but truth, and fought against it as zealously, 15\n and in doing so, were simply tools of the Evil One,\n and preachers of a lie, and enemies, not witnesses\n of God. The one destroyed idol temples, the\n other Christian shrines. The one has been saved\n the woe of persecuting the Bride of the Lamb; 20\n the other is of all races the veriest brood of the\n serpent which the Church has encountered since\n she was set up. For 800 years did the sandal\n gates remain at Mahmood's tomb, as a trophy\n over idolatry; and for 800 years have Seljuk 25\n and Othman been our foe.\n\n The year 1048 of our era is fixed by\n chronologists as the date of the rise of the Turkish power,\n as far as Christendom is interested in its history.[36]\n Sixty-three years before this date, a Turk of high 30\n rank, of the name of Seljuk, had quarreled with\n his native prince in Turkistan, crossed the\n Jaxartes with his followers, and planted himself in\n the territory of Sogdiana. His father had been\n a chief officer in the prince's court, and was the 5\n first of his family to embrace Islamism; but\n Seljuk, in spite of his creed, did not obtain permission\n to advance into Sogdiana from the Saracenic\n government, which at that time was in possession of\n the country. After several successful encounters, 10\n however, he gained admission into the city of\n Bokhara, and there he settled. As time went on, he\n fully recompensed the tardy hospitality which\n the Saracens had shown him; for his feud with\n his own countrymen, whom he had left, took the 15\n shape of a religious enmity, and he fought against\n them as pagans and infidels, with a zeal, which\n was both an earnest of the devotion of his people\n to the faith of Mahomet, and a training for the\n exercise of it.... 20\n\n [36] Baronius, Pagi.\n\n For four centuries the Turks are little or hardly\n heard of; then suddenly in the course of as many\n tens of years, and under three Sultans, they make\n the whole world resound with their deeds; and,\n while they have pushed to the East through 25\n Hindostan, in the West they have hurried down\n to the coasts of the Mediterranean and the\n Archipelago, have taken Jerusalem, and threatened\n Constantinople. In their long period of silence\n they had been sowing the seeds of future 30\n conquests; in their short period of action they were\n gathering the fruit of past labors and sufferings.\n The Saracenic empire stood apparently as before;\n but, as soon as a Turk showed himself at the head\n of a military force within its territory, he found\n himself surrounded by the armies of his kindred 5\n which had been so long in its pay; he was joined\n by the tribes of Turcomans, to whom the Romans\n in a former age had shown the passes of the\n Caucasus; and he could rely on the reserve of\n innumerable swarms, ever issuing out of his 10\n native desert, and following in his track. Such\n was the state of Western Asia in the middle of\n the eleventh century.\n\n Alp Arslan, the second Sultan of the line of\n Seljuk, is said to signify in Turkish \"the 15\n courageous lion:\" and the Caliph gave its possessor the\n Arabic appellation of Azzaddin, or \"Protector of\n Religion.\" It was the distinctive work of his\n short reign to pass from humbling the Caliph to\n attacking the Greek Emperor. Togrul had 20\n already invaded the Greek provinces of Asia Minor,\n from Cilicia to Armenia, along a line of 600 miles,\n and here it was that he had achieved his\n tremendous massacres of Christians. Alp Arslan\n renewed the war; he penetrated to C\u00e6esarea in 25\n Cappadocia, attracted by the gold and pearls\n which incrusted the shrine of the great St. Basil.\n He then turned his arms against Armenia and\n Georgia, and conquered the hardy mountaineers\n of the Caucasus, who at present give such trouble 30\n to the Russians. After this he encountered,\n defeated, and captured the Greek Emperor. He\n began the battle with all the solemnity and\n pageantry of a hero of romance. Casting away\n his bow and arrows, he called for an iron mace and\n scimeter; he perfumed his body with musk, as 5\n if for his burial, and dressed himself in white,\n that he might be slain in his winding sheet.\n After his victory, the captive Emperor of New\n Rome was brought before him in a peasant's\n dress; he made him kiss the ground beneath his 10\n feet, and put his foot upon his neck. Then,\n raising him up, he struck or patted him three times\n with his hand, and gave him his life and, on a\n large ransom, his liberty.\n\n At this time the Sultan was only forty-four 15\n years of age, and seemed to have a career of glory\n still before him. Twelve hundred nobles stood\n before his throne; two hundred thousand soldiers\n marched under his banner. As if dissatisfied\n with the South, he turned his arms against his 20\n own paternal wildernesses, with which his\n family, as I have related, had a feud. New tribes\n of Turks seem to have poured down, and were\n wresting Sogdiana from the race of Seljuk, as\n the Seljukians had wrested it from the 25\n Gaznevides. Alp had not advanced far into the\n country, when he met his death from the hand of a\n captive. A Carismian chief had withstood his\n progress, and, being taken, was condemned to a\n lingering execution. On hearing the sentence, he 30\n rushed forward upon Alp Arslan; and the Sultan,\n disdaining to let his generals interfere, bent his\n bow, but, missing his aim, received the dagger of\n his prisoner in his breast. His death, which\n followed, brings before us that grave dignity of the\n Turkish character, of which we have already had 5\n an example in Mahmood. Finding his end\n approaching, he has left on record a sort of dying\n confession: \"In my youth,\" he said, \"I was\n advised by a sage to humble myself before God,\n to distrust my own strength, and never to despise 10\n the most contemptible foe. I have neglected\n these lessons, and my neglect has been deservedly\n punished. Yesterday, as from an eminence, I\n beheld the numbers, the discipline, and the spirit\n of my armies; the earth seemed to tremble under 15\n my feet, and I said in my heart, Surely thou art\n the king of the world, the greatest and most\n invincible of warriors. These armies are no\n longer mine; and, in the confidence of my\n personal strength, I now fall by the hand of an 20\n assassin.\" On his tomb was engraven an\n inscription, conceived in a similar spirit. \"O ye, who\n have seen the glory of Alp Arslan exalted to the\n heavens, repair to Maru, and you will behold it\n buried in the dust.\"[37] Alp Arslan was adorned 25\n with great natural qualities both of intellect and\n of soul. He was brave and liberal: just, patient,\n and sincere: constant in his prayers, diligent in\n his alms, and, it is added, witty in his\n conversation; but his gifts availed him not. 30\n\n [37] Gibbon.\n\n It often happens in the history of states and\n races, in which there is found first a rise and then\n a decline, that the greatest glories take place just\n then when the reverse is beginning or begun.\n Thus, for instance, in the history of the 5\n Ottoman Turks, to which I have not yet come,\n Soliman the Magnificent is at once the last and\n greatest of a series of great Sultans. So was it\n as regards this house of Seljuk. Malek Shah, the\n son of Alp Arslan, the third sovereign, in whom 10\n its glories ended, is represented to us in history\n in colors so bright and perfect, that it is difficult\n to believe we are not reading the account of some\n mythical personage. He came to the throne at\n the early age of seventeen; he was well-shaped, 15\n handsome, polished both in manners and in\n mind; wise and courageous, pious and sincere.\n He engaged himself even more in the\n consolidation of his empire than in its extension. He\n reformed abuses; he reduced the taxes; he 20\n repaired the highroads, bridges, and canals; he\n built an imperial mosque at Bagdad; he founded\n and nobly endowed a college. He patronized\n learning and poetry, and he reformed the\n calendar. He provided marts for commerce; he 25\n upheld the pure administration of justice, and\n protected the helpless and the innocent. He\n established wells and cisterns in great numbers\n along the road of pilgrimage to Mecca; he fed\n the pilgrims, and distributed immense sums 30\n among the poor.\n\n He was in every respect a great prince; he\n extended his conquests across Sogdiana to the\n very borders of China. He subdued by his\n lieutenants Syria and the Holy Land, and took\n Jerusalem. He is said to have traveled round 5\n his vast dominions twelve times. So potent was\n he, that he actually gave away kingdoms, and\n had for feudatories great princes. He gave to\n his cousin his territories in Asia Minor, and\n planted him over against Constantinople, as an 10\n earnest of future conquests; and he may be said\n to have finally allotted to the Turcomans the\n fair regions of Western Asia, over which they\n roam to this day.\n\n All human greatness has its term; the more 15\n brilliant was this great Sultan's rise, the more\n sudden was his extinction; and the earlier he\n came to his power, the earlier did he lose it. He\n had reigned twenty years, and was but\n thirty-seven years old, when he was lifted up with pride 20\n and came to his end. He disgraced and\n abandoned to an assassin his faithful vizir, at the age\n of ninety-three, who for thirty years had been the\n servant and benefactor of the house of Seljuk.\n After obtaining from the Caliph the peculiar 25\n and almost incommunicable title of \"the\n commander of the faithful,\" unsatisfied still, he\n wished to fix his own throne in Bagdad, and to\n deprive his impotent superior of his few\n remaining honors. He demanded the hand of the 30\n daughter of the Greek Emperor, a Christian, in\n marriage. A few days, and he was no more;\n he had gone out hunting, and returned\n indisposed; a vein was opened, and the blood would\n not flow. A burning fever took him off, only\n eighteen days after the murder of his vizir, and 5\n less than ten before the day when the Caliph was\n to have been removed from Bagdad.\n\n Such is human greatness at the best, even were\n it ever so innocent; but as to this poor Sultan,\n there is another aspect even of his glorious deeds. 10\n If I have seemed here or elsewhere in these\n Lectures to speak of him or his with interest or\n admiration, only take me, Gentlemen, as giving\n the external view of the Turkish history, and that\n as introductory to the determination of its true 15\n significance. Historians and poets may celebrate\n the exploits of Malek; but what were they in the\n sight of Him who has said that whoso shall strike\n against His cornerstone shall be broken; but\n on whomsoever it shall fall, shall be ground to 20\n powder? Looking at this Sultan's deeds as\n mere exhibitions of human power, they were\n brilliant and marvelous; but there was another\n judgment of them formed in the West, and other\n feelings than admiration roused by them in the 25\n faith and the chivalry of Christendom.\n Especially was there one, the divinely appointed\n shepherd of the poor of Christ, the anxious\n steward of His Church, who from his high and\n ancient watch tower, in the fullness of apostolic 30\n charity, surveyed narrowly what was going on at\n thousands of miles from him, and with prophetic\n eye looked into the future age; and scarcely had\n that enemy, who was in the event so heavily to\n smite the Christian world, shown himself, when\n he gave warning of the danger, and prepared 5\n himself with measures for averting it. Scarcely\n had the Turk touched the shores of the\n Mediterranean and the Archipelago, when the Pope\n detected and denounced him before all Europe.\n The heroic Pontiff, St. Gregory the Seventh, was 10\n then upon the throne of the Apostle; and though\n he was engaged in one of the severest conflicts\n which Pope has ever sustained, not only against\n the secular power, but against bad bishops and\n priests, yet at a time when his very life was not 15\n his own, and present responsibilities so urged\n him, that one would fancy he had time for no\n other thought, Gregory was able to turn his mind\n to the consideration of a contingent danger in the\n almost fabulous East. In a letter written during 20\n the reign of Malek Shah, he suggested the idea\n of a crusade against the misbeliever, which later\n popes carried out. He assures the Emperor of\n Germany, whom he was addressing, that he had\n 50,000 troops ready for the holy war, whom he 25\n would fain have led in person. This was in the\n year 1074.\n\n In truth, the most melancholy accounts were\n brought to Europe of the state of things in the\n Holy Land. A rude Turcoman ruled in 30\n Jerusalem; his people insulted there the clergy of\n every profession; they dragged the patriarch by\n the hair along the pavement, and cast him into\n a dungeon, in hopes of a ransom; and disturbed\n from time to time the Latin Mass and office in the\n Church of the Resurrection. As to the pilgrims, 5\n Asia Minor, the country through which they had\n to travel in an age when the sea was not yet safe\n to the voyager, was a scene of foreign incursion\n and internal distraction. They arrived at\n Jerusalem exhausted by their sufferings, and 10\n sometimes terminated them by death, before they\n were permitted to kiss the Holy Sepulchre.\n\n * * * * *\n\n It is commonly said that the Crusades failed\n in their object; that they were nothing else but\n a lavish expenditure of men and treasure; and 15\n that the possession of the Holy Places by the\n Turks to this day is a proof of it. Now I will not\n enter here into a very intricate controversy; this\n only will I say, that, if the tribes of the desert,\n under the leadership of the house of Seljuk, turned 20\n their faces to the West in the middle of the\n eleventh century; if in forty years they had\n advanced from Khorasan to Jerusalem and the\n neighborhood of Constantinople; and if in\n consequence they were threatening Europe and 25\n Christianity; and if, for that reason, it was a\n great object to drive them back or break them\n to pieces; if it were a worthy object of the\n Crusades to rescue Europe from this peril and to\n reassure the anxious minds of Christian\n multitudes; then were the Crusades no failure in\n their issue, for this object was fully accomplished.\n The Seljukian Turks were hurled back upon the\n East, and then broken up, by the hosts of the 5\n Crusaders. The lieutenant of Malek Shah, who\n had been established as Sultan of Roum (as Asia\n Minor was called by the Turks), was driven to an\n obscure town, where his dynasty lasted, indeed,\n but gradually dwindled away. A similar fate 10\n attended the house of Seljuk in other parts of\n the Empire, and internal quarrels increased and\n perpetuated its weakness. Sudden as was its\n rise, as sudden was its fall; till the terrible\n Zingis, descending on the Turkish dynasties, like 15\n an avalanche, co\u00f6perated effectually with the\n Crusaders and finished their work; and if\n Jerusalem was not protected from other enemies,\n at least Constantinople was saved, and Europe\n was placed in security, for three hundred years. 20\n\n\n\n\n THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE OTTOMANS\n\n\n I think it is clear, that, if my account be only\n in the main correct, the Turkish power certainly\n is not a civilized, and is a barbarous power.\n The barbarian lives without principle and\n without aim; he does but reflect the successive 25\n outward circumstances in which he finds himself,\n and he varies with them. He changes\n suddenly, when their change is sudden, and is as\n unlike what he was just before, as one fortune\n or external condition is unlike another. He\n moves when he is urged by appetite; else, he\n remains in sloth and inactivity. He lives, and\n he dies, and he has done nothing, but leaves the 5\n world as he found it. And what the individual\n is, such is his whole generation; and as that\n generation, such is the generation before and\n after. No generation can say what it has been\n doing; it has not made the state of things better 10\n or worse; for retrogression there is hardly room;\n for progress, no sort of material. Now I shall\n show that these characteristics of the barbarian\n are rudimental points, as I may call them, in the\n picture of the Turks, as drawn by those who 15\n have studied them. I shall principally avail\n myself of the information supplied by Mr.\n Thornton and M. Volney, men of name and ability,\n and for various reasons preferable as authorities\n to writers of the present day. 20\n\n \"The Turks,\" says Mr. Thornton, who, though\n not blind to their shortcomings, is certainly\n favorable to them, \"the Turks are of a grave\n and saturnine cast ... patient of hunger and\n privations, capable of enduring the hardships of 25\n war, but not much inclined to habits of\n industry.... They prefer apathy and indolence to\n active enjoyments; but when moved by a\n powerful stimulus they sometimes indulge in pleasures\n in excess.\" \"The Turk,\" he says elsewhere, 30\n \"stretched at his ease on the banks of the Bosphorus,\n glides down the stream of existence\n without reflection on the past, and without\n anxiety for the future. His life is one continued\n and unvaried reverie. To his imagination the\n whole universe appears occupied in procuring him 5\n pleasures.... Every custom invites to repose,\n and every object inspires an indolent\n voluptuousness. Their delight is to recline on soft verdure\n under the shade of trees, and to muse without\n fixing the attention, lulled by the trickling of a 10\n fountain or the murmuring of a rivulet, and\n inhaling through their pipe a gently inebriating\n vapor. Such pleasures, the highest which the\n rich can enjoy, are equally within the reach of\n the artisan or the peasant.\" 15\n\n M. Volney corroborates this account of them:\n \"Their behavior,\" he says, \"is serious, austere,\n and melancholy; they rarely laugh, and the\n gayety of the French appears to them a fit of\n delirium. When they speak, it is with 20\n deliberation, without gestures and without passion;\n they listen without interrupting you; they are\n silent for whole days together, and they by no\n means pique themselves on supporting\n conversation. If they walk, it is always leisurely, and 25\n on business. They have no idea of our\n troublesome activity, and our walks backwards and\n forwards for amusement. Continually seated,\n they pass whole days smoking, with their legs\n crossed, their pipes in their mouths, and almost 30\n without changing their attitude.\" Englishmen\n present as great a contrast to the Ottoman as the\n French; as a late English traveler brings before\n us, apropos of seeing some Turks in quarantine:\n \"Certainly,\" he says, \"Englishmen are the least\n able to wait, and the Turks the most so, of any 5\n people I have ever seen. To impede an\n Englishman's locomotion on a journey, is equivalent to\n stopping the circulation of his blood; to disturb\n the repose of a Turk on his, is to reawaken him\n to a painful sense of the miseries of life. The 10\n one nation at rest is as much tormented as\n Prometheus, chained to his rock, with the vulture\n feeding on him; the other in motion is as\n uncomfortable as Ixion tied to his ever-moving wheel.\"[38]\n\n [38] Formby's Visit, p. 70.\n\n However, the barbarian, when roused to action, 15\n is a very different being from the barbarian\n at rest. \"The Turk,\" says Mr. Thornton, \"is\n usually placid, hypochondriac, and\n unimpassioned; but, when the customary sedateness of\n his temper is ruffled, his passions ... are 20\n furious and uncontrollable. The individual seems\n possessed with all the ungovernable fury of a\n multitude; and all ties, all attachments, all\n natural and moral obligations, are forgotten or\n despised, till his rage subsides.\" A similar 25\n remark is made by a writer of the day: \"The Turk\n on horseback has no resemblance to the Turk\n reclining on his carpet. He there assumes a\n vigor, and displays a dexterity, which few\n Europeans would be capable of emulating; no 30\n horsemen surpass the Turks; and, with all the\n indolence of which they are accused, no people\n are more fond of the violent exercise of riding.\"\n\n So was it with their ancestors, the Tartars;\n now dosing on their horses or their wagons, now 5\n galloping over the plains from morning to night.\n However, these successive phases of Turkish\n character, as reported by travelers, have seemed\n to readers as inconsistencies in their reports;\n Thornton accepts the inconsistency. \"The 10\n national character of the Turks,\" he says, \"is a\n composition of contradictory qualities. We find\n them brave and pusillanimous; gentle and\n ferocious; resolute and inconstant; active and\n indolent; fastidiously abstemious, and 15\n indiscriminately indulgent. The great are alternately\n haughty and humble, arrogant and cringing,\n liberal and sordid.\"[39] What is this but to say in\n one word that we find them barbarians?\n\n [39] Bell's Geography.\n\n According to these distinct moods or phases 20\n of character, they will leave very various\n impressions of themselves on the minds of successive\n beholders. A traveler finds them in their\n ordinary state in repose and serenity; he is surprised\n and startled to find them so different from what 25\n he imagined; he admires and extols them, and\n inveighs against the prejudice which has\n slandered them to the European world. He finds them\n mild and patient, tender to the brute creation, as\n becomes the children of a Tartar shepherd, kind 30\n and hospitable, self-possessed and dignified, the\n lowest classes sociable with each other, and the\n children gamesome. It is true; they are as noble\n as the lion of the desert, and as gentle and as\n playful as the fireside cat. Our traveler observes 5\n all this;[40] and seems to forget that from the\n humblest to the highest of the feline tribe, from\n the cat to the lion, the most wanton and\n tyrannical cruelty alternates with qualities more\n engaging or more elevated. Other barbarous 10\n tribes also have their innocent aspects--from\n the Scythians in the classical poets and historians\n down to the Lewchoo islanders in the pages of\n Basil Hall.\n\n [40] Vid. Sir Charles Fellows' Asia Minor.\n\n But whatever be the natural excellences of 15\n the Turks, progressive they are not. This Sir\n Charles Fellows seems to allow: \"My intimacy\n with the character of the Turks,\" he says, \"which\n has led me to think so highly of their moral\n excellence, has not given me the same favorable 20\n impression of the development of their mental\n powers. Their refinement is of manners and\n affections; there is little cultivation or activity\n of mind among them.\" This admission implies\n a great deal, and brings us to a fresh 25\n consideration. Observe, they were in the eighth century\n of their political existence when Thornton and\n Volney lived among them, and these authors\n report of them as follows: \"Their buildings,\"\n says Thornton, \"are heavy in their proportions, 30\n bad in detail, both in taste and execution,\n fantastic in decoration, and destitute of genius.\n Their cities are not decorated with public\n monuments, whose object is to enliven or to embellish.\"\n Their religion forbids them every sort of 5\n painting, sculpture, or engraving; thus the fine arts\n cannot exist among them. They have no music\n but vocal; and know of no accompaniment\n except a bass of one note like that of the bagpipe.\n Their singing is in a great measure recitative, 10\n with little variation of note. They have scarcely\n any notion of medicine or surgery; and they do\n not allow of anatomy. As to science, the\n telescope, the microscope, the electric battery, are\n unknown, except as playthings. The compass 15\n is not universally employed in their navy, nor\n are its common purposes thoroughly understood.\n Navigation, astronomy, geography, chemistry,\n are either not known, or practiced only on\n antiquated and exploded principles. As to their 20\n civil and criminal codes of law, these are\n unalterably fixed in the Koran....\n\n Compare the Rome of Junius Brutus to the\n Rome of Constantine, 800 years afterwards. In\n each of these polities there was a continuous 25\n progression, and the end was unlike the\n beginning; but the Turks, except that they have gained\n the faculty of political union, are pretty much\n what they were when they crossed the Jaxartes\n and Oxus. Again, at the time of Togrul Beg, the 30\n Greek schism also took place; now from Michael\n Cerularius, in 1054, to Anthimus, in 1853,\n Patriarchs of Constantinople, eight centuries have\n passed of religious deadness and insensibility: a\n longer time has passed in China of a similar\n political inertness: yet China has preserved at 5\n least the civilization, and Greece the ecclesiastical\n science, with which they respectively passed into\n their long sleep; but the Turks of this day are\n still in the less than infancy of art, literature,\n philosophy, and general knowledge; and we may 10\n fairly conclude that, if they have not learned\n the very alphabet of science in eight hundred\n years, they are not likely to set to work on it in\n the nine hundredth.\n\n * * * * *\n\n It is true that in the last quarter of a century 15\n efforts have been made by the government of\n Constantinople to innovate on the existing\n condition of its people; and it has addressed itself\n in the first instance to certain details of daily\n Turkish life. We must take it for granted that it 20\n began with such changes as were easiest; if so, its\n failure in these small matters suggests how little\n ground there is for hope of success in other\n advances more important and difficult. Every\n one knows that in the details of dress, carriage, 25\n and general manners, the Turks are very\n different from Europeans: so different, and so\n consistently different, that the contrariety would\n seem to arise from some difference of essential\n principle. \"This dissimilitude,\" says Mr.\n Thornton, \"which pervades the whole of their habits,\n is so general, even in things of apparent\n insignificance, as almost to indicate design rather than\n accident....\" 5\n\n To learn from others, you must entertain a\n respect for them; no one listens to those whom\n he contemns. Christian nations make progress\n in secular matters, because they are aware they\n have many things to learn, and do not mind from 10\n whom they learn them, so that he be able to teach.\n It is true that Christianity, as well as\n Mahometanism, which imitated it, has its visible polity,\n and its universal rule, and its especial\n prerogatives and powers and lessons, for its disciples. 15\n But, with a Divine wisdom, and contrary to its\n human copyist, it has carefully guarded (if I\n may use the expression) against extending its\n revelations to any point which would blunt the\n keenness of human research or the activity of 20\n human toil. It has taken those matters for its\n field in which the human mind, left to itself,\n could not profitably exercise itself, or progress,\n if it would; it has confined its revelations to the\n province of theology, only indirectly touching 25\n on other departments of knowledge, so far as\n theological truth accidentally affects them; and\n it has shown an equally remarkable care in\n preventing the introduction of the spirit of caste\n or race into its constitution or administration. 30\n Pure nationalism it abhors; its authoritative\n documents pointedly ignore the distinction of\n Jew and Gentile, and warn us that the first often\n becomes the last; while its subsequent history\n has illustrated this great principle, by its awful,\n and absolute, and inscrutable, and irreversible 5\n passage from country to country, as its territory\n and its home. Such, then, it has been in the\n Divine counsels, and such, too, as realized in fact;\n but man has ways of his own, and, even before\n its introduction into the world, the inspired 10\n announcements, which preceded it, were distorted\n by the people to whom they were given, to\n minister to views of a very different kind. The\n secularized Jews, relying on the supernatural\n favors locally and temporally bestowed on 15\n themselves, fell into the error of supposing that a\n conquest of the earth was reserved for some mighty\n warrior of their own race, and that, in\n compensation of the reverses which befell them, they\n were to become an imperial nation. 20\n\n What a contrast is presented to us by these\n different ideas of a universal empire! The\n distinctions of race are indelible; a Jew cannot\n become a Greek, or a Greek a Jew; birth is an\n event of past time; according to the Judaizers, 25\n their nation, as a nation, was ever to be\n dominant; and all other nations, as such, were\n inferior and subject. What was the necessary\n consequence? There is nothing men more pride\n themselves on than birth, for this very reason, 30\n that it is irrevocable; it can neither be given to\n those who have it not, nor taken away from\n those who have. The Almighty can do anything\n which admits of doing; He can compensate every\n evil; but a Greek poet says that there is one\n thing impossible to Him--to undo what is 5\n done. Without throwing the thought into a\n shape which borders on the profane, we may see\n in it the reason why the idea of national power\n was so dear and so dangerous to the Jew. It was\n his consciousness of inalienable superiority that 10\n led him to regard Roman and Greek, Syrian and\n Egyptian, with ineffable arrogance and scorn.\n Christians, too, are accustomed to think of those\n who are not Christians as their inferiors; but the\n conviction which possesses them, that they have 15\n what others have not, is obviously not open to\n the temptation which nationalism presents.\n According to their own faith, there is no insuperable\n gulf between themselves and the rest of mankind;\n there is not a being in the whole world but is 20\n invited by their religion to occupy the same\n position as themselves, and, did he come, would\n stand on their very level, as if he had ever been\n there. Such accessions to their body they\n continually receive, and they are bound under 25\n obligation of duty to promote them. They never\n can pronounce of any one, now external to them,\n that he will not some day be among them; they\n never can pronounce of themselves that, though\n they are now within, they may not some day 30\n be found outside, the Divine polity. Such are\n the sentiments inculcated by Christianity, even\n in the contemplation of the very superiority\n which it imparts; even there it is a principle, not\n of repulsion between man and man, but of good\n fellowship; but as to subjects of secular 5\n knowledge, since here it does not arrogate any\n superiority at all, it has in fact no tendency whatever\n to center its disciple's contemplation on himself,\n or to alienate him from his kind. He readily\n acknowledges and defers to the superiority in 10\n art or science of those, if so be, who are\n unhappily enemies to Christianity. He admits the\n principle of progress on all matters of knowledge\n and conduct on which the Creator has not decided\n the truth already by revealing it; and he is at 15\n all times ready to learn, in those merely secular\n matters, from those who can teach him best.\n Thus it is that Christianity, even negatively, and\n without contemplating its positive influences, is\n the religion of civilization. 20\n\n\n\n\n III. UNIVERSITIES\n\n\n\n\n WHAT IS A UNIVERSITY?\n\n\n If I were asked to describe as briefly and\n popularly as I could, what a University was, I\n should draw my answer from its ancient\n designation of a _Studium Generale_, or \"School of\n Universal Learning.\" This description implies 5\n the assemblage of strangers from all parts in one\n spot--_from all parts_; else, how will you find\n professors and students for every department of\n knowledge? and _in one spot_; else, how can there\n be any school at all? Accordingly, in its simple 10\n and rudimental form, it is a school of knowledge\n of every kind, consisting of teachers and learners\n from every quarter. Many things are requisite\n to complete and satisfy the idea embodied in this\n description; but such as this a University seems 15\n to be in its essence, a place for the\n communication and circulation of thought, by means of\n personal intercourse, through a wide extent of\n country.\n\n Mutual education, in a large sense of the word, 20\n is one of the great and incessant occupations of\n human society, carried on partly with set\n purpose, and partly not. One generation forms\n another; and the existing generation is ever\n acting and reacting upon itself in the persons of its\n individual members. Now, in this process, books,\n I need scarcely say, that is, the _litera scripta_,\n are one special instrument. It is true; and 5\n emphatically so in this age. Considering the\n prodigious powers of the press, and how they are\n developed at this time in the never intermitting\n issue of periodicals, tracts, pamphlets, works in\n series, and light literature, we must allow there 10\n never was a time which promised fairer for\n dispensing with every other means of information\n and instruction. What can we want more, you\n will say, for the intellectual education of the\n whole man, and for every man, than so exuberant 15\n and diversified and persistent a promulgation\n of all kinds of knowledge? Why, you will ask,\n need we go up to knowledge, when knowledge\n comes down to us? The Sibyl wrote her\n prophecies upon the leaves of the forest, and wasted 20\n them; but here such careless profusion might be\n prudently indulged, for it can be afforded\n without loss, in consequence of the almost fabulous\n fecundity of the instrument which these latter\n ages have invented. We have sermons in stones, 25\n and books in the running brooks; works larger\n and more comprehensive than those which have\n gained for ancients an immortality, issue forth\n every morning, and are projected onwards to\n the ends of the earth at the rate of hundreds of 30\n miles a day. Our seats are strewed, our pavements\n are powdered, with swarms of little tracts;\n and the very bricks of our city walls preach\n wisdom, by informing us by their placards where we\n can at once cheaply purchase it.\n\n I allow all this, and much more; such 5\n certainly is our popular education, and its effects are\n remarkable. Nevertheless, after all, even in this\n age, whenever men are really serious about\n getting what, in the language of trade, is called \"a\n good article,\" when they aim at something 10\n precise, something refined, something really\n luminous, something really large, something choice,\n they go to another market; they avail themselves,\n in some shape or other, of the rival method, the\n ancient method, of oral instruction, of present 15\n communication between man and man, of teachers\n instead of learning, of the personal influence of a\n master, and the humble initiation of a disciple,\n and, in consequence, of great centers of\n pilgrimage and throng, which such a method of 20\n education necessarily involves.\n\n If the actions of men may be taken as any test\n of their convictions, then we have reason for\n saying this, viz.: that the province and the\n inestimable benefit of the _litera scripta_ is that of 25\n being a record of truth, and an authority of appeal,\n and an instrument of teaching in the hands of a\n teacher; but that, if we wish to become exact and\n fully furnished in any branch of knowledge which\n is diversified and complicated, we must consult 30\n the living man and listen to his living voice....\n No book can convey the special spirit and\n delicate peculiarities of its subject with that\n rapidity and certainty which attend on the sympathy\n of mind with mind, through the eyes, the look,\n the accent, and the manner, in casual expressions 5\n thrown off at the moment, and the unstudied\n turns of familiar conversation. But I am already\n dwelling too long on what is but an incidental\n portion of my main subject. Whatever be the\n cause, the fact is undeniable. The general 10\n principles of any study you may learn by books at\n home; but the detail, the color, the tone, the\n air, the life which makes it live in us, you must\n catch all these from those in whom it lives\n already. You must imitate the student in French 15\n or German, who is not content with his\n grammar, but goes to Paris or Dresden: you must\n take example from the young artist, who aspires\n to visit the great Masters in Florence and in\n Rome. Till we have discovered some 20\n intellectual daguerreotype, which takes off the course of\n thought, and the form, lineaments, and features\n of truth, as completely and minutely, as the\n optical instrument reproduces the sensible\n object, we must come to the teachers of wisdom 25\n to learn wisdom, we must repair to the fountain,\n and drink there. Portions of it may go from\n thence to the ends of the earth by means of\n books; but the fullness is in one place alone. It\n is in such assemblages and congregations of 30\n intellect that books themselves, the masterpieces\n of human genius, are written, or at least\n originated.\n\n The principle on which I have been insisting\n is so obvious, and instances in point are so ready,\n that I should think it tiresome to proceed with 5\n the subject, except that one or two illustrations\n may serve to explain my own language about it,\n which may not have done justice to the doctrine\n which it has been intended to enforce.\n\n For instance, the polished manners and 10\n high-bred bearing which are so difficult of attainment,\n and so strictly personal when attained,--which\n are so much admired in society, from society\n are acquired. All that goes to constitute a\n gentleman,--the carriage, gait, address, gestures, 15\n voice; the ease, the self-possession, the courtesy,\n the power of conversing, the talent of not\n offending; the lofty principle, the delicacy of thought,\n the happiness of expression, the taste and\n propriety, the generosity and forbearance, the 20\n candor and consideration, the openness of\n hand--these qualities, some of them come by nature,\n some of them may be found in any rank, some of\n them are a direct precept of Christianity; but\n the full assemblage of them, bound up in the 25\n unity of an individual character, do we expect\n they can be learned from books? are they not\n necessarily acquired, where they are to be found,\n in high society? The very nature of the case\n leads us to say so; you cannot fence without an 30\n antagonist, nor challenge all comers in disputation\n before you have supported a thesis; and in\n like manner, it stands to reason, you cannot learn\n to converse till you have the world to converse\n with; you cannot unlearn your natural\n bashfulness, or awkwardness, or stiffness, or other 5\n besetting deformity, till you serve your time in\n some school of manners. Well, and is it not so\n in matter of fact? The metropolis, the court,\n the great houses of the land, are the centers to\n which at stated times the country comes up, as to 10\n shrines of refinement and good taste; and then\n in due time the country goes back again home,\n enriched with a portion of the social\n accomplishments, which those very visits serve to call out\n and heighten in the gracious dispensers of them. 15\n We are unable to conceive how the\n \"gentleman-like\" can otherwise be maintained; and\n maintained in this way it is....\n\n Religious teaching itself affords us an\n illustration of our subject to a certain point. It 20\n does not indeed seat itself merely in centers of\n the world; this is impossible from the nature of\n the case. It is intended for the many not the\n few; its subject-matter is truth necessary for us,\n not truth recondite and rare; but it concurs in 25\n the principle of a University so far as this, that\n its great instrument, or rather organ, has ever\n been that which nature prescribes in all education,\n the personal presence of a teacher, or, in\n theological language, Oral Tradition. It is the living 30\n voice, the breathing form, the expressive countenance,\n which preaches, which catechises. Truth,\n a subtle, invisible, manifold spirit, is poured into\n the mind of the scholar by his eyes and ears,\n through his affections, imagination, and reason;\n it is poured into his mind and is sealed up there 5\n in perpetuity, by propounding and repeating it,\n by questioning and requestioning, by correcting\n and explaining, by progressing and then recurring\n to first principles, by all those ways which are\n implied in the word \"catechising.\" In the first 10\n ages, it was a work of long time; months,\n sometimes years, were devoted to the arduous task\n of disabusing the mind of the incipient Christian\n of its pagan errors, and of molding it upon the\n Christian faith. The Scriptures indeed were at 15\n hand for the study of those who could avail\n themselves of them; but St. Iren\u00e6us does not\n hesitate to speak of whole races, who had been\n converted to Christianity, without being able to\n read them. To be unable to read or write was in 20\n those times no evidence of want of learning: the\n hermits of the deserts were, in this sense of the\n word, illiterate; yet the great St. Anthony,\n though he knew not letters, was a match in\n disputation for the learned philosophers who came 25\n to try him. Didymus again, the great\n Alexandrian theologian, was blind. The ancient\n discipline, called the _Disciplina Arcani_, involved the\n same principle. The more sacred doctrines of\n Revelation were not committed to books but 30\n passed on by successive tradition. The teaching\n on the Blessed Trinity, and the Eucharist\n appears to have been so handed down for some\n hundred years; and when at length reduced to\n writing, it has filled many folios, yet has not been\n exhausted. 5\n\n But I have said more than enough in\n illustration; end as I began--a University is a place\n of concourse, whither students come from every\n quarter for every kind of knowledge. You\n cannot have the best of every kind everywhere; you 10\n must go to some great city or emporium for it.\n There you have all the choicest productions\n of nature and art all together, which you find\n each in its own separate place elsewhere. All\n the riches of the land, and of the earth, are 15\n carried up thither; there are the best markets, and\n there the best workmen. It is the center of\n trade, the supreme court of fashion, the umpire\n of rival talents, and the standard of things rare\n and precious. It is the place for seeing galleries 20\n of first-rate pictures, and for hearing wonderful\n voices and performers of transcendent skill. It\n is the place for great preachers, great orators,\n great nobles, great statesmen. In the nature of\n things, greatness and unity go together; 25\n excellence implies a center. And such, for the third\n or fourth time, is a University; I hope I do not\n weary out the reader by repeating it. It is the\n place to which a thousand schools make\n contributions; in which the intellect may safely 30\n range and speculate, sure to find its equal in\n some antagonist activity, and its judge in the\n tribunal of truth. It is a place where inquiry\n is pushed forward, and discoveries verified and\n perfected, and rashness rendered innocuous, and\n error exposed, by the collision of mind with mind, 5\n and knowledge with knowledge. It is the place\n where the professor becomes eloquent, and is a\n missionary and a preacher, displaying his science\n in its most complete and most winning form,\n pouring it forth with the zeal of enthusiasm, and 10\n lighting up his own love of it in the breasts of\n his hearers. It is the place where the catechist\n makes good his ground as he goes, treading in the\n truth day by day into the ready memory, and\n wedging and tightening it into the expanding 15\n reason. It is a place which wins the admiration\n of the young by its celebrity, kindles the\n affections of the middle-aged by its beauty, and rivets\n the fidelity of the old by its associations. It is a\n seat of wisdom, a light of the world, a minister of 20\n the faith, an Alma Mater of the rising generation.\n It is this and a great deal more, and demands a\n somewhat better head and hand than mine to\n describe it well.\n\n\n\n\n UNIVERSITY LIFE\n\n\n ATHENS\n\n\n It has been my desire, were I able, to bring 25\n before the reader what Athens may have been,\n viewed as what we have since called a University;\n and to do this, not with any purpose of writing\n a panegyric on a heathen city, or of denying\n its many deformities, or of concealing what was\n morally base in what was intellectually great, but\n just the contrary, of representing as they really 5\n were; so far, that is, as to enable him to see what\n a University is, in the very constitution of society\n and in its own idea, what is its nature and object,\n and what its needs of aid and support external to\n itself to complete that nature and to secure that 10\n object.\n\n So now let us fancy our Scythian, or Armenian,\n or African, or Italian, or Gallic student, after\n tossing on the Saronic waves, which would be his\n more ordinary course to Athens, at last casting 15\n anchor at Pir\u00e6us. He is of any condition or rank\n of life you please, and may be made to order,\n from a prince to a peasant. Perhaps he is some\n Cleanthes, who has been a boxer in the public\n games. How did it ever cross his brain to betake 20\n himself to Athens in search of wisdom? or, if he\n came thither by accident, how did the love of it\n ever touch his heart? But so it was, to Athens he\n came with three drachms in his girdle, and he got\n his livelihood by drawing water, carrying loads, 25\n and the like servile occupations. He attached\n himself, of all philosophers, to Zeno the\n Stoic,--to Zeno, the most high-minded, the most haughty\n of speculators; and out of his daily earnings the\n poor scholar brought his master the daily sum of 30\n an obolus, in payment for attending his lectures.\n Such progress did he make, that on Zeno's death\n he actually was his successor in his school; and,\n if my memory does not play me false, he is the\n author of a hymn to the Supreme Being, which is\n one of the noblest effusions of the kind in classical 5\n poetry. Yet, even when he was the head of a\n school, he continued in his illiberal toil as if he\n had been a monk; and, it is said, that once, when\n the wind took his pallium, and blew it aside, he\n was discovered to have no other garment at 10\n all--something like the German student who came up\n to Heidelberg with nothing upon him but a great\n coat and a pair of pistols.\n\n Or it is another disciple of the Porch--Stoic\n by nature, earlier than by profession--who is 15\n entering the city; but in what different fashion\n he comes! It is no other than Marcus, Emperor\n of Rome and philosopher. Professors long since\n were summoned from Athens for his service, when\n he was a youth, and now he comes, after his 20\n victories in the battlefield, to make his\n acknowledgments at the end of life, to the city of wisdom, and\n to submit himself to an initiation into the\n Eleusinian mysteries.\n\n Or it is a young man of great promise as an 25\n orator, were it not for his weakness of chest, which\n renders it necessary that he should acquire the art\n of speaking without over-exertion, and should\n adopt a delivery sufficient for the display of his\n rhetorical talents on the one hand, yet merciful 30\n to his physical resources on the other. He is\n called Cicero; he will stop but a short time, and\n will pass over to Asia Minor and its cities, before\n he returns to continue a career which will render\n his name immortal; and he will like his short\n sojourn at Athens so well, that he will take good 5\n care to send his son thither at an earlier age than\n he visited it himself.\n\n But see where comes from Alexandria (for we\n need not be very solicitous about anachronisms),\n a young man from twenty to twenty-two, who 10\n has narrowly escaped drowning on his voyage,\n and is to remain at Athens as many as eight or\n ten years, yet in the course of that time will not\n learn a line of Latin, thinking it enough to\n become accomplished in Greek composition, and in 15\n that he will succeed. He is a grave person, and\n difficult to make out; some say he is a Christian,\n something or other in the Christian line his father\n is for certain. His name is Gregory, he is by\n country a Cappadocian, and will in time become 20\n pre\u00ebminently a theologian, and one of the\n principal Doctors of the Greek Church.\n\n Or it is one Horace, a youth of low stature and\n black hair, whose father has given him an\n education at Rome above his rank in life, and now is 25\n sending him to finish it at Athens; he is said to\n have a turn for poetry: a hero he is not, and it\n were well if he knew it; but he is caught by the\n enthusiasm of the hour, and goes off campaigning\n with Brutus and Cassius, and will leave his shield 30\n behind him on the field of Philippi.\n\n Or it is a mere boy of fifteen: his name\n Eunapius; though the voyage was not long, sea\n sickness, or confinement, or bad living on board the\n vessel, threw him into a fever, and, when the\n passengers landed in the evening at Pir\u00e6us, he 5\n could not stand. His countrymen who\n accompanied him, took him up among them and carried\n him to the house of the great teacher of the day,\n Pro\u00e6resius, who was a friend of the captain's,\n and whose fame it was which drew the 10\n enthusiastic youth to Athens. His companions\n understand the sort of place they are in, and, with the\n license of academic students, they break into the\n philosopher's house, though he appears to have\n retired for the night, and proceed to make 15\n themselves free of it, with an absence of ceremony,\n which is only not impudence, because Pro\u00e6resius\n takes it so easily. Strange introduction for our\n stranger to a seat of learning, but not out of\n keeping with Athens; for what could you expect of a 20\n place where there was a mob of youths and not\n even the pretense of control; where the poorer\n lived any how, and got on as they could, and the\n teachers themselves had no protection from the\n humors and caprices of the students who filled 25\n their lecture halls? However, as to this\n Eunapius, Pro\u00e6resius took a fancy to the boy, and told\n him curious stories about Athenian life. He\n himself had come up to the University with one\n Heph\u00e6stion, and they were even worse off than 30\n Cleanthes the Stoic; for they had only one cloak\n between them, and nothing whatever besides,\n except some old bedding; so when Pro\u00e6resius\n went abroad, Heph\u00e6stion lay in bed, and\n practiced himself in oratory; and then Heph\u00e6stion\n put on the cloak, and Pro\u00e6resius crept under the 5\n coverlet. At another time there was so fierce\n a feud between what would be called \"town and\n gown\" in an English University, that the\n Professors did not dare lecture in public, for fear of\n ill treatment. 10\n\n But a freshman like Eunapius soon got\n experience for himself of the ways and manners\n prevalent in Athens. Such a one as he had hardly\n entered the city, when he was caught hold of by\n a party of the academic youth, who proceeded to 15\n practice on his awkwardness and his ignorance.\n At first sight one wonders at their childishness;\n but the like conduct obtained in the medi\u00e6val\n Universities; and not many months have passed\n away since the journals have told us of sober 20\n Englishmen, given to matter-of-fact calculations,\n and to the anxieties of money making, pelting\n each other with snowballs on their own sacred\n territory, and defying the magistracy, when they\n would interfere with their privileges of 25\n becoming boys. So I suppose we must attribute it to\n something or other in human nature. Meanwhile,\n there stands the newcomer, surrounded by a circle\n of his new associates, who forthwith proceed to\n frighten, and to banter, and to make a fool of him, 30\n to the extent of their wit. Some address him with\n mock politeness, others with fierceness; and so\n they conduct him in solemn procession across the\n Agora to the Baths; and as they approach, they\n dance about him like madmen. But this was to\n be the end of his trial, for the Bath was a sort of 5\n initiation; he thereupon received the pallium, or\n University gown, and was suffered by his\n tormentors to depart in peace. One alone is\n recorded as having been exempted from this\n persecution; it was a youth graver and loftier than 10\n even St. Gregory himself: but it was not from his\n force of character, but at the instance of Gregory,\n that he escaped. Gregory was his bosom friend,\n and was ready in Athens to shelter him when\n he came. It was another Saint and Doctor; the 15\n great Basil, then, (it would appear,) as Gregory,\n but a catechumen of the Church.\n\n But to return to our freshman. His troubles\n are not at an end, though he has got his gown\n upon him. Where is he to lodge? whom is he 20\n to attend? He finds himself seized, before he\n well knows where he is, by another party of men\n or three or four parties at once, like foreign\n porters at a landing, who seize on the baggage of the\n perplexed stranger, and thrust half a dozen cards 25\n into his unwilling hands. Our youth is plied by\n the hangers-on of professor this, or sophist that,\n each of whom wishes the fame or the profit of\n having a houseful. We will say that he escapes\n from their hands,--but then he will have to 30\n choose for himself where he will put up; and, to\n tell the truth, with all the praise I have already\n given, and the praise I shall have to give, to\n the city of mind, nevertheless, between ourselves,\n the brick and wood which formed it, the actual\n tenements, where flesh and blood had to lodge 5\n (always excepting the mansions of great men of\n the place), do not seem to have been much better\n than those of Greek or Turkish towns, which are\n at this moment a topic of interest and ridicule\n in the public prints. A lively picture has lately 10\n been set before us of Gallipoli. Take, says the\n writer,[41] a multitude of the dilapidated outhouses\n found in farm-yards in England, of the rickety\n old wooden tenements, the cracked, shutterless\n structures of planks and tiles, the sheds and stalls, 15\n which our bye lanes, or fish-markets, or\n river-sides can supply; tumble them down on the\n declivity of a bare bald hill; let the spaces\n between house and house, thus accidentally\n determined, be understood to form streets, winding of 20\n course for no reason, and with no meaning, up and\n down the town; the roadway always narrow, the\n breadth never uniform, the separate houses\n bulging or retiring below, as circumstances may have\n determined, and leaning forward till they meet 25\n overhead--and you have a good idea of\n Gallipoli. I question whether this picture would\n not nearly correspond to the special seat of the\n Muses in ancient times. Learned writers assure\n us distinctly that the houses of Athens were for 30\n the most part small and mean; that the streets\n were crooked and narrow; that the upper stories\n projected over the roadway; and that staircases,\n balustrades, and doors that opened outwards\n obstructed it--a remarkable coincidence of 5\n description. I do not doubt at all, though\n history is silent, that that roadway was jolting to\n carriages, and all but impassable; and that it\n was traversed by drains, as freely as any Turkish\n town now. Athens seems in these respects to 10\n have been below the average cities of its time.\n \"A stranger,\" says an ancient, \"might doubt, on\n the sudden view, if really he saw Athens.\"\n\n [41] Mr. Russell's Letters in the _Times_ newspaper (1854).\n\n I grant all this, and much more, if you will;\n but, recollect, Athens was the home of the 15\n intellectual and beautiful; not of low mechanical\n contrivances and material organization. Why\n stop within your lodgings counting the rents in\n your wall or the holes in your tiling, when nature\n and art call you away? You must put up with 20\n such a chamber, and a table, and a stool, and a\n sleeping board, anywhere else in the three\n continents; one place does not differ from another\n indoors; your magalia in Africa, or your grottoes\n in Syria are not perfection. I suppose you did 25\n not come to Athens to swarm up a ladder, or to\n grope about a closet: you came to see and to\n hear, what hear and see you could not elsewhere.\n What food for the intellect is it possible to\n procure indoors, that you stay there looking about 30\n you? do you think to read there? where are your\n books? do you expect to purchase books at\n Athens--you are much out in your calculations.\n True it is, we at this day, who live in the\n nineteenth century, have the books of Greece as a\n perpetual memorial; and copies there have been, 5\n since the time that they were written; but you\n need not go to Athens to procure them, nor would\n you find them in Athens. Strange to say, strange\n to the nineteenth century, that in the age of Plato\n and Thucydides, there was not, it is said, a 10\n bookshop in the whole place; nor was the book trade\n in existence till the very time of Augustus.\n Libraries, I suspect, were the bright invention of\n Attalus or the Ptolemies;[42] I doubt whether\n Athens had a library till the reign of Hadrian. 15\n It was what the student gazed on, what he heard,\n what he caught by the magic of sympathy, not\n what he read, which was the education furnished\n by Athens.\n\n [42] I do not go into controversy on the subject, for which the\n reader must have recourse to Lipsius, Morhof, Boeckh, Bekker, etc.;\n and this of course applies to whatever historical matter I\n introduce, or shall introduce.\n\n He leaves his narrow lodging early in the 20\n morning; and not till night, if even then, will he\n return. It is but a crib or kennel, in which\n he sleeps when the weather is inclement or the\n ground damp; in no respect a home. And he\n goes out of doors, not to read the day's 25\n newspaper, or to buy the gay shilling volume, but to\n imbibe the invisible atmosphere of genius, and\n to learn by heart the oral traditions of taste.\n Out he goes; and, leaving the tumble-down\n town behind him, he mounts the Acropolis to\n the right, or he turns to the Areopagus on the left.\n He goes to the Parthenon to study the sculptures 5\n of Phidias; to the temple of the Dioscuri to see\n the paintings of Polygnotus. We indeed take\n our Sophocles or \u00c6schylus out of our coat pocket;\n but, if our sojourner at Athens would understand\n how a tragic poet can write, he must betake 10\n himself to the theater on the south, and see and\n hear the drama literally in action. Or let him go\n westward to the Agora, and there he will hear\n Lysias or Andocides pleading, or Demosthenes\n haranguing. He goes farther west still, along the 15\n shade of those noble planes, which Cimon has\n planted there; and he looks around him at the\n statues and porticoes and vestibules, each by\n itself a work of genius and skill, enough to be the\n making of another city. He passes through the 20\n city gate, and then he is at the famous Ceramicus;\n here are the tombs of the mighty dead; and here,\n we will suppose, is Pericles himself, the most\n elevated, the most thrilling of orators, converting a\n funeral oration over the slain into a philosophical 25\n panegyric of the living.\n\n Onwards he proceeds still; and now he has\n come to that still more celebrated Academe,\n which has bestowed its own name on Universities\n down to this day; and there he sees a sight which 30\n will be graven on his memory till he dies. Many\n are the beauties of the place, the groves, and the\n statues, and the temple, and the stream of the\n Cephissus flowing by; many are the lessons\n which will be taught him day after day by teacher\n or by companion; but his eye is just now arrested 5\n by one object; it is the very presence of Plato.\n He does not hear a word that he says; he does\n not care to hear; he asks neither for discourse\n nor disputation; what he sees is a whole,\n complete in itself, not to be increased by addition, and 10\n greater than anything else. It will be a point in\n the history of his life; a stay for his memory to\n rest on, a burning thought in his heart, a bond of\n union with men of like mind, ever afterwards.\n Such is the spell which the living man exerts on 15\n his fellows, for good or for evil. How nature\n impels us to lean upon others, making virtue, or\n genius, or name, the qualification for our doing\n so! A Spaniard is said to have traveled to Italy,\n simply to see Livy; he had his fill of gazing, and 20\n then went back again home. Had our young\n stranger got nothing by his voyage but the sight\n of the breathing and moving Plato, had he\n entered no lecture room to hear, no gymnasium to\n converse, he had got some measure of education, 25\n and something to tell of to his grandchildren.\n\n But Plato is not the only sage, nor the sight of\n him the only lesson to be learned in this\n wonderful suburb. It is the region and the realm\n of philosophy. Colleges were the inventions of 30\n many centuries later; and they imply a sort of\n cloistered life, or at least a life of rule, scarcely\n natural to an Athenian. It was the boast of the\n philosophic statesman of Athens, that his\n countrymen achieved by the mere force of nature and\n the love of the noble and the great, what other 5\n people aimed at by laborious discipline; and all\n who came among them were submitted to the\n same method of education. We have traced our\n student on his wanderings from the Acropolis to\n the Sacred Way; and now he is in the region of 10\n the schools. No awful arch, no window of\n many-colored lights marks the seats of learning there\n or elsewhere; philosophy lives out of doors. No\n close atmosphere oppresses the brain or inflames\n the eyelid; no long session stiffens the limbs. 15\n Epicurus is reclining in his garden; Zeno looks\n like a divinity in his porch; the restless Aristotle,\n on the other side of the city, as if in antagonism\n to Plato, is walking his pupils off their legs in his\n Lyceum by the Ilyssus. Our student has 20\n determined on entering himself as a disciple of\n Theophrastus, a teacher of marvelous popularity, who\n has brought together two thousand pupils from\n all parts of the world. He himself is of Lesbos;\n for masters, as well as students, come hither from 25\n all regions of the earth--as befits a University.\n How could Athens have collected hearers in such\n numbers, unless she had selected teachers of such\n power? it was the range of territory, which the\n notion of a University implies, which furnished 30\n both the quantity of the one and the quality of\n the other. Anaxagoras was from Ionia, Carneades\n from Africa, Zeno from Cyprus, Protagoras from\n Thrace, and Gorgias from Sicily. Andromachus\n was a Syrian, Pro\u00e6resius an Armenian, Hilarius\n a Bithynian, Philiscus a Thessalian, Hadrian a 5\n Syrian. Rome is celebrated for her liberality in\n civil matters; Athens was as liberal in\n intellectual. There was no narrow jealousy, directed\n against a Professor, because he was not an\n Athenian; genius and talent were the qualifications; 10\n and to bring them to Athens, was to do homage\n to it as a University. There was a brotherhood\n and a citizenship of mind.\n\n Mind came first, and was the foundation of the\n academical polity; but it soon brought along with 15\n it, and gathered round itself, the gifts of fortune\n and the prizes of life. As time went on, wisdom\n was not always sentenced to the bare cloak of\n Cleanthes; but, beginning in rags, it ended in\n fine linen. The Professors became honorable 20\n and rich; and the students ranged themselves\n under their names, and were proud of calling\n themselves their countrymen. The University\n was divided into four great nations, as the\n medi\u00e6val antiquarian would style them; and in the 25\n middle of the fourth century, Pro\u00e6resius was the\n leader or proctor of the Attic, Heph\u00e6stion of\n the Oriental, Epiphanius of the Arabic, and\n Diophantus of the Pontic. Thus the Professors\n were both patrons of clients, and hosts and 30\n _proxeni_ of strangers and visitors, as well as masters\n of the schools: and the Cappadocian, Syrian,\n or Sicilian youth who came to one or other of\n them, would be encouraged to study by his\n protection, and to aspire by his example.\n\n Even Plato, when the schools of Athens were 5\n not a hundred years old, was in circumstances\n to enjoy the _otium cum dignitate_. He had a villa\n out at Heraclea; and he left his patrimony to\n his school, in whose hands it remained, not only\n safe, but fructifying, a marvelous phenomenon in 10\n tumultuous Greece, for the long space of eight\n hundred years. Epicurus too had the property\n of the Gardens where he lectured; and these too\n became the property of his sect. But in Roman\n times the chairs of grammar, rhetoric, politics, 15\n and the four philosophies were handsomely\n endowed by the State; some of the Professors\n were themselves statesmen or high functionaries,\n and brought to their favorite study senatorial\n rank or Asiatic opulence. 20\n\n Patrons such as these can compensate to the\n freshman, in whom we have interested ourselves,\n for the poorness of his lodging and the turbulence\n of his companions. In everything there is a\n better side and a worse; in every place a 25\n disreputable set and a respectable, and the one is\n hardly known at all to the other. Men come\n away from the same University at this day, with\n contradictory impressions and contradictory\n statements, according to the society they have found 30\n there; if you believe the one, nothing goes on\n there as it should be: if you believe the other,\n nothing goes on as it should _not_. Virtue,\n however, and decency are at least in the minority\n everywhere, and under some sort of a cloud or\n disadvantage; and this being the case, it is so 5\n much gain whenever an Herodes Atticus is found,\n to throw the influence of wealth and station on\n the side even of a decorous philosophy. A\n consular man, and the heir of an ample fortune, this\n Herod was content to devote his life to a 10\n professorship, and his fortune to the patronage of\n literature. He gave the sophist Polemo about\n eight thousand pounds, as the sum is calculated,\n for three declamations. He built at Athens a\n stadium six hundred feet long, entirely of white 15\n marble, and capable of admitting the whole\n population. His theater, erected to the memory of\n his wife, was made of cedar wood curiously carved.\n He had two villas, one at Marathon, the place of\n his birth, about ten miles from Athens, the other 20\n at Cephissia, at the distance of six; and thither\n he drew to him the _\u00e9lite_, and at times the whole\n body of the students. Long arcades, groves of\n trees, clear pools for the bath, delighted and\n recruited the summer visitor. Never was so 25\n brilliant a lecture room as his evening\n banqueting hall; highly connected students from Rome\n mixed with the sharp-witted provincial of Greece\n or Asia Minor; and the flippant sciolist, and the\n nondescript visitor, half philosopher, half tramp, 30\n met with a reception, courteous always, but suitable\n to his deserts. Herod was noted for his\n repartees; and we have instances on record of\n his setting down, according to the emergency,\n both the one and the other.\n\n A higher line, though a rarer one, was that 5\n allotted to the youthful Basil. He was one of\n those men who seem by a sort of fascination to\n draw others around them even without wishing\n it. One might have deemed that his gravity and\n his reserve would have kept them at a distance; 10\n but, almost in spite of himself, he was the center\n of a knot of youths, who, pagans as most of them\n were, used Athens honestly for the purpose for\n which they professed to seek it; and, disappointed\n and displeased with the place himself, he seems 15\n nevertheless to have been the means of their\n profiting by its advantages. One of these was\n Sophronius, who afterwards held a high office in\n the State: Eusebius was another, at that time\n the bosom friend of Sophronius, and afterwards 20\n a Bishop. Celsus too is named, who afterwards\n was raised to the government of Cilicia by the\n Emperor Julian. Julian himself, in the sequel of\n unhappy memory, was then at Athens, and known\n at least to St. Gregory. Another Julian is also 25\n mentioned, who was afterwards commissioner of\n the land tax. Here we have a glimpse of the better\n kind of society among the students of Athens; and\n it is to the credit of the parties composing it,\n that such young men as Gregory and Basil, men 30\n as intimately connected with Christianity, as they\n were well known in the world, should hold so high\n a place in their esteem and love. When the two\n saints were departing, their companions came\n around them with the hope of changing their\n purpose. Basil persevered; but Gregory relented, 5\n and turned back to Athens for a season.\n\n\n\n\n SUPPLY AND DEMAND\n\n THE SCHOOLMEN\n\n\n It is most interesting to observe how the\n foundations of the present intellectual greatness\n of Europe were laid, and most wonderful to think\n that they were ever laid at all. Let us consider 10\n how wide and how high is the platform of our\n knowledge at this day, and what openings in\n every direction are in progress--openings of\n such promise, that, unless some convulsion of\n society takes place, even what we have attained, 15\n will in future times be nothing better than a poor\n beginning; and then on the other hand, let us\n recollect that, seven centuries ago, putting aside\n revealed truths, Europe had little more than that\n poor knowledge, partial and uncertain, and at 20\n best only practical, which is conveyed to us by the\n senses. Even our first principles now are beyond\n the most daring conjectures then; and what has\n been said so touchingly of Christian ideas as\n compared with pagan, is true in its way and degree 25\n of the progress of secular knowledge also in the\n seven centuries I have named.\n\n \"What sages would have died to learn,\n [Is] taught by cottage dames.\"\n\n Nor is this the only point in which the\n revelations of science may be compared to the\n supernatural revelations of Christianity. Though 5\n sacred truth was delivered once for all, and\n scientific discoveries are progressive, yet there is\n a great resemblance in the respective histories of\n Christianity and of Science. We are accustomed\n to point to the rise and spread of Christianity as 10\n a miraculous fact, and rightly so, on account of\n the weakness of its instruments, and the appalling\n weight and multiplicity of the obstacles which\n confronted it. To clear away those obstacles\n was to move mountains; yet this was done by 15\n a few poor, obscure, unbefriended men, and\n their poor, obscure, unbefriended followers. No\n social movement can come up to this marvel,\n which is singular and archetypical, certainly;\n it is a Divine work, and we soon cease to admire 20\n it in order to adore. But there is more in it\n than its own greatness to contemplate; it is so\n great as to be prolific of greatness. Those whom\n it has created, its children who have become such\n by a supernatural power, have imitated, in their 25\n own acts, the dispensation which made them\n what they were; and, though they have not\n carried out works simply miraculous, yet they have\n done exploits sufficient to bespeak their own\n unearthly origin, and the new powers which had 30\n come into the world. The revival of letters by\n the energy of Christian ecclesiastics and laymen,\n when everything had to be done, reminds us of\n the birth of Christianity itself, as far as a work of\n man can resemble a work of God.\n\n Two characteristics, as I have already had 5\n occasion to say, are generally found to attend the\n history of Science: first, its instruments have\n an innate force, and can dispense with foreign\n assistance in their work; and secondly, these\n instruments must exist and must begin to act, 10\n before subjects are found who are to profit by\n their action. In plainer language, the teacher is\n strong, not in the patronage of great men, but\n in the intrinsic value and attraction of what he\n has to communicate; and next, he must come 15\n forward and advertise himself, before he can gain\n hearers. This I have expressed before, in saying\n that a great school of learning lived in demand and\n supply, and that the supply must be before the\n demand. Now, what is this but the very history 20\n of the preaching of the Gospel? who but the\n Apostles and Evangelists went out to the ends\n of the earth without patron, or friend, or other\n external advantage which could insure their\n success? and again, who among the multitude they 25\n enlightened would have called for their aid unless\n they had gone to that multitude first, and offered\n to it blessings which up to that moment it had\n not heard of? They had no commission, they\n had no invitation, from man; their strength lay 30\n neither in their being sent, nor in their being sent\n for; but in the circumstances that they had that\n with them, a Divine message, which they knew\n would at once, when it was uttered, thrill through\n the hearts of those to whom they spoke, and\n make for themselves friends in any place, 5\n strangers and outcasts as they were when they first\n came. They appealed to the secret wants and\n aspirations of human nature, to its laden\n conscience, its weariness, its desolateness, and its\n sense of the true and the Divine; nor did they 10\n long wait for listeners and disciples, when they\n announced the remedy of evils which were so real.\n\n Something like this were the first stages of the\n process by which in medi\u00e6val Christendom the\n structure of our present intellectual elevation 15\n was carried forward. From Rome as from a\n center, as the Apostles from Jerusalem, went\n forth the missionaries of knowledge, passing to\n and fro all over Europe; and, as Metropolitan\n sees were the record of the presence of Apostles, 20\n so did Paris, Pavia, and Bologna, and Padua,\n and Ferrara, Pisa and Naples, Vienna, Louvain,\n and Oxford, rise into Universities at the voice of\n the theologian or the philosopher. Moreover, as\n the Apostles went through labors untold, by 25\n sea and land, in their charity to souls; so, if\n robbers, shipwrecks, bad lodging, and scanty fare\n are trials of zeal, such trials were encountered\n without hesitation by the martyrs and confessors\n of science. And as Evangelists had grounded 30\n their teaching upon the longing for happiness\n natural to man, so did these securely rest their\n cause on the natural thirst for knowledge: and\n again as the preachers of Gospel peace had often\n to bewail the ruin which persecution or\n dissension had brought upon their nourishing colonies, 5\n so also did the professors of science often find or\n flee the ravages of sword or pestilence in those\n places, which they themselves perhaps in former\n times had made the seats of religious, honorable,\n and useful learning. And lastly, as kings and 10\n nobles have fortified and advanced the interests\n of the Christian faith without being necessary\n to it, so in like manner we may enumerate with\n honor Charlemagne, Alfred, Henry the First of\n England, Joan of Navarre, and many others, as 15\n patrons of the schools of learning, without being\n obliged to allow that those schools could not have\n progressed without such countenance.\n\n These are some of the points of resemblance\n between the propagation of Christian truth and 20\n the revival of letters; and, to return to the two\n points, to which I have particularly drawn\n attention, the University Professor's confidence in his\n own powers, and his taking the initiative in the\n exercise of them, I find both these distinctly 25\n recognized by Mr. Hallam in his history of Literature.\n As to the latter point, he says, \"The schools of\n Charlemagne were designed to lay the basis of a\n learned education, _for which there was at that time\n no sufficient desire_\"--that is, the supply was 30\n prior to the demand. As to the former: \"In\n the twelfth century,\" he says, \"the _impetuosity_\n with which men _rushed_ to that source of what\n they deemed wisdom, the great University of\n Paris, _did not depend upon academical privileges\n or eleemosynary stipends_, though these were 5\n undoubtedly very effectual in keeping it up. The\n University _created patrons, and was not created\n by them_\"--that is, demand and supply were all\n in all....\n\n Bec, a poor monastery of Normandy, set up in 10\n the eleventh century by an illiterate soldier, who\n sought the cloister, soon attracted scholars to its\n dreary clime from Italy, and transmitted them\n to England. Lanfranc, afterwards Archbishop of\n Canterbury, was one of these, and he found the 15\n simple monks so necessitous, that he opened a\n school of logic to all comers, in order, says William\n of Malmesbury, \"that he might support his needy\n monastery by the pay of the students.\" The\n same author adds, that \"his reputation went into 20\n the most remote parts of the Latin world, and\n Bec became a great and famous Academy of\n letters.\" Here is an instance of a\n commencement without support, without scholars, in order\n to attract scholars, and in them to find support. 25\n William of Jumi\u00e8ges, too, bears witness to the\n effect, powerful, sudden, wide spreading, and\n various, of Lanfranc's advertisement of himself.\n The fame of Bec and Lanfranc, he says, quickly\n penetrated through the whole world; and \"clerks, 30\n the sons of dukes, the most esteemed masters of\n the Latin schools, powerful laymen, high nobles,\n flocked to him.\" What words can more strikingly\n attest the enthusiastic character of the movement\n which he began, than to say that it carried away\n with it all classes; rich as well as poor, laymen as 5\n well as ecclesiastics, those who were in that day\n in the habit of despising letters, as well as those\n who might wish to live by them?...\n\n\n\n\n THE STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS OF UNIVERSITIES\n\n ABELARD\n\n\n We can have few more apposite illustrations\n of at once the strength and weakness of what 10\n may be called the University principle, of what\n it can do and what it cannot, of its power to\n collect students, and its impotence to preserve and\n edify them, than the history of the celebrated\n Abelard. His name is closely associated with 15\n the commencement of the University of Paris;\n and in his popularity and in his reverses, in the\n criticisms of John of Salisbury on his method,\n and the protest of St. Bernard against his\n teaching, we read, as in a pattern specimen, what a 20\n University professes in its essence, and what it\n needs for its \"integrity.\" It is not to be supposed,\n that I am prepared to show this here, as fully as\n it might be shown; but it is a subject so\n pertinent to the general object of these Essays, that it 25\n may be useful to devote even a few pages to it.\n\n The oracles of Divine Truth, as time goes on,\n do but repeat the one message from above which\n they have ever uttered, since the tongues of fire\n attested the coming of the Paraclete; still, as\n time goes on, they utter it with greater force and 5\n precision, under diverse forms, with fuller\n luminousness, and a richer ministration of thought\n statement, and argument. They meet the\n varying wants, and encounter the special resistance\n of each successive age; and, though prescient of 10\n coming errors and their remedy long before, they\n cautiously reserve their new enunciation of the\n old Truth, till it is imperatively demanded. And,\n as it happens in kings' cabinets, that surmises\n arise, and rumors spread, of what is said in 15\n council, and is in course of preparation, and secrets\n perhaps get wind, true in substance or in direction,\n though distorted in detail; so too, before the\n Church speaks, one or other of her forward\n children speaks for her, and, while he does anticipate 20\n to a certain point what she is about to say or\n enjoin, he states it incorrectly, makes it error\n instead of truth, and risks his own faith in the\n process. Indeed, this is actually one source, or\n rather concomitant, of heresy, the presence of 25\n some misshapen, huge, and grotesque foreshadow\n of true statements which are to come. Speaking\n under correction, I would apply this remark to\n the heresy of Tertullian or of Sabellius, which may\n be considered a reaction from existing errors, and 30\n an attempt, presumptuous, and therefore unsuccessful,\n to meet them with those divinely\n appointed correctives which the Church alone can\n apply, and which she will actually apply, when\n the proper moment comes. The Gnostics boasted\n of their intellectual proficiency before the time 5\n of St. Iren\u00e6us, St. Athanasius, and St.\n Augustine; yet, when these doctors made their\n appearance, I suppose they were examples of that\n knowledge, true and deep, which the Gnostics\n professed. Apollinaris anticipated the work of 10\n St. Cyril and the Ephesine Council, and became\n a heresiarch in consequence; and, to come down\n to the present times, we may conceive that\n writers, who have impatiently fallen away from\n the Church, because she would not adopt their 15\n views, would have found, had they but trusted\n her, and waited, that she knew how to profit by\n them, though she never could have need to\n borrow her enunciations from them; for their\n writings contained, so to speak, truth _in the ore_, truth 20\n which they themselves had not the gift to\n disengage from its foreign concomitants, and safely\n use, which she alone could use, which she would\n use in her destined hour, and which became their\n stone of stumbling simply because she did not 25\n use it faster. Now, applying this principle to\n the subject before us, I observe, that, supposing\n Abelard to be the first master of scholastic\n philosophy, as many seem to hold, we shall have still\n no difficulty in condemning the author, while we 30\n honor the work. To him is only the glory of\n spoiling by his own self-will what would have\n been done well and surely under the teaching\n and guidance of Infallible Authority.\n\n Nothing is more certain than that some ideas\n are consistent with one another, and others 5\n inconsistent; and, again, that every truth must be\n consistent with every other truth--hence, that\n all truths of whatever kind form into one large\n body of Truth, by virtue of the consistency\n between one truth and another, which is a 10\n connecting link running through them all. The science\n which discovers this connection is logic; and,\n as it discovers the connection when the truths are\n given, so, having one truth given and the\n connecting principle, it is able to go on to ascertain 15\n the other. Though all this is obvious, it was\n realized and acted on in the middle age with\n a distinctness unknown before; all subjects of\n knowledge were viewed as parts of one vast\n system, each with its own place in it, and from 20\n knowing one, another was inferred. Not indeed\n always rightly inferred, because the art might\n be less perfect than the science, the instrument\n than the theory and aim; but I am speaking of\n the principle of the scholastic method, of which 25\n Saints and Doctors were the teachers--such\n I conceive it to be, and Abelard was the ill-fated\n logician who had a principal share in bringing it\n into operation.\n\n Others will consider the great St. Anselm and 30\n the school of Bec, as the proper source of Scholasticism;\n I am not going to discuss the question;\n anyhow, Abelard, and not St. Anselm, was the\n Professor at the University of Paris, and it is\n of Universities that I am speaking; anyhow,\n Abelard illustrates the strength and the 5\n weakness of the principle of advertising and\n communicating knowledge for its own sake, which I have\n called the University principle, whether he is,\n or is not, the first of scholastic philosophers or\n scholastic theologians. And, though I could not 10\n speak of him at all without mentioning the\n subject of his teaching, yet, after all, it is of him and\n of his teaching itself, that I am going to speak,\n whatever that might be which he actually taught.\n\n Since Charlemagne's time the schools of Paris 15\n had continued, with various fortunes, faithful, as\n far as the age admitted, to the old learning, as\n other schools elsewhere, when, in the eleventh\n century, the famous school of Bec began to\n develop the powers of logic in forming a new 20\n philosophy. As the inductive method rose in\n Bacon, so did the logical in the medi\u00e6val\n schoolmen; and Aristotle, the most comprehensive\n intellect of Antiquity, as the one who had\n conceived the sublime idea of mapping the whole 25\n field of knowledge, and subjecting all things to\n one profound analysis, became the presiding\n master in their lecture halls. It was at the end\n of the eleventh century that William of\n Champeaux founded the celebrated Abbey of St. 30\n Victor under the shadow of St. Genevi\u00e8ve, and by\n the dialectic methods which he introduced into his\n teaching, has a claim to have commenced the\n work of forming the University out of the Schools\n of Paris. For one at least, out of the two\n characteristics of a University, he prepared the way; 5\n for, though the schools were not public till after\n his day, so as to admit laymen as well as clerks,\n and foreigners as well as natives of the place, yet\n the logical principle of constructing all sciences\n into one system, implied of course a recognition 10\n of all the sciences that are comprehended in it.\n Of this William of Champeaux, or de Campellis,\n Abelard was the pupil; he had studied the\n dialectic art elsewhere, before he offered himself for\n his instructions; and, in the course of two years, 15\n when as yet he had only reached the age of\n twenty-two, he made such progress, as to be\n capable of quarreling with his master, and\n setting up a school for himself.\n\n This school of Abelard was first situated in 20\n the royal castle of Melun; then at Corbeil, which\n was nearer to Paris, and where he attracted to\n himself a considerable number of hearers. His\n labors had an injurious effect upon his health;\n and at length he withdrew for two years to his 25\n native Britanny. Whether other causes co\u00f6perated\n in this withdrawal, I think, is not known;\n but, at the end of the two years, we find him\n returning to Paris, and renewing his attendance\n on the lectures of William, who was by this time 30\n a monk. Rhetoric was the subject of the lectures\n he now heard; and after a while the pupil\n repeated with greater force and success his\n former treatment of his teacher. He held a\n public disputation with him, got the victory,\n and reduced him to silence. The school of 5\n William was deserted, and its master himself became\n an instance of the vicissitudes incident to that\n gladiatorial wisdom (as I may style it) which was\n then eclipsing the old Benedictine method of the\n Seven Arts. After a time, Abelard found his 10\n reputation sufficient to warrant him in setting\n up a school himself on Mount St. Genevi\u00e8ve;\n whence he waged incessant war against the\n unwearied logician, who by this time had rallied\n his forces to repel the young and ungrateful 15\n adventurer who had raised his hand against him.\n\n Great things are done by devotion to one idea;\n there is one class of geniuses, who would never\n be what they are, could they grasp a second.\n The calm philosophical mind, which 20\n contemplates parts without denying the whole, and the\n whole without confusing the parts, is notoriously\n indisposed to action; whereas single and simple\n views arrest the mind, and hurry it on to carry\n them out. Thus, men of one idea and nothing 25\n more, whatever their merit, must be to a certain\n extent narrow-minded; and it is not wonderful\n that Abelard's devotion to the new philosophy\n made him undervalue the Seven Arts out of which\n it had grown. He felt it impossible so to honor 30\n what was now to be added, as not to dishonor\n what existed before. He would not suffer the\n Arts to have their own use, since he had found a\n new instrument for a new purpose. So he\n opposed the reading of the Classics. The monks\n had opposed them before him; but this is little 5\n to our present purpose; it was the duty of men,\n who abjured the gifts of this world on the\n principle of mortification, to deny themselves\n literature just as they would deny themselves\n particular friendships or figured music. The doctrine 10\n which Abelard introduced and represents was\n founded on a different basis. He did not\n recognize in the poets of antiquity any other merit\n than that of furnishing an assemblage of elegant\n phrases and figures; and accordingly he asks 15\n why they should not be banished from the city\n of God, since Plato banished them from his own\n commonwealth. The _animus_ of this language is\n clear, when we turn to the pages of John of\n Salisbury and Peter of Blois, who were champions of 20\n the ancient learning. We find them complaining\n that the careful \"getting up,\" as we now call it,\n \"of books,\" was growing out of fashion. Youths\n once studied critically the text of poets or\n philosophers; they got them by heart; they analyzed 25\n their arguments; they noted down their fallacies;\n they were closely examined in the matters which\n had been brought before them in lecture; they\n composed. But now, another teaching was\n coming in; students were promised truth in a 30\n nutshell; they intended to get possession of the sum-total\n of philosophy in less than two or three\n years; and facts were apprehended, not in their\n substance and details, by means of living and,\n as it were, personal documents, but in dead\n abstracts and tables. Such were the 5\n reclamations to which the new Logic gave occasion.\n\n These, however, are lesser matters; we have\n a graver quarrel with Abelard than that of his\n undervaluing the Classics. As I have said, my\n main object here is not what he taught, but why 10\n and how, and how he lived. Now it is certain\n his activity was stimulated by nothing very high,\n but something very earthly and sordid. I grant\n there is nothing morally wrong in the mere desire\n to rise in the world, though Ambition and it are 15\n twin sisters. I should not blame Abelard merely\n for wishing to distinguish himself at the\n University; but when he makes the ecclesiastical\n state the instrument of his ambition, mixes up\n spiritual matters with temporal, and aims at a 20\n bishopric through the medium of his logic, he\n joins together things incompatible, and cannot\n complain of being censured. It is he himself,\n who tells us, unless my memory plays me false,\n that the circumstance of William of Champeaux 25\n being promoted to the see of Chalons, was an\n incentive to him to pursue the same path with an\n eye to the same reward. Accordingly, we next\n hear of his attending the theological lectures of\n a certain master of William's, named Anselm, an 30\n old man, whose school was situated at Laon. This\n person had a great reputation in his day; John\n of Salisbury, speaking of him in the next\n generation, calls him the doctor of doctors; he had been\n attended by students from Italy and Germany;\n but the age had advanced since he was in his 5\n prime, and Abelard was disappointed in a teacher,\n who had been good enough for William. He left\n Anselm, and began to lecture on the prophet\n Ezekiel on his own resources.\n\n Now came the time of his great popularity, 10\n which was more than his head could bear; which\n dizzied him, took him off his legs, and whirled\n him to his destruction. I spoke in my foregoing\n Chapter of those three qualities of true wisdom,\n which a University, absolutely and nakedly 15\n considered, apart from the safeguards which\n constitute its integrity, is sure to compromise.\n Wisdom, says the inspired writer, is _desursum_, is\n _pudica_, is _pacifica_, \"from above, chaste,\n peaceable.\" We have already seen enough of Abelard's 20\n career to understand that his wisdom, instead of\n being \"pacifica,\" was ambitious and contentious.\n An Apostle speaks of the tongue both as a blessing\n and as a curse. It may be the beginning of a fire,\n he says, a \"Universitas iniquitatis;\" and alas! 25\n such did it become in the mouth of the gifted\n Abelard. His eloquence was wonderful; he\n dazzled his contemporaries, says Fulco, \"by the\n brilliancy of his genius, the sweetness of his\n eloquence, the ready flow of his language, and the 30\n subtlety of his knowledge.\" People came to\n him from all quarters--from Rome, in spite of\n mountains and robbers; from England, in spite\n of the sea; from Flanders and Germany; from\n Normandy, and the remote districts of France;\n from Angers and Poitiers; from Navarre by the 5\n Pyrenees, and from Spain, besides the students\n of Paris itself; and among those, who sought his\n instructions now or afterwards, were the great\n luminaries of the schools in the next generation.\n Such were Peter of Poitiers, Peter Lombard, John 10\n of Salisbury, Arnold of Brescia, Ivo, and Geoffrey\n of Auxerre. It was too much for a weak head\n and heart, weak in spite of intellectual power;\n for vanity will possess the head, and worldliness\n the heart, of the man, however gifted, whose 15\n wisdom is not an effluence of the Eternal Light.\n\n True wisdom is not only \"pacifica,\" it is\n \"pudica;\" chaste as well as peaceable. Alas for\n Abelard! a second disgrace, deeper than\n ambition, is his portion now. The strong man--the 20\n Samson of the schools in the wildness of his course,\n the Solomon in the fascination of his\n genius--shivers and falls before the temptation which\n overcame that mighty pair, the most excelling\n in body and in mind. 25\n\n In a time when Colleges were unknown, and the\n young scholar was commonly thrown upon the\n dubious hospitality of a great city, Abelard might\n even be thought careful of his honor, that he\n went to lodge with an old ecclesiastic, had not 30\n his host's niece Eloisa lived with him. A more\n subtle snare was laid for him than beset the\n heroic champion or the all-accomplished monarch of\n Israel; for sensuality came upon him under the\n guise of intellect, and it was the high mental\n endowments of Eloisa, who became his pupil, 5\n speaking in her eyes, and thrilling on her tongue,\n which were the intoxication and the delirium of\n Abelard....\n\n He is judged, he is punished; but he is not\n reclaimed. True wisdom is not only \"pacifica,\" 10\n not only \"pudica;\" it is \"desursum\" too. It is\n a revelation from above; it knows heresy as\n little as it knows strife or license. But Abelard,\n who had run the career of earthly wisdom in two\n of its phases, now is destined to represent its 15\n third.\n\n It is at the famous Abbey of St. Denis that we\n find him languidly rising from his dream of sin,\n and the suffering that followed. The bad dream\n is cleared away; clerks come to him, and the 20\n Abbot begging him to lecture still, for love\n now, as for gain before. Once more his school is\n thronged by the curious and the studious; but\n at length a rumor spreads, that Abelard is\n exploring the way to some novel view on the 25\n subject of the Most Holy Trinity. Wherefore is\n hardly clear, but about the same time the monks\n drive him away from the place of refuge he had\n gained. He betakes himself to a cell, and thither\n his pupils follow him. \"I betook myself to a 30\n certain cell,\" he says, \"wishing to give myself to\n the schools, as was my custom. Thither so great\n a multitude of scholars flocked, that there was\n neither room to house them, nor fruits of the\n earth to feed them,\" such was the enthusiasm of\n the student, such the attraction of the teacher, 5\n when knowledge was advertised freely, and its\n market opened.\n\n Next he is in Champagne, in a delightful\n solitude near Nogent in the diocese of Troyes. Here\n the same phenomenon presents itself, which is 10\n so frequent in his history. \"When the scholars\n knew it,\" he says, \"they began to crowd thither\n from all parts; and, leaving other cities and\n strongholds, they were content to dwell in the\n wilderness. For spacious houses they framed for 15\n themselves small tabernacles, and for delicate food they\n put up with wild herbs. Secretly did they\n whisper among themselves: 'Behold, the whole\n world is gone out after him!' When, however,\n my Oratory could not hold even a moderate 20\n portion of them, then they were forced to enlarge\n it, and to build it up with wood and stone.\"\n He called the place his Paraclete, because it had\n been his consolation.\n\n I do not know why I need follow his life further. 25\n I have said enough to illustrate the course of one,\n who may be called the founder, or at least the first\n great name, of the Parisian Schools. After the\n events I have mentioned he is found in Lower\n Britanny; then, being about forty-eight years of 30\n age, in the Abbey of St. Gildas; then with St.\n Genevi\u00e8ve again. He had to sustain the fiery\n eloquence of a Saint, directed against his novelties;\n he had to present himself before two Councils;\n he had to burn the book which had given offense\n to pious ears. His last two years were spent at 5\n Clugni on his way to Rome. The home of the\n weary, the hospital of the sick, the school of the\n erring, the tribunal of the penitent, is the city\n of St. Peter. He did not reach it; but he is\n said to have retracted what had given scandal in 10\n his writings, and to have made an edifying end.\n He died at the age of sixty-two, in the year of\n grace 1142.\n\n In reviewing his career, the career of so great\n an intellect so miserably thrown away, we are 15\n reminded of the famous words of the dying\n scholar and jurist, which are a lesson to us all,\n \"Heu, vitam perdidi, operos\u00e8 nihil agendo.\" A\n happier lot be ours!\n\n\n\n\n IV. MISCELLANEOUS\n\n\n\n\n POETRY, WITH REFERENCE TO ARISTOTLE'S POETICS\n\n\n Poetry, according to Aristotle, is a\n representation of the ideal. Biography and history\n represent individual characters and actual facts;\n poetry, on the contrary, generalizing from the\n phenomenon of nature and life, supplies us with 5\n pictures drawn, not after an existing pattern,\n but after a creation of the mind. Fidelity is the\n primary merit of biography and history; the\n essence of poetry is fiction. \"Poesis nihil aliud\n est,\" says Bacon, \"quam histori\u00e6 imitatio ad 10\n placitum.\" It delineates that perfection which\n the imagination suggests, and to which as a\n limit the present system of Divine Providence\n actually tends. Moreover, by confining the attention\n to one series of events and scene of action, it 15\n bounds and finishes off the confused luxuriance\n of real nature; while, by a skillful adjustment of\n circumstances, it brings into sight the connection\n of cause and effect, completes the dependence of\n the parts one on another, and harmonizes the 20\n proportions of the whole. It is then but the type\n and model of history or biography, if we may be\n allowed the comparison, bearing some resemblance\n to the abstract mathematical formul\u00e6 of physics,\n before they are modified by the contingencies of\n atmosphere and friction. Hence, while it recreates\n the imagination by the superhuman loveliness of\n its views, it provides a solace for the mind broken 5\n by the disappointments and sufferings of actual\n life; and becomes, moreover, the utterance of\n the inward emotions of a right moral feeling,\n seeking a purity and a truth which this world\n will not give. 10\n\n It follows that the poetical mind is one full of\n the eternal forms of beauty and perfection; these\n are its material of thought, its instrument and\n medium of observation; these color each\n object to which it directs its view. It is called 15\n imaginative, or creative, from the originality and\n independence of its modes of thinking, compared\n with the commonplace and matter-of-fact\n conceptions of ordinary minds which are fettered\n down to the particular and individual. At the 20\n same time it feels a natural sympathy with\n everything great and splendid in the physical and\n moral world; and selecting such from the mass\n of common phenomena, incorporates them, as it\n were, into the substance of its own creations. 25\n From living thus in a world of its own, it speaks\n the language of dignity, emotion, and refinement.\n Figure is its necessary medium of communication\n with man; for in the feebleness of ordinary words\n to express its ideas, and in the absence of terms of 30\n abstract perfection, the adoption of metaphorical\n language is the only poor means allowed it for\n imparting to others its intense feelings. A metrical\n garb has, in all languages, been appropriated to\n poetry--it is but the outward development of\n the music and harmony within. The verse, far 5\n from being a restraint on the true poet, is the\n suitable index of his sense, and is adopted by his\n free and deliberate choice. We shall presently\n show the applicability of our doctrine to the\n various departments of poetical composition; 10\n first, however, it will be right to volunteer an\n explanation which may save it from much\n misconception and objection. Let not our notion\n be thought arbitrarily to limit the number of\n poets, generally considered such. It will be 15\n found to lower particular works, or parts of\n works, rather than the authors themselves;\n sometimes to disparage only the vehicle in which\n the poetry is conveyed. There is an ambiguity\n in the word \"poetry,\" which is taken to signify 20\n both the gift itself, and the written composition\n which is the result of it. Thus there is an\n apparent, but no real, contradiction in saying a poem\n may be but partially poetical; in some passages\n more so than in others; and sometimes not 25\n poetical at all. We only maintain, not that the\n writers forfeit the name of poet who fail at times\n to answer to our requisitions, but that they are\n poets only so far forth, and inasmuch as they do\n answer to them. We may grant, for instance, 30\n that the vulgarities of old Phoenix in the ninth\n _Iliad_, or of the nurse of Orestes in the _Cho\u00ebphor\u00e6_,\n are in themselves unworthy of their respective\n authors, and refer them to the wantonness of\n exuberant genius; and yet maintain that the\n scenes in question contain much incidental poetry. 5\n Now and then the luster of the true metal catches\n the eye, redeeming whatever is unseemly and\n worthless in the rude ore; still the ore is not the\n metal. Nay, sometimes, and not unfrequently in\n Shakspeare, the introduction of unpoetical 10\n matter may be necessary for the sake of relief, or as\n a vivid expression of recondite conceptions, and,\n as it were, to make friends with the reader's\n imagination. This necessity, however, cannot\n make the additions in themselves beautiful and 15\n pleasing. Sometimes, on the other hand, while\n we do not deny the incidental beauty of a poem,\n we are ashamed and indignant on witnessing the\n unworthy substance in which that beauty is\n embedded. This remark applies strongly to the 20\n immoral compositions to which Lord Byron\n devoted his last years.\n\n Now to proceed with our proposed investigation.\n\n 1. We will notice _descriptive poetry_ first. 25\n Empedocles wrote his physics in verse, and\n Oppian his history of animals. Neither were\n poets--the one was an historian of nature, the\n other a sort of biographer of brutes. Yet a poet\n may make natural history or philosophy the 30\n material of his composition. But under his hands\n they are no longer a bare collection of facts or\n principles, but are painted with a meaning,\n beauty, and harmonious order not their own.\n Thomson has sometimes been commended for\n the novelty and minuteness of his remarks upon 5\n nature. This is not the praise of a poet, whose\n office rather is to represent known phenomena in\n a new connection or medium. In _L'Allegro_ and\n _Il Penseroso_ the poetical magician invests the\n commonest scenes of a country life with the hues, 10\n first of a cheerful, then of a pensive imagination.\n It is the charm of the descriptive poetry of a\n religious mind, that nature is viewed in a moral\n connection. Ordinary writers, for instance,\n compare aged men to trees in autumn--a gifted 15\n poet will in the fading trees discern the fading\n men.[43] Pastoral poetry is a description of\n rustics, agriculture, and cattle, softened off and\n corrected from the rude health of nature. Virgil,\n and much more Pope and others, have run into 20\n the fault of coloring too highly; instead of\n drawing generalized and ideal forms of shepherds, they\n have given us pictures of gentlemen and beaux.\n\n Their composition may be poetry, but it is not\n pastoral poetry. 25\n\n [43] Thus:--\n\n \"How quiet shows the woodland scene!\n Each flower and tree, its duty done,\n Reposing in decay serene,\n Like weary men when age is won,\" etc.\n\n 2. The difference between poetical and\n historical _narrative_ may be illustrated by the Tales\n Founded on Facts, generally of a religious\n character, so common in the present day, which we\n must not be thought to approve, because we use\n them for our purpose. The author finds in the\n circumstances of the case many particulars too 5\n trivial for public notice, or irrelevant to the main\n story, or partaking perhaps too much of the\n peculiarity of individual minds: these he omits.\n He finds connected events separated from each\n other by time or place, or a course of action 10\n distributed among a multitude of agents; he limits\n the scene or duration of the tale, and dispenses\n with his host of characters by condensing the\n mass of incident and action in the history of a\n few. He compresses long controversies into a 15\n concise argument, and exhibits characters by\n dialogue, and (if such be his object) brings\n prominently forward the course of Divine\n Providence by a fit disposition of his materials. Thus\n he selects, combines, refines, colors--in fact, 20\n poetizes. His facts are no longer actual, but\n ideal; a tale founded on facts is a tale generalized\n from facts. The authors of _Peveril of the Peak_,\n and of _Brambletye House_, have given us their\n respective descriptions of the profligate times of 25\n Charles II. Both accounts are interesting, but\n for different reasons. That of the latter writer\n has the fidelity of history; Walter Scott's\n picture is the hideous reality, unintentionally softened\n and decorated by the poetry of his own mind. 30\n Miss Edgeworth sometimes apologizes for certain\n incident in her tales by stating they took place\n \"by one of those strange chances which occur in\n life, but seem incredible when found in writing.\"\n Such an excuse evinces a misconception of the\n principle of fiction, which, being the perfection of 5\n the actual, prohibits the introduction of any such\n anomalies of experience. It is by a similar\n impropriety that painters sometimes introduce\n unusual sunsets, or other singular phenomena of\n lights and forms. Yet some of Miss Edgeworth's 10\n works contain much poetry of narrative.\n Maneuvering is perfect in its way,--the plot and\n characters are natural, without being too real to be\n pleasing.\n\n 3. _Character_ is made poetical by a like process. 15\n The writer draws indeed from experience; but\n unnatural peculiarities are laid aside, and harsh\n contrasts reconciled. If it be said the fidelity\n of the imitation is often its greatest merit, we\n have only to reply, that in such cases the pleasure 20\n is not poetical, but consists in the mere\n recognition. All novels and tales which introduce real\n characters are in the same degree unpoetical.\n Portrait painting, to be poetical, should furnish\n an abstract representation of an individual; the 25\n abstraction being more rigid, inasmuch as the\n painting is confined to one point of time. The\n artist should draw independently of the accidents\n of attitude, dress, occasional feeling, and transient\n action. He should depict the general spirit of 30\n his subject--as if he were copying from memory,\n not from a few particular sittings. An ordinary\n painter will delineate with rigid fidelity, and will\n make a caricature; but the learned artist\n contrives so to temper his composition, as to sink all\n offensive peculiarities and hardnesses of 5\n individuality, without diminishing the striking effect of\n the likeness, or acquainting the casual spectator\n with the secret of his art. Miss Edgeworth's\n representations of the Irish character are actual, and\n not poetical--nor were they intended to be so. 10\n They are interesting, because they are faithful.\n If there is poetry about them, it exists in the\n personages themselves, not in her representation\n of them. She is only the accurate reporter in\n word of what was poetical in fact. Hence, 15\n moreover, when a deed or incident is striking in itself,\n a judicious writer is led to describe it in the most\n simple and colorless terms, his own being\n unnecessary; for instance, if the greatness of the action\n itself excites the imagination, or the depth of the 20\n suffering interests the feelings. In the usual\n phrase, the circumstances are left \"to speak for\n themselves.\"\n\n Let it not be said that our doctrine is adverse\n to that individuality in the delineation of 25\n character, which is a principal charm of fiction. It is\n not necessary for the ideality of a composition to\n avoid those minuter shades of difference between\n man and man, which give to poetry its\n plausibility and life; but merely such violation of 30\n general nature, such improbabilities, wanderings, or\n coarseness, as interfere with the refined and\n delicate enjoyment of the imagination; which would\n have the elements of beauty extracted out of\n the confused multitude of ordinary actions and\n habits, and combined with consistency and ease. 5\n Nor does it exclude the introduction of imperfect\n or odious characters. The original conception of\n a weak or guilty mind may have its intrinsic\n beauty; and much more so, when it is connected\n with a tale which finally adjusts whatever is 10\n reprehensible in the personages themselves.\n Richard and Iago are subservient to the plot.\n Moral excellence in some characters may become\n even a fault. The Clytemnestra of Euripides is\n so interesting, that the Divine vengeance, which 15\n is the main subject of the drama, seems almost\n unjust. Lady Macbeth, on the contrary, is the\n conception of one deeply learned in the poetical\n art. She is polluted with the most heinous crimes,\n and meets the fate she deserves. Yet there is 20\n nothing in the picture to offend the taste, and\n much to feed the imagination. Romeo and\n Juliet are too good for the termination to which\n the plot leads; so are Ophelia and the Bride of\n Lammermoor. In these cases there is something 25\n inconsistent with correct beauty, and therefore\n unpoetical. We do not say the fault could be\n avoided without sacrificing more than would be\n gained; still it is a fault. It is scarcely possible\n for a poet satisfactorily to connect innocence with 30\n ultimate unhappiness, when the notion of a future\n life is excluded. Honors paid to the memory of\n the dead are some alleviation of the harshness.\n In his use of the doctrine of a future life, Southey\n is admirable. Other writers are content to\n conduct their heroes to temporal happiness; 5\n Southey refuses present comfort to his Ladurlad,\n Thalaba, and Roderick, but carries them on\n through suffering to another world. The death\n of his hero is the termination of the action; yet\n so little in two of them, at least, does this 10\n catastrophe excite sorrowful feelings, that some\n readers may be startled to be reminded of the\n fact. If a melancholy is thrown over the\n conclusion of the _Roderick_, it is from the peculiarities\n of the hero's previous history. 15\n\n 4. Opinions, feelings, manners, and customs\n are made poetical by the delicacy or splendor\n with which they are expressed. This is seen in\n the _ode_, _elegy_, _sonnet_, and _ballad_, in which a\n single idea, perhaps, or familiar occurrence, is 20\n invested by the poet with pathos or dignity. The\n ballad of _Old Robin Gray_ will serve for an instance\n out of a multitude; again, Lord Byron's _Hebrew\n Melody_, beginning, \"Were my bosom as false,\"\n etc.; or Cowper's _Lines on his Mother's Picture_; 25\n or Milman's _Funeral Hymn_ in the Martyr of\n Antioch; or Milton's _Sonnet on his Blindness_; or\n Bernard Barton's _Dream_. As picturesque\n specimens, we may name Campbell's _Battle of the\n Baltic_; or Joanna Baillie's _Chough and Crow_; 30\n and for the more exalted and splendid style,\n Gray's _Bard_; or Milton's _Hymn on the Nativity_;\n in which facts, with which every one is familiar,\n are made new by the coloring of a poetical\n imagination. It must all along be observed, that\n we are not adducing instances for their own sake; 5\n but in order to illustrate our general doctrine, and\n to show its applicability to those compositions\n which are, by universal consent, acknowledged to\n be poetical.\n\n The department of poetry we are now speaking 10\n of is of much wider extent than might at first\n sight appear. It will include such moralizing and\n philosophical poems as Young's _Night Thoughts_,\n and Byron's _Childe Harold_. There is much bad\n taste, at present, in the judgment passed on 15\n compositions of this kind. It is the fault of the day\n to mistake mere eloquence for poetry; whereas,\n in direct opposition to the conciseness and\n simplicity of the poet, the talent of the orator consists\n in making much of a single idea. \"Sic dicet ille ut 20\n verset s\u00e6pe multis modis eandem et unam rem,\n ut h\u00e6reat in e\u00e2dem commoreturque sententi\u00e2.\"\n This is the great art of Cicero himself, who,\n whether he is engaged in statement, argument, or\n raillery, never ceases till he has exhausted the 25\n subject; going round about it, and placing it in every\n different light, yet without repetition to offend or\n weary the reader. This faculty seems to consist\n in the power of throwing off harmonious verses,\n which, while they have a respectable portion of 30\n meaning, yet are especially intended to charm the\n ear. In popular poems, common ideas are\n unfolded with copiousness, and set off in polished\n verse--and this is called poetry. Such is the\n character of Campbell's _Pleasures of Hope_; it is\n in his minor poems that the author's poetical 5\n genius rises to its natural elevation. In _Childe\n Harold_, too, the writer is carried through his\n Spenserian stanza with the unweariness and\n equable fullness of accomplished eloquence;\n opening, illustrating, and heightening one idea, before 10\n he passes on to another. His composition is an\n extended funeral sermon over buried joys and\n pleasures. His laments over Greece, Rome, and\n the fallen in various engagements, have quite the\n character of panegyrical orations; while by the 15\n very attempt to describe the celebrated buildings\n and sculptures of antiquity, he seems to confess\n that _they_ are the poetical text, his the rhetorical\n comment. Still it is a work of splendid talent,\n though, as a whole, not of the highest poetical 20\n excellence. Juvenal is perhaps the only ancient\n author who habitually substitutes declamation for\n poetry.\n\n 5. The _philosophy of mind_ may equally be made\n subservient to poetry, as the philosophy of nature. 25\n It is a common fault to mistake a mere knowledge\n of the heart for poetical talent. Our greatest\n masters have known better--they have\n subjected metaphysics to their art. In Hamlet,\n Macbeth, Richard, and Othello, the philosophy of 30\n mind is but the material of the poet. These personages\n are ideal; they are effects of the contact\n of a given internal character with given outward\n circumstances, the results of combined conditions\n determining (so to say) a moral curve of original\n and inimitable properties. Philosophy is 5\n exhibited in the same subserviency to poetry in\n many parts of Crabbe's _Tales of the Hall_. In the\n writings of this author there is much to offend a\n refined taste; but, at least in the work in question,\n there is much of a highly poetical cast. It is a 10\n representation of the action and reaction of two\n minds upon each other and upon the world around\n them. Two brothers of different characters and\n fortunes, and strangers to each other, meet. Their\n habits of mind, the formation of those habits by 15\n external circumstances, their respective media of\n judgment, their points of mutual attraction and\n repulsion, the mental position of each in relation\n to a variety of trifling phenomena of everyday\n nature and life, are beautifully developed in a 20\n series of tales molded into a connected narrative.\n We are tempted to single out the fourth book,\n which gives an account of the childhood and\n education of the younger brother, and which for\n variety of thought as well as fidelity of 25\n description is in our judgment beyond praise. The\n Waverley Novels would afford us specimens of a\n similar excellence. One striking peculiarity of\n these tales is the author's practice of describing\n a group of characters bearing the same general 30\n features of mind, and placed in the same general\n circumstances; yet so contrasted with each other\n in minute differences of mental constitution, that\n each diverges from the common starting point into\n a path peculiar to himself. The brotherhood of\n villains in _Kenilworth_, of knights in _Ivanhoe_, 5\n and of enthusiasts in _Old Mortality_ are instances\n of this. This bearing of character and plot on\n each other is not often found in Byron's poems.\n The Corsair is intended for a remarkable\n personage. We pass by the inconsistencies of his 10\n character, considered by itself. The grand fault is,\n that whether it be natural or not, we are obliged\n to accept the author's word for the fidelity of his\n portrait. We are told, not shown, what the hero\n was. There is nothing in the plot which results 15\n from his peculiar formation of mind. An\n everyday bravo might equally well have satisfied the\n requirements of the action. Childe Harold, again,\n if he is anything, is a being professedly isolated\n from the world, and uninfluenced by it. One 20\n might as well draw Tityrus's stags grazing in the\n air, as a character of this kind; which yet, with\n more or less alteration, passes through successive\n editions in his other poems. Byron had very\n little versatility or elasticity of genius; he did not 25\n know how to make poetry out of existing materials.\n He declaims in his own way, and has the\n upper-hand as long as he is allowed to go on; but, if\n interrogated on principles of nature and good\n sense, he is at once put out and brought to a 30\n stand.\n\n Yet his conception of Sardanapalus and Myrrha\n is fine and ideal, and in the style of excellence\n which we have just been admiring in Shakspeare\n and Scott.\n\n These illustrations of Aristotle's doctrine may 5\n suffice.\n\n Now let us proceed to a fresh position; which,\n as before, shall first be broadly stated, then\n modified and explained. How does originality\n differ from the poetical talent? Without 10\n affecting the accuracy of a definition, we may call the\n latter the originality of right moral feeling.\n\n Originality may perhaps be defined the power\n of abstracting for one's self, and is in thought\n what strength of mind is in action. Our opinions 15\n are commonly derived from education and society.\n Common minds transmit as they receive, good and\n bad, true and false; minds of original talent feel a\n continual propensity to investigate subjects, and\n strike out views for themselves, so that even old 20\n and established truths do not escape\n modification and accidental change when subjected to this\n process of mental digestion. Even the style of\n original writers is stamped with the peculiarities\n of their minds. When originality is found apart 25\n from good sense, which more or less is frequently\n the case, it shows itself in paradox and rashness\n of sentiment, and eccentricity of outward conduct.\n Poetry, on the other hand, cannot be separated\n from its good sense, or taste, as it is called, which 30\n is one of its elements. It is originality energizing\n in the world of beauty; the originality of grace,\n purity, refinement, and good feeling. We do not\n hesitate to say, that poetry is ultimately founded\n on correct moral perception; that where there is\n no sound principle in exercise there will be no 5\n poetry; and that on the whole (originality being\n granted) in proportion to the standard of a writer's\n moral character will his compositions vary in\n poetical excellence. This position, however,\n requires some explanation. 10\n\n Of course, then, we do not mean to imply that\n a poet must necessarily display virtuous and\n religious feeling; we are not speaking of the actual\n material of poetry, but of its sources. A right\n moral state of heart is the formal and scientific 15\n condition of a poetical mind. Nor does it follow\n from our position that every poet must in fact be\n a man of consistent and practical principle;\n except so far as good feeling commonly produces or\n results from good practice. Burns was a man of 20\n inconsistent life; still, it is known, of much really\n sound principle at bottom. Thus his acknowledged\n poetical talent is in no wise inconsistent with\n the truth of our doctrine, which will refer the\n beauty which exists in his compositions to the 25\n remains of a virtuous and diviner nature within\n him. Nay, further than this, our theory holds\n good, even though it be shown that a depraved\n man may write a poem. As motives short of the\n purest lead to actions intrinsically good, so frames 30\n of mind short of virtuous will produce a partial\n and limited poetry. But even where this is\n instanced, the poetry of a vicious mind will be\n inconsistent and debased; that is, so far only poetry\n as the traces and shadows of holy truth still\n remain upon it. On the other hand, a right moral 5\n feeling places the mind in the very center of that\n circle from which all the rays have their origin\n and range; whereas minds otherwise placed\n command but a portion of the whole circuit of poetry.\n Allowing for human infirmity and the varieties of 10\n opinion, Milton, Spenser, Cowper, Wordsworth,\n and Southey may be considered, as far as their\n writings go, to approximate to this moral center.\n The following are added as further illustrations of\n our meaning. Walter Scott's center is chivalrous 15\n honor; Shakspeare exhibits the characteristics of\n an unlearned and undisciplined piety; Homer the\n religion of nature and conscience, at times debased\n by polytheism. All these poets are religious. The\n occasional irreligion of Virgil's poetry is painful 20\n to the admirers of his general taste and delicacy.\n Dryden's _Alexander's Feast_ is a magnificent\n composition, and has high poetical beauties; but to a\n refined judgment there is something intrinsically\n unpoetical in the end to which it is devoted, the 25\n praises of revel and sensuality. It corresponds to\n a process of clever reasoning erected on an untrue\n foundation--the one is a fallacy, the other is out\n of taste. Lord Byron's _Manfred_ is in parts\n intensely poetical; yet the delicate mind naturally 30\n shrinks from the spirit which here and there reveals\n itself, and the basis on which the drama is\n built. From a perusal of it we should infer,\n according to the above theory, that there was right\n and fine feeling in the poet's mind, but that the\n central and consistent character was wanting. 5\n From the history of his life we know this to be\n the fact. The connection between want of the\n religious principle and want of poetical feeling is\n seen in the instances of Hume and Gibbon, who\n had radically unpoetical minds. Rousseau, it 10\n may be supposed, is an exception to our doctrine.\n Lucretius, too, had great poetical genius; but his\n work evinces that his miserable philosophy was\n rather the result of a bewildered judgment than\n a corrupt heart. 15\n\n According to the above theory, Revealed\n Religion should be especially poetical--and it is so\n in fact. While its disclosures have an originality\n in them to engage the intellect, they have a beauty\n to satisfy the moral nature. It presents us with 20\n those ideal forms of excellence in which a poetical\n mind delights, and with which all grace and\n harmony are associated. It brings us into a new\n world--a world of overpowering interest, of the\n sublimest views, and the tenderest and purest 25\n feelings. The peculiar grace of mind of the New\n Testament writers is as striking as the actual effect\n produced upon the hearts of those who have\n imbibed their spirit. At present we are not\n concerned with the practical, but the poetical nature 30\n of revealed truth. With Christians, a poetical\n view of things is a duty--we are bid to color all\n things with hues of faith, to see a Divine meaning\n in every event, and a superhuman tendency. Even\n our friends around are invested with unearthly\n brightness--no longer imperfect men, but beings 5\n taken into Divine favor, stamped with His seal,\n and in training for future happiness. It may be\n added, that the virtues peculiarly Christian are\n especially poetical--meekness, gentleness,\n compassion, contentment, modesty, not to mention 10\n the devotional virtues; whereas the ruder and\n more ordinary feelings are the instruments of\n rhetoric more justly than of poetry--anger,\n indignation, emulation, martial spirit, and love of\n independence. 15\n\n\n\n\n THE INFINITUDE OF THE DIVINE ATTRIBUTES\n\n\n The attributes of God, though intelligible to us\n on their surface,--for from our own sense of\n mercy and holiness and patience and consistency,\n we have general notions of the All-merciful and\n All-holy and All-patient, and of all that is proper 20\n to His Essence,--yet, for the very reason that\n they are infinite, transcend our comprehension,\n when they are dwelt upon, when they are followed\n out, and can only be received by faith. They are\n dimly shadowed out, in this very respect, by the 25\n great agents which He has created in the material\n world. What is so ordinary and familiar to us\n as the elements, what so simple and level to us\n as their presence and operation? yet how their\n character changes, and how they overmaster us,\n and triumph over us, when they come upon us in\n their fullness! The invisible air, how gentle is it,\n and intimately ours! we breathe it momentarily, 5\n nor could we live without it; it fans our cheek,\n and flows around us, and we move through it\n without effort, while it obediently recedes at every\n step we take, and obsequiously pursues us as we\n go forward. Yet let it come in its power, and 10\n that same silent fluid, which was just now the\n servant of our necessity or caprice, takes us up\n on its wings with the invisible power of an Angel,\n and carries us forth into the regions of space, and\n flings us down headlong upon the earth. Or go 15\n to the spring, and draw thence at your pleasure,\n for your cup or your pitcher, in supply of your\n wants; you have a ready servant, a domestic ever\n at hand, in large quantity or in small, to satisfy\n your thirst, or to purify you from the dust and 20\n mire of the world. But go from home, reach the\n coast; and you will see that same humble element\n transformed before your eyes. You were equal to\n it in its condescension, but who shall gaze\n without astonishment at its vast expanse in the bosom 25\n of the ocean? who shall hear without awe the\n dashing of its mighty billows along the beach?\n who shall without terror feel it heaving under him,\n and swelling and mounting up, and yawning wide,\n till he, its very sport and mockery, is thrown to 30\n and fro, hither and thither, at the mere mercy of\n a power which was just now his companion and\n almost his slave? Or, again, approach the flame:\n it warms you, and it enlightens you; yet approach\n not too near, presume not, or it will change its\n nature. That very element which is so beautiful 5\n to look at, so brilliant in its character, so graceful\n in its figure, so soft and lambent in its motion,\n will be found in its essence to be of a keen,\n resistless nature; it tortures, it consumes, it reduces to\n ashes that of which it was just before the 10\n illumination and the life. So it is with the attributes\n of God; our knowledge of them serves us for our\n daily welfare; they give us light and warmth and\n food and guidance and succor; but go forth with\n Moses upon the mount and let the Lord pass by, 15\n or with Elias stand in the desert amid the wind,\n the earthquake, and the fire, and all is mystery\n and darkness; all is but a whirling of the reason,\n and a dazzling of the imagination, and an\n overwhelming of the feelings, reminding us that we 20\n are but mortal men and He is God, and that the\n outlines which Nature draws for us are not His\n perfect image, nor to be pronounced inconsistent\n with those further lights and depths with which it\n is invested by Revelation. 25\n\n Say not, my brethren, that these thoughts are\n too austere for this season, when we contemplate\n the self-sacrificing, self-consuming charity\n wherewith God our Saviour has visited us. It is for that\n very reason that I dwell on them; the higher He 30\n is, and the more mysterious, so much the more\n glorious and the more subduing is the history of\n His humiliation. I own it, my brethren, I love\n to dwell on Him as the Only-begotten Word; nor\n is it any forgetfulness of His sacred humanity to\n contemplate His Eternal Person. It is the very 5\n idea, that He is God, which gives a meaning to\n His sufferings; what is to me a man, and nothing\n more, in agony, or scourged, or crucified? there\n are many holy martyrs, and their torments were\n terrible. But here I see One dropping blood, 10\n gashed by the thong, and stretched upon the\n Cross, and He is God. It is no tale of human woe\n which I am reading here; it is the record of the\n passion of the great Creator. The Word and\n Wisdom of the Father, who dwelt in His bosom 15\n in bliss ineffable from all eternity, whose very\n smile has shed radiance and grace over the whole\n creation, whose traces I see in the starry heavens\n and on the green earth, this glorious living God,\n it is He who looks at me so piteously, so tenderly 20\n from the Cross. He seems to say,--I cannot\n move, though I am omnipotent, for sin has bound\n Me here. I had had it in mind to come on earth\n among innocent creatures, more fair and lovely\n than them all, with a face more radiant than the 25\n Seraphim, and a form as royal as that of\n Archangels, to be their equal yet their God, to fill\n them with My grace, to receive their worship, to\n enjoy their company, and to prepare them for the\n heaven to which I destined them; but, before I 30\n carried My purpose into effect, they sinned, and\n lost their inheritance; and so I come indeed, but\n come, not in that brightness in which I went forth\n to create the morning stars and to fill the sons of\n God with melody, but in deformity and in shame,\n in sighs and tears, with blood upon My cheek, and 5\n with My limbs laid bare and rent. Gaze on Me,\n O My children, if you will, for I am helpless; gaze\n on your Maker, whether in contempt, or in faith\n and love. Here I wait, upon the Cross, the\n appointed time, the time of grace and mercy; here 10\n I wait till the end of the world, silent and\n motionless, for the conversion of the sinful and the\n consolation of the just; here I remain in weakness\n and shame, though I am so great in heaven, till\n the end, patiently expecting My full catalogue of 15\n souls, who, when time is at length over, shall be\n the reward of My passion and the triumph of My\n grace to all eternity.\n\n\n\n\n CHRIST UPON THE WATERS\n\n\n The earth is full of the marvels of Divine power;\n \"Day to day uttereth speech, and night to night 20\n showeth knowledge.\" The tokens of\n Omnipotence are all around us, in the world of matter,\n and the world of man; in the dispensation of\n nature, and in the dispensation of grace. To do\n impossibilities, I may say, is the prerogative of 25\n Him who made all things out of nothing, who\n foresees all events before they occur, and controls\n all wills without compelling them. In emblem of\n this His glorious attribute, He came to His\n disciples in the passage I have read to you, walking\n upon the sea,--the emblem or hieroglyphic\n among the ancients of the impossible, to show\n them that what is impossible with man is 5\n possible with God. He who could walk the waters,\n could also ride triumphantly upon what is still\n more fickle, unstable, tumultuous,\n treacherous--the billows of human wills, human purposes,\n human hearts. The bark of Peter was struggling 10\n with the waves, and made no progress; Christ\n came to him walking upon them; He entered the\n boat, and by entering it He sustained it. He did\n not abandon Himself to it, but He brought it\n near to Himself; He did not merely take refuge 15\n in it, but He made Himself the strength of it,\n and the pledge and cause of a successful passage.\n \"Presently,\" another gospel says, \"the ship was\n at the land, whither they were going.\"\n\n Such was the power of the Son of God, the 20\n Saviour of man, manifested by visible tokens in\n the material world, when He came upon earth;\n and such, too, it has ever since signally shown\n itself to be, in the history of that mystical ark\n which He then formed to float upon the ocean of 25\n human opinion. He told His chosen servants to\n form an ark for the salvation of souls: He gave\n them directions how to construct it,--the length,\n breadth, and height, its cabins and its windows;\n and the world, as it gazed upon it, forthwith 30\n began to criticise. It pronounced it framed quite\n contrary to the scientific rules of shipbuilding; it\n prophesied, as it still prophesies, that such a craft\n was not sea-worthy; that it was not water-tight;\n that it would not float; that it would go to pieces\n and founder. And why it does not, who can say, 5\n except that the Lord is in it? Who can say why\n so old a framework, put together nineteen\n hundred years ago, should have lasted, against all\n human calculation, even to this day; always\n going, and never gone; ever failing, yet ever 10\n managing to explore new seas and foreign\n coasts--except that He, who once said to the rowers,\n \"It is I, be not afraid,\" and to the waters,\n \"Peace,\" is still in His own ark which He has\n made, to direct and to prosper her course? 15\n\n Time was, my brethren, when the forefathers of\n our race were a savage tribe, inhabiting a wild\n district beyond the limits of this quarter of the\n earth. Whatever brought them thither, they had\n no local attachments there or political settlement; 20\n they were a restless people, and whether urged\n forward by enemies or by desire of plunder, they\n left their place, and passing through the defiles of\n the mountains on the frontiers of Asia, they\n invaded Europe, setting out on a journey towards 25\n the farther west. Generation after generation\n passed away; and still this fierce and haughty\n race moved forward. On, on they went; but\n travel availed them not; the change of place\n could bring them no truth, or peace, or hope, or 30\n stability of heart; they could not flee from themselves.\n They carried with them their superstitions\n and their sins, their gods of iron and of clay,\n their savage sacrifices, their lawless witchcrafts,\n their hatred of their kind, and their ignorance\n of their destiny. At length they buried themselves 5\n in the deep forests of Germany, and gave\n themselves up to indolent repose; but they had not\n found their rest; they were still heathens, making\n the fair trees, the primeval work of God, and the\n innocent beasts of the chase, the objects and the 10\n instruments of their idolatrous worship. And,\n last of all, they crossed over the strait and made\n themselves masters of this island, and gave their\n very name to it; so that, whereas it had hitherto\n been called Britain, the southern part, which was 15\n their main seat, obtained the name of England.\n And now they had proceeded forward nearly as\n far as they could go, unless they were prepared\n to look across the great ocean, and anticipate the\n discovery of the world which lies beyond it. 20\n\n What, then, was to happen to this restless race,\n which had sought for happiness and peace across\n the globe, and had not found it? Was it to grow\n old in its place, and dwindle away, and consume\n in the fever of its own heart, which admitted 25\n no remedy? or was it to become great by being\n overcome, and to enjoy the only real life of man,\n and rise to his only true dignity, by being\n subjected to a Master's yoke? Did its Maker and\n Lord see any good thing in it, of which, under 30\n His Divine nurture, profit might come to His elect,\n and glory to His name? He looked upon it, and\n He saw nothing there to claim any visitation of\n His grace, or to merit any relaxation of the awful\n penalty which its lawlessness and impiety had\n incurred. It was a proud race, which feared 5\n neither God nor man--a race ambitious,\n self-willed, obstinate, and hard of belief, which would\n dare everything, even the eternal pit, if it was\n challenged to do so. I say, there was nothing\n there of a nature to reverse the destiny which 10\n His righteous decrees have assigned to those who\n sin wilfully and despise Him. But the Almighty\n Lover of souls looked once again; and He saw in\n that poor, forlorn, and ruined nature, which He\n had in the beginning filled with grace and light, 15\n He saw in it, not what merited His favor, not\n what would adequately respond to His influences,\n not what was a necessary instrument of His\n purposes, but what would illustrate and preach abroad\n His grace, if He took pity on it. He saw in it, 20\n a natural nobleness, a simplicity, a frankness of\n character, a love of truth, a zeal for justice, an\n indignation at wrong, an admiration of purity, a\n reverence for law, a keen appreciation of the\n beautifulness and majesty of order, nay, further, 25\n a tenderness and an affectionateness of heart,\n which He knew would become the glorious\n instruments of His high will when illuminated and\n vivified by His supernatural gifts. And so He\n who, did it so please Him, could raise up children 30\n to Abraham out of the very stones of the earth,\n nevertheless determined in this instance in His\n free mercy to unite what was beautiful in nature\n with what was radiant in grace; and, as if those\n poor Anglo-Saxons had been too fair to be heathen,\n therefore did He rescue them from the devil's 5\n service and the devil's doom, and bring them\n into the house of His holiness and the mountain\n of His rest.\n\n It is an old story and a familiar, and I need not\n go through it. I need not tell you, my Brethren, 10\n how suddenly the word of truth came to our\n ancestors in this island and subdued them to its\n gentle rule; how the grace of God fell on them,\n and, without compulsion, as the historian tells us,\n the multitude became Christian; how, when all 15\n was tempestuous, and hopeless, and dark, Christ\n like a vision of glory came walking to them on\n the waves of the sea. Then suddenly there was\n a great calm; a change came over the pagan\n people in that quarter of the country where the 20\n gospel was first preached to them; and from\n thence the blessed influence went forth, it was\n poured out over the whole land, till one and all,\n the Anglo-Saxon people, were converted by it. In\n a hundred years the work was done; the idols, 25\n the sacrifices, the mummeries of paganism flitted\n away and were not, and the pure doctrine and\n heavenly worship of the Cross were found in their\n stead. The fair form of Christianity rose up and\n grew and expanded like a beautiful pageant from 30\n north to south; it was majestic, it was solemn, it\n was bright, it was beautiful and pleasant, it was\n soothing to the griefs, it was indulgent to the\n hopes of man; it was at once a teaching and a\n worship; it had a dogma, a mystery, a ritual of\n its own; it had an hierarchical form. A brotherhood 5\n of holy pastors, with miter and crosier and\n uplifted hand, walked forth and blessed and ruled\n a joyful people. The crucifix headed the\n procession, and simple monks were there with hearts in\n prayer, and sweet chants resounded, and the holy 10\n Latin tongue was heard, and boys came forth in\n white, swinging censers, and the fragrant cloud\n arose, and mass was sung, and the Saints were\n invoked; and day after day, and in the still night,\n and over the woody hills and in the quiet plains, 15\n as constantly as sun and moon and stars go forth\n in heaven, so regular and solemn was the stately\n march of blessed services on earth, high festival,\n and gorgeous procession, and soothing dirge, and\n passing bell, and the familiar evening call to 20\n prayer; till he who recollected the old pagan\n time, would think it all unreal that he beheld and\n heard, and would conclude he did but see a vision,\n so marvelously was heaven let down upon earth,\n so triumphantly were chased away the fiends of 25\n darkness to their prison below.\n\n\n\n\n THE SECOND SPRING\n\n CANT., _c._ ii. _v._ 10-12\n\n\n Surge, propera, amica mea, columba mea, formosa\n mea, et veni. Jam enim hiems transiit, imber abiit et\n recessit. Flores apparuerunt in terr\u00e2 nostr\u00e2.\n\n Arise, make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful\n one, and come. For the winter is now past, the rain is\n over and gone. The flowers have appeared in our land.\n\n We have familiar experience of the order, the\n constancy, the perpetual renovation of the material\n world which surrounds us. Frail and transitory\n as is every part of it, restless and migratory as\n are its elements, never ceasing as are its changes, 5\n still it abides. It is bound together by a law of\n permanence, it is set up in unity; and, though it\n is ever dying, it is ever coming to life again.\n Dissolution does but give birth to fresh modes of\n organization, and one death is the parent of a 10\n thousand lives. Each hour, as it comes, is but\n a testimony, how fleeting, yet how secure, how\n certain, is the great whole. It is like an image\n on the waters, which is ever the same, though\n the waters ever flow. Change upon 15\n change--yet one change cries out to another, like the\n alternate Seraphim, in praise and in glory\n of their Maker. The sun sinks to rise again;\n the day is swallowed up in the gloom of the\n night, to be born out of it, as fresh as if it 20\n had never been quenched. Spring passes into\n summer, and through summer and autumn into\n winter, only the more surely, by its own ultimate\n return, to triumph over that grave, towards which\n it resolutely hastened from its first hour. We\n mourn over the blossoms of May, because they 5\n are to wither; but we know, withal, that May is\n one day to have its revenge upon November, by\n the revolution of that solemn circle which never\n stops--which teaches us in our height of hope,\n ever to be sober, and in our depth of desolation, 10\n never to despair.\n\n And forcibly as this comes home to every one\n of us, not less forcible is the contrast which exists\n between this material world, so vigorous, so\n reproductive, amid all its changes, and the moral 15\n world, so feeble, so downward, so resourceless,\n amid all its aspirations. That which ought to\n come to naught, endures; that which promises a\n future, disappoints and is no more. The same\n sun shines in heaven from first to last, and the 20\n blue firmament, the everlasting mountains,\n reflect his rays; but where is there upon earth\n the champion, the hero, the law giver, the body\n politic, the sovereign race, which was great three\n hundred years ago, and is great now? Moralists 25\n and poets, often do they descant upon this innate\n vitality of matter, this innate perishableness of\n mind. Man rises to fall: he tends to dissolution\n from the moment he begins to be; he lives on,\n indeed, in his children, he lives on in his name, 30\n he lives not on in his own person. He is, as regards\n the manifestations of his nature here below,\n as a bubble that breaks, and as water poured out\n upon the earth. He was young, he is old, he is\n never young again. This is the lament over him,\n poured forth in verse and in prose, by Christians 5\n and by heathen. The greatest work of God's\n hands under the sun, he, in all the manifestations\n of his complex being, is born only to die.\n\n His bodily frame first begins to feel the power\n of this constraining law, though it is the last to 10\n succumb to it. We look at the gloom of youth\n with interest, yet with pity; and the more\n graceful and sweet it is, with pity so much the more;\n for, whatever be its excellence and its glory, soon\n it begins to be deformed and dishonored by the 15\n very force of its living on. It grows into\n exhaustion and collapse, till at length it crumbles\n into that dust out of which it was originally\n taken.\n\n So is it, too, with our moral being, a far higher 20\n and diviner portion of our natural constitution;\n it begins with life, it ends with what is worse\n than the mere loss of life, with a living death.\n How beautiful is the human heart, when it puts\n forth its first leaves, and opens and rejoices in 25\n its spring-tide! Fair as may be the bodily form,\n fairer far, in its green foliage and bright blossoms,\n is natural virtue. It blooms in the young, like\n some rich flower, so delicate, so fragrant, and so\n dazzling. Generosity and lightness of heart and 30\n amiableness, the confiding spirit, the gentle temper,\n the elastic cheerfulness, the open hand, the\n pure affection, the noble aspiration, the heroic\n resolve, the romantic pursuit, the love in which\n self has no part,--are not these beautiful? and\n are they not dressed up and set forth for 5\n admiration in their best shapes, in tales and in poems?\n and ah! what a prospect of good is there! who\n could believe that it is to fade! and yet, as night\n follows upon day, as decrepitude follows upon\n health, so surely are failure, and overthrow, and 10\n annihilation, the issue of this natural virtue, if\n time only be allowed to it to run its course.\n There are those who are cut off in the first\n opening of this excellence, and then, if we may trust\n their epitaphs, they have lived like angels; but 15\n wait awhile, let them live on, let the course of\n life proceed, let the bright soul go through the\n fire and water of the world's temptations and\n seductions and corruptions and transformations;\n and, alas for the insufficiency of nature! alas for 20\n its powerlessness to persevere, its waywardness\n in disappointing its own promise! Wait till\n youth has become age; and not more different\n is the miniature which we have of him when a\n boy, when every feature spoke of hope, put side 25\n by side of the large portrait painted to his honor,\n when he is old, when his limbs are shrunk, his\n eye dim, his brow furrowed, and his hair gray,\n than differs the moral grace of that boyhood from\n the forbidding and repulsive aspect of his soul, 30\n now that he has lived to the age of man. For\n moroseness, and misanthropy, and selfishness, is\n the ordinary winter of that spring.\n\n Such is man in his own nature, and such, too,\n is he in his works. The noblest efforts of his\n genius, the conquests he has made, the doctrines 5\n he has originated, the nations he has civilized,\n the states he has created, they outlive himself,\n they outlive him by many centuries, but they\n tend to an end, and that end is dissolution.\n Powers of the world, sovereignties, dynasties, 10\n sooner or later come to nought; they have their\n fatal hour. The Roman conqueror shed tears\n over Carthage, for in the destruction of the rival\n city he discerned too truly an augury of the fall\n of Rome; and at length, with the weight and the 15\n responsibilities, the crimes and the glories, of\n centuries upon centuries, the Imperial City fell.\n\n Thus man and all his works are mortal; they\n die, and they have no power of renovation.\n\n But what is it, my Fathers, my Brothers, what 20\n is it that has happened in England just at this\n time? Something strange is passing over this\n land, by the very surprise, by the very commotion,\n which it excites. Were we not near enough the\n scene of action to be able to say what is going 25\n on,--were we the inhabitants of some sister planet\n possessed of a more perfect mechanism than this\n earth has discovered for surveying the\n transactions of another globe,--and did we turn our\n eyes thence towards England just at this season, 30\n we should be arrested by a political phenomenon\n as wonderful as any which the astronomer notes\n down from his physical field of view. It would\n be the occurrence of a national commotion, almost\n without parallel, more violent than has happened\n here for centuries--at least in the judgments 5\n and intentions of men, if not in act and deed.\n We should note it down, that soon after St.\n Michael's day, 1850, a storm arose in the moral\n world, so furious as to demand some great\n explanation, and to rouse in us an intense desire to 10\n gain it. We should observe it increasing from\n day to day, and spreading from place to place,\n without remission, almost without lull, up to this\n very hour, when perhaps it threatens worse still,\n or at least gives no sure prospect of alleviation. 15\n Every party in the body politic undergoes its\n influence,--from the Queen upon her throne,\n down to the little ones in the infant or day school.\n The ten thousands of the constituency, the\n sum-total of Protestant sects, the aggregate of 20\n religious societies and associations, the great body\n of established clergy in town and country, the bar,\n even the medical profession, nay, even literary\n and scientific circles, every class, every\n interest, every fireside, gives tokens of this 25\n ubiquitous storm. This would be our report of it, seeing\n it from the distance, and we should speculate\n on the cause. What is it all about? against what\n is it directed? what wonder has happened upon\n earth? what prodigious, what preternatural event 30\n is adequate to the burden of so vast an effect?\n\n We should judge rightly in our curiosity about\n a phenomenon like this; it must be a portentous\n event, and it is. It is an innovation, a miracle,\n I may say, in the course of human events. The\n physical world revolves year by year, and begins 5\n again; but the political order of things does not\n renew itself, does not return; it continues, but it\n proceeds; there is no retrogression. This is so\n well understood by men of the day, that with\n them progress is idolized as another name for 10\n good. The past never returns--it is never good;\n if we are to escape existing ills, it must be by\n going forward. The past is out of date; the past\n is dead. As well may the dead live to us, as well\n may the dead profit us, as the past return. _This_, 15\n then, is the cause of this national transport, this\n national cry, which encompasses us. The past _has_\n returned, the dead lives. Thrones are overturned,\n and are never restored; States live and die, and\n then are matter only for history. Babylon was 20\n great, and Tyre, and Egypt, and Nineveh, and\n shall never be great again. The English Church\n was, and the English Church was not, and the\n English Church is once again. This is the\n portent, worthy of a cry. It is the coming in of a 25\n Second Spring; it is a restoration in the moral\n world, such as that which yearly takes place in\n the physical.\n\n Three centuries ago, and the Catholic Church,\n that great creation of God's power, stood in this 30\n land in pride of place. It had the honors of near\n a thousand years upon it; it was enthroned on\n some twenty sees up and down the broad country;\n it was based in the will of a faithful people;\n it energized through ten thousand instruments of\n power and influence; and it was ennobled by a 5\n host of Saints and Martyrs. The churches, one\n by one, recounted and rejoiced in the line of\n glorified intercessors, who were the respective\n objects of their grateful homage. Canterbury\n alone numbered perhaps some sixteen, from St. 10\n Augustine to St. Dunstan and St. Elphege, from\n St. Anselm and St. Thomas down to St. Edmund.\n York had its St. Paulinus, St. John, St. Wilfrid,\n and St. William; London, its St. Erconwald;\n Durham, its St. Cuthbert; Winton, its St. 15\n Swithun. Then there were St. Aidan of\n Lindisfarne, and St. Hugh of Lincoln, and St.\n Chad of Lichfield, and St. Thomas of\n Hereford, and St. Oswald and St. Wulstan of\n Worcester, and St. Osmund of Salisbury, and 20\n St. Birinus of Dorchester, and St. Richard of\n Chichester. And then, too, its religious orders,\n its monastic establishments, its universities,\n its wide relations all over Europe, its high\n prerogatives in the temporal state, its wealth, its 25\n dependencies, its popular honors,--where was\n there in the whole of Christendom a more\n glorious hierarchy? Mixed up with the civil\n institutions, with kings and nobles, with the people,\n found in every village and in every town,--it 30\n seemed destined to stand, so long as England\n stood, and to outlast, it might be, England's\n greatness.\n\n But it was the high decree of heaven, that the\n majesty of that presence should be blotted out.\n It is a long story, my Fathers and 5\n Brothers--you know it well. I need not go through it. The\n vivifying principle of truth, the shadow of St.\n Peter, the grace of the Redeemer, left it. That\n old Church in its day became a corpse (a\n marvelous, an awful change!); and then it did but 10\n corrupt the air which once it refreshed, and\n cumber the ground which once it beautified. So all\n seemed to be lost; and there was a struggle for\n a time, and then its priests were cast out or\n martyred. There were sacrileges innumerable. 15\n Its temples were profaned or destroyed; its\n revenues seized by covetous nobles, or squandered\n upon the ministers of a new faith. The presence\n of Catholicism was at length simply\n removed,--its grace disowned,--its power despised,--its 20\n name, except as a matter of history, at length\n almost unknown. It took a long time to do this\n thoroughly; much time, much thought, much\n labor, much expense; but at last it was done.\n Oh, that miserable day, centuries before we were 25\n born! What a martyrdom to live in it and see\n the fair form of Truth, moral and material,\n hacked piecemeal, and every limb and organ\n carried off, and burned in the fire, or cast into\n the deep! But at last the work was done. Truth 30\n was disposed of, and shoveled away, and there\n was a calm, a silence, a sort of peace--and such\n was about the state of things when we were born\n into this weary world.\n\n My Fathers and Brothers, _you_ have seen it on\n one side, and some of us on another; but one and 5\n all of us can bear witness to the fact of the utter\n contempt into which Catholicism had fallen by\n the time that we were born. You, alas, know it\n far better than I can know it; but it may not be\n out of place, if by one or two tokens, as by the 10\n strokes of a pencil, I bear witness to you from\n without, of what you can witness so much more\n truly from within. No longer the Catholic\n Church in the country; nay, no longer, I may\n say, a Catholic community; but a few 15\n adherents of the Old Religion, moving silently\n and sorrowfully about, as memorials of what had\n been. The \"Roman Catholics,\"--not a sect,\n not even an interest, as men conceived of\n it,--not a body, however small, representative of the 20\n Great Communion abroad,--but a mere handful\n of individuals, who might be counted, like the\n pebbles and _detritus_ of the great deluge, and\n who, forsooth, merely happened to retain a creed\n which, in its day indeed, was the profession of a 25\n Church. Here a set of poor Irishmen, coming and\n going at harvest time, or a colony of them lodged\n in a miserable quarter of the vast metropolis.\n There, perhaps an elderly person, seen walking\n in the streets, grave and solitary, and strange, 30\n though noble in bearing, and said to be of good\n family, and a \"Roman Catholic.\" An\n old-fashioned house of gloomy appearance, closed in\n with high walls, with an iron gate, and yews, and\n the report attaching to it that \"Roman Catholics\"\n lived there; but who they were, or what they did, 5\n or what was meant by calling them Roman\n Catholics, no one could tell--though it had an\n unpleasant sound, and told of form and\n superstition. And then, perhaps, as we went to and fro,\n looking with a boy's curious eyes through the 10\n great city, we might come to-day upon some\n Moravian chapel, or Quaker's meeting-house, and\n to-morrow on a chapel of the \"Roman Catholics;\"\n but nothing was to be gathered from it, except\n that there were lights burning there, and some 15\n boys in white, swinging censers; and what it all\n meant could only be learned from books, from\n Protestant Histories and Sermons; and they did\n not report well of the \"Roman Catholics,\" but,\n on the contrary, deposed that they had once had 20\n power and had abused it. And then, again, we\n might on one occasion hear it pointedly put out\n by some literary man, as the result of his careful\n investigation, and as a recondite point of\n information, which few knew, that there was this 25\n difference between the Roman Catholics of England\n and the Roman Catholics of Ireland, that the\n latter had bishops, and the former were governed\n by four officials, called Vicars-Apostolic.\n\n Such was about the sort of knowledge possessed 30\n of Christianity by the heathen of old time, who\n persecuted its adherents from the face of the\n earth, and then called them a _gens lucifuga_, a\n people who shunned the light of day. Such were\n Catholics in England, found in corners, and alleys,\n and cellars, and the housetops, or in the recesses 5\n of the country; cut off from the populous world\n around them, and dimly seen, as if through a\n mist or in twilight, as ghosts flitting to and fro,\n by the high Protestants, the lords of the earth.\n At length so feeble did they become, so utterly 10\n contemptible, that contempt gave birth to pity;\n and the more generous of their tyrants actually\n began to wish to bestow on them some favor,\n under the notion that their opinions were simply\n too absurd ever to spread again, and that they 15\n themselves, were they but raised in civil\n importance, would soon unlearn and be ashamed of\n them. And thus, out of mere kindness to us,\n they began to vilify our doctrines to the Protestant\n world, that so our very idiotcy or our secret 20\n unbelief might be our plea for mercy.\n\n A _great_ change, an _awful_ contrast, between the\n time-honored Church of St. Augustine and St.\n Thomas, and the poor remnant of their children\n in the beginning of the nineteenth century! It 25\n was a miracle, I might say, to have pulled down\n that lordly power; but there was a greater and a\n truer one in store. No one could have prophesied\n its fall, but still less would any one have ventured\n to prophesy its rise again. The fall was 30\n wonderful; still after all it was in the order of nature;\n all things come to naught: its rise again would\n be a different sort of wonder, for it is in the order\n of grace,--and who can hope for miracles, and\n such a miracle as this? Has the whole course of\n history a like to show? I must speak cautiously 5\n and according to my knowledge, but I recollect\n no parallel to it. Augustine, indeed, came to\n the same island to which the early missionaries\n had come already; but they came to Britons, and\n he to Saxons. The Arian Goths and Lombards, 10\n too, cast off their heresy in St. Augustine's age,\n and joined the Church; but they had never fallen\n away from her. The inspired word seems to imply\n the almost impossibility of such a grace as the\n renovation of those who have crucified to 15\n themselves again, and trodden under foot, the Son of\n God. Who then could have dared to hope that,\n out of so sacrilegious a nation as this is, a people\n would have been formed again unto their Saviour?\n What signs did it show that it was to be singled 20\n out from among the nations? Had it been\n prophesied some fifty years ago, would not the\n very notion have seemed preposterous and wild?\n\n My Fathers, there was one of your own order,\n then in the maturity of his powers and his 25\n reputation. His name is the property of this diocese;\n yet is too great, too venerable, too dear to all\n Catholics, to be confined to any part of England,\n when it is rather a household word in the mouths\n of all of us. What would have been the feelings 30\n of that venerable man, the champion of God's ark\n in an evil time, could _he_ have lived to see this\n day? It is almost presumptuous for one who\n knew him not, to draw pictures about him, and\n his thoughts, and his friends, some of whom are\n even here present; yet am I wrong in fancying 5\n that a day such as this, in which we stand, would\n have seemed to him a dream, or, if he prophesied\n of it, to his hearers nothing but a mockery? Say\n that one time, rapt in spirit, he had reached\n forward to the future, and that his mortal eye had 10\n wandered from that lowly chapel in the valley\n which had been for centuries in the possession of\n Catholics, to the neighboring height, then waste\n and solitary. And let him say to those about\n him: \"I see a bleak mount, looking upon an open 15\n country, over against that huge town, to whose\n inhabitants Catholicism is of so little account.\n I see the ground marked out, and an ample\n inclosure made; and plantations are rising there,\n clothing and circling in the space. 20\n\n \"And there on that high spot, far from the\n haunts of men, yet in the very center of the island,\n a large edifice, or rather pile of edifices, appears\n with many fronts, and courts, and long cloisters\n and corridors, and story upon story. And there 25\n it rises, under the invocation of the same sweet\n and powerful name which has been our strength\n and consolation in the Valley. I look more\n attentively at that building, and I see it is fashioned\n upon that ancient style of art which brings back 30\n the past, which had seemed to be perishing from\n off the face of the earth, or to be preserved only\n as a curiosity, or to be imitated only as a fancy.\n I listen, and I hear the sound of voices, grave\n and musical, renewing the old chant, with which\n Augustine greeted Ethelbert in the free air upon 5\n the Kentish strand. It comes from a long\n procession, and it winds along the cloisters. Priests\n and Religious, theologians from the schools, and\n canons from the Cathedral, walk in due precedence.\n And then there comes a vision of well-nigh 10\n twelve mitered heads; and last I see a Prince of\n the Church, in the royal dye of empire and of\n martyrdom, a pledge to us from Rome of Rome's\n unwearied love, a token that that goodly\n company is firm in Apostolic faith and hope. And 15\n the shadow of the Saints is there; St. Benedict\n is there, speaking to us by the voice of bishop\n and of priest, and counting over the long ages\n through which he has prayed, and studied, and\n labored; there, too, is St. Dominic's white wool, 20\n which no blemish can impair, no stain can dim:\n and if St. Bernard be not there, it is only that\n his absence may make him be remembered more.\n And the princely patriarch, St. Ignatius, too, the\n St. George of the modern world, with his chivalrous 25\n lance run through his writhing foe, he, too, sheds\n his blessing upon that train. And others, also,\n his equals or his juniors in history, whose pictures\n are above our altars, or soon shall be, the surest\n proof that the Lord's arm has not waxen short, 30\n nor His mercy failed,--they, too, are looking\n down from their thrones on high upon the throng.\n And so that high company moves on into the holy\n place; and there, with august rite and awful\n sacrifice, inaugurates the great act which brings\n it thither.\" What is that act? it is the first 5\n synod of a new Hierarchy; it is the resurrection\n of the Church.\n\n O my Fathers, my Brothers, had that revered\n Bishop so spoken then, who that had heard him\n but would have said that he spoke what could 10\n not be? What! those few scattered worshipers,\n _the_ Roman Catholics, to form a Church! Shall\n the past be rolled back? Shall the grave open?\n Shall the Saxons live again to God? Shall the\n shepherds, watching their poor flocks by night, 15\n be visited by a multitude of the heavenly army,\n and hear how their Lord has been new-born in\n their own city? Yes; for grace can, where\n nature cannot. The world grows old, but the\n Church is ever young. She can, in any time, at 20\n her Lord's will, \"inherit the Gentiles, and inhabit\n the desolate cities.\" \"Arise, Jerusalem, for thy\n light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen\n upon thee. Behold, darkness shall cover the\n earth, and a mist the people; but the Lord shall 25\n arise upon thee, and His glory shall be seen upon\n thee. Lift up thine eyes round about, and see;\n all these are gathered together, they come to\n thee; thy sons shall come from afar, and thy\n daughters shall rise up at thy side.\" \"Arise, 30\n make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful one,\n and come. For the winter is now past, and the\n rain is over and gone. The flowers have appeared\n in our land ... the fig tree hath put forth her\n green figs; the vines in flower yield their sweet\n smell. Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and 5\n come.\" It is the time for thy Visitation. Arise,\n Mary, and go forth in thy strength into that north\n country, which once was thine own, and take\n possession of a land which knows thee not. Arise,\n Mother of God, and with thy thrilling voice speak 10\n to those who labor with child, and are in pain,\n till the babe of grace leaps within them! Shine\n on us, dear Lady, with thy bright countenance,\n like the sun in his strength, _O stella matutina_, O\n harbinger of peace, till our year is one perpetual 15\n May. From thy sweet eyes, from thy pure smile,\n from thy majestic brow, let ten thousand\n influences rain down, not to confound or\n overwhelm, but to persuade, to win over thine enemies.\n O Mary, my hope, O Mother undefiled, fulfill to 20\n us the promise of this Spring. A second temple\n rises on the ruins of the old. Canterbury has\n gone its way, and York is gone, and Durham is\n gone, and Winchester is gone. It was sore to\n part with them. We clung to the vision of past 25\n greatness, and would not believe it could come\n to naught; but the Church in England has died,\n and the Church lives again. Westminster and\n Nottingham, Beverley and Hexham, Northampton\n and Shrewsbury, if the world lasts, shall be 30\n names as musical to the ear, as stirring to the\n heart, as the glories we have lost; and Saints\n shall rise out of them, if God so will, and\n Doctors once again shall give the law to Israel,\n and Preachers call to penance and to justice, as\n at the beginning. 5\n\n Yes, my Fathers and Brothers, and if it be\n God's blessed will, not Saints alone, not Doctors\n only, not Preachers only, shall be ours--but\n Martyrs, too, shall re-consecrate the soil to God.\n We know not what is before us, ere we win our 10\n own; we are engaged in a great, a joyful work,\n but in proportion to God's grace is the fury of\n His enemies. They have welcomed us as the\n lion greets his prey. Perhaps they may be\n familiarized in time with our appearance, but 15\n perhaps they may be irritated the more. To set\n up the Church again in England is too great an\n act to be done in a corner. We have had reason\n to expect that such a boon would not be given\n to us without a cross. It is not God's way that 20\n great blessings should descend without the sacrifice\n first of great sufferings. If the truth is to be\n spread to any wide extent among this people, how\n can we dream, how can we hope, that trial and\n trouble shall not accompany its going forth? And 25\n we have already, if it may be said without\n presumption, to commence our work withal, a large\n store of merits. We have no slight outfit for our\n opening warfare. Can we religiously suppose that\n the blood of our martyrs, three centuries ago and 30\n since, shall never receive its recompense? Those\n priests, secular and regular, did they suffer for\n no end? or rather, for an end which is not yet\n accomplished? The long imprisonment, the fetid\n dungeon, the weary suspense, the tyrannous trial,\n the barbarous sentence, the savage execution, the 5\n rack, the gibbet, the knife, the caldron, the\n numberless tortures of those holy victims, O my God,\n are they to have no reward? Are Thy martyrs\n to cry from under Thine altar for their loving\n vengeance on this guilty people, and to cry in 10\n vain? Shall they lose life, and not gain a\n better life for the children of those who persecuted\n them? Is this Thy way, O my God, righteous\n and true? Is it according to Thy promise, O\n King of Saints, if I may dare talk to Thee of 15\n justice? Did not Thou Thyself pray for Thine\n enemies upon the cross, and convert them? Did\n not Thy first Martyr win Thy great Apostle, then\n a persecutor, by his loving prayer? And in that\n day of trial and desolation for England, when 20\n hearts were pierced through and through with\n Mary's woe, at the crucifixion of Thy body\n mystical, was not every tear that flowed, and\n every drop of blood that was shed, the seeds of a\n future harvest, when they who sowed in sorrow 25\n were to reap in joy?\n\n And as that suffering of the Martyrs is not yet\n recompensed, so, perchance, it is not yet\n exhausted. Something, for what we know, remains\n to be undergone, to complete the necessary 30\n sacrifice. May God forbid it, for this poor nation's\n sake! But still could we be surprised, my Fathers\n and my Brothers, if the winter even now should\n not yet be quite over? Have we any right to\n take it strange, if, in this English land, the\n spring-time of the Church should turn out to be an 5\n English spring, an uncertain, anxious time of hope\n and fear, of joy and suffering,--of bright promise\n and budding hopes, yet withal, of keen blasts, and\n cold showers, and sudden storms?\n\n One thing alone I know,--that according to 10\n our need, so will be our strength. One thing I\n am sure of, that the more the enemy rages against\n us, so much the more will the Saints in Heaven\n plead for us; the more fearful are our trials from\n the world, the more present to us will be our 15\n Mother Mary, and our good Patrons and Angel\n Guardians; the more malicious are the devices of\n men against us, the louder cry of supplication will\n ascend from the bosom of the whole Church to\n God for us. We shall not be left orphans; we 20\n shall have within us the strength of the Paraclete,\n promised to the Church and to every member of\n it. My Fathers, my Brothers in the priesthood,\n I speak from my heart when I declare my\n conviction, that there is no one among you here 25\n present but, if God so willed, would readily\n become a martyr for His sake. I do not say you\n would wish it; I do not say that the natural will\n would not pray that that chalice might pass\n away; I do not speak of what you can do by any 30\n strength of yours; but in the strength of God,\n in the grace of the Spirit, in the armor of justice,\n by the consolations and peace of the Church, by\n the blessing of the Apostles Peter and Paul, and\n in the name of Christ, you would do what nature\n cannot do. By the intercession of the Saints on 5\n high, by the penances and good works and the\n prayers of the people of God on earth, you would\n be forcibly borne up as upon the waves of the\n mighty deep, and carried on out of yourselves by\n the fullness of grace, whether nature wished it or 10\n no. I do not mean violently, or with unseemly\n struggle, but calmly, gracefully, sweetly, joyously,\n you would mount up and ride forth to the battle,\n as on the rush of Angels' wings, as your fathers\n did before you, and gained the prize. You, who 15\n day by day offer up the Immaculate Lamb of\n God, you who hold in your hands the Incarnate\n Word under the visible tokens which He has\n ordained, you who again and again drain the\n chalice of the Great Victim; who is to make you 20\n fear? what is to startle you? what to seduce\n you? who is to stop you, whether you are to\n suffer or to do, whether to lay the foundations of\n the Church in tears, or to put the crown upon the\n work in jubilation? 25\n\n My Fathers, my Brothers, one word more. It\n may seem as if I were going out of my way in\n thus addressing you; but I have some sort of\n plea to urge in extenuation. When the English\n College at Rome was set up by the solicitude of a 30\n great Pontiff in the beginning of England's sorrows,\n and missionaries were trained there for\n confessorship and martyrdom here, who was it that\n saluted the fair Saxon youths as they passed by\n him in the streets of the great city, with the\n salutation, \"Salvete flores martyrum\"? And when 5\n the time came for each in turn to leave that\n peaceful home, and to go forth to the conflict, to whom\n did they betake themselves before leaving Rome,\n to receive a blessing which might nerve them for\n their work? They went for a Saint's blessing; 10\n they went to a calm old man, who had never\n seen blood, except in penance; who had longed\n indeed to die for Christ, what time the great St.\n Francis opened the way to the far East, but who\n had been fixed as if a sentinel in the holy city, 15\n and walked up and down for fifty years on one\n beat, while his brethren were in the battle. Oh!\n the fire of that heart, too great for its frail\n tenement, which tormented him to be kept at home\n when the whole Church was at war! and 20\n therefore came those bright-haired strangers to him,\n ere they set out for the scene of their passion,\n that the full zeal and love pent up in that burning\n breast might find a vent, and flow over, from him\n who was kept at home, upon those who were to 25\n face the foe. Therefore one by one, each in his\n turn, those youthful soldiers came to the old man;\n and one by one they persevered and gained the\n crown and the palm,--all but one, who had not\n gone, and would not go, for the salutary blessing. 30\n\n My Fathers, my Brothers, that old man was\n my own St. Philip. Bear with me for his sake.\n If I have spoken too seriously, his sweet smile\n shall temper it. As he was with you three\n centuries ago in Rome, when our Temple fell, so\n now surely when it is rising, it is a pleasant token 5\n that he should have even set out on his travels to\n you; and that, as if remembering how he\n interceded for you at home, and recognizing the\n relations he then formed with you, he should now be\n wishing to have a name among you, and to be 10\n loved by you, and perchance to do you a service,\n here in your own land.\n\n\n\n\n ST. PAUL'S CHARACTERISTIC GIFT\n\n EP. II. S. PAUL AD COR., _c._ xii. _v._ 9\n\n Libenter igitur gloriabor in infirmitatibus meis, ut inhabitet\n in me virtus Christi.\n\n Gladly therefore will I glory in my infirmities, that the power\n of Christ may dwell in me.\n\n All the Saints, from the beginning of history\n to the end, resemble each other in this, that their\n excellence is supernatural, their deeds heroic, their 15\n merits extraordinary and prevailing. They all\n are choice patterns of the theological virtues;\n they all are blessed with a rare and special union\n with their Maker and Lord; they all lead lives of\n penance; and when they leave this world, they 20\n are spared that torment, which the multitude of\n holy souls are allotted, between earth and heaven,\n death and eternal glory. But, with all these\n various tokens of their belonging to one and the\n same celestial family, they may still be divided,\n in their external aspect, into two classes.\n\n There are those, on the one hand, who are so 5\n absorbed in the Divine life, that they seem, even\n while they are in the flesh, to have no part in\n earth or in human nature; but to think, speak,\n and act under views, affections, and motives\n simply supernatural. If they love others, it is 10\n simply because they love God, and because man\n is the object either of His compassion, or of His\n praise. If they rejoice, it is in what is unseen; if\n they feel interest, it is in what is unearthly; if\n they speak, it is almost with the voice of Angels; 15\n if they eat or drink, it is almost of Angels' food\n alone--for it is recorded in their histories, that\n for weeks they have fed on nothing else but that\n Heavenly Bread which is the proper sustenance\n of the soul. Such we may suppose to have been 20\n St. John; such St. Mary Magdalen; such the\n hermits of the desert; such many of the holy\n Virgins whose lives belong to the science of\n mystical theology.\n\n On the other hand, there are those, and of the 25\n highest order of sanctity too, as far as our eyes\n can see, in whom the supernatural combines with\n nature, instead of superseding it,--invigorating\n it, elevating it, ennobling it; and who are not\n the less men, because they are saints. They do 30\n not put away their natural endowments, but use\n them to the glory of the Giver; they do not act\n beside them, but through them; they do not\n eclipse them by the brightness of Divine grace,\n but only transfigure them. They are versed in\n human knowledge; they are busy in human 5\n society; they understand the human heart; they\n can throw themselves into the minds of other\n men; and all this in consequence of natural gifts\n and secular education. While they themselves\n stand secure in the blessedness of purity and 10\n peace, they can follow in imagination the ten\n thousand aberrations of pride, passion, and\n remorse. The world is to them a book, to which\n they are drawn for its own sake, which they read\n fluently, which interests them 15\n naturally,--though, by the reason of the grace which dwells\n within them, they study it and hold converse\n with it for the glory of God and the salvation\n of souls. Thus they have the thoughts, feelings,\n frames of mind, attractions, sympathies, 20\n antipathies of other men, so far as these are not\n sinful, only they have these properties of human\n nature purified, sanctified, and exalted; and they\n are only made more eloquent, more poetical, more\n profound, more intellectual, by reason of their 25\n being more holy. In this latter class I may\n perhaps without presumption place many of the early\n Fathers, St. Chrysostom, St. Gregory Nazianzen,\n St. Athanasius, and above all, the great Saint of\n this day, St. Paul the Apostle. 30\n\n I think it a happy circumstance that, in this\n Church, placed, as it is, under the patronage of\n the great names of St. Peter and St. Paul, the\n special feast days of these two Apostles (for such\n we may account the 29th of June as regards St.\n Peter, and to-day as regards St. Paul) should, in 5\n the first year of our assembling here, each have\n fallen on a Sunday. And now that we have\n arrived, through God's protecting Providence, at\n the latter of these two days, the Conversion of\n St. Paul, I do not like to forego the opportunity, 10\n with whatever misgivings as to my ability, of\n offering to you, my brethren, at least a few\n remarks upon the wonderful work of God's creative\n grace mercifully presented to our inspection in\n the person of this great Apostle. Most unworthy 15\n of him, I know, is the best that I can say; and even\n that best I cannot duly exhibit in the space of\n time allowed me on an occasion such as this;\n but what is said out of devotion to him, and for\n the Divine glory, will, I trust, have its use, 20\n defective though it be, and be a plea for his favorable\n notice of those who say it, and be graciously\n accepted by his and our Lord and Master.\n\n Now, since I have begun by contrasting St.\n Paul with St. John, and by implying that St. 25\n John lived a life more simply supernatural than\n St. Paul, I may seem to you, my brethren, to be\n speaking to St. Paul's disparagement; and you\n may therefore ask me whether it is possible for\n any Saint on earth to have a more intimate 30\n communion with the Divine Majesty than was granted\n to St. Paul. You may remind me of his own\n words, \"I live, now not I, but Christ liveth in\n me; and, that I now live in the flesh, I live in the\n faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and\n delivered Himself for me.\" And you may refer to 5\n his most astonishing ecstasies and visions; as\n when he was rapt even to the third heaven, and\n heard sacred words, which it \"is not granted to\n man to utter.\" You may say, he \"no way came\n short\" of St. John in his awful initiation into the 10\n mysteries of the kingdom of heaven. Certainly\n you may say so; nor am I imagining anything\n contrary to you. We indeed cannot compare\n Saints; but I agree with you, that St. Paul was\n visited by favors, equal, in our apprehensions, to 15\n those which were granted to St. John. But then,\n on the other hand, neither was St. John behind\n St. Paul in these tokens of Divine love. In truth,\n these tokens are some of those very things which,\n in a greater or less degree, belong to all Saints 20\n whatever, as I said when I began; whereas my\n question just now is, not what are those points in\n which St. Paul agrees with all other Saints, but\n what is his distinguished mark, how we recognize\n him from others, what there is special in him; 25\n and I think his characteristic is this,--that, as I\n have said, in him the fullness of Divine gifts does\n not tend to destroy what is human in him, but to\n spiritualize and perfect it. According to his own\n words, used on another subject, but laying down, 30\n as it were, the principle on which his own character\n was formed,--\"We would not be\n _un_-clothed,\" he says, but \"clothed _upon_, that what\n is mortal may be swallowed up by life.\" In him,\n his human nature, his human affections, his\n human gifts, were possessed and glorified by a new 5\n and heavenly life; they remained; he speaks of\n them in the text, and in his humility he calls\n them his infirmity. He was not stripped of\n nature, but clothed with grace and the power of\n Christ, and therefore he _glories_ in his infirmity. 10\n This is the subject on which I wish to enlarge.\n\n A heathen poet has said, Homo sum, humani\n nihil a me alienum puto. \"I am a man; nothing\n human is without interest to me,\" and the\n sentiment has been widely and deservedly praised. 15\n Now this, in a fullness of meaning which a heathen\n could not understand, is, I conceive, the\n characteristic of this great Apostle. He is ever\n speaking, to use his own words, \"human things,\" and\n \"as a man,\" and \"according to man,\" and 20\n \"foolishly;\" that is, human nature, the\n common nature of the whole race of Adam, spoke in\n him, acted in him, with an energetical presence,\n with a sort of bodily fullness, always under the\n sovereign command of Divine grace, but losing 25\n none of its real freedom and power because of\n its subordination. And the consequence is, that,\n having the nature of man so strong within him,\n he is able to enter into human nature, and to\n sympathize with it, with a gift peculiarly his own. 30\n\n Now the most startling instance of this is this,\n --that, though his life prior to his conversion\n seems to have been so conscientious and so pure,\n nevertheless he does not hesitate to associate\n himself with the outcast heathen, and to speak\n as if he were one of them. St. Philip Neri, before 5\n he communicated, used to say, \"Lord, I protest\n before Thee that I am good for nothing but to\n do evil.\" At confession he used to say, \"I have\n never done one good action.\" He often said, \"I\n am past hope.\" To a penitent he said, \"Be sure 10\n of this, I am a man like my neighbors, and\n nothing more.\" Well, I mean, that somewhat in this\n way, St. Paul felt all his neighbors, all the whole\n race of Adam, to be existing in himself. He\n knew himself to be possessed of a nature, he was 15\n conscious of possessing a nature, which was\n capable of running into all the multiplicity of\n emotions, of devices, of purposes, and of sins,\n into which it had actually run in the wide world\n and in the multitude of men; and in that sense 20\n he bore the sins of all men, and associated\n himself with them, and spoke of them and himself\n as one. He, I say, a strict Pharisee (as he\n describes himself), blameless according to legal\n justice, conversing with all good conscience 25\n before God, serving God from his forefathers with a\n pure conscience, he nevertheless elsewhere speaks\n of himself as a profligate heathen outcast before\n the grace of God called him. He not only counts\n himself, as his birth made him, in the number of 30\n \"children of wrath,\" but he classes himself with\n the heathen as \"conversing in the desires of the\n flesh,\" \"and fulfilling the will of the flesh.\" And\n in another Epistle, he speaks of himself, at the\n time he writes, as if \"carnal, sold under sin;\"\n he speaks of \"sin dwelling in him,\" and of his 5\n \"serving with the flesh the law of sin;\" this, I\n say, when he was an Apostle confirmed in grace.\n And in like manner he speaks of concupiscence as\n if it were sin; all because he vividly apprehended,\n in that nature of his which grace had sanctified, 10\n what it was in its tendencies and results when\n deprived of grace.\n\n And thus I account for St. Paul's liking for\n heathen writers, or what we now call the classics,\n which is very remarkable. He, the Apostle of the 15\n Gentiles, was learned in Greek letters, as Moses,\n the lawgiver of the Jews, his counterpart, was\n learned in the wisdom of the Egyptians; and he\n did not give up that learning when he had\n \"learned Christ.\" I do not think I am 20\n exaggerating in saying so, since he goes out of his way three\n times to quote passages from them; once,\n speaking to the heathen Athenians; another time, to\n his converts at Corinth; and a third time, in a\n private Apostolic exhortation to his disciple St. 25\n Titus. And it is the more remarkable, that one\n of the writers whom he quotes seems to be a\n writer of comedies, which had no claim to be read\n for any high morality which they contain. Now\n how shall we account for this? Did St. Paul 30\n delight in what was licentious? God forbid; but\n he had the feeling of a guardian-angel who sees\n every sin of the rebellious being committed to\n him, who gazes at him and weeps. With this\n difference, that he had a sympathy with sinners,\n which an Angel (be it reverently said) cannot 5\n have. He was a true lover of souls. He loved\n poor human nature with a passionate love, and\n the literature of the Greeks was only its\n expression; and he hung over it tenderly and\n mournfully, wishing for its regeneration and salvation. 10\n\n This is how I account for his familiar\n knowledge of the heathen poets. Some of the ancient\n Fathers consider that the Greeks were under a\n special dispensation of Providence, preparatory\n to the Gospel, though not directly from heaven 15\n as the Jewish was. Now St. Paul seems, if I may\n say it, to partake of this feeling; distinctly as he\n teaches that the heathen are in darkness, and in\n sin, and under the power of the Evil One, he will\n not allow that they are beyond the eye of Divine 20\n Mercy. On the contrary, he speaks of God as\n \"determining their times and the limits of their\n habitation,\" that is, going along with the\n revolutions of history and the migrations of races, \"in\n order that they should seek Him, if haply they 25\n may feel after Him and find Him,\" since, he\n continues, \"He is not far from every one of us.\"\n Again, when the Lycaonians would have\n worshiped him, he at once places himself on their\n level and reckons himself among them, and at 30\n the same time speaks of God's love of them,\n heathens though they were. \"Ye men,\" he cries,\n \"why do ye these things? We also are mortals,\n men like unto you;\" and he adds that God in\n times past, though suffering all nations to walk\n in their own ways, \"nevertheless left not Himself 5\n without testimony, doing good from heaven,\n giving rains and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts\n with food and gladness.\" You see, he says, \"_our_\n hearts,\" not \"your,\" as if he were one of those\n Gentiles; and he dwells in a kindly human way 10\n over the food, and the gladness which food causes,\n which the poor heathen were granted. Hence it\n is that he is the Apostle who especially insists on\n our all coming from one father, Adam; for he\n had pleasure in thinking that all men were 15\n brethren. \"God hath made,\" he says, \"all\n mankind of one;\" \"as in Adam all die, so in Christ\n all shall be made alive.\" I will cite but one\n more passage from the great Apostle on the same\n subject, one in which he tenderly contemplates 20\n the captivity, and the anguish, and the longing,\n and the deliverance of poor human nature. \"The\n expectation of the creature,\" he says, that is, of\n human nature, \"waiteth for the manifestation\n of the sons of God. For the creature was made 25\n subject to vanity, not willingly, but by reason of\n Him that made it subject, in hope; because it\n shall be delivered from the servitude of\n corruption into the liberty of the glory of the children\n of God. For we know that every creature 30\n groaneth and travaileth in pain until now.\"\n\n These are specimens of the tender affection\n which the great heart of the Apostle had for all\n his kind, the sons of Adam: but if he felt so much\n for all races spread over the earth, what did he\n feel for his own nation! O what a special 5\n mixture, bitter and sweet, of generous pride (if I may\n so speak), but of piercing, overwhelming anguish,\n did the thought of the race of Israel inflict upon\n him! the highest of nations and the lowest, his\n own dear people, whose glories were before his 10\n imagination and in his affection from his\n childhood, who had the birthright and the promise,\n yet who, instead of making use of them, had\n madly thrown them away! Alas, alas, and he\n himself had once been a partner in their madness, 15\n and was only saved from his infatuation by the\n miraculous power of God! O dearest ones, O\n glorious race, O miserably fallen! so great and so\n abject! This is his tone in speaking of the Jews,\n at once a Jeremias and a David; David in his 20\n patriotic care for them, and Jeremias in his\n plaintive and resigned denunciations.\n\n Consider his words: \"I speak the truth in\n Christ,\" he says; \"I lie not, my conscience\n bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost; that I have 25\n great sadness and continual sorrow in my heart.\"\n In spite of visions and ecstasies, in spite of his\n wonderful election, in spite of his manifold gifts,\n in spite of the cares of his Apostolate and \"the\n solicitude for all the churches\"--you would 30\n think he had had enough otherwise both to grieve\n him and to gladden him--but no, this special\n contemplation remains ever before his mind and in\n his heart. I mean, the state of his own poor\n people, who were in mad enmity against the\n promised Saviour, who had for centuries after 5\n centuries looked forward for the Hope of Israel,\n prepared the way for it, heralded it, suffered for\n it, cherished and protected it, yet, when it came,\n rejected it, and lost the fruit of their long patience.\n \"Who are Israelites,\" he says, mournfully 10\n lingering over their past glories, \"who are Israelites, to\n whom belongeth the adoption of children, and\n the glory, and the testament, and the giving of\n wealth, and the service of God, and the promises:\n whose are the fathers, and of whom is Christ 15\n according to the flesh, who is over all things, God\n blessed forever. Amen.\"\n\n What a hard thing it was for him to give them\n up! He pleaded for them, while they were\n persecuting his Lord and himself. He reminded his 20\n Lord that he himself had also been that Lord's\n persecutor, and why not try them a little longer?\n \"Lord,\" he said, \"they know that I cast into\n prison, and beat in every synagogue, them that\n believed in Thee. And, when the blood of 25\n Stephen, Thy witness, was shed, I stood by and\n consented, and kept the garments of them that\n killed him.\" You see, his old frame of mind, the\n feelings and notions under which he persecuted\n his Lord, were ever distinctly before him, and he 30\n realized them as if they were still his own. \"I\n bear them witness,\" he says, \"that they have a\n zeal of God, but not according to knowledge.\"\n O blind! blind! he seems to say; O that there\n should be so much of good in them, so much zeal,\n so much of religious purpose, so much of 5\n steadfastness, such resolve like Josias, Mathathias, or\n Machab\u00e6us, to keep the whole law, and honor\n Moses and the Prophets, but all spoiled, all\n undone, by one fatal sin! And what is he prompted\n to do? Moses, on one occasion, desired to suffer 10\n instead of his rebellious people: \"Either forgive\n them this trespass,\" he said, \"or if Thou do not,\n strike me out of the book.\" And now, when the\n New Law was in course of promulgation, and the\n chosen race was committing the same sin, its 15\n great Apostle desired the same: \"I wished\n myself,\" he says, speaking of the agony he had\n passed through, \"I wished myself to be an\n anathema from Christ, for my brethren, who are\n my kinsmen according to the flesh.\" And then, 20\n when all was in vain, when they remained\n obdurate, and the high decree of God took effect, still\n he would not, out of very affection for them, he\n would not allow after all that they were\n reprobate. He comforted himself with the thought of 25\n how many were the exceptions to so dismal a\n sentence. \"Hath God cast away His people?\"\n he asks; \"God forbid. For I also am an Israelite,\n of the seed of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin.\"\n \"All are not Israelites that are of Israel.\" And 30\n he dwells upon his confident anticipation of their\n recovery in time to come. \"They are enemies,\"\n he says, writing to the Romans, \"for your sakes;\"\n that is, you have gained by their loss; \"but they\n are most dear for the sake of the fathers; for the\n gifts and the calling of God are without 5\n repentance.\" \"Blindness in part has happened to\n Israel, until the fullness of the Gentiles should\n come in; and so all Israel should be saved.\"\n\n My Brethren, I have now explained to a\n certain extent what I meant when I spoke of St. 10\n Paul's characteristic gift, as being a special\n apprehension of human nature as a fact, and an\n intimate familiarity with it as an object of\n continual contemplation and affection. He made it\n his own to the very full, instead of annihilating 15\n it; he sympathized with it, while he mortified it\n by penance, while he sanctified it by the grace\n given him. Though he had never been a heathen,\n though he was no longer a Jew, yet he was a\n heathen in capability, as I may say, and a Jew 20\n in the history of the past. His vivid imagination\n enabled him to throw himself into the state of\n heathenism, with all those tendencies which lay\n dormant in his human nature carried out, and\n its infirmities developed into sin. His wakeful 25\n memory enabled him to recall those past\n feelings and ideas of a Jew, which in the case of\n others a miraculous conversion might have\n obliterated; and thus, while he was a Saint inferior\n to none, he was emphatically still a man, and to 30\n his own apprehension still a sinner.\n\n And this being so, do you not see, my brethren,\n how well fitted he was for the office of an\n Ecumenical Doctor, and an Apostle, not of the Jews\n only, but of the Gentiles? The Almighty\n sometimes works by miracle, but commonly He 5\n prepares His instruments by methods of this world;\n and, as He draws souls to Him, \"by the cords of\n Adam,\" so does He select them for His use\n according to their natural powers. St. John, who lay\n upon His breast, whose book was the sacred heart 10\n of Jesus, and whose special philosophy was the\n \"scientia sanctorum,\" _he_ was not chosen to be\n the Doctor of the Nations. St. Peter, taught in\n the mysteries of the Creed, the Arbiter of doctrine\n and the Ruler of the faithful, he too was passed 15\n over in this work. To him specially was it given\n to preach to the world, who knew the world; he\n subdued the heart, who understood the heart. It\n was his sympathy that was his means of influence;\n it was his affectionateness which was his title and 20\n instrument of empire. \"I became to the Jews a\n Jew,\" he says, \"that I might gain the Jews; to\n them that are under the Law, as if I were under\n the Law, that I might gain them that were under\n the Law. To those that were without the Law, 25\n as if I were without the Law, that I might gain\n them that were without the Law. To the weak\n I became weak, that I might gain the weak. I\n became all things to all men, that I might save\n all.\" 30\n\n And now, my brethren, my time is out, before\n I have well begun my subject. For how can I\n be said yet to have entered upon the great\n Apostle, when I have not yet touched upon his\n Christian affections, and his bearing towards the\n children of God? As yet I have chiefly spoken 5\n of his sympathy with human nature unassisted\n and unregenerate; not of that yearning of his\n heart, as it showed itself in action under the\n grace of the Redeemer. But perhaps it is most\n suitable on the feast of his Conversion, to stop 10\n at that point at which the day leaves him; and\n perhaps too it will be permitted to me on a future\n occasion to attempt, if it be not presumption, to\n speak of him again.\n\n Meanwhile, may this glorious Apostle, this 15\n sweetest of inspired writers, this most touching\n and winning of teachers, may he do me some\n good turn, who have ever felt a special devotion\n towards him! May this great Saint, this man of\n large mind, of various sympathies, of affectionate 20\n heart, have a kind thought for every one of us\n here according to our respective needs! He has\n carried his human thoughts and feelings with\n him to his throne above; and, though he sees\n the Infinite and Eternal Essence, he still 25\n remembers well that troublous, restless ocean below, of\n hopes and fears, of impulses and aspirations, of\n efforts and failures, which is now what it was\n when he was here. Let us beg him to intercede\n for us with the Majesty on high, that we too may 30\n have some portion of that tenderness, compassion,\n mutual affection, love of brotherhood, abhorrence\n of strife and division, in which he excelled. Let\n us beg him especially, as we are bound, to bless\n the most reverend Prelate, under whose\n jurisdiction we here live, and whose feast day this is; 5\n that the great name of Paul may be to him a\n tower of strength and fount of consolation now,\n and in death, and in the day of account.\n\n\n\n\n NOTES\n\n\n SAUL\n\n=Introductory Note.= The sketches of Saul and David are contained in the\nthird volume of _Parochial and Plain Sermons_. These discourses were\ndelivered at Oxford before Newman's conversion to the Catholic Church.\n\n=Saul.= The first king of Israel reigned from 1091 to 1051 B.C. He ruled\nconjointly with Samuel the prophet eighteen years, and alone, twenty-two\nyears. Samuel had been judge of Israel twelve years when the\ndiscontented Jews demanded a king, and Saul was elected by lot.\n\n=13=: 7. =Manna.= Miraculous food supplied to the Jews, wandering in the\ndesert of Sin, after their exodus from Egypt. The taste of manna was\nthat of flour mixed with honey.\n\n=13=: 10. =Moses.= Deliverer, lawgiver, ruler, and prophet of Israel,\n1447 B.C. The author of the _Pentateuch_ is probably the greatest figure\nof the Old Law and the most perfect type of Christ.\n\n=14=: 3. =Gadara.= Noted for the miracle of casting out demons, wrought\nthere by our Lord. The inhabitants in fear besought Him to leave their\ncoasts. Mark v. 17.\n\n=16=: 24. =David.= The prophet and king famous as the royal psalmist.\nFrom his line sprang the Messias.\n\n=17=: 4. =The asses.= Saul, searching for his father's asses, was met by\nSamuel and anointed king.\n\n=17=: 14. =The Ammonites and Moabites.= Warlike heathen tribes probably\ndescended from Lot. They dwelt near the Dead Sea; were very hostile to\nthe Jews.\n\n=17=: 15. =The Jordan.= Largest river of Palestine, especially\nconsecrated by the baptism of Christ in its waters; is called the river\nof judgment. An air line from the Sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea is\nsixty miles, but so tortuous is the Jordan, its length is two hundred\nmiles.\n\n=18=: 12. =Philistines= (strangers). Gentiles beyond the Western Sea,\nfrequently at war with the Hebrews. Samson, Saul, and David were famous\nfor their victories over these powerful enemies.\n\n=19=: 29. =God's vicegerent.= Representative as king. Before Saul the\nJewish government was theocratic, _i.e._ directly from God.\n\n=20=: 15. =Solomon.= Son and successor of David, called the wisest of\nmen: built the temple; became exalted with pride; was punished for his\nsins; died probably unrepentant. A striking example of the vanity of\nhuman success unblessed by God.\n\n=20=: 16. =Religious principle.= A fundamental truth upon which conduct\nis consistently built. A conviction of the intellect and hence\ndistinguished from instinct, disposition, feeling, often the spring of\nmen's actions.\n\n=21=: 18. =Shekel.= A silver coin worth about fifty-seven cents.\n\n=22=: 23. =Sacrifice offered by Saul.= Sacrilegious in Saul, as the\nright was limited to the priesthood of Aaron.\n\n=23=: 11. =Ark of God.= A figure of the Christian Tabernacle; divinely\nordained for the Mosaic worship; contained the covenant of God with His\nchosen people.\n\n=24=: 13. =Religion a utility.= Inversion of Christ's command,--\"Seek ye\ntherefore first the kingdom of God and His justice and all these things\nshall be added unto you.\" Matthew vi. 33.\n\n=25=: 8. =Joshua.= Successor of Moses and leader of the Jews into the\nPromised Land.\n\n=27=: 8. =The uncircumcised.= Term applied to all outside the Hebrew\npeople. Circumcision, a figure of baptism, was the sign of covenant\ngiven by God to Abraham and his descendants.\n\n\n EARLY YEARS OF DAVID\n\n=28=: 6. =The Psalms.= One hundred and fifty inspired hymns of praise,\njoy, thanksgiving, and repentance, composed chiefly by David. Humanly\nspeaking, they form the most exquisite lyric poetry extant, and in their\nstrong, majestic beauty are most suitable to the Divine Offices of the\nChurch.\n\n=29=: 3. =Balaam.= An Oriental prophet of Mesopotamia, 1500 B.C. Sent\nfor by the Moabite king to curse the Israelites.\n\n=29=: 11. (_a_) =Judah.= (_b_) =Shiloh.= (_a_) The fourth son of Jacob\nand Leah. (_b_) The Messias.\n\n=30=: 14. =Anointing of David.= To signify that the kingship, like the\npriesthood, is a sacred office, _all_ power coming from God.\n\n=31=: 6. =Sacred songs.= The inspired music of David was the means of\nrestoring grace to the troubled spirit of Saul. Browning's _Saul_ paints\nstrikingly the character of the shepherd boy and of the distracted old\nking.\n\n=32=: 1. =Goliath of Gath.= A type of the giant, Sin; also of Lucifer,\novercome by the meek Christ, who is prefigured by David.\n\n=34=: 6. =The Apostle.= St. Paul, who recounts to the Hebrews his\nsufferings for Christ.\n\n=36=: 5. =Joseph.= Son of Jacob; governor of Egypt under Pharaoh.\n\n=36=: 16. =From Moses.= A fine distinction between the theocratic and\nthe royal government of Israel.\n\n=38=: 24. =The king's son-in-law.= Saul in envy married his daughter\nMichol to David \"that she might prove a stumbling-block to him.\"\n\n=39=: 4. =David and Joseph.= Note the consistent and forcible parallel.\n\n=43= and =44=. =The patriarchs.= This passage illustrates the exquisite\nchoice of words, the perfect finish of sentence, and the wonderful\nbeauty of thought characteristic of Newman.\n\n\n BASIL AND GREGORY\n\n=Introductory Note.= These Essays on the Fathers are to be found in\n_Historical Sketches_, Vol. III. They were written to illustrate the\ntone and mode of thought, the habits and manners of the early times of\nthe Church.\n\n=Athens.= Most of those who sought Attic wisdom were natures without\ncontrol. \"Basil and Gregory were spoiled for subtle, beautiful,\nluxurious Athens. They walked their straight and loving road to God,\nwith the simplicity which alone could issue out of the intense purpose\nof their lives--the love and service of Christ their Lord.\"\n\n=45=: 15. =Hildebrand.= St. Gregory VII, one of the greatest among the\ngreat Roman pontiffs. He combated the evils of the eleventh century,\nwithin and without the Church, and effected incalculable good,\nespecially in the war of Investitures waged against Henry IV of Germany.\n\n=45=: 17. =City of God.= The Church.\n\n=45=: 18. =Ambrose.= Archbishop of Milan, noted for zeal in spreading\nthe faith; remembered for his fearless rebuke of the Emperor\nTheodosius.\n\n=46=: 30. =Pontus.= Part of Cappadocia in Asia Minor; founded by\nAlexander the Great.\n\n=47=: 28. =The contention.= See Acts of the Apostles xv. 39.\n\n=49=: 16. =Armenian creed.= Similar to that of the Greek Church.\n\n=55=: 17. =The Thesbite.= Elias, who dwelt on Carmel, as did St. John\nthe Baptist, in most rigorous penance.\n\n=55=: 18. =Carmel.= A mountain on the coast of Palestine, noted in\nsacred history.\n\n\n AUGUSTINE AND THE VANDALS\n\n=56=: 7. =Heretical creed.= The Arians were followers of Arius of\nAlexandria, who boldly denied the Divinity of Jesus Christ. The heresy\nwas condemned by the Council of Nice, 325 A.D., but its baneful effects\nwere widely felt for centuries.\n\n=56=: 15. =Apocalypse.= Wonderful revelations made to St. John at Patmos\nconcerning the Church, the final judgment, the future life.\n\n=57=: 21. =The Vandals.= A barbarian race of Southern Germany, who in\nthe fifth century ravaged Gaul, Spain, Italy, and Northern Africa.\n\n=59=: 13. =Montanists.= A sect of the second century that believed in\nMontanus as a prophet, and in the near advent of Christ to judge the\nworld.\n\n=60=: 31. (_a_) =The prophet.= (_b_) =Jeroboam.= (_a_) Ahias. (_b_) The\nfirst king of Israel after the separation of the tribes; a man perverse\nand irreverent in his relations with God and subject.\n\n=59= to =70=. =The argument.= The apology for flight in times of\nreligious persecution, made by Athanasius, the great bishop of\nAlexandria, fourth century, and the cogent argument against it of\nTertullian, a celebrated writer of the second century, show how\ncircumstances, above all, Divine inspiration, justify opposite lines of\naction. St. Augustine's letter, written in his strong and luminous\nstyle, reconciles the two points of view.\n\n=71= to =74=. =The misery of irreligion.= A profound analysis of the two\nclasses of men without religion,--the one distorted, brutalized, and\ndeadened; the other confused, wild, and hungering after what is to them\nindefinable, yet alone satisfying. Compare in its source, tenor, and\neffect the unhappiness of the \"popular poet\" Byron and that of\nAugustine.\n\n=76=: 8. =St. Monica.= One of the greatest women of all times; a model\nof faith, constancy, and maternal love.\n\n=79=: 23. =Christianity a philosophy.= Such it is accounted by many\nmodern thinkers who, in spite of clear, full evidences of its divinity,\naffect to doubt or deny altogether the supernatural. These reduce the\nGospels to a code of ethics, and regard Christ as merely a teacher of\nmorality; the earnestness of Augustine would lead them by a short road\nto recognize and worship God in Jesus Christ.\n\n\n CHRYSOSTOM\n\n=84= to =90=. =The Introduction.= The personal touch of these pages\ngives an insight into the tender, sensitive nature of Cardinal Newman.\nHe was a man not only of intense and powerful intellect, but of delicate\nand affectionate heart. It is his gracious, winning appeal that renders\nhim irresistible in influence.\n\n=90=: 12. =Chrysostom.= \"Golden mouth,\" from his eloquence. He is\ncounted among the great Patristic writers.\n\n=90=: 21. =Antipater.= Son of Herod the Great; called by Josephus \"a\nmonster of iniquity.\" He was put to death, 1 B.C.\n\n=90=: 22. =Fulvia.= Wife of Marc Antony; noted for her cruelty and\nambition.\n\n=92=: 6. (_a_) =Gallus.= (_b_) =Ovid.= (_a_) Governor of Egypt under\nAugustus; accused of crime and oppression, and banished. (_b_) A\ncelebrated Roman poet, author of _Metamorphoses_; exiled by Augustus for\nsome grave offense never revealed.\n\n=97=: 12. =The seasons.= This apt and ingenious analogy is regarded as\none of Newman's more beautiful passages.\n\n=100=: 30. =Chrysostom's discriminating affectionateness.= The reason,\nprobably, why he has so great a hold upon the heart of posterity--love\nbegets love.\n\n=105=: 8. =Cucusus.= In Caucasus, east of the Black Sea and north of\nPersia.\n\n=108=: 19. =Troas.= In Northwest Asia Minor. Troad contains ancient\nTroy.\n\n=105= to =110=. =The letters of Chrysostom.= The charm of his genius,\nthe sweetness of his temper under suffering, and the unselfishness of\nhis lofty soul appear in these simple lines written on the road or in\nthe desert of his banishment.\n\n\n THE TARTAR AND THE TURK\n\n=Introductory Note.= These sketches of Turkish history form the\nsubstance of lectures delivered in Liverpool, 1853. Special interest\nattached to them at the time, as England was about to undertake the\ndefense of the Turks against Russia in the Crimean War. Selections from\nonly three are here possible.\n\n=111=: 7. =The Tartars.= Fierce, restless tribes originally inhabiting\nManchuria and Mongolia.\n\n=112=: 31. (_a_) =Attila.= (_b_) =Zingis.= (_a_) Leader of the Huns, who\noverran Southern Europe in the fifth century. He was defeated by A\u00ebtius\nat Chalons, 451, and miraculously turned from Rome by Pope Leo the\nGreat. (_b_) Zenghis Khan, a powerful Mongol chief whose hordes\ndescended upon Eastern Europe in the thirteenth century.\n\n=114=: 21. =Timour.= Known as Tamerlane, founder of a Mongol empire in\nCentral Asia; victor over Bajazet at Angora, 1402 A.D.\n\n=116=: 20. =Heraclius.= Emperor of Greece in the seventh century; noted\nfor his rescue of the true Cross from the Persians, with whom he waged\nlong wars.\n\n=116=: 26. =That book.= The Koran or bible of the Mahometans. It is a\nmixture of Judaism, Nestorianism, and Mahomet's own so-called\n\"revelations.\"\n\n=120=: 10. =Monotheism ... mediation.= Belief in one God, but denial of\nthe Redemption of fallen man by Jesus Christ, the God-Man.\n\n=120=: 26. =Durbar.= A levee held by a dignitary in British India; also\nthe room of reception.\n\n\n THE TURK AND THE SARACEN\n\n=Saracens.= Eastern Mahometans that crossed into Turkey, Northern\nAfrica, and Spain. The Moors are a type.\n\n=122=: 14. =Sogdiana.= Northeast of the river Oxus; included in modern\nBokhara.\n\n=123=: 6. =White Huns.= Ancient people living near the Oxus; called\n_white_ from their greater degree of civilization.\n\n=125=: 23. =Damascus.= In Asiatic Turkey; thought to be the oldest city\nin the world.\n\n=126=: 1. =Harun al Raschid.= Caliph of Bagdad; contemporaneous with\nCharlemagne in the eighth century.\n\n=127=: 28. =Ended its career.= The power of the European Turks,\nvirtually broken at Lepanto, 1571, has continued to decline, so that\nwere it not for the jealousy of the Powers, Turkey would long since have\nbeen dismembered.\n\n=129=: 24. =Khorasan.= North central province of Persia.\n\n=133=: 25. (_a_) =Seljuk.= (_b_) =Othman.= (_a_) Grandfather of Togrul\nBeg, who founded a powerful dynasty in Central Asia. (_b_) Third\nsuccessor of Mahomet; caliph in 644; noted for his extensive conquests\nand for having given his name to the Ottomans.\n\n=135=: 20. =Greek Emperor.= Romanus Diogenes, defeated in 1071 A.D.\n\n\n THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE OTTOMANS\n\n=144=: 17. (_a_) =Thornton.= (_b_) =Volney.= (_a_) An English writer on\npolitical economy, belonging to the nineteenth century. (_b_) A\ndistinguished French author. His _Travels in Egypt and Syria_ is a work\nof high reputation.\n\n=148=: 12. =Scythians.= In ancient times the inhabitants of all North\nand Northeastern Europe and Asia.\n\n=149=: 31. =The Greek schism.= Separation of the Greek Church from Rome.\nThe schism was begun by the crafty, ambitious Photius in the ninth\ncentury, and consummated by Michael Cerularius in 1054.\n\n=154. Principle of superiority.= A forcible proof that Christianity\nmust be and is the religion of civilization. See Balmes on the\n_Civilization of Europe_.\n\n\n WHAT IS A UNIVERSITY?\n\n=Introductory Note.= Newman's purpose in these Essays is to set forth by\ndescription and statement the nature, the work, and the peculiarities of\na University; the aims with which it is established, the wants it may\nsupply, the methods it adopts, its relation to other institutions, and\nits general history.\n\nThe illustrations of his idea of a University first appeared in the\n_Dublin University Gazette_; later, in one volume, _Office and Work of\nUniversities_. In the present form the author has exchanged the title to\n_Historical Sketches_, but has retained the pleasantly conversational\ntone of the original, lest, as he says, he might become more exact and\nsolid at the price of becoming less readable, in the judgment of a day\nwhich considers that \"a great book is a great evil.\"\n\n=159=: 14. =A gentleman.= Dr. Newman is unconsciously painting his own\nportrait in this passage.\n\n=161=: 17. =St. Iren\u00e6us.= A Christian martyr of the second century. He\nwas a Greek by birth, a pupil of St. Polycarp, and an eminent theologian\nof his day.\n\n=163=: 19. =Its associations.= Universities are both the cause and the\neffect of great men; and these cherish their Alma with unlimited\ndevotion. Read Gray's _Eton_, Lowell's _Commemoration Ode_, etc., as\nillustrations of this point.\n\n\n UNIVERSITY LIFE: ATHENS\n\n=164=: 14. (_a_) =Saronic waves.= (_b_) =Pir\u00e6us.= (_a_) The Gulf\nof \u00c6gina. (_b_) Commercial port of Athens.\n\n=164=: 31. =Obolus.= A Greek coin worth about three cents. Paid by\nspirits to Charon for ferriage over the Styx, according to legend.\n\n=165=: 23. =Eleusinian mysteries.= Secret rites of the goddess Ceres,\ncelebrated at Eleusis.\n\n=166=: 31. =Philippi.= Battle in which Antony defeated the conspirators\nthat had slain C\u00e6sar.\n\n=167=: 9. =Pro\u00e6resius.= Student of Athens, a native of Armenia, famous\nfor his gigantic stature as well as for an astounding memory, displayed\nin the field of rhetoric.\n\n=170=: 11. =Gallipoli.= In Turkey, at the entrance to the Dardanelles.\nIt was the first conquest of the Turks in Europe, 1354 A.D.\n\n=173=: 3. (_a_) =Acropolis.= (_b_) =Areopagus.= (_a_) The citadel of\nAthens, ornamented by groups of statuary immortal in beauty. (_b_) The\nchief tribunal, held on a hill named for Ares or Mars.\n\n=173=: 5. =Parthenon.= The official temple of Pallas, protectress of\nAthens; it is the work of Phidias, under Pericles.\n\n=173=: 7. =Polygnotus.= A Greek painter, contemporaneous with Phidias.\nHis work is in statuesque style, few colors, form and outline exquisite.\n\n=173=: 13. =Agora.= The commercial and political market place, located\nnear the Acropolis. It was designed by Cimon.\n\n=173=: 14. =Demosthenes.= The most famous orator of Greece, if not of\nall times. He learned philosophy of Plato, oratory of Isocrates. His\n_Philippics_ are of world-wide note.\n\n=174=: 6. =Plato.= The Divine, on whose infant lips the bees are said to\nhave dropped their honey. He was the pupil of Socrates and the master of\nAristotle; he founded the Academy, or the Platonic School of Philosophy,\nand wrote the _Republic_. Plato was a man of vast intellect, high\nideals, and exceptionally pure life.\n\n=175=: 17. =Aristotle.= Called the Stagyrite from Stagerius, his\nbirthplace. He was preceptor to Alexander the Great and founder of the\nPeripatetic School, _i.e._ of scholasticism. Aristotle undoubtedly\npossessed the most comprehensive, keen, and logical intellect of\nantiquity, and his influence on the philosophical thought of all\nsucceeding ages is incalculable. His work in the field of physical\nscience was also profound and extensive.\n\n=176=: 26. =The fourth century.= The Golden Age of Athenian art,\nletters, civil and military prestige; it was the age that crowned Athens\nQueen of Mind.\n\n=177=: 12. =Epicurus.= Founder of a school of materialism whose maxim\nwas, \"Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die.\" The Epicurean\nsaid, \"indulge the passions,\" the Stoic, \"crush them,\" the\nPeripatetic,--like the Christian of later times,--\"control them.\"\nImperial Athens, no less than other powers, fell when her sons ceased to\nfollow the counsel of her wisest philosophers.--\"Play the immortal.\"\n\n\n SUPPLY AND DEMAND: THE SCHOOLMEN\n\n=183=: 21. =Paris=, etc. The great Universities reached the zenith of\nexcellence in the thirteenth century, the age of Pope Innocent III, St.\nThomas, and Dante.\n\n=185=: 10. =Bec.= Famous monastery founded by a poor Norman knight,\nHerluin. Bec drew the great Lanfranc and others to its school. Many are\naccustomed to regard the Renaissance as the fountain whence have issued\nall streams of art, literature, and science. It is only necessary to\nturn to any of the teeming university or monastic centers of the twelfth\nand thirteenth centuries to dispel this so common illusion.\n\n\n THE STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS OF\n UNIVERSITIES: ABELARD\n\n=186=: 15. =Abelard.= Born in Brittany, 1079. He was a contentious,\narrogant, but brilliant and fascinating rationalist. He triumphed over\nWilliam of Champeaux, but was defeated in a theological contest by St.\nBernard.\n\n=187=: 29. =Heresy of= (_a_) =Tertullian=, (_b_) =Sabellius=. (_a_)\nModified Montanism; belief in rigid asceticism, the Montanists being,\naccording to their doctrine, \"Pneumatics,\" the Catholics, \"Psychics,\"\n_i.e._ men of heaven, men of earth. (_b_) A heresy which attempted to\n_explain_ the Trinity, and which denied the Personality of Jesus Christ.\n\n=188=:28. =Scholastic philosophy.= A constructive system founded by\nAristotle, Christianized by Boethius, amplified by St. Anselm, Albert\nthe Great, and others, perfected as a school, in its being harmonized\nwith theology, by St. Thomas of Aquin. Love of subtilizing and of\ndisplay, and barbarity of terminology, caused its decline after the\nthirteenth century. Political and religious strife also accelerated\ndecadence, until the Council of Trent restored philosophy to its true\nposition as queen of human sciences and handmaid of Religion. The chief\nfeature of Christian scholastic philosophy is the harmonizing of natural\nand supernatural truth, _i.e._ the unifying of philosophy and theology,\nor the perfect conciliation of reason with faith--_distinction_ without\n_opposition_.\n\n=192=: 10. =The Seven Arts.= The Trivium and Quadrivium: Grammar, Logic,\nRhetoric; Music, Arithmetic, Astronomy, and Geometry,--these seven\ncomprising the Liberal Arts.\n\n=193=: 19. =John of Salisbury.= Noted English scholar of the twelfth\ncentury. In disfavor with Henry II, because of his defense of St. Thomas\n\u00e0 Becket.\n\n=195=: 17. St. James iii. 17.\n\n=195=: 23. St. James iii. 6.\n\n=196=: 21. =Samson and Solomon.= Type of bodily and of spiritual\nstrength--strength forfeited by folly. One of Newman's striking\ncomparisons.\n\n=199=: 18. =Heu, vitam....= Alas, I have wasted my life by doing nothing\nthoroughly.\n\n\n POETRY ACCORDING TO ARISTOTLE\n\n=Introductory Note.= This instructive Essay on poetry forms one of the\nseries titled _Critical and Historical Essays_. Cardinal Newman's own\ngifts and tastes for music and poetry render his appreciation of these\narts keen, delicate, and true.\n\n=200= to =203=. =Nature and office of poetry.= A profound and beautiful\ndefinition of poetry and of the poetical mind.\n\n=203=: 1. (_a_) =Iliad.= (_c_) =Cho\u00ebphor\u00e6.= (_a_) Epic of the _Fall of\nTroy_ by Homer. (_b_) A tragedy by \u00c6schylus, so named from the chorus\nthat bear offerings to the tomb of Agamemnon.\n\n=203=: 26. (_a_) =Empedocles.= (_b_) =Oppian.= (_a_) A Sicilian;\nhaughty, passionate; proclaimed himself a god; plunged into the crater\nof Mt. Etna. (_b_) A Greek poet of Cilicia; lived in the second century.\n\n=208=: 15. =The Divine vengeance.= Does not the same criticism apply to\nMilton's Satan, a majestic spirit, punished beyond his due, and\ntherefore worthy our admiration and pity? Compare Dante and Milton in\ntheir conception of Lucifer.\n\n=210=: 17. =Eloquence mistaken for poetry.= A finely distinguished\ntruth, which explains why much rhetoric, even declamation, passes in our\nday for poetry.\n\n=215=: 16. =Conditions of the poetical mind.= Mark the line drawn\nbetween the sources of true poetry and the actual practices of the poet.\nCompare with the theory of Wordsworth, to find likenesses on this point.\n\n\n THE INFINITUDE OF THE DIVINE ATTRIBUTES\n\n=Introductory Note.= This and other typical addresses are comprised in\n_Discourses to Mixed Congregations_. The unerring taste of Newman\nemploys the grave, dignified style suited to the subject-matter, which,\nhowever, never loses the simplicity and charm we expect in him.\n\n=218=: 28. =The elements.= Earth, air, fire, and water were believed\nprimal elements by the ancients.\n\n=220=: 27. =This season.= Lent, which commemorates the Sacred Passion of\nChrist.\n\n=221=: 21. =He seems to say=: to the end. An illustration of Newman's\nsweet, impassioned eloquence. His sentences roll on like music of\nindefinable tenderness and beauty. What wonder if men \"who came to scoff\nremained to pray,\" when the tones of that voice Matthew Arnold could not\ndescribe--for its singular sweetness--fell upon their listening souls?\n\n\n CHRIST UPON THE WATERS\n\n=Introductory Note.= This discourse was written from notes of a sermon\npreached at Birmingham, on occasion of the installation of Dr.\nUllathorne as first bishop of the see. Again it says to us, \"I believe,\ntherefore I have spoken.\"\n\n=222=: 20. \"=Day to day.=\" See Psalm xviii. 2.\n\n=222=: 25. =Impossibilities.= Extrinsic impossibilities, that is, those\nthings whose elements are not metaphysically opposed, one to another.\n\n=223=: 1. =He came.= See St. Matthew xiv. 24, 27.\n\n=223=: 24. =That mystical ark.= The Church, called the ark because\nprefigured by the Ark of Noe,--the House of Salvation.\n\n=224=: 14. =Christ in His ark.= \"Behold I am with you all days, even to\nthe consummation of the world.\" St. Matthew xxviii. 20.\n\n=224=: 17. =A savage tribe.= The Anglo-Saxons of Teutonic stock and\nsprung from the Aryan branch of the human family.\n\n=226= to =228=. =It was a proud race ... hierarchical form.= A passage\nof inimitable grace and simplicity. Note the sentence-structure, the\nrepetition of \"it\" in the last sentence, and other features of the\nconsummate master.\n\n=227=: 4. =Too fair to be heathen.= On seeing some Angles in Rome, Pope\nGregory exclaimed, \"They should rather be called Angels than Angles.\"\n\n=228=: 5. =A brotherhood ... below.= Where in the range of English prose\nis to be found form wedded to sense in a more surpassingly beautiful\nway? Neither music, nor painting, nor poetry, can have anything more\nexquisite to yield, it would seem.\n\nOther numbers of this volume equally admirable are _The Second Spring_,\n_The Tree beside the Waters_, and _Intellect the Instrument of Religious\nTraining_.\n\n\n THE SECOND SPRING\n\n=Introductory Note.= This discourse was given in St. Mary's, Oscott, on\nthe restoration of the Catholic hierarchy to England. It furnishes an\nexcellent specimen of the simplicity and grace of Newman's style. The\nclimax is reached in the glory of the last pages.\n\n=229=: 17. =Alternate Seraphim.= The angelic choirs whom St. John in\nvision heard crying, \"Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty.\" Apocalypse\niv. 8.\n\n=231=: 24. =How beautiful....= A strong presentation of the weakness of\nhuman nature left to itself. \"Without me you can do nothing,\" says\nChrist. John xv. 5.\n\n=233=: 12. =Roman conqueror.= Scipio Africanus, victor of the\nCarthaginians in the Third Punic War.\n\n=235=: 22. =The English Church.= The Catholic Church in England was\nvirtually destroyed by Henry VIII, restored by Mary I, and officially\nre-destroyed by Elizabeth, who attempted, through Matthew Parker, to\ncreate new orders. The Second Spring is the resuscitation of the Church\nin England, 1850.\n\n=237=: 11. =Cumber the ground.= \"Why doth it (the barren fig tree)\ncumber the ground?\" Newman's writings, like St. Augustine's, are\nsaturated with Scripture.\n\n=240=: 23. (_a_) =St. Augustine.= (_b_) =St. Thomas.= (_a_) Called St.\nAustin, sent by Gregory the Great to convert the Anglo-Saxons, 597 A.D.\n(_b_) Martyred at Canterbury by the nobles of Henry II because of his\nfearless defense of the rights of the Church. The Pilgrims in Chaucer's\n_Canterbury Tales_ are on their way to the shrine of St. Thomas \u00e0\nBecket.\n\n=241=: 10. =Arian Goths and Lombards.= Barbarians that successively\nconquered and occupied Italy; from the fifth to the eighth century their\npower was felt. They embraced the heresy of Arius instead of true\nChristianity.\n\n=242=: 29. =That building.= Cathedral of Westminster, built in Gothic\nstyle.\n\n=243=: 11. =Prince of the Church.= Cardinal Archbishop Wiseman, clad in\npurple as bishop; in red, as cardinal. In his person the hierarchy was\nrestored to England.\n\n=243=: 16. =St. Benedict.= Founder of monasticism in the West. Europe\nowes much of its progress in early centuries to the zeal and\nintelligence of the Benedictine monks,--builders of churches and\nschools, makers of laws, tillers of lands.\n\n=244=: 15. =The shepherds.= They who heard from angels the tidings of\nChrist's birth in Bethlehem.\n\n=244=: 22. =Arise, Jerusalem....= Quotations from _Isaias_ and the\n_Canticle of Canticles_.\n\n=245=: 6. =Thy visitation.= Allusion to Mary's going over the hill\ncountry to visit her cousin Elisabeth. At the presence of Mary, the\nunborn child of Elisabeth, John the Baptist, leaped for joy and was\nsanctified by the grace of Christ.\n\n=247=: 1. =Regular and secular priests.= The first are those bound by\nvows to observe a religious rule, as the Dominicans; the second are\nthose under obedience to their bishop, and bound only by the vow of\ncelibacy.\n\n=247=: 18. =Thy first Martyr.= St. Stephen, whose death won the\nconversion of St. Paul. Note the beauty of the apostrophe.\n\n=248=: 20. =Orphans.= \"I will not leave you orphans.\" John xiv. 18.\n\n=249=: 15. =You ... victim.= Reference to the august Sacrifice of the\nMass.\n\n=249=: 31. =A great Pontiff.= Gregory XIII, 1572-1585, established\ncolleges for the spread of the Faith; his work was continued by Gregory\nXV in the Propaganda; but it was left for Pope Urban VIII to create the\ngreat missionary colleges for the six nations.\n\n=250=: 13. =St. Francis.= Xavier, the illustrious Jesuit, who converted\nmillions to Christ in India and Japan; he died on his way to China, in\nthe latter part of the sixteenth century.\n\n=251=: 1. =St. Philip.= 1515-1595. An Italian saint, contemporaneous\nwith St. Ignatius of Loyola, who established the Society of Jesus. St.\nPhilip Neri founded the Oratorians, a body devoted to preaching and to\neducation.\n\n=The Second Spring.= This sermon is very characteristic of Newman in its\nappeal to the _whole man_ listening; he not only rivets the\nintelligence, but stirs the will and moves the heart by the intensity,\nthe Vigor, and the tenderness that breathe in every word.\n\n\n ST. PAUL'S CHARACTERISTIC GIFT\n\n=Introductory Note.= This discourse on St. Paul, delivered in Dublin,\n1857, forms one of the _Sermons on Various Occasions_. Paul--that\ngodlike man who longed to be anathema from Christ if thereby he could\nserve the brethren--was Newman's saint by predilection; and allusions to\nhis character and mission are frequent in the Cardinal's writings.\n\nAs these selections for study began with Saul, they may well finish with\na sketch of the greater Saul--the Apostle of the Gentiles.\n\n=251=: 17. =Theological virtues.= Faith, hope, and charity; so-called\nbecause God is their direct object and motive.\n\n=252=: 19. =Heavenly Bread.= The Holy Eucharist. \"I am the living bread\nwhich came down from heaven.\" St. John vi. 51. \"And the bread that I\nwill give is my flesh for the life of the world.\" St. John vi. 52.\n\n=254=: 9. =Conversion of St. Paul.= Commemorated January 25.\n\n=256=: 12. =Heathen poet.= Terence. There is much philanthropy in these\nlatter times,--even to altruism,--but less of charity, which loves the\nneighbor for God's sake.\n\n=257=: 5. =St. Philip Neri.= Lived in the sixteenth century. Founder of\nthe Oratorians, a congregation devoted to preaching and works of\ncharity. Newman introduced the Oratorians into England.\n\n=259=: 28. =Lycaonians.= People of south central part of Asia Minor;\nevangelized by St. Paul.\n\n=262=: 26. =Stephen.= The first Christian martyr; stoned to death by the\nJews, outside the walls of Jerusalem.\n\n=263=: 6. (_a_) =Josias.= (_b_) =Mathathias.= (_c_) =Machabeus.= (_a_)\nKing of Juda, seventh century B.C. A great warrior and defender of the\nJewish religion. (_b_) \"Gift of God.\" Lived in the second century B.C.\nand fought bravely in defense of Juda during the bloody persecutions of\nAntiochus. He appointed Judas Machabeus, the most famous of his five\nsons, to succeed him in the struggle, (_c_) \"The Hammer.\" Judas gained\nglorious victories over the Idumeans, Ammonites, and other heathen\ntribes, and the Bible immortalizes his character as that of one of the\ngreatest of the sons of Juda. \"He made Jacob glad with his works and his\nmemory is blessed forever.\"\n\nThe books of the Machabees are the history of the final struggles of the\nJews against their Syrian and Persian foes.\n\n=265=: 2. =Ecumenical Doctor.= A teacher of the universal Church.\n\n=265=: 31. =And now my time is out.= This conclusion exhibits once more\nthe felicity of diction, the delicate rhythm of structure, the simple\ngrace, the direct force--above all, the unconsciousness, almost disdain\nof producing literary effect, that everywhere characterize Newman's\nwritings, whatever be the subject.\n\n=267=: 4. =Reverend Prelate.= Paul Cardinal Cullen, primate of Ireland\nin 1850.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note. There were a few minor printers' errors which have\nbeen amended. For example, ascendency is now ascendancy, rebrobate is\nnow reprobate and offically is now officially.\n\nIn the original book the line numbers ran from 1 to 30 on each page. In\nthe Notes, the first figure represents the page number and the second\nnumber represents the line number. For example, in the third note:\n\n =13=: 7. =Manna.= Miraculous food supplied to the Jews,\n wandering in the desert of Sin, after their exodus from Egypt.\n The taste of manna was that of flour mixed with honey.\n\nthe 13 refers to the page number and the 7 refers to the line number on\nthat page.","title":"Selections from the Prose Writings of John Henry Cardinal Newman: For the Use of Schools","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":72899}