of the mind, is turned to account; it gets a new name; it is called
self-respect; and ceases to be the disagreeable, uncompanionable quality
which it is in itself. Though it be the motive principle of the soul, it
seldom comes to view; and when it shows itself, then delicacy and
gentleness are its attire, and good sense and sense of honour direct its
motions. It is no longer a restless agent, without definite aim; it has a
large field of exertion assigned to it, and it subserves those social
interests which it would naturally trouble. It is directed into the
channel of industry, frugality, honesty, and obedience; and it becomes the
very staple of the religion and morality held in honour in a day like our
own. It becomes the safeguard of chastity, the guarantee of veracity, in
high and low; it is the very household god of society, as at present
constituted, inspiring neatness and decency in the servant girl, propriety
of carriage and refined manners in her mistress, uprightness, manliness,
and generosity in the head of the family. It diffuses a light over town
and country; it covers the soil with handsome edifices and smiling
gardens; it tills the field, it stocks and embellishes the shop. It is the
stimulating principle of providence on the one hand, and of free
expenditure on the other; of an honourable ambition, and of elegant
enjoyment. It breathes upon the face of the community, and the hollow
sepulchre is forthwith beautiful to look upon.
Refined by the civilization which has brought it into activity, this
self-respect infuses into the mind an intense horror of exposure, and a
keen sensitiveness of notoriety and ridicule. It becomes the enemy of
extravagances of any kind; it shrinks from what are called scenes; it has
no mercy on the mock-heroic, on pretence or egotism, on verbosity in
language, or what is called prosiness in conversation. It detests gross
adulation; not that it tends at all to the eradication of the appetite to
which the flatterer ministers, but it sees the absurdity of indulging it,
it understands the annoyance thereby given to others, and if a tribute
must be paid to the wealthy or the powerful, it demands greater subtlety
and art in the preparation. Thus vanity is changed into a more dangerous
self-conceit, as being checked in its natural eruption. It teaches men to
suppress their feelings, and to control their tempers, and to mitigate
both the severity and the tone of their judgments. As Lord Shaftesbury
would desire, it prefers playful wit and satire in putting down what is
objectionable, as a more refined and good-natured, as well as a more
effectual method, than the expedient which is natural to uneducated minds.
It is from this impatience of the tragic and the bombastic that it is now
quietly but energetically opposing itself to the unchristian practice of
duelling, which it brands as simply out of taste, and as the remnant of a
barbarous age; and certainly it seems likely to effect what Religion has
aimed at abolishing in vain.
10.
Hence it is that it is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he is one
who never inflicts pain. This description is both refined and, as far as
it goes, accurate. He is mainly occupied in merely removing the obstacles
which hinder the free and unembarrassed action of those about him; and he
concurs with their movements rather than takes the initiative himself. His
benefits may be considered as parallel to what are called comforts or
conveniences in arrangements of a personal nature: like an easy chair or a
good fire, which do their part in dispelling cold and fatigue, though
nature provides both means of rest and animal heat without them. The true
gentleman in like manner carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a
jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast;—all clashing of opinion,
or collision of feeling, all restraint, or suspicion, or gloom, or
resentment; his great concern being to make every one at their ease and at
home. He has his eyes on all his company; he is tender towards the
bashful, gentle towards the distant, and merciful towards the absurd; he
can recollect to whom he is speaking; he guards against unseasonable
allusions, or topics which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in
conversation, and never wearisome. He makes light of favours while he does
them, and seems to be receiving when he is conferring. He never speaks of
himself except when compelled, never defends himself by a mere retort, he
has no ears for slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to
those who interfere with him, and interprets every thing for the best. He
is never mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair advantage,
never mistakes personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or insinuates
evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sighted prudence, he observes
the maxim of the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct ourselves
towards our enemy as if he were one day to be our friend. He has too much
good sense to be affronted at insults, he is too well employed to remember
injuries, and too indolent to bear malice. He is patient, forbearing, and
resigned, on philosophical principles; he submits to pain, because it is
inevitable, to bereavement, because it is irreparable, and to death,
because it is his destiny. If he engages in controversy of any kind, his
disciplined intellect preserves him from the blundering discourtesy of
better, perhaps, but less educated minds; who, like blunt weapons, tear
and hack instead of cutting clean, who mistake the point in argument,
waste their strength on trifles, misconceive their adversary, and leave
the question more involved than they find it. He may be right or wrong in
his opinion, but he is too clear-headed to be unjust; he is as simple as
he is forcible, and as brief as he is decisive. Nowhere shall we find
greater candour, consideration, indulgence: he throws himself into the
minds of his opponents, he accounts for their mistakes. He knows the
weakness of human reason as well as its strength, its province and its
limits. If he be an unbeliever, he will be too profound and large-minded
to ridicule religion or to act against it; he is too wise to be a
dogmatist or fanatic in his infidelity. He respects piety and devotion; he
even supports institutions as venerable, beautiful, or useful, to which he
does not assent; he honours the ministers of religion, and it contents him
to decline its mysteries without assailing or denouncing them. He is a
friend of religious toleration, and that, not only because his philosophy
has taught him to look on all forms of faith with an impartial eye, but
also from the gentleness and effeminacy of feeling, which is the attendant
on civilization.
Not that he may not hold a religion too, in his own way, even when he is
not a Christian. In that case his religion is one of imagination and
sentiment; it is the embodiment of those ideas of the sublime, majestic,
and beautiful, without which there can be no large philosophy. Sometimes
he acknowledges the being of God, sometimes he invests an unknown
principle or quality with the attributes of perfection. And this deduction
of his reason, or creation of his fancy, he makes the occasion of such
excellent thoughts, and the starting-point of so varied and systematic a
teaching, that he even seems like a disciple of Christianity itself. From
the very accuracy and steadiness of his logical powers, he is able to see
what sentiments are consistent in those who hold any religious doctrine at
all, and he appears to others to feel and to hold a whole circle of
theological truths, which exist in his mind no otherwise than as a number
of deductions.
* * * * *
Such are some of the lineaments of the ethical character, which the
cultivated intellect will form, apart from religious principle. They are
seen within the pale of the Church and without it, in holy men, and in
profligate; they form the _beau-ideal_ of the world; they partly assist
and partly distort the development of the Catholic. They may subserve the
education of a St. Francis de Sales or a Cardinal Pole; they may be the
limits of the contemplation of a Shaftesbury or a Gibbon. Basil and Julian
were fellow-students at the schools of Athens; and one became the Saint
and Doctor of the Church, the other her scoffing and relentless foe.
Discourse IX.
Duties Of The Church Towards Knowledge.
1.
I have to congratulate myself, Gentlemen, that at length I have
accomplished, with whatever success, the difficult and anxious undertaking
to which I have been immediately addressing myself. Difficult and anxious
it has been in truth, though the main subject of University Teaching has
been so often and so ably discussed already; for I have attempted to
follow out a line of thought more familiar to Protestants just now than to
Catholics, upon Catholic grounds. I declared my intention, when I opened
the subject, of treating it as a philosophical and practical, rather than
as a theological question, with an appeal to common sense, not to
ecclesiastical rules; and for this very reason, while my argument has been
less ambitious, it has been deprived of the lights and supports which
another mode of handling it would have secured.
No anxiety, no effort of mind is more severe than his, who in a difficult
matter has it seriously at heart to investigate without error and to
instruct without obscurity; as to myself, if the past discussion has at
any time tried the patience of the kind persons who have given it their
attention, I can assure them that on no one can it have inflicted so great
labour and fatigue as on myself. Happy they who are engaged in provinces
of thought, so familiarly traversed and so thoroughly explored, that they
see every where the footprints, the paths, the landmarks, and the remains
of former travellers, and can never step wrong; but for myself, Gentlemen,
I have felt like a navigator on a strange sea, who is out of sight of
land, is surprised by night, and has to trust mainly to the rules and
instruments of his science for reaching the port. The everlasting
mountains, the high majestic cliffs, of the opposite coast, radiant in the
sunlight, which are our ordinary guides, fail us in an excursion such as
this; the lessons of antiquity, the determinations of authority, are here
rather the needle, chart, and plummet, than great objects, with distinct
and continuous outlines and completed details, which stand up and confront
and occupy our gaze, and relieve us from the tension and suspense of our
personal observation. And thus, in spite of the pains we may take to
consult others and avoid mistakes, it is not till the morning comes and
the shore greets us, and we see our vessel making straight for harbour,
that we relax our jealous watch, and consider anxiety irrational. Such in
a measure has been my feeling in the foregoing inquiry; in which indeed I
have been in want neither of authoritative principles nor distinct
precedents, but of treatises _in extenso_ on the subject on which I have
written,—the finished work of writers, who, by their acknowledged judgment
and erudition, might furnish me for my private guidance with a running
instruction on each point which successively came under review.
I have spoken of the arduousness of my “immediate” undertaking, because
what I have been attempting has been of a preliminary nature, not
contemplating the duties of the Church towards a University, nor the
characteristics of a University which is Catholic, but inquiring what a
University is, what is its aim, what its nature, what its bearings. I have
accordingly laid down first, that all branches of knowledge are, at least
implicitly, the subject-matter of its teaching; that these branches are
not isolated and independent one of another, but form together a whole or
system; that they run into each other, and complete each other, and that,
in proportion to our view of them as a whole, is the exactness and
trustworthiness of the knowledge which they separately convey; that the
process of imparting knowledge to the intellect in this philosophical way
is its true culture; that such culture is a good in itself; that the
knowledge which is both its instrument and result is called Liberal
Knowledge; that such culture, together with the knowledge which effects
it, may fitly be sought for its own sake; that it is, however, in
addition, of great secular utility, as constituting the best and highest
formation of the intellect for social and political life; and lastly,
that, considered in a religious aspect, it concurs with Christianity a
certain way, and then diverges from it; and consequently proves in the
event, sometimes its serviceable ally, sometimes, from its very
resemblance to it, an insidious and dangerous foe.
Though, however, these Discourses have only professed to be preliminary,
being directed to the investigation of the object and nature of the
Education which a University professes to impart, at the same time I do
not like to conclude without making some remarks upon the duties of the
Church towards it, or rather on the ground of those duties. If the
Catholic Faith is true, a University cannot exist externally to the
Catholic pale, for it cannot teach Universal Knowledge if it does not
teach Catholic theology. This is certain; but still, though it had ever so
many theological Chairs, that would not suffice to make it a Catholic
University; for theology would be included in its teaching only as a
branch of knowledge, only as one out of many constituent portions, however
important a one, of what I have called Philosophy. Hence a direct and
active jurisdiction of the Church over it and in it is necessary, lest it
should become the rival of the Church with the community at large in those
theological matters which to the Church are exclusively committed,—acting
as the representative of the intellect, as the Church is the
representative of the religious principle. The illustration of this
proposition shall be the subject of my concluding Discourse.
2.
I say then, that, even though the case could be so that the whole system
of Catholicism was recognized and professed, without the direct presence
of the Church, still this would not at once make such a University a
Catholic Institution, nor be sufficient to secure the due weight of
religious considerations in its philosophical studies. For it may easily
happen that a particular bias or drift may characterize an Institution,
which no rules can reach, nor officers remedy, nor professions or promises
counteract. We have an instance of such a case in the Spanish
Inquisition;—here was a purely Catholic establishment, devoted to the
maintenance, or rather the ascendancy of Catholicism, keenly zealous for
theological truth, the stern foe of every anti-Catholic idea, and
administered by Catholic theologians; yet it in no proper sense belonged
to the Church. It was simply and entirely a State institution, it was an
expression of that very Church-and-King spirit which has prevailed in
these islands; nay, it was an instrument of the State, according to the
confession of the acutest Protestant historians, in its warfare against
the Holy See. Considered “_materially_,” it was nothing but Catholic; but
its spirit and form were earthly and secular, in spite of whatever faith
and zeal and sanctity and charity were to be found in the individuals who
from time to time had a share in its administration. And in like manner,
it is no sufficient security for the Catholicity of a University, even
that the whole of Catholic theology should be professed in it, unless the
Church breathes her own pure and unearthly spirit into it, and fashions
and moulds its organization, and watches over its teaching, and knits
together its pupils, and superintends its action. The Spanish Inquisition
came into collision with the supreme Catholic authority, and that, from
the fact that its immediate end was of a secular character; and for the
same reason, whereas Academical Institutions (as I have been so long
engaged in showing) are in their very nature directed to social, national,
temporal objects in the first instance, and since they are living and
energizing bodies, if they deserve the name of University at all, and of
necessity have some one formal and definite ethical character, good or
bad, and do of a certainty imprint that character on the individuals who
direct and who frequent them, it cannot but be that, if left to
themselves, they will, in spite of their profession of Catholic Truth,
work out results more or less prejudicial to its interests.
Nor is this all: such Institutions may become hostile to Revealed Truth,
in consequence of the circumstances of their teaching as well as of their
end. They are employed in the pursuit of Liberal Knowledge, and Liberal
Knowledge has a special tendency, not necessary or rightful, but a
tendency in fact, when cultivated by beings such as we are, to impress us
with a mere philosophical theory of life and conduct, in the place of
Revelation. I have said much on this subject already. Truth has two
attributes—beauty and power; and while Useful Knowledge is the possession
of truth as powerful, Liberal Knowledge is the apprehension of it as
beautiful. Pursue it, either as beauty or as power, to its furthest extent
and its true limit, and you are led by either road to the Eternal and
Infinite, to the intimations of conscience and the announcements of the
Church. Satisfy yourself with what is only visibly or intelligibly
excellent, as you are likely to do, and you will make present utility and
natural beauty the practical test of truth, and the sufficient object of
the intellect. It is not that you will at once reject Catholicism, but you
will measure and proportion it by an earthly standard. You will throw its
highest and most momentous disclosures into the background, you will deny
its principles, explain away its doctrines, re-arrange its precepts, and
make light of its practices, even while you profess it. Knowledge, viewed
as Knowledge, exerts a subtle influence in throwing us back on ourselves,
and making us our own centre, and our minds the measure of all things.
This then is the tendency of that Liberal Education, of which a University
is the school, viz., to view Revealed Religion from an aspect of its
own,—to fuse and recast it,—to tune it, as it were, to a different key,
and to reset its harmonies,—to circumscribe it by a circle which
unwarrantably amputates here, and unduly develops there; and all under the
notion, conscious or unconscious, that the human intellect, self-educated
and self-supported, is more true and perfect in its ideas and judgments
than that of Prophets and Apostles, to whom the sights and sounds of
Heaven were immediately conveyed. A sense of propriety, order,
consistency, and completeness gives birth to a rebellious stirring against
miracle and mystery, against the severe and the terrible.
This Intellectualism first and chiefly comes into collision with precept,
then with doctrine, then with the very principle of dogmatism;—a
perception of the Beautiful becomes the substitute for faith. In a country
which does not profess the faith, it at once runs, if allowed, into
scepticism or infidelity; but even within the pale of the Church, and with
the most unqualified profession of her Creed, it acts, if left to itself,
as an element of corruption and debility. Catholicism, as it has come down
to us from the first, seems to be mean and illiberal; it is a mere popular
religion; it is the religion of illiterate ages or servile populations or
barbarian warriors; it must be treated with discrimination and delicacy,
corrected, softened, improved, if it is to satisfy an enlightened
generation. It must be stereotyped as the patron of arts, or the pupil of
speculation, or the protégé of science; it must play the literary
academician, or the empirical philanthropist, or the political partisan;
it must keep up with the age; some or other expedient it must devise, in
order to explain away, or to hide, tenets under which the intellect
labours and of which it is ashamed—its doctrine, for instance, of grace,
its mystery of the Godhead, its preaching of the Cross, its devotion to
the Queen of Saints, or its loyalty to the Apostolic See. Let this spirit
be freely evolved out of that philosophical condition of mind, which in
former Discourses I have so highly, so justly extolled, and it is
impossible but, first indifference, then laxity of belief, then even
heresy will be the successive results.
Here then are two injuries which Revelation is likely to sustain at the
hands of the Masters of human reason unless the Church, as in duty bound,
protects the sacred treasure which is in jeopardy. The first is a simple
ignoring of Theological Truth altogether, under the pretence of not
recognising differences of religious opinion;—which will only take place
in countries or under governments which have abjured Catholicism. The
second, which is of a more subtle character, is a recognition indeed of
Catholicism, but (as if in pretended mercy to it) an adulteration of its
spirit. I will now proceed to describe the dangers I speak of more
distinctly, by a reference to the general subject-matter of instruction
which a University undertakes.
There are three great subjects on which Human Reason employs itself:—God,
Nature, and Man: and theology being put aside in the present argument, the
physical and social worlds remain. These, when respectively subjected to
Human Reason, form two books: the book of nature is called Science, the
book of man is called Literature. Literature and Science, thus considered,
nearly constitute the subject-matter of Liberal Education; and, while
Science is made to subserve the former of the two injuries, which Revealed
Truth sustains,—its exclusion, Literature subserves the latter,—its
corruption. Let us consider the influence of each upon Religion
separately.
3.
I. As to Physical Science, of course there can be no real collision
between it and Catholicism. Nature and Grace, Reason and Revelation, come
from the same Divine Author, whose works cannot contradict each other.
Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that, in matter of fact, there always
has been a sort of jealousy and hostility between Religion and physical
philosophers. The name of Galileo reminds us of it at once. Not content
with investigating and reasoning in his own province, it is said, he went
out of his way directly to insult the received interpretation of
Scripture; theologians repelled an attack which was wanton and arrogant;
and Science, affronted in her minister, has taken its full revenge upon
Theology since. A vast multitude of its teachers, I fear it must be said,
have been either unbelievers or sceptics, or at least have denied to
Christianity any teaching, distinctive or special, over the Religion of
Nature. There have indeed been most illustrious exceptions; some men
protected by their greatness of mind, some by their religious profession,
some by the fear of public opinion; but I suppose the run of
experimentalists, external to the Catholic Church, have more or less
inherited the positive or negative unbelief of Laplace, Buffon, Franklin,
Priestley, Cuvier, and Humboldt. I do not of course mean to say that there
need be in every case a resentful and virulent opposition made to Religion
on the part of scientific men; but their emphatic silence or phlegmatic
inadvertence as to its claims have implied, more eloquently than any
words, that in their opinion it had no voice at all in the subject-matter,
which they had appropriated to themselves. The same antagonism shows
itself in the middle ages. Friar Bacon was popularly regarded with
suspicion as a dealer in unlawful arts; Pope Sylvester the Second has been
accused of magic for his knowledge of natural secrets; and the
geographical ideas of St. Virgil, Bishop of Saltzburg, were regarded with
anxiety by the great St. Boniface, the glory of England, the
Martyr-Apostle of Germany. I suppose, in matter of fact, magical
superstition and physical knowledge did commonly go together in those
ages: however, the hostility between experimental science and theology is
far older than Christianity. Lord Bacon traces it to an era prior to
Socrates; he tells us that, among the Greeks, the atheistic was the
philosophy most favourable to physical discoveries, and he does not
hesitate to imply that the rise of the religious schools was the ruin of
science.(26)