special danger or probable deficiency or need of his hearers, he should do
so covertly, not showing on the surface of his discourse what he is aiming
at. I see no advantage in a preacher professing to treat of infidelity,
orthodoxy, or virtue, or the pride of reason, or riot, or sensual
indulgence. To say nothing else, common-places are but blunt weapons;
whereas it is particular topics that penetrate and reach their mark. Such
subjects rather are, for instance, the improvement of time, avoiding the
occasions of sin, frequenting the Sacraments, divine warnings, the
inspirations of grace, the mysteries of the Rosary, natural virtue, beauty
of the rites of the Church, consistency of the Catholic faith, relation of
Scripture to the Church, the philosophy of tradition, and any others,
which may touch the heart and conscience, or may suggest trains of thought
to the intellect, without proclaiming the main reason why they have been
chosen.
(2.) Next, as to the _mode of treating_ its subject, which a University
discourse requires. It is this respect, after all, I think, in which it
especially differs from other kinds of preaching. As translations differ
from each other, as expressing the same ideas in different languages, so
in the case of sermons, each may undertake the same subject, yet treat it
in its own way, as contemplating its own hearers. This is well exemplified
in the speeches of St. Paul, as recorded in the book of Acts. To the Jews
he quotes the Old Testament; on the Areopagus, addressing the philosophers
of Athens, he insists,—not indeed upon any recondite doctrine,
contrariwise, upon the most elementary, the being and unity of God;—but he
treats it with a learning and depth of thought, which the presence of that
celebrated city naturally suggested. And in like manner, while the most
simple subjects are apposite in a University pulpit, they certainly would
there require a treatment more exact than is necessary in merely popular
exhortations. It is not asking much to demand for academical discourses a
more careful study beforehand, a more accurate conception of the idea
which they are to enforce, a more cautious use of words, a more anxious
consultation of writers of authority, and somewhat more of philosophical
and theological knowledge.
But here again, as before, I would insist on the necessity of such
compositions being unpretending. It is not necessary for a preacher to
quote the Holy Fathers, or to show erudition, or to construct an original
argument, or to be ambitious in style and profuse of ornament, on the
ground that the audience is a University: it is only necessary so to keep
the character and necessities of his hearers before him as to avoid what
may offend them, or mislead, or disappoint, or fail to profit.
6.
3. But here a distinct question opens upon us, on which I must say a few
words in conclusion, viz., whether or not the preacher should preach
without book.
This is a delicate question to enter upon, considering that the Irish
practice of preaching without book, which is in accordance with that of
foreign countries, and, as it would appear, with the tradition of the
Church from the first, is not universally adopted in England, nor, as I
believe, in Scotland; and it might seem unreasonable or presumptuous to
abridge a liberty at present granted to the preacher. I will simply set
down what occurs to me to say on each side of the question.
First of all, looking at the matter on the side of usage, I have always
understood that it was the rule in Catholic countries, as I have just
said, both in this and in former times, to preach without book; and, if
the rule be really so, it carries extreme weight with it. I do not speak
as if I had consulted a library, and made my ground sure; but at first
sight it would appear impossible, even from the number of homilies and
commentaries which are assigned to certain Fathers, as to St. Augustine or
to St. Chrysostom, that they could have delivered them from
formally-written compositions. On the other hand, St. Leo’s sermons
certainly are, in the strict sense of the word, compositions; nay,
passages of them are carefully dogmatic; nay, further still, they have
sometimes the character of a symbol, and, in consequence, are found
repeated in other parts of his works; and again, though I do not profess
to be well read in the works of St. Chrysostom, there is generally in such
portions of them as are known to those of us who are in Holy Orders, a
peculiarity, an identity of style, which enables one to recognize the
author at a glance, even in the latin version of the Breviary, and which
would seem to be quite beyond the mere fidelity of reporters. It would
seem, then, he must after all have written them; and if he did write at
all, it is more likely that he wrote with the stimulus of preaching before
him, than that he had time and inducement to correct and enlarge them
afterwards from notes, for what is now called “publication,” which at that
time could hardly be said to exist at all. To this consideration we must
add the remarkable fact (which, though in classical history, throws light
upon our inquiry) that, not to produce other instances, the greater part
of Cicero’s powerful and brilliant orations against Verres were never
delivered at all. Nor must it be forgotten that Cicero specifies memory in
his enumeration of the distinct talents necessary for a great orator. And
then we have in corroboration the French practice of writing sermons and
learning them by heart.
These remarks, as far as they go, lead us to lay great stress on the
_preparation_ of a sermon, as amounting in fact to composition, even in
writing, and _in extenso_. Now consider St. Carlo’s direction, as quoted
above: “Id omnino studebit, ut quod in concione dicturus est, antea bene
cognitum habeat.” Now a parish priest has neither time nor occasion for
any but elementary and ordinary topics; and any such subject he has
habitually made his own, “cognitum habet,” already; but when the matter is
of a more select and occasional character, as in the case of a University
Sermon, then the preacher has to study it well and thoroughly, and master
it beforehand. Study and meditation being imperative, can it be denied
that one of the most effectual means by which we are able to ascertain our
understanding of a subject, to bring out our thoughts upon it, to clear
our meaning, to enlarge our views of its relations to other subjects, and
to develop it generally, is to write down carefully all we have to say
about it? People indeed differ in matters of this kind, but I think that
writing is a stimulus to the mental faculties, to the logical talent, to
originality, to the power of illustration, to the arrangement of topics,
second to none. Till a man begins to put down his thoughts about a subject
on paper he will not ascertain what he knows and what he does not know;
and still less will he be able to express what he does know. Such a formal
preparation of course cannot be required of a parish priest, burdened, as
he may be, with other duties, and preaching on elementary subjects, and
supported by the systematic order and the suggestions of the Catechism;
but in occasional sermons the case is otherwise. In these it is both
possible and generally necessary; and the fuller the sketch, and the more
clear and continuous the thread of the discourse, the more the preacher
will find himself at home when the time of delivery arrives. I have said
“generally necessary,” for of course there will be exceptional cases, in
which such a mode of preparation does not answer, whether from some
mistake in carrying it out, or from some special gift superseding it.
To many preachers there will be another advantage besides;—such a practice
will secure them against venturing upon really _extempore_ matter. The
more ardent a man is, and the greater power he has of affecting his
hearers, so much the more will he need self-control and sustained
recollection, and feel the advantage of committing himself, as it were, to
the custody of his previous intentions, instead of yielding to any chance
current of thought which rushes upon him in the midst of his preaching.
His very gifts may need the counterpoise of more ordinary and homely
accessories, such as the drudgery of composition.
It must be borne in mind too, that, since a University Sermon will
commonly have more pains than ordinary bestowed on it, it will be
considered in the number of those which the author would especially wish
to preserve. Some record of it then will be natural, or even is involved
in its composition; and, while the least elaborate will be as much as a
sketch or abstract, even the most minute, exact, and copious assemblage of
notes will not be found too long hereafter, supposing, as time goes on,
any reason occurs for wishing to commit it to the press.
Here are various reasons, which are likely to lead, or to oblige, a
preacher to have recourse to his pen in preparation for his special
office. A further reason might be suggested, which would be more intimate
than any we have given, going indeed so far as to justify the introduction
of a manuscript into the pulpit itself, if the case supposed fell for
certain under the idea of a University Sermon. It may be urged with great
cogency that a process of argument, or a logical analysis and
investigation, cannot at all be conducted with suitable accuracy of
wording, completeness of statement, or succession of ideas, if the
composition is to be prompted at the moment, and breathed out, as it were,
from the intellect together with the very words which are its vehicle.
There are indeed a few persons in a generation, such as Pitt, who are able
to converse like a book, and to speak a pamphlet; but others must be
content to write and to read their writing. This is true; but I have
already found reason to question whether such delicate and complicated
organizations of thought have a right to the name of Sermons at all. In
truth, a discourse, which, from its fineness and precision of ideas, is
too difficult for a preacher to deliver without such extraneous
assistance, is too difficult for a hearer to follow; and, if a book be
imperative for teaching, it is imperative for learning. Both parties ought
to read, if they are to be on equal terms;—and this remark furnishes me
with a principle which has an application wider than the particular case
which has suggested it.
While, then, a preacher will find it becoming and advisable to put into
writing any important discourse beforehand, he will find it equally a
point of propriety and expedience not to read it in the pulpit. I am not
of course denying his right to use a manuscript, if he wishes; but he will
do well to conceal it, as far as he can, unless, which is the most
effectual concealment, whatever be its counterbalancing disadvantages, he
prefers, mainly not verbally, to get it by heart. To conceal it, indeed,
in one way or other, will be his natural impulse; and this very
circumstance seems to show us that to read a sermon needs an apology. For,
why should he commit it to memory, or conceal his use of it, unless he
felt that it was more natural, more decorous, to do without it? And so
again, if he employs a manuscript, the more he appears to dispense with
it, the more he looks off from it, and directly addresses his audience,
the more will he be considered to preach; and, on the other hand, the more
will he be judged to come short of preaching the more sedulous he is in
following his manuscript line after line, and by the tone of his voice
makes it clear that he has got it safely before him. What is this but a
popular testimony to the fact that preaching is not reading, and reading
is not preaching?
There is, as I have said, a principle involved in this decision. It is a
common answer made by the Protestant poor to their clergy or other
superiors, when asked why they do not go to church, that “they can read
their book at home quite as well.” It is quite true, they _can_ read their
book at home, and it is difficult what to rejoin, and it is a problem,
which has employed before now the more thoughtful of their communion, to
make out _what_ is got by going to public service. The prayers are from a
printed book, the sermon is from a manuscript. The printed prayers they
have already; and, as to the manuscript sermon, why should it be in any
respects better than the volume of sermons which they have at home? Why
should not an approved author be as good as one who has not yet submitted
himself to criticism? And again, if it is to be read in the church, why
may not one person read it quite as well as another? Good advice is good
advice, all the world over. There is something more, then, than
composition in a sermon; there is something personal in preaching; people
are drawn and moved, not simply by what is said, but by how it is said,
and who says it. The same things said by one man are not the same as when
said by another. The same things when read are not the same as when they
are preached.
7.
In this respect the preacher differs from the minister of the sacraments,
that he comes to his hearers, in some sense or other, with antecedents.
Clad in his sacerdotal vestments, he sinks what is individual in himself
altogether, and is but the representative of Him from whom he derives his
commission. His words, his tones, his actions, his presence, lose their
personality; one bishop, one priest, is like another; they all chant the
same notes, and observe the same genuflexions, as they give one peace and
one blessing, as they offer one and the same sacrifice. The Mass must not
be said without a Missal under the priest’s eye; nor in any language but
that in which it has come down to us from the early hierarchs of the
Western Church. But, when it is over, and the celebrant has resigned the
vestments proper to it, then he resumes himself, and comes to us in the
gifts and associations which attach to his person. He knows his sheep, and
they know him; and it is this direct bearing of the teacher on the taught,
of his mind upon their minds, and the mutual sympathy which exists between
them, which is his strength and influence when he addresses them. They
hang upon his lips as they cannot hang upon the pages of his book.
Definiteness is the life of preaching. A definite hearer, not the whole
world; a definite topic, not the whole evangelical tradition; and, in like
manner, a definite speaker. Nothing that is anonymous will preach; nothing
that is dead and gone; nothing even which is of yesterday, however
religious in itself and useful. Thought and word are one in the Eternal
Logos, and must not be separate in those who are His shadows on earth.
They must issue fresh and fresh, as from the preacher’s mouth, so from his
breast, if they are to be “spirit and life” to the hearts of his hearers.
And what is true of a parish priest applies, _mutatis mutandis_, to a
University preacher; who, even more, perhaps, than the ordinary
_parochus_, comes to his audience with a name and a history, and excites a
personal interest, and persuades by what he is, as well as by what he
delivers.
I am far from forgetting that every one has his own talent, and that one
has not what another has. Eloquence is a divine gift, which to a certain
point supersedes rules, and is to be used, like other gifts, to the glory
of the Giver, and then only to be discountenanced when it forgets its
place, when it throws into the shade and embarrasses the essential
functions of the Christian preacher, and claims to be cultivated for its
own sake instead of being made subordinate and subservient to a higher
work and to sacred objects. And how to make eloquence subservient to the
evangelical office is not more difficult than how to use learning or
intellect for a supernatural end; but it does not come into consideration
here.
In the case of particular preachers, circumstances may constantly arise
which render the use of a manuscript the more advisable course; but I have
been considering how the case stands in itself, and attempting to set down
what is to be aimed at as best. If religious men once ascertain what is
abstractedly desirable, and acquiesce in it with their hearts, they will
be in the way to get over many difficulties which otherwise will be
insurmountable. For myself, I think it no extravagance to say that a very
inferior sermon, delivered without book, answers the purposes for which
all sermons are delivered more perfectly than one of great merit, if it be
written and read. Of course, all men will not speak without book equally
well, just as their voices are not equally clear and loud, or their manner
equally impressive. Eloquence, I repeat, is a gift; but most men, unless
they have passed the age for learning, may with practice attain such
fluency in expressing their thoughts as will enable them to convey and
manifest to their audience that earnestness and devotion to their object,
which is the life of preaching,—which both covers, in the preacher’s own
consciousness, the sense of his own deficiencies, and makes up for them
over and over again in the judgment of his hearers.
Lecture VII.
Christianity and Physical Science. A Lecture in the School of Medicine.
1.
Now that we have just commenced our second Academical Year, it is natural,
Gentlemen, that, as in November last, when we were entering upon our great
undertaking, I offered to you some remarks suggested by the occasion, so
now again I should not suffer the first weeks of the Session to pass away
without addressing to you a few words on one of those subjects which are
at the moment especially interesting to us. And when I apply myself to
think what topic I shall in consequence submit to your consideration, I
seem to be directed what to select by the principle of selection which I
followed on that former occasion to which I have been referring. Then(45)
we were opening the Schools of Philosophy and Letters, as now we are
opening those of Medicine; and, as I then attempted some brief
investigation of the mutual bearings of Revelation and Literature, so at
the present time I shall not, I trust, be unprofitably engaging your
attention, if I make one or two parallel reflections on the relations
existing between Revelation and Physical Science.
This subject, indeed, viewed in its just dimensions, is far too large for
an occasion such as this; still I may be able to select some one point out
of the many which it offers for discussion, and, while elucidating it, to
throw light even on others which at the moment I do not formally
undertake. I propose, then, to discuss the antagonism which is popularly
supposed to exist between Physics and Theology; and to show, first, that
such antagonism does not really exist, and, next, to account for the
circumstance that so groundless an imagination should have got abroad.
I think I am not mistaken in the fact that there exists, both in the
educated and half-educated portions of the community, something of a
surmise or misgiving, that there really is at bottom a certain contrariety
between the declarations of religion and the results of physical inquiry;
a suspicion such, that, while it encourages those persons who are not
over-religious to anticipate a coming day, when at length the difference
will break out into open conflict, to the disadvantage of Revelation, it
leads religious minds, on the other hand, who have not had the opportunity
of considering accurately the state of the case, to be jealous of the
researches, and prejudiced against the discoveries, of Science. The
consequence is, on the one side, a certain contempt of Theology; on the
other, a disposition to undervalue, to deny, to ridicule, to discourage,
and almost to denounce, the labours of the physiological, astronomical, or
geological investigator.
I do not suppose that any of those gentlemen who are now honouring me with
their presence are exposed to the temptation either of the religious or of
the scientific prejudice; but that is no reason why some notice of it may
not have its use even in this place. It may lead us to consider the
subject itself more carefully and exactly; it may assist us in attaining
clearer ideas than before how Physics and Theology stand relatively to
each other.
2.
Let us begin with a first approximation to the real state of the case, or
a broad view, which, though it may require corrections, will serve at once
to illustrate and to start the subject. We may divide knowledge, then,
into natural and supernatural. Some knowledge, of course, is both at once;
for the moment let us put this circumstance aside, and view these two
fields of knowledge in themselves, and as distinct from each other in
idea. By nature is meant, I suppose, that vast system of things, taken as
a whole, of which we are cognizant by means of our natural powers. By the
supernatural world is meant that still more marvellous and awful universe,
of which the Creator Himself is the fulness, and which becomes known to
us, not through our natural faculties, but by superadded and direct
communication from Him. These two great circles of knowledge, as I have
said, intersect; first, as far as supernatural knowledge includes truths
and facts of the natural world, and secondly, as far as truths and facts
of the natural world are on the other hand data for inferences about the
supernatural. Still, allowing this interference to the full, it will be
found, on the whole, that the two worlds and the two kinds of knowledge
respectively are separated off from each other; and that, therefore, as
being separate, they cannot on the whole contradict each other. That is,
in other words, a person who has the fullest knowledge of one of these
worlds, may be nevertheless, on the whole, as ignorant as the rest of
mankind, as unequal to form a judgment, of the facts and truths of the
other. He who knows all that can possibly be known about physics, about
politics, about geography, ethnology, and ethics, will have made no
approximation whatever to decide the question whether or not there are
angels, and how many are their orders; and on the other hand, the most
learned of dogmatic and mystical divines,—St. Augustine, St. Thomas,—will
not on that score know more than a peasant about the laws of motion, or
the wealth of nations. I do not mean that there may not be speculations
and guesses on this side and that, but I speak of any conclusion which
merits to be called, I will not say knowledge, but even opinion. If, then,
Theology be the philosophy of the supernatural world, and Science the
philosophy of the natural, Theology and Science, whether in their
respective ideas, or again in their own actual fields, on the whole, are
incommunicable, incapable of collision, and needing, at most to be
connected, never to be reconciled.
Now this broad general view of our subject is found to be so far true in
fact, in spite of such deductions from it that have to be made in detail,
that the recent French editors of one of the works of St. Thomas are able
to give it as one of their reasons why that great theologian made an
alliance, not with Plato, but with Aristotle, because Aristotle (they
say), unlike Plato, confined himself to human science, and therefore was
secured from coming into collision with divine.
“Not without reason,” they say, “did St. Thomas acknowledge Aristotle as
if the Master of human philosophy; for, inasmuch as Aristotle was not a
Theologian, he had only treated of logical, physical, psychological, and
metaphysical theses, to the exclusion of those which are concerned about
the supernatural relations of man to God, that is, religion; which, on the
other hand, had been the source of the worst errors of other philosophers,
and especially of Plato.”
3.