IX

_THE EFFECTS OF MONASTICISM_

"We read history," said Wendell Phillips, "not through our eyes but

through our prejudices." Yet if it were possible entirely to lay aside

one's prepossessions respecting monastic history, it would still be no

easy task to estimate the influences of the monks upon human life.

In every field of thought and activity monasticism wrought good and

evil. Education, industry, government and religion have been both

furthered and hindered by the monks. What Francis Parkman said of the

Roman Catholic Church is true of the monastic institution: "Clearly she

is of earth, not of heaven; and her transcendently dramatic life is a

type of the good and ill, the baseness and nobleness, the foulness and

purity, the love and hate, the pride, passion, truth, falsehood,

fierceness, and tenderness, that battle in the restless heart of man."

A careful and sympathetic survey of monastic history compels the

conclusion that monasticism, while not uniformly a blessing to the

world, was not an unmitigated evil. The system presents one long series

of perplexities and contradictions. One historian shuts his eyes to its

pernicious effects, or at least pardons its transgressions, on the

ground that perfection in man or in institutions is unattainable.

Another condemns the whole system, believing that the sum of its evils

far outweighs whatever benefits it may have conferred upon mankind.

Schaff cuts the Gordian knot, maintaining that the contradiction is

easily solved on the theory that it was not monasticism, as such, which

has proved a blessing to the Church and the world. "It was Christianity

in monasticism," he says, "which has done all the good, and used this

abnormal mode of life as a means of carrying forward its mission of love

and peace."

To illustrate the diversities of opinion on this subject, and

incidentally to show how difficult it is to present a well-balanced,

symmetrically fair and just estimate of the monastic institution as a

whole, contrast the opinions of four celebrated men. Pius IX. refers to

the, monks as "those chosen phalanxes of the army of Christ which have

always been the bulwark and ornament of the Christian republic as well

as of civil society." But then he was the Pope of Rome, the Arch-prelate

of the Church. "Monk," fiercely demands Voltaire, "Monk, what is that

profession of thine? It is that of having none, of engaging one's self

by an inviolable oath to be a fool and a slave, and to live at the

expense of others." But he was the philosophical skeptic of Paris.

"Where is the town," cries Montalembert, "which has not been founded or

enriched or protected by some religious community? Where is the church

which owes not to them a patron, a relic, a pious and popular tradition?

Wherever there is a luxuriant forest, a pure stream, a majestic hill, we

may be sure that religion has left there her stamp by the hand of the

monk." But this was Montalembert, the Roman Catholic historian, and the

avowed champion of the monks. "A cruel, unfeeling temper," writes

Gibbon, "has distinguished the monks of every age and country; their

stern indifference, which is seldom mollified by personal friendship,

is inflamed by religious hatred; and their merciless zeal has

strenuously administered the holy office of the Inquisition." But this

was Gibbon, the hater of everything monastic. Between these extreme

views lies a wide field upon which many a deathless duel has been fought

by the writers of monastic history.

The variety of judgments respecting the nature and effects of

monasticism is partly due to the diversity in the facts of its history.

Monasticism was the friend and the foe of true religion. It was the

inspiration of virtue and the encouragement of vice. It was the patron

of industry and the promoter of idleness. It was a pioneer in education

and the teacher of superstition. It was the disburser of alms and a

many-handed robber. It was the friend of human liberty and the abettor

of tyranny. It was the champion of the common people and the defender of

class privileges. It was, in short, everything that man was and is, so

varied were its operations, so complex was its influence, so

comprehensive was its life.

Of some things we may be certain. Any religious institution or ideal of

life that has survived the changes of twelve centuries, and that has

enlisted the enthusiastic services and warmest sympathies of numerous

men and women who have been honorably distinguished for their

intellectual attainments and moral character, must have possessed

elements of truth and moral worth. A contemptuous treatment of

monasticism implies either an ignorance of its real history or a wilful

disregard of the deep significance of its commendable features.

It is also certain that while the methods of monasticism, judged by

their effects upon the individual and upon society, may be justly

censured, it is beyond question that many monks, groping their way

toward the light in an age of ignorance and superstition, were inspired

by the purest motives. "Conscience," observes Waddington, "however

misguided, cannot be despised by a reflecting mind. When it leads one to

self-sacrifice and moral fortitude we cannot but admire his spirit,

while we condemn his sagacity and method."

_The Effects of Self-Sacrifice Upon the Individual_

Christianity requires some sort of self-denial as the condition of true

Christian discipleship. Self-love is to yield to a love of others. In

some sense, the Christian is to become dead to the world and its

demoralizing pleasures. But this primal demand upon the soul needs to be

interpreted. What is it to love the world? What is it to keep the body

in subjection? What are harmful indulgences? To give wrong answers to

these questions is to set up a false ideal; the more strenuously such

false ideal is followed, the more disastrous are the consequences. One's

struggle for moral purity may end in failure, and one's efficiency for

good may be seriously impaired by a perversion of the principle of

self-abnegation. Unnatural severity and excessive abstinence often

produce the opposite effect from that intended. Instead of a peaceful

mind there is delirium, and instead of freedom from temptation there are

a thousand horrible fiends hovering in the air and ready, at any moment,

to pounce upon their prey. "The history of ascetics," says Martensen,

"teaches us that by such overdone fasting the fancy is often excited to

an amazing degree, and in its airy domain affords the very things that

one thought to have buried, by means of mortification, a magical

resurrection." In attempting to subdue the body, many necessary

requirements of the physical organism were totally ignored. The body

rebelled against such unnatural treatment, and the mind, so closely

related to it, in its distraction, gave birth to the wildest fancies.

Men, who would have possessed an ordinarily pure mind in some useful

occupation of life, became the prey of the most lewd and obnoxious

imaginations. Then they fancied themselves vile above their fellows, and

laid on more stripes, put more thorns upon their pillows, and fasted

more hours, only to find that instead of fleeing, the devils became

blacker and more numerous.

Self-forgetfulness is the key to happiness. The monk thought otherwise,

and slew himself in his vain attempt to fight against nature. He never

lifted his eyes from his own soul. He was always feeling his spiritual

pulse, staring at his lean spiritual visage, and tearfully watching his

growth in grace. An interest in others and a strong mind in a strong

body are the best antidotes to religious despair and the temptations of

the soul. Life in the monastery was generally less severe than in the

desert's solitude. There was more and better food, shelter, and comfort,

but there were many unnecessary and unnatural restrictions, even in the

best days of monasticism. There were too many hours of prayer, too many

needless regulations for silence, fasting and penance, to produce a

healthy, vigorous type of religious life.

_The Effects of Solitude Upon the Individual_.

It has already been shown that some solitude is essential to our richest

culture. Our higher nature demands time for reflection and meditation.

But the monks carried this principle to an extreme, and they

overestimated its benefits. "Ambition, avarice, irresolution, fear, and

inordinate desires," says Montaigne, "do not leave us because we forsake

our native country, they often follow us even to cloisters and

philosophical schools; nor deserts, nor caves, nor hair shirts, nor

fasts, can disengage us from them."

Besides these passions, which the monks carried with them, their

solitary life tended to foster spiritual pride, contract sympathy, and

engender an inhumane spirit. True, there were exceptions; but the

sublime characters which survive in monastic history are by no means

typical of its usual effects. Seclusion did not benefit the average

monk. Indeed there is something wanting in even the loftiest monastic

characters. "The heroes of monasticism," says Allen, "are not the heroes

of modern life. All put together, they would not furnish out one such

soul as William of Orange, or Gustavus, or Milton. Independence of

thought and liberty of conscience, they renounced once for all, in

taking upon them the monastic vow. All the larger enterprises, all the

broad humanities, which to our mind make a greater career, were rigidly

shut off by a barrier that could not be crossed. All the warmth and

wealth of social and domestic life was a field of forbidden fruit, to be

entered only through the gate of unpardonable sin."

Thus self-excluded from a normal life in society, often the subject of

self-inflicted pain, it is no wonder that the monk impaired all the

nobler and manlier feelings of the soul, that he became strangely

indifferent to human affection, that bigotry and pride often sat as

joint rulers on the throne of his heart. He who had trampled on all

filial relations would scarcely recognize the bonds of human

brotherhood. He who heard not the prayer of his own mother would not be

likely to listen to the cry of the tortured heretic for mercy. Man as

man was not reverenced. It was the monk in man who was esteemed. As

Milman puts it, "Bigotry has always found its readiest and sternest

executioners among those who have never known the charities of life."

Nor is it a matter of surprise that the monk was spiritually proud. He

was supposed to stand in the inner circle, a little nearer the throne of

God than his fellow-mortals. When dead, he was worshiped as a saint and

regarded as an intercessor between God and his lower fellow-creatures.

His hatred of the base world easily passed over into a sense of

superiority and ignoble pride.

"True social life," says Martensen, "leads to solitude." This truth the

monks emphasized to the exclusion of the converse, "true life in

solitude leads back to society." John Tauler, the mystic monk, realized

this truth when he said: "If God calls me to a sick person, or to the

service of preaching, or to any other service of love, I must follow,

although I am in the state of highest contemplation." The hermits of the

desert, and too often the monks of the cloister, escaped from all such

services, and selfishly gave themselves up to saving their own souls by

contemplation and prayer. Ministration to the needy is the external side

of the inner religious life. It is the fruit of faith and prayer. The

monk sought solitude, not for the purpose of fitting himself for a place

in society, but for selfish, personal ends. Saint Bruno, in a letter to

his friend Ralph le Verd, eulogizes the solitude of the monastic cell,

and among other sentiments he gives expression to the following: "I am

speaking here of the contemplative life; and although its sons are less

numerous than those of active life, yet, like Joseph and Benjamin, they

are infinitely dearer to their Father.... O my brother, fear not then to

fly from the turmoil and the misery of the world; leave the storms that

rage without, to shelter yourself in this safe haven."

Thus sinful and sorrowing humanity, needing the guidance and comfort

that holy men can furnish, was forgotten in the desire for personal

peace and future salvation.

Another baneful result of isolation was the strangulation of filial

love. When the monk abandoned the softening, refining influence of women

and children, one side of his nature suffered a serious contraction. An

Egyptian mother stood at the hut of two hermits, her sons. Weeping

bitterly, she begged to see their faces. To her piteous entreaties, they

said: "Why do you, who are already stricken with age, pour forth such

cries and lamentations?" "It is because I long to see you," she replied.

"Am I not your mother? I am now an old and wrinkled woman, and my heart

is troubled at the sound of your voices." But even a mother's love could

not cope with their fearful fanaticism., and she went away with their

cold promise that they would meet in heaven. St. John of Calama visited

his sister in disguise, and a chronicler, telling the story afterwards,

said, "By the mercy of Jesus Christ he had not been recognized, and they

never met again." Many hermits received their parents or brothers and

sisters with their eyes shut. When the father of Simeon Stylites died,

his widowed mother prayed for entrance into her son's cell. For three

days and nights she stood without, and then the blessed Simeon prayed

the Lord for her, and she immediately gave up the ghost.

These as well as numerous other stories of a similar character that

might be quoted illustrate the hardening influence of solitude. Instead

of cherishing a love of kindred, as a gift of heaven and a spring of

virtue, the monk spurned it and trampled it beneath his feet as an

obstacle to his spiritual progress. "The monks," says Milman, "seem

almost unconscious of the softening, humanizing effect of the natural

affections, the beauty of parental tenderness and filial love."

_The Monks as Missionaries_

The conversion of the barbarians was an indispensable condition of

modern civilization. Every step forward had to be taken in the face of

barbaric ignorance and cruelty. In this stupendous undertaking the monks

led the way, displaying in their labors remarkable generalship and

undaunted courage. Whatever may be thought of later monasticism, the

Benedictine monks are entitled to the lasting gratitude of mankind for

their splendid services in reducing barbaric Europe to some sort of

order and civilization. But again the mixture of good and evil is

strangely illustrated. It seems impossible to accord the monks

unqualified praise. The potency of the evil tendencies within their

system vitiated every noble achievement. Their methods and practical

ideals were so at variance with the true order of nature that every

commendable victory involved a corresponding obstacle to real social and

religious progress. The justice of these observations will be more

apparent as this inquiry proceeds.

_Monasticism and Civic Duties_

The withdrawal of a considerable number of men of character and talent

from the exercise of civic duties is injurious to the state. The burdens

upon those who remain become heavier, while society is deprived of the

moral influence of those who forsake their civic responsibilities. When

the monk, from the outside as it were, attempted to exert an influence

for good, he largely failed. His ideals of life were not formulated in a

real world, but in an artificial, antisocial environment. He was unable

to appreciate the political needs of men. He could not enter

sympathetically into their serious employments or innocent delights.

Controlled by superstition, and exalting a servile obedience to human

authority, he became a very unsafe guide in political affairs. He could

not consistently labor for secular progress, because he had forsaken a

world in which secular interests were prominent.

It may be true that in the early days of monasticism the monks pursued

the proper course in refusing to become Roman patriots. No human power

could have averted the ruin which overtook that corrupt world. Perhaps

their non-combatant attitude gave them more influence with the

conquerors of Rome, who were to become the founders of modern nations.

In later years, the abbots of the principal monasteries occupied seats

in the legislative assemblies of Germany, Hungary, Spain, England,

Italy, and France. In many instances they stood between the violence of

the nobles and the unprotected vassal. Political monks, inspired by a

natural breadth of vision and a love of humanity, secured the passage of

wise and humane regulations. Palgrave says: "The mitre has resisted many

blows which would have broken the helmet, and the crosier has kept more

foes in awe than the lance. It is, then, to these prelates that we

chiefly owe the maintenance of the form and spirit of free government,

secured to us, not by force, but by law; and the altar has thus been the

corner-stone of our ancient constitution."

Although there is much truth in the foregoing observation, yet on the

other hand, when the influence of the monastic ideal upon civilization

is studied in its deeper aspects, it cannot be justly maintained that

the final effects of monasticism minister to the development of a normal

civilization. Industrial, mental and moral progress depend upon a

certain breadth of mind and energy of soul. Asceticism saps the vitality

of human nature and confines the activity of the mind within artificial

limits. "Hence the dreary, sterile torpor," says Lecky, "that

characterized those ages in which the ascetic principle has been

supreme, while the civilizations which have attained the highest

perfection have been those of ancient Greece and modern Europe, which

were most opposed to it."

The monks did not hesitate to become embroiled in military quarrels, or

to incite the fiercer passions of men when it suited their purpose.

Their opposition to kings and princes was often not based on a love of

popular freedom, but on an indisposition to share power with secular

rulers. The legislative enactments against heretics, many of which they

inspired, clearly show that they neither desired nor tolerated liberty

of speech or conduct. They were the Almighty's vicars on earth, before

whom it was the duty of king and subject to bow down. Vaughan writes of

the period just prior to the Reformation: "The great want was freedom

from ecclesiastical domination; and from the feeling of the hour,

scarcely any price would be deemed too great to be paid for that

object." The history of modern Jesuitism, against which the legislation

of almost every civilized nation has been directed, affords abundant

testimony to the inherent hostility of the monastic system, even in its

modified modern form, to every species of government which in any way

guarantees freedom of thought to its people. This stern fact confronts

the student, however much he may be inclined to yield homage to the

early monks. It must be held in mind when one reads this pleasing

sentence from Macaulay: "Surely a system which, however deformed by

superstition, introduced strong moral restraints into communities

previously governed only by vigor of muscle and by audacity of spirit, a

system which taught the fiercest and mightiest ruler that he was, like

his meanest bondman, a responsible being, might have seemed to deserve a

more respectful mention from philosophers and philanthropists."

The general effect of monasticism on the state is, therefore, not to be

determined by fixing the gaze on any one century of its history, or by

holding up some humane and patriotic monk as a representative product of

the system.

_The Agricultural Services of the Monks_

Europe must ever be indebted to Benedict and his immediate followers for

their services in reclaiming waste lands, and in removing the stigma

which a corrupt civilization had placed upon labor. Benedict came before

the world saying: "No person is ever more usefully employed than when

working with his hands or following the plough, providing food for the

use of man." Care was taken that councils should not be called when

ploughing was to be done or wheat to be threshed. Benedict bent himself

to the task of teaching the rich and the proud, the poor and the lazy

the alphabet of prosperity and happiness. Agriculture was at its lowest

ebb. Marshes covered once fertile fields, and the men who should have

tilled the land spurned the plough as degrading, or were too indolent to

undertake the tasks of the farm. The monks left their cells and their

prayers to dig ditches and plough fields. The effect was magical. Men

once more turned back to a noble but despised industry. Peace and plenty

supplanted war and poverty. "The Benedictines," says Guizot, "have been

the great clearers of land in Europe. A colony, a little swarm of monks,

settled in places nearly uncultivated, often in the midst of a pagan

population--in Germany, for example, or in Brittany; there, at once

missionaries and laborers, they accomplish their double service, through

peril and fatigue."

It is to be regretted that history throws a shadow across this pleasing

scene. When labor came to be recognized as honorable and useful, along

came the begging friars, creating, both by precept and example, a

prejudice against labor and wealth. Rags and laziness came to be

associated with holiness, and a beggar monk was held up as an ideal and

sacred personage. "The spirit that makes men devote themselves in vast

numbers," says Lecky, "to a monotonous life of asceticism and poverty is

so essentially opposed to the spirit that creates the energy and

enthusiasm of industry, that their continued coexistence may be regarded

as impossible." But such a fatal mistake could not long captivate the

mind, or cause men to forget Benedict and his industrial ideal. The

blessings of wealth rightly administered, and the dignity of labor

without which wealth is impossible, came to be recognized as necessary

factors in the true progress of man.

_The Monks and Secular Learning_

For many centuries, as has been previously shown, the monks were the

schoolmasters of Europe. They also preserved the manuscripts of the

classics, produced numerous theological works, transmitted many pious

traditions, and wrote some interesting and some worthless chronicles.

They laid the foundations of several great universities, including those

of Paris, Oxford and Cambridge. For these, and other valuable services,

the monks merit the praise of posterity. It is, however, too much to

affirm, as Montalembert does, that "without the monks, we should have

been as ignorant of our history as children." It is altogether

improbable that the human mind would have been unproductive in the field

of historical writing had monasticism not existed during the middle

ages. While, also, the monks should be thanked for preserving the

classics, it should not be supposed that all knowledge of Latin and

Greek literature would have perished but for them.

It is surprising that the literary men of the medieval period should

have written so little of interest to the modern mind, or that helps us

to an understanding of the momentous events amid which they lived.

Unfortunately the monkish mind was concentrated upon a theology, the

premises of which have been largely set aside by modern science. Their

writings are so permeated by grotesque superstitions that they are

practically worthless to-day. Their hostility to secular affairs blinded

them to the tremendous significance of the mighty political and social

movements of the age.

It is undeniable that the monks never encouraged a love of secular

learning. They did not try to impart a love of the classics which they

preserved. The spirit of monasticism was ever at war with true

intellectual progress. The monks imprisoned Roger Bacon fourteen years,

and tried to blast his fair name by calling him a magician, merely

because he stepped beyond the narrow limits of monkish inquiry. Many

suffered indignities, privations or death for questioning tradition or

for conducting scientific researches.

So while it is true that the monks rendered many services to the cause

of education, it is also true that their monastic theories tended to

narrow the scope of intellectual activity. "This," says Guizot, "is the

foundation of their instruction; all was turned into commentary of the

Scriptures, historical, philosophical, allegorical, moral commentary.

They desired only to form priests; all studies, whatsoever their nature,

were directed to this result." There was no disinterested love of

learning; no desire to become acquainted with God's world. In fact, the

old hostility to everything natural characterizes all monastic history.

Europe did not enter upon that broad and noble intellectual development

which is the glory of our era, until the right arm of monasticism was

struck down, the dread of heresy banished from the human mind, and

secular learning welcomed as a legitimate and elevated field for

mental activity.

Hamilton W. Mabie, in his delightful essay on "Some Old Scholars,"

describes this step from the gloom of the cloister to the light of God's

world: "Petrarch really escaped from a sepulcher when he stepped out of

the cloister of medievalism, with its crucifix, its pictures of

unhealthy saints, its cords of self-flagellation, and found the heavens

clear, beautiful, and well worth living under, and the world full of

good things which one might desire and yet not be given over to evil. He

ventured to look at life for himself and found it full of wonderful

dignity and power. He opened his Virgil, brushed aside the cobwebs which

monkish brains had spun over the beautiful lines, and met the old poet

as one man meets another; and lo! there arose before him a new,

untrodden and wholly human world, free from priestcraft and pedantry,

near to nature and unspeakably alluring and satisfying."

The Dominicans and Jesuits set their faces like flint against all

education tending to liberalize the mind. Here is a passage from a

document published by the Jesuits at their first centenary: "It is

undeniable that we have undertaken a great and uninterrupted war in the

interests of the Catholic church against heresy. Heresy need never hope

that the society will make terms with it, or remain quiescent ... No

peace need be expected, for the seed of hatred is born within us. What

Hamilcar was to Hannibal, Ignatius is to us. At his instigation, we have

sworn upon the altars eternal war." When this proclamation is read in

the light of history, its meaning stands forth with startling clearness.

Almost every truth in science and philosophy, no matter how valuable it

was destined to become as an agent in enhancing the well-being of the

race, has had to wear the stigma of heresy.

It is an interesting speculation to imagine what the intellectual

development of Europe would have been, had secular learning been

commended by the monks, and the common people encouraged to exercise

their minds without fear of excommunication or death. It is sad to

reflect how many great thoughts must have perished still-born in the

student's cloister cell, and to picture the silent grief with which

many a brilliant soul must have repressed his eager imagination.

_The Charity of the Monks_

In the eleventh century, a monk named Thieffroy wrote the following: "It

matters little that our churches rise to heaven, that the capitals of

their pillars are sculptured and gilded, that our parchment is tinted

purple, that gold is melted to form the letters of our manuscripts, and

that their bindings are set with precious stones, if we have little or

no care for the members of Christ, and if Christ himself lies naked and

dying before our doors." This spirit, so charmingly expressed, was never

quite absent from the monkish orders. The monasteries were asylums for

the hungry during famines, and the sick during plagues. They served as

hotels where the traveler found a cordial welcome, comfortable shelter

and plain food. If he needed medical aid, his wants were supplied.

During the black plague, while many monks fled with the multitude,

others stayed at their posts and were to be found daily in the homes of

the stricken, ministering to their bodily and spiritual needs. Many of

them perished in their heroic and self-sacrificing labors.

Alms-giving was universally enjoined as a sure passport to heaven. The

most glittering rewards were held out to those who enriched the monks

with legacies to be used in relief of the poor. It was, no doubt, the

unselfish activities of the monks that caused them to be held in such

high esteem; the result was their coffers were filled with more gold

than they could easily give away. Thus abuses grew up. Bernard said:

"Piety gave birth to wealth, and the daughter devoured the mother."

Jacob of Vitry complained that money, "by various and deceptive tricks,"

was exacted from the people by the monks, most of which adhered "to

their unfaithful fingers." While Lecky eloquently praises the monks for

their beautiful deeds of charity, "following all the windings of the

poor man's grief," still he condones in the strongest terms the action

of Henry VIII. in transferring the monastic funds to his own treasury:

"No misapplication of this property by private persons could produce as

much evil as an unrestrained monasticism."

It would be unjust, however, to censure the monks for not recognizing

the evil social effects of indiscriminate alms-giving. While their

system was imperfect, it was the only one possible in an age when the

social sciences were unknown. It is difficult, even to-day, to restrain

that good-natured, but baneful, benevolence which takes no account of

circumstances and consequences, and often fosters the growth of

pauperism. The monks kept alive that sweet spirit of philanthropy which

is so essential to all the higher forms of civilization. It is easier to

discover the proper methods for the exercise of generous sentiments,

than to create those feelings or to arouse them when dormant.

_Monasticism and Religion_

No doctrine in theology, or practice of religion, has been free from

monastic influences. An adequate treatment of this theme would require

volumes instead of paragraphs. A few points, however, may be touched

upon by way of suggestion to those who may wish to pursue the

subject further.

The effect of the monastic ideal was to emphasize the sinfulness of man

and his need of redemption. To get rid of sin--that is the problem of

humanity. A quaint formula of monastic confession reads: "I confess all

the sins of my body, of my flesh, of my bones and sinews, of my veins

and cartilages, of my tongue and lips, of my ears, teeth and hair, of my

marrow and any other part whatsoever, whether it be soft or hard, wet or

dry." This emphasis on man's sinfulness and the need of redemption was

sadly needed in Rome and all down the ages. "It was a protest," says

Clarke, "against pleasure as the end of life ... It proved the reality

of the religious sentiment to a skeptical age.... If this long period of

self-torture has left us no other gain, let us value it as a proof that

in man religious aspiration is innate, unconquerable, and able to

triumph over all that the world hopes and over all that it fears."

Thus the monks helped to keep alive the enthusiasm of religion. There

was a fervor, a devotion, a spirit of sacrifice, in the system, which

acted as a corrective to the selfish materialism of the early and middle

ages. Christian history furnishes many sad spectacles of brutality and

licentiousness, of insolent pride and uncontrolled greed, masked in the

garb of religion. Monasticism, by its constant insistence upon poverty

and obedience, fostered a spirit of loyalty to Christ and the cross,

which served as a protest, not only against the general laxity of

morals, but also against the faithlessness of corrupt monks. Harnack

says: "It was always monasticism that rescued the church when sinking,

freed her when secularized, defended her when attacked. It warmed hearts

that were growing cold, restrained unruly spirits, won back the people

when alienated from the church." It may have been in harmony with divine

plans, that religion was to have been kept alive and vigorous by

excessive austerities, even as in later days it needed the stern and

unyielding Puritan spirit, now regarded as too grim and severe, to cope

successfully with the forces of tyranny and sin.

If it be true, as some are inclined to believe, that this age is losing

a definite consciousness of sin, that in the reaction from the

asceticism of the monks and the gloom of the Puritans we are in danger

of minimizing the doctrine of personal accountability to God, then we

cannot afford to ignore the underlying ideal of monasticism. In so far

as monasticism contributed to a normal consciousness of human freedom

and personal guilt, and maintained a grip upon the conscience of the

sinner, it has rendered the cause of true religion a genuine and

permanent service.

But the mistake of the monks was twofold. They exaggerated sin, and they

employed unhealthy methods to get rid of it. Excessive introspection,

instead of exercising a purifying influence, tends to distort one's

religious conceptions, and creates an unwholesome type of piety. Man is

a sinner, but he also has potential and actual goodness. The monks

failed to define sin in accordance with facts. Many innocent pleasures

and legitimate satisfactions were erroneously thought to be sinful.

Honorable and useful aspirations that, under wise control, minister to

man's highest development were selected for eradication. "Every instinct

of human nature," says W.E. Channing, "has its destined purpose in life,

and the perfect man is to be found in the proportionate cultivation of

each element of his character, not in the exaggerated development of

those faculties which are deemed primarily good, nor in the repression

of those which are evil only when their prominence destroys the balance

of the whole."

But the methods employed by the monks to get rid of sin afford another

illustration of the fact that noble sentiments and holy aspirations need

to be wisely directed. It is not enough for a mother to love her child;

she must know how to give that love proper expression. In her attempt to

guide and train her loved one she may fatally mislead him. The modern

emphasis upon method deserves wider recognition than it has received.

The applause of the church that sounded so sweet in the ears of the

monk, as he laid the stripes upon his body, proclaims the high esteem in

which penance was held. But the monk cruelly deceived himself. His

self-inflicted tortures developed within his soul an unnatural piety, "a

piety," says White, "that became visionary and introspective, a theology

of black clouds and lightning and thunder, a superstitious religion

based on dreams and saint's bones." True penitence consists in high and

holy purposes, in pure and unselfish living, and not in disfigurements

and in misery. Dreariness and fear are not the proper manifestations of

that perfect love which casteth out fear.

The influence of monasticism upon the doctrine of atonement for sin

was, in many respects, prejudicial to the best interests of religion.

The monks are largely responsible for the theory that sin can be atoned

for by pecuniary gifts. It may be said that they did not ignore true

feelings of repentance, of which the gold was merely a tangible

expression, but the notion widely prevailed that the prayers of the

monks, purchased by temporal gifts, secured the forgiveness of the

transgressor. The worship of saints, pilgrimages to shrines, and

reverence for bones and other relics, were assiduously encouraged.

Thus the monkish conception of salvation and of the means by which it is

to be obtained were at variance with any reasonable interpretation of

the Scriptures and the dictates of human reason. "It measured virtue,"

says Schaff, "by the quantity of outward exercises, instead of the

quality of the inward disposition, and disseminated self-righteousness

and an anxious, legal, and mechanical religion[K]."

[Footnote K: Appendix, Note K.]

The doctrine of future punishment reached its most repulsive and

abnormal developments in the hands of the monks. A vast literature was

produced by them, portraying, with vivid minuteness, the pangs of hell.

Volcanoes were said to be the portals of the lower world, that heaved

and sighed as human souls were plunged into the awful depths. God was

held up as a fearful judge, and the saving mercy of Christ himself paled

before the rescuing power of his mother. These fearful caricatures of

God, these detailed, revolting descriptions of pain and anguish, could

not but have a hardening effect upon the minds of men. "To those," says

Lecky, "who do not regard these teachings as true, it must appear

without exception, the most odious in the religious history of the

world, subversive of the very foundations of Christianity."

Finally, the greatest error of monastic teaching was in its false and

baneful distinction between the secular and the religious.

Unquestionably the Christian ideal is founded on some form of

world-renunciation. The teachings and example of Jesus, the lives of the

Apostles, and the characters of the early Christians, exhibit in varying

phases the ideal of self-crucifixion. The doctrine of the cross, with

all that it signifies, is the most powerful force in the spread of

Christianity. The spiritual nature of man needs to be trained and

disciplined. But does this truth lead the Christian to the monastic

method? Was the self-renunciation of Jesus like that of the ascetics,

with their ecstasies and self-punishments? Is God more pleased with the

recluse who turns from a needy world to shut himself up to prayer and

meditation, than He is with him who cultivates holy emotions and

heavenly aspirations, while pursuing some honorable and useful calling?

The answer to these questions discloses the chief fallacy in the

monastic ideal, the effect of which was the creation of an artificial

piety. There is no special virtue in silence, celibacy, and abstinence

from the enjoyment of God's gifts to mankind.

The crying need of Christianity to-day is a willingness on the part of

Christ's followers to live for others instead of self. Men and women are

needed who, like many of the monks and nuns, will identify themselves

with the toiling multitudes, and who will forego the pleasures of the

world and the prospects of material gain or social preferment, for the

sake of ministering to a needy humanity. The essence of Christianity is

a love to God and man that expresses itself in terms of social service

and self-sacrifice. Monasticism helped to preserve that noble essence

of all true religion. But a revival of the apostolic spirit in these

times would not mean a triumph for monasticism. Stripped of its rigid

vows of celibacy, poverty and obedience, monasticism is dead.

The spirit of social service, the insistence upon soul-purity, and the

craving for participation in the divine nature, are the fruits of

Christianity, not of monasticism, which merely sought to carry out the

Christian ideal. But it is not necessary, in order to realize this

ideal, to wage war on human nature. True Christianity is perfectly

compatible with wealth, health and social joys. The realms of industry,

politics and home-life are a part of God's world. A religious ideal

based on a distorted view of social life, that involves a renunciation

of human joy and the extinction of natural desires, and that prohibits

the free exercise of beneficent faculties, as conditions of its

realization, can never establish its right to permanent and universal

dominion. The faithful discharge of unromantic, secular duties, the

keeping of one's heart pure in the midst of temptation, and the

unheralded altruism of private life, must ever be as welcome in the

sight of God as the prayers of the recluse, who scorns the world of

secular affairs.

True religion, the highest religion, is possible beyond the walls of

churches and convents. The so-called secular employments of business and

politics, of home and school, may be conducted in a spirit of lofty

consecration to the Eternal, and so carried on, may, in their way,

minister to the highest welfare of humanity. The old distinction,

therefore, between the secular and the sacred is pernicious and false.

There are some other sacred things besides monasteries and prayers.

Human life itself is holy; so are the commonplace duties of the untitled

household and factory saints.

"God is in all that liberates and lifts,

In all that humbles, sweetens, and consoles."

Modern monasticism has forsaken the column of St. Simeon Stylites and

the rags of St. Francis. It has given up the ancient and fantastic feats

of asceticism, and the spiritual extravagances of the early monks. The

old monasticism never could have arisen under a religious system

controlled by natural and healthful spiritual ideas. It has no

attractions for minds unclouded by superstition. It has lost its hold

upon the modern man because the ancient ideas of God and his world, upon

which it thrived, have passed away.

Such are some of the effects of the monastic institution. Its history is

at once a warning and an inspiration. Its dreamy asceticism, its gloomy

cells, are gone. Its unworldly motives, its stern allegiance to duty,

its protest against self-indulgence, its courage and sincerity, will

ever constitute the potent energy of true religion. Its ministrations to

the broken-hearted, and its loving care of the poor, must ever remain as

a shining example of practical Christianity. In the simplicity of the

monk's life, in the idea of "brotherhood," in the common life for common

ends, a Christian democracy will always find food for reflection. As the

social experiments of modern times reveal the hidden laws of social and

religious progress, it will be found that in spite of its glaring

deficiencies, monasticism was a magnificent attempt to realize the ideal

of Christ in individual and social life. As such it merits neither

ridicule nor obloquy. It was a heroic struggle with inveterate ignorance

and sin, the history of which flashes many a welcome light upon the

problems of modern democracy and religion.

Monastic forms and vows may pass away with other systems that will have

their day, but its fervor of faith, and its warfare against human

passion and human greed, its child-like love of the heavenly kingdom

will never die. The revolt against its superstitions and excesses is

justifiable only in a society that seeks to actualize its underlying

religious ideal of personal purity and social service.