Appendices, Volume 1

Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 8
Chapter 12
Chapter 16
Chapter 18
Chapter 19

[Notes in the appendices are placed at the end of the letters to which they refer.—NR]

Appendix to Chapter 3

{615} THE 'Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine' appeared in the event without theological revision. This was (as has been said in the text) Dr. Wiseman's decision. For a moment he recalled it, acting on the opinion of others, and asked to see the proof sheets. Newman sent them with the following letter:

'Littlemore: Nov. 7, 1845.
'My dear Lord,—Mr. Oakeley brought your Lordship's note this evening, and I have sent to the printer to send you the sheets forthwith.

'With respect to the recommendation of your Lordship's friends, perhaps your Lordship will allow me to say that, since I put the work into your hands, a strong representation has been made to me for which I was not prepared, by a friend who heard of it. He is an influential man, whom no one would like to alienate, who heard his name. He assured me with much emotion that it would altogether destroy the effect of my book with himself and others, if it was known to have undergone a revision. I have informed him in confidence that your Lordship declined to interfere.
'I am, my dear Lord,
Your Lordship's faithful servant,

The book did not at once have the effect he had anticipated on his friend, James Hope, in bringing him to the Catholic Church. On the other hand, we see from the following letter to Hope himself that its reception among Catholics was favourable:

'Littlemore: Dec. 23, 1845.
'My dear Hope,—At first I was much disappointed at what you said about my book—but not on second thoughts. Every thing is right, and is done in its own time. We do not know the time, but He Who orders all things, moves our hearts in order to His purposes. For myself, I really think that on the whole I have been guided, as to the time of my acting, by personal and internal tokens, not by any outward experience (indeed who can say when the crisis is, and when it is not, in the general state of things?). Yet it certainly seems that in many respects it has been a very seasonable time to act in, not to speak of the curious coincidence of Episcopal and Academical measures against Puseyism. And so I comforted myself about you, as I do about Pusey, that there is some good reason
{616} why you are kept back, if so—and when the time comes, then the impediment will be removed. And it ill becomes me who have tired the patience of others so many years, and have made their hearts faint while they kept on saying Mass for me, to be vexed at the deliberateness with which the Providential course moves in the case of those I love.

'I am curious to know, for my own instruction, what the new principles are which startle you. As to yourself, please to enquire whether your old principles will not carry you so far as mine. I have had many reasons, which it would be too long to put down, why I have written as I have—but people say I have gone further than the Council of Trent. Don't let any fancy of mine take you from the antique viŠ if they will do the thing. This you will say is good Jesuit morality.

'Everything I yet hear from my new friends about my book is favorable. Mr. Husenbeth of Norfolk was one of the most jealous persons beforehand, whom I have heard of. After reading it, he wrote to me complimenting me very highly, but saying there were dogmatic faults which were such as might be expected from a person in my situation. I wrote for them. He sent me about 6 (!) passages, most of them only erroneously worded so that he expressed my own meaning better or at least more clearly. At the same time he deprecated all appearance of criticism, and spoke of me as a "master in Israel" &c. &c. It really was a very kind as well as satisfactory letter. I suppose he is of the opposite party to Dr. Wiseman. Dr. Cox of St. Edmund's has written to say he had got through it, and found it more and more interesting every chapter. Another person writes me word that his friends at Maynooth send him a good account of it,—and, a prepossessed person, but a shrewd and a good and deep divine, Father Dominic, is very much pleased with it.

'Of course however I only hear the favorable reports. I have heard nothing from Stonyhurst—nor from Ushaw; from the latter place however I have the warmest messages. And now I have been my own trumpeter long enough, in answer to your question.
'Ever yours most sincerely,

In regard to Newman's feelings at the time of his conversion, he always disclaimed all consciousness of a supernatural call; and he therefore argued against the reluctance of old disciples to follow him on the ground that they themselves felt no supernatural call. This is most clearly set forth in the following letter of 1848 to Henry Wilberforce:

'I shall lower myself in the eyes of dear friends still Anglican, but duty to truth, duty to the sacred cause of Catholicism, which needs no miracles to those who hear Moses and the Prophets, obliges me to say that I had nothing at all like a supernatural call. The contrary—it was a mere conviction, however flickered with doubts, which were no parts of it, any more than motes are part of the sunbeam, but a simple conviction, growing through years, the more I read and thought, that the Roman Church was the Catholic Church, and that the Anglican Church was no Church. It came to me first in reading the Monophysite controversy, and then the Donatist. When the affair of No. 90 happened, Manning said: "Shut up your controversy, and go to the Fathers, which is your line." Well, they had been the beginning of my doubts, but I did so. I began to translate St. Athanasius. The truth kept pouring in upon me. I saw in the Semi-Arians the Via-medians; I saw in the Catholic Church of the day the {617} identical self of the Catholic Church now;—as you know a friend by his words and deeds, or see an author in his works. Well then I fled back to one's inward experiences—and said that after all I felt the Anglican Church had done me so much good, that, in spite of all outward forebodings, it must be God's minister. But in time this would not stand—it was no sure footing—and would lead to the veriest liberalism.'

Newman did not forget those strangers who had been in the habit of seeking his advice. A letter from one of them—Mr. Melville Portal—shows that the bond thus created was too strong to be entirely severed even for those who could not follow him in his great step:

'Western circuit, Exeter: March 19, 1846.
My dear Sir,—I thank you most sincerely for your very kind letter, and for the interest you take in one whom, if you knew him better, you would find to be so unworthy of your consideration and regard. I was on the point of leaving home for the Circuit when it arrived, otherwise I should have answered it sooner.

'You ask me if you can be of use to me. In one way at least you can benefit me, and that is by your prayers, for indeed I have need of Divine aid and guidance. No one can know better than you what are the difficulties and perplexities which are our lot at present, but for those difficulties I still find relief in the four sermons which you once kindly lent me, and I am yet content to believe that though the outward notes are some obscured and some withdrawn from us, which is indeed a sore judgment, yet for myself God has shown me so great mercy through the Sacraments of this communion that I cannot doubt His mysterious Presence with us.

'Pray do not suspect me, my dear Sir, of attempting to write in a controversial spirit; I would not if I could argue with you on such a subject, and it is with the greatest deference that I venture to say thus much; but as you ask me, I must tell you that my feeling still is, that if Christ is with us here, I dare not seek Him elsewhere lest I find Him not. Nevertheless most earnestly do I pray for the time when God may please to bring us again together into one fold, though for myself, it seems to me to be so plainly my duty now to remain in patience where He has cast my lot that I know my conscience would condemn in me a contrary course. You however are now in the enjoyment of high privileges, and of those aids which are denied to us,—oh, cease not to pray for those whom you have left behind in tribulation, and who now deeply and bitterly mourn over your departure from them. For myself I shall never cease to be grateful to you for the instruction and the comfort which I have from time to time received from your teaching, and as you have now so kindly interested yourself on my account, let me entreat you once more to remember me in your prayers.

'Again thanking you for your kind letter and praying for every blessing upon you,
'Believe me, my dear Sir,
Yours very truly,

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Appendix to Chapter 4

{618} THE following letters to Henry Wilberforce should be read as well as those cited in the text, as showing Newman's patient and earnest persistence in urging his friend to take the great step he had himself taken:

'Maryvale, Oscott: March 10, 1846.
'I send you a flattering representation of our new abode—though as there is no appearance of your ever seeing it, I should not tell you it was flattering, were I wise. Our cook went last night—we wanted her gone long ago—and a youth, one of Faber's Elton converts, who was a blacksmith, has come to learn cooking. St. John has been busy like Martha all the morning—but then "the morning" does not begin till eight o'clock—and from five till eight he is like Mary. For me, I am getting old and fit for the workhouse.

'All seems to show that we shall prosper, if only we are true to ourselves, that is, to our calling. I am not speaking of individuals, but of the undertaking. For myself, it is good to feel "He must increase, but I must decrease."

'O my dear Henry, this world is such a vanity, let us look at things as we should wish to have looked at them at the last. When I go into chapel, my prayer for you is that He would touch your conscience, Carissime, but everything in its own order—and I am not impatient.'

'Maryvale: March 16, 1846.
'I write a line to set right a wrong inference you have made from a phrase in my last letter. In saying you were not likely to come here, I did not mean to invite you. I fully think with you that it would be unbecoming in you to come. I do not see at all what a beneficed clergyman has to do here—and it would lower you in my esteem while it gratified my affection.

'We are much concerned to hear of your news about George's child. A poor little nephew of my own, Jemima's second child, has nearly been burnt to death.

'This day I have heard of the Pope's intention to send me a silver crucifix. It is the anniversary (5 years since) of the Heads of Houses' Placard with pokers against No. 90.
'Ever yours affectionately,

'P.S. by Father Ambrose St. John. What shall I say to you both and you especially charissima persecutrix, except that I am ever amborum amantissimus.

'I send you a relic, though you do not deserve it for never writing to me. I saved it from the flames amidst the ruins of Littlemore: also an anecdote: when Newman heard of the Pope's sending him the crucifix he shot out of the Bishop's room like an arrow.'

'Maryvale: March 22, 1846.
'I can say no more than that I will suspend my judgment on the point you write about—but really at the time it is what I expressed to you. This is not a private house; it is a seminary for active duties of some kind or other in support of Catholic interests in England—and thereby indirectly hostile to the English Church. However you and I may love each other (and may that love continue unabated!) I have either done what is highly pleasing to God or highly displeasing—and I cannot think that an English clergyman ought to be prepared to deny that it is highly pleasing. We are neither of us private men—you are under an
{619} Anglican Bishop and in charge of a Parish; I am public in another way. But I will take time before I make up my mind.'

'St. Mary's Vale, Perry Bar, Birmingham: May 29, 1846.
'My very dear H. W.,—Your letter has just come. Indeed I have thought a good deal of you and your troubles; and was about to write daily, but for a reason I will state presently. I have thought more of your wife, and still more of Mrs. Sargent, whose repeated trials I have talked over and mused upon with St. John. It is all very mysterious. So too is the distress of mind at this moment of other friends of mine, of a different kind—I mean, their struggling to know whether or not they should join the Church of Rome, and not seeing their way—a most consuming, exhausting trial. Yet it will, doubtless, all turn to good. Perhaps, if we knew all, we should know it is impossible for the elect of God to emerge from darkness to light in any other way. Such travail is necessary for the new birth. Perhaps if we saw our way too soon, there might be a re-action and old habits and associations might come over one again. I know too well of the state of those in doubt not to believe that the long trial of some is no sin of theirs, but God's way with them, imparting light slowly that He may impart it more effectually. My only dread is, and it is in some cases very great, when they are not, to all appearance, using the light given them, but shutting their eyes. And as doubt, long continued, may be the fiery process by which one person is brought into the Church, so the loss or alienation of friends by their conversion may be the divinely sent trial of others. It may be the gradual operation by which He prepares their own soul for the trial.

'My paper will not let me say more. I am expecting daily a letter from Propaganda, which will determine whether I leave for Rome at the end of next month (June) or not. Keep this secret. I meant to write to you on receipt of it.

'As to the reports about me Decipi vult populus et decipiatur. If I put letters with my name into the papers, and the people will not believe, what is to be done?
'Ever yours affectionately,

'P.S.—Don't tell—but I receive Minor Orders on the day before Trinity Sunday.'

'St. Mary's Vale, Perry Bar: June 8th, 1846.
'My going abroad is put off, I am glad to say, till the autumn.

'June 10. Your letter has just come. I received the Tonsure and Minor Orders on Saturday. I thought you had at some time had a promise from me that I would send you some of Richard's characters. The other day I came across some of them in putting my papers to rights, and have copied them out.

.         .         .         .         .         .         .

'Well, when I admit that the English Church is in schism, I see a mass of facts confirmatory of it—its disorganized state of belief—its feebleness to resist heretics—its many changes—its freezing coldness—and on the other hand, I have the portentous, the awful, vitality of Rome. This is an overpowering confirmatory argument. Another is this—that according to the lawyers' phrase, the doctrines of the Catholic Church (e.g. the Mass) go back to a time such that the memory of man "knoweth not" anything different. It is the strongest ground in law.'

'June 25, 1846.
'I still think you are short of fair, short of deep, in your statement of the question. You consider that practices first exist, and are developed into doctrines—
{620} and this is your main view of development. "Where there has been a real development," you say, "the practice (sic) always (sic) existed which implied the later doctrine; but where the doctrine is really novel, and not merely developed, the practice which springs from it is novel also."

'Well then, what do you say to St. Augustine and St. Basil not being baptized in infancy? Could the "practice" of infant baptism, in Africa, in Asia Minor, have been, up to the fourth century, what it is now—and they have been left without the Sacrament by pious mothers? What would be said to you now, if you left your child unbaptized? Would you not have to encounter a cry of horror on all sides? The practice then of infant baptism was not established or received for some hundred years. Yet do you deny the doctrine that that sacrament is the one ordinary means of salvation? why not? for you say that "practical obedience to Rome is later than the doctrinal theory"—and is not the practical application of baptism to infants later than the theory of its necessity?

'I am far from denying that infant baptism was known from the first ages; I only say that it was not received in the sense it was afterwards. On the other hand I can only lift up my hands in astonishment at your statement that "the fact is, the Churches did not know or dream of any authority of Rome over them." Not the Alexandrian Church for instance—of whom Pope Julius, as St. Athanasius vouches, says, "Are you ignorant that the custom has been for word to be written first to us, and then for a just sentence to be passed from this place?" While St. Dionysius was actually appealed against to Rome, and responded to the appeal.

'Nor have you gone to the bottom of the case of the Immensus Filius. It is not that the early Fathers held it, but "did not express themselves uniformly," but with "inaccuracies." Not so—they denied the doctrine. Their denial, it being almost a consensus, is a far stronger fact than the fact of St. Cyprian, in a personal, or national matter, and on a point in which after all he was mistaken, opposing the Pope, while he elsewhere maintains his authority.

'The fact I believe to be this—the early Fathers made incorrect intellectual developments of portions or aspects of that whole Catholic doctrine which they held, and so far were inconsistent with themselves. Their opinions contradicted their implicit faith—and they said and held things which they would have shrunk from, had they seen, as heretics afterwards exhibited, that they were really destructive of the doctrine of Christ. Yet they really held them; I will not explain away the fact, nor must you. I really do not think you can deny, that the Fathers, not merely did not contemplate true propositions, "afterwards established" but actually contemplated false. In like manner from a view of the great benefits of baptism, they untruly developed and acted on the proposition "Therefore it is good to defer it."

'So far from agreeing with your general principle, I consider it quite as true to say that doctrine ever came first, and practice was its development. Bishop Butler implies it, when he speaks of the knowledge of relations imposing duties. And in matter of fact the whole ritual system is a later development of the original creed. I suspect you will find less of processions and vestments than of Papal supremacy in the ages of persecution.

'As to the George Ryders. I am sorry to hear you do not like their mode of acting. Do not, however, fear for her—noli timere. There is a grace in the Catholic Church which is not lightly got rid of and it binds the soul tight. Keble speaks somewhere of the weakness of things of earth to tempt one "who once has tasted of immortal truth." That it may be your blessed lot, Carissime, to receive the offer of that treasure and not to reject it, is the constant prayer of
'Your affectionate friend,
J. H. N.'

'17 Grosvenor Place, London: July 4, 1846.
'My dear Henry,—I have not got your letter with me, but I doubt whether I should answer it, if I had. When two persons differ in their view of a fact, the point must be left. Such seemed the case between your and my last letters. If on returning home, it seems not to be so, then I will write again.

'You do not seem to have apprehended, or rather I to have expressed, why I introduced what I said about "the Church." What I mean is this:—If we can get a tolerable notion which is the Church, and know (as we do) that it may be trusted because it is the Church, then comes the question why should not the Pope's supremacy be one of the points on which it may be trusted? For myself I have had so great experience of the correctness of the Roman view where once I thought otherwise, that I should be a beast if I were unwilling to take the rest on faith, from a confidence that what is still obscure to me (if there be anything such, I am not alluding to anything) is explainable. And it seems to me extravagant or unreasonable in you to demand proof of one certain particular tenet which it so naturally comes to the Church to decide. If the Roman Church be the Church, I take it whatever it is—and if I find that Papal Supremacy is a point of faith in it, this point of faith is not to my imagination so strange, to my reason so incredible, to my historical knowledge so utterly without evidence, as to warrant me in saying "I cannot take it on faith."

'I have not, I say, your letter here, but I know you say something about sanctity as the test of the Church. I should still, as far as I see, take it as such. Day by day, am I more and more struck with this note in the Roman Church as contrasted with the Anglican. The series of evidences depending on the inward work of the Spirit, from miracle to personal graces, has been most wonderfully unfolded to me since my conversion, in the natural intercourse and conversation I have had with Catholics. As to personal graces, as far as I have had experience, I have been extremely struck with their rigid purity. Evidence of this has come before me in a way not to be mistaken. How low the Anglican Church is here. Of course I am speaking of religious (i.e. pious) persons in both communions. Again, I have a passage in my first volume of Sermons, about the inconsistencies of good men. And I have ever made consistency the mark of a saint. Now I think the Anglican History presents very few patterns of this virtue. You have, as a parallel in the Roman Church, great Popes, great divines,—why are these not saints? I have asked myself. Why I see, on looking closer, they perhaps had some one failing—wanted a certain elevation of mind—or were peevish or petulant—or had something or other about them which an "Advocatus Diaboli" would discover, which deprives them of the title. Now the Anglican worthies very seldom indeed rise above this sort of excellence. Moreover I have been exceedingly struck with the abiding [phantasia] of religion which Catholics have. The articles of faith are external facts taken for granted—worship is an offering really made to a real Presence, &c., &c. But I have not time to go on. My best love to my dear H. W.
'From yours affectionately,
'J. H. N.'

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Appendix to Chapter 8

{622} THE following two letters add to the information given in the text concerning Newman's relations with William Froude in these years. The first was written in 1850 [Note 1], the second was addressed to Mr. Henry Wilberforce after he had joined the Catholic Church in the same year:

'As to dear William Froude's letter of April, 1847, it contains two arguments against inquiry in religious matters, and for acquiescence in doubt.

'He speaks of a state of mind "certainly different from a long and anxious condition of change"—one in which one is "taking no steps for oneself or apparently getting nearer to a change." And he thinks there is "no intelligible reason for following it."

'One of his two grounds is, that, whereas I once said "that, if I were right in my doubts, what had happened to me might happen to others also," till then the least unsatisfactory course seems to be to stand still. He refers particularly to Keble and Pusey. He says too that perhaps "some happy reunion may be yet in store."

'Now as to Keble and Pusey, perhaps it is more wonderful that a person of my age (when I left them) should have embraced a new religion, than that they should not have done the same. But valeant quantum; I will not touch the argument, as derived from them, here. Yet my anticipation, as William has recorded it, has been remarkably fulfilled. One after another, moving not as a party, but one by one, unwittingly, because they could not help it, men of mature age, from 40 to past 50, in all professions and states, numbers have done what I have done since the date of W. F.'s letter, ... I cannot help thinking it was dangerous for W. F. to have recourse to this argument. It is surely much easier to account for Keble and Pusey not moving, Catholicism being true, than for all these persons moving, Catholicism being not true. And, whereas it was the fashion at first to use this argument, as W. F. does in 1847, against us, I think it ought to have its weight now for us. It was the fashion then to say "O, Newman is by himself. We don't deny his weight—but no one else of any name has gone—and are we to go by one man?" Times are altered now.

'Alas, this was not W. F.'s real reason, this which solvitur ambulando. I did not get his letter at Rome—I had not the opportunity of answering it; but, so far, Time has answered it for me in a way which solves all doubt, by bringing Truth, his glorious daughter, out.

'The second ground is his real reason, which Time will also solve too—though not so soon. Alas, that he will not anticipate its unsoundness, as he has not anticipated the unsoundness of the former.

'The second argument which W. F. uses with himself is that he has got less and less to see his way in any such question; and there is least private judgment in making no judgment at all.

'This means, when brought out, this:—that, without denying there is a truth, which would be absurd, (for either Catholicism, as we hold it, is from God or it is not,) we have not been vouchsafed means sufficient for getting at the truth; and therefore if we attempt it, it is like attempting to fly, or to sail on the Atlantic {623} in a pleasure boat without compass—we shall be lost,—or we shall go wrong—or we shall be ever at sea—or, if we attain anything better than what we start from, it will be by accident.

'I do not undervalue at all the speciousness of this argument. But I would remark at once that almost all truth "lies in a well."

'Does not this saying imply two things (1) that it is hard to find, yet (2) that it may be found.

'If it is so in other subject matters, may it not be so in religion too?

'Is it not likely to be so, inasmuch as the difficulty of arriving at truth seems to vary with the preciousness and refinement of its kind? I have observed on this at length in one of my University Sermons.

'Is it not a coincidence, (not to speak of the authority of Scripture declaration), that so much is said of crying after wisdom, "asking and knocking," &c. in Scripture?

'When then a certain portion of our race are certain they have found religious truth, should we not feel as we might do, if, while ignorant of mathematics, we found a number of educated persons simply confident of Newton's conclusions? I mean, admit that truth was attainable in religion, though we had not attained it.

'Nor do I think it matters that many men are "certain" of what is opposite to Catholic truth—or "certain" that Catholicism is false—for men have been "certain" that Newton was false—yet that would not move us against Newton, because, though we are no judge of Newton's reasonings, we may be judges of the persons who use and embrace them—and all the Dominicans in the world might not move us in favour of any theory but Newton's—though we understood the argument on neither side. In like manner there are men rationally certain in religion—and irrationally certain—and we may be judges of this, though not as yet judges of their reasons.

'And here, recurring to what I said before, I do really think the character and variety of the converts to Catholicism of late in England form a most powerful argument, that there is such a thing as ascertainable truth in religion—and I am willing that a man should set against them, Luther, Cranmer, and Co., if he wishes.

'Next, it must be considered that, though there is a profession of certainty among Protestants, and pious earnest people among them, yet their certainty commonly relates to, and their religious life is seated in, doctrines which are included in Catholicism—so that their certainty cannot be considered to contradict and invalidate the certainty of Catholics.

'I do not think then, that any prima facie incompleteness or unsatisfactoriness of the arguments for Catholicity are sufficient to lead us to acquiesce in the notion that truth cannot be attained about it. For whatever probability there is, from the persons professing certainty about Catholicity, that they are rationally certain, such degree of probability is there that those arguments are only prima facie and not (substantially) of this incomplete and unsatisfactory character [Note 2].

'On the other hand, taking the two instances to which W. F. refers. Keble is not certain of anything—and if I put him on one side, and men like R. Wilberforce, Hope Scott, or Allies on the other, he does not pretend to collide with them; he only has not what they have.

'Again, as to Pusey, he indeed is most "certain"—but the greater part of things, far, of which he is certain, are those of which Catholics are certain—and as to other points, in which he differs from Catholics, how he can be said to be {624} certain of them I cannot tell, for, if his words are fairly quoted, he contradicts himself continually, or affirms to one person what he denies to another.

'Then, when, quitting this view of the subject—we fall back to the consideration of the arguments themselves, it must be recollected that in all departments cuique in arte sua credendum. By which I mean that, as I have said above, a man cannot suddenly get up a subject, and see the drift and bearings of it, the relative importance of its parts, and the value of its arguments.

'Men who have lived in the dark, see things with a clearness unintelligible to those who enter it from the broad day. That religious truth is an obscure subject granted; but that does not prove that we cannot find out its roads and their termination.

'We are told by Bishop Butler, that this difficulty of finding is the very trial of our earnestness, and the medium of our reward.

'Every science requires a preparation, that we may feel and appreciate its principles and views. Is it unnatural that the subject of religion needs a preparation too?

'Is it wonderful, if, considering religion is a special subject, this process should be peculiar? Is it wonderful, considering that its scope and its subject are supernatural, its preparation should be supernatural also?

'Perhaps then what divines call grace, the supernatural assistance of the Father of Lights, may be the necessary preparation for our understanding the force of arguments in the subject matter of religion; and perhaps prayer may be the human means, in the way of cause and effect, of gaining that supernatural assistance.

'I do not see then that I am bound to believe W. F.'s statement of the unsatisfactoriness of religious inquiry, and the necessity of an everlasting suspense, until I am sure that he contemplates the probability of that being true, which is not improbable in itself, and which all those who have attained certainty say is true—that a preparation of mind of a particular kind is indispensable for successful inquiry and till he makes it clear to me that he duly appreciates that probability.

'I should like an inquirer to say continually "O my God, I confess that thou canst enlighten my darkness—I confess that Thou only canst. I wish my darkness to be enlightened. I do not know whether Thou wilt; but that Thou canst, and that I wish, are sufficient reasons for me to ask, what Thou, at least has[t] not forbidden my asking. I hereby promise Thee that, by Thy grace which I am seeking, I will embrace whatever I at length feel certain is the truth if ever I come to be certain. And by Thy grace I will guard against all self deceit which may lead me to take what nature would have, rather than what reason approves."

'If a man tells me he has thus heroically cast himself upon God, and persisted in such a prayer, and yet is in the dark, of course my argument with him is at an end. I retire from the discussion, and leave the matter to God.'

Note 1. This letter is among the collection left by Mrs. Froude. But from its terms it can hardly have been written to her. The beginning is missing.

Note 2. [Marginal note.] My argument is that against the probability adverse to Catholicism, arising from the prima facie incompleteness of its proof, must be put the prima facie probability in its behalf arising from the 'certainty' of Catholics.


'Oratory, Birmingham: December 28th, 1850.
'My dear H.,—The difficulty of answering William Froude is first his vagueness, and next his difference from me in first principles. I do not think he could resist intimacy—but he keeps at arms' length. I have before this expostulated with him for not seeing me—his excuse to himself is "Oh, it is so painful to talk with J. H. N., to differ from him—I can't bear it—and I could not talk out to him all I felt." Yet I feel certain he could not envelope himself in generalities,
{625} if he fairly opened his mind to a Catholic whom he knew and loved. But he is not the only person who has winced from the conversation of Catholics.

'As to the argument from the promise, it is but one part of a large question. Take his "inexorable logic"—now how unreal this term is, when you come to particularize. Supposing a man tells me that for certain he will call on me today or tomorrow, and does not come today, is it inexorable logic which makes me expect him tomorrow? (Who was the father of Zebedee's children? is it inexorable logic which makes me say Zebedee?) I mean, there are certain things inevitable, certain principles being granted. On the other hand it is doubtless quite possible to fall into the extravagance of dealing with moral proofs as if they were mathematical—which is really "inexorable logic." But the question is to which does our Catholic argument belong? the former kind of logic falsely called inexorable, or the latter? If to the former, it is a mere name fastened on a good argument.

'People love to reason till they are beaten; then they talk of inexorable logic—as others talk of sophistry, jesuitry, &c. I don't think the Puseyistic and Transcendentalist "inexorable logic" (for strangely enough Pusey and my brother Frank, Isaac Williams and Thackeray, agree here) a whit more respectable than the "sophistry" of Luther on the Galatians, and the "Jesuitism" of the Record or Christian Observer.

'Give a dog an ill name and hang him—our Anglo-Catholic friends enjoyed my logic while it attacked the Evangelicals, Hampden, etc., etc., but when it went too far, then it was inexorable, and I deteriorated.

'As to the articles in the Guardian, it astonishes me they are by Rogers—how so clever a man can argue so weakly! But besides they are but negative. W. F. should be asked what he believes—what he has positive in his religion—to say that the Roman Church is wrong does not make the Anglican right. And this is what I think so unfair in his argument—that they dare not, won't, say, what they believe and why—they fence off. I said to dear W. F. about two years ago "What do you believe? and why?" and I have got, and believe he can give, no answer. The unfairness of this, unfairness, I mean, to himself, trifling with awful matters, is to me incomprehensible. The inexorable logic topos may parry my attack, but how can it satisfy himself? his "remaining where he is" does not ipso facto give him a creed.

'For instance, let me say, as Rogers and others, I suppose, will say—"I need not hold Scripture inspired or more than a human document—but I see contained, brought out, in it, a superhuman character. Did I find that character in Hume's England, or in Livy, n'importe—here is a fact and a supernatural one—a real person, more than man—bearing on Him the tokens of coming from God—Him I believe, without an implicit submission to Scripture as proved infallible."

'Well—I admit this is a view—but I want to see what you mean by it—or how far you carry it—so I must ask you some questions, not to puzzle you, not to confute you, but really to get at what you mean fully, and thus to see what your view is worth.

'You mean, that our Lord's words and works, and history, as making up His character, are intrinsically supernatural, and recommend themselves as such to our moral instincts. Well then do you believe those words and works and history? i.e. do you accept them as true? Our friend looks suspicious, and begins in his heart to suspect I am one of the inexorable logicians. He wants to know more what I am driving at, before he answers.

'I proceed—of course there must be something practical in your recognition of our Lord—He is not a mere beautiful picture—but a master, a teacher—else He is nothing. When then you say "Our Lord is enough for us," you mean that {626} you have a Teacher from Heaven, and His teaching, revealed to you through the medium of Scripture. Well then, my question is, do you make His words and works and history, therein contained, a rule to you, a rule of faith and conduct? Our friend at last is obliged to assent.

'(1) Then I want to know, do you submit yourself to all His words and works and His whole history, or do you admit some things and not others, and if so, why?

'(2) Is His history with His words and works, as a whole, clear enough to teach you definitely what to believe and what to do?

'Here at length I shall be sure to be accused of inexorable logic—yet surely these two considerations are the necessary and immediate result of turning my mind to the subject. Is there no such fault as what the Provost used to call "inaccuracy of mind"? W. F. is an engineer—would he ever dream of assenting to any speculator who offered him a Patent, without applying his mind to see how the machinery worked? Theories are looked hard at by a clear headed man, and the flaw is then seen at once. To use general terms and glowing words is only fit for women and for Sewell of Exeter. It is to Sewellise, or to Mauricise.

'Now I would say that the greater part of our Lord's teaching is not clear—and where it is clearest, it is most startling to the imagination. Perhaps the clearest doctrine of all laid down is that of Eternal Punishment. (Is this doctrine to be received as a sole dogmatic truth, like some promontory coming clear out of a thick sea fog?)

'On the other hand, can anyone without trifling call the Sermon on the Mount, the institution and doctrine of the two Sacraments, the Discourse before the Passion, the institution of the Church, Matt. xvi.—intelligible without a comment? I do not mean that they have not our sense—but could we be sure of it? Why do we not take the precepts about turning the face to the smiter, etc., literally? &c., &c. Are we, or are we not, to take "This is My Body"—John vi., literally? In corroboration, does He not expressly refer us to a further teaching, that of the Paraclete?

'Well then on the whole, what is our creed? does anyone mean to say he finds the Anglican creed, and nothing more or less in our Saviour's teaching? Does our friend, thus taught, believe in the Athanasian creed, in the Atonement, in Original Sin, in the Real Presence, in Sacramental influence, in &c., &c.? Surely I have a right to ask him what he believes.

'He won't tell; I know he won't—but he will talk of my inexorable logic. But he has to answer God, not me—it is not a question of polemics, but of personal duty.

'I have brought out what I mean, not at all to my own satisfaction—but I have set it down to illustrate what I meant by saying "take him off generals—bring him down to particulars—bring him to book."

'All I can say is, (not alluding to dear W. F.) I have no sympathy in such a state of mind—nor ever have had—it is to me simply incomprehensible. I could not feed on words, without ideas. It is sheer Sewellism.

'As to Mr. B. [Note 3] he is so unreal as to be simply ludicrous.

'As to both of them, I should say to them, Pray for grace and light—pray to view things really. I have very great doubts, if either of them prays unreservedly to be led into the truth; if they say, "O my God, I am in darkness—but I wish to be led into the truth—deny me not the truth at any sacrifice—I will go through all things for it." E.g. you were anxious and miserable—if they are so too. I am hopeful about them. As to dear W. F. he is continually in my prayers, but I wish he seemed to take things less easily.

'Ambrose and I laughed heartily at your Preacher. He said "Sarved him {627} right"—and I smiled grimly. Carissime, you have from time immemorial loved me, and distrusted me, especially during the last year. You have gone to bad Preachers—enjoy them.
'Ever yours affectionately,
J. H. N.'

Note 3: Who Mr. B. is I have been unable to discover.

'Dec. 29. I have been dreaming last night of Rogers, through sheer amazement. Wonderful, that to say "What and why" should be inexorable logic! Why, the Anglo-Catholicism of fifteen years back professed to answer them at once. My Prophetical office is taken up in the What and the Why. No one called that rationalism or inexorable logic. Well, that theory, that answer to the questions, broke down under facts, historical facts. The question then returns, What do you believe, and why? and now, since it involves an action, it is voted rationalism. While the question was to defend a position, and to justify doing nothing, it was not rationalism. Wonderful indeed! when the treasurer of Candace said "How can I, unless some one teach me?" this too, I suppose, was rationalism. Now is it not a most wonderful trial to one's faith in individuals, to be obliged to believe that they are sincere in thus speaking, and that there is not some deeper and truer mode of accounting for it. In Rogers I think it is a deep scepticism, i.e., a shrinking from receiving absolutely what another tells him—an utter suspiciousness of what does not approve itself to his moral feeling.—i.e., in substance the very principle which rules my brother, though not so boldly expressed. Of course I don't say all this to anyone but you, and can't bring out my meaning of what I feel, satisfactorily to myself.

'After coming from before the Tabernacle, after hearing Mass or attending Benediction, what a mere dream and absurdity and talk do these objections seem! Here is the reality—Why don't you force me to argue in proof of my having two legs, you declaring I have only a cork one.

'As to Catholic preaching, the Confessional makes it bad. I mean, all seriousness, practicalness, reality, is put there, and the sermon is thought to be a display. (It need not be so—it is not so in Italy—though it is there in a number of cases.) Ad to this, the utter want of taste, arising from an absence of education, and you have your dish smoking hot. (Theology, as mathematics or metaphysics, does not give taste.) Dr. A. B. is an able man—at the opening of Cheadle Church he preached a sermon half screaming, half bellowing, half whining—and Lady D. and other ladies of quality were in raptures with it.
'J. H. N.

'2 P.S. Of course I have not meant to urge above that if a man discovers the above "Christ's character" view to be unreal, as not giving the What and Why, therefore he must at once go to Rome. It is very fair to urge that Rome has not the What and Why, and to try to maintain it.

'As to the Promise, I think there is a great difference, and harmony, between the Jewish and the Christian. The Christian is for a time as well as the Jewish—the Jewish as well as the Christian is called "for ever." But each is expressly fixed till an event. The Jewish is to be for ever "till Shiloh come." The Christian for ever "till the end of time," till the second coming.'

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Appendix to Chapter 12

{628} ONE difficulty with which Newman had to deal in the conduct of the University is expressed in a letter to Mr. John Walls, the Editor of the Tablet:

'The Oratory, Birmingham: Sept. 23, 1856.
'It seems to me, speaking in confidence, that no small portion of the hierarchy and clergy of Ireland think it a mistake and a misfortune that they have any of the upper or middle classes among them—that they do but feel awkward when a gentleman is converted or shows himself a good Catholic—and in fact that they think that then only Ireland will become again the Isle of Saints, when it has a population of peasants ruled over by a patriotic priesthood patriarchally.

'Now, I really do think this a fact. A gentleman is an evil. See its immediate application to the University. The University is for gentlemen. It is then but a provision for perpetuating and aggravating a recognised evil and nuisance.

'I fear that every word of this statement is true. If so, it is impossible that the clergy of Ireland should take up the University; they will only do just what the Holy See compels them to do.

'It seems to me that friends of the University, such as Dr. Moriarty, confess this virtually, for they are ever looking about for poor scholars, cheap lodging houses, and schools for affiliations.

'I am coming then to feel strongly, that, whatever the kindness of Bishops and priests to me personally, they never can be supporters of the University, unless the age of poor scholars revived, which, I assume, is not to be.

'The consequence is, (though I make it without any reference to anything I know, or dream of advocating) that the University must look out elsewhere for its friends, its real friends, and must form alliances, other than that with the country and popular Irish party. It has nothing to hope from priests and people, unless indeed it leaves its present position and scope, and takes up some new work and new office, which is hardly Universitarian.'

Newman's view as to the necessity of some form of State recognition for the University in order to make it successful is expressed in the following letter to Mr. Ornsby:

'January 19, 1859.
'I say, you are set up after the pattern of Louvain. Then take the place of Louvain
[Note]. From what I have seen in the debates in the Belgian Chambers, I cannot help thinking that, to the Government, Louvain is but a College. It submits to the examinations and it takes the degrees of the State Board of Examiners, answering to the Queen's Universities in Ireland. But it calls itself a University, it gives degrees in theology, which the State does not pretend to give, and it gives degrees in the lower faculties for its own purposes, i.e. for the petits sÚminaires, &c. I should quite acquiesce, if the present Government chartered and endowed us, without giving us the power of granting degrees, on the plea {629} (e.g.) that the prerogative of Trinity College, and of the Queen's University, did not allow it, that it must be argued before the Privy Council, &c. You could not expect more, you will have done a great deal, you will have got the wedge in. At a later time you may get more.

'The only fear on this plan is that the Heads and Professors of the University will not keep up the phantasia and claim of a University, which Louvain does successfully; should allow themselves to be triumphed over as if defeated, and should tamely submit to be a College.

'Suppose they preserved themselves from this pusillanimity, they would in the course of another five years agitate for the power of granting degrees, as they have now been agitating for a Charter.

'There is just one thing which ought to and must be got, viz. a place on the Board of Examiners of the Queen's University, as they have at Louvain, and this I trust would be granted.

'Well, this is one plan, and a safe one, if it could be done. But if, as soon as it was adopted, the Nation, Irishman, &c., cried "It has become a Government Institution, stop your subscriptions," and no collections could be raised though the country, then we should fail, though not from within, but from without.

'Whether Sullivan would come into the above, I don't know. Hennessy, I suppose would; Lyons, Curry, Pigott would not. The extreme young Irish would not. Well, what is their plan? Why, it is the other, as follows, and as the articles in the Irishman develop it.

'It is, in the spirit of the Inaugural Lecture of Dr. Lyons in November 1856—to throw ourselves upon the country, and to call up poor scholars in shoals, as in Scotland, whose coming will be the pledge that it is a national benefit, and the sure stimulus of national subscriptions. Another part of this plan would be to give degrees boldly, not caring what the State said, or for the terror of prosecution. A third part would be simply to get rid of Englishmen, bearing them for the present as a necessary evil.

'Well, I think this good too—but it is far too young-Irelandish for Dr. Cullen, and I think would fail on this precise ground, if on no other. I don't think it would ultimately hurt the English Professors. When they were not needed in Dublin (it would be a long time first) the time might arrive for setting up a branch of the University, the Faculty of Arts, in England.

'Either plan is good—I prefer the former—but neither I fear, will succeed, from the discordance of Irish opinion.

'I don't wish you to repeat anything of what I have said—but it may enable you, as time goes on, to feel your way. I trust you get on with Sullivan—he is a man of great good sense—all I fear is, that, having no one to agree with, or to grumble to, he may get disgusted.
'J. H. N.'

Note: After his visit to Rome in 1856 Newman wrote to Mgr. Ram of Louvain that Propaganda 'much approves the anxiety I have ever felt to conform our University to that of Louvain.'

The following is the text of the letter from the Irish Archbishops to the Fathers of the Oratory (referred to at p. 379), asking their consent for the continuance of Newman's presence in Dublin as Rector of the University:

'July 20, 1857.
'Reverend Fathers,—Sensible of the great services which Dr. Newman has rendered to the cause of Catholic Education and of Catholicity, not only by the prestige of his distinguished name, but also by the able and zealous manner
{630} in which he has discharged the duties of Rector of our Catholic University, we are as anxious now to perpetuate those services to our rising University, as we were at first to secure them. And in expressing this our earnest desire, we but give expression to the wishes of the Bishops, Clergy, and People of Ireland.

'We are also very sensible, Reverend Fathers, of the sacrifice your Congregation has been making now for some years by consenting to his absence for the sake of our University, and we are not at all surprised to learn how anxious you are that your Father Superior should be relieved from his duties here and given back to his Oratory. Yet we are not without a hope, and a strong hope, that the same disinterested regard for the welfare of our Catholic University which first induced you to consent for a time to be separated from him will reconcile you to the sacrifice, great as it is, for some time longer; for, in its present infant state, the connection of Dr. Newman with the University is undeniably a very great gain, as his separation from it would be a loss, the magnitude of which it would not be easy to estimate.

'We hope, therefore, Reverend Fathers, that you will forego for a time the happiness of having your Father Superior at home in the midst of his Congregation, leaving him to pursue the high vocation, to which, not only does he appear to have been specially called the day he was named Rector of the Catholic University, but for which, as it seems to us, Providence had been preparing him long years before he became a child of the Catholic Church.
'We have the honour to remain, &c., &c.
(Signed) P

The following is the text of Dr. Newman's letters of resignation to the Irish Bishops, carefully graduated in cordiality of expression:

'To the Archbishop of Armagh (Dr. Dixon).—Your Grace has ever treated me with such singular kindness that I have great pain in communicating to you a resolution, which may look like ingratitude, but which the lapse of time imperatively imposes on me.

'In truth I have no choice but to resign into the hands of the Bishops the high office in the Catholic University with which their Lordships have honoured me. My strength, I lament to say, is not equal to the frequent journeys to and fro between Dublin and Birmingham which the Rectorship exacts of me; and, even were I quit of the fatigue, as I am not, there is a growing call on one who holds that office to show himself personally in all parts of Ireland, as the representative of the University; and to that duty neither my years nor my habits enable me to respond.

'Were other reasons required besides the above, I should add that, having, when the Session ends, devoted as much as six years to the University at a time of life when time is precious because it is scarce, I feel that, great as is that object, I have no right to subtract what remains to me from the service of my own Congregation, and from those special duties which, when no existing engagements interfere, are the natural and fit termination of life. Nor have I any reason to suppose that my Congregation will dispense with my presence at Birmingham for a longer period than that which I originally contemplated, and they granted me.

'I wish respectfully to name the next St. Lawrence's Day, November 14th {631} as the day of my resignation; and, begging you to believe that I shall retain to the end of my life a most grateful recollection of your uniform kindness to me,
'I am, &c.'

From Dr. Newman to the Bishops of Limerick, Ossory, Waterford, and the Coadjutor-Bishop of Dromore:

'March 1857.
'It seems but a poor return for the kind confidence which you have so uniformly shown me, to be writing to announce to your Lordship my approaching resignation of office. I would not do so unless I felt myself imperatively called to betake myself to my Oratory. My age is now considerable; my contemporaries are dying or falling around me; I cannot at all tell what time is left to me for any work; and I should not like to be taken away without having given my last years to my Congregation at Birmingham. I cannot but hope these considerations will weigh with your Lordship, and clear me from the charge of acting rashly or disrespectfully to the Episcopal Body.

'I propose to resign next November; more than six years will then have elapsed during which my thoughts and exertions have been given to the University; and, though this space of time is not much for so great a work as its commencement, yet I am thankful to have been allowed to give it so much.

'I shall ever entertain a grateful sense of the kindness to me of yourself and other Irish Prelates, and, begging your Lordship's blessing,
'I am, &c.'


'March 1857.
'You have shewn such interest in my proceedings in the anxious offices which I hold, and have treated me so kindly, that I cannot address this letter to you without regret that I should be obliged to send it.

'It is to say that my strength will not allow me to continue much longer in the charge of duties which involve so frequent a passage to and fro between this place and Birmingham. I am, therefore, obliged to place the Rectorship of the University into the hands of the Bishops of Ireland, who have so condescendingly honoured me with it, and to assign November next as the date of my actual resignation, when I shall have more than completed six years since the University has occupied my time and thoughts.'


'March 1857.
'The courtesy you have shewn me whenever it has been my good fortune to meet your Lordship, makes it incumbent on me (from a feeling of gratitude as well as of duty), to signify to you as early as I can, as to the other Prelates of the Irish Church, my intention of placing in your hands my responsible office at the end of this year. I cannot bear the fatigue which it gives me at my time of life to make those frequent journeys between Dublin and Birmingham without which I cannot fulfil my duties in both places.

'I propose to resign in November, when I shall have had the satisfaction of completing six years since I was first called on to give myself to the service of the University.' {632}


'March 1857.
'I am sorry that my first letter to your Lordship should relate to the prospective termination of that intercourse which it has been my privilege to enjoy with the Bishops of Ireland. However, the lapse of time has brought me near the conclusion of that leave of absence which my Congregation gave me from my duties at Birmingham.

'Independent of this, my strength will not allow me to undergo those frequent journeys to and fro, without which I cannot satisfy that partial observance of our Rule from which my Congregation cannot release me.

'I, therefore, propose to place my resignation in the hands of the Bishops in November next.

'I cannot withdraw from this great undertaking without expressing my grateful sense of the confidence which has been shewn me by the Bishops of Ireland, in placing me at the head of it, and of the kindness with which, according to their opportunities, so many of your Lordships have supported me in it.'


'March 1857.
'I am so sensible of the honour which the Bishops of Ireland have done me in entrusting me with the high office of Rector of their University and so grateful to your Lordship personally for the kindness (and confidence) [The bracketed words were inserted in writing to the Bishops of Elphin, Ross, Dromore, Clogher, Killaloe, and Raphoe. J. H. N.] you have shewn me that I feel a corresponding pain in being obliged to resign into their hands the charge which I have unworthily sustained. This I propose to do in November next.

'Believe me to say sincerely, that I could not take the initiative in such a step unless I felt I could no longer fulfil the arduous duties which the office involves. It is enough to say that my Congregation at Birmingham has growing claims upon me considering the few years which possibly may remain to me of active work, and that I shall have been taken from its service for six years when November comes; nor does my strength any longer suffice for such frequent journeys between Dublin and England as my double duties render necessary.

'I shall always entertain a most grateful sense of the honour you have done me in making me your first Rector, and begging you to pardon my shortcomings in that responsible position.
'I am, &c.'


'March 1857.
'The time is now approaching for my resignation of the high office which the Bishops of Ireland have so condescendingly committed to me; I named the subject to your Grace just a year ago this month, and now I beg leave to name the day.

'I will name St. Lawrence's day, November 14th, when the six years will be more than completed since I began to devote my thoughts and exertions to the service of the University, and when the term of absence from my Congregation will be completed for which I asked permission.

'My most urgent reasons for this step are the fatigue which I experience in my frequent passages between Dublin and England, the duty incumbent on the {633} Rector to show himself in public (more than my strength will allow) for the good of the University, and the need of my Congregation for the services which I have so long intermitted.'


'March 1857.
'I beg to acquaint your Grace that the term of years is now nearly completed which I proposed to myself to devote to the service of your University, and it is my intention to resign the office of Rector with which you have honoured me, next St. Lawrence's day,—November 14th.'

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Appendix to Chapter 16

THE following letters should be read in connection with Newman's acceptance of the editorship of the Rambler and subsequent connection with that Review:


'May 23rd, 1859.
'You will forgive my saying that I am sorry the announcement proved true that you had become editor of the Rambler. I know you would disregard the objection I feel to the step; viz., there are parties already formed for and against it. And the feelings which have already been active about it may not, I fear, be consigned to oblivion, even though the cause in which they took their rise has ceased to be ... We want to hit the Rambler, they may say, and the Father Superior takes it up. In an infinitely smaller way, of course, did not I myself, as Editor of the Tablet succeeding Lucas, inherit animosities which clung to the Tablet, though I should never have provoked them and did nothing to continue them.

'There are people who will be looking out when each new Rambler appears for something that they dislike, and crying out: "Here it is again." … 

'Of course under you it will overlive this and live it down; but I complain that you should have to go through it.

'For what a rally, what an acclaim, might we not have had if it had been announced that a "new periodical" was out, called so and so, and that you had consented to be its Editor.

'I am sure there will be all sorts of instincts and opinions struggling for utterance in the Catholic body, which must have vent, and which, if bottled up, would do more harm than if set loose; and then being caught up in pincers and hammered and molten and smelted, the dross (would) be rejected and the pure metal forged to useful purposes. But for this there will need to be controversy and sharp fighting; and why should you have any share in this except as the mediator of any discussion, when you might with a weighty sentence dismiss the combatants?'

Note: 'N.B.—As if the Bishops would allow this! As if they would allow a "rally" of Catholic writers and readers under me! As if they ever would have!—J. H. N.'


'June 1st, 1859.
'Acton thinks the plan of continuing the Rambler good. It must now come to an open fight, and the sooner and the more acid the better. We must get up a Council for carrying on the Rambler; More O'Ferrall, Lord Castlerosse, perhaps Monsell, perhaps {634} Hope-Scott, Charles Weld, and others. If you could consent to let us tell them the grounds of your retirement, after we have secured their general goodwill, it would be a kindness.

'You may imagine what I feel in this second attack. I will not write about it because you would not approve of the strong things I should say.'


'16, Bruton Street: July 1st, 1859.
'My dear Father Newman,—My conversations with Hope and Simpson encourage me to persevere in the plan of carrying on the Rambler. Simpson has written to Father de Buck asking him to take some part, and I will endeavour to obtain a similar promise from Prof. D÷llinger.

'I think that in order to obtain as large a circulation as possible it will be best to give particular prominence to historical and political articles, without confining ourselves to Catholic subjects. Hope and Simpson advise a complete secularisation of the Rambler, putting religion out of sight as much as possible. But this is an opinion in which I cannot concur. We must not destroy so important and convenient an organ of Catholic thought, and I would rather enlarge than change the range and scope of the Review.

'It will be more easy, however, for me to obtain contributions of a purely secular character than those which approach the domain of theology ... In particular I think it will be well to encourage Simpson to devote himself to subjects where there is less danger, or rather less opportunity, of giving offence either rightly or wrongly; and I have advised him to take up Mill's writings with which he is well qualified to deal.

'My greatest wish is to be allowed to leave the religious department as much as possible in your hands. I should wish to refer such matters to you, and to trust chiefly to you for contributions of that kind. I do not understand by this more than you so kindly expressed yourself willing to consent to. In both respects I conceive you would have the co-operation of the foreign divines whom you mentioned. I will write to Father Gratry, asking him to be the fourth in order that France may be represented, if you do not suggest some other person, or some reason why he would not do.

'It would be very kind of you if you would tell us something about the method by which the account of current events is made so complete and so interesting. It is a very valuable innovation which I should not like to give up.
'Believe me, dear Father Newman,
Yours ever faithfully,


'Rednal: July 5th, 1859.
'My dear Sir John,—I go with Hope Scott and Simpson, I suppose, if I wish the Rambler to be like the Edinburgh or Quarterly, as I do. This would not exclude quasi-theological articles, and would tend much to obviate difficulties which would shortly become unsurmountable.

'On second thoughts I should not like, at least at present, to go on with the Ancient Saints, for this reason, because it makes enemies, and thus does more harm than at the moment it can do good.

'I do not see that the articles on the Rheims and Douai and the Isles of the North are objectionable—or any such as they. I am not objecting to such articles as D÷llinger's {635} on the Historical knowledge of Scholastic writers—or a Review of Broglie's work. But these would not be the staple, according to my idea. You speak of "not destroying so important and convenient an organ of Catholic thought"; but, supposing the Cardinal to come down on only one article of a theological character, however unjustifiably, a great scandal would be the consequence, and it would probably end in the "destruction of the organ" altogether.

‘Simpson has so much talent and knowledge, he would be sure to handle Mill well,—at the same time he could not write off an answer to him, I am sure, and would have logically to prove every one of his points. I say this, because I think he under-values the force and cogency of Mill's argumentation, and again, because in that clever metaphysical paper which he let me see, he seemed to me to begin with assumptions which he could not expect an opponent to grant him.

'Another thing I will say. I fear very much your having him for sub-editor; he will certainly compromise the work. I really do not think he can help it. He will be cutting at the Univers or the Dublin or be cruel towards some harmless writer in a Notice,—or he will give some ironical praise to the Cardinal or even fling at the Holy See. In an article on the Wiseman and Tierney controversy, which is in type, he goes out of his way to throw out insinuations against the proceedings of Leo XII. as regards La Mennais and Lingard; so, at least, I read the passage. He would say, indeed, that he was following almost the words of one of my letters to you, but I spoke, not against the proceedings of the Holy See, but of people round about it. There will necessarily always be round about the Pope second-rate people who are not subjects of that supernatural guidance which is his prerogative. For myself, certainly, I have found myself in a different atmosphere when I have left the Curia for the Pope himself ...

'As to the Contemporary Events (Current is a better word) I am pleased to find you like the attempt. I fear I have had no other method than a troublesome diligence in reading the daily papers.
'Yours most sincerely,


'Rednal: July 6th, 1859.
'My dear Simpson,—I am glad you are going to grapple with Mill, but he is not a common opponent, I am sure. In mediŠval times you might appeal to supernatural principles as axioms, and start from them. At a later date you might speak of the moral sense and take truths for granted on the ground that everyone held them. You might speak of the idea of a Supreme Being as common to the whole human family—but now nothing is received as true without or before proof, except what our senses or our consciousness convey to us, for nothing else is universally held. I do not mean to say that Mill does not make assumptions as much as another—but it is easy, like Kilkenny cats, for two combatants to demolish each other—and one does not wish to propagate scepticism, which is the obvious result of such a process of mutual destruction ...

'I don't think you should be sub-editor for the success of the Rambler.
'Yours very sincerely in Christ,


'July 31, 1859.
'I am sorry for what you say about Professor D÷llinger's decision not to answer Dr. Gillow, because there is sure to be a great deal of triumphing—but I daresay
{636} he finds he should be involved in very intricate questions which would take up his time. His silence will be turned to his disadvantage.

‘By all means get Maret's assistance, whose name stands very high. All my fear is that he should rely on my name in giving his; but perhaps he is so far of Montalembert's party as to be drawn to you and the Rambler on your own account.

'On the whole I am glad that Professor D÷llinger is not going at present to write on the Scholastic treatment of history. It will be better to let people calm down.

'How do you mean to treat the new Trust Bill in your September number? I don't see how it is possible to find fault with Ministers for it, but you are on the spot.

'I have not been quite well lately—the weather has been too much for me—and I really doubt whether I shall be able to finish my Isles of the North in time. I shall send two or three reviews which you may do what you will with.'


'Private. Rednal: June 20th, 1860.
'My dear Sir John,—It has always been to me a great perplexity who should be the editor of the Rambler. I have thought of it again and again without any success. For myself the Bishop has hindered it and there is an end of it. If I said, on relinquishing the editorship, that I would still give my name to it, it was only under certain conditions,—conditions made necessary by my arrangement with the Bishop. The principal of these was that I should only be one of several whose names would be more authoritative than my own, such as Father de Buck, Father Gratry, or the AbbÚ Maret and Dr. D÷llinger.

'Considering both my responsibilities at the Oratory and the circumstance of my being a convert, I could not act otherwise. As it was I had got into trouble by taking on myself the Rambler as I found it, without retracting anything that it had said. I took up and defended (in my own way) its cause on the Education Question. I wrote an Article on the right of the Laity to be consulted; and, as you know, I thereby incurred a good deal of odium. It was this defence of the rights of the Laity, even in my May number, which was the chief cause of the Bishop's dissatisfaction with me. So much did my July Article increase this feeling that, when I saw you about February last, I told you that, quite independent of anything in the recent numbers of the Rambler, I feared I should not be able to contribute anything more.

'Another chief condition was that there should be a responsible editor, which it was quite plain you could not be. I have the greatest opinion of Simpson as an able and honest man, and sincere gratitude for the way in which he has spoken of myself; but I deliberately thought him unfitted for the office of conductor of a work which was necessarily exposed to such jealous criticism ...

'I am exceedingly desirous for the success of the Rambler, and to contribute to it as far as I can; but I cannot undertake (on personal grounds) to be theological censor; nor can I give my name to it, (though from its talent and information it would do credit to anyone to be connected with it), unless it has a responsible editor, and the countenance of such theologians as I have mentioned above.

'You are vastly too much worked. I trust your journey to Spain will recruit you. {637}

'P.S.—I do not know how to promise you an article in September. I will try, but I can say nothing more. I should add that, not having had leisure or reading to be able to form, much less to defend, such politico-ecclesiastical opinions as the times require, I have some difficulty in so connecting myself with any publication as to seem to take the views of writers, who, from the thought they have given to the subject, have a full right to entertain them, such as the foreign Toryism and the English anti-Toryism of the Rambler.'

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Appendix to Chapter 18

THE following are the notes of two important letters belonging to the period covered by Chapter XVIII. and connected with the points at issue between Mr. W. G. Ward and Lord Acton, argued for the most part in the pages of the Dublin Review and the Home and Foreign Review. The first refers to Ward's attack on intellectualism in his pamphlet called 'On the Relation of Intellectual Power to Man's True Perfection.' The second is to Sir John Acton, and deals with the subject of Persecution. The earlier letter was not sent in its entirety, but the notes present a view of great interest:


'March 15, 1862.
'My dear Ward,—Thank you for your two Essays, and for the continued kindness, with which you keep what I have written before the world. I hold to every word of those passages, which you quote from me, and I always agree with you in principles. I am not certain that I should agree with all your deductions; but it would require more time than I have at command, to put my finger on the points at which we diverge from each other, and to defend the direction which I myself should pursue. This I am sure of, that, even though some persons should consider that you had exaggerated what is substantially true, all Catholics must be grateful to you for what you have written at a time when grave warnings are so necessary against Intellectualism.

'I suspect your psychological facts, e.g. you speak at p. 26 of the "keen and constant pleasure which intellectual processes afford." I am far from denying there is a pleasure, and one providentially assigned, as pleasant flavour to food; but, if you mean that "keen and constant pleasure" attends ordinarily on intellectual processes, well, let them say so, who feel it. My own personal experience is the other way. It is one of my sayings, (so continually do I feel it) that the composition of a volume is like gestation and child-birth. I do not think that I ever thought out a question, or wrote my thoughts, without great pain, pain reaching to the body as well as to the mind. It has made me feel practically, that labour "in sudore vultus sui," is the lot of man, and that ignorance is truly one of his four wounds. It has been emphatically a penance; and in consequence I have hardly written anything, unless I was called to do it, e.g. I had to provide a sermon weekly for the pulpit &c. I recollect a friend asked me, soon after writing my volume on Justification, whether it was not interesting to write, and my answer was to the effect that "it was the painful relieving of an irritation," as a man might go to a dentist, not for "keen and constant pleasure," but with the mingled satisfaction and distress of being rid of pain by pain. When I wrote the Arians six years earlier, I was so exhausted at length, that for some days as it approached finishing, I could scarce keep from fainting. The exercise which most nearly has approached to {638} pleasure, has been the finding parallel passages to passages in St. Athanasius, or writing verses, processes which have not much of active intellect in them. I might say a great deal more on this subject; but I have said enough as giving the testimony of at least one person.

'What I feel, others may feel. Others again may feel neither your pleasure nor my pain. At all events, I think you must not take for granted, what all men do not recognise to be true.

'What has been my own motive cause in writing may be that of others,—the sight of a truth, and the desire to show it to others. Juvenal says, "Facit indignatio versus." I do not feel this in the case of verse; I do, in the case of prose.

'I am far from denying of course, that, if one thinks one has done a thing well, one may be tempted to be pleased at it. But here it is the work effected not the process that pleases. "When the shore is won at last, Who will count the billows passed?" Our Lord says, "When she is delivered of the child, she remembereth not the anguish, because &c." Of course she may idolize her child, for the very reason that it has cost her pain, but pain never can be "keen and constant pleasure"; and she never would bear a child for the sake of the childbirth.

'Not at all denying, then, that there is a class of minds such as your own, Sir W. Hamilton's, Lord Brougham's, and the Academics, to whom exercises of intellect are simply "keen and constant pleasure," I cannot think it is more than one class.

'I am not sure that this assumption, that all feel as some feel, has not exerted an influence on your whole view of the subjects you discuss and has coloured it.

'I think certainly it has had an antecedent influence on your whole view of the subject you discuss. And in consequence I cannot help thinking that in your quotation from me at p. 36 you fulfil in some degree the anticipation I have expressed above, of your drawing conclusions from my words which are not contained in them. When I speak, as you quote me, of Intellect being Philosophy, I do not mean Philosophy as opposed to the Supernatural, mind, but as opposed to acquirement, as formal knowledge contrasted with material. There may be a supernatural philosophy, or perfection of the intellect; and that I have drawn out in the foregoing discourse p. 185, under the name of wisdom. There is a natural love, and a supernatural; a natural exercise of the intellect, and a supernatural. Human faith is at least analogous to Divine faith, though the former comes of pure intellectual exercises, and the latter from above. Human faith lies in the intellect as well as Divine faith; but the former is created there by previous acts of mere human reason, the latter is the creation of supernatural grace. Why then may there not be a "Divine philosophy" or largeness and comprehensiveness of mind on all objects Divine and human, proceeding from grace and begotten of a spiritual taste or connaturality with their true worth and real place in God's sight, as well as a Divine faith? And how will it not be analogous or parallel to intellectual philosophy, as Divine faith is parallel to human faith? and how will it fail to react upon sanctity and charity, and exalt them, as you yourself have allowed at p. 53? And, if all this may be answered in the affirmative, why should not this be the donum sapientiae?

'With these questionings in my mind, I cannot follow what you say in p. 53, paragraph 2, "you will ask, etc." By "not following" I mean, I do not see the middle terms towards a conclusion, which, in that paragraph, you think so clear that a doubt about it is "monstrous" though, to be sure, it is monstrous if you confine St. Antoninus's use of the Intellect, as you seem to do at p. 52, to "reasoning from premisses and solving casuistical cases"; but such exercises of intellect come far short of what I have spoken of as philosophical enlargement in the human order, and of wisdom in the Divine order. {639}

'Now as to perfection. As supernatural acts of Love enter into the idea of human perfection, so may, and I think do, supernatural acts of what I call Philosophy (which, when supernatural, takes the name of Wisdom) enter into the idea of human perfection. I am not proving this, but bringing out my own meaning. In other words, I do not see that Intellectus, in what you consider its theological sense, does really differ from "Intellect" as a word of the day. I do not see why it is not the same faculty exercised on different objects.

'But, before saying more of perfection, I want you to give me a definition of it, or we shall be disputing about words. (N.B. He does profess a definition at p. 49.) There are various senses of the word. e.g. is a Saint more perfect than a priest who lives up to his calling? I suppose, heroic acts, which are a saint's characteristics, are more meritorious, and in this sense of the word Perfection a Saint is more perfect than a holy man who is not a Saint. But surely this is not the sense of the word as it is used in ascetic and devotional treatises. I thought certainly that in that sense it ignored or omitted the idea of heroic actions altogether. As then there is a sense of the word perfection which excludes heroism, so there is a sense (and it is the same sense) which excludes intellectualism; and as there is nevertheless another sense according to which heroism is the standard, so there may be a sense in which the intellectual gifts may be the standard; and, as a Saint according to this sense is more perfect than a holy religious, so in a parallel sense a Doctor is more perfect than a holy religious also. Thomas Ó Kempis is perfect, but he might be perfect, yet not a hero as St. Gregory VII., or a Doctor like St. Gregory I.

'I am not ruling this, for it is a subject which requires thought—but I wish to show you have not said all you ought to have said in your Essay on the Definition of Perfection, since on it everything turns.
'J. H. N.'


'The Oratory, Birmingham: July 19, 1862.
'My dear Sir John,—I heard the other day what I understood to be meant for your eyes, but I regret to say I did not take in what was said so exactly as to be able to report it as I could wish, and I did not like to ask questions. It seems, one of the English Bishops, I could not catch the name, has brought over the others, all but three, to a sense of the propriety of condemning the Rambler—that a message is expected from Propaganda with animadversions on particular passages—and that the change of name, publisher, and matter, is not to be allowed a sufficient loophole for allowing it to escape. The person, who told me, spoke of you—and said that such a censure was an awkward thing, and was sorry you should suffer from it. He said he had been told by a well judging priest that Simpson acted, not out of malice, but because it was good fun. He added that there was a consensus of Bishops to the point, that questions not yet decided ought not to be popularly discussed.

'As to development of doctrine and action in the Church I should hold to Vincentius's account of it, who compares it to bodily growth, "ut nihil novum postea proferatur in senibus, quod non in pueris jam antea latitaverit," and says it is a false development "si humana species in aliquam deinceps non sui generis vertatur effigiem."

'Canon Law, of which you speak, is not a development in "materia fidei"—still, it is a development—viz., in doctrine, as involved in action and conduct. I am not a Canonist; but I consider, and think I should be able to show it, if I were, that the enactment and decisions of ecclesiastical law are made on principles and by {640} virtue of prerogatives, which "jam antea latitavere" in the Church of the Apostles and Fathers.

'To take the instance of the "physical punishment of heretics," which you refer to, and to confine myself to Scripture. Is not the miraculous infliction of judgments upon blasphemy, lying, profaneness &c. in the Apostles' day a sanction of infliction upon the same by a human hand in the times of the Inquisition? I think it is. Yet on the other hand such infliction is not enjoined, and, in our Lord's words about Elias's bringing fire from heaven, is discouraged. That is, ecclesiastical rulers may punish with the sword, if they can, and if it is expedient, or necessary to do so.

'The proposition, thus implied (as I think) in Scripture, is all that the modern Church asserts. For I do not know anything more determinate on the subject (as far as my memory goes) than the condemnation (among the Propositiones damnatŠ) of Luther's assertion, "Hereticos comburi est contra voluntatem Spiritus." Pius the VI. has condemned the general denial of ecclesiastical punishments in the "auctorem fidei."

'This is the view which I should take of the whole canon law—that it is a system of government which the Church has a right to carry out, if she can, and if it is desirable.

'Whether in thus carrying it out, in judging when it is to be carried out, and in what way, whether in her judgments, acts, and policy, she is infallible, are further questions altogether, and parallel (I suppose) to the question, whether she is infallible in the canonization of Saints.

'Of this latter question, St. Thomas says "Pie credendum est, quod nec etiam" in his "judicium Ecclesiae errare possit." Of another, which is more to the point, the approbation "hic et nunc" of a given Religious Order, Billuart says, "De hoc judicio non ita constat esse infallibile; quia non e scientia solum sed e prudentia pendet. At saltem temeritatis notam non effugeret, qui, contra communem Ecclesiae sensum, erroneum asseveret."

'As far as I see them, I should be unable to say with Mr. Lisle Phillipps that it is "heretical to assert that the Church approved of the physical punishment of heretics," or that "the Canon Law was not the legislation of the Church." I hold, till better instructed, that the Church has a right to make laws and to enforce them with temporal punishments; for so I understand Pius the VI.'s contradiction of "Ecclesiam non habere potestatem salubribus poenis contumaces coercendi atque cogendi." But whether such exercise of her powers is suitable to all times and places, is surely answered in the negative by the fact of her concordats, which involve an engagement not to use her full powers in particular states.
'Very truly yours,

'P.S.—The French pamphlet spoke of "le droit canon," as "inflexible comme le dogme," but I don't suppose we need take our theology from such an author.

'As to D÷llinger's book, I am surprised to find I mentioned the Bishop of Birmingham's name. The true version is that the Pope said to some one that he thought the book would do good, though there were things in it to which exception could be taken.'

The following is the text of Dr. Newman's analysis of the Munich Brief, referred to at p. 567: {641}

PIUS PP. IX (Dec. 21, 1863)

'The Pope refers to his letter through the Nuncio for his feelings on the news that the Conventus (conference) was to be held, i.e. "quomodo theologi ad conventum invitati fuere."

'We did not wish to doubt of their good intentions to promote and defend the GermanŠ Cath. EcclesiŠ scientiam against its enemies. But we "non potuimus non vehementer mirari, that it was called together privato nomine (D÷llinger) without ecclesiastical impulsus, auctoritas, or missio from those who have the right of directing doctrine, quae omnino nova res est in ecclesia."

'And we have thought it right to tell you, the Archbishop, so that you might be in a position to judge whether the scope professed in the Programme of the Conference be for the true interests of the Church; while we were certain that the faith and obedience required of Catholics were safe in your hands.

'We feared too that things might be put forth and maintained in the Conference, which, emissa in vulgus, might be detrimental to faith and obedience.

'For it must be recollected that certain German works have lately been put upon the Index, for teaching doctrine inconsistent with the true interpretation of some of our dogmas, and explaining away the nature and character of revelation.

'Moreover we were aware that there were Catholic students of the "severiores disciplinŠ," (qu. mathematical? physical?) who, relying too much on the power of the human mind, have so maintained the liberty of science as to interfere with the magisterium Ecclesiae in preserving the integrity of revelation, and have agreed with external (?) writers that the decrees of the Apostolic See (and its Congregations), who is the Magistra Veritatis, impede the free progress of science.

'We knew too that in Germany prevailed that falsa opinio adversus veterem scholam et doctrinam summorum doctorum, which in fact imperils the authority of the Church, by which (Church) through so many centuries their method and principles have been recognised in all schools and by all theologians.

'These were the various considerations which crowded on us, when, on hearing of the meeting of the Conference, we wrote to you about it. Your message by electric telegraph and that of the Conference, begging our Apostolical Benediction, made us give way. Since [then] we were most anxious for further information from you. We hope, as you now say, that it will all turn out for the good of religion.

'Certainly it is to be hoped so, if, as you say, all the members of the Conference agree that the scientiarum progressus et felix exitus absolutely depends on an adhesion to revealed truth, as taught in the Catholic Church.

'But, while Catholics, hac veritate innixi, may cultivate these sciences safely, explain them, and render them useful and certain, on the other hand they cannot do so (N.B. This is the most observable passage that I have come to) if their natural intellect, in investigating natural truth, does not also supremely venerate the infallible intellect of God as revealed in Christianity. (Does this mean that Newton cannot come to "useful and certain" conclusions in physical astronomy because he is not a Catholic? does it mean that every one in his investigations must beware of every conclusion which seems to infringe on revealed truth? which infringes on the letter of Scripture? The application of this principle is the important point.)

'Though the naturales disciplinŠ rest on their own natural principia, Catholics must make divine revelation a rectrix stella. (Would it do if a man said, my reasoning has led me to a conclusion contrary to faith, it cannot be right then; but let me go on, I dare say that my reasoning will correct itself if I am but brave and bold? Or must {642} he shrink back, and blot out his whole course of investigation, without having detected any error in it?)

'We do not believe then that the Conference can suffer that recent and preposterous ratio of philosophy, which, admitting revelation as an historical fact, so subjects the res revelata to the investigations of reason, as if reason could "consequi intelligentiam [et] scientiam" of the mysteries of faith, from natural principles.

'We praise the Conference for rejecting the false distinction between philosophy and philosopher; (NB. This means, I suppose, that a Catholic may not write a book, saying, I have been brought to a conclusion which is against faith, and I disavow it, but nevertheless, such is the result of my investigation and I throw it in as a contribution to general advance in science. If not this, what is the distinction referred to?)

'We hope too they do not confine the duty of Catholic teaching to merely the teaching of dogma; as if that perfect adhesion to revealed truth which is necessary for true progress in science, was secured if dogma alone were taught; for the "adhesio" must go beyond faith, and extend to the ordinarium EcclesiŠ magisterium per orbem dispersŠ, to the traditions of truths which are held tanquam revelata, and the consent of theologians.

'They were indeed talking merely of dogma, but all Catholics are bound in conscience in studying the contemplatrices scientiŠ (the theories of science?) for the good of the Church, (and so is the Conference) if they are sapientes, to submit themselves to the doctrinal decisions of the Pontifical congregations, and to those theological verities, which, by the consent of Catholics, cannot be opposed without incurring theological censure. (N.B. Is this the case of Galileo?)

'We trust they hold all this because they professed filial obedience to us. We trust that, in cultivating the severiores disciplinŠ, they themselves observe the rules of the Church which have ever been in force, and obey the doctrinal decrees of the Holy See.

'We intend to write to you again, when you and your fellow Bishops in Germany say to us what you conclude about the "opportunitas" of such conferences.

'Warn the faithful against profane novelties, and against the notion that errors are progress.

'Exhort them to solid progress in science, such as, with faith as the dux and magistra, have ever been made in the Catholic Schools, and to cultivate theology on the principles on which it has ever been cultivated.

'N.B. I thought it was commonly said that Galileo's fault was that he meddled with theology, and that, if he had confined himself to scientific conclusions he would have been let alone; but surely the language of the Brief here and before is as if even men of science must keep theological conclusions before them in treating of science. Well, I am not likely to investigate in science; but I certainly could not write a word upon the special controversies and difficulties of the day with a view to defend religion from freethinking physicists without allowing them freedom of logic in their own science; so that, if I understand this Brief, it is simply a providential intimation to every religious man, that, at this moment, we are simply to be silent while scientific investigation proceeds—and say not a word on questions of interpretation of Scripture, &c., &c. when perplexed persons ask us—and I am not sure that it will not prove to be the best course.' {643}

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Appendix to Chapter 19

THE following are characteristic letters belonging to the period between 1859 and the appearance of the 'Apologia' in 1864. The first letter, to Mr. Pollen, tells clearly of Newman's trials as a Catholic; the last, to Mr. Albert Smith, strikes the note of unwavering happiness in the Catholic religion which never faltered, even amid the dejection which trial and ill-health brought on. Other letters, to Mrs. F. Ward and Mr. and Mrs. Froude, concern the reception into the Catholic Church of William Froude's daughter and eldest son in 1860, and of his third son in 1863. The Catholic rule against participation in the worship of those external to the Church came thus to have a specially urgent application in the Froude family, and it is discussed by Newman in an interesting letter. Another letter gives careful advice for the consideration of William Froude's eldest son, Hurrell, when he goes to Oxford as a recent convert. An amusing letter to Father Bittlestone describes Newman's visit to Cambridge in 1862, and one, to Ambrose St. John, a visit to Ostend. In two letters to Dr. Brownlow, afterwards Bishop of Clifton, Newman endeavours to meet the difficulties of one who is on the point of entering the Catholic Church. And a sad letter to Isaac Williams speaks eloquently of the undying memory of Oxford days and Oxford friends.


'Epiphany. 1859.
'A happy new year to you in return. I will not forget your intentions.

'After this, let me begin by being selfish. Well then, you can't tell how I am touched and encouraged by what you say of myself. I ought not to need it. I wish to bear my cross, which (strange to say) has been almost lifelong, without talking of it, recollecting St. Philip's favourite text, Secretum meum mihi, and I am sure a lighter cross could not be, nor would I change it nor be without it—still it is a great relief to know that there are others, who, though they ordinarily say nothing, are aware of it, and give me their sympathy in their hearts. It is an inconsistency certainly, for in my heart and judgment I wish to have my reward, whatever it is, hereafter, not here. Yet it is a burden to my feelings, which others relieve by such kind words as yours are, to reflect that I busy myself from morning to night with so little thanks from anyone. Now for thirteen years I have been in many true senses a servant; like Jacob, die noctuque Šstu urebar et gelu; with no object or will of my own; yet never was a time when apparently I am more likely than now to be visited with those suspicions and jealousies which in one shape or other have been my portion through life.

'Well I am used to it, and it does not matter to me. I cannot go on to say, with the patriarch, "fugiebat somnus ab oculis meis"—but what I have to bear, others have perhaps to bear too in their own place and way, and, as Bothwell says when old Mause abuses him "All troopers may not be so willing as I am to be called red dragons and pushing bulls of Bashan." It makes me sad to think, how much secret brooding discontent there is at present among those, {644} whose zeal and honesty have not been acknowledged in those quarters whence acknowledgement was due ...

'Then you give me the contrary side of the picture in your own case, and most sorrowful it is ... Certainly the sight of such utter divorce in religious sentiment as exists in the case of our friends and ourselves tempts me to that sad acquiescence in what seems irremediable which one sees in so many of the old Catholic gentry who rejoice in their religion themselves but make it a matter of private concern, and make no effort at converting others. And if we go on praying for them this often may be the right course. As to ourselves, necessary as it is that we should talk together, as the case of Sir John Simeon shows, yet I am almost afraid of it, lest we should agree too well. We should agree in the first place, I thankfully believe, in having that firm unruffled faith in the Catholic Church, which you avow in your letter—but we should also give such strong expression to our common conviction of the miserable deficiencies which exist, that we might become impatient. As to the University, I really fear that at least some persons already begin, like Frankenstein, to be scared at their own monster.

'There are persons who wish to set up a new periodical. I wish it and I fear it, for the reasons I have given above. The immediate hitch is the money. I suppose we ought to be prepared to risk a capital of ú1,000.

'P.S. In my above growl, I have not forgotten, though I have not mentioned, the wonderful act of substantial sympathy shown me by the Catholic body in the Achilli matter, which showed in time of need that I was not forgotten, and balanced all absence of those other acknowledgements to which I have been referring. I should be basely ungrateful if I made light of this.'


'The Oratory, Birmingham: May 8, 1859.
'My dear Mrs. Ward,—Isy
[Note] wrote me a line announcing her reception, and used an expression which made me rather anxious. Her letter, which you send me, does not lessen my anxiety—but I dare say it is exaggerated. Young people look forward for some great sensible effect to follow upon their reception, and are disappointed that they seem to themselves what they were before. And any excitement is sure to be followed with a re-action. Here the re-action is contemporaneous with the disappointment. Older people can, by an act of reason, set themselves right—it is more difficult to a child and a girl. However, your and her mother's influence must do for her what she cannot do for herself; and in this respect the trial is less to a young person than to one who is older—viz. that she will have no old ways, old associates, old ideas and tastes reviving, to interrupt and thwart the formation of a Catholic habit of thought within her. However we must rely on our good God's perfecting His own work; and not allowing her generous zeal and trust to be deprived of all the aids necessary for her.

'At the same time it does seem a reason for observing at least not less caution in the case of Hurrell than you actually have observed in her case. A boy's seems to me more difficult than a girl's—she will always be with Catholic intimate friends—he will be thrown upon the world. It is quite true what his father says that he has not a notion of the whole argument for and against Catholicism—and, though the balance of the whole results in a demonstration of the Catholic faith, yet ex parte objections may, as time goes on, press upon him, and with fatal force, if he is rash now; for in such hastiness now he will find a precedent and acquire a leaning towards {645} hastiness then. This makes me fearful lest his mother should bias him. Of course a good deal depends upon the character of the boy, and his mother must know him better than anyone else; but, judging not by the particular case but by such cases generally, I should be frightened at any persuasion being used to make so young a boy resolve on so great a step.

'His father's letter has struck me exceedingly. The beautiful frankness with which he puts himself on his boy's level, the natural unaffected confidence with which he treats him is very touching. And if Hurrell keeps the letter and looks back on it years hence, it may seem to him a most powerful argument, unless he has by that time more of an argumentative basis for his faith, and deeper views of religious truth, than he can have now. It is a clear, manly, hard-headed argument, just such as persuades an Englishman.

'The great difficulty of meeting such arguments is this, that you must do so by showing they prove too much—but you can't do so without risking the unsettlement of the person before whom you draw out your answer, and certainly not without incurring the imputation of unsettling them. Else ... when William on the one hand says "How do you know that to hold the truth is necessary to salvation?" and then, on the other hand, goes on to lay down that "our conscience teaches us that our sense of right and our power of reason are sacred trust and demand from us the greatest care in the using," I am led at once to ask him how in the world he knows what he here so confidently asserts and why his son may not know quite as well what he considers to be so mere an assumption. By "holding the truth being necessary for salvation" I suppose the boy means, that to please God we must worship Him according to His will, and serve Him according to His command—and I declare, it seems to me the most extreme of paradoxes to suppose, if there is a God, that we may let alone thinking of Him and seeking what He wishes of us. It would be easier to me to believe that there is no God at all, than to think He does not care though I go my own way and live without putting Him before me—and, though all would not throw this feeling into so argumentative a form, yet I think most people, atheists inclusive, would agree with me. Yet it is difficult to urge this upon a boy, unless you knew him well, and watched the effect of what you were saying, lest it led him to be more sceptical still than his father wished him to be.

'I could say a great deal more about W.'s letter of course, but it would be unnecessary. It would be well to see that Hurrell understood what he meant when he talked of "holding the truth," for it is an abstract and (in a boy's mouth) a somewhat unmeaning phrase. If he understood what it really meant, if (as from what I have heard I think probable) he has realised the idea of a God, of a moral Governor, of (not only a law of conscience, but of) One who speaks to him by his conscience, of One on whom he intimately depends, of One whom he must please, of One by whom he will be judged, he goes a great way towards being in a fit state to think of Catholicism. If, on the other hand, he is a good, earnest, eager, inexperienced boy, who has got hold of a formula, then, however sincere he may be at present, and however promising may seem his state of mind, I think his reception would be a very anxious matter.

'Faith ought to be tried and tested, if it be faith. I don't like that faith, which (as I have seen written to a new convert,) is a "precious tender plant," to be sedulously guarded under a glass cover, or in a hot-house—and exotic—if so our religion is a mere "alien religion," an "Oriental faith and worship"—but it is a tough principle within us, bearing heavy weights and hard work, or it is worth very little.

'This is what I am accustomed to say, and in consequence I never should be sorry {646} if Hurrell had to get over obstacles, and to suffer a bit for being made a Catholic—but I feel the great difficulty of the problem.

'I will not cease to think of him and his sister, of course. I am rejoiced to hear what you say of your two boys.'

Note: Miss Isy Froude.


'The Oratory, Birmingham: December 29th, 1859.
'Hurrell went off this morning before your letter came ... I had already intended to write to you about his future, as you are the natural medium on the subject between William and me. I mean William may wish to know my opinion.

'What makes me think so is that Hurrell has shown me letters of Mr. Donkin's to his father, so very carefully worded that I can't help thinking that I am intended to see them. And I will tell you just what I think about them.

'I wish him to continue at Oxford and to go up for honours in mathematics—this is his father's plan, and an excellent one. Donkin proposes his being entered at New Inn Hall and residing in lodgings. It seems to me desirable he should be entered somewhere—else, he can't go for honours—but I don't relish the lodging plan.

'1. It makes him dependent on New Inn Hall for his status—and New Inn Hall has always been a ridiculous place—used to be called Botany Bay—and now has no men at all belonging to it, (nor had it when I first went to Oxford).

'2. Having no society there, he is thrown upon the odds and ends of Oxford residents, and, even if he does not make third rate acquaintances, is at least out of the Oxford world.

'3. There can't be a place more full of temptation to him, than to be without any discipline in lodgings.

'4. And how forlorn is he to have his dinners in from a pastry-cook, and how expensive!

'What I hope is, judging from the present state of things, that Donkin will continue him on.

'Donkin himself seems to have no objection, (unless he had another undergraduate lodger), but to fear that Hurrell will be aggressive—i.e. will not let the inmates of the house alone. I don't say this is unreasonable, but I think it will prove an unfounded apprehension.

'I mean, Hurrell's business is not to talk of his religion, not to argue, not to attempt to proselytize, but to attend to himself and to mind his studies. Religious controversy is an edged tool—he might find it far easier to unsettle another, to make him restless and discontented, nay to inspire him with a spirit of criticism and scepticism, than to make a good Catholic. See what happened the other day. I am told that the young Catholic at Lincoln College converted (as it is called) some University (College) friend. The father and mother come up and persuade him back again, so he is received, baptised, absolved, all for nothing but the scandal.

'I don't think then that Donkin ought to have any ground of complaint or fear as regards Hurrell. H. ought to keep to his religious duties, and fag hard—see those acquaintances which come in his way—take an interest in what goes on—and keep his religion to himself. He has a great deal to learn; and, though he must not deny his religion, he must not obtrude it. The Donkins seem most desirable people. I don't think they will wish to molest him, and he must not molest them.

'If at Donkin's he could come up here from time to time for the Sunday. I don't suppose Donkin would object,—and this would be a very great point. He will {647} require a great deal of looking after at first,—for at present he depends on others and asks what he is to do. I do not think he would be happy unless he had some one to consult.'


'Jan. 31, 1860.
'From time immemorial, from the earliest ages, members of the Church have been forbidden "communicatio in sacris" with those who were external to it. This prohibition is not intended as the expression of any judgment on this or that individual, but is a general and formal decision upon the position of non-Catholics as such.

'The sole question then is about the fact, the application of the principle, viz. What is "communicatio in sacris"? On this point there has been a difference of opinion, and in various times, places, dioceses and communities it has been answered variously.

'That it used in England to be answered in favour of such Family Prayers, as are in question, I know well. It may by some be so answered still, for what I know; as by the Jesuits, though I doubt it much. I should be very glad, if Hurrell could get it answered in his favour; and he would have quite a right to avail himself of the permission, if he could get it from any quarter. In a matter of practice, there are often two opinions current, a more lax and a more rigorous.

'But for myself, I must go by the traditions and rules, in which I find myself. I may perhaps be in possession of information concerning what those who have a claim on my obedience wish, so as to make it impossible for me to give any decision but one. And I really in my conscience do think that I have interpreted the "communicatio in sacris" as the Church means me to interpret it. I really think she does not allow me in this matter to judge for myself as to what is the meaning of the words. But, while I say this, I have no right to force my own conclusions on another; and if there be others who take a different view, and think such Family Prayers are not a communicatio in sacris, (which I must doubt) they have as much right to their opinion as I to mine.

'There is only one concession I could make, which seems so nugatory and disrespectful, that I don't like to make it; but, as another may think differently, I will mention it. Hurrell might attend Family Prayers, provided he took a crucifix or Garden of the Soul in his hands, and said his own prayers to himself during the devotions. This is practised in the case of servants.'


'Cambridge: July 29/61.
'My dear Henry,—Knowing your disputatious power, I am not sure you will not be able to deny that I am in Cambridge, in spite of the postmark—but you must let me assume that I am there, and it shall be a reserved point to discuss when I see you again.

'On Friday, after seeing Badeley, whose torments seem to have been extraordinary, we caught the train to Hampton Court, where we slept. Of course I am not going to write descriptions, but I will say that we were both enchanted with the place, and thought how great her Majesty must be to have palaces such as to enable her to chuck Wolsey's building to her servants and pensioners.

'Well—I thought we should enjoy our incognito, and so we did during good part of 24 hours—but at length we fell on Platner, who is so mighty in words, that I simply {648} fell—and Wm [Note], making an excuse that just now I was unable to talk, picked me up and carried me off.

'Forthwith we fled; whither was a secondary question. We rowed to Kingston—the weather has been, and is, sometimes lovely sometimes splendid. Then, after dining, we set off for Richmond through Ham. Thence at once by train to London, musing all the way where we should find ourselves at night fall. On getting to Waterloo station we made for King's Cross, and by half past nine P.M. behold us at Cambridge.

'I have been here once before, for a quarter of a day, in 1832. Then, I recollect my allegiance to Oxford was shaken by the extreme beauty of this place. I had forgotten this—but a second sight has revived the impression. Certainly it is exquisitely beautiful.

'We weathered Mr. L. though we were so near capsizing, as to be asked by him to change our place, because we were in the way of his confessional,—and, as there was but one person, a stranger, at the Bull in the Coffee Room, we have been quite comfortable.

'He has a strange distrait manner, and I took him for some enthusiastic parson, say a Drummondite or the like. I said but a few words to him, but he seemed absent—but, as he fidgetted about, and went in and out of the room, read the Bible, then sat where he could see me say office, and certainly followed our movements, we migrated to the other end of the room.

'This was no annoyance to us; but what did annoy us was, that, when we went into King's Chapel to hear the chanting and see the place, a little man at once fastened his eyes on us, whom William instantly jaloused as having been at the Oratory. William, who acts as a sort of guardian angel or Homeric god, instantly enveloped me in darkness, rustling with his wings, and flapping about with a vigour which for the time was very successful. But alas, all through the day, wherever we were, this little man haunted us. He seemed to take no meals, to say no prayers, [and] to know our times for these exercises with a preternatural exactness. William was ever saying, whether we were here or there, in garden or in cloister—"Don't look that way—turn this way—there's the little man again." His anxiety led him to make matters worse, for he boldly approximated him to make sure of the individual, but with too little caution, for the little man caught his hand and asked him how he was. However, his guardship kept me out of harm's way, and we dined peacefully at six. There was then no further danger—we lounged out at seven and were tempted, by the merest accident, to turn aside into Peterhouse. We were not two seconds in the Court, when William cried out, "There's the little man—don't look." But it would not do—he pounced upon his prey, and William turned quite red, whipping his finger as if he had been stung. He most civilly asked us, if we should like to see the Munich painted glass in the Chapel, and went at once for the Porter. Then he vanished—but William is now out paying him a call with my card; and I should certainly have done the same, but that I am far from well this morning, very weak, because I have not had any sleep (from distress, it is not so much as pain) since 3. I heard 3 strike and every hour till I got up.

'I have been hardly able to speak, certainly not to converse, with our fellow-occupant in the Coffee Room, who has left for the North just now—having never seen Cambridge before, and, like ourselves, having been down for the Sunday. He began talking this morning about Cambridge, which I agreed with him was most beautiful. He said he had been into the University Church for the evening service—and, after a word or two between us, he suddenly said "I think I have seen you in the pulpit of St. Mary's Oxford some thirty years ago." Well, I answered rather bluntly, "how {649} could you know me? for my friends, who have seen me only half that time ago, don't know me, they think me so much changed."

'This led to some conversation, when at length we got to the Essays and Reviews. After which I started, proprio motu, a new subject, that of the movement for the alteration of the Liturgy. He said that was a religious movement, very different in spirit from the other. I agreed, but I said I had been much struck with the effect, which I heard was produced by a book written by a lawyer, a Mr. Fisher, whom the Bps had noticed in their charges. His book, they said, was a logical, candid work; but it was removing the veil, from the eyes of a number of evangelicals, shewing them that they could not honestly use the baptismal service, and demanding in consequence its alteration. I said I thought this a remarkable movement and would gather strength. So we shook hands and parted.

'I came down again, and he was not gone. It seemed to me rude not to have asked his name—So I said to him, "Since you know me, pray do not let us part without my having the satisfaction of knowing with whom I have been conversing."

'He looked nervous, and distrait—and then said "I am the Mr. Fisher, of whom you have been talking."
Ever yrs affly,
J. H. N.'

Note: William Neville.


'The Oratory, Birmingham: March 3, 1863.
'Some persons thought there was a touch about Pusey's letters in the Times, as if he admitted the possibility of his being unsettled as to his position, "he wanted to know what the real state of the case was" or the like. But I fear what you say explains him in another way. Yet to be angry and fret at the opposition made to him may be the first step to a deep disgust at the whole mission to which he has so persistently given himself. Alas, it is not likely—but recollect, he has been pledging himself to all people deeply, that the Church of England has a vital power in it, able to cast out all disease from its system—now, for the last twelve years there has been a determinate action, going on within it, towards the destruction of what it retains of the Catholic Creed. Twenty years ago I used to say that, if Pusey once despaired of the English Church, he would die. He was near death (apparently) about the year 1832, and his weakness of body showed itself in a deep despondency about the state of religion. The Tract movement set him up again, as if a new life were breathed into him. When he was condemned by the five doctors in 1843, I feared the life would go out of him—but he was too sanguine to be touched by it—and the same dream of hope has sustained him on till now. The chance is that, in spite of the annoyance of the moment, hope will still tell a flattering tale—but my fear is, that, if he did get disgusted with the Church of England, it would end, not in his looking towards Rome, but in his death.'


'The Oratory, Bm: April 9, 1863.
'I have received Eddy into the Catholic Church today. He made it clear to me, that for some months you had been aware of his intention of being received, and of being received at this time. If he has to be received, I felt that you would rather I received him, than another.

'I don't write this with any wish or intention of troubling you to acknowledge it; but, as a sort of relief to myself, I wish to explain to you my feelings on one or two points. {650}

'1. It stands to reason, I cannot argue, as I should argue, were I in your position. In that case I might say to Eddy, "Wait till your judgment is more mature"; but, as it is, while on the one hand I believe him to be acting deliberately, on right motives, and on rational grounds, on the other, I believe him to have come to a right conclusion, to be embracing what I myself am firmly persuaded is the truth, and what he might not be granted from above an opportunity of embracing, if he did not embrace it now.

'2. Nor do I feel, as I should perhaps if I were you, that he is putting himself under a sort of intellectual tyranny by doing an act which he is not allowed to reverse. The ecclesiastical prohibition to doubt and inquire, is not so much a practical rule as a scientific principle, which is laid down to make the theological system logically consistent with itself. A Catholic is kept from scepticism, not by any external prohibition, but by admiration, trust, and love. While he admires, trusts, and loves Our Lord and His Church, those feelings prohibit him from doubt; they guard and protect his faith; the real prohibition is from within. But suppose those feelings go; suppose he ceases to have admiration, trust, and love, of Our Lord and His Church; in that case, the external prohibition probably will not suffice to keep him from doubting, if he be of an argumentative turn.

'Thus it avails in neither case; while he loves and trusts, it is not needed; when he does not love and trust, it is impotent.

'I expect that, as Eddy experiences more and more what the Catholic Religion is, its power, strength, comfort, peace, and depth, the greater devotion will he have towards it, as the gift of God, and the greater repugnance to put it on its trial, as if he had never heard of it. To bid him authoritatively not to doubt, will be as irrelevant, as to tell him not to maim himself or put his eyes out.

'May God in all things bless you, keep you, and guide you.'


'The Oratory, Birmingham: June 7, 1863.
'My dearest Isaac,—Your letter came an hour or two ago. I rejoiced to have it. Is it possible you should not have seen more of Oxford of late years than I have. I have not seen more than its spires passing since Feb. 22nd, 1846. I dined and slept at dear Johnson's and left for good. I only heard lately that the cap and gown had—had gone out, and yet did not believe it till you have confirmed it. "Heu quantum mutatus ab illo!" Of all human things perhaps, Oxford is nearest my heart—and some Parsonages in the country. I cannot even realize to myself that I shall never see what I love so much again, though I have had time enough to do so in. But why should I wish to see, what is no longer what I loved! all things change, the past never returns here. My friends, I confess, have not been kind—I suppose this is what you allude to, as my having expressed it to Copeland. Well, well, if I spoke severely to Copeland I am sorry for it, but I don't think I did. I am not "holy" in spite of you, but I think I am "calm and loving" though I wish there were more supernatural grace and holiness in that calm and love. But to return. If any place in England will right itself, it is Oxford; but I despond about the cause of dogmatic truth in England altogether. Who can tell what is before us! The difficulty is that the arguments of infidelity are deeper than those of Protestantism, and in the same direction (I am using Protestantism in the sense in which you and Pusey would agree in using it). And how can you bring back to something—more primitive, more Christian, a whole nation, a whole Church! The course of everything is
{651} onwards, not backwards. Till Phaeton runs through his day, and is chucked from his chariot, you cannot look for the new morning. Everything then makes me fear that latitudinarian opinions are spreading furiously in the Church of England. I grieve most deeply at it. The Anglican Church has been a most useful breakwater against scepticism. The time might come when you as well as I might expect that it would be said above, "Why cumbereth it the ground?" but at present it upholds far more truth in England than any other form of religion would, and than the Catholic Roman Church could. But what I fear is that it is tending to a powerful establishment teaching direct error, and more powerful than it ever has been, thrice powerful, because it does teach error. It is what the Whig party have been at, all our time, not destroying the Establishment, but corrupting it ...
'Ever yrs. affly,
J. H. N


'Ostend: Sunday, Aug. 9th, 1863.
'My dear Ambrose,—We are very happy here and our only drawback is that you are not here to enjoy the rest after the turmoil of travelling. There are shoals of people here; it seems to be the yearly meeting of all well-to-do Belgians, when their King's presence makes the season. It lasts six weeks, is the harvest time of hotels and lodging-letters, after which the place relapses into deadness and desolation. I have here just what I like; a great crowd of people with utter incognito; there hardly seems an Englishman here.

'We went on the splendid pier, which was full of people all the day. The sun, as at Rednal, was behind us, and in consequence the sea had a beauty it cannot have in England. There is no shipping, but the objects, both land and amphibious, are most varied and brilliant. A vast hard dry expanse of sand—lots of children making castles in it. Bathing machines without end, and bathing all day; a continual landing, more or less dexterous, of the clumsy machines, drawn by clumsier horses scarcely in harness, from the pier into the level sea-line of deep ploughed up sand. Hosts of donkey boys stretched at full length, with their donkeys not knowing what to think of it, an awning overhead, and a restaurateur at our backs, where we had a good dinner at 4 francs and a military band. Here we remained till sunset. William's quick eyes discovered on the edge of the water, the Royal carriage, and sure enough the King passed close to us, then the Duke of Brabant with his wife, and after some hours, the two grandchildren walking up from the sands. As the sun was setting William said: "Why, here's the King again." He was walking this time, and, knowing how ill he had been, I was surprised to see how well and long he walked. At the moment, there were few people where we were—he walked right past us, and I had a good view of him. He was with his daughter-in-law, and some gentlemen behind. After a while he turned and came past us again. We were quite by ourselves and received a most gracious bow. He is rather weak on his legs, and in consequence struts a little, but I was surprised at his young appearance. The last time I saw him was at the Coronation of George IV.—July 1821! What a time he has been before the world! since 1816, nearly 50 years,—a man who has borne arms against the first Napoleon, and the husband of a lady who has long and long become simply historical! Of course he is some years older than I am, but still to persons of my age he is a sort of compendium of the whole political history of their times. I am trying to think where he was and what he did between 1817 and 1830, and cannot {652} make out; he was, I think, at Clermont, but what a strange, inactive interval of 13 years in a busy life! …

'My kindest remembrances to your hosts. Don't forget to report to Hope Scott the health and condition of Charley.
'Viva valeque,
Ever yours affectionately,
of the Oratory.'


'The Oratory. Birmingham: Oct. 25th, 1863.
'I wrote as a Protestant, "I think a religious man would feel it little less than sacrilege, and almost blasphemy, to impute the improvement in his heart and conduct, in his moral being, with which he has been favoured in a certain sufficient period, to outward or merely natural causes." I hold so still. I should be contradicting my own individuality and personality, if I was not as sure that God changed me altogether when I was a boy of fifteen, as I am of the existence of any particular creation of grace, of any actual divine working, of any given Saint, of this or that supernatural heroic deed, in the Catholic Church. I am more sure that God gave me great opportunities of loving Him then, than that St. Ignatius was a true Martyr, or that St. Augustine is a Doctor of the Church. What proof can I have of the truth of revealed facts more cogent than that which I have of facts about myself? You feel the same too; so do all converts except such as were awakened directly, from a state of carelessness, by the Catholic Church herself calling them.

… In England Catholics pray before images, not to them. I wonder whether as many as a dozen pray to them, but they will be the best Catholics, not ordinary ones. The truth is, that sort of affectionate fervour which leads one to confuse an object with its representation, is skin-deep in the South and argues nothing for a worshipper's faith, hope and charity, whereas in a Northern race like ours, with whom ardent devotional feeling is not common, it may be the mark of great spirituality. As to the nature of the feeling itself, and its absolute incongruity with any intellectual intention of addressing the image as an image, I think it is not difficult for any one with an ordinary human heart to understand it. Do we not love the pictures which we may have of friends departed? Will not a husband wear in his bosom and kiss the miniature of his wife? Cannot you fancy a man addressing himself to it, as if it were the reality? Think of Cowper's lines on his Mother's picture. "Those lips are thine," he says, "thy own sweet smile I see"—and then "Fancy shall steep me in Elysian reverie, a momentary dream, that thou art She." And then he goes on to the Picture, "My Mother," &c.'

Note: Mr. Brownlow had asked his opinion as to the realty of supernatural graces received by an Anglican, and as to the apparent superstition involved in image worship among Catholics. Mr. Brownlow joined the Catholic Church at this time, and was later on Bishop of Clifton.


'November 1st, 1863.
'I return you the heart-piercing letter which you have let me see. As I never had any women penitents as an Anglican Clergyman, I have not had one form of trial which you have, though I had various distressing letters from ladies whom I knew, or did not know—nay, have still. But, though women are more keen and vehement and oversetting in their grief and disappointment, there is something
{653} very overcoming in a man's, whereas you know it does not pour itself out in emotions or in language, but is embodied in stern actions, as if one were to take the written creed and silently tear it to pieces. I can only say that the sort of earthquake (so to speak) I was causing in men's minds threw me into a bodily indisposition which I never had before or since. Many men had with great difficulty screwed themselves up into Anglicanism, and now they were told by me, that the operation was nothing worth, and they must begin again. This was, they felt, too much of a good thing. I was once told by a navy chaplain, who witnessed the scene, that in Lord Exmouth's action off Algiers, a poor wounded seaman was with difficulty prevailed on to have his leg off. After it was done and the tourniquet (I think it is called) adjusted to it, the surgeon told him that it was not all over, but he must have the other off too. The man said: "O sir, you should have told me this," and unscrewed the tourniquet deliberately, and bled to death.

'We have not been like the surgeon, wilfully concealing what was to come. We have told others that more was necessary for safety as soon as we knew it ourselves. And what could we say for ourselves if, when we did know more was necessary, we had concealed it! We have, we trust, done all for the best, and we must leave it to God. And we must hope that such souls as your correspondent, after her own trial, as you have had yours, will follow your example. So far is certain that, if you went back and hid all your convictions or misgivings, you could not restore her confidence in yourself or in Anglicanism. To go forward when God calls, is not only the truest course, but the wisest also.

'As to Transubstantiation, you perplex me by what I have not mastered, and by assumptions which I for one cannot allow.

'You may call me a Berkleian, which I am not, but I do not allow that "the substance of the body can be nourished." All we know about the body is certain phenomena, the phenomena of health, strength, &c. Certain other phenomena, viz. those of bread and wine, or the species, nourish (or are the cause of) these phenomena, whatever is meant by nourish, and they do so by the Will of God—they are, if you will, the cause of nourishment. But these phenomena, though dependent on "matter" or "substance," are not matter or substance. It would be going into a long metaphysical disquisition to do justice to my meaning, but the upshot is that it is not a point of faith whether the species nourish; and therefore the Schoolmen had quite a right, if they did, to maintain that the species did not nourish, in spite of the Catechism of the Council, for every word of the Catechism is not de fide. I say "if they did," for R. Wilberforce says, p. 294, "Aquinas and his followers maintained first that Christ's Body does not nourish our bodies in the Holy Eucharist,—secondly that our bodies are nourished by the sensible elements." But I confess I do not follow your argument, nor do I see what doctrine was crammed down people's throats, "or in what I am to confess that Catholic divines were wrong."

'Another point, which you take for granted, I cannot at all grant—viz. that a definition of the Church may not be obscure or incomplete. Why, that on the doctrine of intention is so, at the lapse of a longer time than 100 years. Definitions are made only so far as the existing necessity and questions actually present.

'By the Schola Theologorum is meant the teaching of theologians. It applies to all times, as the Fathers to the early times. We speak of the consensus Patrum—and so I spoke of the unanimous decision of the Schola.

'Dr. Manning could not have made it a condition of your reception that you should believe in the Pope's Temporal Power as inseparable from His Office as Vicar of Christ. He would have put a catechism into your hands, and you would not have found that doctrine in any authorized catechism.' {654}


'Jan. 8, 1864.
'As to your first question, "Are you indeed one in doctrine in the Roman Catholic Church?" the only true answer is, that we are and ever have been one, and that is one of the special notes of our being the True Church. It is one which has had a special effect on intellectual men not Catholics, when they have happened to become intimate with Catholics and to witness the action of the Church. Our faith is one.

'This great fact, however, is quite consistent with another, viz. that in those things which are not of faith, there has been considerable difference of opinion, among Catholics, and often serious and bitter quarrels. I have treated of the subject in the 10th lecture of my volume on "Anglican Difficulties." Religion is so deeply interesting and sovereign a matter, and so possesses the whole man, when it once gains its due entrance into the mind, that it is not wonderful, that, as worldly men quarrel fiercely about worldly things, so, through the weakness of human nature, particular theologians have had unchristian disputes about Christian truths.

'Such have been the quarrels of some of the religious orders with each other; and I cannot deny that, from the existing events of the day, there have arisen undue contentions about points not essential, at this time also.

'But the Holy See, and the Bishops of the Church, and the School of theologians are not committed to these extravagances.

'As to your second question "Did you ever regret leaving the Church of England?" I can answer sincerely "Never, for a single moment." I have been in the fullest peace and enjoyment ever since I became a Catholic, and have felt a power of truth and divine strength in its ordinances, which exist, I believe, nowhere else.'



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Newman Reader — Works of John Henry Newman
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