Blessed John Henry Newman (1801-1890) is unusual among those who have been formally honored by the Church for their virtue in that he is a figure of stature in the secular world. I first encountered him in a literature course in which prose writers of Victorian England were studied. He very much belonged there, since he is acknowledged by everyone of sense to be one of the intellectual lights of England in the 19th century, and in particular one of the great prose stylists. The main thing I remember about Newman from that course was the excerpt from his The Idea of a University which my professor, not a believer but a man of great discernment and intellectual honesty, pointed out as particularly memorable:
Quarry the granite rock with razors, or moor the vessel with a thread
of silk; then may you hope with such keen and delicate instruments as
human knowledge and human reason to contend against those giants, the
passion and the pride of man.
I was not a
Catholic or any sort of Christian then, but I thought that was not
only a very fine bit of prose but also real wisdom. In one sentence
it exhibits what I later came to see as the persistent shrewdness and
balance of the Catholic mind, which does not disparage or dismiss
human capacities such as reason, but yet never forgets that they are
not sufficient to keep us on the right path.
I imagine most
people reading this have at least heard of Newman and have some idea
of his significance for the Church; this is surely true for anyone
who’s ever been involved or interested in the Anglican tradition.
Many of the saints in this series have been ones of whom little is
known. Newman is the opposite: not only did he live in the modern
era, but he was very well-known and influential in his own time, and
continues to be so. So his life is known and studied in great detail.
I’m going to give you the briefest biographical summary. A moment
on the Internet will turn up a great deal of information; for
starters, here
is his Wikipedia article.
Newman’s life
shows a pattern which has become somewhat familiar since his time:
early embrace of evangelicalism, movement into high-church
Anglicanism; awareness of the difficulty of reconciling Protestantism
with the historic Christian faith; conversion to Rome. He was an
intellectual and scholar by nature, and a celibate by choice, and the
drama of his life takes place in the world of ideas. Externally there
is nothing very exciting to note. He was associated with Oxford
University from his late adolescence until 1843, when, recognizing
that he could no longer in good conscience remain an Anglican, he
went into a sort of limbo that lasted until 1845, when he was
formally received into the Catholic Church. He was one of the central
figures in the Oxford Movement, which attempted to bring Anglicanism
into greater harmony with the Catholic tradition, and in the
associated Tractarian Movement, which issued a number of tracts, many
written by Newman, making the Catholic case for Anglicanism. In the
end many of the people associated with and influenced by the Oxford
Movement did convert.
As is often the
case with converts, the roughly half of his life that he spent as a
Catholic was not altogether smooth sailing. He was apparently
regarded with suspicion by many in high places. And although
throughout his life he was engaged in fierce intellectual combat with
religious liberalism, by which he meant the effort to make human
reason the final judge of religious truth, he was himself considered
something of a liberal. I think—I am no expert, but this is the
impression I’ve gotten—that this was at least in part because his
theological approach was founded less on Thomism and more on the
Fathers. He was opposed to the solemn definition of papal
infallibility (1870), not because he disbelieved it but because he
thought such a declaration “inopportune.”
In 1864 the very
anti-Catholic Anglican clergyman Charles Kingsley wrote something
about Newman which provoked one of Newman’s most well-known works,
the Apologia Pro Vita Sua (Defense Of His Life). It is
not an autobiography, not even a spiritual autobiography, in any
usual sense. Newman introduces it as a “History of my Religious
Opinions,” and that’s exactly what it is. We learn about those in
great detail, but most of what can be learned about the man himself
and his life can only be inferred.
Kingley’s
offense was to say that the Catholic Church did not consider truth to
be a virtue, and that his source for this charge was Newman. In a
well-known passage, in the course of reviewing a book on the history
of the Church, Kingsley asserted,
with no reference to anything Newman had ever written that might
justify the accusation,
that
Truth,
for its own sake had never been a virtue with the Roman clergy.
Father Newman informs us that it need not, and on the whole ought not
to be...
These
were fighting words, and a fight was what Kingsley got, and got the
worst of. Newman objected, and Kingsley responded smoothly that he
must have misunderstood Newman’s words, and was glad to be
reassured that Newman had not meant what Kingsley thought he meant.
This
sly tactic did not work. “Never meant it? I maintain that I never
said it,” responded Newman. A lengthy and complex war of words
ensued in which Kingsley only dug his hole deeper. In the end
Newman’s reputation was enhanced, and Kingsley’s diminished,
because it was clear to any fair-minded observer, whatever his view
of the Catholic Church, that Kingsley was in the wrong.
The Apologia
followed from this controversy, because Newman believed that at the
root of Kingsley’s accusation, and his confidence in making it, was
a widespread and largely whispered suspicion that Newman had for many
years been secretly Catholic, remaining formally Anglican and
operating as a subversive within the Church of England. The idea of
sneaky malicious Catholics plotting in dark places against everything
decent had a powerful hold on the English (and American) Protestant
mind in the 19th
century, and this gave Newman the chance to bring it into the light
and combat it. In the Apologia
he described in detail every turn of his thinking, and the action
resulting from it, with the aim of showing that he had never done
other than act openly in accordance with his evolving convictions.
For someone like
me, who came into the Church from the Anglican tradition (growing up
as a Methodist, later spending a few years as an Episcopalian), this
is a pretty fascinating work, because it follows Newman through the
slowly dawning realization that the belief that Anglicanism is in
continuity with the Church of the first millennium is untenable. There
are some often-quoted passages about that. In 1839, for instance,
Newman was studying the Monophysite heresy and concluded
...now here, in the middle of the fifth century, I found, as it
seemed to me, Christendom of the sixteenth and the nineteenth
centuries reflected. I saw my face in that mirror, and I was a
Monophysite.
Most of Newman’s
other work has more than held its place since his time. A Grammar
of Assent is an inquiry into the nature of religious truth and
our grounds for holding it. I read it many years ago in inconvenient
circumstances, didn’t really understand it, and would like to read
it again, as I think it articulates and expands upon some of my own
intuitions. There is the Essay on the Development of Christian
Doctrine, in which occurs another well-known remark: “To be
deep in history is to cease to be a Protestant.”
His sermons
collected in a huge volume as Parochial and Plain Sermons are
full of insight and wisdom. The hymn “Lead, Kindly Light” is a
setting of one of his poems. His long poem, “The
Dream of Gerontius,” about death and judgment, was set to music
by Edward Elgar; if you are a classical music lover and don’t know
it, you should seek it out, as it is one of Elgar’s best works. And
Newman himself was an
amateur musician who played violin and viola.
But to be a capable
defender of the faith in controversy, and to have impressive
intellectual achievements, is not to be a saint. What of Newman’s
personal virtue? I wouldn’t necessarily call his duel with Kingsley
saintly. Newman is pretty pugnacious—but then many saints were in
defending the faith. The original edition of the Apologia has
an introductory section which concludes thusly:
Away with you, Mr. Kingsley, and fly into space! Your name shall
occur again as little as I can help, in the course of these pages.
So let us turn to
the words of Pope Benedict XVI on
the occasion of Newman’s beatification:
While it is John Henry Newman’s intellectual legacy that has
understandably received most attention in the vast literature devoted
to his life and work, I prefer on this occasion to conclude with a
brief reflection on his life as a priest, a pastor of souls. The
warmth and humanity underlying his appreciation of the pastoral
ministry is beautifully expressed in another of his famous sermons:
“Had Angels been your priests, my brethren, they could not have
condoled with you, sympathized with you, have had compassion on you,
felt tenderly for you, and made allowances for you, as we can; they
could not have been your patterns and guides, and have led you on
from your old selves into a new life, as they can who come from the
midst of you” (“Men, not Angels: the Priests of the Gospel”,
Discourses to Mixed Congregations, 3).
He lived out that profoundly human vision of priestly ministry in his
devoted care for the people of Birmingham during the years that he
spent at the Oratory he founded, visiting the sick and the poor,
comforting the bereaved, caring for those in prison. No wonder that
on his death so many thousands of people lined the local streets as
his body was taken to its place of burial not half a mile from here.
One hundred and twenty years later, great crowds have assembled once
again to rejoice in the Church’s solemn recognition of the
outstanding holiness of this much-loved father of souls. What better
way to express the joy of this moment than by turning to our heavenly
Father in heartfelt thanksgiving, praying in the words that Blessed
John Henry Newman placed on the lips of the choirs of angels in
heaven:
Will Newman eventually be declared a saint? I have no idea, but if he is there will be a lot of rejoicing.
Maclin Horton is the proprietor of his own blog Light on Dark Water from which sprang this series. You might want to check out the current series there, 52 Movies or last year's 52 Authors. In this series he has written about St Henrik, St. John Fisher, St Ansgar, St. Mary of Egypt, and St. John Kemble.
Very informative post, Mac. Enjoyable reading. Have wanted to read the Apologia for a long time, like so many other things including the 7 storey mountain...
ReplyDeleteYes, thanks for this. I like very much learning about his "personal virtue" and his time as a vicar in that poor neighborhood; going to download and read that linked paper about it.
ReplyDelete