THE LIBRARIES A N C I E N T>-e#&I S*i4^ I T Y. C0I..C01X. OXFORD TRACTS. BY ISAAC TAYLOR, AUTHOR OF " SPIRITUAL DESPOTISM," &c. Fas est etenim, ut prisca ilia caelestis philosophiae dopnata processu tem- poris, excurentur, limentiir, poliantur; sed nefas est, ut cominutentur; nefas, ut detruncentur, ut mutilentur. Accipirint licet evidentiain, lucem, distinc- tionemj sed retineant, necesse est, plenitudinem, inlegritateiu, proprieta- tem. — ViNCEXTius Lirinensis. PHILADELPHIA: HERMAN HOOKER, CHESTNUT STREET. 1840. Wm. S, Young, Printeb. CONTENTS. PAGE The circumstances of the argument, 21 The substance of the argument, and the dependence of the modern church upon the ancient church, 40 A test of the moral condition of the ancient church, 93 The third and fourth propositiuns, and concluding remarks, 176 INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS. The subject of the ancient celibacy not to be evaded. A principal element of ancient Christianity, and inseparable from the system, 191 CONNEXION OK THE ANCIENT CELIBATE WITH THE NOTIONS ENTERTAINED OF THE DIVINE NATURE. The celibate the product of gnostic feeling. General prin- ciples of the oriental theosophy, in its earlier and later forms : opposition of the church to the series of gnostic heresies, while it imbibed the sentiment of them. The abstractive doctrine, and the penitential, both admitted by the ancient church. Indications of the gnostic theo- sophy in Athanasius, Gregory Nyssen, Gregory Nazian- zen, Basil, and Synesius, 206 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE NOTIONS ENTER- TAINED OF THE SCHE3IE OF SALVATION. Combination of the Buddhist, or abstractive, and the Brah- minical, or penitential principles in popery — and in the E i^ J.. O O ^J IV CONTENTS. ascetic institute of the Nicene church. The consequent exclusion of evangelical doctrines and feelings. Citation from Chrysostom — adulatory style of the fathers. In- stances from Boethius, Vincentius, Origen. Panegyric memoirs and epitaphic orations. Isidore j Life of St. An- tony by Athanasius, and eulogy of Athanasius by Nazi- 'anzen: eulogium of Cyprian by the same. Life of Cy- prian by his deacon Pontius. Ambrose, and his funeral oration on the death of his brother Satyrus. Ephrem's story of the monk Abraham and Mary. Chrysostom on the parable of the ten virgins, compared with Macarius, J345 SOME SPECIAL r.IETHODS OF ESTIMATING THE QUALITY OF THE NICENE THEOLOGY. The choice of texts. The epistolary style of the Nicene writers : their choice of subjects. The mythic exposition of scripture, and Origen's reason for resorting to it. Alle- gorical qualities of animals — Ambrose and the vulture. Chrysostom's expositions. Tnie and false perspective in religion, and the admissions of the Oxford Tract wri- ters concerning the slender evidence of church princi- ples. Analysis of Chrysostom's nine homilies on repent- ance, .312 Protestant Catholicity, 372 THE RULE OF KEMGIOUS CELIBACY, AS LAID DOWN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT. The analogous instance of the rule of martyrdom. Observa- tion on Luke xx. 35. Import of Matt. xix. 12, illustrated by our Lord's personal behaviour, and this compared with that of St. Martin of Tours. Import of 1 Cor. vii. Prac- tical comment of the Nicene monks upon the apostolic rule. Rev. xiv. 1 — 4 symbolical not literal, 377 THE PREDICTED ASCETIC AFOSTACY. 1 Tim. iv. plainly applicable to the ancient ascetic institute. Illustrations of the fulfilment of the prediction; 40G CONTENTS. THE EXTENT OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AND THE SANCTION IT RECEIVED FROM THE NICENE CHURCH. PAGE Deriv^ation of the anclioretic and monastic life: its general characteristics and localities. Testimonies in its favour. Methodius, Lactantius, council of Nice, and synods of Ancjra and Neocsesarea. The Apostolic Constitutions. Eusebius, Athanasius, Cyril, Hilary, Epiphanius, Basil, Gregory Naz., Ephrem, Gregory N3'SS. Ambrose, Je- rome, Mark, Rufinus, Augustine, Chrysostom, and later writers, 42Z THE OPPOSITION MADE TO THE ANCIENT ASCETICISM. The extent of the opposition indifferent to the present ar- gument. Indications of dissent. Jovinian and Vigilan- tius overpowered by Jerome, Ambrose, and Augustine, 449 MONSERY AND MIRACLE. The difference between Romish and Nicene legends — Al- ban Butler and Jerome ; life of St. Hilarion 4G7 MONKERY, THE RELIGION OF SOUTHERN EUROPE. Permanent characteristics of the south of Europe, The ancient asceticism as related to a disordered social condi- tion, 474 MORAL QUALITY OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE, AS IT AFFECTED THE MONKS THEMSELVES. In its principal elements Basil's monastic life incompatible with genuine virtue, 480 THE NECESSARY OPERATION OF AN ASCETIC INSTITUTE UPON THE MASS OF CHRISTIANS. Visible and arbitrary dislinclions among Christians, fatal to piety and morals, 497 VI CONTENTS. THE INDIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE MONASTIC INSTITUTE UPON THE POSITION OF THE CLERGY. PAGE The ascetics constituted a class to be maintained, a class contributing to the funds of the church, and a class to be governed, « 508 THE DIRECT INFLUENCE OF THE CELIBATE UPON THE CLERGY. The progress of opinion, ending necessarily in the enforced celibacy of the clergy. The fathers and the inspired wri- ters at issue on this point, 519 THE CONNEXION OF THE ASCETIC INSTITUTE WITH RITUAL NOTIONS AND PRACTICES. The Nicene sacramental doctrine the consequence of the condition of the clerical mind, and only another expres- sion of the ascetic principle. The taste for the marvel- lous, characteristic of the ascetic life, sought its gratifica- tion in this line. The rites of the church, means of go- vernment. The present feeling at Rome concerning Oxford Ti-act doctrines, 530 Additional References and Citations, 547 TO THE VERY REVEREND THOMAS BEWLEY MONSELL, ARCHDEACON OF DERRY, AND PRECENTOR OF CHRIST's CHURCH, DUBLIN. My Dear Sir : I am already assured of your approval, which has been so kindly and warmly ex- pressed, of my intention to take part in the discussions set on foot by the writers of the Tracts for the Times ; but I am very desirous to bespeak, also, your acquiescence in the particular course of inquiry, which, in this first instance, I have thought it best to insti- tute, and which may not be precisely what you would have anticipated. I have, in fact, taken as my motto on this occasion, the advice — Festina lente; and if I appear to have gone about, am yet per- suaded that I am following a path which VIU DEDICATION. promises to lead to a satisfactory, and not very remote conclusion. But I will state, as briefly as possible, the general views that have guided me in selecting the subjects; and in arranging the plan of my argument. Let me say, then, that the mode of repel- ling the pretensions of the Romish church, recommended by the writers of the Oxford Tracts, seems to me to be at once legitimate and conclusiA e : it is, in substance, an appeal from the alleged authority of that church, to a catholicity more catholic, and to an anti- quity more ancient. On this ground, British protestantism, or, let us say, if the phrase be preferred, British Christianity, stands on a rock, clear of all exception, and, so far as re- lated to popery, is exempt from all peril. Within the well-defined limits which it ob- serves, this line of argument is equally sim- ple and irrefragable. But having, in this manner, made good the external defences of the British episcopal church, when we come to look within the enclosure which w^e have thus walled about, DEDICATION. IX we are instantly met by some startling diffi- culties, of another kind, and are compelled to confess that, in thus throwing ourselves back upon Christian antiquity, embarrass- ments attend us from which there appears no easy way of escape. Men of calm minds, indeed, are painfully conscious of perplexity, wdiile treading the fields of ancient Christian literature; and to this feeling is added some alarm w^hen they witness the fatal infatuations w^hich beset those wdio loiter there after surrendering themselves to the guidance of a fond anti- quarian enthusiasm; for such are often seen to yield their faith and reason to illusions that are not merely unsubstantial, but in the high- est deo^ree dano^erous. In truth, no notions that have ever prevailed among well-informed men, can have been more utterly destitute of firm support than are those which have been passionately adhered to in relation to the pristine church; nor have any been more fruitful sources of theological and practical errors. a2 DEDICATION^ The peculiar difficulties that attend the general subject of ecclesiastical anticiuity, are not, however, obtruded u^jon the notice of the world, during quiescent periods; and, as the documents \vherein this species of lore is imbedded are accessible to few, and fami- liar to still fewer, as well the instruction with wdiich they are fraught, as the evils they may generate, often remain latent for a long course of years, and, therefore, may ordina- rily demand no vigilant regard. But it is otherwise at particular moments, wdien the dormant antiquarian zeal suddenly awakens, and claims a right of interference with every thing that is professed, believed, and done, in the open and active world. And if, at such a moment, this zeal, sharpened by the prejudices that are its usual characteris- tics, and animated, or even inflamed, by the illusions which it engenders, takes a bold course, and implicates the religious and civil institutions of the country, there are no limits hardly to the perils to w^hich every thing around us is immediately exposed. DEDICATION. Xl This seems to me precisely what the writers of the Oxford Tracts are now, with the best intentions, and with the most devoted attach- ment to the episcopal church, actually doing; that is to say, they are fearlessly staking the credit, the influence, and even the very ex- istence of the established church, upon the soundness of notions, regarding ancient Chris- tianity, which, as I am fully persuaded, will not endure an impartial examination; nay, which are miserably contradicted by abundant and unimpeachable evidence. There is surely reason enough then, for those vrho rank themselves with the friends of the established episcopal church, to take the alarm, and to follow closely the steps of these chivalrous divines. It is possible, indeed, and not unlikely, that the grounds of the doctrines advocated by these writers may insensibly be shifted; and that, finding their early as- sumptions to be utterly untenable, they may move off to a better chosen position. But even if it were so, the necessity would not be the less urgent for exploring that first chosen ground. In a word, the time is now mani- Xll DEDICATION. festly come when the Christian community, at large, must be thoroughly and authenti- cally informed concerning the spiritual, and the moral condition of the church during that morning hour of its existence, which, too easily alas! has been surrounded with attri- butes of celestial splendour, dignity, and pu- rity. To collect and diffuse this now indispen- sable information, is then the task I have undertaken; yet neither a very easy one, it must be granted, nor exempt from an invidi- ous aspect. To dissipate fond dreams may be a friendly and useful, but is never an ac- ceptable office. No one, I presume, will imagine that there remain to be adduced facts, or indications of facts, not already well known to those who are conversant with the origi- nal documents of ecclesiastical antiquity. But it is nevertheless certain, and the course of the present controversy has strikingly shown it to be so, that, what is familiar to a few, may be altogether unsurmised by the mass, even of well-informed persons. Our modern church hii=Ptories scarcely lift a cor- DEDICATION. ner of the veil that hides from us the inner recesses of the ancient church. And the fathers may be looked into, here and there, without a suspicion being awakened of a state of things which a more searching ex- amination brings to light. In commencing, then, these necessary re- searches, the immediate intention of which is not so much to controvert the particular prin- ciples or practices now under discussion, as to lay open the real condition, moral, spiritual, and ecclesiastical, of the ancient church, I have selected that one theme which, as I am fully persuaded, is better adapted than any other to answer the purpose of dissipating many illusions, and of generating a feeling of cau- tion in the minds of those who may just have given in, or may be on the point of giving in, their submission to the Oxford doctrines. Such, and I believe the number is now not small, I would here respectfully advise to sus- pend, a little, their judgment on the questions in hand, imtil they may have considered the evidence which I shall have to produce. As to yourself, my dear sir, you will not XiV DEDICATION. imagine that I am presuming to inform you of what you are not already acquainted with; and yet it is possible that the light in which I have placed some of these well-known facts, may seem to you new, and such as to deserve your regard. You will perceive that, while a single class of objects is before me, I have kept a double purpose alw^ays in view, name- ly, in the first instance, to loosen a little that antiquarian enthusiasm which is putting every thing dear to us in peril; and, in the second place, to open a path w^hereon afresh assault may be made upon the errors of the papacy. You will see that, as a preliminary to the general argument, I have taken some pains to define and affirm, what some too much overlook — the dependence of the modern church upon the ancient church, lest, in les- sening a little the credit of the latter, I should seem to favour an ultra-protestant prejudice, the prevalence of w^iich has, in fact, afford- ed a handle to the Oxford Tract waiters. And now, my dear sir, will you indulge me a moment while I make good my per- sonal plea to be listened to in the present con- DEDICATION. XV troversy ? — It will be granted then, that, what- ever course this w^ide discussion may take, it has, in all its branches, so intimate a con- nexion with ecclesiastical antiquity, as that it must, for the most part, be left in the hands of those who have happened to acquire some familiarity with this branch of learning, and who, moreover, possess the indispensable ad- vantage of actually having, under their hands, the body of ancient ecclesiastical literature. But these conditions confine, within rather narrow limits, the choice which the religious public might make (among those, already known to it as writers) of any to stand for- w^ard as qualified to deal with the general subject. Then again, among such, few as they may be, some have already ranged them- selves on the side of the Oxford writers; and some, perhaps, would admit themselves to be altogether disinclined to the task of dealing severely, with their favourite authors. On these grounds, then, as actually possess- ing the Greek and Latin church writers, and as bein^, in some degree, used to their com- XVI DEDICATION. pany, and moreover, as exempt, in the most complete manner, from the antiquarian en- thusiasm, I have felt as if I might, without culpable presumption, take a part in the great controversy of the day. And farther, as this controversy affects, in a peculiar manner, the welfare of the esta- blished episcopal chinxh, it seems as if it should be demanded of those who engage in it, that they can profess a firm conviction in favour of the principle of religious establish- ments, and of episcopacy; as well as a cor- dial approval of liturgical worship, and spe- cifically, of that of the established church. On this ground, then, my deliberate opinions are such as to allow of my fairly entering the lists. There is, however, yet a ground on which I feel that a rather peculiar advantage, in re- lation to such a controversy, belongs to me; and it is the circumstance of my personal in- dependence of the established church, and of my absolute exemption from the influence of any indirect motive for thinking, or for pro- DfiDICAtlON. XVll fessing, thus or thus, in any question affect- ing its credit and welfare. As a layman, I have no secular interests at stake in ecclesi- astical questions. I have nothing but truth to care for. And, moreover, my actual con- nexion, by education, and otherwise, with dissenters, may be accepted as giving to my decisive opinion in favour of the established church, the value, whether more or less, that may attach to principles that have resulted altogether from serious reflection. And I will here take leave to remind you, that, in de- claring myself some years ago on this side, I did so with a freedom of remark, in regard to the church, which precluded my winning any favour from its stanch adherents, or public champions. In fact, and I hope you will allow me on this occasion to make the profession, my convictions, on this subject, have been so powerful and so serious, as to lead me to put out of view every personal and secondary consideration. None will imagine, my dear sir, that, in addressing these pages to you, I have, in any way, compromised your personal or profes- XX DEDICATION. and vehemently opposed one to the other. Soon there will be no middle ground left; and every man, and especially every clergy- man, will be compelled to make his choice between the two. What practical decision can be more momentous, or demand more deliberation and impartial research ? I indulge the hope, then, my dear sir, that I shall be able to afford some aid to those, especially among the younger clergy, w^ho may actually be halting between the two opinions ; and I well know that, w^hile giving myself to my laborious task, I shall have the benefit of your cordial good wishes and pray- ers that that aid and blessing may be afforded me, apart from which, no endeavours can be fruitful of good. It is, my dear sir, with every sentiment of respect and esteem, that I subscribe myself yours, THE AUTHOR. Stanford Rivkrs, Feb. 20, 1839. ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, Slc. (fee. The great questions agitated but not determined three hundred years ago, are now coining on to be discussed, and under circumstances as auspicious altogetlier as they were lately unexpected. The reproach of the reforma- tion, that it did not fully ascertain its own principles, as well as the opprobrium of the church in later times, that little or nothing has been amended since Luiher, Cran- mer, and Knox went to their rest, are now, at last, very likely to be removed. "VVliile many are looking with terror at the unchecked spread of Romanism around the English ciiurcii, and with alarm at the prevalence of opinions within its most sacred precincts which apparently contravene the hbours of the reformers, there is, as I tliink, room to admit a very different feeling in relation to these signs of tlie times, I mean a feeling of exhilaration and hope as to the probable, and almost inevitable result, as well of the busy zeal of the Romish clergy as of the conscientious labours of the authors and favourers of the " Tracts for the Times." I must profess to regard the former, and still more decidedly the latter of tliese features of our religious condition, when looked at in their remoter; though not distant tendencies, as indicative of good, and such as should awaken to a new activity all who are pi- 22 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC ously waiting for the renovation of the influence or Christianity. And yet, in making this cheering profession, it ought to be acknowledged, lest we si)ould seem to be conceal- ing what it is neither candid nor safe to deny, that there are consequences not very unlikely to be attached to the Oxford Tract controversy which, in their bearing upon the peculiar position of the established church at the present moment, may well excite anxiety in the minds of its devoted friends, and, indeed, in the minds of all who acknowledge that an intimate connexion subsists between the welfare of the established church and the very existence of our most cherished civil institutions. It is not surely to pretend to any extraordinary sagacity to affirm that some of the questions moved by the writers we refer to, afiect, not very circuitously, the constitu- tional influence of the aristocracy, and even the stability of the throne. • In truth, great revolutions, as has been said of some other formidable abstractions, are wont to advance upon us in noiseless slippers, and taking their rise from some quarter which was the last to be watched or suspected, amaze the iieedless community with their terrible sud- denness, as much as with their destructive force. 'J'his, at least, must be admitted by all, that the general scheme of princii)les and sentiments that has been imbodied in the publications reA^rred to, recommends itself by a still depth, a latent power, a momentum, and a consistency in its development, which are the very characteristics of those movements tliat are to go on, and are to bring with them great changes, whether for the better or the worse. Really to despise this system is, I think, very inconsi- derate, and to aff'ect to despise it, very dangerous. CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT. 23 The political condition of the country being such as It is, (if, in fact, wc may any longer distinguish between the political and the religious,) and teeming as it does with elements of disorder, there are many, no doubt, who would most gladly remand, to some more conve- nient season, the agitation of ecclesiastical doctrines which toucli the solid structure of the constitution. This desire of tranquillity may be reasonable enough in itself; but it is unavailing, or it comes now too late. Very many minds, and these, not of the despicable populace, or of the poorly informed middle classes, but of the best taught and the best trained, and of those whose personal interests are tlie most weighty, have already been deeply moved, and are as unwilling to be left to subside into their former state of indolent acquiescence as those who have so wrought upon them are disinclined to remit their labours. What event, in fact, can be more impro- bable than that men whose success in producing this deep commotion has vastly surpassed their own fondest expectations, should spontaneously relax their exertions, or should begin to despond mid way in a broad trium- phant course? Nothing remains, then, whatever perils may impend, but for those who range them=;elves on an opposite side, to encounter their formidable, accom- plished, and flushed antagonists in the best manner they are able. Yet, even if it were now at the option of any who might wish to do so, to hush, at this particular moment, ■the controversy which is gathering around us — or even if it might be thought probable that, left to itself, this ilreaded system would share the fate of many a porten- tous wonder that has quickly sunk into oblivion — even in such a case, a true prudence might impel us rather to ?4 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. promote than to check tlie rising agitation, and to desire that, once set fairly in movement, as it now is, the qnesr tion of those great and first principles, apart from the precise adjustment of which our English protestantism has remained weak and vulnerable on every side, should be brought to its close without delay: and better now, than in some darker hour, when political commotions of a still more portentous kind than those ^yhich at present disturb the country, would greatly enhance the perils in-r separable from such a controversy, while they must, in an equal degree, diminish the probability of bringing it to a happy issue. The cry of " Popery!" raised by certain of the oppo- nents of the Oxford doctrines, must be granted to do as little credit to the discrimination of those who raise it, as to their candour. Nevertheless, and although the illr judged attempt to confound these doctrines with Roman- ism, or to disparage them, unheard, by an implication in the same obloquy, and thus to use an unfair advan- tage, drawn from popular prejudices, is to be strongly condemned and carefully avoided, it is yet certain that, in argumentative order, these principles and opinions must lake the lead, as standing first to be considered, when we have the Romish errors in view; and that the question of Romanism must follow in the track of the present controversy, without an interval. In truth, modern popery will never be dealt with to any good purpose, on the ground of argument, until the preliminary discussion which is induced by the Tracts for the Times, has been disposed of to the satisfaction, not perhaps of the immediate disputants, but of all honest, |-easonable, and intelligent by-standers. { have used the words controversy, argument, anc| CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT. 25 discussion, correlatives as they are, and implying two or more parlies, visibly in conflict; and yet, in the pre- sent instance, while, on the one side, the champions stand forward as a compact band, it is not very easy to name their actual opponents. To confess a humiliating truth, the writers of the Tracts for the Times are coolly looking over the field, and asking for those with whom they may engage. I am not uninformed of, nor do I wish to disparage, several able writers who have lately «ome forward in this controversy; but, as I shall show, there are special reasons why their opposition should be reckoned at less than, intrinsically, it may be worth. It appears that a peculiar disadvantage attaches to each of the accredited religious parties among us, to wliom it is natural to look, as the opponents of the Oxford divines. These incidental difHculties constitute, in fact, the most serious, or, it might be said, ominous circumstance of the present theological crisis. What I mean precisely is this — that, whatever we may privately surmise con- cerning the unsoundness of the principles assumed in this system, yet that those who maintain it, accomplished and well skilled in argument as they are, when they come to confront any one of our religious parlies, mani- festly possess, from incidental causes, the vantage ground,, as related to that single class of antagonists; and so of each in its turn. It is only by the sheer necessity of the case, and at the impulse of motives arising from a very unusual oc- casion, thai I could be induced to enter upon so delicate and invidious a subject as the weak points — the wound in the hand, which disables one party and another in their assaults upon the Oxford Tract writers. Let, how- ever, indulgence be given to a calm statement of the. 3^ 26 A^*CIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETCo simple facts, and in terms as free as possible from what might justly oflend any. To name first those who actu- ally stand foremost, and the description belongs to a large, and every way considerable body in the esta- blished church, who, professing the most cordial and iinexceptive approbation of the church, as it is, in its constitution, its ritual, and its position as related to the state, and who are accustomed to admire the fathers of the English Reformation on no account more than on that of tlieir wisdom in carrying amendment just to the point where it actually stopped, and no farther, and who deprecate any sort of movement or agitation that tends to change these stanch and well-contented Church-of- England men, when they come to deal, in detail, with the Oxford opinions, may, without much difficulty, be compelled to confess, first, that the cluirch, as settled by Edward VI. and Elizabeth, embraces, or favours princi- ples not as yet fully carried out, either in its offices or in its discipline and working; and secondly, that the church, or the country, or botli, has been slowly and imperceptibly moving forward (some will say down- ward) from the ground whereon it was reared by its founders, and that, to employ the favourite phrase of the Oxford Tracts, we, of the present day, liave become ^' far more proteslant," than were ihe English protestanls of the sixteenth century. Upon men of this party, there- fore, the Oxford writers urge nothing but mere consist- ency: they wish for notiiing that is not involved in the professions of ilie sound adherents of our prolestant episcopacy: what they plead for is not a reform, but a ye turn. Nor can this appeal be otherwise resisted than by a \iardy detcrminalion to hear nothing which might trou- CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT. 27 ble the present peace of the church. In fact, as it seems, numbers belonging to the party now referred to, if it should be called a party, have given in their submission to the Oxford leaders, and wait only the aid of a little more concurrence on the part of others, to promote openly what they favour silently. Consisting often of the very same individuals, and yet needing to be distinguished in regard to our present object, is the body which stands foremost in upholding, and approving of, the political constitution of the church, and which is more concerned (or seemingly so) for the establishment than it is for the church, and is zealous for episcopacy, on behalf of prelacy, and is prepared (unless we do them an injustice in so pre- suming to divine their dispositions) to admit certain changes which might even compromise a little the higher and more spiritual principles of the church, were it manifest that such alterations would tend to strengthen the stakes, and to lengthen the cords of the hierarchical tabernacle. Between men of this temper and the writers of the Tracts for the Times, there is a fundamental, and, it must be added, an ominous discordance, as well of feel- ing as of first principles. This discrepancy, although for the present it may be cloaked and hushed by the discreet, cannot but become more and more notorious 5 nor is it easy to see by what practical expedients the serious political consequences it involves are to be evaded. This capital difference, although men may not be willing to allow it, is nothing less than a rift in the foundations of the ecclesiastical structure: it is a settle' xnent more narrowly to be looked to than might be the 28 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. broken windows and shattered ornaments that should .mark some rude assault of the mob from without. It is not merely that the authors and promoters of the Oxford divinity are, generally speaking, men of a far more serious temper, and possessed of better digested notions, and are of more religious habits, than their op- ponents (of the class now referred to,) and are incom- parably better prepared to sustain any consequences which their consistency may entail upon them, and are therefore stronger, by a settled courage and a calm fore- thought of trouble; but they have possessed themselves of lofty principles, in comparison of which the compro- mising, secular, and heartless maxims of political church- men will prove, in the collision, as stubble or as sand. These — that is to say, the political adherents and champions of the establishment who admire, not so much the tenderness of our English reformers toward popery, as their obsequious discretion in regard to the Tudors, and who, as children of tliis world, and fond of tinsel, have always looked upon the trammels of church subserviency as trappings of honour — these persons now find themselves^uddenly placed in a new and unexpected position of embarrassment; or rather their actual posi- tion has been laid bare, with little ceremony, on the very side where they might most wish to avoid expo- sure. And by whom has this exposure been attempted? Not by sour puritans, or reckless levellers; not by the vulgar and the fanatical; not by the professed enemies of the church, of whatever class, and with any of whom it miglit have been easy to deal, in the wonted modes of haughty vituperation, or who need not have been listened to at all, so long as they could have been outvotedo CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT. 29 Such are not, at present, the troublers of the peace of the hierarchy; but they are men whose ripe accomplish- ments as divines, and whose unquestioned attachment to the episcopal church, not merely exempt them from contempt or suspicion, but secure for them, and for whatever they may write, the respectful attention of all portions of the clergy, and of all among the laity whose opinions can, in such a case, have weight. Or if any thing were yet wanting to secure an advantage which the one side might desire, and which the other might fear to see possessed by their opponents, these new champions of church supremacy actually enjoy it, name- ly, official influence, and the means of moulding the temper of the younger clergy to their will. As opposed to men thus advantageously placed, and thus furnished — men girding themselves to act the part of confessors, if not of martyrs, political churchmen, whether whigs or tories, cannot but feel their weakness. Fatal concessions were made, and dangerous compro- mises submitted to by the fathers of tlie English church, under the despotism of the Tudors, and these very er- rors (unavoidable, perhaps) are now become the unto- ward inheritance of the champions of the protestant estab- lishment. These, therefore, can wish for nothing so much as silence and repose: — in serious controversy, whenever it may come on, nothing awaits them but over- throw ; and it is a circumstance which none ought to lose sight of, that, how little soever the declared enemies of the established church may themselves personally relish the doctrines of the Oxford Tracts, their instinctive sym- pathies would at once coalesce with these writers, if seen to be contending, for high and religious principles, with the secular minded and political champions of the estab- 30 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. lishment. Obvious motives too, would operate, as well with Romanists, as with dissenters, and with the atheistic party impelling them, one and all, to cheer and aid these bold and learned impugners of church-and-state subser- viency. But we must look to another quarter in quest of those who might come forward, unencumbered, to witlistand the advances of the Oxford doctrines; and may it be to that, in every sense, estimable portion of the clergy — call them not a party, which has conventionally been de- signated — evangelical? It is true that the modern disci- ples and successors of Romaine, Fletcher, Milner, Cecil, Scott, and Newton, have by the sheer force of the cur- rent of church affairs, been carried toward a new position, and have been led greatly to modify and to tighten the ecclesiastical notions professed by their departed leaders. They nevertheless still hold to opinions, and to modes of feeling, which, though, as a matter of fact, springing- up within the established church, are not of it, are not its genuine products, or strictly indigenous to its soil; for they were the products of the new religious anima- tion diffused through the country by the apostolic labours of Wesley, Whitefield, and their followers ; nor can it well be denied that those who have professed these opi- nions, and who have felt in this manner, have stood as churchmen, in what is called — a false position; at least a position of difficulty, and of some practical embarrass- ment. If this be the case, or just so far as it may be granted to be so, nothing can be less desirable to the evangelical dergy than to be forced into any formal or particular ar- gument with their accomplished and learned brethren, on the very points that have driven some of their most CIRCUMSTAJfCES OF THE ARGUMENT. 3l distinguished predecessors, and of themselves, to the edge of nonconformity, and which chafe many a sensi- tive conscience. They may, by the aid of peculiar con- siderations, drawn from the perils of the time, have brought themselves to believe that they seriously disaf- fect nothing in the ritual or constitution of the church; and they may be satisfied with this or that elaborate ex- planation of certain difficulties ; nevertheless the uneasi- ness, although assuaged, is not removed, for the difficul- ty is real, and its reality, and its magnitude, must be brought afresh before them, to the renewal of many pain- ful conflicts of mind, whenever the genuine and original church of England principle and discipline, comes, as now, by the Oxford divines, to be insisted upon, ex- pounded, and carried out to its fair consequences. What the English reformers had in view, was — An- cient Christianity, or the doctrine, and discipline, and ritual of the Nicene age, and of the times nearly preceding that age ; and so far as the altered condition of the social system, and so far as the secular despotism allowed them "to follow their convictions, they realized their idea, and probably would have done so to the extent of a close imi- tation, had it been possible, of all but the more offen- sive features of that early system. But how utterly dif- ferent a notion of Christianity was that which animated the zeal of the founders of melhodism, and which, in the main, was cauglit by the fathers of the evangelical clergy. Holding to the same orthodoxy — the same Nicene and Athanasian doctrine, every thing else in the two systems stands out as a point of distinction. What parallels could be more incongruous, even to absurdity, than such as one might strive to institute, for instance, between Cyprian and Romaine, Tertullian and Milner, Chrysos- 32 ANCIENt CHRISTIANITY, EtC. torn and Cecil, Augustine and Scott, Jerom and New- ton ! The evangelical clergy, as Christian ministers, and as theologians, when they stand on open ground, may in- deed freely and with advantage contend against what they may deem superstitious or papistical in the system of the Oxford writers : but can they do so, precisely as churchmen ? It does not appear how, on this narrower field, they are to make good their footing. Or, leaving doctrine and ritual out of the question, and looking solely to the ominous topic of church supremacy or subserviency in relation to the state, the evangelical clergy cannot but feel the discussion to be inconvenient and undesirable ; fot it is they, more than any others, that must be painfully conscious of what have been the ill practical influences of the usurpations, and the lay in- terference that were submitted to, as by dire necessity, on the part of the founders of the establisliment. So it happens that, in resisting what they regard as the super- stitions of the Oxford divines, if driven back, they are driven upon puritanism; while in withstanding the Ox- ford church- supremacy doctrine, tlieir retreat, if defeated, can only be toward, either the dead levels of political expediency, or the swamps of dissent. It is with every sentiment of respect and affection toward this portion of the clergy, that I state the fact of their difficult position in regard to the present controversy; and I do so for the sake of precluding the fallacious hope lliat the now spreading opinions are to be withstood, much less over- thrown, by those who occupy this particular ground. It is perhaps unnecessary to insist u])on the unfitness of any class of dissenters to engage in controversy with the writers of the Tracts for the Times, inasmuch aS" V.1RCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT. 33 there seems little probability that such an attempt will be made. Dissenters have had their advantage, and they have reaped their glory, in contending for our religious liberties, and moreover they have found points of easy attack in assailing the loose opinions of political church- men; they may also have won partial triumphs, in urging the argument of consistency against the evangelical clergy; but they would find themselves, as I am inclined to think, stripped of most of these incidental advantages, and to be dealing altogether with another sort of adver- sary, were they to close in with the Oxford divines upon the questions now agitated. The time undoubtedly must come, and the. increasing learning and intelligence (and candour too, it is hoped) of the dissenting bodies, tend to hasten its approach, when the crude assumptions on which the modern congregational system rests, will be sifted anew, and when the principle of unchecked de- mocracy, in church government, will be brought to the test of scripture. But a controversy with the writers of the Oxford Tracts could not fail to bring on such a scru- tiny under circumstances which would render a defeat, even on single points, peculiarly mortifying. These as- tute and accomplished men — the Oxford writers, clearly rid, as they are, of the many embarrassments that have encumbered the less consistent churchmen, with whom, heretofore, dissenters have had to do, would, in rebutting the arguments of congregalionalists, find themselves free to take up aggressive weapons, and might bring the ec- clesiastical axioms of dissent into question, in a manner not to be desired by its adherents. It may then be con- sidered as a point of discretion with the dissenting bodies to provoke no controversy in the present instance, and especially as they have no immediate concern in this 4 34 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. great argument, and in fact are more likely to get credit by standing off from the fray, than to reap advantage from taking a part in it. Moreover, it is clear that the various, but intimately connected subjects, theological and ecclesiastical, at this time likely to be discussed, all come under the common condition of involving laborious researches upon the field of Christian antiquity. But this is a field not much fre- quented, in our own times, by non-conformists of any class. It is but a few individuals, of these communions, that profess any direct acquaintance with the Greek and Latin divines ; nor do the tastes of the dissenting bodies at all favour any reference of the sort. But granting, as we may, that, when we have to con- sider the safety and instruction of tlic uninformed reli- gious classes, in relation to any prevailing errors, the only practicable method is that of a simple adherence to the biblical branch of the argument ; it is yet perfectly clear that, when we are turning to those who are them- selves to be the sources of instruction, and the guides of the ignorant, theological discussions must include a much wider range of inquiry : and as to questions, such as those with which, in liie present instance, we have to do, there can be but one course likely to lead to a final adjustment of the points in dispute; and this only course must embrace a patient and piercing examination of the entire body of ancient Christian literature, so far as now extant. Any method more summary, specious as it may seem, will, as I venture to predict, produce only a mo- mentary impression, and will leave us liable to a speedy return of the very same controversies. But if tlie great argument be courageously encountered at the first, and entered upon with an immoveable determination to spare CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT. 35 no toil, to evade no difficulty, and to carry the torch of modern intelligence, and modern biblical feeling, into every, and the most intricate recesses of ancient Chris- tianity, there is a reasonable hope that, under the divine blessing, a real and permanent progress may be made in the momentous work of freeing our holy religion, effec- tually and finally, from the corruptions of many centuries. There are some, however, who are telling us, and it must be granted, not without an appearance of reason, that our notions of the importance of the present con- troversy are vastly exaggerated, and that therefore no such laborious courses of argument as those I am now indicating, can be necessary; and on the contrary it is affirmed that, left to itself, this new portent, like many equally alarming, will quickly disappear from our skies. It is indignantly asked — if we are to be disquieted in this degree, and to be moved from our places, at the bidding of a band of recluses, who, accomplished as they may be in worthless lore, and respectable and estimable perhaps, as Christians, or as clergymen, have yet shown them- selves so feeble in understanding as to bow to the frivo- lous superstitions of the darkest times. Are we, it is asked, to be led by those who suffer themselves to be led by the grim spectres of the twilight age of the church's history, and the midnight age of the world's history ? It must be confessed that, on this ground, a reasonable doubt may be entertained concerning the triumph of the particular Oxford confederacy, and of the magnitude of the issue in which the present movement is to terminate. A silent acquiescence in trivial superstitions, or even a forward zeal in maintaining frivolous formalities, affords no criterion of mental strength, in an age universally 36 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. superstitious, and grossly ignorant ; but it is liard not to consider such compliances, or. such solemn trifling, as genuine indications of an infirm temperament, when they meet us in times of diffused intelligence, and of vigor- ous mental activity. It is not to be doubted that many a spirit of power, in times gone by, has bowed and cringed, and moulded itself to the pattern of a Cassian's Institute ; but can any spirit of power now act the same part ? Shall we now any where find strong and sound minds forcing themselves to lisp mummeries, to prate, and whisper, and juggle, and drivel, and play the church puppet, after the fashion of the monkery of the tenth century? Few will believe this to be possible: — it is indeed hard for any to believe it. In an age, not of idle but of solid learning, an age of genuine, not of vain philosopliy; in an age (be it of too much license and of irreligious latitude, yet) of real force and manli- ness, and of rational and steady zeal ; in an age when, beside the noisy pretenders to high qualities, there are, on every side, and in the private walks of life, the pos- sessors of high qualities of mind and sentiment; if in such an age, men who have wanted no advantages of culture, are seen, in their imitations of antiquity, not merely to be bringing before us what might justly be venerated on the score of pristine purity, but also what, unless it could boast the hoary recommendations of time, must be ridiculed as simply absurd, in such a case, more than a surmise suggests itself, as to the intellectual sta- ture of the diligent and zealous antiquaries who maybe playing the part here supposed. But whatever estimate may be formed of individuals (and it is unnecessary in this instance, as well as invidi- pus to form any) the opinions in question are to be con- CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT. 37 sidered in their intrinsic weight and permanent validity; and also in their bearing, which is peculiar, upon the re- lative position of the established church, and of Roman- ism. In this view no controversy that has been started in modern times, ought to be thought more important, and if, at the present moment it have fallen into feeble hands, (a fact I do not affirm) more sturdy arms, we need not doubt, will ere long snatch the weapons now un- sheathed, and will command the respect of their opponents. The opinions advanced in the Tracts for the Times, may die away, for awhile ; but they must revive at some time not very remote. Motives of discretion, and the fear of change, natural to men in office, may lead to a gradual and silent retreat from the ground that was taken when the probable consequences of maintaining so advanced a position had not been maturely considered. The CENTRE PRINCIPLE of the Tracts for the Times— the unalienable right of the church to an uncontrolled internal government, and its inherent spiritual supremacy in relation to the civil power, generally, and to the tem- porary administration of that power in particular, this weighty doctrine tends directly, as all must see, to a disruption of the existing connexion between the church and the state, or to a schism, a rending of the texture from the top to the bottom ; the state being now under the guardianship of parties utterly adverse to any such elevated notions, and not at all likely to surrender so considerable a means of sustaining, from session to ses- sion, its tottering existence, as is afforded by the pos- session of an undue and irreligious influence over the church. Obvious motives of discretion may therefore, for awhile, restrain the combatants on the one side of this controversy as well as on the other; and if even 4* 38 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. the promoters of it have braced their minds to meet all the consequences of the opinions which, with tliem, are serious matters of religion and conscience, it may not be so with the clergy at large, without whose willing ear and concurrence it would not be possible, even for the most accomplished writers, long to bear up against that tide of public opinion which they have to stem. With the clergy at large it must rest to decide whether, by favouring an agitation that touches the principle of the protestant establishment, they sliall bring every thing dear to them into peril — the establishment itself first — then the due influence of tlie aristocracy, and then the denuded throne ; or whether, by promptly withdraw- ing all support from these agitators, and by turning away their ear, they shall slave off', awhile, the most dire commotion, religious and political, that has ever convulsed this country. The prediction has often been uttered, and by men of ' different parlies and opposite feelings, that if England is again to undergo revolutionary struggles, the heaving will commence within the church. If then any such course of events be at all probable, the earliest symp- toms of its approach should be observed, and the oppor- tunity seized (if it be offered) of so opening the ground, as to give free and timely vent to ihe volcanic tire that murmurs beneath our feet. It is therefore on this account especially that, while yet we may do so in iranquillity, a prompt and thorough attention should be paid to such at least of the Oxford opinions, as may be the most readily disposed of; and so, one by one, to extract tlie perilous ingredients from the mass. And whatever circumstance, of an extrinsic kind, recommends these opinions as they are now ad- CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ARGUMENT. 39 vanced, furnishes a corroboratory reason for dealing with them so as that if dispelled, it shall be for ever. These extrinsic recommendations are in fact nearly as great as can be imagined ; and they are as extraordi- nary as unlocked for. The solemn and plaintive tones of the ancient church, once heard amid the pangs of martyrdom, or resounding as soft echoes wakening the solitudes of the deserts of Syria, Arabia, and upper Egypt, the very same tones, and the same testimony, at once for great truths and for great errors too — for eternal verities, and for futile superstitions, are now, and after so long a silence, breaking from the cloisters of Oxford. This revival of the religion, and of the forms, of the principle, and of the costume of the martyr church, has not sprung up in Germany, where the love of mysticism and paradox, recommended by rich erudition, is every day evolving systems destined to enjoy their turn of celebrity, and to be forgotten ; but in England, where a characteristic national good sense, and a vigorous prac- tical feeling, and the free interaction of all elements, moral and inlelleclual, combine to give condensation, and so much the more force, to whatever courts the suf- frages of the educated classes. And in England this revival of ancient Christianity has not burst from among the sects where, having less confinement, it would sooner waste its infant strength ; but from the very heart of the established church, where salutary corrective influences are as strong and steady as they can be. Farthermore, it has not, as in certain instances v/hicli might be men- tioned, been iomented among juniors, more zealous than discreet, and with whom the want of judgment, and the unconfc'Sfccd inipulses of hot ambition, might have com- '40 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. bined to cherish extravagance of conduct, and opinion— not with such have we now to do, but with men of ma- ture understanding, and of authenticated professional quality, and whose official sentiments, tending more to- ward repose than agitation, must be supposed to out- weigh any irregular desires of notoriety. The writers of the Tracts for the Times, generally, have far more, in every sense, to risk, than they are likely to gain by the course they are pursuing. And finally, it is a cir- cumstance worthy of notice, and corroboratory of the general idea of our approaching an extraordinary and peculiar crisis of the church, that, if one of the English universities rather than the other could give sanction to doctrines and practices drawn from Christian antiquity, those maintained in the Tracts for the Times are ema- nating not from Cambridge — but from Oxford. SUBSTANCE OF THE ARGUMENT. Concisely expressed, the argument of the reforma- tion turned upon the alleged difference between the reli- gion of the middle ages, and that of the New Testament. The Romanist generally admitted this diversity, and yet maintained that, whatever constituted the difference, was binding upon the church: t!ie reformers therefore had more to do with the principle of the authority which imposed this difference, than with the difference in its details, and which was confessed on all sides. Using, for the moment, a similar brevity of descrip- tion, it may be affirmed that the argument mooted by SUBSTANCE OF THE ARGUMENT. 41 the writers of the Oxford Tracts, turns upon the differ- ence (if there be any) between the religion of the New Testament, and that of the pristine and martyr church, which difference, if even it were ascertained, they would represent to be not merely innocent, but imitable. After exhibiting this discrepancy, there would remain to be discussed the very important question concerning the deference that is due, by the modern church, to the ancient church, on the alleged ground of its having pos- sessed, what we have lost, namely, the unwritten mind, and the practices of the apostolic age ; as well as those authoritative decisions, on various points of discipline and worship, to which, in their epistles, the apostles fre- quently refer, as well known, although not then and there specified. Whatever may be the consequences, or tendency of their modes of thinking, the Oxford wri- , ters are not, like TertuUian, labouring to establish the equal authority of a perpetually emanating tradition, or a power of gradual development, granted to the church; but are simply affirming tlie authority of traditions known, or Vv'ell surmised to be, strictly apostolical. Such, as I understand them, are the points we have to consider in the present argument. On all hands, within the protestant pale, the well ascertained usurpa- tions and corruptions of the Romish church are utterly discarded. What have we, in England, to do with the Gregorys, the Sylvesters, the Innocents, the Urbans, of Rome, or with the notions they favoured, or with the practices they enjoined? What part hath the bishop of Rome in tliese western islands ? Prove that he may lawfully command us, as his spiritual children, and we submit. But it is another thinir to insulate ourselves from the 42 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. broad continent of ancient and Catholic Christianity: it is another thing to denounce, unexamined, whatever consti- tutes the glaring difference between our own Christia- nity, and that of the times when men were living who had received their faith, at one or two removes, from the lips of the twelve. It is another thing to incur the risks of contemptuously discarding all that the Apos- tles might have recommended, or might have established, altliough only incidentally (or perhaps not at all) alluded to in their extant writings. With the indolent hope of evading laborious inqui- ries, and of escaping from endless discussions, and of effectively cutting every cord that ties us to Romanism, with some such views as these, there may be those who would sink antiquity altogether, well content to reserve, just the canonical writings. But to do this, is, as I think may be proved, as impracticable a course, as it is bold, unwarrantable, and unnecessary. Nothing remains for us, I am persuaded, but to employ all that serious dili- gence and discrimination which we may be masters of, and which the importance of the occasion calls for, in an extensive research of Christian antiquity. Admitting the general principle, which, as I now state it, may be easily established, that a deference is actually due to the mind and testimony of the ancient church catholic, there remains to be determined, first — the chro- nological limits of that church; or the precise period within which it was in fact catholic, and entitled, as such, to respect; and secondly, what are the limitations under which this deference should be yielded, and this testimony listened to. Is reverence due to every thing that was generally believed and practised within the pre- cincts of the ancient church? If not, what are the ac- SUBSTANCE OF THE ARGUMENT. 43 tual exceptions; and what the rules that should guide us in making them? The writers of the Tracts for the Times have not as yet effected the indispensable preliminary work of de- fining the legitimate authority of the ancient church, and setting it clear of the many perplexities that attach to the subject. Until this be done, they, in asserting this authority, and others in impugning it, are beating the air. In the following pages an endeavour will be made, and will be repeated from different starting points, so to ex- hibit the real religious condition, and moral and spiritual characteristics of the ancient church, as may'go far in aiding us to draw the line between a due, and an undue deference to this alleged authority. If I should be able to effect my intention, with any degree of success, I shall indulge the hope of relieving many wavering minds from their perplexities. "Whatever analogies may seem to connect the doctrines of the Oxford Tracts with popery, the difference be- tween the two is such as that those must certainly be disappointed who, hastily snatching up the rusty swords and spears of the reformers, rush,, so accoutred, upon the Oxford divines. To demolish popery (a work, as it has proved, not so easily accomplished as some had imagined) is only to leave the ancient Christianity of the Oxford writers in a fairer and loftier position. Nevertheless, as I have already said, if we can but clearly define and wall about the respect due to the an- cient church, and mark the points where suspicion is to come in the place of deference, almost every thing will have been done which mere argument can be supposed to effect in ridding the world of the illusions of the Ro- mish superstition. Our present labours then, arduous 44 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. as they may be, are animated by a most cheering hope. We have indeed a single subject in view; but we have a double purpose; and the ulterior intention of what we are proposing, challenges to itself a grandeur and a so- lemnity which must urge every motive of exertion to the highest pitch. The human mind can indeed admit no impulses more powerful than those which press upon it when, as now, a new hope is presented of aiding in the destined overthrow of the horrid despotism of the papal heresy. Our subject then is not a biblical argument, or a ques- tion of interpretation; nor is it abstractedly theological, much less metaphysical or philosophical; but js purely historical: and — what we have to inquire about is — the actual condition of the Christian church from the apos- tolic times, and downwards, toward the seventh cen- tury. — The history of Christianity! alas the ominous words, which sink like a mortal chill into the heart. Christi- anity lias absolutely no difliculties, or none that ought for a moment to sta^'ger a sound and well informed mind, ' none excepting such as attach to its history; «but these, although clearly separable from the question of its own divine origin, yet how serious and how disheartening are they! The Christian, if lie would enjoy any se- renity, should either know nothing of the history of his religion, or he should be acquainted with it so profoundly, as to have satisfied himself that the dark surmises which had tormented his solitary meditations, have no substan- tial bearing upon the principles of his faitli. In truth these difficulties, whatever they may be, when they come to be accurately examined, are found to press, CHRISTIANITY AND ITS HISTORY. 45 not upon Christianity itself, but upon certain too hastily assumed principles of natural theology, which they ap- pear to contradict. The general aspect of the gospel economy suggests expectations, as to the divine purposes toward mankind, at large, which not only have not hi- therto been justified by the actual course of human af- fairs, but which the very explicit predictions of our Lord, and of his apostles, had we properly regarded them, should have taught us not to entertain. After listening, in the first place, to the predictions of the Jew- ish prophets concerning the reign of the Messiah, and then to the song of the angelic choir, announcing the ac- tual birth of the Prince of Peace, if we turn, either to our Lord's public discourses, or to liis private conversa- tions with his disciples, a very remarkable contrast prer- sents itself; and whether or not we may be successful in harmonizing the apparent discrepancy, it presents an alternative strikingly confirmatory of our faith as Chris- tians. For, in the first place, the perfectly unambigu- ous, and often repeated announcements made by Christ to his followers of persecutions, universal hatred, and cruel deaths which awaited those who were to promul- gate his doctrine, were tlie very reverse of what an un- inspired founder of a new faith would either himself have adinitted, or would have ventured to hold before his early adherents. Then, and in the second place, these same announcements, when com pared with the facts which make up the history of the church, stand forward as pro- phecies so fulfilled to the letter, as to vindicate the divine prescience of him who uttered them. Li like manner the well known predictions contained in the apostolic epistles, and which speak of the cor- ruptions and the apostacies that should arise within the .5 46 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. church, are available in this same two-fold manner, first, as evidences of reality and sincerity on the part of the apostles, and as opposed to enthusiasm and guile, which would have dictated things more fair and smooth; and, secondly, of a divinely imparted foreknowledge of the course of events. Let it be granted then, that the history of Christianity painfully contradicts the bright expectations we might have entertained of what the gospel was to be, and to do. But does it in any particle contradict our Lord's own forewarnings, or the apostles' explicit predictions concerning the fate and position of its adherents in this world of evil? Assuredly not. These general observations, often as they have been advanced by Christian writers, might be considered as impertinent in this place as to their ordinary bearing; but they contain an inference peculiarly significant in re- lation to our immediate object. Let me say then, tliat, without prejudging the scheme of ecclesiastical princi- ples which we are now proposing to sift, we may at least affirm that it assumes and supposes a stale of things in the early church, much more in accordance with the fond and vague expectations just referred to, than either with the well defined predictions of Paul, Peter, and Jude, or with the pages of church history. Now this difl^erence should be noted, and it should load those who hitherto have overlooked it, to give the more earnest attention to the details of an inquiry, tiie intention of which is to discover whether ancient Christianity was, in fact, what we should have rejoiced to find it, or, on the coiUrary, what the apostolic prophecies would have led us sorrow- fully to look for. If at any time, or if in any particular instance, the au- CHRISTIANITY AND ITS HISTORY. 47 thority of the ancient church is to be urged upon the modern church, then surely there is a pertinence in turn- ing to the apostolic prophecies of perversions, corrup- tions, apostacies, quickly to spring up within the sacred enclosure itself, which meet us at the threshold, and seem to bring us under a most solemn obligation to look to it, lest, amid the fervours of an indiscriminate reverence, we seize for imitation the very things which the apostles foresav/ and forewarned the church of, as fatal errors! No practical caution, as it seems to me, can be much more clear, as to its propriety, or important in itself, than the one I now insist upon. Say, we are about to open the original and authentic records of ancient Christianity, and in doing so, have a specific intention to compare our modern Christianity therewith, and to re- dress it, if necessary, in accordance with the pristine model. But at this moment the apostolic predictions, like a handwriting on the wall, brighten belbre our eyes, in characters of terror. We are entering a wide field, upon the skirls of which a friendly hand has posted the — " Beware of pits and swamps, even on the beaten paths of this sacred ground." To addict oneself to the study of ancient Christianity, with a credulous, antiquarian ve- neration, regardless of the apostolic predictions, is to lay oneself down to sleep upon the campagna, after having been told that the whole region exhales a malig- nant miasma: the fate of one so infatuated, would not be more sure, than merited. Nevertheless these cautions, which common discretion not less than piety suggest and confirm, are misunder- stood if they are used to discourage any researches which our extant materials afford the means of prose- cuting. The scoffer and skeptic, casting a hasty glance 48 ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY, ETC. upon church history, and looking, by instinct of his per- sonal tastes, to the scum and the froth, turns away in ar- rogant disgust: but the Christian may not do the same. On the other side, the unlearned believer, finding, in church history, if he looks into it at all, what revolts his feelings, clasps his bible to his bosom, with a renewed affection, and resolves to know nothing else: and it may be an ill-advised zeal that would disturb such a resolu- tion. Mean time. Christians of cultivated minds, and pecu- liarly all who stand forward as the teachers of Christi- anity, owe it to themselves, and to others, to free them- selves from the many perils of ignorance, on this parti- cular ground; — and on no ground is it more dangerous to be ignorant or to be imperfectly informed. It is a happy omen of the present times, that this ignorance, or slender information lately attaching to all but here and there a solitary and secluded antiquary, is now being ra- pidly dispersed; so that on all sides, those who addict themselves to theological studies, whether exegetical, dogmatic, or ecclesiastical, are turning, with an animated and sedulous zeal, to the remains of ancient Christian li- terature. Some, perhaps with an overweening reverence, and others with a predetermined contempt; but more than a few, are, with a well directed and intelligent curiosity, turning over the long neglected tomes that imbody the history of our religion: and it is a remarkable fact that, at this moment, these laborious inquiries, set on foot by peculiar circumstances, in each instance, are pursued in Germany, in France, and in England. The combined result (for the several results must meet at length in one issue) cannot but effect some momentous changes in each of these countries; nor is it easy to exclude the expecta- CHRISTIANITY AND ITS HISTORY. 49 tion of consequences which must affect the religious con- dition of Europe, and of the world. Among ourselves, however, there are too many who, whether from motives of indolence, which one must be re- luctant to impute, or from a dim forethought of some pro- bable and undesired consequences, hold back from the studies which others are so honourably prosecuting. Looking at the Christian world at large, it is my full con- viction, that there is just now a far more urgent need of persuasives to the study of Christian history and literature, than of cautions against the abuse of such studies. Too many feel and speak as if they thought there were no continuity in their religion; or as if there were no uni- versal church; or as if the individual Christian, with his pocket bible in his hand, need fix his eyes upon nothing but the little efldy of his personal emotions; or as if Chris- tianity were not what it is its glory anrl its characteristic to be — a religion of history. Christianity, the pledge to man of eternity, is the oc- cupant of all lime; and not merely was it, itself, the ripen- ing of the dispensations that had gone before it, but it was to be the home companion of the successive genera- tions of man, until the consummation of all things. Not to know Christianity as the religion of all ages — as that which grasps and interprets the cycles of time, is to be in a condition like that of the man whose gloomy cham- ber admits only a single pencil of the universal radiance of noon. The eager, forward-looking temper of these stirring times, has withdrawn Christians, far too much, from the quieting recollection tl)at they themselves are members of a series, and portions of a mass; nor do we, so much or so often as might be well, entertain tlie solemn me- 50 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH dilation, that we, individually, are hastening to join the general assembly of those who, from age to age, have stood \vhere we now stand, as the holders and profes- sors of God's truth in the world. Is there no irreligion, no want of faiih and fervour, indicated by a voluntary and utter ignorance of those into whose company, within a few months, or years, we are to be thrown? Our Christianity is not a system of philosopliy, or ab- stract principles, broached, no one cares when, and having no visible attachments to place, time, or persons, and which, as it is pregnant with no hopes, is rich with no records. Again, it stands vividly contrasted with false religions of all names, which, contradicted as they are by genuine history, in what concerns their origin, are throughout every year and century of their continuance, more and more belied by the course of events; and are, as time runs on, loosening their precarious hold of tiie convictions of their adherents, by illuding, more and more, their expectations. Christianity is the reverse of all this, in its form, and in the mode of its conveyance, and in the sentiments which it generates. Its own con- stant tendency is to gather, not to scatter; and not merely does it, or would it, bind its true adherents, of each age, in a visible communion; but it knits together, in one, by a retrospective and anticipative feeling, the children of God, who are dispersed through all periods of time. Because it is of the very essence of truth in religion, to blend itself with a certain series of events, and to mix itself with history, example more than precept, biog- raphy more than abstract doctrine, are made to convey to us, in the scriptures, the various elements of piety. Truth in religion, is something that has been acted and transacted; it is something that has been imbodied in UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 51 persons and societies; and so intimately does this condi- tion of CONTINUITY attach to tiie gospel scheme, that the inspired narrative of tlie past, runs on without a break, into the announcement of the future; so as iliat tlie en- tire destinies of the liuman fansily — a part narrated, and a part foretold, a part brought under the direct beams of history, and a part dimly adumbrated in prophecy, are grasped by it, and claimed as its possession. One must be really perplexed when one sees the Chris- tian, with an historic bible in his hand, and who, by its aid, commands a prospect over all the fields of time, and far into the regions of eternity, yet tliinking that certain intermediate periods of the great cycle of God's dispen- sations are nothing to him; or that he may as well be ut- terly ignorant of large tracts of this extensive course, as know them. The forming an acquaintance, so far as we possess the means of opening it, with our brethren, and fellow citizens, and precursors, in the Christian com- monwealth, we owe to their virtues and sufferings; and we owe it also to their errors and illusions; and if they themselves, we may be sure, could now send us a mes- sage of love, it would relate ranch ratlier to the errors against which we should be cautioned, than to the vir- tues of which we may find brighter examples in scrip- ture itself. But there is even a more serious, and pointed motive, urging upon the ministers of religion, especially, a de- vout and careful study of church history; and it is a motive which has a very particular bearing upon the dif- ficult inquiries we have now in view. What then is church iiistory (and especially what would it be, if our materials were more ample) but a running commentary upon our Lord's most solemn promise, to be with his 52 THE DErENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH servants always, even to the end of the world ? These words, sacred as they are, and peculiar, as having been littered at the most remarkable moment of all time (if only that of the second advent be expected) can have no njeaning, or none that can render them important to our- selves, if we are not to look into church history for their verification. This promise, so emphatically uttered, with whatever benefits it may teem, was not given without a clear pre- science of the very tilings that most oflend and perplex us in the records of Christianity. Not a heresy that has troubled the church, not any outburst of pride and pas- sion among divines, that has disgraced it, no illusion t!iat has seduced the kw, and none that has infatuated tlie many, or even the church at large, throughout the h.pse of ages, was unforeseen by him who thus formally engaged to be with and near his ministers, in the long succession of their office, until he comes again. How is it possible to think less than this ? Or how, if we liiink it, can we be incurious concerning the actual indi- cations of that divine presence from age to age? But the difficulty is this: — these indications of the Lord's presence with his church, have not been such as we should have expected to find them ;— the Lord has net seemed to surround himself with the men whom we sliould have chosen for his companions: and those cap- tious words are almost on our lips; — "This man keepeth company with publicans and sinners." Now it is pre- cisely in connexion with some such uneasy feelings as these — that many pious persons entertain prejudices which have a very unfavourable influence upon llieir religious cliaractcr ; and it relates immediately to the great questions now bel''ore us to lay the axe to the root UPON THE ANCIEXT CHURCH. 53 of siicii notions. Let us then consider our actual posi- tion in tliis instance. — When in any case, a well known friend, or a teacher and guide, or a prince and patron, acts in the very way which we had anticipated, and when he says and does very nearly what we should have imagined him to say and do, under given circumstances, we stand on one side, with a quiet, incurious acquiescence, just as we watch the rising and the setting of the sun, when his undevi- ating revolutions bring him, at the wonted moment, to the line of the horizon. But how different are our feelings, and how much more intense and wakeful is our attention if, while we still confidently rely upon what we know of his wisdom, and goodness, he starts aside from the path we had presumed to mark out for him, and holds a course which confounds every notion we had entertained of his character and purposes ! — In any such case, we rouse ourselves from our previous listlessness, and, with an eager, anxious, intentness of mind, we watch every movement, listen to every word he utters, and we note, even the least considerable circumstances of his beha- viour ; his every gesture fixes our eye, and we let no- thing escape us which may perhaps afford some indica- tion of those hidden reasons which will at length explain this unlocked for course of conduct. Do we not tho- roughly know our friend, patron, prince? May we not hope then, that, sooner or later, we shall find the means of truly interpreting the enigmas of his administration. The application of such a supposed case is obvious, in this instance. If it be true that the general complex- ion of church history, through the course of long cen- turies, is such as to offend our preconceived notions, and to shock our spiritual tastes, and if, while we bend 54 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH over the records of those dim eras, the promise of the Lord to be with his servantr., still rings in our ears, as a dolet''ul knell of ]ioj)es broken ; if it be so, or, as far as sucli may be the fact, the motive becomes more impres- sive and serious which impels us to acquire an authentic knowledge of this course of events, in all its details, — and if there are any who must acknowledge that they feel a peculiar repugnance in regard to church history, they are the very persons, more than any other, whom it behooves to school themselves in this kind of learning; for it seems more than barely probable, that this distaste springs from some ill affection of their own minds, de- manding to be exposed and remedied. Such persons may well admit the supposition that tliey have hastily assumed certain notions of their Lord's principles of government, which are in fact unlike what, at length, they will find themselves to be sui)ject to; and if so, the sooner they dispel any such false impressions, the better. On the face of the instance supposed, one should say, that any perplexities we may feel in regard to that course of events which constitutes the history of Christianity, probably spring from some deep-seated error of feeling, or of opinion, which, for our own sakes, we should carefully analyze. Reasons such as these, ought to be enough to engage the ministers of religion, at least, in the labour of ob- taining as much familiarity as their more urgent duties will allow, with the records of our faith, from age to age. Other motives, very obvious, and often adverted to, belong rather to individuals, addicting themselves, from personal taste, or professional obligation, to specific studies, and who will not stop short of a thorough knowledge of the subject. To some of these technical rPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 55 uses of church history, I shall have occasion presently to advert; but these pursuits have yet another, and a general recommendation, which I do not remember to have seen insisted upon, although it is not in itself incon- siderable, and is very proper in this place to be adduced, when our inquiries are to involve some of the most in- tricate principles of human nature, as wrought upon by religious motives. In all cases, then, in which the materials of history are copious, as well as authentic, it holds good as a rule, that the practical utility of each portion of it bears a direct proportion to the degree in which, among the people, or within the community so reported, the various elements of human nature have been developed. A low or contracted development of human nature, involves a barren and profitless narrative of events : nothing can be iKore parched, or destitute of nutriment, than the story of the fortunes and misfortunes of savage, or semi-bar- barous nations : a page or two, comprising the broad facts of the social condition of such communities, affords all the instruction we could derive from a volume, were it written. In truth, although there may he pictures of the imperfectly civilized races, there can be no history of them. It is Greece that may have a history, where the human mind spreads itself out, like a superb flower, fronting the sun, until the most delicate tints, and the finest structure of its inmost recesses are laid open : and the same is true of Rome, and Italy, and modern Europe. Now on this very principle, although, in comparing church history with that of civil societies, the former must be granted to want, almost entirely, the brilliancy, and movement, that give an untiring charm to the latter, yet has it its prerogative, and a high one (if solid instruc- 66 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH tion be sought for) and it is this, that it exhibits men to to our view, as wrought upon by motives at once more profound, and less easily understood, than any other motives. False religions have indeed turned up human nature from its depths, in a manner never e fleeted by interests that were merely secular. But true religion, beside its power in common with the false, to animate the deepest seated emotions, has exhibited these occult elements in combination, and in contrast with, emotions altogether peculiar to itself, and whicli, without its aid would lay latent and unsuspected, beneath the soil of human nature, from age to age. It is Christianity, and nothing else could do it, that has shown man all that is in his heart. No other stage of human affairs exhibits hu- man nature, as this does, displaying, now the virtues that ally man to God, and now the dark passions that seem to render him the fit associate and minister of fiends. What line of history then can be equal to church history, for instructiveness ? Thus it must be ordinarily ; but it is peculiarly so, as often as occasions arise in which what may be new to ourselves, who are but of yester- day, m;iy be found, in its type or pattern, on this or tliat page of the records of the church. On such occasions, niore perhaps than in any other, those possess a great advantage over their brethren, whose minds are already richly stored with a well digested mass of instances, applicable to the novelties (or apparent novelties) of whatever kind, v.hich, from time to lime, blaze out to alarm the timid, and to a;lure the simple, /i ready recol- lection of the ancient guise of the very same substantial error or folly, is all that we need, in many cases, for allaying our fears, or for securing us a;jainst lite infatua- tion which affects others, or for suggesting the remedies UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 57 that are to be employed. Under circumstances more or less strictly analogous, we have the invaluable opportu- nity of seeing how our predecessors have discharged their duty, or have compromised it. The canonical adage — " nothing new under the sun," holds good in a peculiar sense within the precincts of the church, and it does so for an obvious reason. What is new, or rather what seems to be new, in the manifold up-turnings of human affairs, springs from some less- usual combination of the thousand lighter impulses tliat are at work within our bosoms, nnd these impulses, be- cause they are so many, and because the individual varieties of disposition are indefiiiitely numerous, will be throwing out, from time to time, rare conjunctions of temper and of circumstance. But now those deeper prin- ciples of our moral and intellectual nature to which Christianity addresses itself, are very ieAv, and the ele- ments of trutii also are few; and hence, by necessity, the changes of which the two, in combination, are sus- ceptible are comparatively few, and therefore must seve- rally be of more frequent recurrence. There is little risk in affirming that the first five cen- turies, or we might say, tlie first tliree of the Christian history, comprise a sample of every form and variety of intellectual or moral aberration of which human nature is at all susceptible, under the influence of religious excitement. No great ingenuity therefore can be needed in matching any modern form of error or extravagance, with its like, to be produced from the museum of an- tique specimens. And how much relief, under any nev/ perplexity, may be derived from such recognitions, those can best tell who are the best furnished with the requi- site erudition. If then there were no other recommenda- tion of these studies, the one now referred to would be 6 58 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODEHN CHURCH enough to repay all the labours which they involve. I venture to add that, in tlie momentous and intricate questions to which we are now addressing ourselves, a fair use of antiquity, as a copia instantiarum, will carry us safely and undoubtingly through every strait. Or if there are, or have been agitators of the repose of the church, who would resent any recurrence to an- tiquity, as applicable to themselves, and who would not be afraid to denounce any appeal to it as futile, super- stitious, and impertinent, the parties with wiiom we have now to do, noi merely admit the propriety of such a reference, but arc the most forward to invite it; making it ihcir boast that the image of wiiat they are, or what they would fain be, may be contemplated in the fair glass of antiquity. Nothing remains then but tliat they, and their opponents, should together look into that glass. These indispensable studies, have, in fact, been revived of late, to a great extent, in our own, as well as other countries ; while the use and necessity of them are forced anew upon the minds of all by the rapid and unexpected advances of Romanism, whose ministers are taking ad- vantage of that ignorance of antiquity which has too long been the reproach of protestantism. So much importance attaches, at the present moment, to ecclesiastical learning, that it must not be deemed impertinent, in this place, to exhibit the futility of cer- tain suppositions on the ground of which many excuse their sligiit acquaintance with it. In the first place then, it is often roundly aiTirmed, that we may know as much of the history of our reli- gion as can avail us for any practical purposes, through the medium of some one or more of our modern com- pilatioufc — called histories of the church. ISow to this UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 59 sssnmption it might be taken as a very sufficient reply, that we have at present to do, as well in the instance of the Oxford divines, as in that of the Romanists, with men who know vastly more of Christian antiquity than is to be gathered from such sources. Can we then imagine it to be safe to enter into controversy with our antagonists, less well-informed than they are? Besides, since the time when most of those compilations were given to the world, the views of the best informed per- sons, on the general subject of historical composition, have undergone a great change ; so that even the most able and noted of our writers, in this line, have lost very much of the esteem which they once enjoyed; that is to say, as historians. Who, now-a-days, thinks it is enough to know just as much of history as Hume, or Robertson, may inform him of? History, to subserve its serious practical uses, is not to be conveyed in broad generalities, or in the rounded periods of a philosophical digest: it is not a landscape painting of gay forms, and well-grouped masses ; but a sedulous adduction of ge- nuine materials, such as shall enable us, so far as re- moteness of time admits, to understand, as well the ac- actual condition of the mass of mankind, at different eras, as the motives and conduct of those who have con- trolled public events. And if nothing less than this sort of elaborate prepa- ration can be accepted in the walks of secular history, assuredly we need rather a larger measure than a less, to render ecclesiastical history of much avail ; and espe- cially for this reason that, in what relates to religion, the intimate character and motives of men are, relatively, more important, as compared with their overt acts, or public conduct, than in civil affairs ; while, at the same time, these interior facts are liable to be more disguised. 60 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH Statesmen may be truly estimated, much more easily than churchmen, and yet a just estimation of the latter is )nuch more important for securing the ends of history, than it can be of the former. We cannot therefore stand excused from the task of carefully considering the entire mass of extant materials of church history, if we wish to secure any valuable result of sound wisdom, as the fruit of our labour. Allowing every merit that can fairly be claimed for our modern church histories, to what immense deduc- tions are they not liable, if considered as mirrors of Christian antiquity ? The ecclesiastical and theological prejudices of some of these writers, and their pledged subserviency to particular interests, the utter want of religious feeling in others, the superstition of some, and the active fanaticism of a few, are enough to justify our passing them by, one and all, if what we have in view be a genuine acquaintance with the subject. Besides, if such works embrace the sixteen or eighteen centuries of Christianity, those periods that are in fact the most important, — nay, almost exclusively important, must be confined within limits much too narrow ; and even this scanty allotment of pages, has, in most instances, been still farther restricted by the admission of tedious disqui- sitions, on subsidiary points, of no intrinsic value — as whether a martyrdom occurred in this, or the next year; or whether a senseless heresy included, or did not in- clude, such or such an unintelligible dogma ! points which are dismissed at last with the ingenuous confession, that they are neither of much consequence, nor susceptible of any conclusive determination! But even if we could name a modern history of Chris- tianity, exempt from all such faults and deficiencies, it would still be nothing better than — a statement, joreparerf rPON THE ANCIEXT CHURCH. 61 and digested, and therefore less than what is indispen- sable, when momentous questions come to hinsfe upon a true and exact knowledge of antiquity. The reading a modern church history, supposing it to combine every excellence, if compared with the perusal of the entire and original materials whence that history was drawn, and of which it is a digest, might not unfitly be likened to the listening, in chancery, to a body of written affi- davits, and statements of facts, carefully and profession- ally dressed up, and moulded with a special intention; such a body of evidence, compared with the hearing and seeing of the actual witnesses, in a court of law. In the one case the most astute professional sagacity often fails to reach the naked truth ; while in the other, an honest and intelligent juryman, conversant with human nature, wants no assistance, ordinarily, in discerning the true from the fa^se. The point I am now insisting upon I feel to be of great practical importance in relation to the wide range of controversies which we have in view; for it is my firm conviction, tliat nothing will be brouglit to a satis- factory conclusion until tlie moral and spiritual condition of the early church lias been fully laid open. But, in innumerable instances, it is found that a just and vivid conception of things or persons, remote, that is to say — the very truth, apart from which all else that we may know is substantially false, crimes before us, unlooked for, and while, perhaps, we may have been listlessly threading our way down a lifeless page. And sucli casual indications, or revelations, as one might call them, of the naked truth, are more likely than not to be passed over by the grave compiler of history, as unworthy of his dignified regard, or as altogether trivial. It might, indeed, seem as if a judicious selection from 6* 62 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH the Greek and Latin church writers, would sufficiently secure tlie benefits to be derived, even from the perusal of the whole of them, thus saving the time and cost of doing so. But a moment's consideration will expose the fallaciousness of such a supposition ; for even allow- ingthe utmost discretion to him who undertakes the task of selection, on what principle, let it be asked, is that selection likely to be made ? It must be replied that, at once the pious tastes of the editor, and his solicitude to provide, in the best manner he can, for the combined edification and pleasure of his readers (of the religious public such as it is) will prompt, nay compel him, to cull ihejio'wers of sacred literature, as he goes ; and to leave, where he finds them, the rveeds. In a word, he will gather, as most proper for his purpose, whatever an in- telligent and pious reader would spontaneously distin- guish, with a margin pencil line, as worthy of a second perusal. All this may be well enough, if the mere per- sonal edification of the private Christian be in view; but what sort of provision is it, which is thus made for acquiring a safe and competent knowledge of the merits and character of the actors in church history? Misera- bly will any one be deluded who trusts himself to any s^ch culled materials ! I think more than a few of the passages I shall presently have occasion to cite, how pertinent soever they may be in regard to the questions at issue, are of a kind that would never have found a place in any selection from the fathers. Nay, these pas- sages reveal facts which the compilers of churcli history liave studiously concealed from their readers. If we are anxious to know what the church was at any time, and wliat its teachers and masters were, then the more judicious (in one sense) such a selection may be, the more effectively will it lead us astray: the choicest UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 6S collection, made on any such principle, would be the most mendacious, regarded as testimony. Such a col- lection, considered as a material of history, is a splen- did vapour, hovering as a glare of seductive light, over a swamp. Materials so brought together, are just what a body of evidence, produced in court, would be, if an advocate were allowed to bring forward every thing in which the witnesses are agreed, and to suppress. every thing in which they differ. Yet it is precisely by the sifting of the discrepancies in testimony that truth is eli- cited. So far as Christianity is the same in all ages, and in all hearts, truly admitting its influence, there must be very much, in the writings of all Christian men (what- ever system they may have lived under) which, in the highest and best sense of the word, is catholic; and it is just this catholic element, or genuine portion of such writings, that recommends itself to our pious sympa- thies, meet it where we may, and which therefore will be seized upon by risht-minded collectors of the golden sayings of good men. But now it is precisely toward the discordant portions of ancient Christian writings that the keen eye of historic industry should be directed. It is not the choice portions, but the refuse, not the sound, but the unsound, not the symmetrical, but the disfigured, not the wisdom, so much as the folly, that we have need to scrutinize, and to trace to its origin. Without a pa- radox it may be affirmed that, in labouring to know what the Christian body really was, in any age, it is what is (in a sense) impertinent, that will prove the most perti- nent to our purpose. In a word, it is less the sameness, than the difference, which we should be looking for. Do we not well know that, in matters of religion, v/hat appears the fairest, demands often the nicest sifting: 64 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH and that, to be credulous, is to be duped, until we are driven to doubt of every thing. Those, therefore, who know, in matters of church history, only what modern writers may please to have reported, stand exposed to a cruel shock, and a sad trial of their principles, should it ever happen to them to learn a little more. Nor ouglitany translation to be confided in, as conclu- sive evidence, in historical disquisitions; for we have not merely to guard against wilful perversions of the sense of ancient authors, and the many oversights to which every translator is liable, but against the constant illu- sion of attributing, to certain words and phrases, neces- sarily employed by tlie translator, a modern instead of an ancient sense. A translation may be literal, or it may be free, and in fact the best possible in its kind, and yet may convey to tiie modern ear notions substantially dif- fering from those which were attached to the equivalents, by the ancient writer, and his reader. And thus it is, and must be, because the language of every people is not a universal medium of ideas and notions, common to mankind; but is the instrument of a particular set of minds, nicely adapted to its occasions, and whenever employed by energetic writers, is much more specific, than generic; and therefore is insusceptible of transla- tion, in the direct proportion in which it may be worth translating. The earliest Christian writers, who, most of them, can claim very little regard on account of any excellencies of style, or even of matter, but whose evidence is of the ut- most consequence in ecclesiastical discussions, suffer pe- culiarly in a translation; for a false taste, and a dialect in which the most incongruous elements were mingled — jumbled together, fill them with unpleasing turns of ex- pression, which, v*^hen t!iey come to be literally rendered UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 65 (and a free version is not in these instances admissible) make them absolutely repulsive, so that the perusal in a translation, is more wearisome than it seems in the ori- ginal. The writers, inestimable as they are on account of their testimony (the preservation of which ought to be regarded as an instance of providential interposition, for subserving important ends) these writers are not to be known, to any good purpose, otherwise than in their own language. There is no alternative, in the present instance, but that of manfully addressing ourselves to a task of some labour and difhcully. The controversies upon which the church is now entering, are of vital con- sequence: the doubts propounded are inveterate, and any course that may be taken, at the suggestion of indolence and impatience, and which may seem at first to be sum- mary and sufficient, will prove, as I venture to predict, to be as unavailing as trite and meager. At a time when, in the pursuit of secular interests, men in all professions are making unheard-of efforts, and are undergoing la- bours which our fathers did not dream of, ought it to be considered as a great thing if those to whom the preser- vation and defence of sacred truths are committed, should be expected to be fully masters of the subject they have to do with? The perusal, through and through, of the Greek and Latin writers, of the first six centuries, is a labour not to be compared with those undergone, in the course of his education and early practice, by every ac- complished lawyer. Another common, but very unfounded impression, re- lative to the extant remains of Christian antiquity (the prevalence of which, at the present time, would leave a most dangerous advantage in the hands of tliose whom we are to withstand) is to this effect: That the Greek and Latin fathers were men of intellect so slender, and 66 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH are generally either so inane, or so absurd, or so erro- neous, that the perusal of them, except by a few curi- ous antiquaries, is a sheer waste of time; or at least that it can never repay the toil. Or it is affirmed, that, so far as these writers were sound and judicious, the same sentiments, better expressed, may be met with much nearer home, and in our own language. Or, generally, that whatever accomplishments the ministers of religion may possess, they may, in these days of benevolent ac- tivity, employ tlieir time to better advantage than in brushinij the dust from neglected folios. 'J'he course of events is hastening to offer a startling refutation of any such frivolous assumptions. It is not, we may be sure, those who possess much of this indispensable learning, that in any such way set it at naught; and it is an acknowledged rule, in all walks of science and literature, tliat the scoffs and cap- tious objections of the ignorant need not be seriously replied to — " know what you are speaking of, and then contemn it." Now the mere fact of applying any com- prehensive terms, either of admiration or contempt, to a body and series of writers, stretching through seven hundred or a thousand years, and these writers, natives as they were of distant countries, some of them simple and rude, while otliers were erudite and accomplished, may be taken as a proof of heedlessness, regarding the matter in hand, sufficient to excuse a silent disregard of the objection it involves. These " fathers," thus grouped as a little band, by the objectors, were some of tliem men of as brilliant genius as any age has produced; some, commanding a flowing and vigorous eloquence, some, an extensive erudition, some, conversant with the great world, some, whose meditations had been ripened by years of seclusion, some of them the only historians of UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH, 67 the times in which they lived, some, the chiefs of the philosophy of their age; and, if we are to speak of the whole, as a series or body of writers, they are the men who, during a long era of deepening barbarism, still held the lamp of knowledge and learning, and, in fact, aflord us almost all that we can now know, intimately, of the condition of the nations surrounding tiie Mediterranean, from the extinction of the chissic fire, to the time of its rekindling in the fourteenth century. The church was the ark of all things that had life, during a deluge of seven hundred years. Such is the group which is often conveniently dis- missed with a concise phrase of contempt by some! It may be suspected that very many of the delighted ad- mirers of the History of tlie Decline and Fall of the Koman Empire, are little aware of the extent of Glib- bon's obligations to — the fathers. Were it possible to draw off from that seductive work the entire materials derived by the indefatigable author from the ecclesias- tical compartment of his library, it is no small propor- tion of the splendour, the accuracy, the correct draw- ing, the vivid colouring, which are its ciiarm and praise, that would be found wanting. Well would it have been if some of the professed champions and historians of Christianity, had been as thoroughly conversant with the remains of Christian antiquity as was its most dangerous assailant. The ignorance of which w^e are here complaining has once endangered our faith as Christians; and it is now endangering our faith as protestants. Nearly of the same quality, and usually advanced by the same parties, is the portentous insinuation, or the bold and appalling averment, that there was little or no genuine Christianity in the world from the times of Jus- 68 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH tin Martyr to those of WiclifTe, or of Luther! and the inference from this assumption is, that we are far more likely to be led astray than edified by looking into the literature of this vast territory of religious darkness. I must leave it to those who entertain any such som- bre belief as this, to repel, in the best manner they are able, those fiery darts of infidelity which will not fail to be hurled at Christianity itself, as often as the opinion is professed. Such persons, too, must expound as they can, our Lord's parting promise to his servants. Notions of this sort, and there are many of like kind, all take their rise from some narrow and sectarian hy- pothesis concerning Christianity. We do not, perhaps, find, during certain cycles of the church's history, that style or dialect, which, by an intimate association of ideas, has combined itself with our religious sentiments ; and therefore, it is to us, and our peculiar feelings, as if Christianity itself had actually not been extant at such times. If these are our feelings, it is well that we get rid of them with all speed, Christianity is absolute truth, bearing with various effect, from age to age, upon our distorted and discoloured human nature, but never so powerfully pervading the foreign substance it enters as to undergo no deflections itself, or to take no stains; and as its influence varies, from age to age, in intensity, as well as in the particular direction it may take, so does it exhibit, from age to age, great variations of form and hue. But the men of any one age indulge too much the overweening temper that attaches always to human na- ture, when they say to themselves — our Christianity is absolute Christianity; but that of such or such an age, was a mere shadow of it. Let Christians, whose characteristic it should be not to think more highly of themselves than is meet, cherish UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 69 a very different feeling, and be willing to open, if I may- say so, a kindly communion with their brethren of dis- tant times. Surely far too little of this sympathy is felt by many who, because the authority of the early church has been overstrained and perversely employed by Ro- manists, have almost learned to feel toward their brethren of the early ages, as their adversaries in a controversy, just as a man is apt to harbour a grudge against a good neighbour who happens to have been subpoenaed by his enemy, to give evidence against him in a suit. If the fathers have given a handle to popery, we must remem- ber they little knew what it was to which they were giving a handle. It will presently be my task — a task not to be evaded, to adduce evidence in proof of the allegation that certain extensive and very mischievous illusions affected the Christianity of the ancient church; nevertheless, the very men whose example must now be held up as a caution, M'ere, many of them, Christians not less than ourselves, r.ay, some of the most deluded by particular errors, were eminent Christians. Nothing is easier (or more edifying, in the inference it carries) than to adduce instances of exalted virtue, piety, constancy, combined with what all must now admit to have been an infatuated attachment to pernicious errors. Yet may our brethren of the early churcli well challenge our respect as well as affection: for theirs was tlie fervour of a steady faith in things un- seen and eternal; theirs a meek patience and humility, under the most grievous wrongs; theirs the courage to maintain a good profession before the frowning face of philosophy, of secular tyranny, and of splendid super- stition ; theirs was abstractedness from the world, and a painful self-denial; theirs the most arduous and costly labours of love; theirs a munificence in charity, altoge- 7 70 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH ther without example; theirs was a reverent and scrupu- lous care of the sacred writings, and this merit, if tliey had had no other, is of a superlative degree, and should entitle them to the veneration and grateful regards of the modern church. How little do many readers of the Bi- ble, now-a-days, think of what it cost the Christians of the second and third centuries, merely to rescue and hide the sacred treasure from the rage of the heathen ! AVhile, as yet, every thing in the church, and in the world, was precisely what the Lord had given them reason to look for, while Christians were still a rescued Ijand — sheep among wolves, and were, many of tliem, literally, pilgrims and strangers upon earth, cast out of the bosom of the state, and driven from the social circle ; while, as yet, those uidooked for and inexplicable events had not taken place which have so much staggered the faith of later Christians; while the near coming of their Lord was firmly expected, and while nothing had hap- pened of which he had not given his people an intima- tion; then, and during that fresh morning hour of the church, there belonged to the followers of Christ, gene- rally, a fulness of faith in the realities of the unseen world, such as, in later ages, has been reached only by a very few eminent and meditative individuals; the thou- sand then felt a persuasion which now is felt only by the two or three. In later and analogous seasons of per- secution, if there may have been a similar confidence in the bosoms of the many, it lias been disturbed by some mixed sentiments. Questions of doctrine or points of ecclesiastical right, have ruffled, at least, the spirits, or soured the temper of the suffering party. But the lirst persecutions were the manifested rage of Satan and of his ministers, against Christ and his people. liati-r per- secutions have been, in some degree, struggles of pai'iies. UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 71 alternately ascendant, and both claiming to act for Christ. Nero, Domilian, Galerius, Diocletian, acted in their pro- per guise; but Ximenes, Ferdinand, Mary, Bonner, glozed their atrocities under colour of evangelic zeal, and, perhaps even the arrogance of th.eir pretensions, and their sophistry, abated the comfort and courage of many a martyr. Those who, in terror of Rome, and her lying tradi- tions, may wish to lay the axe, as they think, to the root of the tree, and to disclaim, in every sense, and lo renounce dependence upon, and appeal to, those extra canonical documents of Christianity which have come down lo us from the early and apostolic churches, may make the attempt, if they please, but they must soon find themselves standing upon ground on which still greater difficulties than those they run from, are in their way. We cannot, if we would, cut ourselves off from the benefits which the singular providence of God has secured for later times, in the preservation of the various memorials of the early and intervening ages. On this point I very forcibly feel that the inconsiderate and sweeping measures which some would recommend, must, if adopted, leave us our work to do over again, not only in the present argument, but in our controversy with popery. I cannot, therefore, advance without en- deavouring to make good my footing on this particular spot. All mystification apart, as well as a superstitious and overweening deference to antiquity, nothing can be more simple than the facts on which rests the legitimate use and value of the ancient documents of Christianity, con- sidered as the repositories of those practices and opi- nions which, obscurely or ambiguously alluded to in the canonical writings, are found, drawn forth and illustrated, 72 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH in the records of the times immediately succeeding. These records contain at once a testimony in behalf of the capital articles of our faith, and an exposition of minor sentiments and ecclesiastical usages, neither of which can be surrendered without some serious loss and damage. How plain is the case before us (putting now aside the momentous testimony of the martyr church in behalf of fundamental truths.) It must be admitted that all things are not amply and indubitably laid down in the apostolic writings; and, in a few instances, this indeter- niinateness, or inconclusiveness of the canonical books, affects particulars in which we fain must make a practi- cal choice, and must adopt either one course or its op- posite. Now, what had in fact been done, or recom- mended, or allowed by tlie apostles, in the churches they personally founded, or governed, could not but be tho- roughly known in those churches during the lapse of a generation or two; say, at the least, forty years. But we possess the various writings of the men of the ap- proximate generation, and therein find, as is natural, di- versified statements, and innumerable allusions to prac- tices and to opinions universally admitted, as of apos- tolic origin. Let us sift this evidence as we may, and it demands, as we shall see, to be severely sifted ; and let it be reduced to the smallest possible amount, yet there remains what no man in his senses can deny to be a mass of good historical evidence, touching such or such points of apostolic Christianity. Shall we, then, listen to this evidence, or, at the impulse of some inex- plicable qualm, resolve not to hear a word of it? Or, are we, in fact, so destitute of historical acumen, as to render it a hopeless task to discern between the genuine and the spurious, in tliis body of materials ? And so, in UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 73 matlers of exposition, how lightly soever we may esteem the judgment of the ancient commentators, they pos- sessed, at the least, (or many of them) a vernacular fa- miliarity with the canonical phraseology, to which it is arrogant and absurd not to pay a respectful attention. Shall the men of eighteen hundred years hence — the critics and professors of the universities of Australia and New Zealand — pretend to understand the language and idioms of the divines of the seventeenth century far bet- ter than we do, of the nineteenth? We may, and undoubtedly do, possess a critical ap- paratus such as gives us, in certain respects, an advan- tage over even Origen, Jerome, Basil, Theodoret, and Chrysostom; nevertiieless they, as actually speaking and writing, or as being familiar with, the language of the New Testament, surely possessed prerogatives that can never be reasonably denied, any more than snatched from them. Origen may have been wrong in a hundred instances, or in more; but he read the gospels and epistles so as we can never do, with the fresh familiarity, and the idiomatic contact proper to the perusal of writings in one's own language, and less than two hundred years old; that is to say, precisely as we are now reading Til- lotson, Jeremy Taylor, Barrow, and Baxter. The mo- dern spirit of self-sufficiency, seems to me to reach its climax in the affected contempt thrown upon those who, endowed with as much learning and acumen as our- selves, read tlie scriptures while the ink of the apostolic autographs had hardly faded. To the early church also belongs the signal and una- lienable advantage of having expressed its sense of Chris- tian principles, previously to those perturbations of the spiritual atmosphere that arose from the great contro- 7* 74 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH versies of the fourth century, and which left nothing al^- together in its unsophisticated condition. Whatever of precision or explicitness in doctrine might be the fruit of those controversies, tliere still attaches, as their charac- teristic, to the pristine writers, a plain and unimpaired straight-forwardness, which iias its peculiar charm, as well as value. Less logical, we grant, and less theolo* gical, and less acute, and less subtle, and sometimes, as I shall have occasion to show, involved in worse errors, the earlier writers are more calm and more refreshing than the later, and sooner win our affection, if they do not (which is certain) secure our confidence. There is, hov/ever, a still closer dealing with the uses and claims of the early Christian literature, to which the controversies moved by the Oxford writers make it ne»- cessary accurately to attend; and, in fact, it has already become, or must soon become, a duty, in no way to be 'evaded by the leaders of opinion among the ministers of religion, so to apply their minds to this subject as to at- tain a well defined and permanent conviction, such as may guide their decisions on trying occasions, which are not very unlikely to arise. Let us, then, first state the case of those who, taking \ip the (modfern) protestant pass-word, in its utmost ex- tent of meaning — " The Bible and the Bible alone " — would fain cut themselves off from all connexion witli every intermediate record, as well as with every remote community of Christians. " If I have the word of God itself in my hands, wliich is able to make me, and all, wise unto salvation, what is antiquity to me?" — thus speak many; but witli how much reason, remains to be inquired. If it did not I'requently happen that vague impressions, the grounds of which have iiever been examined, are UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 75 allowed to exert an influence, not only over the un- thinking and llie uninformed, but over the educated and the intelligent, there could be no need to dwell for a moment upon a point wliich, like the one now before us, barely admits of what deserves to be called argu- ment. And yet, even if I might otherwise think myself excused from the seemingly needless task of making good my path in this instance, the peculiar character of the controversy before us would render it proper to do 30. Every thing turns upon the clearness and sound- ness of the rule which is to be established in regard to the extent of the deference due, by the modern church, to the ancient church ; and nothing would be so certainly fatal to the principle we hope to substantiate, as to un- derrate that deference, in any such way as must leave our position liable to just and important exceptions. With all the brevity possible I will propound the case, which, in fact, has often been appealed to; and will do so in the convenient form of question and rejoinder, the interrogatories being put by a supposed protestant advo- cate of antiquity, to one whose protestantism appears to be somewhat extreme, or inconsiderate: as thus: — " We possess, by the divine favour, the word of God, able, as we both allow, and able by itself, that is to say, apart from, and independently of, any other writings or traditions, to make men wise unto salvation: but I have two questions to put, and first, whence, proximately, did you receive this inestimable gift?" " From those who, before me, by the same divine goodness, had possessed and loved it: and, of course, they, in like manner, from their predecessors in the faith and hope of the gospel; and so from the first." " The Bible, then, is not sent to us, individually, from heaven; but has been consigned, like all other books, 76 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH nay, on the very same conditions as profane literature, to the hands of successive generations ; that is to say, it has been transmitted from fathers to sons, and is, itself, in this sense, a tradition: and, fully agreed, as doubt- less we are, as to the mere facts of the mode and cir- cumstances of this continuous delivery of the scriptures, we may well unite, first, in gratitude to God, whose pro- vidence has so watched over his written word, as that it has not merely been conserved, througli long periods of confusion and ignorance, but has come down to us purer, and more copiously verified, as to the integrity of the text, than any other collection of ancient writings; but we may, also, as I presume, unite in a grateful and af- fectionate sentiment toward those to whose industry, from age to age, and to whose constancy and courage, at particular seasons, we are immediately indebted for tlie preservation of the inspired volume. Tims far you will admit, witli me, the obligation of the modern church to the ancient church?" "Assuredly: my feelings towards those who, from age to age, have tiius kept and handed down the precious deposite, are precisely analogous to those of a poor be- liever upon whom a more opulent brother in Christ be- stows a Bible: he thanks the charitable donor; but he does not so misunderstand his obligation as to surrender a particle of his Christian liberty and conscience to his benefactor. Come to us whence it may, the word of God is absolutely independent of the medium of its transmission from age to age. 'I'he pearl of great price may have traversed some stormy seas, but it has actually reached our shores, and we have acquitted our obliga- tion towards those who, at the peril of their lives, have brought it, when we just thank them., and say good morrow." UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 77 " Thus far, then, there appears no ground of disa- greement between us. But I have now to put my second question; and, well-informed as you are on all points of biblical criticism and of literary history, I shall be in no danger of shaking your religious convictions by pro- pounding my difficulty. On what ground, then, do you receive the Bible, collectively, or its prophets, histories, gospels, and epistles, severally, as indeed the word of God? The inspired pages do not shine out with any supernatural splendour, nor do the writers always afhrm their own canonicity; or even if they do, there are spu- rious writings that contain equivalent asseverations of divine authority, to wit, the Clementine Constitutions, and many others, as you need not be told. Or if we think of the collection, as a whole, it is no where made up, and catalogued, within the book itself. Now, I will anticipate all tiiat part of your reply to my question which must refer to the customary, and, as I grant, un- impeachable internal evidences of the genuineness of the books of scripture, severally, and concerning which we should have no difference of opinion. The whole of that critical history of scripture, by which it is proved, beyond possibility of doubt, (concerning most of the books,) that, in the ordinary sense of the phrase, they are genuine, is known to both of us, and is assented to by both; and it is farther admitted, in common, that the proof of the antiquity and genuineness of the books of the canon involves, by a sound historical and logical in- ference, their divine authority, or inspiration, leaving us in no doubt whether or not they exhibit the will of the Lord, to which we owe absoliUe and implicit submis- sion, in faith and practice. " But now, before I reach my ultimate position, I re- quest you not altogether to overlook the incidental, and 78 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH yet ineffably important service that has been rendered to the modern church by the ancient church, or, let us say, the long series of Christian writers, who, in tlieir copi- ous, and, for the most part, exact quotations of scrip- ture, and by their reverent manner of appealing to it, have afforded the amplest means, first, of tracking the very text of scripture, whole and entire, up from age to age, as the very same text (various readings allowed for) which we now read, and so as to exempt us from all reasonable anxiety concerning this text; and, secondly, of ascertaining particular readings^ with a degree of assurance which, otherwise, would not have been at- tainable. See, then, as well the extent of our obliga- tions to our Christian predecessors, as tlie intimacy, and the incalculable importance of that constant correspon- dence which the church must hold with the extant re- mains of Christian literature. AVill you look at the facts of the case, and then dare to say, as some do, * I hold the Bible, and I care nothing for antiquity: the fa- thers ! let them fall, one and all, into the hands of ano- ther Omar.' Does your protestantism go to this length ?" — " Need you ask it ? Who that is ever so moderately informed in such matters can deny, or can wish to dis- parage the critical use of the Greek and Latin Church writers 1 The aids they afford are, I grant, of inesti- mable value ; but I can allow all this, and yet hold them, one and all, very cheap as authorities in doctrine, or as expounders of scripture, or as examples in practice; and you do not forget that, in the sense of which we are now speaking, an heretical father serves us, to the full, as good a turn as an orthodox one, and that the schismatic Novatian is as available an authority for establishing a reading, as the orthodox Athanasius." — '* This admission does not appear to touch the point JUPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH, 79 in debate ; but would it not sorely grieve many a stanch protestant to hear you attribute so much importance, even as this, to those whom they have been taught to think of only as the parents and abettors of popery? They would insinuate, I think, tliat it might be well to look out for some more thorough-going champion of the good cause. Let this, however, pass: you divine what I next intend. After we have allowed all the force that can be claimed for it, to that method of proof which, looking solely to the text of an ancient autlior, as it is in itself, and to the literary history of the book, esta- blishes its genuineness, will you affirm that we want nothing more in deciding the all-important questions that arise concerning a particular book, or epistle, whether it be canonical and a part of God's word or not? Let us assume the instance of the second epistle of Peter. The antiquity of the writing is, to a certain point, clearly ascertained, and, moreover, a nice examination of its style and recondite peculiarities, well supports the belief that it is what it professes to be; and that it may safely be appealed to in support of doctrines and duties. But is the argument in this particular instance concluded, or is there no other consideration which ought herein to be regarded V — "I know what you intend; but rather than make my answer at this point, I request you to state your in- tention fully. I will then reply so far as may be neces- sary to save my protestant principle." — "I affirm then plainly, Tliat, whatever sufficiency and completeness we may attribute to the critical proof of the genuineness and integrity of the text of the seve- ral books of scripture, there is yet a link in the chain of argument wanting, and this link is supplied by nothing 80 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH else but the judgment and the testimony of the ancient church, concerning these books, individually, that they, and not others, (although sustained by specious preten- sions,) were the productions of the apostles, and had been, from the first, so received and reverenced. I say, in deciding the question of genuineness or spuriousness, or in discriminating, for instance, between the gospel of John, and the acts of Peter, or in distinguishing among genuine writings, the inspired from the uninspired; the epistles of Paul from those of Clement, Polycarp, and Ignatius; we are thrown upon the judgment and autho- rity of the early church. Notwithstanding all the ex- ceptions that have been urged against this averment, when advanced, as it so often has been, by the advocates of tradition, and notwithstanding the ill use which has been made of the instance, I must profess to think that the plain fact carries with it an unquestionable and im- portant inference to this efTect, namely. That, by the mode chosen for consigning the sacred writings to after- times, the divine providence has connected the later with the earlier church, by a link which can never be severed, and which connexion implies a general duty of ac- quainting ourselves with the records of the early church, and of yielding such a specific deference to its testimo- ny and judjiment, as is not to be claimed for the church of any later period. Bring the principle to a test in the instance, already named, of the second epistle of Peter: a critical examination of the two epistles affords what the best modern biblists have regarded as full and satis- factory evidence of the genuineness of the latter. But is there any one who, in order to give proof of ius con- fidence in the sufficiency of this mode of argument, would refuse to search for references to tlie epistle, in UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 81 the early writers ? None would do so ; on the contra- ry, ii is with a lively pleasure that we find this epistle quoted by Clement, Hermas, Justin, Athenagoras. This then is the second head of argument, or kind of proof, available in the case ; and it is such as to leave no rea- sonable doubt concerning the fact of the existence of the epistle in the age of those writers, or of its reputed au- thenticity. But there is yet a third argument, proper to the subject, and this consists in that judgment of the whole case which was formed by the learned divines of the fourth century, who, notwithstanding the doubts en- tertained during an early intermediate period, reviewed the evidence, and admitted the epistle into the canon. Now not only do we assent to this decision as a sound one; but, even if we are not absolutely dependent upon it, for our own opinion, on so important an occasion, we are yet deeply indebted to those who thus anticipated the cri7ica/ decision of modern scholars; for (let it be re- membered) had these divines otherwise determined, and had they actually excluded t'ne epistle from the list of inspired v/riiings, even if it had come down to us at all, the task would have been one of great difficulty and anx- ety, to have replaced it in the canon by mere force of cri- ticism. And it is very doubtful whether, so sustained, it would have won the assent of the church at large : a much more probable event would have been its resting to the end of time, under a ban, as apocryphal ; and thus would the church of all ages have been mulct of much edification, and moreover deprived of certain points of belief which rest exclusively upon affirmations contained in that epistle." *'Be it so: but, without staying to contest the point with you, as to the relative or absolute importance that 8 82 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH attaches to this third branch of the argument, concern- ing the genuineness and canonicity of the books of scripture, I may easily grant to you the general utiliti/ of a reference to antiquity, 07i this single groundr without compromising my great principle, the Bible alone." — '< Nay, you cannot grant so much as this, without, on the one hand, breaking in upon, and offending the self-sufficient presumption of a large and forward class of proteslants, and, on the other hand, implying all that I am now careful to secure, namely, a deference, as cautious and discriminating as you please, due by the modern church, to the ancient ciiurch. I affirm that the Lord himself, by that very arrangement which has thrown so much importance upon the testimony and JUDGMENT of the pastors and divines of the early ages,. in the matter of the discrimination of the inspired writings, has virtually constituted them, to a limited ex- tent, our masters; or, at the least, has virtually forbidden the attempt to sever ourselves from then\. Nevertheless, and this I most readily grant you, there are urgent rea- sons, and more than enough, for exercising the utmost possible caution in yielding this due deference, in each single instance in which it may be challenged." But I must insist with some strenuousness upon the general inference 1 am wishing to derive from the plain fact of our dependence, in so momentous an instance, upon the judgment, fidelity, and discretion, of the pri- mitive church. Consequences, affecting every part of the present controversy, flow from the principle which this inference involves, and, as I think, it very clearly excludes the extreme opinions, as well of the upholders. UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 83 BS of the impngners of the authority of antiquity. I very well know that indeterminate conclusions, such as the one now in view must be at the best, may easily be spurned by an opponent, as unworthy of his serious re- gard: be it so: I am not just now thinking of what a de- termined adversary, or rigorous disputant, may choose to allege ; but rather am offering considerations to one whom I suppose to be willing to listen to whatever may appear to deserve the regard of a religious mind ; whether or not it may be available in a formal and categorical argu- ment. Listen, then, to me w^ith a little indulgence; and those ■need not listen at all who can afford none. All will agree that the settlement of the question of canonicity, or the divine authority of each book, alleged to bear this sacred character, is one of primary and unspeakable import- ance ; it is the preliminary of our faith and duty; nor can it be supposed that we attach more importance to the subject than is attached to it by the Lord himself, who will neither give his honour to another, nor lightly allow the honour belonging to his authentic word to be shared hy spurious compositions. It is also clear that such a formal announcement of the canonical writings might have been given (as, for example, in an undoubted final epistle of the last surviving apostle,) as should altogether have superseded either any reference, on our part, to the judgment of the early church, or any exercise of that judgment. On the other side, it might so have been, that several apparently apostolic writings had descended from the apostolic age, having such internal recommeu" dations as would have made the task of discrimination, in later times, hopelessly difScult ; in which case, we should have been thrown, without appeal, upon the de- cisions of antiquity. 84 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH But neither of tliese tliincrs has happened to lis ; and instead of either, we find ourselves placed under an economy, in this particular respect, which, in a very significant manner, blends the conditions of dependence and independence. We cannot but refer to, and avail ourselves of, the judgment and final decision of the early church, concerning the canonicily of each portion of the New Testament; and yet this decision is not our only resource. Farlhermore, the two lines of proof do (and in the opinion of the best modern scholars) so coin- cide, as wonderfully to authenticate each other. In each instance the literary, or internal evidence, is such as to win our approval of the judgment of antiquity; and again the judgment of antiquity lias neither presented to us, finally, any book which the internal evidence disal- lows, nor has it pronounced against any extant book, which that evidence might have allowed. The result is — a rational and firm assurance, more or less entire in each instance, that the New Testament is constituted of, and includes, the divinely inspired apostolic writings. Thus then are we, and all believers to the end of lime, connected with the pristine church, by an indissoluble and vital cord. Yet are we not bound to it servilely. Our relation is that of pupilage, not of bondage. We inherit as sons; we do not occupy as serfs; our highest interests have been at the disposal of our predecessors ; but have not been subjected to an unconditional despot- ism. We can no more shake off our dependence to the extent which it legitimately reaches, than the inheritor of an entail can dispose of his real estate as he may of his personals. In relation to this point, we are neither indulged with tlie liberty whicli the wilfulness of our nature so fondly seeks for ; nor are we so fettered as the UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 85 sullen advocates of despotism would wish: and, placed as we are, it is equally a fault to spurn authority, or to cringe before it. Now I must think that our position in this particular instance imbodies a general principle, applicable to most of the perplexing questions now agitated, or likely to be brought under discussion; and it is in this belief that I so much urge the consideration of it. In many of those cases in which the ambiguous, or incomplete language of the inspired writers, in incidentally alluding to points of discipline or faith, has given rise to schismatic diver- sities of opinion, we are (as in the question of the canon) by necessity thrown upon the testimony and judgment of the early church ; but yet are not thrown tiiereupon helplessly, or without opportunity of appeal to collateral arguments. Thus, in regard to the principle of the in- herited and transmitted clerical authority, there is a se- rious practical meaning in the principle ; nevertheless the existence of Christianity in the world, or in any par- ticular country, is by no means so involved in it as that, in the event of an accidental rupture of the chain of or- dination, there could be no more faith or holiness on the face of the earth, or in this or that region, until a new investiture had been sent down from heaven, and mira- culously attested. A single bible, thrown ashore from a wreck, might, as I will not doubt, become the seed of a true church, in the midst of a heretofore atheistic com- nmnity. Nevertheless such a new and extraordinary germination of the tree of life would by no means inva- lidate the general doctrine (rationally held) of the minis- terial succession. A real dependence, but not a slavish, or abject, or hopeless dependence, is, as I think, the LAW of the spiritual economy. 8* 86 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH But whatever demur may be raised against the alleged authority of the ancient church in matters of opinion, and in cases where the first Christians were as liable to error as ourselves, it is clearly impracticable to exclude their testimony as to matters of fact ; and the operation of this testimony extends, I think, rather farther than some appear willing to admit. It is easy to find illus- trations, real and imaginary, of the deference which (all superstitious affection apart) common sense, and the universally admitted principles of historical criticism, compel us to yield in such cases. The epistles, for example, contain allusions, either very slight, or actually ambiguous, to many matters of usage, some of them altogether unimportant to ourselves, and others so connected with discipline, worship, govern- ment, or even doctrine, as to render it, to say the least, highly desirable to know just so much more as may serve to exclude controversy on the subject. Now, and as might have been expected, the very same points are either alluded to, or are explicitly defined by the Chris- tian writers of the next generation, or of the next age. It would have been strange indeed if it had not been so; and equally strange, nay, utterly absurd, were it, if we were to refuse to avail ourselves of the aid of this subsidiary evidence, so far as it may fairly be resorted to. Did Paul preach the gospel in these islands? a question of little or no importance to British Christians of the present times, and yet of some curiosity : and who is there that would not gladly gratify so natural a feeling, if the means of doing so are at hand in tl.'e ex- tant written traditions of the early church? Did Peter preach the gospel at Rome; or, if so, did he found and govern the church there? a question this which has hap- UPON THE AXCIENT CHURCH. 87 pened to become important, and which we must take the same means, if ihey be within our reach, for determining. Now either in the one instance, or the other, nothing can be less pertinent than the preclusive, ultra-protestant outcry — " Oh, the Bible, and the Bible alone : I care nothing for what cannot be proved by texts of scripture." We may easily find occasions more fit, in which our zeal for the honour and sufllciency of the inspired volume may make itself heard. Tlie question is a question of fact; and as such, it is open to all those various methods of proof, or of disproof, which are ordinarily had re- course to in historical inquiries. It might pcasonably have been thought that not a word could have been needed in making good so simple and obvious a rule of proceeding. Other instances, variously affected by this same rule, or coming within its application in diff'erent degrees, have a hundred times, and especially of late, been ad- duced ; and some of these will present themselves, which demand all the caution, the acumen, and the diligence that can be brought to bear upon them. They are, how- ever, all governed by a general practical i)rinciple, not very difllcult to be established or applied (although con- tested by certain parties) and it is this first, That no arti- cle of worship, discipline, governm.ent, or opinion, which, however well attested as belonging even to the apostolic churches of the first century, is no where alluded to, or enjoined, in the inspired scriptures, can be binding upon the church in after-limes ; for w-e adhere to the belief, and on this very ground renounce Romanism, that, whatever our Lord intended to be of permanent observance in his church, he has caused to be included in the canonical writings: and, secondly, that points so 88 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH attested as ancient, and yet very slightly or ambiguously alluded to by the inspired writers, are not to be regarded as of prime necessity, or insisted upon as conditions of communion. The reason of \\\e first part of our gene- ral principle carries with it this second ; for we may re- ligiously believe thai all points, at once of great moment» and of universal application, are so affirmed in scripture as to carry the convictions of every humble and docile mind. T shall have occasion, once and again, in the following pages, to quote tliat favourite of the Romanists, and, as it seems, of the Oxford 'I'ract writers, Vincent of Lerins, and therefore will not cite him here, on a merely inci- dental point; otherwise it would be easy to obtain his explicit sanction to both parts of the rule now stated. In truth, 1 would not scruple to refer the controversy, as to its principles, between the church of Rome, and our- selves, lo liie sole arbitration of this very writer. How can Romanists dare ai)peal lo him, except on the pre- sumption that their oj>ponents will never know more of him than is contained in the passages tliey may please to adduce? I would even venture to argue the present questions before the same arbiter, and abide by his deci- sion, fairly taken. But to return. — An instance often adduced in this connexion, is that of the religious observance of the lirst day of the week, which, alter we liave found it clearly, though not copi- ously alluded to by tlie inspired writers, as the practice of the first Christians, is sufhciently proved, by subse- quent testimonies, to have been so observed by those who immediately succeeded them. It is (not to mention here the more general grounds of argument) a well CONFIRMED TRADITION, taking its risc in the apostolic UPON THE ANX'IENT CHURCH. 89 writings, and thence onward supported by unquestion- able evidence. Those must create a difficulty, who find any in this instance, in distinguishing between a proper and necessary appeal to antiquity, and an unwarrantable and dangerous deference to it. The religious reason for observing the Lord's day is, that the apostles them- selves, as we fully believe, observed it, and sanctioned its observance in all the churches which they founded. The historic reason for believing that they did so, is drawn partly from the two or three allusions to this ob- servance in the New Testament; and partly, we might say chiefly, from the incidental and the explicit mention of the observance by the early Christian writers, as well as by Pliny, Plutarch, and others. If we imagine ourselves entirely deprived of this lat- ter portion of the evidence on this point, it must be ad- milted that the argument in support of an institution so vitally connected, as it is found to be, with the very ex- istence of religion in the world, would be reduced to a slender and precarious inference, or argument from ana- logy. Here then we are absolutely compelled, and those especially who are rigid more than others in tlieir regard to the Lord's day, are compelled to resort to the aid of ancient usage, as recorded, not by the inspired, but by uninspired writers: and we may well appeal to the can- dour of such persons, and ask them, whether, when con- tending witli latitudinarians, on this important subject, they would not eagerly avail themselves of any new, and still more explicit testimony concerning the usage of the churches in the apostolic age, supposing some such evi- dence, heretofore overlooked, were now suddenly to be discovered. I presume that they would do so, without allowing any qualm, as to " the great protestant princi- ple," to stand in their way. It is in fact a circumstance 90 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH worthy to be noticed, that even the most ultra-protestant of ullra-protestaiits, if it iiappens to him to meet with a real or apparent confirmation of his peculiar views, with- in the circle of ecclesiastical antiquity, shows no reluc- tance whatever in snatching at it, and in turning it to the best account he can, piously quoting Irenaeus, or Tertul- lian, or Ignatius, like any good Romanist! It is — " the Bible, and the Bible alone," just when the evidence af- forded, on some disputed point, by the writings of Ig- natius, or Irenseus, or TertuUian, happens to tell in the wrong direction; otherwise, these " papistical authori- ties " are good enough. The two cases then that have here been adduced, (and I have purposely avoided such as involve controversy) seem, as I tliink, to establish, beyond a doubt, all that I am concerned for at present; and which, expressed as broadly and inoffensively as possible, amounts to this general principle — That it is as impracticable, as it would be undesirable, and even irreligious, to detach ourselves from all dependence upon Christian antiquity; and that, as in the capital and foremost article of the antiquity, and canonicity, and genuineness, of the books of scrip- ture, so in various matters of discipline, worship, go- vernment, and doctrine, nothing else can be done by the modern church, but listen (with just so much deference as may be due) to the testimony and judgment of the ancient church. There may indeed be those who would freely avail themselves of the evidence of antiquity in relation to matters of fact, while they would be extremely jealous of it, or totally exclude it, in relation to matters of opi- nion. Now granting that the distinction between facts and opinions, or doctrines, may be real, and pertinent too, in the present case, yet surely no one can forget UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 91 that pure matters of opinion, or doctrines, become, to all intents, matters of fact, whenever they attach to large bodies of men, or communities, for a length of time, and are customarily professed, and perpetually repeated. The Mahometan doctrines of the unity of God, and of the pleasures of paradise, are not at all less matters of fact, than are the conquest of Syria, or of Egypt, by the caliphs. And thus it is tliat the faith of the ancient church may be ascertained, as a matter of fact, not less easily, or less certainly, than its sufferings, or its modes of government, or its spread, in this or tliat country. Nor is the ascertaining of such facts, whether of usage, or of doctrine, so perplexing, or so ambiguous as might be imagined; for as Christianity, instead of its having been cooped up in Judea, during two or three generations, instantly pervaded all the countries around the Mediterranean, every one of its most conspiciious elements was laid open to the observation and report of unconnected witnesses, so as to exclude, not merely col- lusion in rejj^ard to the facts so reported, but in regard to the preparation of the evidence which has come down to us. In the most unexceptionable modes of proof, we may know what was the religious system of the Chris- tian societies of the second century, throughout the coun- tries between the Euphrates and the Atlantic, and be- tween the deserts of Lybia and the Danube. The principle, above stated, (in whatever terms we may choose to imbody it) while it consists with the ge- neral laws of the social system, and is in harmony with the conditions on which all advancement in knowledge depends, plainly and unavoidably results from that pe- culiar economy under which the Lord himself has placed the gospel dispensation. He has not allowed his peo- ple, in any age, the undesirable liberty of cutting them- 92 THE DEPENDENCE OF THE MODERN CHURCH selves off from all dependence upon their predecessors, any more tlian he has left them free so to act, as if iheir conduct, as Christians, would not liave an influence over the religious well-being of their successors. The church is one church, stretching throughout the ages that are to elapse between the first, and the second advent. But now this dependence of the modern church upon the ancient Church, has, in fact, been misunderstood, and abused, in an extreme degree; and, moreover, it in- volves some real and serious difficulties in all occasions of controversy. ^Vhat then renjains to be done? Not to cut the knot by renouncing tlie dependence: — this we are not free to do; but, and there is no alternative, we are summoned to exercise, although at the cost of pain- ful labours, a necessary discriniination, by the aid of which we may avail ourselves, without abusing it, of the TESTii^ioNY and judgment of the ancient church. Some may indeed resent this alleged necessity, and may have recourse to various expedients to evade it; but their struggles will be to no purpose in regard to the cause they wish to serve; while there will be not wanting some, quick to perceive, and prompt to turn to their advantage, the argumentative boon, thus unwisely surrendered to them. It has been nothing so much as this inconside- rate " liible alone" outcry, that has given modern popery so long a reprieve in the heart of prolestant countries; and it is now the very same zeal, without discretion, that opens a fair field for tiie spread of the doctrines of the Oxford Tracts. I vent\ire, then, not without diffidence, and yet with a calm confidence in the soundness of the course I am pursuing, to invite those who already feel the moment of the controversy set on foot by the writers of those tracts, and who perceive the double consequence which UPON THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 93 it carries, to enter upon such researches, in the field of Christian antiquity, as may be found requisite, whether more or less laborious, for obtaining a well-defined con- viction as to the extent and conditions of the deference that is due to the practices and opinions of the early- church. May He who giveth liberally, and without upbraiding, as well wisdom as strength, to those who are conscious that both must be given from above, gra- ciously, in this instance, aid our endeavours ! A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION OF THE AiNCIENT CHURCH. So far as we may have in view the usurpations and the lying pretensions of Rome, nothing can be clearer than the course to be pursued by protestants. Such and such practices, or opinions, and in which popery con- sists, may be proved to be of such or such a date; they are, therefore, not apostolic; they are not catholic; thev are not even ancient, any more than tiiey are scriptural: why, then, should we receive and submit to them? " I am catholic, not you," may every protestant say to every Romanist, and with as full an assurance as that with which the genuine Cambrian may say to the Fitzwil- lianis, the Walters, the Villiers, the Godfreys, " I am British, not you ; I had turned this soil ages before you Normans had set a foot on the island." We are not compelled, by any logical or argumentative obligation, 9 94 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION to do more than passively to reject, and resolutely to re- sist, Romanism, that is to say, the false, debauched, and tyrannous superstition of the nuddle ages. Protestant- ism, as opposed to popery, is a refusal to accept innova- tions, bearing an ascertained date. Or, we might confine our protest against popery within the pithy denunciations of the Romanists' own saint, Vincent of Lerins — Annuntiare ergo aliquid Christianis calholicis, prceter iii, quod acceperunt, nunquani licuit, Eusquam licet, nunquani licebit; et analhemaiizare eos, qui annunciant aliquid, praclerquam quod semel acceplum est, nunquam non oportuil, nusquam non oportet, nun- quam non oportebit. But, after thus remanding popery until it can show some cause why it should, for a moment, be listened to, serious difficulties meet us in our upward course toward apostolic Christianity; nor does there appear to be any summary process by which these difficulties may be surmounted. By the determined opponents of antiquity they will be stated in terms so strong as must, if we listen to them, lead to the conclusion they desire, name- ly, an utter rejection of whatever comes to us through the contaminated channels of ecclesiastical tradition. Such a one will not fail briskly to put the question — "Why draw a line, where there is no important dis- tinction, between the religion of the tenth century and that of the ninlli, or of the eighth, or of the seventh?" or he will demand that we should show that C'hristianity was in a much purer state in the sixth century than in the seventh ; or that it had not become vitally corrupted even in the fifth ; or that, in the fourth, it retained its es- sential purity: and if these questions, put in broad terms, are pushed on toward the earliest years to which our ex- OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 95 tant materials extend, a real perplexity will attach to the answer that is to be given to them: in truth, we shall never be able to deal with the subject in the abstract, or in mass ; for it means nothing, or nothing as to any prac- tical bearing, either to say, vaguely, the ancient church was in error; or, as vaguely, to deny such a charge. We must descend to the particular?, and must sift the evidence with a minute and impartial scrupulosity, and the result, which we may confidently anticipate, is pre- cisely what a true knowledge of human nature, sup- ported by the evidence of all history, would lead any calm and philosophic mind to expect, namely, that, while tlie testimony of the pristine church, concerning certain facts and doctrines, remains unimpeached, and is ill the highest degree important, and while its faiih, its constancy, its courage, its charity, its heavenly-minded- ness, are the objects of just admiration and imitation, it had admitted certain specific errors, and had yielded itself to some natural but pernicious impressions, which make a blind obsequiousness toward it, on our part, equally dangerous and absurd. 'J'here is, surely, no mystery in all this, nor any miracle; but simply what is in analogy with the uniform course of human affairs, even when benefited by the intervention of heavenly in- fluences. Either to worship the pristine church, or to condemn it, in the mass, would be just as unwise as to treat the church of our own times, or of any other times, in a manner equally undiscriminating. But, although there be neither miracle nor mystery in the facts which an impartial research brings to light, concerning the re- ligious and moral condition of our Christian predeces- sors of the early ages, how much of mystification has darkened the minds of many, in their notions of anti- 96 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION quity, and how much of what must have been, had it had place, realiy miraculous, has virtually and silently been attributed to the course of events, in the church, from the death of the apostles, to the lime when it ceases to be any longer practicable even to imagine any such supernatural control of ecclesiastical affairs ! In truth, there have been, and are, many (and as it seems, some of those that embrace the opinions of the Oxford writers are of the number) who, while they might perhaps deny the claim of the martyr church to the pos- session of miraculous powers, and disallow the entire series of legends, of the healing the sick, and raising the dead, yet cling to the fond belief that the church, during the early centuries, was favoured by some more imme- diate divine superintendence than is the church of our own times; or, in a word, that a species of theocracy, with its Urim and Thummim, and its Shekinah, had ar» existence — vigorous at the first, and gradually fading and melting away, into the merely human hierarchical econo- my of the papacy. A vague notion, such as this, may indeed appear to be sanctioned by certain of our Lord's expressions; but those who entertain it should not forget tliat, unless those expressions were intended to be limit- ed to the apostles and first teachers, they are undoubt- edly the property of the church in all ages, and without any privilege in behalf of the early ages. And then it will follow that they confer no claim to deference, or general authority, for the ancient church, than what be- longs to the modern; and thence also it follows that, if we actually find, within the precincts of the modern church, strange and unsightly combinations of high and sacred truths, and solid virtues, with preposterous errors, and sad delinquencies, so may it have been, and so was OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 97 it, in an equal, and, as I think, in even a greater degree, within the enclosure of the ancient church. I do not wisli, in the present argument, to employ at all the phrases — philosophical temper, or philosophical views, lest 1 sliould be so far misunderstood, or misre- presented, as to be supposed to favour that modern guise of infidelity, called rationalism. Instead, therefore, in the present instance, of saying we should learn to look at the history of the primitive church with a philosopiiic eye, I will urge the necessity of regarding the dim ob- jects of those remote times, with the cool and piercing perceptions of an undamaged eye; or, in other words, under the guidance of plain good sense, which, amid all kinds of illusive appearances, adheres to the constant princi{)le, that human nature, however much it may have been raised above its ordinary level in particular instances, has always quickly subsided, and been substantially the same, in every age, and country. 'J'here never yet has been, on earth, a community of ap.gels: there have been saints; that is to say, men, in the main, good and wise; but there has been no corporation or entire band of saints, any more than any faultless individuals. Or if it were allowed, whicli I think it must be, that some pe- riods have very far excelled others in piety and wisdom, I should still demur to the allegation that the era imme- diately following the death of the apostles can claim any such pre-eminence. Nay, I am compelled to say, that the general impression, made upon my mind by the ac- tual evidence, is altogether of a contrary kind. On this subject, however, important on so many ac- counts, as nothing but the plain and simple truth, so far as attainable, can render us any real service, or be ac- cepted by any sound mind; so, any tiling else than the 9* 98 A TEST or THE MORAL CONDITION simple truth, will not fail to exaggerate, or to pervert our notions upon most religious subjects; and while enter- taining any such illusions, our alternatives will be a ser- vile superstition, or sheer infidelity. It does not appear that we have as yet, on any side, obtained, a full, clear, and matter-of-fact idea of the moral and religious condition of the ancient church; and I am strongly inclined to believe that, whoever may be suc- cessful in eliciting such an idea, and in giving it clearly to the church at large, will, in so doing merely, have gone far toward effecting the silent and final disappear- ance of many inveterate errors. Nay, I believe tliat it will be on this side that the fibres of popery itself, will be severed, and so the horrid excrescence disengaged from the religious convictions of the civilized world. So great a work (yet in itself sim.ple, although vast in its consequences) will not be efTecled by a single hand: indeed, the mere thought that tins were possible, would oppress the mind that should address itself to tlie task. Meaning no more then, than to do my part, however small, I sliall attempt, in this line, what the occasion seems to demand. And in doing so, instead of carrying forward a multifarious inquiry, concerning twenty topics of early opinion and practice, I shall select, in this first instance, and confine myself to a particular topic, and shall clear a path, as I go, right onward toward tlie high- est antiquity. But then this selected subject of inquiry must be one, not of an incidental, but of an intrinsically important kind; and it must have intimate alliances with the entire ecclesiastical and religious system of antiquity, and it must, from its peculiar character^, be well adapted to the general purpose of bringing, vividly and distinctly, into view, the general, and the special merits and faults of the limes in question. OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 99 Such a subject, recommending itself to our choice, with singular completeness, by its conformity with the above-named conditions, is found in the ancient, and the universal opinion entertained in the Christian Church, concerning the merits, and the spiritual eflicacy of celi- bacy, and especially of uncontaminated virginity; taken in connexion with the practices thence immediately re- sulting, and the sanctioned institutions to which, in an early age, it gave rise. With what belongs to Romanism, we have nothing now to do: — nothing with the compul- sory celibacy of the clergy, nothing with the penal rigours of the monastic vow; nothing witli tlie corruptions, or the horrors, engendered by this system when its proper influ- ence had come to take effect upon the European com- monwealth. These things we altogether remit, or only glance at them in passing, and direct our vigilant regards 10 the very same system in its young days, and before it had rendered itself execrable; and while it was yet recommended by lofty virtues, and by som.e substantial fruits, as well as excused by many subsidiary reasons. What we have to do with, touches — the view taken by the church, of Christianity, as a moral economy, or ethi- cal system, from the very earliest limes; it touches too the principles whence sprang the most ancient notions concerning the mysterious properties of the sacraments; it touches intimately the position and the power of the clergy; it touches the fundamental- doctrines of justifica- tion, and sanctificaiion; in a word, it leaves nothing in the theological, or the ecclesiastical system, of ancient Christianity, untouched. I offer no apology then, for the choice I have made in the present instance; for the momentous controversy now before the church justifies any means clearly tending to bring it to a determinate issue, which a religious writer can wish to resort to. 100 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION Let it be enough that I pledo-e myself to respect ev^erjr pure and manly feeling which should belong to one who is himself a husband and a father. Very much that pro- perly belongs to the subject, and which, if adduced, would powerfully sustain the inference I have in view, can neither be brought forward, nor even alluded to. I shall cite just so much as is indispensable, in regard to tlie important conclusion toward which we are tending. And at liie outset I must profess my serious and delibe- rate belief that no other element of ancient Christianity so well, as the one which I have chosen, would subserve the'purposes of the general argument, or tend so directly to open the way for terminating the controversy which now divides the church. But a nice question presents itself on the threshold, which perhaps I am barely entitled to put to the writers of the Tracts for the Times, and it is this — Why tliey have liitherto avoided, so scrupulously, a subject which, as they very well know, stands forward as the most prominent characteristic of ancient Christianity? These learned persons do not need to be told that, whenever we turn our eyes toward the dim distance of the pristine ages, there is one glaring spot, the glitter of which dazzles the sight; and that this luminous point of the piety of the early church, is — the celestial, or angelic excellence of virginity. They well know that this opinion, and con- comitant practice, was no accident of the system; but its very nucleus, the emanating centre of feeling and be- haviour; and that, even putting out of view the extrava- gances of individuals, this opinion comes down to us sanctioned by the authority of all the most illustrious doctors and confessors — the entire catena patrum. They well know that this at least is no popish innovation; and that the course pursued, from age to age, in reference to OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 101 it, by the Romish authorities, was only a necessary fol- lowing up of universally admitted principles. They well know that, had it been possible, at any moment, during the first five centuries, to have withdrawn this opinion, and these practices, ahogether from the ecclesi- astical system, the entire structure of polity and worship must have crumbled to the dust, leaving nothing but the rudiments of Christianity — a system how vastly dif- ferent! One cannot then but be perplexed with the question, Why this foremost characteristic of ancient Christianity has been overlooked, as yet, by the Oxford divines. Let them, if they will, leave St. Bernard out of their view, for he is a papist; but how can they forget Cyprian and Tertullian ? let them be silent concerning the extrava- gances of St. Francis, or St. Dominic, but why do so little justice to Athanasiiis, to Chrysostom, to Jerome, to Ambrose, to Augustine, to Theodoret, to Basil, to the four Gregorys, to Leo, to Benedict, to Macarius, and to a host beside, as to say nothing concerning that one highly illuminated theme, upon which these great and good men made it their duty and their glory to expend the prime force of their eloquence, and upon which they strewed, on all occasions, the gayest and most fragrant flowers of their flowery rhetoric? whence has arisen this oversight? A singular oversight it must surely be regarded ; for, while these erudite divines, conversant as they are with Christian antiquity, (more so, perhaps, than with the real conditions of the age they live in,) are, in the tones of a solemn remonstrance, calling upon the church to retrace its heedless steps, and to realize, so far as possi- ble, an imitation of the religious notions and practices 102 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION of the second and third centuries, and while they would fain render the apostolic English church a very copy (its sufferings excepted) of the church as we find it un- der Dionysius and Cyprian, yet exclude from their copy the most characteristic and prominent feature of their venerable pattern! If they reply that, on this one and only point, the doctrine and practices of the ancient chnrch were mistaken, we grant it indeed ; but must then go on to say, that the error — theoretic and practi- cal — was of such a depth and magnitude as to bring the whole system, of wliich it formed so principal a part, under grave suspicion, and to render the utmost circum- spection indispensable, when we are called upon to be- lieve, or to do, this or that, because it was believed or done by the ancient church. Unable to conceive of it as possible, that the Oxford writers can simply h^ive forgotten this foremost article of the faith and morals of the early church, 1 cannot but plainly express niy conviction that they are not so devoid of worldly discretion, or so regardless of the temper of the limes they live in, as not to have felt that, to protrude the ancient doctrine concerning the merits of virginity, at so early a stage of their proceedings, however " hap- pily omened," would have been a measure that must have proved instantly fatal to the cause they are pro- moting. Whatever whims or illusions the well-informed classes in this country may, for a time, give themselves up to, there is among us always a vigorous good sense, and a strong right feeling, in matter of morality — a sense of the fair and honest, such as would not have failed to resent with vehemence any endeavour, even the most cautious, to subvert the first principles of the social eco- nomy, and to poison the springs of natural sentiment. OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 103 Every just and manly emotion, and every pure feminine emotion, would have been kindled, and would have covered with shame any attempt to bring back upon us the demure abominations, and the horrors of religious celibacy. The Oxford 'I'ract writers have much yet to do — a Herculean task to perform, (not indeed to cleanse t!ie stables of monkish pietism, but to deluge the land with their fillh,) before they may venture so much as to whisper their desire to revive this great article of ancient Christianity, or to restore to its honours the — iikistrior portio gregis Christi. This flos atque decus ecclesiastic! germinis, is, let them believe it, withered to the root, and wo and siiame to those who may strive to raise a new plant from its pernicious seeds! And yet it is hard to say, if certain principles be granted, why we should not emulate that which the fa- thers, one and all, considered as the choicest part of Christianity — the fair, the ripened, and the fragrant fruit of its highest influences: if we are to imitate the subor- dinate characteristics of the same system, why not its principal ? Let us, as good protestants, reject v/ith hor- ror the institutions of St. Dominic; but why abstain from those of St. Benedict? We will not choose to copy St. Cecelia, but why not follow St. Anthony ? We loathe, perhaps, the principles of St. Ignatius Loy- ola, but dare we stop the ear at the soft call of St. Ephrem, and St. Basil, when they invite us to rend every s{)cial tie by which we may be connected with the world, and to retire to a vacant cell next to their own 1 Our ears have been so much and so long used to the sound (repealed by protestant writers, one after the other, and without any distinct rei'erence to facts, and probably 104 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION without any direct knowledge of them,) of the prO' gressive corruption of Christianity, and of the slow and steady advances of superstition and spiritual tyranny, that we are little prepared to admit a contrary statement, better sustained by evidence, as well as more practically significant in itself — namely, that, although councils, or the papal authority, from age to age, followed up, im- bodied and legalized, certain opinions, usages, and prac- tices, which were already prevalent, in an undefined form, it very rarely pushed on far in advance of the feeling and habit of the times; but that, on the contrary, it rather followed in the wake of ancient superstition and contemporary corruption, expressing, in bulls, decretals, and canons, (which were not seldom of a corrective kind,) the will or temper of the ecclesiastical body. Or to slate the same general fact, as it is seen from another point of view, it will be found true that, if the opinion and sentiment of the church, at different eras, be regarded apart from the autiiorized expressions of the same, there will appear to have been far less oi progression than we have been taught to suppose; and that, on the contrary, the notions and usages of a later, differ extremely little, or not at all, from those of an earlier age; or that, so far as they do differ, the advantage, in respect of morality and piety, is quite as often on the side of the later, as of the earlier ages. Particular points had in view, it might be affirmed, that popery was a practicable form, and a corrected expression, of ancient Christianity. This is especially the case in reference to the subject which we have now before us ; nor do I at all hesitate to affirm, that pages, and pages again, may be adduced from writers of the second and third century, which, suppressing names and incidental allusions, an intelligent OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 105 reader might easily suppose to have been taken from those of the twelfth or thirteenth century. What, then, I am peculiarly desirous to place in a conspicuous posi- tion, is, the fact that, instead of a regular and slow de- velopment of error, there was a very early expansion of false and pernicious notions, in their mature proportions, and these attended by some of their worst fruits. This, then, is the very point and hinge of our argument; and, in making good the weighty allegation, I shall use, not only all requisite diligence of research ; but, as I trust, a strict and conscientious impartiality. It may be, in- deed, that later writers express themselves in more ful- some terms, or in worse taste than the earlier; and it may be that the popes and saints of the middle ages ex- hibit less acquaintance with the classic models of style than was the boast of the well-taught doctors of the third and fourth centuries ; but, in the substance of tlieir reli- gious system, and in extent of moral obliquity, they do not, I venture to say, a whit surpass them. I'he infe- rence afTecling other and more disputed points of Chris- tian morality, ecclesiastical usage, and theological opi- nions, will force itself upon every thoughtful reader. And how well might our vigilance be quickened when higlily respectable Romanist writers are heard affirming (and not without an appeal to good evidence,) as much, in behalf of the characteristic corruptions of their own church, as certain protestants among us are now affirm- ing in behalf of other ancient practices and opinions, authenticated in precisely the same mode, and to the same extent ! " The celibacy of the clergy," says Alban Butler, " is merely an ecclesiastical law, though perfectly conforma- ble to the spirit of the gospel, and doubtless derived from 10 106 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION the apostles." We have then to see whether the proof of the antiquity and universality of the opinions of which this law was merely a formal expression, be not as good as can be adduced in support of practices and principles now urged upon us, because ancient and " apos- tolic." In making good my general allegation, I shall adduce evidence in proof or illustration of the following five propositions, whicli, if established, may be held to su- persede much of the argument, otherwise requisite, in reference to points now actually under discussion ; at tlie same time, the passages to be cited will afford the means of exhibiting, in its true colours, the general con- dition of the ancient church, moral and religious, and will, therefore, serve to dissipate the illusions that are apt to surround the objects of remote antiquity. ]My pro- positions are — I. That the lapse of eight hundred or a thousand years exhibits very little, if any, progression, in the quality or extravagance of those notions which gave support to the practices of religious celibacy; and that the attendant abuses of this system were nearly, or quite, as flagrant at the earlier, as at the later date. II. Ttiat, at the very earliest time when we find these notions and practices to have been generally prevalent, and accredited, they were no novelties; but had come down from a still earlier era. III. That, as these notions and practices are of imme- morial antiquity, so did they afl'ect the church universal — eastern, western, and African; and that thus they come fully within the terms of the rule — quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus. IV. That these opinions and practices, in their most OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 107 extreme form, received an ample and explicit sanction, and a solemn authentication from all the great writers and doctors of the church, during the most prosperous and enlightened age of any preceding the reformation; and that, on this head, popery has no peculiar culpabi- lity. V. That the notions and practices connected with the doctrine of the superlative merit of religious celibacy, were, at once, the causes and the effects of errors in the- ology, of perverted moral sentiments, of superstitious usages, of hierarchical usurpations; and that they fur- nish us with a criterion for estimating the general value OF ANCIENT CHRISTIANITY; and, in a word, afford reason enough for regading, if not with jealousy, at least with extreme caution, any attempt to induce the modern church to imitate the ancient church. THE FIRST PROPOSITION, My first thesis, then, is to this effect — That no essential change, or progressive deterioration, took place during the course of many centuries, dating- from what is called the pristine age of the church, in re- gard to the notions entertained concerning the merit and angelic virtues of celibacy; and that the extreme evils usually considered as inseparable from these notions, at- tached to them from the earliest times; or in other words, that the vices and absurdities of Romanism, on this 108 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION ground, are only the vices and absurdities of ancient Christianity. For the purpose of establishing the position here as- sumed, and which, if actually made good, will go far toward clearing a path over the ground of the present controversy, I shall study brevity and condensation, as far as may consist with a satisfactory and (if it were pos- sible) a final treatment of this initial portion of the ar- gument. It will manifestly be requisite to adduce pas- sages, first from some two or three of the autlienticated writers of the later and mature times of Romanism, by the side of which must be placed analogous, or parallel quotations from the leading Ante-Nicene fathers; and on a comparison of the two, it will be for calm and candid minds to determine whether my first thesis affirms more than ought to have been asserted. It was not, as I have already said, the authorities of the Romish church — popes, cardinals, councils, that pushed forward the system of spiritual prostitution, su- perstition and tyranny; but much rather a deeply-work- ing spirit acting from within the church; and this spirit is one and the same, whether uttering itself from the fer- vid lips of St. Dominic de Guzman, or St. Bernard, or the not less fervid lips of a father of the second and third century. This spirit proved itself in fact to be far more potent than the authority which the popes them- selves exerted, even about the walls of the Vatican. A curious instance presents itself, with which I may com- mence my series of testimonies. So late as the twelfth century many of the monastic institutions continued to be of an open kind; that is to say, some of the religious esta- blishments were merely lodging-houses, for persons pro- fessing more assiduity in the offices of piety than their OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 109 neighbours; and where the freest access was allowed to the parents and friends of the mis-called, recluses. In other cases, even residence in the nunnery was dispensed with, so that those who had enrolled themselves as mem- bers of a certain society, and as intending to adhere to the rules of the order, continued to live with their friends; and to mix pretty freely in general society. This laxity of practice, open as it must have been to abuses, and being as it was a departure from the practices of the early ages, and tending to weaken much the hold which the church might have had over the entire system, had long engaged the zealous endeavours of Innocent III. to re- dress it; but he, despot as he was, had laboured with little success, even in Rome itself, to effect an absolute in- carceration of all who liad bound themselves by the mo- nastic rules, and to seclude them effectively, not from the world merely, but from their nearest relatives. The letters of this pope betray, at once, his extreme anxiety to bring about this necessary reform, and the vexa- tion with which he witnessed the small success of his endeavours. But wherein a pope, and such a pope as In- nocent III. fails, and confesses himself over-matched, a Dominic easily triumphs, after only a second effort, and without the necessity of exhibiting more than a single and customary miracle. To the vagrant and giddy nuns of Rome, this saint had offered his own newly elected monastery, in that city; with the hope of tempting them to abandon the laxity of their practice; and at length he obtained their reluctant consent to make this sumptuous palace of poverty their abode, and their prison. Their alarmed relatives, however, succeeded in bringing them to renounce their inconsiderate promise; nor was it until after a new and more strenuous exertion of his spiritual 10* 110 A TEST or THE MORAL CONDITION influence, that he finally triumphed over the impulses, as well of their better, as of their worse natures. On Ash-Wednesday, 1218, tlie abbess, and some of her nuns — the elder sisters probably (of the monastery of St. Mary beyond the Tiber) went to take possession of their new abode; where they found already, the saint, in con- ference with three cardinals — commissioners, in this in- stance, with himself. But hardly had the first compli- ments passed, between these reverend persons, wlien it was suddenly announced by a messenger, tearing his hair to admiration, that a young nobleman, named Napoleon,* and who was the nephew of one of the said carchnals, had just been tiirown from his horse, and — killed on the spot! Forthwith the conference is broken off, and the lifeless and lacerated body is, by command of the " than- maturgus of the age," brought within doors: mass is said — the saint, in celebrating the divine mysteries, shed a flood of tears, and while elevating the body of Christ in his pure hands, he was himself, in an ecstasy, lifted up a whole cubit from the ground, in the sight, and to tlie amazement, of all who were present. After awhile, and as might have been expected, wliile St. Dominic himself continued suspended in the air, he cried, with a loud voice, " Napoleon, 1 say to thee, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, arise." That instant, in the sight of the whole multitude, the young man arose, sound and whole! What then could the refractory or reluctant nuns of St. Mary do, but, at the bidding of this * This morning-star of the race of Napoleon, could, no doubt, Bham dead as handsomely, and naturally, as his illustrious name* sake, of our times, acted the part of a good musulman, or a good catholic, when needful. OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. Ill raiser of the dead, rush into the net prepared for them; and pine away the residue of their years, within the gloomy walls of the monastery of St. Sixtiis? But now, you say, all this is mere popery; and what have we to do with its superstitions, or with the impi- ous frauds that were perpetrated to give them credit? What we have to do with these things is this — to retrace the course of time, a thousand years, or nearly as much, and there and then to discover, in the bosom of the pris- tine and martyr cliurch, not perhaps the very same forms, usages, frauds, follies; but those substantial elements of religious opinion, and of moral sentiment, wliich gave support to all these abominations, and apart from which they would never have had existence. This then is the gist of our present argument — that there is absolutely nothing in the ripe popery of the times of St. Dominic (certain elaborate modes of proceeding excepted) which is not to be found in the Christianity of the times of Cyprian or of Tertullian. The last named father I reserve to be placed side by side with a kindred spirit of the middle ages; and at present turn to the mild, pious, and judicious, as well as eloquent, martyr, archbishop of Carthage. Let us then, at a leap of one tliousand years, pass the abyss of popery, and imagine ourselves fairly laniled upon the terra firma of pristine purity — the realm of the still bleeding and vo- luntary church, whence may be descried, like a waning twilight, the brightness of the apostolic age. The pas- sages I am to offer are not merely highly significant, in themselves, and indispensable as links in our argu- ment, but they tend directly to lay open what was the real condition, spiritual and ecclesiastical, of the early church. In abridging, so far as may be requisite, my 112 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDttlON quotations, and in taking sing-le expressions from para- graphs, 1 stand pledged (and am open to an easy rebuke if detected in any wilful perversions) to omit nothing M'hich, if adduced, might serve to conlravene the infer- ence I have in view; and if, on the other hand, I am compelled to retrench not a little which would most pointedly support that inference, 1 do so in deference to the propriety which our modern refinement prescribes. Whoever will look into the authors cited will, I am sure, admit that, to have availed myself of the materials before me in a less scrupulous manner, would not a little have strengthened the position 1 maintain. You will not tell me that you are already familiar with the passages which you foresee I shall fix upon ; and that the general faci which they are adduced to illustrate, is sufficiently understood, and is generally admitted. This may perhaps be true, though one would not think it when one listens to the customary style, either of the favourers of antiquity, or of its impugners, who, on the one part, seem to be discreetly concealing the real and simple facts, which, on the oilier side, ap[)ear to be but slenderly or confusedly apprehended. 'J'he time, how- ever, is come when it is indispensable that we should make ourselves thoroughly and authentically familiar with whatever we have the means of knowing, concern- ing ancient Christianity. At a time not more remote from the apostolic age, than we, of this generation, are from the limes of Bar- row, Tillotson, Taylor, Baxter, we find all the elements of the abuses of the twelfth century, and, not the ele- ments only, but most of those abuses in a ripened, nay, in a putrescent condition. Cyprian, and his presbyters, writes, in reply to Pom- OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 113 ponius, a suffragan bishop, \vho had reported certain scandals, in treating which he needed direction and au- thoritative support. From this letter it appears that the rash and unwarrantable vow of perpetual celibacy, or virginity, taken, or forced upon multitudes of young women, in some moment of artificial religious excitement, had been too late repented of by many of its victims, who, finding themselves cut off from the virtuous en- dearments of domestic life, had rushed into irregularities-, loading their conscience at once with a real, and a su- pererogatory guilt, and had, under the colour of spiritual intercourse wiih the clergy to whose care they had been consigned, and who themselves were galled by the same impious extravagance, admitted the grossest familiarities, and thus had diffused an extreme corruption of manners among the very men to whom were intrusted the moral and religious welfare of the people. So early liad this false fervour produced its poisonous fruit, and had ulce- rated, in its vitals, the body of the church! •' Concern- ing those," says Cyprian, " who, after having solemnly devoted themselves to continence, have been found co- habiting with men — detectae in eodem lecto pariter man- sisse cum masculis — yet professing tliemselves inviolate ' — cum viris dormisse confessae sint .... you have de- sired my advice. You well know that we do not recede from the evangelic and apostolic traditions .... and that, in regard to the welfare of all, church discipline is to be maintained .... wherefore it is by no means to be allowed that young women should (non dico simul dormire) live with men. If indeed they have cordially dedicated themselves to Christ, let them modestly and chastely, and without subterfuge, hold to their purpose, and, thus constant and firm, look for the reward of vir- 114 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION ginity — prsemium virginitatis. — Bnt if in fact they will not (vel non possunt) so persevere, let lliem marry. Take your Cyprian from the shelf, and tell me whether the j)assages, and the expressions! have omitted, do not make it certain, that this pretended "Apostolic institu- tion," namely, of religious celibacy, or, as it was called, dedication or espousals to Christ, had not already, and even amidst the fires of persecution, become the imme- diate occasion, in a very extensive degree, to licentious practices, which must have been fatal to all piety, as well as frightful in themselves. In trutli, if we are thinking of the preservation of morality at large, or of the purity of the church in particular, I could not, for my own part, hesitate to prefer the tremendous irreversible vows, and the dungeon monasteries of later times, to the loose fa- natical profligacy of the times of Cyprian. If we are to hear much more of tlie purity of the early church, there will be no choice left but to quote Cyprian and Tertul- lian, without retrenchment. ** And if all," continues this truly faithful pastor, " are bound to observe a necessary discipline, how much more are those bound to do so who should aflford an example to others ! How shall they, the clergy, praepositos et diaconos, be guides in the path of piety and virtue, if, in fact, from them proceeds a contaminating warranty of vice ! . . . . Thou hast therefore well done in withdraw- ing from the deacon and others, qui cum virginibus dor- mire consueverunt." Nothing could place in a stronger light the absurdity, and ihe inevitable abuses, inseparable from ihis ancient practical error, than to menlion llie inefl'ably degrading, as well as precarious condition upon which, by Cy- prian's directions, was to depend the restoration of the OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 115 guilty, or of the suspected, to the communion of the church— a condition of which he had himself intimated his distrust (cum .... saepe fallatur) hut this we forego, only remarking the significant fact, as attaching to so early a time, that already a rational solicitude concern- ing spiritual and moral character, had been displaced by a stupid regard to what was merely external and formal. Did the religious character of these loose ladies gain any real warranty from the report of the obsletrix ? Or were their clerical paramours rendered more fit teachers of Christianity by the issue of any such ordeals? Al- ready had the first principles of the social system, as divinely constituted, been so perverted, and the senti- ments of real virtue so broken in upon, by this perni- cious system of factitious super-human piety, iliat the sexes could no longer be suffered, with any safety, even to live together under the same roof! and thus, as it re- garded the ministers of religion, at least, the whole of that happy and genial influence which is found to result from Christianized domestic relations, was turned aside; and in its place came habits and modes of feeling, wliich may not be described or contemjdaled. But all this evil sprang from the desire to make up a loftier sort of reli- gion than that which God had given to the world ! The palliations that may be found for these grievous errors, and the almost inevitable infatuation which held the minds of those who had been trained to support and reverence them, and the relation they bore to the ex- treme corruptions of the times, and also to the frequent and severe sufferings to which the church, during three centuries, was exposed — these themes of extenuation are not now our subject; — an occasion may perhaps present itself, for offering a general apology in behalf of those 116 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION whom now we are arraigning. What we have at pre- sent to do with, is the fact of an early and extensive re- ligious illusion; and the inferences this fact involves. Let this, however, be said, that the church, looking abroad upon the universal and frightful dissoluteness of the heathen world, conceived the belief that the enor- mous evil could never be amended by applying to it the simple, firm, and natural morality of the gospel, as pro- mulgated by Christ, and his apostles; but they thought it could be counteracted, if at all, by nothing but a spe- cies of virtue that was exaggerated in a proportionate degree. This artificial purity, was then a violent re- action, ending, as might have been foreseen, and as every convulsive moral struggle must, in a correspon- dent corruption, as well of manners, as of principles. It is curious, in this point of view, to compare our Cy- prian's rlielorical description of the dissoluteness of his times (ad Donatum) with the facts admitted, or indicated, by himself, in his endeavours to repress the spreading plague within the church; not that tlie practices liiem- selves were equally flagitious; but yet were they ren- dered tlie more culpable by those advantages of light in which the heathen had no part. How much turns often (and it is an observation per- petually olfering itself in the perusal of cjiurch history) upon an insensible substitution of a technical, for the general and genuine sense of an ethical term! It was just by the aid of some of these hardly perceptible sub- stitutions that the eminent men we have now to do with (and Cyprian not less than any) found the ready means of gaining an apparent scriptural warranty for practices flagrantly contravening the spirit and meaning of scrip- tural morality. Thus it is that he reiterates his quota- OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 117 tioRS from the Psalms, and the Book of Proverbs, in support of that ecclesiastical discipline which the vow of celibacy involved, by adducing texts in which the in- struction, correction, or reproof recommended by David or Solomon is rendered disciplina, in the Latin version of the Old Testament, which he used : as thus — " Those who refuse instruction shall perish;" or, as the Latin has it — " those shall perish," and under the anger of the Lord, who infringe the rules of this artificial disci- pline^ enjoined for enforcing the system of factitious pu- rity. Tertullian, long before, had appropriated this term in the same manner. The Greek Church writers em- ploy the word philosophy in a sense nearly equivalent. But we have yet to see what those generally received and accredited notions were, to which the shepherds of the church ordinarily appealed, when handling the sub- ject of religious celibacy, and which so sober-minded a prelate as Cyprian alleges as the foundation of his com- mands and exhortations, when labouring to repress the abuses which, at this early period, had come in, like an inundation upon the church. An exposition of these no- tions and opinions we find placed in the front of the treatise, or dehorlation, '' concerning the attire of vir- gins," (nuns) that is to say, of those who had dedicated their bodies, as well as their souls, to the Lord; and who, under the designation of the spouses of Christ, held a distinct place as a visible order, or sodality, in the ecclesiastical system, taking rank above the class of widows, and second only to the confessors, or those who liad triumpliantly sustained torture from the hand of the heathen. Now it appears, too plainly, from the stern reproba- 11 .718 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION (ions, and the indignant, yet repressed flourishes which mark this treatise, that a laxity, nay a licentiousness, hardly to be believed, and little suspected by tlie gene- ral readers of church history, had become common among these religious ladies, of the church of Carthage. In fact, it cannot be doubted that, to indemnify themselves for the abjuration of the virtuous happiness of domestic life, they had become proficients in every meretricious allurement, not merely bestowing extraordinary cares and costs upon the attractions of dress and jewellery, and frequenting scenes of indecent revelry, but inviting and allowing the grossest familiarities on the part of their spiritual guides, to whom they had a too easy ac- cess; and even yielding themselves to shameless ex- posures in the public baths, of which ablutions the good bishop well and smartly says, such washings do not cleanse, but pollute the body, and not only the body, but the soul. That the indecencies of the Carthagenian nuns were not a single instance of irregularity, may be gathered from the very express and detailed reference to the same practices made, some years earlier, by Clement of Alexandria, who, in fact, uses expressions which one might believe Cyprian to have read. So much for the boasted purity of the pristine age of the church! How much longer is comm(ui sense to be outraged by the re- petition of this miserably unmeaning phrase — unmean- ing, unless applied with the greatest caution, and a se- vere limitation, to a very brief period, and to a few bright spots ! *' But now," continues our zealous and upright pre- late, "I have to address myself to the virgins, (nuns,) whom, as their reputation is so much the more exalted, we must make the objects of a proportionate care. OF THE AN'CIENT CHURCH. 11^ These, in truth, are the flowers of the ecclesiastical plant, the grace arjd ornament of the heavenly grace; a gladsome produce, a work whole and incorrupt of all honour and all praise; the image of God, reflecting the sanctity of the Lord, and the most illustrious portion of Christ's flock. By these (nuns) and in these, is the noble fecundity of mother church recommended, and made copiously to flourish ; and just by so much as this plentiful virginity swells its numbers, does the mother herself augment her joys. It is to these, then, that I speak; it is these I proceed to exhort; yet in aflfeclion, rather than in the tones of authority." I must here remark that, already, the constant and in- evitable tendency of a system, essentially superstitious, to fix the attention, even of the best men, with more so- licitude, upon what is extrinsic and symbolic, than upon what is moral, spiritual, and rational, had fully deve- loped itself in Cyprian's time — indeed it is the general characterisiic of the early (as of later) church writers; and it is the capital article of the contrast which so forcibly strikes us in comparing the entire body of an- cient religious literature with the scriptures. The apos- tles, without contemning or forgetting that which is ex- terior, give all their serious cares to that which is sub- stantial — to the weighty matters of the soul's condition, spiritual and moral. The fathers, on the contrary, with- out contemning, or altogether forgetting, that which is substantial, are fretting themselves perpetually, (like their modern admirers,) and chafing, about that which is subsidiary only, and visible; the form, the institution, the discipline, the canon; in a word, the husk of reli- gion, fondly thinking that, so long as the rind and shell of piety could be preserved without a flaw, there could 120 A TEST OF THE MOR^L CONDITION be no doubt of the preservation of the kernel ! Alas ! these ill-directed anxieties left the adversary, at his lei- sure, to perforate the shell and to wilhcivavv the kernel, almost to the last atom ! Tiius our good archbishop, after saying that " the continence and pudicity proper to a nun do not consist merely in the inviolate perfection of the body," leads the modern reader, at least, to sur- mise that he is about to recommend the inward and spi- ritual grace of genuine purity of heart; but no, this is not what he is thinking of — " True modesty, beside the integrity of the body, consists in — the fair and moc'est attire and ornament of the person!" Here is excellent quakerism, as well as popery, and both sixteen hundred years old! *' How shall they receive the wages of virginity, which they are looking for from the Lord, unless it be evident that they are labouring to please him, and none other? .... What, then, can such have to do with those terrestrial decorations which are attractive to the eyes, not of the Lord, but of men ? as Paul says — If I seek to please men, I am no longer the servant of Christ. What do ornaments mean ; what means decking of the hair, except to one who either has, or who is seeking a husband ? . . . . Peter dehorts married women from an excessive ornamenting of their persons, who might plead, in excuse of their fault, the will and taste of their hus- bands ; but what excuse can virgins find for a like re- gard to dress, who are liable to no such interference ? . . . Thou, if thou goest abroad, frequenting public places, sumptuously arrayed, alluring the eyes of youth, draw- ing after thee the sighs of admirers, fomenting lawless passions, and kindling the sparks of desire, and even, if not destroying thyself, destroying others, and presenting OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 121 to their bosoms a poisoned dagger, canst not excuse thy- self on the pretence of preserving a mind pure and mo- dest. Thy pretext is shamed by thy criminal aliire and thy immodest decorations ; nor shouldst thou be reck- oned among the maids of Christ, who so livest as if wishing to captivate and to be loved by another." After reprehending, at length, and on various grounds, costly and meretricious decorations of the person — the means and materials of which, says the good bishop, following Tertullian, were given to mankind by the apostate angels, he proceeds to specify and reprove still more criminal excesses which had become matter of scandal, within and without the church, and had afforded too much colour to the calumnies of the heathen. Such were, the being present at weddings, "and hearing and taking part in licentious conversations ; hearing what offends jjood morals, and seeing what must not be spoken of. . . What have the virgins of the church to do at pro- miscuous baths ; and there to violate the commonest dictates of feminine modesty! . , . Sordidat lavalio ista, non abluit; nee eniundat membra, sed maculat. Impu- dice tu neminem conspicis, sed ipsa conspiceris impu- dice : oculos tuos turpi obleclalione non polluis, sed dum oblecias alios, ipsa poUueris. . . . The places (baths) you frequent are more filthy than the theatre itself; all mo- desty is there laid aside, and with your robes, your per- sonal honour and reserve are cast off. . . Thus it is that the church so often has to weep for her virgins; so does she bewail their infamy, and the horrid tales which get abroad. . . ." " Listen, then, to him who seeks your true welfare; lest, cast off by the Lord, ye be widows before ye be married; adulteresses, not lo husbands, but to Christ, 11* 122 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION and, after having been destined to the highest rewards, ye undergo the severest punishments. . . For, consider, while the hundred-fold produce is that of the martyrs, the sixty-fold is yours ; and as they (the martyrs) con- temn the body and its delights, so should you. Great are the wages which await you, (if faithful ;) the high reward of virtue, the great recompense to be conferred upon chastity. Not only shall your lot and portion (in the future life) be equal to that of the other sex ; but ye shall be equal to the angels of God !" So much then for the zealous and upright Cyprian, and his delinquent stew of ecclesiastical virginity, at Car- thage, and so much for the venerable sanctity of the pris- tine age! You will grant, I think, tliat the urgent con- troversy whicli we have now to do with, and which turns so much upon tlie alleged authority of antiquity, renders this species of evidence, unpleasing as it is in itself, yet very pertinent in reference to the general ques- tion. I cannot liowever proceed to call in my next pair of witnesses, without adverting to a fact which forces it- self upon every well informed and reflecting reader of the early Christian writers, I mean the much higher moral condition, and the more effective discipline of the Romish cliurch in later times, than can with any truth be claimed for the ancient church, even during its era of suffering and depression. Our ears are stunned with the outcry against the " corruptions of popery." I boldly say that popery, foul as it is, and has ever been, in the mass, might yet fairly represent itself as a reform upon early Chrlstianitij. Do not accuse me of the wish to starde you with paradoxes. I will not swell my pages (which will have enough to bear) with quotations from modern books that are in the hands of most religious OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 123 readers. In truth, volumes of unimpeachable evidence might be produced, establishing the fact, that the later Roraish churcli lias had to boast eminent virtues, in con- nexion with her monastic institutions; and I think virtues, better compacted, and more consistent than belonged to the earlier church. Or, to refer to a single instance, look into the various narratives that have been published re- lating to the Port-royal institution, as governed by the illustrious Angelica Arnauld. There was popery entire; every element of the system developed, and expanded, under the fervours of the most intense religious excite- ment! I beg you then, in idea, to place, by the side of this band of virgins of the seventeenth century, Cyprian's dissolute crew, the decus et ornamentum, of the martyr times of the church! If you say these are picked in- stances, I deny it, so far as my argument is concerned in the comparison; and I affirm the general fact that the measures taken by the Romish cliurch, at different pe- riods, to enforce the celibacy of the clergy, and to bring the monastic institution under the tremendous, but neces- sary sanctions which at length were resorted to for hold- ing it entire, were in the main, measures of reform, found, by abundant and lengthened experience, to be indispen- sable as the means of excluding, or repressing tlie worst abuses; — that is to say, so long as t!ie core of the institu- tion — the immemorial doctrine of religious celibacy, was to be maintained, in the position it had ever held, as an essential element of Christianity. In a word, the plain fact is, that this foremost and hinging article of ancient Christi- anity, after having, from century to century, been im- bodied in a milder or less compact form, and its usages enforced with less rigour, and after having in this loose form, ulcerated the church in a frightfal manner, was at 124 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION length brought into some order by the strenuous hand of authority, aided indeed by the mad fanaticism of certain fiery spirits. The venerable doctrine of the merit of re- ligious celibacy has proved itself to be utterly impracti- cable under any conditions less severe than those which have, since the middle ages, rendered the religious houses, when vigorously governed, dens of cruelty and despair. But then nothing can be more inequitable than to charge these horrors upon Romanism. The church of Rome has done, in these instances, the best it could, to bring the cumbrous abomination bequeathed to it by the saints and doctors and martyrs of the pristine age, into a ma- nageable condition. And if we are to hear much more of the "corruptions of popery," as opposed to " primi- tive purity," there will be no alternative but freely to lay open the sewers of the early church, and to allow them to disgorge their contents upon the wholesome air. We must now, however, pursue our proposed chain of evidences a liitle farther, and for the purpose of sub- stantiating, by more than one or two instances, the ge- neral proposition, that the lapse of many centuries, though it miglitgive form and consistency to certain mistaken notions, did not materially, if at all, advance the princi- ples whence the whole system originated. This is the very point which, in my view at least, is more than any other, of importance in relation to th.e controversy at present agitated, and you must pardon me, if I seem to be taking unnecessary pains in fully establishing it. On these subjects utter misapprehensions have extensively prevailed, which will not easily give way. Before we reprobate popes, councils, and Romanist saints, let us fairly see what sort of system it was which the doctors and martyrs of the highest antiquity liad delivered into their c-rire and oiislody. We protestants are prompt OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 125 -enough to condemn the pontiffs, or St. Bernard; but let inquiry be made concerning the Christianity imbodied in the writings of those to whom popes and doctors looked up, as tlieir undoubted masters. There can hardly be a more pertinent comparison, in relation to our present purpose, than the one I now in- stitute between the iUustrious and highly gifted, as well as potent abbot of Clairvaux, and his fiery predecessor in the same field of labour, Tertullian. In such a pa- rallel we find, brought into opposition, not indeed the formal institutions, and the legalized practices of the an- cient, and of the later church, which are circumstantials only, variable in themselves, and of no importance in relation to any controversy that can be carried on among protestants; but the intimate character, or, as Lord Bacon would have termed it, the inner form, of the two systems, which in truth are not two, but one and the same. An interval of nine hundred years is surely a sufhcient space for showing, in any case, and very distinctly, the gradual operation of time, in modifying opinions, and usages, whether secular or ecclesiastical. If little or no pro- gression be discernible within the compass of almost a thousand years, we may pretty confidently assume that the system in question had reached its maturity at the earliest date. In truth, the period marked off from the entire field of church history, by these two remarkable names, may properly be considered as inclusive of all those characteristics of ancient Christianity, which can have any bearing upon modern controversies. Popery has at no moment of its entire existence, been more it- self, than it was in the age of St. Bernard, and of his nurseling. Innocent 11. , nor is ancient Christianity, ss distinguished from the Christianity of the New Tes- 126 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION lament, to be met with any where else (at this early date) so vividly pictured, as in the writings of the African presbyter. Nor can any fair demur be taiven against him (so far as my present purpose is concerned) either on ihe general ground, of the intemperance and extravagance of his dispositions, or the particular ground of his fall into Montanism; inasmucii as I sliall avail myself of his expressions only so far as they may safely be considered as indicative of the sentiments of the church at the time, as well as of practices then prevalent, and so far too, as these expressions and sentiments were afterwards caught np, authenticated, and expanded, by the series of catho- lic writers, beginning with his contemporaries, and on- wards. In this instance I foresee and preclude the ob- jection which will be raised against 'I'ertullian's evidence, by confining myself to passages wliich itr.\y be matched, substantially, from the works of the most orthodox and the most esteemed fathers. But it is necessary to my purpose, first to give a sam- ])le of the ripe Catholicism (in this particular feature of the ecclesiastical system) of the twelfth century; and then to compare with it the boasted *' pristine Ciirisli- anily," of the second or third century; that is to say, of a period when the immediate successors of the apostles were still personally remembered. The religious course, character, and writings of St. Bernard are, in a very extraordinary degree, fraught with pertinent and aireciing instruction, and 1 should venture to say that a full and dispassionate statement of what this eminent man felt, and professed to feel, and of what he did, and of what he incited others to do, or permitted them to cloak witii his name, would afford as effective a caution as could be found against the lamentable illu- sions by which fervent religious minds, in every age, OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 127 have been endangered. At the present moment, the un- expected appearance, anil wide prevalence of a species of religion vividly exemplitied in the character and con- duct of St. Bernard, mark him as the very instance which young and ardent minds should seriously consider. The animated, spirit-stirring writings of this Aither, as entertaining as they are instructive, abound with tender, as well as vehement and vituperative reproofs of the cor- ruptions prevailing in the church, i/i his times, and espe- cially of the abuses which, in every age, have been con- nected with the unnatural doctrine and practice of reli- gious celibacy. A volume might be filled with these re- monstrant rhapsodies. " Heartily do I wish," says he, addressing the clergy, " that it were more the practice among us, of those who undertake to build a tower, to sit down first, and count the cost, lest haply they find themselves wanting in the means to finish their work. Heartily do I wish that those who, as it seems, have so little command over their passions, and rashly make pro- fession of perfection, would scruple to enrol their names in the lists of celibacy. Costly indeed is this tower, and of great import is that word which all cannot re- ceive. Belter far were it to secure salvaiion on the low- level of the faitliful commonalty, than, in the loftiness of the clerical dignity, to live worse than they, and to be judged more severely." Expressions these, very nearly resembling those of St. Cyprian, above riled. One's heart might bleed in following some of St. Ber- nard's amplifications on this subject. But no proof of the impracticability, or of the pernicious tendency, or of the cruelty of this main article of ancient Christianity^ could avail to load even those who best understood hu- man nature, to call in questioa either its validity ox its 128 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION excellence : on the contrary, the worse it was found i(y be in its working, (and this is an ordinary occurrence in matters of religion,) the more extravagant were the en- comiums lavished upon it. I need hardly remind you that, in St. Bernard's sense, the term chastity does 7iot mean that Christian and rational purity of the heart which the apostles recommend, and wliich they urge as well upon the married as the unmarried ; but that artiti- eial and external purity of the monastic system,, to which the married could make no pretensions. "What so fair as this chastity, — which makes, of a man, an angel? A chaste man and an angel differ in- deed as to felicity, but not as to virtue; for, although the purity of the angel be the happier of the two, that of the man must be admitted to be the more energetic. It is chastity, and that alone, which, in this abode of mortality, holds forth tiie state of immortal glory. This alone, (on earth,) where the rites of marriage are so- lemnized, vindicates the manners of that blessed region, where tiiey neither marry, nor are given in marriage; oilering, as one may say, an example, or experiment, on earth, of that heavenly mode of life. . . In this earthly vessel of ours is contained the fragrant balsam, (of chas- tity,) by virtue of which the mortal elements are con- served incorrupt This is the glory of the single life, to live the life of an angel, while occupying the body, as of a beast." This is the string, harped upon again and again, that the religious ccelebs was " an angel among beings of an inferior order." " Who, then, should scruple to call the life of the re- ligious ccslebs a celestial, an angelic life ? or what will all the elect be in the resurrection, which ye are not even OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 129 iiow, as the angels of God in heaven, who abstain from matrimonial connexions ? Ye grasp, my beloved brethren, the pearl of great price ; ye grasp that sanctity which renders you like to the saints (in glory) and the home servants of God, as saith the scripture — Incorruptness plnces us next to God. Not by your own merits, are ye what ye are ; but by the grace of God : and, as to chas- tity and sanctity, I may call you — terrestrial angels, or rather citizens of heaven, although still pilgrims upon earth ; for, so long as we are in the body, we are absent from the Lord." In all this, and paores to t!ie same ef- fect miizht easily be adduced, you will not fail to notice that constant characteristic of the fathers — the appropria- tion, or usurpation of the Scriptures, in behalf of the elite of the church ; thus depriving the mass of Chris, tians of almost all their share in its promises and con- solations. In a word, the entire system of ancient Christianity, was a monopoly of salvation, leaving, to alt but the few, notliing better than a remote and precarious probability of an ulliinate and far distant escape from perdition. AVas this the gospel, preached by the apos- tles ? Yet, as we shall see, it was the natural conse- quence of the false principle we are now exposing; and it is a consequence inseparable from every similar error in refi^ird to Christian institutions. While St. Bernard is before me, I must notice a par- ticular, which I may hereafter lose sight of, but which well deserves a passing observation, in connexion with the system of sentiments recommended in the Oxford Tracts. Our author was a most ardent and loquacious, nay, I must really say, a most gallant admirer of the queen of heaven. Very many entire pages of fulsome and florid rhetoric are devoted to her peculiar honour, \% 130 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION and every epithet lliat the most exorbitant superstition could coin, animated by sundry erotic phrases, is coined, or adapted to tlie purpose of lifting this " unique being,'* ihe "dispensatrix of the universe," and "dowager of cre- ation," above the level of things finite. It is, therefore, only what we uiight expect, that St. Bernard is a great stickler for that caj)ital article of ancient orthodoxy — the " perpetual virginity of the blessed Mary," a denial of which actually horrified every stanch churchman. But why, it may be asked, was there all this anxiety on a point, apparenUy so remote from any practical bearing? Why? — because the blessed Virgin — "always virgin," as the Oxford writers are now telling us, with a solemn and significant emphasis, — was wanted, as the patroness of celibacy, and the bright example of immaculate chas- tity. To have admitted the plain sense of the intelligi- ble phrase employed by the inspired evangelist, in refe- rence to this inconsequential point, would have been tantamount to a betrayal of the whole scheme of eccle- siastical celibacy. Only let it be granted that the virtue of the "mother of God" was simply real virtue, and that her piety was a principle of the heart, and that her purity was the purity of the affections; and only allow that she was a holy woman, and an exemplary wife and mother, such as the apostles speak of, and commend, only to have done this, would have marred the entire scheme of theology and morals, as fancied, fashioned, and perfected by the ancient church. The perpetual in- violateness of the blessed Virgin was well felt to be the key-stone of the building; or, to change the figure, Mary's unloosened zone was the tier of the ecclesias- tical dome, the rending of which would have been a uni- versal crash. So firm and fixed are those analogies or THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 131 which bind systems together, when, from age to age, they reappear, that, by a perhaps unconscious and in- stinctive tendency, the modern promulgators of ancient Christianity are, with a significant sensitiveness, pro- truding this great orthodox verity, of the perpetual vir- ginity of the mother of God: they are just putting it forth, or shoving it forward in advance of their steps, as an indispensable preparative for their after-work, in church reform. Do not imagine that this point is an in- significant one: you will find that it touches the inti- mate springs of the system ; and I venture to predict, that, unless these good men take the alarm in time, and hold back a little, until they feel iheir success to be bet- ter assured, we shall hear something more than we have yet heard, about the "always virgin." Listen, for one moment, to our zealous advocate of Mary's honours ; and there is the more reason for doing so, because, as -vve shall find, he only echoes the voice'of all antiquity, keeping to the quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab om- nibus, concerning so fundamental a principle of religion. "She alone," says St. Bernard, "of all born of women, was born without sin, and preserved sinless throughout her life. Well indeed did become the queen of virgins, this singular privilege of sanctity, to pass a life abso- lutely exempt from sin !" Thus, and with equal zeal and confidence, at least as to the " perpetual virginity," speak the devout Basil, the truly great iithanasius, and fifty others — all inwardly, if not avowedly conscious, thrt this article of their faiih was of vital consequence to their system. " How are my eyes dazzled by ilie splendour of the diadem of our queen, which illuminates the universe . . . what then are the stars in this refulgent diadem — the chief 132 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION honours of virginity, and these prerogatives — to have conceived without corruption — to have been gravid with- out burden — to have given birth without pain! . . . ." In fact, this Cybele of tiie fathers was to be consti- tuted a goddess, in all points, and she became, at length, the real and principal object of the religious sentiments of the (so called) Christian world. But who, let it be asked, were the authors of this unutterable idolatry? Who was it tliat set these blasphemies a-going? — not the popes, not the later Roman doctors; but none other than tlie early teachers of Christianity, who, having once assumed a false principle in religion, were thenceforward carried, by a latent and irresistible tendency, to adopt every absurd and impious notion that might favour it. I might, to some good purpose, detain you yet with St. Bernard, on whose pages, and entirely apart from his Romanism, we find expanded the gay petals of those buds which already show their colours in the writings of the early fathers. I have gathered a sample only, such as may serve to arrest attention, when brought into comparison with corresponding passages of a thousand years' earlier date. " But now, let me ask," says St. Bernard, address- ing the clergy, " how do the bishops and priests of this our age study to preserve that sanctity of continence, in heart and person, wMthout which no man shall see the liord? Truly h.ath the Lord, in the gospel, said to l)ishops, and without doubt it was so in the primitive church, let your loins be girt, thereby not merely ap- proving but commanding chastity (celibacy) — the Holy Spirit this signiCying, that no one should come near the table of the Lord, or approach that angels' food, unless purified in mind and body; — that is, by the observance OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 133 of a strict celibacy. But how do v:e regard this injunc- tion? — I think it better, on this head, to dissimulate a little, rather than, by speaking out, to say what might scandalize the innocent and uninformed. And yet why should I scruple to speak of that, which they (the bishops and clergy) do not blush to perpetrate? Brethren, I am become a fool; but ye have compelled me." A passage presents itself, in this connexion, which, while it affords a characteristic example of the perverted style of applying scripture, is curious, as a conceit played with by writer after writer, from Tertuiiian to St, Ber- nard, and as we have seen, among others by Cyprian. " I beseech you, my beloved sister, hear with ail re- verence the word of exhortation. . . . The thirty-fold is the first degree, and it signifies the alliances of the mar- ried; the sixty-fold is the second step, and signifies the continence of widows; the hundred-fold is the third step, in this gradation of ranks; and it intends the crown of chastity, destined for virgins. . . . Conjugal virtue is good, the virtue of widows is better; but best is the in- tegrity of absolute virginity. Nevertheless, better is an humble widow, than a haughty virgin; better a widow mourning her sins, than a virgin boasting of her virgi- nity. . . . Nor ought such to contemn, or to glory over, married women, living virtuously. When, therefore, honest wives frequent the monastery, despise them not; they are the handmaidens of the Lord; love them as mo- thers. And thou, say not that thou art a dry tree, for if thou lovest thy Spouse, Christ, thou hast seven sons; thy first-born, is modesty, thy second, patience, ihy third, sobriety, thy fourth, temperance, thy fifth, charity, thy sixth, humility, thy seventh, chastity. Thus hast thou, my venerable sister, by the Holy Ghost, borne 12* 134 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION unto Christ, and without pain, seven sons; that the scrip- ture might, be fulfilled — the barren halh borne seven." Once more, and requesting you to turn to a passage al- ready quoted from Cyprian, take the following, which may suffice to show that the sentiment and style of speak- ing characteristic of ripened Romanism, was nothing but an echo of the sentiments and language of the earliest times; as will farther appear from other evidence I have to produce. *' We come now to contemplate the lily blossom: and see, O thou, the virgin of Christ! see how much fairer is this thy flower, than any other! look at the special grace which, beyond any other flower of the earth, it hath obtained! Nay, listen to the commendation be- stowed upon it by the Spouse himself, when he saith — Consider the lilies of the field (the virgins) how they grow, and yet I say unto you that Solomon in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these! Read there- fore, O virgin, and read again, and often read again, and again, this word of thy Spouse, and understand how, ill the commendation of this flower, he commends thy glory! He, the all-wise Creator, and Architect of all things, veils all the glory of this world, just with thy blossom: nor only is the glory equalled by the flower; but he sets tlie flower above all glory. In the glory of Solomon you are to understand that, whatever is rich and great on earth, and the choicest of all, is prefigured; and in the bloom of thy lily, which is thy likeness, and that of all the virgins of Christ, the glory of virginity is intended See how, in this song of loves, the Spouse insists upon his fondness for thee — the lily — saying, as the lily among the thorns, so is my beloved Mmong the daughters; and again, my beloved goes up OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 133 to his spicy flower beds, and gathers lilies. Admirable lily! the love of the Spouse! lovely lily! which is ga- thered by the Spouse! Not truly, as I ween, is it ga- thered that it should wither; but that it should be laid upon the golden altar, which is before the eyes of the Lord. . . . Virginity hath indeed a two-fold prerogative, a virtue which, in others, is single only; for while all the church is virgin in soul, having neither spot, nor Avrinkle; being incorrupt in faith, hope, and charity, on which account it is called a virgin, and merits the praises of the Spouse, what praise, tfiink you, are our lilies worthy of, who possess tliis purity in body, as well as in soul, which the church at large has in soul only! In truth, the virgins of Christ are, as we may say, the fat and marrow of the church, and by right of an excellence altogether peculiar to themselves, they enjoy his most familiar embraces." A passage already cited from Cyprian, and a passage too, not cited (occurring in his treatise on the attire of nuns) though not so pretty, is substantially equivalent to this of St. Bernard; and it goes the whole length of those utterly improper accommodations, which, when ad- dressed to sickly and sensitive feminine imaginations, must have had a most pernicious and degrading ten- dency. So sprightly a conceit as this, was not to be hastily thrown aside, and we find the reverend gallant, with the bevy of fair ladies before him, carrying on his pleasant discourse much farther than we have, at present, either leisure or inclination to follow him. We shall soon see in what style the hot and crabbed Tertullian handles si- milar topics; not nearly indeed so much in the mode of the rosy-lipped, and scented petit maitre, but yet so as 136 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITIOX to include all the substance of the same system of per- verted theology, and of miserably corrupt morality. But before adducing my next set of evidences, I re- quest you again to notice the instances contained in the above quotations, of what I have called the usurping of scripture, and which is the general characteristic of the early Christian divines — that is, the taking texts in spe- cial senses, not simply in the way of misapplication (a fault that has been too common in all ages) but restrict- ing a passage which manifestly bears a broad meaning, to some technical purpose; thus robbing the church at large of its portion; as in an instance above cited, where, whatever is said concerning instruction and correction, is made to mean — the discipline of the monastery: or when, as we find in St. Bernard, purity and sanctity are made to mean — virginity, and an artilicial abjuration of the social relationships. Now you may be charitably willing to believe that this was nothing worse that an incidental error of practice, in the interpretation of scrip- ture. P^or my own part, meeting with it, as I do, every where, or nearly so, in the remains of Christian an- tiquity; and especially in connexion with the supersti- tions of the early church, I regard it as the natural re- sult, and the inevitable concomitant, of the adoption of a grand false principle in religion, the support of which absolutely demanded, at every turn, some such introver- sion of the plain meaning of the inspired writers. But this is a subject of such prime significance, as that it will ask to be more fully considered hereafter. I am now to bring forward the most vigorous, as well as one of the earliest of the Christian writers, and the contemporary of men who had converged with the im- inediate successors of the apostles. or THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 137 Tertullian, in the first of his epistles to his wife, dis- suading her from contracting a second marriage, in the event of his death (a curious affair altogether) says — *' against all (specious reasons of a contrary tendency, and which he had enumerated) employ the example of OUR SISTERS (the dedicated virgins) whose names are with the Lord — penes Dominum (enrolled as nuns in the church books) and who place sanctity (that is to say, virginity) above all considerations of beauty or of youth, which might induce them to marry: they had rather be married to the Lord; in his eyes fair, on him they wait as his handmaids, with him they live; with him they converse ; him, night and day they handle (tractant;j their prayers, as their dowry, they render to him, and from him, as pin money, they receive, from time, to time, whatsoever they desire. Thus have ihey now an- ticipated that eternal good which is the gift of the Lord, and thus, while on earth, in not marrying, they are reck- oned as belonging to the angelic household. By using the example of women, such as these, you will incite, in yourself, an emulation of their continence, and by the spiritual taste break down carnal affections, freeing your soul from the stains of the transitory de- sires belonging to youth and beauty, by the thought of the recompense of immortal benefits." You will observe in this passage first, the clear re- ference to the established custom, at this early time, of vowing perpetual virginity; and then, that identity of principle, and analogy of sentiment, and even corre- spondence in terms, which all serve to support ray pro- position, That this principal element of ancient Chris- tianity, was as fully developed, or nearly so, in the se- cond and third century, as in the thirteenth. In what 138 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION follows you will readily distinguish the extravagance of Tertullian's personal opinions, from those generally ad- mitted notions, on the ground of which he argues in ad- dressing others. It is with the latter, not the former, that we are at present concerned. In the passage to be cited, our author gives the clue (which may indeed else- where be found clearly enough, and of which, hereafter, I must make some use) to the institution of celibacy, as a permanent order in the church. Satan had his de- voted widows, and his virgin priestesses, and siiould not Christ have the like? The v/ell-known heathen prac- tices, in tiiis respect, were looked upon with a sort of jealousy, by the ill-judging leaders of the church, vvlio deemed it a point of honour, not to be outdone in any extravagant act or practice of devotion, by the gentiles, over whom they might have been content to claim the genuine superiority of real virtue. The same fatal am- bition, as we shall see hereafter, operated as a principal means of perverting the ritual and system of worship, and of spoiling, in all its parts, the simplicity of the gospel. " Among the heathen," says Tertullian, " a strictness of discipline, in this respect, is observed, which ours do not submit to. But these restraints the devil imposes on his servants, and he is obeyed; and hereby stimulates the servants of God to reach an equal virtue. The priests of gehenna retain their continence; for the devil knows how to destroy men, even in the practice of the virtues; and he cares not, so that he does but slay them, whether it be by the indulgence of the flesh, or by mortifying it." Well would it have been for the church, had this dou- ble dealing of the adversary been ilioroughly understood, and so those devices resisted, which were as fatal to the OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 139 serious and fervent as the common bails of sensuality are to the mass of mankind ! A false principle once as- sumed, under strong excitements, has the power to in- fatuate even the strongest and the best informed minds, and to lead them to any extent of extravagance. Thus we find our author, having firmly attached himself to the then prevalent belief, that there could be no virtue or purity, worth the name, apart from celibacy; or, in other \vords, that even the lawful matrimonial connexion was, in some degree, of the nature of vice; or was, as some of them did not scruple to terra it, stuprum conjugale, goes about, with a perverse ingenuity, to prove that God had, under the new dispensation of grace, actually re- scinded the constitutions of nature. This instance of audacious exposition is really remarkable. ..." The command — Increase and multiply, is abo- lished. Yet, as I think (contrary to the gnostic opinion) this command, in the first instance, and now the removal of it, are from one and the same God; who then, and in that early seed-time of the human race, gave the reins to the marrying principle, until the world should be re- plenished, and until he had prepared the elements of a new scheme of discipline. But now, in this conclusion of the ages, he restrains what once he had let loose, and revokes what he Jiad permitted. The same reason go- verns the continuance, at first, of that which is to pre- pare for the future. In a thousand instances, indulgence is granted to the beginnings of things. So it is that a man plants a wood, and allows it to grow, intending, in due time, to use the axe. The wood, then, is the old dispensation, which is done away by the gospel, in which the axe is laid to the root of the tree." Had Tertullian never read our Lord's solemn re-an- nouncement of the old law — "wherefore a man shall 140 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION leave," &c., or Paul's assertion of the apostolic liberty, to " lead about a wife," or his injunction that the minis- ters of religion should be husbands? But all this took no hold of his mind, inasmuch as lie, and the church of his time, had thoroughly substituted for the genuine idea of virtue and purity, an artificial and unnatural institute, having its gradations of excellence, the topmost glory being claimed for the Lord's spotless nuns! Thus was the form of godliness zealously cared for, while the sub- stance of it was forgotten. " May it not suffice thee to have fallen from that high rank of immaculate virginity, by once marrying, and so descending to a second stnge of honour? Must thou yet fall farther; even to a third, to a fourth, and, perhaps, yet lower?" .... It was the inevitable consequence (a consequence which, in fact, instantly followed) of the notion that celibacy was a high merit, and matrimony a defilement and a discredit, that this peculiar advantage should at- tach to the ministers of religion: the natural inference is expressly pointed out by most of the early writers ; and thus it came about that the Lord's appointment, declared in so many words, was nullified by the absurd and im- pious inventions of men. Very early the married clergy were regarded as a degraded class, insulted by their ar- rogant, and often profligate, or, at least, fanatical col- leagues, and held in no esteem by the people. Of what avail is it, then, to inquire at what date, precisely, the celibacy of the clergy was authoritatively enjoined, as if \ve wished to make good an impeachment of the papal power? This injunction, and the enforcement of it, ought rather to be regarded as acts of mercy, than as instances of tyranny; so long as the ancient principle of the merit of celibacy was to be maintained. For, in fact, OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 141 submission to a universally imposed law is far easier than a compliance with a variable custom, or prejudice, which may be broken through. Under painful condi- tions of any kind, the mind much sooner acquiesces in a stern, irrevocable rule, than in a partial and often re- laxed usage. Besides, the enforcement of celibacy re- moved, at once, the invidious distinction that had ob- tained between the married and the unmarried clergy; and it set the seculars, at least, all on one level. It was an act of mercy, therefore, quite as much as of severity; and, for ourselves, we must not be so inequitable as to throw the blame upon popery. Who was it, but the doctors of the pristine church, that have made themselves answerable for the corruptions and the miseries, the tears, the agonies of remorse, the perversions of nature, the debaucheries, the cruelties, that have directly resulted from the celibacy of the clergy, through a long course of ages (not to include, now, the monkish institutions) who but the sincere and devout, many of them, but deplorably mistaken, men that are now quoted as our masters in Christian ethics and theology? But I have not quite done with Tertullian. The legal education and dialectic habits of this writer, as well as his natural sagacity, made him perceive more clearly, and, perhaps, sooner than others, that practices such as those involved in the discipline and order of celibacy could not be maintained, or enforced, even after perverse ingenuity and exorbitant rhetoric had done their ut- most, in the way of exaggeration, without the aid of some general principle, such as should bear any weigh* that might be thrown upon it, and which the scriptures could not be made to sustain. We, therefore, find hin^ very deliberately going to work to lay this necessary 13 142 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION foundation, whereon might be reared, and whereon, in fact, has been reared, a vast and ever-growing super- structure of superstition, human devices, and tyrannous canons. In commencing the present argument with the subject of the ancient doctrine concerning virginity, I have felt that it would open to us the most accessible, and the most direct path, to the principle which is really at issue between the favourers of antiquiiy and their opponents; and I think you will admit, in tlie end, that I have not taken up the wrong ckie. In the treatise concerning the veiling of nuns — by the way, do not startle at the term as employed by a writer of the pristine age, for at this time the word virgo had, among church writers, already acquired its technical sense, and, in fact, conveyed all the meaning afterwards attached to the more peculiar epithet nonna; in this elaborate treatise, in which all the subtleties of a special pleader are exhausted upon a theme utterly frivolous, Tertullian, at the outset, having laid down the immoveable principles of faith, as summa- rily expressed in the apostles' creed, affirms that what affects discipline and Christian behaviour, must admit perpetual correction (or alteration) even to the end of time; as it were to adapt the Christian scheme to the in cessant opposite agency of the devil. " Wherefore it is that the Lord hath sent the Comforter, that, as the fee- bleness of human nature could not at once receive the whole truth, it might, by degrees, be directed and regu- lated, and led on, until the system of discipline had reached perfection, under the vicarious influence of the Holy Spirit of the Lord (ab illo vicario Domini Spiritii sancto.) "I have many things yet to say unto you," saith he, " but ye cannot sustain them at present: but when He, the Spirit of truth is come, he will lead you OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 143 into all truth, and will declare to you things that are to be superadded," (supervenientia, instead of quae venturae sunt) — concerning- wliich office (of the Spirit) he had above spoken. What, then, is this administration of the Comforter, unless it consist in such things as these ; — that matters of discipline be ordered, that the (sense pf the) scriptures be opened, that the mind (of the church) be restored, and that it should be advanced to- ward what is better? There is nothing that does not advance by age. All things wait upon time, as the preacher saiih, there is a time for every thing. Look at the natural world, and see the plant gradually ripen- ing to its fruit, first a mere grain; from the grain arises the green stalk, and from the stalk shoots up the shrub; then the boughs and branches get strength, and the tree is complete: thence the swelling bud; and from the bud, the blossom; and from the flower the fruit; which, at the first crude and shapeless, by little and little proceeds, and attains its ripe softness and flavour. And so in re- ligion, (justitia,) for it is the same God of nature, and of religion: at first in its rudiments only, nature surmising something concerning God; then by the law and the prophets advanced to its infant state; then by the gospe: it reached the heats of youth ; and now, by the Com- forter, is moulded to its maturity." In the tract, De Corona, in a passage which has of late been several times quoted, and to which I must hereafter revert, Tertullian expounds the same principle ; but farther on, in the same, after going through with his argument on the grounds of nature, scripture, and custom, or the established discipline of the apostolic churches, our author proceeds, *' Scripture is of God, nature is of God, discipline (usage) is of God ; and whatever con- tradicts these is not of God. If in any case scripture 144 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION be ambiguous, nature is indubitable, and, sustained by- its testimony, scripture cannot be uncertain ; or if there were yet any doubt concerning the evidence of nature, the discipline, (usage of the churclies) which is more directly authenticated by God, shows the way." With a more important purpose in hand, I refrain from quoting the amusing peroration of this tract. Let uspause then a moment upon the passage quoted, which so appositely concludes the citations already made, un- der this head of my argument. We have seen, not merely the fact attested, of the early existence of the institution of celibacy, as a standing and prominent part of the ecclesiastical system, but have heard the cha- racteristic sentiments, and the artificial notions which were the strength of this institution, advanced as expli- citly by early, as by later writers; and now we find the broad principle formally assumed, and asserted, which might not merely underprop the discipline of celibacy, lut sustain all other additions to the Christianity of the scriptures, and in fact give solidity to whatever consti- tutes the mass of abominations summarily called, popery. Is then Tertullian's doctrine — his fundamental church axiom, a good one ? Is it true, or not, that Christianity, as revealed and verbally expressed in the canonical writings, is a mere sketch, or rough draft, of that mature truth, which, by little and little, was to be granted to ^le church, through the medium of its doctors, and un- der the guidance of the Holy Spirit? If so, then is there any where else we can look for the progressive expansion of this ever-growing truth, but to the church of Rome; or, if we like it better, the Greek church? Where is the tree to be found, laden with its fruit, but where the plant was set? At this rate, protestantism, under whatever pretext, is nothing better than a multifa- OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 145 rious blaspliemy, and a high sin against the Holy Ghost: and what have its martyrs been, but the justly punished enemies of God and the church? If TertuUian's principle of a slow development of truth be sound, then every separate item of the Romish superstitions and encroachments, was really a new fa- vour» granted to the church from above; — or if not, or if there are any exceptions, who shall come in, and name these exceptions, or enable us to distinguish be- tween the genuine, and the spurious developments of the great scheme? At this rate, the enormities of the mo- nastic institution, and the compulsory celibacy of the clergy, the superstition of relics, the invocation of saints, the communion in one kind, the mass in Latin, the uni- versal vicarship of the bishop of Rome, the secular powers wielded by the church, and — the denial of the scriptures to the laity, are all so many boons, graciously sent down from on high, as parts and parcels of that adult symmetry which is at length to be the glory of the mature church. But who shall say why, if this princi- ple be assumed, we should make a stand at tridentine Romanism ? Has the Spirit withdrawn from the church; has the promise of the Lord been revoked; are the fa- vours of heaven exhausted; are there yet no truths in reserve; is the treasury of divine elements so soon emptied ? — on the contrary, we ought to be looking every day for some farther apocalypse, some new and heaven-born institute, or practice: nay, it is only pious to believe, that the progressive manifestation shall go on, until the vast discrepancy between tlie ripened Chris- tianity of a remote age, and its rude commencement, as consigned to the canonical writings, shall utterly dis- miss these as obsolete and void. It is thus, in fact, that. 13^ 146 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION the church, after she had made so much progress in ad- vance of her first position, as to render the contrast be- tween herself and scriptural Christianity a matter of scan- tlal to the simple, wisely (and indeed of necessity) inter- dicted the perusal of the Bible; nor can she be accused, in this instance, and if her principle be good, of having deprived the people of any real or important benefit; for why should we wish to revert from a more perfect, to a less perfect exhibition of the divine mind? To look to the scriptures, instead of looking to the church of our own times, is as if those under the theocratic dispensation, had, in contempt of their prerogatives, relapsed to natu- ral religion; or as if the first Christians had sought to reinstate Judaism. Yen must not think that, in all this, I either exagge- rate the consequences of the doctrine in question, or be* stow upon it more regard than it deserves. Nothing can be more clear or direct than is the inference, as it flows from the premises, nor do I know that the essence of the argument witli which at the present moment we are concerned, can be much less exceptionably stated than it is by TertuUian, in the passage I have quoted. Was Christianity complete and mature in the hands of the apostles, or was it then in the bud merely, waiting to be expanded and ripened by the suns and showers of many centuries? If we assume the former position, and deny altogether Tertullian's doctrine, then we must not only reject popery and its usurpations, but the immemorial errors also of ancient Christianity. I do not forget that, in reference to the above-cited principle, it would be easy to refute Tertiillian — out of Tertullian, (a mode of treatment to which every intem- perate and wayward writer is open) for when he under- takes to deal with heretics, and feels that he must have OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 147 ground to stand upon that will afford him support in overturning their foolish novelties, he ^'•prescribes'''' them with stringent references to the unchanging autho- rity of scripture, as sustained by the continuous and concurrent testimony of the apostolic churches. But then, mark the predicament in which we stand. — If we are compelled to make a choice between the two Ter- tullians, considered as the champions of the notions and practices of the churcli at tiiat time, it must be the writer of the passage above cited, not the more sound divine whom we find trampling upon the crew of heretics, that Avill serve our purpose. The profestant Tertullian may indeed be the most to our taste of the two; but then he condemns, by a clear implication, all the most favourite practices of that early age. It is, therefore, the tridcn- tine Tertullian of whose rhetoric we must avail ourselves, for the defence of those articles of ancient Christianity which some are now fondly admiring, and would fain restore. It is thus too with Vincent of Lerins, so often quoted of late. None better than he, bars the church door against heretics, or the broachers of new doctrines; but then, unfortunately, as in some cases, the bar of a door is found to be the most potent instrument one can lay hands upon, to employ as a croiv, or lever, for breaking it open, so are tlie densely compacted paragraphs of the cogent Vincent, convertible, in the readiest manner, to the purpose of demolishing, not merely Romanism, but the superstitious Christianity of the eastern, and of the western churches, such as it was in the writer's times. Give us but that excellent tract, the Commonitorium, and we might defy, single-handed, all the Bellarmines of the papacy, and all the fathers; and, with due modesty be it spoken, the entire baud of the Oxford 148 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION Tract writers. But of this more perhaps in another place. The often-repeated opinions to which my first propo- sition stands opposed, would, if correct, justify the ex- pectation that, in taking so long a period as four or five hundred years, any where out of the sixteen hundred pre- ceding the reformation, one should be able, without any ambiguity, to trace the progress of religious corruption, and that it would be easy to say — such and such false notions, or extravagant sentiments, are characteristic of the later time, from which errors the earlier age is al- together exempt: but in reference to the subject now before us (and I think, not to this alone) such an expec- tation is by no means borne out by the evidence. I must profess to be entirely unable to draw any line of very obvious distinction, marking the advances of folly, error, or corruption, in this particular, during the lapse of fourteen centuries. Some writers, it is true, such as Gregory the Great, or Palladius, are much more extra- vagant than some others, on this point; but then this dif- ference attaches to tiie individual, and has no reference whatever to the place he occupies, chronologically, in the series. To render our notions, in this instance, as definite as possible, I would look at the subject in different lights, and, in doing so, I find only one respect in which llie influence of time is clearly to be traced, in rendering the doctrine and practice of religious celibacy of a later age unlike what it had been at an earlier time; and this, which 1 have already alluded to, relates to those purely ecclesiastical enactments, and points of discipline, which, from time to time, were found to be indispensable, as corrective of the abuses whereto the entire system was obnoxious. These changes, or amendments, it would OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 149 serve no purpose whatever, as related to onr present ar- gument, to specify. Let it be remembered, however, that, although tiiey may have implied some stretches of tyranny, they are not, generally, of the nature of pro- gressive corruptions. In every other respect, time made nothing essentially worse than it had been almost from the first. To come to instances : — if we are thinking of those abject and frivolous observances that have attached to the monastic modes of life, and to the devotional routine of the mo- nastery, I would request any who may be inclined to demur at my representations, to compare whatever de- scriptions he may choose to select of the mummeries of the monasticism of the twelfth century, with the Insti- tutes of Cassian, which contain the principles and the minute details of the monastic institution, as it had al- ready been digested, and then long practised, in the east, and the west, so early as the fourth century. There may be variations, distinguishing the two schemes of life ; but will a reasonable man afTirm that there is any thing to choose or to prefer in the more ancient model? There is no degradation of the intellect, no bondage of the moral sentiments, no fatal substitution of forms for realities; there is no ineffable drivelling belonging to the middle age monkery, that may not be matched, to the full, in the monkery of the bright times of Chrysostom, Ambrose, and Augustine. I here put the question aloud, to any opponent — " What is it that you precisely mean by the corruptions of popery, in respect to the monastic system?" or, in other words, " can you make it appear, to the satisfaction of thinking men, that this same sys- tem had become more frivolous, and therefore, in a re- ligious sense, more pernicious, in the twelfth century, than it was at the opening of the fourth?" I am templed 150 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION here to cite the very words of Cassian, who, in stickling, with great seriousness, for some inanity of the monkish daily ritual, says, . . . qui modus antiquitus constitutus, idcirco per tot saecula penes cuncta monasteria intemera- tus nunc usque perdurat; quid non humana adinventione statutus a senioribus affirmatur, sed calitus angeli ma- gisterio patribus fuisse delatus. These observances then could have been no novelties. But again ; if we tliink of those enormous follies and impious whims, wliich, connected as they always were with the monastic life, imposed a mask, sometimes of idiotcy, and sometimes of madness, upon the bright face of Christianity, I ask whether this sort of corruption was more extreme in a later age, than it had been in an earlier; or, if any think so, I would send them no far- ther than to the Lausaic history of the pious and really respectable Palladius, a bishop, a man of some learning, and tlie intimate friend of the illustrious Chrysostom, and the companion of his exile. 1 am not about to cite any samples of the utter nonsense and the spiritual ri- baldry of this book. Let those refer to it, and satisfy themselves, who are still clinging to the fond idea of a golden age of Christianity. 'J'iie legends, collected by Palladius, relate, for the most part, to an earlier age than his own; and romances of like quality are to be found in Eusebius, Sozomen, and Theodoret, as well as Ma- carius, and as belonging to the times of the heathen per- secutions. No one, I am sure, who really knows what he is talking about, will dare, with such documents be- fore him, to play the Quixote, and break a lance in de- fence of the honour of tlie ancient monkery. Or, if we were to make inquiry concerning the half- confessed, and yet sufficiently attested serious evils and Jiorrors that have disgraced the institute of religious ce- OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 15( libacy, I think that those who have been used to look into the fathers will admit there to be reason enough for believing that the natural and inevitable consequences of this institute, when once it came to include promiscuous masses of the religious body, developed themselves fully from the very first. On this point, I will neither make references, nor put the clue into any one's hand; but leave my broad assertion to be contradicted by those who may think it safe and discreet to dare me to the proof. One hint only I will drop: and must do so in an- ticipation of what it would give me no surprise (what- ever disgust) to witness: I mean a gentle, sentimental, plausible endeavour, to feel the religious pulse, in refe- rence to the "celestial and apostolic" practice of " vow- ing virginity to the Lord," In any such case there would be no room for compromise, or half measures; but evi- dence must be instantly spread out before all eyes, show- ing what have, in every age, and from the first, been the deplorable consequences of this pernicious custom. Some may smile at the mere supposition that any such endea- vour should be made — out of the pale of the Romish communion. For my own part (unless I may have had the honour of suggesting a little caution to certain par- ties) it is nothing but what I think we are to look for, as the next move in the game. There yet remains, however, one other point of view, whence the same subject may be regarded, and that is the bearing of the institute of celibacy upon the religious principle, which was appealed to for giving it support: now, without anticipating what will more properly find a place, a little way on, I will state the fact, that, at a very early time, a false maxim of spiritual computation had become so inveterate, as that the most sedate and judicious divines, without hesitation, employ it, in the 152 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION estimates they form of the comparative excellence of different religious conditions. That is to say, a rule of spiritual eminence is appealed to, which discards, or overlooks all reference to what is truly spiritual, or, in any genuine sense, moral; and puts in its room what is formal, visible, or ecclesiastical. I will refer, in this instance, to the sober-minded Isidore of Pellusium, also a bishop, and the personal friend of Chrysostom, and whose expositions of scripture are frequently such as to deserve respectful attention. We have seen in what way Tertullian, Cyprian, and, with not more absurdity, St. Bernard, pervert the plain sense of scripture, for the purpose of hitching the virgins of Christ upon the lofti- est pinnacle of the ecclesiastical structure. Now for Isi- dore, who, to do him justice, inserts a frequent ATntyt,, when there appears to be a danger lest, in his recom- mendation of celibacy, matrimony should be despoiled of its due honours. " The warfare of virginity is indeed great, glorious^ and divine; yet does it, (vviien successfully waged,) di- minish the arduousness of our conflict with other of our spiritual adversaries .... as high as the heaven is above the earth, and as far as the soul excels the body, so does the state of virginity surpass the state of matrimony .... Wherefore let the contemners of virginity cease their prating, and henceforward acknowledge, dutifully, its princess-like dignity, and submit themselves to its be- hests; placing themselves under its protection, and avail- ing themselves of its mediatorial (or intercessory) office. And (if I may employ celestial emblems) I must com- pare those who embrace the virgin state, to the sun; while those who only observe continence, are to be likened to the moon; and those living in honourable wed- lock, to the stars; and so, as the divine Paul reckons up OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 153 the degrees of digriily, and says — there is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars !" Now, it is no matter to us, whether Isidore is right or wrong in the relative position which he assigns to the three estates; but it is of real importance, and important to our present argument, to observe the fact that, so ut- terly fallacious and fatally erroneous a principle of reli- gious feeling had, at this time, come to be universally received, and admitted, by even tlie most judicious di- vines; and that, in accordance with this principle, the piety and purity of the heart had come to be subordi- nated to the visible and ecclesiastical condition, and that continence was regarded as mere moonshine, when placed in the same heavens with the solar effulgence of the virginity of the nun. Mean time, whatever might be the personal godliness, or the purity, or the solid virtues of the Christian matron, all were, at the best, but the faint twinkling of a star! Now, as it seems to me, all this is not mere rodomontade, which one may smile at, and let pass, but it is substantially false doctrine, and of most putrid quality, in regard to piety and morals: it is the indication of an ulcer — a bad condition of the vitals of the Christian system, and a condition which had then become inveterate. Isidore's theology is not popery; nor was it his own scheme of doctrine; but the inheri- tance which he iiad come into: it was the boasted apos- tolic catholicity, which all his contemporaries had as- sented to, and which was scrupulously watched over, and handed down, to the next age. If Gregory I. may fairly be regarded as the father of popery, using the term in its proper sense, I am sure he does not, on the point now before us, advance any thing which may not find 14 154 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION its parallel on the pages of the best writers of the fourth century: but the proof of this assertion cannot be ne- cessary to ray immediate argument. I shall then on the whole assume as not to be denied, the general affirmation imbodied in my first proposition. That the lapse of many centuries exhibits no essential change, or progression, in reference to the principles, the practices, or the abuses of religious celibacy. THE SECOND PROPOSITION. I HAVE undertaken to adduce proof of the assertion, not only that the doctrine of the merit of celibac}-, and the consequent practices, are found in a mature state at an early age; but also — That, at the earliest period at which we find this doc- trine and these practices distinctly mentioned, they are referred to in sucli a manner as to make it certain that they were, at that time, no novelties, or recent innova- tions. Now I am aware that a statement such as tliis, if it shall appear to be borne out by evidence, will excite alarm in some minds; The dissipation of erroneous im- pressions, is always a critical and somewhat perilous operation; nevertheless dangers much more to be feared, are incurred by a refusal to admit the full and simple truth. Yet the alarm that may be felt in this instance, at the first, may soon be removed; for allhough it were to appear that certain capital errors of feeling, and prac- OF THE ANXIENT CHURCH. 155 lice, had seized the church universal, at the very mo- ment when the personal influence of the apostles was withdrawn, yet such an admission will shake no princi- ple really important to our faith or comfort. In fact, too many have been attaching their faith and comfort to a supposition, concerning pristine Christianity, which is totally illasory, and such as can bear no examination — a supposition which must long ago have been dispelled from all well-informed minds, by the influence of rational modes of dealing with historical materials, if it had not been for the conservative accident, that the materials, which belong to this particular department of history, have lain imbedded in repulsive folios of Latin and Greek, to which very few, and those not the most independent, or energetic in their habits of mind, have had access. Certain utterly unfounded generalities, very delightful had they possessed the recommendation of truth, have been a thousand times repeated, and seldom scrutinized. But the times of this ignorance is now passing away: and I think the zeal of the Oxford writers will have the efl'ect, as an indirect means, of disabusing eff'ectively, and for ever, the religious mind, in this country, and perhaps throughout Europe, of the inveterate illusions that have so long hung over the fields of Christian anti- quity. It will be utterly impossible, much longer, to make those things believed which we have been taught to consider as unquestionable; and the result must be, (how desirable a result) the compelling the Christian church, henceforward, to rest its faith and practice on the only solid foundation. The actual impression, moral and spiritual, made upon the Jewish and pagan world by the preaching of the apostles themselves, and of their personal colleagues, has, I fear, been somewhat overrated by the generality 156 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION of Christians ; and yet, if it be so, and if we are called upon to surrender a portion of our too hastily assumed belief, on this subject, we directly gain a proportionate enhancement of the collateral argument which proves the divine origin of Christianity, from the fact of its spread, and its eventual triumph, overall opposition; for the less it was, morally and spiritually, in its commence- ment, the stronger is the inference to be derived from its steady advances. And then, as to the period immediately following the death of the apostles, and of the men whom they per- sonally appointed to govern the churches, we have too easily, and without any sufficient evidence, assumed the belief that a brightness and purity belonged to it, only a shade or two less than what we have attributed to the apostolic limes. This belief, is, in fact, merely the cor- relative of the common protestant notion concerning the progressive corruptions of popery, it being a natural supposition that the higher we ascend toward the apos- tolic age, so much the more truth, simplicity, purity, must there have been in the church. Thus it is that we have allowed ourselves to theorize, when what we should have done, was simply to examine our documents. The opinion that has forced itself upon my own mind, is to this effect, that the period dating its commencement from the death of the last of the apostles, or apostolic men, was, altogether, as little deserving to be selected and proposed as a pattern, as any one of the first five of church history; — it had indeed its single points of ex- cellence, and of a high order, but by no means shone in those consistent and exemplary qualiiies which should entitle it to the honour of being considered as a model to after ages. We need therefore neither feel surprise nor alarm, when we find, in particular instances, that OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 15T the grossest errors of theory and practice, are to be traced to their origin in the first century. In such instances, for my own part, I can wonder at nothing but the infa- tuation of those who, fully informed as they must be of the actual facts, and benefited moreover by modern modes of thinking, can nevertheless so prostrate their understandings before the phantom — venerable antiquity, as to be inflamed with the desire of inducing the Chris- tian world to imitate what really asks for apology and extenuation. Any such endeavour must, however, ine- vitably fail ; nor can it be for more than a moment, after once the subject has attracted general attention, that an illusion, so fantastic, can hold the minds of any except a very few, who are constitutionally disposed to admit it. When the bubble bursts, let the promoters of ancient principles look to it, that they are provided with some other means of keeping their doctrines in credit; and I am far from assuming that the general doctrines of the Oxford writers will disappear along with the ill-founded prejudice they have laboured to support in favour of ancient Christianity. The actual origination of the Christian doctrine and practice concerning religious celibacy may, I think, be very satisfactorily laid open; but it would carry us too far from our more immediate object to pursue this sub- ject; all that I am now concerned with is the fact, that ;in error which, as I shall be able to show, affected every element of the theological and ecclesiastical system, had acquired the stability which time only can confer, at the earliest period when the references to it are explicit and -.imple. I am unwilling to tire you with TertuUian, or other- wise might properly bring him forward again, as a wil- 14* 158 A TEST OF THE MORAL COXDITION ness, under this second head of my argument. Suffice it then to remind you, that, how extravagant soever may have been the opinions vvhicli lie adopted, concerning" the unlawfuhiess of second marriages, and their ex- treme impropriety in the case of the clergy, the princi- ples he assumes, and on which he reasons, as admitted on all hands, imply nothing less than that, within little more than one hundred years after the death of St. John, an obloquy had come to be attached, in the minds of Christians generally, to the matrimonial connexion, as if it involved a degree of impurity, and rendered a man less fit to officiate as a priest, or, as tlie jiotion was, as a mediator between God, and the herd of Christians. It is also certain that, as a consequence of these prevail- ing notions, a voluntary abjuratioji of the sexual relation- ship had come to be considered as highly meritorious — next to martyrdom; and farther, that, in imitation of the analogous pagan institutes, an order of dedicated virgins had been established, and that these constituted a dis- tinct band, or choir, a grex segregatus, in the ciiurch; — to what good purpose let Cyprian say. Diganius tinguis? Digamus oflers? asks the indignant Terlullian; "shall one who has contracted a second mar- riage baptize; or shall such a one make the eucharistic oblation?" Now let us coolly consider how much is in- volved, as found in a writer of so early an age, in a question such as this: — for it plainly implies the concur- rence of the Christian community in certain feelings — such as that of a false sensitiveness, in regard to exterior purity, and a superstitious feeling toward the sacraments, as if they demanded in the administrator, certain per- sonal qualities, or exemptions, which might be dispensed with in those who conducted the ordinary offices of wor- ship ; and a belief too that degrees of spiritual merit, OF THE AXCIENT CHURCH. 159 were attached to degrees of separation from the ordinary relationships of life. From such notions, generally pre- vailing, nothing could in the end result but what we tind actually to have resulted, namely — the monastic institute — the enforced celibacy of the clergy, and the supersti- tion of the sacraments. But I now fix upon the mere fact, that such notions had already gained the authentic cation of time, at the close of the second century. Looking only to the evidence furnished by Tertullian, we might be led to believe that the coelibate institution had its origin in the liighly culpable ambition of the leaders of the church, to secure for it the glory of pos- sessing whatever, in the heathen system around them, appeared at once heroic, and capable of amalgamation with Christianity. Satan, it was alleged, had too l^ng monopolized certain good things, whicli it was now high time to snatch from his grasp: and among these, the principal was the sacerdotal celibacy, enjoined upon the ministers of some divinities, and the consecration of the vestal virgins. Unhap{)ily, this same ambition, abso- lutely impious as it was, took effect upon, and perverted, every other element of visible Ciiristianity. But this was not all; and if we extend our researches a little farther, and higher, we shall find the indications of the, perhaps, blameless existence of this practice, reaching up to the actual times of the apostles. What then? will it lollow that, because certain individuals, who, from temperament, came within the meaning of our Lord's recommendation (Matt. xix. 12) devoted themselves tea single life, in order to be free from all entanglements that mijjrht withdraw them from evangelic and charitable la- hours — does it follow that, tiierefore, a celestial pre-emi- nence should have been arrogated by, or for them, or that shoals of young persons, without regard had to their 160 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION individual temperament, should have heen urged, in mo- ments of factitious excitement, to bind themselves by a rash vow? Here was the false step of the early church; a step which would never have been taken, unless, al- ready, the true purport of the gospel had been misunder- stood, and the form of godliness liad been put in the place of the power and substance of it. The good Justin (second apology) in recommending to the imperial philosopher and persecutor, the principles and practices of his Christian brethren, makes it his boast that he could point to many, men as well as wo- men, who having followed the Christian institute from their earliest years, liad remained, to an advanced ao-e sixty or seventy years, incorrupt— «9,ps< /;«^3,ci;^/, un- married, or inviolate. These persons, then, must have so devoted themselves very soon after the martyrdom of Paul and Peter; and the practice having rapidly spread itself throughout the church, in all countries, and being at once promoted and exaggerated by the effect of perse- cution, soon brought it, that is to say, within the com- pass of another lliirty or forty years, to its mature stale, such, in fact, as we lind it in the times of Terlullian. In liis time, as we have seen, the prevailing practice had generated notions palpably contradictory to the apostolic precepts. Paul had assumed that, ordinarily, both bishops and deacons were to be married men; and he clearly implies that, in the exemplary discharge of the domestic duties, they would find the best opportunities for adorn- ing their ministerial function. A bishop's wife, was, in Paul's idea, a main article in a bishop's qualification for ruling the church of Gcul; and a deacon's children were to furnish, to a deacon, the occasions for exhibiting the influence of Christian principles. Such was apos- tolic Christianity— a system ol" real, not t>f Hciiiious OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 161 purity; a system of virtue and piety, adapted to the pur- pose of elevating and blessing man's actual condition^ in the present state. Did there attach to the apostle's idea of the matrimonial connexion any, even the re- motest idea, of impurity, or of spiritual degradation? Boldly we say not the faintest supposition of moral or religious contamination entered his mind, in relation to this subject. The apostles were intent upon the esta- blishment, not of celibacy, but of virtue! Such, we say, was apostolic Christianity; but not such was ancient Christianity, even that of the age immediately following the death of the apostles. The dilTerence does not reach to the mere amount of a di- versity of usage, or of a shade of feeling; but it involves nothing less than the substitution of one principle of virtue and piety for another. The scheme of religious sentiments had shifted its foundations; a different stand- ard of good and evil had come to be appealed to; the commandments of God were displaced, without scruple, by the whims of man; so that, within so short a period as a hundred years, the very practices which Paul had solemnly commended were impiously spoken of as de- grading, by Tertullian, who, in this instance, only re- flects the general feeling of his times. At the present moment, the Christian community, and especially the clergy of the episcopal church, are called upon to make their choice between apostolic Christi- anity and ANCIENT Christianity; and this weighty al- ternative 'must soon merge all other distinctions, leaving only the two parties — the adherents of the inspired, and those of the uninspired documents of our religion. But now I shall be told that I have inferred far too much from the language of the intemperate Tertullian, as to the sentiments of the church at large in his times. 16^ A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION I am provided against this objection, and can rebut it by- evidence altogether of another kind. When a question arises concerning the existence, or prevalence, at- a particular era, of certain opinions, the first mode of establishing the alleged fact is that of citing the language of writers who explicitly profess such doc- trines; but then this direct evidence may be liable to a demur, inasmuch as it may be imagined that these writers are advancing nothing better than their personal notions, in behalf of which they are assuming much more gene- ral acceptance than they were entitled to claim for them. But even this demur is removed, when it can be shown, as in the instance of TertuUian, that a writer himself distinguishes between the common opinion and the one which he is labouring to promote. But allowing, for a moment, the pertinence of the ob- jection, we then turn to our second class of proofs, wjjich consists of passages from writers who, impelled by a reasonable anxiety for what they consider as endangered truths, vigorously oppose the very opinions in question, as generally prevalent. Thus, if it were supposed (which cannot be actually granted, the facts being indubitable) that TertuUian, fiery in temper and extravagant in sentiments, had been im- pelled to speak of the institute of celibacy, by anticipa- tion, or as if it had, in his time, received an authentica- tion which, in truih, was not granted to it until long afterward, what, then, are we to think when we find a writer, earlier by some years than TertuUian, and a man of extensive learning, who had visited the churches throughout the east and the west, a man, moreover, of singular good sense, and sobriety of judgment, such a Avriier, labouring to defend the divine institution of mat- rimony, against the swelling fanaticism of all around OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 163 him? What conclusion are we to adopt when we hear the accomplished master of the Alexandrian school calmly and modesily asserting the great principles of nature, and of genuine piety, which he saw were likely to be swept away, as before a deluge of factitious ex- citement? The only conclusion, surely, with which such facts will consist, is that which my second propo- sition imbodies. After plunging in Tertullian's turbid stream, it is really a refreshment to walk at ease, and breathing a whole- some atmosphere, in the broad and pleasant garden of Clement of Alexandria. Some dozen of the fathers might be sifted, before we should get together as much plain good sense as may be found, within the compass of a few pages, in this writer. We have heard Tertullian's doctrine in regard to the gradual development of truth, from age to age,^ the con- sequence of which, if sound, is, that the Christians of every age owe a pious deference, not merely to the cur- rent orders, or the inventions of the church authorities in their own times, but to all such inventions, of pre- ceding times, which, in fact, as proceeding from the same source, are not a whit less to be regarded than the dictates of written revelation. The writer now before us holds a very different style, and, in various instances, manifests the sense he had of the dangerous tendency of the human mind in matters of religion to throw itself back, indolently, upon antiquity and established custom. On this ground, and with a manly freedom, he expostu- lates with the adherents of the ancient polytheism; and again, in those parts of his writings in which he ad- dresses Christians, he does an honour to the divinely- inspired scriptures, and dissuades from an indolent de- ference to usage or mere opinion, in a manner which r64' A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION distinguishes him among the church writers of his own; or of the following ages. As a remedy for thai igno- rance which is one of the causes of vice, he knows of nothing but " the convincing demonstrations of the testi- mony of the scripture — the written truth;" and here, by the way, he incidentally refers to the defection or de- linquencies of " multitudes of the Lord's people," in his times — a fact significant in relation to our general argu- ment. To some such he addresses himself, *' not, in- deed to the contumacious, who spurn all instruction, and who, nevertheless, are more to be pitied than hated (a style of speaking of heretics very unlike that em- ployed by most of the fathers) but to those whose errors might be treated as remediable. Well would it have been," says he, " for sonie (certain heretics) had they been able to learn what was at first delivered (by the holy apostles and teachers in the inspired scripiures) instead of giving heed to human doctrines. He, there- fore, and he alone, may be accounted to live aright, who, pursuing his course from year to year, in converse with, and conformity to the scriptures, keeps to the rule of the apostolic and ecclesiastical purity, according to the gos- pel and those established truths which, as given by the Lord, by the law, and by the prophets, whoever seeks shall find." Our learned Alexandrian, along with his contempo- raries, might err in particular interpretations of scrip- ture; but, at least, he pays homage to their sole and un- rivalled authority, in all matters of faith and practice: his errors, therefore, whatever they may be, are not seeds of mischief. How different is the laniruaore of Tertullian. In harmony with this simple adherence to the inspired writings, and at the impulse of his native good sense, this writer treats the subject of the Christian OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 165 use of riches, and also the rule of martyrdom, on both of which points, even before his time, the mass of Chris- tians had run into absurdities. In relation to the latter subject, let Clement's good sense (Strom, lib. iv.) be compared with the extravagance of Ignatius. The com- parison will atlbrd a proof, one of many, that the calm reason and genuine dignity which distinguish the con- duct and writings of the apostles, did not attach even to their immediate successors. But we have now to cite the evidence of Clement on the special point in hand, and in proof of our position, that although a dissentient voice might be heard once in a century, the church at large had, from the earliest pe- riod to which our documents extend, admitted a perni- cious illusion subversive as well of morals as of piety. The evidence of Clement, as I have stated, is of that conclusive kind which results from the struggle of a soli- tary sound mind, in resisting the inundation of error. I request you, however, especially to remember, that if, in some of the passages now to be adduced, the force of my inference might seem to be lessened by the circum- stance that our author is professedly contendino- with certain heretics, and not opposing himself to the general opinion of the church, I have at hand the instant means of excluding any such exception, by turning to the con- temporary orthodox writers, and their immediate suc- cessors, who go to the same length of extravagance, saving an impious or indecent phrase or two, which Clement reports as attaching to the opinions of the here- tics he names. I adduce him, therefore, as an unexcep- tionable witness to the alleged fact, that, within consi- derably less than a hundred years from the death of the last of the apostles, the church, at large, had yielded 15 166 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION itself to a capital and widely extended error of senti- ment, practice, and theory. Clement (Strom, lib. iii.) while refuting, on one side the profligate, and on the other side the fanatical heretics of his time, emph:)ys scriptural and rational arguments, of which neither Cyprian, nor TeFtullian, could have availed themselves, without condemning the system to which they, and the church, had pledged tliemselves. He urges, in a tone o{ modern good sense, and \\\ a man- ner of which very few instances are to be found in the writings of the fatliers, the general principle, that " the kingdom of God is not meat and drink, or a system of formal and visible observances, or of servile abstinences from ordinary enjoyments; but righteousness and peace: and that it is the inner, nor the outer man, which God chiefly looks to." He, moreover, points it out as a cha- racteristic of " antichrist, and of the apostncy of the last limes, that there sliould be those wlio wouhl forbid to marry, and command to abstain from meats;" and in fact he very nearly approaclies a prote>)tunt style of remon- strance, against the then spreading fanaticism. It ap- pears that, while the church had borrowed the institute of religious celibacy from the heathen v/orship, it un- happily availed itself of the wild errors of heretics in getting up, among the people, the false excitement wiience this institute was lo gather its victims. Clement's plain good sense, in asserun;^- the honour and sanctity of vir- tuous matrimony, not only contradicts the particular er- rors of the heretics whom he names, but it stands op- posed to that notion which, every where else, presents itself, of moral or spiritual degradation, as attaching to that state; so as that those who abjured it stood upon a higher platform, whence they might look down, with pity or scorn, upon the mass of their brethren. It was OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 167 this very notion that was the seed of mischief, which, at an early period, choked the ecclesiastical field with a rank and poisonous vegetation. " What," asks our author, " what, may not self-com- mand be preserved under the conditions of married life? May not marriage be used, and yet continence respected, without our attempting to sever that which the Lord hath joined?" Presently afterwards he touches the prin- ciple of real virtue, which the church at large was then losing sight of, in the pursuit of a phantom. " The kingdom of God is not meat and drink; and in like man- ner as genuine humility consists in meekness of soul, not in the maceration of the body; so, and in like man- ner (true) continence, is a virtue of the soul, and relates to that which is hidden (in the heart) not to the outward life." Just so much good sense and Christian truth as this, it is hard to meet with, in whole folios of the fathers. What a different story would church history have pre- sented, if principles so manifestly reasonable, had been generally regarded? But now, at a time earlier only by a few years than that in which we hear the fanatic Ter- tullian, with affected horror, putting the question — ''Di- gamus tinguis, Digamus offers," Clement demands of those who would fain be holier than the Lord himself, whether they really mean to reprove the apostles, two of whom (at least) Peter and Philip, were fathers, the latter moreover having given his daughters in marriage; or Paul, who asks — " Have we not power to lead about a sister or wife, even as the other apostles?" Farther on, our author, and with much copiousness, offers a eulogium of woman — woman, the helper and compa- nion of man — woman, the wife, and mother; and in all which there is nothing of the fulsome nonsense about 168 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION virginity, which renders the perusal of the fathers, ge- nerally, so nauseating; and he affirms too the equality of the sexes, in regard to piety and virtue. If, in fact, Cy- prian and Tertullian had been writers of the ninth cen- tury, we might well, in comparing them with Clement, have pointed to the difference, vast and glaring as it is, and have thereby confirmed ourselves in the common notion, that popery was a gradual departure from the good sense and purity of the early times of the church. But in truth these writers were the actual contempora- ries, though younger men, of Clement; and a portraiture of the Christianity of the period is to be found in their works, not in his. It is true that many of the fathers, or most of them, in their headlong course of fanaticism, and while beating the " drum ecclesiastic," to get recruits for the monas- tery, think it due to their reputation to pull in for a mo- ment, once and again, and in so many words to disclaim the heresy of attributing the matrimonial institute to the devil. Yet the mere fact of their feeling it necessary to do so, is proof enough of the extent to which they were running. But, so far as I know, Clement of Alex- andria is the only extant writer, of the early ages, who adheres to common sense, and apostolic Christianity, through and through. Those wlio, at a later date, ven- tured to protest against the universal error, were instant- ly cursed and put down as heretics, by all the great di- vines of their times; and were, in fact, deprived of the means of transmitting their opinions to be more equita- bly judged of by posterity. It appears, or at least we should gather it from the language of Clement, that at Alexandria, the choir of vir- gins had not, in his time, been regularly constituted, as a standing order in the church; for where this band had OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 169 been so sanctioneJ, it always took precedence of the corps of widows, and is mentioned, wlien they, as a part of the ecclesiastical system, are mentioned. But (Strom. lib. i.) where our author, in a formal manner, enume- rates the three orders of the clergy (as he does once and again) presbyters, bishops, and deacons, he subjoins, *' and the widows." Now in the *' Apostolic Constitu- tions," in the canons of the Ante-Nicene councils, and generally, in the writers of the same period, where any enumeration of orders occurs, it is — " tlie virgins and the widows." In Clement's time, as he says, " the wells of martyr- dom were flowing daily;" we may therefore presume that as much of general seriousness, and sincerity, at- tached to tlie Christian community then, as usually be- longed to it; and yet what sort of description does he give us — altogether calm in its style — of the usual ap- pearances, on a Sunday, at the church doors, when the congregation broke up? Why, one might imagine one- self to be loitering about the doors of a fashionable cha- pel, in London, Bath, or Brighton. A world of illu- sions is sometimes dispelled by a very few simple sen- tences; and I think that were certain devout and credu- dulous worshippers of " venerable antiquity," and of the " holy and ancient church," by chance to open upon the page of Clement which is now before me, having first been told that it described the breaking up of an assembly of the "martyr church," within a hundred years after the death of St. John, they would scarcely think themselves the same persons after having read it. Yet there is nothing extraordinary in this passage, there is no solemn lifting of a veil of mystery; absolutory no- thing but an incidental allusion to facts, of an ordinary kind; — it is a description which might find its counter- 15* 170 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION part in any ag-e, or any country, and is worthy of being noted on no account but because it tends to dissipate the fond, unphilosophical, and, as it now happens, the mis- chievous fancy about "pristine purity," and a golden age, to which we ungodly moderns should devoutly yield our judgments and conform our practices. "Those who make profession of Christianity," says Clement, " should be all of a piece — they should, in the entire course of their lives, preserve a decorum and con- sistency, such as might agree with the exterior gravity to which they fashion themselves, just while at church; and they should strive to be, not merely to appear, what they would pass ior; — so meek, so religious, so loving. But now, and how it is I hardly know, our folks, with change of place, change also their guize, and their modes of behaviour; and are something like polypi, which, as ihey say, resemble the rock on which they chance to fasten, and take their tinge from its colour. So these, the moment they get out of chapel, lay aside the denniro and godly colour of sanctity, which tiiey had worn while there; and, mingling in the crowd, are no longer to be distinguished from it. Or, as I ought rather to say, tliey then put off that well fashioned mask of gravity, which they had assumed, aiitl are found to be such as they hail not passed for. After having reverently waited upon Cod, and heard of him (in the church) they leave him there; and, out of doors, find their pleasure in ungodly fiddling, and love ditties, and what not — stage playing, and gross revelries. Thus, while they sing and respond, these (iKir people) who just before had been celebrating the glories of immortality, wickedly take their part in the most pernicious canticles; — as if saying. Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. They indeed, not to- morrow, but now already, are dead unto God."" OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 171 Much more, nearly to the same purport, might be cited, were it needful, from the pages of Clement. In a word, his was an unimpassioned mind; and while he calmly and steadily insisted upon (so far as he understood it) the inspired rule of morality, he saw things around him, just as they were, and speaks of them, just as he found them; and his testimony, about which there is no- thing cynical, ought to be accepted as of the highest value, in correcting the false impression which is made upon our minds by others, who, as they saw every thing in an artificial glare, so allowed themselves a wide license in describing the illusions of their own distempered sight. There are those, now, I do not doubt, who, determined to retain the fond fancy of a golden pristine age, will turn with resentment from a matter-of-fact writer like Cle- ment, as if he did them a personal wrong in simply speaking the truth. For my own part, I can find no pleasure in any thing, bearing upon religion, but the plainest truth. And the plain truth, in relation to the early church, is just to this efiect — That, although pos- sessing, incidentally, certain prerogatives which render its testimony and judgment, on particular points, pecu- liarly important, it can advance no extraordinary claim to reverence, on the supposed plea of having possessed superior wisdom, discretion, or purity. And farther, I would be bold to express my belief that, if we exclude certain crazed fanatics of our times, the least esteemed community of orthodox Christians, among us — which ever that may be, if taken in the mass, and fairly mea- sured against the church catholic of the first two centu- ries, would outweigh it decisively in each of these quali- ties; I mean, in Christian wisdom, in common discretion, in purity of manners, and in purity of creed. Nay, 1 172 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION am strongly tempted to think that, if our Oxford divines themselves, and those who are used to take the law from their lips, and to learn church history at their feet, could but be blindfolded (if any such precaution, in their case were needed) and were fairly set down in the midst of tlie pristine church, at Carthage, or at Alexandria, or at Rome, or at Antioch, they would be fain to make their escape, with all possible celerity, toward their own times and country; and that thenceforward w^e should never hear another word from them about " venerable antiqui- ty," or the holy catholic church of the first ages. The effect of such a trip would, I tliink, resemble that j)ro- duced sometimes by crossing the Atlantic, upon those who iiave set out, westward, excellent liberals, and have returned eastward, as excellent tories. There is one very simple illusion, or as one might call it, chronological fallacy, which it may seem almost an afi'ront to common sense to mention; and yet I be- lieve that more tlian a few are set wrong a fifty years or even more, in their notions of Christian history in this very way. For instance, when the second century is spoken of, one may, without thougiit, admit the suppo- sition that a period of something like two hundred years, dating from the death of the apostles, is intended; whereas the notions or practices referred to, as belonging to the second century, may have had place wiihin the distance of one hundred years from the cessation of the apostolic influence; and in fact they may be as ancient as any thing concerning which we are to derive our in- formation from uninspired Christian writers. It is thus with tlie practices with which we are now concerned; and which are as ancient as any other characteristics of ancient Christianitv. OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 173 I have referred, above, to Justin's statement concern- ing those who had dedicated themselves to the Lord, at a time when some of the apostles yet survived. Igna- tius clearly alludes to the same practice as then preva- lent; and he does so in terms indicative of the false and inflated sentiments which have in all ages been the at- tendants of this ill-considered endeavour to be *' religious over much." " If any one (Epist. ad Polycarp.) be able to abide in purity (celibacy) in honour of the Lord's flesh, let him do so without boasting. If he boast, he is lost; or if he consider himself, on that account, to be more than the bishop, he perishes." It is not surmising too much to assume it as probable that, among the means resorted to by the self-w^illed and contumacious, for resisting the episcopal authority, and of which Ignatius was so zealous an advocate, this set- ling up for a fakir, was one, and perhaps it was one of the most efficacious. See, on this point, the second sec- tion of the epistle to Hero. And as, at a later time, the confessors found themselves possessed of a credit with the populace which enabled them to defy legitimate au- thority, so, from the very first, whoever could be stark monk enough to make himself the idol of the rabble, be- came a leader of faction, and overawed the bishops and presbyters. Unhappily these, and the long series of writers, favoured, instead of wisely repressing, the false piety that subverted order as well as morals. I would not, however, omit to mention that Ignatius (ad Heron.) fully and clearly vindicates matrimony, and honours wo- man. To the same purport, as in the passage cited above, the same father, (to the Phiiippians) but in terms just so far diversified as to carry a little more historical mean- ing, says, after exhorting husbands and wives to love each other, " If any lead the life of purity (that is, pre- 174 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION serve virginity) or if any one practise continence (that is, either withdraw from husband or wife, or, being wi- dowed, avoid a second marriage) let him not be lifted up in mind, lest he lose the reward." Much is compre- hended in these few words; as, first, and in general, a clear allusion to the then frequent practice of religious celibacy; next, there is a note of the distinction which we find carefully observed, between the pure, and the conti- nent — terms equivalent, in ecclesiastical import, to the correlatives — nun, and widow, the former occupying a loftier place of honour than the latter. In another place he says — " Guard the virgins, as Christ's jewels," an epithet often afterward applied to them. Ignatius also uses, and perhaps was the author of that favourite phrase, applied to nuns — " tlie espoused to Christ." Next, there is the necessary caution against that pride which had been found to attend this species of church nubility; and lastly, there is the reference to that definite and pe- culiar celestial remuneration which was to attach to the band of virgins. Each of these indications, minute as they may seem, is pertinent to an historical inquiry. The Apostolic Constitutions are manifestly a very early, although a spurious work; and it was evidently put together with the intention of its passing as the pro- duction of the apostolic age. So far it may safely be cited as good evidence in our present inquiry; and here we lind fully admitted that general feeling of the ancient church upon which Tertullian labours to build a still loftier doctrine. I mean, the feeling that, although a priest might be a married man, yet that a degree of de- gradation attached to that condition, so as that, either to marry after ordination, or to have contracted a second marriage, was a total disqualification for the sacred office; see, on this point, the seventeenth chapter of the sixth OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 175 book; and this same canon exhibits the bondage of early Christians to the false principle which puts forms for substances; for, in allowing to the inferior church offi- cers, the singers, readers, and door keepers, a little more license, it assumes first, the absurdity that there could be degrees of holiness, corresponding to the degrees of ecclesiastical dignity; and tlien, that the circum- stance of being married, or single, or the having mar- ried once, or twice, had any thing whatever to do with a Christian's real sanctity. This twofold delusion, despicable as we must think it, stands forward as the broad ciiaracteristic of the ancient church catholic. I remember, in fact, no one but Clement of Alexandria, for whom an exemption can be claimed in this respect; nor even for him in all instances. These Constitutions name also the two choirs, of nuns and widows, as then permanently constituted. The former, however, are warned against professing rashly; and it is forbidden to employ any means of compulsion in inducing them to do so; — " for, in regard to the virgin state, we have no commandment (as from the Lord) only that, once having professed, such should adorn their profession." The passages that have been cited, and, if these were not enough, three times the quantity are at hand to be produced, may, I think, be accepted as warranting what is affirmed in my second proposition, concerning the liigh antiquity of the notions, and of the accompanying practices, of religious celibacy. That is to say, this in- stitute, with all ihat involves, is as ancient as any other element of ancient Christianity, and may claim from us as much regard as is urged in behalf of any other prac- tice or opinion, on the ground of antiquity. In one word, religious celibacy comes fully under the quqd SEMPER, or first condition of Vincent's rule of catholicity. 176 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION THE THIRD AND FOURTH PROPOSITIONS, AND CONCLUDING REMARKS. We have next to look at the — quod ubique, and the — quod ab omnibus, in relation to our present subject; that is to show, that this principle, and these practices, be- longed to, and were thoroughly approved of by, the an- cient church, throughout its whole extent, so far as our historical materials enable us to ascertain the fact; and were explicitly maintained and promoted by all tlie great leaders of the religious commonwealth; and were excepted against by only here and there a solitary voice, which was almost instantly stifled by orthodox zeal. However warmly the ulterior inferences I have in view may be resented by some, I am sure they are not the persons who will come forward to call in question the facts which I here assume. On this ground, there- fore, the actual citation of proofs might be waived. But, in truth, as the establishment and illustration of my fifth thesis, and which it is of the utmost importance to make good, will demand a reference, more or less copious, to the extant works of almost every ecclesiastical writer of the first seven centuries, these numerous citations will, of course, embrace whatever would have offered itself as proper for establishing the third and fourth pro- positions. We ma}^ therefore, save ourselves the labour of going through a mass of duplicate evidences; and I therefore, in this place, and once for all, request you to bear in mind that, if either of these propositions were disputed, an ample confirmation of them is to be found in the series of quotations which are to sustain the fifih. OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 17T For the present, tlien, I assume it as incontrovertible, wliatever consequences it may be found to involve, that llie doctrine and custom of religious celibacy was an ar- ticle of ancient Christianity, accepted and followed — semper, ubique, et ab omnibus. But at this point I am anxious to anticipate, and to preclude, some probable exceptions, by means of which it may be attempted to evade the general inferences I have in view. As, for example, there may be those, al- though it is certainly not the well-informed, who will say, "This notion, and these practices, so far as they might be culpable, were incidental merely, and may easily be separated from the general scheme of ancient Christianity, leaving us free to admire and imitate all the rest." Now, I must ask, what are the senses in which, in such a connexion, we might fairly apply the term incidental, to an error of opinion and practice? The word may mean, then, a notion or practice which gained credit only for awhile, and which, having had its day, was forgotten; or, at most, rose to the surface only at remote intervals. But in no such sense as this was the doctrine of religious celibacy incidental to the ancient church; for there is no period, ever so short, that can be named, during which it lost its place or import- ance: on the contrary, it steadily held its— we may sig- nificantly s^Ly— proud pre-eminence, from the earliest times to the latest. Or, incidental may mean, in this instance, that, while some one or two of the ancient churches warmly em-^ braced the notion, and carried their admiration of it to an extravagant length, in other departments of the Chris- tian commonwealth, it was little heard of, or was coolly regarded, or actually discountenanced. But in this sense 16 178 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION also the term is excluded, inasmuch as the churches of the east, and the west, the north, and the south, vied with each other in their zeal on this ground; or, if all looked toward the east — Syria and Egypt — for bright patterns of excellence, in this walk of virtue, all showed substantially the same devotion in ascending the arduous path; and many were the pious pilgrimages, of some of which the memorials are on our shelves, that were un- dertaken expressly for the purpose of importing, into the remotest Christian regions, the spirit and usages of this very institute. Or, again, the term incidenlal, thus employed, might mean, an opinion or institution, zealously promoted by a party or faction, within or without the church; but by no means favoured by its authorities, or by the mass ot its members. In no such sense then can we here em- ploy the word. From age to age it was the church au- thorities, it was the most illustrious teachers and writers, that made it their glory to magnify this institute, and to extend its influence: nor were tiiey, on this subject, listened to unwillingly by the people. There is, however, one other sense of the word, in which, if it could in fact be applied to the subject, it might be held either to loosen or to lessen the force of the serious inferences I am intending. That is to say, if it could be affirmed that the theological principle, and the moral sentiment, imbodied in tlie institute of religious celibacy, are easil}^ separable from the theological, ethi- cal, and ecclesiastical system of which it was an adjunct; and that it had therewith no sucli intimate and occult al- liances as would render a disjunction difficult, or such as must affect the whole: then, indeed, it would only re- main for us to perform the desirable amputation, and sa OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 179 to restore health and symmetry to the body. But that no such allegation can be sustained, I shall be able in- conlestably to prove; and, in doing so, shall, as I con- fidently hope, succeed in affording the most convincing proof of the fact, that the Christian teachers, from the very first, and, ^vhile they held the formal elements of truth, or, as it is called, orthodoxy, grossly misappre- hended the genius and purport of Christianity; and, as a consequence of this misapprehension, turned out of its course every Christian institute, and put on a false foun- dation every principle of virtue; and thus transmuted the Christian system into a scheme which could find no other fixed form than that of a foul superstition, and a lawless despotism. I think, moreover, that the intimacy of the connexion between the institute in question and the other elements of ancient Christianity will so appear as will serve to clear up the practical embarrassments that have attached, in modern times, to every endeavour to realize these, apart from the other. Such imitations have always de- manded some foreign aid to keep them in existence, and can subsist only so long as they may chance to derive vital force and nutriment from an extraneous body. In this conviction I can think nothing else probable but that, should the scheme of doctrine maintained in the Oxford Tracts become, by any means, actually detached from its present hold on the civil and ecclesiastical insti- tutions of the country, and be exempted also from re- straint; — in a word, fairly left to itself, and allowed to follow its innate affinities, it would instantly resume its severed element — the ancient doctrine and practice of celestial virginity. It may seem utterly incredible that Englishmen, and those who have actually stood in the radiance of scriptural illumination, and have read the 180 A TEST OF THE ?,IORAL CONDITION lessons of history, should yield themselves to an illusion such as this. To me, all this appears far from incredi- ble; and, unless a timely caution, and the fear of suddenly forfeiting- the allegiance of numbers, should avail to re^ tard the course of things, it is what I think may be daily looked for. But we must meet, in all its strength, a startling diffi- culty, which will no doubt have occurred to some, in re- flecting upon the facts to which, in the preceding pages, I have made reference. Granting, as we must grant, that the institute of celibacy, when it reached its mature state, and involving-, as it necessarily did, an open contraven- tion of the apostolic precepts concerning the clergy, was a great and mischievous error, yet did it not take its rise from the language of our Lord himself, and of Paul; and does not the conduct of those who, in the first in- stance, devoted themselves to celibacy, at the least stand excused from reprehension, if it be not fully justified by the passages of scripture usually/ cited in this in- stance? Now I wish the difFiculty tlius stated to be felt in its utmost force. Let it be granted, then, that the entire scheme, with all its consequences, and which have con- stituted, in the end, the vital elements of the Komish su- perstition, took its commencement, and in a manner barely culpable, from certain expressions (albeit mis- understood) of the inspired writings. Now, this admis- sion, which I think must in candour be made, gives us precisely that connecting link, which renders the in- stance available for the purpose, with a view to which it has been here adduced. Unless it had appeared that the principle aiwl practice of religious celibacy took their start from the scriptures themselves, neither that high OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 181 antiquity which we have proved to attach to them, nor the universal testimony of the church in their favour, would have warranted the use I am making of the in- stance, as closely analogous to the several points now controverted. But as it stands, there is absolutely nothing that can be advanced in favour of any one of those now disputed articles of belief, or of usage, which may not, and to the whole extent of the terms, be pleaded in behalf of the institute of celibacy. Are they immemorially ancient? — so is this. Did they receive the assent and warm ap- probation of the long series of Christian doctors? — so did this. Were they acknowledged and followed out in the practices of the apostolic churches, throughout the world? — so was this; and finally, may they pretend to a colour of support, or more than a colour, from some (ew ex- pressions of the inspired writers? — so may this. I chal- lenge contradiction in affirming that the monastic sys- tem, and the celibacy of the clergy, rest on ground as wide and as solid as that which sustains any one of the doctrines or practices which it has been the peculiar in- tention of the Oxford Tracts to recommend. There are, as I presume, very few protestants (it is hard to imagine how there can be one such) or any cler- gyman of the protestant church, who would profess to think the monkish institute, abstractedly, good, and the celibacy of the clergy a wise and useful provision; or who would wish to see this system, and the notions and sentiments that attend it, brought back upon ys, in any form whatever. Although it may have been fondly em- braced — semper, ubique, et ab omnibus — it is to be re- jected; and although it may have its texts of scripture at hand, nevertheless it is to be rejected. In ihis instance we claim exemption, not merely from the usurpations 16* 182 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION' and corruptions of Rome, but from the unbroken and loudly uttered authority of the holy catholic church; and when it was in its (supposed) condition of pristine purity. Nor is this all; for we go on calmly to consider the real import of the passages wliich have been made to bear the weight of this system; and we compare such single passages with the plain import of other passages; and with the general purport of the inspired writings; and we judge of them also by considering the genius and spirit of the gospel; and having done so, we find no real difficulty remaining; but only a very simple case, de- manding, just what is demanded always, namely, the exercise of sound good sense and discrimination. But, alas! the leaders of the early church would exer- cise no such discrimination: they would give place to no dictates of calm good sense ; and having surrendered themselves to a headlong enthusiasm, the opoosing im- port of other portions of scripture was totally overlooked, or perversely evaded; and they followed whither they were led, and they led after them the church universal, until altogether plunged into an abyss of error and of cor- ruption. Now the course which every protestant (as I assume) is absolutely compelled to take, when he is called upon to consider the Romish coelibate; namely, to hold in abeyance his reverence for antiquity, and to claim ex- emption from the decisions of the holy catholic church, and to examine, with care and calmness, the real pur- port of scripture, taken at large, is neither more nor less than what every sober-minded protestant is, as I think, bound to do, when challenged to yield himself to certain other notions and practices, characteristic of ancient Christianity. To do anything less than this, is virtually to surrender all that stands between us and the mon- OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 183 strous superstitions of the times of Gregory the Great. We may not, perhaps, become Romanists; but we must, in all consistency, become such as that it were belter to accept Romanism, whole and entire. A well-defined and authoritative system (involving elements of evil) is, I think, much to be preferred to an undefined system, involving the very same elements; and I firmly believe that it were, on the whole, better for a community to submit itself, without conditions, to the well-known tri- dentine popery, than to take up the Christianity of Am- brose, Basil, Gregory Nyssen, Chrysostom, Jerome, and Augustine. Personally, I would rather be a Christian after the fashion of Pascal and Arnold, than after that of Cyprian or Macarius; but how much rather after that of our own protestant worthies, who, although entangled by fond notions about the ancient church, were, in heart, and in the main bent of their lives, followers, not of the fathers, but of the apostles! The great men I have referred to — the glory of our English protestantism, were, it must be confessed, en- tangled with ancient Christianity; and they were so in a degree that has involved the church they founded in some serious difficulties: but we may not boast over them; for we are ourselves still labouring with the con- ceit concerning — venerable antiquity, and the purity of the early ages; nor will it be very soon that this invete- rate prejudice will be altogether and finally broken up. Few will either undergo the labour of becoming fami- liarly conversant with the documents of Christian anti- quity, or will severely analyze the notions which this prejudice imbodies. In concluding this tract, 1 beg permission to offer some assistance in instituting this necessary analysis; or rather, plainly to state the case which this prejudice in- 184 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION volves: and moreover, will view it, as from the position of those who religiously receive the doctrines of the Oxford Tracts. The writers of' these tracts have, and, as I must humbly think, in a very seasonable as well as able man- ner, protested against the modern phase of infidelity, called — rationalism, and which, if followed out consis- tently, can come to nothing but, first unitarianism, and then deism, and then pantheism, and then the purest atheism. They may have taken an unfair advantage of the incautious language of some well meaning writers; but yet have, as I thiidi, truly exhibited the inner quality, and the necessary tendency of this modern sclieme of theology. Moreover, they have not merely protested against this prevailing illusion, but have admitted the fact that it has actually become the type of our modern pro- testant Ciiristianily; and also, have intimated their fears that, unless vigorously repelled, it will, ere long, em- brace the prolestant world, a few remonstrants excepted, and propel all down the slippery descent toward univer- sal unbelief. Now let us for a moment suppose that nearly as much as this, melancholy as is the idea, had actually come about in our times; and that (the few remonstrants ex- cepted) there was no other form of genuine belief extant in the world than that of the Romish Church, whicii, as is admitted, is laden with corruptions. In such a case then, nor does it appear why we may not imagine it as possible, or even as probable, there would prevail, not- withstanding our Lord's promise to be with his church always, an almost universal defection or apostacy — on the one side toward atheism, on the other side toward super- stition. OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 185 We suppose then such an apostacy to have had place, in the nineteenth century. Vv hat then stands in the way of our supposing an analogous defection to have be- longed to some preceding age, or even to the first, or to the second? If we say — the extant historical evidence contradicts any such supposition, this is the very point in dispute; nor can I allow the question to be begged so easily. But what general principle is there which for- bids our admitting such a proposition?- Not any vague belief concerning the divine benevolence toward man- kind; for this is unchangeable; and, if it must have pre- vented an apostacy in the first century, must also have prevented it in the nineteenth; nor by the same rule, can we admit any other contravening principle, as ap- plicable to the one period, which does not equally apply to the other. Among the predictive promises, or the official instruc- tions addressed by our Lord to his personal followers, some, very clearly, were applicable to themselves indi- vidually, and ceased to have any operation or efficacy, at the moment when the functions of these individuals were fulfilled. Other of these promises, not less clearly, are the property of his servants and ministers, in all ages. But is there so much as one of these words of power and comfort, which, while it passes onward be- yond the individuals who first heard it, yet does not pass forward for the benefit of the church universal; but stays within certain limits, as, for example, the limits of the first, the second, or the third centuries? In other words, was there any promise of guidance, or assistance, or of exemption from error, granted to the ancient church, other tlian what belongs, in its fullest force, to the church of all ages? I presume it cannot be pretended that the 186 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION ancient church had any such advantage over ourselves; or that it was in any sense whatever the occupier of a peculiar benefit *' on lease," or " for a term of years." But if not, then the question concerning the actual con- dition of the ancient church is entirely open; and after we have dispelled from our minds, the fancy, really childish as it is, about " antiquity," and a " golden age," W€ then turn, with perfect coolness, to the documents in our possession, and submit its pretensions to a candid, but unsparing analysis. If the ancient church was benefited by no interposi- tions more direct than those which, in every age, have maintained truth and piety from utter extinction, then we must believe, and must expect to find our belief verified, that, in coming, as it did, suddenly, and without the aid of any experience, into contact with the most prodigious evils, it at once imparted an impulse, and admitted an im- pulse: — or, as we say in mechanics, action and reaction, were equal. Did Christianity encounter the rigid, punc- tilious, and self-righteous pietism of the Jew? In the collision the Judaism of those who, of the Hebrew race, embraced the gospel, gave way to some extent, and was Christianized; and, in return, Christianity at large was Judaized. Or, did it meet the vain philosophy and Pla- tonism of the speculative Greek? it did so;^ and Platon- ism and Christianity thenceforward were intimately com- mingled. Did it impinge upon human society, then debauched in a most extraordinary degree? it did so, and, with a violent revulsion, it distorted its own principles of virtue, in an equally extreme degree. Finally, did Ihe religion of the New Testament, rational, spiritual, pure, confront the degrading superstitions of the pagan world? it did so, and on this ground, whil>e it bore a OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH, 287 clear testimony against the doctrine and the flagitious practices of polytheism, yet merged itself in the bound- less superstition of the times, as a system of fear, spi- ritual servitude, formality, scrupulosity, visible magnifi- cence of worship, mystery, artifice, and juggle. Such were the antagonist principles, in contending with each of which the holy religion of Christ triumphed in each instance, and in each was trampled upon; conquered and was conquered; — diffused light and health, and admitted darkness and corruption. Nevertheless its utter extinction was prevented: — the external means of its regeneration were preserved, and the times of regeneration actually came. Forgetting the things that were behind, and returning once again to the long buried scriptures, the church has regained its vitality; and, amid a thousand errors, lives, and prepares herself to occupy the world, for her Lord. But if there be only the most general verisimilitude in the representations above given, in what light are we to view the incredibly strange endeavour to bring back, upon the modern and revived church, the very notions and practices that were the consequences of the struggles of the ancient church with its antagonists? Shall we then indeed be led to reverence and imitate the very ar- ticles that are to be pointed out to as marking the admix- ture of Christianity with Judaism — with Greek philo- sophy — with pagan corruption — and w^ith polytheistic superstition? Shall we part from our religion, as we find it fixed in the scriptures, and madly follow it, in its first fearful plunge into the bottomless gulf of spiritual darkness and moral pollution? If the phrase — Christian antiquity, can be allowed to convey no idea of pre-emi- nence beyond what the strict rules of historical logic may, 188 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION under all the circumstances, allow to it, then, manifestly, the inexperienced and convulsive straggles of the infant religion with its formidable foes, how well soever they may merit our admiration, are less likely than almost any other cycle of religious events, to secure our cool approval, or to command our submission, as if then a pattern of wisdom and order were to be given to the church of all ages. A religious mind, after having contemplated the changing scene of human error and folly, from age to age, and after admitting, for awhile, some painful sen- timents of reprehension, in thinking of the authors and promoters of such errors, gladly turns, first, to those many circumstances of extenuation which may be ad- vanced in behalf of these mistaken men, and which shall allow us, notwithstanding, to think of many of them as brethren in Christ. But then, such a mind seeks a far- ther solace, in tracing, dimly perhaps, the apparent pur- poses of Him who, even when most he allows evil to have its course, yet sways the general movement, and urges forward still the development of his mighty scheme of universal government. A religious mind holds to the belief that He who worketh, in all things, according to the counsel of his own will, has, in every age, been evolving a settled plan; whether or not it may be intel- ligible to the human mind. Now, in this belief, we are led at once to look, if not with more complacency, at least with less distress, upon particular forms of what we must still regard as capi- tal error, and to think of them as, in some way, tempo- rary adaptations of truth to the circumstances of man- kind at such or such a period: in this light considered, the sharpness of our displeasure is a little broken down, and our stern condemnation tempered. There is a real, OF THE ANCIENT CHURCH. 189 and, as I think, a legitimate consolation to be derived from considerations of this sort. But then tlie very principle whence it is derived, namely, that the Lord has been giving place to accommodations, or appliances of this sort, from age to age, thereby effecting a slow, and often retarded progression, in advancing the religious condition of mankind, this principle, I say, implies an unutterable absurdity in the endeavour, made at any ad- vanced period of the great scheme, to revert to a posi- tion long ago passed by and obsolete. If we comfort ourselves with the thought that a vast scheme has been, from the first, in movement, the end of whick shall be the universal triumph of truth and peace, then must we be thinking of any thing rather than of a turning back upon the great road of the church's progress, and of forfeiting the toils of centuries; or, in other words, of rendering ourselves, by imitation, such as that which, when it actually existed, was but a low alloy of truth, permitted or winked at for awhile. And if, in any sense, we allow ourselves to be called pro- testants, our profession must imply the acknowledg- ment that the great scheme of religious development has, during the last three centuries, made a conspicuous de- monstration, and has set us forward far, very far, in ad- vance of the position occupied by our predecessors of the fourteenth century. Who must not acknowledge this? What impiety to deny it! And what have been the characteristics of this alleged modern advancement? Not the devising of novelties in religion, as something that might be added to the apos- tolic model; not the boldly taking the scriptures in hand, with the endeavour to cut them down to our liking, or to cast them in the mould of our modern philosophy. This has not been the course we have taken ; but the 17 190 A TEST OF THE MORAL CONDITION, «, being dropped, sin, its accident, would fall with it. The ancient church felt the infinite superiority of its own system of belief; and its constancy, in maintaining its ground, beleaguered as it was by errors so insidious and fascinating, may well claim our admiration. But how insidious and how fascinaliHg are those errors that spring up in the human mind as the substitutes for long- lost sacred truths! Moreover, to aim at, and to reach in religion, something better, or something more exalted and refined than that which God himself has granted to us, seems, to fiery and ambitious spirits, not merely in- nocent, but laudable. ^Yhy may we not lift sanctity (at least for llie few,) to a higher level than that of the cold avoidance of positive sin? Why may not man aspire to be holy after the fashion of seraphs? Alas! this loftier, or seraphic sanctity, is not sanctity; but a factitious pie- tism, involving the substitution of principles fundamen- tally false, in the place of the motives of genuine virtue. So it was, that the unearthly holiness which the ancient church from an early period, made the object of its fond ambition, was not Christian holiness, but mere gnostic abstraction from the innocent conditions of animal life. Christianity teaches that a near approach to the Father of spirits was to be sought for on the path of that virtue which is opposed to vice. Gnosticism held out the hope 19* 218 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE of such an approximation by mere disengagement from matter, and fronj its corruptibility. The ancient church never denied the Christian doctrine of sanctity; but it as- sumed along with it, and as a useful subsidiary princi- ple, the gnostic doctrine: — hence its asceticism, and espe- cially its doctrine of the angelic excellence of virginity. When will the church, once for all, convince itself of the great truth, so amply confirmed by its own liistory, that, to tamper, in any way, with the first principles of religion, or to attempt to exalt and refine them, is an en- deavour not more impious, than it is fatal? The en- deavour to elevate and rectify Christianity, has, in fact, proved to be of worse, or of more permanent ill con- sequence, than the endeavour to lower its requirements; for the latter attempt has involved only a relaxation of principles, while the former has demanded a substitu- tion of one principle for another, and has therefore de- ranged every thing else. Whenever we are considering the ancient Christian asceticism, it is indispensable that we should keep in view the difference between what was purely abstrac- tive, and what wns penilcntial or punitive, in its princi- ples or practices. This distinction, if not always clearly defined in the monastic writings, is always easy to be observed when the sentiments of the ascetics are ana- lyzed. And it is farllier to be noted, that, while in some places, and at certain periods, the abstractive principle, prompting to the withdrawment of the spiritual being from the conditions of aninial life, was chiefiy thought of, in other places, and at other times, t!ie self-torment- ing, penance-doing doctrine took most effect, and pro- duced those macerations and inflictions, by means of which sin might be expiated, and tlie future reckoning rendered so much the less formidable. 'J'he fact is, at WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 219 least, a curious instance of coincidence, (if it be nothing more,) that the chief centres of gnosticism were also the localities where the abstractive species of asceticism made itself prominent; while in the west, where gnos- ticism, until a late period, was only an imported doc- trine, the penitential, or rather expiatory asceticism, pre- vailed over the abstractive. Of this alleged fact, it would be easy, if pertinent to our present argument, to adduce many striking illustrations. Now, keeping in mind the above stated broad distinc- tion, I presume it will be universally admitted among protestants^ that the existence, at any time, or in any community, of penitential and expiatory ascetic prac- tices, affords a sufficient and unquestionable proof of a ■corresponding compromise of that first principle of Christianity — the full and free pardon of sin, through the expiatory and vicarious sufferings of Him who w^as *' made a sin-offering for us." Under whatever subter- fuges he may attempt to hide his error, the man who la- bours to expiate his own sin, by self-inflicted pains of the body, has lost his hold of the gospel of the grace of God: he may be very devout, and very fervent, but the gospel he has framed to himself, is " another gospel," and, in fact, is no gospel; it is not " glad tidings," but sad tidings. Then in adherence to the very same criterion of truth, we at once say, that the existence, and the general pre- valence, in any church, of the principles, and practices of abstractive asceticism, and especially of the doctrine concerning the angelic excellence of virginity, is to be held as sufficient proof of a corresponding compromise of the genuine Clirisiian notion of the divine nature, in its moral and spiritual attributes, and plainly indicates the substitution of the gnostic idea of a deity eternally 220 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE at war with matter, and abhorring the conditions, and resenting- the humiliations of animal life, in the place of the scripture doctrine concerning the divine holiness, and hatred of sin. If then the serious imputation now thrown upon the ancient church of having, while steadfast in its ortho- doxy, admitted the germinating principle of the gnostic theosophy, and of having, so far, compromised tlie glory of Christian theology, if this imputation were repelled, and if proof in support of it were demanded, nothing more need be done in justification of such an impeach- ment, than merely to refer to the unquestioned fact, that, from the first, and thence onward through the track of centuries, it adopted, and extensively acted upon, the gnos- tic principle — That the highest order of sanctity, or in truth the only genuine and perfect saiiClity, attainable on earth, is in the possession of those who withdraw tliem- selves, as far as possible, from the conditions of animal life, and especially, wiio renounce and abrogate, in their own persons, the sexual constitution. Religious celiba- cy, such as we find it in the ancient church, was not an expiatory sacrifice, it was not a penance; but an act of abstraction, or an abduction of the incarcerated soul from the i/x«, the dregs and stuff of the lower world, by means of which separation it placed itself just so much the nearer to God, as it was the more reajote from tiie natu- ral life. This is the doctrine of gnosticism, of its parent soof- feeisro, of its grand-parent buddhism, and of the ascetic institute of tiie ancient church. Almost in tlie very lan- guage, often in the very language of the gnostic teachers, and even while formally condemning the system, as an Anti-Christian heresy, do the Christian writers, and es- WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 221 pecially those of the eastern and Alexandrian churches, recommend virginity, and speak of it as tl;e only near approximation which man can make to the deity, and as a forestalling of the soul's emancipation from the slavery and degradation of its connexion with matter, and with animal life. AVhence came the notion iiniversaUy pre- valent in the church, and repeated by a thousand tongues, that the virgins of Christ, male and female, constituted a spiritual aristocracy, or a choir of terrestrial angels, and wlio, as such, were holy by emphasis, holy as a class, and waiting only the kind hand of death, to lift them up to the throne of God? All this, in its various colours of extravagance, came not from the apostles, nor is it to be traced to the scriptures: — it is nothing but sheer gnosticism, and it means nothing less than the removing *' the Father" revealed to men "by the Son," and the putting in his place the Tr-xn^f ctyvao-ro;, a being approached only by the few — the Trviv^jLctruoi, who had withdrawn themselves from the laws of the lower world, and had made common cause with him as ihe enemy of the de- miurge creator. But can it be imagined that a compromise of first prin- ciples, so fatal as this, could come to its end simply in originating, and in keeping alive the institute of celiba- cy? Assuredly not; and it is nothing less than what we are compelled to look for, when we find that the same gnostic feeling, and theosophy, which, in the celibate institution, indicated its presence, and displayed its power, took effect also upon every other element and usage of ancient Christianity. Of this we shall discover evidence enough in the after stages of our inquiry. I do not, however, wish to stop short where I fairly might, at this mere reference to the ancient abstractive 222 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE asceticism, as a sufacient proof of the prevalence of the gnostic theosophy and sentiment, in the ancient cliurch, but will addnce a few passages, which, although tliey can by no means convey the irresistible impression made upon an unprejudiced mind, by the general tenor of the ancient church divinity, may yet serve as sufficient sam- ples of tliis sort of compromised Christianity. Who is to be accounted orthodox, if Athanasius be not so? nor only orthodox, but truly good and great; and, by his wisdom and courage, more worthy, if we may accept the arbitration of Gibbon, to have sat on the throne of the Caesars, than either of his contemporary imperial enemies. And yet this great Athanasius was himself not more exempt than the craziest fanatic of his times, from that flimsy ascetic notion of sanctity, which sprang from the gnostic notion of the divine nature. The follies of an inferior mind may, in any case, be imputed, if we please, to the individual, but those of eminently powerful minds must rather be thrown back upon the age, and ihey may safely be assumed as its characteris- tics. The vigorous and straightforward understanding of this unbending champion of the faith, could hardly have failed to have broken through the illusions of the times, had those illusions been of an incidental kind; but they had arisen steadily and slowly from deep-seat- ed false theological principles, they had pervaded the Christian community, from the east to the west, they had acquired, by long and undisturbed domination, an autho- rity such as none (or very few) dared to call in question, so that the most devout and energetic minds made it their glory to promote, and would have thought it a sa- crilege to have examined, the venerable errors. AVilling- ly should we give so estimable a man the benefit of any WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY, 223 tloubt that may be thought to attach to certain tracts, usually comprehended in his works; but little or nothing could be gained, for his reputation, by this scrupulosity, inasmuch as those of his writings, the genuineness of which has never been questioned, contain sentiments fully equivalent to what may be found in those which, on this ground, we might hesitate to cite as his. The apology addressed to Constantius may be appealed to confidently, as genuine, and in this piece Athanasius uses a style, when adverting to the subject of religious virgini- ty, which bears out any thing elsewhere occurring in the works imputed to him. The expressions applied to our Lord in this tract are far too much in the gnostic style, and startle the ear by their resemblance to the language of the gnostic leaders in speaking of their "Logos-Re- deemer." " The Son of God," says Athanasius, (torn. i. page 698,) " made man for us, and having abolished death, and having liberated our race from the servitude of corruption, hath, besides his other gifts, granted to us to have upon earth an image of the sanctity of angels, namely, virginity. The maids possessing this (sancti- ty) and whom the church catholic is wont to call the brides of Christ, are admired, even by the gentiles, as being the temple of the Logos, az v^lov ovirxg nv xoyou. No where, truly, except among us Christians is this holy and heavenly profession fully borne out or perfected; so that we may appeal to this very fact as a convincing proof that it is among us that true religion is to be found." And thus, in the undoubted tract of the same father, on the Incarnation, we meet the very same prominent doc- trine, spoken of as a characteristic of the Christian sys- tenij and even including the gnostic phrase, applied to 224 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE virginity, that it was an excellence obeying a rule "above law." " Who is there, but our Lord and Saviour Christ, that has not deemed this virtue (of virginity) to be ut- terly impracticable (or unattainable) among men; and yet he has so shown his divine power, as to impel youths, as yet under age, to profess it, a virtue beyond law?" (Tom. i. p. 105.) We cannot, therefore, do Allianasius much wrong in attributing to him sentiments which, even if they did not actually flow from his pen, are entirely in accordance with his opinions, as elsewhere professed. And yet it does not appear that the tract on virginity, or the ascetic life, is, on any sufficient grounds, assumed not to be genuine. Let it, however, be taken only as a sample of the temper and style of the times; — ^just as we say of the Alhanasian creed, that, whether it be the composition of this champion of ortliodoxy, or not, it truly expresses his known belief, and that of the church of his times. If the individual reputation of Alhanasius were the point now in question, then the genuineness of a particular tract, .attributed to him, would be a point es- sential to our argument; but not so when it is the cha- racter of the age, rather than of tlie man, which we are considering. Now, looking at the tract I have mentioned, as a whole, and comparing it broadly with the apostolic writings, one cannot but iiistantly and strongly feel that the vvriter^s notions of Christian sanctity, and those of the apostles, were almost totally dissimilar; but then these notions difi'er just in the same way as the gnostic idea of a deity abhorring the conditions of animal life, and at war with the visible world, dilfers from the Christian idea of the true God, the Creator of the world, and haling nothing but sin. I might slop to notice the utterly unapostolic WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 225 Style in which the author, in this treatise, commends the virtue of fasting. " What doth Christ require of thee, but only a pure heart, and a body unsoiled, and made black and blue with fasting?" How much better were it for us to fall back from Christianity, such as this, upon the Jewish prophets, one of whom gives us a far more Christian-like, as well as a more rational reply to a similar question — -" What doth the Lord thy God require of thee, but — to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with tliy God?" Can we be at any loss in choosing between two systems of morality, as thus sum- marily expressed? What would not fasting do? — every thing, says Athanasius, and " place man near to the throne of God." Yes, to the " god unknown " of gnos- ticism; but not to the God revealed in the scriptures. Athanasius, and the church of his time, did not altogether overlook, much less did they deny, what was substan- tial in morals; but they constantly associated with these weighty matters, that factitious sanctity which, when- ever so associated, has not failed to draw to itself the at- tention of ordinary minds, and, in the end, to reduce its companion to a subordinate and almost forgotten place. Tell the mass of men, as solemnly as we please, that they must be " holy in life and heart," and also — scru.- pulous in their external purifications, and we shall soon find them absorbed in the details of this scrupulosity, while they make light of justice, truth, mercy, and pu- rity, as well as piety. It would be of no avail there- fore, in relation to our present argument, to cite, from the same tract, tlie many excellent moral precepts which it imbodies: — the question is — With what are these pre- cepts associated, and what are the notions, concernir.g the divine nature, which must have been suggested by the general tenor of the writer's exhortations? 20 226 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE Now let it for a moment be imagined, that some lead- ing religious writer, of the present day, and one of high reputation for intelligence and personal sanctity, as well as vigour of character, addresses a letter of religious advice and encouragement, to a devout Christian lady of his acquaintance, and that, among other advices, excel- lent as they may be, and in one and the same tone of serious intentness, this writer presumes to enter her chamber, in the capacity of her spiritual director, and ■when there, gives her precise and solemn instructions, as to tlie cautions she should use in performing her ablu- tions, and the reserves she should adhere to in changing her linen! — no such insufTerable impertinence could pos- sibly be fallen into by any one, gifted with a particle of common sense, in these days. No where, scarcely in the Romish communion, could we find a spirit so mise- rably enthralled by superstition, as to be led to make the ceremonials of the foot-bath an awful matter of piety, or to imagine that He who indignanUy contemned the scru- pulous ablutions of the pharisee, was to be either pro- pitiated, or offended, by a lady's using, or not using, both her hands in washing her face! (Alhan. lom. i. p. 1050.) 1 scorn to translate this page: Does it most excite contempt or indignation? How is it then that, at a time when the church had gathered to itself all the intelligence and learning of the age, a venerable archbishop, and a man of strong under- standing, and every way of eminent quality, should think it a proper part of his duty, in addressing the Christian ladies of his charge, to descend to topics so degrading, nay, so incredibly offensive? How is it that, in connex- ion with the changing of an inner vestment, such a man could bring himself to adduce the most solemn motives of piety? No other answer can be given to so perplex- WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 227 ing a question but this — that, in the age of the holy Athanasius, the church universal had fallen into notions of the divine nature far more nearly allied to gnosticism than to apostolic Christianity; and in fact, that, while the gnostic heresy was denounced by the lips, the gnos- tic theosophy had sunk into the heart. With our Lord's pointed reprobation of pharisaic formalism full before their eyes, these fathers of the church nevertheless stre- nuously taught that Christian piety, of the higher sort, mainly turned upon, or at least could not dispense wiih, bodily puritications, and external observances! A contrast has been drawn by several modern protest- ant writers, between the apostles, and the early fathers, and the difference such a comparison holds out, is striking indeed. There is, however, another comparison which I do not remember to have seen formally instituted, and which offers points of diversity still more marked, as well as highly instructive. What I mean is the vast in- feriority of the Christian divines of the first five centu- ries, compared, as teachers of morals, with the Jewish prophets of five hundred years, reckoning from David onward. A few words may suffice for setting forth this very significant parallel. — The Mosaic law — a national institute, and temporary only, and intended to seclude the Jewish people from the nations around them, com- prised various observances of personal ceremonial sanc- tity, well called "carnal ordinances." But the Chris- tian law, intended for all nations, and designed for perpe- tuity, drops every such ritual scrupulosity, and not merely drops the observances, but pointedly condemns any regard to them among Christians. The servile de- sire to Judaize Christianity, is warmly reprobated, as implying nothing else than a renunciation of the gospel. And yet, while such are the characteristics of the two 228 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE systems, respectively, what are the actual characteristics of the teacliing of those v;ho stood forward as the ex- pounders of the one, and of the other, in the ages fol- lowing the two institutions? — most remarkable is the contrasted style of the Jewish prophets, and of the Chris- tian doctors, in this respect! and how irresistible is the confirmation it affords of our faith in the inspiration of the Jewish scriptures! Every intelligent reader of the Bible must have noticed the general fact, that the writers of the Old Testament, impelled, one and all, by an unconscious onward ten- dency, toward a brighter and a purer, as well as a more expansive system than the Mosaic, lay very little stress upon the personal and more servile observances of the national law; and, on the contrary, insist, with a manly, rational, and evangelic ardour, upon the great princij)les, and the unchanging requirements of justice, mercy, tem- perance, as well as upon the development of the more intimate principles of the spiritual life. What is the book of Psalms? is it a manual of monkery? What are the prophets? are they zealous sticklers for ablutions, and do they chafe and fret on points of the ascetic ritual? Are David and the prophets, as if by the impulse of an involuntary gravitation, working themselves down from the greater to the less, in matters of morality, and de- scending from the substance to the form, from the spiri- tual to the ritual? Nay indeed, such are not the charac- teristics of the inspired writers of the Old Testament; who are manifestly imbued with the spirit and the power, with the truth, the reason, of tiie apostles, although they did not enjoy the same light. But how is it with the early, and with the very best expounders of the Christian code — a code (as found in the New Testament) of truth and reality, opposed to WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 229 lifeless ceremony, and abject superstition? The very characteristics which we have denied to the Jewish in- spired writers, are wliat present themselves on every page of the early Christian doctors. It is, strange to say, the expounders of Christianity — the teachers of the law of liberty, who are ever passing off from what is mo- mentous, to what is trivial in morality, and who seem, on all occasions, quite as solicitous about the forms, as they are about the substance of piety; and who rarely, if ever, fail to mix, along with solid instructions, bear- ing upon Christian conduct, some repulsive ingredients of a servile superstition! I would fain ask those who are the best qualified to answer the question — whether it be not so Is it not, in a certain sense, true, that, if we were to expunge from the fathers the mere phraseology of the gospel, and were to insert these same phrases in the Old Testament scriptures, then every thing would seem to be in its place; as in a system chronologically developing itself? That is to say, the fathers might then appear the fit expounders of the Mosaic carnal institute; while the prophets. Christianized in their language mere- ly, might be accepted as the genuine successors of the apostles. Such an adjustment would seem to give the harmony of regular progression, and of continuity to the series of sacred literature, as it flows forward through fifteen centuries. On this ground I should be inclined to urge an opponent to confess that the very best of the writers of the Nicene age, say Chrysostom, Augustine, Basil, Ambrose, Jerome, and the Gregorys, fall far be- hind the Jewish prophets, as to the notions they convey of the benignity and the purity of the divine nature; and in the breadth of their moral systems, and in the respec- tive importance attached by them to the forms, and to 20* S30 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE the substance of devotion, as well as in the warmth, the! expansion, the sublimity, and the energy of the religious sentiment by which they seem personally lo have been animated. In a word, this must, I think, be acknow- ledged, that the w-riters of the ancient dispensation were such as those should be, who were looking onward to- ward the bright day of gospel splendour; while the ear- ly Christian doctors were just such as one might well expect to find those who were looking onward toward that deep night of superstition which covered Europe during the middle ages. The dawn is seen to be gleam- ing upon the foreheads of the one class of writers; while a sullen gloom overshadows the brows of the other. Every feeling of rational piety would be outrMged, were those not infrequent passages to be adduced in which the great divines of the fourth century, while la- bouring to set virginity "above all praise," endeavour to mix up the notions it involves, with the ineffable re- lationships of the Trinity, and, perhaps, in opposition to the gnostic notion of female a^ons, or divinities, in pairs, attribute an accident of humanity to God iiimself. Much of this sort that meets the eye, in the fathers' must be left where it lies — and may it never find a trans- lator! But let those who would be warned of the dan- ger of running into frightful impieties when the reins are given to fanatical impulses, open Gregory Nyssen, Uipt rictffijv/atc, and look up and down, and especially at the second chapter, beginning a-vvio-iucysLp-h/xtv. II we shudder, as we must, at the presumption of the gnostics, while they are describing the emanation of the pairs of aeons, male and female, from the Supreme Deity, can we regard, without indignant reprobation, the shameless audacity of a Christian writer, and a biphop, who dares to speak as Gregory Nyssen does of the relationship of the Eternal WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 231 Father to the Eternal Son? If this be not gnostic theo- sophy, it is something worse; and assuredly it is not Christian tiieology. Better renounce Christianity, with the gnostics, than thus insult its most sacred truths, with Gregory Nyssen. In order to secure for the celibate all possible patronage, and the highest authority, this writer, designating our Lord by a phrase of gnostic origin, as T«v TTHynv T«? aipb'ifxrui, insists iipon the fact of his enter- ing the world in a manner implying a tacit disparage- ment of marriage; and, in another place, (Oration on Christmas day,) he does not scruple to adopt a foolish, but favourite tradition, concerning the Virgin Mary, the import of which is to secure her suffrage in support of the practice of vowing virginity in very childhood, a practice cruel in itself, and the occasion of the worst abuses of the monkish system. Josepli, we are assured, by the authors and retailers of this legend, was pitched upon as a worthy man, who would consent to take charge, for life, of the young virgin, (Mary,) in the os- tensible relationship of her husband, but really as the guardian of her innocence. And it is remarkable as an instance of theological infatuation, even with the sound- est minds, that the absurd story which Gregory Nyssen introduces, with some apology, as apocryphal, Augus- tine, a few years later, coolly alludes to, as if it were an authenticated fact; and, in his customary mode of atte- nuated reasoning, labours to infer as much from the words of scripture. "It is clear," says he, (!)e Sancta Virginitate,) " that Mary had previously (that is, before the visit of the angel,) devoted herself to God, in invio- lable chastity; and, that she had been espoused to Jo- seph on this very condition; desponsata viro jusio, non violenter ablaturo, sed potius contra violentos custodituro, quod ilia jam voverat." And all this was to be aihrmed 232 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE and believed, in order that, as he says, Mary might *' furnish an example to holy nuns in all time to come!" But, to return for a moment to Gregory Nyssen, I will refer to the fifth chapter of the tract above men- tioned, as furnishing an example of that sort of gnosti- cized Christianity wliich was felt to be needed in giving support to the practices and sentiments universally adopt- ed by the church. The contrast, on this point, between apostolic and ancient Christianity is striking. Peter affirms that, "by the promises of scripture we are mac|,e partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the cor- ruption that is in tlie worhl, iv iTriQv/uttx " — a term which, in its canonical sense, implies always sin, not simple af- fection. But the writer now before us declares, that the only way of approach to the Deity, is on the path of abstraction from the affections of humanity, as con- nected with our animal and social state; and that the in- stitute of virginity has this very end in view, that we may the more efiectually withdraw ourselves from the entanglement of our nmndane existence. Now, all this is sheer gnosticism. The gospel teaches men to deny ungodliness and worldly hists; gnosticism taught, or would fain have taught its followers, to deny and to re- sent those humiliating conditions which the malignant or unwise demiurge — the Creator of this world had im- posed upon the human race; and thus, in substance, and often with a very near resemblance of language, speak the ancient promoters of asceticism. If the style of Gregory Nyssen, on subjects of this class, be compared witii that of Mahometan dervishes, or of Persian sooffees, or of the Grecian stoics, or Pythagorians, or Platonists, or with that of the gnostics of his own times, it does not appear that any solid advantage cnn equitably be claimed for him. Call Nyssen a Christian father, and Epictetus WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 233 a heathen philosopher, if you please, and let the church pay her homage to the fi)rmer on the 9th of March, or on any other day, and let her reprobate the latter every day of the year; mean time, this I am sure of, that I could take many entire pages from both, and placing them, in their naked merits, before an acute and intelli- gent Christian reader, desiring him, from internal evi- dence alone, to endorse each quotation with the word Christian or Heathen, and he would as often interchange these designations, as apply them truly. And I think, moreover, that no candid mind would refuse to acknow- ledge that the praise of good sense, genuine simplicity, and consistency, must, most decisively, be awarded to the dark pagan. *' In order that we may," says Nyssen, in the tract above referred to, " with a clear eye, gaze upon the light of the intellectual universe, we must disengage ourselves from every mundane affection, and lay aside the feculence of the corporeal condition." Thus have talked mystics of every sect, and in all ages, and, while dreaming about the "divine nature," have totally lost sight of real piety and virtue. The mysticism of the fathers is distin- guished from that of others by a peculiar slang, which, unconsciously, they caught from the gnostic teachers, their contemporaries. There can hardly be a more gross illusion than that of supposing that some few Christian phrases, such as — ♦* our Saviour, Christ," or, *' through the grace of the Son of God," really avail to Christianize a page, a chap- ter, or a treatise, which, these naked phrases apart, we should never have surmised to have come from Christian lips. Nor are religious writings to be Christianized by the formal insertion, here and there, of a creed, nor by the inlaying of texts of scripture. A Christian writing 234 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE is a composition which breathes tlie spirit, and which is marked througliout by the peculiar principles of the New Testament. Now, judgCvi by this rule, I think several of the most noted of the fathers would be cashiered of their usurj)ed honours, and set down, some way below the level of the belter heatfien writers. I fear this would be the fate of both tlie Gregorys — I mean Nyssen, just quoted, and the eloquent Nazianzen. For propagating their opinions more widely and rea- dily, the gnostic teachers had had recourse to the ciiarms of verse; and, to supplant them on this ground, several of the fathers struck their lyres; among these, Ephraim, Synesius, and Nnzianzen; but of what quality was the antidote they provided? Let us take some samples — Synesius by and by, Nazianzen at present. It seems to have been the belief of these writers that, to make the nearest possible approach to gnostic doctrine and lan- guage, while orthodoxy was saved, afforded the surest means of excluding the specious heresy. A mistaken notion, surely: but it is thus, that, while their opponents were ranting about the vileness of their body, and the sublimity of the endeavour to break away from its hu- miliations, a Christian bishop could follow on the same path, and say (Carmina lambica) — AVhere did Nazianzen learn any sucli doctrine as this? We can only reply — Where he learned sucli as the fol- lowipo", and neither the one nor tlie other from the in- spired writings. *' Happy the course of those, the unmarried-blessed, who, (in this world,) having shaken off the flesh, are nearer to the divine purity."* WITH TrlE NICEXE THEOLOGY. 235 What teaching more delusive in its tenuency, than tlie telling- a company of persons that, because unmar- ried, they were "near to God." Gnostics taught no- thing more pernicious; nor any tiling, practically, unlike this. They, or some of them, discouraged marriage, not merely because it involved distractions incompatible with the contemplative discipline; nor merely because it was an additional tie, connecting the soul with the body; but, because it was the means of carrying on that pro- cess of " linking spirits to flesh," which the demiurge had set a-going, despite of the Supreme, and which the Supreme Deity was labouring to bring to an end. Now, such notions being afloat, how does a Christian teacher seek to withstand them? By addressing *' a spouse of Christ" in language such as that of the exhortation, Trpoc TTctpSivovc, (tom. ii. p. 299,) not merely abounding with the very cant of gnosticism, about the agency or influence of matter, the commixture of natures, the har- mony of spirits, with the Supreme Spirit; but present- ing, in a distinct form, the gnostic doctrine that the Christos, the Logos, had descended into this world to abrogate the original sexual constitution, and to institute a more spiritual economy. Let the studious reader look to the whole, as it stands; and if he thinks that a florid writer's real opinions ought not to be inferred from his poetic effusions, he may compare, with the composition here mentioned, the following passage from our author's thirty-first oration, which offers the same gnostic jar- gon, and the same gnostic principles, mixed up, indeed, with a larger proportion of Christian phrases — "She who is under the yoke (of matrimony) is in part Christ's; but the virgin is Christ's wholly. 'J'he one, indeed, is not altogether bound to the world; but the other turns from the world altogether. That which is partial in the 236 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE married, is entire with the virgin, 'i'hou hast chosen* the angelic life, and hast ranged thyself with those who are unyoked, (the angels,) that thou shouldst not be borne downward toward the Ilcsh, that thou shouldst not be borne downward nc v\kv, that thou shouldst not, even while remaining unmarried, be wedded t» Ja«." This is the very style of tlie Alexandrian gnostics, and on the ground of this same notion of the wedding of some souls to matter — a humiliation from which others were exempt — Valentinian distributed human spirits into the three classes, of the spiritual, the material, and the j)hysical. In truth, many passages of gnostic teachings re[)orted by Origen, Clement of Alexandria, and Ire- nacus, want but a little revision to make them altogether of a piece with the rhapsodies of Christian divines, in recommending the ascetic life.* " How angelic is it to lead a life, not merely not fleshy, but/«r rained above the laws of nature herself T' Looking at language such as this, by itself, one must rather imagine it to have come from the lips of the enthusiasts of the school of Simon Magus, than from those of a well-informed teacher of C/iiristianity. If the people at large are taught that the highest perfection attainable by man in the present stale consists in, and is to be pursued by the means of, a di- vorce of the heaven-born soul from matter, whatever they may at other times be told to tiie contrary, they will in- evitably form a notion of the divine purity, as being the antithesis ratlier of corporeitij^ than of sin; and this no- lion, iar more agreeable as it is to the unrenewed mind tlian the other; although it be more abstruse, will, in fact, give law to the whole of the religious system, of * Some specimens of this sort will be found in a note at the end of this Number. WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 237 which it is an element. ^ The very aUusion contained in the epithet applied by the writer now before us to God, whom he calls "the only bridegroom of pure souls," (twentieth oration,) conjoined with the doctrine that ab- solute purity is to be attained only by those who renounce marriage, could not but have the effect of diverting the minds of ordinary Christians from a genuine and spi- ritual conception of the divine nature. This substituted notion is the very egg of gnosticism, and it has made it- self the parent of all superstition. Better doctrine than this is met with in a much infe- rior writer, and one who was himself superstitious enough in his way, I mean Cyril of Jerusalem, who, •TTipt a-a/uixrocj kecps clear of extravagance on a subject where very few of his contemporaries could observe the bounds of moderation. It must also be admitted that the great man to whose praises Gregory devotes the above cited oration, although the principal mover and patron of the ascetic life, yet abstains from many of the reprehensible sentiments which abound in the writings of the Nicene age. Basil, far surpassing his brother Nyssen, and his friend Nazianzen, in substantial quali- ties, as well of the intellect as of the heart, may pro- perly be adduced as affording the most impressive ex- ample that can be imagined of the fatal tendency of the theology of the age, in perverting minds even of the highest order. Of Basil's superiority to most of his contemporaries — the superiority of sound sense, and right Christian feeling, we might well enough adduce, as instances, those frequent passages in which his papis- tical editors feel it necessary to attach a caute legendum to a paragraph — that is to say, to places where the wri- ter is seen to be rising above the superstitions of his 21 238 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE times. Such an instance we find in the Homily on thz Incarnation, where Basil, touching the topic that had been so poorly handled by Nyssen, and that was to be so abused by Augustine, treats, as of little practical im- portance, the very point which they, and others, laboured to establish as of ineffable moment and solemnity. Ne- vertheless, and amidst the frequent outbursts of a better reason and of a better faith, this great and devout man yields himself, like others, to that same gnostic notion of the divine character, of which the ascetic doctrine, and, particularly, the institute of celibacy, were the pro- per expressions. On what warrant of scripture does Basil dare to affirm that virginity is, " that which makes man resemble the incorruptible God?" Neither our Lord, nor the apostles, utter a word that gives even a colour to an anthropomorphous sentiment of this kind. The doctrine is, in fact, pure gnosticism : and the ine- Titable practical effect of it, is to impel the Christian to pursue an ideal, or Platonic, instead of a genuine and spiritual species of sanctity. I can suppose nothing less than that, while Basil and his contemporaries were treat- ing subjects of this class, the being they were thinking of was not the true God of the scriptures, but the incor- poreal First Mind, of the eastern theosophy. Let us then listen a moment to the bishop of Caesa- rea, and say, impartially, whether his style resembles most that of , Paul, Peter, John; or that of Saturninus, Basilides, Valentinian. It is not a few sentences, taken apart, that can convey a just impression of the writer's mind and feeling. I indulge the hope therefore that di> ligent and conscientious students will read for themselves the entire tract I am now referring to, De Vera Virgini- tate, (torn, i.) and satisfy themselves on the question, -which has become a very important one, Whether ths^ WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 239 Nicene church was, or was riot, fatally affected by the oriental poison: I would even stake the present argu- ment upon an examination of this very tract. *' A great (virtue) truly is virginity, which, to say all in a word, renders man like to the incorruptible God. And this (virginity) is not a something that goes forth from (springs from) the corporeal, until it reaches the soul, but belonging to the incorporeal soul, (the gnostic principle expressly) as a choice excellence, avails, by its own incorruptness, for preserving uncorrupt that which is corporeal. For the soul having conceived, and hold- ing to the idea of the true good, is wafted aloft in its ap- proaches toward it, as on the wing of this incorruptness (virginity,) and, as like to lilve, intently waiting upon the incorruptible God, brings up the virginity of the body as a ready and obsequious servant to assist it ever in the calm contemplation of the divine perfections; and for this pur- pose, and that it may admit, as in a pure mirror, the divine image, it dispels all those perturbing passions which af- fect our lower nature." Farther on, in the same treatise, De Vera Virginitate, the nun is said to strive to present herself to the incorporeal deity yvfj^vm, and unconscious of any pleasures attaching to the body? I can do nothing more, consistently, with the limits within which this branch of the argument must be restricted, than just point to the places where sentiments of this sort are to be met with in their expanded form. In the view of the general reader, who must accept this sort of evidence, as it is laid before him, my inferences may seem to be too slenderly connected with the facts, as adduced. Let them then be contradicted by those who have at com- mand the means of examining this evidence in the mass. Or, let the advocates of ancient Christianity favour the world by including among the "records of the church," 240 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE a translation, whole and entire, of this very treatise on the true virginity. It is of a piece with the false and gnostic notion of the mode of approacliing the Deity, as advanced by Basil, that this wise and holy man is found spending his strength upon the observances of factitious sanctity; and that, in a practical composition addressed directly to wo- men, he enters, with the most offensive particularity, into physical disquisitions and speculations of a kind not only totally unbecoming in a minister of religion, and marvellously improper as intended for a lady's ora- tory, but unconnected, in the remotest way, with the culture of that " true holiness" of which the apostles speak. But the two systems of virtue were wrought out of altogether diiferent elements. Basil, like Nazi- anzen and others, thinks himself called upon to enter a Christian lady's dressing-room, and there to give her re- ligious rules for the whole of her behaviour at the toi- let, gravely enjoining her, among sundry instructions equally important, in pity to the angels who visit her chamber, to use the utmost despatch in the necessary care of her hair, lest they, to their own peril, should look too long upon her dislievelled tresses! Then fol- lows the customary reference to Gen. vi. 2, our author having before warned the nun of preserving her bash- fulness, not merely when in the presence of men, but always, and in recollection of the " circumambient an- gels," from whose regards she could never withdraw herself. — (Tom. i. p. 747, of the Paris edition, 1618.) Now if we assume that these miserable and perni- cious refinements actually took effect, as they were likely to do, on the minds of sensitive and superstitious young women, could the result be any thing else than that of diverting the thoughts from whatever is truly spiritual WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 241 and genuine in piety, and putting in its place, a morbid solicitude concerning the person, so imaginative in its objects, and so voluptuous in its style, as to differ very little from the most dangerous species of prurience? A nunnery, fully brought under this sort of management, could become nothing better than a spiritual harem. Shall we then wish for our daughters, that, in place of the rational and truly apostolic instructions which they are receiving from modern Christian pastors, they should be consigned to the influence of divines, such as Basil, Nazianzen, Nyssen! Horrid thought! nevertheless from this utterly vicious system nothing could even now save us, if once we were to resolve to surrender ourselves to what we are taught to reverence as catholic teaching. "Catholic teaching!" Basil's treatise on virginity is ca- tholic teaching, and a perfectly fair specimen of tlie lan- guage and temper of the times. If any thing at all be catholic, that is to say, ancient and universal, the false gnostic theosophy of the ascetic institute is catholic. A few phrases, as I have said, can convey but a very imperfect impression of the spirit and tendency of a pro- lix treatise, and yet more copious quotations must em- brace what it would be an outrage to every right feeling to adduce. An unreserved translation of Basil — one of the best of the fathers, could it be tolerated, would as- tound the Christian world. 1 have affirmed that a reli- gious house of the times now in question, could be little better than a harem; if this imputation be resented, as it probably may, let the facts implied by Basil toward the close of the treatise I have cited, be taken as evidence that a modern Turkish seraglio, might be chosen as a preferable asylum for female virtue. Or if this evidence were not enough, I shall presently have to refer to pas- sages in Chrysostora and in Jerome, the plain import of 21* *242 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE which, making every reasonable allowance, will leave a decisive advantage to be claimed (or a pacha's palace, if compared with the nnc'ieni koivc^icv. To repress and exclude tlie abuses invariably attend- ant upon this vicious system, the great writers of the time laboured with indignant animation. But not even one of them, as it appears, set himself to call in question the principle upon which it rested, or inquired in what school that principle had l)een learned. So thoroughly had the feeling and-lhe notions of what I cannot scruple to call a baptized soofTeeism, pervaded the Christian com- munity, that no suspicion seems to have been entertained of the cheat which so early had put the Buddhist theo- sophy in tbe room of Christian theology — leaving to the church its dry ortliodoxy indeed, but hiding from it the genuine conception of the divine nature. In an argument such as the one now before us, it may be well to abstain from citing those writers whose repu- tation was in any way tarnished, or wiiose style is not in harmony with tiiat of tlie age they lived in; or if re- ferences of this kind are made, it should be only so far as these less esteemed authorities speak the language that was authenticated by tlieir better reputed contempo- raries, and which does but echo prevailing opinions. Now with these cautions in view, and after tlie most esteemed fathers, such as Basil, and the two Gregories, have been consulted on the subject of the angelic per- fection of the ascetic life, let the Hymns of Synesius be referred to. In these beautiful compositions (some of them) the oriental theosoj)hy, under whatever temporary designation it may pass, and whether it be called Bud- dhism, or sooffeeism, or Pythagorism, or Platonism, or gnosticism — this same doctrine, thinly spangled with Chrisli.an phrases, is clearly and boldly expressed. WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 243 These hymns then, as the productions of a man, albeit a bishop, and an associate of the great divines of the age, who at the time of his almost compulsory consecration, did not profess himself to be much better than half a Christian, could not fairly avail us, in argument, as le- gitimate evidence, if they did not find parallels in the best theological writings of the time. If indeed a cor- rect notion of gnosticism is to be gathered from the re- ports of Clement, Irenaeus, and Origen, this airy and seductive doctrine, utterly unlike Christian theology, is substantially imbodied in the Hymns of Synesius, leaving out indeed so much of its jargon, as must have shocked every Christian ear, and expressing just so much as might find its apology in the writings of the orthodox. This gnostic doctrine then, as advanced by the bishop of Cyrene, implies the total oblivion as well of man's real condition, as guilty and morally corrupt, and of the divine purity, opposed to this corruption, and the put- ting in the place of these truths, the Buddhist idea of the Father of souls, or ocean of mind, into which pure spi- rits, struggling away from matter, are at length to return. If the first and second hymn be compared with Basil's treatise on virginity, from which I have already made an extract, not merely a loose resemblance, but a close analogy must be acknowledged to connect the two wri- ters, in this instance; and if the bishop of Cyrene em- ploys a phrase or two which the bishop of Csesarea would perhaps have rejected, there is little or nothing to choose between the two, either as to principle, or ten- dency. Many turns of expression, occurring in the hymns of Synesius, might pass unnoticed by a modern reader who was not already apprized of the specific sense at- tached to such phrases in the contemporary gnostic ^44 CONNEXION OF THE ANCIENT CELIBATE schools. Some indeed of these modes of speaking would seem strange in the last degree, and utterly unwarrant- able: as for instance, when, addressing the Deity the poet says — but when we come to open the records of gnosticism, the real value, or, as it is called, the historic sense of these characteristic phrases presents itself clearly enough. Such are the terms — "root of the world," "root of roots," "fountain of fountains;" and the prosopopeias of "Wisdom," "Mind," "Generative Power," "Ce- lestial Silence," and the like. " The wave-troubled Hyle,"the " bright Morpha," the "Primogenitive Beau- ty," and the " daemon swarm which Nature hatches." And such too is the language in which Synesius lauds the abstractive life, which, as he says, "opens to the human spirit a way of return to the upper sphere" (lan- guage almost identical with that of Basil; see particularly the close of the second hymn; or of the tliird) and he prays that, until he shall be permitted to lose himself again in the "ocean of ligiit," and while compelled to submit to the trammels of the corporeal state, he may at least be aided in leading a life as exempt as possible from human affections, and from all contact with the soul-depressing Hyle. With these aspirations of the lofty mystic, it is rather curious to compare the temper and conduct of the real Synesius — the palpable bishop of Cyrene, who does not dissemble the fact that he would fain have relieved the tedium of his corporeal existence, now and then, by the jocund pleasures of the chase. If an elaborate disquisition on this important feature of ancient Christianity were in hand (instead of a hasty WITH THE NICENE THEOLOGY. 245 allnsion to it, which is all 1 can attempt) the hymns of Synesius might very properly be taken as the text of the argument; with these, adduced at length, should then be compared the entire extant specimens of the language of the professedly gnostic teachers— Syrian and Egyp- tian. Next should follow, what might easily be collect- ed, a copious collection of passages from the Nicene writers, presenting, not merely innumerable coincidences of expression, but many real analogies, of doctrine, and near approximations in feeling; and all tending, in the same direction, to establish, beyond a doubt, the fact, that the oriental theosophy, while formally repelled by the orthodox church, had silently worked its way into all minds; uttering itself in the various modes of mystic exaggeration, and condensing its practical import within the usages of the ascetic system. The massive walls of the church, like a hastily constructed coffer-dam, had re- pelled, from age to age, the angry billows of the gnostic heresy, which could never open a free passage for them- selves within the saered enclosure. Nevertheless these waters, bitter and turbid, no sooner rose high around the shattered structure, than, through a thousand fissures, they penetrated, and in fact stood at one and the same mean level, within, where they were silently stagnant, as without, where they were in angry commotion. Dare we say that, at rest, they worked themselves either clear or sweet? II. Connexion of the Celibate with the Notions ENTERTAINED OF THE ScHEME OF SALVATION. We have in the next place to inquire in what way and to what extent, the principle and practice of re- 246 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE ligious celibacy affected, as well the doctrine as the sen- timent of the ancient church, in regard to the scheme of salvation, and the means of the divine mercy toward man, as depraved, and as liable to condemnation. There is surely some prominent truth which broadly distinguishes Christianity, as compared with every other religious system, and which may be taken as its leading characteristic; nor can we hesitate to name, as such, the mode it propounds for restoring mankind, guilty and pol- luted, to the divine favour — a scheme utterly unlike any which man has devised for himself. Every thing else, belonging to the gospel, may find, elsewhere, its faint resemblance, or its imperfect rudiment: but this doctrine is the prerogative of the inspired writings; ob- scurely, yet substantially unfolded in the Old, fully and brightly set forth in the New Testament. By emphasis, this doctrine of mercy, however variously expressed, or peculiarly expounded in different schools of divinity, is called — the Gospel; for it is the happy news which God only could announce; which man never had surmised, and which, although so worthy as it is of all accepta- tion, he has perversely shown himself, in every age, marvellously slow to apprehend, apt to lose sight of, and prompt to embarrass or deny. In the present instance, as I am anxious to avoid, on the one hand, the style and method of a philosophical or generalized disquisition, so on the other, I would gladly refrain from the specific, or technical language of a theo- logical or polemical treatise; keeping close to what is proper to a plain historical inquiry concerning facts which may be unquestioiKibly established by an appeal to evidence. But, avoiding every phrase that has ac- quired a controversial sense, and every mode of expres- sion that may recall the "confession" of this, that, or SCHEME OF SALVATION, 247 the other religious party, one may surely speak of the characteristic principle of Christianity, in terms such as, without being vague, shall carry the concurrence of all devout and intelligent readers of the scriptures. Is not, then, the gospel a message of mercy — free, full in its provisions, and sovereign — a message implying that all men are, in this regard, on a level in the sight of God, and that that which is indispensable to the salvation of the most flagitious offenders, is not the less indispensable to that of the most amiable and harmless? Is not the gospel ONE METHOD OF SALVATION, Sufficient and effica- cious for the worst — necessary for the best? Does not the gospel (if indeed it be understood,) carry with it as thorough a lesson of humiliation to one proud heart, as to another? Does it not bring with it as much, and as sure a consolation to one guilty heart, as to another? Does it not convince all men aliiie, of sin, and of moral impotency? Does it not confirm all (if indeed it be ac- cepted,) in the same good hope of acceptance, and of being regarded as now no longer aliens, but as sons, and as fellow-heirs with Christ? In whatever way other religious schemes, that have prevailed in the world, may be classified, they all stand at an equal distance from Christianity, in regard to its peculiarity and its glory, its doctrine of justification, through faith: some of these schemes may, indeed, ap- proach it more nearly than others, as to its morality: some seem to come within the penumbra of the light which it sheds upon the unseen world; some consist better than others with the temporal well-being of man;— but all occupy a ground immeasurably remote from that on which the gospel takes its stand. All difier from Chris- tianity, in this respect, just as night differs from day; and whether the night be rendered magnificent by millions of stars, or be overcast with the thickest clouds. MS CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE If at any time a comparison be instituted between true religion and false religion, taken absolutely, it may barely be worth the labour it may cost, to distinguish among the several kinds of the latter; inasmuch as all come nearly to the same practical result; the best, as well as the worst, leaving man uncomforted in the pro- spect of futurity, and unamended, in his heart and life. But when, as now, our intention is to make inquiry concerning the particular corruptions which true religion has undergone, in the lapse of ages, it then becomes ne- cessary to distinguish, and to classify a little, those se- veral forms of error which have successively overlaid the truth, one by one; or several in conjunction. Such a discrimination is absolutely requisite, (as all protestants admit) in relation to Romanism, which so strangely and so admirably combines the main principles of every an- terior false religion. Nor shall we find it, really, less requisite in following up to their sources, those fatal errors of the ancient church, which gradually ripened into Ro- manism. All religions have been of Asiatic origin; and (the true now not considered) they resolve themselves easily into two great principles, conveniently designated by the historical terms Buddhism, and Brahminism. The in- fluence of the former, in its more recent garb, as gnosti- cism, we have already adverted to; and especially in so far as it gave birth to, and sustained, the abstractive ascetic practice, and the doctrine of the angelic virtue of virgi- nity. We shall next have to trace the operation, latent indeed, but unquestionable, of the Brahminical principle, combining itself with the former; and the two, hostile as ihey were east of the Indus, blending together, most amicably, within the precincts of the Christian church. This blended Buddhism and Brahminism is, in a word, SCHEME OF SALVATION. 249 the ancient monkery, at once abstractive and penitential. How shall wretched man return to virtue and happi- ness? The Buddhist, the Soofiee, the Pythagorean, the gnostic, replied — By extricating the imperishable spirit from its connexion with matter, the eternal source of evil; and by merging itself anew in the eternal, univer- sal good. The characteristic of this scheme, under all its varieties, is its total disregard of the moral derange- ment of human nature; or rather, we should say, its view of moral evil as a m.ere accident, and a temporary consequence of natural evil. In its practical instruc- tions, therefore, it insisted more upon mental abstraction, silence, simplicity of diet, and celibacy, than upon any positive austerities, or propitiatory rites: sin, man's mis- fortune, not fault, did not need ta be expiated. But the Brahminical doctrine took up the other ele- ment of theology; and along with its terrible array of divinities, most of them vindictive, and all invested with human qualities, it propounded a system of propitiation, and concerned itself immediately with the moral senti- me7it, and wrought upon the conscience: it addressed it- self more to the fears, than to the hopes of which the human mind is alternately the sport: it admitted man to be guilty, and in danger of wrath; it was, therefore, san- guinary, gloomy, sumptuous, and elaborate in ceremo- nial, popular in its aspect, rather than philosophical, and of unbounded potency, involving as it did, and having at its command, all the terrors that wait upon guilt; so that it could enforce the most revolting, and the most excruciating practices of immolation, and of self-torture. In the name of the gods, the avengers of crime, it could command the trembling wretch — its victim, to inflict upon himself, or to sustain, whatever pains he might imagine his angrv judge to be prepared to inflict upon * 22 250 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE him. If we would see the two oriental systems, and each characteristically imbodied, ("ne might say disim- bodied, for each leaves to man barely a shadow of his entire constitution) we should only have to look, on the one hand, to the dreaming soofTee, lost to sense and na- tural affection, an idiot sage, or, as one might say, a metaphysic vegetable, just alive, where he sits; and on the other side, to the Hindoo fakir, crucified without a cross, his nails piercing his palms; the martyr of con- science, and grasped by the despair of guilt. The church of Rome has, without scruple, adopted, intimately blended, and refined, these two schemes of religion; and after having formally and tacitly, dogma- tically and practically, excluded the gospel, it has pro- vided itself with a circuitous, and somewhat complex reply to the question which the alarmed conscience is ever and again propounding. Its answer to the ques- tion — " What must a man do to be saved?" involves something of Buddhism, and more of Brahminism; it takes up tlie gnostic physical abstraction, and the philo- sophic sanctity, and this it offers to its elite, the elevated^ impassioned, and devotional few: and then it takes up the moral element of religion, and deals in penances, macerations, flagellations, masses, confessions, absolu- tions, purgatorial expiations, and the vicarious offices of the clergy, and of the saints, of the dead, and of the living; and this compound it offers to the rabble of man- l^ind — the debauched and trembling multitude, who, as the long dreaded time comes, when nothing better can be thought of, thankfully accept from the priests' hands, any salvation that is offered to them, and on any terms. In thinking of popery, we should never lose sight of its two blended elements — its Buddhism, and its Brah- SCHEME OF SALVATION. 251 minisra — its abstractive, and its expiatory principles — its provision for the few, and its provision for the many. Both ingredients are brought to bear, as in a focus, upon the monastic institute, of which, celibacy, the prime article, stood chiefly related to the first of them ; while the practices of mortification and penance were related to the second. The perfect monk, ' the angel upon earth,' such as we find him elaborately depicted by the great church writers from Basil to Bernard, was at once, and in nearly equal proportions, the sooffee, and the fakir ; the enthusiast, and the fanatic ; the sublime theo- sophist, and the bleeding, weeping, whining or puling raartyr of a darkened conscience. But alas! it is not alone of the superstition of the middle ages that we have thus to speak ; for ancient Christianity — the universally accredited system of the Nicene age, blends, in the like manner, though with less compactness, the two ingredients of the natural religion of mankind ; and while it was most explicitly gnostic, in its temper and sentiments, was also Brahminical, as well in doctrine as in practice. If, with the great divines of the fourth century around us, we plainly put the question to one, and all — " How shall guilty man approach the just and holy God, and how secure his favour?" the prompt and formal answer, no doubt will be — " By humbly accepting the redemp- tion procured for mankind by the Saviour Christ, and conveyed through the hands of the church." But then this reply is ordinarily couched in very indefinite terms; and when we come to repeat our demand, and to pursue it as a practical question, then the more exact answer given, by one and all, is to this efi'ect — " First, that man may place himself near to God, and may anticipate, on earth, the absolute virtue and felicity of heaven, by 252 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE removing himself, as far as possible, from the inimical vhi with which, in the present state, he is implicated; and with this view, that is to say, if he would be perfect, he must regard the preservation of an inviolate virginity as the great business of piety; and then, thus far ex- empted from the conditions of animal life, he must addict himself to lofty meditations of the divine attributes: or, to use the very words of Chrysostom, " That the soul clisengaged from its trammels and all earthly thoughts, should wing its way to its home, and its native soil." But secondly, that, in order to regain and secure the favour of God, man must propitiate his offended judge, and take into his own hands, in the present life, that discipline of chastisement which he so well merits, and may so justly expect as his due. Now, in this latter point of view, celibacy has its use, as the necessary condition of that mode of life which leaves a man at full leisure to practise the whole round of expiatory and abstersive austerities. How should the married and the busy get through, from day to day, with the heavy work of penance? Such, in substance, was the ancient theo- logy, and the piety of tlie Nicene church! Within this system, therefore, religious celibacy was at once the expression of gnostic feelings (as we have seen) and the condition, or the preliminary of a course of penance and expiation. Yet let it not for a moment be supposed that the Nicene church, or that the great writers of that age, either for- mally denied, or failed frequently to mention, the great doctrine of the remission of sins, granted through the means of the sacrifice once offered on the cross. The ancient church no more denied this doctrine, than it re- jected orthodoxy; nevertheless the relative position into %yhich it had been suffered to subside, was such as in SCHEME OF SALVATION. 253 fact involved a loss of its vital influence: it no longer presented its radiating surface towards the consciences of men. The experience of eighteen centuries might surely now suffice for convincing the church that, to secure the efficacy of the gospel, something more is requisite than a formal acknowledgment of a set of dogmas; and that the relative position of great principles, as foremost, or as hindermost, is the very circumstance on which de- pends their taking any effect upon the human mind. All systems, professedly Christian, agree in representing holiness, or an inwrought conformity to the moral cha- racter of God, as the end and substance of piety; and the difference between system and system turns upon the answer that is given to the question •'How (as to the process) is this lioliness to be effected?" Tlie gospe], and this is its characteristic, makes the free and absolute remission of sins, and an immediate reconciliation to God, through the mediation of Christ, the spring-prin- ciple, or motive of morality. To him who would be 7iear God, and to him who w^ould be like God, it says-— «' Behold the Lamb of God, that taketii away the sin of the world." This is the gospel method of holiness. Reconciled to God, and enjoying the privileges of chil- dren, the Spirit of holiness dwells in the hearts of be- lievers, as a purifying influence. But, if, instead of putting the doctrine of justification, and reconciliation, and of the free and absolute remission of sins, foremost, as the source and cause of genuine re- ligious feeling, and real virtue, we put an ill-digested, half-philosophic, half-hindoo, notion of sanctity, fore- most, and if we bend our endeavours toward it, as the main object, then, w'hatever profession we may make of faith in Christ, our motives will have none of the vitali- 22* 254 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE ty, or of the force of Christian holiness. The sun is not indeed driven from the heavens, in such a system; but it is eclipsed; and the Christian, for such we must still call him, droops, becomes pallid, gloomy, supersti- tious, timid, punctilious; a trembling attendant upon rites, a perfunctory practitioner of ceremonies — fretting, fasting, upbraiding himself, impatient of earth, afraid to hope for heaven, and feeling like the dyspeptic patient who, in his troubled dreams, thinks himself to be labour- ing to mount a ladder, or to ascend a flight of steps ; and yet, with all his painful efforts, not rising an inch from the ground. Such is the sad condition of those in whose spiritual perspective the truths which should occupy the foreground, are seen in the distance; — they are indeed seen; but it is as " afar off," and as a cold glimmer. In the perspective of ancient Christianity, personal sanctity stood in front of the doctrine of justification by faith (or the doctrine, by whatever phrase it may be de- signated, which is the characteristic of the gospel) and so far obscured it: but tliis was not all; for, in front of this very doctrine of personal sanctity, stood the gnostic notion of angelic perfection, or virginity: thus was there effected a double eclipse of the light of the gospel. If the question had been put — " "What is a Christian's aim?" and it had been replied — " To be holy;" and again, " How may he become holy in the most absolute manner?" the answer was — " By avoiding the contami- nations of matrimony, and by refraining, on earth, from that which the angels are denied in heaven — the marry- ing, and the being given in marriage." Of what avail then would it be to prove, by multiplied citations, that the doctrine of the remission of sins, and of justification, in some ambiguous sense of the term, was firmly held by the ancient church? Let reasonable men ask them- SCHEME OF SALVATION. 255 selves whether the gospel, such as we find it in the in- spired writings, could possibly consist with, or could be efficacious, as a body of motives, in combination with notions such as these? Is the doctrine of the atonement, and of a full remis- sion of sins, thereby procured, a doctrine of universal application, or is it not? Have all men equal need of it; or is it only a desperate resource, left for those who have unhappily failed to secure heaven for themselves in a more direct, honourable, and legitimate manner? This question is a vital one in relation to Christianity, and on the answer that may be given to it, whether our reply be formal or tacit, turns the entire character of our piety. Let then this question be repeated in any such pointed manner as may seem the most likely to bring it conclusively to an issue. All allow that the thief on the cross must have been saved by a sovereign extension, toward him, of that mercy, the means of which were, at that m.oment, being secured by the suffering Saviour. But if the " beloved disciple " had been dragged to Cal- vary, along with his Master, and if, as might have hap- pened, he had occupied the right-hand cross, would he too have been saved by the same means as the thief, and on the very same principle? Or, had he already reached, by merit of virginity, and by the purity of his man- ners, such a proximity to the divine holiness, as that he needed nothing but just to drop the encumbrance of the flesh, and to find himself at case before the eternal throne? We surely should not gather any such suppo- sition as this from his own language, when he says of the Saviour that "He is the propitiation for our sins." But now there would be no end to our citations, were we to adduce all, or a third of those passages from the fathers in which the celibate, when held to in the strict- ^56 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE est manner, is spoken of as a mode of life differing from that of the angels in heaven, neither in purity, nor in security; and only so far in felicity, as resulted from the conditions of mortality: " drop the flesh, and then the monk, or the virgin nun, is at once a seraph!" That no such passage might be produced, I will not affirm, but certainly I have met with not so much as one, in which the inviolate virgin is spoken of as being, like others, even like any repentant Magdalene, de])endent altogether for salvation upon the vicarious merits of the Saviour. Allowing, however, that some such passage might be hunted up, yet assuredly it is not the usual style of the great church writers of the Nicene age. Certainly this way of putting the case, in relation to the monk and virgin, is not characteristic of " catholic teaching." Catholic teaching runs in a contrary direction, and the clear import of it is to this practical effect — That, to have exiiorted a "spotless nun," in lier last hour, to look to the atonement, as the only ground of hope for a dying sinner (or saint) would have been a very inappro- priate, unseemly, and even offensive sort of interference with the honour and comfort she was entitled to: and would have been an insult, like thrusting an obolus into the palm of a Croesus. I boldly ask any one competent to give me a reply, whether herein I misrepresejit the general character of ancient catholic teaching; and if not, tlien I ask, appeal- ing, not merely to the few, who m.ay be able to turn to the patristic folios, but to the right-minded Christian world at large, whether the first element of the gospel was not effectually and fatally compromised by an iii- islitute which, in practice, superseded the "only hope" that " maketh not ashamed?" At this point we touch that article of discrimination — SCHEME OF SALVATIOX. 257 that test wliicli exhibits the difference between aposto- lic, and Nicene Christianity. Does Paul, when, either obliquely or directly, he expresses his personal hope of heaven, so speak as to imply that he looked to be ac- quitted, accepted, and saved, on any other principle than that which he would have urged upon a penitent prodi- gal, called, at an hour's warning, to appear before God? We confidendy assume that the apostle who, if any ever have understood Christianity, understood it, was used to make no distinctions whatever between man and man, when persuading all to "lay hold of the hope set before them in the gospel." But how different is the style of the doctors of the Nicene and following age! Then, a spiritual aristocracy had grown up within the church; and those of this class who could profess that their celestial escutcheons were shamed by no spot — these, if never plainly told that they stood above the range of the gospel scheme of sal- vation, were seldom, if ever told, that they could claim no exemption, and were entitled to no prerogative, and must be saved, if at all, even as others. What then! after all her conflicts with nature, all her tears and fast- ings, must the spotless virgin, the spouse of Christ, submit, at the last, to the humiliation of standing along with the married, on the same level, needing mercy, even as others? alas! if it comes to this, has she not driven a poor trade? Those can know very little of the human heart who can believe that monks and nuns, talked to as they con- stantly were by their spiritual guides, and told that, be- cause virgins in body and soul, they stood as near to God as flesh and blood can stand — that these victims of delusion could, nevertheless, be humbly and contrite- ly relying, as sinners, upon the propitiatory work of 258 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE Christ. It was not so in fact; no such spirit breathes through the extant records of monkish piety, here and there we gladly catch a faint gleam of sunshine, as in a wintry and watery day; but monkish piety, on the whole, was nothing better than what we must expect to meet with, as the proper fruit of this " catholic teaching." Catholic teaching! let us hear a little of it; and, for a sample, take the portrait of a spotless nun, as drawn by the master hand of Chrysostom himself: and be it re- membered, we are not now about to gaze upon the blind pharisee, whose lips, life, and manners, said to all around him — " Stand by, I am holier than thou;" but upon an ideal of Christian perfection, conceived and expressed by one who, irrespective of his high station in the church, has always been granted to stand forward as the prince of the fathers. The passage I am about to quote is taken from a tract to which I must again refer: it was composed by Chry- sostom, with the hope of repressing the infamous prac- tice against which, as we have seen, Cyprian, long be- fore, and in another quarter of the cliurch, had vehe- mently protested, namely, that of nuns cohabiting with men, and which tract, with its companion, addressed to monks, contains admissions and exposures which one must have thought exaggerations, if they were not borne out by concurrent testimony. But let the archbishop's immaculate nun step upon the stage. Our author had just told the nun that, like cherubim and seraphim, she and her order, constituted, not the attendants of the eternal King, but his very chariot.* * In quoting Chrysostom 1 shall refer to the volume and page of the recent Paris reprint of the Benedictine edition, which is perhaps as likely as any other to be accessible to the studious reader. The above occurs, torn. i. p. 321. SCHEME OF SALVATION. 259 " The virgin, when she goes abroad, should present herself as the bright specimen ^^«x^« of all philosophy; and strike all with amazement, as if now an angel had de- scended from heaven; or just as if one of the cherubim had appeared upon earth, and were turning the eyes of all men upon himself. So should all those who look upon the virgin be thrown into admiration, and stupor, at the sight of her sanctity. And when she advances, she moves as through a desert; or when she sits at church, it is with the profoundest silence, her eye catches no- thing of the objects around her; she sees neither wo- men nor men; but her Spouse only; and he, as if pre- sent and apparent; and then retiring to her home, there again she communes with him, in prayers, and his voice alone she listens to, in the scriptures; and of him there she thinks, whom she desires and loves; and whatever she does, it is as a pilgrim and a stranger, to whom things present are as nothing. Not only does she hide herself from the eyes of men, but avoids the society of secular women also. The body she takes care of only so far as necessity compels her, while she bestows all her regards upon the soul: and who shall not marvel at her? who shall not be in ecstasy, in thus beholding the angelic life, imbodied in a female form? And who is it that shall dare approach her? Where is the man who shall venture to touch this flaming spirit? Nay rather, all stand aloof, willing or unwilling; all are fixed in amazement, as if there were before their eyes a mass of incandescent and sparkling gold! Gold hath indeed by nature its splendour; but when saturate with fire, how admirable, nay even fearful is it! And thus, when a soul such as this occupies the body, not only shall the spec- tacle be wondered at by men, but even by angels." Miserable teaching this, whether catholic or not. How 260 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE could the subject of any such rhapsody, if any might actually have thought herself the archetype of the pic- ture, how could she imagine herself obliged to listen, like others, to the humbling doctrine of the cross? But such as was the teaching and the system, such were its practical effects; and it is remarkable that, for an inge- nuous statement of these effects, we need go no farther than to the two tracts above named; for actually within the distance of a page or two from the place where this *' lump of molten gold" dazzles tlie eye, we find de- scriptions barely fit to be translated, of the ordinary night-scenes in a Constanlinopolitan convent, or, more properly, ecclesiastical fxa-wf-.Truv. Could noliiing lead so wise and good a man as Chrysostom to entertain the suspicion that the church had, in this instance at least, utterly misunderstood the purport and spirit of the gos- pel? Under another head of this present argument, I shall feel it unavoidable to revert to the two connected tracts, from one of which the above-cited passage is taken : leaving, therefore, its context untouched at present — per- tinent though it be, I will here only observe that the quo- tation is a sample, one among hundreds, nay thousands, which might be easily produced, of a fault generally characteristic of the great writers (and the small writers) of the ancient church — I mean the propensity to magni- fy and glorify what is merely human; in fact, to worship and to deify the creature, more than the Creator; that is to say, so to magnify human virtue, as that, upon the general field of the people's view, the encomium of man subtends a larger angle, than the praises of God, and of his Christ. Do not the fatliers then worship God.' do they not adore the Son of God? Assuredly: but when they muster all the forces of their eloquence, when SCHEME OF SALVATION. 261 they catch fire, and swell, as if inspired, whenever (I must be permitted to make the allusion, for it is really appro- priate,) whenever they take their seat upon the tripod and begin to foam, the subject of the rhapsody is sure to be — " a blessed martyr," it may be an apostle; or a re- cently departed " doctor," or, " a virgin confessor;" or it is the relics of such a one, and the miraculous virtues of his sacred dust. If, in turning over these folios, the eye is any where caught by the frequency of interjec- tions, such a page is quite as likely to be found to spar- kle and flash with the commendations of the mother of God, or of her companion saints, as with the praises of the Son; and more often does the flood-tide of eloquence swell with the mysterious virtues of the sacraments, than with the power and grace of the Saviour. The Saviour does indeed sit enthroned within the veil of the Christian temple; but what the Christian populace hear most about, is — the temple itself, and its embroideries, and its gildings, and its ministers, and its rites, and the saints that fill its niches. In a word, what was visible, and what was human, stood in front of what is invisible and divine; and when we find a system of blasphemous idolatry fully expanded in the middle ages, this system cannot, in any equity, be spoken of as any thing else than a following out of the adulatory rhapsodies of the great writers and preachers of the Nicene church. Of this impious adulation the martyrs and confessors were the first objects; and then came those "terrestrial seraphs," the monks and virgins. The ancient church, well knowing its real and vast superiority, on all grounds •of theological truth, and moral principle, as compared with the polytheistic world, or with the schools of phi- losophy, and yet trampled to the dust, and contemned, 23 262 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE and exposed to humiliations, such as human nature very seldom well sustains, sought to right itself, as far as it could, by indulging in exaggerations of every kind; and no sooner did it get the upper hand of its enemies, that is to say — its abstract Enemy, and its personal persecu- tors in every particular vicinity, than it gave vent to its stifled pride and resentment, in torrents of adulatory congratulation, in the hurry of which the glory of God stood in abeyance, while the vindicatory praises of man were to be uttered. In advancing this general allegation, I must decline to appeal, for support, to those who, by a long and fond converse with Christian antiquity, and by mere familia- rity with its style, have ceased to feel what others would most painfully be conscious of; but I am w'iliing to be judged by any well-informed persons, of sound and unda- maged mind, who, fraught witli genuine Christian senti- ments, and hitherto unacquainted with the writers in question, shall look through the orations of the most noted of them, such, I mean, as Chrysostom, Basil, the two Cregories, Jerome, and Augustine. On what oc- casions then do these great orators and doctors kindle and glow? When is it that they exhaust the powers of language, and return upon their tiieme, as if they could never think that they had done it justice? Is it when they are holding forth, before the multitude, the glory of the Saviour of sinners? Is it when they are blowing the silver trumpet of mercy, in the hearing of the guilty? Alas! it is not so. The Saviour, not denied indeed, but not glorified, is left, by these orators, to sleep in the hinder part of the ship: or he is imprisoned in the creeds and liturgies of the church, while commendations, which Grecian and Roman sages would equally have loathed to have pronounced, and have blushed to have received. SCHEME OF SALVATION. 263 are lavished upon the heroes of the church and its an- chorets. Are these representations fair or not? I appeal to those who will go with fresh and modern Christian feel- ings, into the company of the fathers. But if the facts be such as I allege, will any pretend that an unaffected and heart-stirring proclamation of the gospel — the glad tidings of mercy, free, and adapted to all men's accep- tation, was likely to consist with so much bombast and frippery, about the merits, miracles, and virtues of the shoals of saints that burden the calendar? Two such abhorrent elements will never coalesce; and if the church must and will have her demi-gods, to adorn her state in the eyes of the prostrate multitude, she must even fore- go the presence of her Lord. A dry, polemic orthodoxy, severed from the gospel, is the doctrinal description of ancient Christianity: and I here refuse to be put to silence by any who shall re- turn the phrase " the gospel," upon me, as if I used it in the cant sense of this, or that, modern sect; and as if it conveyed some restricted and special scheme of doc- trine. By the gospel, I mean nothing more or less than the frank declaration of God's mercy to guilty man, as- suring to him, through faith in Christ, the full and ab- solute remission of his sins, and an exemption from "all condemnation," and fear of wrath. I do not affect to speak as a theologian; nor care to cut and trim the phrases I may employ, so as shall make them square with this or that "confession." Does the Bible offer no broad and universally intelligible sense, even on the most momentous subjects? If it do, then it does so in conveying, to the troubled conscience, a message of joy — authentic, simple, efficacious, and such as subdues the grateful heart to obedience. 264 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE — Now, meaning this by — the gospel, I affirm that, from beginning to end of the patristic remains, the clear- ness and brightness of the message of mercy is obscured, its simplicity encumbered, and its efficacious power al- most entirely nullified. In entering the awful and gor- geous edifice of the ancient church, one's feelings are very much such as might belong to a descent into some stalactite cavern, the grim magnificence of which is never cheered by the life-giving beams of heaven; for there is no noon there — no summer. The wonders of the place must be seen by the glare of artificial light; human hands carry hither and thither a blaze, which confounds ob- jects, as much as reveals them, and which fills the place more with fumes than with any genial influence. In this dim theatre forms stand out of more than mortal mien, as if a senate of divinities had here assembled; but approach them — all is hard, cold, silent. Drops are thickly distilling from the vault; nay, every stony icicle that glistens in the light, seems as if endued with peni- tence, or as if contrition were the very temper of the place: but do these drops fertilize the ground on which they fall? No, they do but trickle a moment, and then add stone to stone — chill to chill. Does the involuntary exclamation break from the bosom in such a place — Surely this is the very gate of heaven! Rather one shud- ders with the apprehension that one is entering the sha- dows of the valley of death; and that the only safety is in a quick return to the upper world. Negations and deficiencies are not easily to be set forth, in any o'f the usual modes of adducing evidence; nor is it to be supposed that the general allegation of a want of that element which makes the gospel, a gospel, as attaching to ancient Christianity, could be established by the citation of a few passages collected here and SCHEME OF SALVATION. 265 there. The fact alleged, presents itself to a rightly prin- cipled mind, in passing up and down through the patris- -ic theology. What we ought to meet with in Christian writers, we do not find; or find it seldom, and find it overlaid, and find it wrought up with neutralizing ingre- dients. I will, however, endeavour to put a clue into the hand of the diligent student, which may enable him, with less labour than otherwise, to verify or to correct the averment here made, namely. That the religious ce- libacy of the ancient church, springing as it did from a gnosticised theology, excluded, or did not in fact consist with, that clear, cordial, efficacious, announcement of God's free mercy to a guilty world, through the propi- tiating work of Christ, which is the characteristic of the inspired scriptures, and which it has pleased God to re- vive, more or less fully, in the modern church. It is this heart-stirring preaching of Christ (no imputation of em- ploying the phrase in a sectarian sense, shall deter me from the just use of it) it is this which makes Christianity a living doctrine; and it is this, of which we find but faint and feeble indications, look where we may, among the early writers. Between a dialectic and partisan orthodoxy on the one hand, and on the other, a mystification of the sacraments, and a stern, or fanatical asceticism, the gospel nearly disappears. Those who have known what it is, with a hand, warm with health, to take within their own the hand of a corpse, know how the chill ascends to the heart, and enters the soul. Of this sort is the feeling with which, if the mind be quick- ened by scriptural piety, it makes its first acquaintance with the body of ancient Christianity. A sample or two of each of those kinds of evidence of which the present subject is susceptible, I shall now adduce; such, for instance, as formal statements of be- 23* 2G6 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE lief — expositions of scripture — panegyrics of distin- guished individuals, and accidental expressions of reli- gious feeling. Of the first, we may take the following *' Short Summary of Christian Belief," conveying the faith of the accomplished Boethius, an orthodox, whe- ther or not a Christian writer. This compendium, ** Brevis Fidei Christiana; Complexio," aficr defining the Athanasian doctrine, as opposed to the several chief heresies of the times, goes on with an historical enume- ration of the leading facts of Christianity, up to the mo- ment of our Lord's ascension, and the commission given the apostles, to evangelize the world, and then adds, *' and whereas the human race, by tlie demerit of its na- ture, derived to it from the fault of the first sinner, had become pierced with the darts of eternal punishment, nor was suflicient for its own cure, (or salvation) having lost it in its progenitor, He (Christ) granted to it certain REMEDIAL SACRAMENTS, to the end that it (the human race) might acknowledge the diflerence between what it merited by nature, and what it received by gift of grace; and that, as nature could bring punishment only, grace, not called grace if granted to merit, might furnish what- ever appertains to salvation." Such is the sum of the gospel, according to Boethius, who adds not a word more concerning the scheme of mercy. It may be said that he affirms salvation to be by grace, not merit, but what are the channels or the expressions of tiiis grace of heaven? Nothing else than the remedial sacraments, in duly accepting which, from the hand of the priest, guilty men receive all that they have any need to think of; just as if the sacraments were potent drugs, or chemical antidotes, infallibly dis- persing the poison inherited from Adam! But was that which animated the labours of the apostles, in traversing SCHEME OF SALVATION. 2G7 kingdoms, and in crossing seas to proclaim the nnsearch- nble riches of Christ, was it, in fact — to impart the sa- craments, and to open, in every country, genuine dis- pensaries of these panaceas for guilt and wo? There may be those who will not hesitate to reply in the affir- mative, and who, with the Pauline epistles before them, will nevertheless profess their belief that, to give men every where a ready access to the two sacraments, was the object and completion of Paul's unwearied labours. There are those who will say this. TJiank God there are multitudes who have read their Bibles to better pur- pose, and who, while happily ignorant of ancient, under- stand something of apostolic, Christianity. When a question is in progress concerning the alleged absence of some important element of truth, there is a convenience, at least, in referring to small, and yet com- prehensive tracts, which may soon be sifted. Now, with this view, we might take up again the often-quoterl commonitorium of Vincent of Lerins. The writer's in- tention, and a commendable one, plainly was, to afford to a Christian man the ready and certain means of an- swering, for himself, the momentous question — " Am I right in matters of faith?" — " am I on the road that leads to heaven?" And with this view he offers rules, well condensed, and carefully guarded, by application of which, in every particular instance of doubt, a Christian may discriminate between catholic truth, and heretical pravity, or, which is the same thing, novelty. But now the whole of this criterion of doctrine turns upon the perfection of triniiarianism; not a hint is dropped, any where, that there are other principles essential to Chris- tianity, after the Nicene faith has been duly secured. A reader of this tract is left to suppose that, if he do but hold the doctrine of the trinity, '' uncorrupt and entire^" 268 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE nothing farther is wanting to him: — he is then a Chris- tian — he is witiiin the pale of the church, and as safe as all are on board a ship which is destined to reach her port. An orthodoxy purely logical, and which turns upon nicely trimmed phrases, came in the place of the entire Christianity of the apostolic writings. Vincent's catholicity has no more warmtli, no more vitality, in it than Aristotle's Ethics; nay, is really much less likely to generate sentiments of virtue. There is not in this treatise a paragraph, or a sentence animated by a refer- ence to tlie rich mercy of God in the gospel. We iind the honours of the Mother of God — the Theotocos, care- fully aiTirmed; but very little is said of the glory of Christ as the Saviour of the world. Be it observed then, that, while a dry and verbal trinitarianism M'ould well eno\igh hold its place by the side of a gnosticised and ascetic ethical system, the life-giving gospel, speak- ing peace to the troubled conscience, and supplying the motives of true holiness, in the doctrine of jusiificatioii by faith, this doctrine, which sets Christianity in utter contrariety to every other scheme of religion, has never consisted, can never consist with, any modification of the ascetic system: and in fact, the evangelical glory faded from tl.e view of the ancient churcli at the moment when the oriental philosophy lodged itself within its bosom: from that time forward the condition of tiie church was such as might very aptly be described in the language which Vincent himself applies to certain half heretics — "half dead, half alive, who have swallowed just such a quantity of poison as neither kills them, nor may be digested, nor com.pels them to die, nor suffers them to live." It must by no means be imagined that the early decay 3nd the disappearance, at length, of the evangelic energy SCHEME OF SALVATION. 2G9 from the church, is attributable solelv^ or primarily, to the ascetic doctrine, and to the celibacy which it en- joined. To preclude any such supposition, which, in being dispelled, might seem to weaken my argument, I must, in passing, advert to the easily established fact, that this decay had commenced before the time when the ascetic practice had very perceptibly wrought its own effect upon the opinions and sentiments of the Christian body. By itself indeed it was enough (when fully expanded) to exclude the vital element of Christi- anity; but this element had already been edged off, by little and little, from the theological system, under the operation of several other causes; one of the chief of which, plainly, was the circumstance that Christianity, as early, at the latest, as the middle of the second cen- tury, had fallen into the hands, and thenceforward re- mained under the guardianship, of astute dialecticians, and wordy sophists, thoroughly trained in the intellec- tual gymnastics of the Grecian schools of philosophy, and who, while they found in the trinitarian doctrine a field well enough adapted to the performance of the evo- lutions in which they excelled, turned, with an instinc- tive distaste, from the Gospel^ the ideas and sentiments connected with which were altogether unmanageable, as the materials, either of logical, or of metaphysical exer- cise. A pertinent exemplification of this order of things, in the course of which whatever, in the Christian scheme, was the most nearly allied to the favourite subjects of pneumatology, in its various branches, came uppermost, while the evangelical element was left to subside, is pre- sented in Origen's four books, vn^i ^e,x^v. This work, of which indeed we should speak more confidently if it had come down to us in the author's own language, and 270 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE which is known to have undergone some trimming under tlie hand of Rufinus, to whom we are indebted for the Latin version now extant — this work professes to present a digest of Christian principles, as its title im- ports; and, in fact, along with the questionable opinions of the benign-minded writer, it sets forth, as then under- stood, the orthodox faith, and moreover argues all those topics of religion to which the dialectic and metaphysic apparatus was really applicable. — And there it stops; — nothing— literally nothing, beyond a mere phrase, does Origen find to say about the scheme of reconciliation — ■ the means, process, freeness, sufficiency, or divine rich- ness, of "the redemption that is in Christ." Again and pgain we are told in this treatise, that, at the last, all men will be dealt with, pro meritis. Let this be true; but there is another trutli, which the contrite reader of the New Testament thinks he finds clearly affirmed there, but which no reader of the ♦' De principiis" would ever surmise to have belonged to the system whicli Origen was expounding. The suppression of tlie gospel, under the hand of the ancient masters of logic and pneumatology, is however a subject, highly important as it may be, wliich is foreign to my present purpose, and to which I have here advert- ed only in order to anticipate an objection, as if I were attributing to the ascetic doctrine an extent of influence which may be shown to have arisen from more sources than one. Let then this be understood. Another probable objection I must also exclude. In adducing \.he polemic treatises of the ancient church, as affi)r(ling instances of ihe alleged decay of evangelic principles and feeling, it may be said, that the appeal is neither fair nor conclusive, inasmuch as it does not al- low for the peculiar position of the church, as called SCHEME OF SALVATION. 271 upon by the heresies of the times, most of which bore upon the trinitarian doctrine, to insist ahnost exclusively upon subjects of that abstruse class: M^hereas (it may be said) only let us look to these same writers when they had laid aside their weapons, or to those of their col- leagues who stood off from the contest, and we shall find that they understood, and personally rejoiced in, and warmly promulgated, evangelic principles even as the apostles themselves. A counter-statement such as this, if it could be sub- stantiated, or even made to appear probably correct, ought to be at once yielded to. Nothing can be more equitable than the general principle on which it proceeds. But can it be made good? In a word, is there any rea- son to believe that the great champions of orthodoxy, or that their less distinguished contemporaries, when not engaged in repelling the assaults of heretics, tliought and spoke more, or with greater energy, and vivacity, of the doctrines of reconciliation, than may be gathered from the tenor of their polemical writings? With the hope of resolving this question, I shall now move into a posi- tion, so to speak, alongside of the ancient church — look- ing at it on those special occasions which, if any could, must be held to be proper for displaying the real and intimate feelings of individuals, and of the community they belonged to. I proceed then to examine ancient Christianity in the concrete; that is to say, as imbodied in the characters and sentiments of eminent individuals;; and these individuals, we take as their portraits have been drawn by the most distinguished of their contem- poraries. AVhen a Christian writer undertakes to com- pose the panegyric of a departed friend, or eminent teacher, whom he, and others, consider to have reached 272 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE as near to the point of perfection as is ever permitted to humanity, in the present state, it is natural, nay inevi- table, tiiat, in arranging the materials of his eulogy, he should so place foremost what, in his esteem, are indeed the principal excellencies of the Christian character, as shall make manifest his own notions of the general sciieme of Christian doctrine and practice: in other words, such a panegyric, especially when elaborate, and when it has evidently been well considered, may fairly be regarded as imbodying the writer's confession of faith, dogmatic and ethical, only put in the concrete form. 1 propose then to look into two or three of the principal writers of the Nicene age, either citing, or re- ferring to, the most remarkable of those eulogistic or funereal compositions with which they abound; only reminding the reader that these great writers and preachers are never more at home, than while exhaust- ing their rhetorical powers upon themes of this particu- lar description; and I will ask, at the outset, whether iliere is not a good probability, on all grounds of philo- sophical, I mean genuine^ reasoning, that, in this line of evidence, we shall catch what was indeed the temper, character, and tendency of ancient Christianity; our im- mediate object being to inquire whether the divine rich- ness, and the distinguishing glory of Christianity, as the revelation of God's mercy to a lost world, occupied the place due to it, in the view of the writers in question? and then, if the contrary appears to be the fact, we shall have the opportunity of seeing whether the fore- most place which the gospel should have filled, is not in fact usurped by those gnostic and ascetic principles of which celibacy was the core. In this case, the question being — Whether certain SCHEME OF SALVaTIOX. 273 compositions, many of ihem of considerable length, do, or do not, comprise certain elements of truth, there are only two methods of proceeding that can be ac- cepted as conclusive, the one being that of producing the entire tract, oration, or epistle; and the other, that of giving the studious reader such references as may fa- cilitate his obtaining satisfaction, on the point, for him- self. It is manifest that the former method is, in the present instance, altogether inadmissible, inasmuch as it must swell this tract to the dimensions of a bulky vo- lume. I must, therefore, content myself with the lat- ter, and, in adopting it, will express my very earnest wish that those who, at this time, may be preparing themselves to accept ancient Christianity, in the stead of apostolic Ciiristianity, would first, and before they come to so latal a decision, give themselves the pains to follow the clue I am puttin:; into their hands, and to read through and through, the pieces to which I shall refer. Can it be denied that this particular line of evidence is very likely to expose (or say, exhibit) the true character of ancient Christianity? We are taking the church by surprise, not unfairly indeed, but just when it is sitting for its portrait, blushing and toying be- fore some enamoured and favoured Zeuxis or Apelles. Will an opponent choose to stake the credit of the Ni- cene age on this very ground? I suppose not; but I think that those v.-ho iiave studied human nature, and who are accustomed to generalize upon the materials of history, will grant that the use now to be made of the patristic literature, is legitimate, and pertinent to our ar- gument. I will begin with a very sober writer — a stanch as- cetic indeed, and such a one as Evagrius, the historian, 24 274 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE (lib. i. cnp. 15,) calls a "living column, holding forth the peilcMrlion of the jnonastic and contemplative life." 1 liave already quoted him — Isidore of Pelusium, a bi- shop, and the intimate friend of Chrysostom, as well as of the chief ecclesiastics of hiy time, and who, if any did so, understood well the religious system, dogmatic and practical, of his age. He has bequeathed to our limes two thovisand, one hundi-ed, and eighty-three epis- tles, or short commentaries and notes, upon subjects of all kinds naturally coming within the range of a church- man of ihtit age. Punctiliously orthodox, and moreover professing the doctrine of the atonement, or propitiato- ry work of Christ, here and there, in unexceptionable terms; as for instance, in the 73d and lOOih epistles of the fourtli book, and yet, much more often writing like a mere stoic, or a Flalonist, whose style glitters with a few shreds of Christian truth. This Isidore (lib. ii. epist. 151) undertakes v^ilh much diffidence, and almost in despair, the epitaphium of a defunct brollier, whom he speaks of as having reached the very acme of perfection, and with whose various praises he fills a folio page: " better was he than all praise, the temple of sobriety, the home of prudence, the tower of virtue, the metropolis of righteousness, the cell of philanthropy, the sacred enclosure of gentleness; and to say all in a word, the treasury of all the virtues." Tiien follows the catalogue of these virtues, the fore- most being a tyrannous mastery of the bodily appetites, ^aiTTpsf, KAt Tcnv juiTA ycim^A TTuSuv j aud tlic last, a moclcst and retiring munificence toward the poor. The bare word Chrifitiun, does indeed once occur in this eulogy; but it contains not so much as a syllable besides, whicli would enable the reader to guess that the subject of it was any other, or any better than many a Mahometan SCHEME OF SALVATION. 275 dervish has been; — not a word concerning- an hnmble re- liance upon the merits of the Saviour; not a word indi- cating it as the belief of this saint, that the best of men must, at the last, stand with the most imperfect, as owing every thing to sovereign mercy; not a word savouring of the temper of the apostles: but, on the contrary, the whole tends to convey and support the opinion that no- thing could be wanting to those who pursued a spotless ascetic course, but just to drop the bvurov, and then to take their place among serapiis. Is this Christianity? but it is the common style of the ancient epitaphic elo- quence. Not without reluctance, 1 must again call the venerable Athanasius into court. And yet, who sliall show cause why we should not bring evidence in illustration of the character of Nicene Christianity from the writings of Athanasius? — if not, where at all is any such evidence to be found? But if this be unexceptionable and pertinent testimony, then, while we turn to this great man's polemic and dogmatic writings, in order to find there the abstract Christianity of the times, what better can we do than seek for the concrete — the living and imbodied Christian excellence, in an elaborate and encomiastic biography, by the same hand, of one whom Athanasius holds up to the church as a pattern of Christian perfection, and who also was in fact so esteemed by the church catholic. We turn then to the life of St. Antony, and in doing so, I must clear the way for the inference I have in view. St. An- tony, with his picturesque infernal legions, has become the jest of modern times, and is thought of, much ra- ther as an excellent subject for Flemish art, than in any more serious connexion. Or if his name has occurred on the page of modern church history, it has been hasti- ly dismissed, with a word or two of philosophic scorn. 276 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE But this loose style of treating such subjects, will not serve us any longer; inasmuch as we are now called upon to look narrowly into many things which, awhile ago, might, without damage, have slept on, in the ob- scurity that so well befits their intrinsic merits. This St. Antony then, the transcendental prince of the ancient monkery, drew toward himself the wondering eyes of all Christendom, from the east to the remotest west; and he was allowed to have touched the point of Christian perfection as nearly as may be thought possi- ble to any in the present life. Multitudes, animated by his example, rushed into the desert, and trod his steps. His universal reputation obtained for him the title of the ♦' Patriarch of Monks." If then we were to go no far- ther, but, resting upon the unquestionable rule, that whatever, in any age, is the object of universal esteem and admiration, may be taken as a sure indication of the taste and the opinions of that age, we might, without any hazard of error, consider this sam.e pattern-saint of the ancient church, as a fair sample of the feelings and no- tions of that church. Who can except against the use of such a criterion? But this is not all. It might in- deed so have been, that, although our ascetic hero had become the idol of the vulgar of the Christian commu- nity, he yet stood low in the esteem of the well-informed leaders of the church; and, if not openly condemned by them, yet was but coldly approved, and his extrava- gances pointed to in the way of caution. The fact is the very reverse; for, in the first place, the great, and strong-minded Athanasius — thechief of the "first three," in the esteem of the modern admirers of antiquity-^ charges himself with tlie task of giving this eminent ex- ample of more than human sanctity, to the Christian world, in the form of a verv elaborate and carefully SCHEME OF SALVATION. 277 xjomposed memoir, occupying not less than fifty-four folio pasfes. Here then is the portrait of a picked an- cient Christian (so called) at full length, and from the pencil of the greatest master of the age. May we not learn something of what ancient Christianity was, in looking at this picture? But we do not yet state the whole case; for we find each great writer of the Nicene age, bowing in his turn, and worshipping this same idol: — Nazianzeu, Jerome, Augustine, Chrysostom. The language of the latter is so pertinent to my argument, that 1 cannot but cite it. " And truly, if you will visit the Egyptian deserts, you will find there what is better than any paradise: there you will find, in human form, innumerable choirs of angels— tribes of martyrs, assem- blages of nuns; in a word, the tyrannous empire of Satan brought to nothing, and the kingdom of Christ shining forth:"* and after much more in the same strain, the elo- quent preacher goes on to introduce St. Antony, " whom," after the apostles, Egypt *' has produced, bles5>ed and great;" and whose lile, as related by Athaaasius, is said to hold forth all that the Christian institute " oi rev Xpia-- Toy Koyoi^' demands. What more than this can we re- quire, as authorizing the course we are taking, in consi- dering the lile of St. Antony, by Athanasius, as a com- plete sample of ancient Christianity? I heartdy wish that, with this very view, the entire piece were perused by whoever is still admiring, and yet has a misgiving concerning, the gay bubble — anti- quity. The question is — Did the ancient celibacy and its concomitants, consist with, and promote, evangelic doctrine and feeling, or did it thoroughly exclude and nullify both! And if this question be answered, as I am * Horn. VIII. in Matth., torn. vii. pp. 147, 149. 24* 278 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE sure it must, we shall still by no means be compelled to deny sincerity, and a species of devotion, and a liigh measure of certain of the Christian virtues, to St. Antony, and to those like him. 'J'he memoir before us may, in fact, be read with pleasure, and even editication, taken for just so much as it is worth; but as an exemplar of the Christian character, one may find as good, nay, some much better, among the monkish records of the worst times of Romanism. In all these fifty-fonr pages, scarce- ly so much as one sentence meets the eye of a kind to recall any notions or sentiments which are distinctively Christian. There is indeed an unimpeachable ortho- doxy and a thorough-going submissiveness in regard to church authority; and there is a plenty of Christianized soofTeeism, and tiiere is more than enough of deir.ono- logy, and quite enough of miracle; but barely a word concerning the ])ropiliatory work of Christ: barely a word indicating any personal feeling of the ascetic's own need of that propitiation, as the ground of his hope. Not a word of justification by faith; not a word of the gracious influence of the Spirit, in renewing and cleansing the heart; not a word responding to any of those signal pas- sages of scripture which make tlie gospel " glad tidings " to guilty man. Drop a very few phrases borrowed from the scriptures, and substitute a few, drawn from the Koran, and then tiiis memoir of St. Antony, by Aihana- sius, might serve, as to its temper, spirit, and substance, nearly as well for a Maliometan dervish, as for a Chris- tian saint. The sort of piety herein exhibited has grown up under almost all religious systems, and samples of ii, more or less refined, may be discovered in every age and country where the religious instinct has been pow- erfully developed. SCHEME OF SALVATION. 279 Although the task would be far from a pleasing one, it might, at this time, be a useful undertaking, to give to the Christian world this life of St. Antony, without re- trenchment; appending to it, by way of foil, a memoir or two, of the worthies and martyrs of our English refor- mation. None could fail to discern, in a contrast so violent as this, the vast, the immeasurable difference be- tween that apostolic Christianity which, by the divine mercy, was restored in the sixteenth century, and that ancient Christianity — the sooffeeism of the Nicene age, which we are now called upon, by the Oxford divines, to put in its room! In a parallel such as I am now sup- posing, there would be points of agreement, good and bad; as, for instance, the ancient ascetics, and the modern reformers, were alike pure in their orthodoxy; both, moreover, were encumbered and depressed by a demo- nological belief, grotesque enough: and let it hn added, that the one, as well as the other, held their faith as Christians with a firmness which, when occasions arose, -carried them manfully through^ tortures and death. But how vast is the difference still! The one, in surrender- ing themselves (as the church universal had done) to the old oriental illusion, or, as we must call it, the gnostic principle, had lost their hold of all but the slenderest remnants of that evangelic system which, recovered by a return to the scriptures, imparted to the others — the reformers, a vitality, a force, a feeling, truly apostolic. It is impossible not to feel, when the two sets of men are placed in close comparison, that the one ^re mere drivellers, doting insuperably about the merest trifles; while the others, whatever trifles they might at times strive to invest with importance, nevertheless acted and spoke and wrote like men and like Christians of the apostolic school. Is there a mind so infatuated "280 CONNEXION Of THE CELIBATE WITH THE as that it could, while referring to the temper and cha* racter of Paul as a standard, set by the side of it the puppet Saint Antony, and our Latimer or Ridley; and then choose and prefer tiie former! and yet we are now taught to think and speak of the reformers either with a hesitating approval, or even as worthy of our con- tempt, if not hatred, while we are enjoined to go back a fourteen hundred years, and to gather our Christianity anew from the lips of the idiot ascetics of the Nicene age, or of the blind doctors who worshipped them! It is not to be imagined that the most intelligent body of clergy in Europe should give ear, for more than a moment, — a moment of illusion, — to advice such as this, — advice so pernicious, — and yet not more perni- -cious, than it is perverse and unullerably absurd. But the point we are here engaged wiih is of such im- portance, and it so nearly touches the marrow of the con- troversy now on fool, that I must pursue it a liille far- ther, and, in doing so, it will be at once curious and in- structive to turn from the life of St. Antony, by Alha- nasins, to the portrait of a far belter and wiser man, drawn by a greater master than even Alhanasius— -I mean the portrait of this same Alhanasius, as given to us very elaborately by tiie eloquent Nazinnzen. Why should we hesitate to look into a formal and au- thoritative panegyric of the best and greatest man of the ancient church, as imbodying, more or less distinctly, every principal element of the religious system of the times? It is thus, in fact, that ihe orator, in this instance, regards the task he has undertaken. (See Nazianzcn's twenty-first oration.) " In praising Alhanasius, I shall be praising virtue itself; for, in speaking of him, in whom were summed up all the virtues, nay, rather, who iiow possesses all, I commend all in one." I must here SCHEME OF SALVATION. 281 pass over the exordium, presenting, as it does, a piously worded sample of the gnostic style of the age, and which describes the blessedness of the " genuine philo- sophy." Now, let it be granted that, in the peculiar in- stance of this great champion of orthodoxy, the merits of Athanasius, as such, should be made the prominent subject of his encomium: yet, would it not seem as if some single sentence, or even solitary phrase, calling up the recollection of those truths which are the life of Christianity, and its distinction, might well have found a place in the orator's elaborate panegyric? The perso- nal virtues of the saint are particularly enumerated, and various excellences of his character, beside his ortho- doxy, are fervidly extolled; yet there do not meet the eye, in the whole composition, filling four and twenty folio pages, hardly three words, which could suggest to an uninformed reader the idea that Christianity comprised any element distinguishing it from the Grecian philoso- phy — the doctrine of the Trinity excepted. Few traces do we here find of the gospel; and no allusion, ever so remote, to the doctrines which are the main subjects of the Pauline epistles. Or to come nearer home, never would it be surmised, from any thing occurring in this oration, that there are principles of Christian belief, such as those so clearly imbodied in the 9th, 10th, 11th, 15th, 17th, and 31st articles of the English church. Grant it, that we should not demand, in a commemorative ora- tion, a logical synopsis of doctrine; but may we not de- mand, from a Christian preacher, and a bishop, that, as often as he stands before the people, he should afford them the means of knowing that his own heart, as a harp in tune, responds, in all its wires, to the harmony of heaven? Can we imagine any one of the leaders of 282 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE the English reformation to have pronounced Nazianzen's 21st oration? or would any one of them have concluded any such harangue, had they pronounced it, with an in- vocation of the dead Athanasius, now to look down upon him with favour, and to aid him in the government of his church! No such incongruity, no such contradiction, can be even imagined to have had place; for every one feels that Nazianzen's Christianity, and the Christianity of Jewell, Cranmer, Ridley, Latimer, Hooper, were two systems, the one excluding, or forgetting, that which the other made the most account of; the one dry, ab- struse, extravagant, turgid, formal, vapid; the other, cor- dial, rich, efficacious; and, if tinged with superstition, yet immeasurably more concerned with the momentous realities than with the mere rites of piety. It would be an error of serious consequence to sup- pose that the zealous archbishop of Alexandria was no better a Christian than we might gather reasons for thinking him, from the language of his panegyrist. His various writings forbid any such comfortless supposi- tion. Athanasius was not only better than Nazianzen's portrait of him; but better, and the same may be said in a thousand instances, than his own notions of Christi- anity (considered as a system) would have made him. While he and his contemporaries took up the foreign gnostic element, the presence of which deranged the entire scheme of the gospel economy, he and they, or many of them, so retained their hold, personally, of its genuine and vitalizing principles, as that they still drew sap enough from the vine to adorn their branches with clusters of fruit. We may properly denounce and reject a particular form of Christianity, without being com- pelled to unchrislianize those who have known nothing better. SCHEME OF SALVATION* 283 But I must return a moment to Nazianzen. It might be thought, and with some appearance of reason, that, on so special an occasion as the one above referred to, and when he had to hold up, to popular admiration, the great champion of orthodoxy, the one prominent subject, the doctrine of the Trinity, would naturally exclude other topics of theoretic or practical theology. Let it be granted then; and on this supposition, we can do no better than turn from the panegyric of Alhanasius, to that of Cyprian. In this instance at least, the remote- ness of the subject from any local, temporary, ecclesi- astical, or theological interest, may fairly be held to have exempted the orator from any such preoccupation of mind, as might have precluded the full and sponta- neous expression of his feelings, as a Christian. The eulogium of the martyr of Carthage, is surely open ground; and in this instance we shall not fail to discover those features of Christianity which were foremost in the view of the speaker. Of what sort then is this florid oration? (the 18th.) Not a whit more evangelical tlian the one already re- ferred to. Utterly devoid is it of those notions and modes of feeling which, in the strictest and most proper sense, are Christian. A dry, punctilious orthodoxy, with more than a spice of offensive superstition, are its character- istics: there is indeed, what we may find elsewhere, and among heathen philosophers, a high contempt of the world, and of its pomps, luxuries, and vanities; but there is not even a beam of that splendour — the radiance of heaven, which, in the scriptures themselves, gladdens the hearts of the contrite. If the ten lines concerning Christ, the " protomartyr," may be urged in mitigation of this averment, let them be produced; but they amount only to a profession which no Christian could avoid 284 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE making; and such a turn is given to the allusion to the sufferings of Christ, as serves to ally the doctrine of the atonement with the dim theology of the times. " Many things there are indeed, which tend to lead us into the better way; and many which train us in virtue, such as reason, law, the prophets, the apostles, and even the sufferings of Christ, the protomartyr, who ascended the cross, leading me thither, that he might attach to it my sin, and triumph over the serpent, and sanctify the tree, and vanquish pleasure, and rescue Adam, and re- store the fallen image (of God in man.)" Let, however, this profession pass for as much as it can be worth, conjoined with what follows; and I do not see another line that is equally, or in any proper sense, evangelic. But what is it that follows? Such things as these — a love story (whence derived does not appear) but the purport of which is, that Cyprian, be- fore his conversion, being desperately enamoured of a beautiful nun, had pursued iier so importunately as to reduce her almost to despair. In this terrible extremity, to whom should she have recourse, but to the blessed Mary, the queen and patroness of virgins: not indeed as if forgetting God, and her Saviour — iin tov 6siv xaT:t>ei; but, as the readiest and surest means of obtaining im- mediate assistance. " She supplicated the Virgin Mary, 'iKiTitJovo-a^ beseeching her to afford aid to a virgin in peril; and, by the medicine of fasting and prostrations on the bare earth, she farthered h.er purpose, partly that, by these means, she might tarnish those charms which were the cause of her trouble, and so remove fuel from the flame; and partly, that, by her suflerings and humi- liations she might propitiate God: for indeed by nothing is God so well pleased, Qipj.7rtuiT^i, as by the sufferings SCHEME OF SALVATIO>?. 28 § of the body, and it is to tears that he is wont to render his compassion." This is " antiquity;" th.is is " catholic teaching;" this is that "perfect form of our religion," which, as we are now told, was at length brought out, after a three hun- dred years' preparation, or concoction of its rude ele- ments: this is the venerable system which we are to put in the place of the Christianity of the reformers? Many who, seduced by fair words, and a very partial, and therefore fallacious exhibition of what ancient Christi- anity really was, are giving in their submission to what is called Catholicism, would be horror-stricken did they fully know what this Catholicism actually includes. If it should be said that passages such as the above are but spots on the disk of the sun, and need be taken no account of, our part then will be, in the place of every single quotation, to produce a hundred; and all of the same dark colour. Is it possible that the gospel, such as the apostles gave it to the world, should consist with the practice of praying to the Virgin Mary? No; if there be any consistency in religious principles. Nor, in fact, did these irreconcilable elements cohere: the worse presently expelled the better, and brought with it every kindred superstition: — as for instance — — After the executioner had done his office, says our orator, the body (of Cyprian) strange to say, was not to be found, it <;)ii'£j «v : the " treasure had, however, been taken care cf by a pious lady, who long concealed it, whether it were merely that it pleased God thus to ho- nour and reward her piety; or whether to prove us, and to try if the deprivation of the sacred relics would really distress us. Hov/ever this might be, at length private advantage was made to yield to the public welfare, and the God of the martyrs brouo^ht the sacred remains to 286 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE light! What honours have not been granted to women!" . . . Then follow the innumerable miracles of heal- ing effected by this holy dust! all which those were ready to attest, who had made proof of their efficacy. To translate at length the nauseous drivelling of Na- zianzen in this, and similar instances, is a task I must decline: — let those who are hovering between Christi- anity, and " catholic antiquity," read it for themselves; or let the Oxford divines give to the English public, whole and entire, the festival orations of the two Gre- gorys, and of Chrysostoni. All would then know, fairly and at once, the extent to which they will have to go in accepting the latter, and in relinquishing the former. Fitly, in this instance, as in others, Nazianzen in- cludes, in his peroration, a devout prayer to the glorified martyr. *' And thou, from thy seat, look down upon us propitiously . . . aiding us in the government of the flock." That this was not a rhetorical flourish appears, not only from the seriousness and frequency of similar invocations, but from a formal profession which the speaker, in the funeral oration for his father, makes of his opinion on this point of " catholic belief." (See the 19lh oration.) " I am persuaded," says Nazianzen, " that our father's intercession now avails us more than his teaching did while present with us in the body; now that he has got near to God, has shaken off the fetters of the body, and, freed from the mud of earth, approaches naked the naked." . . . It might be well to follow this same father through his panegyric orations. Let the diligent inquirer do so; and if he finds, here and there, expressions fitting a Christian preacher, consider always with what ingre- dients these shining fragments arc mingled. It may, however, seem probable that, although Nazian- SCHEME OF SALVATION. 287 zen's florid eloquence might conceal the belter and purer elements of Cyprian's Christian character, these would not fail to make their appearance if we could look into some memoir of the martyr, composed by a contempo- rary, and one, therefore, who was nearer, by a century, to the apostolic age. Such an opportunity is then actu- ally afforded to us in the Life of St. Cyprian, as written by his own deacon, his constant attendant and friend, Pontius. Be it that Nazianzen plays the part of the mere orator, ambitious to sliine, and looking at his ob- ject through the haze of time, and the mists of supersti- tion: but Pontius was the disciple and intimate com- panion of the martyr, and the sharer of his perils. What materials then does this authentic record present, pertinent to our argument? — we find in it the same abso- lute destitution of evangelic sentiments, and the same ascetic feeling. The deacon commences his portrait of his master precisely in the style that characterizes the fathers, from Tertullian downwards. " The preserva- tion of continence, and the treading under foot the con- cupiscence of the flesh by a robust and thorough sanc- tity," was, we are told, the prime rudiment of Cyprian's Christianity, and the most direct means, in his esteem, of rendering his bosom the fit receptacle of truth! The modern reader should be on his guard against the error of attaching, either a protestant or a classical sense, to the terms which meet us in this instance, and on every page of ecclesiastical literature; and which, as there em- ployed, carry always a technical sense; as, for instance, in this place, sanctimojiia, is not holiness, either in an apostolic, or a modern sense of the term; but the sancti- moniousness, or factitious purity of the ascetic life: the concupiscentia carnis, is the abstract affection, proper to our nature, not its irregular or depraved excesses: the 288 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE coniinentia, is not purity of heart and manners, but ce- libacy: and the pectus idoneum, is such a preparation of the animal nature, as, according to the gnostic notion, was the prerequisite of all correspondence with the Su- preme Being. The rest of this Life of Cyprian is oc- cupied with the martyr's virtues, his charity, diligence, courage, contempt of the world, and so forlh; — virtues, springing from motives far more powerful than any that were known to heathen philosophy, and reaching a prac- tical extent in proportion, and such as heathenism had never dreamed of. What stoics have ever acted as Cy- prian did, during the pestilence at Carthage? what stoics have ever died as he did? Nevertheless, Cyprian's vir- tue would be much better described as a stoicism puri- fied and animated, than as Christianity imbodied. None could fail to feel powerfully the vast difTerence between apostolic (and protestant) Christian sentiment on the one hand, and gnosticised ancient Christianity on the other, who would do themselves the justice to read Pontius's Life of Cyprian, by the side of any memoir of the mar- tyr bishops of the English reformation. Was not Cy- prian, then, a good man, and a Christian too? Who can doubt it? but yet not nearly so well taught a Christian, as have been scores of Romanist bishops and monks, of the middle ages. If, therefore, we choose to reject the reformers as our masters in theology, it w^ere far better to stop short near at hand in the church of Rome, where we may find spirituality, as well as fervour, and a more full expansion of doctrines, than to go up to the Nicene, or the Cyprianic age, where all is dim and unformed. This, I am persuaded, will be felt and frankly acknow- ledged by all open to conviction, who, laying aside their terror ol popery, will deliberately and calmly compare SCHEME OF SALVATION. 289 the best Romish writers with the best Nicene or ante- Nicene fathers. It may be very true that a return to Ro- manism, on the part of the English church, would in- volve some very awkward practical consequences, which are not involved in a return to ancient Christianity, and which we might bring about, as it were, silently and un- observed. But if, political and ecclesiastical considera- tions apart, we were to entertain the question of such a proposed change, on purely religious grounds, I verily believe that we should see reason enough for accepting the former alternative, rather than the latter. I do not suppose that any champion of the fathers, calling himself a protestant — any one who yet holds by the articles and homilies of the English church, will bring forward a writer like Gregory Nyssen, with the view of counteracting the impression made by the pas- saores cited, or referred to above. All know that, be- tween Nyssen's Christianity and popery, the distinction, if any, is of the nicest kind — hard to catch, and harder to keep one's hold of. I leave him therefore, much as my argument might be served by adducing the evidence he furnishes of the errors of his times. The temper, as well as the style and method of the Latin theologians, differs much from that which distin- guishes the eastern and Alexandrian churches' writers. And yet, notwithstanding the contrast presented by the richness, the exuberance, the refinement and subdety, and the theoretic tendency of the latter, and the severi- ty and practical directness of the former, the sovereign influence of the system to which the one as well as the other had bowed, is every where apparent. In the place of the gospel, as preached by the apostles, and '* wor- thy of all acceptation," and equally necessary for all, the 25* 290 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE church had adopted a transcendental mysticism, the ho- nours and benefits of which were offered to a very few; while to the many, instead either of the free gospel, or of the prerogatives of the upper species of virtue, the church offered its sacraments, as tangible conveyances of so much grace as might secure salvation to those wliose faith and virtue were of a vulgar stamp. In whatever respects Ambrose of Milan may difier from the Gregorys, or from Chrysoslom, he is tliorough- ly in accordance with them, so far as the above general description goes: — they indeed may incline toward the mild, abstracted, and imaginative sooffeeism, — or Plato- nism; while he, and the Latins, less given to meditation, and more conversant with the business of life, leaned toward the stern and stoical system: they, speaking of Christianity as a scheme o( philosophy (ihe term con- stantly employed by the Greek fathers) these calling it a system of discipline. The general product, however, of the two institutes was the same, and both alike dimmed, or removed from its place, t!ie glory of the gospel. To the instances which I have adduced above, it may perhaps be objected that the occasions on which the for- mal orations I have quoted were uttered, were not the most favourable for bringing forth the intimate and per- sonal sentiments of the speakers, as Christians; and that, just on these annual festivals, the temptation to make a show of sparkling rhetoric overcame the better feelings of the preacher. — Be it so. Let us llien take up an in- stance in which, if in any that is conceivable, a preach- er may be supposed to have had his best and most cha- racteristic Christian sentiments so powerfully wrought upon, as to carry him far above the range of the inferior motives of intellectual ambition. When is it ihat our modern pulpil orators are seen, if not to the greatest ad- SCHEME OF SALVATION". 291 Vantage as orators, yet to the greatest as men, personal- ly imbued with the quickening motives, and animated by the hopes of the gospel? Surely it is, when the fountains of grief having been broken up, by some sud- den bereavement, whatever, in their ordinary style, mav have been formal, or arliticia], or perfunctory, is tho- roughly dispelled by the agony of the heart; and wlien the energies of faith impart life and power to every word that is uttered. We may then, on the ground of this ge- neral rule, very properly make our way into the crowd- ed episcopal church at Milan, at the solemn hour when the holy father — Ambrose, smitten with the keenest shaft of sorrow, and yet compressing and commanding his tumultuous grief, harangues the multitude, a few days only after tlie death of his beloved brother, Saty- rus. Now, surely, if at any time, we shall hear the Christian freely uttering Christian sentiments; and now, if ever, in the eulogistic enumeration of the departed saint's virtues, we shall see what ancient Christianity was in the concrete, and v.'hen the most fully deveh^ped. Of the two orations pronounced on this mournful oc- casion, the second, on the faith of the Resurrection, we may pass by, noticing only the proof it furnishes of that coldness of the affections, and mere intellectuality, which has ever been the fruit of the ascetic system: nothing can be more chilling than this discourse, considered in reference to the circumstances which attended its de- livery. The first oration pronounced in the great church whither the corpse of Satyrus had been carried, presents those perpetual antitheses, and smart turns intended to catch the ear of the vulgar, whicii belong rather to the bad taste of the times, than to the mind of the indi- vidual speaker; they indicate, however, the same in- "293 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE tellectual frigidity, and that thoroughly sophisticated sen- timent, which the religious system had brought in with it. Ambrose professes the tenderest affection to have sub- sisted between himself and his deceased brother, who had been his solace, stay, and adviser, amid the cares and labours of his public life. Natural affection had, in this instance, only cemented the more intimately an at- tachment which the amiable and exalted qualities of Sa- tyrus must alone have rendered fervent and devoted. This beloved brother, after having narrowly escaped from shipwreck, was attacked soon after his return to Italy, with an acute disorder, which snatched him from the fondness of his family and friends, and from the pub- lic service. Alas! it appeared from the event, that he had asked only of " St. Laurence the martyr," — what had indeed been granted to his prayers — a safe passage! Would that he had prayed also for length of years! Let not the protestant reader, who may lately have heard Ambrose named as one of the great three, to whom we are to look for our idea of finished Christianity, let him not be startled at this praying to a saint. Ambrose in the west, as well as Nazianzen, Nyssen, Chrysostom, in the east, and others, too many to name, had con- vinced himself that no prayers were so well expedited on high, as those which were presented by a saint and martyr already in the skies! In fact, a good choice as 10 the " patrocinium," was the main point in the busi- ness of prayer. These matters were, however, regu- lated by a certain propriety and conventional usage, — may we say, etiquette: it was not on every sort of occa- sion that the Virgin was to be troubled with the wants and wislies of mortals: each saint Ijad, indeed, come to SCHEME OF SALVATION. 29^ have his department; and each was applied to in his par- ticular line. In connexion with subjects such as this how can one be serious? unless indeed considerations are admitted that agitate the mind with emotions of in- dignation and disgust. It was, however, a consolation to Ambrose, in the loss of his brother, that he had lived to return to Milan, where the sacred dust would be at all times accessible, affording to him means of devotion of no ordinary value — " habeo sepulcrum," says he, " super quod jaceam, et commendabiliorem Deo futurum esse me credam, quod supra sancti corporis ossa requiescam." Ambrose was truly a gainer by the death of his brother; for in place of his mere bodily presence, as a living coadjutor, he had the justifying merits of his bones, and the benefit of his intercession in heaven! Ungracious task indeed is it to adduce these instances of blasphemous superstition, as attaching to a name like that of Ambrose; but what choice is left us when, as now, the Christian commu- nity, little suspecting what is implied in the advice, are enjoined to take their faith and practice from the di- vines of the Nicene age, and from Ambrose, Athanasius, and Basil, especially? The weeping orator having spent a little his verbose grief, returns upon his path, in order to set before the people — the plebs sancta, this exemplar of virtue, or compendium of Christian graces. It is certain therefore that tliis highly finished portrait of one so well known to him, and so fondly admired, will contain whatever was, in the preacher's opinion, most important to the Christian character: — the instance is then every thing we could wish for, considered as a criterion of ancient Christianity, in the concrete. Without a play upoa 294 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE words, it may properly be called an experimentum crucis. We proceed then to analyze this most conclusive record. What were the virtues and graces of Satyrus — a perfect Christian after the Nicene model? First comes his reverential regard to the rites of re- ligion; of which a striking instance is afforded. The vessel in which Satyrus was returning to Italy having got on the rocks, he, not as yet initiated in the higher mysteries, and not regenerated, yet not fearing death, but fearing lest he should die without them, had recourse to those on board who had in their custody the conse- crated elements (ordinarily carried, in a journey, as a safe- guard againstall perils) and having obtained them, wrapped them in a stole, or sacrificial kerchief, which he tied about his neck; and, thus armed, in any event, fearlessly threw himself into the sea: itaque his se tectum atque munitum satis credens, alia auxilia non desideravit. A good be- ginning, is it not? The modern admirers of antiquity seem to be offended when they are accused of " putting the sacraments in the place of the Saviour;" but now they are turning us over to masters of divinity who re- commend what, if it do not imply some such substitu- tion, is altogether unintelligible. Thrust this same in- cident into the memoirs of any one of the insulted fa- thers of the English reformation: will it suit the connex- ion, and consist with the spirit and doctrine of the con- text? It would not, and those are miserably betraying the English church, who, under cover of a mystification of plain and untoward facts, are striving to put the de- based Christianity of Ambrose, Jerome, and Basil, in the place of the gospel recovered by its founders. But we proceed with the virtues of Satyrus, the list of which includes fortitude, and pious gratitude, evinced SCHEME OF SALVATION. 295 in his thanksgiving on account of the deliverance above referred to; — gratitude, the expression of which gave evidence of, and augmented his faith, and a faith such as had enabled him to confide almost as calmly in the effi- cacy of the consecrated elements tied about his neck, as he could have done had they actually passed into his sto- mach! Next comes an instance of his cautious regard to legitimate church authority. Then, the childlike sim- plicity of his disposition and manner, and his singular modesty — pudor and purity, in speech as well as deport- ment and person. And such an admirer of chastity was he, and yet so abhorrent of ostentation, that, " Avhen urged by his family to marry, having resolved to main- tain his purity, he rather dissembled his purpose, than professed his determination. AVho then shall not ad- mire a man who, not wanting in magnanimity (sense of distinction) and standing as he did between a sister pro- fessing virginity, and a brother of high rank in the church, yet affected not the honours of either condition, while himself replete with the virtues of both?" The frugality and temperance of Satyrus kept pace with his chastity; all which were cemented by the cardi- nal virtue justice, and a regard to the claims of all, whe- ther those claims were of the definite or indefinite class, and not least, those of the poor. Such is this portrait; and the preacher, having satisfied his own conception of the congeries of Christian virtues, indulges again in the sorrow which yet he reproves, and concludes by com- mending the " innocent soul," as an oflTering to God. Innocent, that is to say, one of those whom Ambrose, in another place, (De Pcenitentia, lib. ii. sect. 10, j says it was easier to find, than any who had duly practised pe- nitence. 296 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE But not one line does tliis funereal panegyric contain breathing an evangelic feeling, or adverting to the great principles of the gospel! It would be wrong to speak of this elaborate composition as defective, or ambiguous, or erroneous, in relation to the leading truths of Chris- tianity; for it touches them not even in the remotest man- ner. As well say that tbe Pha3do of Plato is wanting in evangelic perspicuity, or that Cicero, De natura deo- rum, does not fully express tbe doctrine of the thirty- nine articles. Cicero, Seneca, Epictetus, any one we may choose to name, is as evangelic as Ambrose, so far as the composition before us goes. Nor is the contrast more violent between the writings of heathen moralists, and the epistles of Paul, than that wb.ich offers itself when, by the side of the inspired writings, we place this Nicene oration. The inference I draw from so signal an instance would be in no degree invalidated by adducing, from the same writer, passages of an evangelic aspect. Such passages would either come ui^der the designation of dry dogma- tic statements; or they would express those occasional outbursts of a better feeling which enable us yet to be- lieve that these writers were personally better than their system. But then, the Romanist writers, even those of the darkest times, may readily be supplied with a simi- lar apology. And how much more full and satisfactory is such an apology in the instance of more modern Ro- manists, as for example, those of the Port Royal school! Whatever may be the demerits of Romanism, as com- pared with Nicene Christianity, it is not to be denied, that, in fervour and evangelic feeling, toe, its best wri- ters are decisively superior to those of the earlier time. In fact, it would be extremely difficult to collect, any where, from those distinctively called — the fathers, a SCHEME OF SALVATION. 297 mass of Christian sentiment, such as might be brought together, with the greatest ease, from the devotional and practical works of the middle and later ages. It would be perfectly safe to accept a challenge to adduce three passages from Romanist authors, for every one from the Nicene fathers, such as would satisfy a modern pro- testant ear. Or the comparison might be instituted on a rather dif- ferent ground, as for example, on that of the presence or absence of expressions, utterly offensive to every sound Christian feeling; and which it is very hard to reconcile with the supposition of genuine piety, in the writer. Now, it must be confessed, that many things meet the eye on the pages of the great writers of the Nicene age, of a kind that finds no parallels in the accredited and most esteemed Romanist writers. Altogether, those proprie- ties, both moral and religious, which modern refinement demands — and properly demands, are far better observed by the later, than they were by the earlier authors; and especially will this appear to be true, if we confine our- selves to those of the highest reputation, respectively. None, I think, will attempt to deny this advantage, as belonging to the Romish church, in regard to the obser- vance of the moral decencies of style, or subject; nor do I see that it can be refused in relation to theological proprieties: as for instance — Ephrem the Syrian, a highly esteemed writer of the Nicene school, and one who, ascetic as he is, may be read with pleasure and advantage by those who are bet- ter taught than himself, and who know how to supply his deplorable deficiencies in evangelic principle, gives us a story to the following efiect. Abraham the hermit, his own intimate friend, had had consigned to his ca^e, 26 298 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE in the wilderness (alas the luckless girl,) an orphan niece, the heiress of an ample fortune, then in her se- venth year, whom her relatives (such were the notions of the times,) conveniently disposed of, by incarcerating her in a cell, destitute of every comfort, 'adjoining tha't of the hermit. In this den the poor girl's liours were^'occu- pied in the performance of menial offices for her uncle, and in the routine of penance and devotion. It was her misfortune, moreover, to be very handsome, so the legend runs. Seen and seduced by a monk, who, on pretence of spiritual perplexity, frequented the holy se- clusion, she abandoned, at once, her profession, her pri- son, and her keeper; who, after awhile, discovers her shame, and the place of her sojourn; whither he follows her in disguise, acting a part the most foreign to his ha- bits. At last, discovering himself to the f^ir runaway, he brings her to tears and shame, and among the induce- ments, by means of which he labours to restore her to virtue, and to the ascetic life, he says, with the view of obviating her despair of forgiveness, '♦ Mary— 1 will be answerable for thee before God in the day of judgment. I will repent for thee on account of this course of ""sin.— Upon me be thy sin, my child; of my hands shall God require this thy sin; only listen to me, and return with me to thy place." Ephrem. p. 231. Oxford edition. It is only the inferior class of Romanist writers who, in any such way, are found to outrage all propriety. How miserably must those have lost the consciousness of their own position, as sinners, needing mercy, who could have fallen into the habit of making themselves responsible for the sins of others! Until of late, in perusing the fathers, we have been accustomed to take very little, or no account, of flagrant impieties such as this: and passing them, perhaps, with SCHEME OF SALVATION. 299 a smile, have simply said — " Such was the style of the times." But we must no longer allow ourselves this sort of easy philosophic indifference. The Nicene fa- thers, with their superstitions and their sooffeeism, are now to be forced upon the English church, in the room of her wise, holy, manly, and Christian-like founders. The substitution is horrid: it must be resisted; and to re- sist it, and to dissipate the illusions which favour the traitorous attempt, the real quality of these writers, and of their theological system, must be laid bare, without scruple or mercy. Now it will not do, slightly, to say in reply — " Oh, the fathers had their blemishes, no doubt, and so have the best writers, of the best ages; and we leave these minor imperfections where we find them; and we think the bringing them forward is an instance of ill-directed industry." This mode of disposing of the difficulty will not meet the occasion. — A blemish may be either a spot or stain, tarnishing the surface of a solid and pre- cious substance; or it may be a corroded speck, or a worn point, or edge, in the mere gilding that hides a worthless material: a blemish, of the former sort, may be removed, with equal ease and advantage to the body to which it has attached; but to rub and scour an atte- nuated gilding, what is it but to reveal, at every stroke, the vile brass, or wood, or clay, to which we had fond- ly attributed a hundred times its intrinsic value? The lives, labours, and writings of our English refor- mers, are disfigured by many blemishes; grant it. But it is also true, that, in making ourselves acquainted with them, our own minds being imbued with biblical senti- ments, we become more and more impressed with the conviction of their solid excellence: — they were men of God, and, taught as they were from above, whatever 3*00 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE may have been their faults, they understood and pro- fessed what is the most momentous in the Christian sys- tem. The result of an equally thorough examination of the Nicene fathers, and under the guidance of ge- nuine principles, will be, if not of an opposite, yet of a very different kind; and we shall be compelled to con- fess, that those vital elements of truth which the one set of men had recovered, under the divine guidance, from the scriptures, the other set did but dimly discern, and faintly hold, and were continually surrendering, for a mere pliantom of piety. The limits of this tract, and the range of subjects it must embrace, render it impracticable for me to acquit myself otherwise than very imperfectly, of the task I have undertaken; but I shall be content if I shall have induced any to pursue, for themselves, the line of inquiry which I have indicated. If a hundred instances were added to the few already given, the complexion of all would be the same. That is to say, whenever we look at ancient Christianity, in the concrete, or as imbodied in the lives, sentiments, and practices of those who en- joyed the highest reputation for sanctity, we find, ever and again, the same ingredients, and these placed nearly in the same order; and with the same utter want of evan- gelic feeling. — There is foremost, the high-wrought as- cetic virtue, and its indispensable condition — virginity; or, what we may fairly call, an illuminated stoicism: then follow the virtues which best harmonize with the ascetic life, and the motives of which are drawn, with much effect, from the Christian doctrine of another life. The accessories — sometimes the leading excellences of this order of piety, were, a prostrate submission to church authority, and such a regard to the sacraments, especially to the holy eucharist, as is not surpassed, a SCHEME OF SALVATION. 301 whit, by the boldest professors of transubstantiation. This description applies, with hardly a shade of differ- ence, to all instances intervening between the times of TertuUian, and the age of Gregory I. To afford a digested summary of the style of expound- ing scripture by the Nicene writers, and such as should fairly represent it, seems altogether impracticable; and, especially, because nothing short of lengthened quota- tions would enable the reader to judge the whole ques- tion. A sample or two may be offered, merely in illus- tration of what is meant by the broad assertion — That the notions universally entertained of religious celibacy, and of its high merits and importance, had the effect of dislodging the most momentous truths of the Christian system: as thus — I suppose that, in expounding the parable of the ten virgins, most modern and protesiant writers have consi- dered the solemn meaning it conveys as intended for the benefit of Christians at large, and by no means as re- stricted to the members of a spiritual aristocracy. More- over, it has, I think, been generally understood, that our Lord, by " the oil in the lamp," meant that principle of genuine piety which distinguishes his true followers from mere pretenders, or professors; so that the general pur- port of the parable is to incite us to make serious in- quiry into the state of our hearts, as "alive to God," or not. But it is in no such m.anner that the illustrious Chrysostom understands, or interprets, the allegory: let us hear him, (^s^/ /uirAvotnc, Hom. III. tom. ii. p. 348.) " What! hast thou not understood from the instance of the ten virgins, in the gospel, how that those who, although they were proficients in virginity, yet not pos- sessing the (virtue of) almsgiving, were excluded from t>6* 302 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE the nuptial banquet? Truly, I am ashamed, and blush and weep when I hear of the foolish virgin. When I hear the very name, I blush to think of one who, after she had reached such a point of virtue, after she had gone through the training of virginity, after she had thus winged the body aloft toward heaven, (sheer gnosticism this,) after she had contended for the prize with the powers on high, (the angels,) after she had undergone the toil, and liad trodden under foot the tires of pleasure, to hear such a one named, and justly named, a fool, be- cause that, after having achieved the greater labours, (of virtue,) she should be wanting in the lessl .... Now, the fire (of the lamps) is — Virginity, and the oil is — Almsgiving. And, in like manner as the flame, unless supplied with a stream of oil, disappears, so virginity, unless it have almsgiving, is extinguished But now, who are the venders of this oil? — The poor who, for receiving alms, sit about the doors of the church. And for how much is it to be bought? — for what you will. I set no price upon it, lest, in doing so, I should exclude the indigent. For, so much as you have, make this purchase. Hast thou a penny? — purchase heaven, ttyoftta-ov Tcv cvg-xvov, not, indeed, as if heaven were cheap; but the Master is indulgent. Hast thou not even a pen- ny? give a cup of cold water, for he hath said, &c. . . . Heaven is on sale, and in the market, and yet we mind it not! Give a crust, and take back paradise; give the least, and receive the greatest; give the perishable, re- ceive the imperishable; give the corruptible, receive the incorruptible. If there were a fair, and a plenty of pro- visions to be had, at the vilest rate, — all to be bought for a song, — would ye not realize your means, and postpone other business, and secure to yourselves a share in such SCHEAIE OF SALVATION. 303 dealing? Where, then, things corruptible are in view, do ye show such diligence, and where the incorruptible, such sluggishness, and such proneness to fall behind? Give to the needy, so that, even if thou sayest nothing for thyself, a thousand tongues may speak in thy behalf; thy charities standing up, and pleading for thee. Alms are the redemption of the soul, xvrpov -{vx^z iT^iv iki^^ij^oa-wi,. And, in like manner, as there are set vases of water at the church gates, for washing the hands; so are beggars sitting there, that tliou mayest (by their means) wash the hands of thy soul. Hast thou washed thy palpable hands in water? wash the hands of thy soul in alms- giving!" The preacher then makes an allusion, such as no pro- testant would disallow, to the context, "inasmuch as ye did it," &c.: and then proceeds, "My brethren, alms- giving is a great matter. Let us embrace it, to which nothing is equal «f cvSzv /o-sv, for it is sufficient for the wiping out of whatever sins" (Chrysostom's expression KAt ctK\ct(y u/ua'^Tioic, must carry this sense, or something like it) "and for warding off condemnation. Even if thou standest speechless, it shall plead for thee; rather I should say, there is no need of words, to him who l)as gained the mouths of the poor. Give what thou hast, for the reward is according to intention, not of constraint . . . But I return to the virgins." . . . What follows, although the citation be long, is too pertinent to our present purpose to be omitted. " But what is it which, after so many labours, these (foolish) virgins hear? — I know you not! which is no- thing less than to say that virginity, vast treasure as it is, may be useless! Think of them (the foolish virgins) as shut out, after undergoing such labours, after reining 304 CONNEXION OF THE CELIBATE WITH THE in incontinence, after running a course of rivalry with the celestial orders, after spurning the interests of the present life, after sustaining the scorching heat, tov >LAvama. Tcr ^e>«v, after having leapt the bound (in the gymnasium) after having winged their way from earth to heaven, after they had not broken the seal of the body (a phrase of much significance) and obtained possession of the form of virginity (the eternal idea of divine purity) after having wrestled with angels, after trampling upon the imperative impulses of the body, after forgetting na- ture, after reaching, in the body, the perfections of the disimbodied state, after having won, and held, the vast and unconquerable possession of virginity, after all this, then they hear — Depart from me, I know you not! *' Now you will not imagine that I make small account of virginity, great as it is. So great is it indeed, that none of the ancients were able to hold to it. For by the great grace (that has come to ws) what was the most for- midable in the view of the prophets and the ancients, has become to us an easy matter, so that the things which to them were the heaviest, and most extreme, namely, virginity, and the contempt of death, are now thought nothing of (as difficult,) even by mere girls. So difficult then was virginity esteemed, that none at- tempted to practise it. Noah, a just man, and one to whom God himself bore witness, nevertheless cohabited with a wife! as did also Abraham, and Isaac, the heirs of the promise. Joseph, that pattern of chastity, yet cohabited with a wife! A heavy thing indeed was the profession of virginity; nor until that time did virginity become efficacious, when the flower of virginity had blossomed (an allusion to our Lord's birth of a virgin) and so it was that none of tlie ancients (none living be- SCHEME OF SALVATION. 305 fbre the birth of Christ) were able to addict themselves to the ascetic practice of virginity. "A great matter indeed it is to rein the body. Paint to me now the figure of this virtue, and learn of what magnitude it is; seeing that it is waging a warfare which knows no truce, even for a day, a warfare worse than that with barbarians; for the contest we carry on with these have some interval, some truces; if now the sa- vage hordes assail us, now again they desist, and there is something of order, and an observance of seasons, ad- hered to. But the warfare of virginity hath no quiet, for the devil himself is the enemy, who regards no sea- sons of attack; nor ever waits while his adversary pre- pares for the assault; but stands every moment watching to find the virgin stripped, so tliathe may inflict upon her an opportune wound. Nay, so far from being permitted to rest, she carries her arch-enemy about with her. The condemned see their prince and judge, only at a season, and do not constantly endure the same torments; but the virgin, go whither she may, bears her avenger in her bosom, and supports her adversary in her arms, who al- lows her no repose, at eventide, or in the night, or in the dawn, or at noon; but still wages war, «crov»i/ utotst/Mov fjtnvvmy ) SO as that an advantage may be gain- ed over her; iKKctnrui s^)' iKA