"The customary prejudices against the 'laws of history' cannot withstand five minutes of reflection; for, however little thought one may give to them, only the rules of mathematics are their superiors in certitude." -- Charles Maurras.
THERE is something in every religion of eternity, but for Christians eternity is fundamental. Perhaps no one has stated more dramatically than Saint Augustine the mysterious fluidity of time -- the imperceptible and awesome shading-ofF of the present into the past and forward into a future that is always an undiscovered country. Nevertheless, this thought which stresses so clearly the worthlessness of a moment is a powerful argument for the dignity of the year. The patient steadfastness of the past is our bulwark against the dismaying old Greek philosophy of perpetual movement. Studying it we shall understand the constancy of the human mind, the modernity of our progenitors in the dim ages when mankind was young. A great deal is being said in these days when supermen are scarce about the unity of the human race; of the common consciousness which despite all differences has moved men onward since the beginning and which will save them now if they recognize its power. And this will bring us at once to the consideration of a very important truth: the only teaching which has insisted on and labored for the solidarity of the race is the doctrine of Christendom. Catholic civilization is alone in having worked on the assumption of a common origin and a common end; in having proclaimed the necessity for and the reality of corporate action, while providing an institutional scheme whose flexibility for the individual is as manifold as the separate courses of a multitude of stars.
The very nature of Christendom is historical. It is a civilization whose central act is a sublime miracle that keeps the past alive. No claim which it puts forth is philosophically so important as the assertion that it has remained historically unchanged; and while admitting the development of dogma the Church maintains that her dogma is of the Catacombs. The sublime fact that if the past were blotted out to-morrow Christendom would die, has been so well understood that we have even placed tradition on a level with scripture. There are, also, other subsidiary ways in which the Christian instinct for the preservation of the past has manifested itself. We have remembered, while others forgot, the progressive origin of our culture; its heritage from the society of Greece and Rome, its conquest of Europe and its mediaeval kingdom. We have understood that by reason of the sanctification of the best that was thought and spoken in the gardens of Athens and on the seven hills of the Caesars, Europe came into possession of the most equitable, energetic, and satisfying civilization known to man. Nor have we failed to discern the failure of the later ages to preserve the concord upon which society depends: we have seen the very idea of the past drowned in blood and error, assailed by all the words of sophistry and scorn. But in the light of the years whose splendour is part of our creed, we have dared to hope in the future, and our debt to the men, the historians, who have kept that light burning is larger than we can easily pay.
Now there are, broadly, two ways of writing history. The first is the method which, the mind searching carefully amid the chaotic records of the ages by the light of general truths, divines the movements which dominate events; which observes the rhythmic yet designed ebb and rise of the human flood; and which perceives in the apparently disparate currents the single purpose of the sea. It is a method requiring the highest efforts of imaginative genius enlightened by a scrupulous regard for the most infinitesimal shred of evidence, and withal lending itself, because of the magnitude of its undertaking, to the likelihood of error. The second is the method which strives to wrest from the details, the melee, of life in the past the story and the lesson. This is tireless in its inspection of records, of monuments, of letters written with no eye to the future. Strong imaginative gifts will save historians of such a kind from the fate of the annalist by showing the pattern of the past and by discovering the meaning of the migrations of the dead. These two methods, inductive and deductive, are really supplementary: both are necessary and both are human.
Fortunately modern Catholic historians have grappled with the problems confronting them in a surprisingly able way. Before their work had been begun, even the writers of history in England had no conception of Christendom as a social organization. That was for them a buried city, ruined by its sins. The isolation of Britain's story, brought about by the exaggerated importance lent to the reigns of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, had despoiled the popular mind of the sense of a common civilization which Christian Europe had espoused. Nowadays men, disturbed by the threatened dissolution of society, are eagerly seeking again the grounds of solidarity. What is it that mankind is trying to accomplish? What has it been doing in the past? These are burning questions, and we shall see the answer which the Catholic historian has brought.
To those for whom the Church is the central fact in the world, her progress and victory have seemed coordinate with the development of surrounding society. Rome, absorbing the intellectual and artistic forces of Greece, had built a working empire and laid on foundations of indubitable strength a government that was master of everything except the barbaric fringes of the world. Then had come the collapse -- almost inexplicable -- of the magnificent paganism of the Caesars, and its fragments were carried away by generous Christian blood. Rome the empire died in cruelty and darkness, but Roman civilization was preserved by a now conquering Christendom and later carried to a length and across larger areas than had been dreamed of before. The meekness of the Gospel assailed the last and most formidable frontiers.
This was Newman's doctrine. In nothing is the intuition of the great Cardinal more remarkable than in his conception of culture as a common trust which the ages had conspired to save. He knew that the Romans had not forgotten Rome. The "Historical Sketches" and certain other books are marvelous examples of mind divining principles which all the facts substantiate. "When," he says, "the storm mounted overhead and broke upon the earth, it was these scorned and detested Galileans, and none but they, the men-haters and God-despisers, who, returning good for evil, housed and lodged the scattered remnants of that old world's wisdom which had so persecuted them, went valiantly to meet the savage destroyer, tamed him without arms, and became the founders of a new and higher civilization. There is not a man in Europe now, who talks bravely against the Church, but owes it to that Church, that he can talk at all."
Newman's realization of the central unity of Christendom is the only one of his doctrines to be recalled here. It is the sole theory which makes the story of man intelligible and purposeful while preserving the necessary realism; its worth has been recognized fully by modern historians, especially in France. In England it has gained many able protagonists, among whom are Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, W.S. Lilly, and Hilaire Belloc, and it is the thesis of that very important book, "Europe and the Faith," of which more will be said in time. Nor should the work of another author, concerned during his studious lifetime with the dawn of Christendom, be overlooked. "The Formation of Christendom," T.W. Allies' large and imposing reply to the theories of Gibbon, is a monument of erudition and incisive criticism. The author's purpose was to show the unity existing amid the chaotic variety of the early Christian times and to outline a philosophy of history from the foundation of the Church to the reign of Charlemagne. His sonorous style and firm grasp of detail are not unworthy to rival the great skeptic who wrote the "Decline and Fall." In particular the last two volumes of the series, "Peter's Rock and Mohammed's Flood" and the "Monastic Life," are noteworthy for substance and dignity of expression.
No philosophic evaluation of history has been, or is likely to be, perfect in every respect. With the discovery of new sources of information some significant link in the speculative historian's chain of reasoning is sure to snap. Confident, however, that the general principles which Catholics believe to be reflected in history are correct, other able historians have contented themselves with the examination and correlation of evidence, and with the lucid setting forth of the human story simply as a story. The mere presentation of the truth, it has seemed to them, is the strongest argument for that truth. Of the high gifts and arduous labor demanded by such an undertaking, the life of John Lingard gives ample proof. His "History of England," which is today the acknowledged compeer of the best known chronicles of that country, was written by a man who retired from the executive activity toward which his earlier life had seemed to point, and who laid aside the offer of bishoprics and cardinalcies, in order to devote himself wholeheartedly to the scrutiny of documents. Only an unusually heroic man could have viewed the task without despair.
In order to appreciate fully the character of Lingard's achievement it is advisable to consider momentarily the life and environment of the man. He was born in 1771, and having decided to become a priest went to Douai where he stayed until, during the French Revolution, he barely escaped the fury of a mob and returned to England. Here he assumed the responsibilities of vice-president and professor in the newly established college at Crook Hall, Durham. Having become interested in Anglo-Saxon history, he wrote a series of articles on the subject, which were published at the instance of his friends. The success attending this work induced him to begin the monumental history for which he is remembered, and he therefore retired to a country curacy. One must bear in mind the lamentable condition of English Catholics at this time. Recently freed from the penal code, their small handful -- 60,000 -- was torn with dissension which separated the laity from the clergy, and prelates one from the other. There was no such thing as Catholic opinion. Scorned by the mass of Englishmen, accused of every kind of villainy and more than occasionally threatened with dire penalties, the faithful went their way, reduced to an impotent silence. It seemed scarcely the moment for any kind of literature except the polemic pamphlet or the horatory sermon; but Lingard boldly made the resolve to write his history impersonally. "The good to be done is to write a book that Protestants will read," he said with admirable wisdom.
The first volumes of the history were published without great stir; but as the successors neared modern times, the reviewers began to take note of them; some vituperation and controversy ensued, till finally the approving dictum of Hallam, then at the height of his fame, made the reputation of Lingard for accuracy and fairness secure. Edition succeeded edition, the work was translated and abridged; but surely the best tribute anyone can pay its author is to say that he undermined a tradition which had been rigorously implanted in the English heart -- the stupid assertion that a Catholic must lack character. Long after his death in 1851 men kept saying with Lord Acton, "Lingard has never been proved wrong."
The estimate was achieved by firm adherence to principles. In the Preliminary Notice to the final edition of his history, Lingard modestly remarked: "In disposing of the new matter derived from these several sources, I have strictly adhered to the same rules to which I subjected myself in the former editions, to admit no statement merely upon trust, to weigh with care the authorities on which I rely, and to watch with jealousy the secret workings of my own personal feelings and prepossessions." His success in doing these things is heightened by a style which is simple, very manly, and not at all elaborate. With his distrust of the "philosophy of history" he banned all imaginative portraits or that writing out of scenes which was Macaulay's chief delight. Extending as it does from B.C. 55 to A.D. 1689, Lingard's History affords plenty of opportunity for brisk narratives; this is seized but never for its own sake, so that the reader, trusting his reliable guide, is willing to forego the comparative glamour of another's conversation.
There were, obviously, many documents to which Lingard did not have access and the discovery of which will amplify the sketches of events given in his ever valuable History. The sifting of a vast amount of such evidence concerning the crucial movement in England's story, the Reformation, and that social order which preceded it, has been the life-work of a great Benedictine, Cardinal Francis Aidan Gasquet. Voluminous as his writings are and great as his non-literary work has been, Cardinal Gasquet may be said to have focussed the attention of all right-thinking historians on an important period hitherto neglected and to have drawn conclusions as startling as they are incontrovertible. His method is apparently a simple appeal to documents, but it is infinitely more, being in reality an attempt to reconstitute the life of a period in all its divergent manifestations, and to judge the men of past ages in the surroundings which circumstanced them. Cardinal Gasquet has killed the old narrow straight-line historian by shifting the argument from the abstract to the concrete; to the probable amazement of many a smug maker of compendiums he has raised the dead to speak.
In that very fascinating volume, "The Eve of the Reformation," the reader is first told that the author is not holding a brief for anybody, but will allow the case to present itself. Then one is favoured with an innocent-looking chapter on the revival of letters, which one closes with the impression that something has come out of the real past instead of merely from a library. Next the civil and religious governments are examined for their mutual relations; the mighty figure of Erasmus is unveiled of myth and walks the earth, a man; the institutional life of the time, the educational, parish, and guild characteristics of society, are reconstructed. One rises from the reading of this monumental volume impressed with the fact that here at last is history as it ought to be, stripped of conjecture and sophistry, and cheered, too, by the discovery that mediaeval life is humanly most fascinating and that a million lies have been relentlessly slaughtered. For everyone interested in history there is no book in these days more valuable than "The Eve of the Reformation."
In an earlier book, "Henry VIII. and the English Monasteries," Cardinal Gasquet had undertaken to attack the long-established antipathy of Englishmen to the monastic institutions of the Church. His method, therefore, is one of resolute adherence to contemporary accounts examined by the most severe standards of scientific criticism. The reader's interest grows as the machinations of Henry are laid bare by the records of his reign. Old deposits of papers, which the easygoing romancer of an earlier date had ignored while polishing his periods, turn literally into bundles of truth. The actions of Wolsey and Cromwell, the gradual suppression of monasteries and convents for the sake of their spoil, the popular protests so altogether tragic and unavailing, the resultant martyrdom of the religious and the brutal impoverization of the people, compel the most reluctant reader to accept the conclusion that the story was vastly different from what he had fancied. The book, which began so demurely, has managed somehow to rise with the wrath of the avenger, armed with facts to which no answer can be made. The skill with which Cardinal Gasquet has managed the narrative is worthy of a novelist of the highest genius.
It seems safe to assert that such books will induce intelligent Englishmen to accept a fairer view of the Reformation, and to modify their opinions on other important matters. In time they may restore the sense of the singleness and continuity of European civilization, give social action a satisfactory leg to stand on, and restore the prestige of the Church with the common people. Having understood the possibility of rendering such service, the Benedictines of England have founded a veritable school of history, the fruits of which are large and important. We can do no more here than to recall a few names, primarily that of Dom Bede Camm, a charming writer who since his conversion has busily popularized some of the most appealing portions of English ecclesiastical history and whose "Lives of the Blessed English Martyrs" are the products of unusual care and sympathy. Then there is Dom Henry Norbert Birt, whose best known work, "The Elizabethan Religious Settlement," should remove many misconceptions and also win readers by reason of its honest ability, and Dom J.H. Chapman, whose various volumes are the creations of a refined and most diligent scholarship.
Truly the English Benedictines have deserved well of us. In passing, however, one should note the fine work of other priests -- Thomas A, Hughes, of the Society of Jesus, for instance, whose historical researches into the past of his own order have gained such wide admiration, and Canon William Barry, whose brilliant analysis of the Papacy and its influence is known to a large audience. Nor should the student of literature neglect to consider the painstaking labors of Irishmen who, in Maynooth and elsewhere, have done such pioneer work in reconstituting the past of their own country, a past radiant with the blessing of the Church even if crowned so heavily with martyrdom. The Irish Dominicans have recently offered a few volumes which we hope are the forerunners of a series equal in value to what the English Benedictines have done. The lover of Newman will recall the introductory lecture on "The Idea of a University" with its entrancing picture of the ancient harmony existing between the neighboring peoples, and hope that a study of the past will reveal to both the means for a decently Christian adjustment of their difficulties.
We may turn back for a moment to an enigmatic man who stood close to Newman in many ways, but whose erudition was not of that patient sort which can wait for the day of its justification. Lord Acton, whose vast and somewhat arrogant learning spent itself largely on polemics of a journalistic character, was an admirable student of history (though his outlook was more than a little clouded by German metaphysics), but he lacked the impetus to a single, substantial work. His services to periodical literature were extraordinary in that he imbued it with a solidity of scholarship which had been notably missing. Again, as the adviser of many writers, as the friend of Döllinger and Newman, and as the designer of the "Cambridge Modern History," he left a name in English history not altogether written on sand.
The American Catholic contribution to the study of the past has as yet assumed no proportions of dignity. John Gilmary Shea, chief worker in this field, was a man of great ability but his lack of literary instinct gives his books a very colourless cast. As the author of a "History of the Catholic Church in the United States" Dr. Shea gathered a mass of precious information which, but for him, would probably have been lost forever. Nor is the story of the American Church a secondary affair, but rather a chronicle of unsurpassed heroism, of violent struggles against the odds of prejudice and poverty. Shea's researches into the story of the earlier missionaries and explorers have been of exceptional value; they aided Parkman in the making of his great if biased narratives, and have borne later fruit in the work of Father Campbell, S.J., author of "Pioneer Priests of North America." When the future historian of the unparalleled development of the Catholic Spirit in America shall proceed to write his narrative, it must be under a steady feeling of indebtedness to the scholarly, if unreadable, books of John Gilmary Shea.
On the whole, there is nothing of which we ought to be so proud and of which we are in fact so densely ignorant as the service of our historians. They are preeminently historical and not, like so many puny chroniclers, hysterical. If in their devotion to the work the gravity of some has been too grave, we may raise up other men to give the narrative the charm of Macaulay, or the piquancy of Taine. In fact, we have already done so in ways which will be considered later. As for the historical labor of Newman, Lingard, and Gasquet, it may be said that together they have given an impetus to a composite idea of civilization which men may not care to adopt at once but which, in the end, they will not gainsay.
II
However well unified our conception of society may be or however much interest we may feel in the popular movements and aspirations of the past, it must remain true that one of the greatest duties of history is to present the hero. While mankind gropes its way almost unconsciously to the Providential destiny, there are a few men in every generation who discern the march of events, in whom mind and will are stern enough to resist the apparently inevitable and to sway the multitude; there are other men also whose mental or moral excellencies raise up a silent bulwark against the swaying human flood, who direct the course of humanity by their majestic immobility. They are, respectively, the Napoleons who attack and the Wellingtons who refuse to move. Needless to say, the Catholic Spirit has been productive of both. The crowded galleries of the mediaeval cathedral bear testimony to some; the biographies of literature and history chronicle others. Now the writing of biography is a surprisingly spontaneous thing, like poetry. It must be born of enthusiasm for the hero, it must glow with a realization of the necessity of that hero's message for the present age; and the best biography, like its subject, will be immortal. No one has needed to write a life of Nelson after Southey, or a life of Johnson since Boswell. Occasionally, it is true, the complexity of the theme and its queer involutions may render the task difficult, if not impossible. Where is the final story of Napoleon, Dante, or Lincoln? In general the most satisfying biography will have some of the impersonality of a portrait: it will show the artist's hand but the sitter's face.
A salutary preface to the consideration of work done by recent Catholic biographers is the "Lives of the Saints" by Rev. Alban Butler. Men of sanctity are models for all men, and although this contribution to their history was completed before the days of the Catholic revival, it is the model for so much that is best in writing that it ought always to be borne in mind. Comprising as it does more than fifteen hundred biographies, each the result of deep study and penetrative analysis of evidence, it is difficult to believe that it was the work of a man engaged in many tasks and even the author of other books. Alban Butler was a professor at Douai when he conceived the plan of his magnum opus; later, missionary duties, the presidency of the college of St. Omer, and extensive executive tasks prevented the publication of the book, but did not dissuade the author from his high if almost sacrificial purpose. He set to work with as strict a regard for historical truth as the Bollandists strove for; but in addition he was fortunately gifted with a genial personality which delighted in sprightly narrative and did not allow either science or devotion to obscure the quest of beauty that is every writer's privileged business. Before his time the English saints had been lost in legend or in studied hostility; after him it was true to say that they had recovered not only historical existence but their rightful place in the popular literature of England.
That place, once so important, is being recognized again; and it is noteworthy that one of the scholars most interested in the subject, Professor Gordon Hall Gerould, should have expressed the highest regard for Butler. "The book," he says, "is the great classic of modern English Catholicism, and it is time-defying in the same way as the history of Butler's great contemporary, Gibbon. . . . Whether the "Lives of the Saints" be read as a book of devotion or history, whether by the man of doubting or believing mind, it cannot well fail to attract and give profit." The word lore is one of the most charming in the language, and Butler with all his calm detachment from mere ambition and his sincere piety understood it well. His sketches are alive, are written in the comely English of the eighteenth century, and are executed with the care of a most exacting artist. To what another writer would have made monotonous or heavy with moral teaching, he contrived to lend a greater allurement than Johnson threw about the poets. Butler made the saints live again just as a multitude of Englishmen were getting ready to pray, and he left them and their children a heritage of peace and light which is like a garden in Arcady. Of course, he had not seen many important documents and occasionally he made mistakes; but the substantial accuracy of his work cannot even now be challenged.
The fact that an important series of saints' lives was begun under the direction of Newman, brings us to his own biography. Without disparaging the volumes of Hutton or Meynell, it may be said that the task of interpreting the Oratorian Cardinal has been fulfilled most satisfactorily by Wilfrid Ward. This highly gifted man, the son of W.G. Ward and during many years the editor of the Dublin Review, brought to the study of Newman exemplary industry and enough tact to realize that his subject ought to be allowed to speak for himself. The "Life," therefore, consists chiefly of letters and utterances designed to show Newman's state of mind after he had become a Catholic. The biographer appears only in the arrangement of the material and in the making of what seem to him necessary deductions. The portrait thus presented has not a little of the impersonality and deference of good art.
Unfortunately the book, great though it is, admits of serious objections. Owing to the foreshortening of Newman's Anglican career, the public events of his Catholic priesthood gain too much prominence. Because the spiritual character of the man as he had developed through the ordeal of his conversion is left in the background, his reverses and temporary obloquy are given an inner importance which they surely did not possess in real life. Newman dwells so much in the shadow that one gets the impression that light was generally shut off. "There was a wart on Newman's face," a wise and genial critic of Ward's book once remarked to him, "and you have made it so large that the face is hidden." To some extent the biographer realized the mistake which he had unconsciously made and his "Last Lectures" are admirable interpretative corrections. Despite its limitations, however, Ward's book has rendered a distinct service and an accompanying Vie intime will some day be written.
In "The Life and Times of Cardinal Wiseman," Ward found a larger canvas and covered it with interesting figures brought together in a well-knit design. The strong men who dominated the early days of the Catholic awakening are set forth in the book with freshness, vigour, and interest, Cardinal Wiseman made up for what he lacked in genius by a fine vivacity, a sterling talent for public affairs, and a deeply religious spirit. Not so extraordinary a man as Newman, he seems to have adapted himself more gracefully to the biographer's requirements. But the best work that Wilfrid Ward did was, perhaps, the bright and informing "William George Ward and His Times." In this narrative of his gifted father the writer found opportunity to describe many fascinating intellectual characteristics of the Oxford Movement, and the eccentricity of his subject added a not unwelcome pungency. It cannot be said of such biographies that they are perfect works of art; but they are sane, earnest efforts to give common-sense views of great men and are saved by an ever-present critical instinct from rant and bias. No man has done larger work in setting before the world heroes who otherwise would probably have been ignored.
A student of life not so well known, perhaps, as Ward, but gifted to write one of the most masterly biographies of recent times, is J.G. Snead-Cox. His "Life of Cardinal Vaughan" served to make known a most profoundly spiritual man, who governed the ecclesiastical affairs of London with splendid success and quietly practiced a noble asceticism. With the sympathy and diligence of a true friend, Snead-Cox set to work upon a book that has the best qualities of intimacy with none of its superfluous gestures. "No interpreter was needed," he says modestly, "for the dead could speak, and far more convincingly for himself." But the Archbishop of Westminster, had he been in search of fame, could have chosen no better herald. Some of the chapters, particularly that on "Characteristics," are models, and the whole book is one that will be read with love.
A recent work of unusual interest is Shane Leslie's presentation of the real Cardinal Manning. That great prelate, so deeply inspired by the almost military zeal of the reformer, had neither the intellectual reticence nor the single-spiritedness which makes for easy approval of personality. As a Churchman his interests were apt to take refuge in intransigeance of mood, in the refusal to give his opponents a hearing; as an individual priest, however, he lived very conscious of his unworthiness and consumed with eagerness to achieve an apostolate. Purcell in his biography of Manning misread the evidence he examined and left a great deal unread; unable to appreciate any but ostentatious motives, he made the surface of Manning's soul seem the substance of it. Naturally the injury done to Manning's character was very great, and the cynicism with which the public came to view a leading representative of Catholicism was extended to other representatives. This regrettable impression was combated to some extent by various replies, but previous to the appearance of Mr. Leslie's work the first impression remained extraordinarily persistent.
Hitherto unnoticed collections of letters, private journals, and testimonials were unearthed and studied with insight and fairness. Shane Leslie is the master of a style which scintillates with the intelligence of a poet and, like the best of French prose, is quick to reflect the nuances of imagination. Possessing an unusual knowledge of the official life of Manning's time, he was able to set forth the significance of the Cardinal's policy as a part of its environment. Matters that seem grotesque when viewed alone become intelligible when seen as portions of a pattern, and Shane Leslie has made an admirable pattern. The disposition of the work is so sincere, the analysis of Manning's inner life so calm and sympathetic, that the moral heroism of the Cardinal is accepted by the reader as a fact. Some of the conclusions reached are open to dispute, but the book is on the whole the most completely satisfying Catholic biography that has appeared in many a day.
Unfortunately we shall not be able to give other works the notice which they deserve. Our literature has been enriched by a large number of pleasurable biographies which have come like revelations of the energy of life. Agnes Strickland's "Lives of the Queens of England" preserve their charm for new generations, and may be read with profit even though the research upon which the narratives were based could have been much more careful. Canon William Barry's "Cardinal Newman" remains the best one-volume life, and its brilliant presentation of the Cardinal from a literary point of view is an excellent introduction to the study of his writings. In "Ernest Renan" he provided a searching study of an interesting if misled mind: here and in many other books Canon Barry has displayed critical strength and a ready understanding of the Continental spirit. Edwin de Lisle's "Life and Letters of A.P. de Lisle" is a serious and important account of a man devoted to the conversion of England; the biography of John Lingard, by Martin Haile, contrives to set forth clearly the personality of that great historian, and such other books as Richard Simpson's "Edmund Campion," Maisie Ward's "Father Maturin," Bernard Holland's "Kenelm Digby, a Memoir," Everard Meynell's "Francis Thompson" (a masterpiece of which a great deal might be said), and Father Martindale's "Robert Hugh Benson" are literary portraits of exceptional charm and significance. Theirs is a work whose reward is not often commensurate with the importance of the undertaking.
Is it necessary to emphasize again the importance of history in the development of the Catholic Spirit? We have already said that Christendom is inseparable from the past; that from an irrefragable presentation of that past opinions which have been as popular as they are false must be consigned to the dust-heap of prejudice. Lingard, Gasquet, and their followers have done more to dispel unfairness than an army of missionaries; they have killed forever the myth of Christian oppression and Elizabethan virtue. Catholic education and thought today can become solid only if they are built upon a firm understanding of the unity of Christendom; we must somehow realize the connection between ourselves and the Christian peoples of the Ages of Faith, and understand that Augustine speaks to us as directly as he did to the Carthaginians, that the voice of Jeanne d'Arc is a living voice, and that the Crusades accomplished what everyone today despairs of, the sanctification of the mob. Good history is literature because it has power to inform the intellect, to arouse the gravest and most delicate emotions, to inspire us with that contemplativeness which is the goal of art.
BOOK NOTE
The best edition of Lingard is that edited by Hilaire Belloc. Some works of interest in connection with the subject-matter treated in this chapter are: "Saints' Stories," by G.H. Gerould; "Lord Acton and His Circle," by Dom Gasquet; Newman's "Historical Essays"; Mrs. Wilfrid Ward's introduction to her husband's "Last Lectures"; Belloc's "First and Last" (those essays which deal with the writing of history); and T.W. Allies' "A Life's Decision." See also the "Catholic Encyclopedia."