POVERTY
THERE is nothing new in the remark that Christ at His coming sanctified the state of poverty in a manner totally new to the world. In this relation we look upon the circumstances which surrounded His birth as a very special Providence. The life of the Holy Family at Nazareth was indeed one of ordinary but apparently not extreme poverty. The question "Is not this the son of the carpenter whom we know?" "Is not this the carpenter?" show us that our Lord and St. Joseph practised a trade in the ordinary way, like any other Jews would have done, working no doubt day by day for their living, but not in a state of destitution, or in want for the necessaries of life. By a combination of circumstances however, which we believe to have been brought about by God for this express purpose, His birth took place away from His home and from the friends of His mother and St. Joseph, in surroundings which were without what may fairly be considered as the necessaries of life. It was under these circumstances that He preached His first sermon on the dignity of Poverty.
It was a new idea to the people and one of which the world had never before heard. The poor have ever formed the vast majority of mankind; yet the instinct has always been to look down upon them. The ancient Romans looked upon the needy and the afflicted as the object of the malediction of the gods. A story is told of one of the Emperors sending a whole shipload of them to sea, and having the vessel sunk, so as to rid the city of their presence. The Jews had indeed learnt something less opposed to the truth; but even they looked upon Poverty as a misfortune. A promise of an earthly reward was necessary as a stimulus to lead them on to do their duty. "I am the Lord thy God, who brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage." "Honour thy father and thy mother, that thou mayest be long lived upon the land which the Lord thy God will give thee." A modest competency was to them the minimum that was put before them to deliver them from care and anxiety. "Give me neither beggary nor riches: give me only the necessaries of life."[1]Yet they knew that if the poor were faithful to God, He would protect them; and indeed that one of the attributes of the God of the Jews was His providential care of the poor. "He shall judge the poor of the people, and he shall save the children of the poor, and he shall humble the oppressors. . . . He shall deliver the poor from the mighty, and the needy that had no helper. He shall spare the poor and needy; and he shall save the souls of the poor."[2]
Our Lord in His teaching, however, went far beyond anything which even the Jews had before their minds, when He proclaimed that Poverty was the true state of blessedness. His first recorded words as official teacher of mankind are "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." In another passage we read still more explicitly,[3]"Blessed are ye poor, for yours is the kingdom of God; Blessed are ye that hunger now, for you shall be filled; Blessed are ye that weep now, for you shall laugh; . . . but woe to you that are rich, for you have your consolation. Woe to you that are filled, for you shall hunger; woe to you that now laugh, for you shall mourn and weep." He is here putting the state of poverty forward as the state of blessing, more to be desired than the state of riches.
The same idea we find enforced by our Lord in His teaching in numerous instances. He speaks of as "the Mammon of Iniquity," so intimately connected does He consider them with vice. More than that. He speaks as though the salvation of a rich man was so difficult as to be almost a test of God's omnipotence. "It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of God. . . . With man it is impossible; but with God all things are possible."[4]
Consider also some of our Lord's parables in this regard. The well-known one of Dives and Lazarus at once occurs to mind. The rich man is not accused of any particular evil; but simply he lived trusting in his riches, the selfish life of which they are so often the foundation. He "was clothed in purple and fine linen and feasted sumptuously every day"; while Lazarus "lay at his gate full of sores, desiring to be filled with the crumbs that fell from the rich man's table"; and it is added almost as a matter of course that after death their lots are reversed. Abraham is depicted as saying to the rich man, "Son, remember that thou didst receive good things in thy lifetime, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou are tormented."[5]In another parable we have placed before us one who trusted so much in his accumulated wealth that he said to himself, "Thou hast much good laid up for many years, take thy rest, eat, drink, make good cheer"; and the merited rejoinder is "Thou fool; this night do they require thy soul of thee, and where shall those things be which thou hast provided?"[6]These examples might be multiplied indefinitely.
There is no danger of the virtue of poverty being lost sight of by the Church. The whole attitude of the clergy and devout laity affords opportunities of charity to the poor. Not only do they practise almsgiving to a degree far beyond any question of strict duty, but many of them give themselves to personal work among the poor, which is more valuable than silver and gold, while the modern active congregations of nuns are fully appreciated especially for the work that they do among the poor. One of the most sanctifying phases of a priest's life is his close contact with the poor. The man of the world at best looks upon them as persons to be pitied, to be relieved, to be helped; in modern times, they teach them to combine together to insist on the betterment of their state—a movement with which, if carried on with proper responsibility and care, the Church is in full sympathy. But so long as the world goes on, so long there will be poor people in it, and to the Christian, still more to the priest, the natural attitude is something bordering on reverence for the poor; for to them Christian virtues such as humility, work, self-denial, obedience, come almost naturally as the accompaniment of their state. Their very necessities almost compel them to seek comfort from God in prayer. Many of the poor indeed neglect these advantages and make their poverty a source of discontent and even murmuring against Divine Providence in this regard. Equally a rich man may practise poverty of spirit; but it does not come easily. "Howhardlyshall they who have riches enter into the kingdom of God."[7]
While however a priest easily understands the sanctifying effects of poverty in others, there is a real danger that he may fail to appreciate it in himself. The anxious and worrying effect on the mind, the continuous trouble as much as the self-denial necessitated by the conditions of his life seem to interfere with his power of prayer and with the proper sanctification of his duties. Yet in truth the facing of such conditions may react in a far more sanctifying way than the prayers and devotions which they impede: the prayer of a poor man in anxiety and distress, even though a distracted prayer, may be more efficacious than the ordinary prayer of the man in comfortable circumstances.
Thank God, in England there is no chance of a priest being anything else than a poor man. But there are degrees of poverty amongst us according to the missions at which we are stationed and other circumstances; and from the fact of the general state being inevitable, we are apt to lose sight of its value and long for positions where we have to practise it less rather than more.
It is well for us then to think over and apply to ourselves the fact that Poverty as such should be looked upon as a true blessing, to be desired as the ordinary means by which our lives may be raised up and made like to that of our Divine Master. True, indeed, our wish should be for whatever surroundings will best enable us to carry out the work which God has destined for us individually; and whatever He sends us, we joyfully accept. But so far as we have any wish or longing, the blessing we should prefer should not be riches, but poverty, for that make us more like to Him.
It is just here, when we come to reduce theory to practice, that our state contrasts with that of a religious. In one sense—and a true sense—they practise the virtue in its fulness, and we should never underestimate the spirit of self-sacrifice necessary in order to have nothing that they can call their own. But in another sense, religious poverty may be easier to practise than that with which a secular priest is faced. For their wants are always provided for, and they are free from the anxieties of poverty with which we are familiar. St. Ignatius gives it as one of the fruits of whole-hearted sacrifice in the Society, that it relieves its members of all care. They live indeed in what may be called in the words of Pope Leo XIII "frugal comfort," such as befits men who are poor; but they are free from anxiety. For St. Alphonsus it was not enough that his subjects should use things that are cheap; but he wished that they should be rough and common things, so that the spirit of poverty might not be wanting. And many inconveniences distinctive of poverty are common to all religious. But so long as their order or congregation exists and flourishes they need have no care or anxiety for themselves or their future.
Our poverty, however, is of a totally different type, and our dangers of a different nature. The life of a secular priest may be full of care and anxiety on the question of money—difficulty of making ends meet, support of church and school, perhaps the weight of a capital debt, good works languishing for want of means—the poor dependent on him—and so forth. He will wear a threadbare coat, and deny himself any food or comfort that are not absolutely necessary for the sake of his people and his work. This is a poverty more wearing and apparently less sanctifying. Poor jaded human nature longs to be free from care and anxiety, and we easily lose sight of the supernatural power of poverty. We look on it as the unfortunate accompaniment of the existing state of Catholic England; we fail to remember that it is one of the great sources of blessing on it. Hence the anxiety of some priests to be placed on better missions, with more pay and less work, a hope for better days in recognition of past services and so forth.
What is to be our remedy? How are we to learn to love our poverty, to realise its power for good, to make it, as it can be made, the greatest source of our sanctification?
The answer to all these questions is one and the same. Our life must have about it the notes and characteristics of the poor men that we are. It must be a life of humility and self-effacement, hardiness, and of work; there must be no self-indulgence; and, above all, we must surrender our liberty to the call of duty. Let us consider these points in detail.
1. A poor man does not think of himself individually; he knows that he is only one of a multitude of human beings similarly circumstanced. He has to work for his living, and is willing to put up with whatever his lot may be, provided he can earn what is necessary for the support of himself and those who depend on him. He does not resent being slighted: he looks upon it as his natural lot. Nor does he put forward his own wishes or opinions. He only desires to be able to go his way and do his daily work. Our Lord was in this, as in other things, our model. He had lived nearly thirty years at Nazareth, and all that his fellow townspeople had to say of Him was, "Is not this the carpenter?"—as though to say, "Is he not like any other carpenter?"— "How came this man by all these things?" (St. Mark vi. 2, 3.) In like manner a priest with the spirit of poverty will seek no notoriety, will not wish to be known from his fellow clergy, but will only seek to be allowed to live the daily life on the mission, and to share its blessings. He will look on the ordinary rough usage of life merely as incidents to be expected, while he pursues the end of his calling, the acquisition not of temporal, but of spiritual riches: the "unum necessarium," so far as he is concerned.
2. A poor man does not seek after self-indulgence. If money is spent on himself, he has to do additional work to earn it: this thought is a perpetual stimulus to self-denial. In similar manner, to a priest on the mission there is plenty of such stimulus. Such small sums of money as may pass through his hands are wanted over and over again for the relief of the poor around him. Their needs are ever present, and appeal loudly and forcibly to him. If he is a rector, the expenses of the mission have to be met, and they are often increased by having to find interest on mortgages or capital debt, sometimes leaving little or nothing for personal expenses or salary. Here necessity to some extent asserts itself; but not altogether. A priest in a so-called comfortable mission has the physical power to make himself very comfortable. He can furnish his rooms well, so that they appeal both to his artistic sense and to his self-indulgence: he can spend money enough to give himself the best of food, without sinning against justice or defrauding anybody; he can save money enough for a first-rate holiday once a year. His work may languish, though he does all he is bound to do, and no one can make a complaint against him.
Yet he is living a life unworthy of his state, and one which will not bring any blessing on him such as the sanctification of his flock. Where is his spirit of poverty? Has a poor man always plenty of good food? Does not his work sometimes suffer from his forced abstemiousness? Can he give himself a holiday of the nature indicated? Truly many a man of the world would envy the comfortable life of a priest who has lost the spirit of poverty. A zealous priest on the other hand will strive to live economically. His measure of food is just that which will support him and enable him to do his work efficiently: his measure of comfort[8]will be that which he needs for his work. If he be in a well-to-do mission, he will willingly save what he can for the relief of the poor at his doors. If he is on a poorer mission, or if he is a junior priest, he will willingly accept any necessary self-denial, both as a schooling for himself and because he knows that what is saved will find a worthy destination in the hands of the poor and needy, or in the support of the Church.
3. A poor man is a hard-working man. "Exibit homo ad opus suum, et ad operationem suum usque ad vesperam." "Man shall go forth to his work, and to his labour until evening."[9]Such is the ordinary lot of mortals. By far the majority have to work for their daily bread. They only think themselves fortunate to have work ready to their hands which will enable them to earn what they require. Now a priest may be a hardworking man or not as he himself decides. The amount of work absolutely necessary and bindingex justitiais usually not large. His Sunday duty may be heavy; but during the greater part of the week he is free. But if he has the spirit of his state, the work ready to his hand is inexhaustible; and the salvation of numberless souls depends upon his doing it. "Why stand ye here all the day idle?" is Christ's reproach to those who have time on their hands and do not use it. St. Alphonsus made a vow that he would never pass a minute of time unoccupied. Such a vow if kept to would mean a heroic life. Far short of that we can well learn to use our time with the sense of responsibility. To throw away time in inordinate reading of the newspapers, accompanied with the smoking of cigarettes, may not be definitely sinful; but it is throwing away opportunities which will never recur. A hard-working business man once explained to the writer that he never wasted a moment of time: so much so that if he had to wait in a waiting-room before seeing some one, he would exercise himself by valuing in his mind all the objects of furniture, which he considered a good business training of the faculties. Truly the children of this world are in their way wiser than the children of light. He said Time is money: we can say, Time is eternal life. Which of the two maxims makes time more valuable, or should make us harder workers?
4. Uncertainty as to the future. We often hear a demand among the clergy for "fixity of tenure." This means that a Rector, without Canonical fault, should not be removable from his mission, which should be bound to give him support in sickness and old age. There is nothing unreasonable in this aspiration, at least for those who have a certain number of years of work behind them: the ordinary law of the Church is designed to produce such security. Nevertheless, we in England, when we were truly missioners, and had no such claim to fall back upon, were undoubtedly practising the virtue of poverty in a higher degree than those who had complete and permanent parochial livings. A poor man's future is always precarious, depending on his services being still wanted, his employers being themselves prosperous, his own health remaining strong, and a thousand other contingencies of life. A missioner in accepting a like state of precariousness is putting himself on a higher plane than that of the ordinary parochial clergy, and many priests, with the true spirit of their vocation, have rejoiced in their condition in this respect, the hardship of which has been much mitigated by the existence of clergy funds which secure to the aged and infirm an amount of help quite out of proportion with the entrance fees or subscriptions they have to pay, and thus far better than any mutual help association of the working man.
In recent years, however, this question has been settled permanently. Whatever the effect here in England of the legislation of Pius X— about which there has been some difference of opinion—in the revised Canon Law it is laid down that in all countries in which there is a Hierarchy, the rectors of the churches are to be "Parochi"; but whether or not they have security of tenure is left to the Bishop to decide in each case. It is possible that our custom in England may continue without much change, and only those who have what were formerly known as Missionary Rectories will have true security of tenure: that, however, will depend on the individual Bishop. But at least, we can say that those who are called to work long years without such security, will be called to practise the virtue of poverty in a higher degree than the others. A priest with the true missionary vocation will do good while he can, and leave the future in the hands of God. The practice of a priest saving up money for his old age is not indeed to be condemned, but it is the less high course. How many have done this for years and then the last summons came to them while still in middle life, so that they had to leave their savings for others to spend.
5. Surrender of Liberty. The consideration of this can be postponed until theConference on Obedience.
[1]Prov. xxx. 8.
[2]Ps. lxxxi. 4, 12.
[3]St. Luke vi. 20.
[4]St. Matt. xix. 24, 26.
[5]St. Luke xvi. 19, 25.
[6]St. Luke xii. 20.
[7]St. Mark x. 23.
[8]The question of how to furnish one's rooms must be always a personal one for each priest to settle. To some, the advantage of an attractive room, artistically decorated, both as to furniture and pictures, may be a help towards their work, and induce them to spend time among their books which might otherwise be frittered away. But the effeminate or even luxurious method of furnishing that one has occasionally seen is hard to defend in a priest's room. Cardinal Vaughan ends his book onThe Young Priestby this advice:—
"We have but one caution to offer, and that is, not to furnish your room as though it were a lady's boudoir. Indulgence in this kind of taste tells unfavourably upon a Priest's own character and stamps the man in the judgment of others" (The Young Priest,p. 34).
[9]Ps. ciii. 23.
CHASTITY
WE are often asked by non-Catholics why it is that priests are not allowed to marry. It is a difficult question to answer in a few words, and becomes the more difficult from the obvious inability of even a well-disposed person who is not a Catholic to understand our view of the matter. We should probably answer by appealing to the conveniences of the rule. A man who is unmarried is free from encumbrances; he can go where he is sent at short notice; in his daily life all the time and thought which he would otherwise spend on the affairs of his home and the bringing up of his children can be devoted to the direct work of his ministry. We might perhaps quote the words of St. Paul: "He that is without a wife is solicitous for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please God; but he that is with a wife is solicitous for the things of the world, how he may please his wife; and he is divided."[1]Or we might point to financial considerations to show that it is a useful rule, for an unmarried priest can be supported on a far lower income than a married one. A somewhat similar rule applies to the army, and for similar reasons, with this important limitation, that soldiers cannot be expected to deprive themselves permanently of matrimony, so that the limit of the rule is to restrict it to a certain percentage, and to those of a certain age; whereas priests being called to a more self-denying life, are expected to do without it permanently.
All this is true as far as it goes; but we ourselves know that this is only one aspect of the subject, and that not the most important one. The fact that the Church faces scandals among the clergy in every age of her history, without showing any inclination to relax the rule, would surely point to the fact that there are greater issues involved than mere questions of finance or convenience. These scandals are indeed happily few—very few—in proportion to the total number of the clergy; but they are sufficiently numerous and sufficiently grave to make us certain that the Church would not insist on the rule which makes their recurrence possible, but for a good of surpassing and all-pervading importance.
In fact the Church has ever spoken with no uncertain voice on the excellence of the celibate over the married state. Not that she underrates the latter; on the contrary, by raising matrimony to the dignity of a sacrament and insisting on its indissolubility, she has done much to raise the standard of domestic virtue and domestic happiness, and to emphasise the greatness of the Christian home and family. But St. Paul says, "He that giveth his virgin in marriage does well"; but "he that giveth her not does better";[2]and the celibate state has ever been regarded by the Church as higher than that of matrimony.
In fact it would seem that the married state, great as it is, is hardly compatible with the highest sanctity: scarcely an instance occurs to mind of a canonised saint who died in the married state, except martyrs whose sanctification was accomplished by the very act of death.
Nor is there any difficulty in discerning our Lord's special love for celibacy or virginity. An esteem for virginity was indeed the creation of Christianity. Even to the Jews, for a woman to have no children was considered a reproach,[3]if for no other reason, because it destroyed any possibility of the Messiah being descended from her. It was our Blessed Lady herself who first broke through this prejudice. For her answer to the Archangel Gabriel can only mean that she esteemed the privilege of being ever a virgin more than the prospect of having the Messiah descended from her, or even that He should be her own son. It was only when it was explained to her that by a special dispensation of Providence her mothership was to be compatible with her continued virginity that she gave the requisite consent, and the Word was made Flesh within her womb. It is perhaps a thought that we might make more prominent in our spiritual life that Mary, whom we love to regard as the guardian of a priest's celibacy, was in truth the first in this world to discover the excellence of that state, and the first to practise it as a virtue.
And there are other instances where our Lord showed His special predilection for this virtue. The "disciple whom Jesus loved," whose head was on His breast at the Last Supper, who stood beneath the Cross, and received the commission to be the guardian of our Lady during the remainder of her sojourn on this earth, according to tradition practised this virtue throughout his life in all its fulness, so that the Church on his feast day calls out, "Valde honorandus est beatus Joannes, quis upra pectus Domini in coena recubuit; cui Christus in cruce matrem virginem virgini commendavit"; and again, "Diligebat eum Jesus quoniam specialis praerogativa castitatis ampliori dilectione fecerat dignum: quia virgo electus ab ipso, virgo in aevum permansit. In cruce denique moriturus huic matrem suam virginem Virgini commendavit, quia virgo electus ab ipso, virgo in aevum permansit."
These thoughts might easily be developed; but it is unnecessary, as— theoretically at least—we are all familiar with the idea. Nevertheless, there is often a danger that we may lose sight of its essence—that we may look upon celibacy as a mere disciplinary law of the Church, made for prudential reasons, and our duty as merely to abstain from every thought or act which may endanger its observance— to look on celibacy, in short, as a negative rather than a positive precept, forbidding us to do this or that, but not adding anything very special to our daily spiritual life, beyond absence of sin. Yet this gives one a very inadequate idea of what should be to us a most positive virtue, affecting our whole lives, giving to the priesthood our greatest glory, and to our lives the note of heroism.
Now the positive side of the virtue of celibacy is in theory plain enough, at least in its main outline. Woman was created to be man's helpmate, and she fulfils her calling in the first place by her power of sympathy. There is no human sympathy like that of a woman, and granted that it is used within proper limits and restrictions, it is one of the greatest helps which man can have in meeting the troubles and storms of life. The care and sympathy of his mother in youth, of his wife in the heyday of life, of his daughters in old age, are the most valuable helps to many a man of the world, to enable him to face with success the difficulties of his state. In like manner when he wants counsel and advice he turns to that sex who have specially the gift of entering into another's difficulties and helping him through them.
The essence of celibacy is that when we seek sympathy and counsel in our troubles and trials, or our work, and in all the affairs of life, we turn not to human sympathisers, but to those whom we know by faith—to our Lord in the Tabernacle, to His mother, to our patron saints, to our guardian angel, etc. The sympathy we get differs from that which is to be obtained in the world in the first place in the absence of the feeling of sense, which is the first and easiest remedy and that which we should look for as the natural accompaniment of sympathy in the world. This does not mean that it is less real: on the contrary, it is far more real and more powerful. If a priest is sent any great trouble or anxiety, and instead of seeking human consolation and guidance, goes straight into his Church, to pour out his soul in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, or before the altars or statues of our Lady or the Saints, he will come forth strengthened in spirit, and having received the gift of counsel in a far higher degree than would ever have been the case had he had recourse to the solace and company of a wife or family or relations. And this counsel and strength will increase in degree in proportion as he has banished from his life the ordinary sensible consolations to be obtained from human sympathy.
He does not on this account love his family and his friends less; on the contrary, he loves them more, though in a different and more mortified manner. The relations between a priest and his family must be essentially different from what they were when he was a layman. His pleasure in being in their company, the joy of their society, has to be restricted and curtailed; often for long years—as in the case of foreign missionaries—he may be cut off from them altogether; but his true charity towards them, his wish for their highest good, his readiness to sacrifice himself for them are not less but far greater than before, and both he and they have the consolation of knowing the power of his prayers to help them.
The great exemplar of this virtue, St. Aloysius, may be quoted as a special example. Of him it is written that he even denied himself the sensible consolation of his mother's countenance, and his detachment from all the consolations of sense were such that we can hardly realise. Yet he speaks confidently of his affection for his family and friends. He declared that he offered daily to Almighty God in one hand his relations and worldly friends, in the other his fellow members of the Society of Jesus, and that both were continually in his mind.
In such a matter as this it is not suggested that we should aim at the height of chastity practised by St. Aloysius. The particular degree of reserve alluded to above, however admirable in him—and the fact that the Church records it with approval in the official lessons on his feast is sufficient proof of this—would be in us not only affectation, but wholly unsuited to the conditions in which we live. Nevertheless, we have to imitate the same spirit in our measure and our social intercourse with our family must be limited both in degree and in character. The very fact of the sensible sympathy being so strong between mother and son, or between brother and sister, is one of the reasons—and not the least of them—why the Synods of Westminster prohibit a priest's female relatives from living in his house, without special circumstances to justify it, lest such close intercourse might draw the heart away from that higher kind of sympathy which we seek from Almighty God in prayer.
We should in fact be exceedingly foolish if we were to limit our aspirations to the avoidance of those things in which there might be a danger of leading us into sin. That is indeed the minimum to which we are all bound; but there are degrees in this virtue, and we can all of us aim at a higher detachment from sensible consolations than that to which we are bound under sin, and the higher we can put the practice of this virtue, the nearer we shall get to Almighty God, and the greater will be the power of our prayers.
From consideration of our relations with our own family, we proceed to the question of our attitude to members of the other sex generally and the need of strict limitation and mortification in this matter. In discussing this question, we shall appeal to the authority of a small brochure, privately printed some forty years ago, by one who can speak with as great authority as any man living or dead, on the practice of the virtue in circumstances of the present day in this country.[4]It will be worth our while to study what he says in considerable detail.
He begins by quoting in favour of the rules he lays down some widely different authorities, such as St. Augustine, Thomas á Kempis, St. Ignatius and St. Francis de Sales. These great men lived at different epochs, amidst different surroundings, and in different circumstances. Their types of piety differed widely from one another. If, then, we find that they are all agreed in recommending a particular line of conduct, a very strong presumption is created in favour of their recommendation.
He continues:—
"[Our duty] is indeed all summed up in the one word of theImitation, 'Be not familiar with any woman.' This familiarity is the one thing which according to all is to be avoided. And if we ask what precisely is meant by the word, we may say that at least it means, as regards the external conduct of a priest, the avoidance of long or frequent intercourse with women, even by letters; as regards his heart, a firm purpose never to seek consolation or recreation in female society; and, finally, it means that the counselnunquam solus cum solashould be as far as possible the rule of daily life. Of course this rule is observed so long as he is in the sight of others or is easily visible. Priests are bound by vow to celibacy, and as a consequence the saints quoted above regard them as bound in prudence to treat with women on business only, and never to look on them as companions or intimate friends."
A little further on he anticipates possible objections based on the condition of modern society, especially in this country. He writes:—
"We are compelled to look at the world as it is, and it cannot be denied that in an English-speaking society a priest is expected to do much more than administer the sacraments and preach or catechise. There is always a great deal of mental as well as bodily misery to be met with. This misery is much increased in the English-speaking world by differences in religion, by the circumstances connected with conversions to the faith and the persecutions to which these give occasion. On the other hand, centuries of persecution have created in our Catholic laity generally a larger and deeper confidence than is perhaps to be found in other countries. By their very nature women are inclined to lean on others. What more natural than that many should look to the priest—their 'director' as they love to call him—as their one and only guide in all their doubts and troubles? Again, a priest has frequently to call in the aid of women in his efforts to reclaim souls from sin. It will often happen that he can reach the ignorant and sinful only through the co-operation of nuns or good women living in the world, or of both. Hence innumerable occasions of treating with women will arise to which he is compelled by his very duty as a priest.
"All this is true. Still there is nothing in these modern circumstances to justify a departure from the reserve inculcated by the saints. Nay, these circumstances only the more strongly confirm the saying of theImitation, 'we should have charity towards all, but familiarity is not expedient.' Charity is universal. Intimacy or familiarity is necessarily confined to a few. If a priest acts from charity, he will be ready to receive all and at all seasons. But if he follows natural inclination, he will necessarily waste on a few the time and heart that might have been given to many. . . .
"Still on the plea of the difference of their times from ours, it may be said that the reserve which they recommended and practised has become impossible for a priest at the present day. It may be alleged that he is indeed bound to avoid sin, and therefore all proximate occasions of sin, whether the danger be to himself or to others. But he must be natural in his behaviour towards women no less than towards men; otherwise his ministry will be to a great extent sterile and his confessional will be shunned. And after all, every Christian, it may be said, is bound to avoid sin. Why should a priest be more on his guard than an ordinary layman?
"We have thus two models of behaviour in a priest put before us—the reserved and the natural. Is the reserve of the saints possible nowadays, and if so, is it desirable? In answering this question let us bear in mind that a priest is ordained not only, as the Apostle says, to offer up gifts and sacrifices for sin, but is likewise sent to all who are living in ignorance and sin, 'qui condolere possit iis qui ignorant et errant.' Hence the main occupation of a priest in charge of souls is to prevent sin by instruction, and to absolve from sin in the Sacrament of Penance. In other words, to teach Christian doctrine and to hear Confessions may be said to be the sum of a priest's work in dealing with souls. For Baptism and the sacraments of the dying are only other forms of loosing souls from the bonds of sin. The question then is, does reserve with women create any hindrance in this essential work of a priest? Unquestionably not. Protestant writers, indeed, looking at the Church from outside, and not understanding the real feeling of Catholics, have sometimes supposed that they prefer going to Confession to an easy-going, self-indulgent priest, rather than one who leads a mortified, unworldly life. But all practical Catholics well know there cannot be a greater mistake. Penitents seek indeed one who will be patient and kind. In proportion to the weight of sin which they feel, they long for a man of God, who in the words of the Apostle already quoted, 'Condolere possit iis qui ignorant et errant,' and one on whose judgment they can rely. They want one who will treat with them in God's name and for His sake. This being so, is it not manifest that the paternal reserve of the saints is more sure to attract confidence than the familiarity of the natural man?"
A similar idea was no doubt in the mind of Cardinal Manning when he wrote that "The priest who is seldom seen in society is the priest whom men desire most to have beside them when they die." By being "seldom in society" he of course meant mixing in the society of men and women as one of themselves. For it is abundantly possible to go among mankind and freely mix with them even in social gatherings, in the performance of one's pastoral duty, while at the same time keeping all the reserve pleaded for by the writer of the pamphlet and observing the rules of custody of the eyes and of the senses inculcated by spiritual writers. In adapting these rules to ourselves, it may be of use to consider some of the various classes of females to whom they may apply.
First there are young girls who are almost or quite children. We easily get familiar with them, call them by their Christian names, join in their play or amusements, and should rightly resent the idea of there being anything wrong or even dangerous. Yet too much familiarity with the young is never very desirable. The author of theImitationspecially warns us against it. Their society is pleasant and innocent; yet the very simplicity and irresponsibility of youth tends to draw us rather to a lower than a higher level. In the case of a priest among his people however, he has to bear in mind that as time passes the child grows into a girl. Familiarity once admitted is not easily broken off, though a time conies when it is more than undesirable, and finally it becomes a scandal to others and a danger to oneself. Sometimes one has heard a priest address a young lady by her Christian name, perhaps in a contracted form; which sounds startling; and the explanation is to be sought in the familiarity acquired in past years when she was only a child. If a proper reserve had been maintained then, the familiarity would never have reached its final state.
Secondly, there are good and devout young ladies in the congregation— Children of Mary, perhaps, who are zealous to run their confraternity. They come to the Presbytery to discuss their plans and schemes, and to organise the Confraternity devotions. Or they may be regular workers in the sacristy, members of the Altar Society, or those who help in collecting money, or in visiting the poor, and such-like. Or they may be penitents, who come to discuss matters of conscience. We must not be thrown off our guard by their being pious. There may be danger to us, or even in their weakness, to them, in that which at first sight looks so proper and desirable. Means must be found to give them all the spiritual help they want, while avoiding all kind of familiarity.
Thirdly, going to the other extreme, there are the evil-minded and designing, who would love nothing better than the ruin of the priest. Their power is great, their patience greater, and their cleverness prevents them from being fathomed. The only method to meet them is to keep them at a distance from the beginning. Once they have acquired influence over one, they will be more than difficult to shake off.
After this we may mention various categories, the officious who wish to know everything, the priest's own business as well as theirs; the idle who want to gossip, to take offence at trifles and then make it up, and in so doing to acquire influence; then the class of elderly ladies who have no sinister design, but love all kinds of ecclesiastical gossip to fill their time and thoughts; then those with whom the priest comes into daily official contact, such as the schoolmistress or housekeeper; and, lastly, one who may belong to several of the above categories, who is truly motherly, and taking pity on a priest's loneliness, wants to tend him in his wants; to keep such a one with proper reserve requires no small determination.
For all these classes of females, the same law holds good—charity and helpfulness to all, familiarity with none. There can be no danger without previous familiarity, and though in some cases familiarity can exist without danger, there are other reasons which have been given why it should be shunned. Once more we can quote the same writer:—
"The fear for one's chastity is only one of the reasons, and often not the most important, for this priestly reserve, as indeed is clear from the lives of the saints themselves. Had St. Augustine, or St. Francis of Sales, for example, any practical reason to fear for themselves, or would there have been any danger of scandal to others in their case from a more free and easy way of treating with women from that which they adopted? Yet we have seen the rule which they laid down for themselves."
Alas, however, that we cannot conclude this conference without alluding to actual danger. The same writer proceeds:—
"In truth now, as at all times, the main difficulty lies in the human heart itself and not in external circumstances. It will appear at times as if a departure from such reserved behaviour is not only justifiable but absolutely necessary for the well-being of a particular soul. In this matter the danger lies precisely in exceptional cases in which the priest is liable to be deceived by the appearance of good. He may easily forget that in all such cases a triple danger is involved—a danger for himself, a danger for the soul with which he is dealing, and a danger of scandal in the world that is always looking on. And these dangers are so distinct that even if assured of his own personal safety, he is not thereby secure as to the soul of the penitent, or even if both feel blameless in their own hearts, disedification may be occasioned in others."
Following out the danger to the priest himself, the next stage may easily be his sensible appreciation of the devotion of his penitent or friend, and her kindness to him. Gradually the care and attention she shows him undermines the sternness of his vocation. He loses his sense of spirituality and the saviour of his priesthood languishes. His mass is no longer to him what it once was; his church has ceased to be the abode of peace and prayer; his power of seeking consolation in the Tabernacle is gone; his pastoral work has become irksome to him; he almost regrets the day when he bound himself to celibacy. What wonder if he at length casts off his priesthood, and "retires" or disappears, whether or not it be known to his people what the state of affairs really is?
Such a falling away is, alas, possible even without, or at least independently of, any criminal intercourse. Instances occur to mind when such has happened to a priest at an age when one would have thought the danger from violence of passion was almost over. His lack of appreciation of the positive virtue of celibacy paved the way, and his giving up his priesthood followed. But for all of us there is the fatal possibility of a more complete fall and spiritual ruin in its fullest sense. Of this, however, we may rest assured that when a final fall takes place and one of our brethren abandons his priesthood, it is not the result of an isolated action or a first fall. Judas received many warnings and calls to repentance before our Lord addressed to him those last sad words, "What thou dost do quickly"—as though to say, get it over and done with. When a priest first goes wrong, we may be sure that he receives many a similar call to repentance. And he has the sacrament of Penance within his grasp, to help him to recover his stability, which, thank God, often bears fruit. But the time may come when warnings neglected, graces set at nought, occasions of sin not avoided, gradually do their work and shipwreck ensues, final and in a sense almost irrevocable. In such case at least we can bear in mind that it never came within the bounds of possibility until such rules and aspirations as we have been pleading for were set aside. One cannot fall over a precipice until one first goes near the edge.
There is no sorrow in a priest's life to compare with the fall of a brother priest. In such a case we pray indeed that He who is all mercy, who gave him his first call, will rescue him whom He loves; and any act of ours which will help towards such rescue we shall esteem as the greatest of acts of charity. But if we have to face this sorrow, let us also draw our own lesson. "He who thinketh himself to stand, let him take heed lest he fall." Let it be a stimulus to us to renew our resolutions, to rise higher in the scale of celibacy, to realise its sacredness and the dignity which it gives to our lives. "How beautiful is the chaste generation with glory: because it is known both to God and to men . . . it triumpheth for ever, winning the reward of undefiled conflicts."[5]
And if the dangers we have to meet are great, our trust in God's help should be greater. Let us end with one more quotation from the brochure:—
"Taking then all circumstances into account, it is clear that the preservation of perfect purity of heart in a priest is far above the power of unaided nature. It behoves us therefore to consider what means must be used for attaining this end. Our Blessed Lord's words to the Apostles, 'Vigilate et orate ne intretis in tentationem' apply to this case in their fullest sense. All external precautions will be insufficient without prayer, and prayer without such precautions will be like calling on God to work a miracle. Above all things, therefore, a priest must start with the conviction that this work is supernatural, and that he needs constant light and aid from God not only to save souls, but likewise to keep himself from sinking in his efforts to save others from destruction."
[1]1 Cor. vii. 32, 33.
[2]1 Cor. vii. 38.
[3]St. Luke i. 25.
[4]After this lapse of time, there seems no reason to conceal the name of the writer, who was the Rev. Robert Whitty, S.J. He was in many respects a remarkable man. Educated chiefly in Ireland, he finished his course at St. Edmund's College, where he remained some years as a Professor; then at a comparatively early age he became Cardinal Wiseman's Vicar-General, which post he held during the exciting times of the so-called Papal Aggression in 1850. A few years later he joined the Society of Jesus, in which he afterwards became Provincial, and then English Consulter to the General. Certainly no man has a better right than he to speak on the subject before us.
[5]Wisdom iv. i, 2.