Chapter III.

The Order of a Sermon

The Exordium. Divisions. Proofs. Are there many Unbelievers in France? Manner of refuting Objections.

After getting to know the people and to be known of them, to love them and to be loved by them in return, the next step is to lead them to the knowledge and love of God and His Gospel by means of oral teaching. ... In carrying this out, use plain speech, and aim straight at your object, which is to expound the truth proposed to be treated in such a way as shall cause it to be listened to with interest. Let it be perceived at once what the subject is, and what you intend to say. Sketch out your truth in a few sententious words, clearly and emphatically enunciated.

Let there be none of those vague and halting considerations which give the speaker the air of a man who is blindfolded, and strikes at random,--none of those perplexing exordiums wherein every conceivable fancy is brought to bear upon a single idea, and which frequently elicit the remark:--"What is he driving at? what topic is he going to discuss?"

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Let the subject-matter be vigorously stated at the outset, so that it may rivet the minds and engage the attention of the audience.

Generally speaking, at the commencement of a discourse, there is profound silence, and all eyes are fixed on the preacher. Avail yourself of that opportunity to arrest the imagination of your hearers, to attract their attention, which you should maintain throughout, and to withdraw their minds from the things of earth and from themselves, in order that they may live your life for the space of half-an-hour.

Let your onset be bold and vigorous, that your audience may catch a glimpse of the strength of your position, your means of defence, and the triumph of the truth which you are about to handle. ... "I prefer," says Montaigne, "those discourses which level the first charge against the strongest doubt. I look for good and solid reasons to come after."

This should be followed by a word of appeal to the heart, to restrain its evil promptings--something genial and earnest, calculated to open out the soul, and which, coupled with a simple and modest demeanor, shall at once bespeak the preacher as sincerely attached to his audience. {120} If preaching on the duty of charity toward the poor, you might say:--"I come before you on the present occasion to plead a cause which will secure me against all adverse criticism, for I know your charity. I have not to address you to-day in language of censure or rebuke, but in words of encouragement and blessing."

If a severe truth is to be urged on the congregation, it might be introduced thus:--"You will permit me to declare the truth unto you; for you love the truth. The people have never been hostile to it. ... You yourselves would not be satisfied with half truths; you desire something better. Therefore I shall deem it my duty to tell you the whole truth with the freedom of an apostle, but at the same time, with all Christian charity."

In a word, you should exhibit that gentle admixture of power and benignity which so well befits him who speaks in the name of the Most High; exciting the love of your hearers as with the influence of a mother. Or, following therein the example of Saint Paul, being like one who serves, and not like one who rules; condescending toward all; striving to withdraw them from the sorrows and passions of life, that you may lead them to the truth, to virtue, and to heaven. ...

On great occasions it is usual to recite the _Ave Maria_ before the sermon. It is a venerable and edifying practice which ought to be followed; but forbear invoking the Holy Spirit or the blessed Virgin unless you do it devoutly and sincerely. {121} It is frequently otherwise: one appeals to heaven, and fixes his eyes on the earth: another, instead of the posture of prayer, assumes the attitude of menace, and looks very much like a man who demands your money or your life.

There should be order in the sermon, and the ideas should be linked together, and should mutually support each other. But it should not be laid down as an invariable rule always to follow those categorical divisions which necessarily cut up a truth into two or three parts, these to be cut up again into two or three sections of truth, giving the speaker the air of a man who is amusing himself with pulling a machine to pieces, and then putting it together again. The Fathers did not ordinarily follow that course. Indeed all discourses cannot be so subdivided; for not every subject will bear it without losing much of its interest. ... Most sermons seem to be modelled on the same pattern, so much so, that the hearer is disposed at the very outset to remark:--"I have heard that already twenty times over, set forth just in the same way. What use is there in my listening to it again?" This is one drawback, in addition to the consideration that it is not prudent to take the audience into your confidence as to the conclusion to which you intend to lead them. ... Or another listener will say:--"Alas! we are still at the second subdivision of the first part. {122} What a long sermon it will be!" He is seized with _ennui_, and then farewell to all feeling of interest in the Divine word, and to all hope of any benefit to be derived from it.

It is preferable to have a range of ideas known to yourself alone, with intervening pauses. In that way you will carry the hearers along with you. They will listen, will be moved, will forget how time passes, and at the conclusion will not feel tired with having followed you. It appears that the mania for subdividing every thing is a complaint of long standing. La Bruyère has passed his judgment upon it; which, apart from exaggeration--the inseparable companion of criticism--is not inapplicable at the present day.

Speaking of preachers he says:--"They hold three things to be of indispensable and geometrical necessity, and to deserve your admiring attention. They will prove a certain proposition in the first part of their discourse, another in the second part, and an other in the third. Thus, you are to be convinced, first, of a certain truth--that is their first point; then of a third truth--which is their third point; so that the first reflection is to instruct you on one of the most fundamental principles of religion; the second, on another not less so; and the third, on a third and last principle, the most important of all, but which, nevertheless, must be postponed for lack of time to another occasion. Finally, in order to resume and sum up these divisions, and to form a plan. ... {123} What! you are ready to exclaim, more yet! And are these merely the preliminaries to a discourse of forty-five minutes duration which is still to follow! Why, the more they attempt to digest and throw light upon the subject, the more they confuse me! I readily believe you, for it is the most natural effect of that heap of ideas, which always turns upon one and the same thought, with which they pitilessly burden the memory of their hearers. It would seem, to witness their obstinate adherence to this practice, as if the grace of conversion was attached to these preposterous divisions. I heartily wish that they would pause in their impetuous course to take breath, and give a little breathing-time to others. Vain discourses! Words thrown away! The time of homilies exists no longer; our Basils and Chrysostoms will fail to reclaim them; people will pass over into other dioceses to be beyond the reach of their voice and familiar instructions: for men in general like set phrases and finely turned periods, admire what they don't understand, consider themselves edified thereby, and rest satisfied with deciding between the first and second points of a discourse, or between the last sermon and that which preceded it."

Division must not be sought for; it must present itself, and spring out of the subject which you are about to discuss, or the object which you have in view. {124} For instance, you intend to treat on deference to man's opinion. Establish these two points:--1st. That there is no disgrace attached to the practice of religion; and 2nd. That even if there were, in the estimation of some men, it is our bounden duty to brave it.

When a dogma of the faith is to be treated either before the people or others, never propound the truth in a hypothetical form, which is fraught with danger. Thus, do not say:--"Does the soul die with the body or does it pass to another life?" ... "Is Jesus Christ a mere man; or is he the Son of God?" Always use the affirmative form:--"The soul does not die with the body; the soul will live for ever." ... "Jesus Christ is the Son of God; he is God Himself." Otherwise, you will seem to question those verities, and may give rise to doubts. Such was the result in the cause of an artisan, who remarked, after listening to a sermon:--"For my part, I was quite sure that there was another life; but I learn from what the preacher has stated to-day, that there is something to be said against as well as in favor of the doctrine."

The people like a strong, self-reliant, and fearless affirmative, declared boldly and sincerely in the name of God, which admits of no buts, or ifs, but which descends from on high, claiming the ready assent of all without distinction.

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Discussion is not the way to teach Christianity. It must be fully understood that the truth of the Gospel is not the conclusion of an argument; that it depends neither on the talents of the preacher, not yet on the acceptance of the hearer; that all such accidents do not affect it in any way. Christianity must be expounded just as it is; but in a noble and energetic manner, such as shall cause it to be readily understood and loved in spite of all opposition.

Nevertheless, in condescension to human infirmity, you may occasionally justify God, as the Divine word says, by pointing out the fitness of a Catholic truth; but this must be by the way only. Resume quickly the high standing of a man who speaks in the name of God--_tanquam potestatem habens_--who is himself controlled by a truth which he cannot modify in the least degree. Call in frequently the aid of faith; prove, without stating that you are going to prove; and, in order the better to combat men's errors, confront human authority with the authority of God.

Men will raise such objections as these:--"But the Gospel itself declares. ... Those great men who are called the Fathers on account of their piety and genius have said ... The Catholic Church, armed with its infallible authority, says ... God Himself has declared ... And as against these witnesses what is the word of a mere man to me? Moreover, I will not submit; I will not bow down to human authority. Am not I a man as well as he? Am I not endowed with reason? He affirms, I deny; he denies, I affirm; my word is as good as his, even were he what is called a man of genius. {126} Granted that genius commands respect--and I respect it when it yields to what is superior to it--but, as compared with the law of God, what is a man of genius? A poor pigmy, who labors and drudges for forty years to acquire some traces of a superior mind; who more frequently possesses the _amour propre_ of a silly woman; and who, while pretending to govern the world from his study, allows himself to be led by his own female domestic. For my part, I require something better than that; a greater, a higher authority, and one much more self-reliant."

You will best restrain and meet these objections by having God always at your side. Entrench yourself behind the Divine authority; efface the man and hold up God; impose silence on the earth and let Him speak, but with power and loving-kindness.

Unhappily, we have not maintained this high standing. The Divine word has been brought down too much to a human level; it has been made too much to reflect man's image. The incessant attacks of the enemies of religion, and, it may be, our own scholastic studies also, have inspired us with a combative, and querulous humor. Christianity is now discussed, proved, philosophically demonstrated. You constantly meet men who are going to _prove_ this to you, then to _prove_ that, and then again to _prove_ something else. In God's name, don't repeat this so often, but do it a little better.

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These attempts to prove certain propositions generally result in obscuring and confounding them. A preacher states a truth; you understand and enjoy it. He demonstrates it; and you understand it less, and perchance begin to doubt it.

Some years ago especially, we were seized with the malady of dogmatic conferences. Every one wished to hold conferences to prove the _reasonableness_ of Christianity. The epidemic has abated, but we are not wholly free from it. ... That there should still be one or two of these conference-men in certain large towns is all well enough; yet even that is to be regretted, for the genus is an offshoot of the misfortune of the age, and is by no means apostolic. In order to treat Christianity in that way, extraordinary talent is required, together with a thorough knowledge of the dogmas of our religion, a knowledge equally profound of the human heart, of philosophical systems and errors, and a mathematical precision of language.

We may rest assured that the control over antagonisms and passions, so as to preclude doubt or suspicion from creeping into the mind, must always proceed from an elevated standing, and that men possessing the necessary qualifications, or even some of them in a high degree, are extremely rare.

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This consideration has been sadly overlooked. Very soon we shall have every one attempting to philosophize Christianity. There are scarcely any, down to the youngest priest, who does not take up the most difficult dogmas, and who does not seek to do battle with those who are styled "unbelievers"--that is the current word nowadays, because, as it would seem, the old term (infidel) has been worn out by long usage, and, therefore, it has been thought necessary to create a new one.

All this is very deplorable. Until quite lately there was hardly a discourse, addressed even to the people exclusively, which did not contain passages intended for unbelievers, or tirades against unbelievers, or apostrophes to unbelievers. The believers who were present were neglected for the sake of the unbelievers who were absent.

It is not rare, indeed, to meet with men who call themselves unbelievers, who assert it, and who write themselves such; but will you find men who are seriously unbelievers, and who do not falter in their negations? A pious priest, who was frequently called upon to attend the sick in the higher classes of society in Paris, was once asked whether he often met with men who had ceased to believe. He replied, good-naturedly:--"Pray, don't allude to the subject. Though I have been long accustomed to minister to great sinners, I have never yet had the good fortune to lay my hand on one who was even a little unbelieving. As regards the faith, men in general are better than their words or their writing either."

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As has been well remarked:--"The man who, even in all sincerity, says: 'I don't believe,' often deceives himself. There is in the depths of his heart a root of faith which never dies."

Real unbelief cannot prevail in France. There is too much good sense, too much rectitude in the French mind, and too much moral beauty in the Gospel, to render absolute unbelief possible.

These pretensions to unbelief are generally based on a little ignorance combined with a large amount of feeble-mindedness; so that when one tells you that he does not, that he cannot believe, you should understand him to mean that he is weak and timid. Let us be on our guard against taking such men at their word, for we should thereby show how little knowledge we possess of the human heart. A priest who was called in to attend a person who had spoken and written much against religion, put this question to him:--"When you wrote were you quite sure of your own unbelief?" The other replied, "Alas! Monsieur l'Abbé," ... in a deprecating tone, which seemed clearly to imply:--"How young you are, and how little you know of the human heart!"

No; the question between the world and ourselves is not whether the miracles and mysteries of Christianity are believed, but whether the morality of the Gospel is practised. {130} That is the real question at issue. So true is this, that scholars and honest men will not hesitate to say frankly:--"The matter is not one of argument; only retrench from your religion several small commandments of God and the Church, which we need not specify, and then we will be on your side."

That is the secret of unbelief. It is not faith that is wanting, but the courage to do what is right.

How, then, are we to get rid of those preachers who are always taken up with unbelievers? How delivered from those endless sermons addressed to unbelievers? They do us much harm and very little good. The whole thing, besides being ill-judged, is a mistake. By incessantly speaking to men about unbelief, we may end in making them unbelievers; just as we may make a dolt of a man by dint of telling him that he has no sense. Besides, what a blow it is to Christianity to give the people to understand that a notable portion of a great nation has seriously contested its Divine origin! Is not this to suggest the temptation that they too should become unbelievers, since, by so doing, they would be in so numerous and goodly a company? Instead of such a course, begin by telling your audience--but in the accents of profound conviction--that there is not one unbeliever among them; that they all have faith; that they believe as you do; that they are better than they judge themselves to be; that not every one who wishes it can become an unbeliever; that Jesus Christ is too eminent in history and in the world to be regarded, in earnest, as a mere man: ... tell them this, and you will do them good, and, besides, you will be telling the truth.

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They all believe, but their faith is imperfect, wounded. So true is this, that Voltaire himself, as all the world knows, could not rid himself entirely of his faith, all Voltaire that he was. ... What! Voltaire, with all his wit, and, if you will, his genius, Voltaire, with his demon pride, his satanic hatred of Christ, his half century of blasphemies,--Voltaire, the head of the most redoubtable cohort of enemies that Christianity ever had,--even he could not wholly divest himself of his belief; and yet it is pretended that our pigmies of the nineteenth century, with their limited knowledge and petty malice, are able to stifle their faith when that giant of impiety was unable to strangle his in his eagle's clutch! ...

Only a little reflection is needed to convince ourselves on this point. For what is unbelief? It is the conviction that Christianity is false. Now, how can such a conviction be arrived at against eighteen centuries of genius and virtue, against the authority of the Gospel, against Christ Himself? How can any man reasonably attain the position of being able to confront those eminent men and facts, and say:--"I am quite sure that you have deceived the world ... you have lied?" {132} It is impossible. It may be said and written in a moment of passion; but such assurance is not, cannot be attained.

We shall, therefore, be acting truly as well as wisely in not descanting so much about unbelievers. For, after all, of what use is it? For the most part, these alleged unbelievers are not present to listen to you. Neither is that the worst feature in the case. These kinds of sermons are by no means calculated to convert them. Generally speaking, they show too little regard for the _amour propre_ of such characters; who, as is well known, do not pique themselves on their humility. If we would benefit them we must pass quickly from the mind to the heart: that is their weak point. We must not keep ourselves so much on the defensive, but carry the war into the enemy's country. Our tactics should be to do good abundantly to all men that we may save all, and then there will be no doubt about their believing in the divinity of Christianity.

All the parts of a sermon need not be equally good and powerful. Two or three more elaborate and striking passages will suffice to ensure success; but those passages should be such as effectually to overthrow prejudices and errors, and should be conclusive against all gainsayers.

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There should also be intervals to break monotony--that stumbling-block of many sermons; to give the mind rest; to allow time for the hearts of the audience to be penetrated by what has been said; to introduce familiar topics which do the soul so much good; to soften the asperities of any great emotion; to bind up the wounded; in a word, intervals for the preacher to become the father after having represented the King, to attract the hearts after having gained the minds of his hearers.

It is a mistake to aim at making every part of a sermon equally powerful and equally prominent. It is an attempt against Nature. Moreover, we should not aspire to adduce every available proof in support of a particular truth. One or two will suffice, and the strongest is not always the most convincing to your audience. Select those likely to produce the greatest impression, and forbear when that end is attained. The victory is yours, retain it, and do not expose yourself to a reverse.

There are men who do not think they have proved a thing until they have brought together, pell-mell, all the known proofs in the world. The consequence is that, after listening to one of their sermons, the question discussed appears more confused to you than ever.

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As regards objections to be refuted, you should never adduce any but such as are current in the locality where you are speaking; and it is dangerous to give them a too salient form, for you may thereby wound the faith of your audience. But the objection once stated, refute it at once in a few sharp and decisive words. Let your reply be in language as prompt, striking, and decisive as that of the objection. Avoid all circumlocution and hesitation in meeting it. Show it no pity, but let it expire forth with in the presence of your audience. Let every word tell like the cut or thrust of a sword, or, at least, like the stroke of a mace which shall effectually silence the objection. You may then justify, easily, the blows which you have dealt: but strike first and explain afterward; otherwise, never attempt to place an objection before the people. If, as is too often done, you begin by saying:--"Before refuting this objection, two principles must first be laid down," or, "three reflections must be made," the minds of your hearers will go a wool-gathering; they will not listen to your reflections; they will retain nothing of your discourse beyond the objection; you will have lost your time, and may have done harm into the bargain.

In sermons to the people, the peroration should be energetic, captivating, fervent; not a fervor of the head or throat, but of the soul, accompanying something to enlighten the minds of the hearers, to gain the assent of their hearts, to subdue their passions, and to electrify their spirits.

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Let us be on our guard against those vapid perorations which are nothing more than the ending of a discourse which we are at a loss how otherwise to wind up. The audience must not be dismissed with a wrong impression; therefore be more affectionate at the conclusion, the more severe the truths have been which you have enunciated. In a word, the peroration should be sympathetic and vibrating. It should comprise all the power, all the marrow, and all the energy of the sermon. It should contain some of those keen thoughts, some of those proverbial phrases, which recur to the mind again and again like the strains of a familiar song which we sing involuntarily,--or a single thought, which when once entertained leads one to say:--"Were I to live a hundred years, I shall never forget it."

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