Chapter VIII.

Interest, Emotion, and Animation.

We should endeavor to excite Interest by Thoughts, by Sallies or Epigrams, by Studies of Men and Manners. The Truth should be animated. The Père Ravignan. The Père Lacordaire. The Heart is too often absent.

We remarked in a former chapter that the preaching of the Divine word, especially on Sundays, should be to the people, wearied with the toil and cares of the week, a rest, a joy; or, as the Scripture says, a refreshment. ... It should be to them what a spring of water surrounded with verdure is to our soldiers worn out with marching, and scorched by the sun and burning sands of Africa.

Under its breath, the souls of men should dilate, blossom, as it were, and feel less unhappy; for is not the Gospel glad tidings? Was it not proclaimed at the Nativity of Christ:--"I bring you glad tidings of great joy?"

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Christian pulpit instruction should be a sort of paternal intercourse enlivened with faith and charity--a family meeting where the different members come to talk over their labors and their trials, their fears and their hopes, and the bounty of that Father who is in Heaven, in such a way that each may go away benefited and less unhappy, saying within himself:--"I feel all the better now. The words of the preacher have cheered me. Why did he not speak a little longer? While he spoke, my soul was on fire."--"Did not our heart burn within us, while He talked with us by the way?"

Unfortunately, this is no longer the case. The sermon is looked upon as something cold, official, and tedious; or merely as a necessary accompaniment of the service. It is thought wearisome to listen to, but must needs be endured for the sake of example. Generally speaking, moreover, the greater part of the faithful are absent, and the majority of the pious souls present consists of females. These place themselves as much at their ease as possible on a couple of chairs, and resign themselves to undergo the sermon. When it is over, they remark that it was either a good or an indifferent discourse, and then depart absolutely as they came; none feeling in the least bound to practise what has been enjoined.

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Preaching, indeed, is a sorry trade. The preacher studies and meditates on his subject, composes his sermon, and then commits it to memory. What a task! He then goes into the pulpit, and is grieved to perceive that the minds of his audience are abstracted--that they look like persons who are being bored; so much so, that he is glad if even by a nod of assent they do not prove that they have been doing anything else rather than listening to him. For the sermon is undoubtedly regarded in the light of an infliction; a species of forced labor. When the faithful learn that there is to be no sermon, they hail the announcement with pleasure, and seem to say with great glee: "Another sermon got over!" Hence one frequently hears the remark:--"I shall not go to such a mass because there is preaching there." Truly, all this is sad, very sad, as regards the preaching of the Divine word.

But who is to blame, ourselves or the faithful? In the first place, it is quite certain that in France there is a decided distaste for any thing serious, or that requires attention and mental effort. Nothing is cared for nowadays but what is amusing; hence the most highly remunerated people amongst us are those who cater for the amusement of others, some of whom make fabulous incomes. How to be amused is, in fact, the great question of the day, insomuch that you hear the remark on all sides:--"I will not go there again, for the entertainment did not amuse me."

The malady of _ennui_ pervades the social atmosphere and all who move in it, while any thing serious suggests wearisomeness and disgust. This state of mind is the result of excessive selfishness. For three-fourths of their time, men are bored about themselves personally. They then feel the want of some excitement to get rid of the incubus, and generally resort to whatever is romantic in search of it.

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Again, there is scarcely any prevailing love of the truth; on the contrary, it is rather dreaded, and men manifest a strange pusillanimity when confronted with it. Whenever a stern truth is addressed to others, they readily applaud, and think it quite right that this and that vice should be strongly reprehended; but when it is brought home to themselves, they frown, question the propriety of the censure, and can see no harm in their own delinquencies. Besides which, there is a universal tendency to pass judgment on every thing sacred and profane, and a sermon is criticised as if it were nothing more than an ordinary literary production. ...

These are shortcomings on the part of the congregation, but are they wholly responsible for them? The blame is sometimes cast on the world, on the absorbing passion for frivolity, and on the literature of the day; but may there not be a little fault elsewhere? It is our duty to look into this subject; and as we are called upon to proclaim the truth to others, it behoves us to administer it in the first place to ourselves. This will be a real charity; the more so, because if we are not told it to our faces, we may rest assured that it will be repeated with additions behind our backs.

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I hasten, then, to state it. There is a large amount of talent in Paris, and no lack of clergymen who know how to draw, to interest, and to direct an audience. In the provinces, too, how many preachers are there, who, though little known, do a vast amount of good! Christian eloquence is still one of the glories, one of the purest and most indisputable glories of France. As a witty writer has said:--"God has evidently made France His spoilt child. The misfortune is that the child does not always profit by the parent's indulgence." Unquestionably, there are still apostolic preachers amongst us, whose words are effectual in stirring up and saving the souls of men; nevertheless, is it not equally sure, that our usual style of preaching is deficient in interest and perspicuity, is too monotonous and didactic, is made up of a misuse of reasoning and rhetorical phraseology, is wanting in heart and soul, and, above all, in that tone of conviction which lends to speech its paramount power? ...

In the first place, we must interest our hearers; for that is an indispensable condition of benefiting them. ... People generally require to be interested. They may be rather exacting on that point: it may be a weakness on their part; but what is to be done? Must we not become all things to all men? Must we not take them as they are? It is constantly being repeated that society is unsound; then, should we not overlook some things in those who are ailing? {227} After all, the question is not to discover whether they are right or wrong. The vital question is to save them, and how to get them to listen to us, and to cause Gospel truth to reach their ears, their minds, and their hearts to that end. Why should we take so much trouble in preparing sermons if they are not to be listened to? In that case, it becomes nothing more than a disheartening, profitless labor. As somebody once remarked:--"They teach me to compose magnificent sermons. I only wish they would also teach me how to make people come and hear them."

Our aim then should be to secure a hearing. To attain that, we must first excite interest. ...

There are different ways of doing this. We may interest our hearers by well-digested studies of men and manners, conveyed in various styles of unsophisticated and sympathetic language; by spirited sallies; by metaphors drawn from the incidents of every-day life; and by heart-stirring impulses and emotions. ...

In the first place, in order to interest an audience you must never lose sight of them, but keep them always in your wake. They should be made to think and feel with you, and even to anticipate or divine your train of thought; for that will gratify them. At other times, prepare a surprise for them, and that too will please them.

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When you perceive that the attention of your hearers is flagging, it may be stimulated by a lively speech or sally; such as shall gladden their hearts, and draw from them that gentle smile which bespeaks approving assent. Frenchmen are delighted with this style of address; and surely there is nothing to urge against it. With so many depressing cares to battle with, one should rejoice to see them inspirited a little under the breath of the Divine word. Moreover, it may be made a useful medium for communicating some wholesome truths.

Sallies of this kind are greatly relished by the French people, even when directed against themselves.

All great orators have employed them. Saint Chrysostom himself, always so grave and dignified, did not disdain to use them. He thus wittily derides the vanity of the male sex of his time:--"Look at that young man. He walks delicately on the tips of his toes for fear of soiling his shoes. My friend, if you dread the mud so much on account of your shoes, put them on your head and they will be safe."

In another place he assails the vanity of the women. "Why are you so proud of your fine clothes? You reply: 'Only look at this stuff and see how beautiful it is: touch it, and feel how silky it is.' True: but that is no merit of yours. 'But how exquisitely this dress fits me!' True, again, but the merit of that is due to the sempstress."

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"Alas! for human weakness," he exclaimed; "it takes the produce of a plant, an animal, or a vile insect, bedizens itself therewith, then goes abroad and asks the world's admiration, saying: Look at me, for I am worth something to-day."

All our great modern orators, both of the tribune and pulpit, abound in trenchant sallies; which almost always carry conviction, because they are universally understood.

"France," says M. de Falloux, "repels equally those men who can do every thing, and those who can do nothing."

The Rev. Père Lacordaire excels in epigrams of this kind. He has a peculiar talent in that line, and has succeeded in winning over many of his hearers by his pithy humor.

One day his object was to show that rationalism does not possess that charity which distinguishes the Christian faith and ministry. Instead of entering into a long dissertation on the subject, he expressed himself thus:--

"I shall only say a few words about rationalism in connection with the topic before us. I have never heard of a rationalist having been beaten by the Cochin-Chinese. Minds like theirs are too highly polished and too ingenious to risk encountering such distinction in behalf of the truth. It will, therefore, be time enough to trouble ourselves about them, when the next vacancy occurs in the Academy. We are too well bred to offer them any thing else than a laurel branch, which they unquestionably deserve."

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On another occasion he remarked with a smile, addressing those who affected unbelief:--"Yes, sirs, I admit that you have mind, that you have plenty of mind; but know this, that God has endowed you with it--a clear proof that He entertains no fear of it."

Even the Rev. Père Ravignan, who is generally so austere, ever and anon adopts a similar style.

One day, in recapitulating the philosophical errors of the present time, he remarked:--"Rationalism is another error, and has the largest following. It comprises a class of thinkers who are devoid of faith; men who are eternally seeking but never find; jaded in their search by the oscillations of doubt, the sport of grand and pretty phrases. According to them, the day is at length about to dawn; the solution of all questions is at hand. If, by any chance, we may have still to wait a long time for it ... in that case, you must exercise patience; the religion of the future will come at last;" [then, taking off his cap and bowing ironically, he added,] "for which, of course, we are much obliged."

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Similar points are to be met with throughout the discourses of M. Lecourtier. Addressing wives, he says:--"Do not play the master at home. I know of no one so ridiculous as the wife who does so, unless it be the husband who obeys her." Sallies like these are treasured up, and serve to recall to memory a whole discourse. Moreover, they enlarge the heart and dispose it to subsequent nobler impulses. ...

"To do children good," says a well-known writer, "they must be interested: they must be made to laugh, to cry, and then sent away happy." Are not the people still children? Are we not all children still, in more than one respect?

Let it not be supposed that in what has been said above, it is intended that any person whatever should be ridiculed or held up to contempt. On the contrary, irony should never be employed except against prejudices, vices, and crimes.

Another way of exciting interest is by lively, skilful, witty, and delicate sketches of men and manners. ... The Frenchman is fond of being spoken to about himself, about his occupations, his characteristics, his trials, even his foibles and caprices. This fact is too much lost sight of. We descant on the Hebrews, the Jews, the Egyptians, Midianites, Philistines, and other nations of the past. Set all that aside, and speak more freely of the Gospel and Frenchmen, and of Frenchmen and the Gospel; of Frenchmen of the present age, of their virtues and vices. Do this, and you will not fail to interest your hearers: you will interest them in spite of themselves.

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M. Lecourtier transcends in such portraiture. Hence, as before remarked, his sermons always attract crowded audiences; and he is never listened to with more attention then when delineating the inner history of a man or woman of the nineteenth century. Occasionally some are offended, and declare that they will not come to hear him again; but they seldom keep their word, for they find his discourses so interesting that they cannot stay away.

Humility is not our forte; on the contrary, we are all very fond of engaging the attention of others. Indeed, we prefer ill-usage to neglect; an instance of which is afforded by a letter addressed to a celebrated man by an obscure author, wherein he wrote:--"I entreat you to be kind enough to refute me, and, if need be, to abuse me, for that will bring me into notice."

Studies of men and manners are well-timed everywhere. They are understood by and interest all, because they draw forth a repetition of the speech made by the woman of Samaria:--"I have seen a man who hath told me all things that ever I did."

Nevertheless, we must not stop there. After depicting what is evil, we must combat, and overcome, and drive it away by the force of logic, and by the impulses of thought and heart combined. In this, also, we may find it easy to excite interest.

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Every truth should be proved. The French mind is pre-eminently logical; but it is also prompt and quick, and likes neither that which is long, nor that which is heavy; nor that which affirms without proving, nor yet that which proves too much.

State your principles, therefore, in a clear and concise form, and then demonstrate them in prompt and vigorous language; making your audience feel from the outset that you are master of the situation; thereby precluding the possibility of resistance on the part of the ingenuous or even of the disingenuous, and that while listening to you they may be led to repeat the remark of the great Condé when he saw Bourdaloue ascending the pulpit:--"Attention! voilà l'ennemi."

Such however, is far from being the case with ourselves. ... The faithful are fed with nothing but frigid, precise, dogmatic and even unintelligible discourses, which are supposed to convey solid instruction. But what if it be so, if the discourses are neither listened to nor understood? Dry bread is also solid, yet nobody likes it only, any more than you do yourself; and if you provide nothing but such food at your table, rest assured that you will find but few guests.

We should animate or impassion reason itself. Demosthenes did this, and so did all great orators. The Rev. Père Ravignan, whose reasoning is always so forcible and logical, gives sensation and life to his arguments in a masterly manner.

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In his sermon on the divinity of the Lord Jesus Christ, after demonstrating that we must admit the mystery of the Incarnation or else submit to many other mysteries, he subjoins:--"But the objection is raised that a mystery is inexplicable, insolvable. So be it; nevertheless not to admit it, is to throw every thing into the most frightful chaos. ... Then is Christianity false; the world believes what is false; has been converted, regenerated, civilized, by what is false; there is falsehood in the faith, in the love, and in all the other inspirations of the Christian religion; falsehood in all the blessings which have been conferred upon humanity in the name of God the Redeemer; falsehood in the heroism of innumerable martyrs; falsehood in all the master-minds who have adorned Christianity; falsehood in the whole chain of science, zeal, devotion, and superhuman virtues; falsehood in the entire series of the ages of the Church, in all its monuments, in all its testimonies; falsehood in the Catholic priesthood and in the sacred ministry of all centuries; falsehood in the happiness springing from faith and a pure conscience; falsehood in the pulpit; falsehood on my lips and in my heart. What! does your light and disdainful tongue find a lesser mystery in all these consequences which necessarily result from your principles? ME THEY TERRIFY."

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We should, moreover, attempt in some way to put the truth into action, making it to come and go, to speak, question, and reply; and should always keep the scene so fully occupied that the minds of the audience may not be diverted therefrom for an instant. In this respect also, the Rev. Père Lacordaire supplies us with an excellent model.

In his discourse on the _Intellectual Society founded by the Church_, he points out the efforts which have been made by the world to destroy the immutability of her doctrine, in a style truly dramatic:--"When every thing else on earth is subject to change, what a weighty prerogative must the possession by others of an unchangeable doctrine be in the estimation of those who do not themselves possess it! A doctrine which some feeble old men, in a place called the Vatican, keep secure under the key of their cabinet, and which, without any other safeguard, has resisted the progress of time, the conceits of sages, the machinations of sovereigns, the downfall of empires, and maintained throughout its unity and identity. A standing miracle this, and a claim which all ages, jealous of a glory which disdained theirs, have attempted to gainsay and silence. One after another they have approached the Vatican, and knocked at the gate with buskin or boot. Whereat Doctrine has come forth under the form of a feeble and decrepit septuagenarian, and has asked:--

"'What do you want of me?'

"'Change.'

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"'I change not.'

"'But every thing in the world has changed. Astronomy has changed; philosophy has changed; empire has changed; why are you always the same?'

"'Because I come from God, and God is always the same.'

"'But know this, that we are masters. We have a million of men under arms, we will draw the sword, and the sword which demolishes thrones may easily be made to behead an old man like yourself, and to tear into fragments the leaves of a book.'

"'Attempt it. Blood is the aroma which gives me new youth.'

"'Well, then, accept half of my purple; join in a sacrifice to peace, and let us go shares.'

"'Keep thy purple, O Caesar; to-morrow we will bury you in it, and will chant over you the _Alleluia_ and _De profundis_, which never change.'"

This is something which everybody can understand, and which will always be listened to with pleasure, and with profit to the truth.

But further: It is not enough to speak to the mind. That goes a very little way, however powerful our speech may be; for the mind is merely the vestibule of the soul. We must penetrate to the sanctuary of the temple, namely, to the heart. The heart is nearly the whole man, and we are hardly any thing apart from the heart. It is the heart which believes--"with the heart man believeth"--and it is the heart which begets virtues. Moreover, the heart is what God demands from us.

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But in order to speak to the heart, we must have a heart ourselves, and make use of it too. Now, it is questionable in these days whether many preachers have a heart. No one can perceive it in them; so great is the care which they take not to expose even a corner of it, lest by so doing they might derange the massive chain of their arguments. And, besides, who knows but that it might subject them to the charge of being deficient in dignity? In fact, the heart appears to have come down from the pulpit, and fears to occupy it again ... it is no longer allowed to play a part there, lest it might prove disconcerting. It is now regarded with suspicion, and God must have been mistaken when he said:--"My son, give me thine heart." The general notion seems to be, that nothing more is required in order to do men good than clearly or obscurely to demonstrate the truth to them. But knowing and doing are as widely apart as heaven and earth, and the distance between the two can only be surmounted by the heart. ... Nothing, indeed, profits an audience so much; nothing is so successful as the windings, the boundings of the heart, even when introduced in the middle of an argument.

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All those who heard the discourse of Père Ventura on the _Philosophical Reason of Modern Times_, will recall to mind the profound and sympathetic impression which he produced when, after having spoken of a well-known philosopher, he added:--"But, after all, he was endowed with a rare intellect, a genial heart, and a noble disposition. Deceived and led astray as he had been by the false doctrines of the day, he nevertheless eventually recognized and avowed that he had made a sad bargain when he exchanged the tenets of the faith for the vain conceptions of science. Some moments before death, he shed tears over his beloved daughter, who had just partaken of the holy communion for the first time. Let me believe that his avowal and tears were acts of faith, of repentance, and of love, which availed toward his salvation at the hands of a merciful God. Let me, I say, believe this; for it is a consolation to me to believe that my brethren have found again, even in death, that grace which I hope to find myself with a benevolent God."

Yes, if we appealed to the heart we should frequently discover how good, true, and sincere it is, and how little is required to change it:--often nothing more than a word, a reminiscence, a tear, a look, a sigh. And yet how sadly has this easy and effectual means been neglected! ... Every body does not understand a fine dissertation, but every body does understand a good sentiment.

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To sum up: the sermon should be interesting, animated, vivifying; ten years of a lifetime should be comprised in a sermon of thirty minutes duration. Speak to the mind, to the good sense, to the imagination, to the hearts of men, in words that breathe and thoughts that burn; laying hold of them, as it were, by whatever stirs the lively and profound emotions of the soul: by grief and by joy, by hatred and by love, by tears and by consolations, by hell and by heaven. Let your speech be always powerful and triumphant. Whatever you attempt, do well. If you reason, let your reasoning be sharp, to the point, and decisive. If you exercise charity, let it flow in broad streams, that it may inundate and cheer all around. If you give vent to anger, let it escape in glowing and irresistible sallies. If you are ever at a loss what other influence to invoke, then appeal to pity. After such outbursts, there should be intervals of calm to tone down asperities, to smooth to softness any bitterness, and to express regret for having used them; but in reality to make a deeper impression by touching a different chord of the heart. These contrasts of thought and sentiment always produce a powerful effect. M. Berryer is well aware of this, and often avails himself of them with the greatest success.

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In the celebrated discussion on the affairs of the East, after having exhibited the humiliation of France, he added:--"Let no more be said upon what has been done; above all, let us never, never again recall the humiliating admissions which have reached us both from London and Constantinople. (Profound sensation.)

"Let that despatch, wherein Lord Palmerston is stated to have said that France would yield, and that the Eastern question would be settled in accordance with the wishes of England, be buried in oblivion. ... Is there a country whose ambassadors have cognizance of such language, and not only retain their posts, but become ministers? (Bravo, bravo!) That country is certainly not France. (Renewed applause.) England cannot have said so. Those who saw us even at Waterloo could not say such a thing. ..."

But after this suspension of arms, we must return to the charge with redoubled nerve and bravery, implanting our weapon in the heart, and turning it again and again within the wound. In other words, our train of thought should be still more energetic, our sentiments more powerful; embodied sometimes in a dramatic or tragic form, wherein truth and error are brought together in a fierce and obstinate hand-to-hand struggle; truth being made to overthrow error and to triumph over vice, and then to raise the erring and the transgressor, to embrace them, and to bear them away with herself to virtue, to happiness, to heaven. ...

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The following extract from M. de Cormenin furnishes an admirable summary of the foregoing chapter:--

"Select with a quick and confident instinct, from among the methods available to you, the method of the day; which may not be the most solid, but which, considering the disposition of men's minds, the nature of the matter in hand, and the peculiarity of concomitant circumstances, is the best adapted for making an impression upon your audience.

"Take strong hold of their attention. Stir up their pity or indignation, their sympathies or their antipathies, or their pride. Appear to be animated by their breath, all the while that you are communicating yours to them. When you have, in some degree, detached their souls from their bodies, and they come and group themselves of their own accord at the foot of the pulpit, riveted beneath the influence of your glance, then do not dally with them, for they are yours; your soul having, as may be truly said, passed into theirs. Look now how they follow its ebb and flow! how they will as you will! how they act as you act! But persist, give no rest; press your discourse home, and you will soon see all bosoms panting because yours pants; all eyes kindling because yours emit flame, or filling with tears because you grow tender. You will see all the hearers hanging on your lips through the attractions of persuasion; or, rather, you will see nothing, for you yourself will be under the spell of your own emotion; you will bend, you will succumb, under your own genius, and you will be the more eloquent the less effort you make to appear so.

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"Be clear, exact, concise, impartial.

"Do not attempt to say everything, but what you do say, say well."

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