Chapter 2

Now, ask any distinguished writer when did _he_ begin to cultivate a literary taste. He will tell you with Pope that he "lisped in numbers." He began almost with the dawn of reason. If, then, pen practice must be the first step towards pulpit success, it is while the fancy is tender that it should be trained; while the receptive powers are hungry in youth they should be fed; while the habits of thought are fresh and flexible they should be exercised. Wait till the hoar frost of age nips the rich blooms of imagination and stiffens the once nimble powers of the mind, and the cast-iron habits of maturer years have settled on you: literary culture is then an impossibility.

What does this culture imply? A developed insight into the beauties of thought; a just appreciation of style; an intimate acquaintance with the best authors; an abundant vocabulary and graceful expression. Can these be acquired in a year? or is the time for acquiring them seasoned manhood?

How worthless and pernicious is this one word "Wait," here more than ever, where mastery of language is in question. But a glance shows how much more absurd it is to let a man pass out of his teens before putting him through a thorough course of elocution. It is while the muscles of throat and lungs are as flexible as a piece of Indiarubber, and the young ear sensitive to every _nuance_ of sound, the future priest must learn to articulate, to pronounce correctly, to husband his breathing, to bend his voice with ease and mastery through the varied octaves of human passion.

A piece of advice which I would give to a young priest who may find himself within reach of an elocution master is to place himself under his guidance for at least the first twelve months.

The very best student elocutionist has, on leaving college, but a theoretic knowledge of the art of preaching. To weave the principles and graces he there acquired into his own compositions in the pulpit is a new experience. To do this with effect he still requires the master's guiding hand.

He should deliver his sermons in the presence of that master, invite him to his church, and ask him to note defects for correction. This plan I have seen acted on with eminent results: it may be a young priest's making: at its lowest estimate it is worth gold.

[Side note: A workable plan]

I can well imagine the young reader objecting that I would have him turn from his study-desk, where Lehmkuhl and St. Thomas lie, to practise composition and elocution. No, but I want to show how all I have put before him can be done without encroaching to the extent of one hour on his ordinary class studies.

I. Let the most hard-working student gather carefully the golden sands of wasted time that lie strewn even through the busiest ordinary day and see what they amount to in a year. Why not hoard and mint them; for his class knowledge will, to a great extent, be buried treasure except he has the engine by which to deliver it to others.

A student should permit no day to pass without writing out at least one thought. Cover but half a sheet of notepaper--correct, prune, condense, clarify, and then, if you wish, burn it, yet, it is a distinct gain. You are shaping a sword that will stand you in good need yet.

2. During study hours an English author should lie on the desk. When the head grows wearied, instead of uselessly goading the tired jade or consuming brain tissue on that most fatiguing of occupations, day dreaming, sip a page or two of English. You rest your brain, and while doing so store up knowledge, silently develop taste and acquire style.

3. Again, how are vacations consumed? The student who does not read at least two hours a day is letting a golden opportunity pass and wasting a precious gift of God--time. It may be said that this after all is a rather slow process; it will only mean about a volume a month. Yes, but that means twelve in a year, or at least eighty-four in your course, not a bad stock to start life with.

4. In the training of the future priest the recreation hour can be converted into the most important item on the day's programme. He plunges from the silence of the study hall into the vortex of the world, for it is the world in miniature; its passions, its pride, its meanness, as well as its gentleness of heart and heroism of spirit are all flowing around him. If properly utilised, the recreations can be minted into veritable gold. In the term "recreation" I include all those occasions of free intercourse where students meet to interchange thought--the hall, the club, &c.--and the more numerous these are the better. Here the student is his natural self, unrestrained by a master's presence. The young minds are free to wrestle, and opposing thoughts to clash. The fire of contradiction will test the genuine ore: the same fire will consume all that is worthless in his opinions and principles: the clay and alloy of his character too will go.

He learns to cast away many a cherished notion now dinged and broken in the war of minds; he is taught to distrust himself and tolerate the opinions of others. If the recreation, however, is to be a mental gymnasium it must be guided by fixed rules, and this is most important.

The tone must be of a high level. No vulgarity; no scurrility. _In the hottest debate we must not forget that we are gentlemen_.

We should argue, not to overcome an opponent, but to make truth evident. Minds in debate should resemble flails on the threshing floor, that labour not to overcome each other, but to separate the solid grains from the chaff and straw.

No man should be ashamed to say "I don't know" or "Perhaps I am wrong."

Without these safeguards the recreation or debate might easily become a cock-pit of unbridled passions. "Our fortunes lie not in our stars, good Brutus, but in ourselves." The making of the priests depends not merely on the college, but also on the students' own endeavours. This latter fact is but imperfectly understood, or acted on only in a very limited extent. It is from intercourse between minds of various bents, the debating clubs, the social unions, and not the lecture halls or study desks, that the Oxford student draws strength and elegance of character. It is the want or misuse of these opportunities that leaves the young Irish priest so raw and unfinished.

_Knowledge_ only comes from the professor and the book, but the _character_ is shaped, rounded, and polished by a variety of agencies lying outside both these. The creation of these agencies is almost entirely in the student's own hands.

[Side note: The dangers of the hour and how to meet them]

If the Irish priest on the foreign mission is to become a force in the future, his course of philosophy must be both solid and practical.

The last half century has not only changed the arms of his adversaries but transferred the conflict to new grounds.

Protestantism is dying. The mere veneer of Christianity is fast fading off among the sects.

The cobwebs of neglect are overspreading the works of theological controversy; but in the domain of ethics and metaphysics activity daily grows in intensity.

The student would do well to keep this fact before his eyes. It is proper that a priest should be conversant with the errors of the past and the arguments by which they are met. Many of these errors he will discover exhumed, draped in new disguises, and paraded as the fruit of modern "thought." But it will be well also, in his studies, not to ignore the fact that the Agnostic and the Socialist are, under his very eyes, digging what they confidently assure us is to be the grave of Christianity.

Agnosticism and Socialism are the two great forces to be reckoned with in the immediate future.

Poison-thought has eaten the vitals of non-catholic sectaries. The teaching of so-called Christian churches has evaporated into a mere natural theism, the supernatural element has disappeared. Both the Socialist and Agnostic frankly confess that the demolition of the sects is but a preliminary skirmish: the real battle lies farther afield. The lines of conflict between us and them are daily drawing closer, and it is a question of brief time till we are locked in deadly grip. How are we preparing for this struggle, which may yet convulse the world?

The future priest must be made familiar with the modern objections _in their native dress and form_.

The aspirant for the foreign missions has a tough quarry before him: it behoves him to steady his hand and point his weapon.

Young men complain of the length and tediousness of the years consumed in preparation for the Ministry. Could I but engrave on their minds the conviction as it lives, fixed and definite, on my own as to the equipment requisite for the efficient discharge of their great office; could I but show them the thousands untouched that might be within her fold to-day, were the Church's workmen fully aware of the pressing needs of modern life, they would count that hour as lost that did not contribute its quota towards their arming for the future.

P.S.--I cannot do better than here append a list of those books I found in practical experience most valuable in meeting modern thought. I would earnestly ask every aspirant for the foreign mission not to leave the college till he has a familiar acquaintance with every page of them. I take it for granted that the transcendent merits of "Catholic Belief" and "Faith of our Fathers" are so well known, especially as books for intending converts, that there is no need to add them to the list on the following page.

Dealing with Agnosticism, &c. "Liberalism and the Church" _Brownson_. "Notes on Ingersol" _Lambert_. "The Newest Answer to the Old Riddle" _Gerrard_. "New Materialism" _Gaynor_.

Dealing with Socialism "Pope Leo XIII. on Labour." "Labour and Popular Welfare" _Mallock_. "Socialism" _Cathrein_.

CHAPTER THIRD

SHOULD A YOUNG PRIEST WRITE HIS SERMONS?

[Side note: Clearing the ground]

That the young priest may discharge the office of preacher with efficiency and honour, not only must he bring ability and industry to his task, but he must approach it with a mind free from false theories. One unsound principle may mean shipwreck. Amongst the many questions discussed by aspirants to pulpit success, perhaps the greatest prominence is given to the relative merits of the written or the extemporary sermon. This is so important that its full treatment demands an entire chapter.

Before coming to close quarters we may premise a question. If the carefully prepared sermon cost as little trouble as the extemporary effort, would the world ever have heard of this discussion? Oh! the fatal tendency to move on the lines of least resistance, to glide on the downward slope, and when we have reached the bottom to manufacture arguments and apologies justifying the course we selected! When the question is probed to the bottom you will find that all advocacy of extemporary preaching resolves itself into an apology for laziness.

To me the question has long since ceased to be anything more than a mere academic one, useful perhaps for a debating class, where youthful gladiators flesh their harmless swords. In practical life, the well written, the well prepared sermon was the only one I discovered able to bear the test of experience.

[Side note: Manning]

At the threshold of this discussion the authority of Cardinal Manning may be invoked against us, who, without condemning the written sermon, shows a decided preference for speaking from notes. A written sermon, such as advocated, could scarcely be before his mind when he wrote that chapter in "The Eternal Priesthood." It is evident he had in view the post-renaissance preacher--vain, pompous, decked in borrowed ornament, anxious about the embroidery, and careless about the soul of his discourse. The species, thank God, is extinct.

At any rate, if Cardinal Manning meant to condemn the written discourse such as we understand it, is he triumphantly answered by himself. The man who advises you to preach from notes and then launches upon the world a goodly set of volumes of carefully written sermons, every line of which passed under his correcting pen, requires no refutation. His action nullifies his advice. It is to be feared, too, that in forming his judgment he relied too much on his own experience, and out of it drew conclusions for others, who could never hope to have his exceptional advantages-- a fatal mistake.

Before his conversion he had completed a distinguished career at Oxford. Of the English language and its perfect use he was a past master. The copiousness of diction, elegance of phrase, the power of expressing himself in graceful strength were eminently his. His intellect was stored with abundant knowledge drawn from many sources. The thoughts of his well-ordered mind stood in line as definite and orderly as soldiers on parade. The fibres of his reasoning had waxed strong in encounters with the ablest intellects of the day and before the most distinguished audiences in the literary and debating clubs at Oxford. Add to this the fact that in a keen knowledge of the human heart, its strength and weakness, he was surpassed by no man of his age. This was the equipment with which Manning started life, and it is to be feared he pre-supposed this, or a great part of it, to be in possession of those for whom he wrote.

Now, what young priest, even the most brilliant of his class, going on the mission can pretend to the hundredth part of the advantages that enabled Manning to dispense with the written page? Therefore, to conclude that because he, under such privileged circumstances, succeeded, you can do the same under a very different set of conditions, is to ignore the hard logic of facts and pay a poor compliment to your reason.

[Side note: Father Burke and O'Connell]

Then, we are confronted not with opinions but names--the two names that will stand for all time in the forefront of Irish orators are those of O'Connell and Father Burke. O'Connell wrote but one speech--his first. The orations delivered by Father Burke in America, by which he achieved a European reputation, were not written. What, then, it is asked, becomes of the advocacy of the written sermon? The answer to this argument is evident. If the question is reduced to one of great names, into the other side of the scales may be thrown not two but dozens of the most illustrious men who not only wrote, but _became famous mainly because they wrote_.

Passing by the great pagan orators, Cicero and Demosthenes, and the Doctors of the Church, Saints Augustine, John Chrysostom, &c.--these all wrote, polished and elaborated--we come to the four names that have flung a deathless glory around the French pulpit, that created a golden era of sacred eloquence which has never been surpassed: Bourdaloue, Bossuet, Massillon, and Fenelon. I will not labour the argument by showing how much of their strength and fame rested on the construction of their sermons. But, to return to the intrinsic merits of the statement--yes, O'Connell and Father Burke were great orators in _spite of_, and _not because of_, the fact that they spoke extemporarily. So crude were some of O'Connell's speeches, so careless was he of their dress, that Shiel complained: "He flung a brood of young, sturdy ideas upon the world, with scarce a rag to cover them."

If ever there was a case when the man made the sermon instead of the sermon making the man, it was the case of Father Burke. How little he owed to his sermons and how much they owed to his delivery is left on record by a capable judge. Sir Charles Gavan Duffy says: "Father Burke was a born orator; the charm of _voice, eye and action_ combined to produce his wonderful effects. When his words were printed much of the spell vanished. One rejoiced to _hear_ him over and over again, but _re-read_ him rarely, I think."[1] The greatest tribute that can be paid to the genius of these two orators is that compositions, wordy, loose, abounding in repetitions, in their mouths enthralled multitudes. Every defect disappeared; the mastery, the dazzling brilliancy of their oratory swept all hearts and blinded criticism. We well may pause before answering the question: What effects would they have produced had they time to write masterpieces of finished beauty like those of Grattan and of Bourdaloue? where each link in the chain of argument hangs in glittering strength, and each thought shows the flash of the gem and its solidity too.

[1] "My Life in Two Hemispheres," Vol. II., 274.

[Side note: Defence of the system I]

The first great difficulty against extemporary preaching is that, though a priest studies his subject and maps his plan, he still reckons without his host. The mind aroused to activity and warmed by exertion is sure to spring new thoughts, arguments, and illustrations across his path. These offspring of latest birth clothed in freshness will prove a temptation too strong. He will swerve from the main line to pursue them: the tendency to chase the fresh hare can scarcely be resisted. Then another new thought springs up, and, alas! another fresh hunt. The defined sketch lying on his desk is abandoned: the new ideas have mastered him, but he cannot master them. He labours himself to death without avail, for there is neither point, argument, nor sequence: his sermon is a definition of eternity--without beginning and without end. The congregation is groaning in despair, and the only appreciated passage in the whole performance is the preacher's passage from the pulpit to the sacristy.

Now, to a man who writes his sermon, such a catastrophe is impossible. In the process of preparation the field is well beaten and every thought that could arise secured. From the best of these his selection is made. To this selection he clings without danger of swerve. The road on which he travels is not only mapped but free of ambush and surprises. The milestones are erected. He may not be a Bossuet or a Burke, but he speaks to a definite point, has a time to stop, and the people leave the church with a clear idea.

[Side note: II.]

The defenders of extemporary preaching must postulate three essentials in any man undertaking the office. (I) Orderly thought. (2) Abundant vocabulary. (3) Accurate and graceful expressions. Without these he cannot speak. Admit the want of any one of them and the contention falls to the ground. Now, what young priest coming out of college has this equipment? It is a singular fact, too, that these three can be acquired only by, and are the direct outcome of, pen practice. How is it that this fact has escaped so many? "Writing makes an exact man," says Bacon; and to the question: "How can I become an orator?" Cicero's answer was: "_Caput est quam plurimum scribere_." When then men point to a Gladstone or a Bright as an example of an extemporary orator we are entitled to ask: "In what sense can they be called extemporary speakers, except in the most limited, since the well marshalled ideas, the flowing periods and elegant graces of delivery are the products of reams and reams of written pages and years of patient drudgery?" Yet, even with all these advantages, on great occasions it was on the written page they relied. Till the young priest, then, comes to his task as well furnished as a Gladstone or a Bright, the advocates of extemporary speaking are out of count.

[Side note: III.]

The extemporary preacher challenges nature on her own ground. No one need doubt the issue. Nature will conquer, and the man who defies her will succumb. He endeavours to think, to select word-clothing for his thoughts, to labour his memory, and deliver his sermon, and performs all four operations at the same time, a task clearly impossible, but more so when we remember the usual embarrassments that beset a young preacher--the nervous agitation, the want of self-control, the desire to succeed. It ends generally in a stammer and then a break, greeted by the congregation with a sigh of relief or perhaps a sneer of contempt.

Is it by preaching such as this you hope to challenge the respect and get a hold on the intellect of a cynical world? Is it through such instrumentality you would bring home the Church's message to proud and festering humanity? No one can succeed who attempts more than one task at a time.

Look to analogy. At the moment when a regiment is expected to charge, you don't find it engaged in collecting ammunition, sharpening swords, and learning drill. All these necessary preliminaries are long since completed. Now every bridle is grasped, every sword hilt in grip, and the rowelled heels are ready to dash into the horses' flanks at the first note of the trumpet blast.

The preacher should come to the pulpit in a like state of preparedness, with his thoughts already gathered, moulded, polished and clothed in the words that fit them best; with every argument as definite and well knitted as a proposition in Euclid; the page swept clear of superfluous verbiage; each idea standing out bright as a jewel in its setting, and the whole so thoroughly committed to memory that he can defy the most critical to discover a trace of effort. He should come, holding his elocutionary forces in reserve, and ready, when the moment arrives, to flash from his lips each living thought and send from his heart the waves of subtle, unseen fire to melt, rock, or subdue the hearts of others, instead of attempting four tasks simultaneously, and failing in all. His sole business in the pulpit is not to shape his message or to clothe his message, but to gather and converge all the powers within him for one grand purpose and it alone--to send that message home.

These pages are written mainly for the Irish priest on the foreign mission. It is well he should be under no delusion. In Ireland a slipshod or unprepared sermon may meet with indulgent charity. A very different reception awaits it abroad. The priest who attempts it will quickly discover how he is set up for a sign that shall be contradicted. The free, white light of open criticism penetrates even the sanctuary. There is no dignity to hedge any man. Congregations smart at being treated to such poor fare, and will not leave him long in ignorance of their opinions. Perhaps while in the pulpit the sight of many a curving lip will make the blood tingle or cause the shame spot to burn on his cheek.

Again, the priest on the foreign mission will never face a congregation that is not sprinkled with Protestants or unbelievers. Should he not then consider the feelings of his own people who are humiliated or filled with honest pride by the manner in which their pastor acquits himself in the eyes of strangers? Waiving then all supernatural motives, should not every priest have sufficient manly pride, self-respect and sensibility for the honour of his exalted office to lift himself and his work above the sneer of the most censorious, and challenge the respect, if not the admiration, of every listener?

The preparation should begin not on the day the sacred oils are poured on the young priest's hands, but on the day he enters college. His eyes should be kept fixed on the goal before him. "I am to be a preacher, and every obstacle that stands on my path must go down, and every advantage that goes to make a great orator, at all costs, I must make my own." This ambition should be nourished till it consumes him, till it becomes "his waking thought, his midnight dream." His reading, recitation and debates should be studied under the light of this lodestar of his destiny: at first shining afar off, but swiftly nearing as each vacation ends.

[Side note: Objectors answered I.]