MAUNDY-THURSDAY.
Maundy-Thursday found me bright and early in the cathedral, and well placed; for I was again just opposite the seats reserved for the captain-general and the governor, and just behind those intended for the military and civil officers.
With the exception of the bishop's dais, throne, reading-desk, and cushion, which were now of white damask and gold, every thing was the same as on Palm-Sunday. But the great white curtain had been removed from before the southern transept, and there was now to be seen a magnificent golden sepulchre, under a white and gilded dome supported by columns. The statue of a kneeling angel adorned each side of this monument, to which the officiating priest ascended by six carpeted steps. Innumerable wax tapers in silver candlesticks were arranged on each side, their soft light reflected by the silver and gold drapery that lined the vault.
As on Palm-Sunday, the floor of the nave was soon covered with carpets and little chairs, all occupied an hour before the mass began by women and children, white and colored, of every social grade, from the delicate marchioness to the coarse black cook. Not even the most elegant lady present seemed in the slightest degree annoyed by being elbowed, and her satin dress rumpled, by some pushing, saucy morena, (colored woman,) who planted her chair or stool just where she could contrive to squeeze it in, with the most perfect assurance that no one would question her right to do so. I remarked, too, that in the crowd of men who stood in the aisles, the whites and blacks, the rich and the poor, were on the same terms and acting in precisely the same manner toward one another; and I felt convinced that nowhere on earth was such social equality to be met with as I witnessed in the cathedral church of Havana.
I was admiring this absence of all invidious distinctions in the house of God, and rejoicing in the thought that here, at least, the master had to confess himself weak and humble as the slave, the rich powerless as the poor, when two men forced room for themselves on my bench and by my side. One had the look of a low grog-shop keeper, the other of a whining street-beggar; both were shockingly, disgustingly filthy; both snorted and spat in the most frightful manner, and in the discomfort they caused me, I arrived at the conclusion that all men are equal—yes, except the clean and the dirty; and I fretted and fumed against the church officials who thus abandoned the faithful washed to the inroads of the faithless unwashed. Faithless unwashed!—it is written wittingly; for I cannot credit that piety will exist with filthiness of its own free will. No, sin and dirt are too often bosom friends; but cleanliness goes hand in hand with godliness.
I had, however, to bear and forbear with my unpleasant neighbors, whose propinquity induced a train of thoughts somewhat at variance with the solemnity I had come to witness. I remembered, among other discrepant subjects, the nickname given to the Spaniards by the Cubans, Patones—"Big-Feet"—which appellation has frequently been used in skirmishes between the insurgents and the Spanish troops as a battle-cry. Viva Cuba, y mueren los Patones! "Long live Cuba, and death to the Big-Feet!" the rebels would shout, and the soldiers, very naturally enraged at a personal defect being alluded to in such terms, would fight like insulted heroes. So I improved this opportunity, having a long row of Spaniards before me, to examine their lower extremities and judge for myself what truth there was in the discourteous designation. After a careful and impartial investigation, I believe that I can say with justice that, though they do not possess the exquisitely-formed, fairy-like little feet with which every Cuban, male and female, trips into this world, they yet cannot be accused of having large or clumsy ones. Most of the Spanish feet I saw were certainly much smaller than those of the English or Germans, resembling, perhaps, those of the French.
The toilettes of the ladies were even more ball-like than on Palm-Sunday; nearly every one wore low-necked dresses and short sleeves, and many white kid gloves. Rose-colored, pale blue, yellow, and white silk robes trimmed with lace and a multitude of bows, and sometimes disfigured by preposterous paniers, were general. The hair was artistically dressed and adorned with flowers, golden fillets, and bright ribbons, and the white or black lace mantilla thrown over the head was as small and transparent as possible.
At a quarter past eight, the bishop arrived with a numerous suite of clergy: as on Sunday, it was with difficulty he made his way through the sitting, kneeling, becrinolined, and betrained crowd that encumbered the centre of the church.
Very shortly after, a flourish of trumpets outside announced the coming of the captain-general. The great door was again thrown open, and he entered, preceded by the mace-bearers, and attended by Señor Don Dionisio Lopez Roberts, superior political governor of Havana, and a brilliant cortége of noblemen, gentlemen, and military and civil chiefs. When all were seated, the scene as viewed from my bench was very striking. The resplendent sepulchre; the illuminated altar, at which the mitred prelate and his assistant priests were officiating, all robed in white and gold; the long row of handsome uniforms on each side of the nave; the gay parterre of fair ladies, and the crowd of spectators of every shade of color from white to black that filled the spaces between the massive pillars and served as a background, all contributed to form a whole most picturesque and unique.
The beautiful service of Maundy-Thursday now commenced; during the celebration of it, the ceremony of blessing the holy oils was performed; and when the Gloria in excelsis was chanted, the bell was rung for the last time until Holy Saturday. At the elevation, I heard the silver staff of the pertiguero resound several times upon the pavement. The pertiguero is, like the perrero, a functionary peculiar to the cathedral; his duty is to enforce kneeling at the elevation on all strangers visiting that church at the moment. He carries a long silver staff, called a pertiga, which he strikes with a clang upon the marble floor when he perceives any one inattentive to the strict rule of the church—prostration in presence of the host.
After the mass, the blessed sacrament was carried in solemn procession to the sepulchre, the captain-general and the governor bearing the banner of the Agnus Dei, and all the grandees and municipality joining in it. The staves and cross-rods of the banner and of the magnificent dais held over the holy sacrament were all of silver, and appeared to be very heavy. The host was deposited in the sepulchre, which was then locked, and the golden key fastened to a chain suspended by the bishop around the neck of the captain-general, to be brought back to the church by him on Good-Friday. The beautiful hymn, Pange lingua, was sung very sweetly the whole time; the Latin, which seems so hard and harsh in our English pronunciation, sounding very grand and harmonious in these Spanish mouths.
The church cleared very rapidly after the mass; and when the last carriage had conveyed its last occupant home, no vehicle of any kind was permitted to pass through the streets of Havana. The soldiers now carried their arms reversed, and all Spanish flags were at half-mast. The city was in mourning.
I was taken possession of by some kind friends as I left the cathedral, and accompanied them to their house close by, where we found a welcome breakfast awaiting us. It consisted of fish and vegetables. We commenced with turtle-soup; but not of the kind so loved by Cockney aldermen, redolent of spiced force-meat balls and luscious green fat; this was an orthodox meagre soup, incapable of doing harm. Then came a nice fried fish called rabi rubio—red tail, and fried lobster, all hot, which, however, I did not like as well as boiled lobster cold with a mayonnaise sauce. To these succeeded shrimp fritters, roast turtle, and a very delicate fish, the pargo, the best in these seas, and sometimes caught as large as a large salmon, which it is not unlike in form. Our vegetables were white rice, eaten with black Mexican beans stewed; yam, yucca, and slices of green plantain fried of a fine gold color, and very delicious. Good bread, excellent claret, and native coffee with an aroma resembling that of the best Mocha, completed this agreeable repast, which had been enlivened by the pleasant conversation of an intelligent, generous-hearted Spaniard, and the smiles and jests of his pretty Cuban wife and children.
Breakfast over, my friend Pepilla and I, with the two eldest girls, Dolores and Luisita, sallied forth into the silent streets to visit some of the churches, previous to attending the ceremony of the Lavatorio—washing of feet—which was to be performed in the cathedral at three o'clock.
The quaint old church of San Juan de Dios was the first we entered. Its floor of hard-beaten earth was encumbered with kneeling worshippers, mostly colored, in earnest prayer before a figure as large as life, representing our blessed Saviour dressed in a dark purple velvet robe, embroidered with gold; his hands tied together with a rope; his head crowned with a gilded crown of thorns. Long black ringlets of shiny hair shaded his emaciated cheeks and fell far down on his shoulders behind.
The high altar, which is a curious work of bad taste, decorated with little carved wooden angels wearing black Hessian boots, was screened by hangings of gold and silver tinsel; and a gilded sepulchre, surrounded by a great number of wax tapers, to be lighted in the evening, was placed in front of it.
As we came out of the poor little church, a dirty negro boy, followed by a dozen others, ran by us in the street, making a great noise with a matraca, to the delight of his suite. This matraca is a piece of wood about eighteen inches long and ten wide; on each side of it are affixed one or two thick iron wires of the usual size and shape of those old-fashioned metal handles to drawers and trunks, which always used to slip out of their sockets when one gave a strong pull. When the instrument is shaken, these rattle against the wood, and in the hands of an adept, and all colored boys are such, made a terrible clatter. From the Gloria on Maundy-Thursday until the Gloria on Holy Saturday, matracas are employed instead of bells and clocks, and boys from the churches run through the streets with them, to announce each hour of the day.
The sepulchre at San Felipe, a church whose interior is remarkable for its air of bright cleanliness, was very tastefully arranged with flowers and tapers, and promised to look very brilliant when lighted up. There also was an image of our Saviour similar to that we had just seen.
At Santo Domingo, a large, handsome edifice, we found a magnificent sepulchre, in severer taste than the two we had visited. In one of the aisles, also, there was a group large as life, and painfully life-like. It represented our blessed Lord on the cross, the blood streaming from his nose and down his pale, thin cheeks from the wounds inflicted by the cruel thorns of his crown; a ghastly gash in his side; his hands tom by the dreadful nails; his wrists bruised and cut by the cords with which he had been bound; his knees so horribly scarified by being dragged over the rough ground that the bones of the joints were visible; his feet mangled, his whole body cut and scratched and discolored by stones and blows. At the foot of the cross stood the holy Virgin, tearless, but with so heart-broken an expression that to look at her was to weep. St. Mary Magdalen, her face pale, her eyes swollen and red, was kneeling near her. I could not bear the sight of this agony, and turned away, saying to myself, "Yes, it must have been like this!"
In each of these three churches a nun was sitting at a small table with a tray before her, to collect the charitable, voluntary offerings of visitors. This was the first time I had seen the slightest approach to money-asking in the Cuban churches. During the rest of the year there never are collections of any kind made in them. Nevertheless, the ladies of Havana are very ready to contribute, and do contribute liberally toward all religious and charitable purposes; but privately, not publicly. Indeed, both Spaniards and Cubans are remarkably compassionate and generous to the begging poor, whom they gently style Pordioseros—"For-God-sakers;" and whom they never send harshly away when unpleasantly importuned or unable to give, as we Anglo-Saxons so often do; but refuse with a soft Perdone, por Dios, hermano—"Pardon me, for God's sake, brother;" or, Perdone, por Dios, hermanita—"Pardon me, for God's sake, little sister."
It was now time to return to the cathedral to secure places to see the Lavatorio. We found but few persons there yet, and consequently had a choice of seats. Some colored men were busy placing an image of our Saviour, similar to that we had seen in the church of San Juan de Dios, on one of the altars in the southern aisle, and it was touching to see the veneration and love with which one or other of them would raise from time to time a ringlet of the shiny black hair and kiss it.
Just before three o'clock two long benches were set on the epistle side of the altar, and presently a large number of youths, attired in dark red robes, entered the chancel—students from the Seminario de San Carlos, the theological college attached to the cathedral.
The beautiful anthem that is chanted during the ceremony of the washing of feet, Mandatum novum do vobis, "A new command I give unto you," contains the distinctive precept of our pure and holy religion, "Love one another;" and I could not help thinking, when the Bishop of Havana girded himself with a linen napkin and knelt humbly to do his lowly task, that he looked as if it were to him a real labor of love, so charitable an expression was there in his eyes, such venerable grace in his manner. He was assisted by several priests, one of whom carried a large silver basin, another a silver ewer full of water. The water was poured over one foot only; the prelate knelt as he wiped it, and then kissing it, rose and passed to the foot of the next boy, and so on. When all were washed and wiped, the bishop, looking heated and tired, resumed the white and gold chasuble he had laid aside, and, crowned with his mitre, took his seat in front of the high altar, surrounded by his clergy.
The sermon then commenced; the subject was, as always on this day, the institution of the holy eucharist. The preacher was a rather young man, of agreeable aspect, earnest in gesture and manner. His voice was loud and clear, and the magnificent Spanish language resounded in harmonious and eloquent periods through the vaulted nave. I remembered, as I listened admiringly, the old Spanish boast that theirs is the tongue in which the Almighty can be least unworthily addressed, and it did not seem to me so vain and unmeaning as I once deemed it.
With the conclusion of the sermon, all the joy and love that had marked the first part of the services of Holy Thursday disappeared, and grief and mourning now began again. Vespers and the Tenebræ were chanted, and then the faithful withdrew.
In the evening all the inhabitants of Havana poured into the streets: the captain-general, attended by his staff; the bishop, followed by his clergy; the governor and the municipality; the various corporations; large family parties, and bands of young men and boys; all went from one illuminated church to another, seven being the prescribed number, to kneel before the splendid sepulchres, and pray with more or less devotion. And having accomplished this duty, all adjourned to the Plaza de Armas, a handsome square, on one side of which is the palace of the captain-general, for the retreta; that is, to promenade while they listened to the military band, which played some sacred music very finely, and to eat ices, the pious taking care that theirs were water-ices.
The brilliant moon of the tropics lighted up the scene, making all visible as in the day, but with softer tones; beneath her beams the beautiful eyes of the ladies seemed of a more velvety black, and their white teeth glistened whiter between their smiling lips. A gentle breeze, laden with the sweet odors peculiar to night in Cuba, sighed in the leafy boughs of the Laurel de India, and all seemed to me peace and good-will among men, until I overheard one Creole lady say to another, "Your husband was a Spaniard, I believe?"
"I have been the wife of two Spaniards," replied the Cubana; "but I am happy to say that I have buried them both!"
So I returned to my home deeply meditating on the loveliness of nature and the perversity of mankind.
GOULD'S ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT OF RELIGIOUS BELIEF.[11]
In this book the author considers what are the natural religious wants of man's soul; he shows how these cravings have given birth to various religious systems; he considers to what extent these systems are capable of satisfying man's moral nature, including in this survey every ancient and modern belief except Christianity; and proves that they have all failed in a greater or less degree. In a second volume he intends "to show how that Christianity by its fundamental postulate—the Incarnation—assumes to meet all these instincts; how it actually does so meet them; and how failure is due to counteracting political or social causes." (P. 6.)
In other words, we have here a treatise on religion from the à priori, rationalistic or philosophic stand-point. The work is done as well as we could expect from a non-Catholic author. But like most other books of the same stamp, written by those outside of the church, it contains many errors and false statements of facts. As it has attracted no little attention, and may be considered as a type of a large class, we will give some quotations from it, to show how cautiously these books are to be read, and how little confidence can be placed in their assertions.
In his preface, the author says that, besides the historical revelation, "We have a revelation in our own nature.... On this revelation the church of the future must establish its claims to acceptance." (P. 6.) If Christ was God, as we firmly believe, or even an inspired teacher sent by God, the first and only thing necessary is to know what he taught. We must examine extrinsic evidence which bears on the inspiration, authenticity, and genuineness of the historical documents in which his teaching is contained. Intrinsic evidence derived from the examination of that teaching, and the consideration of its complete harmony with man's spiritual nature, must be assigned a second, not a first place.
In the following passages, which are certainly not a little ridiculous, we have naturalism and materialism:
"Mysticism is produced by the combustion of the gray vascular matter in the sensorium—the thalami optici and the corpora striata." (P. 355.)
"Prayer is a liberation of force. When the emotions are excited, rapid combustion of nervous tissue ensues, and the desire that inevitably follows to do something is the signal that an amount of power has been generated, and equilibrium is disturbed." (P. 387.)
"Pantheism," we are told, p. 292, "is the philosophy of reason—of reason, it may be, in its impotence," (most assuredly!) "but of such reason as man is gifted with here."
On page 319, speaking of Kant, he says, "All the arguments advanced by metaphysicians to prove the existence of God crumbled into dust beneath his touch." The truth is precisely the opposite. Kant has "crumbled into dust," and "all the arguments adduced by metaphysicians to prove the existence of God" remain as unshaken as before he was born.
We are told, on page 79, that the chief reason why all men have believed in the immortality of the soul, is because they could not form even a conception of its annihilation. On the contrary, any one who has ever slept soundly can conceive its annihilation without any difficulty, though he might experience a good deal in endeavoring to picture to himself an existence without end. The doctrine of the immortality of the soul, however, even in philosophy, does not rest on any such weak arguments.
That most wonderful fact of history, in which the finger of God evidently appears, namely, the preservation of the Jewish people and their belief for the past eighteen hundred years, in the face of causes which, according to every natural law, ought long ago to have destroyed both creed and nation, is accounted for (p. 205) simply by their possession of "the Talmud, which is a minute rule of life," etc. Credat Judæus Apella.
"A man of thought will not steal, because he knows he is violating a law of sciology." (P. 278.) Were all the men in the world "sciologists," and "men of thought," we would not be in the least inclined to trust our property to the slender protection afforded by a law of "sciology."
Every native of the "Gem of the Ocean" will be delighted to learn that "The suffering Celt has his Brian Boroimhe, ... who will come again ... to inaugurate a Fenian millennium," (p. 407;) and students of history will be surprised to know that
"Marie Antoinette was informed of the execution of Robespierre by a woman in the street below the prison putting stones in her apron, and then, with her hand falling on them, scattering them on the ground." (P. 187.)
Marie Antoinette was not alive when Robespierre was executed. The above incident occurred in the life of Josephine Beauharnais.
On pages 133-134, we are told substantially that for the first three or four centuries after Christ, God governed the Christian world directly! Then, for a time, through the priests alone! Afterward, for several centuries, through kings alone! Now the whole Christian world is ruled solely by "the open Bible!" This is a good example of how most non-Catholic writers, when speaking of religion, are always ready to sacrifice historical truth for the sake of a generalization or a rhetorical flourish.
"Its primitive organization (that is, of the church) was purely democratic. It recognized the right of the governed to choose their governor." (P. 201.) We never knew before that the people of Ephesus elected Timothy to be their ruler, or the people of Crete, Titus. We thought St. Paul appointed both of them, and that he told Timothy, "The things which thou hast heard from me before many witnesses, the same commend to faithful men who shall be fit to teach others also," (Epis. to Timothy ii. 2;) and that he wrote to Titus, "... ordain priests in every city, as I also appointed thee." (Epis. to Titus i. 5.)
"When Hildebrand gathered up the reins of government in his powerful hand to transmit them to his successors, the ecclesiastical elective primacy became an absolute supremacy." (P. 201.)
In the Arabian Nights, if any difficulty occurs to interfere with the plot of a story, genii or fairies are straightway introduced, perform very coolly some astounding act, and presto! all goes smoothly again. So, when Protestant authors, in writing history, come across any fact that stands in the way of their preconceived anti-Catholic theories, and logic cannot remove it, they introduce "priestcraft," "Hildebrand," "the cunning Jesuits," etc.; these prodigies shoulder the difficulty, walk off with it, and then "it is all perfectly clear." "Priestcraft," for instance, invented the whole sacramental system and foisted it on the church, no one knows when, where, or how. "Hildebrand" created the papal power. It did not exist before his time. "The cunning Jesuits"—ah! it would require more than a Thousand and One Arabian Nights to recount all the wondrous achievements of these mythological characters. Their latest act has been the convocation of the present œcumenical council, which they rule with an iron hand. In fact, the editor of this magazine, who is a member of the council, has written to us privately that now their power and tyranny have become so great that when the council is in full session you have to ask a special permission of "the cunning Jesuits" if you desire to sneeze or even wink! (Isn't it awful, reader? But this, you know, is strictly entre nous. You mustn't mention it to any body on any consideration, unless, of course—as is not at all impossible—you should hereafter learn the same thing from the Atlantic Cable!)
The saints of the Catholic Church in modern times, we read, (p. 362,) "are ecstatics, crazy nuns, and sentimental boys." Such, therefore, were Sts. Alphonsus Liguori, Ignatius, Francis Xavier, Vincent de Paul, Charles Borromeo, Francis of Sales, Theresa, Jane de Chantal, and the two Catherines! Well, we live to learn!
Mr. Gould, in order, it would appear, to give an air of originality—or, more correctly, aboriginality—to his book, chooses to employ the term idol as signifying any representation of the Deity, (whether it receive divine worship or not,) even the intellectual conception or purely philosophic idea! "Idolatry, then, is the outward expression of the belief in a personal God." (P. 176.) According to this new nomenclature, we must style all Christians idolaters!
"A fetish is a concentration of spirit or deity upon one point." (P. 177.) So with sticks, stones, and snakes, he ranks the Sacred Host—the Catholic fetish!
"The attribution to the Deity of wisdom and goodness is every whit as much anthropomorphosis as the attribution of limbs and passions." (P. 175.) So all worshippers of the Deity (for the impersonal "God" of pantheism is simply no God at all) are anthropomorphists as well as "idolaters"!
The last remark we have quoted from the author is not true. The soul alone is not the man; neither is the body alone; but soul and body together. Whoever, therefore, attributes to God only the spiritual attributes of man, cannot be properly termed an anthropomorphist. In any case, however, we most decidedly object to any one's applying to sacred things terms rendered opprobrious by long and correct usage. The effect of such an act is to confuse the reader, and its tendency is to bring what is holy into contempt. Perhaps this was the author's intention.
As might easily be supposed from the foregoing examples, the writer of this book is one of the nineteenth century illuminati, and in favor of "unrestrained freedom of thought," etc., (the chief enemies of which are historical facts, sound logic, and common-sense.) We will now listen for a moment while, in good orthodox Protestant fashion, he is "shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
"Sacerdotal despotism succeeded in the middle ages in concentrating all power over consciences and intelligences in the hands of an order whose centre was in Rome." (P. 138.)
"The Reformation was a revolt against that oppressive despotism of the Roman theocracy which crushed the human intellect and paralyzed freedom of action." (P. 139.)
"Under an infallible guide, regulating every moral and theological item of his (man's) spiritual being, his mental faculties are given him that they may be atrophied, like the eyes of the oyster, which, being useless in the sludge of its bed, are reabsorbed." (P. 140.)
"Theocratic legislation hampers every man's action from the cradle to the grave.... The Israelites are a case in point. They were tied down ... lest they should desert monotheism for idolatry." (P. 204.)
"In a theocracy there is neither individuality, personality, nor originality.... It has restrained independence, shackled commerce, conventionalized art, mummified science, cramped literature, and stifled thought," etc. (Pp. 207, 208.)
What a pity that we poor "Romanists" are so "benighted," etc., etc., that we don't in the least appreciate these modern Solons, who seem to think that every one should be "progressive;" that is, spend his life in dragging himself out of one humbug only to fall into another; or, as the wise critic of The Nation put it a short time ago, in speaking of a story in The Catholic World, a young man ought to be like a ship, and devote his existence to sailing about—on the boundless ocean, we suppose, of infidel nonsense![12]
Finally, we read, (pp. 138, 139.)
"'Strange destiny, that of theology, to be condemned to be for ever attaching itself to those systems which are crumbling away,' writes M. Maury; 'to be essentially hostile to all science that is novel, and to all progress!'"
We shall only remark that, were religion to spend her time in pinning her faith to all the "novel," "scientific," "progressive" systems that spring up every day and straightway begin to crumble, even while these learned "sciologists" are tossing high their caps in air and shouting out in impressive chorus, "Where now is theology?"—it would, we think, be even stranger still.
We have devoted this much space to showing up some of the falsehoods in this book because it is not all false nor all stupid; it is a philosophic and, to some extent, a learned work; it is written in a brilliant and attractive style. This class of works dazzle; but when written by non-Catholics, they are not to be trusted. The only deep, and, at the same time, sound scholarship in the world is in the Catholic Church. Those who protest against her protest against the truth; even the most learned among them, on many most essential matters, are surprisingly ignorant; but what they want in knowledge they make up generally in flash rhetoric and humbug novelty, and that suits this enlightened age just as well.
Too many persons, however, when they see much that is true in a book, are inclined to believe it all true; and so with a considerable amount of food they will swallow a great deal of poison. This is a mistake. No author is ever wholly wrong. The falsest say many things that are true.
To show how error and truth may be found side by side in the same work, we will give some quotations from our author in which his ideas are sufficiently, or even strikingly, correct.
He thus speaks of asceticism:
"From whatever motive an ascetic life is undertaken, the result is accumulation of force. The ascetic cuts himself off, as much as possible, from all means of liberating force. His voluntary celibacy and abstinence from active work place at his disposal all that force which would be discharged by a man in the world in muscular action and in domestic affection.... Withdrawal from society intensifies his individuality, and, unless the ideas formed in his brain be such as can excite his emotion, he becomes completely self-centred. But if the object of his contemplation be one which is calculated to draw out his affections, the result is a coördinate accumulation of mental and affectional power." (P. 348.)
"Luther, a man of coarse and vigorous animalism, was no ascetic." (P. 350.)
The doctrine of Zwinglius, he tells us, was simply pantheism, and that of Calvin he considers undeserving the name of Christianity.
"Alongside of Mohammedanism must be placed a parallel development in Europe, which, though nominally Christian, is intrinsically deistic. Consciously it was not so, but logically it was; and in its evolution it proved a striking counterpart to Islamism.
"Zwinglius had taught that God was infinite essence, absolute being, (τὸ Esse.) The being of creatures, he said, was not opposed to the being of God, but was in and by him. Not man only, but all creation, was of divine race. Nature was the force of God in action, and every thing is one. Sin he held to be the necessary consequence of the development of man, and to be, not a disturbance of moral order, but the necessary process in the development of man, who has no free-will.
"Calvin's idea of God was quite as absolute as that formed by Zwinglius, but it was not so pantheistic, though he did not shrink from calling nature God. The Deity was to him the great autocrat, whose absolute will allotted to man his place in time and in eternity. Beyond the pale of the church, he taught, there was no remission to be hoped for, nor any chance of salvation; for the church was the number of the predestined, and God could not alter his decision without abrogating his divinity." (P. 266.)
"He swept away the sacramental system; if he held to Christianity, it was in name, not in theory, for his doctrine excluded it as a necessary article. He deprived the atonement of its efficacy and significance, and he left the Incarnation unaccounted for, save by the absolute decree of the divine and arbitrary will which he worshipped as God." (P. 267.)
He thus speaks of the Reformation and of its cardinal principle:
"But what was the result of the Reformation? The establishment of a royal along side of a biblical theocracy. The crown became the supreme head to order what religion is to consist of, how worship is to be conducted, and what articles of faith are to be believed." (P. 139.)
"The Scriptures were then assumed to be the ultimate authority on doctrine and ethics; they were supposed to contain 'all things necessary to salvation, so that whatsoever is not read therein, nor may be proved thereby, is not to be required of any man, that it be believed as an article of the faith, or be thought requisite or necessary to salvation.'
"This mode of arresting modification is not, however, final, and cannot in the nature of things be final; for, firstly, the significance of the terms in which the revelation is couched must be subject to the most conflicting interpretations; and secondly, the authority of the revelation will be constantly exposed to be questioned, and the genuineness of the documents to be disputed." (P. 134.)
Buddhism he calls the Protestantism of the East.
"Its cold philosophy and thin abstractions, however they might exercise the faculties of anchorites, have proved insufficient of themselves to arrest man in his career of passion and pursuit; and the bold experiment of influencing the heart and regulating the conduct of mankind by the external decencies and the mutual dependencies of morality, unsustained by higher hopes, has proved in this instance an unredeemed and hopeless failure." (P. 353.)
"In confiding all to the mere strength of the human intellect, and the enthusiastic self-reliance and determination of the human heart, it makes no provision for defence against those powerful temptations before which ordinary resolution must give way." (P. 354.)
"The mass of the population are profoundly ignorant of, and utterly indifferent to, the tenets of their creed.... 'The same results appear in the phases of Buddhism beyond India,' says M. Maupied; 'in the north of Asia and in China it has arrived at a sort of speculative atheism, which has not only arrested proselytism, but which is self-destructive, and which in the end will completely ruin it.' It is not a religion but a philosophy. (P. 355.)
"This close resemblance seems to have been felt on first contact of Calvinism and Buddhism; for we find in 1684 the Dutch government importing at its own expense Buddhist missionaries from Arracan to Ceylon to oppose the progress of Catholicism." (P. 353.)
He is not in line with those, so numerous in this age and country, who hold to the Chinese notion that intellectual and material progress is every thing.
"On the whole, it will be found that the amount of happiness in a race not highly civilized is far more general, and its sum total far higher, than that of an over-civilized race. The rude and simple Swiss peasantry are thoroughly happy, while in a large city like London, the upper stratum of society is engaged in nervous quest of pleasure which ever eludes them, while the lower is plunged in misery. Besides, what is really meant by the progress of the species? The only tangible superiority of a generation over that which has preceded it, appears to consist in its having within its reach a larger accumulation of scientific or literary materials for thought, or a greater mastery over the forces of inanimate nature; advantages not without their drawbacks, and at any rate of a somewhat superficial kind. Genius is not progressive from age to age; nor yet the practice, however it may be with the science, of moral excellence. And, as this progress of the species is only supposed, after all, to be an improvement of its condition during men's first lifetime, the belief—call it, if you will, but a dream—of a prolonged existence after death reduces the whole progress to insignificance. There is more, even as regards quantity of sensation, in the spiritual well-being of one single soul, with an existence thus continuous, than in the increased physical or intellectual prosperity, during one lifetime, of the entire human race." (P. 59-60.)
Nor does he appear to believe in the Protestant method of converting people, and causing them to "experience religion." We read on page 358 that, while Wesley was preaching at Bristol,
"'one, and another, and another,' we are told, 'sank to the earth. They dropped on every side as thunderstruck.' Men and women by 'scores were sometimes strewed on the ground at once, insensible as dead men.' During a Methodist revival in Cornwall, four thousand people, it is computed, fell into convulsions. 'They remained during this condition so abstracted from every earthly thought, that they staid two, and sometimes three days and nights together in the chapels, agitated all the time by spasmodic movements, and taking neither repose nor refreshment. The symptoms followed each other usually as follows: A sense of faintness and oppression, shrieks as if in the agony of death or the pains of labor, convulsions of the muscles of the eyelids—the eyes being fixed and staring—and of the muscles of the neck, trunk, and arms; sobbing respiration, tremors, and general agitation, and all sorts of strange gestures. When exhaustion came on, patients usually fainted, and remained stiff and motionless until their recovery.'" (P. 358.)
Finally, in speaking of the "diverse forms of ceremonial expression," he says,
"Jacob leans on his staff to pray, Moses falls flat on his face, the Catholic bows his knee, and the Protestant settles himself into a seat." (P. 114.)
We don't know whether to prefer Protestant taste, or Feejee, or Hindoo.
"Thus, out of love to a mother, the Feejee eats her, and the European erects a mausoleum. The sentiment is the same, but the mode of exhibition is different." (P. 115.)
"The Hindoo represents Brahm, the Great Absolute, absorbed in self-contemplation, as a man wrapped in a mantle, with his foot in his mouth, to symbolize his eternity and his self-satisfaction." (P. 188.)
We remarked before that the author of this book displays considerable learning. Here is a specimen which gives some pleasant information about the old Saxon laws:
"Three shillings were deemed sufficient compensation for a broken rib, while a fine of twenty shillings was inflicted for a dislocation of the shoulder. If a man cut off the foot or struck out the eye of another, he was compelled to make satisfaction with fifty shillings. Each tooth had its fixed price: for a front tooth, six shillings were demanded; for a canine tooth, four; and for a molar, only one shilling; the pain incurred by a loss of a double tooth, however, led King Alfred to alter this portion of the law, as unjust, and he raised the price of a molar to fifteen shillings." (P. 364.)
He thinks that the idea of compensation, which is here certainly clearly set forth, gave rise to the religious idea of sacrifice.
We will close with a favorable specimen of his style. He thus describes Greece:
"Under a blue sky, in which the clouds lie tranquil like lodged avalanches, in the midst of a twinkling sea, strewed with fairy groups of islands, is a little mulberry-leaf of land attached to a continental bough, a little land ribbed with mountain-chains of rough-hewn marble, veined with purple gorges, pierced with winding gulfs; a land of vineyards and olive-groves, where roses bloom all the year, and where the pomegranate holds its glowing cheek to a sun that is never shorn of its rays." (P. 148.)
We have given these quotations at length, partly because they are a little remarkable as coming from such a source, but chiefly to show that a book may be excellent in some respects, and nevertheless contain very many most false things. Our end will have been attained if we have shown that whatever comes from non-Catholic pens, even the best, is not to be trusted, whenever, directly or indirectly, matters pertaining to philosophy, theology, or ecclesiastical history are treated of. These books at best are half-blind guides; and such are never desirable, and generally dangerous.