The Irish Race in the Past and the Present

by Augustus J. Thébaud

There is no need of going into details. Puritan New England even has seen its chief cities one by one adorned with true temples of God, and its small towns embellished by stone edifices devoted to Catholic worship, their form pleasing to the eye, and their interior spacious enough, at least temporarily, for the constantly-increasing congregations. But perhaps the most remarkable result of all has been the sudden zeal which sprang up among the sectarians themselves, who had hitherto expressed such contempt for any thing of the kind, of outstripping the Catholics in Christian architecture. They have even gone so far as to discover that the cross, the emblem of man's salvation, is not such a very inappropriate ornament, after all, to the summit of a Christian temple, and that the statues of angels and of saints are possessed of a certain beauty. So that what in their eyes hitherto had borne the semblance of idolatry—such, according to themselves, was their way of looking at it— suddenly became an aesthetic feeling, if not an act of true devotion.

And, singularly enough, it was just at the time when the erection of so many episcopal sees necessitated the building of cathedrals, that the thought, natural to the Catholic heart, of making the house of God a place of beauty and magnificence, could begin to be realized by the arrival of true artists and the increasing wealth of the Catholic body.

It is in the true Church only that the meaning of a cathedral can be fully grasped. Those sects which acknowledge no bishops and deride the title certainly can form no conception of it, and even those who imagine that they have a bishop at their head, have so little idea of what are true episcopal functions, of the greatness of the position which a see occupies, of the importance of the place where it is established, that in their eyes the pretended dignitary can scarcely rank much higher, either in position or degree, than a wealthy parish minister, and the church wherein "his lordship" officiates is very much the same as an ordinary parish church. If in England a show of dignitaries is attached to each of those establishments, it is merely a form well calculated to impress the solemn Anglo-Saxon character; but even that very form would scarcely have existed were it not one of those few semblances of the Catholic reality which the wily founders of the Protestant religion found it convenient to retain for the purpose hinted at. The Catholic Church alone can understand what a cathedral ought to be.

This is not the occasion to enter upon an explanation of all the meanings and uses of a cathedral, least of all to penetrate the sublime mystical significance embodied in its conception. Here it is enough to insist upon the least important, yet most sensible and more easily-recognized object of the building, which is, not simply the seat of honor of the first pastor of the diocese, who is a successor of the apostles, but likewise the place of adoration and sacrifice common to all the faithful of the diocese. Strictly speaking, no special congregation is attached to it; but it is the spiritual home of all the faithful; its doors are open to all the congregations of that part. There the common father resides and officiates; there his voice is generally to be heard; there he is to be found surrounded by all those whose duty it is to assist him in his sublime functions. When he appears in any parish church, the clergy of that special temple are his only attendants, unless others flock thither to do him honor. But the cathedral is his fixed seat and permanent abode; there the appointed dignitaries of the diocese find their allotted places, and there alone are his officers permanently attached to him by their functions.

Hence it is the cardinal church upon which the whole spiritual edifice called the diocese is hinged. Therefore is it the natural resort of the whole flock, as well as of the pastor himself. This will explain the vastness of those edifices which strike us with wonder in old established Catholic countries. In accordance with their primitive intention and purpose, there should be in them standing and kneeling room for all who have a right to enter there; and it is purely on account of the impossibility of exactly fulfilling this intent that the edifice is allowed to be built smaller. We are thus enabled to understand why the great temple which is the centre-spot of Catholic worship can contain only fifty thousand worshippers at a time, and why many other sacred edifices consecrated to episcopal functions can find room for no more than twenty or thirty thousand.

But even those structures, which strike with wonder the puny minds of this "advanced" age, have consumed centuries in their construction, and the number and the faith of those who raised them were, we may say, exceptional in the life of the Church. There were no dissenters in those days; and, as all were possessed of a firm faith, all labored with a common will and contributed with a common pleasure to their construction.

Times having changed for the worse, the same ardor and generosity could not be looked for; but something at least was required which should give some idea of the old, splendor and vastness. So, throughout all the new dioceses projects were set on foot for raising real cathedrals, which should quite overshadow the buildings hitherto known by that name.

Thus, a cathedral was promised to New York City, three hundred and thirty feet in length, and one hundred and seventy-two in breadth across the transept; while that of Philadelphia was soon completed, and all might gaze on the massive and majestic edifice, by the side of which every other public building in a city containing eight hundred thousand souls appeared dwarfish and unsubstantial. Boston was soon to behold within its walls a Catholic cathedral, three hundred and sixty-four feet long, and one hundred and forty broad in the transept, though the same diocese was already filled with large stone churches, built solely by the resources of the immigrants.

The Archbishop of New York, when preaching the sermon at the laying of the foundation-stone of this edifice in 1867, was able to say in the presence of many who might have borne personal testimony to the truth of his words: "There are those most probably within the sound of my voice who can remember when there was but one Catholic church in Boston, and when that sufficed, or had to suffice, not alone for this city, but for all New England; and how is it now? Churches and institutions multiplied, and daily continuing to multiply on every side, in this city, throughout this State, in all or nearly all the cities and States of New England; so that at this day no portion of our country is enriched with them in greater proportionate number, none where they have grown up to a more flourishing condition, none where finished with more artistic skill, or presenting monuments of more architectural taste and beauty."

Had any one predicted this to the good and gifted Bishop Cheverus, when leaving America for France, he might perhaps have not refused altogether to believe or hope for it, but he would certainly have pronounced it a real and undoubted miracle of God, to happen within a century.