St. Patrick, the Father of a Sacred Nation

by James F. Loughlin

It was at this emergency that God spoke to the heart of the great saint whose memory we are gathered to honor: “Go forth out of thy country and from thy kindred and out of thy father’s house, and come into the land which I shall show thee.” And where is this land which the Lord has chosen? Where is the home of those who are to enjoy light whilst darkness enshrouds the earth, and liberty whilst all Europe is trampled under the feet of Goths and Huns and Vandals? Far away in the West there stood an island, moderate in extent, wonderful in fertility, vying with the emerald in beauty, whose rugged cliffs, beetling over the unconquered ocean, marked the extreme limit of the known world. This happy island had been for untold centuries inhabited by a people who, protected by their watery ramparts from Scythian incursions and Roman conquests, and unimbued with the vain subtleties of Grecian philosophy, maintained a sturdy independence, and tenaciously adhered to the laws, the institutions and the religion of their ancestors.

So far as the natural character is concerned, the Irishman from his very first appearance on the stage of history has preserved, almost unaltered, his well-known characteristic traits. He has ever been generous in his impulses, quick-witted, impressionable and hospitable. The spirit which pervaded the legislation of our primitive ancestors was rather that of modern than of ancient civilization. Three things the Irish people have consistently detested down from the days of Milesius—despotism, the so-called “right of primogeniture” and landlordism—three evils, whose baneful dominion in the island has been founded on the ruins of the nation’s independence. By their ancient law of tanistry, all dignitaries in the land, from the chief monarch down to the humblest canfinny, were chosen by the free suffrages of their countrymen. “The law of tanistry,” says an unfriendly English historian (Lingard II, 86), “regulated the succession of all dignities from the highest to the lowest. It carefully excluded the sons from inheriting, as of right, the authority of their father; and the tanist, or heir-apparent, was elected by the suffrages of the sept during the lifetime of the ruling chieftain. The eldest of the name and family had, indeed, the best title to this distinction; but his capacity and deserts were previously submitted to examination, and the charge of crime, or cowardice or deformity might be urged as an insuperable objection to his appointment.” So jealous were our forefathers of their political liberties! Nor did it agree with their notions of equity that the firstborn son should enjoy an exclusive or preponderating right of inheriting his father’s wealth. Their law of gavelkind prescribed that a man’s movable property should descend to all his sons equally, without any consideration to primogeniture. And what about the land? Why, a landlord has always been an odious character in Ireland. The primitive Irish preferred pasturage to agriculture, and I believe that preference is again become quite fashionable among the landlords over there. A man in the olden times possessed his land only so long as no death occurred in his sept. But, to quote Lingard, “at the death of each possessor the landed property of the sept was thrown into one common mass; a new division was made by the equity or caprice of the canfinny, and their respective portions were assigned to the different heads of families in the order of seniority.” This regulation, whilst it impresses us favorably as evincing the national love of fair play, must still be admitted to have been a crude and primitive arrangement. But it is amusing to observe that what modern socialists vaunt as a novel invention of the nineteenth century was fairly tried and wisely discarded centuries ago by the common sense of the Irish people. Their criminal code bore the impress of the national gentleness; for it is agreed that they always shrank from the actual infliction of capital punishment. Their religion consisted in the worship of all those great objects in nature which are most apt to excite the veneration of a race highly imaginative and poetical—the sun and moon, the consuming flame and the running stream, the mighty tempest, the awful mountain, and, above all, the mysterious shade of their oaken groves. And thus they continued for ages unmolested to sing to their wild harps the praises of their gods and the renown of their ancient heroes.

This is the nation which the Lord has chosen for His peculiar inheritance; this the land upon whose fair horizon the Sun of Justice is about to rise, never more to set. Ireland, hitherto thou hast borne no yoke. Thy hills have never echoed the shouts of invading legions; no captive Irish Chieftain has ever graced the triumph of a Roman General. But that which Cæsar could not do, Christ will do. Pagan Rome dared not attack thee; but Christian Rome has already given the signal for the assault. Behold, hastening over mountain and sea, armed with a staff received from Jesus, strengthened with ample jurisdiction from the Supreme Pontiff, fearless, undaunted, Patrick advances, a host in himself. No novice in the apostolic warfare is this new champion of Christianity. Inured to toil, as well by the hardships of bondage as by long years of extraordinary penances, instructed in the science of God by the most distinguished masters of his age, having served under two great commanders in a brilliant campaign against heresy in Britain, he brings to the task allotted him by Providence ability, skill, experience and the prestige of past success. He lands upon the coast of Erin, uplifts the standard of the Cross and takes possession of the island in the name of Christ and of His Vicar. The peaceful glories of his conquest it is needless to recount, for they are indelibly engraven upon the hearts of a grateful race. The Christian world viewed with astonishment the unprecedented spectacle of a nation gained to the faith without bloodshed, without persecution, almost without resistance. Never did the arrows of the Divine word fly with such swift and telling effect as when shot from the lips of St. Patrick. That Gospel which had fallen powerless upon the proud ears of Epicureans and Stoics in the Areopagus, although preached with all the inspired energy of St. Paul, fell with a crushing weight upon the artless idolatry of Tara. Before the triumphant march of the Irish apostle idols fall and vanish forever; warlike chieftains bow their heads to baptism; princely youths and maidens put on the monastic garb; the Druids are changed into priests and bishops, and every harp within the land is attuned to sing that Patrick’s God is become the God of Erin. Thus has the obedience of the new patriarch, the Christian Abraham, been amply rewarded. He is in possession of the land which the Lord had shown him. He is become the father of a great nation, which, to the end of time, will enshrine his blessed name in their heart of hearts with religious enthusiasm. Generations shall come and go, but the memory of St. Patrick will never fade. Happy Ireland! which welcomed so great an apostle; and happy apostle! whose lot was cast among so affectionate a people.

But now his work is done, and the time has arrived when the saint is destined to receive a second call from Almighty God—a call, this time, not to labor, but to repose, not to go forth again upon a lifelong pilgrimage, but to enter into his eternal home. From his episcopal throne in Armagh the aged conqueror beholds the entire nation subject to his spiritual authority, and through him subject to Rome, and through Rome subject to Christ. Religion flourishes throughout the land with the simplicity of infancy combined with the full vigor of manhood. How changed is Erin now from what she was that day when Patrick in his early youth was cast upon her shore a despised and downcast slave. And oh! if we were worthy, my friends, to enter into the sanctuary of our venerable father’s meditations, as he recalls one by one the events of his long and checkered career. It is only now, when the drama of his life is hastening to its close, that he can fully appreciate the beautiful unity of design which has reigned throughout it, and can perceive how all the occurrences of his life, even the most painful and the most mysterious, were by the hand of God woven skillfully into the great mission for which he had been chosen. But thy trials are now past, thy day’s work is finished; “go forth,” faithful servant of the Lord; thy Master’s arms are extended to embrace thee.

In this supreme moment, one thought only, I think, disturbed the fullness of the saint’s blessedness—the thought that in Ireland no one had been found in all these years of his labors who would add to his apostleship the crown of martyrdom. How he envied St. Peter his cross, St. Paul his sword, St. Bartholomew his knife, St. John his caldron! He had been like these princes of the Church in life, wherefore shall he be unlike them in death? They witnessed unto Christ amidst excruciating torments; is he placidly to expire on his couch? They died hooted and scoffed at by an unbelieving populace; he finds himself surrounded by loving and attentive children. What means this innovation upon the fate of Apostles? But courage, great saint; God looks not upon the gift, but upon the heart. Though the Irish are not a people destined to make martyrs, but rather to become martyrs, yet has not thy whole life been one prolonged martyrdom? Thy slavery, sanctified by prayer and patience, was a martyrdom; thy sacrifice of country, of kindred and of the comforts of thy patrician home was a martyrdom; the ardent zeal which consumed thy life in the hardships of the apostolate was a martyrdom; and whatever may be wanting to thy crown in the shape of torments or persecutions thou shalt receive vicariously in the heroic sufferings of thy children in future ages. Happy fate! Ireland’s apostle suffers not from his children, but in them and with them. I love to dwell upon this sweet scene of St. Patrick’s dying moments. It is a spectacle of which Ireland alone can boast. She alone manifested for her apostle during his lifetime the same filial reverence which she has paid to his memory since his death. The nation stood at his bedside to cheer his declining strength with tender solicitude. And the saint, whose love for his children was stronger than death, forgetful of himself, concentrates his failing energies upon the one great object of his affections and his triumphs. Gather about your aged father, children of Ireland, and catch the last precious words which are quivering upon his lips. “Grant me this favor, O Lord,” he murmurs, “that my people may remain ever true to the faith I have taught them.” With this prophetic prayer on his lips, the blessed man of God passed away to his heavenly home. He passed away; but his spirit remained with his people, and throughout all the vicissitudes of their extraordinary history they have remained ever “true to the faith.”

Indeed, the history of Catholic Ireland seems to be only the sequel or prolongation of the life of her apostle, and, on the other hand, the life of St. Patrick might pass for an excellent allegory of the subsequent history of his people. That same admirable unity of design which we observe running through the life of St. Patrick, that same Providential shaping of all circumstances to the working out of a Divinely appointed mission, is unmistakably discernible in the history of Ireland. She was destined to be the sacred island, the eternal home of orthodoxy, the seminary of apostles; and this peculiar mission demanded and procured for her the special fostering care of Divine Providence. But, before advancing further, it may be useful to make a few preliminary remarks.

Man is a very complex piece of work, and may therefore be viewed from a hundred different standpoints. Hence the histories that can be written of him are as multifarious as are the relations in which he stands to things seen and unseen. Let the warrior, the statesman, the political economist, the scientist, the man of letters and the moralist, sit down to write histories of the self-same race or nation, and you will be surprised at the kaleidoscopic variety of their respective productions. The man of war will entertain you with a narration of brilliant exploits on field and wave. Kings and emperors at the head of mighty armaments are his heroes; sieges and battles, the impetuous charge and the gallant repulse, the roar of the cannon and the gleam of the bayonet—these form the matter of his drama. The statesman leads you into the cabinet of princes, to teach you how treaties are concluded, laws enacted and the populace ruled. The political economist revels among bewildering statistics, shows how the resources of a country are developed, and expounds the philosophy of supply and demand. The scientist follows the student into his quiet chamber, and traces the steady advancement of human knowledge. The man of letters narrates the growth of literature and language. The moralist studies the vicissitudes of the eternal struggle between virtue and vice. Humanity presents a different aspect to each of these historians; and very often an age which is pronounced by one of them most dismal and disastrous will be lauded by another as the brightest in the annals of the race. I have mentioned several classes of historians; but these do not exhaust the capabilities of the subject. There is another relation in which a man or a nation may be viewed; and it is the highest and noblest of all our relations—our relation toward our Almighty Creator. This is not only our highest relation; it is, moreover, one which animates all the other relations. Men were not created to be food for cannon, as the warrior seems to suppose; nor to be the dupes of politicians; nor for any other terrestrial object, high or low. Man’s destiny is to work out the supreme designs of Divine Providence. That historian is, therefore, the wisest who, with due reverence, endeavors to read human events in the light of God’s high decrees.

Now, Ireland’s destiny is so patent that he who runs may read it. Geographically secluded from the profane world, she was chosen by the Almighty, like Palestine of old, to be His inalienable inheritance, the impregnable citadel of Revelation and the seminary of an Apostolic race. In a world so tempestuous as this, where decay and mortality are written upon the face of all things, where the greatest nations, as well as individuals, are prone to fall and to become persecutors of that faith of which they are the natural protectors, it was necessary that the Church should have some nation upon whose fidelity she could securely rely, and from whose bosom she could, in times of dire distress, replenish her spent forces. That chosen nation is Ireland, my friends. Whilst Rome has always been, and will always remain, the head of the Church, Ireland is her right arm. The Roman Pontiff is the General-in-Chief of the people of God; but the Irish are his forlorn hope, ever to be found in the thickest of the combat, passionately attached to their Chieftain, and yielding a filial and rational obedience to his venerable commands. In thus extolling Ireland I have no wish to rob other nations of their due meed of praise. Many of them have deserved well of the faith. Many of them have powerfully contributed to its propagation and suffered much for its preservation. But none of them contests with our Isle of the Saints the honor of being in the most complete and tender manner consecrated to the religion of Jesus Christ. All other nations have a profane as well as a sacred history. They have achieved power and glory through wars waged in other interests than those of religion—interests oftentimes opposed to those of religion. The history of Ireland since her conversion, on the contrary, has become thoroughly identified with that of her religion. Her national greatness and her national glory are derived from her faith. If she has taken to arms, it has been to defend her faith; for Ireland’s enemies have invariably begun by overturning her altars.

I am aware that this supernatural way of presenting Irish history is not palatable to some individuals of our race who are tainted with the materialistic infidelity which infects the present age. Some there are—not many, indeed, for materialism and infidelity are snakes that do not thrive in Irish soil—who hear this Catholic doctrine with ill will. They think it likely to breed a fatalistic apathy in the national breast. They fear it may dull the edge of patriotism and reconcile the popular heart to oppression and treason. Impious folly! Do they imagine the Irish are like the Turks, that they cannot distinguish God’s eternal purpose from man’s petty malice? Believing as we do that Christ’s sufferings were predestined, are we the less disposed to detest the cowardice of the unjust judge, the fury of the infatuated populace or the base treachery of Judas Iscariot? You forget, too, my infidel philosopher, that we are discoursing, not upon Ireland’s unknown future, but upon her glorious career in the past. That past cannot be understood without a constant reference to God’s adorable counsels. To the eye of the infidel history presents nothing but a disjointed succession of contradictory events, which follow each other without order, without meaning. It is only when we survey the life of an individual or of a nation from the standpoint of Divine Providence that we are enabled to soar above “the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,” and to seize things with the intelligent eye of the Christian philosopher.

But to return from this digression. There are, as I remarked, so many points of analogy between the life of St. Patrick and the history of Catholic Ireland that a poetical mind might fancy the saint ended his mortal career only to begin life over again, on a grander scale, in his children. The life of St. Patrick divides itself into three distinct periods, the first two of which are preparatory to the glorious labors of the third. The first sixteen years of his life were years of peace and happiness, unmarred by sin or sorrow. During this period the young saint, sheltered from this evil world in the bosom of a religious home, and surrounded by models of Christian virtue, expanded in the rich bloom of unsullied innocence. Then followed the epoch of his trials in bondage, when the tender plant was plucked from its native soil and cast upon the bleak Northern hills. Here in the stern school of adversity the delicate became rugged; the child was developed into the man; and the modest youth began to dream of bold enterprises and vast spiritual conquests. Thus St. Patrick was trained to the Apostolate; and did not Divine Providence pursue the self-same course with the Irish nation? In the history of Catholic Ireland we discern these same distinct periods—the blameless, childhood, the stormy adolescence and the apostolic manhood.