his death (in 1640). Nothing could have seemed more innocent or laudable than the attempt by a bishop of the Church to set forth the doctrine of St Augustine. The book professed to have been undertaken in a humble spirit.
“I have avoided error where I could,” says the author; “for the cases in which I could not, I implore the reader’s pardon. . . . Let the knowledge of my sincerity make amends for the simplicity of my error. I know that if I have erred, it is not in the assertion of Catholic truth, but in the statement of the opinion of St Augustine; for I have not laid down what is true or false, what is to be held or rejected according to the faith of the Catholic Church, but only what Augustine taught and declared was to be held.”
A task of such a character, carried out in such a spirit, might have seemed a harmless one.
But the Jesuits had long marked both St Cyran and Jansen as theological foes, opposed to their special doctrines. They endeavoured therefore, first of all, to prevent the publication of Jansen’s work; and failing in this, they directed all their efforts to procure a condemnation of the book from the Court of Rome. “Never,” it has been said, “did any book receive a more stormy welcome. Within a few weeks of its appearance the University, the Jesuits, the executors of Jansen, the printer of the ‘Augustinus,’ the Spanish governor of the Low Countries, and the Papal Nuncio were engaged in a warfare of pamphlets, treatises, pasquinades, pleadings, synods, audiences, which it would be impossible to set forth in historical sequence.” [108] In the midst of all this, Jansen’s old fellow-student received the book, in the
preparation of which he also had had some share, in his prison at Vincennes, as if an echo of his own thoughts. “It would last as long as the Church,” he said. “After St Paul and St Augustine, no one had written concerning grace like Jansen.”
The Jesuits were resolved in their hostility. They knew that the book, while assuming a historical form, and professing in the main to represent the doctrine of Augustine as directed against the errorists of his own time, had a side reference to the “opinions of certain modern authors,” understood to be well-known theologians of their own school. This was in fact acknowledged in an appendix. Unable any longer to wreak their vengeance on the author himself, they were resolved to put his work under ban; and accordingly, a Bull was obtained from Rome in the summer of 1642, condemning Jansen by name, and declaring that the ‘Augustinus’ contained “many propositions already condemned” by the Holy See. It was doubted whether the Pope, Urban VIII., designed to go the length announced in the bull, and the terms of the condemnation were rumoured to have been inserted by a Papal officer in the interests of the Jesuits. The Universities of Louvain and Paris therefore did not take any steps to carry out the condemnation. They remained spectators of the controversy which raged around them, in which the Archbishop of Paris on one side, and the youngest of the Arnauld family on the other, were conspicuous.
Antoine Arnauld was the last of the twenty children born to the great parliamentary orator and Catherine Marion his wife, of whom we have already spoken. His nephews, Le Maitre and De Saci, were so near his own
age, that they were accustomed to call him familiarly le petit oncle. Early consecrated to theological studies by the influence of St Cyran and his mother, he espoused zealously the Augustinian doctrines. A splendid prospect seemed opening before him, had he chosen to enter the Church and pursue an ecclesiastical career in the ordinary manner. But while thirsting for theological distinction, he had scruples about his vocation to the holy office. He overcame his scruples so far as to become a priest; but not only would he not accept the benefices placed within his reach by powerful friends—he insisted on resigning such as he held. He even disposed of his patrimony for the benefit of Port Royal, preserving only as much as would provide him with the bare necessaries of life. He became a doctor in 1641, and already, in 1643, the interest of the whole theological world was aroused by his treatise, ‘Of Frequent Communion.’
The aim of this treatise, as of all Arnauld’s writings, was anti-Jesuitical. He set forth, backed by the authority of “Fathers, Popes, and Councils,” the necessity of spiritual preparation for the Holy Communion, in opposition to the formula which had been boldly advanced by more than one Jesuit teacher, that “the more we are devoid of divine grace, the more ought we to seek Jesus Christ in the Eucharist.” The commotion made by the publication shows how grave was the need for it. On the one hand it was warmly welcomed, many pious bishops and doctors testifying approbation of its contents; on the other hand it was violently assailed. The Jesuit pulpits resounded with abuse of it and of its author. All Paris was disturbed by the noise which it made. “There
must be a snake in the grass somewhere,” it was wittily remarked, “for the Jesuits were never so excited when only the glory of God was at stake.” The learned Petavius, and even the Prince de Condé, did not disdain to mingle in the combat. For a time Arnauld seemed to triumph, but finally the influence of Rome was brought against him, and he was glad to take refuge in concealment—the first of the many concealments into which his incessant polemical activity drove him in the course of his long life. He never abated his opposition. He had no sooner retired from one controversy, than he reappeared in some other. His energy knew no bounds, his love of fighting no pause. When in his old age his friend and fellow-student Nicole advised him to rest. “Rest!” he said; “have I not all eternity to rest in?”