Between these two schools, the Scholastic and the German, many comparisons may be made. The effect of them on the Catholic Church as it then existed was very different: the teaching of Anselm and Bernard was calculated to strengthen the Church, while that of the later school was not. Anselm and his friends were aware of the necessity for personal holiness, but they were always willing for their disciples to climb the road to perfection by the help of the means of grace held out in the Church, as well as by devout contemplation. The Germans, on the contrary, felt there was something wrong with the existing ecclesiastical arrangements, and through indifference to them drew their disciples away from many practices which were then accounted necessary to salvation. By this disregard for rites and ceremonies, and by their use of the German language in their teaching, they paved the way for the Reformers, and that is a great claim on our respect. At the same time, we cannot help thinking their hazy ideas rather chilling. Surely the highest point in the history of Mysticism had been reached and passed when the struggle to make reason and imagination work together gave way to mere ecstatic rhapsody.
Quietism is discussed in the second volume at considerable length; the familiar names of Madame Guyon, Bossuet and Fénélon are brought before us. The story is a sad one. There may be some who think that Madame Guyon was not worthy of the friendship of such a saint as Fénélon,—that must be a matter of opinion; but on one point all will agree, the conduct of Bossuet under the circumstances was not very creditable. Those who have a high opinion of the piety of Bossuet will confess that he does not appear in the narrative to advantage, even though they may not be able to agree with all the statements the author of this work makes about the Bishop of Meaux. Fénélon was tender, gentle, loving, and Bossuet was firm, stern, and strict, but they both did their best to serve God in their relative positions, and He, whose servants they were, will judge them.
Glancing, then, through the entire length of this history, we see that the great principle which appears to have actuated all Mystics was a desire for union with God. This they tried to cultivate by seclusion and asceticism. They neglected social duties and fled away into monasteries and deserts; and sometimes their practical life was not equal in holiness to the reported spirituality of their ecstasies. Their excesses of mortification appear almost ludicrous when they themselves alone are concerned, but when their mad conduct is seen affecting others our feelings grow stronger. But let us speak gently of such eccentricities. These good people, for good they certainly were, could not appreciate the fact that God was in the busy town as well as in the lonely desert. They heard no voice within them urging them to treat a beggar kindly for the sake of the Son of God. Some of them were very charitable, but what was the nature of their charity? Was it not simply done for their own advantage? Did they really think of charity as an act done to God, not meritorious, but as being an offering to their Heavenly Father of His own? It is to be feared that that was not the general idea. The more extravagant Mystics appear really to have been horribly selfish. They had yet to learn that the closer union for which they longed is not attained by efforts to ‘faire son salut,’ or by sitting still in the comfortable assurance of an imputed righteousness. Then it must be remembered that all these frantic efforts or dreamy ecstasies were made with a view to union with God. And this ‘union’ was of a novel kind—in many cases there was a notion of an absorption into the Deity, together with other ideas which clearly involved erroneous views of God. It was the old story of carrying one particular article of faith or pious opinion to extremes, and this to the disregard, more or less complete, of all else. The same thing had happened before in the history of the Christian Church. It is not for us to lay down a definition of what is true union with God; but we may say that the fellowship which all true believers enjoy with the Father through the Son was not enough for the Mystic. He struggled and panted for more. How each one succeeded or failed the individual reader of the work must judge, and decide for himself.
Before going further, it may be well to refer to an attack which was made on the author for his treatment of mediæval saints and of the stories connected with them. Obviously, a man who sympathises with an emotional form of religion would not be inclined to confine these enthusiasts within such narrow limits as would one of a colder temperament. This may explain the feelings of the critics in question. There can be little doubt that the ascetic and the nun, with their mortifications and trances, had not for the author much attraction. Even the style in which the book was written may have led him to write too lightly on some details of this period; but if such were the case, he knew, as well as any critic, that these people were trying to do their duty, even if they failed. The ascetic who thought he had no duty in the world, and therefore ran away and refused to ‘fight a battle for the Lord,’ and the ‘hysterical sister,’ are rather subjects for pity than for jest; and contrary as all the author’s convictions may have been to asceticism, he would rather have wept over their strange acts and mad fancies than scoffed at them. We feel convinced that any harsh remarks should be taken as referring to the system which brought its victims into such a condition, and not to the victims themselves. Though disapproving of the system, the author would never have withheld his admiration from any individual act of self-sacrifice, when it was done from a right motive and was the offering of a loving heart.
The fact that this book is again published by request is a sign that the author’s labours have been appreciated and that his name is not forgotten. ‘Some men,’ he once wrote in a letter, ‘who have died young, have lived far longer than others who have outpassed their three-score years and ten. Life consists not in the abundance of things a man possesseth, nor in the abundance of things a man doeth, but in the abundance of thoughts he thinks leading toward some special result in this world or the next.’ So, again, he writes in his diary, ‘Reputation—consider it, soul of mine, not as an end, but as a means of sowing right thoughts and feelings among thy fellows. Strive towards power over the thoughts of men—power that may be solemnly used in God’s sight as being a faithful steward for His glory. Have I a brain that must be busy, a will in this direction which—with all my vacillation elsewhere—has been and is unconquerable? Let me pray to use it with reverent lowliness of heart as a talent committed to me, fearing to misuse it, to allow any corner of the estate to be waste, or any wain of the harvest to fall into the enemy’s hand.’
If it now be asked, what are the uses of this book, we may answer that it has proved helpful as a history of religious thought. Further, it is hoped that it has been, and still will be, useful on account of the moral lessons to be drawn from the historical facts. It may also be used as showing how necessary it is to associate Christianity with our daily lives; how desirable it is that preachers should avoid confining their hearers’ attention to their own individual souls. And then it further teaches that, while we take religion into the world, we may learn also to value more the privileges of quiet and retired communion with God. In these practical modern days the idea of contemplation appears out of place; and yet it was our Divine Master who said, ‘Come apart into a desert place and rest awhile.’ Perhaps the world would have been better if the hermits had paid more attention to the little word ‘awhile.’ But the bustle of the present day is just as likely to make us forget the injunction altogether.
The book’s republication now seems to have a special opportuneness, for in much of the more spiritual progress going on around us there is a good deal of Mysticism. As in times past men sought refuge in devout contemplation from Materialism, so now a horror of Rationalism and a sense of injustice are likely to drive many to the same extreme. Whether or not there has been any undue extravagance developed as yet, it is not for us to decide. But this history will show how easy and possible it is to carry a good principle beyond its proper limits.
Before concluding, one further personal word must be permitted. No preface to this book, however short, would be complete without at least a reference to her who helped the author in his labours as only a good wife can, and who has taught his son to love God and reverence his father’s memory as only a good mother can. To her, the reappearance of this work causes a ray of light amidst a life darkened by much trouble and suffering.
It need scarcely be added that the writer of these words esteems it an honour to be in any way connected with his father’s labours. What the loss of such a father has been to him cannot be described in words. The following remarks of a clerical friend of the author may partly express the writer’s present feelings: ‘He is gone, young in years—but for him we may not lament the dispensation—since assuredly he was not only mature in intellect but rich in grace. I delight to think of him as one of that “blessed company,” the Church above—to the perfect love and friendship of some members of which I love to look forward, if by God’s grace I may be found worthy to attain to it.’