In March of 1891 Mr. Lathrop, after weary years of aimless wandering in the barren fields of sectarianism found, as Newman and Brownson had found, that peace which a warring world cannot give, in the bosom of the Catholic Church. Where Emerson halted, shackled by Puritanism and its traditional prejudice towards Catholicism, Lathrop, as Brownson, in quest of new worlds of thought, critically examined the old church and her teachings, finding therein the truth that makes men free. This step of Lathrop’s, inexplicable to many of his friends, is explained in his own way, in the manly letter that concludes this sketch. Such a letter must, by its truthfulness, have held his friends. “May we not,” says Kegan Paul, “carry with us loving and tender memories of men from whom we learn much, even while we differ and criticise?”
“Humanly speaking, I entered into Catholicity as a result of long thought and meditation upon religion, continuing through a number of years. But there must have been a deeper force at work, that of the Holy Spirit, by means of what we call grace, for a longer time than I suspected. Certainly I was not attracted by ‘the fascinations of Rome,’ that are so glibly talked about, but which no one has ever been able to define to me. Perhaps those that use the phrase refer to the outward symbols of ritual, that are simply the expressive adornment of the inner meaning—the flower of it. I, at any rate, never went to Mass but once with any comprehension of it, before my conversion, and had seldom even witnessed Catholic services anywhere; although now, with knowledge and experience, I recognize the Mass—which even that arch, unorthodox author, Thomas Carlyle, called ‘the only genuine thing of our times’—as the greatest action in the world. Many Catholics had been known to me, of varying merit; and some of them were valued friends. But none of these ever urged or advised or even hinted that I should come into the Church. The best of them had (as large numbers of my fellow-Catholics have to-day) that same modesty and reverence toward the sacred mysteries that caused the early Christians also to be slow in leading catechumens—or those not yet fully prepared for belief—into the great truths of faith. My observations of life, however, increasingly convinced me that a vital, central, unchanging principle in religion was necessary, together with one great association of Christians in place of endless divisions—if the promise made to men was to be fulfilled, or really had been fulfilled. When I began to ask questions, I found Catholics quite ready to answer everything with entire straightforwardness, gentle good-will, yet firmness. Neither they nor the Church evaded anything. They presented and defended the teaching of Christ in its entirety, unexaggerated and undiminished; the complete faith, without haggling or qualification or that queer, loose assent to every sort of individual exception and denial that is allowed in other organizations. I may say here, too, that the Church, instead of being narrow or pitiless toward those not of her communion, as she is often mistakenly said to be, is the most comprehensive of all in her interpretation of God’s mercy as well as of his justice. And, instead of slighting the Bible, she uses it more incessantly than any of the Protestant bodies; at the same time shedding upon it a clear, deep light that is the only one that ever enabled me to see its full meaning and coherence. The fact is, those outside of the Church nowadays are engaged in talking so noisily and at such a rate, on their own hook, that they seldom pause to hear what the Church really says, or to understand what she is. Once convinced of the true faith, intellectually and spiritually, I could not let anything stand in the way of affirming my loyalty to it.”
[REV. BROTHER AZARIAS.]
It is delicious in this age of hurried bookmaking, to run across a thinker. It gives one the same kind of sensation that comes to the sportsman, when a monarch of the glen crosses his path. Bookmakers are as many as leaves of the Adirondacks after the hasty gallop of a mountain storm; thinkers are scarce. When, then, amid the leafy mass, one discovers the rare bird hiding from vulgar gaze, an irresistible desire to find his lurking place seizes the observer. This lurking place may be old to many; it was only the other day that I discovered it,—when a friend placed in my hands “Phases of Thought and Criticism,” by Brother Azarias. This book, the sale of which has been greater in England than on this side of the water, is one of suggestive criticism—a criticism founded on faith. The author holds with another thinker, that “Religion is man’s first and deepest concern. To be indifferent is to be dull or depraved, and doubt is disease.” Each chapter of his book expresses a distinct social and intellectual force. Each embodies a verifying ideal; for, continues the author, “the criticism that busies itself with the literary form is superficial, for food it gives husks.”
While the author will not concede that mere literary form is the all in all that our modern masters claim, yet he would not be found in the ranks of M. de Bonniers, who declares that an author need not trouble himself about his grammar; let him have original ideas and a certain style, and the rest is of no consequence. The author of “Phases of Thought,” believes first in the possession of ideas, for without them an author is a sorry spectacle. He also believes that an attractive style will materially aid in the diffusion of these ideas. Many good books fall still-born from the press, for no other reasons than their slovenly style. Readers now-a-days will not plod along poor roads, when a turnpike leads to the same destination. The grammar marks the parting of ways. Brother Azarias rightfully holds that good grammar is an essential part of every great writer’s style. Classics are so, by correct grammar as well as by original ideas. This easy dictum of the slipshod writers—that if an idea takes you off your feet you must not trouble yourself about the grammar that wraps it, is but a specious pleading for their ignorance of what they pretend to despise.
The great difference between this book and the many on similar subjects is in the manner of treatment. It starts from a solid basis; that basis the creed of the Catholic Church. The superstructure of lofty thought reared on this basis is in a style at once pellucid and crisp. The author is not only a thinker rare and original; he is a scholar broad and masterly.
Believing that his Church holds the keys of the “kingdom come,” and as a consequence, a key to all problems moral and social that can move modern society, he grapples with them, after the manner of a knight of old, courteously but convincingly. His teaching is that, outside the bosom of the Catholic Church jostle the warring elements of confusion and uncertainty. In her fold can man find that rest, that sweet peace promised by the Redeemer. Her philosophy is the wisdom worth cherishing, the curing balm that philosophers vainly seek outside her pale. To the weary and thought-stricken would this great writer bring his often and beautifully taught lesson, that the things of this world are not the puppets of chance, nor lots of the pantheistic whole, but parts of a well-ordered system, governed by a paternal being, whom we, His children, address in that touching prayer, “Father, who art in Heaven.” From that Father came a Son, not mere man, not only a great prophet, not only a law-giver, but the true Son of God, equal to the Father, from all eternity, whose mission was, to teach all men that would listen, the way that leads to light. That this identical mission is, and will be continued to the consummation of the ages by the Catholic Church. That in the truth of these things, all men, who lovingly seek, will be confirmed, not that mere intellect alone could be the harbinger of such truths, for, as he has so well put it:—“Human reason and human knowledge, whether considered individually or collectively in the race are limited to the natural. Knowledge of the supernatural can come only from a Divine Teacher.”
One may be convinced of every truth of revealed religion, and yet not possess the gift of faith. That gift is purely gratuitous. If, however, the seeker humbly and honestly desires the acquisition of these truths, and knocks, the door of the chamber of truth shall be opened unto him, for this has the Saviour promised. That door once opened, the Spirit of God breathes on the seeker, it opens the eyes of the soul, it reveals beyond all power of doubt or cavil, or contradiction, the supernatural as a fact, solemn, universal, constant throughout the vicissitudes of the age. While the author fashions these lofty truths on the anvil of modern scholarship, the reader finds himself, like the school children, in Longfellow’s poem, looking in through the artist’s open door full of admiration, fascinated by burning sparks. Pages have been written about the ideal, defining it, in verbiage fatiguing and elusive.