[33] Guardian2, 21st May 1879.
It is not wonderful that people should be impressed by the vicissitudes3 and surprises and dramatic completeness of Cardinal Newman's career. It is not wonderful that he should be impressed by this himself. That he who left us in despair and indignation in 1845 should have passed through a course of things which has made him, Roman Catholic as he is, a man of whom Englishmen are so proud in 1879, is even more extraordinary than that the former Fellow of Oriel should now be surrounded with the pomp and state of a Cardinal. There is only one other career in our time which, with the greatest possible contrasts in other points, suggests in its strangeness and antecedent improbabilities something of a parallel. It is the train of events which has made "Disraeli the Younger" the most powerful Minister whom England has seen in recent years. But Lord Beaconsfield has aimed at what he has attained4 to, and has fought his way to it through the chances and struggles of a stirring public life. Cardinal Newman's life has been from first to last the life of the student and recluse5. He has lived in the shade. He has sought nothing for himself. He has shrunk from the thought of advancement6. The steps to the high places of the world have not offered themselves to him, and he has been content to be let alone. Early in his course his rare gifts of mind, his force of character, his power over hearts and sympathies, made him for a while a prominent person. Then came a series of events which seemed to throw him out of harmony with the great mass of his countrymen. He appeared to be, if not forgotten, yet not thought of, except by a small number of friends—old friends who had known him too well and too closely ever to forget, and new friends gathered round him by the later circumstances of his life and work. People spoke7 of him as a man who had made a great mistake and failed; who had thrown up influence and usefulness here, and had not found it there; too subtle, too imaginative for England, too independent for Rome. He seemed to have so sunk out of interest and account that off-hand critics, in the easy gaiety of their heart, might take liberties with his name.
Then came the first surprise. The Apologia was read with the keenest interest by those who most differed from the writer's practical conclusions; twenty years had elapsed since he had taken the unpopular step which seemed to condemn9 him to obscurity; and now he emerged from it, challenging not in vain the sympathy of his countrymen. They awoke, it may be said—at least the younger generation of them—to what he really was; the old jars and bitternesses had passed out of remembrance; they only felt that they had one among them who could write—for few of them ever heard his wonderful voice—in a way which made English hearts respond quickly and warmly. And the strange thing was that the professed10, the persistent11 denouncer of Liberalism, was welcomed back to his rightful place among Englishmen by none more warmly than by many Liberals. Still, though his name was growing more familiar year by year, the world did not see much more of him. The head of a religious company, of an educational institution at Birmingham, he lived in unpretending and quiet simplicity12, occupied with the daily business of his house, with his books, with his correspondence, with finishing off his many literary and theological undertakings13. Except in some chance reference in a book or newspaper which implied how considerable a person the world thought him, he was not heard of. People asked about him, but there was nothing to tell. Then at last, neglected by Pius IX., he was remembered by Leo XIII. The Pope offered him the Cardinalship14, he said, because he thought it would be "grateful to the Catholics of England, and to England itself." And he was not mistaken. Probably there is not a single thing that the Pope could do which would be so heartily15 welcomed.
After breaking with England and all things English in wrath16 and sorrow, nearly thirty-five years ago, after a long life of modest retirement17, unmarked by any public honours, at length before he dies Dr. Newman is recognised by Protestant England as one of its greatest men. It watches with interest his journey to Rome, his proceedings18 at Rome. In a crowd of new Cardinals—men of eminence19 in their own communion—he is the only one about whom Englishmen know or care anything. His words, when he speaks, pass verbatim along the telegraph wires, like the words of the men who sway the world. We read of the quiet Oxford20 scholar's arms emblazoned on vestment and furniture as those of a Prince of the Church, and of his motto—Cor ad cor loquitur. In that motto is the secret of all that he is to his countrymen. For that skill of which he is such a master, in the use of his and their "sweet mother tongue," is something much more than literary accomplishment21 and power. It means that he has the key to what is deepest in their nature and most characteristic in them of feeling and conviction—to what is deeper than opinions and theories and party divisions; to what in their most solemn moments they most value and most believe in.
His profound sympathy with the religiousness which still, with all the variations and all the immense shortcomings of English religion, marks England above all cultivated Christian22 nations, is really the bond between him and his countrymen, who yet for the most part think so differently from him, both about the speculative23 grounds and many of the practical details of religion. But it was natural for him, on an occasion like this, reviewing the past and connecting it with the present, to dwell on these differences. He repeated once more, and made it the keynote of his address, his old protest against "Liberalism in religion," the "doctrine24 that there is no positive truth in religion, but one creed25 is as good as another." He lamented26 the decay of the power of authority, the disappearance27 of religion from the sphere of political influence, from education, from legislation. He deplored28 the increasing impossibility of getting men to work together on a common religious basis. He pointed30 out the increasing seriousness and earnestness of the attempts to "supersede31, to block out religion," by an imposing32 and high morality, claiming to dispense33 with it.
He dwelt on the mischief34 and dangers; he expressed, as any Christian would, his fearlessness and faith in spite of them; but do we gather, even from such a speaker, and on such an occasion, anything of the remedy? The principle of authority is shaken, he tells us; what can he suggest to restore it? He under-estimates, probably, the part which authority plays, implicitly35 yet very really, in English popular religion, much more in English Church religion; and authority, even in Rome, is not everything, and does not reach to every subject. But authority in our days can be nothing without real confidence in it; and where confidence in authority has been lost, it is idle to attempt to restore it by telling men that authority is a good and necessary thing. It must be won back, not simply claimed. It must be regained36, when forfeited37, by the means by which it was originally gained. And the strange phenomenon was obviously present to his clear and candid38 mind, though he treated it as one which is disappearing, and must at length pass away, that precisely39 here in England, where the only religious authority he recognises has been thrown off, the hold of religion on public interest is most effective and most obstinately40 tenacious41.
What is the history of this? What is the explanation of it? Why is it that where "authority," as he understands it, has been longest paramount42 and undisputed, the public place and public force of religion have most disappeared; and that a "dozen men taken at random43 in the streets" of London find it easier, with all their various sects44, to work together on a religious basis than a dozen men taken at random from the streets of Catholic Paris or Rome? Indeed, the public feeling towards himself, expressed in so many ways in the last few weeks, might suggest a question not undeserving of his thoughts. The mass of Englishmen are notoriously anti-Popish and anti-Roman. Their antipathies45 on this subject are profound, and not always reasonable. They certainly do not here halt between two opinions, or think that one creed is as good as another. What is it which has made so many of them, still retaining all their intense dislike to the system which Cardinal Newman has accepted, yet welcome so heartily his honours in it, notwithstanding that he has passed from England to Rome, and that he owes so much of what he is to England? Is it that they think it does not matter what a man believes, and whether a man turns Papist? Or is it not that, in spite of all that would repel46 and estrange47, in spite of the oppositions48 of argument and the inconsistencies of speculation49, they can afford to recognise in him, as in a high example, what they most sincerely believe in and most deeply prize, and can pay him the tribute of their gratitude50 and honour, even when unconvinced by his controversial reasonings, and unsatisfied by the theories which he has proposed to explain the perplexing and refractory51 anomalies of Church history? Is it not that with history, inexorable and unalterable behind them, condemning52 and justifying53, supporting and warning all sides in turn, thoughtful men feel how much easier it is to point out and deplore29 our disasters than to see a way now to set them right? Is it not also that there are in the Christian Church bonds of affinity54, subtler, more real and more prevailing55 than even the fatal legacies56 of the great schisms57? Is it not that the sympathies which unite the author of the Parochial Sermons and the interpreter of St. Athanasius with the disciples58 of Andrewes, and Ken8, and Bull, of Butler and Wilson, are as strong and natural as the barriers which outwardly keep them asunder59 are to human eyes hopelessly insurmountable?
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1
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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2
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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3
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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4
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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5
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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7
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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8
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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9
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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10
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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11
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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12
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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13
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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14
cardinalship
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| 红衣主教之职位或任期 | |
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15
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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16
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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17
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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18
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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21
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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23
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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24
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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26
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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28
deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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30
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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31
supersede
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| v.替代；充任 | |
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32
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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33
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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34
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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36
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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39
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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40
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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41
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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42
paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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43
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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44
sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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45
antipathies
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| 反感( antipathy的名词复数 )； 引起反感的事物； 憎恶的对象； （在本性、倾向等方面的）不相容 | |
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46
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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47
estrange
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| v.使疏远，离间，使离开 | |
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48
oppositions
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| （强烈的）反对( opposition的名词复数 )； 反对党； （事业、竞赛、游戏等的）对手； 对比 | |
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49
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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50
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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51
refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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52
condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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53
justifying
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| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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54
affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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55
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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56
legacies
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| n.遗产( legacy的名词复数 )；遗留之物；遗留问题；后遗症 | |
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57
schisms
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| n.教会分立，分裂( schism的名词复数 ) | |
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58
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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59
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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