John Henry Newman was an intriguing figure in his country, both as a scholar, writer, and preacher. He electrified his listeners with his sermons, completely free of any oratorical effects. He would read them from his pulpit in a monotonous voice, but filled with the power of the spirit, as if he wanted to say that the most important thing was not the preacher but his message, the sincerity of his intention. (The way he presented his sermons would probably not make headline news in our visually dominated communication). His voice was not powerful, he took long pauses, but nevertheless “he kept his congregation spellbound.”1 His sermons were characterized by “a continuous tone of earnestness.”2 What electrified the people then was the truth emanating from the words, or, better still, from the speaker of these words. Let us present one more extraordinary fact, namely, that this power of attraction is retained both in the sermons from his Anglican period, as well as in those from his Roman Catholic period. That is a unique feature of Newman’s texts in general, and an obvious conclusion arises here. One may be, on the whole, in error as regards his assessment of the other party, but still remain true to oneself.
How does one person recognize another person? As human beings, we recognize other persons ultimately not only on the grounds of a number of certain well-known traits. We recognize and accept them despite the fact that the set of traits is always incomplete, for we are confronted with many implicit elements; and even in the case of the explicit elements, more often than not we realize that we have been taken aback by yet another trait we have not noticed before. A further point is that the implicit ingredients will always remain so. The main failure of Kingsley’s argument against Newman was that the author of the pamphlet took it for granted that he knew all the past, or even, perhaps, future decisions (and the attendant social states) of a given person; that there are certain obvious interpretations of what is unknown at the moment. Now, given all the states I know (obviously judging, in retrospect), I confront them with an arbitrary pattern; moreover, let us note that when a critic thinks “he knows,” he is simply imposing his own interpretation, and, naturally, has no access to all of the hidden motives. His reasoning amounts to usurpation because (1) we do not have access to someone’s past and future states, and (2) we do not have at our disposal one universal pattern of conduct, a sort of
This failure to understand another person, a failure that results not merely from our ontic structure, for we share this with other human beings, but from what is additionally superimposed by our personal development amidst cultural animosities and prejudices, may predispose us to adopting a positive or negative attitude to another person. This adds to the inadequacy of our knowledge. In the beginning, for instance, Newman inherited a hostile attitude to Roman Catholics, for such was his historical heritage and his partiality. The judgments he formulated were based on his incomplete knowledge about the Roman Catholic Church and her believers. His faulty reasoning, however, did not stand in the way of forming personally true judgments. If, as he often claimed, change is the essence of human life, such was his life throughout. Change is the essence of growth. We only need to be true to ourselves under the guardian eye of a well-informed conscience, and such is the most certain way out of ignorance.
The Apologia rises to the point of being a symbol of what crowned the whole of Newman’s writing, namely his efforts to show a person in all his or her concrete circumstances and historical development, and how such a being can accomplish fulfilment. As I wrote in the introduction, I find in this work two principal goals: the individual and the universal. The individual goal pertains to its author’s resolution to critically examine his life not with the intention to evaluate it according to some objective pattern, let alone compare himself with others. In his Apologia, therefore, Newman does not defend his life because it has not satisfied someone’s expectations, as if he indeed wanted to be someone else and behave differently. He only defends himself against the charges of hypocrisy and pretence. We could define the method of the text as that of introspection, which in itself is an important factor of spiritual life, and a historical study, which, in turn, goes against the tide of the dominant model of modern ahistorical attitudes. Newman was constantly on his guard lest he succumb to reluctant sympathy, suspicious of any emotional agitation let loose from the control of reason.
The individual purpose of the work then consists in deciding whether, at times, its author was a double-faced man, that is, whether he made use of what he himself in other contexts calls unreal words, words foreign to the speaker,
In the beginning of the Apologia he notes that he cares less “for disclosures,” and the main text opens with the memorable words Secretum meum mihi (my mystery belongs to me), words we can find in the works of the prophet Isaiah, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, St. Philip Neri, and St. Theresa Benedictine of the Cross (Edith Stein). In other words, there are things he cannot account for, so he would rather keep them secret. As regards the things he can explain, he has nothing to hide; he does not treat his life as exemplary, but as one among others; there are elements in each individual life that cannot be explained, for it is composed of numerous latent particles. The individual person is often not aware of them, nor is he able to notice the moment when they become part of him, let alone explain or define them. And, what is of utmost importance is the fact that, despite such complexities, each life has a chance to be fulfilled. Persons can attain their personal goals.
Now, the universal purpose I find in the Apologia is the fundamental message that refers to the dignity and great value of individual life lived in recognition of its singularity, uniqueness, and non-repeatability. It is, additionally, purposeless to turn it into a universal pattern, because, due to this singular and unique character, two different lives can hardly be compared, even though we examine them carefully, and even if we assume we receive reliable information. One individual history will never be repeated. Some, or perhaps many of
The Apologia shows the greatness and responsibility of human decisions not because it is a theoretical study on responsibility (this would be a particularly foreign idea to its author), but because it is an individual testimony to such decisions. If this man, who had just recently claimed that the Roman Catholic Church was the seat of the worst error, as it was held by the majority of Anglicans, now decided to join it, there must be some important reasons behind his decision. And if he himself seeks to understand it, he ought to adhere to the method of introspection and self-examination, carried out in all sincerity and responsibility. The ancient principle of “know thyself” is particularly suitable here. Let us also add that the universal character of Newman’s decision does not consist only in the fact that he became a well-known convert from Anglicanism to Catholicism, but in the fact that he had recognized the primary role of the call in his conscience. Consequently, he was ready to sacrifice his social position, to accept the bitter reproaches from his own family, and to be abandoned or ostracized by his friends. He did all this not on the spur of the moment, but as a result of meticulous historical studies combined with various personal experiences. Let us note, then, that the individuality and singularity of a concrete life means that, if it can be an example for imitation, it is not in the sense of faithfully copying another person’s experience (such an action would have been particularly alien to Newman), but in the sense of being faithful to the judgments of a well-informed conscience and thoughtful analyses, for which opinion or criticism from others is of secondary importance. I have my doubts as to whether I should have written the word “imitation” here; I maybe should have written “observation” or “influence,” i.e. how an individual life can be a realization of the recognition of truth. The example of the British convert and the universal character of his message consist in his authentic experience and struggles, his faithfulness and uncompromising attitude towards the recognized truth.
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As a child, Newman read Thomas Paine, David Hume, and Voltaire, works critical of the Christian tenets. Then, at the age of fifteen, he read Walter Mayers’ sermons. Mayers3 (1790–1828) imbued the young reader with the divine faith of the Calvinistic flavour, and conveyed the impressions of dogma. It was then
Thomas Scott, whom I have already mentioned, and Bishop Daniel Wilson (1778–1858) were the two men who exerted a special spiritual impact on the young Newman. He had long wished to visit Scott in person, but failed to fulfil this yearning, for the death of Scott was quicker. He stressed two elements manifested in this Anglican divine, namely “bold unworldliness and independence of mind.”7 We can surmise that these two traits had marked the young scholar for years onwards. And he concisely describes Scott’s behaviour and his important decisions, which can well be applied to Newman himself. Scott “followed truth wherever it led him, beginning with Unitarianism, and ending in a zealous faith in the Holy Trinity […][;] he […] first planted deep in my mind that fundamental truth of religion.”8
Scott’s way is clearly a forerunner of Newman’s. It depicts how the individual persons, when enlightened by the truth realized in them, can proceed through the meanders of their daily events and reach their appointed destination. Newman felt animated enough to follow suit, for he always underscored
Now, Kingsley, the author of this critical letter, at the reception of which Newman felt compelled to account for his past life, apparently ignores the actual moments of his opponent’s biography. This is what usually happens when criticism is intended for criticism’s sake, and its author does not feel like learning the true facts of the accused person. Let us add that in further editions9 of the Apologia, Kingsley’s name appears in a more subordinate position. It follows that the author no longer wished to give a firm rebuttal to the accusations, but wanted to focus on the importance of the individual life instead, a topic which is central to this work.
For, as with the tree, of man too you know nothing if you spread him out across his allotted span and disperse him in his difference. The tree is more than first a seed, then a stem, then a living trunk, and then dead timber. The tree is a slow, enduring force straining to win the sky. So is it with you, my little man. God compasses your birth and growing up; He fills you, turn by turn, with longings and regrets, joys and griefs, angers and forgivings, and then He draws you back unto Himself. Yet none of these transciences is you; neither the schoolboy nor the husband, neither the child nor the old man. You are one who fulfils himself.10
Writers have this advantage over philosophers, in that, using their licentia poetica, they are allowed to take shortcuts; rather than being limited by the rigours of a detailed exposition of their views, they go straight to the subject and grasp its essence. Obviously, there are certain points that need to be stressed: Scott ended up becoming a Trinitarian. In order to appreciate this, one must first approve of the dogma of the Holy Trinity, the foundational Truth that Newman came to understand later when he undertook a thorough study of the Church Fathers.11 In other words, it is of no use trying to comprehend the mysteries of faith merely by means of logical inferences; one must believe in them first. Scott, indeed, was like a tree with its whole history, the beginning and the end enclosed within the allotted span of its growth. And Newman learnt this truth gradually.
Another thing is worth stressing here. Newman had planned to visit Scott, as has been said, but before he decided to do so the man died. Out of a sudden, he was like a child who had come of age, left by his parents to move forward on his own. I propose to interpret this as follows: that Newman was saved from any attempts to imitate another person’s life. Scott’s life, therefore, now resembles a closed book which should be treated as a sample of a whole, with no opportunity to personally share it with someone else. What could Scott have said about the hidden mystery of his life? What could Newman have said? What could he have drawn from it? The fact of his friend’s untimely death gave him to understand that he should make his own attempts, his own quest for the truth and certitude that give peace, whereas Scott’s story is only evidence that
As was noted in the introduction, Newman saw the person’s hope for a better future not in biology, technology, i.e. the Promethean prowess, but in his spiritual resources. Therefore, if he submits to a false authority, he easily falls prey to corruption and loses his orientation. The great nineteenth-century French political thinker put it superbly when he wrote: “Men are not corrupted by the exercise of power or debased by the habit of obedience, but by the exercise of a power which they believe to be illegal and by obedience to a rule which they consider to be usurped and oppressive.”13
Let us stress one point that will accompany us throughout this book. There is no thinking, as such; this is a very Newmanian conclusion. It is always personal in the sense that it is a function of the thinking person, particularly in practical matters. Newman did not appeal to some transcendental level, but took the human person as he or she is in reality. In such a person, faith and reason go hand-in-hand, for in order to reason in matters of faith and morality, one must assume the first principle. And this assumption is faith. We shall keep repeating this truth, for it superbly recapitulates any comprehensive understanding of John Henry Newman.
The twentieth-century American philosopher William Barrett, in his book on existentialism, succinctly described Søren Kierkegaard with words that also perfectly fit Newman. He wrote: “Kierkegaard does not disparage intelligence; quite the contrary, he speaks of it with respect and even reverence. But nonetheless, at a certain moment in history this intelligence had to be opposed, and opposed with all the resources and powers of a man of brilliant intelligence.”14 Indeed, Newman does not disparage intelligence, but his intelligence had to oppose the encroachment of modern rationalism.
Newman was well aware of the warfare between the city of God and the city of man (the powers of darkness); in line with St. Augustine, he abided by
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The time up to 1822 symbolises Newman’s adolescent spiritual fascinations. The year 1822 opens a new period in his life, namely the period of intellectual maturity. Here, we need to mention Richard Whately (1787–1863), the logician, philosopher, economist, theologian and Archbishop of Dublin, who taught Newman, as he writes, “to weigh my words” and “to be cautious in my statements,” two rigours indispensable in an academic career.17 Whately taught him, as he admits, “to think and to use my reason, to see with my own eyes, to walk with my own feet, and to think for myself.”18 Let us note that, paradoxically,
Zeno, John Henry Newman and his Inner Life, San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1987, 56.
Ibid., 57.
The divine of Pembroke College.
Apo., 3.
His book The Force of Truth (1779) had twelve editions during his lifetime.
See, Apo., 2.
See, ibid., 3.
Ibid.
In this work, I refer to the 1865 edition, republished in 1987 and edited by Maisie Ward (a descendant of one of Britain’s distinguished Catholic families).
A. Saint-Exupéry, The Wisdom of the Sands, trans. by S. Gilbert. London: Hollis & Carter, 1952, 10.
See more on Newman and his view of the Trinity in an interesting dissertation by Matthew Kemp, Economy of Condescension: John Henry Newman’s Trinitarian Theology, Chicago: eCommons Loyola University Chicago, 2020,
See Apo., 4.
A. de Tocqueville, Democracy in America, trans. by H. Reeve, New York: Bantam Dell, 2000, 9.
W. Barrett, Irrational Man. A Study in Existential Philosophy, Garden City: Doubleday Anchor Books, 1962, 149.
Joseph Milner (1744–1797), an English evangelical divine and close friend of James Stillingfleet (about whom more will be said later).
Apo., 5.
See ibid., 6.
Ibid., 7, 8.
High Church, Low Church, and Broad Church – these are the main branches within the Anglican Church. The High Church places more emphasis on ritual, it is often referred to as the Anglo-Catholic Church, while the Low Church emphasises preaching, personal piety and the authority of Scripture. The Low Church has a more Protestant orientation. The Broad Church arose in the nineteenth century; it is latitudinarian and secularised in outlook.
Ibid., 6.