Institutes of Ecclesiastical History, Ancient and Modern: Modern period

ridicule, as the island itself amidst the roaring waves.

This is

an instructive fact. It may surely be taken as a proof, that sound principles, protected, as in England, by the jealous care of a well-ordered establishment, are the only real securities against pernicious errors perseveringly disseminated under favourable circumstances. To such evils, accordingly, France fell a prey. Her mercurial people do not reason with the cautious discrimination of their insular neighbours, and were, therefore, easily led by wit and sophistry to confound the excrescences of their national religion with christianity itself. These needless or hurtful additions, it must be owned, were enormous, and the whole system was supported by an undue share of the country's wealth. Inquiring spirits, hostile to the religious establishment, easily saw a close connexion in its more popular features, with the principles, impostures, and outward appliances of exploded paganism. Hence there was no difficulty in leading public opinion, swayed as it was by levity, conceit, envy, democratic cravings, and insufficient information, into rash prejudice against christianity altogether. It was branded as nothing else than an offshoot of ancient heathenism, and this was not viewed in its true light, as a perversion of patriarchal religion. It passed for the mere creature of priestcraft in dark ages, and final ruin was confidently predicted for the whole system, whenever men should become sufficiently enlightened. The popularity of such representations made way for the horrors and impieties of the French revolution. Had, however, the system overthrown been better able to bear strict examination, experience of the past will justify a belief, that although the national voice might have called for improvement in religious institutions, it would not madly and impiously have insisted upon their extirpation.

But whatever may be thought of this hypothesis, one point seems to have been established by the French revolution, which is, that nations can hardly exist without religion. No

sooner had something like a stable government been again established in France, than it saw the necessity of a provision for the spiritual wants of the people. Even leading men, too vain and hardened for the abandonment of their own unbelief, became fully aware that it could not be rendered universal, and that its extensive prevalence was injurious to the public tranquillity. Hence they were quite willing to forget the impious triumphs of which pretended reason had lately boasted, and to try again the operation of christianity upon a demoralised and unmanageable people. The scale, however, upon which their spiritual arrangements was made, should be a warning to posterity. It might have been impossible, as it probably was, to obtain, at such a time, more liberal terms for religion. The funds which former ages had gradually accumulated for its diffusion over the country, and for its command of respectful notice from every class, were absorbed among the multiform mass of private property. To reclaim them in any considerable degree was impracticable. Nothing better, therefore, could be done, than to render the private properties, which had so extensively been augmented by their means, liable to an impost for supplying their place, and an impost of any perceptible weight for such a purpose was unlikely to be borne by a people which had scornfully shaken off religion altogether. Still, in spite of this last peculiarity, it may well be doubted from the case of France, whether under any circumstances a nation called upon for a new religious establishment would answer the call in a spirit of becoming and adequate liberality. The truth is, that men, unless under the strong influence of religious convictions, (which is the case with few during most of their lives, and with some never at all,) are seldom disposed for dealing liberally with religion. They would commonly sink its ministers to an inferior station, and provide very insufficiently for its extension over a whole people. Hence it is of the utmost importance to preserve those endowments uncurtailed which have

descended from the religious cares of a long succession of men in their best moments. This principle may not be applicable with equal strictness to monastic possessions. Most monasteries comparatively recent have been founded for purposes in which religion degenerates into superstition, and such degeneracy has, undoubtedly, during many centuries, been largely owing to conventual establishments. Hence any services that monastic bodies may have rendered to the religion of a people have long been made very questionable by their infusion of a base alloy into the most valuable of human possessions. The truth is, that the day for monastic services of much importance is gone in countries highly civilised and altogether christian. As head quarters for missionary enterprise, and retreats for studious divines, monasteries have been invaluable. When they became of little or no use for such purposes, most of the ends really answered by them were positively injurious to the public. Their suppression, therefore, stands upon very different grounds from that of parochial and capitular foundations. But it is hardly justifiable to relieve the financial difficulties of a nation, and not at all so to satisfy the selfish cravings of individuals. Property, severed from private inheritances for monastic purposes, ought, in justice to the donor and to the public, to be kept sacred for religious, learned, and eleemosynary uses. England this obvious truth was pretty fully acknowledged, and to some extent respected, because monasteries were suppressed by a strong, long-established government. In France their suppression took place amidst anarchy, when every voice is overpowered but that of selfish and ambitious indigence. Nothing, therefore, was to be expected but the complete abstraction of their funds from public purposes. This was undoubtedly neither just nor politic; but it was far more excusable than the confiscation of those endowments which had provided France with a sufficient body of secular clergy. The influence of such an establishment might render many services to the country of

which it urgently stands in need, in addition to those of a character exclusively spiritual. But when the clerical profession is both depressed in circumstances and insufficient in numbers, it has little prospect of commanding general notice from a proud, busy, crowded, and irreligious world.

The United States of America may seem to offer an example unfavourable to this conclusion. In them not only does religion generally prevail, but also episcopal protestantism has recently advanced in a remarkable degree. This last, however, has chiefly gained ground among the wealthier and more intelligent classes of a people habitually religious. The great mass lies under its old liability to the fluctuating influences of various discordant sects, all contending eagerly for popularity; and many parts of the country appear to be very insufficiently supplied with religious instruction and consolations of any kind. More experience and information are, therefore, needed, before conclusions can be safely drawn from the American case. But matters have gone far enough to show the value of a system that will bear sufficient examination. The church's increasing popularity among a people extensively nurtured in prejudice against it is a testimony to the soundness of their national religion upon which Englishmen may think with honest pride, and which may eventually receive due attention from inquirers after truth in other nations.

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