Kitabı oku: «The Priestly Vocation», sayfa 10

In similar way, though the views of Cardinal Manning against all kinds of theatrical entertainments are commonly admitted to have been extreme, what he says cannot be dismissed too easily, for it contains much truth.

"Every theatre," he writes, "is the centre of a neighbourhood abounding in all manner of evil, which lives and thrives on the theatrical world. There are upon the stage many good men and many good women; but also of both many bad. The spirit and surroundings and tide of the stage are dangerous and downward. The classes and trades that thrive by it are too well known to need words from me. Why should anyone aid, abet, comfort or share in such a traffic, even by the price of a box or a single ticket? I had rather have no liability however limited in such a trade."

Probably most persons to-day would look upon these words as a somewhat overdrawn picture, and it is to be hoped that we shall not be considered wanting in respect in taking a somewhat less rigid view. Perhaps we may apply the same principles as St. Francis of Sales applies to persons living in the world assisting at parties, balls, and social dissipations generally ⁷⁶—that such things should be taken with caution and not too frequently, in which case the recreation and other good which they provide may be obtained, and the harm avoided. Thus, if it be argued that the need of recreation in the modern world is great, that the stage contains much that is entertaining, or at times even elevating, and that its evils may be counteracted in the case of one who is solidly instructed in his religion, a strong case might be made in favour of frequenting the theatre provided it is not done too often, and that one knows that there are dangers lurking which require watchfulness and care. It may be urged that Cardinal Manning, from his very nature, never realised the necessity or use of real recreation, for he seemed able to work continuously without any; and, moreover, the particular recreation of the theatre was to a great extent a closed book to him, for it is well known that early in life he made a resolution not to put his foot inside one, and he kept it throughout his life. This would seem to be a justification for at least taking a somewhat less rigid view than his on the matter.

But in the case of the priest, the question is totally different. Such dissipation in such surroundings is incompatible with his general life, and out of harmony with the stern seriousness of the priestly vocation. It prevents recollection at a time of day when it is especially needed, and his morning's Meditation and mass must suffer. Moreover, a priest in a Roman collar is an official, and must not countenance by his presence the indecorum which is of such frequent occurrence in every theatre.

Yet one has heard of some priests regretting the law; but the arguments put forward by them do not appeal with much force. One is that the theatre has changed since the law was made and it is not now objectionable as it once was. It is remarkable to note how this has always been said. So far back as the time of Dr. Milner this argument was used, as he himself testified. It is probable that as times goes on, plays become more outwardly respectable, and the improprieties are less emphasised; possibly for that very reason they are more insidious. The general spirit of the theatre does not seem to change, and is not likely to.

During the last decade of the eighteenth century, before the penal state of Catholics had been relaxed, no law on the subject existed; and the celebrated preacher, Rev. James Archer, used to go to the play, to get a lesson in elocution; and when in 1803, at the first meeting of Bishops which approached the nature of a Synod, they forbade the practice, Mr. Archer was very irate. The style of eloquence at that epoch was far more inflated and artificial than anything with which we are familiar, and we can hardly imagine such complaint being made now; but even in recent times, one has heard of Catholic actors being asked to give a priest some hints on elocution. As regards actual delivery, and means of making ourselves audible, it is possible that they might give some useful advice; but it is certain that the real value of a sermon will never depend much on mere rules of rhetoric; and any rhetoric which is artificial is a hindrance, not a help.

Then again it is urged that the rule does not act justly: there are places more unsuitable than theatres, such as music-halls, which are not forbidden. This indeed is possible enough. It is exceedingly hard to draft a rule which shall cover exactly the cases desired, and the difficulty is increased tenfold when the rules were made seventy years ago, for the style, for example, of music-hall entertainment has wholly changed in that time. No rule against music-halls was necessary then, as no priest would have thought of going to one. In recent years the type of music-hall has become higher, and if the law were made to-day, it is possible that a reference to them might be thought desirable. But after all, even if it were granted that the rule may be worded badly, that would not interfere with the undoubted fact that the theatre was intended to be forbidden, and no inclination has ever been shown to go back from the rule.

In recent years a wholly new problem has presented itself by the invention of the cinematograph. The present state of picture palaces gives much room for thought and almost makes one weep. The attractiveness and low price bring it within the reach of all. What a power it might be for educating the people, and raising the tone of their recreations! Yet in fact it does the very reverse. The reason is simply the style of film which is shown. Here and there one gets an interesting and educative one—such, for examples, as the official war films which have been shown—but even these are usually sandwiched between the low farcical vulgar displays which in the majority of cinemas constitute the whole performance. They are indeed free from some at least of the objectionableness of the theatre; but that is all that can be said in their favour. Indeed, much of the juvenile criminality which seems on the increase has been confidently attributed to these picture palaces.

With respect to the desirability of the priest going to a cinema—for it is not against any definite law—it is difficult to lay down a general rule. Certainly there are many low-class cinemas which he would never think of attending. Some of the better-class places in London or elsewhere might sometimes provide him with useful recreation; but it is only stating what is obvious in saying that he will treat the matter with great caution.

CONFERENCE XII
THE ANNUAL HOLIDAY

IN these days regular holidays every year have become a recognised necessity for a life such as that of a priest in this country. The effect of modern conditions of living, the prevalence of "slum" neighbourhoods, with their generally depressing surroundings, the continual pressure of such concentrated daily work, all bring with them as a corollary the necessity of from time to time being released from them altogether for a while, and modern invention has also provided the means of getting away from one's work easily and cheaply, which our ancestors neither possessed nor needed. The expression "he is away on his holiday" has passed into our language.

Whatever is to be said of the general hardness of a priest's life, in this one respect it stands out as more fortunate than that in most other professions. A priest on a town mission—and it is on such a mission that a holiday is really needed—commonly has four consecutive Sundays off duty once every year, which means in many cases that he is able to absent himself for nearly five weeks. The conditions of his life render this possible, and nobody grudges it. Even the war has not interfered with a priest's holidays, at any rate as regards their length. And in this country they are more systematically regularised than in most others. Some half a century ago a Belgian Bishop wrote to Cardinal Manning asking him to dissuade his priests from visiting Belgium when on their annual holiday, lest they should unsettle the local clergy and instigate them also to look for holidays. In our time, however, holidays for priests, before the war, were not so unknown there. A primary result of this systematic arrangement for holidays is that an appreciable part of a priest's life is spent in this way, and it becomes of importance for us to enquire how we spend it.

The science of arithmetical addition often produces startling results. A person adding up accounts for the first time is surprised at the total amount of money that he finds has passed through his hands, both on the credit and on the debit side. Let us apply the process to the priest's holiday. We will suppose that the average time he takes is one calendar month—which is ordinarily well within the mark. In the first twelve years of his priesthood therefore he spends a year in holidays. One who has reached his silver jubilee has occupied over two years so: an old priest may have spent four or five years in this way. Clearly much will depend both in time and in eternity on how it has been spent.

Or we may look at the arithmetic from another point of view. If one month in every twelve is spent in vacation, it would seem to follow by the law of averages that one priest in twelve would have to meet his death during his holidays. For several reasons, however, this estimate has to be modified. Death is not ordinarily so sudden but that the illness which precedes it will show itself in time to prevent the priest from starting on his vacation. But suppose we reduce the estimate from one in twelve to one in fifty, or even one in a hundred, that still leaves us matter for serious reflection; and experience shows that this is not much above the mark. It is no uncommon thing to hear of a priest who started on his holidays, if not in good health, at least with the hope of regaining it, and his hopes being frustrated either by the arrival of death while he is still away, or by his being just able to return home to die. This surely, if we have the prudence and forethought which a priest ought to have, should make us pause and consider. If it is possible, and not extremely improbable, that so important a moment may have to be faced during our outing, it is essential that we should not relax our spirit of recollection so completely but that we may be able quickly to resume it when confronted by a crisis.

Now it is precisely here that the difficulty of spending our vacation well comes in. It is essential for the very purpose for which we go away that we should relax our spiritual exercises to some extent, otherwise our vacation will fail of its effect, and we shall return without that freshness which forms so valuable a send-off to the next year's work. The recreations of a priest's life are at all times difficult to regulate—as we have seen in the preceding Conferences. To succeed in obtaining relaxation of mind, without at the same time incurring dissipation, is never easy: and most of us in looking back on our past lives will probably find more to regret in the time given to recreation than in any other time. But the difficulty is greatly increased when recreation is the order of our daily life, and our ordinary elevating influences are for the time to a great extent in abeyance. Yet we know that an ill-spent holiday leaves us on a lower level than it found us; habits and practices are gone, and there is nothing in their place except, perhaps, half-formed habits of self-indulgence and general slackness.

But there is in truth another side to vacation time which is the very opposite to its dissipating side. It is a time when being released for a while from our daily work and anxieties, our mind turns back on our life as a whole, our shortcomings, our prospects for the future, our devotions and spiritual exercises, and the like. Some periods of vacation time may be in this way almost as good as a retreat. The possibility of utilising it thus of course depends to some extent on our surroundings, how we are spending it, whom we are with, and what doing. But we shall usually have sufficient unoccupied time at our disposal, whether we are with our friends or relations, or on our travels, and we can without forgoing any real relaxation let our thoughts revert to our life and our work as a priest, which indeed we shall naturally do if our interest in them is what it should be. If we do not, much of our time will be simply thrown away. The author of the Imitation says that sickness changes no man, but shows what he is. Something similar may be said of holidays. The manner in which they are spent, and the thoughts which come uppermost will be a clear index of the state of mind, spiritually, of the man who spends it. And if the occasion is utilised, it will afford a valuable offset to the natural dissipation of the period.

If, then, so much depends on the vacation being well spent, some thought should certainly be taken in good time beforehand, that the natural falling to low level may be checked by definite resolutions made in advance, for when the time comes, the surroundings are not favourable to making laws for ourselves. The following remarks then are intended as a help towards sanctifying a time which it is more easy to lose ground than at any other period of the year.

1. The Roman collar should never be taken off, or at least no outward change should be made which would indicate that we are trying to disguise our priesthood. It is true that theologians tell us that under certain circumstances, when on a journey, it is lawful to do so; but "all things are lawful to me, but all things do not edify." ⁷⁷ It is said that to be dressed as a layman makes one freer, and this is no doubt the case; but it is questionable whether such freedom is desirable. The restraint of one's priesthood, and the general rule that wherever one cannot appear as a priest, one will not go at all, is a useful check on our lives at such times. Incidentally it may be remarked that the disguise will not often be successful, and many will see through it. The shorn appearance, the general want of fit about the clothes, and the evident discomfort at wearing so unusual a garb attract observation; and sooner or later, the suspicion aroused is confirmed by the appearance of a well-worn Breviary, out of which the disguised priest is saying his Office. The general effect is lowering both on others and himself. The feeling that it is a disguise brings with it the practical conviction that he is acting in a manner unbecoming to his state. Once a priest, always a priest, and it is only in very exceptional circumstances that one should ever pretend to be anything else. The priest's dress will not interfere with any recreation which is suitable for him.

2. A certain minimum number of times for saying mass should be fixed and closely adhered to. Even outside that limit, mass should not be omitted without real cause. The sight of a priest who has put his mass away at the beginning of his holidays as "work," to be left behind until he returns, or at most to be produced on Sundays, has in the past been unfortunately too common; and the reaction which induced a priest when freed from his morning exercises to stay in bed inordinately late is not edifying. There are indeed days when a rest is needful, or advisable, or when it is difficult to make suitable arrangements, or when all time available is wanted for an excursion, or to catch an early train; but in many instances there is no such reason. In truth a fervent priest should be specially anxious about his mass at such times, both because he will feel the need of it to sanctify his holiday, and because in fact being temporarily relieved from his daily anxieties, he is able to say it with a new freshness and devotion.

3. As to Meditation, in most cases one could hardly expect the ordinary half-hour before mass, and if one's holiday is to be successful, one must necessarily ease off some of one's spiritual exercises. But there is really no reason for abandoning Meditation altogether. A short period, even five or ten minutes, whether as thanksgiving after mass, or at some other time of day, will be more valuable than double that time in the ordinary working part of the year. About this, as about other exercises, it is important to have a rule, and to keep to it, save in exceptional circumstances; but the exact nature of the rule depends so largely on the personal equation that one hesitates to put forward any suggestion too definitely.

4. The Divine Office of course cannot be omitted for any ordinary reason. But it can easily be put into odd times—more easily during a holiday than during the working part of the year—or left to the end of the day, when it is said without devotion, as fast as possible, simply to get it over. The loss by this is the greater from the very fact that the Divine Office is the one devotion which is binding even in holiday season. A definite rule is a help in such cases, and if the burden of anticipating Matins and Lauds is felt too great, a rule, for example, to finish to the end of Prime before midday ought not to be too difficult to be usually kept. But what precise rule to make, like many other details, must depend on the nature of our holiday and where we find ourselves. At least let there be some rule to aim at: don't let it be simply a case of drifting.

This, therefore, suggests a few words as to what kind of a holiday a priest will take. In many cases this settles itself by the exigencies of circumstances. He may have a home to go to, with parents still living, or he may have relatives and friends to stay with. In other cases he may be able to go for a regular tour with a fellow priest or other companion. The former class of case is perhaps more difficult to regulate, as the priest has to accommodate himself to the ways of those with whom he is staying. A general rule to be well occupied all day, and to retire in good time so as to be fresh for the next day, is very easily written down: to keep it without making oneself uncongenial requires both determination and tact. Often it may be possible to regulate one's retirement at night in this way; but sometimes it is not, and in such circumstances we have no choice but to accept what we find. The rule of occupying ourselves can however practically always be kept. The reproach that the English take their recreation sadly—perhaps seriously would be a better word—is really an allusion to one of the most favourable sides of our national character. To spend the time in aimless lounging—the dolce far niente so dear to the typical Italian—is not in itself congenial to our nature; yet the habit not infrequently invades our holiday time, especially at the seaside. The description a priest once wrote of himself that he had spent day after day in sitting on the sands, and getting behind-hand in his Office, is typical of a whole class of holidays; but by no means of all. One easy way to guard absolutely against it is to have a carefully chosen holiday book, sufficiently light to recreate, yet entertaining and educative, to produce on any day on which we find that, through stress of weather or other cause, there is no definite occupation on hand.

If a priest is fortunate enough to be able to travel on a regular tour, it is unnecessary to point out how fully his time will be occupied, provided he takes at least an intelligent interest in what he sees. The effect of travelling is very broadening, for one meets—even in one's own country—with customs and surroundings very different from those of the particular place in which we live; and the amount of human history contained in churches and other public buildings and dwelling-houses is very great. Moreover, the effect of natural scenery is always elevating. If—as was possible before the war, and will some day be possible again—a priest can visit Catholic countries, he will find much to be of high spiritual advantage to him. It is often possible to make a pilgrimage to a shrine part of our holiday, and thus to unite recreation with high spiritual profit. To visit such places as Lourdes or Ars in France, or Einsiedeln in Switzerland, or Loreto or Genezzano in Italy—to mention only a few typical ones—is not only an interesting experience, but will also be a source of grace and blessing. One sees Catholic practices freely developed, without the restraining influences which the surroundings of Protestantism render inevitable here in England. The simple devotion, wholly free from self-consciousness, which one sees joined with such extraordinary fervour in places of pilgrimage, are full of elevating effect in ourselves, and the atmosphere of faith among the people all around us is as good as a revelation.

The shrine at Lourdes is too well known to need any words here. Apart from any question of miracles—which in fact assume a very secondary place there—the spirit of devotion among the thousands of pilgrims from all parts of the world, and the absolute contentment of the sick who have been brought from afar, and are often in acute physical pain, give one a picture which one would not have believed to be realisable in this world. The surroundings of Ars, again, are of special interest from a different point of view as bringing us close to the life of a real saint and parish priest, for the date of the cure's death is still within living memory. Then, again, to find a shrine such as Notre Dame des Victoires in the midst of such a cosmopolitan city as Paris, where so much evil is known to be rampant, is instructive and edifying. But there is a shrine not a hundred miles from there to which surely English people should be attracted more than they are: that is, the shrine of St. Edmund of Canterbury, at Pontigny. One of the last of our English saints to be canonised, his life is not inferior in interest to that of any of his predecessors. He died in exile in France, and by a curious combination of circumstances, the great Cistercian Abbey Church at Pontigny, where his body is over the altar, survived both the dangers of the Huguenots in the sixteenth century and the great Revolution at the end of the eighteenth, and stands to-day almost in the same condition in which St. Edmund knew it in 1240. It is really a reproach to English Catholics that so few go there. In recent years, a certain number of High Church Anglicans have visited it. Unfortunately it is in one of the worst parts of France, where religion languishes; but even there, twice a year—on the feast of the Saint in November and that of the Translation of his Relics, kept there in Whitsun Week—the massive church is filled with pilgrims from afar.

But apart from actual shrines, a priest will find in the atmosphere of a Catholic country and in the daily life of the people plenty of thought on which to build up his own spiritual aspirations. If he says mass in good time in the morning, he will find perhaps many people in the church engaged on their own spontaneous devotions. On a Sunday the succession of mass-goers is continuous; the liturgical services draw large congregations; and Catholicism seems to be in the very air one breathes. Even in large cities it is a prominent feature; in country towns and villages it pervades the whole life of the people. The idea of the Catholicity of the Church is brought home to us when we find ourselves so manifestly belonging to the same body as these devout souls, and the holiday becomes strengthening to the soul as well as the body.