By Bishop James Conley
When John Henry Newman converted to Catholicism, he expected that he might have a semi-monastic priestly life, given over to scholarship in the company of his companions and fellow converts.
He had hoped to teach, and hear confessions, and to preach. He had hoped for quiet, unnoticed, uncontroversial service to the Kingdom. But Newman’s vocation unfolded much differently.
In fact, in the course of Newman’s priesthood, he faced several serious trials and difficulties, and not a few absolute failures. He never sought them, though sometimes his exuberance, his fidelity to conscience or his exactitude caused them. But at various times in his priestly life, Newman’s relationship with the Church caused him consternation and even disappointment. He faced many trials and crosses both within and outside the Church throughout his long life.
He was quite unlike his contemporaries—his theological mind was unique, his zeal was unparalleled, and his expectations and disposition had not been tempered to the ecclesiastical culture of Victorian Britain. Furthermore, the relationship between Anglican bishops and their priests was much less formal than in the Catholic Church, particularly at that time in England. He expected certain things of bishops, and he found himself frequently frustrated with them. Newman had a very high regard for the office of the episcopacy, and frequently found himself disappointed or frustrated with those who possessed it!
In short, Newman found himself, with some regularity, out of step with his brother priests, or with his bishop, or with the times. As a result, there was always an element of suspicion that surrounded Newman his whole life as a Catholic that never really lifted until he was elevated to the College of Cardinals. As a convert, he was suspected to have been a closet liberal or even a “modernist,” never to be fully trusted.
But Newman’s failures, and trials, and difficulties are instructive for us. He was defeated, often—but he was not defeated by defeat. He was unafraid of failure. He saw in failure, or struggle, or disappointment, the opportunity for unity with Jesus Christ. And Blessed John Henry Newman knew that the Lord used his life, even in ways he could not see. He had an abiding and steadfast trust in Divine Providence, in the hand of God.
In 1867, Pope Pius IX announced an ecumenical council—the council that would become Vatican I. The council began in 1870, and Newman attended as a theological adviser or peritus. The purpose of the Council, in part, was to respond to the rise of rationalism and materialism, and to defend and define the infallibility of the Holy Father.
Newman was a great believer in papal infallibility. While he was converting to Catholicism, in the Essay on the Defense of Christian Doctrine, he had concluded that it was necessary for the Church. But he believed it should be used only when it was necessary—when controversy or schism required definitive clarification.
The Council was convoked. Newman felt that the ultramontanes—those Romans who wished to preserve and strengthen the temporal power of the Pope—would use the doctrine of infallibility as a pretense to argue for papo-ceaserism. In short, he could see no good reason for defining papal infallibility.
In 1870, Pastor aeternus was approved by the Council Fathers, and the infallibility of the Holy Father was defined. Newman accepted the document—in fact, he said that it contained nothing new, which he did not already hold.
The post-conciliar period was, in Newman’s view, fraught with difficulties and abuses. Newman objected to the prevalent abuses of the document, which over-emphasized the role of the Holy Father, and his authority. He was concerned with those who argued that, by virtue of Vatican I, the Holy Father’s authority was absolutely unlimited—even able to bind consciences on matters fay beyond the matter of revelation, beyond faith and reason.
What Newman objected to was those who argued for the “Spirit of Vatican I,” without reading the document, or trying to understand it in its historical context.
Newman was suggesting that the First Vatican Council be interpreted according to the “hermeneutic of continuity.” He believed that the ultramontanes were exploiting the council according to the hermeneutic of rupture—willfully removing it from its historical or doctrinal context in order to advance political and ideological agendas.
His views were widely criticized. He was perceived as heterodox and accused of being a liberal. He was suspected of reversion to an Anglican ecclesiology. And, ultimately, Newman decided that he would make arguments in defense of the authentic meaning of Vatican I only when asked, but that he would refrain from criticizing the spirit of the age.
Newman was consoled by his confidence in Holy Providence. He believed that the Holy Spirit had acted through the Council—even if he felt the time was inopportune, and if he wished the council’s declarations had been better contextualized.
In short, Newman believed that the abuses and misinterpretations of the Church’s teachings which follows their declaration is often resolved simply by the passage of time, removed from the passions, and agendas, and circumstances which brought about their declaration.
In a time of trial, Newman saw that the Lord’s work would continue, that his moment was not the final moment. That Providence moved slowly, through measures and counter-measures, to clarify, identify, and explain the richness of the deposit of faith. The trial Newman faced, he realized, required patience, and serenity.
The trust that Newman placed in Holy Providence, at matters of profound trial, is instructive for us. Newman faced personal trials, and often they were in the context of the broad issues the Church faced in his era. The politics and abuses of Vatican I became a personal cross for him. The relationship between Church and state impacted his term as university rector.
Newman, in real and tangible ways, suffered for the Kingdom. But he was given the grace of serenity in trial. He was graced to keenly see God’s Providential hand where his friends saw only calamity, defeat, or failure. He saw his life as a great mystery, but with a great purpose, as well.
As Newman said in one of his most famous prayers:
“God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work.”
