I’m looking forward to the beatification of John Henry Newman – but Pope Benedict XVI should stop there.Beatification may be the last stage on the way to sainthood, but I’m afraid Cardinal Newman was just too bitchy to be made a saint.
The Catholic Church’s great intellectual convert was a magnificent writer, a bold thinker, a rigorous Church historian.
But his Apologia Pro Vita Sua leaves no doubt that he was also supremely catty and precious, guilty of the self-absorption of a latter-day celeb.
I don’t mind the fact that Newman attacked virtiolic critics such as the novelist Charles Kingsley. “Away with you, Mr Kingsley, and fly into space,” he wrote.
Such detractors were “a swarm of flies”, he added.
Fair enough.
But, with Newman, even friends find themselves on the receiving end of put-downs.
Dr Edward Hawkins, distinguished Provost of Oriel and much-loved churchman, is important to Newman only because he was useful: “He had been … in many ways of great service to my mind”.
Newman’s devoted and loyal followers are portrayed as eager puppies desperate for their master’s approval but unable to fathom his deep mind. Even towards his dear friend and long-time collaborator Edward Pusey, he drips condescension: poor Pusey was a limited thinker who could not soar with the eagle Newman to the grand heights of Roman Catholicism.
Moreover, Newman patronisingly paints Pusey as hopelessly dependent on their friendship – so much so that he is scared to tell him about his conversion to Rome, lest pathetic Edward crumples and die.
At least Pusey wasn’t Italian. I get the strong impression, as an Italian myself, that Newman regards us as dirty and superstitious. Newman was also contemptuous of Catholic music and architecture, Liberal politicians and most Anglican bishops. (Perhaps he had a point there.)
Surrounded by these flawed beings and institutions, Newman emerges as all the more perfect. He modestly draws the reader to this conclusion by referring to his countless achievements, from his “perfect knowledge of the Catechism” through his undoubted influence on a generation of young Anglicans, to the lengthy catalogue of articles he published in learned journals.
By the end of this magnum opus, you can’t help wonder whether heaven would meet with this precious creature’s approval.
“Really, St Peter,” I can picture him saying to the Prince of the Apostles. “Don’t you think pearl is a bit vulgar for gates?”
SIC: TG / UK