Next Sunday, Cardinal John Henry Newman will be set on the path to becoming the first English saint since the Reformation when he is beatified by the Pope.It will be the first time in Benedict XVI’s five-year reign that he has conducted such a ceremony personally.
Why such a fuss?
Why has a 19th-century Oxford theologian become the central figure in the first visit to these shores by a Pope since 1982?
The high honour now being conferred upon this Victorian cardinal may surprise us, but it is unlikely to have surprised his contemporaries – although it certainly would not have pleased all of them.
Public debate today is light on theology, but in Newman’s time it was dominant, and its ripples were felt well beyond academia and the upper reaches of the Church.
It is easy to see why Newman would have special appeal to this Pope, who has publicly welcomed defecting Anglicans and has put in place systems that will make any future exodus from the Church of England a smoother journey than the one on offer in the early 1990s, when hundreds of Anglican clergy, a handful of bishops and thousands of laity crossed to the Catholic Church in protest at the ordination of women.
We were following Newman’s path, but for him the consequences were of an entirely different order. In the 19th century, Catholics could not go to Oxford or Cambridge, enter Parliament, or even become doctors or lawyers.
The Pope was still widely held to be the Antichrist.
When Newman – by then vicar of St Mary’s University Church at Oxford – finally converted after years of intense agonising, his family was so upset that one of his sisters never spoke to him again. He lost job, respect and family but he did what he believed to be utterly right.
In our own age, when compromise is the norm and obedience to principle the exception, the intensity of the debate may seem incomprehensible. But Newman’s courage still stands as a beacon.
Of course, such bravery, while admirable, is scarcely a qualification for sainthood. But there is vastly more to Newman’s life.
First, there is the prodigious output of theological works. Those who were charged with examining them to make sure they contained no error which would act as a bar to beatification were confronted with a task lasting decades.
There are 32,000 letters alone, including the famous one to Gladstone on papal infallibility, before you even consider the tomes such as the Apologia Pro Vita Sua, the prayers and hymns and other writings.
When I made a documentary for the BBC on Newman’s life, the question was not what to include, but how we were ever going to leave so much out.
One aspect of that vast collection of reasoning and teaching that must appeal to Pope Benedict will be Newman’s attacks on liberalism, which the current pontiff has echoed. Newman foresaw the consequences of the growth of secularism, not only for the Church but for society as a whole.
Amid the moral disintegration of the 21st century his warning rings like a clarion call. An obvious example is the requirement for Catholic adoption agencies to place children with homosexual couples or close down.
Newman was among the first to recognise that the flip side of the coin stamped with the head of liberalism is intolerance and persecution.
Another less well-recognised legacy of Newman is in the field of education. Not only did he found the Oratories, which have taught generations of children – including Tony Blair’s – but he was instrumental in the idea that universities should serve all of society, including those who were able but also poor.
In effect, he was the founder of the modern university. His other great thesis on higher education – that it should be about reasoning, rather than just a utilitarian preparation for a particular career – still has equal resonance today.
Yet no matter how holy a life, or how orthodox the teaching, there is a huge hurdle for any candidate for sainthood to overcome. There must be a miracle, which is to say a beneficial effect that is instant, inexplicable and verifiable, procured as a result of invoking the intercession of the putative saint.
One miracle can result in beatification, but for full sainthood (canonisation), two are required.
The first – the curing of a severe spinal disorder suffered by Jack Sullivan, a Catholic deacon from Massachusetts – has been accepted by the Church; the testimony of the surgeon involved is a dramatic moment in my documentary.
A second miracle – of a child diagnosed as severely handicapped in the womb, and then born perfect – is not yet verified, but is being examined.
For me, Newman is an obvious case for sainthood. His life was one of simplicity, sacrifice and conscientious study. He was fearless in the cause of his beliefs and tireless in promoting them. He foresaw, accurately, the impact of a society that decides, to borrow a phrase from Alastair Campbell, not to do God.
In a few days’ time, as the Pope arrives in Britain, the media will, for once, focus on those who do God.
There is bound to be a fair amount of curiosity about the man at the centre of papal attention.
For those who want to look beyond the instant-gratification ethos of our own age, investigating Newman’s life and work will be a truly rewarding experience.
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