Chapter 3: Spiritual Direction and the Providence of God

Spiritual Direction and the Providence of God

“And He who all through my life has woundedonly to heal—will be with me still.”197

On June 5, 1869, with a frustrating experience fresh in his mind, Newman wrote in his journal: “The Providence of God has been wonderful with me all through my life. One thing struck me this morning as antithesis, which I have often thought of in its details, without observing the contrast they afford. It is this, that my troubles have come from those whom I have aided, and my success from my opponents.”198

This observation was prompted by the opposition of Manning, Ward, and others, to the proposed foundation of an Oratory at Oxford. Embittered, yet enlightened by this most recent in a series of disappointments, he saw his whole life under a sign of contradiction in a dialectical succession of contrasts: “I suppose everyone has a great deal to say about the Providence of God over him. Everyone, doubtless, is so watched over and tended by Him that at the last day, whether he was saved or not he will confess that nothing could have been done for him more than had actually been done—and everyone will feel his own history as special and singular.”199 Since Newman felt “his own history to be special and singular” under Divine Providence, and since his spiritual direction flowed out of his own life experience, it is not surprising that “Divine Providence” is one of the dominant themes in his advice to others.

A constant awareness of God’s presence and an unshakable trust in divine guidance were basic factors in his life. Even as a youngster, he had “trust and hope in God, and abandoned himself without anxiety to his Providence.”200 When he entered Trinity College, Oxford, he chose as his favorite prayer the verse from the Psalms: “Thou shall guide me with Thy counsel.”201 Several years later at Oriel College, he felt himself “slowly advancing to what is good and holy, and led on by God’s hand blindly, not knowing whither He is taking me.”202 Finally, he was led by unforeseen paths to the Catholic Church.

Newman’s mother seems to have influenced his understanding of Providence, especially as regards resignation in sufferings or trials.203 For example, when the family suffered from a financial crisis, she wrote to him:

I thank God I just see and view our present afflictions in the light you do . . . My sorrows are not personal but they are divided and complicated. We are human beings, sent here to act a part full of trials, either from joys or sorrows . . . I anticipate in my anxiety for you all many evils that it may please God to avert, but yet I hope pardonable in the nature of a Mother’s feelings . . . Many such feelings as these for my dear children will suggest themselves to my imagination; but with humble but sure confidence I resign me and mine to the Giver of all good, knowing that in due time we shall be relieved from our troubles, or enabled by His assistance to support them.204

In his life Newman perceived an almost regular succession of periods of darkness and periods of light, so that years later he could say: “I have ever tried to leave my cause in the Hands of God and to be patient—and He has not forgotten me.”205

Newman’s “first conversion” both rooted the concept of the “Providence of God” in his life, and also laid the fundamental groundwork for his own spiritual life which later found expression in his spiritual direction. In particular, Newman considered that he had been providentially saved from religious liberalism by two events, first, a severe illness in the autumn of 1827, and second, by the sudden death of his beloved youngest sister, Mary. Her death reinforced an awareness that subsequently would play a dominant role in his direction of others—a vivid sense of the unseen world, invisible but more real than the material universe which acted as its veil. Thinking of Mary, he wrote to his sister Jemima: “What a veil and curtain this world of sense is! Beautiful, but still a veil.”206

Similarly, Newman regarded his illness in Sicily as a period of probation, a kind of enforced retreat, which God had designed for him in preparation for the part he was to play in the Oxford Movement. A half century later, Dean Church, in response to a question from Anne Mozley as to the propriety of publishing some material during this period of illness in Newman’s life, wrote: “He so plainly always looked on the fever in all its features as a crisis in his life, partly judgment on past self-will, partly a sign of special electing and directing favor, that the prominence given to it is quite accounted for by those who knew him, and explains why all these strange pictures of fever are given.”207

After the condemnation of Tract 90 by the Anglican bishops, Newman reflected: “I felt that by this event the uproar caused by the Tract a kind of Providence had saved me from an impossible position in the future.”208 The thought of Providence kept returning during this stormy period: “May we not leave them (these matters concerning the Church and the Tracts) meanwhile to the will of Providence? I cannot believe this work has been of man; God has a right to his own work, to do what He will with it. May we not try to leave it in His hands, and be content?”209

Newman, who had retired to Littlemore in 1842 in order to study and pray, wrote to his sister Jemima, on March 15, 1845: “I cannot at all make out why I should determine on moving, except as thinking I should offend God by not doing so . . . Oh, what can it be but a stern necessity that causes this? . . . Think that perhaps you have a right to believe that He who has led me hitherto will not suffer me to go wrong . . . His ways are not our ways, nor His thoughts as our thoughts. He may have purposes as merciful as they are beyond us. Let us do our best, and leave the event to Him.”210

The Providence of God

The “Providence of God” was a major unifying element in the development of Newman’s spiritual life, and constantly finds expression in his spiritual direction. Although this fundamental belief was deeply rooted, its implications both for him and for others could only be worked out in daily life. The major events in his own life—both trials and successes—plus his experience in directing others, gave rise to a continual emphasis on the importance of the Providence of God in each person’s life. For example, at the age of seventy-nine, after years of both success and sorrow, Newman reflected:

Looking beyond this life, my first prayer, aim, and hope is that I may see God. The thought of being blest with the sight of earthly friends pales before that thought. I believe that I shall never die; this awful prospect could crush me, were it not that I trusted and prayed that it would be an eternity in God’s presence. How is eternity a boon, unless He goes with it?

And for others dear to me, my one prayer is that they may see God. It is the thought of God, His presence, His strength, which makes up, which repairs all bereavements. “Give what thou wilt, without Thee we are poor, And with thee rich, take what Thou wilt away.211

After becoming a Roman Catholic, while studying theology in Rome at the College of the Propaganda, Newman was concerned about how God would use him when he returned to England; expressing his trust in the will of God, he wrote to Mrs. J. W. Bowden:

But I cannot tell, and I think I am very indifferent about it—for if Providence means to use me He will—and if He wills to put me aside, it is with Him—as I have no wish one way or the other, as far as I know myself . . . but as I think I am indifferent . . . I am content to let all things take their course. . . . You see I have a good deal upon me, and need the prayers of all my friends. I cannot believe, as I have said above, that I have been brought to where I am for nothing—but God’s ways are mysterious. He uses one man for one purpose, another for another. He breaks His instruments when He will—He may intend to have done with me—but, if He means to use me, He will find a way.212

Similarly, several months later, he wrote: “We do not deserve such protection, but I hope St. Mary and St. Philip will stand by us still—‘Lead Thou me on’ is quite as appropriate to my state as ever, for what I shall be called to do when I get back, or how I shall be used, is quite a mystery to me.”213

In Rome, Newman had to settle his vocation and that of the small group who wished to join him. After considering various religious orders, he concluded that he could best work as an Oratorian. Nevertheless, as he confided to Mrs. J. W. Bowden, he felt a very real anxiety about beginning a new life:

My letters are always dull ones, for somehow I have lost all spring in writing—sometimes I wonder whether I shall be so wooden in preaching and other work when I get to Birmingham—but this is all in His hands who can make and break His instruments as He pleases. I am sure I ought to be most thankful for the abundant blessing which has attended me hitherto. Everything as yet has turned out well, and will continue to do so, I firmly believe, whatever be the will of Providence about my personal powers and exertions. We are on the brink now of Birmingham—and, as you may fancy, it is an awful thing, an awful thing, to begin a new life at my age.214

Returning to England in 1848, Newman was convinced that he “had a work to do.” In February, the first Oratorian house was established at Old Oscott, rechristened Maryvale, with Newman as superior. Shortly afterwards, at Wiseman’s wish and against his own judgment, Newman admitted as novices to the Oratory another convert group headed by the exuberant Frederick Faber. Early in 1849, Newman moved to Birmingham, where an Oratory and a church were established. When a second house of the Oratory was proposed for London, the question arose whether he should remain in Birmingham or go to London. In his exchange of letters with various people, one can observe his process of discernment, which included not only his own assessment of the situation, but also his search for the will of God. He wrote to R. A. Coffin, an early companion, “I will oppose nothing which seems God’s will, but I will not promise to go to London.”215 In a letter to Faber several days later, he listed the reasons, pro and contra:

Now as to the state of the case. You have all of you, through kindness to me, made it turn on what is my place, much more than I like or judge right. We must decide for the long run, and for all. However, I will speak of myself—I say then:

That one of two incompatible courses is open to me, for the rest of my life, between which I have to choose, viz. either a life which admits of leisure for reading and writing, or a life of unmixed missionary or quasi-missionary work. What I do, is indifferent, if I could know God’s will; but, as far as I can see His will, it is to take the former.

To take the former is to be in Birmingham; to take the latter is to be in London.

In saying that London is more suited to me than Birmingham, I mean more suited to me as a missioner; therefore it would absorb my time in mission, etc. work, while Birmingham does not.

Did I go to London, I should have various work for which I am well-fitted; to preach, lecture, converse, etc. Also much semi-religious work, far less suited to me, measures for the good of Catholicism, projects for bills in Parliament, etc. And much merely routine business,—Golden Square soirees, Committees, preaching for public objects, speeches at meetings. These engagements, with my correspondence, would absorb my time. In Birmingham, on the other hand, my day is mainly free; I am busy two or three hours in the evening, and confessions etc. drop in through the day. It is just the life I have ever coveted, time for study, yet missionary work of the most intimate kind, confessing, preaching, catechising. It is most suitable to my years, especially as they increase, and to my turn of mind, etc. I might be laying the foundation of a school, for which a London life is too busy. If I have certain talents which I must use in the best way, I ought to find that way, and this seems it.

It follows that my Library would be wasted on me, (for I am speaking of myself), in London; whereas, next to my own claim on it, is Birmingham’s. Accordingly my Library stops here, whether I go to London or not. Here I am with it. This is irrevocable.

Thus then I bring my own case to an issue, and I wish to decide on it first of all, and thereby to simplify the arrangements which follow. Therefore I ask you all your opinion on the above alternative of disposing of myself; which course shall I take of the two, or have you nothing to say? Shall I go to London without my Library, or remain here with it? Do not do me the injustice to suppose that I am putting out a reduction ad absurdum, or driving you into a corner. I could make up my mind readily to leave my books here, and go to London. It would be a relief to me, though in some respects a pain. The only real misery to me, would be to go to London with them; I will not do so, for I should then have conflicting duties. I have had too much of this misery in past times to incur it again. A man cannot do everything, even that he is fitted for. He must make a choice out of his capabilities, and cultivate one or the other to the neglect of the rest. Now, my dear F. Wilfrid, we have arrived at the first step forward; the caravan is in motion; give me the general opinion (if there be any) on the above question, and after setthng that I will proceed to step to the second.216

That same day, Newman wrote another letter to Faber asking him to solicit the opinion of the other Oratorians in order to help him determine God’s will for him.

In my letter of today I will observe that from all you have said I have drawn the conclusion that to leave myself unfixed is impracticable. I must settle it first. I will settle it by myself, or I will take into consideration anything which may be said by any of you; but after my best thought, after the thought of months, I cannot see why I am to leave Birmingham; and (if left to myself) I shall settle for remaining in B. If, however, anything is put before me to the effect that I ought to devote myself to a missionary life in London (leaving my library here), I will give it the most serious and anxious attention. I have been saying Mass on the subject continually, and giving the intentions of St. Wilfrid’s Masses to it.

I don’t know whether I seem to you to have varied in my judgement during these discussions—and therefore it is hardly worth speaking about it. But if so, and F. Ambrose sometimes accuses me of it, it has risen from these two feelings—1) a great desire (for which you have blamed me) to please you all and 2) a great fear lest Divine Providence should by the means of others be offering me light which I was rejecting. Else from first to last, my own immovable view has been that I ought to stay where I am.217

After further consultation, Newman decided to stay in Birmingham and Faber was designated the superior of the house in London. Newman was convinced that Divine Providence had been continually leading them. “Give my best love to all and every one—and tell them that as they all have brought the matter before God for so long a time, with such a desire to know, and resolution to follow, His Will, whatever it might be, so now they ought to rejoice and give thanks for what we may all trust is His decision.”218

As the months continued, Newman’s belief that this entire development was the will of God solidified:

Almighty God is, I trust, leading us all separately not in our own way, but in His way, to His glory—and it matters not whether we see one another here or not, so that He is with us, and brings us one and all about His Throne in His Kingdom. For us, we are in Birmingham, a place which in one way has a sufficient omen of good, in that its name so little recommends it. When men wonder that the Pope’s Brief should have placed us here I think of the inquiry of old, “can any good come out of Nazareth?” . . . But nothing can fail which is done in God’s name and with the desire to please Him, and in dependence on His grace.219

Achilli Trial

In 1851, Newman began a series of lectures in Birmingham which were eventually published as Lectures on the Present Position of Catholicism in England; their purpose was to respond to Protestant misconceptions of Catholicism. One of the unforeseen results of this work was that Newman became involved in a trial for libel. His fifth lecture denounced an ex-Dominican, Giacinto Achilli, who had been lecturing on the corruptions of Rome and detailing his own sufferings at the hands of the Inquisition. In fact, Achilli had been in trouble for immoral conduct. Cardinal Wiseman had previously documented Achilli’s guilt in the Dublin Review.

Relying on Wiseman’s article, Newman denounced Achilli, who in turn sued for libel. Unfortunately Wiseman failed to produce the pertinent documents which might have staved off a trial, and Newman spent a frustrating eighteen months involved in legal proceedings with the threat of imprisonment. His correspondence connected with this trying experience provides glimpses of three aspects of his spiritual life: his mental anguish as he faced the prospect of a trial and the possibility of a prison sentence; the importance that he attached to prayer; and the manner in which he viewed this entire affair as being the will of God.

Prior to publishing his lecture against Achilli, Newman wrote two lawyers asking their opinion on whether he could be held for libel. Both replied in the negative. With that assurance, Newman proceeded to publication. Nonetheless, in November a libel suit was brought by Achilli against Newman. After an attempted compromise between the lawyers failed, it became clear that the case would go to trial. To complicate matters, Newman could not obtain the necessary documents from Wiseman who had misplaced them. An attempt to obtain Inquisition documents from Rome was unproductive; these documents arrived—six days too late.

By late November, it was clear to everyone that the process was going to be lengthy. Newman expressed his feelings in a letter to Richard Stanton:

I have been very anxious since the middle of August. Things have gotten about as bad as they can be. The previous state of the affidavits is past—the Judges to the utter surprise of our lawyers would give no time to get them. Talbot delayed at Rome. I wrote him the most pressing letters. I urged him to send off at once what he had. He kept what he had 12 days—they came six days too late. Now, we go on trial; it comes in February. Humanly speaking, I am certain of being found guilty, for any one point unproved is enough. . . . I have not had any interruption to the simple feeling that I shall be borne thro’ everything—I cannot at all divine the event, but that it will be good in some way or other, I am sure. . . . But you must all pray— . . . All through the year, I have said we should have some cross on account of our new building, and when the report of this matter came in August, I said “Behold, the cross.”—I did what I did most deliberately. I went before the Blessed Sacrament and begged to be kept from doing it, if wrong. I have no misgiving. I cannot wish it otherwise. It is God’s hand; it is His purpose. We shall see in time why. Many people think it will hurt my influence. It will not. I have said in print more than once, “Willingly would I suffer, if the Church is to gain.” I seem to be taken at my word.220

Two major concerns dominated his correspondence concerning the Achilli trial. First was a significant increase in his requests for prayer, especially for strength to do God’s will; second, many of his letters describe the suffering involved in matters related to the trial. Many of his friends, when they realized the seriousness of his predicament, wrote to him expressing their concern and offering him their support. In response, Newman frequently asked for their prayers: “The need . . . is that we all may have strength to bear God’s blessed will. Tomorrow we begin a Novena to the Holy Ghost for that object. Your good Mother may if she will, and I will thank her, add the intention of my deliverance from the snare of the hunter, but let the main intention be, that we,—that I, may have the fortitude, patience, peace, to bear His sweet will withal.”221

The trial date had been set for February 1852, but when Achilli learned that Newman had brought personal witnesses from Italy prepared to testify, he managed to delay the trial until the beginning of May on the hope that the witnesses would become restless and return to their homes. The delay caused Newman more pain and mental suffering; to his good friend, Ambrose St. John, he wrote on February 22:

The opposite party is simply wearing us out, and knows it. I begin almost to think it will be given against me. I should think so, but for the great mercy (of God) that has already been shown me. Never have I had such a Christmas, never such a birthday. I think I could make up my mind to anything—but the suspense and the spending money, and the keeping witnesses in good humour, are such great trials. I only hope my pain [will] go to some good purpose—it is so like physical, that I seem to understand how the soul can physically suffer in purgatory.222

On June 24, Newman was found guilty of libel for failing to prove every point in his accusation. Newman’s correspondence after this experience illustrated how deeply rooted was his understanding of the working of Divine Providence in his life. The day after the verdict he reminded Faber:

It strikes me to say, you must none of you be doleful. We are floored, if we think ourselves floored, whether we think ourselves so or not, in a worldly standard—but we must steadily recollect that we are above the feelings of society, and therefore must cultivate a lightness of heart and elasticity of feeling, which, while deeply based on faith, looks at the first sight to others as mere good spirits. Mere good spirits are not enough—but bad spirits will be a positive hallucination. We are done if we feel beaten. We must have no indignation against Judge and Jury, or anything else—they act according to their nature—and accomplish according to God’s will. Poor shadows, what are they to us! You must make your Brothers meditate on the nothingness of the world unless the subject be too intellectual.

P.S. You must bear this in mind, viz, that we always thought the verdict would be unfavorable—and relied on the moral effect of the evidence—now the article in today’s Times is sufficient to prove that we have attained the moral effect.223

The anguish which Newman experienced during these months was reflected in his correspondence once the verdict had been pronounced. The day after the verdict, he wrote to Mrs. J. W. Bowden: “I hope you are not cast down by the verdict yesterday—for I am not. There is no doubt I have justified myself morally, in the eyes of everyone—and, though the party who upheld Achilli will call it a triumph, no one else but will call it, not a triumph for him, but simply a triumph over me.”224 Time and again in response to people writing to him to express their concern, he made it clear that he was thankful that the trial was ended. “Thank you for your most kind letter and all your good thoughts on my behalf. Anxiety, suspense, care, all this is pain, certainty is no pain. The last two days of the trial I was not in any pain compared with what I had had, but I felt I should have to reproach myself if I did not pass the time in prayer, and so I saw no one, for had I seen one, I must have seen many, and should have had no time to myself.”225

Throughout the summer and early autumn of 1852, while Newman was waiting to be sentenced, he wrote many letters of gratitude to those who had supported him. In November, he was called into court only to find his own lawyers wanting to request a new trial. Acceding to the wishes of his lawyers and friends, Newman agreed. On January 20, 1853, arguments were heard for a new trial in London, but the judges refused. On January 31 the sentence was given: a fine of £100. The comparatively light sentence surprised everyone. Newman’s counsel and friends were elated; Achilli was plainly disappointed.

The one dominant characteristic throughout the Achilli affair was Newman’s belief even in the darkest moments that Providence was guiding him, and that he was accomplishing the will of God. In a letter to Robert Whitty, written about a month after the sentencing, Newman summarized his thought:

What is good, endures; what is evil, comes to nought. As time goes on, the memory will simply pass away from me of whatever has been done in the course of these proceedings, in hostility to me or in insult, whether on the part of those who invoked, or those who administered the law; but the intimate sense will never fade away, will possess me more and more, of that true and tender Providence which has always watched over me for good, and of the power of that religion which is not degenerate from its ancient glory, of zeal for God, and of compassion towards the oppressed.226

Submission to the Will of God

The importance of his decision to be an Oratorian and the experience of the Achilli trial cannot be overemphasized in understanding Newman’s own understanding of the Providence of God. Immediately following the conclusion of the Achilli trial, the theme of the Providence of God frequently appeared in his correspondence. From his own experience of the mysterious ways in which God was directing him, Newman believed that one of the basic elements of the spiritual life lay in the process of submitting oneself to the will of God in everything. He constantly encouraged others to see so many facets of life in this way—in sickness, in death, in trials of various kinds.

Newman believed that God unfolds his will to us; as he wrote to Mrs. William Froude: “He does not tell us everything at once—but first one thing, and then, when we act upon that, another.”227 He was convinced that God would reveal his will to those who persevered in seeking to do it. He advised Mrs. Houldsworth to ask God for “tokens to distinguish between the side which He owns and the side which He rejects.”228 God’s will can be manifested through failures, through the instrumentality of people, and by means of sickness and death.

Newman often reminded his correspondents that they were entirely in God’s hands, and that “He orders us about, each in his own way; happy for us, only, if we can realise this, and submit as children to a dear Father, whatever He may please to do with us.”229 He asks, then, that people put themselves trustingly into the hands of their loving Father, as he advised Marianne Bowden: “Put yourself then, my dear Child, into the hands of your loving Father and Redeemer, who knows and loves you better than you know or love yourself. He has appointed every action of your life. He created you, sustains you, and has marked down the very day and hour when He will take you to himself.”230 Similarly he told Miss Tennant: “You must put yourself into His hands, and ask Him Himself, Him, not mortal man, not me, to bring you out of your perplexities.”231

Occasionally Newman spoke of “the rule of God’s Providence”232 or “a sort of law in Providence”233 which purified people through suffering. His basic attitude, however, was always one of trust and confidence in God’s support in trials. For example, he advised Mrs. Keon:

Of course no one but yourself can know what your trial is—that is, none but God and yourself—and He, who knows you so much better than you know yourself, will support you, and the more you lean upon Him, the more He will do for you. It is no comfort to tell a soul in trouble that others have suffered before it, and as keenly—but it ought to be a great comfort to be told that in trouble God never disappointed those who trusted Him, and that is the experience, not of one person only, but of many. He is a sure friend and makes openings for us, when we least expect it.234

Newman’s response to a letter written by Mrs. William Froude indicates how difficult it is to be resigned to the will of God. She had stated in a letter of August 21, 1877, that due to a death in her family, she found that resignation to the will of God “requires a tremendous effort.” Newman responded:

What a wonderful Providence! Strange to say that I who had no right to feel it, in one way felt it as I have rarely felt anything which God has sent—and I say so to show I can sympathize with you. I mean, when I first heard of the blow from Fr. Ignatius, I could not at once respond “thy will be done.”

But God knows what is good. This I have observed, that such dreadful blows do issue in great blessings, and when we look back upon them years afterwards, we see what mercy there is in them, and learn with all our hearts to kiss the scourge to use the common phrase) which has made our hearts bleed. This is after the wound is healed, but oh! how long it will be in healing.235

Similarly, in 1858 Newman told Henry Bittleston that up until the previous year it had never been difficult for him to be resigned. “How heavily the Hand of God weighs upon us—never in my life till this last year have I felt it any thing of a difficulty even for a moment to feel resignation.”236

Sometimes it was not so much an event that prompted his spiritual direction about resignation, but rather the “suspense” of not knowing the outcome of life. Such had been his own experience during the Achilli trial, and it was reflected in his spiritual direction. For example, Miss Hope-Scott, who had been ill, wrote to Newman as she was recuperating; he replied:

Thanks for your encouraging letter. God grant that this rally may be a respite and more. I suppose there might be a great amelioration without a miracle. A respite is a call upon us to pray more earnestly.

I trust the long suspense and the alternation of hope and disappointment do not try you. I sometimes think that God tries us with suspense in order to teach us perfect resignation, and when we have no will of our own, no will but His, when we can look in the face steadily and accept what our natural heart shrinks from then He sees the time is come to end the time of waiting, and either to take away the desire of our eyes because we can bear the loss, or to grant it because we have merited the restoration.237

Similarly, after receiving the cardinalate in Rome in 1879, Newman hoped to visit his longtime friend, Miss Giberne, now Sister Maria Pia, at her convent in Autun, France on his return trip to England. Because of his ill health and the heavy rainfall, his doctor refused him permission to cut across the sixty miles from Mâcon to visit her at Autun, and so the two old friends never met again. Newman wrote to tell her the sad news: “We must submit ourselves to the Will of God. What is our religion, if we can’t?”238 Such a reflection is characteristic of Newman’s spirituality. Submission to the loving will of God was fundamental to his guidance of others. This was closely connected with his teaching on prayer, since the Christian must “gravely and continually pray to God that His Will may be taught to him.”239 As he wrote to an unknown correspondent in 1867, “God Himself, the Holy Ghost, is the only Teacher and He is every where and sees your heart—and for His grace you must importune Him without ceasing.”240

Yet Newman’s counsel to others was not always a passive acceptance of whatever came one’s way in life. Very often he would advise people to do all in their power to seek a Christian solution, trusting that God was with them. In his later years, however, there is an interesting series of letters to Lady Herbert of Lea who was anxiously concerned that her son had lost his faith and had become a skeptic. Newman advised her to accept the situation and to do nothing: “I suppose my letter did not do—it would not at all surprise me, for it is only after a long time, and after many experiments, that a soul is brought right.

“I write now to say so. Don’t be discouraged—you must not be impatient. Recollect what St. Ambrose said to St. Monica. The less you attempt the better. I am sure this is good advice. We must learn perfect submission to the will of God before we have a right to expect anything from Him.”241

Newman often tried to help people view their failures in life as part of God’s Providence. For example, in reply to Catherine Bathurst, a long time friend who had difficulty finding permanent residence and success in her work, he wrote:

I rejoice to hear about you. God be with you, and He will be, wherever you are. How glad I shall be to hear you are in settled, and further, permanent work. . . .

If we attain to the Life to come, it will be a joyful contemplation to understand how all our failures, borne well, tended to God’s glory and our own salvation. I assure you, those persons like yourself, whom I know best, whom I have known longest, who have been most faithful to me and open with me, are so driven to and fro, that there seems a sort of law in Providence bringing it about. I do not mean simply locally driven, but in their aims, in their work, in their prospects. I feel it intensely of myself—my life seems wasted in attempting many things and doing nothing.242

Basically, Newman saw life as a series of opportunities, from seemingly insignificant events to more personal ones, that God gives us as a way of resigning ourselves to his will. Yet he was never naive or simplistic in believing that resignation was an easy process. Newman allowed for God’s extraordinary intervention in our lives. Providence, in his view, did not neutralize the laws of nature, but completed them: “The whole divine system is a system of compensations and recapitulations. Revelation itself is an extraordinary system compared to nature.”243

Sickness and Death

Newman wrote to his friends when they were sick, assuring them of his prayers and encouraging them to be resigned to the will of God. His anxiety over John Keble’s health in 1866 gave way to an expression of trust in God’s care for him: “I can do no more than think of you and love you, I wish I could do more—but there is only One who is powerful, One who can will and do.”244

This same theme of confidence is found in his letter to Mrs. F. J. Watt, whom he had known since her birth: “What shall I say to you, but that you are in the hands of Him who loves you more than anyone on earth can love you? and who can and will protect all who are dear to you on earth, better than anyone else.”245

Similarly, when he learned of Dr. Dunne’s illness in 1861, he wrote him a supportive letter, saying:

I have long intended to send you a line to express the great concern I have felt on hearing of your unsatisfactory state of health. This is not written with any purpose of giving you the trouble of answering it—but merely that you may know that I feel great interest in all that befalls you, and that you have my earnest prayers, that, if it be according to His will, God may remove your trial. It must be a great trial over and above the illness itself, for a mind so active and zealous as yours to be thrown out of work.246

In 1864, Newman learned that the Froudes’ youngest daughter, Mary, who was their only child to remain a Protestant, was sick and dying. Immediately he wrote saying: “I have thought of you especially in the way in which you speak of yourself. To see a child die slowly before one’s eyes seems an incredible trial. . . . But what you think about most is whether you are doing all that you ought to do for her. I think you certainly are—and may leave things simply in God’s hands.”247 After the agonizing last hours of her death on May 31, Newman wrote to her father: “Dear Child, she is gone to heaven and is safe; so how can I but rejoice that your long pain is at an end—? At least, I trust it is so with you. I think that the trial you have had, though it is not more than many others have, to see a young life cut off, and that by such a slow and certain process, is one of the greatest pains possible in this world.”248

Similarly, having learned about the illness of his good friend Emily Bowles, he said:

It is very sad indeed to hear you have been so ill. I thought of course you were abroad. Well, it seems a token of God’s will towards you. What trials you have had I do hope you are getting well. Please, keep me au courant about yourself. Oh what a thing life is and how objectless to most of us, unless there were a future! We seem to live and die as the leaves; but there is One who notes the fragrance of every one of them, and when their hour comes, places them between the pages of His great Book.249

During his friend James Hope-Scott’s last illness, Newman corresponded extensively with his family, indicating his conviction in the power of prayer, and joining in their various novenas. Newman assured Lady Henry Kerr, Hope-Scott’s sister: “He who loves us has the times and season in His own hand, and if we saw all things we should see how good His will is, though in our ignorance and our banishment it is so hard to accept.”250 He conveyed his confidence in Divine Providence to Miss Hope-Scott: “There is nothing like the blessedness of feeling oneself in God’s hands, to do what He will with us—to be lodged there, without a will of our own, knowing that with Him we are safe.”251 His profound reflections on resignation to the Divine Will were expressed in another letter to Miss Hope-Scott:

I trust the long suspense and the alternation of hope and disappointment do not try you. I sometimes think that God tries us with suspense in order to teach us perfect resignation and when we have no will of our own, no will but His, when we look in the face steadily and accept what our natural heart shrinks from, then He sees the time is come to end the time of waiting, and either to take away the desire of our eyes because we can bear the loss, or to grant it because we have merited the restoration.252

When the doctors spoke of improvement in Hope-Scott’s condition, Newman was cautious about their opinion: “St. Philip cautions us against leaving off prayers too soon and taking things too easy. We must still pray and still make acts of resignation.”253 Finally, when Hope-Scott died on April 29, 1873, his daughter received this letter of consolation from Newman: “You alone can know what it is to be bereaved of such a Father. You never can have a heavier blow, because you are so young and so untried in suffering. But God is more than enough to make up all to you, and He will. You will look back with tender affection, not only on happy past days, but on this long sad time, when hope rose and fell again, and you felt weary of the changes.”254

Never was Newman’s conviction about the unseen world more clearly articulated than when he sought to console those mourning a deceased relative. When Robert Monteith’s daughter died in 1877, Newman wrote: “Few losses are greater than that of a daughter . . .—but there is nothing, under God’s blessing, which tends so greatly to detach one from the world as such bereavements, and when time has passed and we look back, we see how much we owe to the Hand which afflicted us in mercy.”255 Twenty years earlier, when he learned that Ambrose Phillipps’ son had been killed in Delhi, India, Newman empathized by saying:

Nothing, I know well, that others can say, can enable you and Mrs. Phillipps to support such a blow. It is the consolation which comes from above, and that alone, which can aid you—and that you have abundantly. And as time goes on, the pain will be less and less, and the light of divine consolation will become brighter and brighter—for you will understand, more than anyone else, how great a thing it is to have a son, secured from the ten thousand temptations of the world, and safely lodged in unchangeable blessedness.256

Similarly, he consoled Mrs. F. R. Ward on the loss of her twenty-year-old son:

May we all be as ready for death, when our time comes, as that dear boy was. He could never be more fit to die than now, and so God took him. And for what, my dear Mrs. Ward, was he given you, what was your mission in cherishing and rearing him up so carefully, except to bring him to heaven? . . . That was your work, and through God’s grace you have done it. . . . Your loving Lord has fulfilled all your largest prayers—and now your dear boy will pay them back to you a hundred fold by praying for you and for all who are so dear to him.257

Consoling Lady Simeon on the loss of her husband, Newman paid tribute to his integrity and assured her: “Shadows have departed for him, and he is with his God. Those who have gone before us, have, so far, a blessing which the best and holiest of men cannot have here.”258 Moreover, when Mrs. Bowden wrote and told Newman that her father, Sir John Swinburne, who had been baptized a Roman Catholic, but was reared and died an Anglican, without receiving the “consolations of the Church,” Newman reassured her: “No one but the Creator Himself reads our hearts and is able to decide on our responsibilities. None loves the soul so well as He—none wishes for its salvation as He wishes for it. To Him we must leave our nearest and dearest, with a full confidence that not one of those pleas, which we are able to urge for them, but are understood much better by Him.”259 Likewise, he advised Isy Froude, whose grandfather had died under similar circumstances, to trust in the mercy of God: “It must be an extreme trial to your mother and aunt—but God orders all things, and we must recollect that He is infinitely more tender and kind and merciful to every one of us, than we can be, and that, in going to Him, we are going to One who knows of what we are made, and, as knowing us, is able to be indulgent in a way in which we cannot be to those even whom we know best.”260

Newman’s affection and compassion, as well as his trust in the Providence of God, was often manifest in his counsel to the surviving relatives of his personal friends. To the children of Mrs. Henry Bowden he wrote: “It is indeed most piercing to see the pain of those we love, and not be able to help them—a wall of separation between oneself and them! But it is all over—and don’t doubt that all the suffering which she has had, borne so bravely and lovingly, has brought her near to God, and to a state of peace and rest.”261 At the death of Edward Bellasis, he wrote to his widow: “I know my pain is nothing to yours and those about you—but I feel deeply I have lost one of my best, my most constant, dearest friends—still it is a great consolation beyond words to think that I have such a friend with God, who I am sure still loves me, (though he is now cleansed from all sin and infirmity and I am still encompassed by both,) that I have such an intimate friend so near to my Saviour and my Judge.”262

In comforting the widower of Lady Chatterton, Newman told him: “There are wounds of the spirit which never close—and are intended in God’s mercy to bring us nearer to Him, and to prevent us leaving Him, by their very perpetuity.”263 He then shared his thoughts on the loss of his closest friend, Ambrose St. John, who had died unexpectedly the previous year: “I never had so great a loss. He had been my life, under God, for thirty-two years. I don’t expect the wound will ever heal, but from my heart I bless God, and would not have it otherwise, for I am sure that the bereavement is one of those Divine Providences necessary for my attaining that heavenly Rest which he, through God’s mercy, has already secured.”264

“Wounded to Heal”: Trials, Trust, and Providence

“To fret, and to be troubled, does not pay—it is like scratching a wound, instead of letting it heal.”265 Much of Newman’s spiritual direction in relation to the Providence of God dealt with trust. He encouraged persons in every kind of trial to trust God, to believe that in their present situation God was with them. Emerging in this context is a very unique quality that we find permeating Newman’s direction of others, that of sensitivity. Many people felt comfortable with Newman and wrote to him about their personal trials. His advice was both encouraging and conscious of personal circumstances, and his direction was adapted to each individual. He believed that “all events in life form one system of Providence, and depend on one another. One cannot be sure that the loss of these blessings is not the condition of the grant of these.”266 Both the happy occasions in life and the difficult ones he saw in relation to God’s Providence and consequently directed others in this way.

One of the most evident themes in Newman’s correspondence is that trials of all kinds are a mark of God’s love. For example, the death of Lady Georgiana Fullerton’s only child at the age of twenty-one was the great tragedy of her life. When Newman learned of her son’s death, he wrote:

It would be presumptuous in me to speak to you and Mr. Fullerton of submission. However, let me bear witness not only as a matter of faith, which we all receive, but as a point, which the experience of life had ever been impressing on me, more and more deeply, from my early youth down to this day, that unusual afflictions, coming on religious persons, are proofs that they are objects, more than others, of the love of God. Those whom He singularly and specially loves, He pursues with His blows, sometimes on one and the same wound, till perhaps they are tempted to cry out for mercy.

He loves you in proportion to the trials he sends you. I am telling you no news: but a testimony, external to oneself, strengthens one’s own: and perhaps my testimony may be given with greater energy and fervency of conviction than another’s. We are in His hands—and cannot be in better.267

The following month, in a similar manner, Newman advised the Countess of Arundel to view her present sorrow as a mark of God’s love for her.

I would not write to you, did I think you would suppose I expected an answer. Nay, I almost fear to intrude upon you at all, yet the many kindnesses I have received from you and Lord Arundel make me earnestly desire to express to you how much I feel the succession of trials which a good Providence has brought upon you.

However, such a visitation (as you know so well,) is the greatest mark of His love:—or rather, who would have any encouragement to hope that his name was written in heaven, if he passed through this life without affliction! Be sure, you are dearer to God and His Angels than ever you were, now that you are suffering so much, and, unwelcome as suffering is, so willingly.268

It was Newman’s conviction that in the midst of anxieties and trials the Christian is invited to place his trust in God who reads his heart “as no one on earth can read it and will supply all its needs.” To Mrs. Bellasis, who was concerned about the future, Newman counseled her to trust God:

You have indeed a heavy cross to bear just now—one which none but yourself can understand—for it is so mixed up with feelings to and fro, with the past and the future, with fond memories of those who are no longer here, and affectionate solicitude for those who are nearest and dearest to you, with reverence and disappointment. However, there is One above who reads your heart as no one on earth can read it, who will supply all its needs, and can and will do more for those, whose future is so anxious to you, than could have been done for them, had every thing happened as you wish. So do not be cast down, but put your trust in God, and be sure that every thing happens in the best way for those who love Him.269

Empathizing with Mrs. Keon in her time of difficulty, Newman encouraged her:

Of course no one but yourself can know what your trial is—that is, none but God and yourself—and He, who knows you so much better than you know yourself will support you, and the more you lean upon Him, the more He will do for you. It is no comfort to tell a soul in trouble that others have suffered before it, and as keenly—but it ought to be a great comfort to be told that in trouble God never disappointed those who trusted Him, and that is the experience, not of one person only, but of many. He is a sure friend and makes openings for us, when we least expect it. And your letter just received shows me how fully in your secret heart you respond to such sure truths.270

In Newman’s view, trials were meant to induce a person to turn to God for consolation and strength as the center and object of their hope and confidence. “After a time of excitement, perhaps of spiritual exultation,” Newman warned, “there is often in turn a season of re-action. . . . Then a despondency comes on, and then is our enemy’s time to suggest difficulties or murmurings.”271 He counseled Miss Emily Buchanan: “If such happens to you, you must be brave, and call on God to help you, and go straight forward in spite of all difficulties, and cherish a sure trust that your Lord and Saviour will in His own time bring your trial to an end.”272 He advised Margaret Dunn: “Humble yourself when He gives you comfort—be grateful when He gives you pain. All things turn out well to those who love Him.”273 How a Christian conducts himself under affliction is more indicative of his spiritual maturity than when in a state of consolation.274 For Newman, what was important was not a matter of feeling but of constancy and confidence in God’s mercy and love:

You must not suppose your present state of peace and joy will always continue. It is God’s mercy to bring us over difficulties. As time goes on, you may be cast down to find that your warmth of feeling does not last as it once was, and instead of it you may have trials of various kinds. Never mind; be brave; make acts of faith, hope, and charity; put yourself into God’s hands, and thank Him for all that He sends you, pleasant or painful. The Psalms and St. Paul’s Epistles will be your great and abiding consolation.

“Rejoice with trembling.” I say all this, not as dissuading you from enjoying your present joy and peace, but that you may enjoy them religiously.275

An administrative problem at the Oratory school provided Newman with another occasion to reflect on the importance of trusting in God. In a letter to John Pollen, who had supported him in a conflict about the dismissal of the headmaster, he wrote: “All important undertakings are subject to such trial, at least in their commencements. . . . And He, who all through my life has wounded only to heal—will be with me still.”276

Marriage problems were another human situation in which Newman directed people to have confidence in God. Responding to Margaret Dunn in 1878, he encouraged her:

I have not forgotten you. You have a severe trial—but it will turn out well—as you will understand when this life is over. . . . My intention for you shall be that God may comfort and guide you. Trust Him fully—you cannot trust Him too much. Beware of all rash steps—I was relieved when you told me that matter was at an end. The Blessed Virgin will not be unmindful of you, and your Guardian Angel is the most faithful of all friends. Don’t forget that He is always with you, and invoke him continually.277

Newman was frequently in the center of controversy, and quite naturally others disagreed with his position and even tended to be unkind. On one such occasion, he explicitly spoke of the Providence of God.

If I did not in my answer allude to any controversial matter contained in it, it was because I did not see the good of it. All one can do is to act according to one’s best light, and leave all things to God. I consider He has brought me to what I am—but, while I hold there is a right and a wrong, and only one right, still if I were impatient of any one differing from me, I should be impatient with God’s Providence, who has all souls in His hand, and does with them whatever He will.278

In 1859, Richard Simpson wrote to Newman saying that he was being treated unkindly by Cardinal Wiseman. Newman, who had had similar experiences, shared his feelings with Simpson:

I assure you that the principal person who has unfairly used you, and whose wishes I have been executing in my negotiation with you, has been personally unkind to me, by word and by deed. I consider myself much aggrieved, and, had not the experience of long years made me tire of indignation and complaint, I could indulge myself in both the one and the other.

But, depend upon it, no advice is better than that of the Holy Apostle, “If our enemy hungers, to feed him—” and to leave our cause simply in the Hands of the good God. He will plead our cause for us in His own way, and, even though it be not His high will to redress us openly, He can make compensation to us by inward blessings.279

Finally, advancing years and impending death provided another occasion for Newman to advise about the importance of trust in life. One can grasp through his personal correspondence his growing sensitivity to the anxiety of the unknown.

It is natural that you should look with anxiety towards the future. The better you are, the more will the prospect before you be solemn. Again, the older you are, the more you realise what is to come. To younger people the unseen state is a matter of words—but, as to people of our age they say to themselves, “For what I know I shall be in that unknown state tomorrow,” and that is very awful.

So you must not allow yourself to be disturbed—but the more you feel that you have to give an account, you must look in faith, hope, and love, towards our Lord Jesus, the Supreme Lover of souls, and your abiding Strength, towards the Blessed Virgin, and to St. Francis. They won’t forsake you in your extremity—and your Guardian Angel will be faithful to the end.280

In a similar vein, Newman wrote to the Duchess of Argyll, whose sister had just died:

How awful the Future is, when one is approaching the threshold, behind which it lies!—so impenetrable what is reserved for one. We can but pray for each other, and cling to the Cross. If it were not for the memory of so many, many mercies shown us personally, and the deep conviction that we are separately and personally objects of His love, who is Almighty, how could we bear the prospect which lies before us! He who has brought us on to what we are, who has led us on step by step into His Church, will lead us on safely into His eternal heaven.281

Even the place in which a person was residing was viewed by Newman in terms of Providence. When Eleanor Bretherton wrote, saying how well things were going for her at Stone, he responded:

I am glad to hear from Mama so good an account of you. I do not at all doubt, that, if God’s good providence gives you many years, you will look back on the time spent at Stone as one of the happiest seasons of your life. It is a great blessing to be in peace and quiet, to be storing up good lessons, and to be in the midst of holy persons and to be in the immediate presence of your dear Lord.

Enjoy what is really your Holy day, and determine that, through God’s grace, it shall tell upon your whole life.282

On the other hand, when Mrs. Henry Bowden wrote to say she had to leave Chiselhurst, he observed: “You are under a very heavy trial in leaving Chiselhurst—and one, alas! which is more difficult than most to get over—for nothing can supply the loss of a dear place full of happy associations.

“May God support you in that and all trials—and He will—I am sorry to hear from you so poor an account of your health.”283

Waiting on Providence was characteristic of Newman’s own spiritual development and one which deepened over the years. His own inner struggle to abandon himself to God’s Providence was characterized by another Oratorian as “his passivity—making no attempt to fashion the course of his life, but waiting on Providence.”284 In his life he perceived an almost regular succession of periods of darkness and then light, so that years later he was able to say: “I have ever tried to leave my cause in the Hands of God and to be patient—and he has not forgotten me.”285 It is not surprising, then, that Newman frequently encouraged people to incorporate a sense of “patiently waiting” into their own lives. For example, he advised Emily Bowles: “I consider that Time is the great remedy and Avenger of all wrongs, as far as this world goes. If only we are patient, God works for those who do not work for themselves. Of course an inward brooding over injuries is not patience, but a recollecting with a view to the future is prudence.”286

Particularly when persons were thinking about entering the Church, Newman advised patient waiting and trust as part of his direction. For example, Mrs. William Froude was concerned about her daughter who was dying and had not yet entered the Church. In response to her letter, Newman said:

As to dear Mary, I cannot be surprised at your being down about her. As to your anxiety about her religion, I think you may simply dismiss it from your mind. Of course it is indescribably better in every way, in this life, and on the death bed, and between death and judgement, and after that in eternity, to have been in Catholic communion, but it cannot be said that she is old enough or has seen or thought enough to have rejected grace offered her—and, while you do all you can to make her a Catholic, up to the point of teasing or unsetthng her, which would only be so much harm, you must leave her to that God who loves her more than you can love her, and as to whom you can only say that, while He loves her, He has shown greater mercies to her sister and brothers. It still may be His purpose to convert her, but you may have a cheerful hope about her even though she died a Protestant.287

The same was true when a person experienced questions or doubts about faith; for example, in writing another member of the Froude family, Newman advised:

Then, as to your doubts, it is wonderful if they never had come upon you. I have expected you would have them all along. It is impossible that a young and opening mind, such as yours, should not have them sooner or later. There are large questions which cannot be taken in all at once—and they must come as questions before they admit of answers. They are like plus and minus quantities, equal to each other severally, in an equation. The plus come first, I mean objections—then come the minus, the answers; and the equation is left at the end, as it began. God is not a hard master—nor is the Church severe—you have an honest heart, and desire to do what is right. Sacraments are not snares—privileges are not burdens. Put off your trouble as much as you can, put yourself into God’s hands and be patient.288

Very often with a unique insight into the person writing to him, Newman gently encouraged others to trust with patience in times of doubt.

I would gladly help you, if I could—but every soul is individual, and solitary, and what affects one, does not affect another.

But God is One too—and if you are one, as you must be, He too is as much your God as if there were no other soul in the world for Him to care for. He made you, He sees you through and through, He can do all things for you, as knowing all your needs. If your present unsettlement is your own fault, you must take the pain and misery of it as your punishment—any how you must be patient under it. Impatience won’t bring you out of it.

You must put yourself into His hands, and ask Him Himself, Him, not mortal man, not me, to bring you out of your perplexities. You say, “What duties do creatures owe to their Creator?” “Do they owe Him any duty?” Ask Him, He will not answer you at once—but in time He will hear you. He will try you, but He will reward you for your earnestness.

This is all I can say to you—but it is a good deal. I don’t think you have so little faith as you suppose. You would not be so disturbed if you had none.289

His own ministry provided Newman with yet another area of life in which to advise others to trust patiently even in the face of failure. Commenting to a friend about the difficulty of establishing an Oratory school due to lack of funds, Newman said:

Thus I have just committed myself in order to fail. This is a fresh great mortification to me, and I hope I shall bear it well. But it is plain I am being put aside in all hands as in some way or other unpractical and unsuccessful. . . .

Only the other day I was saying that I wanted to know God’s will clearly. The misery is the beginning in twilight—Well, I had rather a thousand times not begun it, than be in doubt whether He wished it or not. I shall dismiss it from my thoughts. It is never difficult to reconcile one’s mind to any thing—the trial is the being in suspense.290

In 1867, when some wanted Newman to establish an Oratory at Oxford for the sake of Catholic students there, Emily Bowles wrote a letter to him chiding him for “dragging his feet.”291 She too was very much in favor of this project and yet Newman himself hesitated.

I have already asked the Bishop about our collecting money. You speak as if I were dawdling and losing time. So I should be, if the work was one which I had chosen as God’s work. But on the contrary, it has been forced on me against my will, and certainly, if not against my judgement, yet not with it, or my will would not be against it. It would be a great inconsistency in me to let six months pass and do nothing, were I convinced it was the will of Providence—but I do not feel this. I only go because I fear to be deaf to a divine call—but, if any thing happened in these six months to prevent it, that would be to me a sign that there never had been a divine call. It is cowardice not to fight when you feel it to be your duty to fight—but, when you do not feel it is your duty, to fight is, not bravery, but self will.

As to defending myself, you may make yourself quite sure I never will, unless it is a simple duty. Such is a charge against my religious faith—such against my veracity—such any charge in which the cause of religion is involved. But, did I go out and battle commonly I should lose my time, my peace, my strength, and only show a detestable sensitiveness. I consider that Time is the great remedy and Avenger of all wrongs, as far as this world goes. If only we are patient, God works for us—He works for those who do not work for themselves.292

Finally, Newman believed that it was God’s Providence that had brought him to the Catholic Church: “This day was quite a turning point in my life—and, humanly speaking, I should never have been a Catholic but for God’s Providence to me upon it.”293And when he became a cardinal thirty-four years later, he continued to believe that God’s Providence had vindicated him from those Roman Catholics who were suspicious of him.

I knew what gladness it would cause to you and your’s, to hear of the high honour to be conferred on me by the Holy Father. It has a special value in my case, who have suffered so much from the suspicions which have been so widely prevalent about me. My writing and publishing days are over, and I am looking for a far more solemn Tribunal than any on earth; but one naturally likes the good opinion of one’s Catholic brethren, and it was hard to receive letters to the effect that I was under a cloud. . . . Now, the Pope in his generosity has taken this reproach simply away, and it is a wonderful Providence, that even before my death that acquittal of me comes, which I knew would come some day or other, though not in my life time.294

Detachment and Providence: “Singleness of Mind and Purpose”

In the Catholic University Gazette in 1854, Newman wrote about a characteristic virtue of the Popes—detachment. His description of this virtue revealed not only another vital facet of his personal spirituality, but also of his spiritual direction:

Detachment, as we know from spiritual books, is a rare and high Christian virtue; a great Saint, St. Philip Neri, said that, if he had a dozen really detached men, he should be able to convert the world. To be detached is to be loosened from every tie which binds the soul to the earth, to be dependent on nothing sublunary, to lean on nothing temporal; it is to care simply nothing what other men choose to think or say of us, or to do to us; to go about our own work, because it is our duty, as soldiers go to battle, without a care for the consequences: to account credit, honour, name, easy circumstances, comfort, human affections, just nothing at all, when any religious obligation involves the sacrifice of them.295

Newman understood detachment to be closely connected with the Providence of God. The more people believed and trusted that God was guiding them, the less need they would have to care what others might think or say about them. To possess this quality, Newman believed, was to have “singleness of mind and purpose.”296 It was a virtue that was important for St. Philip Neri, the founder of the Oratorians, and yet it was one that Newman felt he did not adequately possess—at least in 1858, when writing to Ambrose St. John:

Yet for myself I know too well, how infinitely more I have from the Giver of all good than my deserts, to have any [even] temptation to complain. But, when I think of St. Philip, I argue thus—“There is just one virtue he asks for, detachment, [which at the same time he prevents me having.]” Now the only external thing which keeps me from being perfectly detached, is that I have made myself his servant. What wish have I for life, or for success of any kind, except that I have got his Congregation upon my hands? He has implicated me in the world, in a way in which I never was before.297

Newman’s description indicated three dimensions that find expression in his spiritual direction: detachment from the world; detachment from the opinion of others; and detachment from the desire for praise.

Newman did not despise the world as such; rather, given the passing and temporal value of things, he came to emphasize the unseen world and to be indifferent as to what the world thought of him. He advised Henry Wilberforce in 1846: “My dear Henry, this world is such a vanity—let us look at things as we should wish to have looked at them at the last.”298 Thirty-four years later, in 1880, when Lord Coleridge was appointed Lord Chief Justice, Newman again expressed these same sentiments: “I was just about to write to you to congratulate you on your new position, when your letter came. My sincere congratulations were coupled, of course, with the sorrowful thought to which you refer, and which is one of those mementoes given us all, in one way or another, as life goes on, what a Vanitas Vanitatis is all here below.”299

In 1884, Newman was disturbed by a publication of his brother-in-law; Thomas Mozley’s Reminiscences Chiefly of Oriel and the Oxford Movement not only quoted from one of Newman’s letters without his permission, but also, in his judgment, was loaded with inaccuracies. Newman shared his concerns with George Edwards: “It is one of those incidents which are intended I believe by a good Providence to deepen one’s indifference as to what the world thinks of one.”300 Four days later he wrote again, saying: “This is what makes me feel keenly, that one must look out for what God thinks of one, and care nothing for the judgment or the testimony about one of man.”301

During his Roman Catholic years, Newman’s counsel on detachment became more and more explicit. Several days after his conversion, his sister Jemima wrote to him lamenting the fact that now his influence would be lost; Newman replied: “Nothing you say about my loss of influence has any tendency to hurt me, as you kindly fear it should. I never have thought about any influence I had had—I never have mastered what it was—it is simply no effort whatever to give it up. The pain indeed, which I knew I was giving individuals, has affected me much—but as to influence, the whole world is one great vanity, and I trust I am not set on any thing in it—I trust not.”302 Similarly, after the Achilli trial, but before he knew whether he was going to be imprisoned or not, Newman reminisced: “I am but inheriting the lot of Catholics, to suffer and to triumph. Did not I refer you to my words, said 15 years ago, repeated a year (to the day) before the beginning of this affair, that I had parted with the world—that I was prepared for its worst, and should triumph thro’ it! I am the last person who has a right to complain of such a matter, nor do I dream of complaining.”303 Several months later he spoke to the Oratorians:

I do not suppose that either you or I feel able simply to rejoice and exalt today in our secret hearts, yet reason tells us that we ought to do so. It is natural we should be depressed; it is reasonable we should triumph. It is from human feeling that we are sad; it will be from grace, if we are satisfied and thankful. Human feeling is not wrong; but grace is better.

Nor need one exclude the other. Our Lord’s soul was in heaviness in Gethsemani, though it was in personal union with His All-blissful Divinity; and in our best estate we cannot surpass the Apostles, who were in sadness, yet in continual joy. I do not wonder that we feel pain just now; but I wish a supernatural consolation to consecrate that pain, and to raise it from earth to heaven.304

Although this theme of detachment found its way into his preaching, it was usually specific events which occasioned Newman’s advice on detachment. For example, when J. M. Capes retired from the editorship of the Rambler, Newman told him not to look for any reward in this world.

I think the Catholic body in this country owes you much gratitude, from the animus and object of your undertaking, the devotion you have shown to it for so long a time, and the various important benefits it has done us. But it is well for us, my dear Capes, that we do not look out for any reward for what we do in this world, for, whether we do or not, we are sure not to get it here—for what we do imperfectly or wrongly affects the public ten times more than what we do well, even though the good may be ten times as much as the amiss. But this is God’s merciful dispensation to oblige us to look up to Him, and lay up treasures above, whether we will or no.305

The joyful occasion of Eleanor Bretherton’s birthday in 1863 provided Newman with another context in which to speak about detachment from the world: “May every year make you more devout, more loving, and more detached from the world. May you be clad cap-a-pie [protected] in Divine armour, so that no deceit may mislead you, and no sorrow may sadden you. And may your light burn brighter and brighter in the sight of Angel guardians and earthly friends, till such time as shall seem fit to the Highest, to absorb it into His own Eternal Beatific Splendour.”306 On the other hand, the sad occasion of Manuel Johnson’s death caused him to reflect: “Those who knew him will have, each his own grief, in this unexpected blow, and feel it in his own way. To me it comes as a warning of the approach of another world, considering he was some years younger than myself.”307 Finally, in a letter to Miss Holmes in 1855, after elaborating on the fact of instability in the lives of people they both knew, Newman advised her: “Times goes on silently but powerfully, and is making all sorts of changes. . . . May all this instability teach us to love more what is unseen.”308

Part of Newman’s description of detachment was “to care simply nothing what other men choose to think or say of us, or to do to us.”309 Because he was misunderstood and at times mistrusted, he struggled, especially during his Catholic years, to free himself so that he could accomplish what he thought was right in the sight of God. Soon after his conversion, Henry Wilberforce wrote that some Protestants were accusing him of being a Romanist all along. Newman responded: “Thank you for the kind sollicitude [sic] of your letter just received; but I do not partake of your fears. Whatever I do, false reports will get about, and wrong motives and acts be credited. I have outhved many slanders, and, please God, shall outhve many more. I have done nothing, I have not shaken them off; they have fallen off. So will it be with any such absurd belief as you mention.”310

“Unless a call of duty interfered,” Newman never responded to accusations against him because he believed that time would clear up all errors; that eventually truth would conquer falsehood. For example, Newman explained his usual way of handling attacks in a letter in 1850 to Philip Howard, a member of Parliament and a prominent Catholic.

To tell the truth I have been now for seventeen years the subject of so much daily misrepresentation, in the public prints and at public meetings, that I never think at all about what ever is said against me in the one or at the other. Did I attempt to answer them all, my life would be spent in the occupation; if I answered only some, the rest would be taken for granted as true. Moreover, time clears up all errors; the untruth of today is driven out by the contrary untruth of tomorrow, and many-coloured impressions of particular minds are all eventually absorbed by the consistent light of truth. In consequence, I have never done anything but smile at the extravagant things which have been said against me, unless a call of duty interfered.311

Similarly, in 1853, when Sir James Stephen wrote criticizing Newman’s novel Loss and Gain, Newman replied that he was indifferent to what others thought or said about him and what was important was to possess a singleness of mind and purpose with a clear conscience. After stating that the criticisms had not bothered him, Newman continued:

An honorable-minded man, like the Author of them, will easily understand how little an external opinion affects one’s feelings, when there is no secret consciousness concurring with it within. Now I have never been dissatisfied with my Tale on the grounds which have caused you to introduce it into your Essay: and I shall not feel the adverse judgement even of good and sagacious men, till I have reason to accuse myself. Moreover this clearness of conscience gives me a sort of prophetic confidence, which the experience of the past justifies, that not a few of those excellent persons, who criticize me now, will see cause at length to soften their unfavorable sentiments.

It used to be a proverb often in the mouth of Dr. Whately, “Fling dirt enough and some will stick.” I have not found it true in my own case. Misconceptions from many quarters have been attached to my words, acts, and motives, for 20 years and more. But they have been inconsistent with each other, and unreal in themselves; and having no life, have faded away. It has been so in time past, it will be so in time to come. Do not think me arrogant when I say, that, with ten thousand failings, I have a witness within me to singleness of mind and purpose, and to a heart bared before my Maker and Judge. Time is test of facts. What I am conscious of myself now, I think will one day be granted by others.312

Another aspect of Newman’s spirituality was his conviction that instead of doing things in order to receive praise, one should act with the realization that God, whose Providence is guiding everyone, will in his own time reward everyone. “I wish you would not be set on human praise,”313 he said to his friend Ambrose St. John, in 1857. Then, revealing his own interior disposition towards the praise of superiors in a letter in 1861 in which he tried to bolster the spirits of Sir John Acton who was thinking of giving up public life, he observed:

Of course you know very well, without my telling you, that any one who wishes to do good of any kind, must start with the full understanding that he will get no thanks for doing it from any one—and must be content to look for his reward in that quarter only, towards which he looked, in faith and prayer, when he began it. The poet calls fame “the last infirmity—” but I think for my part that the last infirmity is the wish to be praised by our superiors, and intimate friends, and good men—and that we must set out by believing that God’s highest tribunals on earth, whether ecclesiastical or moral, will be, for the time, or till we are gone, unfavorable in their view of those deeds of ours which God Himself most approves. And therefore we must, with the holy Apostle, put ourselves above human judgment of every kind.314

The following month Robert Ornsby sent Newman a newspaper report of Bartholomew Woodlock’s installation as rector of the Catholic University in the University church on June 23, 1861. In commenting on the ceremony, Ornsby noted that hardly any allusion had been made about Newman and his work there. Newman’s response manifested his desire to be detached from praise:

Thank you for the Newspaper and your letter. It is very kind in you to be so anxious about my feelings—but you need not fear. I have had so long a schooling, now nearly for 30 years, of being put on one side, that it is simple truth to say that I expect nothing else, and wish nothing else. I have said in print that it is my wish to have all my reward hereafter, and no reward here—and this is the sort of wish, as to which I have observed that Providence takes one at one’s word. As I had occasion to say the other day to a friend, it seems to me a mistake in Milton to make the desire of fame the “last infirmity.” I think rather it is the desire to approve oneself to one’s superiors and to those whom one respects and pays homage to. I have tried it all my life, and failed to gain it—and in one of the Sermons I preached at Dublin, I say virtually that I have given up the effort. Indeed, I have cause to give it up, if I desire to be at peace, for it has been my lot never to succeed in it. One thing, however, I have been blessed in—that those, whom I have been thrown with intimately, have seldom been unkind to me.315

Newman’s reason for emphasizing the value of detachment from the desire for praise was expressed in a letter to Miss Giberne in 1858: “If we waited, if I waited till people valued what I did, I should do nothing at all—because, I suppose, the very precept of the gospel, which we all have to practise, is, ‘do good, hoping for nothing thereby,’ for thus we become the sons of the Highest. If we do a good work, it does not become ‘odious,’ because God has to reward us, and not man.”316

Moreover, he was confident that if he undertook a task for God and not for the acclaim of others, eventually God, in his Providence, would prosper it. When some of his plans for the Catholic University in Ireland were being thwarted, Newman calmly reassured Robert Ornsby:

Don’t fancy I feel annoyance at my plans being put aside. 1. I always felt, as I have said in print, that it was quite a chance what line things would take. The great thing was to set up, and then leave the direction of things to the currents which would determine it. 2. If I was to begin, I must begin with some plan. I began with that plan which I thought best. I could not have begun with any other. 3. It does not prove that what I have written and planned will not take effect sometime and somewhere, because it does not at once. For 20 years my book on the Arians was not heard of, and then I began to hear it talked of. My Oxford University Sermons, preached out as long as 17 years, are now (in some passages) attracting attention at Oxford. When I am gone, something may come of what I have done at Dublin. And, since I hope I did what I did, not for the sake of man, not for the sake of the Irish Hierarchy, not even for the Pope’s praise, but for the sake of God’s Church and God’s glory, I have nothing to regret and nothing to desire, different from what it is.317

Summary

Cuthbert Butler, in The Life and Times of Bishop Ullathorne, summarized Newman’s life as a Catholic: “But for the Cardinalate at the end . . . Newman’s Catholic life was, from the human point of view, a sad one. The trials were very real, and beyond the lot of most of us. . . . His life was, from the standpoint of this world, a long drawn tragedy. . . . It was indeed the way of the Obscure Night. The explanation of it all is to be found in the spiritual diaries and the intimate letters reproduced by Ward: not insensibility but acceptance, resignation, faith, trust, are the dominant notes.”318 As Butler pointed out, and as the completed publication of Newman’s Roman Catholic letters confirms, reflections on the “Providence of God” permeated Newman’s life. This theme was a major unifying element in the development of his own spiritual life and constantly found expression in his spiritual direction. “Divine Providence” served as the horizon in which he came to see the ways that God was working in his life.

Experientially, Newman’s understanding of Providence was rooted in his intense awareness of God and the unseen world. From his childhood to his “first conversion,” through his years at Oxford, Newman believed that Providence was guiding him. For example, the sudden death of his youngest sister, Mary, reinforced in him a vivid sense of the unseen world, invisible but more real than the material universe which acted as its veil; thinking of Mary, he wrote to his sister Jemima: “What a veil and curtain this world of sense is! Beautiful, but still a veil.”319

Similarly, he saw his conversion to the Church of Rome as part of God’s plan for him. Because of his conviction about the reality of the unseen world, it is not surprising to find in his correspondence many letters encouraging people to trust in the Providence of God.

Newman’s correspondence does not present a complete treatise on the “Providence of God,” for Newman was primarily concerned with answering particular questions or responding to particular concerns in the lives of individuals. However, certain occasions, such as sickness and death, different kinds of human trials, difficulties in belief, failures in ministry, and the need for detachment offered Newman the opportunity of sharing with others his understanding of Providence which was derived from his own spiritual pilgrimage and his theological reflections.

Yet it was not always easy for Newman to discern the Providence of God operative in his life. As Butler has observed, Newman’s life was filled with trials, and as his letters indicate, Newman sometimes had to struggle to become resigned to the will of God. For example, in 1859, Newman began to record his thoughts in an exercise book as part of an effort to understand the spiritual implications of the many failures of the previous years.320 As a result of these reflections, he saw the rhythm of his life as one of darkness and light in which God was the key figure, providentially guiding him.

It is hardly surprising, then, that this theme of “Providence” permeated his personal correspondence. In guiding others in the Christian life, he encouraged them both to see the events of their lives as directed by Providence and to be responsive to the will of God. Newman, believing that a person was “wounded to heal,” also encouraged his inquirers to wait patiently, to trust that their particular trial was for a purpose, and to believe that Providence was guiding them. What assumed importance in his direction was the need to possess a “singleness of mind and purpose,” to be detached from the world and people, so that God could become the motivating force of one’s life and actions.

The implications of this fundamental trust in Providence were worked out in his daily life and were reflected in his correspondence. The major events of his own life—both trials and successes—plus his experience in directing others, occasioned a continual emphasis on the importance of Providence first in his own life and then in the lives of others. In particular, Newman’s spiritual direction reflected not only his personal experiences but also his platonic view of the world. Newman’s belief that “the visible is but a copy of the invisible” had discernible implications for both his own spiritual life and his direction of others. First, this belief catalyzed his relationship to God by confirming him in his “mistrust of the reality of material phenomena” and by making him “rest in the thought of two and two only absolutely and luminously self-evident beings, myself and my Creator.”321 Second, for Newman the world was a veil which hides the mysteries of the divine; thus, the task of the believer is to discover the spiritual behind the material. Finally, his view of Providence helped him personally to face obstacles and defeats with astonishing courage, invincible independence and indifference to the world’s judgment.

Theologically, Newman’s view of Providence reflects a traditional Catholic understanding of an infinite God whose providence “causes, cares for, and directs all creatures to their particular ends, in attaining which each one contributes to his final purpose of the universe—the manifestation of His eternal glory.”322 Underlying Newman’s understanding of Providence, however, was his Platonic view of the material world as a veil hiding the spiritual world. This Platonic presupposition shaped his theological understanding of Providence and influenced his advice to others.

197. JHN to John Pollen, 21 January 1862, in LD 20:131.

198. Newman, Autobiographical Writings, 267.

199. Ibid., 268.

200. Velocci, “Perception and Theology of Providence,” 1.

201. Ibid., 2.

202. Ibid.

203. Newman, Apologia, 14. During his Anglican years, reflecting on his religious training, he wrote: “When I was a child, I was instructed in religious knowledge by kind and pious friends, who told me who my maker was, what great things He had done for me, how much I owed to Him, and how I was to serve Him. They not only taught me, but trained me; they were careful that I should not only know my duty, but do it. They obliged me to obey; they obliged me to begin a religious course of life.” Newman, Sermon 8, in Parochial and Plain Sermons, 8:110–11; December 18, 1825.

204. “Family Letters,” October 27, 1821, as cited by Zeno, John Henry Newman, 1:1–2.

205. JHN to R. W. Church, 11 March 1879, in LD 29:72.

206. Mozley, Letters, 1:184.

207. Ibid.

208. Newman, Apologia, 79.

209. Ibid., 129.

210. Mozley, Letters, 2:459–61.

211. JHN to John Mozley, 26 February 1880, in LD 29:241.

212. JHN to Mrs. J. W. Bowden, 13 January 1847, in LD 12:13–14.

213. JHN to Henry Wilberforce, 11 August 1847, in LD 12:107.

214. JHN to Mrs. J. W. Bowden, 14 January 1849, in LD 13:9.

215. JHN to R. A. Coffin, 27 March 1849, in LD 13:93.

216. JHN to F. W. Faber, 29 March 1849, in LD 12:94–95.

217. JHN to F. W. Faber, 29 March 1849, in LD 12:96.

218. JHN to R. A. Coffin, 15 April 1849, in LD 12:114.

219. JHN to Sister Mary Columba Poole, 9 July 1849, in LD 13:208–9. Similarly, he wrote to Mrs. John Mozley on January 27, 1850: “Our year here is finished on the Purification. I need not boast, but we have been wonderfully prospered within and without. . . . He who has carried me on through my whole life, will not desert me and mine.” LD 13:399–400.

220. JHN to Richard Stanton, 4 December 1851, in LD 14:450–51.

221. JHN to Sister Mary Imelda Poole, 25 November 1851, in LD 14:437–38. “Mother” in this quote refers to Mother Margaret Hallahan, from whom Newman often requested prayers.

222. JHN to Ambrose St. John, 22 February 1852, in LD 15:40–41.

223. JHN to F. W. Faber, 25 June 1852, in LD 15:107–8. The Times was known to be unfavorable to Catholics. This postscript must have been added on June 26, after the leading article of that day in the Times, 5, which strongly criticized the conduct of the trial and the verdict.

224. JHN to Mrs. J. W. Bowden, 25 January 1852, in LD 15:195.

225. JHN to T. W. Allies, 27 June 1852, in LD 15:110. On June 27, Newman wrote four other letters with the same theme. He tried to reassure and console his friends. There are two letters to Francis Kenrick, Archbishop of Baltimore, thanking him for the prayerful and monetary support of American Catholics. On November 9, Archbishop Kenrick sent Newman the resolutions passed by the American Bishops on October 4, when they met at Louisville, Kentucky, for the consecration of its cathedral. The resolutions expressed sympathy with Newman and recommended diocesan collections for his expenses. The Archbishop closed his letter: “In common with my colleagues, and the Clergy and Laity at large, I entertain sincere admiration for your zeal, and unqualified confidence in the integrity of your faith.” This extract was twice printed in the Tablet, December 11 and 18, 1852, 791, 804. See Francis Kenrick to JHN, 3 December 1852, in LD 15:212n2.

Newman responded to Kendrick on December 3, 1852: “I have received with feelings of the deepest veneration and gratitude the Resolutions, which your grace has condescended to transmit to me by his Lordship the Bishop of Louisville, passed by a large meeting of Catholic Prelates in that city; and I hope they will indulgently receive the few and imperfect words, in which I attempt to express my sense of the great honour and kindness, which those Resolutions have conferred upon me.

“Did I need a fresh proof, in addition to the many which have already been showered upon me, how the Loving Providence of God defeats evil and turns trial into joy and triumph, I should find it in the course and issue of the proceedings to which those Resolutions relate. And I did look for an evidence of the unity of object and the world-encircling charity which are the characteristics of Catholicism, I should find an instance, even more impressive than occurs in Apostolic times, . . . in the vigilant paternal solicitude, which has fixed the eyes of an exalted Hierarchy, with a whole continent to engage them, upon one person, over the great ocean, who happens in a particular instance to have been made the sport of the common Enemy of Christians in every land.” LD 15:212–13. See Newman’s other letter to Kendrick on December 2, 1852, in LD 15:211–12.

Newman also wrote to John Hughes, Archbishop of New York, on July 12, 1854: “I am quite overpowered at receiving from Dublin the letter with its munificent enclosure, which has come to me from your Grace. . . . As to my past anxieties, to which your Grace alludes, I adore the mercy of a good Providence, who has never forsaken me in trial, and who, on this occasion has, by the instrumentality of Catholic liberality, carried me so triumphantly through them.” LD 16:195.

226. JHN to Robert Whitty, 2 March 1853, in LD 15:320.

227. JHN to Mrs. William Froude, 23 February 1853, in LD 15:307. To S. S. Shiel, he wrote in January 1870: “I would gladly help you in your difficulties of faith, if I could—but, as you know well, you must wait upon God, and he will hear you and not forsake you. If you ask him to teach you the truth, He will do so, slowly perhaps, but surely.” JHN to S. S. Shiel, 25 January 1870, in LD 25:13.

228. JHN to Mrs. Houldsworth, 16 May 1971, in LD 25:331. There seems to be a link here with the Evangelical influences on Newman’s early life. “Ask of God to give you tokens, which side is true, as He condescended to give tokens to Gideon. I don’t mean miraculous tokens, but tokens appropriate to your position and case.”

229. JHN to John Bowden, 21 September 1849, in LD 13:261.

230. JHN to Marianne Bowden, 5 June 1866, in LD 22:247.

231. JHN to Miss Tennant, 14 April 1878, in LD 28:344. On May 2, 1878, he wrote to her again: “He will heal all the wounds which you receive in His service.” LD 28:354.

232. JHN to Duchess of Norfolk, 26 July 1862, in LD 20:245. “I suppose it is the rule of God’s Providence towards us, that, the better we bear trial, the more He gives us to bear.”

233. JHN to Catherine Bathurst, 28 April 1863, in LD 20:436. “I assure you, those persons like yourself, whom I know best, whom I have known longest, who have been most faithful to me and open with me, are so driven to and fro, that there seems a sort of law in Providence bringing it about.”

234. JHN to Mrs. Keon, 27 November 1878, in LD 28:426.

235. JHN to Mrs. William Froude, 2 September 1877, in LD 28:235–36.

236. JHN to Henry Bittleston, 8 August 1858, in LD 18:436. See Newman’s letter to John Flanagan on May 19, 1858: “I never have, nor have had (thank God) any temptation to murmur against His dispositions—for, whatever I receive of good . . . is ten thousand times more than I deserve.” LD 18:351.

237. JHN to Miss Hope-Scott, 4 November 1872, in LD 26:196–97.

238. JHN to Miss. Giberne, 3 July 1879, in LD 19:148.

239. JHN to Robert Froude, 3 August 1864, in LD 21:181.

240. JHN to Unknown Correspondent, 3 July 1867, in LD 23:260.

241. JHN to Lady Herbert of Lea, 31 August 1879, in LD 29:174. In two subsequent letters Newman repeated the same counsel. On September 8, 1879, he wrote Lady Herbert: “From my experience of such cases, a soul must be left to itself and its God. I know a case such as this lately. The young man’s friends were in great distress, and he was as miserable. He cried for help and seemed not [to] be heard. I corresponded with him, and nothing seemed to come of it. Several great trials befell him. I heard lately that he was much easier in mind, and I have reason to believe that he is coming round. Such cases are so like that of St. Augustine as to be very hopeful; but they try our faith and patience.” LD 29:175. A month later, on October 6, 1879, he wrote Lady Herbert again: “I have been thinking much about my best way, were I you, to affect your dear son, and to secure his restoration, and I feel strongly, though it may seem cruel, that it is decidedly the best treatment to leave him quite to himself. I take a great responsibility on me in saying this—for supposing this way did not succeed, I should be laying myself open to the charge of having by my do-nothing policy brought about that sad result.

“But, you know, it frequently happens that medical men say of a patient—‘Leave him alone—give him no physic—let nature act.’

“Now I think that controversy is Lord P’s food. He is supported, as on crutches on asking and urging difficulties on the one hand and demolishing answers on the other. The best hope of his changing lies in his having no one to combat with him. Especially no one whom he loves or knows about. There is no substance in his scepticism, and this is most likely to come home upon him, if a silence is offered to his restless activity of mind, and he has nothing brought before him to make him think that he is an object of anxiety to others. I doubt whether he would like to have his own way. Excuse this, but I feel it strongly—it gives him the best chance.” LD 29:181.

242. JHN to Catherine Bathurst, 28 April 1863, in LD 20:436. Another letter written on the very same day to Miss Holmes expresses similar sentiments. “What has made you write so sadly? Your letter has quite distressed me. I have been saying various Masses for you lately. I am so sorry, and always am, that you have not a clearer prospect before you. You must not suppose I do not often think, whether there is no suggestion, advice, or opening which I could make you, but, in very truth, I myself, though I have a fixed place to live in, and so far have a great blessing, am in the most strange way cut off from other People. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose—but so it is, that I know nothing of how things are going on, what there is to do, and who is doing it. Only I see, that it is very hard indeed, that, after the many trials you have had, you have not yet a resting place. When we get to heaven, if we are worthy, we shall enjoy the sight of how, all our failures and disappointments, if borne well, have been for God’s glory and our own salvation.” JHN to Miss Holmes, 28 April 1863, in LD 20:436–37.

243. JHN to R. B. Seeley, 15 August 1851, in LD 14:327.

244. JHN to John Keble, 7 February 1866, in LD 22:148.

245. JHN to Mrs. F. J. Watt, 12 November 1873, in LD 26:385.

246. JHN to D. B. Dunne, 14 June 1861, in LD 19:514.

247. JHN to Mrs. William Froude, 16 March 1864, in LD 21:80. On March 21, William Froude responded: “It may be, as you say that none but parents can quite sympathise with parents, when such an event as we fear, is approaching. Yet I am inclined to think that in this particular case there can be few parents who can enter into and sympathise with what we feel, so truly as yourself.” See Ibid., n4.

248. JHN to William Froude, 1 June 1864, in LD 21:111–12.

249. JHN to Emily Bowles, 13 February 1864, in LD 21:50–51.

250. JHN to Lady Henry Kerr, 21 October 1872, in LD 29:183. To the Duke of Norfolk Newman wrote on October 27, 1872: “He is in better hands than ours. He who made him what he is, loves him more than we can love him. And as He cares for him, so He cares for all his also.” LD 26:190.

251. JHN to Miss Hope-Scott, 29 October 1872, in LD 26:191–92.

252. JHN to Miss Hope-Scott, 4 November 1872, in LD 26:197. On November 12, he wrote to her again: “Distress in some shape or other is in this world the necessary condition of having foretastes of the world to come.” JHN to Miss Hope-Scott, 12 November 1872, in LD 26:200.

253. JHN to Miss Hope-Scott, 12 December 1872, in LD 26:213.

254. JHN to Miss Hope-Scott, 30 April 1873, in LD 26:300. Newman concluded: “For me, his departure is a memento that my day must come. May I be as well prepared as he.”

255. JHN to Robert Monteith, 9 July 1877, in LD 28, 220.

256. JHN to Ambrose Phillipps, 24 November 1857, in LD 18:183.

257. JHN to Mrs. F. R. Ward, 22 September 1866, in LD 22:299.

258. JHN to Lady Simeon, 30 May 1870, in LD 25:136–37. Newman continued: “He is beyond sin, trial, fear and uncertainty. If we had the power of bringing him back by wishing, we could not bring ourselves to wish it.”

259. JHN to Mrs. J. W. Bowden, 30 September 1860, in LD 19:408.

260. JHN to Isy Froude, 16 May 1860, in LD 19:337.

261. JHN to Henry Bowden’s children, 28 June 1864, in LD 21:136. On the same day Newman also wrote to Henry Bowden: “God has struck you most heavily but your dear children will rise up and console you. And God Himself, who has afflicted you, will be your best Comforter and Friend.

“She is now in peace and rest— . . . I feel that I have a great loss myself, the loss of one so kind, so gentle, so open and true a friend, whom I sincerely admired and loved, who talked with me so frankly and familiarly, and made me know her by that most winning ease of her conversation.” Ibid., 135–36.

262. JHN to Mrs. Edward Bellasis, 27 January 1873, in LD 26:240. On the same day he wrote to her daughter Monica Bellasis: “He was one of the best men I ever knew.” Ibid., 241.

263. JHN to Edward Dering, 10 February 1876, in LD 28:22. Newman went on to elaborate: “Such wounds then may almost be taken as a pledge, or at least as a ground for humble trust, that God will give us the great gift of perseverance to the end.”

264. Ibid., 22–23.

265. JHN to Richard Simpson, 25 February 1859, in LD 19:52.

266. JHN to Henry Ryder, 25 April 1879, in LD 29:108.

267. JHN to Lady Georgina Fullerton, 4 June 1855, in LD 16:475–76.

268. JHN to Countess of Arundel, 29 July 1855, in LD 16:517–18.

269. JHN to Mrs. Edward Bellasis, 21 May 1863, in LD 20:449–50.

270. JHN to Mrs. Keon, 27 November 1878, in LD 28:426.

271. JHN to Miss Emily Buchanan, 16 April 1875, in LD 27:278.

272. Ibid.

273. JHN to Margaret Dunn, 12 April 1869, in LD 24:237.

274. JHN to Miss M. R. Giberne, 5 December 1880, in LD 29:324. Speaking of a trial she was experiencing, he wrote: “It is no proof that you are less pleasing to God; perhaps you are more so. One may fairly argue that it is indeed a special honour to you that you are thus tried. It is easy to serve God, when consolations abound. Think of the lives of the Saints; consider what desolations weighed upon them for years.”

275. JHN to Miss Emily Fortey, 3 October 1884, in LD 30:404.

276. JHN to John Pollen, 21 January 1862, in LD 20:131.

277. JHN to Margaret Dunn, 30 September 1878, in LD 28:401.

278. JHN to Charles Crawley, 22 February 1863, in LD 20:410.

279. JHN to Richard Simpson, 25 February 1859, in LD 19:52.

280. JHN to Miss M. R. Giberne, 22 January 1878, in LD 28:306.

281. JHN to Richard Simpson, 25 January 1859, in LD 19:52.

282. JHN to Eleanor Bretherton, 17 November 1862, in LD 20:355–56.

283. JHN to Mrs. Henry Bowden, 17 March 1862, in LD 20:173.

284. Ward, Life, 1:15.

285. JHN to R. W. Church, 11 March 1879, in LD 29:72.

286. JHN to Emily Bowles, 8 January 1867, in LD 23:16.

287. JHN to Mrs. William Froude, 7 February 1864, in LD 21:43–44.

288. JHN to Robert Froude, 20 April 1866, in LD 22:220.

289. JHN to Mrs. Tennant, 14 April 1878, in LD 28:344. See his letter to her on August 13, 1878, which suggests that his advice had been helpful. “I am indeed made very happy by your tidings about yourself, and thank God with all my heart.

“I was very anxious to hear from you and knew not what to think.

“Now all is well and clear—but don’t indulge your feelings of happiness overmuch. They are given you in mercy, to overcome the difficulties and trials from within and without, which may beset you—but you must embrace whatever comes, and stand prepared to welcome whatever is God’s will, pleasant or painful. He is your sure defence and stay—and the longer you live, the more you will be able to witness to His goodness—but you must begin with trusting Him fully, and resolving by His grace to be His good servant and child.” LD 28:396.

290. JHN to Henry Bittleston, 21 May 1859, in LD 18:352.

291. Initially the Bishops favored this plan, but in the end did not want an Oratory established at Oxford. Newman felt that the concept was a sound one, i.e., of strengthening the faith of the Catholic students attending Oxford. His hesitancy involved the issue of property, finances, etc.

292. JHN to Emily Bowles, 8 January 1867, in LD 23:15–16.

293. JHN to Mrs. J. W. Bowden, 12 April 1849, in LD 13:108.

294. JHN to Mother Mary Imelda Poole, 6 March 1879, in LD 29:63.

295. Newman, Historical Sketches, 3:130.

296. JHN to Sir James Stephen, 17 July 1853, in LD 15:398.

297. JHN to Ambrose St. John, 13 June 1858, in LD 18:377.

298. JHN to Henry Wilberforce, 10 March 1846, in LD 11:135.

299. JHN to Lord Coleridge, 2 December 1880, in LD 29:322–23.

300. JHN to George T. Edwards, 22 February 1884, in LD 30:312.

301. JHN to George T. Edwards, 26 February 1884, in LD 30:316.

302. JHN to Mrs. John Mozley, 14 October 1845, in LD 11:16.

303. JHN to Mrs. William Froude, 4 July 1852, in LD 15:120.

304. Newman, “In Sadness Yet in Continual Joy,” February 2, 1853, in Newman the Oratorian, 14.

305. JHN to J. M. Capes, 17 May 1858, in LD 18:349.

306. JHN to Eleanor Bretherton, 15 July 1863, in LD 20:494. Brackets added.

307. JHN to Mrs. J. W. Bowden, 2 March 1859, in LD 19:58.

308. JHN to Miss Holmes, 8 June 1855, in LD 16:481.

309. Newman, Historical Sketches, 3:130.

310. JHN to Henry Wilberforce, 20 October 1845, in LD 11:19–20.

311. JHN to Philip Howard, 24 November 1850, in LD 14:141.

312. JHN to Sir James Stephen, 17 July 1853, in LD 15:398.

313. JHN to Ambrose St. John, 17 November 1857, in LD 18:175.

314. JHN to Sir John Acton, 7 June 1861, in LD 19:505.

315. JHN to Robert Ornsby, 11 July 1861, in LD 20:10.

316. JHN to Miss M. R. Giberne, 24 June 1858, in LD 18:391.

317. JHN to Robert Ornsby, 15 December 1859, in LD 19:253–54.

318. Butler, Life and Times, 2:312–13.

319. Mozley, Letters, 1:184.

320. Trevor, Newman’s Journey, 199. These entries began on December 15 with the words: “I am writing on my knees and in God’s sight.”

321. Newman, Apologia, 16.

322. Carney, “Theology of Providence of God,” 184.

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