ON UNIVERSITIES

New Zealand Tablet, 3 April 1913, Page 11

ON UNIVERSITIES

MEDIEVAL AND MODERN

(By Shane Leslie, in the Austral Light.) The Academic position of a University can be always judged by the fame her learning has acquired, not so much in her own courts at home as in the rumor of the stranger’s abroad, not so much by the gross weight of distinctions that her degree-holders have gained in the examinations of life as by her real work accomplished (and one requiring a deeper and more intimate insight) in weaving the web of national culture, or actually in fashioning the fibres of history. I do not think that it is possible to define what a University is at its loftiest level and working under ideal conditions. So rare a privilege and so hidden a gift as a real University belies entirely the universality of its name. It stands to the credit of ages nicknamed dark that Universitas, which originally defined any organised company of persons, should have become definitely attached as a word to societies of learning. In a more commercial age the sacred word might have been conferred on the dry goods store, or on that nebulous form of society euphemistically referred to as a trust. And if indeed a rough and ready definition be required, a medieval University was in its essence a Trust for learning. To what extent Oxford and Cambridge have kept their trust is for others to judge. The* Origin of the Universities is a point as often discussed as their definition. It is claimed both for Rome and for Greece, but in my opinion it is to Celtic Ireland the debt is owed. A comparison between medieval Oxford and Clonmacnoise in the eighth century makes it clear that the distinctive English system of grouping several colleges within the pale of one University had its ideal counterpart on the banks of the Shannon. At Clonmacnoise different tribes and districts, such as the Royal O’Conors of Connaught, or the Southern Hy Neills, built their private chapels. MacDermots and O’Kellies founded institutions where their souls might be remembered, while Southerners built them one round tower, and the O’Rourkes another, within the same precinct. Very similarly the colleges at Oxford and Cambridge were founded to accommodate different parts of the country or different phases of national life. Nothing is so striking to visitors as the medieval influences which yet cling to their stones.. The old view of life, is there enshrined beyond the touch of iconoclast, beyond the path of materialist. The ancient love of learned tranquillity, »f books for books’ sake, lives on in an atmosphere so undatable that it was said of a certain college, added in the nineteenth century, that if it could be seen without its building it might be taken for medieval, which is certainly laying considerable stress on the use of atmosphere. . In the same spirit of survival so many forgotten beliefs, perished causes, impossible loyalties, legends that were legendary in the Middle Ages even, have accumulated about the crumbling stones. Old heroes have trodden these halls, and young saints have seen visions in their streets. Did not St. Simon Stock meet the Blessed Virgin in Cambridge and St. Edmund Rich set a ring of troth upon her hand at Oxford, until what time as Primate of Canterbury he came to preach the Sixth Crusade? The Medieval University was neither feudal nor monastic, it was neither a cloister nor a castle, but it was constituted to combine the

privileged piety of the one with the secular strength of the other. It became associated in men’s minds with beauty and holiness, and even more so witn poverty. It seemed to be a sedes sapientiae , a thing both living and divine which they sought out at cost of love and life and whenever two or three poor scholars were gathered together under a temporary shelter, there arose a hostel, and should one of them grow to be great in after years in Church or State, he would likely endow his ancient garret with wealth and charte'r, and behold there arose a college. The spirit in which educational benefactions were made was very different to that in our own time. Colleges were founded not to give startling prominence to some new name or suddenly acquired fortune. By their charters they were simply given over to God for the benefit of His poor clerics and poorer laity, and the founder’s name lived only in the prayers with which generations of humble scholars heaped his blissful soul. But the great Founders, who were they ?. To take those of Cambridge, for example, they included three Kings of England, three Chancellors of the Realm, one parish priest, two Queens, two bishops, and one local trade union (or, as it was called in those days, a religious guild). At different times no less than six .women set up Cambridge foundations, and then, as now, enjoyed the privilege of providing moneys in which- they had no subsequent voice. Several of these colleges came into existence to roof some phase of new thought— harbor Scholasticism or the Renaissance, or to supply a local need, to those Northerners or Southerners, or Welsh. More than one was erected for Irish clerics. The medieval student was unique in the history of learning. His life was rough but prayerful, sleeping upon straw, kneeling in Gothic chantries. He rose and studied by moonlight to save candle wax for our Lady. In vacation he worked at the harvest in distant parts, as the poor scholars worked in Ireland. With his wage he paid off his bookseller and professors, as well as the inhabitants of Jewry, who, in the absence of the wealthy fools who crowd universities to-day, were constrained to eke a living out of the learned poor. As a class, the students combined qualities which to-day are generally distributed between journalists, bibliophiles, and globe-trotters. They traversed Europe unarmed, singing or writing their, way. They spoke a common tongue—a jargon of ecclesiastical Latin, They carried Romance and Religion, the latest songs and the newest news, in their wallets. Perhaps their societies were the only freemasonry the Church allowed. They were intellectual cosmopolitans. The only real cosmopolitans Europe has ever known, except, perhaps, in theory the free-traders, and in practice the Esperantists. . They took a vigorous part in the mighty feuds which distracted ’ the Middle Ages. Great abiding quarrels were fought out in the University towns betwixt local and central powers, commons and clergy. Nominalist and Realist, Lollard and Orthodox, Thomist and Scotist, many of which were not merely discussed in the lecture room, but were carried out into the streets and tossed upon the subtler points of sword and rapier. Greatest of all the faction fights which troubled University life was that raging between Academy and Municipality, between gown and town, a quarrel which would start on small provocation, let an alderman be hustled or a student cheated, but which would bring out armies of townspeople to the boom of St. Martin’s, while the bell of Great St. Mary summoned the students to combat the unwarrantable assumptions of the unlearned. After the famous riot of St. Scholastica’s Day at Oxford some six and twenty students were left killed and wounded, of whom, needless to say, a majority were of Irish extraction; but their blood was not shed in vain. The impious townsmen were fined by the King and excommunicated by the Bishop, while the University was made everlastinglv exempt from City Courts. ° J " " c Every Historical Movement found its reflection in University life, whether the clerks of Oxford went to war under Baron and Bishon to win Magna Charta, or to join in the first extinction of the

House of Lords, known as the Wars of the Roses. When an intellectual uprising like the Renaissance dawned upon a bewildered and blood-stained Eunpe, Cambridge at least was not unprepared. The new learning, the Greek language, the humanities, were made welcome —through tne influence of the Lady Margaret, mother of Henry VIII., she who ’healed the Wars of the Roses, reconciled nations, and founded colleges. Perhaps she was the greatest Englishwoman that ever lived. Though sufficiently a child of the Middle Ages to desire to wash the clothes of the Crusaders for the pity of God,’ she was responsible for introducing the language of Homer and Plato info English life. In all her far-sighted schemes she was helped and advised by John Fisher, whose career covers the gulf between what is past and present in the University of which he was Chancellor. He had held the perilous position of Confessor to Queen Catherine of Arragon. Long before Rome or England had suspicion of the coming divorce, he had known, under the seal, all the fears of the Queen and the determination of the King. It was John Fisher who strengthened the Queen to maintain her rights. A grim struggle was fought in secret betwixt King and Bishop for possession of the Queen’s will. Fisher prevailed, and the King promised Him his doom. Fisher had long foreknown the part he would play, and he kept a picture of the Baptist’s head on his altar. The crisis followed the King’s appeal to the Universities on the subject of his divorce. The learned of both Universities of Oxford and Cambridge met repeatedly, but with the usual courage of professorial bodies they decided that the marriage was null and void, provided that it could be shown that the Queen was married to somebody else ! John Fisher was made of sterner stuff. Alone of the English hierarchy he protested against divorce and Royal Supremacy, and was accordingly imprisoned in the Tower and condemned to death for high treason. Then, and not till then, Rome spake in the dramatic fashion that is her wont. The Pope sent the condemned traitor, as he lay in his dungeon, a Cardinal’s hat, which gave the Bluff King occasion to remark that as the Pope had sent him a hat he would not leave the Pope a head to put it on. A few days later Fisher was led out to execution. He was an old man well past eighty, but death had no terrors for him, he had stood so long between the living and the dead. He dressed himself, as he said jestingly, for his wedding-day, a merry allusion which could hardly have been lost on Anne Boleyn or Archbishop Cranmer, who both had nuptials in prospect. He came to the scaffold, this martyr for Papal Rome, carrying in his hand the New Testament ; and as he halted amid the weeping crowd, he prayed that in his agony some message might be given to him from that Book which he had done so much to exalt in his University. He opened it at a venture, and read —This is life Eternal ; then he turned over the page for ever. His head was hacked from his body and spiked upon London Bridge, whence it was later thrown into the river ; for the beauty and ruddiness of the countenance began to attract popular devotion. The body was wrapped in a blood-stained shroud and cast into one grave with Sir Thomas More, in the little convict chapel of St. Peter-in-Chains. So did the King, who deprived him of wearing his red hat, provide him unwittingly, unconsciously, with robes of such sanguine splendor as few are privileged to carry into the presence of Him Who is Creator of both King and Cardinal, So in the fulness of time Came Cambridge by Her Patron Saint. He represents the ideal University type, the scholar, the theologian, the patron of the new learning, the defender of the old Faith, gentle with the poor, unflinching to the proud, founder of colleges, adviser of Queens, called from the hermitage of a student to redeem the craven episcopacy of England by his blood. It was said that only two persons out of heaven had no fear of Henry VIII. and dared give back his glance. One was the devil who had possession of the King’s conscience, and the other was John Fisher, who kept the conscience of the Queen! . So, in a dark whilrwind of lust and hatred and cowardice, streaked here and there with the redeeming

glow of martyrdom, the 5 older England passed away and another took her place. It was more than a coincidence that upon the very day that Shakespeare died, a famous name was entered upon the books at Cambridge—the name of Oliver, Cromwell— the em bodiment of the newer and sterner England came to the surface even as the singer of the merrier and the holier England passed away. That merry England, for which this at least may be said, that while it lasted, the poor man who would work for his education received it, while Holy Church kept the rich man busy building Gothic cathedrals or slicing the heads of the Saracen, All of which is now reversed; for it is the rich who go up to the Universities, and the poor who build our cathedrals with their pennies, and in default of our chivalry fight our wars. But the era of change had begun in earnest. The house of the Franciscans was turned over to such studies as enabled it to foster the Seraphic Soul of the afore-mentioned Oliver, next to Henry VIII. himself the most generous disposer of other people’s property the Universities had ever seen; while the house of the Dominicans became a seminary of hymn-singers, mystics, Puritans of the fervid narrowness that eventually produced John Harvard, not the least illustrious link between two continents. But there is a question which visitors seldom weary of asking, but which others are weary of answering, owing to the number of right answers. What is the essential difference beween Oxford and Cambridge? All Oxford and Cambridge men are agreed in considering that one of the two is the superior University, but there is a slight disagreement as to which. As to the subtler differences between the two, it remains a divine truth that Cambridge men are generally Aristotelians and Oxford men Platonists; that Oxford is more medieval, Cambridge more up-to-date ; that Oxford, from her romantic disposition, has been aptly called the home of lost causes, while Cambridge, from her scientific bias, can be equally well termed the home of discovered causes. As regards the Types That the Universities Have Produced—it is a well-known fact that inventors 'and discoverers of mechanical appliances seldom, if ever, hail from the academy; likewise that soldiers and sailors are rarely university men, whether it is that soldiers seldom care to wage battles among books, or sailors are loth to set sail to the winds of controversy. Likewise, great artists in music or painting do not hail from either, such types being born and not educated. Masters of Arts there are to be found in .plenty, but, to split a tenuous hair, never a Master of Art. The types which have sprung from Oxford and Cambridge may be divided into the politicians, the poets, the preachers, and the playersnot, alas! of music, but of all manners of sport. On one point the fame of Cambridge remains distinct and peculiar. The entire stock of English poets have passed through her courts —Chaucer, Milton, Spenser, Gray, Wordsworth, Byron, and Tennyson. Oxford, it must be admitted, produced a solitary poet in Shelley, whom she was careful to expel in budding youth for publishing an atheistic tract. She has since done penance by building a domed chapel to his memory, but the tract is not generally shown to visitors. Oxford, on the other hand, can claim a great and glorious succession of men of religion in Grossetete, Wolsey, Wesley, Manning, Keble, and Newman. Above all, it was her fortune alone among northern Universities to provide an occupant of the Papal Chair in the person of Alexander the Fifth, though Cambridge men in envy insist that it was the sixth of the name. Oxford is only a crooked winding street surmounted by a mist of domes and bells, but saint and hero, scholar and sinner, have trodden it and loved if* TMAro flion nil ll«/\ J,,,« „ i? i.l. . 11 i ti j.<*xx an t/xio uiuauw <t-y a ui me worm, and preferred it even to that street in Damascus which is called straight. Cambridge is Only an Ecclesiastical Hamlet planted on a ditch of fenland, but all the poets of

England have sung that slow little stream as it flowed away bearing their youth in its muddy shallows. About these wails still hover the mighty ghosts of their past, the great company of sceptred and mitred founders, of cowled and mail-clad benefactors, the master-masons who built them their fame, the philosophers who taught them their learning, and the soldiers who fought their battles. So strong is the influence of the past that the student feels he has entered a mausoleum where the dead are alive, that he has slipped into rank with the wisest, and that Time has taken upon himself the labor of thinking. To say that Time has performed the labor of thinking is to give a perfect expression to the value of tradition and the presence of the past in the service of the future. In these days of materialism unabashed and triumphant, when tradition is set at a discount, it is refreshing to find in Universities such as these a national asset and a power in the world’s work which is not based on. commercial values—a power which, however, modern in its scope, has none the less been suckled upon the past of chivalry, and an ideal which Church and State are hardly likely to combine to bring into existence again power which protests against finance as the only standard of things upon the earth and under the earth, which furnishes truer values in social life, which refuses to regard pretensions as ambitions, and, better still, ambitions as achievements. There is no particular secret about the culture which a real University gives except the knowledge that there are less things saleable in Heaven and earth than would be supposed by advocates of the commercial education. Apart from any actual learning or degree with which Oxford and Cambridge may burden men, they do at least with responsive spirits leave a perennial influence, a philosophy, or call it a sentiment, which can no more be bought than chivalry itself, or copied into institutions not based, on religion and idealism, than a work of art can be reproduced to-day which Time and Faith and Genius once combined to make perfect.