h him; he was reserved for his ordinary.
Bishops' commissaries sate in town and city, taking cognizance of the
moral conduct of every man and woman. Offences against life and property
were tried here in England, as now, by the common law; but the Church
Courts dealt with sins--sins of word or act. If a man was a profligate
or a drunkard; if he lied or swore; if he did not come to communion, or
held unlawful opinions; if he was idle or unthrifty; if he was unkind
to his wife or his servants; if a child was disobedient to his father,
or a father cruel to his child; if a tradesman sold adulterated wares,
or used false measures or dishonest weights,--the eye of the parish
priest was everywhere, and the Church Court stood always open to examine
and to punish.
Imagine what a tremendous power this must have been! Yet it existed
generally in Catholic Europe down to the eve of the Reformation. It
could never have established itself at all unless at one time it had
worked beneficially--as the abuse of it was one of the most fatal causes
of the Church's fall.
I know nothing in English history much more striking than the answer
given by Archbishop Warham to the complaints of the English House of
Commons after the fall of Cardinal Wolsey. The House of Commons
complained that the clergy made laws in Convocation which the laity were
excommunicated if they disobeyed. Yet the laws made by the clergy, the
Commons said, were often at variance with the laws of the realm.
What did Warham reply? He said he was sorry for the alleged discrepancy;
but, inasmuch as the laws made by the clergy were always in conformity
with the will of God, the laws of the realm had only to be altered and
then the difficulty would vanish.
What must have been the position of the clergy in the fulness of their
power, when they could speak thus on the eve of their prostration? You
have only to look from a distance at any old-fashioned cathedral city,
and you will see in a moment the mediaeval relations between Church and
State. The cathedral _is_ the city. The first object you catch sight of
as you approach is the spire tapering into the sky, or the huge towers
holding possession of the centre of the landscape--majestically
beautiful--imposing by mere size amidst the large forms of Nature
herself. As you go nearer, the vastness of the building impresses you
more and more. The puny dwelling-place of the citizens creep at its
feet, the pinnacles are glittering
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