Ideals that could so quickly lose
their influence for good came to be looked upon with suspicion.
At the beginning of the thirteenth century we are confronted by the
anomaly of a church grossly corrupt but widely obeyed. She is nearing
the pinnacle of her power and the zenith of her glory, although the
parochial clergy have sunk into vice and incapacity, and the monks, as a
class, are lazy, ignorant and notoriously corrupt. Two things,
especially, command the attention,--first, the immorality and laxity of
the monks; and second, the growth of heresies and the tendency toward
open schism. The necessity of reform was clearly apprehended by the
church as well as by the heretical parties, but, since the church had
such a hold upon society, those who sought to reform the monasteries by
returning to old beliefs and ancient customs were much more in favor
than those who left the church and opposed her from the outside. The
impossibility of substantial, internal reform had not yet come to be
generally recognized. As time passed the conviction that it was of no
use to attempt reforms from the inside gained ground; then the
separatists multiplied, and the shedding of blood commenced. The world
had to learn anew that it was futile to put new wine into old bottles or
to patch new cloth on an old garment.
"It is the privilege of genius," says Trench, "to evoke a new creation,
where to common eyes all appears barren and worn out." Francis and
Dominic evoked this new creation; but although the monk now will appear
in a new garb, he will prove himself to be about the same old character
whom the world has known a great many years; when this discovery is made
monasticism is doomed.
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