Title: The Oxford Movement - Twelve Years, 1833-1845
Author: Church, R. W. (Richard William), 1815-1890
Language: English
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THE OXFORD MOVEMENT

TWELVE YEARS 1833-1845

R.W. CHURCH, M.A., D.C.L.

SOMETIME DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S AND FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD



ADVERTISEMENT


The revision of these papers was a task to which the late Dean of St.
Paul's gave all the work he could during the last months of his life. At
the time of his death, fourteen of the papers had, so far as can be
judged, received the form in which he wished them to be published; and
these, of course, are printed here exactly as he left them. One more he
had all but prepared for publication; the last four were mainly in the
condition in which, six years ago, he had them privately put into type,
for the convenience of his own further work upon them, and for the
reading of two or three intimate friends. Those into whose care his work
has now come have tried, with the help of his pencilled notes, to bring
these four papers as nearly as they can into the form which they believe
he would have had them take. But it has seemed better to leave unaltered
a sentence here and there to which he might have given a more perfect
shape, rather than to run the risk of swerving from the thought which
was in his mind.

It is possible that the Dean would have made considerable changes in
the preface which is here printed; for only that which seems the first
draft of it has been found. But even thus it serves to show his wish and
purpose for the work he had in hand; and it has therefore been thought
best to publish it. Leave has been obtained to add here some fragments
from a letter which, three years ago, he wrote to Lord Acton about these
papers:

"If I ever publish them, I must say distinctly what I want to do, which
is, not to pretend to write a history of the movement, or to account for
it or adequately to judge it and put it in its due place in relation to
the religious and philosophical history of the time, but simply to
preserve a contemporary memorial of what seems to me to have been a true
and noble effort which passed before my eyes, a short scene of religious
earnestness and aspiration, with all that was in it of self-devotion,
affectionateness, and high and refined and varied character, displayed
under circumstances which are scarcely intelligible to men of the
present time; so enormous have been the changes in what was assumed and
acted upon, and thought practicable and reasonable, 'fifty years since.'
For their time and opportunities, the men of the movement, with all
their imperfect equipment and their mistakes, still seem to me the salt
of their generation.... I wish to leave behind me a record that one who
lived with them, and lived long beyond most of them, believed in the
reality of their goodness and height of character, and still looks back
with deepest reverence to those forgotten men as the companions to whose
teaching and example he owes an infinite debt, and not he only, but
religious society in England of all kinds."

_January_ 31st, 1891.



PREFACE


The following pages relate to that stage in the Church revival of this
century which is familiarly known as the Oxford Movement, or, to use its
nickname, the Tractarian Movement. Various side influences and
conditions affected it at its beginning and in its course; but the
impelling and governing force was, throughout the years with which these
pages are concerned, at Oxford. It was naturally and justly associated
with Oxford, from which it received some of its most marked
characteristics. Oxford men started it and guided it. At Oxford were
raised its first hopes, and Oxford was the scene of its first successes.
At Oxford were its deep disappointments, and its apparently fatal
defeat. And it won and lost, as a champion of English theology and
religion, a man of genius, whose name is among the illustrious names of
his age, a name which will always be connected with modern Oxford, and
is likely to be long remembered wherever the English language is
studied.

We are sometimes told that enough has been written about the Oxford
Movement, and that the world is rather tired of the subject. A good deal
has certainly been both said and written about it, and more is probably
still to come; and it is true that other interests, more immediate or
more attractive, have thrown into the background what is severed from us
by the interval of half a century. Still that movement had a good deal
to do with what is going on in everyday life among us now; and feelings
both of hostility to it, and of sympathy with it, are still lively and
keen among those to whom religion is a serious subject, and even among
some who are neutral in the questions which it raised, but who find in
it a study of thought and character. I myself doubt whether the interest
of it is so exhausted as is sometimes assumed. If it is, these pages
will soon find their appropriate resting-place. But I venture to present
them, because, though a good many judgments upon the movement have been
put forth, they have come mostly from those who have been more or less
avowedly opposed to it.[1] The men of most account among those who were
attracted by it and represented it have, with one illustrious exception,
passed away. A survivor of the generation which it stirred so deeply may
not have much that is new to tell about it. He may not be able to affect
much the judgment which will finally be accepted about it. But the fact
is not unimportant, that a number of able and earnest men, men who both
intellectually and morally would have been counted at the moment as part
of the promise of the coming time, were fascinated and absorbed by it.
It turned and governed their lives, lifting them out of custom and
convention to efforts after something higher, something worthier of what
they were. It seemed worth while to exhibit the course of the movement
as it looked to these men--as it seemed to them viewed from the inside.
My excuse for adding to so much that has been already written is, that I
was familiar with many of the chief actors in the movement. And I do not
like that the remembrance of friends and associates, men of singular
purity of life and purpose, who raised the tone of living round them,
and by their example, if not by their ideas, recalled both Oxford and
the Church to a truer sense of their responsibilities, should, because
no one would take the trouble to put things on record, "pass away like a
dream."

The following pages were, for the most part, written, and put into
printed shape, in 1884 and 1885. Since they were written, books have
appeared, some of them important ones, going over most of the same
ground; while yet more volumes may be expected. We have had ingenious
theories of the genesis of the movement, and the filiation of its ideas.
Attempts have been made to alter the proportions of the scene and of the
several parts played upon it, and to reduce the common estimate of the
weight and influence of some of the most prominent personages. The
point of view of those who have thus written is not mine, and they tell
their story (with a full right so to do) as I tell mine. But I do not
purpose to compare and adjust our respective accounts--to attack theirs,
or to defend my own. I have not gone through their books to find
statements to except to, or to qualify. The task would be a tiresome and
unprofitable one. I understand their point of view, though I do not
accept it. I do not doubt their good faith, and I hope that they will
allow mine.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] It is hardly necessary to say that these and the following words
were written before Dr. Newman's death, and the publication of his
letters.



CONTENTS


CHAPTER I
THE CHURCH IN THE REFORM DAYS

CHAPTER II
THE BEGINNING OF THE MOVEMENT--JOHN KEBLE

CHAPTER III
RICHARD HURRELL FROUDE

CHAPTER IV
MR. NEWMAN'S EARLY FRIENDS--ISAAC WILLIAMS

CHAPTER V
CHARLES MARRIOTT

CHAPTER VI
THE OXFORD TRACTS

CHAPTER VII
THE TRACTARIANS

CHAPTER VIII
SUBSCRIPTION AT MATRICULATION AND ADMISSION OF DISSENTERS

CHAPTER IX
DR. HAMPDEN

CHAPTER X
GROWTH OF THE MOVEMENT, 1835-1840

CHAPTER XI
THE ROMAN QUESTION

CHAPTER XII
CHANGES

CHAPTER XIII
THE AUTHORITIES AND THE MOVEMENT

CHAPTER XIV
NO. 90

CHAPTER XV
AFTER NO. 90

CHAPTER XVI
THE THREE DEFEATS: ISAAC WILLIAMS, MACMULLEN, PUSEY

CHAPTER XVII
W.G. WARD

CHAPTER XVIII
THE IDEAL OF A CHRISTIAN CHURCH

CHAPTER XIX
THE CATASTROPHE



THE OXFORD MOVEMENT



CHAPTER I

THE CHURCH IN THE REFORM DAYS


What is called the Oxford or Tractarian movement began, without doubt,
in a vigorous effort for the immediate defence of the Church against
serious dangers, arising from the violent and threatening temper of the
days of the Reform Bill. It was one of several and widely differing
efforts. Viewed superficially it had its origin in the accident of an
urgent necessity.[2] The Church was really at the moment imperilled amid
the crude revolutionary projects of the Reform epoch;[3] and something
bolder and more effective than the ordinary apologies for the Church
was the call of the hour. The official leaders of the Church were almost
stunned and bewildered by the fierce outbreak of popular hostility. The
answers put forth on its behalf to the clamour for extensive and even
destructive change were the work of men surprised in a moment of
security. They scarcely recognised the difference between what was
indefensible and what must be fought for to the death; they mistook
subordinate or unimportant points for the key of their position: in
their compromises or in their resistance they wanted the guidance of
clear and adequate principles, and they were vacillating and
ineffective. But stronger and far-seeing minds perceived the need of a
broad and intelligible basis on which to maintain the cause of the
Church. For the air was full of new ideas; the temper of the time was
bold and enterprising. It was felt by men who looked forward, that to
hold their own they must have something more to show than custom or
alleged expediency--they must sound the depths of their own convictions,
and not be afraid to assert the claims of these convictions on men's
reason and imagination as well as on their associations and feelings.
The same dangers and necessities acted differently on different minds;
but among those who were awakened by them to the presence of a great
crisis were the first movers in what came to be known as the Tractarian
movement. The stir around them, the perils which seemed to threaten,
were a call to them to examine afresh the meaning of their familiar
words and professions.

For the Church, as it had been in the quiet days of the eighteenth
century, was scarcely adapted to the needs of more stirring times. The
idea of clerical life had certainly sunk, both in fact and in the
popular estimate of it. The disproportion between the purposes for which
the Church with its ministry was founded and the actual tone of feeling
among those responsible for its service had become too great. Men were
afraid of principles; the one thing they most shrank from was the
suspicion of enthusiasm. Bishop Lavington wrote a book to hold up to
scorn the enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists; and what would have
seemed reasonable and natural in matters of religion and worship in the
age of Cranmer, in the age of Hooker, in the age of Andrewes, or in the
age of Ken, seemed extravagant in the age which reflected the spirit of
Tillotson and Secker, and even Porteus. The typical clergyman in English
pictures of the manners of the day, in the _Vicar of Wakefield,_ in Miss
Austen's novels, in Crabbe's _Parish Register,_ is represented, often
quite unsuspiciously, as a kindly and respectable person, but certainly
not alive to the greatness of his calling. He was often much, very much,
to the society round him. When communication was so difficult and
infrequent, he filled a place in the country life of England which no
one else could fill. He was often the patriarch of his parish, its
ruler, its doctor, its lawyer, its magistrate, as well as its teacher,
before whom vice trembled and rebellion dared not show itself. The idea
of the priest was not quite forgotten; but there was much--much even of
what was good and useful--to obscure it. The beauty of the English
Church in this time was its family life of purity and simplicity; its
blot was quiet worldliness. It has sometimes been the fashion in later
days of strife and disquiet to regret that unpretending estimate of
clerical duty and those easy-going days; as it has sometimes been the
fashion to regret the pomp and dignity with which well-born or scholarly
bishops, furnished with ample leisure and splendid revenues, presided in
unapproachable state over their clergy and held their own among the
great county families. Most things have a side for which something can
be said; and we may truthfully and thankfully recall that among the
clergy of those days there were not a few but many instances, not only
of gentle manners, and warm benevolence, and cultivated intelligence,
but of simple piety and holy life.[4] But the fortunes of the Church are
not safe in the hands of a clergy, of which a great part take their
obligations easily. It was slumbering and sleeping when the visitation
of days of change and trouble came upon it.

Against this state of things the Oxford movement was a determined
revolt; but, as has been said, it was not the only one, nor the first. A
profound discontent at the state of religion in England had taken
possession of many powerful and serious minds in the generation which
was rising into manhood at the close of the first quarter of the
century; and others besides the leaders of the movement were feeling
their way to firmer ground. Other writers of very different principles,
and with different objects, had become alive, among other things, to the
importance of true ideas about the Church, impatient at the ignorance
and shallowness of the current views of it, and alarmed at the dangers
which menaced it. Two Oxford teachers who commanded much attention by
their force and boldness--Dr. Whately and Dr. Arnold--had developed
their theories about the nature, constitution, and functions of the
Church. They were dissatisfied with the general stagnation of religious
opinion, on this as on other subjects. They agreed in resenting the
unintelligent shortsightedness which relegated such a matter to a third
or fourth rank in the scale of religious teaching. They agreed also in
seizing the spiritual aspect of the Church, and in raising the idea of
it above the level of the poor and worldly conceptions on the assumption
of which questions relating to it were popularly discussed. But in their
fundamental principles they were far apart. I assume, on the authority
of Cardinal Newman, what was widely believed in Oxford, and never
apparently denied, that the volume entitled _Letters of an
Episcopalian_,[5] 1826, was, in some sense at least, the work of Dr.
Whately. In it is sketched forth the conception of an organised body,
introduced into the world by Christ Himself, endowed with definite
spiritual powers and with no other, and, whether connected with the
State or not, having an independent existence and inalienable claims,
with its own objects and laws, with its own moral standard and spirit
and character. From this book Cardinal Newman tells us that he learnt
his theory of the Church, though it was, after all, but the theory
received from the first appearance of Christian history; and he records
also the deep impression which it made on others. Dr. Arnold's view was
a much simpler one. He divided the world into Christians and
non-Christians: Christians were all who professed to believe in Christ
as a Divine Person and to worship Him,[6] and the brotherhood, the
"Societas" of Christians, was all that was meant by "the Church" in the
New Testament. It mattered, of course, to the conscience of each
Christian what he had made up his mind to believe, but to no one else.
Church organisation was, according to circumstances, partly inevitable
or expedient, partly mischievous, but in no case of divine authority.
Teaching, ministering the word, was a thing of divine appointment, but
not so the mode of exercising it, either as to persons, forms, or
methods. Sacraments there were, signs and pledges of divine love and
help, in every action of life, in every sight of nature, and eminently
two most touching ones, recommended to Christians by the Redeemer
Himself; but except as a matter of mere order, one man might deal with
these as lawfully as another. Church history there was, fruitful in
interest, instruction, and warning; for it was the record of the long
struggle of the true idea of the Church against the false, and of the
fatal disappearance of the true before the forces of blindness and
wickedness.[7] Dr. Arnold's was a passionate attempt to place the true
idea in the light. Of the difficulties of his theory he made light
account. There was the vivid central truth which glowed through his soul
and quickened all his thoughts. He became its champion and militant
apostle. These doctrines, combined with his strong political liberalism,
made the Midlands hot for Dr. Arnold. But he liked the fighting, as he
thought, against the narrow and frightened orthodoxy round him. And he
was in the thick of this fighting when another set of ideas about the
Church--the ideas on which alone it seemed to a number of earnest and
anxious minds that the cause of the Church could be maintained--the
ideas which were the beginning of the Oxford movement, crossed his path.
It was the old orthodox tradition of the Church, with fresh life put
into it, which he flattered himself that he had so triumphantly
demolished. This intrusion of a despised rival to his own teaching about
the Church--teaching in which he believed with deep and fervent
conviction--profoundly irritated him; all the more that it came from men
who had been among his friends, and who, he thought, should have known
better.[8]

But neither Dr. Whately's nor Dr. Arnold's attempts to put the old
subject of the Church in a new light gained much hold on the public
mind. One was too abstract; the other too unhistorical and
revolutionary. Both in Oxford and in the country were men whose hearts
burned within them for something less speculative and vague, something
more reverent and less individual, more in sympathy with the inherited
spirit of the Church. It did not need much searching to find in the
facts and history of the Church ample evidence of principles distinct
and inspiring, which, however long latent, or overlaid by superficial
accretions, were as well fitted as they ever were to animate its
defenders in the struggle with the unfriendly opinion of the day. They
could not open their Prayer-Books, and think of what they read there,
without seeing that on the face of it the Church claimed to be something
very different from what it was assumed to be in the current
controversies of the time, very different from a mere institution of the
State, from a vague collection of Christian professions from one form
or denomination of religion among many, distinguished by larger
privileges and larger revenues. They could not help seeing that it
claimed an origin not short of the Apostles of Christ, and took for
granted that it was to speak and teach with their authority and that of
their Master. These were theological commonplaces; but now, the pressure
of events and of competing ideas made them to be felt as real and
momentous truths. Amid the confusions and inconsistencies of the
semi-political controversy on Church reform, and on the defects and
rights of the Church, which was going on in Parliament, in the press,
and in pamphlets, the deeper thoughts of those who were interested in
its fortunes were turned to what was intrinsic and characteristic in its
constitution: and while these thoughts in some instances only issued in
theory and argument, in others they led to practical resolves to act
upon them and enforce them.

At the end of the first quarter of the century, say about 1825-30, two
characteristic forms of Church of England Christianity were popularly
recognised. One inherited the traditions of a learned and sober
Anglicanism, claiming as the authorities for its theology the great line
of English divines from Hooker to Waterland, finding its patterns of
devotion in Bishop Wilson, Bishop Horne, and the "Whole Duty of Man,"
but not forgetful of Andrewes, Jeremy Taylor, and Ken,--preaching,
without passion or excitement, scholarlike, careful, wise, often
vigorously reasoned discourses on the capital points of faith and
morals, and exhibiting in its adherents, who were many and important,
all the varieties of a great and far-descended school, which claimed for
itself rightful possession of the ground which it held. There was
nothing effeminate about it, as there was nothing fanatical; there was
nothing extreme or foolish about it; it was a manly school, distrustful
of high-wrought feelings and professions, cultivating self-command and
shy of display, and setting up as its mark, in contrast to what seemed
to it sentimental weakness, a reasonable and serious idea of duty. The
divinity which it propounded, though it rested on learning, was rather
that of strong common sense than of the schools of erudition. Its better
members were highly cultivated, benevolent men, intolerant of
irregularities both of doctrine and life, whose lives were governed by
an unostentatious but solid and unfaltering piety, ready to burst forth
on occasion into fervid devotion. Its worse members were jobbers and
hunters after preferment, pluralists who built fortunes and endowed
families out of the Church, or country gentlemen in orders, who rode to
hounds and shot and danced and farmed, and often did worse things. Its
average was what naturally in England would be the average, in a state
of things in which great religious institutions have been for a long
time settled and unmolested--kindly, helpful, respectable, sociable
persons of good sense and character, workers rather in a fashion of
routine which no one thought of breaking, sometimes keeping up their
University learning, and apt to employ it in odd and not very profitable
inquiries; apt, too, to value themselves on their cheerfulness and quick
wit; but often dull and dogmatic and quarrelsome, often insufferably
pompous. The custom of daily service and even of fasting was kept up
more widely than is commonly supposed. The Eucharist, though sparingly
administered, and though it had been profaned by the operation of the
Test Acts, was approached by religious people with deep reverence. But
besides the better, and the worse, and the average members of this,
which called itself the Church party, there stood out a number of men of
active and original minds, who, starting from the traditions of the
party, were in advance of it in thought and knowledge, or in the desire
to carry principles into action. At the Universities learning was still
represented by distinguished names. At Oxford, Dr. Routh was still
living and at work, and Van Mildert was not forgotten. Bishop Lloyd, if
he had lived, would have played a considerable part; and a young man of
vast industry and great Oriental learning, Mr. Pusey, was coming on the
scene. Davison, in an age which had gone mad about the study of
prophecy, had taught a more intelligent and sober way of regarding it;
and Mr. John Miller's Bampton Lectures, now probably only remembered by
a striking sentence, quoted in a note to the _Christian Year,_[9] had
impressed his readers with a deeper sense of the uses of Scripture.
Cambridge, besides scholars like Bishop Kaye, and accomplished writers
like Mr. Le Bas and Mr. Lyall, could boast of Mr. Hugh James Rose, the
most eminent person of his generation as a divine. But the influence of
this learned theology was at the time not equal to its value. Sound
requires atmosphere; and there was as yet no atmosphere in the public
mind in which the voice of this theology could be heard. The person who
first gave body and force to Church theology, not to be mistaken or
ignored, was Dr. Hook. His massive and thorough Churchmanship was the
independent growth of his own thoughts and reading. Resolute, through
good report and evil report, rough but very generous, stern both against
Popery and Puritanism, he had become a power in the Midlands and the
North, and first Coventry, then Leeds, were the centres of a new
influence. He was the apostle of the Church to the great middle class.

These were the orthodox Churchmen, whom their rivals, and not their
rivals only,[10] denounced as dry, unspiritual, formal, unevangelical,
self-righteous; teachers of mere morality at their best, allies and
servants of the world at their worst. In the party which at this time
had come to be looked upon popularly as best entitled to be the
_religious_ party, whether they were admired as Evangelicals, or abused
as Calvinists, or laughed at as the Saints, were inheritors not of
Anglican traditions, but of those which had grown up among the zealous
clergymen and laymen who had sympathised with the great Methodist
revival, and whose theology and life had been profoundly affected by it.
It was the second or third generation of those whose religious ideas had
been formed and governed by the influence of teachers like Hervey,
Romaine, Cecil, Venn, Fletcher, Newton, and Thomas Scott. The fathers of
the Evangelical school were men of naturally strong and vigorous
understandings, robust and rugged, and sometimes eccentric, but quite
able to cope with the controversialists, like Bishop Tomline, who
attacked them. These High Church controversialists were too half-hearted
and too shallow, and understood their own principles too imperfectly, to
be a match for antagonists who were in deadly earnest, and put them to
shame by their zeal and courage. But Newton and Romaine and the Milners
were too limited and narrow in their compass of ideas to found a
powerful theology. They undoubtedly often quickened conscience. But
their system was a one-sided and unnatural one, indeed in the hands of
some of its expounders threatening morality and soundness of
character.[11] It had none of the sweep which carried the justification
doctrines of Luther, or the systematic predestinarianism of Calvin, or
the "platform of discipline" of John Knox and the Puritans. It had to
deal with a society which laid stress on what was "reasonable," or
"polite," or "ingenious," or "genteel," and unconsciously it had come to
have respect to these requirements. The one thing by which its preachers
carried disciples with them was their undoubted and serious piety, and
their brave, though often fantastic and inconsistent, protest against
the world. They won consideration and belief by the mild persecution
which this protest brought on them--by being proscribed as enthusiasts
by comfortable dignitaries, and mocked as "Methodists" and "Saints" by
wits and worldlings. But the austere spirit of Newton and Thomas Scott
had, between 1820 and 1830, given way a good deal to the influence of
increasing popularity. The profession of Evangelical religion had been
made more than respectable by the adhesion of men of position and
weight. Preached in the pulpits of fashionable chapels, this religion
proved to be no more exacting than its "High and Dry" rival. It gave a
gentle stimulus to tempers which required to be excited by novelty. It
recommended itself by gifts of flowing words or high-pitched rhetoric to
those who expected _some_ demands to be made on them, so that these
demands were not too strict. Yet Evangelical religion had not been
unfruitful, especially in public results. It had led Howard and
Elizabeth Fry to assail the brutalities of the prisons. It had led
Clarkson and Wilberforce to overthrow the slave trade, and ultimately
slavery itself. It had created great Missionary Societies. It had given
motive and impetus to countless philanthropic schemes. What it failed in
was the education and development of character; and this was the result
of the increasing meagreness of its writing and preaching. There were
still Evangelical preachers of force and eloquence--Robert Hall, Edward
Irving, Chalmers, Jay of Bath--but they were not Churchmen. The circle
of themes dwelt on by this school in the Church was a contracted one,
and no one had found the way of enlarging it. It shrank, in its fear of
mere moralising, in its horror of the idea of merit or of the value of
good works, from coming into contact with the manifold realities of the
spirit of man: it never seemed to get beyond the "first beginnings" of
Christian teaching, the call to repent, the assurance of forgiveness: it
had nothing to say to the long and varied process of building up the new
life of truth and goodness: it was nervously afraid of departing from
the consecrated phrases of its school, and in the perpetual iteration of
them it lost hold of the meaning they may once have had. It too often
found its guarantee for faithfulness in jealous suspicions, and in
fierce bigotries, and at length it presented all the characteristics of
an exhausted teaching and a spent enthusiasm. Claiming to be exclusively
spiritual, fervent, unworldly, the sole announcer of the free grace of
God amid self-righteousness and sin, it had come, in fact, to be on very
easy terms with the world. Yet it kept its hold on numbers of
spiritually-minded persons, for in truth there seemed to be nothing
better for those who saw in the affections the main field of religion.
But even of these good men, the monotonous language sounded to all but
themselves inconceivably hollow and wearisome; and in the hands of the
average teachers of the school, the idea of religion was becoming poor
and thin and unreal.

But besides these two great parties, each of them claiming to represent
the authentic and unchanging mind of the Church, there were independent
thinkers who took their place with neither and criticised both. Paley
had still his disciples at Cambridge, or if not disciples, yet
representatives of his masculine but not very profound and reverent way
of thinking; and a critical school, represented by names afterwards
famous, Connop Thirlwall and Julius Hare, strongly influenced by German
speculation, both in theology and history, began to attract attention.
And at Cambridge was growing, slowly and out of sight, a mind and an
influence which were to be at once the counterpart and the rival of the
Oxford movement, its ally for a short moment, and then its earnest and
often bitter enemy. In spite of the dominant teaching identified with
the name of Mr. Simeon, Frederic Maurice, with John Sterling and other
members of the Apostles' Club, was feeling for something truer and
nobler than the conventionalities of the religious world.[12] In Oxford,
mostly in a different way, more dry, more dialectical, and, perhaps it
may be said, more sober, definite, and ambitious of clearness, the same
spirit was at work. There was a certain drift towards Dissent among the
warmer spirits. Under the leading of Whately, questions were asked about
what was supposed to be beyond dispute with both Churchmen and
Evangelicals. Current phrases, the keynotes of many a sermon, were
fearlessly taken to pieces. Men were challenged to examine the meaning
of their words. They were cautioned or ridiculed as the case might be,
on the score of "confusion of thought" and "inaccuracy of mind"; they
were convicted of great logical sins, _ignoratio elenchi,_ or
_undistributed middle terms;_ and bold theories began to make their
appearance about religious principles and teaching, which did not easily
accommodate themselves to popular conceptions. In very different ways
and degrees, Davison, Copleston, Whately, Hawkins, Milman, and not
least, a brilliant naturalised Spaniard who sowed the seeds of doubt
around him, Blanco White, had broken through a number of accepted
opinions, and had presented some startling ideas to men who had thought
that all religious questions lay between the orthodoxy of Lambeth and
the orthodoxy of Clapham and Islington. And thus the foundation was
laid, at least, at Oxford of what was then called the Liberal School of
Theology. Its theories and paradoxes, then commonly associated with the
"_Noetic_" character of one college, Oriel, were thought startling and
venturesome when discussed in steady-going common-rooms and country
parsonages; but they were still cautious and old-fashioned compared
with what was to come after them. The distance is indeed great between
those early disturbers of lecture-rooms and University pulpits, and
their successors.

While this was going on within the Church, there was a great movement of
thought going on in the country. It was the time when Bentham's
utilitarianism had at length made its way into prominence and
importance. It had gained a hold on a number of powerful minds in
society and political life. It was threatening to become the dominant
and popular philosophy. It began, in some ways beneficially, to affect
and even control legislation. It made desperate attempts to take
possession of the whole province of morals. It forced those who saw
through its mischief, who hated and feared it, to seek a reason, and a
solid and strong one, for the faith which was in them as to the reality
of conscience and the mysterious distinction between right and wrong.
And it entered into a close alliance with science, which was beginning
to assert its claims, since then risen so high, to a new and undefined
supremacy, not only in the general concerns of the world, but specially
in education. It was the day of Holland House. It was the time when a
Society of which Lord Brougham was the soul, and which comprised a great
number of important political and important scientific names, was
definitely formed for the _Diffusion of Useful Knowledge_. Their labours
are hardly remembered now in the great changes for which they paved the
way; but the Society was the means of getting written and of publishing
at a cheap rate a number of original and excellent books on science,
biography, and history. It was the time of the _Library of Useful
Knowledge,_ and its companion, the _Library of Entertaining Knowledge;_
of the _Penny Magazine,_ and its Church rival, the _Saturday Magazine,_
of the _Penny Cyclopaedia,_ and _Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopaedia,_ and
_Murray's Family Library_: popular series, which contained much of the
work of the ablest men of the day, and which, though for the most part
superseded now, were full of interest then. Another creation of this
epoch, and an unmistakable indication of its tendencies, was the British
Association for the Advancement of Science, which met for the first time
at Oxford in June 1832, not without a good deal of jealousy and
misgiving, partly unreasonable, partly not unfounded, among men in whose
hearts the cause and fortunes of religion were supreme.

Thus the time was ripe for great collisions of principles and aims; for
the decomposition of elements which had been hitherto united; for
sifting them out of their old combinations, and regrouping them
according to their more natural affinities. It was a time for the
formation and development of unexpected novelties in teaching and
practical effort. There was a great historic Church party, imperfectly
conscious of its position and responsibilities;[13] there was an active
but declining pietistic school, resting on a feeble intellectual basis
and narrow and meagre interpretations of Scripture, and strong only in
its circle of philanthropic work; there was, confronting both, a rising
body of inquisitive and, in some ways, menacing thought. To men deeply
interested in religion, the ground seemed confused and treacherous.
There was room, and there was a call, for new effort; but to find the
resources for it, it seemed necessary to cut down deep below the level
of what even good men accepted as the adequate expression of
Christianity, and its fit application to the conditions of the
nineteenth century. It came to pass that there were men who had the
heart to make this attempt. As was said at starting, the actual movement
began in the conviction that a great and sudden danger to the Church was
at hand, and that an unusual effort must be made to meet it. But if the
occasion was in a measure accidental, there was nothing haphazard or
tentative in the line chosen to encounter the danger. From the first it
was deliberately and distinctly taken. The choice of it was the result
of convictions which had been forming before the occasion came which
called on them. The religious ideas which governed the minds of those
who led the movement had been traced, in outline at least, firmly and
without faltering.

The movement had its spring in the consciences and character of its
leaders. To these men religion really meant the most awful and most
seriously personal thing on earth. It had not only a theological basis;
it had still more deeply a moral one. What that basis was is shown in a
variety of indications of ethical temper and habits, before the
movement, in those who afterwards directed it. The _Christian Year_ was
published in 1827, and tells us distinctly by what kind of standard Mr.
Keble moulded his judgment and aims. What Mr. Keble's influence and
teaching did, in training an apt pupil to deep and severe views of truth
and duty, is to be seen in the records of purpose and self-discipline,
often so painful, but always so lofty and sincere, of Mr. Hurrell
Froude's journal. But these indications are most forcibly given in Mr.
Newman's earliest preaching. As tutor at Oriel, Mr. Newman had made what
efforts he could, sometimes disturbing to the authorities, to raise the
standard of conduct and feeling among his pupils. When he became a
parish priest, his preaching took a singularly practical and
plain-spoken character. The first sermon of the series, a typical
sermon, "Holiness necessary for future Blessedness," a sermon which has
made many readers grave when they laid it down, was written in 1826,
before he came to St. Mary's; and as he began he continued. No sermons,
except those which his great opposite, Dr. Arnold, was preaching at
Rugby, had appealed to conscience with such directness and force. A
passionate and sustained earnestness after a high moral rule, seriously
realised in conduct, is the dominant character of these sermons. They
showed the strong reaction against slackness of fibre in the religious
life; against the poverty, softness; restlessness, worldliness, the
blunted and impaired sense of truth, which reigned with little check in
the recognised fashions of professing Christianity; the want of depth
both of thought and feeling; the strange blindness to the real
sternness, nay the austerity, of the New Testament. Out of this ground
the movement grew. Even more than a theological reform, it was a protest
against the loose unreality of ordinary religious morality. In the first
stage of the movement, moral earnestness and enthusiasm gave its impulse
to theological interest and zeal.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] The suppression of the Irish bishoprics. Palmer, _Narrative_ (1883),
pp. 44, 101. Maurice, _Life_, i. 180.

[3] "The Church, as it now stands, no human power can save" (Arnold to
Tyler, June 1832. _Life,_ i. 326). "Nothing, as it seems to me, can save
the Church but an union with the Dissenters; now they are leagued with
the antichristian party, and no merely internal reforms will satisfy
them" (Arnold to Whately, January 1833, i. 348). He afterwards thought
this exaggerated (_Life,_ i. 336). "The Church has been for one hundred
years without any government, and in such a stormy season it will not go
on much longer without a rudder" (Whately to Bp. Copleston, July 1832.
_Life_, i, 167). "If such an arrangement of the Executive Government is
completed, it will be a difficult, but great and glorious feat for your
Lordship's ministry to preserve the establishment from utter overthrow"
(Whately to Lord Grey, May 1832. _Life_, i. 156). It is remarkable that
Dean Stanley should have been satisfied with ascribing to the movement
an "origin _entirely political_" and should have seen a proof of this
"thoroughly political origin" in Newman's observing the date of Mr.
Keble's sermon "National Apostasy" as the birthday of the movement,
_Edin. Rev._ April 1880, pp. 309, 310.

[4] Readers of Wordsworth will remember the account of Mr. R. Walker
(Notes to the "River Duddon").

[5] Compare _Life of Whately_ (ed. 1866), i. 52, 68.

[6] Arnold to W. Smith, _Life_, i. 356-358; ii. 32.

[7] _Life_, i. 225 _sqq_.

[8] "I am vexed to find how much hopeless bigotry lingers in minds, οἶς
ἥκιστα ἕχρη" (Arnold to Whately, Sept. 1832. _Life,_ i. 331; ii. 3-7).

[9] St. Bartholomew's Day

[10] "The mere barren orthodoxy which, from all that I can hear, is
characteristic of Oxford." Maurice in 1829 (_Life,_ i. 103). In 1832 he
speaks of his "high endeavours to rouse Oxford from its lethargy having
so signally failed" (i. 143).

[11] Abbey and Overton, _English Church in the Eighteenth Century,_ ii.
180, 204.

[12] _V._ Maurice, _Life,_ i. 108-111; Trench's _Letters;_ Carlyle's
_Sterling_.

[13] "In what concerns the Established Church, the House of Commons
seems to feel no other principle than that of vulgar policy. The old
High Church race is worn out." Alex. Knox (June 1816), i. 54.



CHAPTER II

THE BEGINNING OF THE MOVEMENT--JOHN KEBLE


Long before the Oxford movement was thought of, or had any definite
shape, a number of its characteristic principles and ideas had taken
strong hold of the mind of a man of great ability and great seriousness,
who, after a brilliant career at Oxford as student and tutor, had
exchanged the University for a humble country cure. John Keble, by some
years the senior, but the college friend and intimate of Arnold, was the
son of a Gloucestershire country clergyman of strong character and
considerable scholarship. He taught and educated his two sons at home,
and then sent them to Oxford, where both of them made their mark, and
the elder, John, a mere boy when he first appeared at his college,
Corpus, carried off almost everything that the University could give in
the way of distinction. He won a double first; he won the Latin and
English Essays in the same year; and he won what was the still greater
honour of an Oriel Fellowship. His honours were borne with meekness and
simplicity; to his attainments he joined a temper of singular sweetness
and modesty, capable at the same time, when necessary, of austere
strength and strictness of principle. He had become one of the most
distinguished men in Oxford, when about the year 1823 he felt himself
bound to give himself more exclusively to the work of a clergyman, and
left Oxford to be his father's curate. There was nothing very unusual in
his way of life, or singular and showy in his work as a clergyman; he
went in and out among the poor, he was not averse to society, he
preached plain, unpretending, earnest sermons; he kept up his literary
interests. But he was a deeply convinced Churchman, finding his standard
and pattern of doctrine and devotion in the sober earnestness and
dignity of the Prayer Book, and looking with great and intelligent
dislike at the teaching and practical working of the more popular system
which, under the name of Evangelical Christianity, was aspiring to
dominate religious opinion, and which, often combining some of the most
questionable features of Methodism and Calvinism, denounced with fierce
intolerance everything that deviated from its formulas and watchwords.
And as his loyalty to the Church of England was profound and intense,
all who had shared her fortunes, good or bad, or who professed to serve
her, had a place in his affections; and any policy which threatened to
injure or oppress her, and any principles which were hostile to her
influence and teaching, roused his indignation and resistance. He was a
strong Tory, and by conviction and religious temper a thorough High
Churchman.

But there was nothing in him to foreshadow the leader in a bold and
wide-reaching movement. He was absolutely without ambition. He hated
show and mistrusted excitement. The thought of preferment was steadily
put aside both from temper and definite principle. He had no popular
aptitudes, and was very suspicious of them. He had no care for the
possession of influence; he had deliberately chosen the _fallentis
semita vitae,_ and to be what his father had been, a faithful and
contented country parson, was all that he desired. But idleness was not
in his nature. Born a poet, steeped in all that is noblest and tenderest
and most beautiful in Greek and Roman literature, with the keenest
sympathy with that new school of poetry which, with Wordsworth as its
representative, was searching out the deeper relations between nature
and the human soul, he found in poetical composition a vent and relief
for feelings stirred by the marvels of glory and of awfulness, and by
the sorrows and blessings, amid which human life is passed. But his
poetry was for a long time only for himself and his intimate friends;
his indulgence in poetical composition was partly playful, and it was
not till after much hesitation on his own part and also on theirs, and
with a contemptuous undervaluing of his work, which continued to the end
of his life, that the anonymous little book of poems was published which
has since become familiar wherever English is read, as the _Christian
year_. His serious interests were public ones. Though living in the
shade, he followed with anxiety and increasing disquiet the changes
which went on so rapidly and so formidably, during the end of the first
quarter of this century, in opinion and in the possession of political
power. It became more and more plain that great changes were at hand,
though not so plain what they would be. It seemed likely that power
would come into the hands of men and parties hostile to the Church in
their principles, and ready to use to its prejudice the advantages which
its position as an establishment gave them; and the anticipation grew in
Keble's mind, that in the struggles which seemed likely, not only for
the legal rights but for the faith of the Church, the Church might have
both to claim more, and to suffer more, at the hands of Government. Yet
though these thoughts filled his mind, and strong things were said in
the intercourse with friends about what was going on about them, no
definite course of action had been even contemplated when Keble went
into the country in 1823. There was nothing to distinguish him from
numbers of able clergymen all over England, who were looking on with
interest, with anxiety, often with indignation, at what was going on.
Mr. Keble had not many friends and was no party chief. He was a
brilliant university scholar overlaying the plain, unworldly country
parson; an old-fashioned English Churchman, with great veneration for
the Church and its bishops, and a great dislike of Rome, Dissent, and
Methodism, but with a quick heart; with a frank, gay humility of soul,
with great contempt of appearances, great enjoyment of nature, great
unselfishness, strict and severe principles of morals and duty.

What was it that turned him by degrees into so prominent and so
influential a person? It was the result of the action of his convictions
and ideas, and still more of his character, on the energetic and
fearless mind of a pupil and disciple, Richard Hurrell Froude. Froude
was Keble's pupil at Oriel, and when Keble left Oriel for his curacy at
the beginning of the Long Vacation of 1823, he took Froude with him to
read for his degree. He took with him ultimately two other pupils,
Robert Wilberforce and Isaac Williams of Trinity. One of them, Isaac
Williams, has left some reminiscences of the time, and of the terms on
which the young men were with their tutor, then one of the most famous
men at Oxford. They were on terms of the utmost freedom. "Master is the
greatest boy of them all," was the judgment of the rustic who was
gardener, groom, and parish clerk to Mr. Keble. Froude's was a keen
logical mind, not easily satisfied, contemptuous of compromises and
evasions, and disposed on occasion to be mischievous and aggressive; and
with Keble, as with anybody else, he was ready to dispute and try every
form of dialectical experiment. But he was open to higher influences
than those of logic, and in Keble he saw what subdued and won him to
boundless veneration and affection. Keble won the love of the whole
little society; but in Froude he had gained a disciple who was to be the
mouthpiece and champion of his ideas, and who was to react on himself
and carry him forward to larger enterprises and bolder resolutions than
by himself he would have thought of. Froude took in from Keble all he
had to communicate--principles, convictions, moral rules and standards
of life, hopes, fears, antipathies. And his keenly-tempered intellect,
and his determination and high courage, gave a point and an impulse of
their own to Keble's views and purposes. As things came to look darker,
and dangers seemed more serious to the Church, its faith or its rights,
the interchange of thought between master and disciple, in talk and in
letter, pointed more and more to the coming necessity of action; and
Froude at least had no objections to the business of an agitator. But
all this was very gradual; things did not yet go beyond discussion;
ideas, views, arguments were examined and compared; and Froude, with all
his dash, felt as Keble felt, that he had much to learn about himself,
as well as about books and things. In his respect for antiquity, in his
dislike of the novelties which were invading Church rules and
sentiments, as well as its creeds, in his jealousy of the State, as well
as in his seriousness of self-discipline, he accepted Keble's guidance
and influence more and more; and from Keble he had more than one lesson
of self-distrust, more than one warning against the temptations of
intellect. "Froude told me many years after," writes one of his friends,
"that Keble once, before parting with him, seemed to have something on
his mind which he wished to say, but shrank from saying, while waiting,
I think, for a coach. At last he said, just before parting, 'Froude, you
thought Law's _Serious Call_ was a clever book; it seemed to me as if
you had said the Day of Judgment will be a pretty sight.' This speech,
Froude told me, had a great effect on his after life."[14]

At Easter 1826 Froude was elected Fellow of Oriel. He came back to
Oxford, charged with Keble's thoughts and feelings, and from his more
eager and impatient temper, more on the look-out for ways of giving them
effect. The next year he became tutor, and he held the tutorship till
1830. But he found at Oriel a colleague, a little his senior in age and
standing, of whom Froude and his friends as yet knew little except that
he was a man of great ability, that he had been a favourite of
Whately's, and that in a loose and rough way he was counted among the
few Liberals and Evangelicals in Oxford. This was Mr. Newman. Keble had
been shy of him, and Froude would at first judge him by Keble's
standard. But Newman was just at this time "moving," as he expresses it,
"out of the shadow of Liberalism." Living not apart like Keble, but in
the same college, and meeting every day, Froude and Newman could not but
be either strongly and permanently repelled, or strongly attracted. They
were attracted; attracted with a force which at last united them in the
deepest and most unreserved friendship. Of the steps of this great
change in the mind and fortunes of each of them we have no record:
intimacies of this kind grow in college out of unnoticed and
unremembered talks, agreeing or differing, out of unconscious
disclosures of temper and purpose, out of walks and rides and quiet
breakfasts and common-room arguments, out of admirations and dislikes,
out of letters and criticisms and questions; and nobody can tell
afterwards how they have come about. The change was gradual and
deliberate. Froude's friends in Gloucestershire, the Keble family, had
their misgivings about Newman's supposed liberalism; they did not much
want to have to do with him. His subtle and speculative temper did not
always square with Froude's theology. "N. is a fellow that I like more,
the more I think of him," Froude wrote in 1828; "only I would give a few
odd pence if he were not a heretic."[15] But Froude, who saw him every
day, and was soon associated with him in the tutorship, found a spirit
more akin to his own in depth and freedom and daring, than he had yet
encountered. And Froude found Newman just in that maturing state of
religious opinion in which a powerful mind like Froude's would be likely
to act decisively. Each acted on the other. Froude represented Keble's
ideas, Keble's enthusiasm. Newman gave shape, foundation, consistency,
elevation to the Anglican theology, when he accepted it, which Froude
had learned from Keble. "I knew him first," we read in the _Apologia_,
"in 1826, and was in the closest and most affectionate friendship with
him from about 1829 till his death in 1836."[16] But this was not all.
Through Froude, Newman came to know and to be intimate with Keble; and
a sort of _camaraderie_ arose, of very independent and outspoken people,
who acknowledged Keble as their master and counsellor.

"The true and primary author of it" (the Tractarian movement), we read
in the _Apologia_, "as is usual with great motive powers, was out of
sight.... Need I say that I am speaking of John Keble?" The statement is
strictly true. Froude never would have been the man he was but for his
daily and hourly intercourse with Keble; and Froude brought to bear upon
Newman's mind, at a critical period of its development, Keble's ideas
and feelings about religion and the Church, Keble's reality of thought
and purpose, Keble's transparent and saintly simplicity. And Froude, as
we know from a well-known saying of his,[17] brought Keble and Newman to
understand one another, when the elder man was shy and suspicious of the
younger, and the younger, though full of veneration for the elder, was
hardly yet in full sympathy with what was most characteristic and most
cherished in the elder's religious convictions. Keble attracted and
moulded Froude: he impressed Froude with his strong Churchmanship, his
severity and reality of life, his poetry and high standard of scholarly
excellence. Froude learned from him to be anti-Erastian,
anti-methodistical, anti-sentimental, and as strong in his hatred of the
world, as contemptuous of popular approval, as any Methodist. Yet all
this might merely have made a strong impression, or formed one more
marked school of doctrine, without the fierce energy which received it
and which it inspired. But Froude, in accepting Keble's ideas, resolved
to make them active, public, aggressive; and he found in Newman a
colleague whose bold originality responded to his own. Together they
worked as tutors; together they worked when their tutorships came to an
end; together they worked when thrown into companionship in their
Mediterranean voyage in the winter of 1832 and the spring of 1833. They
came back, full of aspirations and anxieties which spurred them on;
their thoughts had broken out in papers sent home from time to time to
Rose's _British Magazine_--"Home Thoughts Abroad," and the "Lyra
Apostolica." Then came the meeting at Hadleigh, and the beginning of the
Tracts. Keble had given the inspiration, Froude had given the impulse;
then Newman took up the work, and the impulse henceforward, and the
direction, were his.

Doubtless, many thought and felt like them about the perils which beset
the Church and religion. Loyalty to the Church, belief in her divine
mission, allegiance to her authority, readiness to do battle for her
claims, were anything but extinct in her ministers and laity. The
elements were all about of sound and devoted Churchmanship. Higher ideas
of the Church than the popular and political notion of it, higher
conceptions of Christian doctrine than those of the ordinary evangelical
theology--echoes of the meditations of a remarkable Irishman, Mr.
Alexander Knox--had in many quarters attracted attention in the works
and sermons of his disciple. Bishop Jebb, though it was not till the
movement had taken shape that their full significance was realised.
Others besides Keble and Froude and Newman were seriously considering
what could best be done to arrest the current which was running strong
against the Church, and discussing schemes of resistance and defence.
Others were stirring up themselves and their brethren to meet the new
emergencies, to respond to the new call. Some of these were in
communication with the Oriel men, and ultimately took part with them in
organising vigorous measures. But it was not till Mr. Newman made up his
mind to force on the public mind, in a way which could not be evaded,
the great article of the Creed--"I believe one Catholic and Apostolic
Church"--that the movement began. And for the first part of its course,
it was concentrated at Oxford. It was the direct result of the
searchings of heart and the communings for seven years, from 1826 to
1833, of the three men who have been the subject of this chapter.

FOOTNOTES:

[14] Isaac Williams's MS. Memoir.

[15] _Rem._ i. 232, 233. In 1828, Newman had preferred Hawkins to Keble,
for Provost.

[16] _Apol._ p. 84.

[17] _Remains_, i. 438; _Apol._ p. 77. "Do you know the story of the
murderer who had done one good thing in his life? Well, if I was asked
what good deed I have ever done, I should say I had brought Keble and
Newman to understand each other."



CHAPTER III[18]

RICHARD HURRELL FROUDE


The names of those who took the lead in this movement are
familiar--Keble, Newman, Pusey, Hugh James Rose, William Palmer. Much
has been written about them by friends and enemies, and also by one of
themselves, and any special notice of them is not to the purpose of the
present narrative. But besides these, there were men who are now almost
forgotten, but who at the time interested their contemporaries, because
they were supposed to represent in a marked way the spirit and character
of the movement, or to have exercised influence upon it. They ought not
to be overlooked in an account of it. One of them has been already
mentioned, Mr. Hurrell Froude. Two others were Mr. Isaac Williams and
Mr. Charles Marriott. They were all three of them men whom those who
knew them could never forget--could never cease to admire and love.

Hurrell Froude soon passed away before the brunt of the fighting came.
His name is associated with Mr. Newman and Mr. Keble, but it is little
more than a name to those who now talk of the origin of the movement.
Yet all who remember him agree in assigning to him an importance as
great as that of any, in that little knot of men whose thoughts and
whose courage gave birth to it.

Richard Hurrell Froude was born in 1803, and was thus two years younger
than Mr. Newman, who was born in 1801. He went to Eton, and in 1821 to
Oriel, where he was a pupil of Mr. Keble, and where he was elected
Fellow, along with Robert Wilberforce, at Easter 1826. He was College
Tutor from 1827 to 1830, having Mr. Newman and R. Wilberforce for
colleagues. His health failed in 1831 and led to much absence in warm
climates. He went with Mr. Newman to the south of Europe in 1832-33, and
was with him at Rome. The next two winters, with the intervening year,
he spent in the West Indies. Early in 1836 he died at Dartington--his
birthplace. He was at the Hadleigh meeting, in July 1833, when the
foundations of the movement were laid; he went abroad that winter, and
was not much in England afterwards. It was through correspondence that
he kept up his intercourse with his friends.

Thus he was early cut off from direct and personal action on the course
which things took. But it would be a great mistake to suppose that his
influence on the line taken and on the minds of others was
inconsiderable. It would be more true to say that with one exception no
one was more responsible for the impulse which led to the movement; no
one had more to do with shaping its distinct aims and its moral spirit
and character in its first stage; no one was more daring and more clear,
as far as he saw, in what he was prepared for. There was no one to whom
his friends so much looked up with admiration and enthusiasm. There was
no "wasted shade"[19] in Hurrell Froude's disabled, prematurely
shortened life.

Like Henry Martyn he was made by strong and even merciless
self-discipline over a strong and for a long time refractory nature. He
was a man of great gifts, with much that was most attractive and noble;
but joined with this them was originally in his character a vein of
perversity and mischief, always in danger of breaking out, and with
which he kept up a long and painful struggle. His inmost thought and
knowledge of himself have been laid bare in the papers which his friends
published after his death. He was in the habit of probing his motives to
the bottom, and of recording without mercy what he thought his
self-deceits and affectations. The religious world of the day made merry
over his methods of self-discipline; but whatever may be said of them,
and such things are not easy to judge of, one thing is manifest, that
they were true and sincere efforts to conquer what he thought evil in
himself, to keep himself in order, to bring his inmost self into
subjection to the law and will of God. The self-chastening, which his
private papers show, is no passion or value for asceticism, but a purely
moral effort after self-command and honesty of character; and what makes
the struggle so touching is its perfect reality and truth. He "turned
his thoughts on that desolate wilderness, his own conscience, and said
what he saw there."[20] A man who has had a good deal to conquer in
himself, and has gone a good way to conquer it, is not apt to be
indulgent to self-deceit or indolence, or even weakness. The basis of
Froude's character was a demand which would not be put off for what was
real and thorough; an implacable scorn and hatred for what he counted
shams and pretences. "His highest ambition," he used to say, "was to be
a humdrum."[21] The intellectual and the moral parts of his character
were of a piece. The tricks and flimsinesses of a bad argument provoked
him as much as the imposture and "flash" of insincere sentiment and fine
talking; he might be conscious of "flash" in himself and his friends,
and he would admit it unequivocally; but it was as unbearable to him to
pretend not to see a fallacy as soon as it was detected, as it would
have been to him to arrive at the right answer of a sum or a problem by
tampering with the processes. Such a man, with strong affections and
keen perception of all forms of beauty, and with the deepest desire to
be reverent towards all that had a right to reverence, would find
himself in the most irritating state of opposition and impatience with
much that passed as religion round him. Principles not attempted to be
understood and carried into practice, smooth self-complacency among
those who looked down on a blind and unspiritual world, the continual
provocation of worthless reasoning and ignorant platitudes, the dull
unconscious stupidity of people who could not see that the times were
critical--that truth had to be defended, and that it was no easy or
light-hearted business to defend it--threw him into an habitual attitude
of defiance, and half-amused, half-earnest contradiction, which made him
feared by loose reasoners and pretentious talkers, and even by quiet
easy-going friends, who unexpectedly found themselves led on blindfold,
with the utmost gravity, into traps and absurdities by the wiles of his
mischievous dialectic. This was the outside look of his relentless
earnestness. People who did not like him, or his views, and who,
perhaps, had winced under his irony, naturally put down his strong
language, which on occasion could certainly be unceremonious, to
flippancy and arrogance. But within the circle of those whom he trusted,
or of those who needed at anytime his help, another side disclosed
itself--a side of the most genuine warmth of affection, an awful reality
of devoutness, which it was his great and habitual effort to keep
hidden, a high simplicity of unworldliness and generosity, and in spite
of his daring mockeries of what was commonplace or showy, the most
sincere and deeply felt humility with himself. Dangerous as he was often
thought to be in conversation, one of the features of his character
which has impressed itself on the memory of one who knew him well, was
his "patient, winning considerateness in discussion, which, with other
qualities, endeared him to those to whom he opened his heart."[22] "It
is impossible," writes James Mozley in 1833, with a mixture of
amusement, speaking of the views about celibacy which were beginning to
be current, "to talk with Froude without committing one's self on such
subjects as these, so that by and by I expect the tergiversants will be
a considerable party." His letters, with their affectionately playful
addresses, δαιμόνιε, αἰνότατε, πέπον, _Carissime, "Sir, my dear friend"_
or "Ἀργείων ὄχ' ἄριστε, have you not been a spoon?" are full of the most
delightful ease and _verve_ and sympathy.

With a keen sense of English faults he was, as Cardinal Newman has said,
"an Englishman to the backbone"; and he was, further, a fastidious,
high-tempered English gentleman, in spite of his declaiming about
"pampered aristocrats" and the "gentleman heresy." His friends thought
of him as of the "young Achilles," with his high courage, and noble
form, and "eagle eye," made for such great things, but appointed so soon
to die. "Who can refrain from tears at the thought of that bright and
beautiful Froude?" is the expression of one of them shortly before his
death, and when it was quite certain that the doom which had so long
hung over him was at hand.[23] He had the love of doing, for the mere
sake of doing, what was difficult or even dangerous to do, which is the
mainspring of characteristic English sports and games. He loved the sea;
he liked to sail his own boat, and enjoyed rough weather, and took
interest in the niceties of seamanship and shipcraft. He was a bold
rider across country. With a powerful grasp on mathematical truths and
principles, he entered with whole-hearted zest into inviting problems,
or into practical details of mechanical or hydrostatic or astronomical
science. His letters are full of such observations, put in a way which
he thought would interest his friends, and marked by his strong habit of
getting into touch with what was real and of the substance of questions.
He applied his thoughts to architecture with a power and originality
which at the time were not common. No one who only cared for this world
could be more attracted and interested than he was by the wonder and
beauty of its facts and appearances. With the deepest allegiance to his
home and reverence for its ties and authority, a home of the
old-fashioned ecclesiastical sort, sober, manly, religious, orderly, he
carried into his wider life the feelings with which he had been brought
up; bold as he was, his reason and his character craved for authority,
but authority which morally and reasonably he could respect. Mr. Keble's
goodness and purity subdued him, and disposed him to accept without
reserve his master's teaching: and towards Mr. Keble, along with an
outside show of playful criticism and privileged impertinence, there was
a reverence which governed Froude's whole nature. In the wild and rough
heyday of reform, he was a Tory of the Tories. But when authority failed
him, from cowardice or stupidity or self-interest, he could not easily
pardon it; and he was ready to startle his friends by proclaiming
himself a Radical, prepared for the sake of the highest and greatest
interests to sacrifice all second-rate and subordinate ones.

When his friends, after his death, published selections from his
journals and letters, the world was shocked by what seemed his amazing
audacity both of thought and expression about a number of things and
persons which it was customary to regard as almost beyond the reach of
criticism. The _Remains_ lent themselves admirably to the controversial
process of culling choice phrases and sentences and epithets
surprisingly at variance with conventional and popular estimates.
Friends were pained and disturbed; foes naturally enough could not hold
in their overflowing exultation at such a disclosure of the spirit of
the movement. Sermons and newspapers drew attention to Froude's
extravagances with horror and disgust. The truth is that if the off-hand
sayings in conversation or letters of any man of force and wit and
strong convictions about the things and persons that he condemns, were
made known to the world, they would by themselves have much the same
look of flippancy, injustice, impertinence to those who disagreed in
opinion with the speaker or writer they are allowed for, or they are not
allowed for by others, according to what is known of his general
character. The friends who published Froude's _Remains_ knew what he
was; they knew the place and proportion of the fierce and scornful
passages; they knew that they really did not go beyond the liberty and
the frank speaking which most people give themselves in the _abandon_
and understood exaggeration of intimate correspondence and talk. But
they miscalculated the effect on those who did not know him, or whose
interest it was to make the most of the advantage given them. They seem
to have expected that the picture which they presented of their friend's
transparent sincerity and singleness of aim, manifested amid so much
pain and self-abasement, would have touched readers more. They
miscalculated in supposing that the proofs of so much reality of
religious earnestness would carry off the offence of vehement language,
which without these proofs might naturally be thought to show mere
random violence. At any rate the result was much natural and genuine
irritation, which they were hardly prepared for. Whether on general
grounds they were wise in startling and vexing friends, and putting
fresh weapons into the hands of opponents by their frank disclosure of
so unconventional a character, is a question which may have more than
one answer; but one thing is certain, they were not wise, if they only
desired to forward the immediate interests of their party or cause. It
was not the act of cunning conspirators; it was the act of men who were
ready to show their hands, and take the consequences. Undoubtedly, they
warned off many who had so far gone along with the movement, and who now
drew back. But if the publication was a mistake, it was the mistake of
men confident in their own straight-forwardness.

There is a natural Nemesis to all over-strong and exaggerated language.
The weight of Froude's judgments was lessened by the disclosure of his
strong words, and his dashing fashion of condemnation and dislike gave
a precedent for the violence of shallower men. But to those who look
back on them now, though there can be no wonder that at the time they
excited such an outcry, their outspoken boldness hardly excites
surprise. Much of it might naturally be put down to the force of first
impressions; much of it is the vehemence of an Englishman who claims the
liberty of criticising and finding fault at home; much of it was the
inevitable vehemence of a reformer. Much of it seems clear foresight of
what has since come to be recognised. His judgments on the Reformers,
startling as they were at the time, are not so very different, as to the
facts of the case, from what most people on all sides now agree in; and
as to their temper and theology, from what most churchmen would now
agree in. Whatever allowances may be made for the difficulties of their
time, and these allowances ought to be very great, and however well they
may have done parts of their work, such as the translations and
adaptations of the Prayer Book, it is safe to say that the divines of
the Reformation never can be again, with their confessed Calvinism, with
their shifting opinions, their extravagant deference to the foreign
oracles of Geneva and Zurich, their subservience to bad men in power,
the heroes and saints of churchmen. But when all this is said, it still
remains true that Froude was often intemperate and unjust. In the hands
of the most self-restrained and considerate of its leaders, the movement
must anyhow have provoked strong opposition, and given great offence.
The surprise and the general ignorance were too great; the assault was
too rude and unexpected. But Froude's strong language gave it a
needless exasperation.

Froude was a man strong in abstract thought and imagination, who wanted
adequate knowledge. His canons of judgment were not enlarged, corrected,
and strengthened by any reading or experience commensurate with his
original powers of reasoning or invention. He was quite conscious of it,
and did his best to fill up the gap in his intellectual equipment. He
showed what he might have done under more favouring circumstances in a
very interesting volume on Becket's history and letters. But
circumstances were hopelessly against him; he had not time, he had not
health and strength, for the learning which he so needed, which he so
longed for. But wherever he could, he learned. He was quite ready to
submit his prepossessions to the test and limitation of facts. Eager and
quick-sighted, he was often apt to be hasty in conclusions from
imperfect or insufficient premisses; but even about what he saw most
clearly he was willing to hold himself in suspense, when he found that
there was something more to know. Cardinal Newman has noted two
deficiencies which, in his opinion, were noticeable in Froude. "He had
no turn for theology as such"; and, further, he goes on: "I should say
that his power of entering into the minds of others was not equal to his
other gifts"--a remark which he illustrates by saying that Froude could
not believe that "I really held the Roman Church to be antichristian."
The want of this power--in which he stood in such sharp contrast to his
friend--might be either a strength or a weakness; a strength, if his
business was only to fight; a weakness, if it was to attract and
persuade. But Froude was made for conflict, not to win disciples. Some
wild solemn poetry, marked by deep feeling and direct expression, is
scattered through his letters,[24] kindled always by things and thoughts
of the highest significance, and breaking forth with force and fire. But
probably the judgment passed on him by a clever friend, from the
examination of his handwriting, was a true one: "This fellow has a great
deal of imagination, but not the imagination of a poet." He felt that
even beyond poetry there are higher things than anything that
imagination can work upon. It was a feeling which made him blind to the
grandeur of Milton's poetry. He saw in it only an intrusion into the
most sacred of sanctities.

It was this fearless and powerful spirit, keen and quick to see
inferences and intolerant of compromises, that the disturbances of Roman
Catholic Emancipation and of the Reform time roused from the common
round of pursuits, natural to a serious and thoughtful clergyman of
scholarlike mind and as yet no definite objects, and brought him with
all his enthusiasm and thoroughness into a companionship with men who
had devoted their lives, and given up every worldly object, to save the
Church by raising it to its original idea and spirit. Keble had lifted
his pupil's thoughts above mere dry and unintelligent orthodoxy, and
Froude had entered with earnest purpose into Church ways of practical
self-discipline and self-correction. Bishop Lloyd's lectures had taught
him and others, to the surprise of many, that the familiar and venerated
Prayer Book was but the reflexion of mediaeval and primitive devotion,
still embodied in its Latin forms in the Roman Service books; and so
indirectly had planted in their minds the idea of the historical
connexion, and in a very profound way the spiritual sympathy, of the
modern with the pre-Reformation Church. But it is not till 1829 or 1830
that we begin in his _Remains_ to see in him the sense of a pressing and
anxious crisis in religious matters. In the summer of 1829 he came more
closely than hitherto across Mr. Newman's path. They had been Fellows
together since 1826, and Tutors since 1827. Mr. Froude, with his Toryism
and old-fashioned churchmanship, would not unnaturally be shy of a
friend of Whately's with his reputation for theological liberalism.
Froude's first letter to Mr. Newman is in August 1828. It is the letter
of a friendly and sympathising colleague in college work, glad to be
free from the "images of impudent undergraduates"; he inserts some lines
of verse, talks about Dollond and telescopes, and relates how he and a
friend got up at half-past two in the morning, and walked half a mile
to see Mercury rise; he writes about his mathematical studies and
reading for orders, and how a friend had "read half through Prideaux and
yet accuses himself of idleness"; but there is no interchange of
intimate thought. Mr. Newman was at this time, as he has told us,
drifting away from under the shadow of liberalism; and in Froude he
found a man who, without being a liberal, was as quick-sighted, as
courageous, and as alive to great thoughts and new hopes as himself.
Very different in many ways, they were in this alike, that the
commonplace notions of religion and the Church were utterly
unsatisfactory to them, and that each had the capacity for affectionate
and whole-hearted friendship. The friendship began and lasted on,
growing stronger and deeper to the end. And this was not all. Froude's
friendship with Mr. Newman overcame Mr. Keble's hesitations about Mr.
Newman's supposed liberalism. Mr. Newman has put on record what he
thought and felt about Froude; no one, probably, of the many whom
Cardinal Newman's long life has brought round him, ever occupied
Froude's place in his heart. The correspondence shows in part the way in
which Froude's spirit rose, under the sense of having such a friend to
work with in the cause which day by day grew greater and more sacred in
the eyes of both. Towards Mr. Keble Froude felt like a son to a father;
towards Mr. Newman like a soldier to his comrade, and him the most
splendid and boldest of warriors. Each mind caught fire from the other,
till the high enthusiasm of the one was quenched in an early death.

Shortly after this friendship began, the course of events also began
which finally gave birth to the Oxford movement. The break-up of parties
caused by the Roman Catholic emancipation was followed by the French and
Belgian revolutions of 1830, and these changes gave a fresh stimulus to
all the reforming parties in England--Whigs, Radicals, and liberal
religionists. Froude's letters mark the influence of these changes on
his mind. They stirred in him the fiercest disgust and indignation, and
as soon as the necessity of battle became evident to save the
Church--and such a necessity was evident--he threw himself into it with
all his heart, and his attitude was henceforth that of a determined and
uncompromising combatant. "Froude is growing stronger and stronger in
his sentiments every day," writes James Mozley, in 1832, "and cuts about
him on all sides. It is extremely fine to hear him talk. The aristocracy
of the country at present are the chief objects of his vituperation, and
he decidedly sets himself against the modern character of the gentleman,
and thinks that the Church will eventually depend for its support, as it
always did in its most influential times, on the very poorest classes."
"I would not set down anything that Froude says for his deliberate
opinion," writes James Mozley a year later, "for he really hates the
present state of things so excessively that any change would be a relief
to him." ... "Froude is staying up, and I see a great deal of him." ...
"Froude is most enthusiastic in his plans, and says, 'What fun it is
living in such times as these! how could one now go back to the times of
old Tory humbug?'" From henceforth his position among his friends was
that of the most impatient and aggressive of reformers, the one who most
urged on his fellows to outspoken language and a bold line of action.
They were not men to hang back and be afraid, but they were cautious and
considerate of popular alarms and prejudices, compared with Froude's
fearlessness. Other minds were indeed moving--minds as strong as his,
indeed, it may be, deeper, more complex, more amply furnished, with a
wider range of vision and a greater command of the field. But while he
lived, he appears as the one who spurs on and incites, where others
hesitate. He is the one by whom are visibly most felt the _gaudia
certaminis,_ and the confidence of victory, and the most profound
contempt for the men and the ideas of the boastful and short-sighted
present.

In this unsparing and absorbing warfare, what did Froude aim at--what
was the object he sought to bring about, what were the obstacles he
sought to overthrow?

He was accused, as was most natural, of Romanising; of wishing to bring
back Popery. It is perfectly certain that this was not what he meant,
though he did not care for the imputation of it. He was, perhaps, the
first Englishman who attempted to do justice to Rome, and to use
friendly language of it, without the intention of joining it. But what
he fought for was not Rome, not even a restoration of unity, but a
Church of England such as it was conceived of by the Caroline divines
and the Non-jurors. The great break-up of 1830 had forced on men the
anxious question, "What is the Church as spoken of in England? Is it the
Church of Christ?" and the answers were various. Hooker had said it was
"the nation"; and in entirely altered circumstances, with some
qualifications. Dr. Arnold said the same. It was "the Establishment"
according to the lawyers and politicians, both Whig and Tory. It was an
invisible and mystical body, said the Evangelicals. It was the aggregate
of separate congregations, said the Nonconformists. It was the
parliamentary creation of the Reformation, said the Erastians. The true
Church was the communion of the Pope, the pretended Church was a
legalised schism, said the Roman Catholics. All these ideas were
floating about, loose and vague, among people who talked much about the
Church. Whately, with his clear sense, had laid down that it was a
divine religious society, distinct in its origin and existence, distinct
in its attributes from any other. But this idea had fallen dead, till
Froude and his friends put new life into it Froude accepted Whately's
idea that the Church of England was the one historic uninterrupted
Church, than which there could be no other, locally in England; but into
this Froude read a great deal that never was and never could be in
Whately's thoughts. Whately had gone very far in viewing the Church from
without as a great and sacred corporate body. Casting aside the Erastian
theory, he had claimed its right to exist, and if necessary, govern
itself, separate from the state. He had recognised excommunication as
its natural and indefeasible instrument of government. But what the
internal life of the Church was, what should be its teaching and organic
system, and what was the standard and proof of these, Whately had left
unsaid. And this outline Froude filled up. For this he went the way to
which the Prayer Book, with its Offices, its Liturgy, its Ordination
services, pointed him. With the divines who had specially valued the
Prayer Book, and taught in its spirit, Bishop Wilson, William Law,
Hammond, Ken, Laud, Andrewes, he went back to the times and the sources
from which the Prayer Book came to us, the early Church, the reforming
Church for such with all its faults it was--of the eleventh, twelfth,
and thirteenth centuries, before the hopelessly corrupt and fatal times
of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, which led to the break-up of
the sixteenth. Thus to the great question, What is the Church? he gave
without hesitation, and gave to the end, the same answer that Anglicans
gave and are giving still. But he added two points which were then very
new to the ears of English Churchmen: (1) that there were great and to
most people unsuspected faults and shortcomings in the English Church,
for some of which the Reformation was gravely responsible; (2) that the
Roman Church was more right than we had been taught to think in many
parts both of principle and practice, and that our quarrel with it on
these points arose from our own ignorance and prejudices. To people who
had taken for granted all their lives that the Church was thoroughly
"Protestant" and thoroughly right in its Protestantism, and that Rome
was Antichrist, these confident statements came with a shock. He did not
enter much into dogmatic questions. As far as can be judged from his
_Remains_, the one point of doctrine on which he laid stress, as being
inadequately recognised and taught in the then condition of the English
Church, was the primitive doctrine of the Eucharist. His other
criticisms pointed to practical and moral matters; the spirit of
Erastianism, the low standard of life and purpose and self-discipline in
the clergy, the low tone of the current religious teaching. The
Evangelical teaching seemed to him a system of unreal words. The
opposite school was too self-complacent, too comfortable, too secure in
its social and political alliances; and he was bent on shaming people
into severer notions. "We will have a _vocabularium apostolicum,_ and I
will start it with four words: 'pampered aristocrats,' 'resident
gentlemen,' 'smug parsons,' and _'pauperes Christi'_. I shall use the
first on all occasions; it seems to me just to hit the thing." "I think
of putting the view forward (about new monasteries), under the title of
a 'Project for Reviving Religion in Great Towns.' Certainly colleges of
unmarried priests (who might, of course, retire to a living, when they
could and liked) would be the cheapest possible way of providing
effectively for the spiritual wants of a large population." And his
great quarrel with the existing state of things was that the spiritual
objects of the Church were overlaid and lost sight of in the anxiety not
to lose its political position. In this direction he was, as he
proclaims himself, an out-and-out Radical, and he was prepared at once
to go very far. "If a national Church means a Church without discipline,
my argument for discipline is an argument against a national Church; and
the best thing we can do is to unnationalise ours as soon as possible";
"let us tell the truth and shame the devil; let us give up a _national_
Church and have a _real_ one." His criticism did not diminish in
severity, or his proposals become less daring, as he felt that his time
was growing short and the hand of death was upon him. But to the end,
the elevation and improvement of the English Church remained his great
purpose. To his friend, as we know, the Roman Church was _either_ the
Truth or Antichrist. To Froude it was neither the whole Truth nor
Antichrist; but like the English Church itself, a great and defective
Church, whose defects were the opposite to ours, and which we should do
wisely to learn from rather than abuse. But to the last his allegiance
never wavered to the English Church.

It is very striking to come from Froude's boisterous freedom in his
letters to his sermons and the papers he prepared for publication. In
his sermons his manner of writing is severe and restrained even to
dryness. If they startle it is by the force and searching point of an
idea, not by any strength of words. The style is chastened, simple,
calm, with the most careful avoidance of over-statement or anything
rhetorical. And so in his papers, his mode of argument, forcible and
cogent as it is, avoids all appearance of exaggeration or even
illustrative expansion; it is all muscle and sinew; it is modelled on
the argumentative style of Bishop Butler, and still more, of William
Law. No one could suppose from these papers Froude's fiery impetuosity,
or the frank daring of his disrespectful vocabulary. Those who can read
between the lines can trace the grave irony which clung everywhere to
his deep earnestness.

There was yet another side of Froude's character which was little
thought of by his critics, or recognised by all his friends. With all
his keenness of judgment and all his readiness for conflict, some who
knew him best were impressed by the melancholy which hung over his life,
and which, though he ignored it, they could detect. It is remembered
still by Cardinal Newman. "I thought," wrote Mr. Isaac Williams, "that
knowing him, I better understood Hamlet, a person most natural, but so
original as to be unlike any one else, hiding depth of delicate thought
in apparent extravagances. _Hamlet_, and the _Georgics_ of Virgil, he
used to say, he should have bound together." "Isaac Williams," wrote Mr.
Copeland, "mentioned to me a remark made on Froude by S. Wilberforce in
his early days: 'They talk of Froude's fun, but somehow I cannot be in a
room with him alone for ten minutes without feeling so intensely
melancholy, that I do not know what to do with myself. At Brightstone,
in my Eden days, he was with me, and I was overwhelmed with the deep
sense which possessed him of yearning which nothing could satisfy and of
the unsatisfying nature of all things.'"[25]

Froude often reminds us of Pascal. Both had that peculiarly bright,
brilliant, sharp-cutting intellect which passes with ease through the
coverings and disguises which veil realities from men. Both had
mathematical powers of unusual originality and clearness; both had the
same imaginative faculty; both had the same keen interest in practical
problems of science; both felt and followed the attraction of deeper and
more awful interests. Both had the same love of beauty; both suppressed
it. Both had the same want of wide or deep learning; they made skilful
use of what books came to their hand, and used their reading as few
readers are able to use it; but their real instrument of work was their
own quick and strong insight, and power of close and vigorous reasoning.
Both had the greatest contempt for fashionable and hollow "shadows of
religion." Both had the same definite, unflinching judgment. Both used
the same clear and direct language. Both had a certain grim delight in
the irony with which they pursued their opponents. In both it is
probable that their unmeasured and unsparing criticism recoiled on the
cause which they had at heart. But in the case of both of them it was
not the temper of the satirist, it was no mere love of attacking what
was vulnerable, and indulgence in the cruel pleasure of stinging and
putting to shame, which inspired them. Their souls were moved by the
dishonour done to religion, by public evils and public dangers. Both of
them died young, before their work was done. They placed before
themselves the loftiest and most unselfish objects, the restoration of
truth and goodness in the Church, and to that they gave their life and
all that they had. And what they called on others to be they were
themselves. They were alike in the sternness, the reality, the
perseverance, almost unintelligible in its methods to ordinary men, of
their moral and spiritual self-discipline.


SUPPLEMENTARY TO CHAPTER III[26]

Hurrell Froude was, when I, as an undergraduate, first knew him in 1828,
tall and very thin, with something of a stoop, with a large skull and
forehead, but not a large face, delicate features, and penetrating gray
eyes, not exactly piercing, but bright with internal conceptions, and
ready to assume an expression of amusement, careful attention, inquiry,
or stern disgust, but with a basis of softness. His manner was cordial
and familiar, and assured you, as you knew him well, of his affectionate
feeling, which encouraged you to speak your mind (within certain
limits), subject to the consideration that if you said anything absurd
it would not be allowed to fall to the ground. He had more of the
undergraduate in him than any "don" whom I ever knew; absolutely unlike
Newman in being always ready to skate, sail, or ride with his
friends--and, if in a scrape, not pharisaical as to his means of getting
out of it. I remember, _e.g._, climbing Merton gate with him in my
undergraduate days, when we had been out too late boating or skating.
And unless authority or substantial decorum was really threatened he was
very lenient--or rather had an amused sympathy with the irregularities
that are mere matters of mischief or high spirits. In lecture it was,
_mutatis mutandis_, the same man. Seeing, from his _Remains_, the "high
view of his own capacities of which he could not divest himself," and
his determination not to exhibit or be puffed up by it, and looking back
on his tutorial manner (I was in his lectures both in classics and
mathematics), it was strange how he disguised, not only his _sense_ of
superiority, but the appearance of it, so that his pupils felt him more
as a fellow-student than as the refined scholar or mathematician which
he was. This was partly owing to his carelessness of those formulae,
the familiarity with which gives even second-rate lecturers a position
of superiority which is less visible in those who, like their pupils,
are themselves always struggling with principles--and partly to an
effort, perhaps sometimes overdone, not to put himself above the level
of others. In a lecture on the _Supplices_ of Aeschylus, I have heard
him say _tout bonnement,_ "I can't construe that--what do you make of
it, A.B.?" turning to the supposed best scholar in the lecture; or, when
an objection was started to his mode of getting through a difficulty,
"Ah! I had not thought of that--perhaps your way is the best." And this
mode of dealing with himself and the undergraduates whom he liked, made
them like him, but also made them really undervalue his talent, which,
as we now see, was what he meant they should do. At the same time,
though watchful over his own vanity, he was keen and prompt in
snubs--playful and challenging retort--to those he liked, but in the
nature of scornful exposure, when he had to do with coarseness or
coxcombry, or shallow display of sentiment. It was a paradoxical
consequence of his suppression of egotism that he was more solicitous to
show that you were wrong than that he was right.

He also wanted, like Socrates or Bishop Butler, to make others, if
possible, think for themselves.

However, it is not to be inferred that his conversation was made of
controversy. To a certain extent it turned that way, because he was fond
of paradox. (His brother William used to say that he, William, never
felt he had really mastered a principle till he had thrown it into a
paradox.) And paradox, of course, invites contradiction, and so
controversy. On subjects upon which he considered himself more or less
an apostle, he liked to stir people's minds by what startled them,
waking them up, or giving them "nuts to crack." An almost solemn gravity
with amusement twinkling behind it--not invisible--and ready to burst
forth into a bright low laugh when gravity had been played out, was a
very frequent posture with him.

But he was thoroughly ready to amuse and instruct, or to be amused and
instructed, as an eager and earnest speaker or listener on most matters
of interest. I do not remember that he had any great turn for beauty of
colour; he had none, I think, or next to none, for music--nor do I
remember in him any great love of humour--but for beauty of physical
form, for mechanics, for mathematics, for poetry which had a root in
true feeling, for wit (including that perception of a quasi-logical
absurdity of position), for history, for domestic incidents, his
sympathy was always lively, and he would throw himself naturally and
warmly into them. From his general demeanour (I need scarcely say) the
"odour of sanctity" was wholly absent. I am not sure that his height and
depth of aim and lively versatility of talent did not leave his
_compassionate_ sympathies rather undeveloped; certainly to himself,
and, I suspect, largely in the case of others, he would view suffering
not as a thing to be cockered up or made much of, though of course to be
alleviated if possible, but to be viewed calmly as a Providential
discipline for those who can mitigate, or have to endure it.

J.H.N. was once reading me a letter just received from him in which (in
answer to J.H.N.'s account of his work and the possibility of his
breaking down) he said in substance: "I daresay you have more to do than
your health will bear, but I would not have you give up anything except
perhaps the deanery" (of Oriel). And then J.H.N. paused, with a kind of
inner exultant chuckle, and said, "Ah! there's a Basil for you"; as if
the friendship which sacrificed its friend, as it would sacrifice itself
to a cause, was the friendship which was really worth having.

As I came to know him in a more manly way, as a brother Fellow, friend,
and collaborateur, the character of "ecclesiastical agitator" was of
course added to this.

In this capacity his great pleasure was taking bulls by their horns.
Like the "gueux" of the Low Countries, he would have met half-way any
opprobrious nickname, and I believe coined the epithet "apostolical" for
his party because it was connected with everything in Spain which was
most obnoxious to the British public. I remember one day his grievously
shocking Palmer of Worcester, a man of an opposite texture, when a
council in J.H.N.'s rooms had been called to consider some memorial or
other to which Palmer wanted to collect the signatures of many, and
particularly of dignified persons, but in which Froude wished to express
the determined opinions of a few. Froude stretched out his long length
on Newman's sofa, and broke in upon one of Palmer's judicious harangues
about Bishops and Archdeacons and such like, with the ejaculation, "I
don't see why we should disguise from ourselves that our object is to
dictate to the clergy of this country, and I, for one, do not want any
one else to get on the box." He thought that true Churchmen must be few
before they were many--that the sin of the clergy in all ages was that
they tried to make out that Christians were many when they were only
few, and sacrificed to this object the force derivable from downright
and unmistakable enforcement of truth in speech or action.

As simplicity in thought, word, and deed formed no small part of his
ideal, his tastes in architecture, painting, sculpture, rhetoric, or
poetry were severe. He had no patience with what was artistically
dissolute, luscious, or decorated more than in proportion to its
animating idea--wishy-washy or sentimental. The ornamental parts of his
own rooms (in which I lived in his absence) were a slab of marble to
wash upon, a print of Rubens's "Deposition," and a head (life-size) of
the Apollo Belvidere. And I remember still the tall scorn, with
something of surprise, with which, on entering my undergraduate room, he
looked down on some Venuses, Cupids, and Hebes, which, freshman-like, I
had bought from an Italian.

He was not very easy even under conventional vulgarity, still less under
the vulgarity of egotism; but, being essentially a partisan, he could
put up with both in a man who was really in earnest and on the right
side. Nothing, however, I think, would have induced him to tolerate
false sentiment, and he would, I think, if he had lived, have exerted
himself very trenchantly to prevent his cause being adulterated by it.

He was, I should say, sometimes misled by a theory that genius cut
through a subject by logic or intuition, without looking to the right or
left, while common sense was always testing every step by consideration
of surroundings (I have not got his terse mode of statement), and that
genius was right, or at least had only to be corrected here and there by
common sense. This, I take it, would hardly have answered if his
trenchancy had not been in practice corrected by J.H.N.'s wider
political circumspection.

He submitted, I suppose, to J.H.N.'s axiom, that if the movement was to
do anything it must become "respectable"; but it was against his nature.

He would (as we see in the _Remains_) have wished Ken to have the
"courage of his convictions" by excommunicating the Jurors in William
III.'s time, and setting up a little Catholic Church, like the
Jansenists in Holland. He was not (as has been observed) a theologian,
but he was as jealous for orthodoxy as if he were. He spoke slightingly
of Heber as having ignorantly or carelessly communicated with (?)
Monophysites. But he probably knew no more about that and other
heresies than a man of active and penetrating mind would derive from
text-books. And I think it likely enough--not that his reverence for the
Eucharist, but--that his special attention to the details of Eucharistic
doctrine was due to the consideration that it was the foundation of
ecclesiastical discipline and authority--matters on which his mind
fastened itself with enthusiasm.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] I ought to say that I was not personally acquainted with Mr.
Froude. I have subjoined to this chapter some recollections of him by
Lord Blachford, who was his pupil and an intimate friend.

[19] "In this mortal journeying wasted shade Is worse than wasted
sunshine."

HENRY TAYLOR, _Sicilian Summer_, v. 3.

[20] _Remains_, Second Part, i. 47.

[21] _Remains_, i. 82.

[22] _Apologia_, p. 84.

[23] The following shows the feeling about him in friends apt to be
severe critics:--"The contents of the present collection are rather
fragments and sketches than complete compositions. This might be
expected in the works of a man whose days were few and interrupted by
illness, if indeed that may be called an interruption, which was every
day sensibly drawing him to his grave. In Mr. Froude's case, however, we
cannot set down much of this incompleteness to the score of illness. The
strength of his religious impressions, the boldness and clearness of his
views, his long habits of self-denial, and his unconquerable energy of
mind, triumphed over weakness and decay, till men with all their health
and strength about them might gaze upon his attenuated form, struck with
a certain awe of wonderment at the brightness of his wit, the
intenseness of his mental vision, and the iron strength of his
argument.... We will venture a remark as to that ironical turn, which
certainly does appear in various shapes in the first part of these
_Remains_. Unpleasant as irony may sometimes be, there need not go with
it, and in this instance there did not go with it, the smallest real
asperity of temper. Who that remembers the inexpressible sweetness of
his smile, and the deep and melancholy pity with which he would speak of
those whom he felt to be the victims of modern delusions, would not be
forward to contradict such a suspicion? Such expressions, we will
venture to say, and not harshness, anger, or gloom, animate the features
of that countenance which will never cease to haunt the memory of those
who knew him. His irony arose from that peculiar mode in which he viewed
all earthly things, himself and all that was dear to him not excepted.
It was his poetry." From an article in the _British Critic_, April 1840,
p. 396, by Mr. Thomas Mozley, quoted in _Letters of J.B. Mozley,_ p.
102.

[24] Such as the "Daniel" in the _Lyra Apostolica,_ the "Dialogue
between Old Self and New Self," and the lines in the _Remains_ (i 208,
209).

[25] A few references to the _Remains_ illustrating this are subjoined
if any one cares to compare them with these recollections, i. 7, 13, 18,
26, 106, 184, 199, 200-204.

[26] I am indebted for these recollections to the late Lord Blachford.
They were written in Oct. 1884.



CHAPTER IV

MR. NEWMAN'S EARLY FRIENDS--ISAAC WILLIAMS


In the early days of the movement, among Mr. Newman's greatest friends,
and much in his confidence, were two Fellows of Trinity--a college
which never forgot that Newman had once belonged to it,--Isaac Williams
and William John Copeland. In mind and character very different, they
were close friends, with the affection which was characteristic of those
days; and for both of them Mr. Newman "had the love which passes that of
common relation."[27] Isaac Williams was born among the mountains of
Wales, and had the true poetic gift, though his power of expression was
often not equal to what he wanted to say. Copeland was a Londoner, bred
up in the strict school of Churchmanship represented by Mr. Norris of
Hackney, tempered by sympathies with the Non-jurors. At Oxford he lived,
along with Isaac Williams, in the very heart of the movement, which was
the interest of his life; but he lived, self-forgetting or
self-effacing, a wonderful mixture of tender and inexhaustible sympathy,
and of quick and keen wit, which yet, somehow or other, in that time of
exasperation and bitterness, made him few enemies. He knew more than
most men of the goings on of the movement, and he ought to have been its
chronicler. But he was fastidious and hard to satisfy, and he left his
task till it was too late.

Isaac Williams was born in Wales in 1802, a year after Newman, ten years
after John Keble. His early life was spent in London, but his affection
for Wales and its mountain scenery was great and undiminished to the end
of his life. At Harrow, where Henry Drury was his tutor, he made his
mark by his mastery of Latin composition and his devotion to Latin
language and literature. "I was so used to think in Latin that when I
had to write an English theme, which was but seldom, I had to translate
my ideas, which ran in Latin, into English";[28] and later in life he
complained of the Latin current which disturbed him when he had to write
English. He was also a great cricketer; and he describes himself as
coming up to Trinity, where he soon got a scholarship, an ambitious and
careless youth, who had never heard a word about Christianity, and to
whom religion, its aims and its restraints, were a mere name.

This was changed by what, in the language of devotional schools, would
have been called his conversion. It came about, as men speak, as the
result of accidents; but the whole course of his thoughts and life was
turned into a channel from which it nevermore diverged. An old Welsh
clergyman gave the undergraduate an introduction to John Keble, who then
held a place in Oxford almost unique. But the Trinity undergraduate and
the Oriel don saw little of one another till Isaac Williams won the
Latin prize poem, _Ars Geologica_. Keble then called on Isaac Williams
and offered his help in criticising the poem and polishing it for
printing. The two men plainly took to one another at first sight; and
that service was followed by a most unexpected invitation on Keble's
part. He had chanced to come to Williams's room, and on Williams saying
that he had no plan of reading for the approaching vacation, Keble said,
"I am going to leave Oxford for good. Suppose you come and read with me.
The Provost has asked me to take Wilberforce, and I declined; but if you
would come, you would be companions." Keble was going down to Southrop,
a little curacy near his father's; there Williams joined him, with two
more--Robert Wilberforce and R.H. Froude; and there the Long Vacation of
1823 was spent, and Isaac Williams's character and course determined.
"It was this very trivial accident, this short walk of a few yards, and
a few words spoken, which was the turning-point of my life. If a
merciful God had miraculously interposed to arrest my course, I could
not have had a stronger assurance of His presence than I always had in
looking back to that day." It determined Isaac Williams's character,
and it determined for good and all his theological position. He had
before him all day long in John Keble a spectacle which was absolutely
new to him. Ambitious as a rising and successful scholar at college, he
saw a man, looked up to and wondered at by every one, absolutely without
pride and without ambition. He saw the most distinguished academic of
his day, to whom every prospect was open, retiring from Oxford in the
height of his fame to bury himself with a few hundreds of
Gloucestershire peasants in a miserable curacy. He saw this man caring
for and respecting the ignorant and poor as much as others respected the
great and the learned. He saw this man, who had made what the world
would call so great a sacrifice, apparently unconscious that he had made
any sacrifice at all, gay, unceremonious, bright, full of play as a boy,
ready with his pupils for any exercise, mental or muscular--for a hard
ride, or a crabbed bit of Aeschylus, or a logic fence with disputatious
and paradoxical undergraduates, giving and taking on even ground. These
pupils saw one, the depth of whose religion none could doubt, "always
endeavouring to do them good as it were unknown to themselves and in
secret, and ever avoiding that his kindness should be felt and
acknowledged"; showing in the whole course of daily life the purity of
Christian love, and taking the utmost pains to make no profession or
show of it. This unostentatious and undemonstrative religion--so frank,
so generous in all its ways--was to Isaac Williams "quite a new world."
It turned his mind in upon itself in the deepest reverence, but also
with something of morbid despair of ever reaching such a standard. It
drove all dreams of ambition out of his mind. It made humility,
self-restraint, self-abasement, objects of unceasing, possibly not
always wise and healthy, effort. But the result was certainly a
character of great sweetness, tenderness, and lowly unselfishness,
pure, free from all worldliness, and deeply resigned to the will of God.
He caught from Mr. Keble, like Froude, two characteristic habits of
mind--a strong depreciation of mere intellect compared with the less
showy excellences of faithfulness to conscience and duty; and a horror
and hatred of everything that seemed like display or the desire of
applause or of immediate effect. Intellectual depreciators of intellect
may deceive themselves, and do not always escape the snare which they
fear; but in Isaac Williams there was a very genuine carrying out of the
Psalmist's words: "Surely I have behaved and quieted myself; I refrain
my soul and keep it low, as a child that is weaned from his mother."
This fear of display in a man of singularly delicate and fastidious
taste came to have something forced and morbid in it. It seemed
sometimes as if in preaching or talking he aimed at being dull and
clumsy. But in all that he did and wrote he aimed at being true at all
costs and in the very depths of his heart; and though, in his words, we
may wish sometimes for what we should feel to be more natural and
healthy in tone, we never can doubt that we are in the presence of one
who shrank from all conscious unreality like poison.

From Keble, or, it may be said, from the Kebles, he received his
theology. The Kebles were all of them men of the old-fashioned High
Church orthodoxy, of the Prayer Book and the Catechism--the orthodoxy
which was professed at Oxford, which was represented in London by Norris
of Hackney and Joshua Watson; which valued in religion sobriety,
reverence, and deference to authority, and in teaching, sound learning
and the wisdom of the great English divines; which vehemently disliked
the Evangelicals and Methodists for their poor and loose theology, their
love of excitement and display, their hunting after popularity. This
Church of England divinity was the theology of the old Vicar of Coln St.
Aldwyn's, a good scholar and a good parish priest, who had brought up
his two sons at home to be scholars; and had impressed his solid and
manly theology on them so strongly that amid all changes they remained
at bottom true to their paternal training. John Keble added to it great
attainments and brilliant gifts of imagination and poetry; but he never
lost the plain, downright, almost awkward ways of conversation and
manner of his simple home--ways which might have seemed abrupt and rough
but for the singular sweetness and charm of his nature. To those who
looked on the outside he was always the homely, rigidly orthodox country
clergyman. On Isaac Williams, with his ethical standard, John Keble also
impressed his ideas of religious truth; he made him an old-fashioned
High Churchman, suspicious of excitement and "effect," suspicious of the
loud-talking religious world, suspicious of its novelties and
shallowness, and clinging with his whole soul to ancient ways and sound
Church of England doctrine reflected in the Prayer Book. And from John
Keble's influence he passed under the influence of Thomas Keble, the
Vicar of Bisley, a man of sterner type than his brother, with strong and
definite opinions on all subjects; curt and keen in speech; intolerant
of all that seemed to threaten wholesome teaching and the interests of
the Church; and equally straightforward, equally simple, in manners and
life. Under him Isaac Williams began his career as a clergyman; he spent
two years of solitary and monotonous life in a small cure, seeking
comfort from solitude in poetical composition ("It was very calm and
subduing," he writes); and then he was recalled to Oxford as Fellow and
Tutor of his college, to meet a new and stronger influence, which it was
part of the work and trial of the rest of his life both to assimilate
and to resist.

For, with Newman, with whom he now came into contact, he did both. There
opened to him from intercourse with Newman a new world of thought; and
yet while feeling and answering to its charm, he never was quite at ease
with him. But Williams and Froude had always been great friends since
the reading party of 1823, in spite of Froude's audacities. Froude was
now residing in Oxford, and had become Newman's most intimate friend,
and he brought Newman and Williams together. "Living at that time," he
says, "so much with Froude, I was now in consequence for the first time
brought into intercourse with Newman. We almost daily walked and often
dined together." Newman and Froude had ceased to be tutors; their
thoughts were turned to theology and the condition of the Church. Newman
had definitely broken with the Evangelicals, to whom he had been
supposed to belong, and Whately's influence over him was waning, and
with Froude he looked up to Keble as the pattern of religious wisdom. He
had accepted the position of a Churchman as it was understood by Keble
and Froude; and thus there was nothing to hinder Williams's full
sympathy with him. But from the first there seems to have been an almost
impalpable bar between them, which is the more remarkable because
Williams appears to have seen with equanimity Froude's apparently more
violent and dangerous outbreaks of paradox and antipathy. Possibly,
after the catastrophe, he may, in looking back, have exaggerated his
early alarms. But from the first he says he saw in Newman what he had
learned to look upon as the gravest of dangers--the preponderance of
intellect among the elements of character and as the guide of life. "I
was greatly delighted and charmed with Newman, who was extremely kind to
me, but did not altogether trust his opinions; and though Froude was in
the habit of stating things in an extreme and paradoxical manner, yet
one always felt conscious of a ground of entire confidence and
agreement; but it was not so with Newman, even though one appeared more
in unison with his more moderate views."

But, in spite of all this, Newman offered and Isaac Williams accepted
the curacy of St. Mary's. "Things at Oxford [1830-32] at that time were
very dull." "Froude and I seemed entirely alone, with Newman only
secretly, as it were, beginning to sympathise. I became at once very
much attached to Newman, won by his kindness and delighted by his good
and wonderful qualities; and he proposed that I should be his curate at
St. Mary's.... I can remember a strong feeling of difference I first
felt on acting together with him from what I had been accustomed to:
that he was in the habit of looking for effect, and for what was
sensibly effective, which from the Bisley and Fairford School I had been
long habituated to avoid; but to do one's duty in faith and leave it to
God, and that all the more earnestly, because there were no sympathies
from without to answer. There was a felt but unexpressed difference of
this kind, but perhaps it became afterwards harmonised as we acted
together."[29]

Thus early, among those most closely united, there appeared the
beginnings of those different currents which became so divergent as time
went on. Isaac Williams, dear as he was to Newman, and returning to the
full Newman's affection, yet represented from the first the views of
what Williams spoke of as the "Bisley and Fairford School," which,
though sympathising and co-operating with the movement, was never quite
easy about it, and was not sparing of its criticism on the stir and
agitation of the Tracts.

Isaac Williams threw himself heartily into the early stages of the
movement; in his poetry into its imaginative and poetical side, and also
into its practical and self-denying side. But he would have been quite
content with its silent working, and its apparent want of visible
success. He would have been quite content with preaching simple homely
sermons on the obvious but hard duties of daily life, and not seeing
much come of them; with finding a slow abatement of the self-indulgent
habits of university life, with keeping Fridays, with less wine in
common room. The Bisley maxims bade men to be very stiff and
uncompromising in their witness and in their duties, but to make no show
and expect no recognition or immediate fruit, and to be silent under
misconstruction. But his was not a mind which realised great
possibilities of change in the inherited ways of the English Church. The
spirit of change, so keenly discerned by Newman, as being both certain
and capable of being turned to good account as well as bad, to him was
unintelligible or bad. More reality, more severity and consistency,
deeper habits of self-discipline on the accepted lines of English Church
orthodoxy, would have satisfied him as the aim of the movement, as it
undoubtedly was a large part of its aim; though with Froude and Newman
it also aimed at a widening of ideas, of interests and sympathies,
beyond what had been common in the English Church.

In the history of the movement Isaac Williams took a forward part in two
of its events, with one of which his connexion was most natural, with
the other grotesquely and ludicrously incongruous. The one was the plan
and starting of the series of _Plain Sermons_ in 1839, to which not only
the Kebles, Williams, and Copeland contributed their volumes, but also
Newman and Dr. Pusey. Isaac Williams has left the following account of
his share in the work.

"It seemed at this time (about 1838-39) as if Oxford, from the strength
of principle shown there (and an almost unanimous and concentrated
energy), was becoming a rallying point for the whole kingdom: but I
watched from the beginning and saw greater dangers among ourselves than
those from without; which I endeavoured to obviate by publishing the
_Plain Sermons_. [_Plain Sermons_, by contributors to the _Tracts for
the Times_, 1st Series, January 1839.] I attempted in vain to get the
Kebles to publish, in order to keep pace with Newman, and so maintain a
more practical turn in the movement. I remember C. Cornish (C.L.
Cornish, Fellow and Tutor of Exeter) coming to me and saying as we
walked in Trinity Gardens, 'People are a little afraid of being carried
away by Newman's brilliancy; they want more of the steady sobriety of
the Kebles infused into the movement to keep us safe; we have so much
sail and want ballast.' And the effect of the publication of the _Plain
Sermons_ was at the time very quieting. In first undertaking the _Plain
Sermons_, I had no encouragement from any one, not even from John Keble;
acquiescence was all that I could gain. But I have heard J.K. mention a
saying of Judge Coleridge, long before the _Tracts_ were thought of: 'If
you want to propagate your opinions you should lend your sermons; the
clergy would then preach them, and adopt your opinions.' Now this has
been the effect of the publication of the _Plain Sermons_."

Isaac Williams, if any man, represented in the movement the moderate and
unobtrusive way of religious teaching. But it was his curious fate to be
dragged into the front ranks of the fray, and to be singled out as
almost the most wicked and dangerous of the Tractarians. He had the
strange fortune to produce the first of the Tracts[30] which was by
itself held up to popular indignation as embodying all the mischief of
the series and the secret aims of the movement. The Tract had another
effect. It made Williams the object of the first great Tractarian battle
in the University, the contest for the Poetry Professorship: the first
decisive and open trial of strength, and the first Tractarian defeat.
The contest, even more than the result, distressed him greatly; and the
course of things in the movement itself aggravated his distress. His
general distrust of intellectual restlessness had now passed into the
special and too well grounded fear that the movement, in some of its
most prominent representatives, was going definitely in the direction of
Rome. A new generation was rising into influence, to whom the old Church
watchwords and maxims, the old Church habits of mind, the old Church
convictions, had completely lost their force, and were become almost
objects of dislike and scorn; and for this change Newman's approval and
countenance were freely and not very scrupulously quoted. Williams's
relation to him had long been a curious mixture of the most affectionate
attachment and intimacy with growing distrust and sense of divergence.
Newman was now giving more and more distinct warning that he was likely
to go where Williams could not follow him, and the pain on both sides
was growing. But things moved fast, and at length the strain broke.

The estrangement was inevitable; but both cherished the warmest feelings
of affection, even though such a friendship had been broken. But Oxford
became distasteful to Williams, and he soon afterwards left it for
Bisley and Stinchcombe, the living of his brother-in-law, Sir G.
Prevost. There he married (22d June 1842), and spent the remainder of
his life devoting himself to the preparation of those devotional
commentaries, which are still so well known. He suffered for the
greatest part of his life from a distressing and disabling chronic
asthma--from the time that he came back to Oxford as Fellow and
Tutor--and he died in 1865. The old friends met once more shortly before
Isaac Williams's death; Newman came to see him, and at his departure
Williams accompanied him to the station.

Isaac Williams wrote a great deal of poetry, first during his solitary
curacy at Windrush, and afterwards at Oxford. It was in a lower and
sadder key than the _Christian Year_, which no doubt first inspired it;
it wanted the elasticity and freshness and variety of Keble's verse, and
it was often careless in structure and wanting in concentration. But it
was the outpouring of a very beautiful mind, deeply impressed with the
realities of failure in the Church and religion, as well as in human
life, full of tenderness and pathetic sweetness, and seeking a vent for
its feelings, and relief for its trouble, in calling up before itself
the images of God's goodness and kingdom of which nature and the world
are full. His poetry is a witness to the depth and earnestness and
genuine delicacy of what seemed hard and narrow in the Bisley School;
there are passages in it which are not easily forgotten; but it was not
strong enough to arrest the excitement which soon set in, and with its
continual obscurity and its want of finish it never had the recognition
really due to its excellence. Newman thought it too soft. It certainly
wanted the fire and boldness and directness which he threw into his own
verse when he wrote; but serious earnestness and severity of tone it
certainly did not want.

FOOTNOTES:

[27] Mozley, _Reminiscences_, i. 18.

[28] I. Williams, _MS. Memoir_.

[29] I. Williams, _MS. Memoir_.

[30] The history of this famous Tract, No. 80, on _Reserve in
communicating Religious Knowledge_, belongs to a later stage of the
movement.



CHAPTER V

CHARLES MARRIOTT


Charles Marriott was a man who was drawn into the movement, almost in
spite of himself, by the attraction of the character of the leaders,
the greatness of its object, and the purity and nobleness of the motives
which prompted it. He was naturally a man of metaphysical mind, given
almost from a child to abstract and indeed abstruse thought.[31] He had
been a student of S.T. Coleridge, whom the Oriel men disliked as a misty
thinker. He used to discuss Coleridge with a man little known then, but
who gained a high reputation on the Continent as a first-rate Greek
scholar, and became afterwards Professor of Greek in the University of
Sydney, Charles Badham. Marriott also appreciated Hampden as a
philosopher, whom the Oriel men thoroughly distrusted as a theologian.
He might easily under different conditions have become a divine of the
type of F.D. Maurice. He was by disposition averse to anything like
party, and the rough and sharp proceedings which party action sometimes
seems to make natural. His temper was eminently sober, cautious and
conciliatory in his way of looking at important questions. He was a man
with many friends of different sorts and ways, and of boundless though
undemonstrative sympathy. His original tendencies would have made him an
eclectic, recognising the strength of position in opposing schools or
theories, and welcoming all that was good and high in them. He was
profoundly and devotedly religious, without show, without extravagance.
His father, who died when he was only fourteen, had been a distinguished
man in his time. He was a Christ Church man, and one of two in the first
of the Oxford Honour lists in 1802, with E. Copleston, H. Phillpotts,
and S.P. Rigaud for his examiners. He was afterwards tutor to the Earl
of Dalkeith, and he became the friend of Walter Scott, who dedicated to
him the Second Canto of _Marmion_; and having ready and graceful
poetical talent, he contributed several ballads to the _Minstrelsy of
the Scottish Border, The Feast of Spurs_, and _Archie Armstrong's Aith_.
He was a good preacher; his sympathies--of friendship, perhaps, rather
than of definite opinion--were with men like Mr. John Bowdler and the
Thorntons. While he lived he taught Charles Marriott himself. After his
death, Charles, a studious boy, with ways of his own of learning, and
though successful and sure in his work, very slow in the process of
doing it, after a short and discouraging experiment at Rugby, went to
read with a private tutor till he went to Oxford. He was first at
Exeter, and then gained a scholarship at Balliol. He gained a Classical
First Class and a Mathematical Second in the Michaelmas Term of 1832,
and the following Easter he was elected Fellow at Oriel.

For a man of his power and attainments he was as a speaker, and in
conversation, surprisingly awkward. He had a sturdy, penetrating,
tenacious, but embarrassed intellect--embarrassed, at least, by the
crowd and range of jostling thoughts, in its outward processes and
manifestations, for he thoroughly trusted its inner workings, and was
confident of the accuracy of the results, even when helplessly unable to
justify them at the moment.[32] In matters of business he seemed at
first sight utterly unpractical. In discussing with keen, rapid, and
experienced men like the Provost, the value of leases, or some question
of the management of College property, Marriott, who always took great
interest in such inquiries, frequently maintained some position which to
the quicker wits round him seemed a paradox or a mare's nest. Yet it
often happened that after a dispute, carried on with a brisk fire of not
always respectful objections to Marriott's view, and in which his only
advantage was the patience with which he clumsily, yet surely, brought
out the real point of the matter, overlooked by others, the debate
ended in the recognition that he had been right. It was often a strange
and almost distressing sight to see the difficulty under which he
sometimes laboured of communicating his thoughts, as a speaker at a
meeting, or as a teacher to his hearers, or even in the easiness of
familiar talk. The comfort was that he was not really discouraged. He
was wrestling with his own refractory faculty of exposition and speech;
it may be, he was busy deeper down in the recesses and storehouses of
his mind; but he was too much taken up with the effort to notice what
people thought of it, or even if they smiled; and what he had to say was
so genuine and veracious, as an expression of his meaning, so full of
benevolence, charity, and generosity, and often so weighty and
unexpected, that men felt it a shame to think much of the peculiarities
of his long look of blank silence, and the odd, clumsy explanations
which followed it. He was a man, under an uncouth exterior, of the
noblest and most affectionate nature; most patient, indulgent, and
hopeful to all in whom he took an interest, even when they sorely tried
his kindness and his faith in them. Where he loved and trusted and
admired, he was apt to rate very highly, sometimes too highly. His
gratitude was boundless. He was one of those who deliberately gave up
the prospect of domestic life, to which he was naturally drawn, for the
sake of his cause. Capable of abstract thought beyond most men of his
time, and never unwilling to share his thoughts with those at all
disposed to venture with him into deep waters, he was always ready to
converse or to discuss on much more ordinary ground. As an undergraduate
and a young bachelor, he had attained, without seeking it, a position of
almost unexampled authority in the junior University world that was
hardly reached by any one for many years at least after him. He was
hopeless as a speaker in the Union; but with all his halting and
bungling speeches, that democratic and sometimes noisy assembly bore
from him with kindly amusement and real respect what they would bear
from no one else, and he had an influence in its sometimes turbulent
debates which seems unaccountable. He was the _vir pietate gravis_. In a
once popular squib, occasioned by one of the fiercest of these debates,
this unique position is noticed and commemorated--

  Οὐδ' ἔλαθεν Μαρίωτα, φιλαίτατον Ὠρειήλων

         *       *       *       *       *

  Ἦλθε μέγα γρώνων, Μασιχοῖς καὶ πᾶσ' ἀγαπητός,
  Καὶ σμείλων, προσέφη πάντας κείνδοις ἐπέεσιν.[33]

His ways and his talk were such as to call forth not unfrequent mirth
among those who most revered him. He would meet you and look you in the
face without speaking a word. He was not without humour; but his jokes,
carried off by a little laugh of his own, were apt to be recondite in
their meaning and allusions. With his great power of sympathy, he yet
did not easily divine other men's lighter or subtler moods, and odd and
sometimes even distressing mistakes were the consequence. His health was
weak, and a chronic tenderness of throat and chest made him take
precautions which sometimes seemed whimsical; and his well-known figure
in a black cloak, with a black veil over his college cap, and a black
comforter round his neck, which at one time in Oxford acquired his name,
sometimes startled little boys and sleepy college porters when he came
on them suddenly at night.

With more power than most men of standing alone, and of arranging his
observations on life and the world in ways of his own, he had
pre-eminently above all men round him, in the highest and noblest form,
the spirit of a disciple. Like most human things, discipleship has its
good and its evil, its strong and its poor and dangerous side; but it
really has, what is much forgotten now, a good and a strong side. Both
in philosophy and religion, the μαθητὴς is a distinct character, and
Charles Marriott was an example of it at its best. He had its manly and
reasonable humility, its generous trustfulness, its self-forgetfulness;
he had, too, the enthusiasm of having and recognising a great master and
teacher, and doing what he wanted done; and he learned from the love of
his master to love what he believed truth still more. The character of
the disciple does not save a man from difficulties, from trouble and
perplexity; but it tends to save him from idols of his own making. It is
something, in the trials of life and faith, to have the consciousness of
knowing or having known some one greater and better and wiser than
oneself, of having felt the spell of his guidance and example.
Marriott's mind, quick to see what was real and strong, and at once
reverent to it as soon as he saw it, came very much, as an undergraduate
at Balliol, under the influence of a very able and brilliant tutor,
Moberly, afterwards Headmaster of Winchester and Bishop of Salisbury;
and to the last his deference and affection to his old tutor remained
unimpaired. But he came under a still more potent charm when he moved to
Oriel, and became the friend of Mr. Newman. Master and disciple were as
unlike as any two men could be; they were united by their sympathy in
the great crisis round them, by their absorbing devotion to the cause of
true religion. Marriott brought to the movement, and especially to its
chief, a great University character, and an unswerving and touching
fidelity. He placed himself, his life, and all that he could do, at the
service of the great effort to elevate and animate the Church; to the
last he would gladly have done so under him whom he first acknowledged
as his master. This was not to be; and he transferred his allegiance, as
unreservedly, with equal loyalty and self-sacrifice, to his successor.
But to the end, while his powers lasted, with all his great gifts and
attainments, with every temptation to an independent position and
self-chosen employment, he continued a disciple. He believed in men
wiser than himself; he occupied himself with what they thought best for
him to do.

This work was, for the most part, in what was done to raise the standard
of knowledge of early Christian literature, and to make that knowledge
accurate and scholarlike. He was, for a time, the Principal of the
Theological College at Chichester, under Bishop Otter. He was also for a
time Tutor at Oriel, and later, Vicar of St. Mary's. He was long bent on
setting on foot some kind of Hall for poor students; and he took over
from Mr. Newman the buildings at Littlemore, which he turned into a
place for printing religious works. But though he was connected more or
less closely with numberless schemes of Christian work in Oxford and out
of it, his special work was that of a theological student. Marriott had
much to do with the Library of the Fathers, with correcting
translations, collating manuscripts, editing texts.[34] Somehow, the
most interesting portions hardly came to his share; and what he did in
the way of original writing, little as it was, causes regret that so
much of his time was spent on the drudgery of editing. Some sermons, a
little volume of _Thoughts on Private Devotion_, and another on the
_Epistle to the Romans_, are nearly all that he has left of his own.
Novelty of manner or thought in them there is none, still less anything
brilliant or sharp in observation or style; but there is an undefinable
sense, in their calm, severe pages, of a deep and serious mind dwelling
on deep and very serious things. It is impossible not to wish that a
man who could so write and impress people might have had the leisure to
write more.

But Marriott never had any leisure. It has been said above that he
placed himself at the service of those whom he counted his teachers. But
the truth is that he was at every one's service who wanted or who asked
his help. He had a large, and what must have been often a burdensome,
correspondence. With pupils or friends he was always ready for some
extra bit of reading. To strangers he was always ready to show attention
and hospitality, though Marriott's parties were as quaint as himself.
His breakfast parties in his own room were things to have seen--a crowd
of undergraduates, finding their way with difficulty amid lanes and
piles of books, amid a scarcity of chairs and room, and the host,
perfectly unconscious of anything grotesque, sitting silent during the
whole of the meal, but perfectly happy, at the head of the table. But
there was no claimant on his purse or his interest who was too strange
for his sympathy--raw freshmen, bores of every kind, broken-down
tradesmen, old women, distressed foreigners, converted Jews, all the odd
and helpless wanderers from beaten ways, were to be heard of at
Marriott's rooms; and all, more or less, had a share of his time and
thoughts, and perhaps counsel. He was sensible of worry as he grew
older; but he never relaxed his efforts to do what any one asked of him.
There must be even now some still living who know what no one else
knows, how much they owe, with no direct claim on him, to Charles
Marriott's inexhaustible patience and charity. The pains which he would
take with even the most uncongenial and unpromising men, who somehow had
come in his way, and seemed thrown on his charge, the patience with
which he would bear and condone their follies and even worse, were not
to be told, for, indeed, few knew what they were.

"He was always ready to be the friend of any one whose conduct gave
proofs of high principle, however inferior to himself in knowledge or
acquirements, and his friendship once gained was not easily lost. I
believe there was nothing in his power which he was not ready to do for
a friend who wanted his help. It is not easy to state instances of such
kindness without revealing what for many reasons had better be left
untold. But many such have come to my knowledge, and I believe there are
many more known only to himself and to those who derived benefit from
his disinterested friendship."[35]

Marriott's great contribution to the movement was his solid, simple
goodness, his immovable hope, his confidence that things would come
right. With much imaginativeness open to poetical grandeur and charm,
and not without some power of giving expression to feeling, he was
destitute of all that made so many others of his friends interesting as
men. He was nothing, as a person to know and observe, to the genius of
the two Mozleys, to the brilliant social charm of Frederic Faber, to the
keen, refined intelligence of Mark Pattison, to the originality and
clever eccentricity of William Palmer of Magdalen. And he was nothing as
a man of practical power for organising and carrying out successful
schemes: such power was not much found at Oxford in those days. But his
faith in his cause, as the cause of goodness and truth, was proof
against mockery or suspicion or disaster. When ominous signs disturbed
other people he saw none. He had an almost perverse subtlety of mind
which put a favourable interpretation on what seemed most formidable. As
his master drew more and more out of sympathy with the English Church,
Marriott, resolutely loyal to it and to him, refused to understand hints
and indications which to others were but too plain. He vexed and even
provoked Newman, in the last agonies of the struggle, by the optimism
with which he clung to useless theories and impossible hopes. For that
unquenchable hoping against hope, and hope unabated still when the
catastrophe had come, the English Church at least owes him deep
gratitude. Throughout those anxious years he never despaired of her.

All through his life he was a beacon and an incitement to those who
wished to make a good use of their lives. In him all men could see,
whatever their opinions and however little they liked him, the
simplicity and the truth of a self-denying life of suffering--for he was
never well--of zealous hard work, unstinted, unrecompensed; of unabated
lofty hopes for the great interests of the Church and the University; of
deep unpretending matter-of-course godliness and goodness--without "form
or comeliness" to attract any but those who cared for them, for
themselves alone. It is almost a sacred duty to those who remember one
who cared nothing for his own name or fame to recall what is the
truth--that no one did more to persuade those round him of the solid
underground religious reality of the movement. Mr. Thomas Mozley, among
other generous notices of men whom the world and their contemporaries
have forgotten, has said what is not more than justice.[36] Speaking of
the enthusiasm of the movement, and the spirit of its members, "There
had never been seen at Oxford, indeed seldom anywhere, so large and
noble a sacrifice of the most precious gifts and powers to a sacred
cause," he points out what each of the leaders gave to it: "Charles
Marriott threw in his scholarship and something more, for he might have
been a philosopher, and he had poetry in his veins, being the son of the
well-known author of the 'Devonshire Lane.' No one sacrificed himself so
entirely to the cause, giving to it all that he had and all that he was,
as Charles Marriott. He did not gather large congregations; he did not
write works of genius to spread his name over the land, and to all time;
he had few of the pleasures or even of the comforts that spontaneously
offer themselves in any field of enterprise. He laboured day and night
in the search and defence of Divine Truth. His admirers were not the
thousands, but the scholars who could really appreciate. I confess to
have been a little ashamed of myself when Bishop Burgess asked me about
Charles Marriott, as one of the most eminent scholars of the day.
Through sheer ignorance I had failed in adequate appreciation." In his
later years he became a member of the new Hebdomadal Council at Oxford,
and took considerable part in working the new constitution of the
University. In an epidemic of smallpox at Oxford in 1854, he took his
full share in looking after the sick, and caught the disorder; but he
recovered. At length, in the midst of troublesome work and many
anxieties, his life of toil was arrested by a severe paralytic seizure,
29th June 1855. He partially rallied, and survived for some time longer;
but his labours were ended. He died at Bradfield, 25th September 1858.
He was worn out by variety and pressure of unintermitted labour, which
he would scarcely allow any change or holiday to relieve. Exhaustion
made illness, when it came, fatal.

FOOTNOTES:

[31] "He told me," writes a relative, "that questions about trade used
to occupy him very early in life. He used to ponder how it could be
right to sell things for more than they cost you."

[32] "He had his own way of doing everything, and used most stoutly to
protest that it was quite impossible that he should do it in any
other."--_MS. Memoir_ by his brother, John Marriott.

[33] _Uniomachia_, 1833.

[34] "This became the main task of his life us long as health was
continued to him. All who knew him well will remember how laboriously he
worked at it, and how, in one shape or another, it was always on hand.
Either he was translating, or correcting the translation of others; or
he was collating MSS., or correcting the press. This last work was
carried on at all times and wherever he was--on a journey, after
dinner--even in a boat, he would pull out a sheet and go to write upon
it in haste to get it finished for the next post. The number of volumes
in the Library of the Fathers which bear the signature C.M. attest his
diligence."--John Marriott's Memoir of him (MS.)

[35] J.M., _MS. Memoir_.

[36] _Rem._ i. 447.



CHAPTER VI

THE OXFORD TRACTS


"On 14th July 1833," we read in Cardinal Newman's _Apologia_, "Mr. Keble
preached the assize sermon in the University Pulpit. It was published
under the title of _National Apostasy_. I have ever considered and kept
the day as the start of the religious movement of 1833."[37]

This memorable sermon was a strong expression of the belief common to a
large body of Churchmen amid the triumphs of the Reform Bill, that the
new governors of the country were preparing to invade the rights, and to
alter the constitution, and even the public documents, of the Church.
The suppression of ten Irish Bishoprics, in defiance of Church opinion,
showed how ready the Government was to take liberties in a high-handed
way with the old adjustments of the relations of Church and State.
Churchmen had hitherto taken for granted that England was "a nation
which had for centuries acknowledged, as an essential part of its
theory of government, that, _as_ a Christian nation, she is also a part
of Christ's Church, and bound, in all her legislation and policy, by the
fundamental laws of that Church." When "a Government and people, so
constituted, threw off the restraint which in many respects such a
principle would impose upon them, nay, disavowed the principle itself,"
this, to those whose ideas Mr. Keble represented, seemed nothing short
of a "direct disavowal of the sovereignty of God. If it be true anywhere
that such enactments are forced on the legislature by public opinion, is
Apostasy too hard a word to describe the temper of such a nation?" The
sermon was a call to face in earnest a changed state of things, full of
immediate and pressing danger; to consider how it was to be met by
Christians and Churchmen, and to watch motives and tempers. "Surely it
will be no unworthy principle if any man is more circumspect in his
behaviour, more watchful and fearful of himself, more earnest in his
petitions for spiritual aid, from a dread of disparaging the holy name
of the English Church in her hour of peril by his own personal fault and
negligence. As to those who, either by station or temper, feel
themselves more deeply interested, they cannot be too careful in
reminding themselves that one chief danger in times of change and
excitement arises from their tendency to engross the whole mind. Public
concerns, ecclesiastical or civil, will prove indeed ruinous to those
who permit them to occupy all their care and thought, neglecting or
undervaluing ordinary duties, more especially those of a devotional
kind. These cautions being duly observed, I do not see how any person
can devote himself too entirely to the cause of the Apostolic Church in
these realms. There may be, as far as he knows, but a very few to
sympathise with him. He may have to wait long, and very likely pass out
of this world, before he see any abatement in the triumph of disorder
and irreligion. But, _if he be consistent_, he possesses to the utmost
the personal consolations of a good Christian; and as a true Churchman,
he has the encouragement which no other cause in the world can impart in
the same degree: he is calmly, soberly, demonstrably _sure_ that, sooner
or later, _his will be the winning side_, and that the victory will be
complete, universal, eternal."

But if Mr. Keble's sermon was the first word of the movement, its first
step was taken in a small meeting of friends, at Mr. Hugh James Rose's
parsonage at Hadleigh, in Suffolk, between the 25th and the 29th of the
same July. At this little gathering, the ideas and anxieties which for
some time past had filled the thoughts of a number of earnest Churchmen,
and had brought them into communication with one another, came to a
head, and issued in the determination to move. Mr. Rose, a man of high
character and distinction in his day, who had recently started the
_British Magazine_, as an organ of Church teaching and opinion, was the
natural person to bring about such a meeting.[38] It was arranged that a
few representative men, or as many as were able, should meet towards the
end of July at Hadleigh Rectory. They were men in full agreement on the
main questions, but with great differences in temperament and habits of
thought. Mr. Rose was the person of most authority, and next to him, Mr.
Palmer; and these, with Mr. A. Perceval, formed as it were the right
wing of the little council. Their Oxford allies were the three Oriel
men, Mr. Keble, Mr. Froude, and Mr. Newman, now fresh from his escape
from death in a foreign land, and from the long solitary musings in his
Mediterranean orange-boat, full of joyful vigour and ready for
enterprise and work.[39] In the result, Mr. Keble and Mr. Newman were
not present, but they were in active correspondence with the others.[40]
From this meeting resulted the _Tracts for the Times_, and the agitation
connected with them.

These friends were all devoted Churchmen, but, as has been said, each
had his marked character, not only as a man but as a Churchman. The most
important among them was as yet the least prominent. Two of them were
men of learning, acquainted with the great world of London, and who,
with all their zeal, had some of the caution which comes of such
experience. At the time, the most conspicuous was Mr. Hugh James Rose.

Mr. Rose was a man whose name and whose influence, as his friends
thought, have been overshadowed and overlooked in the popular view of
the Church revival. It owed to him, they held, not only its first
impulse, but all that was best and most hopeful in it; and when it lost
him, it lost its wisest and ablest guide and inspirer. It is certainly
true that when that revival began he was a much more distinguished and
important person than any of the other persons interested in it. As far
as could be seen at the time, he was the most accomplished divine and
teacher in the English Church. He was a really learned man. He had the
intellect and energy and literary skill to use his learning. He was a
man of singularly elevated and religious character; he had something of
the eye and temper of a statesman, and he had already a high position.
He was profoundly loyal to the Church, and keenly interested in whatever
affected its condition and its fortunes. As early as 1825 he had in some
lectures at Cambridge called the attention of English Churchmen to the
state of religious thought and speculation in Germany, and to the
mischiefs likely to react on English theology from the rationalising
temper and methods which had supplanted the old Lutheran teaching; and
this had led to a sharp controversy with Mr. Pusey, as he was then, who
thought that Mr. Rose[41] had both exaggerated the fact itself and had
not adequately given the historical account of it. He had the prudence,
but not the backwardness, of a man of large knowledge, and considerable
experience of the world. More alive to difficulties and dangers than his
younger associates, he showed his courage and his unselfish earnestness
in his frank sympathy with them, daring and outspoken as they were, and
in his willingness to share with them the risks of an undertaking of
which no one knew better than he what were likely to be the
difficulties. He certainly was a person who might be expected to have a
chief part in directing anything with which he was connected. His
countenance and his indirect influence were very important elements,
both in the stirring of thought which led to the Hadleigh resolutions,
and in giving its form to what was then decided upon. But his action in
the movement was impeded by his failure in health, and cut short by his
early death, January 1839. How he would have influenced the course of
things if he had lived, it is not now easy to say. He must have been
reckoned with as one of the chiefs. He would have been opposed to
anything that really tended towards Rome. But there is no reason to
think that he would have shrunk from any step only because it was bold.
He had sympathy for courage and genius, and he had knowledge and
authority which would have commanded respect for his judgment and
opinion. But it is too much to say either that the movement could not
have been without him, or that it was specially his design and plan, or
that he alone could have given the impulse which led to it; though it
seemed at one time as if he was to be its leader and chief. Certainly he
was the most valuable and the most loyal of its early auxiliaries.

Another coadjutor, whose part at the time also seemed rather that of a
chief, was Mr. William Palmer, of Worcester College. He had been
educated at Trinity College, Dublin, but he had transferred his home to
Oxford, both in the University and the city. He was a man of exact and
scholastic mind, well equipped at all points in controversial theology,
strong in clear theories and precise definitions, familiar with
objections current in the schools and with the answers to them, and well
versed in all the questions, arguments, and authorities belonging to the
great debate with Rome. He had definite and well-arranged ideas about
the nature and office of the Church; and, from his study of the Roman
controversy, he had at command the distinctions necessary to
discriminate between things which popular views confused, and to protect
the doctrines characteristic of the Church from being identified with
Romanism. Especially he had given great attention to the public
devotional language and forms of the Church, and had produced by far the
best book in the English language on the history and significance of the
offices of the English Church--the _Origines Liturgicae_, published at
the University Press in 1832. It was a book to give a man authority with
divines and scholars; and among those with whom at this time he acted no
one had so compact and defensible a theory, even if it was somewhat
rigid and technical, of the peculiar constitution of the English Church
as Mr. Palmer. With the deepest belief in this theory, he saw great
dangers threatening, partly from general ignorance and looseness of
thought, partly from antagonistic ideas and principles only too distinct
and too popular; and he threw all his learning and zeal on the side of
those who, like himself, were alive to those dangers, and were prepared
for a great effort to counteract them.

The little company which met at Hadleigh Rectory, from 25th to 29th July
1833, met--as other knots of men have often met, to discuss a question
or a policy, or to found an association, or a league, or a newspaper--to
lay down the outlines of some practical scheme of work; but with little
foresight of the venture they were making, or of the momentous issues
which depended on their meeting. Later on, when controversy began, it
became a favourite rhetorical device to call it by the ugly name of a
"conspiracy." Certainly Froude called it so, and Mr. Palmer; and Mr.
Perceval wrote a narrative to answer the charge. It was a "conspiracy,"
as any other meeting would be of men with an object which other men
dislike.

Of the Oriel men, only Froude went to Hadleigh. Keble and Newman were
both absent, but in close correspondence with the others. Their plans
had not taken any definite shape; but they were ready for any sacrifice
and service, and they were filled with wrath against the insolence of
those who thought that the Church was given over into their hands, and
against the apathy and cowardice of those who let her enemies have their
way. Yet with much impatience and many stern determinations in their
hearts, they were all of them men to be swayed by the judgment and
experience of their friends.

The state of mind under which the four friends met at the Hadleigh
conference has been very distinctly and deliberately recorded by all of
them. Churchmen in our days hardly realise what the face of things then
looked like to men who, if they felt deeply, were no mere fanatics or
alarmists, but sober and sagacious observers, not affected by mere
cries, but seeing dearly beneath the surface of things their certain and
powerful tendencies. "We felt ourselves," writes Mr. Palmer some years
afterwards,[42] "assailed by enemies from without and foes within. Our
Prelates insulted and threatened by Ministers of State. In Ireland ten
bishoprics suppressed. We were advised to feel thankful that a more
sweeping measure had not been adopted. What was to come next?... Was the
same principle of concession to popular clamour ... to be exemplified in
the dismemberment of the English Church?... We were overwhelmed with
pamphlets on Church reform. Lord Henley, brother-in-law of Sir Robert
Peel, Dr. Burton, and others of name and influence led the way. Dr.
Arnold of Rugby ventured to propose that all sects should be united by
Act of Parliament with the Church of England. Reports, apparently well
founded, were prevalent that some of the Prelates were favourable to
alterations in the Liturgy. Pamphlets were in wide circulation
recommending the abolition of the Creeds (at least in public worship),
especially urging the expulsion of the Athanasian Creed; the removal of
all mention of the Blessed Trinity; of the doctrine of baptismal
regeneration; of the practice of absolution. We knew not to what quarter
to look for support. A Prelacy threatened and apparently intimidated; a
Government making its power subservient to agitators, who avowedly
sought the destruction of the Church ... And, worst of all, _no
principle in the public mind to which we could appeal_; an utter
ignorance of all rational grounds of attachment to the Church; an
oblivion of its spiritual character, as an institution not of man but of
God; the grossest Erastianism most widely prevalent, especially amongst
all classes of politicians. There was in all this enough to appal the
stoutest heart; and those who can recall the feeling of those days will
at once remember the deep depression into which the Church had fallen,
and the gloomy forebodings universally prevalent."

"Before the spirit and temper of those who met at the conference is
condemned as extravagant," writes Mr. Perceval in 1842,[43] "let the
reader call to mind what was then actually the condition as well as the
prospect of the Church and nation: an agrarian and civic insurrection
against the bishops and clergy, and all who desired to adhere to the
existing institutions of the country; the populace goaded on, openly by
the speeches, covertly (as was fully believed at the time) by the paid
emissaries of the ministers of the Crown; the chief of those ministers
in his place in Parliament bidding the bishops 'set their house in
order'; the mob taking him at his word, and burning to the ground the
palace of the Bishop of Bristol, with the public buildings of the city,
while they shouted the Premier's name in triumph on the ruins." The
pressing imminence of the danger is taken for granted by the calmest and
most cautious of the party, Mr. Rose, in a letter of February 1833.
"That something is requisite, is certain. The only thing is, that
whatever is done ought to be _quickly_ done, for the danger is
immediate, and _I should have little fear if I thought that we could
stand for ten or fifteen years as we are_."[44] In the _Apologia_
Cardinal Newman recalls what was before him in those days. "The Whigs
had come into power; Lord Grey had told the bishops to 'set their house
in order,' and some of the prelates had been insulted and threatened in
the streets of London. The vital question was. How were we to keep the
Church from being Liberalised? There was so much apathy on the subject
in some quarters, such imbecile alarm in others; the true principles of
Churchmanship seemed so radically decayed, and there was such
distraction in the councils of the clergy. The Bishop of London of the
day, an active and open-hearted man, had been for years engaged in
diluting the high orthodoxy of the Church by the introduction of the
Evangelical body into places of influence and trust. He had deeply
offended men who agreed with myself by an off-hand saying (as it was
reported) to the effect that belief in the apostolical succession had
gone out with the Non-jurors. '_We can count you_,' he said to some of
the gravest and most venerated persons of the old school.... I felt
affection for my own Church, but not tenderness: I felt dismay at her
prospects, anger and scorn at her do-nothing perplexity. I thought that
if Liberalism once got a footing within her, it was sure of victory in
the event. I saw that Reformation principles were powerless to rescue
her. As to leaving her, the thought never crossed my imagination: still
I ever kept before me that there was something greater than the
Established Church, and that that was the Church Catholic and Apostolic,
set up from the beginning, of which she was but the local presence and
organ. She was nothing unless she was this. She must be dealt with
strongly or she would be lost. There was need of a second Reformation."

"If _I thought that we could stand ten or fifteen years as we are_, I
should have little fear," said Mr. Rose. He felt that, if only he could
secure a respite, he had the means and the hope of opening the eyes of
Churchmen. They were secure and idle from long prosperity, and now they
were scared and perplexed by the suddenness of an attack for which they
were wholly unprepared. But he had confidence in his own convictions.
He had around him ability and zeal, in which he had the best reason to
trust. He might hope, if he had time, to turn the tide. But this time to
stand to arms was just what he had not. The danger, he felt, was upon
him. He could not wait. So he acquiesced in an agitation which so
cautious and steady a man would otherwise hardly have chosen. "That
_something must be done_ is certain. The only thing is, that whatever is
done ought to be _quickly_ done." Nothing can show more forcibly the
imminence and pressure of the crisis than words like these, not merely
from Froude and his friends, but from such a man as Mr. Hugh James Rose.

"Something must be done," but what? This was not so easy to say. It was
obvious that men must act in concert, and must write; but beyond these
general points, questions and difficulties arose. The first idea that
suggested itself at Hadleigh was a form of association, which would have
been something like the _English Church Union_ or the _Church Defence
Association_ of our days. It probably was Mr. Palmer's idea; and for
some time the attempt to carry it into effect was followed up at Oxford.
Plans of "Association" were drawn up and rejected. The endeavour brought
out differences of opinion--differences as to the rightness or the
policy of specific mention of doctrines; differences as to the union of
Church and State, on the importance of maintaining which, as long as
possible, Mr. Newman sided with Mr. Palmer against Mr. Keble's more
uncompromising view. A "_third_ formulary" was at length adopted.
"Events," it said, "have occurred within the last few years calculated
to inspire the true members and friends of the Church with the deepest
uneasiness." It went on to notice that political changes had thrown
power into the hands of the professed enemies of the Church as an
establishment; but it was not merely as an establishment that it was in
most serious danger. "Every one," it says, "who has become acquainted
with the literature of the day, must have observed the sedulous attempts
made in various quarters to reconcile members of the Church to
alterations in its doctrines and discipline. Projects of change, which
include the annihilation of our Creeds and the removal of doctrinal
statements incidentally contained in our worship, have been boldly and
assiduously put forth. Our services have been subjected to licentious
criticism, with the view of superseding some of them and of entirely
remodelling others. The very elementary principles of our ritual and
discipline have been rudely questioned; our apostolical polity has been
ridiculed and denied." The condition of the times made these things
more than ordinarily alarming, and the pressing danger was urged as a
reason for the formation, by members of the Church in various parts of
the kingdom, of an association on a few broad principles of union for
the defence of the Church. "They feel strongly," said the authors of the
paper, "that no fear of the appearance of forwardness should dissuade
them from a design, which seems to be demanded of them by their
affection towards that spiritual community to which they owe their hopes
of the world to come; and by a sense of duty to that God and Saviour who
is its Founder and Defender." But the plan of an Association, or of
separate Associations, which was circulated in the autumn of 1833, came
to nothing. "Jealousy was entertained of it in high quarters." Froude
objected to any association less wide than the Church itself. Newman had
a horror of committees and meetings and great people in London. And
thus, in spite of Mr. Palmer's efforts, favoured by a certain number of
influential and dignified friends, the Association would not work. But
the stir about it was not without result. Mr. Palmer travelled about the
country with the view of bringing the state of things before the clergy.
In place of the Association, an Address to the Archbishop of Canterbury
was resolved upon. It was drawn up by Mr. Palmer, who undertook the
business of circulating it. In spite of great difficulties and trouble
of the alarm of friends like Mr. Rose, who was afraid that it would
cause schism in the Church; of the general timidity of the dignified
clergy; of the distrust and the crotchets of others; of the coldness of
the bishops and the opposition of some of them--it was presented with
the signatures of some 7000 clergy to the Archbishop in February 1834.
It bore the names, among others, of Dr. Christopher Wordsworth, Master
of Trinity; Dr. Gilbert, of Brasenose College; Dr. Faussett, and Mr.
Keble. And this was not all. A Lay Address followed. There were
difficulties about the first form proposed, which was thought to say too
much about the doctrine and discipline of the Church; and it was laid
aside for one with more vague expressions about the "consecration of the
State," and the practical benefits of the Established Church. In this
form it was signed by 230,000 heads of families, and presented to the
Archbishop in the following May. "From these two events," writes Mr.
Perceval in 1842, "we may date the commencement of the turn of the tide,
which had threatened to overwhelm our Church and our religion."[45]
There can, at any rate, be little doubt that as regards the external
position of the Church in the country, this agitation was a success. It
rallied the courage of Churchmen, and showed that they were stronger and
more resolute than their enemies thought. The revolutionary temper of
the times had thrown all Churchmen on the Conservative side; and these
addresses were partly helped by political Conservatism, and also reacted
in its favour.

Some of the Hadleigh friends would probably have been content to go on
in this course, raising and keeping alive a strong feeling in favour of
things as they were, creating a general sympathy with the Church, and
confidence in the peculiar excellency of its wise and sober
institutions, sedulously but cautiously endeavouring to correct popular
mistakes about them, and to diffuse a sounder knowledge and a sounder
tone of religious feeling. This is what Mr. H.J. Rose would have wished,
only he felt that he could not insure the "ten or fifteen years" which
he wanted to work this gradual change. Both he and Mr. Palmer would have
made London, to use a military term, their base of operations. The Oriel
men, on the other hand, thought that "Universities are the natural
centres of intellectual movements"; they were for working more
spontaneously in the freedom of independent study; they had little faith
in organisation; "living movements," they said, "do not come of
committees." But at Hadleigh it was settled that there was writing to be
done, in some way or other; and on this, divergence of opinion soon
showed itself, both as to the matter and the tone of what was to be
written.

For the writers of real force, the men of genius, were the three Oriel
men, with less experience, at that time, with less extensive learning,
than Mr. Rose and Mr. Palmer. But they were bolder and keener spirits;
they pierced more deeply into the real condition and prospects of the
times; they were not disposed to smooth over and excuse what they
thought hollow and untrue, to put up with decorous compromises and
half-measures, to be patient towards apathy, negligence, or insolence.
They certainly had more in them of the temper of warfare. We know from
their own avowals that a great anger possessed them, that they were
indignant at the sacred idea of the Church being lost and smothered by
selfishness and stupidity; they were animated by the spirit which makes
men lose patience with abuses and their apologists, and gives them no
peace till they speak out. Mr. Newman felt that, though associations and
addresses might be very well, what the Church and the clergy and the
country wanted was plain speaking; and that plain speaking could not be
got by any papers put forth as joint manifestoes, or with the revision
and sanction of "safe" and "judicious" advisers. It was necessary to
write, and to write as each man felt: and he determined that each man
should write and speak for himself, though working in concert and
sympathy with others towards the supreme end--the cause and interests of
the Church.

And thus were born the _Tracts for the Times._[46] For a time Mr.
Palmer's line and Mr. Newman's line ran on side by side; but Mr.
Palmer's plan had soon done all that it could do, important as that was;
it gradually faded out of sight, and the attention of all who cared for,
or who feared or who hated the movement, was concentrated on the "Oxford
Tracts." They were the watchword and the symbol of an enterprise which
all soon felt to be a remarkable one--remarkable, if in nothing else, in
the form in which it was started. Great changes and movements have been
begun in various ways; in secret and underground communications, in
daring acts of self-devotion or violence, in the organisation of an
institution, in the persistent display of a particular temper and set of
habits, especially in the form of a stirring and enthralling eloquence,
in popular preaching, in fierce appeals to the passions. But though
tracts had become in later times familiar instruments of religious
action, they had, from the fashion of using them, become united in the
minds of many with rather disparaging associations. The pertinacity of
good ladies who pressed them on chance strangers, and who extolled their
efficacy as if it was that of a quack medicine, had lowered the general
respect for them. The last thing that could have been thought of was a
great religions revolution set in motion by tracts and leaflets, and
taking its character and name from them.

But the ring of these early Tracts was something very different from
anything of the kind yet known in England. They were clear, brief, stern
appeals to conscience and reason, sparing of words, utterly without
rhetoric, intense in purpose. They were like the short, sharp, rapid
utterances of men in pain and danger and pressing emergency. The first
one gave the keynote of the series. Mr. Newman "had out of his own head
begun the Tracts": he wrote the opening one in a mood which he has
himself described. He was in the "exultation of health restored and home
regained": he felt, he says, an "exuberant and joyous energy which he
never had before or since"; "his health and strength had come back to
him with such a rebound" that some of his friends did not know him. "I
had the consciousness that I was employed in that work which I had been
dreaming about, and which I felt to be so momentous and inspiring. I had
a supreme confidence in our cause; we were upholding that primitive
Christianity which was delivered for all time by the early teachers of
the Church, and which was registered and attested in the Anglican
formularies and by the Anglican divines. That ancient religion had
well-nigh faded out of the land through the political changes of the
last 150 years, and it must be restored. It would be, in fact, a second
Reformation--a better Reformation, for it would return, not to the
sixteenth century, but to the seventeenth. No time was to be lost, for
the Whigs had come to do their worst, and the rescue might come too
late. Bishoprics were already in course of suppression; Church property
was in course of confiscation; sees would be soon receiving unsuitable
occupants. We knew enough to begin preaching, and there was no one else
to preach. I felt," he goes on,[47] with a characteristic recollection
of his own experience when he started on his voyage with Froude in the
_Hermes_, "as on a vessel, which first gets under weigh, and then clears
out the deck, and stores away luggage and live stock into their proper
receptacles." The first three Tracts bear the date of 9th September
1833. They were the first public utterance of the movement. The opening
words of this famous series deserve to be recalled. They are new to most
of the present generation.

  TO MY BRETHREN IN THE SACRED MINISTRY, THE PRESBYTERS AND DEACONS OF
  THE CHURCH OF CHRIST IN ENGLAND, ORDAINED THEREUNTO BY THE HOLY GHOST
  AND THE IMPOSITION OF HANDS.

  FELLOW-LABOURERS,--I am but one of yourselves--Presbyter; and
  therefore I conceal my name, lest I should take too much on myself by
  speaking in my own person. Yet speak I must; for the times are very
  evil, yet no one speaks against them.

  Is not this so? Do not we "look one upon another," yet perform
  nothing? Do we not all confess the peril into which the Church is
  come, yet sit still each in his own retirement, as if mountains and
  seas cut off brother from brother? Therefore suffer me, while I try to
  draw you forth from those pleasant retreats, which it has been our
  blessedness hitherto to enjoy, to contemplate the condition and
  prospects of our Holy Mother in a practical way; so that one and all
  may unlearn that idle habit, which has grown upon us, of owning the
  state of things to be bad, yet doing nothing to remedy it.

  Consider a moment. Is it fair, is it dutiful, to suffer our bishops to
  stand the brunt of the battle without doing our part to support them?
  Upon them comes "the care of all the Churches." This cannot be helped;
  indeed it is their glory. Not one of us would wish in the least to
  deprive them of the duties, the toils, the responsibilities of their
  high office. And, black event as it would be for the country, yet (as
  far as they are concerned) we could not wish them a more blessed
  termination of their course than the spoiling of their goods and
  martyrdom.

  To them then we willingly and affectionately relinquish their high
  privileges and honours; we encroach not upon the rights of the
  SUCCESSORS OF THE APOSTLES; we touch not their sword and crozier. Yet
  surely we may be their shield-bearers in the battle without offence;
  and by our voice and deeds be to them what Luke and Timothy were to
  St. Paul.

  Now then let me come at once to the subject which leads me to address
  you. Should the Government and the Country so far forget their God as
  to cast off the Church, to deprive it of its temporal honours and
  substance, _on what_ will you rest the claim of respect and attention
  which you make upon your flocks? Hitherto you have been upheld by your
  birth, your education, your wealth, your connexions; should these
  secular advantages cease, on what must Christ's Ministers depend? Is
  not this a serious practical question? We know how miserable is the
  state of religious bodies not supported by the State. Look at the
  Dissenters on all sides of you, and you will see at once that their
  Ministers, depending simply upon the people, become the _creatures_ of
  the people. Are you content that this should be your case? Alas! can a
  greater evil befall Christians, than for their teachers to be guided
  by them, instead of guiding? How can we "hold fast the form of sound
  words," and "keep that which is committed to our trust," if our
  influence is to depend simply on our popularity? Is it not our very
  office to _oppose_ the world? Can we then allow ourselves to _court_
  it? to preach smooth things and prophesy deceits? to make the way of
  life easy to the rich and indolent, and to bribe the humbler classes
  by excitements and strong intoxicating doctrine? Surely it must not be
  so;--and the question recurs, _on what_ are we to rest our authority
  when the State deserts us?

  Christ has not left His Church without claim of its own upon the
  attention of men. Surely not. Hard Master He cannot be, to bid us
  oppose the world, yet give us no credentials for so doing. There are
  some who rest their divine mission on their own unsupported assertion;
  others, who rest it upon their popularity; others, on their success;
  and others, who rest it upon their temporal distinctions. This last
  case has, perhaps, been too much our own; I fear we have neglected the
  real ground on which our authority is built--OUR APOSTOLICAL DESCENT.

  We have been born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of
  the will of man, but of God. The Lord Jesus Christ gave His Spirit to
  His Apostles; they in turn laid their hands on those who should
  succeed them; and these again on others; and so the sacred gift has
  been handed down to our present bishops, who have appointed us as
  their assistants, and in some sense representatives.

  Now every one of us believes this. I know that some will at first deny
  they do; still they do believe it. Only, it is not sufficiently,
  practically impressed on their minds.

  They _do_ believe it; for it _is_ the doctrine of the Ordination
  Service, which they have recognised as truth in the most solemn season
  of their lives. In order, then, not to prove, but to remind and
  impress, I entreat your attention to the words used when you were made
  ministers of Christ's Church.

  The office of Deacon was thus committed to you: "Take thou authority
  to execute the office of a Deacon in the Church of God committed unto
  thee: In the name, etc."

  And the Priesthood thus:

  "Receive the Holy Ghost, for the office and work of a Priest, in the
  Church of God, now committed unto thee by the imposition of our hands.
  Whose sins thou dost forgive, they are forgiven; and whose sins thou
  dost retain, they are retained. And be thou a faithful dispenser of
  the Word of God, and of His Holy Sacraments: In the name, etc."

  These, I say, were words spoken to us, and received by us, when we
  were brought nearer to God than at any other time of our lives. I know
  the grace of ordination is contained in the laying on of hands, not in
  any form of words;--yet in our own case (as has ever been usual in the
  Church) words of blessing have accompanied the act. Thus we have
  confessed before God our belief that the bishop who ordained us gave
  us the Holy Ghost, gave us the power to bind and to loose, to
  administer the Sacraments, and to preach. Now _how_ is he able to give
  these great gifts? _Whence_ is his right? Are these words idle (which
  would be taking God's name in vain), or do they express merely a wish
  (which surely is very far below their meaning), or do they not rather
  indicate that the speaker is conveying a gift? Surely they can mean
  nothing short of this. But whence, I ask, his right to do so? Has he
  any right, except as having received the power from those who
  consecrated him to be a bishop? He could not give what he had never
  received. It is plain then that he but _transmits_; and that the
  Christian Ministry is a _succession_. And if we trace back the power
  of ordination from hand to hand, of course we shall come to the
  Apostles at last. We know we do, as a plain historical fact; and
  therefore all we, who have been ordained clergy, in the very form of
  our ordination acknowledged the doctrine of the APOSTOLICAL
  SUCCESSION.

  And for the same reason, we must necessarily consider none to be
  _really_ ordained who have not _thus_ been ordained. For if ordination
  is a divine ordinance, it must be necessary; and if it is not a divine
  ordinance, how dare we use it? Therefore all who use it, all of _us_,
  must consider it necessary. As well might we pretend the Sacraments
  are not necessary to salvation, while we make use of the offices in
  the Liturgy; for when God appoints means of grace, they are _the_
  means.

  I do not see how any one can escape from this plain view of the
  subject, except (as I have already hinted) by declaring that the words
  do not mean all that they say. But only reflect what a most unseemly
  time for random words is that in which ministers are set apart for
  their office. Do we not adopt a Liturgy _in order to_ hinder
  inconsiderate idle language, and shall we, in the most sacred of all
  services, write down, subscribe, and use again and again forms of
  speech which have not been weighed, and cannot be taken strictly?

  Therefore, my dear brethren, act up to your professions. Let it not
  be said that you have neglected a gift; for if you have the Spirit of
  the Apostles on you, surely this _is_ a great gift. "Stir up the gift
  of God which is in you." Make much of it. Show your value of it. Keep
  it before your minds as an honourable badge, far higher than that
  secular respectability, or cultivation, or polish, or learning, or
  rank, which gives you a hearing with the many. Tell _them_ of your
  gift. The times will soon drive you to do this, if you mean to be
  still anything. But wait not for the times. Do not be compelled, by
  the world's forsaking you, to recur as if unwillingly to the high
  source of your authority. Speak out now, before you are forced, both
  as glorying in your privilege and to insure your rightful honour from
  your people. A notion has gone abroad that they can take away your
  power. They think they have given and can take it away. They think it
  lies in the Church property, and they know that they have politically
  the power to confiscate that property. They have been deluded into a
  notion that present palpable usefulness, producible results,
  acceptableness to your flocks, that these and such like are the tests
  of your divine commission. Enlighten them in this matter. Exalt our
  Holy Fathers the bishops, as the representatives of the Apostles, and
  the Angels of the Churches; and magnify your office, as being ordained
  by them to take part in their Ministry.

  But, if you will not adopt my view of the subject, which I offer to
  you, not doubtingly, yet (I hope) respectfully, at all events, CHOOSE
  YOUR SIDE. To remain neuter much longer will be itself to take a part.
  _Choose_ your side; since side you shortly must, with one or other
  party, even though you do nothing. Fear to be of those whose line is
  decided for them by chance circumstances, and who may perchance find
  themselves with the enemies of Christ, while they think but to remove
  themselves from worldly politics. Such abstinence is impossible in
  troublous times. HE THAT IS NOT WITH ME IS AGAINST ME, AND HE THAT
  GATHERETH NOT WITH ME SCATTERETH ABROAD.

While Mr. Palmer was working at the Association and the Address, Mr.
Newman with his friends was sending forth the Tracts, one after another,
in rapid succession, through the autumn and winter of 1833. They were
short papers, in many cases mere short notes, on the great questions
which had suddenly sprung into such interest, and were felt to be full
of momentous consequence,--the true and essential nature of the
Christian Church, its relation to the primitive ages, its authority and
its polity and government, the current objections to its claims in
England, to its doctrines and its services, the length of the prayers,
the Burial Service, the proposed alterations in the Liturgy, the neglect
of discipline, the sins and corruptions of each branch of Christendom.
The same topics were enforced and illustrated again and again as the
series went on; and then there came extracts from English divines, like
Bishop Beveridge, Bishop Wilson, and Bishop Cosin, and under the title
"Records of the Church," translations from the early Fathers, Ignatius,
Justin, Irenaeus, and others. Mr. Palmer contributed to one of these
papers, and later on Mr. Perceval wrote two or three; but for the most
part these early Tracts were written by Mr. Newman, though Mr. Keble and
one or two others also helped. Afterwards, other writers joined in the
series. They were at first not only published with a notice that any one
might republish them with any alterations he pleased, but they were
distributed by zealous coadjutors, ready to take any trouble in the
cause. Mr. Mozley has described how he rode about Northamptonshire,
from parsonage to parsonage, with bundles of the Tracts. The _Apologia_
records the same story. "I called upon clergy," says the writer, "in
various parts of the country, whether I was acquainted with them or not,
and I attended at the houses of friends where several of them were from
time to time assembled.... I did not care whether my visits were made to
High Church or Low Church: I wished to make a strong pull in union with
all who were opposed to the principles of Liberalism, whoever they might
be." He adds that he does not think that much came of these visits, or
of letters written with the same purpose, "except that they advertised
the fact that a rally in favour of the Church was commencing."

The early Tracts were intended to startle the world, and they succeeded
in doing so. Their very form, as short earnest leaflets, was perplexing;
for they came, not from the class of religionists who usually deal in
such productions, but from distinguished University scholars, picked men
of a picked college; and from men, too, who as a school were the
representatives of soberness and self-control in religious feeling and
language, and whose usual style of writing was specially marked by its
severe avoidance of excitement and novelty; the school from which had
lately come the _Christian Year_, with its memorable motto "_In
quietness and confidence shall be your strength_." Their matter was
equally unusual. Undoubtedly they "brought strange things to the ears"
of their generation. To Churchmen now these "strange things" are such
familiar commonplaces, that it is hard to realise how they should have
made so much stir. But they were novelties, partly audacious, partly
unintelligible, then. The strong and peremptory language of the Tracts,
their absence of qualifications or explanations, frightened friends like
Mr. Palmer, who, so far, had no ground to quarrel with their doctrine,
and he wished them to be discontinued. The story went that one of the
bishops, on reading one of the Tracts on the Apostolical Succession,
could not make up his mind whether he held the doctrine or not. They
fell on a time of profound and inexcusable ignorance on the subjects
they discussed, and they did not spare it. The cry of Romanism was
inevitable, and was soon raised, though there was absolutely nothing in
them but had the indisputable sanction of the Prayer Book, and of the
most authoritative Anglican divines. There was no Romanism in them, nor
anything that showed a tendency to it. But custom, and the prevalence of
other systems and ways, and the interest of later speculations, and the
slackening of professional reading and scholarship in the Church, had
made their readers forget some of the most obvious facts in Church
history, and the most certain Church principles; and men were at sea as
to what they knew or believed on the points on which the Tracts
challenged them. The scare was not creditable; it was like the Italian
scare about cholera with its quarantines and fumigations; but it was
natural. The theological knowledge and learning were wanting which would
have been familiar with the broad line of difference between what is
Catholic and what is specially Roman. There were many whose teaching was
impugned, for it was really Calvinist or Zwinglian, and not Anglican.
There were hopeful and ambitious theological Liberals, who recognised in
that appeal to Anglicanism the most effective counter-stroke to their
own schemes and theories. There were many whom the movement forced to
think, who did not want such addition to their responsibilities. It
cannot be thought surprising that the new Tracts were received with
surprise, dismay, ridicule, and indignation. But they also at once
called forth a response of eager sympathy from numbers to whom they
brought unhoped-for relief and light in a day of gloom, of rebuke and
blasphemy. Mr. Keble, in the preface to his famous assize sermon, had
hazarded the belief that there were "hundreds, nay, thousands of
Christians, and that there soon will be tens of thousands, unaffectedly
anxious to be rightly guided" in regard to subjects that concern the
Church. The belief was soon justified.

When the first forty-six Tracts were collected into a volume towards the
end of 1834, the following "advertisement" explaining their nature and
objects was prefixed to it. It is a contemporary and authoritative
account of what was the mind of the leaders of the movement; and it has
a significance beyond the occasion which prompted it.

  The following-Tracts were published with the object of
  contributing-something towards the practical revival of doctrines,
  which, although held by the great divines of our Church, at present
  have become obsolete with the majority of her members, and are
  withdrawn from public view even by the more learned and orthodox few
  who still adhere to them. The Apostolic succession, the Holy Catholic
  Church, were principles of action in the minds of our predecessors of
  the seventeenth century; but, in proportion as the maintenance of the
  Church has been secured by law, her ministers have been under the
  temptation of leaning on an arm of flesh instead of her own
  divinely-provided discipline, a temptation increased by political
  events and arrangements which need not here be more than alluded to. A
  lamentable increase of sectarianism has followed; being occasioned (in
  addition to other more obvious causes), first, by the cold aspect
  which the new Church doctrines have presented to the religious
  sensibilities of the mind, next to their meagreness in suggesting
  motives to restrain it from seeking out a more influential discipline.
  Doubtless obedience to the law of the land, and the careful
  maintenance of "decency and order" (the topics in usage among us),
  are plain duties of the Gospel, and a reasonable ground for keeping in
  communion with the Established Church; yet, if Providence has
  graciously provided for our weakness more interesting and constraining
  motives, it is a sin thanklessly to neglect them; just as it would be
  a mistake to rest the duties of temperance or justice on the mere law
  of natural religion, when they are mercifully sanctioned in the Gospel
  by the more winning authority of our Saviour Christ. Experience has
  shown the inefficacy of the mere injunctions of Church order, however
  scripturally enforced, in restraining from schism the awakened and
  anxious sinner; who goes to a dissenting preacher "because" (as he
  expresses it) "he gets good from him": and though he does not stand
  excused in God's sight for yielding to the temptation, surely the
  ministers of the Church are not blameless if, by keeping back the more
  gracious and consoling truths provided for the little ones of Christ,
  they indirectly lead him into it. Had he been taught as a child, that
  the Sacraments, not preaching, are the sources of Divine Grace; that
  the Apostolical ministry had a virtue in it which went out over the
  whole Church, when sought by the prayer of faith; that fellowship with
  it was a gift and privilege, as well as a duty, we could not have had
  so many wanderers from our fold, nor so many cold hearts within it.

  This instance may suggest many others of the superior _influence_ of
  an apostolical over a mere secular method of teaching. The awakened
  mind knows its wants, but cannot provide for them; and in its hunger
  will feed upon ashes, if it cannot obtain the pure milk of the word.
  Methodism and Popery are in different ways the refuge of those whom
  the Church stints of the gifts of grace; they are the foster-mothers
  of abandoned children. The neglect of the daily service, the
  desecration of festivals, the Eucharist scantily administered,
  insubordination permitted in all ranks of the Church, orders and
  offices imperfectly developed, the want of societies for particular
  religious objects, and the like deficiencies, lead the feverish mind,
  desirous of a vent to its feelings, and a stricter rule of life, to
  the smaller religious communities, to prayer and Bible meetings, and
  ill-advised institutions and societies, on the one hand, on the other,
  to the solemn and captivating services by which Popery gains its
  proselytes. Moreover, the multitude of men cannot teach or guide
  themselves; and an injunction given them to depend on their private
  judgment, cruel in itself, is doubly hurtful, as throwing them on such
  teachers as speak daringly and promise largely, and not only aid but
  supersede individual exertion.

  These remarks may serve as a clue, for those who care to pursue it, to
  the views which have led to the publication of the following Tracts.
  The Church of Christ was intended to cope with human nature in all its
  forms, and surely the gifts vouchsafed it are adequate for that
  gracious purpose. There are zealous sons and servants of her English
  branch, who see with sorrow that she is defrauded of her full
  usefulness by particular theories and principles of the present age,
  which interfere with the execution of one portion of her commission;
  and while they consider that the revival of this portion of truth is
  especially adapted to break up existing parties in the Church, and to
  form instead a bond of union among all who love the Lord Jesus Christ
  in sincerity, they believe that nothing but these neglected doctrines,
  faithfully preached, will repress that extension of Popery, for which
  the ever multiplying divisions of the religious world are too clearly
  preparing the way.

Another publication ought to be noticed, a result of the Hadleigh
meeting, which exhibited the leading ideas of the conference, and
especially of the more "conservative" members of it. This was a little
work in question and answer, called the "Churchman's Manual," drawn up
in part some time before the meeting by Mr. Perceval, and submitted to
the revision of Mr. Rose and Mr. Palmer. It was intended to be a
supplement to the "Church Catechism," as to the nature and claims of the
Church and its Ministers. It is a terse, clear, careful, and, as was
inevitable, rather dry summary of the Anglican theory, and of the
position which the English Church holds to the Roman Church, and to the
Dissenters. It was further revised at the conference, and "some
important suggestions were made by Froude"; and then Mr. Perceval, who
had great hopes from the publication, and spared himself no pains to
make it perfect, submitted it for revision and advice to a number of
representative Churchmen. The Scotch Bishops whom he consulted were warm
in approval, especially the venerable and saintly Bishop Jolly; as were
also a number of men of weight and authority in England: Judge Allan
Park, Joshua Watson, Mr. Sikes of Guilsborough, Mr. Churton of Crayke,
Mr. H.H. Norris, Dr. Wordsworth, and Dr. Routh. It was then laid before
the Archbishop for correction, or, if desirable, suppression; and for
his sanction if approved. The answer was what might have been expected,
that there was no objection to it, but that official sanction must be
declined on general grounds. After all this Mr. Perceval not unnaturally
claimed for it special importance. It was really, he observed, the
"first Tract," systematically put forth, and its preparation "apparently
gave rise" to the series; and it was the only one which received the
approval of all immediately concerned in the movement. "The care
bestowed on it," he says, "probably exceeds that which any theological
publication in the English communion received for a long time;" and
further, it shows "that the foundation of the movement with which Mr.
Rose was connected, was laid with all the care and circumspection that
reason could well suggest." It appears to have had a circulation, but
there is no reason to think that it had any considerable influence, one
way or other, on opinion in the Church. When it was referred to in
after-years by Mr. Perceval in his own vindication, it was almost
forgotten. More interesting, if not more important, Tracts had thrown it
into the shade.

FOOTNOTES:

[37] _Apol._ p. 100.

[38] Palmer, _Narrative_, 1843 (republished 1883), pp. 5, 18.

[39] Palmer (1883), pp. 40, 43, "June 1833, when he joined us at
Oxford."

[40] See Palmer's account (1883), pp. 45-47, and (1843), pp. 6,7.

[41] "Mr. Rose ... was the one commanding figure and very lovable man,
that the frightened and discomfited Church people were now rallying
round. Few people have left so distinct an impression of themselves as
this gentleman. For many years after, when he was no more, and Newman
had left Rose's standpoint far behind, he could never speak of him or
think of him without renewed tenderness" (Mr. T. Mozley,
_Reminiscences_, i. 308).

In November 1838, shortly before Mr. Rose's death, Mr. Newman had
dedicated a volume of sermons to him--"who, when hearts were failing,
bade us stir up the gift that was in us, and betake ourselves to our
true mother" (_Parochial Sermons_, vol. iv.)

[42] _Narrative of Events connected with the publication of Tracts for
the Times_, by W. Palmer (published 1843, republished 1883), pp. 96-100
(abridged).

[43] _Collection of Papers connected with the Theological Movement of_
1833, by A.P. Perceval (1842), p. 25.

[44] Palmer's _Narrative_ (1833), p. 101

[45] _Collection of Papers_, p. 12.

[46] "That portentous birth of time, the _Tracts for the
Times._"--Mozley, _Remin_, i. 311.

[47] Froude, _Remains_, i. 265.



CHAPTER VII

THE TRACTARIANS


Thus had been started--hurriedly perhaps, yet not without counting the
cost--a great enterprise, which had for its object to rouse the Church
from its lethargy, and to strengthen and purify religion, by making it
deeper and more real; and they who had put their hands to the plough
were not to look back any more. It was not a popular appeal; it
addressed itself not to the many but to the few; it sought to inspire
and to teach the teachers. There was no thought as yet of acting on the
middle classes, or on the ignorance and wretchedness of the great towns,
though Newman had laid down that the Church must rest on the people, and
Froude looked forward to colleges of unmarried priests as the true way
to evangelise the crowds. There was no display about this attempt, no
eloquence, nothing attractive in the way of original speculation or
sentimental interest. It was suspicious, perhaps too suspicious, of the
excitement and want of soberness, almost inevitable in strong appeals to
the masses of mankind. It brought no new doctrine, but professed to go
back to what was obvious and old-fashioned and commonplace. It taught
people to think less of preaching than of what in an age of excitement
were invidiously called forms--of the sacraments and services of the
Church. It discouraged, even to the verge of an intended dryness, all
that was showy, all that in thought or expression or manner it condemned
under the name of "flash." It laid stress on the exercise of an inner
and unseen self-discipline, and the cultivation of the less interesting
virtues of industry, humility, self-distrust, and obedience. If from its
writers proceeded works which had impressed people--a volume like the
_Christian Year_, poems original in their force and their tenderness,
like some of those in the _Lyra Apostolica_, sermons which arrested the
hearers by their keenness and pathetic undertone--the force of all this
was not the result of literary ambition and effort, but the reflexion,
unconscious, unsought, of thought and feeling that could not otherwise
express itself, and that was thrown into moulds shaped by habitual
refinement and cultivated taste. It was from the first a movement from
which, as much by instinct and temper as by deliberate intention,
self-seeking in all its forms was excluded. Those whom it influenced
looked not for great things for themselves, nor thought of making a mark
in the world.

The first year after the Hadleigh meeting (1834) passed uneventfully.
The various addresses in which Mr. Palmer was interested, the election
and installation of the Duke of Wellington as Chancellor, the enthusiasm
and hopes called forth by the occasion, were public and prominent
matters. The Tracts were steadily swelling in number; the busy
distribution of them had ceased, and they had begun to excite interest
and give rise to questions. Mr. Palmer, who had never liked the Tracts,
became more uneasy; yet he did not altogether refuse to contribute to
them. Others gave their help, among them Mr. Perceval, Froude, the two
Kebles, and Mr. Newman's friend, a layman, Mr. J. Bowden; some of the
younger scholars furnished translations from the Fathers; but the bulk
and most forcible of the Tracts were still the work of Mr. Newman. But
the Tracts were not the most powerful instruments in drawing sympathy to
the movement. None but those who remember them can adequately estimate
the effect of Mr. Newman's four o'clock sermons at St. Mary's.[48] The
world knows them, has heard a great deal about them, has passed its
various judgments on them. But it hardly realises that without those
sermons the movement might never have gone on, certainly would never
have been what it was. Even people who heard them continually, and felt
them to be different from any other sermons, hardly estimated their real
power, or knew at the time the influence which the sermons were having
upon them. Plain, direct, unornamented, clothed in English that was only
pure and lucid, free from any faults of taste, strong in their
flexibility and perfect command both of language and thought, they were
the expression of a piercing and large insight into character and
conscience and motives, of a sympathy at once most tender and most stern
with the tempted and the wavering, of an absolute and burning faith in
God and His counsels, in His love, in His judgments, in the awful glory
of His generosity and His magnificence. They made men think of the
things which the preacher spoke of, and not of the sermon or the
preacher. Since 1828 this preaching had been going on at St. Mary's,
growing in purpose and directness as the years went on, though it could
hardly be more intense than in some of its earliest examples. While men
were reading and talking about the Tracts, they were hearing the
sermons; and in the sermons they heard the living meaning, and reason,
and bearing of the Tracts, their ethical affinities, their moral
standard. The sermons created a moral atmosphere, in which men judged
the questions in debate. It was no dry theological correctness and
completeness which were sought for. No love of privilege, no formal
hierarchical claims, urged on the writers. What they thought in danger,
what they aspired to revive and save, was the very life of religion, the
truth and substance of all that makes it the hope of human society.

But indeed, by this time, out of the little company of friends which a
common danger and a common loyalty to the Church had brought together,
one Mr. Newman, had drawn ahead, and was now in the front. Unsought
for, as the _Apologia_ makes so clear--unsought for, as the contemporary
letters of observing friends attest--unsought for, as the whole tenor of
his life has proved--the position of leader in a great crisis came to
him, because it must come. He was not unconscious that, as he had felt
in his sickness in Sicily, he "had a work to do." But there was shyness
and self-distrust in his nature as well as energy; and it was the force
of genius, and a lofty character, and the statesman's eye, taking in and
judging accurately the whole of a complicated scene, which conferred the
gifts, and imposed inevitably and without dispute the obligations and
responsibilities of leadership. Dr. Pusey of course was a friend of
great account, but he was as yet in the background, a venerated and
rather awful person, from his position not mixing in the easy
intercourse of common-room life, but to be consulted on emergencies.
Round Mr. Newman gathered, with a curious mixture of freedom, devotion,
and awe--for, with unlimited power of sympathy, he was exacting and even
austere in his friendships--the best men of his college, either
Fellows--R. Wilberforce, Thomas Mozley, Frederic Rogers, J.F. Christie;
or old pupils--Henry Wilberforce, R.F. Wilson, William Froude, Robert
Williams, S.F. Wood, James Bliss, James Mozley; and in addition some
outsiders--Woodgate of St. John's, Isaac Williams and Copeland, of his
old College, Trinity. These, members of his intimate circle, were bound
to him not merely by enthusiastic admiration and confidence, but by a
tenderness of affection, a mixture of the gratitude and reliance of
discipleship with the warm love of friendship, of which one has to go
back far for examples, and which has had nothing like it in our days at
Oxford. And Newman was making his mark as a writer. The _Arians_, though
an imperfect book, was one which, for originality and subtlety of
thought, was something very unlike the usual theological writing of the
day. There was no doubt of his power, and his mind was brimming over
with ideas on the great questions which were rising into view. It was
clear to all who know him that he could speak on them as no one else
could.

Towards the end of 1834, and in the course of 1835, an event happened
which had a great and decisive influence on the character and fortunes
of the movement. This was the accession to it of Dr. Pusey. He had
looked favourably on it from the first, partly from his friendship with
Mr. Newman, partly from the workings of his own mind. But he had nothing
to do with the starting of it, except that he early contributed an
elaborate paper on "Fasting." The Oxford branch of the movement, as
distinguished from that which Mr. Palmer represented, consisted up to
1834 almost exclusively of junior men, personal friends of Mr. Newman,
and most of them Oriel men. Mr. Newman's deep convictions, his fiery
enthusiasm, had given the Tracts their first stamp and impress, and had
sent them flying over the country among the clergy on his own
responsibility. They answered their purpose. They led to widespread and
sometimes deep searchings of heart; to some they seemed to speak forth
what had been long dormant within them, what their minds had
unconsciously and vaguely thought and longed for; to some they seemed a
challenge pregnant with danger. But still they were but an outburst of
individual feeling and zeal, which, if nothing more came of its
fragmentary displays, might blaze and come to nothing. There was
nothing yet which spoke outwardly of the consistency and weight of a
serious attempt to influence opinion and to produce a practical and
lasting effect on the generation which was passing. Cardinal Newman, in
the _Apologia_, has attributed to Dr. Pusey's unreserved adhesion to the
cause which the Tracts represented a great change in regard to the
weight and completeness of what was written and done. "Dr. Pusey," he
writes, "gave us at once a position and a name. Without him we should
have had no chance, especially at the early date of 1834, of making any
serious resistance to the liberal aggression. But Dr. Pusey was a
Professor and Canon of Christ Church; he had a vast influence in
consequence of his deep religious seriousness, the munificence of his
charities, his Professorship, his family connexions, and his easy
relations with the University authorities. He was to the movement all
that Mr. Rose might have been, with that indispensable addition, which
was wanting to Mr. Rose, the intimate friendship and the familiar daily
society of the persons who had commenced it. And he had that special
claim on their attachment which lies in the living presence of a
faithful and loyal affectionateness. There was henceforth a man who
could be the head and centre of the zealous people in every part of the
country who were adopting the new opinions; and not only so, but there
was one who furnished the movement with a front to the world, and gained
for it a recognition from other parties in the University."[49]

This is not too much to say of the effect of Dr. Pusey's adhesion. It
gave the movement a second head, in close sympathy with its original
leader, but in many ways very different from him. Dr. Pusey became, as
it were, its official chief in the eyes of the world. He became also, in
a remarkable degree, a guarantee for its stability and steadiness: a
guarantee that its chiefs knew what they were about, and meant nothing
but what was for the benefit of the English Church. "He was," we read in
the _Apologia_, "a man of large designs; he had a hopeful, sanguine
mind; he had no fear of others; he was haunted by no intellectual
perplexities.... If confidence in his position is (as it is) a first
essential in the leader of a party, Dr. Pusey had it." An inflexible
patience, a serene composure, a meek, resolute self-possession, was the
habit of his mind, and never deserted him in the most trying days. He
never for an instant, as the paragraph witnesses, wavered or doubted
about the position of the English Church.

He was eminently, as his friend justly observes, "a man of large
designs." It is doubtless true, as the _Apologia_ goes on to say, that
it was due to the place which he now took in the movement that great
changes were made in the form and character of the Tracts. To Dr.
Pusey's mind, accustomed to large and exhaustive theological reading,
they wanted fulness, completeness, the importance given by careful
arrangement and abundant knowledge. It was not for nothing that he had
passed an apprenticeship among the divines of Germany, and been the
friend and correspondent of Tholuck, Schleiermacher, Ewald, and Sack. He
knew the meaning of real learning. In controversy it was his
sledge-hammer and battle-mace, and he had the strong and sinewy hand to
use it with effect. He observed that when attention had been roused to
the ancient doctrines of the Church by the startling and peremptory
language of the earlier Tracts, fairness and justice demanded that these
doctrines should be fully and carefully explained and defended against
misrepresentation and mistake. Forgetfulness and ignorance had thrown
these doctrines so completely into the shade that, identified as they
were with the best English divinity, they now wore the air of amazing
novelties; and it was only due to honest inquirers to satisfy them with
solid and adequate proof. "Dr. Pusey's influence was felt at once. He
saw that there ought to be more sobriety, more gravity, more careful
pains, more sense of responsibility in the Tracts and in the whole
movement." At the end of 1835 Dr. Pusey gave an example of what he
meant. In place of the "short and incomplete papers," such as the
earlier Tracts had been, Nos. 67, 68, and 69 formed the three parts of a
closely-printed pamphlet of more than 300 pages.[50] It was a treatise
on Baptism, perhaps the most elaborate that has yet appeared in the
English language. "It is to be regarded," says the advertisement to the
second volume of the Tracts, "not as an inquiry into a single or
isolated doctrine, but as a delineation and serious examination of a
modern system of theology, of extensive popularity and great
speciousness, in its elementary and characteristic principles." The
Tract on Baptism was like the advance of a battery of heavy artillery on
a field where the battle has been hitherto carried on by skirmishing and
musketry. It altered the look of things and the condition of the
fighting. After No. 67 the earlier form of the Tracts appeared no more.
Except two or three reprints from writers like Bishop Wilson, the Tracts
from No. 70 to No. 90 were either grave and carefully worked out essays
on some question arising out of the discussions of the time, or else
those ponderous _catenae_ of patristic or Anglican divinity, by which
the historical continuity and Church authority of various points of
doctrine were established.

Dr. Pusey was indeed a man of "large designs." The vision rose before
him of a revived and instructed Church, earnest in purpose and strict in
life, and of a great Christian University roused and quickened to a
sense of its powers and responsibilities. He thought of the enormous
advantages offered by its magnificent foundations for serious study and
the production of works for which time and deep learning and continuous
labour were essential. Such works, in the hands of single-minded
students, living lives of simplicity and hard toil, had in the case of
the Portroyalists, the Oratorians, and above all, the Benedictines of
St. Maur, splendidly redeemed the Church of France, in otherwise evil
days, from the reproach of idleness and self-indulgence. He found under
his hand men who had in them something of the making of students; and he
hoped to see college fellowships filled more and more by such men, and
the life of a college fellow more and more recognised as that of a man
to whom learning, and especially sacred learning, was his call and
sufficient object, as pastoral or educational work might be the call of
others. Where fellowships were not to be had, he encouraged such men to
stay up in Oxford; he took them into his own house; later, he tried a
kind of hall to receive them. And by way of beginning at once, and
giving them something to do, he planned on a large scale a series of
translations and also editions of the Fathers. It was announced, with an
elaborate prospectus, in 1836, under the title, in conformity with the
usage of the time, which had _Libraries of Useful Knowledge, etc._, of a
_Library of Fathers of the Holy Catholic Church anterior to the Division
of the East and West_, under the editorship of Dr. Pusey, Mr. Keble,
and Mr. Newman. It was dedicated to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and
had a considerable number of Bishops among its subscribers. Down to a
very late date, the _Library of the Fathers_, in which Charles Marriott
came to take a leading part, was a matter of much concern to Dr. Pusey.
And to bring men together, and to interest them in theological subjects,
he had evening meetings at his own house, where papers were read and
discussed. "Some persons," writes a gossiping chronicler of the
time,[51] "thought that these meetings were liable to the statute, _De
conventiculis illicitis reprimendis_." Some important papers were the
result of these meetings; but the meetings themselves were irresistibly
sleepy, and in time they were discontinued. But indefatigable and
powerful in all these beginnings Dr. Pusey stirred men to activity and
saw great ground of hope. He was prepared for opposition, but he had
boundless reliance on his friends and his cause. His forecast of the
future, of great days in store for the Church of England, was, not
unreasonably, one of great promise. Ten years might work wonders. The
last fear that occurred to him was that within ten years a hopeless
rift, not of affection but of conviction, would have run through that
company of friends, and parted irrevocably their course and work in
life.

FOOTNOTES:

[48] The subjoined extracts record the impression made by Mr. Newman's
preaching on contemporaries well qualified to judge, and standing
respectively in very different relations to the movement. This is the
judgment of a very close observer, and very independent critic, James
Mozley. In an article in the _Christian Remembrancer_, January 1846 (p.
169), after speaking of the obvious reasons of Mr. Newman's
influence, he proceeds:--

  We inquire further, and we find that this influence has been of a
  peculiarly ethical and inward kind; that it has touched the deepest
  part of our minds, and that the great work on which it has been
  founded is a practical, religious one--his Sermons. We speak not from
  our own fixed impression, however deeply felt, but from what we have
  heard and observed everywhere, from the natural, incidental,
  unconscious remarks dropped from persons' mouths, and evidently
  showing what they thought and felt. For ourselves, we must say, one of
  Mr. Newman's sermons is to us a marvellous production. It has perfect
  power, and perfect nature; but the latter it is which makes it so
  great. A sermon of Mr. Newman's enters into all our feelings, ideas,
  modes of viewing things. He wonderfully realises a state of mind,
  enters into a difficulty, a temptation, a disappointment, a grief; he
  goes into the different turns and incidental, unconscious symptoms of
  a case, with notions which come into the head and go out again, and
  are forgotten, till some chance recalls them.... To take the first
  instance that happens to occur to us ... we have often been struck by
  the keen way in which he enters into a regular tradesman's
  vice--avarice, fortune-getting, amassing capital, and so on. This is
  not a temper to which we can imagine Mr. Newman ever having felt in
  his own mind even the temptation; but he understands it, and the
  temptation to it, as perfectly as any merchant could. No man of
  business could express it more naturally, more pungently, more _ex
  animo_.... So with the view that worldly men take of religion, in a
  certain sense, he quite enters into it, and the world's point of view:
  he sees, with a regular worldly man's eye, religion vanishing into
  nothing, and becoming an unreality, while the visible system of life
  and facts, politics and society, gets more and more solid and grows
  upon him. The whole influence of the world on the imagination; the
  weight of example; the force of repetition; the way in which maxims,
  rules, sentiments, by being simply sounded in the ear from day to day,
  seem to prove themselves, and make themselves believed by being often
  heard,--every part of the easy, natural, passive process by which a
  man becomes a man of the world is entered into, as if the preacher
  were going to justify or excuse him, rather than condemn him. Nay, he
  enters deeply into what even scepticism has to say for itself; he puts
  himself into the infidel's state of mind, in which the world, as a
  great fact, seems to give the lie to all religions, converting them
  into phenomena which counterbalance and negative each other, and he
  goes down into that lowest abyss and bottom of things, at which the
  intellect undercuts spiritual truth altogether. He enters into the
  ordinary common states of mind just in the same way. He is most
  consoling, most sympathetic. He sets before persons their own feelings
  with such truth of detail, such natural expressive touches, that they
  seem not to be ordinary states of mind which everybody has, but very
  peculiar ones; for he and the reader seem to be the only two persons
  in the world that have them in common. Here is the point. Persons look
  into Mr. Newman's sermons and see their own thoughts in them. This is,
  after all, what as much as anything gives a book hold upon minds....
  Wonderful pathetic power, that can so intimately, so subtilely and
  kindly, deal with the soul!--and wonderful soul that can be so dealt
  with.

Compare with this the judgment pronounced by one of quite a different
school, the late Principal Shairp:--

  Both Dr. Pusey and Mr. Keble at that time were quite second in
  importance to Mr. Newman. The centre from which his power went forth
  was the pulpit of St. Mary's, with those wonderful afternoon sermons.
  Sunday after Sunday, year by year, they went on, each continuing and
  deepening the impression produced by the last. As the hour interfered
  with the dinner-hour of the Colleges, most men preferred a warm dinner
  without Newman's sermon to a cold one with it; so the audience was not
  crowded--the large church little more than half filled. The service
  was very simple, no pomp, no ritualism; for it was characteristic of
  the leading men of the movement that they left these things to the
  weaker brethren. Their thoughts, at all events, were set on great
  questions which touched the heart of unseen things. About the service,
  the most remarkable thing was the beauty, the silver intonation of Mr.
  Newman's voice as he read the lessons.... When he began to preach, a
  stranger was not likely to be much struck. Here was no vehemence, no
  declamation, no show of elaborated argument, so that one who came
  prepared to hear "a great intellectual effort" was almost sure to go
  away disappointed. Indeed, we believe that if he had preached one of
  his St. Mary's sermons before a Scotch town congregation, they would
  have thought the preacher a "silly body".... Those who never heard him
  might fancy that his sermons would generally be about apostolical
  succession, or rights of the Church, or against Dissenters. Nothing of
  the kind. You might hear him preach for weeks without an allusion to
  these things. What there was of High Church teaching was implied
  rather than enforced. The local, the temporary, and the modern were
  ennobled by the presence of the Catholic truth belonging to all ages
  that pervaded the whole. His power showed itself chiefly in the new
  and unlooked-for way in which he touched into life old truths, moral
  or spiritual, which all Christians acknowledge, but most have ceased
  to feel--when he spoke of "unreal words," of the "individuality of the
  soul," of the "invisible world," of a "particular Providence," or
  again, of the "ventures of faith," "warfare the condition of victory,"
  "the Cross of Christ the measure of the world," "the Church a Home for
  the lonely." As he spoke, how the old truth became new; how it came
  home with a meaning never felt before! He laid his finger how gently,
  yet how powerfully, on some inner place in the hearer's heart, and
  told him things about himself he had never known till then. Subtlest
  truths, which it would have taken philosophers pages of circumlocution
  and big words to state, were dropt out by the way in a sentence or two
  of the most transparent Saxon. What delicacy of style, yet what
  strength! how simple, yet how suggestive! how homely, yet how refined!
  how penetrating, yet how tender-hearted! If now and then there was a
  forlorn undertone which at the time seemed inexplicable, you might be
  perplexed at the drift of what he said, but you felt all the more
  drawn to the speaker. ... After hearing these sermons you might come
  away still not believing the tenets peculiar to the High Church
  system; but you would be harder than most men, if you did not feel
  more than ever ashamed of coarseness, selfishness, worldliness, if you
  did not feel the things of faith brought closer to the soul.--_John
  Keble,_ by J. C. Shairp, Professor of Humanity, St. Andrews (1866),
  pp. 12-17.

I venture to add the judgment of another contemporary, on the effect of
this preaching, from the _Reminiscences_ of Sir F. Doyle, p. 145:--

  That great man's extraordinary genius drew all those within his
  sphere, like a magnet, to attach themselves to him and his doctrines.
  Nay, before he became a Romanist, what we may call his mesmeric
  influence acted not only on his Tractarian adherents, but even in some
  degree on outsiders like myself. Whenever I was at Oxford, I used to
  go regularly on Sunday afternoons to listen to his sermon at St.
  Mary's, and I have never heard such preaching since. I do not know
  whether it is a mere fancy of mine, or whether those who know him
  better will accept and endorse my belief, that one element of his
  wonderful power showed itself after this fashion. He always began as
  if he had determined to set forth his idea of the truth in the
  plainest and simplest language--language, as men say, "intelligible to
  the meanest understanding." But his ardent zeal and fine poetical
  imagination were not thus to be controlled. As I hung upon his words,
  it seemed to me as if I could trace behind his will, and pressing, so
  to speak, against it, a rush of thoughts, of feelings which he kept
  struggling to hold back, but in the end they were generally too strong
  for him, and poured themselves out in a torrent of eloquence all the
  more impetuous from having been so long repressed. The effect of these
  outbursts was irresistible, and carried his hearers beyond themselves
  at once. Even when his efforts of self-restraint were more successful,
  those very efforts gave a life and colour to his style which riveted
  the attention of all within the reach of his voice. Mr. Justin
  McCarthy, in his _History of Our Own Times_, says of him: "In all the
  arts that make a great preacher or orator, Cardinal Newman was
  deficient. His manner was constrained and ungraceful, and even
  awkward; his voice was thin and weak, his bearing was not at first
  impressive in any way--a gaunt emaciated figure, a sharp eagle face,
  and a cold meditative eye, rather repelled than attracted those who
  saw him for the first time." I do not think Mr. McCarthy's phrases
  very happily chosen to convey his meaning. Surely a gaunt emaciated
  frame and a sharp eagle face are the very characteristics which we
  should picture to ourselves as belonging to Peter the Hermit, or
  Scott's Ephraim Macbriar in _Old Mortality_. However unimpressive the
  look of an eagle may be in Mr. McCarthy's opinion, I do not agree with
  him about Dr. Newman.

  When I knew him at Oxford, these somewhat disparaging remarks would
  not have been applicable. His manner, it is true, may have been
  self-repressed, constrained it was not. His bearing was neither
  awkward nor ungraceful; it was simply quiet and calm, because under
  strict control; but beneath that calmness, intense feeling, I think,
  was obvious to those who had any instinct of sympathy with him. But if
  Mr. McCarthy's acquaintance with him only began when he took office in
  an Irish Catholic university, I can quite understand that (flexibility
  not being one of his special gifts) he may have failed now and again
  to bring himself into perfect harmony with an Irish audience. He was
  probably too much of a typical Englishman for his place; nevertheless
  Mr. McCarthy, though he does not seem to have admired him in the
  pulpit, is fully sensible of his intellectual powers and general
  eminence.

  Dr. Pusey, who used every now and then to take Newman's duties at St.
  Mary's, was to me a much less interesting person. [A learned man, no
  doubt, but dull and tedious as a preacher.] Certainly, in spite of the
  name Puseyism having been given to the Oxford attempt at a new
  Catholic departure, he was not the Columbus of that voyage of
  discovery undertaken to find a safer haven for the Church of England.
  I may, however, be more or less unjust to him, as I owe him a sort of
  grudge. His discourses were not only less attractive than those of Dr.
  Newman, but always much longer, and the result of this was that the
  learned Canon of Christ Church generally made me late for dinner at my
  College, a calamity never inflicted on his All Souls' hearers by the
  terser and swifter fellow of Oriel whom he was replacing.


[49] _Apologia_, p 136.

[50] It swelled in the second edition to 400 pages [in spite of the fact
that in that edition the historical range of the treatise was greatly
reduced].

[51] _Recollections of Oxford_, by G.V. Cox, p. 278.



CHAPTER VIII

SUBSCRIPTION AT MATRICULATION AND ADMISSION OF DISSENTERS


"Depend upon it," an earnest High Churchman of the Joshua Watson type
had said to one of Mr. Newman's friends, who was a link between the old
Churchmanship and the new--"depend upon it, the day will come when those
great doctrines" connected with the Church, "now buried, will be brought
out to the light of the day, and then the effect will be quite
fearful."[52] With the publication of the _Tracts for the Times_, and
the excitement caused by them, the day had come.

Their unflinching and severe proclamation of Church principles and
Church doctrines coincided with a state of feeling and opinion in the
country, in which two very different tendencies might be observed. They
fell on the public mind just when one of these tendencies would help
them, and the other be fiercely hostile. On the one hand, the issue of
the political controversy with the Roman Catholics, their triumph all
along the line, and the now scarcely disguised contempt shown by their
political representatives for the pledges and explanations on which
their relief was supposed to have been conceded, had left the public
mind sore, angry, and suspicious. Orthodox and Evangelicals were alike
alarmed and indignant; and the Evangelicals, always doctrinally jealous
of Popery, and of anything "unsound" in that direction, had been roused
to increased irritation by the proceedings of the Reformation Society,
which had made it its business to hold meetings and discussions all over
the country, where fervid and sometimes eloquent and able Irishmen, like
Mr. E. Tottenham, afterwards of Laura Chapel, Bath, had argued and
declaimed, with Roman text-books in hand, on such questions as the Right
of Private Judgment, the Rule of Faith, and the articles of the
Tridentine Creed--not always with the effect which they intended on
those who heard them, with whom their arguments, and those which they
elicited from their opponents, sometimes left behind uncomfortable
misgivings, and questions even more serious than the controversy itself.
On the other hand, in quarters quite unconnected with the recognised
religious schools, interest had been independently and strongly awakened
in the minds of theologians and philosophical thinkers, in regard to the
idea, history, and relations to society of the Christian Church. In
Ireland, a recluse, who was the centre of a small knot of earnest
friends, a man of deep piety and great freedom and originality of mind,
Mr. Alexander Knox, had been led, partly, it may be, by his intimacy
with John Wesley, to think out for himself the character and true
constitution of the Church, and the nature of the doctrines which it was
commissioned to teach. In England, another recluse, of splendid genius
and wayward humour, had dealt in his own way, with far-reaching insight,
with vast reading, and often with impressive eloquence, with the same
subject; and his profound sympathy and faith had been shared and
reflected by a great poet. What Coleridge and Wordsworth had put in the
forefront of their speculations and poetry, as the object of their
profoundest interest, and of their highest hopes for mankind, might, of
course, fail to appear in the same light to others; but it could not
fail, in those days at least, to attract attention, as a matter of grave
and well-founded importance. Coleridge's theories of the Church were his
own, and were very wide of theories recognised by any of those who had
to deal practically with the question, and who were influenced, in one
way or another, by the traditional doctrines of theologians. But
Coleridge had lifted the subject to a very high level. He had taken the
simple but all-important step of viewing the Church in its spiritual
character as first and foremost and above all things essentially a
religious society of divine institution, not dependent on the creation
or will of man, or on the privileges and honours which man might think
fit to assign to it; and he had undoubtedly familiarised the minds of
many with this way of regarding it, however imperfect, or cloudy, or
unpractical they might find the development of his ideas, and his
deductions from them. And in Oxford the questions which had stirred the
friends at Hadleigh had stirred others also, and had waked up various
responses. Whately's acute mind had not missed these questions, and had
given original if insufficient answers to them. Blanco White knew only
too well their bearing and importance, and had laboured, not without
success, to leave behind him his own impress on the way in which they
should be dealt with. Dr. Hampden, the man in Oxford best acquainted
with Aristotle's works and with the scholastic philosophy, had thrown
Christian doctrines into a philosophical calculus which seemed to leave
them little better than the inventions of men. On the other hand, a
brilliant scholar, whose after-career was strangely full of great
successes and deplorable disasters, William Sewell of Exeter College,
had opened, in a way new to Oxford, the wealth and magnificence of
Plato; and his thoughts had been dazzled by seeming to find in the
truths and facts of the Christian Church the counterpart and realisation
of the grandest of Plato's imaginations. The subjects treated with such
dogmatic severity and such impetuous earnestness in the Tracts were, in
one shape or another, in all men's minds, when these Tracts broke on the
University and English society with their peremptory call to men "to
take their side."

There was just a moment of surprise and uncertainty--uncertainty as to
what the Tracts meant; whether they were to be a new weapon against the
enemies of the Church, or were simply extravagant and preposterous
novelties--just a certain perplexity and hesitation at their conflicting
aspects; on the one hand, the known and high character of the writers,
their evident determination and confidence in their cause, the
attraction of their religious warmth and unselfishness and nobleness,
the dim consciousness that much that they said was undeniable; and on
the other hand, the apparent wildness and recklessness of their words:
and then public opinion began steadily to take its "ply," and to be
agreed in condemning them. It soon went farther, and became vehement in
reprobating them as scandalous and dangerous publications. They incensed
the Evangelicals by their alleged Romanism, and their unsound views
about justification, good works, and the sacraments; they angered the
"two-bottle orthodox" by their asceticism--the steady men, by their
audacity and strong words--the liberals, by their dogmatic severity;
their seriously practical bearing was early disclosed in a tract on
"Fasting." But while they repelled strongly, they attracted strongly;
they touched many consciences, they won many hearts, they opened new
thoughts and hopes to many minds. One of the mischiefs of the Tracts,
and of those sermons at St. Mary's which were the commentaries on them,
was that so many people seemed to like them and to be struck by them.
The gathering storm muttered and growled for some time at a distance,
and men seemed to be taking time to make up their minds; but it began to
lour from early days, till after various threatenings it broke in a
furious article in the _Edinburgh_, by Dr. Arnold, on the "Oxford
Malignants"; and the Tract-writers and their friends became, what they
long continued to be, the most unpopular and suspected body of men in
the Church, whom everybody was at liberty to insult, both as dishonest
and absurd, of whom nothing was too cruel to say, nothing too ridiculous
to believe. It is only equitable to take into account the unprepared
state of the public mind, the surprise and novelty of even the
commonest things when put in a new light, the prejudices which the
Tract-writers were thought wantonly to offend and defy, their militant
and uncompromising attitude, where principles were at stake. But
considering what these men were known to be in character and life, what
was the emergency and what were the pressing motives which called for
action, and what is thought of them now that their course is run, it is
strange indeed to remember who they were, to whom the courtesies of
controversy were denied, not only by the vulgar herd of pamphleteers,
but by men of ability and position, some of whom had been their familiar
friends. Of course a nickname was soon found for them: the word
"Tractarian" was invented, and Archbishop Whately thought it worth
while, but not successfully, to improve it into "Tractites." Archbishop
Whately, always ingenious, appears to have suspected that the real but
concealed object of the movement was to propagate a secret infidelity;
they were "Children of the Mist," or "Veiled Prophets";[53] and he
seriously suggested to a friend who was writing against it,--"this
rapidly spreading pestilence,"--to parallel it, in its characteristics
and modes of working, with Indian Thuggee.[54]

But these things were of gradual growth. Towards the end of 1834 a
question appeared in Oxford interesting to numbers besides Mr. Newman
and his friends, which was to lead to momentous consequences. The old,
crude ideas of change in the Church had come to appear, even to their
advocates, for the present impracticable, and there was no more talk for
a long time of schemes which had been in favour two years before. The
ground was changed, and a point was now brought forward on the Liberal
side, for which a good deal might be plausibly said. This was the
requirement of subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles from young men
at matriculation; and a strong pamphlet advocating its abolition, with
the express purpose of admitting Dissenters, was published by Dr.
Hampden, the Bampton Lecturer of two years before.

Oxford had always been one of the great schools of the Church. Its
traditions, its tone, its customs, its rules, all expressed or presumed
the closest attachment to that way of religion which was specially
identified with the Church, in its doctrinal and historical aspect.
Oxford was emphatically definite, dogmatic, orthodox, compared even with
Cambridge, which had largely favoured the Evangelical school, and had
leanings to Liberalism. Oxford, unlike Cambridge, gave notice of its
attitude by requiring every one who matriculated to subscribe the
Thirty-nine Articles: the theory of its Tutorial system, of its lectures
and examinations, implied what of late years in the better colleges,
though certainly not everywhere, had been realised in fact--a
considerable amount of religious and theological teaching. And whatever
might have been said originally of the lay character of the University,
the colleges, which had become coextensive with the University, were for
the most part, in the intention of their founders, meant to educate and
support theological students on their foundations for the service of the
Church. It became in time the fashion to call them lay institutions:
legally they may have been so, but judged by their statutes, they were
nearly all of them as ecclesiastical as the Chapter of a Cathedral. And
Oxford was the fulcrum from which the theological revival hoped to move
the Church. It was therefore a shock and a challenge of no light kind,
when not merely the proposal was made to abolish the matriculation
subscription with the express object of attracting Dissenters, and to
get Parliament to force the change on the University if the University
resisted, but the proposal itself was vindicated and enforced in a
pamphlet by Dr. Hampden by a definite and precise theory which stopped
not short of the position that all creeds and formularies--everything
which represented the authority of the teaching Church--however
incidentally and temporarily useful, were in their own nature the
inventions of a mistaken and corrupt philosophy, and invasions of
Christian liberty. This was cutting deep with a vengeance, though the
author of the theory seemed alone unable to see it. It went to the root
of the whole mutter; and if Dr. Hampden was right, there was neither
Church nor doctrine worth contending for, except as men contend about
the Newtonian or the undulatory theory of light.

No one ought now to affect, as some people used to affect at the time,
that the question was of secondary importance, and turned mainly on the
special fitness of the Thirty-nine Articles to be offered for the proof
of a young man's belief. It was a much more critical question. It was
really, however disguised, the question, asked then for the first time,
and since finally decided, whether Oxford was to continue to be a
school of the Church of England; and it also involved the wider
question, what part belief in definite religion should have in higher
education. It is speciously said that you have no right to forestall a
young man's inquiries and convictions by imposing on him in his early
years opinions which to him become prejudices. And if the world
consisted simply of individuals, entirely insulated and self-sufficing;
if men could be taught anything whatever, without presuming what is
believed by those who teach them; and if the attempt to exclude
religious prejudice did not necessarily, by the mere force of the
attempt, involve the creation of anti-religious prejudice, these
reasoners, who try in vain to get out of the conditions which hem them
in, might have more to say for themselves. To the men who had made such
an effort to restore a living confidence in the Church, the demand
implied giving up all that they had done and all that they hoped for. It
was not the time for yielding even a clumsy proof of the religious
character of the University. And the beginning of a long and doubtful
war was inevitable.

A war of pamphlets ensued. By the one side the distinction was strongly
insisted on between mere instruction and education, the distinctly
religious character of the University education was not perhaps
overstated in its theory, but portrayed in stronger colours than was
everywhere the fact; and assertions were made, which sound strange in
their boldness now, of the independent and constitutional right to
self-government in the great University corporations. By the other side,
the ordinary arguments were used, about the injustice and mischief of
exclusion, and the hurtfulness of tests, especially such tests as the
Articles applied to young and ignorant men. Two pamphlets had more than
a passing interest: one, by a then unknown writer who signed himself
_Rusticus_, and whose name was Mr. F.D. Maurice, defended subscription
on the ground that the Articles were signed, not as tests and
confessions of faith, but as "conditions of thought," the expressly
stated conditions, such as there must be in all teaching, under which
the learners are willing to learn and the teacher to teach: and he
developed his view at great length, with great wealth of original
thought and illustration and much eloquence, but with that fatal want of
clearness which, as so often afterwards, came from his struggles to
embrace in one large view what appeared opposite aspects of a difficult
subject. The other was the pamphlet, already referred to, by Dr.
Hampden: and of which the importance arose, not from its conclusions,
but from its reasons. Its ground was the distinction which he had argued
out at great length in his Bampton Lectures--the distinction between the
"Divine facts" of revelation, and all human interpretations of them and
inferences from them. "Divine facts," he maintained, were of course
binding on all Christians, and in matter of fact were accepted by all
who called themselves Christians, including Unitarians. Human
interpretations and inferences--and all Church formularies were
such--were binding on no one but those who had reason to think them
true; and therefore least of all on undergraduates who could not have
examined them. The distinction, when first put forward, seemed to mean
much; at a later time it was explained to mean very little. But at
present its value as a ground of argument against the old system of the
University was thought much of by its author and his friends. A warning
note was at once given that its significance was perceived and
appreciated. Mr. Newman, in acknowledging a presentation copy, added
words which foreshadowed much that was to follow. "While I respect," he
wrote, "the tone of piety which the pamphlet displays, I dare not trust
myself to put on paper my feelings about the principles contained in it;
_tending, as they do, in my opinion, to make ship-wreck of Christian
faith_. I also lament that, by its appearance, the first step has been
taken towards interrupting that peace and mutual good understanding
which has prevailed so long in this place, and which, if once seriously
disturbed, will be succeeded by discussions the more intractable,
because justified in the minds of those who resist innovation by a
feeling of imperative duty." "Since that time," he goes on in the
_Apologia_, where he quotes this letter, "Phaeton has got into the
chariot of the sun."[55] But they were early days then; and when the
Heads of Houses, who the year before had joined with the great body of
the University in a declaration against the threatened legislation, were
persuaded to propose to the Oxford Convocation the abolition of
subscription at matriculation in May 1835, this proposal was rejected by
a majority of five to one.

This large majority was a genuine expression of the sense of the
University. It was not specially a "Tractarian" success, though most of
the arguments which contributed to it came from men who more or less
sympathised with the effort to make a vigorous fight for the Church and
its teaching; and it showed that they who had made the effort had
touched springs of thought and feeling, and awakened new hopes and
interest in those around them, in Oxford, and in the country. But graver
events were at hand. Towards the end of the year (1835), Dr. Burton, the
Regius Professor of Divinity, suddenly died, still a young man. And Lord
Melbourne was induced to appoint as his successor, and as the head of
the theological teaching of the University, the writer who had just a
second time seemed to lay the axe to the root of all theology; who had
just reasserted that he looked upon creeds, and all the documents which
embodied the traditional doctrine and collective thought of the Church,
as invested by ignorance and prejudice with an authority which was
without foundation, and which was misleading and mischievous.

FOOTNOTES:

[52] The conversation between Mr. Sikes of Guilsborough and Mr. Copeland
is given in full in Dr. Pusey's _Letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury_
(1842), pp. 32-34.

[53] "Dr. Wilson was mightily pleased with my calling the traditionals
the 'Children of the Mist.' The title of 'Veiled Prophets' he thought
too severe" (1838), _Life_, ed. 1875, p. 167. Compare "Hints to
Transcendentalists for Working Infidel Designs through Tractarianism," a
_jeu d'esprit_ (1840), _ib._ p. 188. "As for the suspicion of secret
infidelity, I have said no more than I sincerely feel," _ib._ p. 181.

[54] "It would be a curious thing if you (the Provost of Oriel) were to
bring into your Bampton Lectures a mention of the Thugs.... Observe
their submissive piety, their faith in long-preserved _tradition_, their
regular succession of ordinations to their offices, their _faith_ in the
sacramental virtue of the consecrated governor; in short, compare our
religion with the _Thuggee, putting out of account all those
considerations which the traditionists deprecate the discussion of,_
and where is the difference?" (1840), _ib._ p. 194.

[55] _Apologia_, pp. 131, 132.



CHAPTER IX

DR. HAMPDEN


The stage on which what is called the Oxford movement ran through its
course had a special character of its own, unlike the circumstances in
which other religious efforts had done their work. The scene of
Jansenism had been a great capital, a brilliant society, the precincts
of a court, the cells of a convent, the studies and libraries of the
doctors of the Sorbonne, the council chambers of the Vatican. The scene
of Methodism had been English villages and country towns, the moors of
Cornwall, and the collieries of Bristol, at length London fashionable
chapels. The scene of this new movement was as like as it could be in
our modern world to a Greek _polis_, or an Italian self-centred city of
the Middle Ages. Oxford stood by itself in its meadows by the rivers,
having its relations with all England, but, like its sister at
Cambridge, living a life of its own, unlike that of any other spot in
England, with its privileged powers, and exemptions from the general
law, with its special mode of government and police, its usages and
tastes and traditions, and even costume, which the rest of England
looked at from the outside, much interested but much puzzled, or knew
only by transient visits. And Oxford was as proud and jealous of its own
ways as Athens or Florence; and like them it had its quaint fashions of
polity; its democratic Convocation and its oligarchy; its social ranks;
its discipline, severe in theory and usually lax in fact; its
self-governed bodies and corporations within itself; its faculties and
colleges, like the guilds and "arts" of Florence; its internal rivalries
and discords; its "sets" and factions. Like these, too, it professed a
special recognition of the supremacy of religion; it claimed to be a
home of worship and religious training, _Dominus illuminatio mea_, a
claim too often falsified in the habit and tempers of life. It was a
small sphere, but it was a conspicuous one; for there was much strong
and energetic character, brought out by the aims and conditions of
University life; and though moving in a separate orbit, the influence of
the famous place over the outside England, though imperfectly
understood, was recognised and great. These conditions affected the
character of the movement, and of the conflicts which it caused. Oxford
claimed to be eminently the guardian of "true religion and sound
learning"; and therefore it was eminently the place where religion
should be recalled to its purity and strength, and also the place where
there ought to be the most vigilant jealousy against the perversions and
corruptions of religion, Oxford was a place where every one knew his
neighbour, and measured him, and was more or less friendly or repellent;
where the customs of life brought men together every day and all day, in
converse or discussion; and where every fresh statement or every new
step taken furnished endless material for speculation or debate, in
common rooms or in the afternoon walk. And for this reason, too,
feelings were apt to be more keen and intense and personal than in the
larger scenes of life; the man who was disliked or distrusted was so
close to his neighbours that he was more irritating than if he had been
obscured by a crowd; the man who attracted confidence and kindled
enthusiasm, whose voice was continually in men's ears, and whose private
conversation and life was something ever new in its sympathy and charm,
created in those about him not mere admiration, but passionate
friendship, or unreserved discipleship. And these feelings passed from
individuals into parties; the small factions of a limited area. Men
struck blows and loved and hated in those days in Oxford as they hardly
did on the wider stage of London politics or general religious
controversy.

The conflicts which for a time turned Oxford into a kind of image of
what Florence was in the days of Savonarola, with its nicknames,
Puseyites, and Neomaniacs, and High and Dry, counterparts to the
_Piagnoni_ and _Arrabbiati_, of the older strife, began around a student
of retired habits, interested more than was usual at Oxford in abstruse
philosophy, and the last person who might be expected to be the occasion
of great dissensions in the University. Dr. Hampden was a man who, with
no definite intentions of innovating on the received doctrines of the
Church--indeed, as his sermons showed, with a full acceptance of
them--had taken a very difficult subject for a course of Bampton
Lectures, without at all fathoming its depth and reach, and had got into
a serious scrape in consequence. Personally he was a man of serious but
cold religion, having little sympathy with others, and consequently not
able to attract any. His isolation during the whole of his career is
remarkable; he attached no one, as Whately or Arnold attached men. His
mind, which was a speculative one, was not one, in its own order, of the
first class. He had not the grasp nor the subtlety necessary for his
task. He had a certain power of statement, but little of co-ordination;
he seems not to have had the power of seeing when his ideas were really
irreconcilable, and he thought that simply by insisting on his
distinctly orthodox statements he not only balanced, but neutralised,
and did away with his distinctly unorthodox ones. He had read a good
deal of Aristotle and something of the Schoolmen, which probably no one
else in Oxford had done except Blanco White; and the temptation of
having read what no one else knows anything about sometimes leads men to
make an unprofitable use of their special knowledge, which they consider
their monopoly.

The creed and dogmas of the Christian Church are at least in their
broad features, not a speculation, but a fact. That not only the
Apostles' Creed, but the Nicene and Constantinopolitan Creeds, are
assumed as facts by the whole of anything that can be called the Church,
is as certain as the reception by the same body, and for the same time,
of the Scriptures. Not only the Creed, but, up to the sixteenth century,
the hierarchy, and not only Creed and hierarchy and Scriptures, but the
sacramental idea as expressed in the liturgies, are equally in the same
class of facts. Of course it is open to any one to question the genuine
origin of any of these great portions of the constitution of the Church;
but the Church is so committed to them that he cannot enter on his
destructive criticism without having to criticise, not one only, but all
these beliefs, and without soon having to face the question whether the
whole idea of the Church, as a real and divinely ordained society, with
a definite doctrine and belief, is not a delusion, and whether
Christianity, whatever it is, is addressed solely to each individual,
one by one, to make what he can of it. It need hardly be said that
within the limits of what the Church is committed to there is room for
very wide differences of opinion; it is also true that these limits
have, in different times of the Church, been illegitimately and
mischievously narrowed by prevailing opinions, and by documents and
formularies respecting it. But though we may claim not to be bound by
the Augsburg Confession, or by the Lambeth articles, or the Synod of
Dort, or the Bull _Unigenitus_, it does not follow that, if there is a
Church at all, there is no more binding authority in the theology of the
Nicene and Athanasian Creeds. And it is the province of the divine who
believes in a Church at all, and in its office to be the teacher and
witness of religious truth, to distinguish between the infinitely
varying degrees of authority with which professed representations of
portions of this truth are propounded for acceptance. It may be
difficult or impossible to agree on a theory of inspiration; but that
the Church doctrine of some kind of special inspiration of Scripture is
part of Christianity is, unless Christianity be a dream, certain. No one
can reasonably doubt, with history before him, that the answer of the
Christian Church was, the first time the question was asked, and has
continued to be through ages of controversy, _against_ Arianism,
_against_ Socinianism, _against_ Pelagianism, _against_ Zwinglianism. It
does not follow that the Church has settled everything, or that there
are not hundreds of questions which it is vain and presumptuous to
attempt to settle by any alleged authority.

Dr. Hampden was in fact unexceptionably, even rigidly orthodox in his
acceptance of Church doctrine and Church creeds. He had published a
volume of sermons containing, among other things, an able statement of
the Scriptural argument for the doctrine of the Trinity, and an equally
able defence of the Athanasian Creed. But he felt that there are
formularies which may be only the interpretations of doctrine and
inferences from Scripture of a particular time or set of men; and he
was desirous of putting into their proper place the authority of such
formularies. His object was to put an interval between them and the
Scriptures from which they professed to be derived, and to prevent them
from claiming the command over faith and conscience which was due only
to the authentic evidences of God's revelation. He wished to make room
for a deeper sense of the weight of Scripture. He proposed to himself
the same thing which was aimed at by the German divines, Arndt,
Calixtus, and Spener, when they rose up against the grinding oppression
which Lutheran dogmatism had raised on its _Symbolical Books_,[56] and
which had come to outdo the worst extravagances of scholasticism. This
seems to have been his object--a fair and legitimate one. But in arguing
against investing the Thirty-nine Articles with an authority which did
not belong to them, he unquestionably, without seeing what he was doing,
went much farther--where he never meant to go. In fact, he so stated his
argument that he took in with the Thirty-nine Articles every expression
of collective belief, every document, however venerable, which the
Church had sanctioned from the first. Strangely enough, without
observing it, he took in--what he meant to separate by a wide interval
from what he called dogma--the doctrine of the infallible authority and
sufficiency of Scripture. In denying the worth of the _consensus_ and
immemorial judgment of the Church, he cut from under him the claim to
that which he accepted as the source and witness of "divine facts." He
did not mean to do this, or to do many other things; but from want of
clearness of head, he certainly, in these writings which were complained
of, did it. He was, in temper and habit, too desirous to be "orthodox,"
as Whately feared, to accept in its consequences his own theory. The
theory which he put forward in his Bampton Lectures, and on which he
founded his plan of comprehension in his pamphlet on Dissent, left
nothing standing but the authority of the letter of Scripture. All
else--right or wrong as it might be--was "speculation," "human
inference," "dogma." With perfect consistency, he did not pretend to
take even the Creeds out of this category. But the truth was, he did not
consciously mean all that he said; and when keener and more powerful and
more theological minds pointed out with relentless accuracy what he _had
said_ he was profuse and overflowing with explanations, which showed how
little he had perceived the drift of his words. There is not the least
reason to doubt the sincerity of these explanations; but at the same
time they showed the unfitness of a man who had so to explain away his
own speculations to be the official guide and teacher of the clergy. The
criticisms on his language, and the objections to it, were made before
these explanations were given; and though he gave them, he was furious
with those who called for them, and he never for a moment admitted that
there was anything seriously wrong or mistaken in what he had said. To
those who pointed out the meaning and effect of his words and theories,
he replied by the assertion of his personal belief. If words mean
anything, he had said that neither Unitarians nor any one else could get
behind the bare letter, and what he called "facts," of Scripture, which
all equally accepted in good faith; and that therefore there was no
reason for excluding Unitarians as long as they accepted the "facts."
But when it was pointed out that this reasoning reduced all belief in
the realities behind the bare letter to the level of personal and
private opinion, he answered by saying that he valued supremely the
Creeds and Articles, and by giving a statement of the great Christian
doctrines which he held, and which the Church taught. But he never
explained what their authority could be with any one but himself. There
might be interpretations and inferences from Scripture, by the hundred
or the thousand, but no one certain and authoritative one; none that
warranted an organised Church, much more a Catholic and Apostolic
Church, founded on the assumption of this interpretation being the one
true faith, the one truth of the Bible. The point was brought out
forcibly in a famous pamphlet written by Mr. Newman, though without his
name, called "Elucidations of Dr. Hampden's Theological Statements."
This pamphlet was a favourite object of attack on the part of Dr.
Hampden's supporters as a flagrant instance of unfairness and garbled
extracts. No one, they said, ever read the Bampton Lectures, but took
their estimate of the work from Mr. Newman's quotations. Extracts are
often open to the charge of unfairness, and always to suspicion. But in
this case there was no need of unfairness. Dr. Hampden's theory lay on
the very surface of his Hampton Lectures and pamphlet; and any unbiassed
judge may be challenged to read these works of his, and say whether the
extracts in the "Elucidations" do not adequately represent Dr. Hampden's
statements and arguments, and whether the comments on them are forced or
strained. They do not represent his explanations, for the explanations
had not been given; and when the explanations came, though they said
many things which showed that Dr. Hampden did not mean to be unorthodox
and unevangelical, but only anti-scholastic and anti-Roman, they did not
unsay a word which he had said. And what this was, what had been Dr.
Hampden's professed theological theory up to the time when the
University heard the news of his appointment, the "Elucidations"
represent as fairly as any adverse statement can represent the subject
of its attack.

In quieter times such an appointment might have passed with nothing more
than a paper controversy or protest, or more probably without more than
conversational criticism. But these wore not quiet and unsuspicious
times. There was reason for disquiet. It was fresh in men's minds what
language and speculation like that of the Bampton Lectures had come to
in the case of Whately's intimate friend, Blanco White. The
unquestionable hostility of Whately's school to the old ideas of the
Church had roused alarm and a strong spirit of resistance in Churchmen.
Each party was on the watch, and there certainly was something at stake
for both parties. Coupled with some recent events, and with the part
which Dr. Hampden had taken on the subscription question, the
appointment naturally seemed significant. Probably it was not so
significant as it seemed on the part at least of Lord Melbourne, who had
taken pains to find a fit man. Dr. Hampden was said to have been
recommended by Bishop Copleston, and not disallowed by Archbishop
Howley. In the University, up to this time, there had been no
authoritative protest against Dr. Hampden's writings. And there were not
many Liberals to choose from. In the appointment there is hardly
sufficient ground to blame Lord Melbourne. But the outcry against it at
Oxford, when it came, was so instantaneous, so strong, and so unusual,
that it might have warned Lord Melbourne that he had been led into a
mistake, out of which it would be wise to seek at least a way of escape.
Doubtless it was a strong measure for the University to protest as it
did; but it was also a strong measure, at least in those days, for a
Minister of the Crown to force so extremely unacceptable a Regius
Professor of Divinity on a great University. Dr. Hampden offered to
resign; and there would have been plenty of opportunities to compensate
him for his sacrifice of a post which could only be a painful one. But
the temper of both sides was up. The remonstrances from Oxford were
treated with something like contempt, and the affair was hurried through
till there was no retreating; and Dr. Hampden became Regius Professor.

Mr. Palmer has recorded how various efforts were made to neutralise the
effect of the appointment. But the Heads of Houses, though angry, were
cautious. They evaded the responsibility of stating Dr. Hampden's
unsound positions; but to mark their distrust, brought in a proposal to
deprive him of his vote in the choice of Select Preachers till the
University should otherwise determine. It was defeated in Convocation by
the veto of the two Proctors (March 1836), who exercised their right
with the full approval of Dr. Hampden's friends, and the indignation of
the large majority of the University. But it was not unfairly used: it
could have only a suspending effect, of which no one had a right to
complain; and when new Proctors came into office, the proposal was
introduced again, and carried (May 1836) by 474 to 94. The Liberal
minority had increased since the vote on subscription, and Dr. Hampden
went on with his work as if nothing had happened. The attempt was twice
made to rescind the vote: first, after the outcry about the Ninetieth
Tract and the contest about the Poetry Professorship, by a simple
repeal, which was rejected by 334 to 219 (June 1842); and next,
indirectly by a statute enlarging the Professor's powers over Divinity
degrees, which was also rejected by 341 to 21 (May 1844). From first to
last, these things and others were the unfortunate incidents of an
unfortunate appointment.

The "persecution of Dr. Hampden" has been an unfailing subject of
reproach to the party of the Oxford movement, since the days when the
_Edinburgh Review_ held them up to public scorn and hatred in an article
of strange violence. They certainly had their full share in the
opposition to him, and in the measures by which that opposition was
carried out. But it would be the greatest mistake to suppose that in
this matter they stood alone. All in the University at this time, except
a small minority, were of one mind, Heads of Houses and country parsons,
Evangelicals and High Churchmen--all who felt that the grounds of a
definite belief were seriously threatened by Dr. Hampden's speculations.
All were angry at the appointment; all were agreed that something ought
to be done to hinder the mischief of it. In this matter Mr. Newman and
his friends were absolutely at one with everybody round them, with those
who were soon to be their implacable opponents. Whatever deeper view
they might have of the evil which had been done by the appointment, and
however much graver and more permanent their objections to it, they were
responsible only as the whole University was responsible for what was
done against Dr. Hampden. It was convenient afterwards to single them
out, and to throw this responsibility and the odium of it on them alone;
and when they came under the popular ban, it was forgotten that Dr.
Gilbert, the Principal of Brasenose, Dr. Symons, the Warden of Wadham,
Dr. Faussett, afterwards the denouncer of Dr. Pusey, Mr. Vaughan Thomas,
and Mr. Hill of St. Edmund Hall, were quite as forward at the time as
Dr. Pusey and Mr. Newman in protesting against Dr. Hampden, and in the
steps to make their protest effective. Mr. Palmer, in his
_Narrative_,[57] anxious to dissociate himself from the movement under
Mr. Newman's influence, has perhaps underrated the part taken by Mr.
Newman and Dr. Pusey; for they, any rate, did most of the argumentative
work. But as far as personal action goes, it is true, as he says, that
the "movement against Dr. Hampden was not guided by the Tract writers."
"The condemnation of Dr. Hampden, then, was not carried by the Tract
writers; it was carried by the _independent_ body of the University. The
fact is that, had those writers taken any leading part, the measure
would have been a failure, for the number of their friends at that time
was a _very small proportion_ to the University at large, and there was
a general feeling of distrust in the soundness of their views."

We are a long way from those days in time, and still more in habits and
sentiment; and a manifold and varied experience has taught most of us
some lessons against impatience and violent measures. But if we put
ourselves back equitably into the ways of thinking prevalent then, the
excitement about Dr. Hampden will not seem so unreasonable or so
unjustifiable as it is sometimes assumed to be. The University
legislation, indeed, to which it led was poor and petty, doing small and
annoying things, because the University rulers dared not commit
themselves to definite charges. But, in the first place, the provocation
was great on the part of the Government in putting into the chief
theological chair an unwelcome man who could only save his orthodoxy by
making his speculations mean next to nothing--whose _primâ facie_
unguarded and startling statements were resolved into truisms put in a
grand and obscure form. And in the next place, it was assumed in those
days to be the most natural and obvious thing in the world to condemn
unsound doctrine, and to exclude unsound teachers. The principle was
accepted as indisputable, however slack might have been in recent times
the application of it. That it was accepted, not on one side only, but
on all, was soon to be shown by the subsequent course of events. No one
suffered more severely and more persistently from its application than
the Tractarians; no one was more ready to apply it to them than Dr.
Hampden with his friends; no one approved and encouraged its vigorous
enforcement against them more than Dr. Whately. The idle distinction set
up, that they were not merely unsound but dishonest, was a mere insolent
pretext to save trouble in argument, and to heighten the charge against
them; no one could seriously doubt that they wrote in good faith as much
as Dr. Whately or Dr. Faussett. But unless acts like Dr. Pusey's
suspension, and the long proscription that went on for years after it,
were mere instances of vindictive retaliation, the reproach of
persecution must be shared by all parties then, and by none more than by
the party which in general terms most denounced it. Those who think the
Hampden agitation unique in its injustice ought to ask themselves what
their party would have done if at any time between 1836 and 1843 Mr.
Newman had been placed in Dr. Hampden's seat.

People in our days mean by religious persecution what happens when the
same sort of repressive policy is applied to a religious party as is
applied to vaccination recusants, or to the "Peculiar People." All
religious persecution, from the days of Socrates, has taken a legal
form, and justified itself on legal grounds. It is the action of
authority, or of strong social judgments backed by authority, against a
set of opinions, or the expression of them in word or act--usually
innovating opinions, but not by any means necessarily such. The
disciples of M. Monod, the "Momiers" of Geneva, were persecuted by the
Liberals of Geneva, not because they broke away from the creed of
Calvin, but because they adhered to it. The word is not properly applied
to the incidental effects in the way of disadvantage, resulting from
some broad constitutional settlement--from the government of the Church
being Episcopal and not Presbyterian, or its creed Nicene and not
Arian--any more than it is persecution for a nation to change its
government, or for a legitimist to have to live under a republic, or for
a Christian to have to live in an infidel state, though persecution may
follow from these conditions. But the _privilegium_ passed against Dr.
Hampden was an act of persecution, though a mild one compared with what
afterwards fell on his opponents with his full sanction. Persecution is
the natural impulse, in those who think a certain thing right and
important or worth guarding, to disable those who, thinking it wrong,
are trying to discredit and upset it, and to substitute something
different. It implies a state of war, and the resort to the most
available weapons to inflict damage on those who are regarded as
rebellious and dangerous. These weapons were formidable enough once:
they are not without force still. But in its mildest form--personal
disqualification or proscription--it is a disturbance which only war
justifies. It may, of course, make itself odious by its modes of
proceeding, by meanness and shabbiness and violence, by underhand and
ignoble methods of misrepresentation and slander, or by cruelty and
plain injustice; and then the odium of these things fairly falls upon
it. But it is very hard to draw the line between conscientious
repression, feeling itself bound to do what is possible to prevent
mischief, and what those who are opposed, if they are the weaker party,
of course call persecution.

If persecution implies a state of war in which one side is stronger, and
the other weaker, it is hardly a paradox to say that (1) no one has a
right to complain of persecution as such, apart from odious
accompaniments, any more than of superior numbers or hard blows in
battle; and (2) that every one has a right to take advantage and make
the most of being persecuted, by appeals to sympathy and the principle
of doing as you would be done by. No one likes to be accused of
persecution, and few people like to give up the claim to use it, if
necessary. But no one can help observing in the course of events the
strange way in which, in almost all cases, the "wheel comes full
circle." Δράσαντι παθεῖν--_Chi la fa, l' aspetti_,[58] are some of the
expressions of Greek awe and Italian shrewdness representing the
experience of the world on this subject; on a large scale and a small.
Protestants and Catholics, Churchmen and Nonconformists, have all in
their turn made full proof of what seems like a law of action and
reaction. Except in cases beyond debate, cases where no justification is
possible, the note of failure is upon this mode of repression.
Providence, by the visible Nemesis which it seems always to bring round,
by the regularity with which it has enforced the rule that infliction
and suffering are bound together and in time duly change places, seems
certainly and clearly to have declared against it. It may be that no
innovating party has a right to complain of persecution; but the
question is not for them. It is for those who have the power, and who
are tempted to think that they have the call, to persecute. It is for
them to consider whether it is right, or wise, or useful for their
cause; whether it is agreeable to what seems the leading of Providence
to have recourse to it.

FOOTNOTES:

[56] See Pusey's _Theology of Germany_ (1828), p. 18 _sqq_.

[57] _Narrative_ pp. 29, 30, ed. 1841; p 131. ed. 1883.

[58] Δράσαντι παθεῖν, Τριγέρων μῦθος τάδε φωνεῖ. Aesch. _Choeph_. 310.
Italian proverb, in _Landucci, Diario Fiorentino_, 1513, p. 343.



CHAPTER X

GROWTH OF THE MOVEMENT

1835-1840


By the end of 1835, the band of friends, whom great fears and great
hopes for the Church had united, and others who sympathised with them
both within and outside the University, had grown into what those who
disliked them naturally called a party. The Hampden controversy, though
but an episode in the history of the movement, was an important one, and
undoubtedly gave a great impulse to it. Dr. Hampden's attitude and
language seemed to be its justification--a palpable instance of what the
Church had to expect. And in this controversy, though the feeling
against Dr. Hampden's views was so widely shared, and though the
majority which voted against him was a very mixed one, and contained
some who hoped that the next time they were called to vote it might be
against the Tractarians, yet the leaders of the movement had undertaken
the responsibility, conspicuously and almost alone, of pointing out
definitely and argumentatively the objections to Dr. Hampden's teaching.
The number of Mr. Newman's friends might be, as Mr. Palmer says,
insignificant, but it was they who had taken the trouble to understand
and give expression to the true reasons for alarm.[59] Even in this
hasty and imperfect way, the discussion revealed to many how much deeper
and more various the treatment of the subject was in the hands of Mr.
Newman and Dr. Pusey compared with the ordinary criticisms on Dr.
Hampden. He had learned in too subtle a school to be much touched by the
popular exceptions to his theories, however loudly expressed. The
mischief was much deeper. It was that he had, unconsciously, no doubt,
undermined the foundation of definite Christian belief, and had resolved
it into a philosophy, so-called scholastic, which was now exploded. It
was the sense of the perilous issues to which this diluted form of
Blanco White's speculations, so recklessly patronised by Whately, was
leading theological teaching in the University, which opened the eyes of
many to the meaning of the movement, and brought some fresh friends to
its side.

There was no attempt to form a party, or to proselytise; there was no
organisation, no distinct and recognised party marks. "I would not have
it called a party," writes Dr. Newman in the _Apologia_. But a party it
could not help being: quietly and spontaneously it had grown to be what
community of ideas, aims, and sympathies, naturally, and without blame,
leads men to become. And it had acquired a number of recognised
nicknames, to friends and enemies the sign of growing concentration. For
the questions started in the Tracts and outside them became of
increasing interest to the more intelligent men who had finished their
University course and were preparing to enter into life, the Bachelors
and younger Masters of Arts. One by one they passed from various states
of mind--alienation, suspicion, fear, indifference, blank
ignorance--into a consciousness that something beyond the mere
commonplace of religious novelty and eccentricity, of which there had
been a good deal recently, was before them; that doctrines and
statements running counter to the received religious language of the
day, doctrines about which, in confident prejudice, they had perhaps
bandied about off-hand judgments, had more to say for themselves than
was thought at first; that the questions thus raised drove them in on
themselves, and appealed to their honesty and seriousness; and that, at
any rate, in the men who were arresting so much attention, however
extravagant their teaching might be called, there was a remarkable
degree of sober and reserved force, an earnestness of conviction which
could not be doubted, an undeniable and subtle power of touching souls
and attracting sympathies. One by one, and in many different ways, these
young men went through various stages of curiosity, of surprise, of
perplexity, of doubt, of misgiving, of interest; some were frightened,
and wavered, and drew back more or less reluctantly; others, in spite of
themselves, in spite of opposing influences, were led on step by step,
hardly knowing whither, by a spell which they could not resist, of
intellectual, or still more, moral pressure. Some found their old home
teaching completed, explained, lighted up, by that of the new school.
Others, shocked at first at hearing the old watchwords and traditions of
their homes decried and put aside, found themselves, when they least
expected it, passing from the letter to the spirit, from the technical
and formal theory to the wide and living truth. And thus, though many of
course held aloof, and not a few became hostile, a large number, one by
one, some rapidly, others slowly, some unreservedly, others with large
and jealous reserves, more and more took in the leading idea of the
movement, accepted the influence of its chiefs, and looked to them for
instruction and guidance. As it naturally happens, when a number of
minds are drawn together by a common and strong interest, some men, by
circumstances, or by strength of conviction, or by the mutual affinities
of tastes and character, came more and more into direct personal and
intimate relations with the leaders, took service, as it were, under
them, and prepared to throw themselves into their plans of work. Others,
in various moods, but more independent, more critical, more disturbed
about consequences, or unpersuaded on special points, formed a kind of
fringe of friendly neutrality about the more thoroughgoing portion of
the party. And outside of these were thoughtful and able men, to whom
the whole movement, with much that was utterly displeasing and utterly
perplexing, had the interest of being a break-up of stagnation and dull
indolence in a place which ought to have the highest spiritual and
intellectual aims; who, whatever repelled them, could not help feeling
that great ideas, great prospects, a new outburst of bold thought, a new
effort of moral purpose and force, had disturbed the old routine; could
not help being fascinated, if only as by a spectacle, by the strange and
unwonted teaching, which partly made them smile, partly perhaps
permanently disgusted them, but which also, they could not deny, spoke
in a language more fearless, more pathetic, more subtle, and yet more
human, than they had heard from the religious teachers of the day. And
thus the circle of persons interested in the Tracts, of persons who
sympathised with their views, of persons who more and more gave a warm
and earnest adherence to them, was gradually extended in the
University--and, in time, in the country also. The truth was that the
movement, in its many sides, had almost monopolised for the time both
the intelligence and the highest religious earnestness of the
University,[60] and either in curiosity or inquiry, in approval or in
condemnation, all that was deepest and most vigorous, all that was most
refined, most serious, most high-toned, and most promising in Oxford was
drawn to the issues which it raised. It is hardly too much to say that
wherever men spoke seriously of the grounds and prospects of religion,
in Oxford, or in Vacation reading-parties, in their walks and social
meetings, in their studies or in common-room, the "Tractarian"
doctrines, whether assented to or laughed at, deplored or fiercely
denounced, were sure to come to the front. All subjects in discussion
seemed to lead up to them--art and poetry, Gothic architecture and
German romance and painting, the philosophy of language, and the novels
of Walter Scott and Miss Austen, Coleridge's transcendentalism and
Bishop Butler's practical wisdom, Plato's ideas and Aristotle's
analysis. It was difficult to keep them out of lecture-rooms and
examinations for Fellowships.

But in addition to the intrinsic interest of the questions and
discussions which the movement opened, personal influence played a great
and decisive part in it. As it became a party, it had chiefs. It was not
merely as leaders of thought but as teachers with their disciples, as
friends with friends, as witnesses and examples of high self-rule and
refined purity and goodness, that the chiefs whose names were in all
men's mouths won the hearts and trust of so many, in the crowds that
stood about them. Foremost, of course, ever since he had thrown himself
into it in 1835, was Dr. Pusey. His position, his dignified office, his
learning, his solidity and seriousness of character, his high standard
of religious life, the charm of his charity, and the sweetness of his
temper naturally gave him the first place in the movement in Oxford and
the world. It came to be especially associated with him. Its enemies
fastened on it a nickname from his name, and this nickname, partly from
a greater smoothness of sound, partly from an odd suggestion of
something funny in it, came more into use than others; and the terms
_Puseismus, Puséisme, Puseista_ found their way into German
lecture-halls and Paris salons and remote convents and police offices in
Italy and Sicily; indeed, in the shape of πουζεισμός it might be lighted
on in a Greek newspaper. Dr. Pusey was a person who commanded the utmost
interest and reverence; he was more in communication with the great
world outside than Oxford people generally, and lived much in retirement
from Oxford society; but to all interested in the movement he was its
representative and highest authority. He and Mr. Newman had the fullest
confidence in one another, though conscious at times of not perfect
agreement; yet each had a line of his own, and each of them was apt to
do things out of his own head. Dr. Pusey was accessible to all who
wished to see him; but he did not encourage visits which wasted time.
And the person who was pre-eminently, not only before their eyes, but
within their reach in the ordinary intercourse of man with man, was Mr.
Newman. Mr. Newman, who lived in College in the ordinary way of a
resident Fellow, met other university men, older or younger, on equal
terms. As time went on, a certain wonder and awe gathered round him.
People were a little afraid of him; but the fear was in themselves, not
created by any intentional stiffness or coldness on his part. He did not
try to draw men to him, he was no proselytiser; he shrank with fear and
repugnance from the character--it was an invasion of the privileges of
the heart.[61] But if men came to him, he was accessible; he allowed his
friends to bring their friends to him, and met them more than half-way.
He was impatient of mere idle worldliness, of conceit and impertinence,
of men who gave themselves airs; he was very impatient of pompous and
solemn emptiness. But he was very patient with those whom he believed to
sympathise with what was nearest his heart; no one, probably, of his
power and penetration and sense of the absurd, was ever so ready to
comply with the two demands which a witty prelate proposed to put into
the examination in the Consecration Service of Bishops: "Wilt thou
answer thy letters?" "Wilt thou suffer fools gladly?" But courteous,
affable, easy as he was, he was a keen trier of character; he gauged,
and men felt that he gauged, their motives, their reality and soundness
of purpose; he let them see, if they at all came into his intimacy,
that if _they_ were not, _he_, at any rate, was in the deepest earnest.
And at an early period, in a memorable sermon,[62] the vivid impression
of which at the time still haunts the recollection of some who heard it,
he gave warning to his friends and to those whom his influence touched,
that no child's play lay before them; that they were making, it might be
without knowing it, the "Ventures of Faith." But feeling that he had
much to say, and that a university was a place for the circulation and
discussion of ideas, he let himself be seen and known and felt, both
publicly and in private. He had his breakfast parties and his evening
gatherings. His conversation ranged widely, marked by its peculiar
stamp--entire ease, unstudied perfection of apt and clean-cut words,
unexpected glimpses of a sure and piercing judgment. At times, at more
private meetings, the violin, which he knew how to touch, came into
play.

He had great gifts for leadership. But as a party chief he was also
deficient in some of the qualities which make a successful one. His
doctrine of the Church had the disadvantage of an apparently
intermediate and ambiguous position, refusing the broad, intelligible
watchwords and reasonings of popular religionism. It was not without
clearness and strength; but such a position naturally often leads to
what seem over-subtle modes of argument, seemingly over-subtle because
deeper and more original than the common ones; and he seemed sometimes
to want sobriety in his use of dialectic weapons, which he wielded with
such force and effect. Over-subtlety in the leader of a party tends to
perplex friends and give a handle to opponents. And with all his
confidence in his cause, and also in his power and his call to use it,
he had a curious shyness and self-distrust as to his own way of doing
what he had to do; he was afraid of "wilfulness," of too great reliance
on intellect. He had long been accustomed to observe and judge himself,
and while conscious of his force, he was fully alive to the drawbacks,
moral and intellectual, which wait on the highest powers. When attacks
were made on him by authorities, as in the case of the Tract No. 90, his
more eager friends thought him too submissive; they would have liked a
more combative temper and would not accept his view that confidence in
him was lost, because it might be shaken.[63] But if he bent before
official authority the disapproval of friends was a severer trouble.
Most tender in his affections, most trustful in his confidence, craving
for sympathy, it came like a shock and chill when things did not go
right between himself and his friends. He was too sensitive under such
disapproval for a successful party chief. The true party leader takes
these things as part of that tiresome human stupidity and perverseness
with which he must make his account. Perhaps they sting for the moment,
but he brushes them away and goes forward, soon forgetting them. But
with Mr. Newman, his cause was identified with his friendships and even
his family affections. And as a leader, he was embarrassed by the
keenness with which he sympathised with the doubts and fears of friends;
want of sympathy and signs of distrust darkened the prospect of the
future; they fell like a blight on his stores of hope, never
over-abundant; they tempted him, not to assert himself, but to throw up
the game as convicted of unfitness, and retire for good and all to his
books and silence. "Let them," he seemed to say, "have their way, as
they will not let me have mine; they have the right to take theirs, only
not to make me take it." In spite of his enthusiasm and energy, his
unceasing work, his occasional bursts of severe punishment inflicted on
those who provoked him, there was always present this keen
sensitiveness, the source of so much joy and so much pain. He would not
have been himself without it. But he would have been a much more
powerful and much more formidable combatant if he had cared less for
what his friends felt, and followed more unhesitatingly his own line and
judgment. This keen sensitiveness made him more quickly alive than other
people to all that lay round him and before; it made him quicker to
discern danger and disaster; it led him to give up hope and to retire
from the contest long before he had a right to do so. The experience of
later years shows that he had despaired too soon. Such delicate
sensitiveness, leading to impatience, was not capable of coping with the
rough work involved in the task of reform, which he had undertaken.

All this time the four o'clock sermons at St. Mary's were always going
on. But, besides these, he anticipated a freedom--familiar now, but
unknown then--of public lecturing. In Advent and after Easter a company,
never very large, used to gather on a week-day afternoon in Adam de
Brome's Chapel--the old Chapel of "Our Lady of Littlemore"--to hear him
lecture on some theological subject. It is a dark, dreary appendage to
St. Mary's on the north side, in which Adam de Brome, Edward II.'s
almoner, and the founder of Oriel College, is supposed to lie, beneath
an unshapely tomb, covered by a huge slab of Purbeck marble, from which
the brass has been stripped. The place is called a chapel, but is more
like a court or place of business, for which, indeed, it was used in the
old days by one of the Faculties of the House of Convocation, which held
its assemblies there. At the end is a high seat and desk for the person
presiding, and an enclosure and a table for officials below him; and
round the rest of the dingy walls run benches fixed to the wall, dingy
as the walls themselves. But it also had another use. On occasions of a
university sermon, a few minutes before it began, the Heads of Houses
assembled, as they still assemble, in the chapel, ranging themselves on
the benches round the walls. The Vice-Chancellor has his seat on one
side, the preacher, with the two Proctors below him, sits opposite; and
there all sit in their robes, more or less grand, according to the day,
till the beadle comes to announce that it is time to form the procession
into church. This desolate place Mr. Newman turned into his
lecture-room; in it he delivered the lectures which afterwards became
the volume on the _Prophetical Character of the Church_, or _Romanism
and Popular Protestantism_; the lectures which formed the volume on
_Justification_; those on _Antichrist_, and on _Rationalism and the
Canon of Scripture_, which afterwards became Nos. 83 and 85 of the
_Tracts for the Times_.[64] The force, the boldness, the freedom from
the trammels of commonplace, the breadth of view and grasp of the
subject which marked those lectures, may be seen in them still. But it
is difficult to realise now the interest with which they were heard at
the time by the first listeners to that clear and perfectly modulated
voice, opening to them fresh and original ways of regarding questions
which seemed worn out and exhausted. The volumes which grew out of the
Adam de Brome lectures were some of the most characteristic portions of
the theological literature of the early movement. They certainly greatly
influenced the course of thought in it, and some of its most serious
issues.

The movement was not one of mere opinion. It took two distinct though
connected lines. It was, on the one hand, theological; on the other,
resolutely practical. Theologically, it dealt with great questions of
religious principle--What is the Church? Is it a reality or a mode of
speech? On what grounds does it rest? How may it be known? Is it among
us? How is it to be discriminated from its rivals or counterfeits? What
is its essential constitution? What does it teach? What are its
shortcomings? Does it nerd reform? But, on the other hand, the movement
was marked by its deep earnestness on the practical side of genuine
Christian life. Very early in the movement (1833) a series of
sketches of primitive Christian life appeared in the _British
Magazine_--afterwards collected under the title of the _Church of the
Fathers_ (1840)--to remind people who were becoming interested in
ancient and patristic theology that, besides the doctrines to be found
in the vast folios of the Fathers, there were to be sought in them and
laid to heart the temptations and trials, the aspirations and moral
possibilities of actual life, "the tone and modes of thought, the habits
and manners of the early times of the Church." The note struck in the
first of Mr. Newman's published sermons--"Holiness necessary for future
blessedness"--was never allowed to be out of mind. The movement was,
above all, a moral one; it was nothing, allowed to be nothing, if it
was not this.[65] Seriousness, reverence, the fear of insincere words
and unsound professions, were essential in the character, which alone it
would tolerate in those who made common cause with it.

Its ethical tendency was shown in two things, which were characteristic
of it. One was the increased care for the Gospels, and study of them,
compared with other parts of the Bible. Evangelical theology had dwelt
upon the work of Christ, and laid comparatively little stress on His
example, or the picture left us of His Personality and Life. It regarded
the Epistles of St. Paul as the last word of the Gospel message. People
who can recall the popular teaching, which was spoken of then as "sound"
and "faithful," and "preaching Christ," can remember how the Epistles
were ransacked for texts to prove the "sufficiency of Scripture" or the
"right of private judgment," or the distinction between justification
and sanctification, while the Gospel narrative was imperfectly studied
and was felt to be much less interesting. The movement made a great
change. The great Name stood no longer for an abstract symbol of
doctrine, but for a living Master, who could teach as well as save. And
not forgetting whither He had gone and what He was, the readers of
Scripture now sought Him eagerly in those sacred records, where we can
almost see and hear His going in and out among men. It was a change in
the look and use of Scripture, which some can still look back to as an
epoch in their religious history. The other feature was the increased
and practical sense of the necessity of self-discipline, of taking real
trouble with one's self to keep thoughts and wishes in order, to lay the
foundation of habits, to acquire the power of self-control. Deeply fixed
in the mind of the teachers, this serious governance of life, this
direction and purification of its aims, laid strong hold on the
consciences of those who accepted their teaching. This training was not
showy; it was sometimes austere, even extravagantly austere; but it was
true, and enduring, and it issued often in a steady and unconscious
elevation of the religious character. How this character was fed and
nurtured and encouraged--how, too, it was frankly warned of its dangers,
may be seen in those _Parochial Sermons_ at St. Mary's, under whose
inspiration it was developed, and which will always be the best
commentary on the character thus formed. Even among those who ultimately
parted from the movement, with judgment more or less unfavourable to its
theology and general line, it left, as if uneffaceable, this moral
stamp; this value for sincerity and simplicity of feeling and life, this
keen sense of the awfulness of things unseen. There was something _sui
generis_ in the profoundly serious, profoundly reverent tone, about
everything that touched religion in all who had ever come strongly under
its influence.

Of course the party soon had the faults of a party, real and
imputed.[66] Is it conceivable that there should ever have been a
religious movement, which has not provoked smiles from those outside of
it, and which has not lent itself to caricature? There were weaker
members of it, and headstrong ones, and imitative ones; there were
grotesque and absurd ones; some were deeper, some shallower; some liked
it for its excitement, and some liked it for its cause; there were those
who were for pushing on, and those who were for holding back; there were
men of combat, and men of peace; there were those whom it made conceited
and self-important, and those whom it drove into seriousness, anxiety,
and retirement. But, whatever faults it had, a pure and high spirit
ruled in it; there were no disloyal members, and there were none who
sought their own in it, or thought of high things for themselves in
joining it. It was this whole-heartedness, this supreme reverence for
moral goodness, more even than the great ability of the leaders, and in
spite of mistakes and failures, which gave its cohesion and its momentum
to the movement in its earlier stages.

The state of feeling and opinion among Churchmen towards the end of
1835, two years after the Tracts had begun, is thus sketched by one who
was anxiously observing it, in the preface to the second volume of the
Tracts (November 1835).

  In completing the second volume of a publication, to which the
  circumstances of the day have given rise, it may be right to allude to
  a change which has taken place in them since the date of its
  commencement. At that time, in consequence of long security, the
  attention of members of our Church had been but partially engaged, in
  ascertaining the grounds of their adherence to it; but the imminent
  peril to all which is dear to them which has since been confessed, has
  naturally turned their thoughts that way, and obliged them to defend
  it on one or other of the principles which are usually put forward in
  its behalf. Discussions have thus been renewed in various quarters, on
  points which had long remained undisturbed; and though numbers
  continue undecided in opinion, or take up a temporary position in some
  one of the hundred middle points which may be assumed between the two
  main theories in which the question issues; and others, again, have
  deliberately entrenched themselves in the modern or ultra-Protestant
  alternative; yet, on the whole, there has been much hearty and
  intelligent adoption, and much respectful study, of those more
  primitive views maintained by our great Divines. As the altered state
  of public information and opinion has a necessary bearing on the
  efforts of those who desire to excite attention to the subject (in
  which number the writers of these Tracts are to be included), it will
  not be inappropriate briefly to state in this place what it is
  conceived is the present position of the great body of Churchmen with
  reference to it.

  While we have cause to be thankful for the sounder and more accurate
  language, which is now very generally adopted among well-judging men
  on ecclesiastical subjects, we must beware of over-estimating what has
  been done, and so becoming sanguine in our hopes of success, or
  slackening our exertions to secure it. Many more persons, doubtless,
  have taken up a profession of the main doctrine in question, that,
  namely, of the one Catholic and Apostolic Church, than fully enter
  into it. This was to be expected, it being the peculiarity of all
  religious teaching, that words are imparted before ideas. A child
  learns his Creed or Catechism before he understands it; and in
  beginning any deep subject we are all but children to the end of our
  lives. The instinctive perception of a rightly instructed mind, _primâ
  facie_ force of the argument, or the authority of our celebrated
  writers, have all had their due and extensive influence in furthering
  the reception of the doctrine, when once it was openly maintained; to
  which must be added the prospect of the loss of State protection,
  which made it necessary to look out for other reasons for adherence to
  the Church besides that of obedience to the civil magistrate. Nothing
  which has spread quickly has been received thoroughly. Doubtless there
  are a number of seriously-minded persons who think that they admit the
  doctrine in question much more fully than they do, and who would be
  startled at seeing that realised in particulars which they confess in
  an abstract form. Many there are who do not at all feel that it is
  capable of a practical application; and while they bring it forward on
  special occasions, in formal expositions of faith, or in answer to a
  direct interrogatory, let it slip from their minds almost entirely in
  their daily conduct or their religious teaching, from the long and
  inveterate habit of thinking and acting without it. We must not, then,
  at all be surprised at finding that to modify the principles and
  motives on which men act is not the work of a day; nor at undergoing
  disappointments, at witnessing relapses, misconceptions, sudden
  disgusts, and, on the other hand, abuses and perversions of the true
  doctrine, in the case of those who have taken it up with more warmth
  than discernment.

From the end of 1835, or the beginning of 1836, the world outside of
Oxford began to be alive to the force and the rapid growth of this new
and, to the world at large, not very intelligible movement. The ideas
which had laid hold so powerfully on a number of leading minds in the
University began to work with a spell, which seemed to many
inexplicable, on others unconnected with them. This rapidity of
expansion, viewed as a feature of a party, was noticed on all sides, by
enemies no less than friends. In an article in the _British Critic_ of
April 1839, by Mr. Newman, on the State of Religious Parties, the fact
is illustrated from contemporary notices.

  There is at the present moment a reaction in the Church, and a growing
  reaction, towards the views which it has been the endeavours [of the
  Tract writers] and, as it seemed at the commencement, _almost hopeless
  endeavours_, to advocate. The fairness of the prospect at present is
  proved by the attack made on them by the public journals, and is
  confessed by the more candid and the more violent among their
  opponents. Thus the amiable Mr. Bickersteth speaks of it as having
  manifested itself "with the _most rapid_ growth of the hot-bed of
  these evil days." The scoffing author of the _Via Media_ says: "At
  this moment the Via is _crowded_ with young enthusiasts who never
  presume to argue, except against the propriety of arguing at all." The
  candid Mr. Baden-Powell, who sees more of the difficulties of the
  controversy than the rest of their antagonists pot together, says that
  it is clear that "these views ... have been extensively adopted, and
  are daily gaining ground among a considerable and influential portion
  of the members, as well as the ministers of the Established Church."
  The author of the _Natural History of Enthusiasm_ says: "The spread of
  these doctrines is in fact having the effect of rendering all other
  distinctions obsolete. Soon there will be no middle ground left, and
  every man, especially every clergyman, will be compelled to make his
  choice between the two." ... The Bishop of Chester speaks of the
  subject "daily assuming a more serious and alarming aspect": a
  gossiping writer of the moment describes these doctrines as having
  insinuated themselves not only into popular churches and fashionable
  chapels, and the columns of newspapers, but "into the House of
  Commons."

And the writer of the article goes on:--

  Now, if there be any truth in these remarks, it is plainly idle and
  perverse to refer the change of opinions which is now going on to the
  acts of two or three individuals, as is sometimes done. Of course
  every event in human affairs has a beginning; and a beginning implies
  a when, and a where, and a by whom, and how. But except in these
  necessary circumstance, the phenomenon in question is in a manner
  quite independent of things visible and historical. It is not here or
  there; it has no progress, no causes, no fortunes: it is not a
  movement, it is a spirit, it is a spirit afloat, neither "in the
  secret chambers" nor "in the desert," but everywhere. It is within us,
  rising up in the heart where it was least expected, and working its
  way, though not in secret, yet so subtly and impalpably, as hardly to
  admit of precaution or encounter on any ordinary human rules of
  opposition. It is an adversary in the air, a something one and entire,
  a whole wherever it is, unapproachable and incapable of being grasped,
  as being the result of causes far deeper than political or other
  visible agencies, the spiritual awakening of spiritual wants.

  Nothing can show more strikingly the truth of this representation than
  to refer to what may be called the theological history of the
  individuals who, whatever be their differences from each other on
  important or unimportant points, yet are associated together in the
  advocacy of the doctrines in question. Dr. Hook and Mr. Churton
  represent the High Church dignitaries of the last generation; Mr.
  Perceval, the Tory aristocracy; Mr. Keble is of the country clergy,
  and comes from valleys and woods, far removed both from notoriety and
  noise; Mr. Palmer and Mr. Todd are of Ireland; Dr. Pusey became what
  he is from among the Universities of Germany, and after a severe and
  tedious analysis of Arabic MSS. Mr. Dodsworth is said to have begun in
  the study of Prophecy; Mr. Newman to have been much indebted to the
  friendship of Archbishop Whately; Mr. Froude, if any one, gained his
  views from his own mind. Others have passed over from Calvinism and
  kindred religions.

Years afterwards, and in changed circumstances, the same writer has left
the following record of what came before his experience in those
years:--[67]

  From beginnings so small (I said), from elements of thought so
  fortuitous, with prospects so unpromising, the Anglo-Catholic party
  suddenly became a power in the National Church, and an object of
  alarm to her rulers and friends. Its originators would have found it
  difficult to say what they aimed at of a practical kind: rather, they
  put forth views and principles, for their own sake, because they were
  true, as if they were obliged to say them; and, as they might be
  themselves surprised at their earnestness in uttering them, they had
  as great cause to be surprised at the success which attended their
  propagation. And, in fact, they could only say that those doctrines
  were in the air; that to assert was to prove, and that to explain was
  to persuade; and that the movement in which they were taking part was
  the birth of a crisis rather than of a place. In a very few years a
  school of opinion was formed, fixed in its principles, indefinite and
  progressive in their range; and it extended itself into every part of
  the country. If we inquire what the world thought of it, we have still
  more to raise our wonder; for, not to mention the excitement it caused
  in England, the movement and its party-names were known to the police
  of Italy and to the backwoods-men of America. And so it proceeded,
  getting stronger and stronger every year, till it came into collision
  with the Nation and that Church of the Nation, which it began by
  professing especially to serve.

FOOTNOTES:

[59] "I answered, the person whom we were opposing had committed himself
in writing, and we ought to commit ourselves, too."--_Apologia_, p. 143.

[60] "I very much doubt between Oxford and Cambridge for my boy. Oxford,
which I should otherwise prefer, on many accounts, has at present
two-thirds of the steady-reading men, Rabbinists, _i.e._ Puseyites." But
this was probably an exaggeration.--Whately's _Life_; letter of Oct.
1838, p. 163 (ed. 1875).

[61] "The sagacious and aspiring man of the world, the scrutiniser
of the heart, the conspirator against its privileges and
rights."--_Prophetical Office of the Church_, p. 132.

[62] _Parochial Sermons_, iv. 20. Feb. 1836.

[63] _Vide_ J.B. Mozley, _Letters_, pp. 114, 115. "Confidence in me was
lost, but I had already lost confidence in myself." This, to a friend
like J.B. Mozley, seemed exaggeration. "Though admiring the letter [to
the Vice Chancellor] I confess, for my own part, I think a general
confession of humility was irrelevant to the present occasion, the
question being simply on a point of theological interpretation. I have
always had a prejudice against general confessions." Mozley plainly
thought Newman's attitude too meek. He would have liked something more
spirited and pugnacious.

[64] _Romanism and Popular Protestantism_, from 1834 to 1836, published
March 1837; _Justification_, after Easter 1837, published March 1838;
_Canon of Scripture_, published May 1838; _Antichrist_, published June
1838.

[65] Cf. _Lyra Apostolica_, No. 65:

  _Thou_ to wax fierce
  In the cause of the Lord!

         *       *       *       *       *

  Anger and zeal,
  And the joy of the brave,
  Who bade _thee_ to feel,
     Sin's slave?


[66] This weak side was portrayed with severity in a story published by
Mr. Newman in 1848, after he left the English Church--_Loss and Gain_.

[67] _Apologia_, p. 156.



CHAPTER XI

THE ROMAN QUESTION


The Hampden controversy had contributed to bring to the front a
question, which from the first starting of the Tracts had made itself
felt, but which now became a pressing one. If the Church of England
claimed to be part of the Catholic Church, what was the answer of the
Church of England to the claims and charges of the Church of Rome? What
were the true distinctions between the doctrines of the two Churches on
the great points on which they were supposed to be at issue? The vague
outcry of Popery had of course been raised both against the general
doctrine of the Church, enforced in the Tracts, and against special
doctrines and modes of speaking, popularly identified with Romanism; and
the answer had been an appeal to the authority of the most learned and
authoritative of our writers. But, of course, to the general public this
learning was new; and the cry went on with a dreary and stupid monotony.
But the charges against Dr. Hampden led his defenders to adopt as their
best weapon an aggressive policy. To the attack on his orthodoxy, the
counter buffet was the charge against his chief opponents of secret or
open Romanising. In its keenest and most popular form it was put forth
in a mocking pamphlet written probably under Whately's inspiration by
his most trusted confidant, Dr. Dickinson, in which, in the form of a
"Pastoral Epistle from his Holiness the Pope to some Members of the
University of Oxford," the Tract-writers are made to appear as the
emissaries and secret tools of Rome, as in a _jeu d'esprit_ of Whately's
they are made to appear as the veiled prophets of infidelity.[68] It was
clever, but not clever enough to stand, at least in Oxford, against Dr.
Pusey's dignified and gravely earnest _Remonstrance_ against its
injustice and trifling. But the fire of all Dr. Hampden's friends had
been drawn on the leaders of the movement. With them, and almost alone
with them, the opposition to him was made a personal matter. As time
went on, those who had been as hot as they against Dr. Hampden managed
to get their part in the business forgotten. Old scores between
Orthodox, Evangelicals, and Liberals were wiped out, and the Tractarians
were left to bear alone the odium of the "persecution" of Dr. Hampden.
It must be said that they showed no signs of caring for it.

But the Roman controversy was looming in earnest, and it was idle to
expect to keep it long out of sight. The Tracts had set forth with
startling vehemence the forgotten claims of the Church. One reason why
this had been done was the belief, as stated in the first volume of
them, "that nothing but these neglected doctrines, faithfully preached,
will repress the extension of Popery, for which the ever-multiplying
divisions of the religious world are too clearly preparing the way."[69]
The question, What _is_ the Church? was one which the conditions of the
times would not permit men any longer to leave alone. It had become
urgent to meet it clearly and decisively. "We could not move a step in
comfort till this was done."[70] "The controversy with the Romanists,"
writes Mr. Newman in No. 71 of the Tracts, about the end of 1835, "has
overtaken us 'like a summer's cloud.' We find ourselves in various parts
of the country preparing for it, yet, when we look back, we cannot
trace the steps by which we arrived at our present position. We do not
recollect what our feelings were this time last year on the subject;
what was the state of our apprehensions and anticipations. All we know
is, that here we are, from long security ignorant why we are not Roman
Catholics, and they on the other side are said to be spreading and
strengthening on all sides of us, vaunting of their success, real or
apparent, and taunting us with our inability to argue with them."

The attitude taken by Mr. Newman at this time, as regards the Roman
Church, both in the Tracts and in his book on _Romanism and Popular
Protestantism_, published in the early months of 1836, was a new one. He
had started, as he tells us, with the common belief that the Pope was
Antichrist, and that the case was so clear against the whole system,
doctrinal and practical, of the Church of Rome, that it scarcely needed
further examination. His feeling against Rome had been increased by the
fierce struggle about Emancipation, and by the political conduct of the
Roman Catholic party afterwards; and his growing dissatisfaction with
the ordinary Protestantism had no visible effect in softening this
feeling. Hurrell Froude's daring questions had made his friends feel
that there might be more to be known about the subject than they yet
knew; yet what the fellow-travellers saw of things abroad in their visit
to the South in 1832 did not impress them favourably. "They are wretched
Tridentines everywhere," was Froude's comment. But attention had been
drawn to the subject, and its deep interest and importance and
difficulty recognised. Men began to read with new eyes. Froude's keen
and deep sense of shortcomings at home disposed him to claim equity and
candour in judging of the alleged faults and corruptions of the Church
abroad. It did more, it disposed him--naturally enough, but still
unfairly, and certainly without adequate knowledge--to treat Roman
shortcomings with an indulgence which he refused to English. Mr. Newman,
knowing more, and more comprehensive in his view of things, and
therefore more cautious and guarded than Froude, was much less ready to
allow a favourable interpretation of the obvious allegations against
Rome. But thought and reading, and the authority of our own leading
divines, had brought him to the conviction that whatever was to be said
against the modern Roman Church--and the charges against it were very
heavy--it was still, amid serious corruption and error, a teacher to the
nations of the Christian creed and hope; it had not forfeited, any more
than the English Church, its title to be a part of that historic body
which connects us with the Apostles of our Lord. It had a strong and
consistent theory to oppose to its assailants; it had much more to say
for itself than the popular traditions supposed. This was no new idea in
Anglican divinity, however ill it might sort with the current language
of Protestant controversy. But our old divines, more easily satisfied
than we with the course of things at home under the protection of the
Stuart kings, and stung to bitter recrimination by the insults and the
unscrupulous political intrigues of Roman Catholic agents, had exhausted
the language of vituperation against a great aggressive rival, which was
threatening everything that they held dear. They had damaged their own
character for fairness, and overlaid their substantial grounds of
objection and complaint, by this unbalanced exaggeration. Mr. Newman, in
his study of these matters, early saw both the need and the difficulty
of discrimination in the Roman controversy. It had to be waged, not as
of old, with penal legislation behind, but against adversaries who
could now make themselves listened to, and before a public sufficiently
robust in its Protestantism, to look with amused interest on a
dialectical triumph of the Roman over the Anglican claims. Romanism, he
thought, was fatal both to his recent hopes for the English Church, and
to the honour and welfare of Christianity at large. But in opposing it,
ground loosely taken of old must be carefully examined, and if
untenable, abandoned. Arguments which proved too much, which availed
against any Church at all, must be given up. Popular objections, arising
from ignorance or misconception, must be reduced to their true limits or
laid aside. The controversy was sure to be a real one, and nothing but
what was real and would stand scrutiny was worth anything in it.

Mr. Newman had always been impressed with the greatness of the Roman
Church. Of old it had seemed to him great with the greatness of
Antichrist. Now it seemed great with the strange weird greatness of a
wonderful mixed system, commanding from its extent of sway and its
imperial authority, complicated and mysterious in its organisation and
influence, in its devotion and its superstitions, and surpassing every
other form of religion both in its good and its evil.[71] What now
presented itself to Mr. Newman's thoughts, instead of the old notion of
a pure Church on one side, and a corrupt Church on the other, sharply
opposed to one another, was the more reasonable supposition of two great
portions of the divided Church, each with its realities of history and
fact and character, each with its special claims and excellences, each
with its special sins and corruptions, and neither realising in practice
and fact all it professed to be on paper; each of which further, in the
conflicts of past days, had deeply, almost unpardonably, wronged the
other. The Church of England was in possession, with its own call and
its immense work to do, and striving to do it. Whatever the Church of
Rome was abroad, it was here an intruder and a disturber. That to his
mind was the fact and the true position of things; and this ought to
govern the character and course of controversy. The true line was not to
denounce and abuse wholesale, not to attack with any argument, good or
bad, not to deny or ignore what was solid in the Roman ground, and good
and elevated in the Roman system, but admitting all that fairly ought to
be admitted, to bring into prominence, not for mere polemical
denunciation, but for grave and reasonable and judicial condemnation,
all that was extravagant and arrogant in Roman assumptions, and all that
was base, corrupt, and unchristian in the popular religion, which, with
all its claims to infallibility and authority, Rome not only permitted
but encouraged. For us to condemn Rome wholesale, as was ordinarily the
fashion, even in respectable writers, was as wrong, as unfair, as
unprofitable to the cause of truth and Christianity, as the Roman
charges against us were felt by us to be ignorant and unjust. Rome
professes like England to continue the constitution, doctrine,
traditions, and spirit of the ancient and undivided Church: and so far
as she does so--and she does so in a great degree--we can have no
quarrel with her. But in a great degree also, she does this only in
profession and as a theory: she claims the witness and suffrage of
antiquity, but she interprets it at her own convenience and by her own
authority. We cannot claim exemption from mistakes, from deviations from
our own standard and principles, any more than Rome; but while she
remains as she is, and makes the monstrous claims of infallibility and
supremacy, there is nothing for English Churchmen but to resist her.
Union is impossible. Submission is impossible. What we have to beware of
for our own sake, as well as for our cause, are false arguments, unreal
objections, ignorant allegations. There is enough on the very surface,
in her audacious assertions and high-handed changes, for popular
arguments against her, without having recourse to exaggeration and
falsehood; she may be a very faulty Church, without being Babylon and
Antichrist. And in the higher forms of argument, there is abundance in
those provinces of ancient theology and ecclesiastical history and law,
which Protestant controversialists have commonly surrendered and left
open to their opponents, to supply a more telling weapon than any which
these controversialists have used.

This line, though substantially involved in the theory of our most
learned divines, from Andrewes to Wake, was new in its moderation and
reasonable caution; in its abstention from insult and vague abuse, in
its recognition of the _primâ facie_ strength of much of the Roman case,
in its fearless attempt, in defiance of the deepest prejudices, to face
the facts and conditions of the question. Mr. Newman dared to know and
to acknowledge much that our insular self-satisfaction did not know, and
did not care to know, of real Christian life in the Church of Rome. He
dared to admit that much that was popularly held to be Popish was
ancient, Catholic, edifying; he dared to warn Churchmen that the loose
unsifted imputations, so securely hazarded against Rome, were both
discreditable and dangerous. All this, from one whose condemnation of
Rome was decisive and severe, was novel. The attempt, both in its spirit
and its ability, was not unworthy of being part of the general effort to
raise the standard of thought and teaching in the English Church. It
recalled men from slovenly prejudices to the study of the real facts of
the living world. It narrowed the front of battle, but it strengthened
it enormously. The volume on _Romanism and Popular Protestantism_ is not
an exhaustive survey of the controversy with Rome or of the theory of
the Church. There are great portions of the subject, both theological
and historical, which it did not fall within the scope of the book to
touch. It was unsystematic and incomplete. But so far as its argument
extended, it almost formed an epoch in this kind of controversial
writing. It showed the command of a man of learning over all the
technical points and minutiae of a question highly scholastical in its
conceptions and its customary treatment, and it presented this question
in its bearings and consequences on life and practice with the freedom
and breadth of the most vigorous popular writing. The indictment against
Rome was no vague or general one. It was one of those arguments which
cut the ground from under a great established structure of reasonings
and proofs. And its conclusions, clear and measured, but stern, were
the more impressive, because they came from one who did not disguise his
feeling that there was much in what was preserved in the Roman system to
admire and to learn from.

The point which he chose for his assault was indeed the key of the Roman
position--the doctrine of Infallibility. He was naturally led to this
side of the question by the stress which the movement had laid on the
idea of the Church as the witness and teacher of revealed truth: and the
immediate challenge given by the critics or opponents of the movement
was, how to distinguish this lofty idea of the Church, with its claim to
authority, if it was at all substantial, from the imposing and
consistent theory of Romanism. He urged against the Roman claim of
Infallibility two leading objections. One was the way in which the
assumed infallibility of the present Church was made to override and
supersede, in fact, what in words was so ostentatiously put forward, the
historical evidence of antiquity to doctrine, expressed by the phrase,
the "consent of the Fathers." The other objection was the inherent
contradiction of the notion of infallibility to the conditions of human
reception of teaching and knowledge, and its practical uselessness as an
assurance of truth, its partly delusive, partly mischievous, working.
But he felt, as all deep minds must feel, that it is easier to overthrow
the Roman theory of Church authority than to replace it by another,
equally complete and commanding, and more unassailable. He was quite
alive to the difficulties of the Anglican position; but he was a
disciple in the school of Bishop Butler, and had learned as a first
principle to recognise the limitations of human knowledge, and the
unphilosophical folly of trying to round off into finished and
pretentious schemes our fragmentary yet certain notices of our own
condition and of God's dealings with it. He followed his teacher in
insisting on the reality and importance of moral evidence as opposed to
demonstrative proof; and he followed the great Anglican divines in
asserting that there was a true authority, varying in its degrees, in
the historic Church; that on the most fundamental points of religion
this authority was trustworthy and supreme; that on many other questions
it was clear and weighty, though it could not decide everything. This
view of the "prophetical office of the Church" had the dialectical
disadvantage of appearing to be a compromise, to many minds a fatal
disadvantage. It got the name of the _Via Media_; a satisfactory one to
practical men like Dr. Hook, to whom it recommended itself for use in
popular teaching; but to others, in aftertimes, an ill-sounding phrase
of dislike, which summed up the weakness of the Anglican case. Yet it
only answered to the certain fact, that in the early and undivided
Church there was such a thing as authority, and there was no such thing
known as Infallibility. It was an appeal to the facts of history and
human nature against the logical exigencies of a theory. Men must
transcend the conditions of our experience if they want the certainty
which the theory of Infallibility speaks of.

There were especially two weak points in this view of Anglicanism. Mr.
Newman felt and admitted them, and of course they were forced on his
attention by controversialists on both sides; by the Ultra Protestant
school, whose modes of dealing with Scripture he had exposed with
merciless logic and by the now eager Roman disputants, of whom Dr.
Wiseman was the able and not over-scrupulous chief. The first of these
points was that the authority of the undivided Church, which Anglicanism
invoked, though it completely covered the great foundations of Christian
doctrine, our faith as to the nature of God, did not cover with equal
completeness other important points of controversy, such as those
raised at the Reformation as to the Sacraments, and the justification of
the sinner. The Anglican answer was that though the formal and conciliar
authority was not the same in each case, the patristic literature of the
time of the great councils, all that it took for granted and preserved
as current belief and practice, all that resulted from the questions and
debates of the time, formed a body of proof, which carried with it moral
evidence only short of authoritative definition, and was so regarded in
the Anglican formularies. These formularies implied the authority of the
Church to speak; and what was defined on this authority was based on
good evidence, though there were portions of its teaching which had even
better. The other point was more serious. "Your theory," was the
objection, "is nothing but a paper theory; it never was a reality; it
never can be. There may be an ideal halting-place, there is neither a
logical nor an actual one, between Romanism and the ordinary negations
of Protestantism." The answer to the challenge then was, "Let us see if
it cannot be realised. It has recognised foundations to build upon, and
the impediments and interruptions which have hindered it are well known.
Let us see if it will not turn out something more than a paper theory."
That was the answer given at the time, abandoned ten years afterwards.
But this at least may be said, that the longer experience of the last
fifty years has shown that the Church of England has been working more
and more on such a theory, and that the Church of England, whatever its
faults may be, is certainly not a Church only on paper.

But on the principles laid down in this volume, the Roman controversy,
in its varying forms, was carried on--for the time by Mr. Newman,
permanently by the other leaders of the movement. In its main outlines,
the view has become the accepted Anglican view. Many other most
important matters have come into the debate. The publicly altered
attitude of the Papacy has indefinitely widened the breach between
England and Rome. But the fundamental idea of the relations and
character of the two Churches remains the same as it was shadowed forth
in 1836.

One very important volume on these questions ought not to be passed by
without notice. This was the _Treatise on the Church of Christ_, 1838,
by Mr. W. Palmer, who had already by his _Origines_ of the English
Ritual, 1832, done much to keep up that interest of Churchmen in the
early devotional language of the Church, which had first been called
forth by Bishop Lloyd's lectures on the Prayer Book. The _Treatise on
the Church_ was an honour to English theology and learning; in point of
plan and structure we have few books like it.[72] It is comprehensive,
methodical, well-compacted, and, from its own point of view,
exhaustive. It is written with full knowledge of the state of the
question at the time, both on the Anglican side and on the Roman. Its
author evades no objection, and is aware of most. It is rigorous in
form, and has no place for anything but substantial argument. It is a
book which, as the _Apologia_ tells us, commanded the respect of such an
accomplished controversialist as Perrone; and, it may be added, of a
theologian of an opposite school, Dr. Döllinger. It is also one on which
the highest value has been set by Mr. Gladstone. It is remarkable that
it did not exercise more influence on religious thought in Oxford at the
critical time when it appeared. But it had defects, and the moment was
against it. It was dry and formal--inevitably so, from the scientific
plan deliberately adopted for it; it treated as problems of the
theological schools, to be discussed by the rules of severe and
passionless disputation, questions which were once more, after the
interval of more than a century, beginning to touch hearts and
consciences, and were felt to be fraught with the gravest practical
issues. And Mr. Newman, in his mode of dealing with them, unsystematic,
incomplete, unsatisfactory in many ways as it was, yet saw in them not
abstract and scholastic inquiries, however important, but matters in
which not only sound argument, but sympathy and quick intelligence of
the conditions and working of the living minds around him, were needed
to win their attention and interest. To persons accustomed to Mr.
Newman's habit of mind and way of writing, his ease, his frankness, his
candour, his impatience of conventionality, his piercing insight into
the very centre of questions, his ever-ready recognition of nature and
reality, his range of thought, his bright and clear and fearless style
of argument, his undisplayed but never unfelt consciousness of the true
awfulness of anything connected with religion, any stiff and heavy way
of treating questions which he had treated would have seemed
unattractive and unpersuasive. He had spoiled his friends for any mere
technical handling, however skilful, of great and critical subjects. He
himself pointed out in a review the unique merit and the real value of
Mr. Palmer's book, pointing out also, significantly enough, where it
fell short, both in substance and in manner. Observing that the
"scientific" system of the English Church is not yet "sufficiently
cleared and adjusted," and adding a variety of instances of this
deficiency, he lets us see what he wanted done, where difficulties most
pressed upon himself, and where Mr. Palmer had missed the real substance
of such difficulties. Looking at it by the light of after-events, we can
see the contradiction and reaction produced by Mr. Palmer's too
optimist statements. Still, Mr. Newman's praise was sincere and
discriminating. But Mr. Palmer's book, though never forgotten, scarcely
became, what it at another time might well have become, an English
text-book.

FOOTNOTES:

[68] Whately's _Life_, ed. 1875, pp. 187-190.

[69] Advertisement to vol. i. 1st Nov. 1834.

[70] _Apologia_, p. 139.

[71] Vide _Lyra Apostolica_, Nos. 170, 172:

  How shall I name thee, Light of the wide West,
    Or heinous error-seat?...
  Oh, that thy creed were sound!
  For thou dost soothe the heart, thou Church of Rome,
  By thy unwearied watch and varied round
  Of service, in thy Saviour's holy home.

And comp. No. 171, _The Cruel Church_.

[72] "The most important theological work which has lately appeared is
Mr. Palmer's _Treatise on the Church_.... Whatever judgment may be
formed of the conclusions to which he has come on the variety of points
which he had to consider, we cannot contemplate without admiration, and
(if it were right) without envy, the thorough treatment which his
subject has received at his hands. It is indeed a work quite in
character with the religious movement which has commenced in various
parts of the Church, displaying a magnificence of design similar to that
of the Bishop of London's plan of fifty new churches, and Dr. Pusey, of
Oxford's, projected translation of the Fathers."--_Brit. Crit._. July
1838. Short Notices.



CHAPTER XII

CHANGES


The first seven years of the movement, as it is said in the _Apologia_,
had been years of prosperity. There had been mistakes; there had been
opposition; there had been distrust and uneasiness. There was in some
places a ban on the friends of Mr. Newman; men like Mr. James Mozley and
Mr. Mark Pattison found their connexion with him a difficulty in the way
of fellowships. But on the whole, things had gone smoothly, without any
great breakdown, or any open collision with authority. But after 1840
another period was to begin of trouble and disaster. The seeds of this
had been partially sown before in the days of quiet, and the time was
come for their development. Differences in the party itself had been
growing sharper; differences between the more cautious and the more
fearless, between the more steady-going and the more subtle thinkers.
The contrast between the familiar and customary, and the new--between
the unknown or forgotten, and a mass of knowledge only recently
realised--became more pronounced. Consequences of a practical kind, real
or supposed; began to show themselves, and to press. And above all, a
second generation, without the sobering experience of the first, was
starting from where the first had reached to, and, in some instances,
was rising up against their teachers' caution and patience. The usual
dangers of all earnest and aggressive assertions of great principles
appeared: contempt for everything in opinion and practice that was not
advanced, men vying with each other in bold inferences, in the pleasure
of "talking strong." With this grew fear and exasperation on the other
side, misunderstandings, misgivings, strainings of mutual confidence,
within. Dr. Hook alternated between violent bursts of irritation and
disgust, and equally strong returns of sympathy, admiration, and
gratitude; and he represented a large amount of feeling among Churchmen.
It was but too clear that storms were at hand. They came perhaps quicker
than they were anticipated.

Towards the end of 1838, a proposal was brought forward, for which in
its direct aspect much might plausibly be said, but which was in
intention and indirectly a test question, meant to put the Tractarians
in a difficulty, and to obtain the weight of authority in the University
against them. It was proposed to raise a subscription, and to erect a
monument in Oxford, to the martyrs of the Reformation, Cranmer, Ridley,
and Latimer. Considering that the current and popular language dated
the Church of England from the Reformation of the sixteenth century, and
cited the Reformers as ultimate and paramount authorities on its
doctrine, there was nothing unreasonable in such a proposal. Dr. Hook,
strong Churchman as he was, "called to union on the principles of the
English Reformation." But the criticism which had been set afloat by the
movement had discovered and realised, what defenders of the English
Church had hitherto felt it an act of piety to disbelieve, when put
before them by Romanists like Lingard, and radicals like Cobbett. that
the Reformers had been accomplices in many indefensible acts, and had
been inconsistent and untrustworthy theologians. Providentially, it was
felt, the force of old convictions and tradition and the historical
events of the time had obliged them to respect the essentials of
Catholic truth and polity and usage; we owed to them much that was
beautiful and devotional in the Prayer Book; and their Articles, clear
in all matters decided by the early theology, avoided foreign extremes
in dealing with later controversies. But their own individual language
was often far in advance of the public and official language of
formularies, in the direction of the great Protestant authorities of
Geneva and Zurich. There were still, even among the movement party, many
who respected the Reformers for the work which they had attempted, and
partly and imperfectly done, to be more wisely and soberly carried on by
their successors of the seventeenth century. But the charges against
their Calvinistic and even Zwinglian language were hard to parry; even
to those who respected them for their connexion with our present order
of things, their learning, their soundness, their authority appeared to
be greatly exaggerated; and the reaction from excessive veneration made
others dislike and depreciate them. This was the state of feeling when
the Martyrs' Memorial was started. It was eagerly pressed with ingenious
and persevering arguments by Mr. Golightly, the indefatigable and
long-labouring opponent of all that savoured of Tractarianism. The
appeal seemed so specious that at first many even of the party gave in
their adhesion. Even Dr. Pusey was disposed to subscribe to it. But Mr.
Newman, as was natural, held aloof; and his friends for the most part
did the same. It was what was expected and intended. They were either to
commit themselves to the Reformation as understood by the promoters of
the Memorial; or they were to be marked as showing their disloyalty to
it. The subscription was successful. The Memorial was set up, and stood,
a derisive though unofficial sign of the judgment of the University
against them.

But the "Memorial" made little difference to the progress of the
movement. It was an indication of hostility in reserve, but this was
all; it formed an ornament to the city, but failed as a religious and
effective protest. Up to the spring of 1839, Anglicanism, placed on an
intellectual basin by Mr. Newman, developed practically in different
ways by Dr. Pusey and Dr. Hook, sanctioned in theory by divines who
represented the old divinity of the English Church, like Bishop
Phillpotts and Mr. H.J. Rose, could speak with confident and hopeful
voice. It might well seem that it was on its way to win over the coming
generations of the English clergy. It had on its side all that gives
interest and power to a cause,--thought, force of character, unselfish
earnestness; it had unity of idea and agreement in purpose, and was
cemented by the bonds of warm affection and common sympathies. It had
the promise of a nobler religion, as energetic and as spiritual as
Puritanism and Wesleyanism, while it drew its inspiration, its canons of
doctrine, its moral standards, from purer and more venerable
sources;--from communion, not with individual teachers and partial
traditions, but with the consenting teaching and authoritative documents
of the continuous Catholic Church.

Anglicanism was agreed, up to this time--the summer of 1839--as to its
general principles. Charges of an inclination to Roman views had been
promptly and stoutly met; nor was there really anything but the
ignorance or ill-feeling of the accusers to throw doubt on the sincerity
of these disavowals. The deepest and strongest mind in the movement was
satisfied; and his steadiness of conviction could be appealed to if his
followers talked wildly and rashly. He had kept one unwavering path; he
had not shrunk from facing with fearless honesty the real living array
of reasons which the most serious Roman advocates could put forward.
With a frankness new in controversy, he had not been afraid to state
them with a force which few of his opponents could have put forth. With
an eye ever open to that supreme Judge of all our controversies, who
listens to them on His throne on high, he had with conscientious
fairness admitted what he saw to be good and just on the side of his
adversaries, conceded what in the confused wrangle of conflicting claims
he judged ought to be conceded. But after all admissions and all
concessions, the comparative strength of his own case appeared all the
more undeniable. He had stripped it of its weaknesses, its incumbrances,
its falsehoods; and it did not seem the weaker for being presented in
its real aspect and on its real grounds. People felt that he had gone to
the bottom of the question as no one had yet dared to do. He was yet
staunch in his convictions; and they could feel secure.

But a change was at hand. In the course of 1839, the little cloud showed
itself in the outlook of the future; the little rift opened, small and
hardly perceptible, which was to widen into an impassable gulf.
Anglicanism started with undoubted confidence in its own foundations and
its own position, as much against Romanism as against the more recent
forms of religion. In the consciousness of its strength, it could afford
to make admissions and to refrain from tempting but unworthy arguments
in controversy with Rome; indeed the necessity of such controversy had
come upon it unexpectedly and by surprise. With English frankness, in
its impatience of abuses and desire for improvement within, it had dwelt
strongly on the faults and shortcomings of the English Church which it
desired to remedy; but while allowing what was undeniably excellent in
Rome, it had been equally outspoken and emphatic in condemnation of the
evils of Rome. What is there to wonder at in such a position? It is the
position of every honest reforming movement, at least in England. But
Anglican self-reliance was unshaken, and Anglican hope waxed stronger as
the years went on, and the impression made by Anglican teaching became
wider and deeper. Outside attacks, outside persecution, could now do
little harm; the time was past for that. What might have happened had
things gone on as they began, it is idle to inquire. But at the moment
when all seemed to promise fair, the one fatal influence, the presence
of internal uncertainty and doubt, showed itself. The body of men who
had so for acted together began to show a double aspect. While one
portion of it continued on the old lines, holding the old ground,
defending the old principles, and attempting to apply them for the
improvement of the practical system of the English Church, another
portion had asked the question, and were pursuing the anxious inquiry,
whether the English Church was a true Church at all, a true portion of
the one uninterrupted Catholic Church of the Redeemer. And the question
had forced itself with importunate persistence on the leading mind of
the movement. From this time the fate of Tractarianism, as a party, was
decided.

In this overthrow of confidence, two sets of influences may be traced.

1. One, which came from above, from the highest leading authority in the
movement, was the unsettlement of Mr. Newman's mind. He has told the
story, the story as he believed of his enfranchisement and deliverance;
and he has told the story, though the story of a deliverance, with so
keen a feeling of its pathetic and tragic character,--as it is indeed
the most tragic story of a conversion to peace and hope on record,--that
it will never cease to be read where the English language is spoken. Up
to the summer of 1839, his view of the English position had satisfied
him--satisfied him, that is, as a tenable one in the anomalies of
existing Christendom. All seemed clear and hopeful, and the one thing to
be thought of was to raise the English Church to the height of its own
standard. But in the autumn of that year (1839), as he has told us, a
change took place. In the summer of 1839, he had set himself to study
the history of the Monophysite controversy. "I have no reason," he
writes, "to suppose that the thought of Rome came across my mind at
all.... It was during this course of reading that for the first time a
doubt came across me of the tenableness of Anglicanism. I had seen the
shadow of a hand on the wall. He who has seen a ghost cannot be as if he
had never seen it. The heavens had opened and closed again." To less
imaginative and slower minds this seems an overwrought description of a
phenomenon, which must present itself sometime or other to all who
search the foundations of conviction; and by itself he was for the time
proof against its force. "The thought for the moment had been, The
Church of Rome will be found right after all; and then it had vanished.
My old convictions remained as before." But another blow came, and then
another. An article by Dr. Wiseman on the Donatists greatly disturbed
him. The words of St. Augustine about the Donatists, _securus judicat
orbis terrarum_, rang continually in his ears, like words out of the
sky. He found the threatenings of the Monophysite controversy renewed in
the _Arian_: "the ghost had come a second time." It was a "most
uncomfortable article," he writes in his letters; "the first real hit
from Romanism which has happened to me"; it gave him, as he says, "a
stomach-ache." But he still held his ground, and returned his answer to
the attack in an article in the _British Critic_, on the "Catholicity of
the English Church." He did not mean to take the attack for more than it
was worth, an able bit of _ex parte_ statement. But it told on him, as
nothing had yet told on him. What it did, was to "open a vista which was
closed before, and of which he could not see the end"; "we are not at
the bottom of things," was the sting it left behind From this time, the
hope and exultation with which, in spite of checks and misgivings, he
had watched the movement, gave way to uneasiness and distress. A new
struggle was beginning, a long struggle with himself, a long struggle
between rival claims which would not be denied, each equally imperious,
and involving fatal consequences if by mistake the wrong one was
admitted. And it was not only the effect of these thoughts on his own
mind which filled him with grief and trouble. He always thought much for
others; and now there was the misery of perhaps unsettling
others--others who had trusted him with their very souls--others, to
whom it was impossible to explain the conflicts which were passing in
his own mind. It was so bitter to unsettle their hope and confidence.
All through this time, more trying than his own difficulties, were the
perplexities and sorrows which he foresaw for those whom he loved. Very
illogical and inconsecutive, doubtless; if only he had had the hard
heart of a proselytiser, he would have seen that it was his duty to
undermine and shatter their old convictions. But he cared more for the
tempers and beliefs in which he was at one with his Anglican friends,
than for those in which they could not follow him. But the struggle came
on gradually. What he feared at first was not the triumph of Rome, but
the break-up of the English Church; the apparent probability of a great
schism in it. "I fear I see more clearly that we are working up to a
schism in the English Church, that is, a split between Peculiars and
Apostolicals ... I never can be surprised at individuals going off to
Rome, but that is not my chief fear, but a schism; that is, those two
parties, which have hitherto got on together as they could, from the
times of Puritanism downwards, gathering up into clear, tangible, and
direct forces, and colliding. Our Church is not at one with itself,
there is no denying it." That was at first the disaster before him. His
thought for himself began to turn, not to Rome, but to a new life
without office and authority, but still within the English Church. "You
see, if things come to the worst, I should turn brother of charity in
London." And he began to prepare for a move from Oxford, from St.
Mary's, from his fellowship. He bought land at Littlemore, and began to
plant. He asks his brother-in-law for plans for building what he calls a
μονή. He looks forward to its becoming a sort of Monastic school, but
still connected with the University.

In Mr. Newman's view of the debate between England and Rome, he had all
along dwelt on two broad features, _Apostolicity_ and _Catholicity_,
likeness to the Apostolic teaching, and likeness to the uninterrupted
unity and extent of the undivided Church; and of those two features he
found the first signally wanting in Rome, and the second signally
wanting in England. When he began to distrust his own reasonings, still
the disturbing and repelling element in Rome was the alleged defect of
Apostolicity, the contrast between primitive and Roman religion; while
the attractive one was the apparent widely extended Catholicity in all
lands, East and West, continents and isles, of the world-wide spiritual
empire of the Pope. It is these two great points which may be traced in
their action on his mind at this crisis. The contrast between early and
Roman doctrine and practice, in a variety of ways, some of them most
grave and important, was long a great difficulty in the way of
attempting to identify the Roman Church, absolutely and exclusively,
with the Primitive Church. The study of antiquity indisposed him,
indeed, more and more to the existing system of the English Church; its
claims to model itself on the purity and simplicity of the Early Church
seemed to him, in the light of its documents, and still more of the
facts of history and life, more and more questionable. But modern Rome
was just as distant from the Early Church though it preserved many
ancient features, lost or unvalued by England. Still, Rome was not the
same thing as the Early Church; and Mr. Newman ultimately sought a way
out of his difficulty--and indeed there was no other--in the famous
doctrine of Development. But when the difficulty about _Apostolicity_
was thus provided for, then the force of the great vision of the
Catholic Church came upon him, unchecked and irresistible. That was a
thing present, visible, undeniable as a fact of nature; that was a thing
at once old and new; it belonged as truly, as manifestly, to the recent
and modern world of democracy and science, as it did to the Middle Ages
and the Fathers, to the world of Gregory and Innocent, to the world of
Athanasius and Augustine. The majesty, the vastness of an imperial
polity, outlasting all states and kingdoms, all social changes and
political revolutions, answered at once to the promises of the
prophecies, and to the antecedent idea of the universal kingdom of God.
Before this great idea, embodied in concrete form, and not a paper
doctrine, partial scandals and abuses seemed to sink into
insignificance. Objections seemed petty and ignoble; the pretence of
rival systems impertinent and absurd. He resented almost with impatience
anything in the way of theory or explanation which seemed to him narrow,
technical, dialectical. He would look at nothing but what had on it the
mark of greatness and largeness which befitted the awful subject, and
was worthy of arresting the eye and attention of an ecclesiastical
statesman, alive to mighty interests, compared to which even the most
serious human affairs were dwarfed and obscured. But all this was
gradual in coming. His recognition of the claims of the English Church,
faulty and imperfect as he thought it, did not give way suddenly and at
once. It survived the rude shock of 1839, From first to almost the last
she was owned as his "mother"--owned in passionate accents of
disappointment and despair as a Church which knew not how to use its
gifts; yet still, even though life seemed failing her, and her power of
teaching and ruling seemed paralysed, his mother; and as long as there
seemed to him a prospect of restoration to health, it was his duty to
stay by her.[73] This was his first attitude for three or four years
after 1839. He could not speak of her with the enthusiasm and triumph of
the first years of the movement. When he fought her battles, it was with
the sense that her imperfections made his task the harder. Still he
clung to the belief that she held a higher standard than she had yet
acted up to, and discouraged and perplexed he yet maintained her cause.
But now two things happened. The Roman claims, as was natural when
always before him, seemed to him more and more indisputable. And in
England his interpretation of Anglican theology seemed to be more and
more contradicted, disavowed, condemned, by all that spoke with any
authority in the Church. The University was not an ecclesiastical body,
yet it had practically much weight in matters of theology; it
informally, but effectually, declared against him. The Bishops, one by
one, of course only spoke as individuals; but they were the official
spokesmen of the Church, and their consent, though not the act of a
Synod, was weighty--they too had declared against him. And finally that
vague but powerful voice of public opinion, which claims to represent at
once the cool judgment of the unbiassed, and the passion of the
zealous--it too declared against him. Could he claim to understand the
mind of the Church better than its own organs?

Then at length a change came; and it was marked outwardly by a curious
retractation of his severe language about Rome, published in a paper
called the _Conservative Journal_, in January 1843; and more distinctly,
by his resignation of St. Mary's in September 1843, a step contemplated
for some time, and by his announcement that he was preparing to resign
his fellowship. From this time he felt that he could no longer hold
office, or be a champion of the English Church; from this time, it was
only a matter of waiting, waiting to make quite certain that he was
right and was under no delusion, when he should leave her for the Roman
Communion. And to his intimate friends, to his sisters, he gave notice
that this was now impending. To the world outside, all that was known
was that he was much unsettled and distressed by difficulties.

It may be asked why this change was not at this time communicated, not
to a few intimates, but to the world? Why did he not at this time hoist
his quarantine flag and warn every one that he was dangerous to come
near? So keen a mind must, it was said, have by this time foreseen how
things would end; he ought to have given earlier notice. His answer was
that he was sincerely desirous of avoiding, as far as possible, what
might prejudice the Church in which he had ministered, even at the
moment of leaving her. He saw his own way becoming clearer and clearer;
but he saw it for himself alone. He was not one of those who forced the
convictions of others; he was not one of those who think it a great
thing to be followed in a serious change by a crowd of disciples.
Whatever might be at the end, it was now an agonising wrench to part
from the English body, to part from the numbers of friends whose loyalty
was immovable, to part from numbers who had trusted and learned from
him. Of course, if he was in the right way, he could wish them nothing
better than that they should follow him. But they were in God's hands;
it was not his business to unsettle them; it was not his business to
ensnare and coerce their faith. And so he tried for this time to steer
his course alone. He wished to avoid observation. He was silent on all
that went on round him, exciting as some of the incidents were. He would
not he hurried; he would give himself full time; he would do what he
could to make sure that he was not acting under the influence of a
delusion.

The final result of all this was long in coming; there was, we know, a
bitter agony of five years, a prolonged and obstinate and cruel struggle
between the deepest affections and ever-growing convictions. But this
struggle, as has been said, did not begin with the conviction in which
it ended. It began and long continued with the belief that though
England was wrong, Rome was not right; that though the Roman argument
seemed more and more unanswerable, there were insuperable difficulties
of certain fact which made the Roman conclusion incredible; that there
was so much good and truth in England, with all its defects and faults,
which was unaccountable and unintelligible on the Roman hypothesis; that
the real upshot was that the whole state of things in Christendom was
abnormal; that to English Churchmen the English Church had immediate and
direct claims which nothing but the most irresistible counter-claims
could overcome or neutralise--the claims of a shipwrecked body cut off
from country and home, yet as a shipwrecked body still organised, and
with much saved from the wreck, and not to be deserted, as long as it
held together, in an uncertain attempt to rejoin its lost unity.
Resignation, retirement, silence, lay communion, the hope of ultimate,
though perhaps long-deferred reunion--these were his first thoughts.
Misgivings could not be helped, would not be denied, but need not be
paraded, were to be kept at arm's-length as long as possible. This is
the picture presented in the autobiography of these painful and dreary
years; and there is every evidence that it is a faithful one. It is
conceivable, though not very probable, that such a course might go on
indefinitely. It is conceivable that under different circumstances he
might, like other perplexed and doubting seekers after truth, have
worked round through doubt and perplexity to his first conviction. But
the actual result, as it came, was natural enough; and it was
accelerated by provocation, by opponents without, and by the pressure of
advanced and impatient followers and disciples in the party itself.

2. This last was the second of the two influences spoken of above. It
worked from below, as the first worked from above.

Discussions and agitations, such as accompanied the movement, however
much under the control of the moral and intellectual ascendancy of the
leaders, could not of course be guaranteed from escaping from that
control. And as the time went on, men joined the movement who had but
qualified sympathy with that passionate love and zeal for the actual
English Church, that acquaintance with its historical theology, and that
temper of discipline, sobriety, and self-distrust, which marked its
first representatives. These younger disciples shared in the growing
excitement of the society round them. They were attracted by visible
height of character, and brilliant intellectual power. They were alive
to vast and original prospects, opening a new world which should be a
contrast to the worn-out interest of the old. Some of these were men of
wide and abstruse learning; quaint and eccentric scholars both in habit
and look, students of the ancient type, who even fifty years ago seemed
out of date to their generation. Some were men of considerable force of
mind, destined afterwards to leave a mark on their age as thinkers and
writers. To the former class belonged Charles Seager, and John Brande
Morris, of Exeter College, both learned Orientalists, steeped in
recondite knowledge of all kinds; men who had worked their way to
knowledge through hardship and grinding labour, and not to be outdone in
Germany itself for devouring love of learning and a scholar's plainness
of life. In the other class may be mentioned Frederic Faber, J.D.
Dalgairns, and W.G. Ward, men who have all since risen to eminence in
their different spheres. Faber was a man with a high gift of
imagination, remarkable powers of assimilating knowledge, and a great
richness and novelty and elegance of thought, which with much melody of
voice made him ultimately a very attractive preacher. If the promise of
his powers has not been adequately fulfilled, it is partly to be traced
to a want of severity of taste and self-restraint, but his name will
live in some of his hymns, and in some very beautiful portions of his
devotional writings. Dalgairns's mind was of a different order. "That
man has an eye for theology," was the remark of a competent judge on
some early paper of Dalgairns's which came before him. He had something
of the Frenchman about him. There was in him, in his Oxford days, a
bright and frank briskness, a mixture of modesty and arch daring, which
gave him an almost boyish appearance; but beneath this boyish appearance
there was a subtle and powerful intellect, alive to the problems of
religious philosophy, and impatient of any but the most thorough
solutions of them; while, on the other hand, the religious affections
were part of his nature, and mind and will and heart yielded an
unreserved and absolute obedience to the leading and guidance of faith.
In his later days, with his mind at ease, Father Dalgairns threw himself
into the great battle with unbelief; and few men have commanded more
the respect of opponents not much given to think well of the arguments
for religion, by the freshness and the solidity of his reasoning. At
this time, enthusiastic in temper, and acute and exacting as a thinker,
he found the Church movement just, as it were, on the turn of the wave.
He was attracted to it at first by its reaction against what was unreal
and shallow, by its affinities with what was deep in idea and earnest in
life; then, and finally, he was repelled from it, by its want of
completeness, by its English acquiescence in compromise, by its
hesitations and clinging to insular associations and sympathies, which
had little interest for him.

Another person, who was at this time even more prominent in the advanced
portion of the movement party, and whose action had more decisive
influence on its course, was Mr. W.G. Ward, Fellow of Balliol. Mr. Ward,
who was first at Christ Church, had distinguished himself greatly at the
Oxford Union as a vigorous speaker, at first on the Tory side; he came
afterwards under the influence of Arthur Stanley, then fresh from Rugby,
and naturally learned to admire Dr. Arnold; but Dr. Arnold's religious
doctrines did not satisfy him; the movement, with its boldness and
originality of idea and ethical character, had laid strong hold on him,
and he passed into one of the most thoroughgoing adherents of Mr.
Newman. There was something to smile at in his person, and in some of
his ways--his unbusiness-like habits, his joyousness of manner, his racy
stories; but few more powerful intellects passed through Oxford in his
time, and he has justified his University reputation by his distinction
since, both as a Roman Catholic theologian and professor, and as a
profound metaphysical thinker, the equal antagonist on their own ground
of J. Stuart Mill and Herbert Spencer. But his intellect at that time
was as remarkable for its defects as for its powers. He used to divide
his friends, and thinking people in general, into those who had facts
and did not know what to do with them, and those who had in perfection
the logical faculties, but wanted the facts to reason upon. He belonged
himself to the latter class. He had, not unnaturally, boundless
confidence in his argumentative powers; they were subtle, piercing,
nimble, never at a loss, and they included a power of exposition which,
if it was not always succinct and lively, was always weighty and
impressive. Premises in his hands were not long in bringing forth their
conclusions; and if abstractions always corresponded exactly to their
concrete embodiments, and ideals were fulfilled in realities, no one
could point out more perspicuously and decisively the practical
judgments on them which reason must sanction. But that knowledge of
things and of men which mere power of reasoning will not give was not
one of his special endowments. The study of facts, often in their
complicated and perplexing reality, was not to his taste. He was apt to
accept them on what he considered adequate authority, and his
argumentation, formidable as it always was, recalled, even when most
unanswerable at the moment, the application of pure mathematics without
allowance for the actual forces, often difficult to ascertain except by
experiment, which would have to be taken account of in practice.

The tendency of this section of able men was unquestionably Romewards,
almost from the beginning of their connexion with the movement. Both the
theory and the actual system of Rome, so far as they understood it, had
attractions for them which nothing else had. But with whatever
perplexity and perhaps impatience, Mr. Newman's power held them back. He
kept before their minds continually those difficulties of fact which
stood in the way of their absolute and peremptory conclusions, and of
which they were not much inclined to take account. He insisted on those
features, neither few nor unimportant nor hard to see, which proved the
continuity of the English Church with the Church Universal. Sharing
their sense of anomaly in the Anglican theory and position, he pointed
out with his own force and insight that anomaly was not in England only,
but everywhere. There was much to regret, there was much to improve,
there were many unwelcome and dangerous truths, _invidiosi veri_, to be
told and defended at any cost. But patience, as well as honesty and
courage, was a Christian virtue; and they who had received their
Christianity at the hands of the English Church had duties towards it
from which neither dissatisfaction nor the idea of something better
could absolve them. _Spartam nactus es, hanc exorna_ is the motto for
every one whose lot is cast in any portion of Christ's Church. And as
long as he could speak with this conviction, the strongest of them could
not break away from his restraint. It was when the tremendous question
took shape, Is the English Church a true Church, a real part of the
Church Catholic?--when the question became to his mind more and more
doubtful, at length desperate--that they, of course, became more
difficult to satisfy, more confident in their own allegations, more
unchecked in their sympathies, and, in consequence, in their dislikes.
And in the continued effort--for it did continue--to make them pause and
wait and hope, they reacted on him; they asked him questions which he
found it hard to answer; they pressed him with inferences which he might
put by, but of which he felt the sting; they forced on him all the
indications, of which every day brought its contribution, that the
actual living system of the English Church was against what he had
taught to be Catholic, that its energetic temper and spirit condemned
and rejected him. What was it that private men were staunch and
undismayed? What was it that month by month all over England hearts and
minds were attracted to his side, felt the spell of his teaching, gave
him their confidence? Suspicion and disapprobation, which had only too
much to ground itself upon, had taken possession of the high places of
the Church. Authority in all its shapes had pronounced as decisively as
his opponents could wish; as decisively as they too could wish, who
desired no longer a barrier between themselves and Rome.

Thus a great and momentous change had come over the movement, over its
action and prospects. It had started in a heroic effort to save the
English Church. The claims, the blessings, the divinity of the English
Church, as a true branch of Catholic Christendom, had been assumed as
the foundation of all that was felt and said and attempted. The English
Church was the one object to which English Christians were called upon
to turn their thoughts. Its spirit animated the _Christian Year_, and
the teaching of those whom the _Christian Year_ represented. Its
interests were what called forth the zeal and the indignation recorded
in Froude's _Remains_. No one seriously thought of Rome, except as a
hopelessly corrupt system, though it had some good and Catholic things,
which it was Christian and honest to recognise. The movement of 1833
started out of the Anti-Roman feelings of the Emancipation time. It was
Anti-Roman as much as it was Anti-Sectarian and Anti-Erastian. It was to
avert the danger of people becoming Romanists from ignorance of Church
principles. This was all changed in one important section of the party.
The fundamental conceptions and assumptions were reversed. It was not
the Roman Church, but the English Church, which was put on its trial; it
was not the Roman Church, but the English, which was to be, if possible,
apologised for, perhaps borne with for a time, but which was to be
regarded as deeply fallen, holding an untenable position, and
incomparably, unpardonably, below both the standard and the practical
system of the Roman Church. From this point of view the object of the
movement was no longer to elevate and improve an independent English
Church, but to approximate it as far as possible to what was assumed to
be undeniable--the perfect Catholicity of Rome. More almost than ideas
and assumptions, the tone of feeling changed. It had been, towards the
English Church, affectionate, enthusiastic, reverential, hopeful. It
became contemptuous, critical, intolerant, hostile with the hostility
not merely of alienation but disgust This was not of course the work of
a moment, but it was of very rapid growth. "How I hate these Anglicans!"
was the expression of one of the younger men of this section, an
intemperate and insolent specimen of it. It did not represent the tone
or the language of the leader to whom the advanced section deferred,
vexed as he often was with the course of his own thoughts, and irritated
and impatient at the course of things without. But it expressed but too
truly the difference between 1833 and 1840.

FOOTNOTES:

[73] See Sermons on _Subjects of the Day_, 1843.



CHAPTER XIII

THE AUTHORITIES AND THE MOVEMENT


While the movement was making itself felt as a moral force, without a
parallel in Oxford for more than two centuries, and was impressing
deeply and permanently some of the most promising men in the rising
generation in the University, what was the attitude of the University
authorities? What was the attitude of the Bishops?

At Oxford it was that of contemptuous indifference, passing into
helpless and passionate hostility. There is no sadder passage to be
found in the history of Oxford than the behaviour and policy of the
heads of this great Christian University towards the religious movement
which was stirring the interest, the hopes, the fears of Oxford. The
movement was, for its first years at least, a loyal and earnest effort
to serve the cause of the Church. Its objects were clear and reasonable;
it aimed at creating a sincere and intelligent zeal for the Church, and
at making the Church itself worthy of the great position which her
friends claimed for her. Its leaders were men well known in the
University, in the first rank in point of ability and character; men of
learning, who knew what they were talking about; men of religious and
pure, if also severe lives. They were not men merely of speculation and
criticism, but men ready to forego anything, to devote everything for
the practical work of elevating religious thought and life. All this did
not necessarily make their purposes and attempts wise and good; but it
did entitle them to respectful attention. If they spoke language new to
the popular mind or the "religious world," it was not new--at least it
ought not to have been new--to orthodox Churchmen, with opportunities of
study and acquainted with our best divinity. If their temper was eager
and enthusiastic, they alleged the presence of a great and perilous
crisis. Their appeal was mainly not to the general public, but to the
sober and the learned; to those to whom was entrusted the formation of
faith and character in the future clergy of the Church; to those who
were responsible for the discipline and moral tone of the first
University of Christendom, and who held their conspicuous position on
the understanding of that responsibility. It behoved the heads of the
University to be cautious, even to be suspicious; movements might be
hollow or dangerous things. But it behoved them also to become
acquainted with so striking a phenomenon as this; to judge it by what it
appealed to--the learning of English divines, the standard of a high and
generous moral rule; to recognise its aims at least, with equity and
sympathy, if some of its methods and arguments seemed questionable. The
men of the movement were not mere hostile innovators; they were fighting
for what the University and its chiefs held dear and sacred, the
privileges and safety of the Church. It was the natural part of the
heads of the University to act as moderators; at any rate, to have
shown, with whatever reserve, that they appreciated what they needed
time to judge of. But while on the one side there was burning and
devouring earnestness, and that power of conviction which doubles the
strength of the strong, there was on the other a serene ignoring of all
that was going on, worthy of a set of dignified French _abbés_ on the
eve of the Revolution. This sublime or imbecile security was
occasionally interrupted by bursts of irritation at some fresh piece of
Tractarian oddness or audacity, or at some strange story which made its
way from the gossip of common rooms to the society of the Heads of
Houses. And there was always ready a stick to beat the offenders;
everything could be called Popish. But for the most part they looked on,
with smiles, with jokes, sometimes with scolding.[74] Thus the men who
by their place ought to have been able to gauge and control the
movement, who might have been expected to meet half-way a serious
attempt to brace up the religious and moral tone of the place, so
incalculably important in days confessed to be anxious ones, simply set
their faces steadily to discountenance and discredit it. They were good
and respectable men, living comfortably in a certain state and ease.
Their lives were mostly simple compared with the standard of the outer
world, though Fellows of Colleges thought them luxurious. But they were
blind and dull as tea-table gossips as to what was the meaning of the
movement, as to what might come of it, as to what use might be made of
it by wise and just and generous recognition, and, if need be, by wise
and just criticism and repression. There were points of danger in it;
but they could only see what _seemed_ to be dangerous, whether it was
so or not; and they multiplied these points of danger by all that was
good and hopeful in it. It perplexed and annoyed them; they had not
imagination nor moral elevation to take in what it aimed at; they were
content with the routine which they had inherited; and, so that men read
for honours and took first classes, it did not seem to them strange or a
profanation that a whole mixed crowd of undergraduates should be
expected to go on a certain Sunday in term, willing or unwilling, fit or
unlit, to the Sacrament, and be fined if they did not appear. Doubtless
we are all of us too prone to be content with the customary, and to be
prejudiced against the novel, nor is this condition of things without
advantage. But we must bear our condemnation if we stick to the
customary too long, and so miss our signal opportunities. In their
apathy, in their self-satisfied ignorance, in their dulness of
apprehension and forethought, the authorities of the University let pass
the great opportunity of their time. As it usually happens, when this
posture of lofty ignoring what is palpable and active, and the object of
everybody's thought, goes on too long, it is apt to turn into impatient
dislike and bitter antipathy. The Heads of Houses drifted insensibly
into this position. They had not taken the trouble to understand the
movement, to discriminate between its aspects, to put themselves frankly
into communication with its leading persons, to judge with the knowledge
and justice of scholars and clergymen of its designs and ways. They let
themselves be diverted from this, their proper though troublesome task,
by distrust, by the jealousies of their position, by the impossibility
of conceiving that anything so strange could really be true and sound.
And at length they found themselves going along with the outside current
of uninstructed and ignoble prejudice, in a settled and pronounced
dislike, which took for granted that all was wrong in the movement,
which admitted any ill-natured surmise and foolish misrepresentation,
and really allowed itself to acquiesce in the belief that men so well
known in Oxford, once so admired and honoured, had sunk down to
deliberate corrupters of the truth, and palterers with their own
intellects and consciences. It came in a few years to be understood on
both sides, that the authorities were in direct antagonism to the
movement; and though their efforts in opposition to it were feeble and
petty, it went on under the dead weight of official University
disapproval. It would have been a great thing for the English
Church--though it is hard to see how, things being as they were, it
could have come about--if the movement had gone on, at least with the
friendly interest, if not with the support, of the University rulers.
Instead of that, after the first two or three years there was one long
and bitter fight in Oxford, with the anger on one side created by the
belief of vague but growing dangers, and a sense of incapacity in
resisting them, and with deep resentment at injustice and stupidity on
the other.

The Bishops were farther from the immediate scene of the movement, and
besides, had other things to think of. Three or four of them might be
considered theologians--Archbishop Howley, Phillpotts of Exeter, Kaye of
Lincoln, Marsh of Peterborough. Two or three belonged to the Evangelical
school, Ryder of Lichfield, and the two Sumners at Winchester and
Chester. The most prominent among them, and next to the Bishop of Exeter
the ablest, alive to the real dangers of the Church, anxious to infuse
vigour into its work, and busy with plans for extending its influence,
was Blomfield, Bishop of London. But Blomfield was not at his best as a
divine, and, for a man of his unquestionable power, singularly unsure of
his own mind. He knew, in fact, that when the questions raised by the
Tracts came before him he was unqualified to deal with them; he was no
better furnished by thought or knowledge or habits to judge of them than
the average Bishop of the time, appointed, as was so often the case, for
political or personal reasons. At the first start of the movement, the
Bishops not unnaturally waited to see what would come of it. It was
indeed an effort in favour of the Church, but it was in irresponsible
hands, begun by men whose words were strong and vehement and of unusual
sound, and who, while they called on the clergy to rally round their
fathers the Bishops, did not shrink from wishing for the Bishops the
fortunes of the early days: "we could not wish them a more blessed
termination of their course than the spoiling of their goods and
martyrdom."[76] It may reasonably be supposed that such good wishes were
not to the taste of all of them. As the movement developed, besides that
it would seem to them extravagant and violent, they would be perplexed
by its doctrine. It took strong ground for the Church; but it did so in
the teeth of religious opinions and prejudices, which were popular and
intolerant. For a moment the Bishops were in a difficulty; on the one
hand, no one for generations had so exalted the office of a Bishop as
the Tractarians; no one had claimed for it so high and sacred an origin;
no one had urged with such practical earnestness the duty of Churchmen
to recognise and maintain the unique authority of the Episcopate against
its despisers or oppressors. On the other hand, this was just the time
when the Evangelical party, after long disfavour, was beginning to gain
recognition, for the sake of its past earnestness and good works, with
men in power, and with ecclesiastical authorities of a different and
hitherto hostile school; and in the Tractarian movement the Evangelical
party saw from the first its natural enemy. The Bishops could not have
anything to do with the Tractarians without deeply offending the
Evangelicals. The result was that, for the present, the Bishops held
aloof. They let the movement run on by itself. Sharp sarcasms,
worldly-wise predictions, kind messages of approval, kind cautions,
passed from mouth to mouth, or in private correspondence from high
quarters, which showed that the movement was watched. But for some time
the authorities spoke neither good nor bad of it publicly. In his Charge
at the close of 1836, Bishop Phillpotts spoke in clear and unfaltering
language--language remarkable for its bold decision--of the necessity of
setting forth the true idea of the Church and the sacraments; but he was
silent about the call of the same kind which had come from Oxford. It
would have been well if the other Bishops later on, in their charges,
had followed his example. The Bishop of Oxford, in his Charge of 1838,
referred to the movement in balanced terms of praise and warning. The
first who condemned the movement was the Bishop of Chester, J. Bird
Sumner; in a later Charge he came to describe it as the work of Satan;
in 1838 he only denounced the "undermining of the foundations of our
Protestant Church by men who dwell within her walls," and the bad faith
of those "who sit in the Reformers' seat, and traduce the Reformation."

These were grave mistakes on the part of those who were responsible for
the government of the University and the Church. They treated as absurd,
mischievous, and at length traitorous, an effort, than which nothing
could be more sincere, to serve the Church, to place its claims on
adequate grounds, to elevate the standard of duty in its clergy, and in
all its members. To have missed the aim of the movement and to have been
occupied and irritated by obnoxious details and vulgar suspicions was a
blunder which gave the measure of those who made it, and led to great
evils. They alienated those who wished for nothing better than to help
them in their true work. Their "unkindness" was felt to be, in Bacon's
phrase,[77] _injuriae potentiorum_. But on the side of the party of the
movement there were mistakes also.

1. The rapidity with which the movement had grown, showing that some
deep need had long been obscurely felt, which the movement promised to
meet,[78] had been too great to be altogether wholesome. When we compare
what was commonly received before 1833, in teaching, in habits of life,
in the ordinary assumptions of history, in the ideas and modes of
worship, public and private--the almost sacramental conception of
preaching, the neglect of the common prayer of the Prayer Book, the
slight regard to the sacraments--with what the teaching of the Tracts
and their writers had impressed for good and all, five years later, on
numbers of earnest people, the change seems astonishing. The change was
a beneficial one and it was a permanent one. The minds which it
affected, it affected profoundly. Still it was but a short time, for
young minds especially, to have come to a decision on great and debated
questions. There was the possibility, the danger, of men having been
captivated and carried away by the excitement and interest of the time;
of not having looked all round and thought out the difficulties before
them; of having embraced opinions without sufficiently knowing their
grounds or counting the cost or considering the consequences. There was
the danger of precipitate judgment, of ill-balanced and disproportionate
views of what was true and all-important. There was an inevitable
feverishness in the way in which the movement was begun, in the way in
which it went on. Those affected by it were themselves surprised at the
swiftness of the pace. When a cause so great and so sacred seemed thus
to be flourishing, and carrying along with it men's assent and
sympathies, it was hardly wonderful that there should often be
exaggeration, impatience at resistance, scant consideration for the
slowness or the scruples or the alarms of others. Eager and sanguine men
talked as if their work was accomplished, when in truth it was but
beginning. No one gave more serious warnings against this and other
dangers than the leaders; and their warnings were needed.[79]

2. Another mistake, akin to the last, was the frequent forgetfulness of
the apostolic maxim, "All things are lawful for me, but all things are
not expedient." In what almost amounted to a revolution in many of the
religious ideas of the time, it was especially important to keep
distinct the great central truths, the restoration of which to their
proper place justified and made it necessary, and the many subordinate
points allied with them and naturally following from them, which yet
were not necessary to their establishment or acceptance. But it was on
these subordinate points that the interest of a certain number of
followers of the movement was fastened. Conclusions which they had a
perfect right to come to, practices innocent and edifying to themselves,
but of secondary account, began to be thrust forward into prominence,
whether or not these instances of self-will really helped the common
cause, whether or not they gave a handle to ill-nature and ill-will.
Suspicion must always have attached to such a movement as this; but a
great deal of it was provoked by indiscreet defiance, which was rather
glad to provoke it.

3. Apart from these incidents--common wherever a number of men are
animated with zeal for an inspiring cause--there were what to us now
seem mistakes made in the conduct itself of the movement. Considering
the difficulties of the work, it is wonderful that there were not more;
and none of them were discreditable, none but what arose from the
limitation of human powers matched against confused and baffling
circumstances.

In the position claimed for the Church of England, confessedly unique
and anomalous in the history of Christendom, between Roman authority and
infallibility on one side, and Protestant freedom of private judgment on
the other, the question would at once arise as to the grounds of belief.
What, if any, are the foundations of conviction and certitude, apart
from personal inquiry, and examination of opposing arguments on
different sides of the case, and satisfactory logical conclusions? The
old antithesis between Faith and Reason, and the various problems
connected with it, could not but come to the front, and require to be
dealt with. It is a question which faces us from a hundred sides, and,
subtly and insensibly transforming itself, looks different from them
all. It was among the earliest attempted to be solved by the chief
intellectual leader of the movement, and it has occupied his mind to the
last.[80] However near the human mind seems to come to a solution, it
only, if so be, comes near; it never arrives. In the early days of the
movement it found prevailing the specious but shallow view that
everything in the search for truth was to be done by mere producible and
explicit argumentation; and yet it was obvious that of this two-thirds
of the world are absolutely incapable. Against this Mr. Newman and his
followers pressed, what was as manifestly certain in fact as it accorded
with any deep and comprehensive philosophy of the formation and growth
of human belief, that not arguments only, but the whole condition of the
mind to which they were addressed--and not the reasonings only which
could be stated, but those which went on darkly in the mind, and which
"there was not at the moment strength to bring forth," real and weighty
reasons which acted like the obscure rays of the spectrum, with their
proper force, yet eluding distinct observation--had their necessary and
inevitable and legitimate place in determining belief. All this was
perfectly true; but it is obvious how easily it might be taken hold of,
on very opposite sides, as a ground for saying that Tractarian or Church
views did not care about argument, or, indeed, rather preferred weak
arguments to strong ones in the practical work of life. It was ludicrous
to say it in a field of controversy, which, on the "Tractarian" side,
was absolutely bristling with argument, keen, subtle, deep, living
argument, and in which the victory in argument was certainly not always
with those who ventured to measure swords with Mr. Newman or Dr. Pusey.
Still, the scoff could be plausibly pointed at the "young enthusiasts
who crowded the Via Media, and who never presumed to argue, except
against the propriety of arguing at all." There was a good deal of
foolish sneering at reason; there was a good deal of silly bravado about
not caring whether the avowed grounds of opinions taken up were strong
or feeble. It was not merely the assent of a learner to his teacher, of
a mind without means of instruction to the belief which it has
inherited, or of one new to the ways and conditions of life to the
unproved assertions and opinions of one to whom experience had given an
open and sure eye. It was a positive carelessness, almost accounted
meritorious, to inquire and think, when their leaders called them to do
so. "The Gospel of Christ is not a matter of mere argument." It is not,
indeed, when it comes in its full reality, in half a hundred different
ways, known and unsearchable, felt and unfelt, moral and intellectual,
on the awakened and quickened soul. But the wildest fanatic can take the
same words into his mouth. Their true meaning was variously and
abundantly illustrated, especially in Mr. Newman's sermons. Still, the
adequate, the emphatic warning against their early abuse was hardly
pressed on the public opinion and sentiment of the party of the movement
with the force which really was requisite. To the end there were men who
took up their belief avowedly on insufficient and precarious grounds,
glorying in the venturesomeness of their faith and courage, and
justifying their temper of mind and their intellectual attitude by
alleging misinterpreted language of their wiser and deeper teachers. A
recoil from Whately's hard and barren dialectics, a sympathy with many
tender and refined natures which the movement had touched, made the
leaders patient with intellectual feebleness when it was joined with
real goodness and Christian temper; but this also sometimes made them
less impatient than they might well have been with that curious form of
conceit and affectation which veils itself under an intended and
supposed humility, a supposed distrust of self and its own powers.

Another difficult matter, not altogether successfully managed--at least
from the original point of view of the movement, and of those who saw in
it a great effort for the good of the English Church--was the treatment
of the Roman controversy. The general line which the leaders proposed to
take was the one which was worthy of Christian and truth-loving
teachers. They took a new departure; and it was not less just than it
was brave, when, recognising to the full the overwhelming reasons why
"we should not be Romanists," they refused to take up the popular and
easy method of regarding the Roman Church as apostate and antichristian;
and declined to commit themselves to the vulgar and indiscriminate abuse
of it which was the discreditable legacy of the old days of controversy.
They did what all the world was loudly professing to do, they looked
facts in the face; they found, as any one would find who looked for
himself into the realities of the Roman Church, that though the bad was
often as bad as could be, there was still, and there had been all
along, goodness of the highest type, excellence both of system and of
personal life which it was monstrous to deny, and which we might well
admire and envy. To ignore all this was to fail in the first duty, not
merely of Christians, but of honest men; and we at home were not so
blameless that we could safely take this lofty tone of contemptuous
superiority. If Rome would only leave us alone, there would be
estrangement, lamentable enough among Christians, but there need be no
bitterness. But Rome would not leave us alone. The moment that there
were signs of awakening energy in England, that moment was chosen by its
agents, for now it could be done safely, to assail and thwart the
English Church. Doubtless they were within their rights, but this made
controversy inevitable, and for controversy the leaders of the movement
prepared themselves. It was an obstacle which they seemed hardly to have
expected, but which the nature of things placed in their way. But the
old style of controversy was impossible; impossible because it was so
coarse, impossible because it was so hollow.

If the argument (says the writer of Tract 71, in words which are
applicable to every controversy) is radically unreal, or (what may be
called) rhetorical or sophistical, it may serve the purpose of
encouraging those who are really convinced, though scarcely without
doing mischief to them, but certainly it will offend and alienate the
more acute and sensible; while those who are in doubt, and who desire
some real and substantial ground for their faith, will not bear to be
put off with such shadows. The arguments (he continues) which we use
must be such as are likely to convince serious and earnest minds, which
are really seeking for the truth, not amusing themselves with
intellectual combats, or desiring to support an existing opinion anyhow.
However popular these latter methods may be, of however long standing,
however easy both to find and to use, they are a scandal; and while they
lower our religious standard from the first, they are sure of hurting
our cause in the end.

And on this principle the line of argument in _The Prophetical Office of
the Church_ was taken by Mr. Newman. It was certainly no make-believe,
or unreal argument. It was a forcible and original way of putting part
of the case against Rome. It was part of the case, a very important
part; but it was not the whole case, and it ought to have been evident
from the first that in this controversy we could not afford to do
without the whole case. The argument from the claim of infallibility
said nothing of what are equally real parts of the case--the practical
working of the Roman Church, its system of government, the part which it
and its rulers have played in the history of the world. Rome has not
such a clean record of history, it has not such a clean account of what
is done and permitted in its dominions under an authority supposed to be
irresistible, that it can claim to be the one pure and perfect Church,
entitled to judge and correct and govern all other Churches. And if the
claim is made, there is no help for it, we must not shrink from the task
of giving the answer.[81] And, as experience has shown, the more that
rigid good faith is kept to in giving the answer, the more that
strictness and severity of even understatement are observed, the more
convincing will be the result that the Roman Church cannot be that which
it is alleged to be in its necessary theory and ideal.

But this task was never adequately undertaken. It was one of no easy
execution.[82] Other things, apparently more immediately pressing,
intervened. There was no question for the present of perfect and
unfeigned confidence in the English Church, with whatever regrets for
its shortcomings, and desires for its improvement But to the outside
world it seemed as if there were a reluctance to face seriously the
whole of the Roman controversy; a disposition to be indulgent to Roman
defects, and unfairly hard on English faults. How mischievously this
told in the course of opinion outside and inside of the movement; how it
was misinterpreted and misrepresented; how these misinterpretations and
misrepresentations, with the bitterness and injustice which they
engendered, helped to realise themselves, was seen but too clearly at a
later stage.

4. Lastly, looking back on the publications, regarded as characteristic
of the party, it is difficult not to feel that some of them gave an
unfortunate and unnecessary turn to things.

The book which made most stir and caused the greatest outcry was
Froude's _Remains_. It was undoubtedly a bold experiment; but it was not
merely boldness. Except that it might be perverted into an excuse by the
shallow and thoughtless for merely "strong talk," it may fairly be said
that it was right and wise to let the world know the full measure and
depth of conviction which gave birth to the movement; and Froude's
_Remains_ did that in an unsuspiciously genuine way that nothing else
could have done. And, besides, it was worth while for its own sake to
exhibit with fearless honesty such a character, so high, so true, so
refined, so heroic. So again, Dr. Pusey's Tract on Baptism was a bold
book, and one which brought heavy imputations and misconstructions on
the party. In the teaching of his long life, Dr. Pusey has abundantly
dispelled the charges of harshness and over-severity which were urged,
not always very scrupulously, against the doctrine of the Tract on
Post-baptismal Sin. But it was written to redress the balance against
the fatally easy doctrines then in fashion; it was like the Portroyalist
protest against the fashionable Jesuits; it was one-sided, and
sometimes, in his earnestness, unguarded; and it wanted as yet the
complement of encouragement, consolation, and tenderness which his
future teaching was to supply so amply. But it was a blow struck, not
before it was necessary, by a strong hand; and it may safely be said
that it settled the place of the sacrament of baptism in the living
system of the English Church, which the negations and vagueness of the
Evangelical party had gravely endangered. But two other essays appeared
in the Tracts, most innocent in themselves, which ten or twenty years
later would have been judged simply on their merits, but which at the
time became potent weapons against Tractarianism. They were the
productions of two poets--of two of the most beautiful and religious
minds of their time; but in that stage of the movement it is hardly too
much to say that they were out of place. The cause of the movement
needed clear explanations; definite statements of doctrines which were
popularly misunderstood; plain, convincing reasoning on the issues which
were raised by it; a careful laying out of the ground on which English
theology was to be strengthened and enriched. Such were Mr. Newman's
_Lectures on Justification_, a work which made its lasting mark on
English theological thought; Mr. Keble's masterly exposition of the
meaning of Tradition; and not least, the important collections which
were documentary and historical evidence of the character of English
theology, the so-called laborious _Catenas_. These were the real tasks
of the hour, and they needed all that labour and industry could give.
But the first of these inopportune Tracts was an elaborate essay, by Mr.
Keble, on the "Mysticism of the Fathers in the use and interpretation of
Scripture." It was hardly what the practical needs of the time required,
and it took away men's thoughts from them; the prospect was hopeless
that in that state of men's minds it should be understood, except by a
very few; it merely helped to add another charge, the vague but
mischievous charge of mysticism, to the list of accusations against the
Tracts. The other, to the astonishment of every one, was like the
explosion of a mine. That it should be criticised and objected to was
natural; but the extraordinary irritation caused by it could hardly have
been anticipated. Written in the most devout and reverent spirit by one
of the gentlest and most refined of scholars, and full of deep
Scriptural knowledge, it furnished for some years the material for the
most savage attacks and the bitterest sneers to the opponents of the
movement. It was called "On Reserve in communicating Religious
Knowledge"; and it was a protest against the coarseness and shallowness
which threw the most sacred words about at random in loud and
declamatory appeals, and which especially dragged in the awful mystery
of the Atonement, under the crudest and most vulgar conception of it, as
a ready topic of excitement in otherwise commonplace and helpless
preaching. The word "Reserve" was enough. It meant that the
Tract-writers avowed the principle of keeping back part of the counsel
of God. It meant, further, that the real spirit of the party was
disclosed; its love of secret and crooked methods, its indifference to
knowledge, its disingenuous professions, its deliberate concealments,
its holding doctrines and its pursuit of aims which it dared not avow,
its _disciplina arcani_, its conspiracies, its Jesuitical spirit. All
this kind of abuse was flung plentifully on the party as the controversy
became warm; and it mainly justified itself by the Tract on "Reserve."
The Tract was in many ways a beautiful and suggestive essay, full of
deep and original thoughts, though composed in that spirit of the
recluse which was characteristic of the writer, and which is in strong
contrast with the energetic temper of to-day.[83] But it could well have
been spared at the moment, and it certainly offered itself to an
unfortunate use. The suspiciousness which so innocently it helped to
awaken and confirm was never again allayed.

FOOTNOTES:

[74] Fifty years ago there was much greater contrast than now between
old and young. There was more outward respect for the authorities, and
among the younger men, graduates and undergraduates, more inward
amusement at foibles and eccentricities. There still lingered the
survivals of a more old-fashioned type of University life and character,
which, quite apart from the movements of religious opinion, provoked
those νεανιεύματα ἰδιωτῶν εἰς τοὐς ἄρχοντας,[75] _impertinences of
irresponsible juniors towards superiors_, which Wordsworth, speaking of
a yet earlier time, remembered at Cambridge--

  "In serious mood, but oftener, I confess,
  With playful zest of fancy, did we note
  (How could we less?) the manners and the ways
  Of those who lived distinguished by the badge
  Of good or ill report; or those with whom
  By frame of Academic discipline
  We were perforce connected, men whose sway
  And known authority of office served
  To set our minds on edge, and did no more.
  Nor wanted we rich pastime of this kind,
  Found everywhere, but chiefly in the ring
  Of the grave Elders, men unsecured, grotesque
  In character, tricked out like aged trees
  Which through the lapse of their infirmity
  Give ready place to any random seed
  That chooses to be reared upon their trunks."

  _Prelude_, bk. iii.


[75] Plat. _R.P._ iii. 390.

[76] _Tracts for the Times_, No. 1, 9th September 1833.

[77] _An Advertisement touching the Controversies of the Church of
England:_ printed in the _Resuscitatio_, p. 138 (ed. 1671).

[78] See Mr. Newman's article, "The State of Religious Parties," in the
_British Critic_, April 1839, reprinted in his _Essays Historical and
Critical_, 1871, Vol. 1., essay vi.

[79] "It would not be at all surprising, though, in spite of the
earnestness of the principal advocates of the views in question, for
which every one seems to give them credit, there should be among their
followers much that is enthusiastic, extravagant, or excessive. All
these aberrations will be and are imputed to the doctrines from which
they proceed; nor unnaturally, but hardly fairly, for aberrations there
must be, whatever the doctrine is, while the human heart is sensitive,
capricious, and wayward.... There will ever be a number of persons
professing the opinions of a movement party, who talk loudly and
strangely, do odd and fierce things, display themselves unnecessarily,
and disgust other people; there will ever be those who are too young to
be wise, too generous to be cautious, too warm to be sober, or too
intellectual to be humble; of whom human sagacity cannot determine, only
the event, and perhaps not even that, whether they feel what they
say, or how far; whether they are to be encouraged or
discountenanced."--_British Critic_, April 1839, "State of Religious
Parties," p. 405.

[80] Cardinal Newman, _Grammar of Assent_.

[81] The argument from history is sketched fairly, but only sketched in
_The Prophetic Office_, Lect. xiv.

[82] In the Roman controversy it is sometimes hard to be just without
appearing to mean more than is said; for the obligation of justice
sometimes forces one who wishes to be a fair judge to be apparently an
apologist or advocate. Yet the supreme duty in religious controversy is
justice. But for the very reason that these controversialists wished to
be just to Rome, they were bound to be just against her. They meant to
be so; but events passed quickly, and leisure never came for a work
which involved a serious appeal to history.

[83] _Vide_ a striking review in the _British Critic_, April 1839,
partly correcting and guarding the view given in the Tract.



CHAPTER XIV

NO. 90


The formation of a strong Romanising section in the Tractarian party was
obviously damaging to the party and dangerous to the Church. It was _pro
tanto_ a verification of the fundamental charge against the party, a
charge which on paper they had met successfully, but which acquired
double force when this paper defence was traversed by facts. And a great
blow was impending over the Church, if the zeal and ability which the
movement had called forth and animated were to be sucked away from the
Church, and not only lost to it, but educated into a special instrument
against it. But the divergence became clear only gradually, and the hope
that after all it was only temporary and would ultimately disappear was
long kept up by the tenacity with which Mr. Newman, in spite of
misgivings and disturbing thoughts, still recognised the gifts and
claims of the English Church. And on the other hand, the bulk of the
party, and its other Oxford leaders, Dr. Pusey, Mr. Keble, Mr. Isaac
Williams, Mr. Marriott, were quite unaffected by the disquieting
apprehensions which were beginning to beset Mr. Newman. With a humbling
consciousness of the practical shortcomings of the English Church, with
a ready disposition to be honest and just towards Rome, and even to
minimise our differences with it, they had not admitted for a moment any
doubt of the reality of the English Church. The class of arguments which
specially laid hold of Mr. Newman's mind did not tell upon them--the
peculiar aspect of early precedents, about which, moreover, a good deal
of criticism was possible; or the large and sweeping conception of a
vast, ever-growing, imperial Church, great enough to make flaws and
imperfections of no account, which appealed so strongly to his
statesmanlike imagination. Their content with the Church in which they
had been brought up, in which they had been taught religion, and in
which they had taken service, their deep and affectionate loyalty and
piety to it, in spite of all its faults, remained unimpaired; and
unimpaired, also, was their sense of vast masses of practical evil in
the Roman Church, evils from which they shrank both as Englishmen and as
Christians, and which seemed as incurable as they were undeniable.
Beyond the hope which they vaguely cherished that some day or other, by
some great act of Divine mercy, these evils might disappear, and the
whole Church become once more united, there was nothing to draw them
towards Rome; submission was out of the question, and they could only
see in its attitude in England the hostility of a jealous and
unscrupulous disturber of their Master's work. The movement still went
on, with its original purpose, and on its original lines, in spite of
the presence in it, and even the co-operation, of men who might one day
have other views, and serious and fatal differences with their old
friends.

The change of religion when it comes on a man gradually,--when it is not
welcomed from the first, but, on the contrary, long resisted, must
always be a mysterious and perplexing process, hard to realise and
follow by the person most deeply interested, veiled and clouded to
lookers-on, because naturally belonging to the deepest depths of the
human conscience, and inevitably, and without much fault on either side,
liable to be misinterpreted and misunderstood. And this process is all
the more tangled when it goes on, not in an individual mind, travelling
in its own way on its own path, little affected by others, and little
affecting them, but in a representative person, with the
responsibilities of a great cause upon him, bound by closest ties of
every kind to friends, colleagues, and disciples, thinking, feeling,
leading, pointing out the way for hundreds who love and depend on him.
Views and feelings vary from day to day, according to the events and
conditions of the day. How shall he speak, and how shall he be silent?
How shall he let doubts and difficulties appear, yet how shall he
suppress them?--doubts which may grow and become hopeless, but which, on
the other hand, may be solved and disappear. How shall he go on as if
nothing had happened, when all the foundations of the world seem to have
sunk from under him? Yet how shall he disclose the dreadful secret, when
he is not yet quite sure whether his mind will not still rally from its
terror and despair? He must in honesty, in kindness, give some warning,
yet how much? and how to prevent it being taken for more than it means?
There are counter-considerations, to which he cannot shut his eyes.
There are friends who will not believe his warnings. There are watchful
enemies who are on the look-out for proofs of disingenuousness and bad
faith. He could cut through his difficulties at once by making the
plunge in obedience to this or that plausible sign or train of
reasoning, but his conscience and good faith will not let him take
things so easily; and yet he knows that if he hangs on, he will be
accused by and by, perhaps speciously, of having been dishonest and
deceiving. So subtle, so shifting, so impalpable are the steps by which
a faith is disintegrated; so evanescent, and impossible to follow, the
shades by which one set of convictions pass into others wholly opposite;
for it is not knowledge and intellect alone which come into play, but
all the moral tastes and habits of the character, its likings and
dislikings, its weakness and its strength, its triumphs and its
vexations, its keenness and its insensibilities, which are in full
action, while the intellect alone seems to be busy with its problems. A
picture has been given us, belonging to this time, of the process, by a
great master of human nature, and a great sufferer under the process; it
is, perhaps, the greatest attempt ever made to describe it; but it is
not wholly successful. It tells us much, for it is written with touching
good faith, but the complete effect as an intelligible whole is wanting.

"In the spring of 1839," we read in the _Apologia_, "my position in the
Anglican Church was at its height. I had a supreme confidence in my
controversial _status_, and I had a great and still growing success in
recommending it to others."[84] This, then, may be taken as the point
from which, in the writer's own estimate, the change is to be traced. He
refers for illustration of his state of mind to the remarkable article
on the "State of Religious Parties," in the April number of the _British
Critic_ for 1839, which he has since republished under the title of
"Prospects of the Anglican Church."[85] "I have looked over it now," he
writes in 1864, "for the first time since it was published; and have
been struck by it for this reason: it contains _the last words which I
ever spoke as an Anglican to Anglicans_.... It may now be read as my
parting address and valediction, made to my friends. I little knew it at
the time." He thus describes the position which he took in the article
referred to:--

  Conscious as I was that my opinions in religious matters were not
  gained, as the world said, from Roman sources, but were, on the
  contrary, the birth of my own mind and of the circumstances in which I
  had been placed, I had a scorn of the imputations which were heaped
  upon me. It was true that I held a large, bold system of religion,
  very unlike the Protestantism of the day, but it was the concentration
  and adjustment of the statements of great Anglican authorities, and I
  had as much right to do so as the Evangelical party had, and more
  right than the Liberal, to hold their own respective doctrines. As I
  spoke on occasion of Tract 90, I claimed, on behalf of the writer,
  that he might hold in the Anglican Church a comprecation of the Saints
  with Bramhall; and the Mass, all but Transubstantiation, with
  Andrewes; or with Hooker that Transubstantiation itself is not a point
  for Churches to part communion upon; or with Hammond that a General
  Council, truly such, never did, never shall err in a matter of faith;
  or with Bull that man lost inward grace by the Fall; or with Thorndike
  that penance is a propitiation for post-baptismal sin; or with
  Pearson that the all-powerful name of Jesus is no otherwise given than
  in the Catholic Church. "Two can play at that game" was often in my
  mouth, when men of Protestant sentiments appealed to the Articles,
  Homilies, and Reformers, in the sense that if they had a right to
  speak loud I had both the liberty and the means of giving them tit for
  tat. I thought that the Anglican Church had been tyrannised over by a
  Party, and I aimed at bringing into effect the promise contained in
  the motto to the _Lyra_: "They shall know the difference now." I only
  asked to be allowed to show them the difference.

  I have said already (he goes on) that though the object of the
  movement was to withstand the Liberalism of the day, I found and felt
  that this could not be done by negatives. It was necessary for me to
  have a positive Church theory erected on a definite basis. This took
  me to the great Anglican divines; and then, of course, I found at once
  that it was impossible to form any such theory without cutting across
  the teaching of the Church of Rome. Thus came in the Roman
  controversy. When I first turned myself to it I had neither doubt on
  the subject, nor suspicion that doubt would ever come on me. It was in
  this state of mind that I began to read up Bellarmine on the one hand,
  and numberless Anglican writers on the other.[86]

And he quotes from the article the language which he used, to show the
necessity of providing some clear and strong basis for religious thought
in view of the impending conflict of principles, religious and
anti-religious, "Catholic and Rationalist," which to far-seeing men,
even at that comparatively early time, seemed inevitable:--

  Then indeed will be the stern encounter, when two real and living
  principles, simple, entire, and consistent, one in the Church, the
  other out of it, at length rush upon each other, contending not for
  names and words, a half view, but for elementary notions and
  distinctive moral characters. Men will not keep standing in that very
  attitude which you call sound Church-of-Englandism or orthodox
  Protestantism. They will take one view or another, but it will be a
  consistent one ... it will be real.... Is it sensible, sober,
  judicious, to be so very angry with the writers of the day who point
  to the fact, that our divines of the seventeenth century have occupied
  a ground which is the true and intelligible mean between extremes?...
  Would you rather have your sons and your daughters members of the
  Church of England or of the Church of Rome?[87]

"The last words that I spoke as an Anglican to Anglicans,"--so he
describes this statement of his position and its reasons; so it seems to
him, as he looks back. And yet in the intimate and frank disclosures
which he makes, he has shown us much that indicates both that his
Anglicanism lasted much longer and that his Roman sympathies began to
stir much earlier. This only shows the enormous difficulties of
measuring accurately the steps of a transition state. The mind, in such
a strain of buffeting, is never in one stay. The old seems impregnable,
yet it has been undermined; the new is indignantly and honestly
repelled, and yet leaves behind it its never-to-be-forgotten and
unaccountable spell. The story, as he tells it, goes on, how, in the
full swing and confidence of his Anglicanism, and in the course of his
secure and fearless study of antiquity, appearance after appearance
presented itself, unexpected, threatening, obstinate, in the history of
the Early Church, by which this confidence was first shaken and then
utterly broken down in the summer of 1839. And he speaks as though all
had been over after two years from that summer: "From the end of 1841 I
was on my death-bed, as regards my membership with the Anglican Church,
though at the time I became aware of it only by degrees." In truth, it
was only the end which showed that it was a "death-bed." He had not yet
died to allegiance or "to hope, then or for some time afterwards." He
speaks in later years of the result, and reads what was then in the
light of what followed. But after all that had happened, and much, of
course, disturbing happened in 1841, he was a long way off from what
then could have been spoken of as "a death-bed." Deep and painful
misgivings may assail the sincerest faith; they are not fatal signs till
faith has finally given way.

What is true is, that the whole state of religion, and the whole aspect
of Christianity in the world, had come to seem to him portentously
strange and anomalous. No theory would take in and suit all the facts,
which the certainties of history and experience presented. Neither in
England, nor in Rome, and much less anywhere else, did the old, to which
all appealed, agree with the new; it might agree variously in this point
or in that, in others there were contrarieties which it was vain to
reconcile. Facts were against the English claim to be a Catholic
Church--how could Catholicity be shut up in one island? How could
England assert its continuity of doctrine? Facts were against the Roman
claim to be an infallible, and a perfect, and the whole Church--how
could that be perfect which was marked in the face of day with enormous
and undeniable corruptions? How could that be infallible which was
irreconcilable with ancient teaching? How could that be the whole
Church, which, to say nothing of the break-up in the West, ignored, as
if it had no existence, the ancient and uninterrupted Eastern Church?
Theory after theory came up, and was tried, and was found wanting. Each
had much to say for itself, its strong points, its superiority over its
rivals in dealing with the difficulties of the case, its plausibilities
and its imaginative attractions. But all had their tender spot, and
flinched when they were touched in earnest. In the confusions and sins
and divisions of the last fifteen centuries, profound disorganisation
had fastened on the Western Church. Christendom was not, could not be
pretended to be, what it had been in the fourth century; and whichever
way men looked the reasons were not hard to see. The first and
characteristic feeling of the movement, one which Mr. Newman had done so
much to deepen, was that of shame and humiliation at the disorder at
home, as well as in every part of the Church. It was not in Rome only,
or in England only; it was everywhere. What had been peculiar to
Anglicanism among all its rivals, was that it had emphatically and
without reserve confessed it.

With this view of the dislocation and the sins of the Church, he could
at once with perfect consistency recognise the shortcomings of the
English branch of the Church, and yet believe and maintain that it was
a true and living branch. The English fragment was not what it should
be, was indeed much that it should not be; the same could be said of the
Roman, though in different respects. This, as he himself reminds us, was
no new thing to his mind when the unsettlement of 1839 began. "At the
end of 1835, or the beginning of 1836, I had the whole state of the
question before me, on which, to my mind, the decision between the
Churches depended." It did not, he says, depend on the claims of the
Pope, as centre of unity; "it turned on the Faith of the Church"; "there
was a contrariety of _claims_ between the Roman and Anglican religions";
and up to 1839, with the full weight of Roman arguments recognised, with
the full consciousness of Anglican disadvantages, he yet spoke clearly
for Anglicanism. Even when misgivings became serious, the balance still
inclined without question the old way. He hardly spoke stronger in 1834
than he did in 1841, after No. 90.

  And now (he writes in his Letter to the Bishop of Oxford[88]) having
  said, I trust, as much as your Lordship requires on the subject of
  Romanism, I will add a few words, to complete my explanation, in
  acknowledgment of the inestimable privilege I feel in being a member
  of that Church over which your Lordship, with others, presides.
  Indeed, did I not feel it to be a privilege which I am able to seek
  nowhere else on earth, why should I be at this moment writing to your
  Lordship? What motive have I for an unreserved and joyful submission
  to your authority, but the feeling that the Church in which your
  Lordship rules is a divinely-ordained channel of supernatural grace to
  the souls of her members? Why should I not prefer my own opinion, and
  my own way of acting, to that of the Bishop's, except that I know full
  well that in matters indifferent I should be acting lightly towards
  the Spouse of Christ and the awful Presence which dwells in her, if I
  hesitated a moment to put your Lordship's will before my own? I know
  full well that your Lordship's kindness to me personally would be in
  itself quite enough to win any but the most insensible heart, and, did
  a clear matter of conscience occur in which I felt bound to act for
  myself, my feelings towards your Lordship would be a most severe trial
  to me, independently of the higher considerations to which I have
  alluded; but I trust I have shown my dutifulness to you prior to the
  influence of personal motives; and this I have done because I think
  that to belong to the Catholic Church is the first of all privileges
  here below, as involving in it heavenly privileges, and because I
  consider the Church over which your Lordship presides to be the
  Catholic Church in this country. Surely then I have no need to profess
  in words, I will not say my attachment, but my deep reverence towards
  the Mother of Saints, when I am showing it in action; yet that words
  may not be altogether wanting, I beg to lay before your Lordship the
  following extract from a defence of the English Church, which I wrote
  against a Roman controversialist in the course of the last year.

  "The Church is emphatically a living body, and there can be no greater
  proof of a particular communion being part of the Church than the
  appearance in it of a continued and abiding energy, nor a more
  melancholy proof of its being a corpse than torpidity. We say an
  energy continued and abiding, for accident will cause the activity of
  a moment, and an external principle give the semblance of self-motion.
  On the other hand, even a living body may for a while be asleep.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "It concerns, then, those who deny that we are the true Church because
  we have not at present this special note, intercommunion with other
  Christians, to show cause why the Roman Church in the tenth century
  should be so accounted, with profligates, or rather the profligate
  mothers of profligate sons for her supreme rulers. And still
  notwithstanding life _is_ a note of the Church; she alone revives,
  even if she declines; heretical and schismatical bodies cannot keep
  life; they gradually became cold, stiff, and insensible.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "Now if there ever were a Church on whom the experiment has been
  tried, whether it had life in it or not, the English is that one. For
  three centuries it has endured all vicissitudes of fortune. It has
  endured in trouble and prosperity, under seduction, and under
  oppression. It has been practised upon by theorists, browbeaten by
  sophists, intimidated by princes, betrayed by false sons, laid waste
  by tyranny, corrupted by wealth, torn by schism, and persecuted by
  fanaticism. Revolutions have come upon it sharply and suddenly, to and
  fro, hot and cold, as if to try what it was made of.

  It has been a sort of battlefield on which opposite principles have
  been tried. No opinion, however extreme any way, but may be found, as
  the Romanists are not slow to reproach us, among its Bishops and
  Divines. Yet what has been its career upon the whole? Which way has it
  been moving through 300 years? Where does it find itself at the end?
  Lutherans have tended to Rationalism; Calvinists have become
  Socinians; but what has it become? As far as its Formularies are
  concerned, it may be said all along to have grown towards a more
  perfect Catholicism than that with which it started at the time of its
  estrangement; every act, every crisis which marks its course, has been
  upward.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "What a note of the Church is the mere production of a man like
  Butler, a pregnant fact much to be meditated on! and how strange it
  is, if it be as it seems to be, that the real influence of his work is
  only just now beginning! and who can prophesy in what it will end?
  Thus our Divines grow with centuries, expanding after their death in
  the minds of their readers into more and more exact Catholicism as
  years roll on.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "Look across the Atlantic to the daughter Churches of England in the
  States: 'Shall one that is barren bear a child in her old age?' yet
  'the barren hath borne seven.' Schismatic branches put out their
  leaves at once, in an expiring effort; our Church has waited three
  centuries, and then blossoms like Aaron's rod, budding and blooming
  and yielding fruit, while the rest are dry. And lastly, look at the
  present position of the Church at home; there, too, we shall find a
  note of the true City of God, the Holy Jerusalem. She is in warfare
  with the world, as the Church Militant should be; she is rebuking the
  world, she is hated, she is pillaged by the world.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "Much might be said on this subject. At all times, since Christianity
  came into the world, an open contest has been going on between
  religion and irreligion; and the true Church, of course, has ever been
  on the religious side. This, then, is a sure test in every age _where_
  the Christian should stand.... Now, applying this simple criterion to
  the public Parties of this DAY, it is very plain that the English
  Church is at present on God's side, and therefore, so far, God's
  Church; we are sorry to be obliged to add that there is as little
  doubt on which side English Romanism is.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "As for the English Church, surely she has notes enough, 'the signs of
  an Apostle in all patience, and signs and wonders and mighty deeds.'
  She has the note of possession, the note of freedom from party-titles;
  the note of life, a tough life and a vigorous; she has ancient
  descent, unbroken continuance, agreement in doctrine with the ancient
  Church. Those of Bellarmine's Notes, which she certainly has not, are
  intercommunion with Christendom, the glory of miracles, and the
  prophetical light, but the question is, whether she has not enough of
  Divinity about her to satisfy her sister Churches on their own
  principles, that she is one body with them."

  This may be sufficient to show my feelings towards my Church, as far
  as Statements on paper can show them.

How earnestly, how sincerely he clung to the English Church, even after
he describes himself on his "death-bed," no one can doubt. The charm of
the _Apologia_ is the perfect candour with which he records fluctuations
which to many are inconceivable and unintelligible, the different and
sometimes opposite and irreconcilable states of mind through which he
passed, with no attempt to make one fit into another. It is clear, from
what he tells us, that his words in 1839 were not his _last_ words as an
Anglican to Anglicans. With whatever troubles of mind, he strove to be a
loyal and faithful Anglican long after that. He spoke as an Anglican. He
fought for Anglicanism. The theory, as he says, may have gone by the
board, in the intellectual storms raised by the histories of the
Monophysites and Donatists. "By these great words of the ancient
father--_Securus judicat orbis terrarum_"--the theory of the _Via Media_
was "absolutely pulverised." He was "sore," as he says in 1840, "about
the great Anglican divines, as if they had taken me in, and made me say
strong things against Rome, which facts did not justify."[89] Yes, he
felt, as other men do not feel, the weak points of even a strong
argument, the exaggerations and unfairness of controversialists on his
own side, the consciousness that you cannot have things in fact, or in
theory, or in reasoning, smoothly and exactly as it would be convenient,
and as you would like to have them. But his conclusion, on the whole,
was unshaken. There was enough, and amply enough, in the English Church
to bind him to its allegiance, to satisfy him of its truth and its life,
enough in the Roman to warn him away. In the confusions of Christendom,
in the strong and obstinate differences of schools and parties in the
English Church, he, living in days of inquiry and criticism, claimed to
take and recommend a theological position on many controverted
questions, which many might think a new one, and which might not be
exactly that occupied by any existing school or party.[90] "We are all,"
he writes to an intimate friend on 22d April 1842, a year after No. 90,
"much quieter and more resigned than we were, and are remarkably
desirous of building up a position, and proving that the English theory
is tenable, or rather the English state of things. If the Bishops would
leave us alone, the fever would subside."

He wanted, when all other parties were claiming room for their
speculations, to claim room for his own preference for ancient doctrine.
He wished to make out that no branch of the Church had authoritatively
committed itself to language which was hopelessly and fatally
irreconcilable with Christian truth. But he claimed nothing but what he
could maintain to be fairly within the authorised formularies of the
English Church. He courted inquiry, he courted argument. If his claim
seemed a new one, if his avowed leaning to ancient and Catholic views
seemed to make him more tolerant than had been customary, not to Roman
abuses, but to Roman authoritative language, it was part of the more
accurate and the more temperate and charitable thought of our day
compared with past times. It was part of the same change which has
brought Church opinions from the unmitigated Calvinism of the Lambeth
Articles to what the authorities of those days would have denounced,
without a doubt, as Arminianism. Hooker was gravely and seriously
accused to the Council for saying that a Papist could be saved, and had
some difficulty to clear himself; it was as natural then as it is
amazing now.[91]

But with this sincere loyalty to the English Church, as he believed it
to be, there was, no doubt, in the background the haunting and
disquieting misgiving that the attempt to connect more closely the
modern Church with the ancient, and this widened theology in a direction
which had been hitherto specially and jealously barred, was putting the
English Church on its trial. Would it bear it? Would it respond to the
call to rise to a higher and wider type of doctrine, to a higher
standard of life? Would it justify what Mr. Newman had placed in the
forefront among the notes of the true Church, the note of Sanctity?
Would the _Via Media_ make up for its incompleteness as a theory by
developing into reality and fruitfulness of actual results? Would the
Church bear to be told of its defaults? Would it allow to the
maintainers of Catholic and Anglican principles the liberty which
others claimed, and which by large and powerful bodies of opinion was
denied to Anglicans? Or would it turn out on trial, that the _Via Media_
was an idea without substance, a dialectical fiction, a mere theological
expedient for getting out of difficulties, unrecognised, and when put
forward, disowned? Would it turn out that the line of thought and
teaching which connected the modern with the ancient Church was but the
private and accidental opinion of Hooker and Andrewes and Bull and
Wilson, unauthorised in the English Church, uncongenial to its spirit,
if not contradictory to its formularies? It is only just to Mr. Newman
to say, that even after some of his friends were frightened, he long
continued to hope for the best; but undoubtedly, more and more, his
belief in the reality of the English Church was undergoing a very
severe, and as time went on, discouraging testing.

In this state of things he published the Tract No. 90. It was occasioned
by the common allegation, on the side of some of the advanced section of
the Tractarians, as well as on the side of their opponents, that the
Thirty-nine Articles were hopelessly irreconcilable with that Catholic
teaching which Mr. Newman had defended on the authority of our great
divines, but which both the parties above mentioned were ready to
identify with the teaching of the Roman Church. The Tract was intended,
by a rigorous examination of the language of the Articles, to traverse
this allegation. It sought to show that all that was clearly and
undoubtedly Catholic, this language left untouched:[92] that it was
doubtful whether even the formal definitions of the Council of Trent
were directly and intentionally contradicted; and that what were really
aimed at were the abuses and perversions of a great popular and
authorised system, tyrannical by the force of custom and the obstinate
refusal of any real reformation.

  It is often urged (says the writer), and sometimes felt and granted,
  that there are in the Articles propositions or terms inconsistent with
  the Catholic faith; or, at least, if persons do not go so far as to
  feel the objection as of force, they are perplexed how best to answer
  it, or how most simply to explain the passages on which it is made to
  rest. The following Tract is drawn up with the view of showing how
  groundless the objection is, and further, of approximating towards the
  argumentative answer to it, of which most men have an implicit
  apprehension, though they may have nothing more. That there are real
  difficulties to a Catholic Christian in the ecclesiastical position of
  our Church at this day, no one can deny; but the statements of the
  Articles are not in the number, and it may be right at the present
  moment to insist upon this.

When met by the objection that the ideas of the framers of the Articles
were well known, and that it was notorious that they had meant to put an
insuperable barrier between the English Church and everything that
savoured of Rome, the writer replied that the actual English Church
received the Articles not from them but from a much later authority,
that we are bound by their words not by their private sentiments either
as theologians or ecclesiastical politicians, and that in fact they had
intended the Articles to comprehend a great body of their countrymen,
who would have been driven away by any extreme and anti-Catholic
declarations even against Rome. The temper of compromise is
characteristic of the English as contrasted with the foreign
Reformation. It is visible, not only in the Articles, but in the polity
of the English Church, which clung so obstinately to the continuity and
forms of the ancient hierarchical system, it is visible in the
sacramental offices of the Prayer Book, which left so much out to
satisfy the Protestants, and left so much in to satisfy the Catholics.

The Tract went in detail through the Articles which were commonly looked
upon as either anti-Catholic or anti-Roman. It went through them with a
dry logical way of interpretation, such as a professed theologian might
use, who was accustomed to all the niceties of language and the
distinctions of the science. It was the way in which they would be
likely to be examined and construed by a purely legal court. The effect
of it, doubtless, was like that produced on ordinary minds by the
refinements of a subtle advocate, or by the judicial interpretation of
an Act of Parliament which the judges do not like; and some of the
interpretations undoubtedly seemed far-fetched and artificial. Yet some
of those which were pointed to at the time as flagrant instances of
extravagant misinterpretation have now come to look different. Nothing
could exceed the scorn poured on the interpretation of the Twenty-second
Article, that it condemns the "_Roman_" doctrine of Purgatory, but not
_all_ doctrine of purgatory as a place of gradual purification beyond
death. But in our days a school very far removed from Mr. Newman's would
require and would claim to make the same distinction. And so with the
interpretation of the "Sacrifices of Masses" in the same article. It was
the fashion in 1841 to see in this the condemnation of all doctrine of a
sacrifice in the Eucharist; and when Mr. Newman confined the phrase to
the gross abuses connected with the Mass, this was treated as an affront
to common sense and honesty. Since then we have become better acquainted
with the language of the ancient liturgies--, and no instructed
theologian could now venture to treat Mr. Newman's distinction as idle.
There was in fact nothing new in his distinctions on these two points.
They had already been made in two of the preceding Tracts, the reprint
of Archbishop Ussher on Prayers for the Dead, and the Catena on the
Eucharistie Sacrifice; and in both cases the distinctions were supported
by a great mass of Anglican authority.[93]

But the Tract had sufficient novelty about it to account for most of
the excitement which it caused. Its dryness and negative curtness were
provoking. It was not a positive argument, it was not an appeal to
authorities; it was a paring down of language, alleged in certain
portions of the Articles to be somewhat loose, to its barest meaning;
and to those to whom that language had always seemed to speak with
fulness and decision, it seemed like sapping and undermining a cherished
bulwark. Then it seemed to ask for more liberty than the writer in his
position at that time needed; and the object of such an indefinite
claim, in order to remove, if possible, misunderstandings between two
long-alienated branches of the Western Church, was one to excite in many
minds profound horror and dismay. That it maintained without flinching
and as strongly as ever the position and the claim of the English Church
was nothing to the purpose; the admission, both that Rome, though
wrong, might not be as wrong as we thought her, and that the language of
the Articles, though unquestionably condemnatory of much, was not
condemnatory of as much as people thought, and might possibly be even
harmonised with Roman authoritative language, was looked upon as
incompatible with loyalty to the English Church.

The question which the Tract had opened, what the Articles meant and to
what men were bound by accepting them, was a most legitimate one for
discussion; and it was most natural also that any one should hesitate to
answer it as the Tract answered it. But it was distinctly a question for
discussion. It was not so easy for any of the parties in the Church to
give a clear and consistent answer, as that the matter ought at once to
have been carried out of the region of discussion. The Articles were the
Articles of a Church which had seen as great differences as those
between the Church of Edward VI and the Church of the Restoration. Take
them broadly as the condemnation--strong but loose in expression, as,
for instance, in the language on the "five, commonly called
Sacraments"--of a powerful and well-known antagonist system, and there
was no difficulty about them. But take them as scientific and accurate
and precise enunciations of a systematic theology, and difficulties
begin at once, with every one who does not hold the special and
well-marked doctrines of the age when the German and Swiss authorities
ruled supreme. The course of events from that day to this has shown
more than once, in surprising and even startling examples, how much
those who at the time least thought that they needed such strict
construing of the language of the Articles, and were fierce in
denouncing the "kind of interpretation" said to be claimed in No. 90,
have since found that they require a good deal more elasticity of
reading than even it asked for. The "whirligig of time" was thought to
have brought "its revenges," when Mr. Newman, who had called for the
exercise of authority against Dr. Hampden, found himself, five years
afterwards, under the ban of the same authority. The difference between
Mr. Newman's case and Dr. Hampden's, both as to the alleged offence and
the position of the men, was considerable. But the "whirligig of time"
brought about even stranger "revenges," when not only Mr. Gorham and Mr.
H.B. Wilson in their own defence, but the tribunals which had to decide
on their cases, carried the strictness of reading and the latitude of
interpretation, quite as far, to say the least, as anything in No. 90.

Unhappily Tract 90 was met at Oxford, not with argument, but with panic
and wrath.[94] There is always a sting in every charge, to which other
parts of it seem subordinate. No. 90 was charged of course with false
doctrine, with false history, and with false reasoning; but the emphatic
part of the charge, the short and easy method which dispensed from the
necessity of theological examination and argument, was that it was
dishonest and immoral. Professors of Divinity, and accomplished
scholars, such as there were in Oxford, might very well have considered
it an occasion to dispute both the general principle of the Tract, if it
was so dangerous, and the illustrations, in the abundance of which the
writer had so frankly thrown open his position to searching criticism.
It was a crisis in which much might have been usefully said, if there
had been any one to say it; much too, to make any one feel, if he was
competent to feel, that he had a good deal to think about in his own
position, and that it would be well to ascertain what was tenable and
what untenable in it. But it seemed as if the opportunity must not be
lost for striking a blow. The Tract was published on 27th February. On
the 8th of March four Senior Tutors, one of whom was Mr. H.B. Wilson, of
St. John's, and another Mr. Tait, of Balliol, addressed the Editor of
the Tract, charging No. 90 with suggesting and opening a way, by which
men might, at least in the case of Roman views, violate their solemn
engagements to their University. On the 15th of March, the Board of
Heads of Houses, refusing to wait for Mr. Newman's defence, which was
known to be coming, and which bears date 13th March, published their
judgment They declared that in No. 90 "modes of interpretation were
suggested, and have since been advocated in other publications
purporting to be written by members of the University, by which
subscription to the Articles might be reconciled with the adoption of
Roman Catholic error." And they announced their resolution, "That modes
of interpretation, such as are suggested in the said Tract, evading
rather than explaining the sense of the Thirty-nine Articles, and
reconciling subscription to them with the adoption of errors which they
are designed to counteract, defeat the object, and are inconsistent with
the due observance of the above-mentioned statutes."[95]

It was an ungenerous and stupid blunder, such as men make, when they
think or are told that "something must be done," and do not know what.
It gave the writer an opportunity, of which he took full advantage, of
showing his superiority in temper, in courtesy, and in reason, to those
who had not so much condemned as insulted him. He was immediately ready
with his personal expression of apology and regret, and also with his
reassertion in more developed argument of the principle of the Tract;
and this was followed up by further explanations in a letter to the
Bishop. And in spite of the invidious position in which the Board had
tried to place him, not merely as an unsound divine, but as a dishonest
man teaching others to palter with their engagements, the crisis drew
forth strong support and sympathy where they were not perhaps to be
expected. It rallied to him, at least for the time, some of the friends
who had begun to hold aloof. Mr. Palmer, of Worcester, Mr. Perceval, Dr.
Hook, with reserves according to each man's point of view, yet came
forward in his defence. The Board was made to feel that they had been
driven by violent and partisan instigations to commit themselves to a
very foolish as well as a very passionate and impotent step; that they
had by very questionable authority simply thrown an ill-sounding and
ill-mannered word at an argument on a very difficult question, to which
they themselves certainly were not prepared with a clear and
satisfactory answer; that they had made the double mistake of declaring
war against a formidable antagonist, and of beginning it by creating the
impression that they had treated him shabbily, and were really afraid to
come to close quarters with him. As the excitement of hasty counsels
subsided, the sense of this began to awake in some of them; they tried
to represent the off-hand and ambiguous words of the condemnation as not
meaning all that they had been taken to mean. But the seed of bitterness
had been sown. Very little light was thrown, in the strife of pamphlets
which ensued, on the main subject dealt with in No. 90, the authority
and interpretation of such formularies as our Articles. The easier and
more tempting and very fertile topic of debate was the honesty and good
faith of the various disputants. Of the four Tutors, only one, Mr. H.B.
Wilson, published an explanation of their part in the matter; it was a
clumsy, ill-written and laboured pamphlet, which hardly gave promise of
the intellectual vigour subsequently displayed by Mr. Wilson, when he
appeared, not as the defender, but the assailant of received opinions.
The more distinguished of the combatants were Mr. Ward and Mr. R. Lowe.
Mr. Ward, with his usual dialectical skill, not only defended the Tract,
but pushed its argument yet further, in claiming tolerance for doctrines
alleged to be Roman. Mr. Lowe, not troubling himself either with
theological history or the relation of other parties in the Church to
the formularies, threw his strength into the popular and plausible topic
of dishonesty, and into a bitter and unqualified invective against the
bad faith and immorality manifested in the teaching of which No. 90 was
the outcome. Dr. Faussett, as was to be expected, threw himself into the
fray with his accustomed zest and violence, and caused some amusement at
Oxford, first by exposing himself to the merciless wit of a reviewer in
the _British Critic_, and then by the fright into which he was thrown by
a rumour that his reelection to his professorship would be endangered by
Tractarian votes.[96] But the storm, at Oxford at least, seemed to die
out. The difficulty which at one moment threatened of a strike among
some of the college Tutors passed; and things went back to their
ordinary course. But an epoch and a new point of departure had come into
the movement. Things after No. 90 were never the same as to language and
hopes and prospects as they had been before; it was the date from which
a new set of conditions in men's thoughts and attitude had to be
reckoned. Each side felt that a certain liberty had been claimed and
had been peremptorily denied. And this was more than confirmed by the
public language of the greater part of the Bishops. The charges against
the Tractarian party of Romanising, and of flagrant dishonesty, long
urged by irresponsible opponents, were now formally adopted by the
University authorities, and specially directed against the foremost man
of the party. From that time the fate of the party at Oxford was
determined. It must break up. Sooner or later, there must be a secession
more or less discrediting and disabling those who remained. And so the
break-up came, and yet, so well grounded and so congenial to the English
Church were the leading principles of the movement, that not even that
disastrous and apparently hopeless wreck prevented them from again
asserting their claim and becoming once more active and powerful. The
_Via Media_, whether or not logically consistent, was a thing of genuine
English growth, and was at least a working theory.

FOOTNOTES:

[84] _Apologia_, p. 180.

[85] _Essays Critical and Historical_, 1871.

[86] _Apologia_, pp. 181, 182. Comp. _Letter to Jelf_, p. 18.

[87] _British Critic_, April 1839, pp. 419-426. Condensed in the
_Apologia_, pp. 192-194.

[88] _Letter to the Bishop of Oxford_ (29th March 1841), pp. 33-40.
Comp. _Letter to Jelf_, pp. 7, 8.

[89] _Apologia_, pp. 212, 221.

[90] _Letter to Jelf_ [especially p. 19].

[91] _Walton's Life_, i. 59 (Oxford: 1845).

[92] No. 90, p. 24.

[93] The following letter of Mr. James Mozley (8th March 1841) gives the
first impression of the Tract:--"A new Tract has come out this week, and
is beginning to make a sensation. It is on the Articles, and shows that
they bear a highly Catholic meaning; and that many doctrines, of which
the Romanist are corruptions, may be held consistently with them. This
is no more than what we know as a matter of history, for the Articles
were expressly worded to bring in Roman Catholics. But people are
astonished and confused at the idea now, as if it were quite new. And
they have been so accustomed for a long time to look at the Articles as
on a par with the Creed, that they think, I suppose, that if they
subscribe to them they are bound to hold whatever doctrines (not
positively stated in them) are merely not condemned. So if they will
have a Tractarian sense, they are thereby all Tractarians.... It is, of
course, highly complimentary to the whole set of us to be so very much
surprised that we should think what we held to be consistent with the
Articles which we have subscribed." See also a clever Whateleian
pamphlet, "The Controversy between Tract No. 90 and the Oxford Tutors."
(How and Parsons, 1841.)

[94] See J.B. Mozley's _Letters_, 13th March 1841.

[95] _Scil._, those cited in the preamble to this resolution.

[96] J.B. Mozley's _Letters_, 13th July 1841.



CHAPTER XV

AFTER NO. 90


The proceedings about No. 90 were a declaration of war on the part of
the Oxford authorities against the Tractarian party. The suspicions,
alarms, antipathies, jealousies, which had long been smouldering among
those in power, had at last taken shape in a definite act. And it was a
turning-point in the history of the movement. After this it never was
exactly what it had been hitherto. It had been so far a movement within
the English Church, for its elevation and reform indeed, but at every
step invoking its authority with deep respect, acknowledging allegiance
to its rulers in unqualified and even excessive terms, and aiming
loyally to make it in reality all that it was in its devotional language
and its classical literature. But after what passed about No. 90 a
change came. The party came under an official ban and stigma. The common
consequences of harsh treatment on the tendencies and thought of a
party, which considers itself unjustly proscribed, showed themselves
more and more. Its mind was divided; its temper was exasperated; while
the attitude of the governing authorities hardened more into determined
hostility. From the time of the censure, and especially after the events
connected with it,--the contest for the Poetry Professorship and the
renewed Hampden question,--it may be said that the characteristic
tempers of the Corcyrean sedition were reproduced on a small scale in
Oxford.[97] The scare of Popery, not without foundation--the reaction
against it, also not without foundation--had thrown the wisest off their
balance; and what of those who were not wise? In the heat of those days
there were few Tractarians who did not think Dr. Wynter, Dr. Faussett,
and Dr. Symons heretics in theology and persecutors in temper, despisers
of Christian devotion and self-denial. There were few of the party of
the Heads who did not think every Tractarian a dishonest and perjured
traitor, equivocating about his most solemn engagements, the ignorant
slave of childish superstitions which he was conspiring to bring back.
It was the day of the violent on both sides: the courtesies of life were
forgotten; men were afraid of being weak in their censures, their
dislike, and their opposition; old friendships were broken up, and men
believed the worst of those whom a few years back they had loved and
honoured.

It is not agreeable to recall these long extinct animosities, but they
are part of the history of that time, and affected the course in which
things ran. And it is easy to blame, it is hard to do justice to, the
various persons and parties who contributed to the events of that
strange and confused time. All was new, and unusual, and without
precedent in Oxford; a powerful and enthusiastic school reviving old
doctrines in a way to make them seem novelties, and creating a wild
panic from a quarter where it was the least expected; the terror of this
panic acting on authorities not in the least prepared for such a trial
of their sagacity, patience, and skill, driving them to unexampled
severity, and to a desperate effort to expel the disturbing
innovators--among them some of the first men in Oxford in character and
ability--from their places in the University.[98] In order to do justice
on each side at this distance of time, we are bound to make
allowance--both for the alarm and the mistaken violence of the
authorities, and for the disaffection, the irritation, the strange
methods which grew up in the worried and suspected party--for the
difficulties which beset both sides in the conflict, and the
counter-influences which drew them hither and thither. But the facts are
as they are; and even then a calmer temper was possible to those who
willed it; and in the heat of the strife there were men among the
authorities, as well as in the unpopular party, who kept their balance,
while others lost it.

Undoubtedly the publication of No. 90 was the occasion of the aggravated
form which dissension took, and not unnaturally. Yet it was anything but
what it was taken to mean by the authorities, an intentional move in
favour of Rome. It was intended to reconcile a large and growing class
of minds, penetrated and disgusted with the ignorance and injustice of
much of the current controversial assumptions against Rome, to a larger
and more defensible view of the position of the English Church. And this
was done by calling attention to that which was not now for the first
time observed--to the loose and unguarded mode of speaking visible in
the later controversial Articles, and to the contrast between them and
the technical and precise theology of the first five Articles. The
Articles need not mean all which they were supposed popularly to mean
against what was Catholic in Roman doctrine. This was urged in simple
good faith; it was but the necessary assumption of all who held with the
Catholic theology, which the Tractarians all along maintained that they
had a right to teach; it left plenty of ground of difference with
unreformed and usurping Rome. And we know that the storm which No. 90
raised took the writer by surprise. He did not expect that he should
give such deep offence. But if he thought of the effect on one set of
minds, he forgot the probable effect on another; and he forgot, or
under-estimated, the effect not only of the things said, but of the way
in which they were said.[99] No. 90 was a surprise, in the state of
ordinary theological knowledge at the time. It was a strong thing to say
that the Articles left a great deal of formal Roman language untouched;
but to work this out in dry, bald, technical logic, on the face of it,
narrow in scope, often merely ingenious, was even a greater
stumbling-block. It was, undoubtedly, a great miscalculation, such as
men of keen and far-reaching genius sometimes make. They mistake the
strength and set of the tide; they imagine that minds round them are
going as fast as their own. We can see, looking back, that such an
interpretation of the Articles, with the view then taken of them in
Oxford as the theological text-book, and in the condition of men's
minds, could not but be a great shock.

And what seemed to give a sinister significance to No. 90 was that, as
has been said, a strong current was beginning to set in the direction of
Rome. It was not yet of the nature, nor of the force, which was
imagined. The authorities suspected it where it was not. They accepted
any contemptible bit of gossip collected by ignorance or ill-nature as a
proof of it. The constitutional frankness of Englishmen in finding fault
with what is their own--disgust at pompous glorification--scepticism as
to our insular claims against all the rest of Christendom to be exactly
right, to be alone, "pure and apostolic"; real increase and enlargement
of knowledge, theological and historical; criticism on portions of our
Reformation history; admiration for characters in mediaeval times;
eagerness, over-generous it might be, to admit and repair wrong to an
opponent unjustly accused; all were set down together with other more
unequivocal signs as "leanings to Rome." It was clear that there was a
current setting towards Rome; but it was as clear that there was a much
stronger current in the party as a whole, setting in the opposite
direction. To those who chose to see and to distinguish, the love, the
passionate loyalty of the bulk of the Tractarians to the English Church
was as evident and unquestionable as any public fact could be. At this
time there was no reason to call in question the strong assurances
given by the writer of No. 90 himself of his yet unshaken faith in the
English Church. But all these important features of the
movement--witnessing, indeed, to deep searchings of heart, but to a
genuine desire to serve the English Church--were overlooked in the one
overwhelming fear which had taken possession of the authorities.
Alarming symptoms of a disposition to acknowledge and even exaggerate
the claims and the attractions of the Roman system were indeed apparent.
No doubt there were reasons for disquiet and anxiety. But the test of
manliness and wisdom, in the face of such reasons, is how men measure
their proportion, and how they meet the danger.

The Heads saw a real danger before them; but they met it in a wrong and
unworthy way. They committed two great errors. In the first place, like
the Jesuits in their quarrel with Portroyal and the Jansenists, they
entirely failed to recognise the moral elevation and religious purpose
of the men whom they opposed. There was that before them which it was to
their deep discredit that they did not see. The movement, whatever else
it was, or whatever else it became, was in its first stages a movement
for deeper religion, for a more real and earnest self-discipline, for a
loftier morality, for more genuine self-devotion to a serious life, than
had ever been seen in Oxford. It was an honest attempt to raise Oxford
life, which by all evidence needed raising, to something more laborious
and something more religious, to something more worthy of the great
Christian foundations of Oxford than the rivalry of colleges and of the
schools, the mere literary atmosphere of the tutor's lecture-room, and
the easy and gentlemanly and somewhat idle fellowship of the
common-rooms. It was the effort of men who had all the love of
scholarship, and the feeling for it of the Oxford of their day, to add
to this the habits of Christian students and the pursuit of Christian
learning. If all this was dangerous and uncongenial to Oxford, so much
the worse for Oxford, with its great opportunities and great
professions--_Dominus illuminatio mea_. But certainly this mark of moral
purpose and moral force was so plain in the movement that the rulers of
Oxford had no right to mistake it. When the names come back to our minds
of those who led and most represented the Tractarians, it must be a
matter of surprise to any man who has not almost parted with the idea of
Christian goodness, that this feature of the movement could escape or
fail to impress those who had known well all their lives long what these
leaders were. But amid the clamour and the tell-tale gossip, and, it
must be admitted, the folly round them, they missed it. Perhaps they
were bewildered. But they must have the blame, the heavy blame, which
belongs to all those who, when good is before them, do not recognise it
according to its due measure.[100]

In the next place, the authorities attacked and condemned the
Tractarian teaching at once violently and ignorantly, and in them
ignorance of the ground on which the battle was fought was hardly
pardonable. Doubtless the Tractarian language was in many respects novel
and strange. But Oxford was not only a city of libraries, it was the
home of what was especially accounted Church theology; and the
Tractarian teaching, in its foundation and main outlines, had little but
what ought to have been perfectly familiar to any one who chose to take
the trouble to study the great Church of England writers. To one who,
like Dr. Routh of Magdalen, had gone below the surface, and was
acquainted with the questions debated by those divines, there was
nothing startling in what so alarmed his brethren, whether he agreed
with it or not; and to him the indiscriminate charge of Popery meant
nothing. But Dr. Routh stood alone among his brother Heads in his
knowledge of what English theology was. To most of them it was an
unexplored and misty region; some of the ablest, under the influence of
Dr. Whately's vigorous and scornful discipline, had learned to slight
it. But there it was. Whether it was read or not, its great names were
pronounced with honour, and quoted on occasion. From Hooker to Van
Mildert, there was an unbroken thread of common principles giving
continuity to a line of Church teachers. The Puritan line of doctrine,
though it could claim much sanction among the divines of the
Reformation--the Latitudinarian idea, though it had the countenance of
famous names and powerful intellects--never could aspire to the special
title of Church theology. And the teaching which had that name, both in
praise, and often in dispraise, as technical, scholastic, unspiritual,
transcendental, nay, even Popish, countenanced the Tractarians. They
were sneered at for their ponderous _Catenae_ of authorities; but on the
ground on which this debate raged, the appeal was a pertinent and solid
one. Yet to High Church Oxford and its rulers, all this was strange
doctrine. Proof and quotation might lie before their eyes, but their
minds still ran in one groove, and they could not realise what they saw.
The words meant no harm in the venerable folio; they meant perilous
heresy in the modern Tract. When the authorities had to judge of the
questions raised by the movement, they were unprovided with the adequate
knowledge; and this was knowledge which they ought to have possessed for
its own sake, as doctors of the Theological Faculty of the University.

And it was not only for their want of learning, manifest all through the
controversy, that they were to blame. Their most telling charge against
the Tractarians, which was embodied in the censure of No. 90, was the
charge of dishonesty. The charge is a very handy one against opponents,
and it may rest on good grounds; but those who think right to make it
ought, both as a matter of policy and as a matter of conscience, to be
quite assured of their own position. The Articles are a public, common
document. It is the differing interpretations of a common document which
create political and religious parties; and only shallowness and
prejudice will impute to an opponent dishonesty without strong and clear
reason. Mr. Newman's interpretation in No. 90,--new, not in claiming for
the Articles a Catholic meaning, but in _limiting_, though it does not
deny, their anti-Roman scope, was fairly open to criticism. It might be
taken as a challenge, and as a challenge might have to be met. But it
would have been both fair and wise in the Heads, before proceeding to
unusual extremities, to have shown that they had fully considered their
own theological doctrines in relation to the Church formularies. They
all had obvious difficulties, and in some cases formidable ones. The
majority of them were what would have been called in older controversial
days frank Arminians, shutting their eyes by force of custom to the look
of some of the Articles, which, if of Lutheran origin, had been claimed
from the first by Calvinists. The Evangelicals had long confessed
difficulties, at least, in the Baptismal Service and the Visitation
Office; while the men most loud in denunciation of dishonesty were the
divines of Whately's school, who had been undermining the authority of
all creeds and articles, and had never been tired of proclaiming their
dislike of that solemn Athanasian Creed to which Prayer Book and
Articles alike bound them. Men with these difficulties daily before them
had no right to ignore them. Doubtless they all had their explanations
which they _bona fide_ believed in. But what was there that excluded Mr.
Newman from the claim to _bona fides_? He had attacked no foundation of
Christianity; he had denied or doubted no article of the Creed. He gave
his explanations, certainly not more far-fetched than those of some of
his judges. In a Church divided by many conflicting views, and therefore
bound to all possible tolerance, he had adopted one view which certainly
was unpopular and perhaps was dangerous. He might be confuted, he might
be accused, or, if so be, convicted of error, perhaps of heresy. But
nothing of this kind was attempted. The incompatibility of his view, not
merely with the Articles, but with morality in signing what all, of
whatever party, had signed, was asserted in a censure, which evaded the
responsibility of specifying the point which it condemned. The alarm of
treachery and conspiracy is one of the most maddening of human impulses.
The Heads of Houses, instead of moderating and sobering it, with the
authority of instructed and sagacious rulers, blew it into a flame. And
they acted in such a hurry that all sense of proportion and dignity was
lost. They peremptorily refused to wait even a few days, as the writer
requested, and as was due to his character, for explanation. They dared
not risk an appeal to the University at large. They dared not abide the
effect of discussion on the blow which they were urged to strike. They
chose, that they might strike without delay, the inexpressibly childish
step of sticking up at the Schools' gates, and at College butteries,
without trial, or conviction, or sentence, a notice declaring that
certain modes of signing the Articles suggested in a certain Tract were
dishonest. It was, they said, to protect undergraduates; as if
undergraduates would be affected by a vague assertion on a difficult
subject, about which nothing was more certain than that those who issued
the notice were not agreed among themselves.

The men who acted thus were good and conscientious men, who thought
themselves in the presence of a great danger. It is only fair to
remember this. But it is also impossible to be fair to the party of the
movement without remembering this deplorable failure in consistency, in
justice, in temper, in charity, on the part of those in power in the
University. The drift towards Rome had not yet become an unmanageable
rush; and though there were cases in which nothing could have stopped
its course, there is no reason to doubt that generous and equitable
dealing, a more considerate reasonableness, a larger and more
comprehensive judgment of facts, and a more patient waiting for strong
first impressions to justify and verify themselves, would have averted
much mischief. There was much that was to be regretted from this time
forward in the temper and spirit of the movement party. But that which
nourished and strengthened impatience, exaggeration of language and
views, scorn of things as they were, intolerance of everything
moderate, both in men and in words, was the consciousness with which
every man got up in the morning and passed the day, of the bitter
hostility of those foremost in place in Oxford--of their incompetence to
judge fairly--of their incapacity to apprehend what was high and earnest
in those whom they condemned--of the impossibility of getting them to
imagine that Tractarians could be anything but fools or traitors--of
their hopeless blindness to any fact or any teaching to which they were
not accustomed. If the authorities could only have stopped to consider
whether after all they were not dealing with real thought and real wish
to do right, they might after all have disliked the movement, but they
would have seen that which would have kept them from violence. They
would not listen, they would not inquire, they would not consider. Could
such ignorance, could such wrong possibly be without mischievous
influence on those who were the victims of it, much more on friends and
disciples who knew and loved them? The Tractarians had been preaching
that the Church of England, with all its Protestant feeling and all its
Protestant acts and history, was yet, as it professed to be, part and
parcel of the great historic Catholic Church, which had framed the
Creeds, which had continued the Sacraments, which had preached and
taught out of the Bible, which had given us our immemorial prayers. They
had spared no pains to make out this great commonplace from history and
theology: nor had they spared pains, while insisting on this dominant
feature in the English Church, to draw strongly and broadly the lines
which distinguished it from Rome. Was it wonderful, when all guarding
and explanatory limitations were contemptuously tossed aside by
"all-daring ignorance," and all was lumped together in the
indiscriminate charge of "Romanising," that there should have been some
to take the authorities at their word? Was it wonderful when men were
told that the Church of England was no place for them, that they were
breaking their vows and violating solemn engagements by acting as its
ministers, and that in order to preserve the respect of honest men they
should leave it--that the question of change, far off as it had once
seemed, came within "measurable distance"? The generation to which they
belonged had been brought up with strong exhortations to be real, and to
hate shams; and now the question was forced on them whether it was not a
sham for the English Church to call itself Catholic; whether a body of
teaching which was denounced by its authorities, however it might look
on paper and be defended by learning, could be more than a plausible
literary hypothesis in contrast to the great working system of which the
head was Rome. When we consider the singular and anomalous position on
any theory, including the Roman, of the English Church; with what great
differences its various features and elements have been prominent at
different times; how largely its history has been marked by
contradictory facts and appearances; and how hard it is for any one to
keep all, according to their real importance, simultaneously in view;
when we remember also what are the temptations of human nature in great
collisions of religious belief, the excitement and passion of the time,
the mixed character of all religious zeal, the natural inevitable anger
which accompanies it when resisted, the fervour which welcomes
self-sacrifice for the truth; and when we think of all this kept aglow
by the continuous provocation of unfair and harsh dealing from persons
who were scarcely entitled to be severe judges; the wonder is, human
nature being what it is, not that so many went, but that so many stayed.

FOOTNOTES:

[97] Τόλμα ἀλόγιστος ἀνδρία φιλέταιρος ἐνομίσθη ... τὸ δὲ σῶφρον τοῦ
ἀνάνδρου πρόσχημα, καὶ τὸ πρὸς ἄπαν ξυνετὸν ἐπὶ πᾶν ἀργόν τὸ δὲ
ὲμπλήκτως ὀξὐ ἀνδρὸς μοίρᾳ προσετέθη ... καὶ ὁ μὲν χαλεπαίνων πιστὸς
ἀεί, ὁ δὲ ἀντιλέγων αὐτῷ ὕποπτος.--Thuc. iii. 82. "Reckless daring was
held to be loyal courage; moderation was the disguise of unmanly
weakness; to know everything was to do nothing; frantic energy was the
true character of a man; the lover of violence was always trusted, and
his opponent suspected."--Jowett's translation.

[98] One of the strangest features in the conflict was the entire
misconception shown of what Mr. Newman was--the blindness to his real
character and objects--the imputation to him not merely of grave faults,
but of small and mean ones. His critics could not rise above the poorest
measure of his intellect and motives. One of the ablest of them, who had
once been his friend, in a farewell letter of kindly remonstrance,
specifies certain Roman errors, which he hopes that Mr. Newman will not
fall into--adoring images and worshipping saints--as if the pleasure and
privilege of worshipping images and saints were to Mr. Newman the
inducement to join Rome and break the ties of a lifetime. And so of his
moral qualities. A prominent Evangelical leader, Dr. Close of
Cheltenham, afterwards Dean of Carlisle, at a complimentary dinner, in
which he himself gloried in the "foul, personal abuse to which he had
been subjected in his zeal for truth," proceeded to give his judgment on
Mr. Newman: "When I first read No. 90, I did not then know the author;
but I said then, and I repeat here, _not with any personal reference to
the author_, that I should be sorry to trust the author of that Tract
with my purse,"--Report of Speech in _Cheltenham Examiner_, 1st March
1843.

[99] οὐ γὰρ ἀπόχρη τὸ ἔχειν ἄ δεῖ λέγειν, ἀλλ' ἀνάγκη καὶ ταῦτο ὠς δεῖ
είπεῖν.--Arist. _Rhet._ iii. I.

[100] Dr. Richards, the Rector of Exeter, seems to have stood apart from
his brother heads.--Cf. _Letters of the Rev. J.B. Mozley_, p. 113.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE THREE DEFEATS:

ISAAC WILLIAMS, MACMULLEN, PUSEY


The year 1841, though it had begun in storm, and though signs were not
wanting of further disturbance, was at Oxford, outwardly at least, a
peaceable one. A great change had happened; but, when the first burst of
excitement was over, men settled down to their usual work, their
lectures, or their reading, or their parishes, and by Easter things
seemed to go on as before. The ordinary habits of University life
resumed their course with a curious quietness. There was, no doubt, much
trouble brooding underneath. Mr. Ward and others continued a war of
pamphlets; and in June Mr. Ward was dismissed from his Mathematical
Lectureship at Balliol. But faith in the great leader was still strong.
No. 90, if it had shocked or disquieted some, had elicited equally
remarkable expressions of confidence and sympathy from others who might
have been, at least, silent. The events of the spring had made men
conscious of what their leader was, and called forth warm and
enthusiastic affection. It was not in vain that, whatever might be
thought of the wisdom or the reasonings of No. 90, he had shown the
height of his character and the purity and greatness of his religious
purpose; and that being what he was, in the eyes of all Oxford, he had
been treated with contumely, and had borne it with patience and loyal
submission. There were keen observers, to whom that patience told of
future dangers; they would have liked him to show more fight. But he
gave no signs of defeat, nor, outwardly, of disquiet; he forbore to
retaliate at Oxford: and the sermons at St. Mary's continued,
penetrating and searching as ever, perhaps with something more pathetic
and anxious in their undertone than before.

But if he forbore at Oxford, he did not let things pass outside. Sir
Robert Peel, in opening a reading-room at Tamworth, had spoken loosely,
in the conventional and pompous way then fashionable, of the
all-sufficing and exclusive blessings of knowledge. While Mr. Newman was
correcting the proofs of No. 90, he was also writing to the _Times_ the
famous letters of _Catholicus_; a warning to eminent public men of the
danger of declaiming on popular commonplaces without due examination of
their worth. But all seemed quiet. "In the summer of 1841," we read in
the _Apologia_, "I found myself at Littlemore without any harass or
anxiety on my mind. I had determined to put aside all controversy, and
set myself down to my translation of St. Athanasius." Outside of Oxford
there was a gathering of friends in the summer at the consecration of
one of Mr. Keble's district churches, Ampfield--an occasion less common
and more noticeable then than now. Again, what was a new thought then, a
little band of young Oxford men, ten or twelve, taxed themselves to
build a new church, which was ultimately placed at Bussage, in Mr.
Thomas Keble's parish. One of Mr. Keble's curates, Mr. Peter Young, had
been refused Priest's orders by the Bishop of Winchester, for alleged
unsoundness on the doctrine of the Eucharist. Mr. Selwyn, not without
misgivings on the part of the Whig powers, had been appointed Bishop of
New Zealand. Dr. Arnold had been appointed to the Chair of Modern
History at Oxford. In the course of the year there passed away one who
had had a very real though unacknowledged influence on much that had
happened--Mr. Blanco White. And at the end of the year, 29th October,
Mr. Keble gave his last lecture on Poetry, and finished a course the
most original and memorable ever delivered from his chair.

Towards the end of the year two incidents, besides some roughly-worded
Episcopal charges, disturbed this quiet. They were only indirectly
connected with theological controversy at Oxford; but they had great
ultimate influence on it, and they helped to marshal parties and
consolidate animosities. One was the beginning of the contest for the
Poetry Professorship which Mr. Keble had vacated. There was no one of
equal eminence to succeed him; but there was in Oxford a man of
undoubted poetical genius, of refined taste and subtle thought, though
of unequal power, who had devoted his gifts to the same great purpose
for which Mr. Keble had written the _Christian Year._ No one who has
looked into the _Baptistery_, whatever his feeling towards the writer,
can doubt whether Mr. Isaac Williams was a poet and knew what poetry
meant. He was an intimate friend of Mr. Keble and Mr. Newman, and so he
was styled a Tractarian; but no name offered itself so obviously to the
electors as his, and in due time his friends announced their intention
of bringing him forward. His competitor was Mr. (afterwards Archdeacon)
Garbett of Brasenose, the college of Heber and Milman, an accomplished
gentleman of high culture, believed to have an acquaintance, not common
then in Oxford, with foreign literature, whose qualifications stood high
in the opinion of his University friends, but who had given no evidence
to the public of his claims to the office. It was inevitable, it was no
one's special fault, that the question of theological opinions should
intrude itself; but at first it was only in private that objections were
raised or candidatures recommended on theological grounds. But rumours
were abroad that the authorities of Brasenose were canvassing their
college on these grounds: and in an unlucky moment for Mr. Williams, Dr.
Pusey, not without the knowledge, but without the assenting judgment of
Mr. Newman, thought it well to send forth a circular in Christ Church
first, but soon with wider publicity, asking support for Mr. Williams as
a person whose known religious views would ensure his making his office
minister to religious truth. Nothing could be more innocently meant. It
was the highest purpose to which that office could be devoted. But the
mistake was seen on all sides as soon as made. The Principal of Mr.
Garbett's college. Dr. Gilbert, like a general jumping on his antagonist
whom he has caught in the act of a false move, put forth a dignified
counter-appeal, alleging that he had not raised this issue, but adding
that as it had been raised and avowed on the other side, he was quite
willing that it should be taken into account, and the dangers duly
considered of that teaching with which Dr. Pusey's letter had identified
Mr. Williams. No one from that moment could prevent the contest from
becoming almost entirely a theological one, which was to try the
strength of the party of the movement. Attempts were made, but in vain,
to divest it of this character. The war of pamphlets and leaflets
dispersed in the common-rooms, which usually accompanied these contests,
began, and the year closed with preparations for a severe struggle when
the University met in the following January.

The other matter was the establishment of the Anglo-Prussian bishopric
at Jerusalem. It was the object of the ambition of M. Bunsen to pave the
way for a recognition, by the English Church, of the new State Church
of Prussia, and ultimately for some closer alliance between the two
bodies; and the plan of a Protestant Bishop of Jerusalem, nominated
alternately by England and Prussia, consecrated by English Bishops, and
exercising jurisdiction over English and German Protestants in
Palestine, was proposed by him to Archbishop Howley and Bishop
Blomfield, and somewhat hastily and incautiously accepted by them. To
Mr. Newman, fighting a hard battle, as he felt it, for the historical
and constitutional catholicity of the English Church, this step on their
part came as a practical and even ostentatious contradiction of his
arguments. England, it seemed, which was out of communion with the East
and with Rome, could lightly enter into close communion with Lutherans
and Calvinists against them both. He recorded an indignant and even
bitter protest; and though the scheme had its warm apologists, such as
Dr. Hook and Mr. F. Maurice, it had its keen-sighted critics, and it was
never received with favour by the Church at large. And, indeed, it was
only active for mischief. It created irritation, suspicion, discord in
England, while no German cared a straw about it. Never was an ambitious
scheme so marked by impotence and failure from its first steps to its
last. But it was one, as the _Apologia_ informs us,[101] in the chain of
events which destroyed Mr. Newman's belief in the English Church. "It
was one of the blows," he writes, "which broke me."

The next year, 1842, opened with war; war between the University
authorities and the party of the movement, which was to continue in
various forms and with little intermission till the strange and pathetic
events of 1845 suspended the righting and stunned the fighters, and for
a time hushed even anger in feelings of amazement, sorrow, and fear.
Those events imposed stillness on all who had taken part in the strife,
like the blowing up of the _Orient_ at the battle of the Nile.

As soon as the University met in January 1842, the contest for the
Poetry Professorship was settled. There was no meeting of Convocation,
but a comparison of votes gave a majority of three to two to Mr.
Garbett,[102] and Mr. Williams withdrew. The Tractarians had been
distinctly beaten; it was their first defeat as a party. It seems as if
this encouraged the Hebdomadal Board to a move, which would be felt as a
blow against the Tractarians, and which, as an act of reparation to Dr.
Hampden, would give satisfaction to the ablest section of their own
supporters, the theological Liberals. They proposed to repeal the
disqualification which had been imposed on Dr. Hampden in 1836. But they
had miscalculated. It was too evidently a move to take advantage of the
recent Tractarian discomfiture to whitewash Dr. Hampden's Liberalism.
The proposal, and the way in which it was made, roused a strong feeling
among the residents; a request to withdraw it received the signatures
not only of moderate Anglicans and independent men, like Mr. Francis
Faber of Magdalen, Mr. Sewell, the Greswells, and Mr. W. Palmer of
Worcester, but of Mr. Tait of Balliol, and Mr. Golightly. Dr. Hampden's
own attitude did not help it. There was great want of dignity in his
ostentatious profession of orthodoxy and attachment to the Articles, in
his emphatic adoption of Evangelical phraseology, and in his unmeasured
denunciation of his opponents, and especially of those whom he viewed as
most responsible for the censure of 1836--the "Tractarians" or
"Romanisers." And the difficulty with those who had passed and who now
proposed to withdraw the censure, was that Dr. Hampden persistently and
loudly declared that he had nothing to retract, and retracted nothing;
and if it was right to pass it in 1836, it would not be right to
withdraw it in 1842. At the last moment, Mr. Tait and Mr. Piers
Claughton of University made an attempt to get something from Dr.
Hampden which might pass as a withdrawal of what was supposed to be
dangerous in his Bampton Lectures; and there were some even among Mr.
Newman's friends, who, disliking from the first the form of the censure,
might have found in such a withdrawal a reason for voting for its
repeal. But Dr. Hampden was obdurate. The measure was pressed, and in
June it was thrown out in Convocation by a majority of three to
two[103]--the same proportion, though in smaller numbers, as in the vote
against Mr. Williams. The measure was not an honest one on the part of
the Hebdomadal Board, and deserved to be defeated. Among the pamphlets
which the discussion produced, two by Mr. James Mozley gave early
evidence, by their force of statement and their trenchant logic, of the
power with which he was to take part in the questions which agitated the
University.

Dr. Hampden took his revenge, and it was not a noble one. The fellows of
certain colleges were obliged to proceed to the B.D. degree on pain of
forfeiting their fellowships. The exercises for the degree, which, by
the Statutes, took the old-fashioned shape of formal Latin disputations
between Opponents and Respondents on given theses in the Divinity
School, had by an arrangement introduced by Dr. Burton, with no
authority from the Statutes, come to consist of two English essays on
subjects chosen by the candidate and approved by the Divinity Professor.
The exercises for the degree had long ceased to be looked upon as very
serious matters, and certainly were never regarded as tests of the
soundness of the candidate's faith. They were usually on well-worn
commonplaces, of which the Regius Professor kept a stock, and about
which no one troubled himself but the person who wanted the degree. It
was not a creditable system, but it was of a piece with the prevalent
absence of any serious examination for the superior degrees. It would
have been quite befitting his position, if Dr. Hampden had called the
attention of the authorities to the evil of sham exercises for degrees
in his own important Faculty. It would have been quite right to make a
vigorous effort on public grounds to turn these sham trials into
realities; to use them, like the examination for the B.A. degree, as
tests of knowledge and competent ability. Such a move on his part would
have been in harmony with the legislation which had recently added two
theological Professors to the Faculty, and had sketched out, however
imperfectly, the outlines of a revived theological school.

This is what, with good reason, Dr. Hampden might have attempted on
general grounds, and had he been successful (though this in the
suspicious state of University feeling was not very likely) he would
have gained in a regular and lawful way that power of embarrassing his
opponents which he was resolved to use in defiance of all existing
custom. But such was not the course which he chose. Mr. Macmullen of
Corpus, who, in pursuance of the College Statutes, had to proceed to the
B.D. degree, applied, as the custom was, for theses to the Professor.
Mr. Macmullen was known to hold the opinions of the movement school; of
course he was called a Tractarian; he had put his name to some of the
many papers which expressed the sentiments of his friends on current
events. Dr. Hampden sent him two propositions, which the candidate was
to support, framed so as to commit him to assertions which Mr.
Macmullen, whose high Anglican opinions were well known, could not
consistently make. It was a novel and unexampled act on the part of the
Professor, to turn what had been a mere formal exercise into a sharp and
sweeping test of doctrine, which would place all future Divinity degrees
in the University at his mercy; and the case was made more serious, when
the very form of exercise which the Professor used as an instrument of
such formidable power was itself without question unstatutable and
illegal, and had been simply connived at by the authorities. To
introduce by his own authority a new feature into a system which he had
no business to use at all, and to do this for the first time with the
manifest purpose of annoying an obnoxious individual, was, on Dr.
Hampden's part, to do more to discredit his chair and himself, than the
censure of the University could do; and it was as unwise as it was
unworthy. The strength of his own case before the public was that he
could be made to appear as the victim of a personal and partisan attack;
yet on the first opportunity he acts in the spirit of an inquisitor, and
that not in fair conflict with some one worthy of his hostility, but to
wreak an injury, in a matter of private interest, on an individual, in
no way known to him or opposed to him, except as holding certain
unpopular opinions.

Mr. Macmullen was not the person to take such treatment quietly. The
right was substantially on his side, and the Professor, and the
University authorities who more or less played into the hands of the
Professor in defence of his illegal and ultimately untenable claims,
appeared before the University, the one as a persecutor, the others as
rulers who were afraid to do justice on behalf of an ill-used man
because he was a Tractarian. The right course was perfectly clear. It
was to put an end to these unauthorised exercises, and to recall both
candidates and Professor to the statutable system which imposed
disputations conducted under the moderatorship of the Professor, but
which gave him no veto, at the time, on the theological sufficiency of
the disputations, leaving him to state his objections, if he was not
satisfied, when the candidate's degree was asked for in the House of
Congregation. This course, after some hesitation, was followed, but only
partially; and without allowing or disallowing the Professor's claim to
a veto, the Vice-Chancellor on his own responsibility stopped the
degree. A vexatious dispute lingered on for two or three years, with
actions in the Vice-Chancellor's Court, and distinguished lawyers to
plead for each side, and appeals to the University Court of Delegates,
who reversed the decision of the Vice-Chancellor's assessor. Somehow or
other, Mr. Macmullen at last got his degree, but at the cost of a great
deal of ill-blood in Oxford, for which Dr. Hampden, by his unwarranted
interference, and the University authorities, by their questionable
devices to save the credit and claims of one of their own body, must be
held mainly responsible.

Before the matter was ended, they were made to feel, in rather a
startling way, how greatly they had lost the confidence of the
University. One of the attempts to find a way out of the tangle of the
dispute was the introduction, in February 1844, of a Statute which
should give to the Professor the power which was now contested, and
practically place all the Divinity degrees under the control of a Board
in conjunction with the Vice-Chancellor.[104] The proposed legislation
raised such indignation in the University, that the Hebdomadal Board
took back their scheme for further revision, and introduced it again in
a modified shape, which still however gave new powers to the Professor
and the Vice-Chancellor. But the University would have none of it. No
one could say that the defeat of the altered Statute by 341 to 21 was
the work merely of a party.[105] It was the most decisive vote given in
the course of these conflicts. And it was observed that on the same day
Mr. Macmullen's degree was vetoed by the Vice-Chancellor at the instance
of Dr. Hampden at 10 o'clock in Congregation, and the Hebdomadal Board,
which had supported him, received the vote of want of confidence at noon
in Convocation.

Nothing could show more decisively that the authorities in the
Hebdomadal Board were out of touch with the feeling of the University,
or, at all events, of that part of it which was resident. The residents
were not, as a body, identified with the Tractarians; it would be more
true to say that the residents, as a body, looked on this marked school
with misgiving and apprehension; but they saw what manner of men these
Tractarians were; they lived with them in college and common-room; their
behaviour was before their brethren as a whole, with its strength and
its weakness, its moral elevation and its hazardous excitement, its
sincerity of purpose and its one-sidedness of judgment and sympathy, its
unfairness to what was English, its over-value for what was foreign.
Types of those who looked at things more or less independently were Mr.
Hussey of Christ Church, Mr. C.P. Eden of Oriel, Mr. Sewell of Exeter,
Mr. Francis Faber of Magdalen, Dr. Greenhill of Trinity, Mr. Wall of
Balliol, Mr. Hobhouse of Merton, with some of the more consistent
Liberals, like Mr. Stanley of University, and latterly Mr. Tait. Men of
this kind, men of high character and weight in Oxford, found much to
dislike and regret in the Tractarians. But they could also see that the
leaders of the Hebdomadal Board laboured under a fatal incapacity to
recognise what these unpopular Tractarians were doing for the cause of
true and deep religion; they could see that the judgment of the Heads of
Houses, living as they did apart, in a kind of superior state, was
narrow, ill-informed, and harsh, and that the warfare which they waged
was petty, irritating, and profitless; while they also saw with great
clearness that under cover of suppressing "Puseyism," the policy of the
Board was, in fact, tending to increase and strengthen the power of an
irresponsible and incompetent oligarchy, not only over a troublesome
party, but over the whole body of residents. To the great honour of
Oxford it must be said, that throughout these trying times, on to the
very end, there was in the body of Masters a spirit of fairness, a
recognition of the force both of argument and character, a dislike of
high-handedness and shabbiness, which was in strong and painful contrast
to the short-sighted violence in which the Hebdomadal Board was
unhappily induced to put their trust, and which proved at last the main
cause of the overthrow of their power. When changes began to threaten
Oxford, there was no one to say a word for them.

But, for the moment, in spite of this defeat in Convocation, they had no
misgivings as to the wisdom of their course or the force of their
authority. There was, no doubt, much urging from outside, both on
political and theological grounds, to make them use their power to stay
the plague of Tractarianism; and they were led by three able and
resolute men, unfortunately unable to understand the moral or the
intellectual character of the movement, and having the highest dislike
and disdain for it in both aspects--Dr. Hawkins, Provost of Oriel, the
last remaining disciple of Whately's school, a man of rigid
conscientiousness, and very genuine though undemonstrative piety, of
great kindliness in private life, of keen and alert intellect, but not
of breadth and knowledge proportionate to his intellectual power; Dr.
Symons, Warden of Wadham, a courageous witness for Evangelical divinity
in the days when Evangelicals were not in fashion in Oxford, a man of
ponderous and pedantic learning and considerable practical acuteness;
and Dr. Cardwell, Principal of St. Alban's Hall, more a man of the world
than his colleagues, with considerable knowledge of portions of English
Church history. Under the inspiration of these chiefs, the authorities
had adopted, as far as they could, the policy of combat; and the
Vice-Chancellor of the time, Dr. Wynter of St. John's, a kind-hearted
man, but quite unfit to moderate among the strong wills and fierce
tempers round him, was induced to single out for the severest blow yet
struck, the most distinguished person in the ranks of the movement, Dr.
Pusey himself.

Dr. Pusey was a person with whom it was not wise to meddle, unless his
assailants could make out a case without a flaw. He was without question
the most venerated person in Oxford. Without an equal, in Oxford at
least, in the depth and range of his learning, he stood out yet more
impressively among his fellows in the lofty moral elevation and
simplicity of his life, the blamelessness of his youth, and the profound
devotion of his manhood, to which the family sorrows of his later years,
and the habits which grew out of them, added a kind of pathetic and
solemn interest. Stern and severe in his teaching at one time,--at least
as he was understood,--beyond even the severity of Puritanism, he was
yet overflowing with affection, tender and sympathetic to all who came
near him, and, in the midst of continual controversy, he endeavoured,
with deep conscientiousness, to avoid the bitternesses of controversy.
He was the last man to attack; much more the last man to be unfair to.
The men who ruled in Oxford contrived, in attacking him, to make almost
every mistake which it was possible to make.

On the 24th of May 1843 Dr. Pusey, intending to balance and complement
the severer, and, to many, the disquieting aspects of doctrine in his
work on Baptism, preached on the Holy Eucharist as a comfort to the
penitent. He spoke of it as a disciple of Andrewes and Bramhall would
speak of it; it was a high Anglican sermon, full, after the example of
the Homilies, Jeremy Taylor, and devotional writers like George Herbert
and Bishop Ken, of the fervid language of the Fathers; and that was all.
Beyond this it did not go; its phraseology was strictly within Anglican
limits. In the course of the week that followed, the University was
surprised by the announcement that Dr. Faussett, the Margaret Professor
of Divinity, had "_delated_" the sermon to the Vice-Chancellor as
teaching heresy; and even more surprised at the news that the
Vice-Chancellor had commenced proceedings. The Statutes provided that
when a sermon was complained of, or _delated_ to the Vice-Chancellor,
the Vice-Chancellor should demand a copy of the sermon, and summoning to
him as his assessors Six Doctors of Divinity, should examine the
language complained of, and, if necessary, condemn and punish the
preacher. The Statute is thus drawn up in general terms, and prescribes
nothing as to the mode in which the examination into the alleged offence
is to be carried on; that is, it leaves it to the Vice-Chancellor's
discretion. What happened was this. The sermon was asked for, but the
name of the accuser was not given; the Statute did not enjoin it. The
sermon was sent, with a request from Dr. Pusey that he might have a
hearing. The Six Doctors were appointed, five of them being Dr. Hawkins,
Dr. Symons, Dr. Jenkyns, Dr. Ogilvie, Dr. Jelf; the Statute said the
Regius Professor was, if possible, to be one of the number; as he was
under the ban of a special Statute, he was spared the task, and his
place was taken by the next Divinity Professor, Dr. Faussett, the person
who had preferred the charge, and who was thus, from having been
accuser, promoted to be a judge. To Dr. Pusey's request for a hearing,
no answer was returned; the Statute, no doubt, said nothing of a
hearing. But after the deliberations of the judges were concluded, and
after the decision to condemn the sermon had been reached, one of them,
Dr. Pusey's old friend, Dr. Jelf, was privately charged with certain
communications from the Vice-Chancellor, on which the seal of absolute
secrecy was imposed, and which, in fact, we believe, have never been
divulged from that _day_ to this. Whatever passed between the
Vice-Chancellor, Dr. Jelf, and Dr. Pusey, it had no effect in arresting
the sentence; and it came out, in informal ways, and through Dr. Pusey
himself, that on the 2d of June Dr. Pusey had been accused and condemned
for having taught doctrine contrary to that of the Church of England,
and that by the authority of the Vice-Chancellor he was suspended from
preaching within the University for two years. But no formal
notification of the transaction was ever made to the University.

The summary suppression of erroneous and dangerous teaching had long
been a recognised part of the University discipline; and with the ideas
then accepted of the religious character of the University, it was
natural that some such power as that given in the Statutes should be
provided. The power, even after all the changes in Oxford, exists still,
and has been recently appealed to. Dr. Pusey, as a member of the
University, had no more right than any other preacher to complain of his
doctrine being thus solemnly called in question. But it is strange that
it should not have occurred to the authorities that, under the
conditions of modern times, and against a man like Dr. Pusey, such power
should be warily used. For it was not only arbitrary power, such as was
exerted in the condemnation of No. 90, but it was arbitrary power acting
under the semblance of a judicial inquiry, with accusers, examination,
trial, judges, and a heavy penalty. The act of a court of justice which
sets at defiance the rules of justice is a very different thing from a
straightforward act of arbitrary power, because it pretends to be what
it is not. The information against Dr. Pusey, if accepted, involved a
trial--that was the fixed condition and point of departure from which
there was no escaping--and if a trial be held, then, if it be not a fair
trial, the proceeding becomes, according to English notions, a flagrant
and cowardly wrong. All this, all the intrinsic injustice, all the
scandal and discredit in the eyes of honest men, was forgotten in the
obstinate and blind confidence in the letter of a vague Statute. The
accused was not allowed to defend or explain himself; he was refused the
knowledge of the definite charges against him; he was refused, in spite
of his earnest entreaties, a hearing, even an appearance in the presence
of his judges. The Statute, it was said, enjoined none of these things.
The name of his accuser was not told him; he was left to learn it by
report To the end of the business all was wrought in secrecy; no one
knows to this day how the examination of the sermon was conducted, or
what were the opinions of the judges. The Statute, it was said, neither
enjoined nor implied publicity. To this day no one knows what were the
definite passages, what was the express or necessarily involved heresy
or contradiction of the formularies, on which the condemnation was
based; nor--except on the supposition of gross ignorance of English
divinity on the part of the judges--is it easy for a reader to put his
finger on the probably incriminated passages. To make the proceedings
still more unlike ordinary public justice, informal and private
communications were carried on between the judge and the accused, in
which the accused was bound to absolute silence, and forbidden to
consult his nearest friends.

And of the judges what can be said but that they were, with one
exception, the foremost and sternest opponents of all that was
identified with Dr. Pusey's name; and that one of them was the colleague
who had volunteered to accuse him? Dr. Faussett's share in the matter is
intelligible; hating the movement in all its parts, he struck with the
vehemence of a mediaeval zealot. But that men like Dr. Hawkins and Dr.
Ogilvie, one of them reputed to be a theologian, the other one of the
shrewdest and most cautious of men, and in ordinary matters one of the
most conscientious and fairest, should not have seen what justice, or at
least the show of justice, demanded, and what the refusal of that demand
would look like, and that they should have persuaded the Vice-Chancellor
to accept the entire responsibility of haughtily refusing it, is, even
to those who remember the excitement of those days, a subject of wonder.
The plea was actually put forth that such opportunities of defence of
his language and teaching as Dr. Pusey asked for would have led to the
"inconvenience" of an interminable debate, and confronting of texts and
authorities.[106] The fact, with Dr. Pusey as the accused person, is
likely enough; but in a criminal charge with a heavy penalty, it would
have been better for the reputation of the judges to have submitted to
the inconvenience.

It was a great injustice and a great blunder--a blunder, because the
gratuitous defiance of accepted rules of fairness neutralised whatever
there might seem to be of boldness and strength in the blow. They were
afraid to meet Dr. Pusey face to face. They were afraid to publish the
reasons of their condemnation. The effect on the University, both on
resident and non-resident members, was not to be misunderstood. The
Protestantism of the Vice-Chancellor and the Six Doctors was, of course,
extolled by partisans in the press with reckless ignorance and reckless
contempt at once for common justice and their own consistency. One
person of some distinction at Oxford ventured to make himself the
mouthpiece of those who were bold enough to defend the proceeding--the
recently-elected Professor of Poetry, Mr. Garbett. But deep offence was
given among the wiser and more reasonable men who had a regard for the
character of the University. A request to know the grounds of the
sentence from men who were certainly of no party was curtly refused by
the Vice-Chancellor, with a suggestion that it did not concern them. A
more important memorial was sent from London, showing how persons at a
distance were shocked by the unaccountable indifference to the
appearance of justice in the proceeding. It was signed among others by
Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Justice Coleridge. The Vice-Chancellor lost his
temper. He sent back the memorial to London "by the hands of his bedel,"
as if that in some way stamped his official disapprobation more than if
it had been returned through the post. And he proceeded, in language
wonderful even for that moment, as "Resident Governor" of the
University, to reprimand statesmen and lawyers of eminence and high
character, not merely for presuming to interfere with his own duties,
but for forgetting the oaths on the strength of which they had received
their degrees, and for coming very near to that high, almost highest,
academical crime, the crime of being _perturbatores pacis_--breaking the
peace of the University.

Such foolishness, affecting dignity, only made more to talk of. If the
men who ruled the University had wished to disgust and alienate the
Masters of Arts, and especially the younger ones who were coming forward
into power and influence, they could not have done better. The chronic
jealousy and distrust of the time were deepened. And all this was
aggravated by what went on in private. A system of espionage,
whisperings, backbitings, and miserable tittle-tattle, sometimes of the
most slanderous or the most ridiculous kind, was set going all over
Oxford. Never in Oxford, before or since, were busybodies more truculent
or more unscrupulous. Difficulties arose between Heads of Colleges and
their tutors. Candidates for fellowships were closely examined as to
their opinions and their associates. Men applying for testimonials were
cross-questioned on No. 90, as to the infallibility of general councils,
purgatory, the worship of images, the _Ora pro nobis_ and the
intercession of the saints: the real critical questions upon which men's
minds were working being absolutely uncomprehended and ignored. It was a
miserable state of misunderstanding and distrust, and none of the
University leaders had the temper and the manliness to endeavour with
justice and knowledge to get to the bottom of it. It was enough to
suppose that a Popish Conspiracy was being carried on.

FOOTNOTES:

[101] Pp. 243, 253.

[102] Garbett, 921. Williams, 623.

[103] The numbers were 334 to 219.

[104] _Christian Remembrancer_, vol. ix. p. 175.

[105] Ibid. pp. 177-179.

[106] Cf. _British Critic_, No. xlvii. pp. 221-223.



CHAPTER XVII

W.G. WARD


If only the Oxford authorities could have had patience--if only they
could have known more largely and more truly the deep changes that were
at work everywhere, and how things were beginning to look in the eyes of
the generation that was coming, perhaps many things might have been
different. Yes, it was true that there was a strong current setting
towards Rome. It was acting on some of the most vigorous of the younger
men. It was acting powerfully on the foremost mind in Oxford. Whither,
if not arrested, it was carrying them was clear, but as yet it was by no
means clear at what rate; and time, and thought, and being left alone
and dealt with justly, have a great effect on men's minds. Extravagance,
disproportion, mischievous, dangerous exaggeration, in much that was
said and taught--all this might have settled down, as so many things are
in the habit of settling down, into reasonable and practical shapes,
after a first burst of crudeness and strain--as, in fact, it _did_
settle down at last. For Anglicanism itself was not Roman; friends and
foes said it was not, to reproach as well as to defend it. It was not
Roman in Dr. Pusey, though he was not afraid to acknowledge what was
good in Rome. It was not Roman in Mr. Keble and his friends, in Dr.
Moberly of Winchester, and the Barters. It was not Roman in Mr. Isaac
Williams, Mr. Copeland, and Mr. Woodgate, each of them a centre of
influence in Oxford and the country. It was not Roman in the devoted
Charles Marriott, or in Isaac Williams's able and learned pupil, Mr.
Arthur Haddan. It was not Roman in Mr. James Mozley, after Mr. Newman,
the most forcible and impressive of the Oxford writers. A distinctively
English party grew up, both in Oxford and away from it, strong in
eminent names, in proportion as Roman sympathies showed themselves.
These men were, in any fair judgment, as free from Romanising as any of
their accusers; but they made their appeal for patience and fair
judgment in vain. If only the rulers could have had patience:--but
patience is a difficult virtue in the presence of what seem pressing
dangers. Their policy was wrong, stupid, unjust, pernicious. It was a
deplorable mistake, and all will wish now that the discredit of it did
not rest on the history of Oxford. And yet it was the mistake of upright
and conscientious men.

Doubtless there was danger; the danger was that a number of men would
certainly not acquiesce much longer in Anglicanism, while the Heads
continued absolutely blind to what was really in these men's thoughts.
For the Heads could not conceive the attraction which the Roman Church
had for a religious man; they talked in the old-fashioned way about the
absurdity of the Roman system. They could not understand how reasonable
men could turn Roman Catholics. They accounted for it by supposing a
silly hankering after the pomp or the frippery of Roman Catholic
worship, and at best a craving after the romantic and sentimental. Their
thoughts dwelt continually on image worship and the adoration of saints.
But what really was astir was something much deeper--something much more
akin to the new and strong forces which were beginning to act in very
different directions from this in English society--forces which were not
only leading minds to Rome, but making men Utilitarians, Rationalists,
Positivists, and, though the word had not yet been coined, Agnostics.
The men who doubted about the English Church saw in Rome a strong,
logical, consistent theory of religion, not of yesterday nor to-day--not
only comprehensive and profound, but actually in full work, and fruitful
in great results; and this, in contrast to the alleged and undeniable
anomalies and shortcomings of Protestantism and Anglicanism. And next,
there was the immense amount which they saw in Rome of self-denial and
self-devotion; the surrender of home and family in the clergy; the great
organised ministry of women in works of mercy; the resolute abandonment
of the world and its attractions in the religious life. If in England
there flourished the homely and modest types of goodness, it was in Rome
that, at that day at least, men must look for the heroic. They were not
indisposed to the idea that a true Church which had lost all this might
yet regain it, and they were willing to wait and see what the English
Church would do to recover what it had lost; but there was obviously a
long way to make up, and they came to think that there was no chance of
its overtaking its true position. Of course they knew all that was so
loudly urged about the abuses and mischiefs growing out of the professed
severity of Rome. They knew that in spite of it foreign society was lax;
that the discipline of the confessional was often exercised with a light
rein. But if the good side of it was real, they easily accounted for the
bad: the bad did not destroy, it was a tacit witness to the good. And
they knew the Latin Church mainly from France, where it was more in
earnest, and exhibited more moral life and intellectual activity, than,
as far as Englishmen knew, in Italy or Spain. There was a strong rebound
from insular ignorance and unfairness, when English travellers came on
the poorly-paid but often intelligent and hard-working French clergy; on
the great works of mercy in the towns; on the originality and eloquence
of De Maistre, La Mennais, Lacordaire, Montalembert.

These ideas took possession of a remarkable mind, the index and organ of
a remarkable character. Mr. W.G. Ward had learned the interest of
earnest religion from Dr. Arnold, in part through his close friend
Arthur Stanley. But if there was ever any tendency in him to combine
with the peculiar elements of the Rugby School, it was interrupted in
its _nascent_ state, as chemists speak, by the intervention of a still
more potent affinity, the personality of Mr. Newman. Mr. Ward had
developed in the Oxford Union, and in a wide social circle of the most
rising men of the time--including Tait, Cardwell, Lowe, Roundell
Palmer--a very unusual dialectical skill and power of argumentative
statement: qualities which seemed to point to the House of Commons. But
Mr. Newman's ideas gave him material, not only for argument but for
thought. The lectures and sermons at St. Mary's subdued and led him
captive. The impression produced on him was expressed in the formula
that primitive Christianity might have been corrupted into Popery, but
that Protestantism never could.[107] For a moment he hung in the wind.
He might have been one of the earliest of Broad Churchmen. He might have
been a Utilitarian and Necessitarian follower of Mr. J.S. Mill. But
moral influences of a higher kind prevailed. And he became, in the most
thoroughgoing yet independent fashion, a disciple of Mr. Newman. He
brought to his new side a fresh power of controversial writing; but his
chief influence was a social one, from his bright and attractive
conversation, his bold and startling candour, his frank, not to say
reckless, fearlessness of consequences, his unrivalled skill in logical
fence, his unfailing good-humour and love of fun, in which his personal
clumsiness set off the vivacity and nimbleness of his joyous moods. "He
was," says Mr. Mozley, "a great musical critic, knew all the operas, and
was an admirable buffo singer."--No one could doubt that, having
started, Mr. Ward would go far and probably go fast.

Mr. Ward was well known in Oxford, and his language might have warned
the Heads that if there was a drift towards Rome, it came from something
much more serious than a hankering after a sentimental ritual or
mediaeval legends. In Mr. Ward's writings in the _British Critic_, as in
his conversation--and he wrote much and at great length--three ideas
were manifestly at the bottom of his attraction to Rome. One was that
Rome did, and, he believed, nothing else did, keep up the continuous
recognition of the supernatural element in religion, that consciousness
of an ever-present power not of this world which is so prominent a
feature in the New Testament, and which is spoken of there as a
permanent and characteristic element in the Gospel dispensation. The
Roman view of the nature and offices of the Church, of man's relations
to the unseen world, of devotion, of the Eucharist and of the Sacraments
in general, assumed and put forward this supernatural aspect; other
systems ignored it or made it mean nothing, unless in secret to the
individual and converted soul. In the next place he revolted--no weaker
word can be used--from the popular exhibition in England, more or less
Lutheran and Calvinistic, of the doctrine of justification. The
ostentatious separation of justification from morality, with all its
theological refinements and fictions, seemed to him profoundly
unscriptural, profoundly unreal and hollow, or else profoundly immoral.
In conscience and moral honesty and strict obedience he saw the only
safe and trustworthy guidance in regard to the choice and formation of
religious opinions; it was a principle on which all his philosophy was
built, that "careful and individual moral discipline is the only
possible basis on which Christian faith and practice can be reared." In
the third place he was greatly affected, not merely by the paramount
place of sanctity in the Roman theology and the professed Roman system,
but by the standard of saintliness which he found there, involving
complete and heroic self-sacrifice for great religious ends, complete
abandonment of the world, painful and continuous self-discipline,
purified and exalted religious affections, beside which English piety
and goodness at its best, in such examples as George Herbert and Ken and
Bishop Wilson, seemed unambitious and pale and tame, of a different
order from the Roman, and less closely resembling what we read of in the
first ages and in the New Testament. Whether such views were right or
wrong, exaggerated or unbalanced, accurate or superficial, they were
matters fit to interest grave men; but there is no reason to think that
they made the slightest impression on the authorities of the University.

On the other hand, Mr. Ward, with the greatest good-humour, was
unreservedly defiant and aggressive. There was something intolerably
provoking in his mixture of jauntiness and seriousness, his avowal of
utter personal unworthiness and his undoubting certainty of being in the
right, his downright charges of heresy and his ungrudging readiness to
make allowance for the heretics and give them credit for special virtues
greater than those of the orthodox. He was not a person to hide his own
views or to let others hide theirs. He lived in an atmosphere of
discussion with all around him, friends or opponents, fellows and tutors
in common-rooms, undergraduates after lecture or out walking. The most
amusing, the most tolerant man in Oxford, he had round him perpetually
some of the cleverest and brightest scholars and thinkers of the place;
and where he was, there was debate, cross-questioning, pushing
inferences, starting alarming problems, beating out ideas, trying the
stuff and mettle of mental capacity. Not always with real knowledge, or
a real sense of fact, but always rapid and impetuous, taking in the
whole dialectical chess-board at a glance, he gave no quarter, and a man
found himself in a perilous corner before he perceived the drift of the
game; but it was to clear his own thought, not--for he was much too
good-natured--to embarrass another. If the old scholastic disputations
had been still in use at Oxford, his triumphs would have been signal and
memorable. His success, compared with that of other leaders of the
movement, in influencing life and judgment, was a pre-eminently
intellectual success; and it cut two ways. The stress which he laid on
the moral side of questions, his own generosity, his earnestness on
behalf of fair play and good faith, elevated and purified intercourse.
But he did not always win assent in proportion to his power of argument.
Abstract reasoning, in matters with which human action is concerned, may
be too absolute to be convincing. It may not leave sufficient margin for
the play and interference of actual experience. And Mr. Ward, having
perfect confidence in his conclusions, rather liked to leave them in a
startling form, which he innocently declared to be manifest and
inevitable. And so stories of Ward's audacity and paradoxes flew all
over Oxford, shocking and perplexing grave heads with fear of they knew
not what. Dr. Jenkyns, the Master of Balliol, one of those curious
mixtures of pompous absurdity with genuine shrewdness which used to pass
across the University stage, not clever himself but an unfailing judge
of a clever man, as a jockey might be of a horse, liking Ward and proud
of him for his cleverness, was aghast at his monstrous and
unintelligible language, and driven half wild with it. Mr. Tait, a
fellow-tutor, though living on terms of hearty friendship with Ward,
prevailed on the Master after No. 90 to dismiss Ward from the office of
teaching mathematics. It seemed a petty step thus to mix up theology
with mathematics, though it was not so absurd as it looked, for Ward
brought in theology everywhere, and discussed it when his mathematics
were done. But Ward accepted it frankly and defended it. It was natural,
he said, that Tait, thinking his principles mischievous, should wish to
silence him as a teacher; and their friendship remained unbroken.

Mr. Ward's theological position was really a provisional one, though, at
starting at least, he would not have allowed it. He had no early or
traditional attachment to the English Church, such as that which acted
so strongly on the leaders of the movement: but he found himself a
member of it, and Mr. Newman had interpreted it to him. He so accepted
it, quite loyally and in earnest, as a point of departure. But he
proceeded at once to put "our Church" (as he called it) on its trial, in
comparison with its own professions, and with the ideal standard of a
Church which he had thought out for himself; and this rapidly led to
grave consequences. He accepted from authority which satisfied him both
intellectually and morally the main scheme of Catholic theology, as the
deepest and truest philosophy of religion, satisfying at once conscience
and intellect. The Catholic theology gave him, among other things, the
idea and the notes of the Church; with these, in part at least, the
English Church agreed; but in other respects, and these very serious
ones, it differed widely; it seemed inconsistent and anomalous. The
English Church was separate and isolated from Christendom. It was
supposed to differ widely from other Churches in doctrine. It admitted
variety of opinion and teaching, even to the point of tolerating alleged
heresy. With such data as these, he entered on an investigation which
ultimately came to the question whether the English Church could claim
to be a part of the Church Catholic. He postulated from the first, what
he afterwards developed in the book in which his Anglican position
culminated,--the famous _Ideal_,--the existence at some time or another
of a Catholic Church which not only aimed at, but fulfilled all the
conditions of a perfect Church in creed, communion, discipline, and
life. Of course the English and, as at starting he held, the Roman
Church, fell far short of this perfection. But at starting, the moral
which he drew was, not to leave the English Church, but to do his best
to raise it up to what it ought to be. Whether he took in all the
conditions of the problem, whether it was not far more complicated and
difficult than he supposed, whether his knowledge of the facts of the
case was accurate and adequate, whether he was always fair in his
comparisons and judgments, and whether he did not overlook elements of
the gravest importance in the inquiry; whether, in fact, save for
certain strong and broad lines common to the whole historic Church, the
reign of anomaly, inconsistency, difficulty did not extend much farther
over the whole field of debate than he chose to admit: all this is
fairly open to question. But within the limits which he laid down, and
within which he confined his reasonings, he used his materials with
skill and force; and even those who least agreed with him and were most
sensible of the strong and hardly disguised bias which so greatly
affected the value of his judgments, could not deny the frankness and
the desire to be fair and candid, with which, as far as intention went,
he conducted his argument. His first appearance as a writer was in the
controversy, as has been said before, on the subject of No. 90. That
tract had made the well-worn distinction between what was Catholic and
what was distinctively Roman, and had urged--what had been urged over
and over again by English divines--that the Articles, in their
condemnation of what was Roman, were drawn in such a way as to leave
untouched what was unquestionably Catholic. They were drawn indeed by
Protestants, but by men who also earnestly professed to hold with the
old Catholic doctors and disavowed any purpose to depart from their
teaching, and who further had to meet the views and gain the assent of
men who were much less Protestant than themselves--men who were willing
to break with the Pope and condemn the abuses associated with his name,
but by no means willing to break with the old theology. The Articles
were the natural result of a compromise between two strong parties--the
Catholics agreeing that the abuses should be condemned, so that the
Catholic doctrine was not touched; the Protestants insisting that, so
that the Catholic doctrine was not touched, the abuses of it should be
denounced with great severity: that there should be no question about
the condemnation of the abuses, and of the system which had maintained
them. The Articles were undoubtedly anti-Roman; that was obvious from
the historical position of the English Church, which in a very real
sense was anti-Roman; but were they so anti-Roman as to exclude
doctrines which English divines had over and over again maintained as
Catholic and distinguished from Romanism, but which the popular opinion,
at this time or that, identified therewith?[108] With flagrant
ignorance--ignorance of the history of thought and teaching in the
English Church, ignorance far more inexcusable of the state of parties
and their several notorious difficulties in relation to the various
formularies of the Church, it was maintained on the other side that the
"Articles construed by themselves" left no doubt that they were not only
anti-Roman but anti-Catholic, and that nothing but the grossest
dishonesty and immorality could allow any doubt on the subject.

Neither estimate was logical enough to satisfy Mr. Ward. The charge of
insincerity, he retorted with great effect on those who made it: if
words meant anything, the Ordination Service, the Visitation Service,
and the Baptismal Service were far greater difficulties to Evangelicals,
and to Latitudinarians like Whately and Hampden, than the words of any
Article could be to Catholics; and there was besides the tone of the
whole Prayer Book, intelligible, congenial, on Catholic assumptions, and
on no other. But as to the Articles themselves, he was indisposed to
accept the defence made for them. He criticised indeed with acuteness
and severity the attempt to make the loose language of many of them
intolerant of primitive doctrine; but he frankly accepted the allegation
that apart from this or that explanation, their general look, as regards
later controversies, was visibly against, not only Roman doctrines or
Roman abuses, but that whole system of principles and mode of viewing
religion which he called Catholic. They were, he said, _patient_ of a
Catholic meaning, but _ambitious_ of a Protestant meaning; whatever
their logic was, their rhetoric was Protestant. It was just possible,
but not more, for a Catholic to subscribe to them. But they were the
creation and the legacy of a bad age, and though they had not
extinguished Catholic teaching and Catholic belief in the English
Church, they had been a serious hindrance to it, and a support to its
opponents.

This was going beyond the position of No. 90. No. 90 had made light of
the difficulties of the Articles.

That there are real difficulties to a Catholic Christian in the
ecclesiastical position of our Church at this day, no one can deny; but
the statements of the Articles are not in the number. Our present scope
is merely to show that, while our Prayer Book is acknowledged on all
hands to be of Catholic origin, our Articles also--the offspring of an
uncatholic age--are, through God's good providence, to say the least,
not uncatholic, and may be subscribed by those who aim at being Catholic
in heart and doctrine.


Mr. Ward not only went beyond this position, but in the teeth of these
statements; and he gave a new aspect and new issues to the whole
controversy. The Articles, to him, were a difficulty, which they were
not to the writer of No. 90, or to Dr. Pusey, or to Mr. Keble. To him
they were not only the "offspring of an uncatholic age," but in
themselves uncatholic; and his answer to the charge of dishonest
subscription was, not that the Articles "in their natural meaning are
Catholic,"[109] but that the system of the English Church is a
compromise between what is Catholic and what is Protestant, and that
the Protestant parties in it are involved in even greater difficulties,
in relation to subscription and use of its formularies, than the
Catholic. He admitted that he _did_ evade the spirit, but accepted the
"statements of the Articles," maintaining that this was the intention of
their original sanctioners. With characteristic boldness, inventing a
phrase which has become famous, he wrote: "Our twelfth Article is as
plain as words can make it on the Evangelical side; of course I think
its natural meaning may be explained away, for I subscribe it myself in
a non-natural sense":[110] but he showed that Evangelicals, high church
Anglicans, and Latitudinarians were equally obliged to have recourse to
explanations, which to all but themselves were unsatisfactory.

But he went a step beyond this. Hitherto the distinction had been
uniformly insisted upon between what was Catholic and what was Roman;
between what was witnessed to by the primitive and the undivided Church,
and what had been developed beyond that in the Schools, and by the
definitions and decisions of Rome, and in the enormous mass of its
post-Reformation theology, at once so comprehensive, and so minute in
application. This distinction was the foundation of what was,
characteristically, Anglican theology, from Hooker downwards. This
distinction, at least for all important purposes, Mr. Ward gradually
gave up. It was to a certain degree recognised in his early controversy
about No. 90; but it gradually grew fainter till at last it avowedly
disappeared. The Anglican writers had drawn their ideas and their
inspiration from the Fathers; the Fathers lived long ago, and the
teaching drawn from them, however spiritual and lofty, wanted the modern
look, and seemed to recognise insufficiently modern needs. The Roman
applications of the same principles were definite and practical, and Mr.
Ward's mind, essentially one of his own century, and little alive to
what touched more imaginative and sensitive minds, turned at once to
Roman sources for the interpretation of what was Catholic. In the
_British Critic_, and still more in the remarkable volume in which his
Oxford controversies culminated, the substitution of _Roman_ for the old
conception of _Catholic_ appears, and the absolute identification of
Roman with Catholic. Roman authorities become more and more the measure
and rule of what is Catholic. They belong to the present in a way in
which the older fountains of teaching do not; in the recognised teaching
of the Latin Church, they have taken their place and superseded them.

It was characteristic of Mr. Ward that his chief quarrel with the
Articles was not about the Sacraments, not about their language on
alleged Roman errors, but about the doctrine of grace, the relation of
the soul of man to the law, the forgiveness, the holiness of God,--the
doctrine, that is, in all its bearings, of justification. Mr. Newman had
examined this doctrine and the various language held about it with great
care, very firmly but very temperately, and had attempted to reconcile
with each other all but the extreme Lutheran statements. It was, he
said, among really religious men, a question of words. He had recognised
the faulty state of things in the pre-Reformation Church, the faulty
ideas about forgiveness, merit, grace, and works, from which the
Protestant language was a reaction, natural, if often excessive; and in
the English authoritative form of this language, he had found nothing
but what was perfectly capable of a sound and true meaning. From the
first, Mr. Ward's judgment was far more severe than this. To him, the
whole structure of the Articles on Justification and the doctrines
connected with it seemed based on the Lutheran theory, and for this
theory, as fundamentally and hopelessly immoral, he could not find words
sufficiently expressive of detestation and loathing. For the basis of
his own theory of religious knowledge was a moral basis; men came to the
knowledge of religious truth primarily not by the intellect, but by
absolute and unfailing loyalty to conscience and moral light; and a
doctrine which separated faith from morality and holiness, which made
man's highest good and his acceptance with God independent of what he
was as a moral agent, which relegated the realities of moral discipline
and goodness to a secondary and subordinate place,--as a mere sequel to
follow, almost mechanically and of course, on an act or feeling which
had nothing moral in it,--which substituted a fictitious and imputed
righteousness for an inherent and infused and real one, seemed to him
to confound the eternal foundations of right and wrong, and to be a
blasphemy against all that was true and sacred in religion.

Of the Lutheran doctrine[111] of justification, and the principle of
private judgment, I have argued that, in their abstract nature and
necessary tendency, they sink below atheism itself.... A religious
person who shall be sufficiently clear-headed to understand the meaning
of words, is warranted in rejecting Lutheranism on the very same grounds
which would induce him to reject atheism, viz. as being the
contradiction of truths which he feels on most certain grounds to be
first principles.[112]

There is nothing which he looks back on with so much satisfaction in his
writings as on this, that he has "ventured to characterise that hateful
and fearful type of Antichrist in terms not wholly inadequate to its
prodigious demerits."[113]

Mr. Ward had started with a very definite idea of the Church and of its
notes and tests. It was obvious that the Anglican Church--and so, it was
thought, the Roman--failed to satisfy these notes in their
completeness; but it seemed, at least at first, to satisfy some of them,
and to do this so remarkably, and in such strong contrast to other
religious bodies, that in England at all events it seemed the true
representative and branch of the Church Catholic; and the duty of
adhering to it and serving it was fully recognised, even by those who
most felt its apparent departure from the more Catholic principles and
temper preserved in many points by the Roman Church. From this point of
view Mr. Ward avowedly began. But the position gradually gave way before
his relentless and dissolving logic. The whole course of his writing in
the _British Critic_ may be said to have consisted in a prolonged and
disparaging comparison of the English Church, in theory, in doctrine, in
moral and devotional temper, in discipline of character, in education,
in its public and authoritative tone in regard to social, political, and
moral questions, and in the type and standard of its clergy, with those
of the Catholic Church, which to him was represented by the mediaeval
and later Roman Church. And in the general result, and in all important
matters, the comparison became more and more fatally disadvantageous to
the English Church. In the perplexing condition of Christendom, it had
just enough good and promise to justify those who had been brought up in
it remaining where they were, as long as they saw any prospect of
improving it, and till they were driven out. That was a
duty--uncomfortable and thankless as it was, and open to any amount of
misconstruction and misrepresentation--which they owed to their
brethren, and to the Lord of the Church. But it involved plain speaking
and its consequences; and Mr. Ward never shrank from either.

Most people, looking back, would probably agree, whatever their general
judgment on these matters, and whatever they may think of Mr. Ward's
case, that he was, at the time at least, the most unpersuasive of
writers. Considering his great acuteness, and the frequent originality
of his remarks--considering, further, his moral earnestness, and the
place which the moral aspects of things occupy in his thoughts, this is
remarkable; but so it is. In the first place, in dealing with these
eventful questions, which came home with such awful force to thousands
of awakened minds and consciences, full of hope and full of fear, there
was an entire and ostentatious want of sympathy with all that was
characteristically English in matters of religion. This arose partly
from his deep dislike to habits, very marked in Englishmen, but not
peculiar to them, of self-satisfaction and national self-glorification;
but it drove him into a welcoming of opposite foreign ways, of which he
really knew little, except superficially. Next, his boundless confidence
in the accuracy of his logical processes led him to habits of extreme
and absolute statement, which to those who did not agree with him, and
also to some who did, bore on their face the character of
over-statement, exaggeration, extravagance, not redeemed by an
occasional and somewhat ostentatious candour, often at the expense of
his own side and in favour of opponents to whom he could afford to be
frank. And further, while to the English Church he was merciless in the
searching severity of his judgment, he seemed to be blind to the whole
condition of things to which she, as well as her rival, had for the last
three centuries been subjected, and in which she had played a part at
least as important for Christian faith as that sustained by any portion
of Christendom; blind to all her special and characteristic excellences,
where these did not fit the pattern of the continental types (obviously,
in countless instances, matters of national and local character and
habits); blind to the enormous difficulties in which the political game
of her Roman opponents had placed her; blind to the fact that, judged
with the same adverse bias and prepossessions, the same unsparing
rigour, the same refusal to give real weight to what was good, on the
ground that it was mixed with something lower, the Roman Church would
show just as much deflection from the ideal as the English. Indeed, he
would have done a great service--people would have been far more
disposed to attend to his really interesting, and, to English readers,
novel, proofs of the moral and devotional character of the Roman popular
discipline, if he had not been so unfair on the English: if he had not
ignored the plain fact that just such a picture as he gave of the
English Church, as failing in required notes, might be found of the
Roman before the Reformation, say in the writings of Gerson, and in our
own days in those of Rosmini. Mr. Ward, if any one, appealed to fair
judgment; and to this fair judgment he presented allegations on the face
of them violent and monstrous. The English Church, according to him, was
in the anomalous position of being "gifted with the power of dispensing
sacramental grace,"[114] and yet, at the same time, "_wholly destitute_
of external notes, and _wholly indefensible_ as to her position, by
external, historical, ecclesiastical arguments": and he for his part
declares, correcting Mr. Newman, who speaks of "outward notes as partly
gone and partly going," that he is "_wholly unable_ to discern the
outward notes of which Mr. Newman speaks, during any part of the last
three hundred years." He might as well have said at once that she did
not exist, if the outward aspects of a Church--orders, creeds,
sacraments, and, in some degree at any rate, preaching and witnessing
for righteousness--are not some of the "outward notes" of a Church.
"Should the pure light of the Gospel be ever restored to _this
benighted land_,"[115] he writes, at the beginning, as the last extract
was written at the end, of his controversial career at Oxford. Is not
such writing as if he wished to emulate in a reverse sense the folly and
falsehood of those who spoke of English Protestants having a monopoly
of the Gospel? He was unpersuasive, he irritated and repelled, in spite
of his wish to be fair and candid, in spite of having so much to teach,
in spite of such vigour of statement and argument, because on the face
of all his writings he was so extravagantly one-sided, so incapable of
an equitable view, so much a slave to the unreality of extremes.

FOOTNOTES:

[107] Cf. T. Mozley, _Reminiscences_, vol. ii. p. 5.

[108] In dealing with the Articles either as a test or as a text-book,
this question was manifestly both an honest and a reasonable one. As a
test, and therefore penal, they must be construed strictly; like
judicial decisions, they only ruled as much as was necessary, and in the
wide field of theology confined themselves to the points at issue at the
moment. And as a text-book for instruction, it was obvious that while on
some points they were precise and clear, on others they were vague and
imperfect. The first five Articles left no room for doubt. When the
compilers came to the controversies of their day, for all their strong
language, they left all kinds of questions unanswered. For instance,
they actually left unnoticed the primacy, and much more the
infallibility of the Pope. They condemned the "sacrifices of
Masses"--did they condemn the ancient and universal doctrine of a
Eucharistic sacrifice? They condemned the Romish doctrine of Purgatory,
with its popular tenet of material fire--did that exclude every doctrine
of purgation after death? They condemned Transubstantiation--did they
condemn the Real Presence? They condemned a great popular system--did
they condemn that of which it was a corruption and travesty? These
questions could not be foreclosed, unless on the assumption that there
was no doctrine on such points which could be called Catholic _except
the Roman_. The inquiry was not new; and divines so stoutly anti-Roman
as Dr. Hook and Mr. W. Palmer of Worcester had answered it substantially
in the same sense as Mr. Newman in No. 90.

[109] W.G. Ward, _The Ideal of a Christian Church_, p. 478.

[110] _The Ideal, etc._, p. 479.

[111] It is curious, and characteristic of the unhistorical quality of
Mr. Ward's mind, that his whole hostility should have been concentrated
on Luther and Lutheranism--on Luther, the enthusiastic, declamatory,
unsystematic denouncer of practical abuses, with his strong attachments
to portions of orthodoxy, rather than on Calvin, with his cold love of
power, and the iron consistency and strength of his logical
anti-Catholic system, which has really lived and moulded Protestantism,
while Lutheranism as a religion has passed into countless different
forms. Luther was to Calvin as Carlyle to J.S. Mill or Herbert Spencer;
he defied system. But Luther had burst into outrageous paradoxes, which
fastened on Mr. Ward's imagination.--Yet outrageous language is not
always the most dangerous. Nobody would really find a provocation to
sin, or an excuse for it, in Luther's _Pecca fortiter_ any more than in
Escobar's ridiculous casuistry. There may be much more mischief in the
delicate unrealities of a fashionable preacher, or in many a smooth
sentimental treatise on the religious affections.

[112] _The Ideal, etc._, pp. 587, 305.

[113] Ibid. p. 305.

[114] _Ideal,_ p 286.

[115] _British Critic_ October 1841, p. 340.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE IDEAL OF A CHRISTIAN CHURCH


No. 90, with the explanations of it given by Mr. Newman and the other
leaders of the movement, might have raised an important and not very
easy question, but one in no way different from the general character of
the matters in debate in the theological controversy of the time. But
No. 90, with the comments on it of Mr. Ward, was quite another matter,
and finally broke up the party of the movement. It was one thing to show
how much there is in common between England and Rome, and quite another
to argue that there is no difference. Mr. Ward's refusal to allow a
reasonable and a Catholic interpretation to the doctrine of the Articles
on Justification, though such an understanding of it had not only been
maintained by Bishop Bull and the later orthodox divines, but was
impressed on all the popular books of devotion, such as the _Whole Duty
of Man_ and Bishop Wilson's _Sacra Privata_; and along with this, the
extreme claim to hold compatible with the Articles the "whole cycle of
Roman doctrine," introduced entirely new conditions into the whole
question. _Non hoec in foedera_ was the natural reflection of numbers of
those who most sympathised with the Tractarian school. The English
Church might have many shortcomings and want many improvements; but
after all she had something to say for herself in her quarrel with Rome;
and the witness of experience for fifteen hundred years must be not
merely qualified and corrected, but absolutely wiped out, if the
allegation were to be accepted that Rome was blameless in all that
quarrel, and had no part in bringing about the confusions of
Christendom. And this contention was more and more enforced in Mr.
Ward's articles in the _British Critic_--enforced, more effectively than
by direct statement, by continual and passing assumption and
implication. They were papers of considerable power and acuteness, and
of great earnestness in their constant appeal to the moral criteria of
truth; though Mr. Ward was not then at his best as a writer, and they
were in composition heavy, diffuse, monotonous, and wearisome. But the
attitude of deep depreciation, steady, systematic, unrelieved, in regard
to that which ought, if acknowledged at all, to deserve the highest
reverence among all things on earth, in regard to an institution which,
with whatever faults, he himself in words still recognised as the Church
of God, was an indefensible and an unwholesome paradox. The analogy is a
commonly accepted one between the Church and the family. How could any
household go on in which there was at work an _animus_ of unceasing and
relentless, though possibly too just criticism, on its characteristic
and perhaps serious faults; and of comparisons, also possibly most just,
with the better ways of other families? It might be the honest desire of
reform and improvement; but charity, patience, equitableness, are
virtues of men in society, as well as strict justice and the desire of
improvement. In the case of the family, such action could only lead to
daily misery and the wasting and dying out of home affections. In the
case of a Church, it must come to the sundering of ties which ought no
longer to bind. Mr. Ward all along insisted that there was no necessity
for looking forward to such an event. He wished to raise, purify, reform
the Church in which Providence had placed him; utterly dissatisfied as
he was with it, intellectually and morally, convinced more and more that
it was wrong, dismally, fearfully wrong, it was his duty, he thought, to
abide in it without looking to consequences; but it was also his duty to
shake the faith of any one he could in its present claims and working,
and to hold up an incomparably purer model of truth and holiness. That
his purpose was what he considered real reform, there is no reason to
doubt, though he chose to shut his eyes to what must come of it. The
position was an unnatural one, but he had great faith in his own
well-fenced logical creations, and defied the objections of a homelier
common sense. He was not content to wait in silence the slow and sad
changes of old convictions, the painful decay and disappearance of
long-cherished ties. His mind was too active, restless, unreserved. To
the last he persisted in forcing on the world, professedly to influence
it, really to defy it, the most violent assertions which he could
formulate of the most paradoxical claims on friends and opponents which
had ever been made.

Mr. Ward's influence was felt also in another way; though here it is not
easy to measure the degree of its force. He was in the habit of
appealing to Mr. Newman to pronounce on the soundness of his principles
and inferences, with the view of getting Mr. Newman's sanction for them
against more timid or more dissatisfied friends; and he would come down
with great glee on objectors to some new and startling position, with
the reply, "Newman says so," Every one knows from the _Apologia_ what
was Mr. Newman's state of mind after 1841--a state of perplexity,
distress, anxiety; he was moving undoubtedly in one direction, but
moving slowly, painfully, reluctantly, intermittently, with views
sometimes clear, sometimes clouded, of that terribly complicated
problem, the answer to which was full of such consequences to himself
and to others. No one ever felt more keenly that it was no mere affair
of dexterous or brilliant logic; if logic could have settled it, the
question would never have arisen. But in this fevered state, with mind,
soul, heart all torn and distracted by the tremendous responsibilities
pressing on him, wishing above everything to be quiet, to be silent, at
least not to speak except at his own times and when he saw the
occasion, he had, besides bearing his own difficulties, to return
off-hand and at the moment some response to questions which he had not
framed, which he did not care for, on which he felt no call to
pronounce, which he was not perhaps yet ready to face, and to answer
which he must commit himself irrevocably and publicly to more than he
was prepared for. Every one is familiar with the proverbial distribution
of parts in the asking and the answering of questions; but when the
asker is no fool, but one of the sharpest-witted of mankind, asking with
little consideration for the condition or the wishes of the answerer,
with great power to force the answer he wants, and with no great
tenderness in the use he makes of it, the situation becomes a trying
one. Mr. Ward was continually forcing on Mr. Newman so-called
irresistible inferences; "If you say so and so, surely you must also say
something more?" Avowedly ignorant of facts and depending for them on
others, he was only concerned with logical consistency. And accordingly
Mr. Newman, with whom producible logical consistency was indeed a great
thing, but with whom it was very far from being everything, had
continually to accept conclusions which he would rather have kept in
abeyance, to make admissions which were used without their
qualifications, to push on and sanction extreme ideas which he himself
shrank from because they were extreme. But it was all over with his
command of time, his liberty to make up his mind slowly on the great
decision. He had to go at Mr. Ward's pace, and not his own. He had to
take Mr. Ward's questions, not when he wanted to have them and at his
own time, but at Mr. Ward's. No one can tell how much this state of
things affected the working of Mr. Newman's mind in that pause of
hesitation before the final step; how far it accelerated the view which
he ultimately took of his position. No one can tell, for many other
influences were mixed up with this one. But there is no doubt that Mr.
Newman felt the annoyance and the unfairness of this perpetual
questioning for the benefit of Mr. Ward's theories, and there can be
little doubt that, in effect, it drove him onwards and cut short his
time of waiting. Engineers tell us that, in the case of a ship rolling
in a sea-way, when the periodic times of the ship's roll coincide with
those of the undulations of the waves, a condition of things arises
highly dangerous to the ship's stability. So the agitations of Mr.
Newman's mind were reinforced by the impulses of Mr. Ward's.[116]

But the great question between England and Rome was not the only matter
which engaged Mr. Ward's active mind. In the course of his articles in
the _British Critic_ he endeavoured to develop in large outlines a
philosophy of religious belief. Restless on all matters without a
theory, he felt the need of a theory of the true method of reaching,
verifying, and judging of religious truth; it seemed to him necessary
especially to a popular religion, such as Christianity claimed to be;
and it was not the least of the points on which he congratulated himself
that he had worked out a view which extended greatly the province and
office of conscience, and of fidelity to it, and greatly narrowed the
province and office of the mere intellect in the case of the great mass
of mankind. The Oxford writers had all along laid stress on the
paramount necessity of the single eye and disciplined heart in accepting
or judging religion; moral subjects could be only appreciated by moral
experience; purity, reverence, humility were as essential in such
questions as zeal, industry, truthfulness, honesty; religious truth is a
gift as well as a conquest; and they dwelt on the great maxims of the
New Testament: "To him that hath shall be given"; "If any man will do
the will of the Father, he shall know of the doctrine." But though Mr.
Newman especially had thrown out deep and illuminating thoughts on this
difficult question, it had not been treated systematically; and this
treatment Mr. Ward attempted to give to it. It was a striking and
powerful effort, full of keen insight into human experience and acute
observations on its real laws and conditions; but on the face of it, it
was laboured and strained; it chose its own ground, and passed unnoticed
neighbouring regions under different conditions; it left undealt with
the infinite variety of circumstances, history, capacities, natural
temperament, and those unexplored depths of will and character,
affecting choice and judgment, the realities of which have been brought
home to us by our later ethical literature. Up to a certain point his
task was easy. It is easy to say that a bad life, a rebellious temper, a
selfish spirit are hopeless disqualifications for judging spiritual
things; that we must take something for granted in learning any truths
whatever; that men must act as moral creatures to attain insight into
moral truths, to realise and grasp them as things, and not abstractions
and words. But then came the questions--What is that moral training,
which, in the case of the good heart, will be practically infallible in
leading into truth? And what is that type of character, of saintliness,
which gives authority which we cannot do wrong in following; where, if
question and controversy arise, is the common measure binding on both
sides; and can even the saints, with their immense variations and
apparent mixtures and failings, furnish that type? And next, where, in
the investigations which may be endlessly diversified, does intellect
properly come in and give its help? For come in somewhere, of course it
must; and the conspicuous dominance of the intellectual element in Mr.
Ward's treatment of the subject is palpable on the face of it. His
attempt is to make out a theory of the reasonableness of unproducible;
because unanalysed, reasons; reasons which, though the individual cannot
state them, may be as real and as legitimately active as the obscure
rays of the spectrum. But though the discussion in Mr. Ward's hands was
suggestive of much, though he might expose the superciliousness of
Whately or the shallowness of Mr. Goode, and show himself no unequal
antagonist to Mr. J.S. Mill, it left great difficulties unanswered, and
it had too much the appearance of being directed to a particular end,
that of guarding the Catholic view of a popular religion from formidable
objections.

The moral side of religion had been from the first a prominent subject
in the teaching of the movement Its protests had been earnest and
constant against intellectual self-sufficiency, and the notion that mere
shrewdness and cleverness were competent judges of Christian truth, or
that soundness of judgment in religious matters was compatible with
arrogance or an imperfect moral standard; and it revolted against the
conventional and inconsistent severity of Puritanism, which was shocked
at dancing but indulged freely in good dinners, and was ostentatious in
using the phrases of spiritual life and in marking a separation from the
world, while it surrounded itself with all the luxuries of modern
inventiveness. But this moral teaching was confined to the statement of
principles, and it was carried out in actual life with the utmost
dislike of display and with a shrinking from strong professions. The
motto of Froude's _Remains_, which embodied his characteristic temper,
was an expression of the feeling of the school:

  Se sub serenis vultibus
  Austera virtus occulit:
  Timet videri, ne suum,
  Dum prodit, amittat decus,[117]

The heroic strictness and self-denial of the early Church were the
objects of admiration, as what ought to be the standard of Christians;
but people did not yet like to talk much about attempts to copy them.
Such a book as the _Church of the Fathers_ brought out with great force
and great sympathy the ascetic temper and the value put on celibacy in
the early days, and it made a deep impression; but nothing was yet
formulated as characteristic and accepted doctrine.

It was not unnatural that this should change. The principles exemplified
in the high Christian lives of antiquity became concrete in definite
rules and doctrines, and these rules and doctrines were most readily
found in the forms in which the Roman schools and teachers had embodied
them. The distinction between the secular life and the life of
"religion," with all its consequences, became an accepted one. Celibacy
came to be regarded as an obvious part of the self-sacrifice of a
clergyman's life, and the belief and the profession of it formed a test,
understood if not avowed, by which the more advanced or resolute members
of the party were distinguished from the rest. This came home to men on
the threshold of life with a keener and closer touch than questions
about doctrine. It was the subject of many a bitter, agonising struggle
which no one knew anything of; it was with many the act of a supreme
self-oblation. The idea of the single life may be a utilitarian one as
well as a religious one. It may be chosen with no thought of
renunciation or self-denial, for the greater convenience and freedom of
the student or the philosopher, the soldier or the man of affairs. It
may also be chosen without any special feeling of a sacrifice by the
clergyman, as most helpful for his work. But the idea of celibacy, in
those whom it affected at Oxford, was in the highest degree a religious
and romantic one. The hold which it had on the leader of the movement
made itself felt, though little was directly said. To shrink from it was
a mark of want of strength or intelligence, of an unmanly preference for
English home life, of insensibility to the generous devotion and purity
of the saints. It cannot be doubted that at this period of the movement
the power of this idea over imagination and conscience was one of the
strongest forces in the direction of Rome.

Of all these ideas Mr. Ward's articles in the _British Critic_ were the
vigorous and unintermittent exposition. He spoke out, and without
hesitation. There was a perpetual contrast implied, when it was not
forcibly insisted on, between all that had usually been esteemed highest
in the moral temper of the English Church, always closely connected with
home life and much variety of character, and the loftier and bolder but
narrower standard of Roman piety. And Mr. Ward was seconded in the
_British Critic_ by other writers, all fervid in the same cause, some
able and eloquent. The most distinguished of his allies was Mr. Oakeley,
Fellow of Balliol and minister of Margaret Chapel in London. Mr. Oakeley
was, perhaps, the first to realise the capacities of the Anglican ritual
for impressive devotional use, and his services, in spite of the
disadvantages of the time, and also of his chapel, are still remembered
by some as having realised for them, in a way never since surpassed, the
secrets and the consolations of the worship of the Church. Mr. Oakeley,
without much learning, was master of a facile and elegant pen. He was a
man who followed a trusted leader with chivalrous boldness, and was not
afraid of strengthening his statements. Without Mr. Ward's force and
originality, his articles were more attractive reading. His article on
"Jewel" was more than anything else a landmark in the progress of Roman
ideas.[118]

From the time of Mr. Ward's connexion with the _British Critic_, its
anti-Anglican articles had given rise to complaints which did not become
less loud as time went on. He was a troublesome contributor to his
editor, Mr. T. Mozley, and he made the hair of many of his readers
stand on end with his denunciations of things English and eulogies of
things Roman.

  My first troubles (writes Mr. Mozley) were with Oakeley and Ward. I
  will not say that I hesitated much as to the truth of what they wrote,
  for in that matter I was inclined to go very far, at least in the way
  of toleration. Yet it appeared to me quite impossible either that any
  great number of English Churchmen would ever go so far, or that the
  persons possessing authority in the Church would fail to protest, not
  to say more.... As to Ward I did but touch a filament or two in one of
  his monstrous cobwebs, and off he ran instantly to Newman to complain
  of my gratuitous impertinence. Many years after I was forcibly
  reminded of him by a pretty group of a little Cupid flying to his
  mother to show a wasp-sting he had just received. Newman was then in
  this difficulty. He did not disagree with what Ward had written; but,
  on the other hand, he had given neither me nor Ward to understand that
  he was likely to step in between us. In fact, he wished to be entirely
  clear of the editorship. This, however, was a thing that Ward could
  not or would not understand.[119]

The discontent of readers of the _British Critic_ was great. It was
expressed in various ways, and was represented by a pamphlet of Mr. W.
Palmer's of Worcester, in which he contrasted, with words of severe
condemnation, the later writers in the Review with the teaching of the
earlier _Tracts for the Times_, and denounced the "Romanising" tendency
shown in its articles. In the autumn of 1843 the Review came to an end.
A field of work was thus cut off from Mr. Ward. Full of the interest of
the ideas which possessed him, always equipped and cheerfully ready for
the argumentative encounter, and keenly relishing the _certaminis
gaudia_, he at once seized the occasion of Mr. Palmer's pamphlet to
state what he considered his position, and to set himself right in the
eyes of all fair and intelligent readers. He intended a long pamphlet.
It gradually grew under his hands--he was not yet gifted with the power
of compression and arrangement--into a volume of 600 pages: the famous
_Ideal of a Christian Church, considered in Comparison with Existing
Practice_, published in the summer of 1844.

The _Ideal_ is a ponderous and unattractive volume, ill arranged and
rambling, which its style and other circumstances have caused to be
almost forgotten. But there are interesting discussions in it which may
still repay perusal for their own sakes. The object of the book was
twofold. Starting with an "ideal" of what the Christian Church may be
expected to be in its various relations to men, it assumes that the
Roman Church, and only the Roman Church, satisfies the conditions of
what a Church ought to be, and it argues in detail that the English
Church, in spite of its professions, utterly and absolutely fails to
fulfil them. It is _plaidoirie_ against everything English, on the
ground that it cannot be Catholic because it is not Roman. It was not
consistent, for while the writer alleged that "our Church totally
neglected her duties both as guardian of and witness to morality, and as
witness and teacher of orthodoxy," yet he saw no difficulty in
attributing the revival of Catholic truth to "the inherent vitality and
powers of our own Church."[120] But this was not the sting and
provocation of the book. That lay in the developed claim, put forward by
implication in Mr. Ward's previous writings, and now repeated in the
broadest and most unqualified form, to hold his position in the English
Church, avowing and teaching all Roman doctrine.

  We find (he exclaims), oh, most joyful, most wonderful, most
  unexpected sight! we find the whole cycle of Roman doctrine gradually
  possessing numbers of English Churchmen.... Three years have passed
  since I said plainly that in subscribing the Articles I renounce no
  Roman doctrine; yet I retain my fellowship which I hold on the tenure
  of subscription, and have received no ecclesiastical censure in any
  shape.[121]

There was much to learn from the book; much that might bring home to the
most loyal Churchman a sense of shortcomings, a burning desire for
improvement; much that might give every one a great deal to think about,
on some of the deepest problems of the intellectual and religious life.
But it could not be expected that such a challenge, in such sentences as
these, should remain unnoticed.

The book came out in the Long Vacation, and it was not till the
University met in October that signs of storm began to appear. But
before it broke an incident occurred which inflamed men's tempers. Dr.
Wynter's reign as Vice-Chancellor had come to a close, and the next
person, according to the usual custom of succession, was Dr. Symons,
Warden of Wadham. Dr. Symons had never concealed his strong hostility to
the movement, and he had been one of Dr. Pusey's judges. The prospect of
a partisan Vice-Chancellor, certainly very determined, and supposed not
to be over-scrupulous, was alarming. The consent of Convocation to the
Chancellor's nomination of his substitute had always been given in
words, though no instance of its having been refused was known, at least
in recent times. But a great jealousy about the rights of Convocation
had been growing up under the late autocratic policy of the Heads, and
there was a disposition to assert, and even to stretch these rights, a
disposition not confined to the party of the movement. It was proposed
to challenge Dr. Symons's nomination. Great doubts were felt and
expressed about the wisdom of the proposal; but at length opposition was
resolved upon. The step was a warning to the Heads, who had been
provoking enough; but there was not enough to warrant such a violent
departure from usage, and it was the act of exasperation rather than of
wisdom. The blame for it must be shared between the few who fiercely
urged it, and the many who disapproved and acquiesced. On the day of
nomination, the scrutiny was allowed, _salvâ auctoritate Cancellarii_;
but Dr. Symons's opponents were completely defeated by 883 to 183. It
counted, not unreasonably, as a "Puseyite defeat."

The attempt and its result made it certain that in the attack that was
sure to come on Mr. Ward's book, he would meet with no mercy. As soon as
term began the Board of Heads of Houses took up the matter; they were
earnestly exhorted to it by a letter of Archbishop Whately's, which was
read at the Board. But they wanted no pressing, nor is it astonishing
that they could not understand the claim to hold the "whole cycle" of
Roman doctrine in the English Church. Mr. Ward's view was that he was
loyally doing the best he could for "our Church," not only in showing up
its heresies and faults, but in urging that the only remedy was
wholesale submission to Rome. To the University authorities this was
taking advantage of his position in the Church to assail and if possible
destroy it. And to numbers of much more sober and moderate Churchmen,
sympathisers with the general spirit of the movement, it was evident
that Mr. Ward had long passed the point when tolerance could be fairly
asked, consistently with any respect for the English Church, for such
sweeping and paradoxical contradictions, by her own servants, of her
claims and title. Mr. Ward's manner also, which, while it was serious
enough in his writings, was easy and even jocular in social intercourse,
left the impression, in reality a most unfair impression, that he was
playing and amusing himself with these momentous questions.

A Committee of the Board examined the book; a number of startling
propositions were with ease picked out, some preliminary skirmishing as
to matters of form took place, and in December 1844 the Board announced
that they proposed to submit to Convocation without delay three
measures:--(1) to condemn Mr. Ward's book; (2) to degrade Mr. Ward by
depriving him of all his University degrees; and (3) whereas the
existing Statutes gave the Vice-Chancellor power of calling on any
member of the University at any time to prove his orthodoxy by
subscribing the Articles, to add to this a declaration, to be henceforth
made by the subscriber, that he took them in the sense in which "they
were both first published and were now imposed by the University," with
the penalty of expulsion against any one, lay or clerical, who thrice
refused subscription with this declaration.

As usual, the Board entirely mistook the temper of the University, and
by their violence and want of judgment turned the best chance they ever
had, of carrying the University with them, into what their blunders
really made an ignominious defeat. If they had contented themselves with
the condemnation, in almost any terms, of Mr. Ward's book, and even of
its author, the condemnation would have been overwhelming. A certain
number of men would have still stood by Mr. Ward, either from friendship
or sympathy, or from independence of judgment, or from dislike of the
policy of the Board; but they would have been greatly outnumbered. The
degradation--the Board did not venture on the logical consequence,
expulsion--was a poor and even ridiculous measure of punishment; to
reduce Mr. Ward to an undergraduate _in statu pupillari_, and a
commoner's short gown, was a thing to amuse rather than terrify. The
personal punishment seemed unworthy when they dared not go farther,
while to many the condemnation of the book seemed penalty enough; and
the condemnation of the book by these voters was weakened by their
refusal to carry it into personal disgrace and disadvantage. Still, if
these two measures had stood by themselves, they could not have been
resisted, and the triumph of the Board would have been a signal one. But
they could not rest. They must needs attempt to put upon subscription,
just when its difficulties were beginning to be felt, not by one party,
but by all, an interpretation which set the University and Church in a
flame. The cry, almost the shriek, arose that it was a new test, and a
test which took for granted what certainly needed proof, that the sense
in which the Articles were first understood and published was exactly
the same as that in which the University now received and imposed them.
It was in vain that explanations, assurances, protests, were proffered;
no new test, it was said, was thought of--the Board would never think of
such a thing; it was only something to ensure good faith and honesty.
But it was utterly useless to contend against the storm. A test it was,
and a new test no one would have. It was clear that, if the third
proposal was pushed, it would endanger the votes about Mr. Ward. After
some fruitless attempts at justification the Board had, in the course
of a month, to recognise that it had made a great mistake. The
condemnation of Mr. Ward was to come on, on the 13th of February; and on
the 23d of January the Vice-Chancellor, in giving notice of it,
announced that the third proposal was withdrawn.

It might have been thought that this was lesson enough to leave well
alone. The Heads were sure of votes against Mr. Ward, more or less
numerous; they were sure of a victory which would be a severe blow, not
only to Mr. Ward and his special followers, but to the Tractarian party
with which he had been so closely connected. But those bitter and
intemperate spirits which had so long led them wrong were not to be
taught prudence even by their last experience. The mischief makers were
at work, flitting about the official lodgings at Wadham and Oriel. Could
not something be done, even at this late hour, to make up for the loss
of the test? Could not something be done to disgrace a greater name than
Mr. Ward's? Could not the opportunity which was coming of rousing the
feeling of the University against the disciple be turned to account to
drag forth his supposed master from his retirement and impunity, and
brand the author of No. 90 with the public stigma--no longer this time
of a Hebdomadal censure, but of a University condemnation? The
temptation was irresistible to a number of disappointed
partisans--kindly, generous, good-natured men in private life, but
implacable in their fierce fanaticism. In their impetuous vehemence
they would not even stop to think what would be said of the conditions
and circumstances under which they pressed their point. On the 23d of
January the Vice-Chancellor had withdrawn the test. On the 25th of
January--those curious in coincidences may observe that it was the date
of No. 90 in 1841--a circular was issued inviting signatures for a
requisition to the Board, asking them to propose, in the approaching
Convocation of the 13th of February, a formal censure of the principles
of No. 90. The invitation to sign was issued in the names of Dr.
Faussett and Dr. Ellerton of Magdalen. It received between four and five
hundred signatures, as far as was known; but it was withheld by the
Vice-Chancellor from the inspection of those who officially had a right
to have it before them. On the 4th of February its prayer came before
the Hebdomadal Board. The objection of haste--that not ten days
intervened between this new and momentous proposal and the day of
voting--was brushed aside. The members of the Board were mad enough not
to see, not merely the odiousness of the course, but the aggravated
odiousness of hurry. The proposal was voted by the majority, _sans
phrase._ And they ventured, amid all the excitement and irritation of
the moment, to offer for the sanction of the University a decree framed
in the words of their own censure.

The interval before the Convocation was short, but it was long enough
for decisive opinions on the proposal of the Board to be formed and
expressed. Leading men in London, Mr. Gladstone among them, were clear
that it was an occasion for the exercise of the joint veto with which
the Proctors were invested. The veto was intended, if for anything, to
save the University from inconsiderate and hasty measures; and seldom,
except in revolutionary times, had so momentous and so unexpected a
measure been urged on with such unseemly haste. The feeling of the
younger Liberals, Mr. Stanley, Mr. Donkin, Mr. Jowett, Dr. Greenhill,
was in the same direction. On the 10th of February the Proctors
announced to the Board their intention to veto the third proposal. But
of course the thing went forward. The Proctors were friends of Mr.
Newman, and the Heads believed that this would counterbalance any effect
from their act of authority. It is possible that the announcement may
have been regarded as a mere menace, too audacious to be fulfilled. On
the 13th of February, amid slush and snow, Convocation met in the
Theatre. Mr. Ward asked leave to defend himself in English, and occupied
one of the rostra, usually devoted to the recital of prize poems and
essays. He spoke with vigour and ability, dividing his speech, and
resting in the interval between the two portions in the rostrum.[122]
There was no other address, and the voting began. The first vote, the
condemnation of the book, was carried by 777 to 386. The second, by a
more evenly balanced division, 569 to 511. When the Vice-Chancellor put
the third, the Proctors rose, and the senior Proctor, Mr. Guillemard of
Trinity, stopped it in the words, _Nobis procuratoribus non placet_.
Such a step, of course, only suspended the vote, and the year of office
of these Proctors was nearly run. But they had expressed the feeling of
those whom they represented. It was shown not only in a largely-signed
address of thanks. All attempts to revive the decree at the expiration
of their year of office failed. The wiser heads in the Hebdomadal Board
recognised at last that they had better hold their hand. Mistakes men
may commit, and defeats they may undergo, and yet lose nothing that
concerns their character for acting as men of a high standard ought to
act. But in this case, mistakes and defeat were the least of what the
Board brought on themselves. This was the last act of a long and
deliberately pursued course of conduct; and if it was the last, it was
because it was the upshot and climax, and neither the University nor any
one else would endure that it should go on any longer. The proposed
attack on Mr. Newman betrayed how helpless they were, and to what paltry
acts of worrying it was, in their judgment, right and judicious to
condescend. It gave a measure of their statesmanship, wisdom, and good
feeling in defending the interests of the Church; and it made a very
deep and lasting impression on all who were interested in the honour and
welfare of Oxford. Men must have blinded themselves to the plainest
effects of their own actions who could have laid themselves open to such
a description of their conduct as is contained in the following extract
from a paper of the time--a passage of which the indignant and pathetic
undertone reflected the indignation and the sympathy of hundreds of men
of widely differing opinions.

  The vote is an answer to a cry--that cry is one of dishonesty, and
  this dishonesty the proposed resolution, as plainly as it dares to say
  anything, insinuates. On this part of the question, those who have
  ever been honoured by Mr. Newman's friendship must feel it dangerous
  to allow themselves thus to speak. And yet they must speak; for no one
  else can appreciate it as truly as they do. When they see the person
  whom they have been accustomed to revere as few men are revered, whose
  labours, whose greatness, whose tenderness, whose singleness and
  holiness of purpose, they have been permitted to know intimately--not
  allowed even the poor privilege of satisfying, by silence and
  retirement--by the relinquishment of preferment, position, and
  influence--the persevering hostility of persons whom they cannot help
  comparing with him--not permitted even to submit in peace to those
  irregular censures, to which he seems to have been even morbidly
  alive, but dragged forth to suffer an oblique and tardy condemnation;
  called again to account for matters now long ago accounted for; on
  which a judgment has been pronounced, which, whatever others may think
  of it, he at least has accepted as conclusive--when they contrast his
  merits, his submission, his treatment, which they see and know, with
  the merits, the bearing, the fortunes of those who are doggedly
  pursuing him, it does become very difficult to speak without sullying
  what it is a kind of pleasure to feel is _his_ cause by using hard
  words, or betraying it by not using them. It is too difficult to
  speak, as ought to be spoken, of this ungenerous and gratuitous
  afterthought--too difficult to keep clear of what, at least, will be
  _thought_ exaggeration; too difficult to do justice to what they feel
  to be undoubtedly true; and I will not attempt to say more than enough
  to mark an opinion which ought to be plainly avowed, as to the nature
  of this procedure.[123]

FOOTNOTES:

[116] A pencilled note indicates that this illustration was suggested by
experiments in naval engineering carried on at one time by Mr. W.
Froude. Cf. T. Mozley, _Reminiscences_, vol. ii. p. 17.

[117] Hymn in Paris Breviary, _Commune Sanctarum Mulierum_.

[118] _Reminiscences_, ii. 243, 244. Cf. _British Critic_, July 1841.

[119] _Reminiscences,_ ii. 223.

[120] _Ideal_, p. 566.

[121] _Ibid._ pp. 565-567.

[122] It is part of the history of the time, that during those anxious
days, Mr. Ward was engaged to be married. The engagement came to the
knowledge of his friends, to their great astonishment and amusement,
very soon after the events in the Theatre.

[123] From a _Short Appeal to Members of Convocation on the proposed
Censure on No. 90_. By Frederic Rogers, Fellow of Oriel. (Dated
Saturday, 8th of February 1845.)



CHAPTER XIX

THE CATASTROPHE


The events of February were a great shock. The routine of Oxford had
been broken as it had never been broken by the fiercest strifes before.
Condemnations had been before passed on opinions, and even on persons.
But to see an eminent man, of blameless life, a fellow of one of the
first among the Colleges, solemnly deprived of his degree and all that
the degree carried with it, and that on a charge in which bad faith and
treachery were combined with alleged heresy, was a novel experience,
where the kindnesses of daily companionship and social intercourse still
asserted themselves as paramount to official ideas of position. And
when, besides this, people realised what more had been attempted, and by
how narrow a chance a still heavier blow had been averted from one
towards whom so many hearts warmed, how narrowly a yoke had been escaped
which would have seemed to subject all religious thought in the
University to the caprice or the blind zeal of a partisan official, the
sense of relief was mixed with the still present memory of a desperate
peril And then came the question as to what was to come next. That the
old policy of the Board would be revived and pursued when the end of the
Proctors' year delivered it from their inconvenient presence, was soon
understood to be out of the question. The very violence of the measures
attempted had its reaction, which stopped anything further. The
opponents of Tractarianism, Orthodox and Liberal, were for the moment
gorged with their success. What men waited to see was the effect on the
party of the movement; how it would influence the advanced portion of
it; how it would influence the little company who had looked on in
silence from their retirement at Littlemore. The more serious aspect of
recent events was succeeded for the moment by a certain comic contrast,
created by Mr. Ward's engagement to be married, which was announced
within a week of his degradation, and which gave the common-rooms
something to smile at after the strain and excitement of the scene in
the Theatre. But that passed, and the graver outlook of the situation
occupied men's thoughts.

There was a widespread feeling of insecurity. Friends did not know of
friends, how their minds were working, how they might go. Anxious
letters passed, the writers not daring to say too much, or reveal too
much alarm. And yet there was still some hope that at least with the
great leader matters were not desperate. To his own friends he gave
warning; he had already done so in a way to leave little to expect but
at last to lose him; he spoke of resigning his fellowship in October,
though he wished to defer this till the following June; but nothing
final had been said publicly. Even at the last it was only anticipated
by some that he would retire into lay communion. But that silence was
awful and ominous. He showed no signs of being affected by what had
passed in Oxford. He privately thanked the Proctors for saving him from
what would have distressed him; but he made no comments on the measures
themselves. Still it could not but be a climax of everything as far as
Oxford was concerned. And he was a man who saw signs in such events.

It was inevitable that the events of the end of 1844 and the beginning
of 1845 should bring with them a great crisis in the development of
religious opinion, in the relations of its different forms to one
another, and further, in the thoughts of many minds as to their personal
position, their duty, and their prospects. There had been such a crisis
in 1841 at the publication of No. 90. After the discussions which
followed that tract, Anglican theology could never be quite the same
that it had been before. It was made to feel the sense of some grave
wants, which, however they might be supplied in the future, could no
longer be unnoticed or uncared for. And individuals, amid the strife of
tongues, had felt, some strongly and practically, but a much larger
number dimly and reluctantly, the possibility, unwelcome to most, but
not without interest to others, of having to face the strange and at
one time inconceivable task of revising the very foundations of their
religion. And such a revision had since that time been going on more or
less actively in many minds; in some cases with very decisive results.
But after the explosion caused by Mr. Ward's book, a crisis of a much
more grave and wide-reaching sort had arrived. To ordinary lookers-on it
naturally seemed that a shattering and decisive blow had been struck at
the Tractarian party and their cause; struck, indeed, formally and
officially, only at its extravagances, but struck, none the less,
virtually, at the premisses which led to these extravagances, and at the
party, which, while disapproving them, shrank, with whatever
motives,--policy, generosity, or secret sympathy,--from joining in the
condemnation of them. It was more than a defeat, it was a rout, in which
they were driven and chased headlong from the field; a wreck in which
their boasts and hopes of the last few years met the fate which wise men
had always anticipated. Oxford repudiated them. Their theories, their
controversial successes, their learned arguments, their appeals to the
imagination, all seemed to go down, and to be swept away like chaff,
before the breath of straightforward common sense and honesty.
Henceforth there was a badge affixed to them and all who belonged to
them, a badge of suspicion and discredit, and even shame, which bade men
beware of them, an overthrow under which it seemed wonderful that they
could raise their heads or expect a hearing. It is true, that to those
who looked below the surface, the overthrow might have seemed almost too
showy and theatrical to be quite all that it was generally thought to
be. There had been too much passion, and too little looking forward to
the next steps, in the proceedings of the victors. There was too much
blindness to weak points of their own position, too much forgetfulness
of the wise generosity of cautious warfare. The victory was easy to win;
the next moment it was quite obvious that they did not know what to do
with it, and were at their wits' end to understand what it meant. And
the defeated party, though defeated signally and conspicuously in the
sight of the Church and the country, had in it too large a proportion of
the serious and able men of the University, with too clear and high a
purpose, and too distinct a sense of the strength and reality of their
ground, to be in as disadvantageous a condition as from a distance might
be imagined. A closer view would have discovered how much sympathy there
was for their objects and for their main principles in many who greatly
disapproved of much in the recent course and tendency of the movement.
It might have been seen how the unwise measures of the Heads had
awakened convictions among many who were not naturally on their side,
that it was necessary both on the ground of justice and policy to arrest
all extreme measures, and to give a breathing time to the minority.
Confidence in their prospects as a party might have been impaired in the
Tractarians; but confidence in their principles; confidence that they
had rightly interpreted the spirit, the claims, and the duties of the
English Church, confidence that devotion to its cause was the call of
God, whatever might happen to their own fortunes, this confidence was
unshaken by the catastrophe of February.

But that crisis had another important result, not much noticed then, but
one which made itself abundantly evident in the times that followed. The
decisive breach between the old parties in the Church, both Orthodox and
Evangelical, and the new party of the movement, with the violent and
apparently irretrievable discomfiture of the latter as the rising force
in Oxford, opened the way and cleared the ground for the formation and
the power of a third school of opinion, which was to be the most
formidable rival of the Tractarians, and whose leaders were eventually
to succeed where the Tractarians had failed, in becoming the masters and
the reformers of the University. Liberalism had hitherto been
represented in Oxford in forms which though respectable from
intellectual vigour were unattractive, sometimes even repulsive. They
were dry, cold, supercilious, critical; they wanted enthusiasm; they
were out of sympathy with religion and the religious temper and aims.
They played, without knowing it, on the edge of the most dangerous
questions. The older Oxford Liberals were either intellectually
aristocratic, dissecting the inaccuracies or showing up the paralogisms
of the current orthodoxy, or they were poor in character, Liberals from
the zest of sneering and mocking at what was received and established,
or from the convenience of getting rid of strict and troublesome rules
of life. They patronised Dissenters; they gave Whig votes; they made
free, in a mild way, with the pet conventions and prejudices of Tories
and High Churchmen. There was nothing inspiring in them, however much
men might respect their correct and sincere lives. But a younger set of
men brought, mainly from Rugby and Arnold's teaching, a new kind of
Liberalism. It was much bolder and more independent than the older
forms, less inclined to put up with the traditional, more searching and
inquisitive in its methods, more suspicious and daring in its criticism;
but it was much larger in its views and its sympathies, and, above all,
it was imaginative, it was enthusiastic, and, without much of the
devotional temper, it was penetrated by a sense of the reality and
seriousness of religion. It saw greater hopes in the present and the
future than the Tractarians. It disliked their reverence for the past
and the received as inconsistent with what seemed evidence of the
providential order of great and fruitful change. It could not enter into
their discipline of character, and shrank from it as antiquated,
unnatural, and narrow. But these younger Liberals were interested in the
Tractarian innovators, and, in a degree, sympathised with them as a
party of movement who had had the courage to risk and sacrifice much for
an unworldly end. And they felt that their own opportunity was come when
all the parties which claimed to represent the orthodoxy of the English
Church appeared to have broken for good with one another, and when their
differences had thrown so much doubt and disparagement on so important
and revered a symbol of orthodoxy as the Thirty-nine Articles. They
looked on partly with amusement, partly with serious anxiety, at the
dispute; they discriminated with impartiality between the strong and the
weak points in the arguments on both sides: and they enforced with the
same impartiality on both of them the reasons, arising out of the
difficulties in which each party was involved, for new and large
measures, for a policy of forbearance and toleration. They inflicted on
the beaten side, sometimes with more ingenuity than fairness, the lesson
that the "wheel had come round full circle" with them; that they were
but reaping as they themselves had sown:--but now that there seemed
little more to fear from the Tractarians, the victorious authorities
were the power which the Liberals had to keep in check. They used their
influence, such as it was (and it was not then what it was afterwards),
to protect the weaker party. It was a favourite boast of Dean Stanley's
in after-times, that the intervention of the Liberals had saved the
Tractarians from complete disaster. It is quite true that the younger
Liberals disapproved the continuance of harsh measures, and some of them
exerted themselves against such measures. They did so in many ways and
for various reasons; from consistency, from feelings of personal
kindness, from a sense of justice, from a sense of interest--some in a
frank and generous spirit, others with contemptuous indifference. But
the debt of the Tractarians to their Liberal friends in 1845 was not so
great as Dean Stanley, thinking of the Liberal party as what it had
ultimately grown to be, supposed to be the case. The Liberals of his
school were then still a little flock: a very distinguished and a very
earnest set of men, but too young and too few as yet to hold the balance
in such a contest. The Tractarians were saved by what they were and what
they had done, and could do, themselves. But it is also true, that out
of these feuds and discords, the Liberal party which was to be dominant
in Oxford took its rise, soon to astonish old-fashioned Heads of Houses
with new and deep forms of doubt more audacious than Tractarianism, and
ultimately to overthrow not only the victorious authorities, but the
ancient position of the Church, and to recast from top to bottom the
institutions of the University. The 13th of February was not only the
final defeat and conclusion of the first stage of the movement. It was
the birthday of the modern Liberalism of Oxford.

But it was also a crisis in the history of many lives. From that moment,
the decision of a number of good and able men, who had once promised to
be among the most valuable servants of the English Church, became
clear. If it were doubtful before, in many cases, whether they would
stay with her, the doubt existed no longer. It was now only a question
of time when they would break the tie and renounce their old
allegiance. In the bitter, and in many cases agonising struggle which
they had gone through as to their duty to God and conscience, a sign
seemed now to be given them which they could not mistake. They were
invited, on one side, to come; they were told sternly and scornfully, on
the other, to go. They could no longer be accused of impatience if they
brought their doubts to an end, and made up their minds that their call
was to submit to the claims of Rome, that their place was in its
communion.

Yet there was a pause. It was no secret what was coming. But men
lingered. It was not till the summer that the first drops of the storm
began to fall. Then through the autumn and the next year, friends, whose
names and forms were familiar in Oxford, one by one disappeared and were
lost to it. Fellowships, livings, curacies, intended careers, were given
up. Mr. Ward went. Mr. Capes, who had long followed Mr. Ward's line, and
had spent his private means to build a church near Bridgewater, went
also. Mr. Oakeley resigned Margaret Chapel and went. Mr. Ambrose St.
John, Mr. Coffin, Mr. Dalgairns, Mr. Faber, Mr. T. Meyrick, Mr. Albany
Christie, Mr. R. Simpson of Oriel, were received in various places and
various ways, and in the next year, Mr. J.S. Northcote, Mr. J.B.
Morris, Mr. G. Ryder, Mr. David Lewis. On the 3d of October 1845 Mr.
Newman requested the Provost of Oriel to remove his name from the books
of the College and University, but without giving any reason. The 6th of
October is the date of the "Advertisement" to the work which had
occupied Mr. Newman through the year--the _Essay on the Development of
Christian Doctrine_. On the 8th he was, as he has told us in the
_Apologia_, received by Father Dominic, the Passionist. To the
"Advertisement" are subjoined the following words:

  _Postscript_.--Since the above was written the Author has joined the
  Catholic Church. It was his intention and wish to have carried his
  volume through the press before deciding finally on this step. But
  when he got some way in the printing, he recognised in himself a
  conviction of the truth of the conclusion, to which the discussion
  leads, so clear as to preclude further deliberation. Shortly
  afterwards circumstances gave him the opportunity of acting on it, and
  he felt that he had no warrant for refusing to act on it.

So the reality of what had been so long and often so lightly talked
about by those who dared it, provoked it, or hoped for it, had come
indeed; and a considerable portion of English society learned what it
was to be novices in a religious system, hitherto not only alien and
unknown, but dreaded, or else to have lost friends and relatives, who
were suddenly transformed into severe and uncompromising opponents,
speaking in unfamiliar terms, and sharply estranged in sympathies and
rules of life. Some of them, especially those who had caught the spirit
of their leader, began life anew, took their position as humble learners
in the Roman Schools, and made the most absolute sacrifice of a whole
lifetime that a man can make. To others the change came and was accepted
as an emancipation, not only from the bonds of Anglicanism, but from the
obligations of orders and priestly vows and devotion. In some cases,
where they were married, there was no help for it. But in almost all
cases there was a great surrender of what English life has to offer to
those brought up in it. Of the defeated party, those who remained had
much to think about, between grief at the breaking of old ties, and the
loss of dear friends, and perplexities about their own position. The
anxiety, the sorrow at differing and parting, seem now almost
extravagant and unintelligible. There are those who sneer at the
"distress" of that time. There had not been the same suffering, the same
estrangement, when Churchmen turned dissenters, like Bulteel and Baptist
Noel. But the movement had raised the whole scale of feeling about
religious matters so high, the questions were felt to be so momentous,
the stake and the issue so precious, the "Loss and Gain" so immense,
that to differ on such subjects was the differing on the greatest things
which men could differ about. But in a time of distress, of which few
analogous situations in our days can give the measure, the leaders stood
firm. Dr. Pusey, Mr. Keble, Mr. Marriott accepted, with unshaken faith
in the cause of the English Church, the terrible separation. They
submitted to the blow--submitted to the reproach of having been
associates of those who had betrayed hopes and done so much mischief;
submitted to the charge of inconsistency, insincerity, cowardice; but
they did not flinch. Their unshrinking attitude was a new point of
departure for those who believed in the Catholic foundation of the
English Church.

Among those deeply affected by these changes, there were many who had
been absolutely uninfluenced by the strong Roman current. They had
recognised many good things in the Roman Church; they were fully alive
to many shortcomings in the English Church; but the possibility of
submission to the Roman claims had never been a question with them. A
typical example of such minds was Mr. Isaac Williams, a pupil of Mr.
Keble, an intimate friend of Mr. Newman, a man of simple and saintly
life, with heart and soul steeped in the ancient theology of undivided
Christendom, and for that very reason untempted by the newer principles
and fashions of Rome. There were numbers who thought like him; but there
were others also, who were forced in afresh upon themselves, and who had
to ask themselves why they stayed, when a teacher, to whom they had
looked up as they had to Mr. Newman, and into whose confidence they had
been admitted, thought it his duty to go. With some the ultimate, though
delayed, decision was to follow him. With others, the old and fair
_proejudicium_ against the claims of Rome, which had always asserted
itself even against the stringent logic of Mr. Ward and the deep and
subtle ideas of Mr. Newman, became, when closed with, and tested face to
face in the light of fact and history, the settled conviction of life.
Some extracts from contemporary papers, real records of the private
perplexities and troubles actually felt at the time, may illustrate what
was passing in the minds of some whom knowledge and love of Mr. Newman
failed to make his followers in his ultimate step. The first extract
belongs to some years before, but it is part of the same train of
thinking.[124]

  As to myself, I am getting into a very unsettled state as to aims and
  prospects. I mean that as things are going on, a man does not know
  where he is going to; one cannot imagine what state of things to look
  forward to; in what way, and under what circumstances, one's coming
  life--if it does come--is to be spent; what is to become of one. I
  cannot at all imagine myself a convert; but how am I likely, in the
  probable state of things, to be able to serve as an English clergyman?
  Shall I ever get Priest's orders? Shall I be able to continue always
  serving? What is one's line to be; what ought to be one's aims; or can
  one have any?

  The storm is not yet come: how it may come, and how soon it may blow
  over, and what it may leave behind, is doubtful; but some sort of
  crisis, I think, must come before things settle. With the Bishops
  against us, and Puritanism aggressive, we may see strange things
  before the end.

When the "storm" had at length come, though, before its final violence,
the same writer continues:

  The present hopeless check and weight to our party--what has for the
  time absolutely crushed us--is the total loss of confidence arising
  from the strong tendency, no longer to be dissembled or explained
  away, among many of us to Rome. I see no chance of our recovery, or
  getting our heads above water from this, at least in England, for
  years to come. And it is a check which will one day be far greater
  than it is now. Under the circumstances--having not the most distant
  thought of leaving the English Church myself, and yet having no means
  of escaping the very natural suspicion of Romanising without giving up
  my best friends and the most saint-like men in England--how am I to
  view my position? What am I witnessing to? What, if need be, is one to
  suffer for? A man has no leaning towards Rome, does not feel, as
  others do, the strength of her exclusive claims to allegiance, the
  perfection of her system, its right so to overbalance all the good
  found in ours as to make ours absolutely untrustworthy for a Christian
  to rest in, notwithstanding all circumstances of habit, position, and
  national character; has such doubts on the Roman theory of the
  Church, the Ultramontane, and such instincts not only against many of
  their popular religious customs and practical ways of going on, but
  against their principles of belief (_e.g._ divine faith = relics), as
  to repel him from any wish to sacrifice his own communion for theirs;
  yet withal, and without any great right on his part to complain, is
  set down as a man who may any day, and certainly will some day, go
  over; and he has no lawful means of removing the suspicion:--why is it
  _tanti_ to submit to this?

  However little sympathy we Englishmen have with Rome, the Western
  Churches under Rome are really living and holy branches of the Church
  Catholic; corruptions they may have, so may we; but putting these
  aside, they are Catholic Christians, or Catholic Christianity has
  failed out of the world: we are no more [Catholic] than they. But
  this, _public opinion_ has not for centuries, and _does not now_,
  realise or allow. So no one can express in reality and detail a
  practical belief in their Catholicity, in their equality (setting one
  thing against another) with us as Christians, without being suspected
  of what such belief continually leads to--disloyalty to the English
  Church. Yet such belief is nevertheless well-grounded and right, and
  there is no great hope for the Church till it gains ground, soberly,
  powerfully, and apart from all low views of proselytising, or fear of
  danger. What therefore the disadvantage of those among us who do not
  really deserve the imputation of Romanising may be meant for, is to
  break this practical belief to the English Church. We may be silenced,
  but, without any wish to leave the English Church, we cannot give up
  the belief, that the Western Church under Rome is a true, living,
  venerable branch of the Christian Church. There are dangers in such a
  belief, but they must be provided against, they do not affect the
  truth of the belief.

Such searchings of heart were necessarily rendered more severe and acute
by Mr. Newman's act. There was no longer any respite; his dearest
friends must choose between him and the English Church. And the choice
was made, by those who did not follow him, on a principle little
honoured or believed in at the time on either side, Roman or
Protestant; but a principle which in the long-run restored hope and
energy to a cause which was supposed to be lost. It was not the revival
of the old _Via Media_; it was not the assertion of the superiority of
the English Church; it was not a return to the old-fashioned and
ungenerous methods of controversy with Rome--one-sided in all cases,
ignorant, coarse, unchristian in many. It was not the proposal of a new
theory of the Church--its functions, authority and teaching, a
counter-ideal to Mr. Ward's imposing _Ideal_ It was the resolute and
serious appeal from brilliant logic, and keen sarcasm, and pathetic and
impressive eloquence, to reality and experience, as well as to history,
as to the positive and substantial characteristics of the traditional
and actually existing English Church, shown not on paper but in work,
and in spite of contradictory appearances and inconsistent elements; and
along with this, an attempt to put in a fair and just light the
comparative excellences and defects of other parts of Christendom,
excellences to be ungrudgingly admitted, but not to be allowed to bar
the recognition of defects. The feeling which had often stirred, even
when things looked at the worst, that Mr. Newman had dealt unequally and
hardly with the English Church, returned with gathered strength. The
English Church was after all as well worth living in and fighting for as
any other; it was not only in England that light and dark, in teaching
and in life, were largely intermingled, and the mixture had to be
largely allowed for. We had our Sparta, a noble, if a rough and an
incomplete one; patiently to do our best for it was better than leaving
it to its fate, in obedience to signs and reasonings which the heat of
strife might well make delusive. It was one hopeful token, that boasting
had to be put away from us for a long time to come. In these days of
stress and sorrow were laid the beginnings of a school, whose main
purpose was to see things as they are; which had learned by experience
to distrust unqualified admiration and unqualified disparagement;
determined not to be blinded even by genius to plain certainties; not
afraid to honour all that is great and beneficent in Rome, not afraid
with English frankness to criticise freely at home; but not to be won
over, in one case, by the good things, to condone and accept the bad
things; and not deterred, in the other, from service, from love, from
self-sacrifice, by the presence of much to regret and to resist.

All this new sense of independence, arising from the sense of having
been left almost desolate by the disappearance of a great stay and light
in men's daily life, led to various and different results. In some
minds, after a certain trial, it actually led men back to that Romeward
tendency from which they had at first recoiled. In others, the break-up
of the movement under such a chief led them on, more or less, and some
very far, into a career of speculative Liberalism like that of Mr.
Blanco White, the publication of whose biography coincided with Mr.
Newman's change. In many others, especially in London and the towns, it
led to new and increasing efforts to popularise in various ways--through
preaching, organisation, greater attention to the meaning, the
solemnities, and the fitnesses of worship--the ideas of the Church
movement. Dr. Pusey and Mr. Keble were still the recognised chiefs of
the continued yet remodelled movement. It had its quarterly organ, the
_Christian Remembrancer_, which had taken the place of the old _British
Critic_ in the autumn of 1844. A number of able Cambridge men had thrown
their knowledge and thoroughness of work into the _Ecclesiologist_.
There were newspapers--the _English Churchman_, and, starting in 1846
from small and difficult beginnings, in the face of long discouragement
and at times despair, the _Guardian_. One mind of great and rare power,
though only recognised for what he was much later in his life, one
undaunted heart, undismayed, almost undepressed, so that those who knew
not its inner fires thought him cold and stoical, had lifted itself
above the wreck at Oxford. The shock which had cowed and almost crushed
some of Mr. Newman's friends roused and fired Mr. James Mozley.

  To take leave of Mr. Newman (he writes on the morrow of the event) is
  a heavy task. His step was not unforeseen; but when it is come those
  who knew him feel the fact as a real change within them--feel as if
  they were entering upon a fresh stage of their own life. May that very
  change turn to their profit, and discipline them by its hardness! It
  may do so if they will use it so. Let nobody complain; a time must
  come, sooner or later, in every one's life, when he has to part with
  advantages, connexions, supports, consolations, that he has had
  hitherto, and face a new state of things. Every one knows that he is
  not always to have all that he has now: he says to himself, "What
  shall I do when this or that stay, or connexion, is gone?" and the
  answer is, "That he will do without it." ... The time comes when this
  is taken away; and then the mind is left alone, and is thrown back
  upon itself, as the expression is. But no religious mind tolerates the
  notion of being really thrown upon itself; this is only to say in
  other words, that it is thrown back upon God.... Secret mental
  consolations, whether of innocent self-flattery or reposing
  confidence, are over; a more real and graver life begins--a firmer,
  harder disinterestedness, able to go on its course by itself. Let them
  see in the change a call to greater earnestness, sincerer simplicity,
  and more solid manliness. What were weaknesses before will be sins
  now.[125]

"A new stage has begun. Let no one complain":--this, the expression of
individual feeling, represents pretty accurately the temper into which
the Church party settled when the first shock was over. They knew that
henceforward they had difficult times before them. They knew that they
must work under suspicion, even under proscription. They knew that they
must expect to see men among themselves perplexed, unsettled, swept away
by the influences which had affected Mr. Newman, and still more by the
precedent of his example. They knew that they must be prepared to lose
friends and fellow-helpers, and to lose them sometimes unexpectedly and
suddenly, as the wont was so often at this time. Above all, they knew
that they had a new form of antagonism to reckon with, harder than any
they had yet encountered. It had the peculiar sad bitterness which
belongs to civil war, when men's foes are they of their own
households--the bitterness arising out of interrupted intimacy and
affection. Neither side could be held blameless; the charge from the one
of betrayal and desertion was answered by the charge from the other of
insincerity and faithlessness to conscience, and by natural but not
always very fair attempts to proselytise; and undoubtedly, the English
Church, and those who adhered to it, had, for some years after 1845, to
hear from the lips of old friends the most cruel and merciless
invectives which knowledge of her weak points, wit, argumentative power,
eloquence, and the triumphant exultation at once of deliverance and
superiority could frame. It was such writing and such preaching as had
certainly never been seen on the Roman side before, at least in England.
Whether it was adapted to its professed purpose may perhaps be doubted;
but the men who went certainly lost none of their vigour as
controversialists or their culture as scholars. Not to speak of Mr.
Newman, such men as Mr. Oakeley, Mr. Ward, Mr. Faber, and Mr. Dalgairns
more than fulfilled in the great world of London their reputation at
Oxford. This was all in prospect before the eyes of those who had
elected to cast in their lot with the English Church. It was not an
encouraging position. The old enthusiastic sanguineness had been
effectually quenched. Their Liberal critics and their Liberal friends
have hardly yet ceased to remind them how sorry a figure they cut in the
eyes of men of the world, and in the eyes of men of bold and effective
thinking.[126] The "poor Puseyites" are spoken of in tones half of pity
and half of sneer. Their part seemed played out. There seemed nothing
more to make them of importance. They had not succeeded in Catholicising
the English Church, they had not even shaken it by a wide secession.
Henceforth they were only marked men. All that could be said for them
was, that at the worst, they did not lose heart. They had not forgotten
the lessons of their earlier time.

It is not my purpose to pursue farther the course of the movement. All
the world knows that it was not, in fact, killed or even much arrested
by the shock of 1845. But after 1845, its field was at least as much out
of Oxford as in it. As long as Mr. Newman remained, Oxford was
necessarily its centre, necessarily, even after he had seemed to
withdraw from it. When he left his place vacant, the direction of it was
not removed from Oxford, but it was largely shared by men in London and
the country. It ceased to be strongly and prominently Academical. No
one in deed held such a position as Dr. Pusey's and Mr. Keble's; but
though Dr. Pusey continued to be a great power at Oxford, he now became
every day a much greater power outside of it; while Mr. Keble was now
less than ever an Academic, and became more and more closely connected
with men out of Oxford, his friends in London and his neighbours at
Hursley and Winchester. The cause which Mr. Newman had given up in
despair was found to be deeply interesting in ever new parts of the
country: and it passed gradually into the hands of new leaders more
widely acquainted with English society. It passed into the hands of the
Wilberforces, and Archdeacon Manning; of Mr. Bennett, Mr. Dodsworth, Mr.
W. Scott, Dr. Irons, Mr. E. Hawkins, and Mr. Upton Richards in London.
It had the sympathy and counsels of men of weight, or men who were
rising into eminence and importance--some of the Judges, Mr. Gladstone,
Mr. Roundell Palmer, Mr. Frederic Rogers, Mr. Mountague Bernard, Mr.
Hope Scott (as he afterwards was), Mr. Badeley, and a brilliant recruit
from Cambridge, Mr. Beresford Hope. It attracted the sympathy of another
boast of Cambridge, the great Bishop of New Zealand, and his friend Mr.
Whytehead. Those times were the link between what we are now, so changed
in many ways, and the original impulse given at Oxford; but to those
times I am as much of an outsider as most of the foremost in them were
outsiders to Oxford in the earlier days. Those times are almost more
important than the history of the movement; for, besides vindicating it,
they carried on its work to achievements and successes which, even in
the most sanguine days of "Tractarianism," had not presented themselves
to men's minds, much less to their hopes. But that story must be told by
others.

"Show thy servants thy work, and their children thy glory."

FOOTNOTES:

[124] Compare Mozley's _Reminiscences_, ii. 1-3.

[125] _Christian Remembrancer_, January 1846, pp. 167, 168.

[126] _E.g._ the Warden of Merton's _History of the University of
Oxford,_ p. 212. "The first panic was succeeded by a reaction; some
devoted adherents followed him (Mr. Newman) to Rome; others relapsed
into lifeless conformity; and the University soon resumed its wonted
tranquillity." "_Lifeless_ conformity" sounds odd connected with Dr.
Pusey or Mr. J.B. Mozley, and the London men who were the founders of
the so-called Ritualist schools.



INDEX


Addresses to Archbishop of Canterbury, by clergy and laity
Anglicanism, its features in 1830
  Newman's views on
  Newman's interpretation of
_Apologia_, quotations from
Apostolic Succession
  Newman's insistence on
  its foundation on Prayer Book
Apostolitity of English Church
Archbishop of Canterbury. _See_ Addresses, and Howley
_Arians_, the
Arnold, Dr., theories on the Church
  his proposal to unite all sects by law
  attack on Tractarians
  Professorship at Oxford
  his influence shown in rise of third school
Articles, the, and Dissenters
  subscription of. _See_ Dr. Hampden, and Thirty-nine Articles

Baptism, Tract on
_Baptistery_, the
Bennett, Mr.
Bentham. _see_ Utilitarianism
Bernard, Mr. Mountague
Bishoprics, suppression of ten Irish
Bishops' attitude to movement
  the first Tract on
Blachford, Lord, reminiscences of Froude
Bliss, James
Blomfield, Bishop
British Association, a sign of the times
_British Critic_ on the movement
_British Magazine_
Brougham, Lord
Bunsen, M., and the Bishopric of Jerusalem
Burton, Dr.

Cambridge, critical school of theology
Capes, Mr.
Cardwell, Dr.
Catastrophe, the
Catholicity of English Church
_Catholicus's_ letters to the _Times_
Celibacy, observations on
Celibate clergy scheme
Changes in movement
_Christian Remembrancer_
_Christian Year_
Christianity, Church of England, two schools of
Christie, Albany
Christie, J.F.
Church, the, in eighteenth century
  Dr. Whately's theories on
  Dr. Arnold's theories
  Coleridge's theories
  Apostolic origin of
  various conceptions of
  political attacks on
  public mind indifferent to
  Dr. Pusey's theories on
  theological aspect of
  practical aspect of
  and the Roman question
  Catholicity of
  and the doctrine of Development
_Church of the Fathers_
"Churchman's Manual"
  Scotch Bishops on
Churton, Mr. (of Crayke)
Claughton, Mr. Piers
Clergy of eighteenth century, character of
Close, Dr. (of Cheltenham)
Coffin, Mr.
Coleridge, Mr. Justice
Coleridge, S.T., influence on Charles Marriott
  Church theories
_Conservative Journal_, Newman's language towards Rome
Copeland, William John
Cornish, C.L.
Creeds, the, pamphlets on
  authority of

Dalgairns, Mr.
Defeats, the Three, 312-335. _See also_ Isaac Williams,
  Macmullen, and Pusey
Dickinson, Dr., "Pastoral Epistle from his Holiness the Pope"
Diffusion of Useful Knowledge Society
Dissenters and the Articles. _See also_ Thirty-nine Articles
Dodsworth, Mr.
Dominic, Father, receives Newman into Church of Rome
Donkin, Mr.
Doyle, Sir F., on Newman's sermons

_Ecclesiologist_ founded
Eden, C.P.
_Edinburgh Review_, article by Dr. Arnold on Tractarians
"Elucidations of Dr. Hampden's Theological Statements"
_English Churchman_ founded
Evangelicism in 1830, character of

Faber, Francis
Faber, Frederic
Fasting, Tract on
Faussett, Dr.
  attack on Dr. Pusey
Froude, Richard Hurrell
  pupil of Keble
  Fellow of Oriel
  first meeting with Newman
  early estimate of Newman
  travels with Newman
  influence on the movement
  his severe self-discipline
  character
  Mozley's remarks on
  correspondence
  his _Remains_ published
  effect of publication
  a modern estimate of the _Remains_
  events of 1830
  theory of the Church
  sermons and writings
  Lord Blachford's reminiscences of
Froude, William

Garbett, Mr., elected Professor of Poetry
Gilbert, Dr.
Gladstone, Mr.
Golightly, Mr.
Gorham, Mr.
_Grammar of Assent_ on Faith and Reason
Greenhill, Dr.
_Guardian_ founded
Guillemard, Mr.

Haddan, A.
Hadleigh, Conference of leaders at
  policy adopted
Hampden, Dr.
  advocates abolition of subscription of Articles
  his election as Professor of Divinity
  outcry against election of
  Bampton Lectures
  so-called "persecution" of
  modern estimate of the "persecution"
  deprived of vote for Select Preachers
  his action in the B.D. degree contest
Hare, Julius
Hawkins, Dr.
Hawkins, E.
Hill, Mr.
Hobhouse, Mr.
Holland House
"Home Thoughts Abroad"
Hook, Dr.
Hope, Mr. Beresford
Howley, Archbishop
Hussey, Mr.

_Ideal of a Christian Church_, _See_ W.G. Ward
Infallibility, views on
Irons, Dr.

Jebb, Bishop
Jelf, Dr.
Jenkyns, Dr.
Jerusalem, Bishopric of
Jerusalem, Bishopric of, Newman's protest against
Jolly, Bishop
Jowett, Mr.

Kaye, Bishop
Keble, John
  brilliant Oxford career
  suspicions of Evangelicism
  a strong Tory
  his poetic nature
  influence on Froude
  his pupils
  sermon on _National Apostasy_
  tract on "Mysticism of the Fathers"
  resigns Poetry Professorship
Keble, Thomas
Knox, Alexander

Law's _Serious Call_, Keble's remark on
Le Bas, Mr.
_Lectures on Justification_, Newman's, influence of
_Letter to the Bishop of Oxford_, Newman's
Letters of an Episcopalian
Lewis, D.
_Library of the Fathers_
Lloyd's, Bishop, Lectures, influence of
Lowe, R.
Lyall, Mr.
_Lyra Apostolica_

Macmullen, Mr.
  his contest on B.D. degree
Manning, Archdeacon
Marriott, Charles
  influenced by Coleridge and Dr. Hampden
  aversion to party action
  Scholar of Balliol
  Fellow of Oriel
  Newman's influence on
  Moberly's influence on
  Principal of Chichester Theological College
  scheme of poor students' hall
  Tutor of Oriel
  Vicar of St. Mary's
  his sermons
  rooms and parties
  share in _Library of the Fathers_
  Mozley's estimate of
  death
Marsh, Bishop
"Martyrs' Memorial," connexion with the movement
Maurice, F.D., views of
Melbourne, Lord
Meyrick, T.
Miller, John (of Worcester), Bampton Lectures, influence of
Moberly, Dr. (of Winchester)
Monophysite Controversy
Morris, John Brande
Mozley, James
  on Newman's sermons
  on "No. 90"
Mozley, Thomas
  on Charles Marriott
  on Froude
"Mysticism of the Fathers in the use and interpretation of Scripture,"
           Keble's Tract on

National Apostasy, Keble's sermon on
Newman, John Henry--
  his early preaching
  meeting with Froude
  Froude's early estimate of
  on Apostolic Succession, _q.v._
  on Infallibility
  attitude at different times to Rome
  early friends
  first Tract, written by
  his four o'clock sermons
  chief coadjutors of
  views on subscription of Articles
  on Dr. Hampden's theology
  character
  Lectures
  _Lectures on Justification_
  Anglicanism, views on
  resigns St. Mary's
  not a proselytiser
  _Letter to Bishop of Oxford_
  interpretation of Church formularies
  on the Articles, _See_ "No. 90"
  _Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine_
  joins Church of Rome
Nicknames
"No. 90"
  Newman's attitude on
  object to defend Catholicity of the Articles
  its reception
  charge of dishonesty against
  condemned by Board of Heads
  pamphlet war on
  the crisis of the movement
  events after

Oakeley, Mr.
  article on "Jewel"
Ogilvie, Dr.
Ordination, validity of
_Origines Liturgicae_
Oxford, Liberal School of Theology
  Orthodoxy
  as a Church School
Oxford Movement--
  political conditions of
  beginnings of
  Keble the primary author of
  early writings towards
  the leaders
  forced on the originators
  object of
  accession of Dr. Pusey and his influence
  gradual growth of
  attitude to Romanism
  changes in
  tendency to Romanism
  in origin anti-Roman
  attitude of University authorities towards
  attitude of Bishops towards
  mistakes in conduct of
Oxford Movement--
  rise of third school
  secessions to Rome

Palmer, William, share in movement
  _Origines Liturgicae_
  _Narrative_
  _Treatise on the Church of Christ_
Palmer, Mr. Roundell
Park, Judge Allan
_Parochial Sermons_
Pattison, Mark
Peel, Sir Robert
Perceval, A., share in movement
Phillpotts, Bishop
_Plain Sermons_
Poetry Professorship, contest for, made a theological one
_Prophetical Office of the Church_
"Prospects of the Anglican Church"
  Newman's after-thoughts on
Pusey, Dr.
  joins the movement
  effect of his adhesion
  his _Remonstrance_
  tract on Baptism
  attack on him
  sermon on the Holy Eucharist "delated" to Vice-Chancellor
  unfairness of proceedings against
  memorial to Vice-Chancellor, on his case

"Records of the Church"
Reform days, state of Church
Reformers, early, views of
_Remonstrance_
"Reserve in communicating Religious Knowledge," Isaac
  Williams's tract on
Richards, Mr. Upton
Rogers, Frederic
_Romanism and Popular Protestantism_
Romanism
  misconceptions of
  Newman's attitude towards
  tendency in party of movement towards
Rose, Hugh James
  an estimate of
  lectures on German speculation
  controversy with Dr. Pusey
  early death
Routh, Dr.
_Rusticus_, pamphlets by
Ryder, G.

St. John, Mr. Ambrose
Scott, Mr. Hope
Scott, W.
Seager, Charles
Selwyn, Bishop
Sewell, William
Shairp, Principal, on Newman's sermons
Sikes, Mr. (of Guilsborough)
Simpson, Mr.
Stanley, Mr. Arthur
Sterling, John
Subscription. _See_ Thirty-nine Articles
Sumner, J. Bird, Bishop
Symons, Dr.
  opposition to, as Vice-Chancellor

Tait, Mr. (of Balliol)
Theologians of 1830
Third party in Church--
  rise of
  influence
Thirlwall, Connop
Thirty-nine Articles, subscription of
  Dr. Hampden and subscription
  pamphlet war on subscription
  Newman on subscription
  their Catholicity
  _And see_ W.G. Ward "No. 90" on
Thomas, Vaughan
_Times_, letters of _Catholicus_ to
Tottenham, E.
Tractarian doctrines, discussion of
  Movement. _See_ Oxford
Tractarians, excitement against
Tract, text of the first
Tracts, the--
  topics of
  mode of circulating
  reception of
  accused of Romanism
  first volume of
  later numbers, character of
  public opinion against
  "No. 90," _q.v._
  contributors to
  on "Reserve," _q.v._
  on "Mysticism," _q.v._
_Treatise on the Church of Christ_

Utilitarianism, influence on religious belief

_Via Media_

Wall, Mr.
Ward, W.G.
  dismissed from Balliol Lectureship
  writings on Romanism
  his criticisms of English Church
  _Ideal of a Christian Church_
  on "No. 90"
  on the Articles
  hostility to Lutheranism
  his philosophy of religion
  his book condemned
  himself "degraded"
  joins Church of Rome
Watson, Joshua
Wellington, Duke of
Whately, Dr.--
  theories on Church
  opposed to Tractarians
  _Letters of an Episcopalian_
White, Blanco
Whytehead, Mr.
Wilberforce, Henry
Wilberforce, Robert
Williams, Isaac
Williams, Isaac, Keble's influence on
  Fellow of Trinity
  connexion with Newman
  divergences from Newman
  contributions to _Plain Sermons_
  aversion to Rome
  his poetry
  defeated for Poetry Professorship
  Tract on "Reserve"
Wilson, H.B.
Wilson, R.F.
Wiseman, Dr.
  article on Donatists
Wood, S.F.
Woodgate, Mr.
Wordsworth, Dr.
Wynter, Dr.


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