{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_12092/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_12092","id":"gutenberg_12092","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12092","summary":null,"tags":["Category: History - British","Category: History - Modern (1750+)","Category: History - Religious","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Oxford movement"],"text":"THE OXFORD MOVEMENT\n\nTWELVE YEARS 1833-1845\n\nR.W. CHURCH, M.A., D.C.L.\n\nSOMETIME DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S AND FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT\n\n\nThe revision of these papers was a task to which the late Dean of St.\nPaul's gave all the work he could during the last months of his life. At\nthe time of his death, fourteen of the papers had, so far as can be\njudged, received the form in which he wished them to be published; and\nthese, of course, are printed here exactly as he left them. One more he\nhad all but prepared for publication; the last four were mainly in the\ncondition in which, six years ago, he had them privately put into type,\nfor the convenience of his own further work upon them, and for the\nreading of two or three intimate friends. Those into whose care his work\nhas now come have tried, with the help of his pencilled notes, to bring\nthese four papers as nearly as they can into the form which they believe\nhe would have had them take. But it has seemed better to leave unaltered\na sentence here and there to which he might have given a more perfect\nshape, rather than to run the risk of swerving from the thought which\nwas in his mind.\n\nIt is possible that the Dean would have made considerable changes in\nthe preface which is here printed; for only that which seems the first\ndraft of it has been found. But even thus it serves to show his wish and\npurpose for the work he had in hand; and it has therefore been thought\nbest to publish it. Leave has been obtained to add here some fragments\nfrom a letter which, three years ago, he wrote to Lord Acton about these\npapers:\n\n\"If I ever publish them, I must say distinctly what I want to do, which\nis, not to pretend to write a history of the movement, or to account for\nit or adequately to judge it and put it in its due place in relation to\nthe religious and philosophical history of the time, but simply to\npreserve a contemporary memorial of what seems to me to have been a true\nand noble effort which passed before my eyes, a short scene of religious\nearnestness and aspiration, with all that was in it of self-devotion,\naffectionateness, and high and refined and varied character, displayed\nunder circumstances which are scarcely intelligible to men of the\npresent time; so enormous have been the changes in what was assumed and\nacted upon, and thought practicable and reasonable, 'fifty years since.'\nFor their time and opportunities, the men of the movement, with all\ntheir imperfect equipment and their mistakes, still seem to me the salt\nof their generation.... I wish to leave behind me a record that one who\nlived with them, and lived long beyond most of them, believed in the\nreality of their goodness and height of character, and still looks back\nwith deepest reverence to those forgotten men as the companions to whose\nteaching and example he owes an infinite debt, and not he only, but\nreligious society in England of all kinds.\"\n\n_January_ 31st, 1891.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe following pages relate to that stage in the Church revival of this\ncentury which is familiarly known as the Oxford Movement, or, to use its\nnickname, the Tractarian Movement. Various side influences and\nconditions affected it at its beginning and in its course; but the\nimpelling and governing force was, throughout the years with which these\npages are concerned, at Oxford. It was naturally and justly associated\nwith Oxford, from which it received some of its most marked\ncharacteristics. Oxford men started it and guided it. At Oxford were\nraised its first hopes, and Oxford was the scene of its first successes.\nAt Oxford were its deep disappointments, and its apparently fatal\ndefeat. And it won and lost, as a champion of English theology and\nreligion, a man of genius, whose name is among the illustrious names of\nhis age, a name which will always be connected with modern Oxford, and\nis likely to be long remembered wherever the English language is\nstudied.\n\nWe are sometimes told that enough has been written about the Oxford\nMovement, and that the world is rather tired of the subject. A good deal\nhas certainly been both said and written about it, and more is probably\nstill to come; and it is true that other interests, more immediate or\nmore attractive, have thrown into the background what is severed from us\nby the interval of half a century. Still that movement had a good deal\nto do with what is going on in everyday life among us now; and feelings\nboth of hostility to it, and of sympathy with it, are still lively and\nkeen among those to whom religion is a serious subject, and even among\nsome who are neutral in the questions which it raised, but who find in\nit a study of thought and character. I myself doubt whether the interest\nof it is so exhausted as is sometimes assumed. If it is, these pages\nwill soon find their appropriate resting-place. But I venture to present\nthem, because, though a good many judgments upon the movement have been\nput forth, they have come mostly from those who have been more or less\navowedly opposed to it.[1] The men of most account among those who were\nattracted by it and represented it have, with one illustrious exception,\npassed away. A survivor of the generation which it stirred so deeply may\nnot have much that is new to tell about it. He may not be able to affect\nmuch the judgment which will finally be accepted about it. But the fact\nis not unimportant, that a number of able and earnest men, men who both\nintellectually and morally would have been counted at the moment as part\nof the promise of the coming time, were fascinated and absorbed by it.\nIt turned and governed their lives, lifting them out of custom and\nconvention to efforts after something higher, something worthier of what\nthey were. It seemed worth while to exhibit the course of the movement\nas it looked to these men--as it seemed to them viewed from the inside.\nMy excuse for adding to so much that has been already written is, that I\nwas familiar with many of the chief actors in the movement. And I do not\nlike that the remembrance of friends and associates, men of singular\npurity of life and purpose, who raised the tone of living round them,\nand by their example, if not by their ideas, recalled both Oxford and\nthe Church to a truer sense of their responsibilities, should, because\nno one would take the trouble to put things on record, \"pass away like a\ndream.\"\n\nThe following pages were, for the most part, written, and put into\nprinted shape, in 1884 and 1885. Since they were written, books have\nappeared, some of them important ones, going over most of the same\nground; while yet more volumes may be expected. We have had ingenious\ntheories of the genesis of the movement, and the filiation of its ideas.\nAttempts have been made to alter the proportions of the scene and of the\nseveral parts played upon it, and to reduce the common estimate of the\nweight and influence of some of the most prominent personages. The\npoint of view of those who have thus written is not mine, and they tell\ntheir story (with a full right so to do) as I tell mine. But I do not\npurpose to compare and adjust our respective accounts--to attack theirs,\nor to defend my own. I have not gone through their books to find\nstatements to except to, or to qualify. The task would be a tiresome and\nunprofitable one. I understand their point of view, though I do not\naccept it. I do not doubt their good faith, and I hope that they will\nallow mine.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] It is hardly necessary to say that these and the following words\nwere written before Dr. Newman's death, and the publication of his\nletters.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER I\nTHE CHURCH IN THE REFORM DAYS\n\nCHAPTER II\nTHE BEGINNING OF THE MOVEMENT--JOHN KEBLE\n\nCHAPTER III\nRICHARD HURRELL FROUDE\n\nCHAPTER IV\nMR. NEWMAN'S EARLY FRIENDS--ISAAC WILLIAMS\n\nCHAPTER V\nCHARLES MARRIOTT\n\nCHAPTER VI\nTHE OXFORD TRACTS\n\nCHAPTER VII\nTHE TRACTARIANS\n\nCHAPTER VIII\nSUBSCRIPTION AT MATRICULATION AND ADMISSION OF DISSENTERS\n\nCHAPTER IX\nDR. HAMPDEN\n\nCHAPTER X\nGROWTH OF THE MOVEMENT, 1835-1840\n\nCHAPTER XI\nTHE ROMAN QUESTION\n\nCHAPTER XII\nCHANGES\n\nCHAPTER XIII\nTHE AUTHORITIES AND THE MOVEMENT\n\nCHAPTER XIV\nNO. 90\n\nCHAPTER XV\nAFTER NO. 90\n\nCHAPTER XVI\nTHE THREE DEFEATS: ISAAC WILLIAMS, MACMULLEN, PUSEY\n\nCHAPTER XVII\nW.G. WARD\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\nTHE IDEAL OF A CHRISTIAN CHURCH\n\nCHAPTER XIX\nTHE CATASTROPHE\n\n\n\n\nTHE OXFORD MOVEMENT\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE CHURCH IN THE REFORM DAYS\n\n\nWhat is called the Oxford or Tractarian movement began, without doubt,\nin a vigorous effort for the immediate defence of the Church against\nserious dangers, arising from the violent and threatening temper of the\ndays of the Reform Bill. It was one of several and widely differing\nefforts. Viewed superficially it had its origin in the accident of an\nurgent necessity.[2] The Church was really at the moment imperilled amid\nthe crude revolutionary projects of the Reform epoch;[3] and something\nbolder and more effective than the ordinary apologies for the Church\nwas the call of the hour. The official leaders of the Church were almost\nstunned and bewildered by the fierce outbreak of popular hostility. The\nanswers put forth on its behalf to the clamour for extensive and even\ndestructive change were the work of men surprised in a moment of\nsecurity. They scarcely recognised the difference between what was\nindefensible and what must be fought for to the death; they mistook\nsubordinate or unimportant points for the key of their position: in\ntheir compromises or in their resistance they wanted the guidance of\nclear and adequate principles, and they were vacillating and\nineffective. But stronger and far-seeing minds perceived the need of a\nbroad and intelligible basis on which to maintain the cause of the\nChurch. For the air was full of new ideas; the temper of the time was\nbold and enterprising. It was felt by men who looked forward, that to\nhold their own they must have something more to show than custom or\nalleged expediency--they must sound the depths of their own convictions,\nand not be afraid to assert the claims of these convictions on men's\nreason and imagination as well as on their associations and feelings.\nThe same dangers and necessities acted differently on different minds;\nbut among those who were awakened by them to the presence of a great\ncrisis were the first movers in what came to be known as the Tractarian\nmovement. The stir around them, the perils which seemed to threaten,\nwere a call to them to examine afresh the meaning of their familiar\nwords and professions.\n\nFor the Church, as it had been in the quiet days of the eighteenth\ncentury, was scarcely adapted to the needs of more stirring times. The\nidea of clerical life had certainly sunk, both in fact and in the\npopular estimate of it. The disproportion between the purposes for which\nthe Church with its ministry was founded and the actual tone of feeling\namong those responsible for its service had become too great. Men were\nafraid of principles; the one thing they most shrank from was the\nsuspicion of enthusiasm. Bishop Lavington wrote a book to hold up to\nscorn the enthusiasm of Methodists and Papists; and what would have\nseemed reasonable and natural in matters of religion and worship in the\nage of Cranmer, in the age of Hooker, in the age of Andrewes, or in the\nage of Ken, seemed extravagant in the age which reflected the spirit of\nTillotson and Secker, and even Porteus. The typical clergyman in English\npictures of the manners of the day, in the _Vicar of Wakefield,_ in Miss\nAusten's novels, in Crabbe's _Parish Register,_ is represented, often\nquite unsuspiciously, as a kindly and respectable person, but certainly\nnot alive to the greatness of his calling. He was often much, very much,\nto the society round him. When communication was so difficult and\ninfrequent, he filled a place in the country life of England which no\none else could fill. He was often the patriarch of his parish, its\nruler, its doctor, its lawyer, its magistrate, as well as its teacher,\nbefore whom vice trembled and rebellion dared not show itself. The idea\nof the priest was not quite forgotten; but there was much--much even of\nwhat was good and useful--to obscure it. The beauty of the English\nChurch in this time was its family life of purity and simplicity; its\nblot was quiet worldliness. It has sometimes been the fashion in later\ndays of strife and disquiet to regret that unpretending estimate of\nclerical duty and those easy-going days; as it has sometimes been the\nfashion to regret the pomp and dignity with which well-born or scholarly\nbishops, furnished with ample leisure and splendid revenues, presided in\nunapproachable state over their clergy and held their own among the\ngreat county families. Most things have a side for which something can\nbe said; and we may truthfully and thankfully recall that among the\nclergy of those days there were not a few but many instances, not only\nof gentle manners, and warm benevolence, and cultivated intelligence,\nbut of simple piety and holy life.[4] But the fortunes of the Church are\nnot safe in the hands of a clergy, of which a great part take their\nobligations easily. It was slumbering and sleeping when the visitation\nof days of change and trouble came upon it.\n\nAgainst this state of things the Oxford movement was a determined\nrevolt; but, as has been said, it was not the only one, nor the first. A\nprofound discontent at the state of religion in England had taken\npossession of many powerful and serious minds in the generation which\nwas rising into manhood at the close of the first quarter of the\ncentury; and others besides the leaders of the movement were feeling\ntheir way to firmer ground. Other writers of very different principles,\nand with different objects, had become alive, among other things, to the\nimportance of true ideas about the Church, impatient at the ignorance\nand shallowness of the current views of it, and alarmed at the dangers\nwhich menaced it. Two Oxford teachers who commanded much attention by\ntheir force and boldness--Dr. Whately and Dr. Arnold--had developed\ntheir theories about the nature, constitution, and functions of the\nChurch. They were dissatisfied with the general stagnation of religious\nopinion, on this as on other subjects. They agreed in resenting the\nunintelligent shortsightedness which relegated such a matter to a third\nor fourth rank in the scale of religious teaching. They agreed also in\nseizing the spiritual aspect of the Church, and in raising the idea of\nit above the level of the poor and worldly conceptions on the assumption\nof which questions relating to it were popularly discussed. But in their\nfundamental principles they were far apart. I assume, on the authority\nof Cardinal Newman, what was widely believed in Oxford, and never\napparently denied, that the volume entitled _Letters of an\nEpiscopalian_,[5] 1826, was, in some sense at least, the work of Dr.\nWhately. In it is sketched forth the conception of an organised body,\nintroduced into the world by Christ Himself, endowed with definite\nspiritual powers and with no other, and, whether connected with the\nState or not, having an independent existence and inalienable claims,\nwith its own objects and laws, with its own moral standard and spirit\nand character. From this book Cardinal Newman tells us that he learnt\nhis theory of the Church, though it was, after all, but the theory\nreceived from the first appearance of Christian history; and he records\nalso the deep impression which it made on others. Dr. Arnold's view was\na much simpler one. He divided the world into Christians and\nnon-Christians: Christians were all who professed to believe in Christ\nas a Divine Person and to worship Him,[6] and the brotherhood, the\n\"Societas\" of Christians, was all that was meant by \"the Church\" in the\nNew Testament. It mattered, of course, to the conscience of each\nChristian what he had made up his mind to believe, but to no one else.\nChurch organisation was, according to circumstances, partly inevitable\nor expedient, partly mischievous, but in no case of divine authority.\nTeaching, ministering the word, was a thing of divine appointment, but\nnot so the mode of exercising it, either as to persons, forms, or\nmethods. Sacraments there were, signs and pledges of divine love and\nhelp, in every action of life, in every sight of nature, and eminently\ntwo most touching ones, recommended to Christians by the Redeemer\nHimself; but except as a matter of mere order, one man might deal with\nthese as lawfully as another. Church history there was, fruitful in\ninterest, instruction, and warning; for it was the record of the long\nstruggle of the true idea of the Church against the false, and of the\nfatal disappearance of the true before the forces of blindness and\nwickedness.[7] Dr. Arnold's was a passionate attempt to place the true\nidea in the light. Of the difficulties of his theory he made light\naccount. There was the vivid central truth which glowed through his soul\nand quickened all his thoughts. He became its champion and militant\napostle. These doctrines, combined with his strong political liberalism,\nmade the Midlands hot for Dr. Arnold. But he liked the fighting, as he\nthought, against the narrow and frightened orthodoxy round him. And he\nwas in the thick of this fighting when another set of ideas about the\nChurch--the ideas on which alone it seemed to a number of earnest and\nanxious minds that the cause of the Church could be maintained--the\nideas which were the beginning of the Oxford movement, crossed his path.\nIt was the old orthodox tradition of the Church, with fresh life put\ninto it, which he flattered himself that he had so triumphantly\ndemolished. This intrusion of a despised rival to his own teaching about\nthe Church--teaching in which he believed with deep and fervent\nconviction--profoundly irritated him; all the more that it came from men\nwho had been among his friends, and who, he thought, should have known\nbetter.[8]\n\nBut neither Dr. Whately's nor Dr. Arnold's attempts to put the old\nsubject of the Church in a new light gained much hold on the public\nmind. One was too abstract; the other too unhistorical and\nrevolutionary. Both in Oxford and in the country were men whose hearts\nburned within them for something less speculative and vague, something\nmore reverent and less individual, more in sympathy with the inherited\nspirit of the Church. It did not need much searching to find in the\nfacts and history of the Church ample evidence of principles distinct\nand inspiring, which, however long latent, or overlaid by superficial\naccretions, were as well fitted as they ever were to animate its\ndefenders in the struggle with the unfriendly opinion of the day. They\ncould not open their Prayer-Books, and think of what they read there,\nwithout seeing that on the face of it the Church claimed to be something\nvery different from what it was assumed to be in the current\ncontroversies of the time, very different from a mere institution of the\nState, from a vague collection of Christian professions from one form\nor denomination of religion among many, distinguished by larger\nprivileges and larger revenues. They could not help seeing that it\nclaimed an origin not short of the Apostles of Christ, and took for\ngranted that it was to speak and teach with their authority and that of\ntheir Master. These were theological commonplaces; but now, the pressure\nof events and of competing ideas made them to be felt as real and\nmomentous truths. Amid the confusions and inconsistencies of the\nsemi-political controversy on Church reform, and on the defects and\nrights of the Church, which was going on in Parliament, in the press,\nand in pamphlets, the deeper thoughts of those who were interested in\nits fortunes were turned to what was intrinsic and characteristic in its\nconstitution: and while these thoughts in some instances only issued in\ntheory and argument, in others they led to practical resolves to act\nupon them and enforce them.\n\nAt the end of the first quarter of the century, say about 1825-30, two\ncharacteristic forms of Church of England Christianity were popularly\nrecognised. One inherited the traditions of a learned and sober\nAnglicanism, claiming as the authorities for its theology the great line\nof English divines from Hooker to Waterland, finding its patterns of\ndevotion in Bishop Wilson, Bishop Horne, and the \"Whole Duty of Man,\"\nbut not forgetful of Andrewes, Jeremy Taylor, and Ken,--preaching,\nwithout passion or excitement, scholarlike, careful, wise, often\nvigorously reasoned discourses on the capital points of faith and\nmorals, and exhibiting in its adherents, who were many and important,\nall the varieties of a great and far-descended school, which claimed for\nitself rightful possession of the ground which it held. There was\nnothing effeminate about it, as there was nothing fanatical; there was\nnothing extreme or foolish about it; it was a manly school, distrustful\nof high-wrought feelings and professions, cultivating self-command and\nshy of display, and setting up as its mark, in contrast to what seemed\nto it sentimental weakness, a reasonable and serious idea of duty. The\ndivinity which it propounded, though it rested on learning, was rather\nthat of strong common sense than of the schools of erudition. Its better\nmembers were highly cultivated, benevolent men, intolerant of\nirregularities both of doctrine and life, whose lives were governed by\nan unostentatious but solid and unfaltering piety, ready to burst forth\non occasion into fervid devotion. Its worse members were jobbers and\nhunters after preferment, pluralists who built fortunes and endowed\nfamilies out of the Church, or country gentlemen in orders, who rode to\nhounds and shot and danced and farmed, and often did worse things. Its\naverage was what naturally in England would be the average, in a state\nof things in which great religious institutions have been for a long\ntime settled and unmolested--kindly, helpful, respectable, sociable\npersons of good sense and character, workers rather in a fashion of\nroutine which no one thought of breaking, sometimes keeping up their\nUniversity learning, and apt to employ it in odd and not very profitable\ninquiries; apt, too, to value themselves on their cheerfulness and quick\nwit; but often dull and dogmatic and quarrelsome, often insufferably\npompous. The custom of daily service and even of fasting was kept up\nmore widely than is commonly supposed. The Eucharist, though sparingly\nadministered, and though it had been profaned by the operation of the\nTest Acts, was approached by religious people with deep reverence. But\nbesides the better, and the worse, and the average members of this,\nwhich called itself the Church party, there stood out a number of men of\nactive and original minds, who, starting from the traditions of the\nparty, were in advance of it in thought and knowledge, or in the desire\nto carry principles into action. At the Universities learning was still\nrepresented by distinguished names. At Oxford, Dr. Routh was still\nliving and at work, and Van Mildert was not forgotten. Bishop Lloyd, if\nhe had lived, would have played a considerable part; and a young man of\nvast industry and great Oriental learning, Mr. Pusey, was coming on the\nscene. Davison, in an age which had gone mad about the study of\nprophecy, had taught a more intelligent and sober way of regarding it;\nand Mr. John Miller's Bampton Lectures, now probably only remembered by\na striking sentence, quoted in a note to the _Christian Year,_[9] had\nimpressed his readers with a deeper sense of the uses of Scripture.\nCambridge, besides scholars like Bishop Kaye, and accomplished writers\nlike Mr. Le Bas and Mr. Lyall, could boast of Mr. Hugh James Rose, the\nmost eminent person of his generation as a divine. But the influence of\nthis learned theology was at the time not equal to its value. Sound\nrequires atmosphere; and there was as yet no atmosphere in the public\nmind in which the voice of this theology could be heard. The person who\nfirst gave body and force to Church theology, not to be mistaken or\nignored, was Dr. Hook. His massive and thorough Churchmanship was the\nindependent growth of his own thoughts and reading. Resolute, through\ngood report and evil report, rough but very generous, stern both against\nPopery and Puritanism, he had become a power in the Midlands and the\nNorth, and first Coventry, then Leeds, were the centres of a new\ninfluence. He was the apostle of the Church to the great middle class.\n\nThese were the orthodox Churchmen, whom their rivals, and not their\nrivals only,[10] denounced as dry, unspiritual, formal, unevangelical,\nself-righteous; teachers of mere morality at their best, allies and\nservants of the world at their worst. In the party which at this time\nhad come to be looked upon popularly as best entitled to be the\n_religious_ party, whether they were admired as Evangelicals, or abused\nas Calvinists, or laughed at as the Saints, were inheritors not of\nAnglican traditions, but of those which had grown up among the zealous\nclergymen and laymen who had sympathised with the great Methodist\nrevival, and whose theology and life had been profoundly affected by it.\nIt was the second or third generation of those whose religious ideas had\nbeen formed and governed by the influence of teachers like Hervey,\nRomaine, Cecil, Venn, Fletcher, Newton, and Thomas Scott. The fathers of\nthe Evangelical school were men of naturally strong and vigorous\nunderstandings, robust and rugged, and sometimes eccentric, but quite\nable to cope with the controversialists, like Bishop Tomline, who\nattacked them. These High Church controversialists were too half-hearted\nand too shallow, and understood their own principles too imperfectly, to\nbe a match for antagonists who were in deadly earnest, and put them to\nshame by their zeal and courage. But Newton and Romaine and the Milners\nwere too limited and narrow in their compass of ideas to found a\npowerful theology. They undoubtedly often quickened conscience. But\ntheir system was a one-sided and unnatural one, indeed in the hands of\nsome of its expounders threatening morality and soundness of\ncharacter.[11] It had none of the sweep which carried the justification\ndoctrines of Luther, or the systematic predestinarianism of Calvin, or\nthe \"platform of discipline\" of John Knox and the Puritans. It had to\ndeal with a society which laid stress on what was \"reasonable,\" or\n\"polite,\" or \"ingenious,\" or \"genteel,\" and unconsciously it had come to\nhave respect to these requirements. The one thing by which its preachers\ncarried disciples with them was their undoubted and serious piety, and\ntheir brave, though often fantastic and inconsistent, protest against\nthe world. They won consideration and belief by the mild persecution\nwhich this protest brought on them--by being proscribed as enthusiasts\nby comfortable dignitaries, and mocked as \"Methodists\" and \"Saints\" by\nwits and worldlings. But the austere spirit of Newton and Thomas Scott\nhad, between 1820 and 1830, given way a good deal to the influence of\nincreasing popularity. The profession of Evangelical religion had been\nmade more than respectable by the adhesion of men of position and\nweight. Preached in the pulpits of fashionable chapels, this religion\nproved to be no more exacting than its \"High and Dry\" rival. It gave a\ngentle stimulus to tempers which required to be excited by novelty. It\nrecommended itself by gifts of flowing words or high-pitched rhetoric to\nthose who expected _some_ demands to be made on them, so that these\ndemands were not too strict. Yet Evangelical religion had not been\nunfruitful, especially in public results. It had led Howard and\nElizabeth Fry to assail the brutalities of the prisons. It had led\nClarkson and Wilberforce to overthrow the slave trade, and ultimately\nslavery itself. It had created great Missionary Societies. It had given\nmotive and impetus to countless philanthropic schemes. What it failed in\nwas the education and development of character; and this was the result\nof the increasing meagreness of its writing and preaching. There were\nstill Evangelical preachers of force and eloquence--Robert Hall, Edward\nIrving, Chalmers, Jay of Bath--but they were not Churchmen. The circle\nof themes dwelt on by this school in the Church was a contracted one,\nand no one had found the way of enlarging it. It shrank, in its fear of\nmere moralising, in its horror of the idea of merit or of the value of\ngood works, from coming into contact with the manifold realities of the\nspirit of man: it never seemed to get beyond the \"first beginnings\" of\nChristian teaching, the call to repent, the assurance of forgiveness: it\nhad nothing to say to the long and varied process of building up the new\nlife of truth and goodness: it was nervously afraid of departing from\nthe consecrated phrases of its school, and in the perpetual iteration of\nthem it lost hold of the meaning they may once have had. It too often\nfound its guarantee for faithfulness in jealous suspicions, and in\nfierce bigotries, and at length it presented all the characteristics of\nan exhausted teaching and a spent enthusiasm. Claiming to be exclusively\nspiritual, fervent, unworldly, the sole announcer of the free grace of\nGod amid self-righteousness and sin, it had come, in fact, to be on very\neasy terms with the world. Yet it kept its hold on numbers of\nspiritually-minded persons, for in truth there seemed to be nothing\nbetter for those who saw in the affections the main field of religion.\nBut even of these good men, the monotonous language sounded to all but\nthemselves inconceivably hollow and wearisome; and in the hands of the\naverage teachers of the school, the idea of religion was becoming poor\nand thin and unreal.\n\nBut besides these two great parties, each of them claiming to represent\nthe authentic and unchanging mind of the Church, there were independent\nthinkers who took their place with neither and criticised both. Paley\nhad still his disciples at Cambridge, or if not disciples, yet\nrepresentatives of his masculine but not very profound and reverent way\nof thinking; and a critical school, represented by names afterwards\nfamous, Connop Thirlwall and Julius Hare, strongly influenced by German\nspeculation, both in theology and history, began to attract attention.\nAnd at Cambridge was growing, slowly and out of sight, a mind and an\ninfluence which were to be at once the counterpart and the rival of the\nOxford movement, its ally for a short moment, and then its earnest and\noften bitter enemy. In spite of the dominant teaching identified with\nthe name of Mr. Simeon, Frederic Maurice, with John Sterling and other\nmembers of the Apostles' Club, was feeling for something truer and\nnobler than the conventionalities of the religious world.[12] In Oxford,\nmostly in a different way, more dry, more dialectical, and, perhaps it\nmay be said, more sober, definite, and ambitious of clearness, the same\nspirit was at work. There was a certain drift towards Dissent among the\nwarmer spirits. Under the leading of Whately, questions were asked about\nwhat was supposed to be beyond dispute with both Churchmen and\nEvangelicals. Current phrases, the keynotes of many a sermon, were\nfearlessly taken to pieces. Men were challenged to examine the meaning\nof their words. They were cautioned or ridiculed as the case might be,\non the score of \"confusion of thought\" and \"inaccuracy of mind\"; they\nwere convicted of great logical sins, _ignoratio elenchi,_ or\n_undistributed middle terms;_ and bold theories began to make their\nappearance about religious principles and teaching, which did not easily\naccommodate themselves to popular conceptions. In very different ways\nand degrees, Davison, Copleston, Whately, Hawkins, Milman, and not\nleast, a brilliant naturalised Spaniard who sowed the seeds of doubt\naround him, Blanco White, had broken through a number of accepted\nopinions, and had presented some startling ideas to men who had thought\nthat all religious questions lay between the orthodoxy of Lambeth and\nthe orthodoxy of Clapham and Islington. And thus the foundation was\nlaid, at least, at Oxford of what was then called the Liberal School of\nTheology. Its theories and paradoxes, then commonly associated with the\n\"_Noetic_\" character of one college, Oriel, were thought startling and\nventuresome when discussed in steady-going common-rooms and country\nparsonages; but they were still cautious and old-fashioned compared\nwith what was to come after them. The distance is indeed great between\nthose early disturbers of lecture-rooms and University pulpits, and\ntheir successors.\n\nWhile this was going on within the Church, there was a great movement of\nthought going on in the country. It was the time when Bentham's\nutilitarianism had at length made its way into prominence and\nimportance. It had gained a hold on a number of powerful minds in\nsociety and political life. It was threatening to become the dominant\nand popular philosophy. It began, in some ways beneficially, to affect\nand even control legislation. It made desperate attempts to take\npossession of the whole province of morals. It forced those who saw\nthrough its mischief, who hated and feared it, to seek a reason, and a\nsolid and strong one, for the faith which was in them as to the reality\nof conscience and the mysterious distinction between right and wrong.\nAnd it entered into a close alliance with science, which was beginning\nto assert its claims, since then risen so high, to a new and undefined\nsupremacy, not only in the general concerns of the world, but specially\nin education. It was the day of Holland House. It was the time when a\nSociety of which Lord Brougham was the soul, and which comprised a great\nnumber of important political and important scientific names, was\ndefinitely formed for the _Diffusion of Useful Knowledge_. Their labours\nare hardly remembered now in the great changes for which they paved the\nway; but the Society was the means of getting written and of publishing\nat a cheap rate a number of original and excellent books on science,\nbiography, and history. It was the time of the _Library of Useful\nKnowledge,_ and its companion, the _Library of Entertaining Knowledge;_\nof the _Penny Magazine,_ and its Church rival, the _Saturday Magazine,_\nof the _Penny Cyclopaedia,_ and _Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopaedia,_ and\n_Murray's Family Library_: popular series, which contained much of the\nwork of the ablest men of the day, and which, though for the most part\nsuperseded now, were full of interest then. Another creation of this\nepoch, and an unmistakable indication of its tendencies, was the British\nAssociation for the Advancement of Science, which met for the first time\nat Oxford in June 1832, not without a good deal of jealousy and\nmisgiving, partly unreasonable, partly not unfounded, among men in whose\nhearts the cause and fortunes of religion were supreme.\n\nThus the time was ripe for great collisions of principles and aims; for\nthe decomposition of elements which had been hitherto united; for\nsifting them out of their old combinations, and regrouping them\naccording to their more natural affinities. It was a time for the\nformation and development of unexpected novelties in teaching and\npractical effort. There was a great historic Church party, imperfectly\nconscious of its position and responsibilities;[13] there was an active\nbut declining pietistic school, resting on a feeble intellectual basis\nand narrow and meagre interpretations of Scripture, and strong only in\nits circle of philanthropic work; there was, confronting both, a rising\nbody of inquisitive and, in some ways, menacing thought. To men deeply\ninterested in religion, the ground seemed confused and treacherous.\nThere was room, and there was a call, for new effort; but to find the\nresources for it, it seemed necessary to cut down deep below the level\nof what even good men accepted as the adequate expression of\nChristianity, and its fit application to the conditions of the\nnineteenth century. It came to pass that there were men who had the\nheart to make this attempt. As was said at starting, the actual movement\nbegan in the conviction that a great and sudden danger to the Church was\nat hand, and that an unusual effort must be made to meet it. But if the\noccasion was in a measure accidental, there was nothing haphazard or\ntentative in the line chosen to encounter the danger. From the first it\nwas deliberately and distinctly taken. The choice of it was the result\nof convictions which had been forming before the occasion came which\ncalled on them. The religious ideas which governed the minds of those\nwho led the movement had been traced, in outline at least, firmly and\nwithout faltering.\n\nThe movement had its spring in the consciences and character of its\nleaders. To these men religion really meant the most awful and most\nseriously personal thing on earth. It had not only a theological basis;\nit had still more deeply a moral one. What that basis was is shown in a\nvariety of indications of ethical temper and habits, before the\nmovement, in those who afterwards directed it. The _Christian Year_ was\npublished in 1827, and tells us distinctly by what kind of standard Mr.\nKeble moulded his judgment and aims. What Mr. Keble's influence and\nteaching did, in training an apt pupil to deep and severe views of truth\nand duty, is to be seen in the records of purpose and self-discipline,\noften so painful, but always so lofty and sincere, of Mr. Hurrell\nFroude's journal. But these indications are most forcibly given in Mr.\nNewman's earliest preaching. As tutor at Oriel, Mr. Newman had made what\nefforts he could, sometimes disturbing to the authorities, to raise the\nstandard of conduct and feeling among his pupils. When he became a\nparish priest, his preaching took a singularly practical and\nplain-spoken character. The first sermon of the series, a typical\nsermon, \"Holiness necessary for future Blessedness,\" a sermon which has\nmade many readers grave when they laid it down, was written in 1826,\nbefore he came to St. Mary's; and as he began he continued. No sermons,\nexcept those which his great opposite, Dr. Arnold, was preaching at\nRugby, had appealed to conscience with such directness and force. A\npassionate and sustained earnestness after a high moral rule, seriously\nrealised in conduct, is the dominant character of these sermons. They\nshowed the strong reaction against slackness of fibre in the religious\nlife; against the poverty, softness; restlessness, worldliness, the\nblunted and impaired sense of truth, which reigned with little check in\nthe recognised fashions of professing Christianity; the want of depth\nboth of thought and feeling; the strange blindness to the real\nsternness, nay the austerity, of the New Testament. Out of this ground\nthe movement grew. Even more than a theological reform, it was a protest\nagainst the loose unreality of ordinary religious morality. In the first\nstage of the movement, moral earnestness and enthusiasm gave its impulse\nto theological interest and zeal.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] The suppression of the Irish bishoprics. Palmer, _Narrative_ (1883),\npp. 44, 101. Maurice, _Life_, i. 180.\n\n[3] \"The Church, as it now stands, no human power can save\" (Arnold to\nTyler, June 1832. _Life,_ i. 326). \"Nothing, as it seems to me, can save\nthe Church but an union with the Dissenters; now they are leagued with\nthe antichristian party, and no merely internal reforms will satisfy\nthem\" (Arnold to Whately, January 1833, i. 348). He afterwards thought\nthis exaggerated (_Life,_ i. 336). \"The Church has been for one hundred\nyears without any government, and in such a stormy season it will not go\non much longer without a rudder\" (Whately to Bp. Copleston, July 1832.\n_Life_, i, 167). \"If such an arrangement of the Executive Government is\ncompleted, it will be a difficult, but great and glorious feat for your\nLordship's ministry to preserve the establishment from utter overthrow\"\n(Whately to Lord Grey, May 1832. _Life_, i. 156). It is remarkable that\nDean Stanley should have been satisfied with ascribing to the movement\nan \"origin _entirely political_\" and should have seen a proof of this\n\"thoroughly political origin\" in Newman's observing the date of Mr.\nKeble's sermon \"National Apostasy\" as the birthday of the movement,\n_Edin. Rev._ April 1880, pp. 309, 310.\n\n[4] Readers of Wordsworth will remember the account of Mr. R. Walker\n(Notes to the \"River Duddon\").\n\n[5] Compare _Life of Whately_ (ed. 1866), i. 52, 68.\n\n[6] Arnold to W. Smith, _Life_, i. 356-358; ii. 32.\n\n[7] _Life_, i. 225 _sqq_.\n\n[8] \"I am vexed to find how much hopeless bigotry lingers in minds, \u03bf\u1f36\u03c2\n\u1f25\u03ba\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b1 \u1f15\u03c7\u03c1\u03b7\" (Arnold to Whately, Sept. 1832. _Life,_ i. 331; ii. 3-7).\n\n[9] St. Bartholomew's Day\n\n[10] \"The mere barren orthodoxy which, from all that I can hear, is\ncharacteristic of Oxford.\" Maurice in 1829 (_Life,_ i. 103). In 1832 he\nspeaks of his \"high endeavours to rouse Oxford from its lethargy having\nso signally failed\" (i. 143).\n\n[11] Abbey and Overton, _English Church in the Eighteenth Century,_ ii.\n180, 204.\n\n[12] _V._ Maurice, _Life,_ i. 108-111; Trench's _Letters;_ Carlyle's\n_Sterling_.\n\n[13] \"In what concerns the Established Church, the House of Commons\nseems to feel no other principle than that of vulgar policy. The old\nHigh Church race is worn out.\" Alex. Knox (June 1816), i. 54.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE BEGINNING OF THE MOVEMENT--JOHN KEBLE\n\n\nLong before the Oxford movement was thought of, or had any definite\nshape, a number of its characteristic principles and ideas had taken\nstrong hold of the mind of a man of great ability and great seriousness,\nwho, after a brilliant career at Oxford as student and tutor, had\nexchanged the University for a humble country cure. John Keble, by some\nyears the senior, but the college friend and intimate of Arnold, was the\nson of a Gloucestershire country clergyman of strong character and\nconsiderable scholarship. He taught and educated his two sons at home,\nand then sent them to Oxford, where both of them made their mark, and\nthe elder, John, a mere boy when he first appeared at his college,\nCorpus, carried off almost everything that the University could give in\nthe way of distinction. He won a double first; he won the Latin and\nEnglish Essays in the same year; and he won what was the still greater\nhonour of an Oriel Fellowship. His honours were borne with meekness and\nsimplicity; to his attainments he joined a temper of singular sweetness\nand modesty, capable at the same time, when necessary, of austere\nstrength and strictness of principle. He had become one of the most\ndistinguished men in Oxford, when about the year 1823 he felt himself\nbound to give himself more exclusively to the work of a clergyman, and\nleft Oxford to be his father's curate. There was nothing very unusual in\nhis way of life, or singular and showy in his work as a clergyman; he\nwent in and out among the poor, he was not averse to society, he\npreached plain, unpretending, earnest sermons; he kept up his literary\ninterests. But he was a deeply convinced Churchman, finding his standard\nand pattern of doctrine and devotion in the sober earnestness and\ndignity of the Prayer Book, and looking with great and intelligent\ndislike at the teaching and practical working of the more popular system\nwhich, under the name of Evangelical Christianity, was aspiring to\ndominate religious opinion, and which, often combining some of the most\nquestionable features of Methodism and Calvinism, denounced with fierce\nintolerance everything that deviated from its formulas and watchwords.\nAnd as his loyalty to the Church of England was profound and intense,\nall who had shared her fortunes, good or bad, or who professed to serve\nher, had a place in his affections; and any policy which threatened to\ninjure or oppress her, and any principles which were hostile to her\ninfluence and teaching, roused his indignation and resistance. He was a\nstrong Tory, and by conviction and religious temper a thorough High\nChurchman.\n\nBut there was nothing in him to foreshadow the leader in a bold and\nwide-reaching movement. He was absolutely without ambition. He hated\nshow and mistrusted excitement. The thought of preferment was steadily\nput aside both from temper and definite principle. He had no popular\naptitudes, and was very suspicious of them. He had no care for the\npossession of influence; he had deliberately chosen the _fallentis\nsemita vitae,_ and to be what his father had been, a faithful and\ncontented country parson, was all that he desired. But idleness was not\nin his nature. Born a poet, steeped in all that is noblest and tenderest\nand most beautiful in Greek and Roman literature, with the keenest\nsympathy with that new school of poetry which, with Wordsworth as its\nrepresentative, was searching out the deeper relations between nature\nand the human soul, he found in poetical composition a vent and relief\nfor feelings stirred by the marvels of glory and of awfulness, and by\nthe sorrows and blessings, amid which human life is passed. But his\npoetry was for a long time only for himself and his intimate friends;\nhis indulgence in poetical composition was partly playful, and it was\nnot till after much hesitation on his own part and also on theirs, and\nwith a contemptuous undervaluing of his work, which continued to the end\nof his life, that the anonymous little book of poems was published which\nhas since become familiar wherever English is read, as the _Christian\nyear_. His serious interests were public ones. Though living in the\nshade, he followed with anxiety and increasing disquiet the changes\nwhich went on so rapidly and so formidably, during the end of the first\nquarter of this century, in opinion and in the possession of political\npower. It became more and more plain that great changes were at hand,\nthough not so plain what they would be. It seemed likely that power\nwould come into the hands of men and parties hostile to the Church in\ntheir principles, and ready to use to its prejudice the advantages which\nits position as an establishment gave them; and the anticipation grew in\nKeble's mind, that in the struggles which seemed likely, not only for\nthe legal rights but for the faith of the Church, the Church might have\nboth to claim more, and to suffer more, at the hands of Government. Yet\nthough these thoughts filled his mind, and strong things were said in\nthe intercourse with friends about what was going on about them, no\ndefinite course of action had been even contemplated when Keble went\ninto the country in 1823. There was nothing to distinguish him from\nnumbers of able clergymen all over England, who were looking on with\ninterest, with anxiety, often with indignation, at what was going on.\nMr. Keble had not many friends and was no party chief. He was a\nbrilliant university scholar overlaying the plain, unworldly country\nparson; an old-fashioned English Churchman, with great veneration for\nthe Church and its bishops, and a great dislike of Rome, Dissent, and\nMethodism, but with a quick heart; with a frank, gay humility of soul,\nwith great contempt of appearances, great enjoyment of nature, great\nunselfishness, strict and severe principles of morals and duty.\n\nWhat was it that turned him by degrees into so prominent and so\ninfluential a person? It was the result of the action of his convictions\nand ideas, and still more of his character, on the energetic and\nfearless mind of a pupil and disciple, Richard Hurrell Froude. Froude\nwas Keble's pupil at Oriel, and when Keble left Oriel for his curacy at\nthe beginning of the Long Vacation of 1823, he took Froude with him to\nread for his degree. He took with him ultimately two other pupils,\nRobert Wilberforce and Isaac Williams of Trinity. One of them, Isaac\nWilliams, has left some reminiscences of the time, and of the terms on\nwhich the young men were with their tutor, then one of the most famous\nmen at Oxford. They were on terms of the utmost freedom. \"Master is the\ngreatest boy of them all,\" was the judgment of the rustic who was\ngardener, groom, and parish clerk to Mr. Keble. Froude's was a keen\nlogical mind, not easily satisfied, contemptuous of compromises and\nevasions, and disposed on occasion to be mischievous and aggressive; and\nwith Keble, as with anybody else, he was ready to dispute and try every\nform of dialectical experiment. But he was open to higher influences\nthan those of logic, and in Keble he saw what subdued and won him to\nboundless veneration and affection. Keble won the love of the whole\nlittle society; but in Froude he had gained a disciple who was to be the\nmouthpiece and champion of his ideas, and who was to react on himself\nand carry him forward to larger enterprises and bolder resolutions than\nby himself he would have thought of. Froude took in from Keble all he\nhad to communicate--principles, convictions, moral rules and standards\nof life, hopes, fears, antipathies. And his keenly-tempered intellect,\nand his determination and high courage, gave a point and an impulse of\ntheir own to Keble's views and purposes. As things came to look darker,\nand dangers seemed more serious to the Church, its faith or its rights,\nthe interchange of thought between master and disciple, in talk and in\nletter, pointed more and more to the coming necessity of action; and\nFroude at least had no objections to the business of an agitator. But\nall this was very gradual; things did not yet go beyond discussion;\nideas, views, arguments were examined and compared; and Froude, with all\nhis dash, felt as Keble felt, that he had much to learn about himself,\nas well as about books and things. In his respect for antiquity, in his\ndislike of the novelties which were invading Church rules and\nsentiments, as well as its creeds, in his jealousy of the State, as well\nas in his seriousness of self-discipline, he accepted Keble's guidance\nand influence more and more; and from Keble he had more than one lesson\nof self-distrust, more than one warning against the temptations of\nintellect. \"Froude told me many years after,\" writes one of his friends,\n\"that Keble once, before parting with him, seemed to have something on\nhis mind which he wished to say, but shrank from saying, while waiting,\nI think, for a coach. At last he said, just before parting, 'Froude, you\nthought Law's _Serious Call_ was a clever book; it seemed to me as if\nyou had said the Day of Judgment will be a pretty sight.' This speech,\nFroude told me, had a great effect on his after life.\"[14]\n\nAt Easter 1826 Froude was elected Fellow of Oriel. He came back to\nOxford, charged with Keble's thoughts and feelings, and from his more\neager and impatient temper, more on the look-out for ways of giving them\neffect. The next year he became tutor, and he held the tutorship till\n1830. But he found at Oriel a colleague, a little his senior in age and\nstanding, of whom Froude and his friends as yet knew little except that\nhe was a man of great ability, that he had been a favourite of\nWhately's, and that in a loose and rough way he was counted among the\nfew Liberals and Evangelicals in Oxford. This was Mr. Newman. Keble had\nbeen shy of him, and Froude would at first judge him by Keble's\nstandard. But Newman was just at this time \"moving,\" as he expresses it,\n\"out of the shadow of Liberalism.\" Living not apart like Keble, but in\nthe same college, and meeting every day, Froude and Newman could not but\nbe either strongly and permanently repelled, or strongly attracted. They\nwere attracted; attracted with a force which at last united them in the\ndeepest and most unreserved friendship. Of the steps of this great\nchange in the mind and fortunes of each of them we have no record:\nintimacies of this kind grow in college out of unnoticed and\nunremembered talks, agreeing or differing, out of unconscious\ndisclosures of temper and purpose, out of walks and rides and quiet\nbreakfasts and common-room arguments, out of admirations and dislikes,\nout of letters and criticisms and questions; and nobody can tell\nafterwards how they have come about. The change was gradual and\ndeliberate. Froude's friends in Gloucestershire, the Keble family, had\ntheir misgivings about Newman's supposed liberalism; they did not much\nwant to have to do with him. His subtle and speculative temper did not\nalways square with Froude's theology. \"N. is a fellow that I like more,\nthe more I think of him,\" Froude wrote in 1828; \"only I would give a few\nodd pence if he were not a heretic.\"[15] But Froude, who saw him every\nday, and was soon associated with him in the tutorship, found a spirit\nmore akin to his own in depth and freedom and daring, than he had yet\nencountered. And Froude found Newman just in that maturing state of\nreligious opinion in which a powerful mind like Froude's would be likely\nto act decisively. Each acted on the other. Froude represented Keble's\nideas, Keble's enthusiasm. Newman gave shape, foundation, consistency,\nelevation to the Anglican theology, when he accepted it, which Froude\nhad learned from Keble. \"I knew him first,\" we read in the _Apologia_,\n\"in 1826, and was in the closest and most affectionate friendship with\nhim from about 1829 till his death in 1836.\"[16] But this was not all.\nThrough Froude, Newman came to know and to be intimate with Keble; and\na sort of _camaraderie_ arose, of very independent and outspoken people,\nwho acknowledged Keble as their master and counsellor.\n\n\"The true and primary author of it\" (the Tractarian movement), we read\nin the _Apologia_, \"as is usual with great motive powers, was out of\nsight.... Need I say that I am speaking of John Keble?\" The statement is\nstrictly true. Froude never would have been the man he was but for his\ndaily and hourly intercourse with Keble; and Froude brought to bear upon\nNewman's mind, at a critical period of its development, Keble's ideas\nand feelings about religion and the Church, Keble's reality of thought\nand purpose, Keble's transparent and saintly simplicity. And Froude, as\nwe know from a well-known saying of his,[17] brought Keble and Newman to\nunderstand one another, when the elder man was shy and suspicious of the\nyounger, and the younger, though full of veneration for the elder, was\nhardly yet in full sympathy with what was most characteristic and most\ncherished in the elder's religious convictions. Keble attracted and\nmoulded Froude: he impressed Froude with his strong Churchmanship, his\nseverity and reality of life, his poetry and high standard of scholarly\nexcellence. Froude learned from him to be anti-Erastian,\nanti-methodistical, anti-sentimental, and as strong in his hatred of the\nworld, as contemptuous of popular approval, as any Methodist. Yet all\nthis might merely have made a strong impression, or formed one more\nmarked school of doctrine, without the fierce energy which received it\nand which it inspired. But Froude, in accepting Keble's ideas, resolved\nto make them active, public, aggressive; and he found in Newman a\ncolleague whose bold originality responded to his own. Together they\nworked as tutors; together they worked when their tutorships came to an\nend; together they worked when thrown into companionship in their\nMediterranean voyage in the winter of 1832 and the spring of 1833. They\ncame back, full of aspirations and anxieties which spurred them on;\ntheir thoughts had broken out in papers sent home from time to time to\nRose's _British Magazine_--\"Home Thoughts Abroad,\" and the \"Lyra\nApostolica.\" Then came the meeting at Hadleigh, and the beginning of the\nTracts. Keble had given the inspiration, Froude had given the impulse;\nthen Newman took up the work, and the impulse henceforward, and the\ndirection, were his.\n\nDoubtless, many thought and felt like them about the perils which beset\nthe Church and religion. Loyalty to the Church, belief in her divine\nmission, allegiance to her authority, readiness to do battle for her\nclaims, were anything but extinct in her ministers and laity. The\nelements were all about of sound and devoted Churchmanship. Higher ideas\nof the Church than the popular and political notion of it, higher\nconceptions of Christian doctrine than those of the ordinary evangelical\ntheology--echoes of the meditations of a remarkable Irishman, Mr.\nAlexander Knox--had in many quarters attracted attention in the works\nand sermons of his disciple. Bishop Jebb, though it was not till the\nmovement had taken shape that their full significance was realised.\nOthers besides Keble and Froude and Newman were seriously considering\nwhat could best be done to arrest the current which was running strong\nagainst the Church, and discussing schemes of resistance and defence.\nOthers were stirring up themselves and their brethren to meet the new\nemergencies, to respond to the new call. Some of these were in\ncommunication with the Oriel men, and ultimately took part with them in\norganising vigorous measures. But it was not till Mr. Newman made up his\nmind to force on the public mind, in a way which could not be evaded,\nthe great article of the Creed--\"I believe one Catholic and Apostolic\nChurch\"--that the movement began. And for the first part of its course,\nit was concentrated at Oxford. It was the direct result of the\nsearchings of heart and the communings for seven years, from 1826 to\n1833, of the three men who have been the subject of this chapter.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] Isaac Williams's MS. Memoir.\n\n[15] _Rem._ i. 232, 233. In 1828, Newman had preferred Hawkins to Keble,\nfor Provost.\n\n[16] _Apol._ p. 84.\n\n[17] _Remains_, i. 438; _Apol._ p. 77. \"Do you know the story of the\nmurderer who had done one good thing in his life? Well, if I was asked\nwhat good deed I have ever done, I should say I had brought Keble and\nNewman to understand each other.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III[18]\n\nRICHARD HURRELL FROUDE\n\n\nThe names of those who took the lead in this movement are\nfamiliar--Keble, Newman, Pusey, Hugh James Rose, William Palmer. Much\nhas been written about them by friends and enemies, and also by one of\nthemselves, and any special notice of them is not to the purpose of the\npresent narrative. But besides these, there were men who are now almost\nforgotten, but who at the time interested their contemporaries, because\nthey were supposed to represent in a marked way the spirit and character\nof the movement, or to have exercised influence upon it. They ought not\nto be overlooked in an account of it. One of them has been already\nmentioned, Mr. Hurrell Froude. Two others were Mr. Isaac Williams and\nMr. Charles Marriott. They were all three of them men whom those who\nknew them could never forget--could never cease to admire and love.\n\nHurrell Froude soon passed away before the brunt of the fighting came.\nHis name is associated with Mr. Newman and Mr. Keble, but it is little\nmore than a name to those who now talk of the origin of the movement.\nYet all who remember him agree in assigning to him an importance as\ngreat as that of any, in that little knot of men whose thoughts and\nwhose courage gave birth to it.\n\nRichard Hurrell Froude was born in 1803, and was thus two years younger\nthan Mr. Newman, who was born in 1801. He went to Eton, and in 1821 to\nOriel, where he was a pupil of Mr. Keble, and where he was elected\nFellow, along with Robert Wilberforce, at Easter 1826. He was College\nTutor from 1827 to 1830, having Mr. Newman and R. Wilberforce for\ncolleagues. His health failed in 1831 and led to much absence in warm\nclimates. He went with Mr. Newman to the south of Europe in 1832-33, and\nwas with him at Rome. The next two winters, with the intervening year,\nhe spent in the West Indies. Early in 1836 he died at Dartington--his\nbirthplace. He was at the Hadleigh meeting, in July 1833, when the\nfoundations of the movement were laid; he went abroad that winter, and\nwas not much in England afterwards. It was through correspondence that\nhe kept up his intercourse with his friends.\n\nThus he was early cut off from direct and personal action on the course\nwhich things took. But it would be a great mistake to suppose that his\ninfluence on the line taken and on the minds of others was\ninconsiderable. It would be more true to say that with one exception no\none was more responsible for the impulse which led to the movement; no\none had more to do with shaping its distinct aims and its moral spirit\nand character in its first stage; no one was more daring and more clear,\nas far as he saw, in what he was prepared for. There was no one to whom\nhis friends so much looked up with admiration and enthusiasm. There was\nno \"wasted shade\"[19] in Hurrell Froude's disabled, prematurely\nshortened life.\n\nLike Henry Martyn he was made by strong and even merciless\nself-discipline over a strong and for a long time refractory nature. He\nwas a man of great gifts, with much that was most attractive and noble;\nbut joined with this them was originally in his character a vein of\nperversity and mischief, always in danger of breaking out, and with\nwhich he kept up a long and painful struggle. His inmost thought and\nknowledge of himself have been laid bare in the papers which his friends\npublished after his death. He was in the habit of probing his motives to\nthe bottom, and of recording without mercy what he thought his\nself-deceits and affectations. The religious world of the day made merry\nover his methods of self-discipline; but whatever may be said of them,\nand such things are not easy to judge of, one thing is manifest, that\nthey were true and sincere efforts to conquer what he thought evil in\nhimself, to keep himself in order, to bring his inmost self into\nsubjection to the law and will of God. The self-chastening, which his\nprivate papers show, is no passion or value for asceticism, but a purely\nmoral effort after self-command and honesty of character; and what makes\nthe struggle so touching is its perfect reality and truth. He \"turned\nhis thoughts on that desolate wilderness, his own conscience, and said\nwhat he saw there.\"[20] A man who has had a good deal to conquer in\nhimself, and has gone a good way to conquer it, is not apt to be\nindulgent to self-deceit or indolence, or even weakness. The basis of\nFroude's character was a demand which would not be put off for what was\nreal and thorough; an implacable scorn and hatred for what he counted\nshams and pretences. \"His highest ambition,\" he used to say, \"was to be\na humdrum.\"[21] The intellectual and the moral parts of his character\nwere of a piece. The tricks and flimsinesses of a bad argument provoked\nhim as much as the imposture and \"flash\" of insincere sentiment and fine\ntalking; he might be conscious of \"flash\" in himself and his friends,\nand he would admit it unequivocally; but it was as unbearable to him to\npretend not to see a fallacy as soon as it was detected, as it would\nhave been to him to arrive at the right answer of a sum or a problem by\ntampering with the processes. Such a man, with strong affections and\nkeen perception of all forms of beauty, and with the deepest desire to\nbe reverent towards all that had a right to reverence, would find\nhimself in the most irritating state of opposition and impatience with\nmuch that passed as religion round him. Principles not attempted to be\nunderstood and carried into practice, smooth self-complacency among\nthose who looked down on a blind and unspiritual world, the continual\nprovocation of worthless reasoning and ignorant platitudes, the dull\nunconscious stupidity of people who could not see that the times were\ncritical--that truth had to be defended, and that it was no easy or\nlight-hearted business to defend it--threw him into an habitual attitude\nof defiance, and half-amused, half-earnest contradiction, which made him\nfeared by loose reasoners and pretentious talkers, and even by quiet\neasy-going friends, who unexpectedly found themselves led on blindfold,\nwith the utmost gravity, into traps and absurdities by the wiles of his\nmischievous dialectic. This was the outside look of his relentless\nearnestness. People who did not like him, or his views, and who,\nperhaps, had winced under his irony, naturally put down his strong\nlanguage, which on occasion could certainly be unceremonious, to\nflippancy and arrogance. But within the circle of those whom he trusted,\nor of those who needed at anytime his help, another side disclosed\nitself--a side of the most genuine warmth of affection, an awful reality\nof devoutness, which it was his great and habitual effort to keep\nhidden, a high simplicity of unworldliness and generosity, and in spite\nof his daring mockeries of what was commonplace or showy, the most\nsincere and deeply felt humility with himself. Dangerous as he was often\nthought to be in conversation, one of the features of his character\nwhich has impressed itself on the memory of one who knew him well, was\nhis \"patient, winning considerateness in discussion, which, with other\nqualities, endeared him to those to whom he opened his heart.\"[22] \"It\nis impossible,\" writes James Mozley in 1833, with a mixture of\namusement, speaking of the views about celibacy which were beginning to\nbe current, \"to talk with Froude without committing one's self on such\nsubjects as these, so that by and by I expect the tergiversants will be\na considerable party.\" His letters, with their affectionately playful\naddresses, \u03b4\u03b1\u03b9\u03bc\u03cc\u03bd\u03b9\u03b5, \u03b1\u1f30\u03bd\u03cc\u03c4\u03b1\u03c4\u03b5, \u03c0\u03ad\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd, _Carissime, \"Sir, my dear friend\"_\nor \"\u1f08\u03c1\u03b3\u03b5\u03af\u03c9\u03bd \u1f44\u03c7' \u1f04\u03c1\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5, have you not been a spoon?\" are full of the most\ndelightful ease and _verve_ and sympathy.\n\nWith a keen sense of English faults he was, as Cardinal Newman has said,\n\"an Englishman to the backbone\"; and he was, further, a fastidious,\nhigh-tempered English gentleman, in spite of his declaiming about\n\"pampered aristocrats\" and the \"gentleman heresy.\" His friends thought\nof him as of the \"young Achilles,\" with his high courage, and noble\nform, and \"eagle eye,\" made for such great things, but appointed so soon\nto die. \"Who can refrain from tears at the thought of that bright and\nbeautiful Froude?\" is the expression of one of them shortly before his\ndeath, and when it was quite certain that the doom which had so long\nhung over him was at hand.[23] He had the love of doing, for the mere\nsake of doing, what was difficult or even dangerous to do, which is the\nmainspring of characteristic English sports and games. He loved the sea;\nhe liked to sail his own boat, and enjoyed rough weather, and took\ninterest in the niceties of seamanship and shipcraft. He was a bold\nrider across country. With a powerful grasp on mathematical truths and\nprinciples, he entered with whole-hearted zest into inviting problems,\nor into practical details of mechanical or hydrostatic or astronomical\nscience. His letters are full of such observations, put in a way which\nhe thought would interest his friends, and marked by his strong habit of\ngetting into touch with what was real and of the substance of questions.\nHe applied his thoughts to architecture with a power and originality\nwhich at the time were not common. No one who only cared for this world\ncould be more attracted and interested than he was by the wonder and\nbeauty of its facts and appearances. With the deepest allegiance to his\nhome and reverence for its ties and authority, a home of the\nold-fashioned ecclesiastical sort, sober, manly, religious, orderly, he\ncarried into his wider life the feelings with which he had been brought\nup; bold as he was, his reason and his character craved for authority,\nbut authority which morally and reasonably he could respect. Mr. Keble's\ngoodness and purity subdued him, and disposed him to accept without\nreserve his master's teaching: and towards Mr. Keble, along with an\noutside show of playful criticism and privileged impertinence, there was\na reverence which governed Froude's whole nature. In the wild and rough\nheyday of reform, he was a Tory of the Tories. But when authority failed\nhim, from cowardice or stupidity or self-interest, he could not easily\npardon it; and he was ready to startle his friends by proclaiming\nhimself a Radical, prepared for the sake of the highest and greatest\ninterests to sacrifice all second-rate and subordinate ones.\n\nWhen his friends, after his death, published selections from his\njournals and letters, the world was shocked by what seemed his amazing\naudacity both of thought and expression about a number of things and\npersons which it was customary to regard as almost beyond the reach of\ncriticism. The _Remains_ lent themselves admirably to the controversial\nprocess of culling choice phrases and sentences and epithets\nsurprisingly at variance with conventional and popular estimates.\nFriends were pained and disturbed; foes naturally enough could not hold\nin their overflowing exultation at such a disclosure of the spirit of\nthe movement. Sermons and newspapers drew attention to Froude's\nextravagances with horror and disgust. The truth is that if the off-hand\nsayings in conversation or letters of any man of force and wit and\nstrong convictions about the things and persons that he condemns, were\nmade known to the world, they would by themselves have much the same\nlook of flippancy, injustice, impertinence to those who disagreed in\nopinion with the speaker or writer they are allowed for, or they are not\nallowed for by others, according to what is known of his general\ncharacter. The friends who published Froude's _Remains_ knew what he\nwas; they knew the place and proportion of the fierce and scornful\npassages; they knew that they really did not go beyond the liberty and\nthe frank speaking which most people give themselves in the _abandon_\nand understood exaggeration of intimate correspondence and talk. But\nthey miscalculated the effect on those who did not know him, or whose\ninterest it was to make the most of the advantage given them. They seem\nto have expected that the picture which they presented of their friend's\ntransparent sincerity and singleness of aim, manifested amid so much\npain and self-abasement, would have touched readers more. They\nmiscalculated in supposing that the proofs of so much reality of\nreligious earnestness would carry off the offence of vehement language,\nwhich without these proofs might naturally be thought to show mere\nrandom violence. At any rate the result was much natural and genuine\nirritation, which they were hardly prepared for. Whether on general\ngrounds they were wise in startling and vexing friends, and putting\nfresh weapons into the hands of opponents by their frank disclosure of\nso unconventional a character, is a question which may have more than\none answer; but one thing is certain, they were not wise, if they only\ndesired to forward the immediate interests of their party or cause. It\nwas not the act of cunning conspirators; it was the act of men who were\nready to show their hands, and take the consequences. Undoubtedly, they\nwarned off many who had so far gone along with the movement, and who now\ndrew back. But if the publication was a mistake, it was the mistake of\nmen confident in their own straight-forwardness.\n\nThere is a natural Nemesis to all over-strong and exaggerated language.\nThe weight of Froude's judgments was lessened by the disclosure of his\nstrong words, and his dashing fashion of condemnation and dislike gave\na precedent for the violence of shallower men. But to those who look\nback on them now, though there can be no wonder that at the time they\nexcited such an outcry, their outspoken boldness hardly excites\nsurprise. Much of it might naturally be put down to the force of first\nimpressions; much of it is the vehemence of an Englishman who claims the\nliberty of criticising and finding fault at home; much of it was the\ninevitable vehemence of a reformer. Much of it seems clear foresight of\nwhat has since come to be recognised. His judgments on the Reformers,\nstartling as they were at the time, are not so very different, as to the\nfacts of the case, from what most people on all sides now agree in; and\nas to their temper and theology, from what most churchmen would now\nagree in. Whatever allowances may be made for the difficulties of their\ntime, and these allowances ought to be very great, and however well they\nmay have done parts of their work, such as the translations and\nadaptations of the Prayer Book, it is safe to say that the divines of\nthe Reformation never can be again, with their confessed Calvinism, with\ntheir shifting opinions, their extravagant deference to the foreign\noracles of Geneva and Zurich, their subservience to bad men in power,\nthe heroes and saints of churchmen. But when all this is said, it still\nremains true that Froude was often intemperate and unjust. In the hands\nof the most self-restrained and considerate of its leaders, the movement\nmust anyhow have provoked strong opposition, and given great offence.\nThe surprise and the general ignorance were too great; the assault was\ntoo rude and unexpected. But Froude's strong language gave it a\nneedless exasperation.\n\nFroude was a man strong in abstract thought and imagination, who wanted\nadequate knowledge. His canons of judgment were not enlarged, corrected,\nand strengthened by any reading or experience commensurate with his\noriginal powers of reasoning or invention. He was quite conscious of it,\nand did his best to fill up the gap in his intellectual equipment. He\nshowed what he might have done under more favouring circumstances in a\nvery interesting volume on Becket's history and letters. But\ncircumstances were hopelessly against him; he had not time, he had not\nhealth and strength, for the learning which he so needed, which he so\nlonged for. But wherever he could, he learned. He was quite ready to\nsubmit his prepossessions to the test and limitation of facts. Eager and\nquick-sighted, he was often apt to be hasty in conclusions from\nimperfect or insufficient premisses; but even about what he saw most\nclearly he was willing to hold himself in suspense, when he found that\nthere was something more to know. Cardinal Newman has noted two\ndeficiencies which, in his opinion, were noticeable in Froude. \"He had\nno turn for theology as such\"; and, further, he goes on: \"I should say\nthat his power of entering into the minds of others was not equal to his\nother gifts\"--a remark which he illustrates by saying that Froude could\nnot believe that \"I really held the Roman Church to be antichristian.\"\nThe want of this power--in which he stood in such sharp contrast to his\nfriend--might be either a strength or a weakness; a strength, if his\nbusiness was only to fight; a weakness, if it was to attract and\npersuade. But Froude was made for conflict, not to win disciples. Some\nwild solemn poetry, marked by deep feeling and direct expression, is\nscattered through his letters,[24] kindled always by things and thoughts\nof the highest significance, and breaking forth with force and fire. But\nprobably the judgment passed on him by a clever friend, from the\nexamination of his handwriting, was a true one: \"This fellow has a great\ndeal of imagination, but not the imagination of a poet.\" He felt that\neven beyond poetry there are higher things than anything that\nimagination can work upon. It was a feeling which made him blind to the\ngrandeur of Milton's poetry. He saw in it only an intrusion into the\nmost sacred of sanctities.\n\nIt was this fearless and powerful spirit, keen and quick to see\ninferences and intolerant of compromises, that the disturbances of Roman\nCatholic Emancipation and of the Reform time roused from the common\nround of pursuits, natural to a serious and thoughtful clergyman of\nscholarlike mind and as yet no definite objects, and brought him with\nall his enthusiasm and thoroughness into a companionship with men who\nhad devoted their lives, and given up every worldly object, to save the\nChurch by raising it to its original idea and spirit. Keble had lifted\nhis pupil's thoughts above mere dry and unintelligent orthodoxy, and\nFroude had entered with earnest purpose into Church ways of practical\nself-discipline and self-correction. Bishop Lloyd's lectures had taught\nhim and others, to the surprise of many, that the familiar and venerated\nPrayer Book was but the reflexion of mediaeval and primitive devotion,\nstill embodied in its Latin forms in the Roman Service books; and so\nindirectly had planted in their minds the idea of the historical\nconnexion, and in a very profound way the spiritual sympathy, of the\nmodern with the pre-Reformation Church. But it is not till 1829 or 1830\nthat we begin in his _Remains_ to see in him the sense of a pressing and\nanxious crisis in religious matters. In the summer of 1829 he came more\nclosely than hitherto across Mr. Newman's path. They had been Fellows\ntogether since 1826, and Tutors since 1827. Mr. Froude, with his Toryism\nand old-fashioned churchmanship, would not unnaturally be shy of a\nfriend of Whately's with his reputation for theological liberalism.\nFroude's first letter to Mr. Newman is in August 1828. It is the letter\nof a friendly and sympathising colleague in college work, glad to be\nfree from the \"images of impudent undergraduates\"; he inserts some lines\nof verse, talks about Dollond and telescopes, and relates how he and a\nfriend got up at half-past two in the morning, and walked half a mile\nto see Mercury rise; he writes about his mathematical studies and\nreading for orders, and how a friend had \"read half through Prideaux and\nyet accuses himself of idleness\"; but there is no interchange of\nintimate thought. Mr. Newman was at this time, as he has told us,\ndrifting away from under the shadow of liberalism; and in Froude he\nfound a man who, without being a liberal, was as quick-sighted, as\ncourageous, and as alive to great thoughts and new hopes as himself.\nVery different in many ways, they were in this alike, that the\ncommonplace notions of religion and the Church were utterly\nunsatisfactory to them, and that each had the capacity for affectionate\nand whole-hearted friendship. The friendship began and lasted on,\ngrowing stronger and deeper to the end. And this was not all. Froude's\nfriendship with Mr. Newman overcame Mr. Keble's hesitations about Mr.\nNewman's supposed liberalism. Mr. Newman has put on record what he\nthought and felt about Froude; no one, probably, of the many whom\nCardinal Newman's long life has brought round him, ever occupied\nFroude's place in his heart. The correspondence shows in part the way in\nwhich Froude's spirit rose, under the sense of having such a friend to\nwork with in the cause which day by day grew greater and more sacred in\nthe eyes of both. Towards Mr. Keble Froude felt like a son to a father;\ntowards Mr. Newman like a soldier to his comrade, and him the most\nsplendid and boldest of warriors. Each mind caught fire from the other,\ntill the high enthusiasm of the one was quenched in an early death.\n\nShortly after this friendship began, the course of events also began\nwhich finally gave birth to the Oxford movement. The break-up of parties\ncaused by the Roman Catholic emancipation was followed by the French and\nBelgian revolutions of 1830, and these changes gave a fresh stimulus to\nall the reforming parties in England--Whigs, Radicals, and liberal\nreligionists. Froude's letters mark the influence of these changes on\nhis mind. They stirred in him the fiercest disgust and indignation, and\nas soon as the necessity of battle became evident to save the\nChurch--and such a necessity was evident--he threw himself into it with\nall his heart, and his attitude was henceforth that of a determined and\nuncompromising combatant. \"Froude is growing stronger and stronger in\nhis sentiments every day,\" writes James Mozley, in 1832, \"and cuts about\nhim on all sides. It is extremely fine to hear him talk. The aristocracy\nof the country at present are the chief objects of his vituperation, and\nhe decidedly sets himself against the modern character of the gentleman,\nand thinks that the Church will eventually depend for its support, as it\nalways did in its most influential times, on the very poorest classes.\"\n\"I would not set down anything that Froude says for his deliberate\nopinion,\" writes James Mozley a year later, \"for he really hates the\npresent state of things so excessively that any change would be a relief\nto him.\" ... \"Froude is staying up, and I see a great deal of him.\" ...\n\"Froude is most enthusiastic in his plans, and says, 'What fun it is\nliving in such times as these! how could one now go back to the times of\nold Tory humbug?'\" From henceforth his position among his friends was\nthat of the most impatient and aggressive of reformers, the one who most\nurged on his fellows to outspoken language and a bold line of action.\nThey were not men to hang back and be afraid, but they were cautious and\nconsiderate of popular alarms and prejudices, compared with Froude's\nfearlessness. Other minds were indeed moving--minds as strong as his,\nindeed, it may be, deeper, more complex, more amply furnished, with a\nwider range of vision and a greater command of the field. But while he\nlived, he appears as the one who spurs on and incites, where others\nhesitate. He is the one by whom are visibly most felt the _gaudia\ncertaminis,_ and the confidence of victory, and the most profound\ncontempt for the men and the ideas of the boastful and short-sighted\npresent.\n\nIn this unsparing and absorbing warfare, what did Froude aim at--what\nwas the object he sought to bring about, what were the obstacles he\nsought to overthrow?\n\nHe was accused, as was most natural, of Romanising; of wishing to bring\nback Popery. It is perfectly certain that this was not what he meant,\nthough he did not care for the imputation of it. He was, perhaps, the\nfirst Englishman who attempted to do justice to Rome, and to use\nfriendly language of it, without the intention of joining it. But what\nhe fought for was not Rome, not even a restoration of unity, but a\nChurch of England such as it was conceived of by the Caroline divines\nand the Non-jurors. The great break-up of 1830 had forced on men the\nanxious question, \"What is the Church as spoken of in England? Is it the\nChurch of Christ?\" and the answers were various. Hooker had said it was\n\"the nation\"; and in entirely altered circumstances, with some\nqualifications. Dr. Arnold said the same. It was \"the Establishment\"\naccording to the lawyers and politicians, both Whig and Tory. It was an\ninvisible and mystical body, said the Evangelicals. It was the aggregate\nof separate congregations, said the Nonconformists. It was the\nparliamentary creation of the Reformation, said the Erastians. The true\nChurch was the communion of the Pope, the pretended Church was a\nlegalised schism, said the Roman Catholics. All these ideas were\nfloating about, loose and vague, among people who talked much about the\nChurch. Whately, with his clear sense, had laid down that it was a\ndivine religious society, distinct in its origin and existence, distinct\nin its attributes from any other. But this idea had fallen dead, till\nFroude and his friends put new life into it Froude accepted Whately's\nidea that the Church of England was the one historic uninterrupted\nChurch, than which there could be no other, locally in England; but into\nthis Froude read a great deal that never was and never could be in\nWhately's thoughts. Whately had gone very far in viewing the Church from\nwithout as a great and sacred corporate body. Casting aside the Erastian\ntheory, he had claimed its right to exist, and if necessary, govern\nitself, separate from the state. He had recognised excommunication as\nits natural and indefeasible instrument of government. But what the\ninternal life of the Church was, what should be its teaching and organic\nsystem, and what was the standard and proof of these, Whately had left\nunsaid. And this outline Froude filled up. For this he went the way to\nwhich the Prayer Book, with its Offices, its Liturgy, its Ordination\nservices, pointed him. With the divines who had specially valued the\nPrayer Book, and taught in its spirit, Bishop Wilson, William Law,\nHammond, Ken, Laud, Andrewes, he went back to the times and the sources\nfrom which the Prayer Book came to us, the early Church, the reforming\nChurch for such with all its faults it was--of the eleventh, twelfth,\nand thirteenth centuries, before the hopelessly corrupt and fatal times\nof the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, which led to the break-up of\nthe sixteenth. Thus to the great question, What is the Church? he gave\nwithout hesitation, and gave to the end, the same answer that Anglicans\ngave and are giving still. But he added two points which were then very\nnew to the ears of English Churchmen: (1) that there were great and to\nmost people unsuspected faults and shortcomings in the English Church,\nfor some of which the Reformation was gravely responsible; (2) that the\nRoman Church was more right than we had been taught to think in many\nparts both of principle and practice, and that our quarrel with it on\nthese points arose from our own ignorance and prejudices. To people who\nhad taken for granted all their lives that the Church was thoroughly\n\"Protestant\" and thoroughly right in its Protestantism, and that Rome\nwas Antichrist, these confident statements came with a shock. He did not\nenter much into dogmatic questions. As far as can be judged from his\n_Remains_, the one point of doctrine on which he laid stress, as being\ninadequately recognised and taught in the then condition of the English\nChurch, was the primitive doctrine of the Eucharist. His other\ncriticisms pointed to practical and moral matters; the spirit of\nErastianism, the low standard of life and purpose and self-discipline in\nthe clergy, the low tone of the current religious teaching. The\nEvangelical teaching seemed to him a system of unreal words. The\nopposite school was too self-complacent, too comfortable, too secure in\nits social and political alliances; and he was bent on shaming people\ninto severer notions. \"We will have a _vocabularium apostolicum,_ and I\nwill start it with four words: 'pampered aristocrats,' 'resident\ngentlemen,' 'smug parsons,' and _'pauperes Christi'_. I shall use the\nfirst on all occasions; it seems to me just to hit the thing.\" \"I think\nof putting the view forward (about new monasteries), under the title of\na 'Project for Reviving Religion in Great Towns.' Certainly colleges of\nunmarried priests (who might, of course, retire to a living, when they\ncould and liked) would be the cheapest possible way of providing\neffectively for the spiritual wants of a large population.\" And his\ngreat quarrel with the existing state of things was that the spiritual\nobjects of the Church were overlaid and lost sight of in the anxiety not\nto lose its political position. In this direction he was, as he\nproclaims himself, an out-and-out Radical, and he was prepared at once\nto go very far. \"If a national Church means a Church without discipline,\nmy argument for discipline is an argument against a national Church; and\nthe best thing we can do is to unnationalise ours as soon as possible\";\n\"let us tell the truth and shame the devil; let us give up a _national_\nChurch and have a _real_ one.\" His criticism did not diminish in\nseverity, or his proposals become less daring, as he felt that his time\nwas growing short and the hand of death was upon him. But to the end,\nthe elevation and improvement of the English Church remained his great\npurpose. To his friend, as we know, the Roman Church was _either_ the\nTruth or Antichrist. To Froude it was neither the whole Truth nor\nAntichrist; but like the English Church itself, a great and defective\nChurch, whose defects were the opposite to ours, and which we should do\nwisely to learn from rather than abuse. But to the last his allegiance\nnever wavered to the English Church.\n\nIt is very striking to come from Froude's boisterous freedom in his\nletters to his sermons and the papers he prepared for publication. In\nhis sermons his manner of writing is severe and restrained even to\ndryness. If they startle it is by the force and searching point of an\nidea, not by any strength of words. The style is chastened, simple,\ncalm, with the most careful avoidance of over-statement or anything\nrhetorical. And so in his papers, his mode of argument, forcible and\ncogent as it is, avoids all appearance of exaggeration or even\nillustrative expansion; it is all muscle and sinew; it is modelled on\nthe argumentative style of Bishop Butler, and still more, of William\nLaw. No one could suppose from these papers Froude's fiery impetuosity,\nor the frank daring of his disrespectful vocabulary. Those who can read\nbetween the lines can trace the grave irony which clung everywhere to\nhis deep earnestness.\n\nThere was yet another side of Froude's character which was little\nthought of by his critics, or recognised by all his friends. With all\nhis keenness of judgment and all his readiness for conflict, some who\nknew him best were impressed by the melancholy which hung over his life,\nand which, though he ignored it, they could detect. It is remembered\nstill by Cardinal Newman. \"I thought,\" wrote Mr. Isaac Williams, \"that\nknowing him, I better understood Hamlet, a person most natural, but so\noriginal as to be unlike any one else, hiding depth of delicate thought\nin apparent extravagances. _Hamlet_, and the _Georgics_ of Virgil, he\nused to say, he should have bound together.\" \"Isaac Williams,\" wrote Mr.\nCopeland, \"mentioned to me a remark made on Froude by S. Wilberforce in\nhis early days: 'They talk of Froude's fun, but somehow I cannot be in a\nroom with him alone for ten minutes without feeling so intensely\nmelancholy, that I do not know what to do with myself. At Brightstone,\nin my Eden days, he was with me, and I was overwhelmed with the deep\nsense which possessed him of yearning which nothing could satisfy and of\nthe unsatisfying nature of all things.'\"[25]\n\nFroude often reminds us of Pascal. Both had that peculiarly bright,\nbrilliant, sharp-cutting intellect which passes with ease through the\ncoverings and disguises which veil realities from men. Both had\nmathematical powers of unusual originality and clearness; both had the\nsame imaginative faculty; both had the same keen interest in practical\nproblems of science; both felt and followed the attraction of deeper and\nmore awful interests. Both had the same love of beauty; both suppressed\nit. Both had the same want of wide or deep learning; they made skilful\nuse of what books came to their hand, and used their reading as few\nreaders are able to use it; but their real instrument of work was their\nown quick and strong insight, and power of close and vigorous reasoning.\nBoth had the greatest contempt for fashionable and hollow \"shadows of\nreligion.\" Both had the same definite, unflinching judgment. Both used\nthe same clear and direct language. Both had a certain grim delight in\nthe irony with which they pursued their opponents. In both it is\nprobable that their unmeasured and unsparing criticism recoiled on the\ncause which they had at heart. But in the case of both of them it was\nnot the temper of the satirist, it was no mere love of attacking what\nwas vulnerable, and indulgence in the cruel pleasure of stinging and\nputting to shame, which inspired them. Their souls were moved by the\ndishonour done to religion, by public evils and public dangers. Both of\nthem died young, before their work was done. They placed before\nthemselves the loftiest and most unselfish objects, the restoration of\ntruth and goodness in the Church, and to that they gave their life and\nall that they had. And what they called on others to be they were\nthemselves. They were alike in the sternness, the reality, the\nperseverance, almost unintelligible in its methods to ordinary men, of\ntheir moral and spiritual self-discipline.\n\n\nSUPPLEMENTARY TO CHAPTER III[26]\n\nHurrell Froude was, when I, as an undergraduate, first knew him in 1828,\ntall and very thin, with something of a stoop, with a large skull and\nforehead, but not a large face, delicate features, and penetrating gray\neyes, not exactly piercing, but bright with internal conceptions, and\nready to assume an expression of amusement, careful attention, inquiry,\nor stern disgust, but with a basis of softness. His manner was cordial\nand familiar, and assured you, as you knew him well, of his affectionate\nfeeling, which encouraged you to speak your mind (within certain\nlimits), subject to the consideration that if you said anything absurd\nit would not be allowed to fall to the ground. He had more of the\nundergraduate in him than any \"don\" whom I ever knew; absolutely unlike\nNewman in being always ready to skate, sail, or ride with his\nfriends--and, if in a scrape, not pharisaical as to his means of getting\nout of it. I remember, _e.g._, climbing Merton gate with him in my\nundergraduate days, when we had been out too late boating or skating.\nAnd unless authority or substantial decorum was really threatened he was\nvery lenient--or rather had an amused sympathy with the irregularities\nthat are mere matters of mischief or high spirits. In lecture it was,\n_mutatis mutandis_, the same man. Seeing, from his _Remains_, the \"high\nview of his own capacities of which he could not divest himself,\" and\nhis determination not to exhibit or be puffed up by it, and looking back\non his tutorial manner (I was in his lectures both in classics and\nmathematics), it was strange how he disguised, not only his _sense_ of\nsuperiority, but the appearance of it, so that his pupils felt him more\nas a fellow-student than as the refined scholar or mathematician which\nhe was. This was partly owing to his carelessness of those formulae,\nthe familiarity with which gives even second-rate lecturers a position\nof superiority which is less visible in those who, like their pupils,\nare themselves always struggling with principles--and partly to an\neffort, perhaps sometimes overdone, not to put himself above the level\nof others. In a lecture on the _Supplices_ of Aeschylus, I have heard\nhim say _tout bonnement,_ \"I can't construe that--what do you make of\nit, A.B.?\" turning to the supposed best scholar in the lecture; or, when\nan objection was started to his mode of getting through a difficulty,\n\"Ah! I had not thought of that--perhaps your way is the best.\" And this\nmode of dealing with himself and the undergraduates whom he liked, made\nthem like him, but also made them really undervalue his talent, which,\nas we now see, was what he meant they should do. At the same time,\nthough watchful over his own vanity, he was keen and prompt in\nsnubs--playful and challenging retort--to those he liked, but in the\nnature of scornful exposure, when he had to do with coarseness or\ncoxcombry, or shallow display of sentiment. It was a paradoxical\nconsequence of his suppression of egotism that he was more solicitous to\nshow that you were wrong than that he was right.\n\nHe also wanted, like Socrates or Bishop Butler, to make others, if\npossible, think for themselves.\n\nHowever, it is not to be inferred that his conversation was made of\ncontroversy. To a certain extent it turned that way, because he was fond\nof paradox. (His brother William used to say that he, William, never\nfelt he had really mastered a principle till he had thrown it into a\nparadox.) And paradox, of course, invites contradiction, and so\ncontroversy. On subjects upon which he considered himself more or less\nan apostle, he liked to stir people's minds by what startled them,\nwaking them up, or giving them \"nuts to crack.\" An almost solemn gravity\nwith amusement twinkling behind it--not invisible--and ready to burst\nforth into a bright low laugh when gravity had been played out, was a\nvery frequent posture with him.\n\nBut he was thoroughly ready to amuse and instruct, or to be amused and\ninstructed, as an eager and earnest speaker or listener on most matters\nof interest. I do not remember that he had any great turn for beauty of\ncolour; he had none, I think, or next to none, for music--nor do I\nremember in him any great love of humour--but for beauty of physical\nform, for mechanics, for mathematics, for poetry which had a root in\ntrue feeling, for wit (including that perception of a quasi-logical\nabsurdity of position), for history, for domestic incidents, his\nsympathy was always lively, and he would throw himself naturally and\nwarmly into them. From his general demeanour (I need scarcely say) the\n\"odour of sanctity\" was wholly absent. I am not sure that his height and\ndepth of aim and lively versatility of talent did not leave his\n_compassionate_ sympathies rather undeveloped; certainly to himself,\nand, I suspect, largely in the case of others, he would view suffering\nnot as a thing to be cockered up or made much of, though of course to be\nalleviated if possible, but to be viewed calmly as a Providential\ndiscipline for those who can mitigate, or have to endure it.\n\nJ.H.N. was once reading me a letter just received from him in which (in\nanswer to J.H.N.'s account of his work and the possibility of his\nbreaking down) he said in substance: \"I daresay you have more to do than\nyour health will bear, but I would not have you give up anything except\nperhaps the deanery\" (of Oriel). And then J.H.N. paused, with a kind of\ninner exultant chuckle, and said, \"Ah! there's a Basil for you\"; as if\nthe friendship which sacrificed its friend, as it would sacrifice itself\nto a cause, was the friendship which was really worth having.\n\nAs I came to know him in a more manly way, as a brother Fellow, friend,\nand collaborateur, the character of \"ecclesiastical agitator\" was of\ncourse added to this.\n\nIn this capacity his great pleasure was taking bulls by their horns.\nLike the \"gueux\" of the Low Countries, he would have met half-way any\nopprobrious nickname, and I believe coined the epithet \"apostolical\" for\nhis party because it was connected with everything in Spain which was\nmost obnoxious to the British public. I remember one day his grievously\nshocking Palmer of Worcester, a man of an opposite texture, when a\ncouncil in J.H.N.'s rooms had been called to consider some memorial or\nother to which Palmer wanted to collect the signatures of many, and\nparticularly of dignified persons, but in which Froude wished to express\nthe determined opinions of a few. Froude stretched out his long length\non Newman's sofa, and broke in upon one of Palmer's judicious harangues\nabout Bishops and Archdeacons and such like, with the ejaculation, \"I\ndon't see why we should disguise from ourselves that our object is to\ndictate to the clergy of this country, and I, for one, do not want any\none else to get on the box.\" He thought that true Churchmen must be few\nbefore they were many--that the sin of the clergy in all ages was that\nthey tried to make out that Christians were many when they were only\nfew, and sacrificed to this object the force derivable from downright\nand unmistakable enforcement of truth in speech or action.\n\nAs simplicity in thought, word, and deed formed no small part of his\nideal, his tastes in architecture, painting, sculpture, rhetoric, or\npoetry were severe. He had no patience with what was artistically\ndissolute, luscious, or decorated more than in proportion to its\nanimating idea--wishy-washy or sentimental. The ornamental parts of his\nown rooms (in which I lived in his absence) were a slab of marble to\nwash upon, a print of Rubens's \"Deposition,\" and a head (life-size) of\nthe Apollo Belvidere. And I remember still the tall scorn, with\nsomething of surprise, with which, on entering my undergraduate room, he\nlooked down on some Venuses, Cupids, and Hebes, which, freshman-like, I\nhad bought from an Italian.\n\nHe was not very easy even under conventional vulgarity, still less under\nthe vulgarity of egotism; but, being essentially a partisan, he could\nput up with both in a man who was really in earnest and on the right\nside. Nothing, however, I think, would have induced him to tolerate\nfalse sentiment, and he would, I think, if he had lived, have exerted\nhimself very trenchantly to prevent his cause being adulterated by it.\n\nHe was, I should say, sometimes misled by a theory that genius cut\nthrough a subject by logic or intuition, without looking to the right or\nleft, while common sense was always testing every step by consideration\nof surroundings (I have not got his terse mode of statement), and that\ngenius was right, or at least had only to be corrected here and there by\ncommon sense. This, I take it, would hardly have answered if his\ntrenchancy had not been in practice corrected by J.H.N.'s wider\npolitical circumspection.\n\nHe submitted, I suppose, to J.H.N.'s axiom, that if the movement was to\ndo anything it must become \"respectable\"; but it was against his nature.\n\nHe would (as we see in the _Remains_) have wished Ken to have the\n\"courage of his convictions\" by excommunicating the Jurors in William\nIII.'s time, and setting up a little Catholic Church, like the\nJansenists in Holland. He was not (as has been observed) a theologian,\nbut he was as jealous for orthodoxy as if he were. He spoke slightingly\nof Heber as having ignorantly or carelessly communicated with (?)\nMonophysites. But he probably knew no more about that and other\nheresies than a man of active and penetrating mind would derive from\ntext-books. And I think it likely enough--not that his reverence for the\nEucharist, but--that his special attention to the details of Eucharistic\ndoctrine was due to the consideration that it was the foundation of\necclesiastical discipline and authority--matters on which his mind\nfastened itself with enthusiasm.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[18] I ought to say that I was not personally acquainted with Mr.\nFroude. I have subjoined to this chapter some recollections of him by\nLord Blachford, who was his pupil and an intimate friend.\n\n[19] \"In this mortal journeying wasted shade Is worse than wasted\nsunshine.\"\n\nHENRY TAYLOR, _Sicilian Summer_, v. 3.\n\n[20] _Remains_, Second Part, i. 47.\n\n[21] _Remains_, i. 82.\n\n[22] _Apologia_, p. 84.\n\n[23] The following shows the feeling about him in friends apt to be\nsevere critics:--\"The contents of the present collection are rather\nfragments and sketches than complete compositions. This might be\nexpected in the works of a man whose days were few and interrupted by\nillness, if indeed that may be called an interruption, which was every\nday sensibly drawing him to his grave. In Mr. Froude's case, however, we\ncannot set down much of this incompleteness to the score of illness. The\nstrength of his religious impressions, the boldness and clearness of his\nviews, his long habits of self-denial, and his unconquerable energy of\nmind, triumphed over weakness and decay, till men with all their health\nand strength about them might gaze upon his attenuated form, struck with\na certain awe of wonderment at the brightness of his wit, the\nintenseness of his mental vision, and the iron strength of his\nargument.... We will venture a remark as to that ironical turn, which\ncertainly does appear in various shapes in the first part of these\n_Remains_. Unpleasant as irony may sometimes be, there need not go with\nit, and in this instance there did not go with it, the smallest real\nasperity of temper. Who that remembers the inexpressible sweetness of\nhis smile, and the deep and melancholy pity with which he would speak of\nthose whom he felt to be the victims of modern delusions, would not be\nforward to contradict such a suspicion? Such expressions, we will\nventure to say, and not harshness, anger, or gloom, animate the features\nof that countenance which will never cease to haunt the memory of those\nwho knew him. His irony arose from that peculiar mode in which he viewed\nall earthly things, himself and all that was dear to him not excepted.\nIt was his poetry.\" From an article in the _British Critic_, April 1840,\np. 396, by Mr. Thomas Mozley, quoted in _Letters of J.B. Mozley,_ p.\n102.\n\n[24] Such as the \"Daniel\" in the _Lyra Apostolica,_ the \"Dialogue\nbetween Old Self and New Self,\" and the lines in the _Remains_ (i 208,\n209).\n\n[25] A few references to the _Remains_ illustrating this are subjoined\nif any one cares to compare them with these recollections, i. 7, 13, 18,\n26, 106, 184, 199, 200-204.\n\n[26] I am indebted for these recollections to the late Lord Blachford.\nThey were written in Oct. 1884.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nMR. NEWMAN'S EARLY FRIENDS--ISAAC WILLIAMS\n\n\nIn the early days of the movement, among Mr. Newman's greatest friends,\nand much in his confidence, were two Fellows of Trinity--a college\nwhich never forgot that Newman had once belonged to it,--Isaac Williams\nand William John Copeland. In mind and character very different, they\nwere close friends, with the affection which was characteristic of those\ndays; and for both of them Mr. Newman \"had the love which passes that of\ncommon relation.\"[27] Isaac Williams was born among the mountains of\nWales, and had the true poetic gift, though his power of expression was\noften not equal to what he wanted to say. Copeland was a Londoner, bred\nup in the strict school of Churchmanship represented by Mr. Norris of\nHackney, tempered by sympathies with the Non-jurors. At Oxford he lived,\nalong with Isaac Williams, in the very heart of the movement, which was\nthe interest of his life; but he lived, self-forgetting or\nself-effacing, a wonderful mixture of tender and inexhaustible sympathy,\nand of quick and keen wit, which yet, somehow or other, in that time of\nexasperation and bitterness, made him few enemies. He knew more than\nmost men of the goings on of the movement, and he ought to have been its\nchronicler. But he was fastidious and hard to satisfy, and he left his\ntask till it was too late.\n\nIsaac Williams was born in Wales in 1802, a year after Newman, ten years\nafter John Keble. His early life was spent in London, but his affection\nfor Wales and its mountain scenery was great and undiminished to the end\nof his life. At Harrow, where Henry Drury was his tutor, he made his\nmark by his mastery of Latin composition and his devotion to Latin\nlanguage and literature. \"I was so used to think in Latin that when I\nhad to write an English theme, which was but seldom, I had to translate\nmy ideas, which ran in Latin, into English\";[28] and later in life he\ncomplained of the Latin current which disturbed him when he had to write\nEnglish. He was also a great cricketer; and he describes himself as\ncoming up to Trinity, where he soon got a scholarship, an ambitious and\ncareless youth, who had never heard a word about Christianity, and to\nwhom religion, its aims and its restraints, were a mere name.\n\nThis was changed by what, in the language of devotional schools, would\nhave been called his conversion. It came about, as men speak, as the\nresult of accidents; but the whole course of his thoughts and life was\nturned into a channel from which it nevermore diverged. An old Welsh\nclergyman gave the undergraduate an introduction to John Keble, who then\nheld a place in Oxford almost unique. But the Trinity undergraduate and\nthe Oriel don saw little of one another till Isaac Williams won the\nLatin prize poem, _Ars Geologica_. Keble then called on Isaac Williams\nand offered his help in criticising the poem and polishing it for\nprinting. The two men plainly took to one another at first sight; and\nthat service was followed by a most unexpected invitation on Keble's\npart. He had chanced to come to Williams's room, and on Williams saying\nthat he had no plan of reading for the approaching vacation, Keble said,\n\"I am going to leave Oxford for good. Suppose you come and read with me.\nThe Provost has asked me to take Wilberforce, and I declined; but if you\nwould come, you would be companions.\" Keble was going down to Southrop,\na little curacy near his father's; there Williams joined him, with two\nmore--Robert Wilberforce and R.H. Froude; and there the Long Vacation of\n1823 was spent, and Isaac Williams's character and course determined.\n\"It was this very trivial accident, this short walk of a few yards, and\na few words spoken, which was the turning-point of my life. If a\nmerciful God had miraculously interposed to arrest my course, I could\nnot have had a stronger assurance of His presence than I always had in\nlooking back to that day.\" It determined Isaac Williams's character,\nand it determined for good and all his theological position. He had\nbefore him all day long in John Keble a spectacle which was absolutely\nnew to him. Ambitious as a rising and successful scholar at college, he\nsaw a man, looked up to and wondered at by every one, absolutely without\npride and without ambition. He saw the most distinguished academic of\nhis day, to whom every prospect was open, retiring from Oxford in the\nheight of his fame to bury himself with a few hundreds of\nGloucestershire peasants in a miserable curacy. He saw this man caring\nfor and respecting the ignorant and poor as much as others respected the\ngreat and the learned. He saw this man, who had made what the world\nwould call so great a sacrifice, apparently unconscious that he had made\nany sacrifice at all, gay, unceremonious, bright, full of play as a boy,\nready with his pupils for any exercise, mental or muscular--for a hard\nride, or a crabbed bit of Aeschylus, or a logic fence with disputatious\nand paradoxical undergraduates, giving and taking on even ground. These\npupils saw one, the depth of whose religion none could doubt, \"always\nendeavouring to do them good as it were unknown to themselves and in\nsecret, and ever avoiding that his kindness should be felt and\nacknowledged\"; showing in the whole course of daily life the purity of\nChristian love, and taking the utmost pains to make no profession or\nshow of it. This unostentatious and undemonstrative religion--so frank,\nso generous in all its ways--was to Isaac Williams \"quite a new world.\"\nIt turned his mind in upon itself in the deepest reverence, but also\nwith something of morbid despair of ever reaching such a standard. It\ndrove all dreams of ambition out of his mind. It made humility,\nself-restraint, self-abasement, objects of unceasing, possibly not\nalways wise and healthy, effort. But the result was certainly a\ncharacter of great sweetness, tenderness, and lowly unselfishness,\npure, free from all worldliness, and deeply resigned to the will of God.\nHe caught from Mr. Keble, like Froude, two characteristic habits of\nmind--a strong depreciation of mere intellect compared with the less\nshowy excellences of faithfulness to conscience and duty; and a horror\nand hatred of everything that seemed like display or the desire of\napplause or of immediate effect. Intellectual depreciators of intellect\nmay deceive themselves, and do not always escape the snare which they\nfear; but in Isaac Williams there was a very genuine carrying out of the\nPsalmist's words: \"Surely I have behaved and quieted myself; I refrain\nmy soul and keep it low, as a child that is weaned from his mother.\"\nThis fear of display in a man of singularly delicate and fastidious\ntaste came to have something forced and morbid in it. It seemed\nsometimes as if in preaching or talking he aimed at being dull and\nclumsy. But in all that he did and wrote he aimed at being true at all\ncosts and in the very depths of his heart; and though, in his words, we\nmay wish sometimes for what we should feel to be more natural and\nhealthy in tone, we never can doubt that we are in the presence of one\nwho shrank from all conscious unreality like poison.\n\nFrom Keble, or, it may be said, from the Kebles, he received his\ntheology. The Kebles were all of them men of the old-fashioned High\nChurch orthodoxy, of the Prayer Book and the Catechism--the orthodoxy\nwhich was professed at Oxford, which was represented in London by Norris\nof Hackney and Joshua Watson; which valued in religion sobriety,\nreverence, and deference to authority, and in teaching, sound learning\nand the wisdom of the great English divines; which vehemently disliked\nthe Evangelicals and Methodists for their poor and loose theology, their\nlove of excitement and display, their hunting after popularity. This\nChurch of England divinity was the theology of the old Vicar of Coln St.\nAldwyn's, a good scholar and a good parish priest, who had brought up\nhis two sons at home to be scholars; and had impressed his solid and\nmanly theology on them so strongly that amid all changes they remained\nat bottom true to their paternal training. John Keble added to it great\nattainments and brilliant gifts of imagination and poetry; but he never\nlost the plain, downright, almost awkward ways of conversation and\nmanner of his simple home--ways which might have seemed abrupt and rough\nbut for the singular sweetness and charm of his nature. To those who\nlooked on the outside he was always the homely, rigidly orthodox country\nclergyman. On Isaac Williams, with his ethical standard, John Keble also\nimpressed his ideas of religious truth; he made him an old-fashioned\nHigh Churchman, suspicious of excitement and \"effect,\" suspicious of the\nloud-talking religious world, suspicious of its novelties and\nshallowness, and clinging with his whole soul to ancient ways and sound\nChurch of England doctrine reflected in the Prayer Book. And from John\nKeble's influence he passed under the influence of Thomas Keble, the\nVicar of Bisley, a man of sterner type than his brother, with strong and\ndefinite opinions on all subjects; curt and keen in speech; intolerant\nof all that seemed to threaten wholesome teaching and the interests of\nthe Church; and equally straightforward, equally simple, in manners and\nlife. Under him Isaac Williams began his career as a clergyman; he spent\ntwo years of solitary and monotonous life in a small cure, seeking\ncomfort from solitude in poetical composition (\"It was very calm and\nsubduing,\" he writes); and then he was recalled to Oxford as Fellow and\nTutor of his college, to meet a new and stronger influence, which it was\npart of the work and trial of the rest of his life both to assimilate\nand to resist.\n\nFor, with Newman, with whom he now came into contact, he did both. There\nopened to him from intercourse with Newman a new world of thought; and\nyet while feeling and answering to its charm, he never was quite at ease\nwith him. But Williams and Froude had always been great friends since\nthe reading party of 1823, in spite of Froude's audacities. Froude was\nnow residing in Oxford, and had become Newman's most intimate friend,\nand he brought Newman and Williams together. \"Living at that time,\" he\nsays, \"so much with Froude, I was now in consequence for the first time\nbrought into intercourse with Newman. We almost daily walked and often\ndined together.\" Newman and Froude had ceased to be tutors; their\nthoughts were turned to theology and the condition of the Church. Newman\nhad definitely broken with the Evangelicals, to whom he had been\nsupposed to belong, and Whately's influence over him was waning, and\nwith Froude he looked up to Keble as the pattern of religious wisdom. He\nhad accepted the position of a Churchman as it was understood by Keble\nand Froude; and thus there was nothing to hinder Williams's full\nsympathy with him. But from the first there seems to have been an almost\nimpalpable bar between them, which is the more remarkable because\nWilliams appears to have seen with equanimity Froude's apparently more\nviolent and dangerous outbreaks of paradox and antipathy. Possibly,\nafter the catastrophe, he may, in looking back, have exaggerated his\nearly alarms. But from the first he says he saw in Newman what he had\nlearned to look upon as the gravest of dangers--the preponderance of\nintellect among the elements of character and as the guide of life. \"I\nwas greatly delighted and charmed with Newman, who was extremely kind to\nme, but did not altogether trust his opinions; and though Froude was in\nthe habit of stating things in an extreme and paradoxical manner, yet\none always felt conscious of a ground of entire confidence and\nagreement; but it was not so with Newman, even though one appeared more\nin unison with his more moderate views.\"\n\nBut, in spite of all this, Newman offered and Isaac Williams accepted\nthe curacy of St. Mary's. \"Things at Oxford [1830-32] at that time were\nvery dull.\" \"Froude and I seemed entirely alone, with Newman only\nsecretly, as it were, beginning to sympathise. I became at once very\nmuch attached to Newman, won by his kindness and delighted by his good\nand wonderful qualities; and he proposed that I should be his curate at\nSt. Mary's.... I can remember a strong feeling of difference I first\nfelt on acting together with him from what I had been accustomed to:\nthat he was in the habit of looking for effect, and for what was\nsensibly effective, which from the Bisley and Fairford School I had been\nlong habituated to avoid; but to do one's duty in faith and leave it to\nGod, and that all the more earnestly, because there were no sympathies\nfrom without to answer. There was a felt but unexpressed difference of\nthis kind, but perhaps it became afterwards harmonised as we acted\ntogether.\"[29]\n\nThus early, among those most closely united, there appeared the\nbeginnings of those different currents which became so divergent as time\nwent on. Isaac Williams, dear as he was to Newman, and returning to the\nfull Newman's affection, yet represented from the first the views of\nwhat Williams spoke of as the \"Bisley and Fairford School,\" which,\nthough sympathising and co-operating with the movement, was never quite\neasy about it, and was not sparing of its criticism on the stir and\nagitation of the Tracts.\n\nIsaac Williams threw himself heartily into the early stages of the\nmovement; in his poetry into its imaginative and poetical side, and also\ninto its practical and self-denying side. But he would have been quite\ncontent with its silent working, and its apparent want of visible\nsuccess. He would have been quite content with preaching simple homely\nsermons on the obvious but hard duties of daily life, and not seeing\nmuch come of them; with finding a slow abatement of the self-indulgent\nhabits of university life, with keeping Fridays, with less wine in\ncommon room. The Bisley maxims bade men to be very stiff and\nuncompromising in their witness and in their duties, but to make no show\nand expect no recognition or immediate fruit, and to be silent under\nmisconstruction. But his was not a mind which realised great\npossibilities of change in the inherited ways of the English Church. The\nspirit of change, so keenly discerned by Newman, as being both certain\nand capable of being turned to good account as well as bad, to him was\nunintelligible or bad. More reality, more severity and consistency,\ndeeper habits of self-discipline on the accepted lines of English Church\northodoxy, would have satisfied him as the aim of the movement, as it\nundoubtedly was a large part of its aim; though with Froude and Newman\nit also aimed at a widening of ideas, of interests and sympathies,\nbeyond what had been common in the English Church.\n\nIn the history of the movement Isaac Williams took a forward part in two\nof its events, with one of which his connexion was most natural, with\nthe other grotesquely and ludicrously incongruous. The one was the plan\nand starting of the series of _Plain Sermons_ in 1839, to which not only\nthe Kebles, Williams, and Copeland contributed their volumes, but also\nNewman and Dr. Pusey. Isaac Williams has left the following account of\nhis share in the work.\n\n\"It seemed at this time (about 1838-39) as if Oxford, from the strength\nof principle shown there (and an almost unanimous and concentrated\nenergy), was becoming a rallying point for the whole kingdom: but I\nwatched from the beginning and saw greater dangers among ourselves than\nthose from without; which I endeavoured to obviate by publishing the\n_Plain Sermons_. [_Plain Sermons_, by contributors to the _Tracts for\nthe Times_, 1st Series, January 1839.] I attempted in vain to get the\nKebles to publish, in order to keep pace with Newman, and so maintain a\nmore practical turn in the movement. I remember C. Cornish (C.L.\nCornish, Fellow and Tutor of Exeter) coming to me and saying as we\nwalked in Trinity Gardens, 'People are a little afraid of being carried\naway by Newman's brilliancy; they want more of the steady sobriety of\nthe Kebles infused into the movement to keep us safe; we have so much\nsail and want ballast.' And the effect of the publication of the _Plain\nSermons_ was at the time very quieting. In first undertaking the _Plain\nSermons_, I had no encouragement from any one, not even from John Keble;\nacquiescence was all that I could gain. But I have heard J.K. mention a\nsaying of Judge Coleridge, long before the _Tracts_ were thought of: 'If\nyou want to propagate your opinions you should lend your sermons; the\nclergy would then preach them, and adopt your opinions.' Now this has\nbeen the effect of the publication of the _Plain Sermons_.\"\n\nIsaac Williams, if any man, represented in the movement the moderate and\nunobtrusive way of religious teaching. But it was his curious fate to be\ndragged into the front ranks of the fray, and to be singled out as\nalmost the most wicked and dangerous of the Tractarians. He had the\nstrange fortune to produce the first of the Tracts[30] which was by\nitself held up to popular indignation as embodying all the mischief of\nthe series and the secret aims of the movement. The Tract had another\neffect. It made Williams the object of the first great Tractarian battle\nin the University, the contest for the Poetry Professorship: the first\ndecisive and open trial of strength, and the first Tractarian defeat.\nThe contest, even more than the result, distressed him greatly; and the\ncourse of things in the movement itself aggravated his distress. His\ngeneral distrust of intellectual restlessness had now passed into the\nspecial and too well grounded fear that the movement, in some of its\nmost prominent representatives, was going definitely in the direction of\nRome. A new generation was rising into influence, to whom the old Church\nwatchwords and maxims, the old Church habits of mind, the old Church\nconvictions, had completely lost their force, and were become almost\nobjects of dislike and scorn; and for this change Newman's approval and\ncountenance were freely and not very scrupulously quoted. Williams's\nrelation to him had long been a curious mixture of the most affectionate\nattachment and intimacy with growing distrust and sense of divergence.\nNewman was now giving more and more distinct warning that he was likely\nto go where Williams could not follow him, and the pain on both sides\nwas growing. But things moved fast, and at length the strain broke.\n\nThe estrangement was inevitable; but both cherished the warmest feelings\nof affection, even though such a friendship had been broken. But Oxford\nbecame distasteful to Williams, and he soon afterwards left it for\nBisley and Stinchcombe, the living of his brother-in-law, Sir G.\nPrevost. There he married (22d June 1842), and spent the remainder of\nhis life devoting himself to the preparation of those devotional\ncommentaries, which are still so well known. He suffered for the\ngreatest part of his life from a distressing and disabling chronic\nasthma--from the time that he came back to Oxford as Fellow and\nTutor--and he died in 1865. The old friends met once more shortly before\nIsaac Williams's death; Newman came to see him, and at his departure\nWilliams accompanied him to the station.\n\nIsaac Williams wrote a great deal of poetry, first during his solitary\ncuracy at Windrush, and afterwards at Oxford. It was in a lower and\nsadder key than the _Christian Year_, which no doubt first inspired it;\nit wanted the elasticity and freshness and variety of Keble's verse, and\nit was often careless in structure and wanting in concentration. But it\nwas the outpouring of a very beautiful mind, deeply impressed with the\nrealities of failure in the Church and religion, as well as in human\nlife, full of tenderness and pathetic sweetness, and seeking a vent for\nits feelings, and relief for its trouble, in calling up before itself\nthe images of God's goodness and kingdom of which nature and the world\nare full. His poetry is a witness to the depth and earnestness and\ngenuine delicacy of what seemed hard and narrow in the Bisley School;\nthere are passages in it which are not easily forgotten; but it was not\nstrong enough to arrest the excitement which soon set in, and with its\ncontinual obscurity and its want of finish it never had the recognition\nreally due to its excellence. Newman thought it too soft. It certainly\nwanted the fire and boldness and directness which he threw into his own\nverse when he wrote; but serious earnestness and severity of tone it\ncertainly did not want.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[27] Mozley, _Reminiscences_, i. 18.\n\n[28] I. Williams, _MS. Memoir_.\n\n[29] I. Williams, _MS. Memoir_.\n\n[30] The history of this famous Tract, No. 80, on _Reserve in\ncommunicating Religious Knowledge_, belongs to a later stage of the\nmovement.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nCHARLES MARRIOTT\n\n\nCharles Marriott was a man who was drawn into the movement, almost in\nspite of himself, by the attraction of the character of the leaders,\nthe greatness of its object, and the purity and nobleness of the motives\nwhich prompted it. He was naturally a man of metaphysical mind, given\nalmost from a child to abstract and indeed abstruse thought.[31] He had\nbeen a student of S.T. Coleridge, whom the Oriel men disliked as a misty\nthinker. He used to discuss Coleridge with a man little known then, but\nwho gained a high reputation on the Continent as a first-rate Greek\nscholar, and became afterwards Professor of Greek in the University of\nSydney, Charles Badham. Marriott also appreciated Hampden as a\nphilosopher, whom the Oriel men thoroughly distrusted as a theologian.\nHe might easily under different conditions have become a divine of the\ntype of F.D. Maurice. He was by disposition averse to anything like\nparty, and the rough and sharp proceedings which party action sometimes\nseems to make natural. His temper was eminently sober, cautious and\nconciliatory in his way of looking at important questions. He was a man\nwith many friends of different sorts and ways, and of boundless though\nundemonstrative sympathy. His original tendencies would have made him an\neclectic, recognising the strength of position in opposing schools or\ntheories, and welcoming all that was good and high in them. He was\nprofoundly and devotedly religious, without show, without extravagance.\nHis father, who died when he was only fourteen, had been a distinguished\nman in his time. He was a Christ Church man, and one of two in the first\nof the Oxford Honour lists in 1802, with E. Copleston, H. Phillpotts,\nand S.P. Rigaud for his examiners. He was afterwards tutor to the Earl\nof Dalkeith, and he became the friend of Walter Scott, who dedicated to\nhim the Second Canto of _Marmion_; and having ready and graceful\npoetical talent, he contributed several ballads to the _Minstrelsy of\nthe Scottish Border, The Feast of Spurs_, and _Archie Armstrong's Aith_.\nHe was a good preacher; his sympathies--of friendship, perhaps, rather\nthan of definite opinion--were with men like Mr. John Bowdler and the\nThorntons. While he lived he taught Charles Marriott himself. After his\ndeath, Charles, a studious boy, with ways of his own of learning, and\nthough successful and sure in his work, very slow in the process of\ndoing it, after a short and discouraging experiment at Rugby, went to\nread with a private tutor till he went to Oxford. He was first at\nExeter, and then gained a scholarship at Balliol. He gained a Classical\nFirst Class and a Mathematical Second in the Michaelmas Term of 1832,\nand the following Easter he was elected Fellow at Oriel.\n\nFor a man of his power and attainments he was as a speaker, and in\nconversation, surprisingly awkward. He had a sturdy, penetrating,\ntenacious, but embarrassed intellect--embarrassed, at least, by the\ncrowd and range of jostling thoughts, in its outward processes and\nmanifestations, for he thoroughly trusted its inner workings, and was\nconfident of the accuracy of the results, even when helplessly unable to\njustify them at the moment.[32] In matters of business he seemed at\nfirst sight utterly unpractical. In discussing with keen, rapid, and\nexperienced men like the Provost, the value of leases, or some question\nof the management of College property, Marriott, who always took great\ninterest in such inquiries, frequently maintained some position which to\nthe quicker wits round him seemed a paradox or a mare's nest. Yet it\noften happened that after a dispute, carried on with a brisk fire of not\nalways respectful objections to Marriott's view, and in which his only\nadvantage was the patience with which he clumsily, yet surely, brought\nout the real point of the matter, overlooked by others, the debate\nended in the recognition that he had been right. It was often a strange\nand almost distressing sight to see the difficulty under which he\nsometimes laboured of communicating his thoughts, as a speaker at a\nmeeting, or as a teacher to his hearers, or even in the easiness of\nfamiliar talk. The comfort was that he was not really discouraged. He\nwas wrestling with his own refractory faculty of exposition and speech;\nit may be, he was busy deeper down in the recesses and storehouses of\nhis mind; but he was too much taken up with the effort to notice what\npeople thought of it, or even if they smiled; and what he had to say was\nso genuine and veracious, as an expression of his meaning, so full of\nbenevolence, charity, and generosity, and often so weighty and\nunexpected, that men felt it a shame to think much of the peculiarities\nof his long look of blank silence, and the odd, clumsy explanations\nwhich followed it. He was a man, under an uncouth exterior, of the\nnoblest and most affectionate nature; most patient, indulgent, and\nhopeful to all in whom he took an interest, even when they sorely tried\nhis kindness and his faith in them. Where he loved and trusted and\nadmired, he was apt to rate very highly, sometimes too highly. His\ngratitude was boundless. He was one of those who deliberately gave up\nthe prospect of domestic life, to which he was naturally drawn, for the\nsake of his cause. Capable of abstract thought beyond most men of his\ntime, and never unwilling to share his thoughts with those at all\ndisposed to venture with him into deep waters, he was always ready to\nconverse or to discuss on much more ordinary ground. As an undergraduate\nand a young bachelor, he had attained, without seeking it, a position of\nalmost unexampled authority in the junior University world that was\nhardly reached by any one for many years at least after him. He was\nhopeless as a speaker in the Union; but with all his halting and\nbungling speeches, that democratic and sometimes noisy assembly bore\nfrom him with kindly amusement and real respect what they would bear\nfrom no one else, and he had an influence in its sometimes turbulent\ndebates which seems unaccountable. He was the _vir pietate gravis_. In a\nonce popular squib, occasioned by one of the fiercest of these debates,\nthis unique position is noticed and commemorated--\n\n  \u039f\u1f50\u03b4' \u1f14\u03bb\u03b1\u03b8\u03b5\u03bd \u039c\u03b1\u03c1\u03af\u03c9\u03c4\u03b1, \u03c6\u03b9\u03bb\u03b1\u03af\u03c4\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u1f68\u03c1\u03b5\u03b9\u03ae\u03bb\u03c9\u03bd\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \u1f2e\u03bb\u03b8\u03b5 \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b1 \u03b3\u03c1\u03ce\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd, \u039c\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03c7\u03bf\u1fd6\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c0\u1fb6\u03c3' \u1f00\u03b3\u03b1\u03c0\u03b7\u03c4\u03cc\u03c2,\n  \u039a\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c3\u03bc\u03b5\u03af\u03bb\u03c9\u03bd, \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03ad\u03c6\u03b7 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b5\u03af\u03bd\u03b4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f10\u03c0\u03ad\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9\u03bd.[33]\n\nHis ways and his talk were such as to call forth not unfrequent mirth\namong those who most revered him. He would meet you and look you in the\nface without speaking a word. He was not without humour; but his jokes,\ncarried off by a little laugh of his own, were apt to be recondite in\ntheir meaning and allusions. With his great power of sympathy, he yet\ndid not easily divine other men's lighter or subtler moods, and odd and\nsometimes even distressing mistakes were the consequence. His health was\nweak, and a chronic tenderness of throat and chest made him take\nprecautions which sometimes seemed whimsical; and his well-known figure\nin a black cloak, with a black veil over his college cap, and a black\ncomforter round his neck, which at one time in Oxford acquired his name,\nsometimes startled little boys and sleepy college porters when he came\non them suddenly at night.\n\nWith more power than most men of standing alone, and of arranging his\nobservations on life and the world in ways of his own, he had\npre-eminently above all men round him, in the highest and noblest form,\nthe spirit of a disciple. Like most human things, discipleship has its\ngood and its evil, its strong and its poor and dangerous side; but it\nreally has, what is much forgotten now, a good and a strong side. Both\nin philosophy and religion, the \u03bc\u03b1\u03b8\u03b7\u03c4\u1f74\u03c2 is a distinct character, and\nCharles Marriott was an example of it at its best. He had its manly and\nreasonable humility, its generous trustfulness, its self-forgetfulness;\nhe had, too, the enthusiasm of having and recognising a great master and\nteacher, and doing what he wanted done; and he learned from the love of\nhis master to love what he believed truth still more. The character of\nthe disciple does not save a man from difficulties, from trouble and\nperplexity; but it tends to save him from idols of his own making. It is\nsomething, in the trials of life and faith, to have the consciousness of\nknowing or having known some one greater and better and wiser than\noneself, of having felt the spell of his guidance and example.\nMarriott's mind, quick to see what was real and strong, and at once\nreverent to it as soon as he saw it, came very much, as an undergraduate\nat Balliol, under the influence of a very able and brilliant tutor,\nMoberly, afterwards Headmaster of Winchester and Bishop of Salisbury;\nand to the last his deference and affection to his old tutor remained\nunimpaired. But he came under a still more potent charm when he moved to\nOriel, and became the friend of Mr. Newman. Master and disciple were as\nunlike as any two men could be; they were united by their sympathy in\nthe great crisis round them, by their absorbing devotion to the cause of\ntrue religion. Marriott brought to the movement, and especially to its\nchief, a great University character, and an unswerving and touching\nfidelity. He placed himself, his life, and all that he could do, at the\nservice of the great effort to elevate and animate the Church; to the\nlast he would gladly have done so under him whom he first acknowledged\nas his master. This was not to be; and he transferred his allegiance, as\nunreservedly, with equal loyalty and self-sacrifice, to his successor.\nBut to the end, while his powers lasted, with all his great gifts and\nattainments, with every temptation to an independent position and\nself-chosen employment, he continued a disciple. He believed in men\nwiser than himself; he occupied himself with what they thought best for\nhim to do.\n\nThis work was, for the most part, in what was done to raise the standard\nof knowledge of early Christian literature, and to make that knowledge\naccurate and scholarlike. He was, for a time, the Principal of the\nTheological College at Chichester, under Bishop Otter. He was also for a\ntime Tutor at Oriel, and later, Vicar of St. Mary's. He was long bent on\nsetting on foot some kind of Hall for poor students; and he took over\nfrom Mr. Newman the buildings at Littlemore, which he turned into a\nplace for printing religious works. But though he was connected more or\nless closely with numberless schemes of Christian work in Oxford and out\nof it, his special work was that of a theological student. Marriott had\nmuch to do with the Library of the Fathers, with correcting\ntranslations, collating manuscripts, editing texts.[34] Somehow, the\nmost interesting portions hardly came to his share; and what he did in\nthe way of original writing, little as it was, causes regret that so\nmuch of his time was spent on the drudgery of editing. Some sermons, a\nlittle volume of _Thoughts on Private Devotion_, and another on the\n_Epistle to the Romans_, are nearly all that he has left of his own.\nNovelty of manner or thought in them there is none, still less anything\nbrilliant or sharp in observation or style; but there is an undefinable\nsense, in their calm, severe pages, of a deep and serious mind dwelling\non deep and very serious things. It is impossible not to wish that a\nman who could so write and impress people might have had the leisure to\nwrite more.\n\nBut Marriott never had any leisure. It has been said above that he\nplaced himself at the service of those whom he counted his teachers. But\nthe truth is that he was at every one's service who wanted or who asked\nhis help. He had a large, and what must have been often a burdensome,\ncorrespondence. With pupils or friends he was always ready for some\nextra bit of reading. To strangers he was always ready to show attention\nand hospitality, though Marriott's parties were as quaint as himself.\nHis breakfast parties in his own room were things to have seen--a crowd\nof undergraduates, finding their way with difficulty amid lanes and\npiles of books, amid a scarcity of chairs and room, and the host,\nperfectly unconscious of anything grotesque, sitting silent during the\nwhole of the meal, but perfectly happy, at the head of the table. But\nthere was no claimant on his purse or his interest who was too strange\nfor his sympathy--raw freshmen, bores of every kind, broken-down\ntradesmen, old women, distressed foreigners, converted Jews, all the odd\nand helpless wanderers from beaten ways, were to be heard of at\nMarriott's rooms; and all, more or less, had a share of his time and\nthoughts, and perhaps counsel. He was sensible of worry as he grew\nolder; but he never relaxed his efforts to do what any one asked of him.\nThere must be even now some still living who know what no one else\nknows, how much they owe, with no direct claim on him, to Charles\nMarriott's inexhaustible patience and charity. The pains which he would\ntake with even the most uncongenial and unpromising men, who somehow had\ncome in his way, and seemed thrown on his charge, the patience with\nwhich he would bear and condone their follies and even worse, were not\nto be told, for, indeed, few knew what they were.\n\n\"He was always ready to be the friend of any one whose conduct gave\nproofs of high principle, however inferior to himself in knowledge or\nacquirements, and his friendship once gained was not easily lost. I\nbelieve there was nothing in his power which he was not ready to do for\na friend who wanted his help. It is not easy to state instances of such\nkindness without revealing what for many reasons had better be left\nuntold. But many such have come to my knowledge, and I believe there are\nmany more known only to himself and to those who derived benefit from\nhis disinterested friendship.\"[35]\n\nMarriott's great contribution to the movement was his solid, simple\ngoodness, his immovable hope, his confidence that things would come\nright. With much imaginativeness open to poetical grandeur and charm,\nand not without some power of giving expression to feeling, he was\ndestitute of all that made so many others of his friends interesting as\nmen. He was nothing, as a person to know and observe, to the genius of\nthe two Mozleys, to the brilliant social charm of Frederic Faber, to the\nkeen, refined intelligence of Mark Pattison, to the originality and\nclever eccentricity of William Palmer of Magdalen. And he was nothing as\na man of practical power for organising and carrying out successful\nschemes: such power was not much found at Oxford in those days. But his\nfaith in his cause, as the cause of goodness and truth, was proof\nagainst mockery or suspicion or disaster. When ominous signs disturbed\nother people he saw none. He had an almost perverse subtlety of mind\nwhich put a favourable interpretation on what seemed most formidable. As\nhis master drew more and more out of sympathy with the English Church,\nMarriott, resolutely loyal to it and to him, refused to understand hints\nand indications which to others were but too plain. He vexed and even\nprovoked Newman, in the last agonies of the struggle, by the optimism\nwith which he clung to useless theories and impossible hopes. For that\nunquenchable hoping against hope, and hope unabated still when the\ncatastrophe had come, the English Church at least owes him deep\ngratitude. Throughout those anxious years he never despaired of her.\n\nAll through his life he was a beacon and an incitement to those who\nwished to make a good use of their lives. In him all men could see,\nwhatever their opinions and however little they liked him, the\nsimplicity and the truth of a self-denying life of suffering--for he was\nnever well--of zealous hard work, unstinted, unrecompensed; of unabated\nlofty hopes for the great interests of the Church and the University; of\ndeep unpretending matter-of-course godliness and goodness--without \"form\nor comeliness\" to attract any but those who cared for them, for\nthemselves alone. It is almost a sacred duty to those who remember one\nwho cared nothing for his own name or fame to recall what is the\ntruth--that no one did more to persuade those round him of the solid\nunderground religious reality of the movement. Mr. Thomas Mozley, among\nother generous notices of men whom the world and their contemporaries\nhave forgotten, has said what is not more than justice.[36] Speaking of\nthe enthusiasm of the movement, and the spirit of its members, \"There\nhad never been seen at Oxford, indeed seldom anywhere, so large and\nnoble a sacrifice of the most precious gifts and powers to a sacred\ncause,\" he points out what each of the leaders gave to it: \"Charles\nMarriott threw in his scholarship and something more, for he might have\nbeen a philosopher, and he had poetry in his veins, being the son of the\nwell-known author of the 'Devonshire Lane.' No one sacrificed himself so\nentirely to the cause, giving to it all that he had and all that he was,\nas Charles Marriott. He did not gather large congregations; he did not\nwrite works of genius to spread his name over the land, and to all time;\nhe had few of the pleasures or even of the comforts that spontaneously\noffer themselves in any field of enterprise. He laboured day and night\nin the search and defence of Divine Truth. His admirers were not the\nthousands, but the scholars who could really appreciate. I confess to\nhave been a little ashamed of myself when Bishop Burgess asked me about\nCharles Marriott, as one of the most eminent scholars of the day.\nThrough sheer ignorance I had failed in adequate appreciation.\" In his\nlater years he became a member of the new Hebdomadal Council at Oxford,\nand took considerable part in working the new constitution of the\nUniversity. In an epidemic of smallpox at Oxford in 1854, he took his\nfull share in looking after the sick, and caught the disorder; but he\nrecovered. At length, in the midst of troublesome work and many\nanxieties, his life of toil was arrested by a severe paralytic seizure,\n29th June 1855. He partially rallied, and survived for some time longer;\nbut his labours were ended. He died at Bradfield, 25th September 1858.\nHe was worn out by variety and pressure of unintermitted labour, which\nhe would scarcely allow any change or holiday to relieve. Exhaustion\nmade illness, when it came, fatal.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[31] \"He told me,\" writes a relative, \"that questions about trade used\nto occupy him very early in life. He used to ponder how it could be\nright to sell things for more than they cost you.\"\n\n[32] \"He had his own way of doing everything, and used most stoutly to\nprotest that it was quite impossible that he should do it in any\nother.\"--_MS. Memoir_ by his brother, John Marriott.\n\n[33] _Uniomachia_, 1833.\n\n[34] \"This became the main task of his life us long as health was\ncontinued to him. All who knew him well will remember how laboriously he\nworked at it, and how, in one shape or another, it was always on hand.\nEither he was translating, or correcting the translation of others; or\nhe was collating MSS., or correcting the press. This last work was\ncarried on at all times and wherever he was--on a journey, after\ndinner--even in a boat, he would pull out a sheet and go to write upon\nit in haste to get it finished for the next post. The number of volumes\nin the Library of the Fathers which bear the signature C.M. attest his\ndiligence.\"--John Marriott's Memoir of him (MS.)\n\n[35] J.M., _MS. Memoir_.\n\n[36] _Rem._ i. 447.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE OXFORD TRACTS\n\n\n\"On 14th July 1833,\" we read in Cardinal Newman's _Apologia_, \"Mr. Keble\npreached the assize sermon in the University Pulpit. It was published\nunder the title of _National Apostasy_. I have ever considered and kept\nthe day as the start of the religious movement of 1833.\"[37]\n\nThis memorable sermon was a strong expression of the belief common to a\nlarge body of Churchmen amid the triumphs of the Reform Bill, that the\nnew governors of the country were preparing to invade the rights, and to\nalter the constitution, and even the public documents, of the Church.\nThe suppression of ten Irish Bishoprics, in defiance of Church opinion,\nshowed how ready the Government was to take liberties in a high-handed\nway with the old adjustments of the relations of Church and State.\nChurchmen had hitherto taken for granted that England was \"a nation\nwhich had for centuries acknowledged, as an essential part of its\ntheory of government, that, _as_ a Christian nation, she is also a part\nof Christ's Church, and bound, in all her legislation and policy, by the\nfundamental laws of that Church.\" When \"a Government and people, so\nconstituted, threw off the restraint which in many respects such a\nprinciple would impose upon them, nay, disavowed the principle itself,\"\nthis, to those whose ideas Mr. Keble represented, seemed nothing short\nof a \"direct disavowal of the sovereignty of God. If it be true anywhere\nthat such enactments are forced on the legislature by public opinion, is\nApostasy too hard a word to describe the temper of such a nation?\" The\nsermon was a call to face in earnest a changed state of things, full of\nimmediate and pressing danger; to consider how it was to be met by\nChristians and Churchmen, and to watch motives and tempers. \"Surely it\nwill be no unworthy principle if any man is more circumspect in his\nbehaviour, more watchful and fearful of himself, more earnest in his\npetitions for spiritual aid, from a dread of disparaging the holy name\nof the English Church in her hour of peril by his own personal fault and\nnegligence. As to those who, either by station or temper, feel\nthemselves more deeply interested, they cannot be too careful in\nreminding themselves that one chief danger in times of change and\nexcitement arises from their tendency to engross the whole mind. Public\nconcerns, ecclesiastical or civil, will prove indeed ruinous to those\nwho permit them to occupy all their care and thought, neglecting or\nundervaluing ordinary duties, more especially those of a devotional\nkind. These cautions being duly observed, I do not see how any person\ncan devote himself too entirely to the cause of the Apostolic Church in\nthese realms. There may be, as far as he knows, but a very few to\nsympathise with him. He may have to wait long, and very likely pass out\nof this world, before he see any abatement in the triumph of disorder\nand irreligion. But, _if he be consistent_, he possesses to the utmost\nthe personal consolations of a good Christian; and as a true Churchman,\nhe has the encouragement which no other cause in the world can impart in\nthe same degree: he is calmly, soberly, demonstrably _sure_ that, sooner\nor later, _his will be the winning side_, and that the victory will be\ncomplete, universal, eternal.\"\n\nBut if Mr. Keble's sermon was the first word of the movement, its first\nstep was taken in a small meeting of friends, at Mr. Hugh James Rose's\nparsonage at Hadleigh, in Suffolk, between the 25th and the 29th of the\nsame July. At this little gathering, the ideas and anxieties which for\nsome time past had filled the thoughts of a number of earnest Churchmen,\nand had brought them into communication with one another, came to a\nhead, and issued in the determination to move. Mr. Rose, a man of high\ncharacter and distinction in his day, who had recently started the\n_British Magazine_, as an organ of Church teaching and opinion, was the\nnatural person to bring about such a meeting.[38] It was arranged that a\nfew representative men, or as many as were able, should meet towards the\nend of July at Hadleigh Rectory. They were men in full agreement on the\nmain questions, but with great differences in temperament and habits of\nthought. Mr. Rose was the person of most authority, and next to him, Mr.\nPalmer; and these, with Mr. A. Perceval, formed as it were the right\nwing of the little council. Their Oxford allies were the three Oriel\nmen, Mr. Keble, Mr. Froude, and Mr. Newman, now fresh from his escape\nfrom death in a foreign land, and from the long solitary musings in his\nMediterranean orange-boat, full of joyful vigour and ready for\nenterprise and work.[39] In the result, Mr. Keble and Mr. Newman were\nnot present, but they were in active correspondence with the others.[40]\nFrom this meeting resulted the _Tracts for the Times_, and the agitation\nconnected with them.\n\nThese friends were all devoted Churchmen, but, as has been said, each\nhad his marked character, not only as a man but as a Churchman. The most\nimportant among them was as yet the least prominent. Two of them were\nmen of learning, acquainted with the great world of London, and who,\nwith all their zeal, had some of the caution which comes of such\nexperience. At the time, the most conspicuous was Mr. Hugh James Rose.\n\nMr. Rose was a man whose name and whose influence, as his friends\nthought, have been overshadowed and overlooked in the popular view of\nthe Church revival. It owed to him, they held, not only its first\nimpulse, but all that was best and most hopeful in it; and when it lost\nhim, it lost its wisest and ablest guide and inspirer. It is certainly\ntrue that when that revival began he was a much more distinguished and\nimportant person than any of the other persons interested in it. As far\nas could be seen at the time, he was the most accomplished divine and\nteacher in the English Church. He was a really learned man. He had the\nintellect and energy and literary skill to use his learning. He was a\nman of singularly elevated and religious character; he had something of\nthe eye and temper of a statesman, and he had already a high position.\nHe was profoundly loyal to the Church, and keenly interested in whatever\naffected its condition and its fortunes. As early as 1825 he had in some\nlectures at Cambridge called the attention of English Churchmen to the\nstate of religious thought and speculation in Germany, and to the\nmischiefs likely to react on English theology from the rationalising\ntemper and methods which had supplanted the old Lutheran teaching; and\nthis had led to a sharp controversy with Mr. Pusey, as he was then, who\nthought that Mr. Rose[41] had both exaggerated the fact itself and had\nnot adequately given the historical account of it. He had the prudence,\nbut not the backwardness, of a man of large knowledge, and considerable\nexperience of the world. More alive to difficulties and dangers than his\nyounger associates, he showed his courage and his unselfish earnestness\nin his frank sympathy with them, daring and outspoken as they were, and\nin his willingness to share with them the risks of an undertaking of\nwhich no one knew better than he what were likely to be the\ndifficulties. He certainly was a person who might be expected to have a\nchief part in directing anything with which he was connected. His\ncountenance and his indirect influence were very important elements,\nboth in the stirring of thought which led to the Hadleigh resolutions,\nand in giving its form to what was then decided upon. But his action in\nthe movement was impeded by his failure in health, and cut short by his\nearly death, January 1839. How he would have influenced the course of\nthings if he had lived, it is not now easy to say. He must have been\nreckoned with as one of the chiefs. He would have been opposed to\nanything that really tended towards Rome. But there is no reason to\nthink that he would have shrunk from any step only because it was bold.\nHe had sympathy for courage and genius, and he had knowledge and\nauthority which would have commanded respect for his judgment and\nopinion. But it is too much to say either that the movement could not\nhave been without him, or that it was specially his design and plan, or\nthat he alone could have given the impulse which led to it; though it\nseemed at one time as if he was to be its leader and chief. Certainly he\nwas the most valuable and the most loyal of its early auxiliaries.\n\nAnother coadjutor, whose part at the time also seemed rather that of a\nchief, was Mr. William Palmer, of Worcester College. He had been\neducated at Trinity College, Dublin, but he had transferred his home to\nOxford, both in the University and the city. He was a man of exact and\nscholastic mind, well equipped at all points in controversial theology,\nstrong in clear theories and precise definitions, familiar with\nobjections current in the schools and with the answers to them, and well\nversed in all the questions, arguments, and authorities belonging to the\ngreat debate with Rome. He had definite and well-arranged ideas about\nthe nature and office of the Church; and, from his study of the Roman\ncontroversy, he had at command the distinctions necessary to\ndiscriminate between things which popular views confused, and to protect\nthe doctrines characteristic of the Church from being identified with\nRomanism. Especially he had given great attention to the public\ndevotional language and forms of the Church, and had produced by far the\nbest book in the English language on the history and significance of the\noffices of the English Church--the _Origines Liturgicae_, published at\nthe University Press in 1832. It was a book to give a man authority with\ndivines and scholars; and among those with whom at this time he acted no\none had so compact and defensible a theory, even if it was somewhat\nrigid and technical, of the peculiar constitution of the English Church\nas Mr. Palmer. With the deepest belief in this theory, he saw great\ndangers threatening, partly from general ignorance and looseness of\nthought, partly from antagonistic ideas and principles only too distinct\nand too popular; and he threw all his learning and zeal on the side of\nthose who, like himself, were alive to those dangers, and were prepared\nfor a great effort to counteract them.\n\nThe little company which met at Hadleigh Rectory, from 25th to 29th July\n1833, met--as other knots of men have often met, to discuss a question\nor a policy, or to found an association, or a league, or a newspaper--to\nlay down the outlines of some practical scheme of work; but with little\nforesight of the venture they were making, or of the momentous issues\nwhich depended on their meeting. Later on, when controversy began, it\nbecame a favourite rhetorical device to call it by the ugly name of a\n\"conspiracy.\" Certainly Froude called it so, and Mr. Palmer; and Mr.\nPerceval wrote a narrative to answer the charge. It was a \"conspiracy,\"\nas any other meeting would be of men with an object which other men\ndislike.\n\nOf the Oriel men, only Froude went to Hadleigh. Keble and Newman were\nboth absent, but in close correspondence with the others. Their plans\nhad not taken any definite shape; but they were ready for any sacrifice\nand service, and they were filled with wrath against the insolence of\nthose who thought that the Church was given over into their hands, and\nagainst the apathy and cowardice of those who let her enemies have their\nway. Yet with much impatience and many stern determinations in their\nhearts, they were all of them men to be swayed by the judgment and\nexperience of their friends.\n\nThe state of mind under which the four friends met at the Hadleigh\nconference has been very distinctly and deliberately recorded by all of\nthem. Churchmen in our days hardly realise what the face of things then\nlooked like to men who, if they felt deeply, were no mere fanatics or\nalarmists, but sober and sagacious observers, not affected by mere\ncries, but seeing dearly beneath the surface of things their certain and\npowerful tendencies. \"We felt ourselves,\" writes Mr. Palmer some years\nafterwards,[42] \"assailed by enemies from without and foes within. Our\nPrelates insulted and threatened by Ministers of State. In Ireland ten\nbishoprics suppressed. We were advised to feel thankful that a more\nsweeping measure had not been adopted. What was to come next?... Was the\nsame principle of concession to popular clamour ... to be exemplified in\nthe dismemberment of the English Church?... We were overwhelmed with\npamphlets on Church reform. Lord Henley, brother-in-law of Sir Robert\nPeel, Dr. Burton, and others of name and influence led the way. Dr.\nArnold of Rugby ventured to propose that all sects should be united by\nAct of Parliament with the Church of England. Reports, apparently well\nfounded, were prevalent that some of the Prelates were favourable to\nalterations in the Liturgy. Pamphlets were in wide circulation\nrecommending the abolition of the Creeds (at least in public worship),\nespecially urging the expulsion of the Athanasian Creed; the removal of\nall mention of the Blessed Trinity; of the doctrine of baptismal\nregeneration; of the practice of absolution. We knew not to what quarter\nto look for support. A Prelacy threatened and apparently intimidated; a\nGovernment making its power subservient to agitators, who avowedly\nsought the destruction of the Church ... And, worst of all, _no\nprinciple in the public mind to which we could appeal_; an utter\nignorance of all rational grounds of attachment to the Church; an\noblivion of its spiritual character, as an institution not of man but of\nGod; the grossest Erastianism most widely prevalent, especially amongst\nall classes of politicians. There was in all this enough to appal the\nstoutest heart; and those who can recall the feeling of those days will\nat once remember the deep depression into which the Church had fallen,\nand the gloomy forebodings universally prevalent.\"\n\n\"Before the spirit and temper of those who met at the conference is\ncondemned as extravagant,\" writes Mr. Perceval in 1842,[43] \"let the\nreader call to mind what was then actually the condition as well as the\nprospect of the Church and nation: an agrarian and civic insurrection\nagainst the bishops and clergy, and all who desired to adhere to the\nexisting institutions of the country; the populace goaded on, openly by\nthe speeches, covertly (as was fully believed at the time) by the paid\nemissaries of the ministers of the Crown; the chief of those ministers\nin his place in Parliament bidding the bishops 'set their house in\norder'; the mob taking him at his word, and burning to the ground the\npalace of the Bishop of Bristol, with the public buildings of the city,\nwhile they shouted the Premier's name in triumph on the ruins.\" The\npressing imminence of the danger is taken for granted by the calmest and\nmost cautious of the party, Mr. Rose, in a letter of February 1833.\n\"That something is requisite, is certain. The only thing is, that\nwhatever is done ought to be _quickly_ done, for the danger is\nimmediate, and _I should have little fear if I thought that we could\nstand for ten or fifteen years as we are_.\"[44] In the _Apologia_\nCardinal Newman recalls what was before him in those days. \"The Whigs\nhad come into power; Lord Grey had told the bishops to 'set their house\nin order,' and some of the prelates had been insulted and threatened in\nthe streets of London. The vital question was. How were we to keep the\nChurch from being Liberalised? There was so much apathy on the subject\nin some quarters, such imbecile alarm in others; the true principles of\nChurchmanship seemed so radically decayed, and there was such\ndistraction in the councils of the clergy. The Bishop of London of the\nday, an active and open-hearted man, had been for years engaged in\ndiluting the high orthodoxy of the Church by the introduction of the\nEvangelical body into places of influence and trust. He had deeply\noffended men who agreed with myself by an off-hand saying (as it was\nreported) to the effect that belief in the apostolical succession had\ngone out with the Non-jurors. '_We can count you_,' he said to some of\nthe gravest and most venerated persons of the old school.... I felt\naffection for my own Church, but not tenderness: I felt dismay at her\nprospects, anger and scorn at her do-nothing perplexity. I thought that\nif Liberalism once got a footing within her, it was sure of victory in\nthe event. I saw that Reformation principles were powerless to rescue\nher. As to leaving her, the thought never crossed my imagination: still\nI ever kept before me that there was something greater than the\nEstablished Church, and that that was the Church Catholic and Apostolic,\nset up from the beginning, of which she was but the local presence and\norgan. She was nothing unless she was this. She must be dealt with\nstrongly or she would be lost. There was need of a second Reformation.\"\n\n\"If _I thought that we could stand ten or fifteen years as we are_, I\nshould have little fear,\" said Mr. Rose. He felt that, if only he could\nsecure a respite, he had the means and the hope of opening the eyes of\nChurchmen. They were secure and idle from long prosperity, and now they\nwere scared and perplexed by the suddenness of an attack for which they\nwere wholly unprepared. But he had confidence in his own convictions.\nHe had around him ability and zeal, in which he had the best reason to\ntrust. He might hope, if he had time, to turn the tide. But this time to\nstand to arms was just what he had not. The danger, he felt, was upon\nhim. He could not wait. So he acquiesced in an agitation which so\ncautious and steady a man would otherwise hardly have chosen. \"That\n_something must be done_ is certain. The only thing is, that whatever is\ndone ought to be _quickly_ done.\" Nothing can show more forcibly the\nimminence and pressure of the crisis than words like these, not merely\nfrom Froude and his friends, but from such a man as Mr. Hugh James Rose.\n\n\"Something must be done,\" but what? This was not so easy to say. It was\nobvious that men must act in concert, and must write; but beyond these\ngeneral points, questions and difficulties arose. The first idea that\nsuggested itself at Hadleigh was a form of association, which would have\nbeen something like the _English Church Union_ or the _Church Defence\nAssociation_ of our days. It probably was Mr. Palmer's idea; and for\nsome time the attempt to carry it into effect was followed up at Oxford.\nPlans of \"Association\" were drawn up and rejected. The endeavour brought\nout differences of opinion--differences as to the rightness or the\npolicy of specific mention of doctrines; differences as to the union of\nChurch and State, on the importance of maintaining which, as long as\npossible, Mr. Newman sided with Mr. Palmer against Mr. Keble's more\nuncompromising view. A \"_third_ formulary\" was at length adopted.\n\"Events,\" it said, \"have occurred within the last few years calculated\nto inspire the true members and friends of the Church with the deepest\nuneasiness.\" It went on to notice that political changes had thrown\npower into the hands of the professed enemies of the Church as an\nestablishment; but it was not merely as an establishment that it was in\nmost serious danger. \"Every one,\" it says, \"who has become acquainted\nwith the literature of the day, must have observed the sedulous attempts\nmade in various quarters to reconcile members of the Church to\nalterations in its doctrines and discipline. Projects of change, which\ninclude the annihilation of our Creeds and the removal of doctrinal\nstatements incidentally contained in our worship, have been boldly and\nassiduously put forth. Our services have been subjected to licentious\ncriticism, with the view of superseding some of them and of entirely\nremodelling others. The very elementary principles of our ritual and\ndiscipline have been rudely questioned; our apostolical polity has been\nridiculed and denied.\" The condition of the times made these things\nmore than ordinarily alarming, and the pressing danger was urged as a\nreason for the formation, by members of the Church in various parts of\nthe kingdom, of an association on a few broad principles of union for\nthe defence of the Church. \"They feel strongly,\" said the authors of the\npaper, \"that no fear of the appearance of forwardness should dissuade\nthem from a design, which seems to be demanded of them by their\naffection towards that spiritual community to which they owe their hopes\nof the world to come; and by a sense of duty to that God and Saviour who\nis its Founder and Defender.\" But the plan of an Association, or of\nseparate Associations, which was circulated in the autumn of 1833, came\nto nothing. \"Jealousy was entertained of it in high quarters.\" Froude\nobjected to any association less wide than the Church itself. Newman had\na horror of committees and meetings and great people in London. And\nthus, in spite of Mr. Palmer's efforts, favoured by a certain number of\ninfluential and dignified friends, the Association would not work. But\nthe stir about it was not without result. Mr. Palmer travelled about the\ncountry with the view of bringing the state of things before the clergy.\nIn place of the Association, an Address to the Archbishop of Canterbury\nwas resolved upon. It was drawn up by Mr. Palmer, who undertook the\nbusiness of circulating it. In spite of great difficulties and trouble\nof the alarm of friends like Mr. Rose, who was afraid that it would\ncause schism in the Church; of the general timidity of the dignified\nclergy; of the distrust and the crotchets of others; of the coldness of\nthe bishops and the opposition of some of them--it was presented with\nthe signatures of some 7000 clergy to the Archbishop in February 1834.\nIt bore the names, among others, of Dr. Christopher Wordsworth, Master\nof Trinity; Dr. Gilbert, of Brasenose College; Dr. Faussett, and Mr.\nKeble. And this was not all. A Lay Address followed. There were\ndifficulties about the first form proposed, which was thought to say too\nmuch about the doctrine and discipline of the Church; and it was laid\naside for one with more vague expressions about the \"consecration of the\nState,\" and the practical benefits of the Established Church. In this\nform it was signed by 230,000 heads of families, and presented to the\nArchbishop in the following May. \"From these two events,\" writes Mr.\nPerceval in 1842, \"we may date the commencement of the turn of the tide,\nwhich had threatened to overwhelm our Church and our religion.\"[45]\nThere can, at any rate, be little doubt that as regards the external\nposition of the Church in the country, this agitation was a success. It\nrallied the courage of Churchmen, and showed that they were stronger and\nmore resolute than their enemies thought. The revolutionary temper of\nthe times had thrown all Churchmen on the Conservative side; and these\naddresses were partly helped by political Conservatism, and also reacted\nin its favour.\n\nSome of the Hadleigh friends would probably have been content to go on\nin this course, raising and keeping alive a strong feeling in favour of\nthings as they were, creating a general sympathy with the Church, and\nconfidence in the peculiar excellency of its wise and sober\ninstitutions, sedulously but cautiously endeavouring to correct popular\nmistakes about them, and to diffuse a sounder knowledge and a sounder\ntone of religious feeling. This is what Mr. H.J. Rose would have wished,\nonly he felt that he could not insure the \"ten or fifteen years\" which\nhe wanted to work this gradual change. Both he and Mr. Palmer would have\nmade London, to use a military term, their base of operations. The Oriel\nmen, on the other hand, thought that \"Universities are the natural\ncentres of intellectual movements\"; they were for working more\nspontaneously in the freedom of independent study; they had little faith\nin organisation; \"living movements,\" they said, \"do not come of\ncommittees.\" But at Hadleigh it was settled that there was writing to be\ndone, in some way or other; and on this, divergence of opinion soon\nshowed itself, both as to the matter and the tone of what was to be\nwritten.\n\nFor the writers of real force, the men of genius, were the three Oriel\nmen, with less experience, at that time, with less extensive learning,\nthan Mr. Rose and Mr. Palmer. But they were bolder and keener spirits;\nthey pierced more deeply into the real condition and prospects of the\ntimes; they were not disposed to smooth over and excuse what they\nthought hollow and untrue, to put up with decorous compromises and\nhalf-measures, to be patient towards apathy, negligence, or insolence.\nThey certainly had more in them of the temper of warfare. We know from\ntheir own avowals that a great anger possessed them, that they were\nindignant at the sacred idea of the Church being lost and smothered by\nselfishness and stupidity; they were animated by the spirit which makes\nmen lose patience with abuses and their apologists, and gives them no\npeace till they speak out. Mr. Newman felt that, though associations and\naddresses might be very well, what the Church and the clergy and the\ncountry wanted was plain speaking; and that plain speaking could not be\ngot by any papers put forth as joint manifestoes, or with the revision\nand sanction of \"safe\" and \"judicious\" advisers. It was necessary to\nwrite, and to write as each man felt: and he determined that each man\nshould write and speak for himself, though working in concert and\nsympathy with others towards the supreme end--the cause and interests of\nthe Church.\n\nAnd thus were born the _Tracts for the Times._[46] For a time Mr.\nPalmer's line and Mr. Newman's line ran on side by side; but Mr.\nPalmer's plan had soon done all that it could do, important as that was;\nit gradually faded out of sight, and the attention of all who cared for,\nor who feared or who hated the movement, was concentrated on the \"Oxford\nTracts.\" They were the watchword and the symbol of an enterprise which\nall soon felt to be a remarkable one--remarkable, if in nothing else, in\nthe form in which it was started. Great changes and movements have been\nbegun in various ways; in secret and underground communications, in\ndaring acts of self-devotion or violence, in the organisation of an\ninstitution, in the persistent display of a particular temper and set of\nhabits, especially in the form of a stirring and enthralling eloquence,\nin popular preaching, in fierce appeals to the passions. But though\ntracts had become in later times familiar instruments of religious\naction, they had, from the fashion of using them, become united in the\nminds of many with rather disparaging associations. The pertinacity of\ngood ladies who pressed them on chance strangers, and who extolled their\nefficacy as if it was that of a quack medicine, had lowered the general\nrespect for them. The last thing that could have been thought of was a\ngreat religions revolution set in motion by tracts and leaflets, and\ntaking its character and name from them.\n\nBut the ring of these early Tracts was something very different from\nanything of the kind yet known in England. They were clear, brief, stern\nappeals to conscience and reason, sparing of words, utterly without\nrhetoric, intense in purpose. They were like the short, sharp, rapid\nutterances of men in pain and danger and pressing emergency. The first\none gave the keynote of the series. Mr. Newman \"had out of his own head\nbegun the Tracts\": he wrote the opening one in a mood which he has\nhimself described. He was in the \"exultation of health restored and home\nregained\": he felt, he says, an \"exuberant and joyous energy which he\nnever had before or since\"; \"his health and strength had come back to\nhim with such a rebound\" that some of his friends did not know him. \"I\nhad the consciousness that I was employed in that work which I had been\ndreaming about, and which I felt to be so momentous and inspiring. I had\na supreme confidence in our cause; we were upholding that primitive\nChristianity which was delivered for all time by the early teachers of\nthe Church, and which was registered and attested in the Anglican\nformularies and by the Anglican divines. That ancient religion had\nwell-nigh faded out of the land through the political changes of the\nlast 150 years, and it must be restored. It would be, in fact, a second\nReformation--a better Reformation, for it would return, not to the\nsixteenth century, but to the seventeenth. No time was to be lost, for\nthe Whigs had come to do their worst, and the rescue might come too\nlate. Bishoprics were already in course of suppression; Church property\nwas in course of confiscation; sees would be soon receiving unsuitable\noccupants. We knew enough to begin preaching, and there was no one else\nto preach. I felt,\" he goes on,[47] with a characteristic recollection\nof his own experience when he started on his voyage with Froude in the\n_Hermes_, \"as on a vessel, which first gets under weigh, and then clears\nout the deck, and stores away luggage and live stock into their proper\nreceptacles.\" The first three Tracts bear the date of 9th September\n1833. They were the first public utterance of the movement. The opening\nwords of this famous series deserve to be recalled. They are new to most\nof the present generation.\n\n  TO MY BRETHREN IN THE SACRED MINISTRY, THE PRESBYTERS AND DEACONS OF\n  THE CHURCH OF CHRIST IN ENGLAND, ORDAINED THEREUNTO BY THE HOLY GHOST\n  AND THE IMPOSITION OF HANDS.\n\n  FELLOW-LABOURERS,--I am but one of yourselves--Presbyter; and\n  therefore I conceal my name, lest I should take too much on myself by\n  speaking in my own person. Yet speak I must; for the times are very\n  evil, yet no one speaks against them.\n\n  Is not this so? Do not we \"look one upon another,\" yet perform\n  nothing? Do we not all confess the peril into which the Church is\n  come, yet sit still each in his own retirement, as if mountains and\n  seas cut off brother from brother? Therefore suffer me, while I try to\n  draw you forth from those pleasant retreats, which it has been our\n  blessedness hitherto to enjoy, to contemplate the condition and\n  prospects of our Holy Mother in a practical way; so that one and all\n  may unlearn that idle habit, which has grown upon us, of owning the\n  state of things to be bad, yet doing nothing to remedy it.\n\n  Consider a moment. Is it fair, is it dutiful, to suffer our bishops to\n  stand the brunt of the battle without doing our part to support them?\n  Upon them comes \"the care of all the Churches.\" This cannot be helped;\n  indeed it is their glory. Not one of us would wish in the least to\n  deprive them of the duties, the toils, the responsibilities of their\n  high office. And, black event as it would be for the country, yet (as\n  far as they are concerned) we could not wish them a more blessed\n  termination of their course than the spoiling of their goods and\n  martyrdom.\n\n  To them then we willingly and affectionately relinquish their high\n  privileges and honours; we encroach not upon the rights of the\n  SUCCESSORS OF THE APOSTLES; we touch not their sword and crozier. Yet\n  surely we may be their shield-bearers in the battle without offence;\n  and by our voice and deeds be to them what Luke and Timothy were to\n  St. Paul.\n\n  Now then let me come at once to the subject which leads me to address\n  you. Should the Government and the Country so far forget their God as\n  to cast off the Church, to deprive it of its temporal honours and\n  substance, _on what_ will you rest the claim of respect and attention\n  which you make upon your flocks? Hitherto you have been upheld by your\n  birth, your education, your wealth, your connexions; should these\n  secular advantages cease, on what must Christ's Ministers depend? Is\n  not this a serious practical question? We know how miserable is the\n  state of religious bodies not supported by the State. Look at the\n  Dissenters on all sides of you, and you will see at once that their\n  Ministers, depending simply upon the people, become the _creatures_ of\n  the people. Are you content that this should be your case? Alas! can a\n  greater evil befall Christians, than for their teachers to be guided\n  by them, instead of guiding? How can we \"hold fast the form of sound\n  words,\" and \"keep that which is committed to our trust,\" if our\n  influence is to depend simply on our popularity? Is it not our very\n  office to _oppose_ the world? Can we then allow ourselves to _court_\n  it? to preach smooth things and prophesy deceits? to make the way of\n  life easy to the rich and indolent, and to bribe the humbler classes\n  by excitements and strong intoxicating doctrine? Surely it must not be\n  so;--and the question recurs, _on what_ are we to rest our authority\n  when the State deserts us?\n\n  Christ has not left His Church without claim of its own upon the\n  attention of men. Surely not. Hard Master He cannot be, to bid us\n  oppose the world, yet give us no credentials for so doing. There are\n  some who rest their divine mission on their own unsupported assertion;\n  others, who rest it upon their popularity; others, on their success;\n  and others, who rest it upon their temporal distinctions. This last\n  case has, perhaps, been too much our own; I fear we have neglected the\n  real ground on which our authority is built--OUR APOSTOLICAL DESCENT.\n\n  We have been born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of\n  the will of man, but of God. The Lord Jesus Christ gave His Spirit to\n  His Apostles; they in turn laid their hands on those who should\n  succeed them; and these again on others; and so the sacred gift has\n  been handed down to our present bishops, who have appointed us as\n  their assistants, and in some sense representatives.\n\n  Now every one of us believes this. I know that some will at first deny\n  they do; still they do believe it. Only, it is not sufficiently,\n  practically impressed on their minds.\n\n  They _do_ believe it; for it _is_ the doctrine of the Ordination\n  Service, which they have recognised as truth in the most solemn season\n  of their lives. In order, then, not to prove, but to remind and\n  impress, I entreat your attention to the words used when you were made\n  ministers of Christ's Church.\n\n  The office of Deacon was thus committed to you: \"Take thou authority\n  to execute the office of a Deacon in the Church of God committed unto\n  thee: In the name, etc.\"\n\n  And the Priesthood thus:\n\n  \"Receive the Holy Ghost, for the office and work of a Priest, in the\n  Church of God, now committed unto thee by the imposition of our hands.\n  Whose sins thou dost forgive, they are forgiven; and whose sins thou\n  dost retain, they are retained. And be thou a faithful dispenser of\n  the Word of God, and of His Holy Sacraments: In the name, etc.\"\n\n  These, I say, were words spoken to us, and received by us, when we\n  were brought nearer to God than at any other time of our lives. I know\n  the grace of ordination is contained in the laying on of hands, not in\n  any form of words;--yet in our own case (as has ever been usual in the\n  Church) words of blessing have accompanied the act. Thus we have\n  confessed before God our belief that the bishop who ordained us gave\n  us the Holy Ghost, gave us the power to bind and to loose, to\n  administer the Sacraments, and to preach. Now _how_ is he able to give\n  these great gifts? _Whence_ is his right? Are these words idle (which\n  would be taking God's name in vain), or do they express merely a wish\n  (which surely is very far below their meaning), or do they not rather\n  indicate that the speaker is conveying a gift? Surely they can mean\n  nothing short of this. But whence, I ask, his right to do so? Has he\n  any right, except as having received the power from those who\n  consecrated him to be a bishop? He could not give what he had never\n  received. It is plain then that he but _transmits_; and that the\n  Christian Ministry is a _succession_. And if we trace back the power\n  of ordination from hand to hand, of course we shall come to the\n  Apostles at last. We know we do, as a plain historical fact; and\n  therefore all we, who have been ordained clergy, in the very form of\n  our ordination acknowledged the doctrine of the APOSTOLICAL\n  SUCCESSION.\n\n  And for the same reason, we must necessarily consider none to be\n  _really_ ordained who have not _thus_ been ordained. For if ordination\n  is a divine ordinance, it must be necessary; and if it is not a divine\n  ordinance, how dare we use it? Therefore all who use it, all of _us_,\n  must consider it necessary. As well might we pretend the Sacraments\n  are not necessary to salvation, while we make use of the offices in\n  the Liturgy; for when God appoints means of grace, they are _the_\n  means.\n\n  I do not see how any one can escape from this plain view of the\n  subject, except (as I have already hinted) by declaring that the words\n  do not mean all that they say. But only reflect what a most unseemly\n  time for random words is that in which ministers are set apart for\n  their office. Do we not adopt a Liturgy _in order to_ hinder\n  inconsiderate idle language, and shall we, in the most sacred of all\n  services, write down, subscribe, and use again and again forms of\n  speech which have not been weighed, and cannot be taken strictly?\n\n  Therefore, my dear brethren, act up to your professions. Let it not\n  be said that you have neglected a gift; for if you have the Spirit of\n  the Apostles on you, surely this _is_ a great gift. \"Stir up the gift\n  of God which is in you.\" Make much of it. Show your value of it. Keep\n  it before your minds as an honourable badge, far higher than that\n  secular respectability, or cultivation, or polish, or learning, or\n  rank, which gives you a hearing with the many. Tell _them_ of your\n  gift. The times will soon drive you to do this, if you mean to be\n  still anything. But wait not for the times. Do not be compelled, by\n  the world's forsaking you, to recur as if unwillingly to the high\n  source of your authority. Speak out now, before you are forced, both\n  as glorying in your privilege and to insure your rightful honour from\n  your people. A notion has gone abroad that they can take away your\n  power. They think they have given and can take it away. They think it\n  lies in the Church property, and they know that they have politically\n  the power to confiscate that property. They have been deluded into a\n  notion that present palpable usefulness, producible results,\n  acceptableness to your flocks, that these and such like are the tests\n  of your divine commission. Enlighten them in this matter. Exalt our\n  Holy Fathers the bishops, as the representatives of the Apostles, and\n  the Angels of the Churches; and magnify your office, as being ordained\n  by them to take part in their Ministry.\n\n  But, if you will not adopt my view of the subject, which I offer to\n  you, not doubtingly, yet (I hope) respectfully, at all events, CHOOSE\n  YOUR SIDE. To remain neuter much longer will be itself to take a part.\n  _Choose_ your side; since side you shortly must, with one or other\n  party, even though you do nothing. Fear to be of those whose line is\n  decided for them by chance circumstances, and who may perchance find\n  themselves with the enemies of Christ, while they think but to remove\n  themselves from worldly politics. Such abstinence is impossible in\n  troublous times. HE THAT IS NOT WITH ME IS AGAINST ME, AND HE THAT\n  GATHERETH NOT WITH ME SCATTERETH ABROAD.\n\nWhile Mr. Palmer was working at the Association and the Address, Mr.\nNewman with his friends was sending forth the Tracts, one after another,\nin rapid succession, through the autumn and winter of 1833. They were\nshort papers, in many cases mere short notes, on the great questions\nwhich had suddenly sprung into such interest, and were felt to be full\nof momentous consequence,--the true and essential nature of the\nChristian Church, its relation to the primitive ages, its authority and\nits polity and government, the current objections to its claims in\nEngland, to its doctrines and its services, the length of the prayers,\nthe Burial Service, the proposed alterations in the Liturgy, the neglect\nof discipline, the sins and corruptions of each branch of Christendom.\nThe same topics were enforced and illustrated again and again as the\nseries went on; and then there came extracts from English divines, like\nBishop Beveridge, Bishop Wilson, and Bishop Cosin, and under the title\n\"Records of the Church,\" translations from the early Fathers, Ignatius,\nJustin, Irenaeus, and others. Mr. Palmer contributed to one of these\npapers, and later on Mr. Perceval wrote two or three; but for the most\npart these early Tracts were written by Mr. Newman, though Mr. Keble and\none or two others also helped. Afterwards, other writers joined in the\nseries. They were at first not only published with a notice that any one\nmight republish them with any alterations he pleased, but they were\ndistributed by zealous coadjutors, ready to take any trouble in the\ncause. Mr. Mozley has described how he rode about Northamptonshire,\nfrom parsonage to parsonage, with bundles of the Tracts. The _Apologia_\nrecords the same story. \"I called upon clergy,\" says the writer, \"in\nvarious parts of the country, whether I was acquainted with them or not,\nand I attended at the houses of friends where several of them were from\ntime to time assembled.... I did not care whether my visits were made to\nHigh Church or Low Church: I wished to make a strong pull in union with\nall who were opposed to the principles of Liberalism, whoever they might\nbe.\" He adds that he does not think that much came of these visits, or\nof letters written with the same purpose, \"except that they advertised\nthe fact that a rally in favour of the Church was commencing.\"\n\nThe early Tracts were intended to startle the world, and they succeeded\nin doing so. Their very form, as short earnest leaflets, was perplexing;\nfor they came, not from the class of religionists who usually deal in\nsuch productions, but from distinguished University scholars, picked men\nof a picked college; and from men, too, who as a school were the\nrepresentatives of soberness and self-control in religious feeling and\nlanguage, and whose usual style of writing was specially marked by its\nsevere avoidance of excitement and novelty; the school from which had\nlately come the _Christian Year_, with its memorable motto \"_In\nquietness and confidence shall be your strength_.\" Their matter was\nequally unusual. Undoubtedly they \"brought strange things to the ears\"\nof their generation. To Churchmen now these \"strange things\" are such\nfamiliar commonplaces, that it is hard to realise how they should have\nmade so much stir. But they were novelties, partly audacious, partly\nunintelligible, then. The strong and peremptory language of the Tracts,\ntheir absence of qualifications or explanations, frightened friends like\nMr. Palmer, who, so far, had no ground to quarrel with their doctrine,\nand he wished them to be discontinued. The story went that one of the\nbishops, on reading one of the Tracts on the Apostolical Succession,\ncould not make up his mind whether he held the doctrine or not. They\nfell on a time of profound and inexcusable ignorance on the subjects\nthey discussed, and they did not spare it. The cry of Romanism was\ninevitable, and was soon raised, though there was absolutely nothing in\nthem but had the indisputable sanction of the Prayer Book, and of the\nmost authoritative Anglican divines. There was no Romanism in them, nor\nanything that showed a tendency to it. But custom, and the prevalence of\nother systems and ways, and the interest of later speculations, and the\nslackening of professional reading and scholarship in the Church, had\nmade their readers forget some of the most obvious facts in Church\nhistory, and the most certain Church principles; and men were at sea as\nto what they knew or believed on the points on which the Tracts\nchallenged them. The scare was not creditable; it was like the Italian\nscare about cholera with its quarantines and fumigations; but it was\nnatural. The theological knowledge and learning were wanting which would\nhave been familiar with the broad line of difference between what is\nCatholic and what is specially Roman. There were many whose teaching was\nimpugned, for it was really Calvinist or Zwinglian, and not Anglican.\nThere were hopeful and ambitious theological Liberals, who recognised in\nthat appeal to Anglicanism the most effective counter-stroke to their\nown schemes and theories. There were many whom the movement forced to\nthink, who did not want such addition to their responsibilities. It\ncannot be thought surprising that the new Tracts were received with\nsurprise, dismay, ridicule, and indignation. But they also at once\ncalled forth a response of eager sympathy from numbers to whom they\nbrought unhoped-for relief and light in a day of gloom, of rebuke and\nblasphemy. Mr. Keble, in the preface to his famous assize sermon, had\nhazarded the belief that there were \"hundreds, nay, thousands of\nChristians, and that there soon will be tens of thousands, unaffectedly\nanxious to be rightly guided\" in regard to subjects that concern the\nChurch. The belief was soon justified.\n\nWhen the first forty-six Tracts were collected into a volume towards the\nend of 1834, the following \"advertisement\" explaining their nature and\nobjects was prefixed to it. It is a contemporary and authoritative\naccount of what was the mind of the leaders of the movement; and it has\na significance beyond the occasion which prompted it.\n\n  The following-Tracts were published with the object of\n  contributing-something towards the practical revival of doctrines,\n  which, although held by the great divines of our Church, at present\n  have become obsolete with the majority of her members, and are\n  withdrawn from public view even by the more learned and orthodox few\n  who still adhere to them. The Apostolic succession, the Holy Catholic\n  Church, were principles of action in the minds of our predecessors of\n  the seventeenth century; but, in proportion as the maintenance of the\n  Church has been secured by law, her ministers have been under the\n  temptation of leaning on an arm of flesh instead of her own\n  divinely-provided discipline, a temptation increased by political\n  events and arrangements which need not here be more than alluded to. A\n  lamentable increase of sectarianism has followed; being occasioned (in\n  addition to other more obvious causes), first, by the cold aspect\n  which the new Church doctrines have presented to the religious\n  sensibilities of the mind, next to their meagreness in suggesting\n  motives to restrain it from seeking out a more influential discipline.\n  Doubtless obedience to the law of the land, and the careful\n  maintenance of \"decency and order\" (the topics in usage among us),\n  are plain duties of the Gospel, and a reasonable ground for keeping in\n  communion with the Established Church; yet, if Providence has\n  graciously provided for our weakness more interesting and constraining\n  motives, it is a sin thanklessly to neglect them; just as it would be\n  a mistake to rest the duties of temperance or justice on the mere law\n  of natural religion, when they are mercifully sanctioned in the Gospel\n  by the more winning authority of our Saviour Christ. Experience has\n  shown the inefficacy of the mere injunctions of Church order, however\n  scripturally enforced, in restraining from schism the awakened and\n  anxious sinner; who goes to a dissenting preacher \"because\" (as he\n  expresses it) \"he gets good from him\": and though he does not stand\n  excused in God's sight for yielding to the temptation, surely the\n  ministers of the Church are not blameless if, by keeping back the more\n  gracious and consoling truths provided for the little ones of Christ,\n  they indirectly lead him into it. Had he been taught as a child, that\n  the Sacraments, not preaching, are the sources of Divine Grace; that\n  the Apostolical ministry had a virtue in it which went out over the\n  whole Church, when sought by the prayer of faith; that fellowship with\n  it was a gift and privilege, as well as a duty, we could not have had\n  so many wanderers from our fold, nor so many cold hearts within it.\n\n  This instance may suggest many others of the superior _influence_ of\n  an apostolical over a mere secular method of teaching. The awakened\n  mind knows its wants, but cannot provide for them; and in its hunger\n  will feed upon ashes, if it cannot obtain the pure milk of the word.\n  Methodism and Popery are in different ways the refuge of those whom\n  the Church stints of the gifts of grace; they are the foster-mothers\n  of abandoned children. The neglect of the daily service, the\n  desecration of festivals, the Eucharist scantily administered,\n  insubordination permitted in all ranks of the Church, orders and\n  offices imperfectly developed, the want of societies for particular\n  religious objects, and the like deficiencies, lead the feverish mind,\n  desirous of a vent to its feelings, and a stricter rule of life, to\n  the smaller religious communities, to prayer and Bible meetings, and\n  ill-advised institutions and societies, on the one hand, on the other,\n  to the solemn and captivating services by which Popery gains its\n  proselytes. Moreover, the multitude of men cannot teach or guide\n  themselves; and an injunction given them to depend on their private\n  judgment, cruel in itself, is doubly hurtful, as throwing them on such\n  teachers as speak daringly and promise largely, and not only aid but\n  supersede individual exertion.\n\n  These remarks may serve as a clue, for those who care to pursue it, to\n  the views which have led to the publication of the following Tracts.\n  The Church of Christ was intended to cope with human nature in all its\n  forms, and surely the gifts vouchsafed it are adequate for that\n  gracious purpose. There are zealous sons and servants of her English\n  branch, who see with sorrow that she is defrauded of her full\n  usefulness by particular theories and principles of the present age,\n  which interfere with the execution of one portion of her commission;\n  and while they consider that the revival of this portion of truth is\n  especially adapted to break up existing parties in the Church, and to\n  form instead a bond of union among all who love the Lord Jesus Christ\n  in sincerity, they believe that nothing but these neglected doctrines,\n  faithfully preached, will repress that extension of Popery, for which\n  the ever multiplying divisions of the religious world are too clearly\n  preparing the way.\n\nAnother publication ought to be noticed, a result of the Hadleigh\nmeeting, which exhibited the leading ideas of the conference, and\nespecially of the more \"conservative\" members of it. This was a little\nwork in question and answer, called the \"Churchman's Manual,\" drawn up\nin part some time before the meeting by Mr. Perceval, and submitted to\nthe revision of Mr. Rose and Mr. Palmer. It was intended to be a\nsupplement to the \"Church Catechism,\" as to the nature and claims of the\nChurch and its Ministers. It is a terse, clear, careful, and, as was\ninevitable, rather dry summary of the Anglican theory, and of the\nposition which the English Church holds to the Roman Church, and to the\nDissenters. It was further revised at the conference, and \"some\nimportant suggestions were made by Froude\"; and then Mr. Perceval, who\nhad great hopes from the publication, and spared himself no pains to\nmake it perfect, submitted it for revision and advice to a number of\nrepresentative Churchmen. The Scotch Bishops whom he consulted were warm\nin approval, especially the venerable and saintly Bishop Jolly; as were\nalso a number of men of weight and authority in England: Judge Allan\nPark, Joshua Watson, Mr. Sikes of Guilsborough, Mr. Churton of Crayke,\nMr. H.H. Norris, Dr. Wordsworth, and Dr. Routh. It was then laid before\nthe Archbishop for correction, or, if desirable, suppression; and for\nhis sanction if approved. The answer was what might have been expected,\nthat there was no objection to it, but that official sanction must be\ndeclined on general grounds. After all this Mr. Perceval not unnaturally\nclaimed for it special importance. It was really, he observed, the\n\"first Tract,\" systematically put forth, and its preparation \"apparently\ngave rise\" to the series; and it was the only one which received the\napproval of all immediately concerned in the movement. \"The care\nbestowed on it,\" he says, \"probably exceeds that which any theological\npublication in the English communion received for a long time;\" and\nfurther, it shows \"that the foundation of the movement with which Mr.\nRose was connected, was laid with all the care and circumspection that\nreason could well suggest.\" It appears to have had a circulation, but\nthere is no reason to think that it had any considerable influence, one\nway or other, on opinion in the Church. When it was referred to in\nafter-years by Mr. Perceval in his own vindication, it was almost\nforgotten. More interesting, if not more important, Tracts had thrown it\ninto the shade.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[37] _Apol._ p. 100.\n\n[38] Palmer, _Narrative_, 1843 (republished 1883), pp. 5, 18.\n\n[39] Palmer (1883), pp. 40, 43, \"June 1833, when he joined us at\nOxford.\"\n\n[40] See Palmer's account (1883), pp. 45-47, and (1843), pp. 6,7.\n\n[41] \"Mr. Rose ... was the one commanding figure and very lovable man,\nthat the frightened and discomfited Church people were now rallying\nround. Few people have left so distinct an impression of themselves as\nthis gentleman. For many years after, when he was no more, and Newman\nhad left Rose's standpoint far behind, he could never speak of him or\nthink of him without renewed tenderness\" (Mr. T. Mozley,\n_Reminiscences_, i. 308).\n\nIn November 1838, shortly before Mr. Rose's death, Mr. Newman had\ndedicated a volume of sermons to him--\"who, when hearts were failing,\nbade us stir up the gift that was in us, and betake ourselves to our\ntrue mother\" (_Parochial Sermons_, vol. iv.)\n\n[42] _Narrative of Events connected with the publication of Tracts for\nthe Times_, by W. Palmer (published 1843, republished 1883), pp. 96-100\n(abridged).\n\n[43] _Collection of Papers connected with the Theological Movement of_\n1833, by A.P. Perceval (1842), p. 25.\n\n[44] Palmer's _Narrative_ (1833), p. 101\n\n[45] _Collection of Papers_, p. 12.\n\n[46] \"That portentous birth of time, the _Tracts for the\nTimes._\"--Mozley, _Remin_, i. 311.\n\n[47] Froude, _Remains_, i. 265.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE TRACTARIANS\n\n\nThus had been started--hurriedly perhaps, yet not without counting the\ncost--a great enterprise, which had for its object to rouse the Church\nfrom its lethargy, and to strengthen and purify religion, by making it\ndeeper and more real; and they who had put their hands to the plough\nwere not to look back any more. It was not a popular appeal; it\naddressed itself not to the many but to the few; it sought to inspire\nand to teach the teachers. There was no thought as yet of acting on the\nmiddle classes, or on the ignorance and wretchedness of the great towns,\nthough Newman had laid down that the Church must rest on the people, and\nFroude looked forward to colleges of unmarried priests as the true way\nto evangelise the crowds. There was no display about this attempt, no\neloquence, nothing attractive in the way of original speculation or\nsentimental interest. It was suspicious, perhaps too suspicious, of the\nexcitement and want of soberness, almost inevitable in strong appeals to\nthe masses of mankind. It brought no new doctrine, but professed to go\nback to what was obvious and old-fashioned and commonplace. It taught\npeople to think less of preaching than of what in an age of excitement\nwere invidiously called forms--of the sacraments and services of the\nChurch. It discouraged, even to the verge of an intended dryness, all\nthat was showy, all that in thought or expression or manner it condemned\nunder the name of \"flash.\" It laid stress on the exercise of an inner\nand unseen self-discipline, and the cultivation of the less interesting\nvirtues of industry, humility, self-distrust, and obedience. If from its\nwriters proceeded works which had impressed people--a volume like the\n_Christian Year_, poems original in their force and their tenderness,\nlike some of those in the _Lyra Apostolica_, sermons which arrested the\nhearers by their keenness and pathetic undertone--the force of all this\nwas not the result of literary ambition and effort, but the reflexion,\nunconscious, unsought, of thought and feeling that could not otherwise\nexpress itself, and that was thrown into moulds shaped by habitual\nrefinement and cultivated taste. It was from the first a movement from\nwhich, as much by instinct and temper as by deliberate intention,\nself-seeking in all its forms was excluded. Those whom it influenced\nlooked not for great things for themselves, nor thought of making a mark\nin the world.\n\nThe first year after the Hadleigh meeting (1834) passed uneventfully.\nThe various addresses in which Mr. Palmer was interested, the election\nand installation of the Duke of Wellington as Chancellor, the enthusiasm\nand hopes called forth by the occasion, were public and prominent\nmatters. The Tracts were steadily swelling in number; the busy\ndistribution of them had ceased, and they had begun to excite interest\nand give rise to questions. Mr. Palmer, who had never liked the Tracts,\nbecame more uneasy; yet he did not altogether refuse to contribute to\nthem. Others gave their help, among them Mr. Perceval, Froude, the two\nKebles, and Mr. Newman's friend, a layman, Mr. J. Bowden; some of the\nyounger scholars furnished translations from the Fathers; but the bulk\nand most forcible of the Tracts were still the work of Mr. Newman. But\nthe Tracts were not the most powerful instruments in drawing sympathy to\nthe movement. None but those who remember them can adequately estimate\nthe effect of Mr. Newman's four o'clock sermons at St. Mary's.[48] The\nworld knows them, has heard a great deal about them, has passed its\nvarious judgments on them. But it hardly realises that without those\nsermons the movement might never have gone on, certainly would never\nhave been what it was. Even people who heard them continually, and felt\nthem to be different from any other sermons, hardly estimated their real\npower, or knew at the time the influence which the sermons were having\nupon them. Plain, direct, unornamented, clothed in English that was only\npure and lucid, free from any faults of taste, strong in their\nflexibility and perfect command both of language and thought, they were\nthe expression of a piercing and large insight into character and\nconscience and motives, of a sympathy at once most tender and most stern\nwith the tempted and the wavering, of an absolute and burning faith in\nGod and His counsels, in His love, in His judgments, in the awful glory\nof His generosity and His magnificence. They made men think of the\nthings which the preacher spoke of, and not of the sermon or the\npreacher. Since 1828 this preaching had been going on at St. Mary's,\ngrowing in purpose and directness as the years went on, though it could\nhardly be more intense than in some of its earliest examples. While men\nwere reading and talking about the Tracts, they were hearing the\nsermons; and in the sermons they heard the living meaning, and reason,\nand bearing of the Tracts, their ethical affinities, their moral\nstandard. The sermons created a moral atmosphere, in which men judged\nthe questions in debate. It was no dry theological correctness and\ncompleteness which were sought for. No love of privilege, no formal\nhierarchical claims, urged on the writers. What they thought in danger,\nwhat they aspired to revive and save, was the very life of religion, the\ntruth and substance of all that makes it the hope of human society.\n\nBut indeed, by this time, out of the little company of friends which a\ncommon danger and a common loyalty to the Church had brought together,\none Mr. Newman, had drawn ahead, and was now in the front. Unsought\nfor, as the _Apologia_ makes so clear--unsought for, as the contemporary\nletters of observing friends attest--unsought for, as the whole tenor of\nhis life has proved--the position of leader in a great crisis came to\nhim, because it must come. He was not unconscious that, as he had felt\nin his sickness in Sicily, he \"had a work to do.\" But there was shyness\nand self-distrust in his nature as well as energy; and it was the force\nof genius, and a lofty character, and the statesman's eye, taking in and\njudging accurately the whole of a complicated scene, which conferred the\ngifts, and imposed inevitably and without dispute the obligations and\nresponsibilities of leadership. Dr. Pusey of course was a friend of\ngreat account, but he was as yet in the background, a venerated and\nrather awful person, from his position not mixing in the easy\nintercourse of common-room life, but to be consulted on emergencies.\nRound Mr. Newman gathered, with a curious mixture of freedom, devotion,\nand awe--for, with unlimited power of sympathy, he was exacting and even\naustere in his friendships--the best men of his college, either\nFellows--R. Wilberforce, Thomas Mozley, Frederic Rogers, J.F. Christie;\nor old pupils--Henry Wilberforce, R.F. Wilson, William Froude, Robert\nWilliams, S.F. Wood, James Bliss, James Mozley; and in addition some\noutsiders--Woodgate of St. John's, Isaac Williams and Copeland, of his\nold College, Trinity. These, members of his intimate circle, were bound\nto him not merely by enthusiastic admiration and confidence, but by a\ntenderness of affection, a mixture of the gratitude and reliance of\ndiscipleship with the warm love of friendship, of which one has to go\nback far for examples, and which has had nothing like it in our days at\nOxford. And Newman was making his mark as a writer. The _Arians_, though\nan imperfect book, was one which, for originality and subtlety of\nthought, was something very unlike the usual theological writing of the\nday. There was no doubt of his power, and his mind was brimming over\nwith ideas on the great questions which were rising into view. It was\nclear to all who know him that he could speak on them as no one else\ncould.\n\nTowards the end of 1834, and in the course of 1835, an event happened\nwhich had a great and decisive influence on the character and fortunes\nof the movement. This was the accession to it of Dr. Pusey. He had\nlooked favourably on it from the first, partly from his friendship with\nMr. Newman, partly from the workings of his own mind. But he had nothing\nto do with the starting of it, except that he early contributed an\nelaborate paper on \"Fasting.\" The Oxford branch of the movement, as\ndistinguished from that which Mr. Palmer represented, consisted up to\n1834 almost exclusively of junior men, personal friends of Mr. Newman,\nand most of them Oriel men. Mr. Newman's deep convictions, his fiery\nenthusiasm, had given the Tracts their first stamp and impress, and had\nsent them flying over the country among the clergy on his own\nresponsibility. They answered their purpose. They led to widespread and\nsometimes deep searchings of heart; to some they seemed to speak forth\nwhat had been long dormant within them, what their minds had\nunconsciously and vaguely thought and longed for; to some they seemed a\nchallenge pregnant with danger. But still they were but an outburst of\nindividual feeling and zeal, which, if nothing more came of its\nfragmentary displays, might blaze and come to nothing. There was\nnothing yet which spoke outwardly of the consistency and weight of a\nserious attempt to influence opinion and to produce a practical and\nlasting effect on the generation which was passing. Cardinal Newman, in\nthe _Apologia_, has attributed to Dr. Pusey's unreserved adhesion to the\ncause which the Tracts represented a great change in regard to the\nweight and completeness of what was written and done. \"Dr. Pusey,\" he\nwrites, \"gave us at once a position and a name. Without him we should\nhave had no chance, especially at the early date of 1834, of making any\nserious resistance to the liberal aggression. But Dr. Pusey was a\nProfessor and Canon of Christ Church; he had a vast influence in\nconsequence of his deep religious seriousness, the munificence of his\ncharities, his Professorship, his family connexions, and his easy\nrelations with the University authorities. He was to the movement all\nthat Mr. Rose might have been, with that indispensable addition, which\nwas wanting to Mr. Rose, the intimate friendship and the familiar daily\nsociety of the persons who had commenced it. And he had that special\nclaim on their attachment which lies in the living presence of a\nfaithful and loyal affectionateness. There was henceforth a man who\ncould be the head and centre of the zealous people in every part of the\ncountry who were adopting the new opinions; and not only so, but there\nwas one who furnished the movement with a front to the world, and gained\nfor it a recognition from other parties in the University.\"[49]\n\nThis is not too much to say of the effect of Dr. Pusey's adhesion. It\ngave the movement a second head, in close sympathy with its original\nleader, but in many ways very different from him. Dr. Pusey became, as\nit were, its official chief in the eyes of the world. He became also, in\na remarkable degree, a guarantee for its stability and steadiness: a\nguarantee that its chiefs knew what they were about, and meant nothing\nbut what was for the benefit of the English Church. \"He was,\" we read in\nthe _Apologia_, \"a man of large designs; he had a hopeful, sanguine\nmind; he had no fear of others; he was haunted by no intellectual\nperplexities.... If confidence in his position is (as it is) a first\nessential in the leader of a party, Dr. Pusey had it.\" An inflexible\npatience, a serene composure, a meek, resolute self-possession, was the\nhabit of his mind, and never deserted him in the most trying days. He\nnever for an instant, as the paragraph witnesses, wavered or doubted\nabout the position of the English Church.\n\nHe was eminently, as his friend justly observes, \"a man of large\ndesigns.\" It is doubtless true, as the _Apologia_ goes on to say, that\nit was due to the place which he now took in the movement that great\nchanges were made in the form and character of the Tracts. To Dr.\nPusey's mind, accustomed to large and exhaustive theological reading,\nthey wanted fulness, completeness, the importance given by careful\narrangement and abundant knowledge. It was not for nothing that he had\npassed an apprenticeship among the divines of Germany, and been the\nfriend and correspondent of Tholuck, Schleiermacher, Ewald, and Sack. He\nknew the meaning of real learning. In controversy it was his\nsledge-hammer and battle-mace, and he had the strong and sinewy hand to\nuse it with effect. He observed that when attention had been roused to\nthe ancient doctrines of the Church by the startling and peremptory\nlanguage of the earlier Tracts, fairness and justice demanded that these\ndoctrines should be fully and carefully explained and defended against\nmisrepresentation and mistake. Forgetfulness and ignorance had thrown\nthese doctrines so completely into the shade that, identified as they\nwere with the best English divinity, they now wore the air of amazing\nnovelties; and it was only due to honest inquirers to satisfy them with\nsolid and adequate proof. \"Dr. Pusey's influence was felt at once. He\nsaw that there ought to be more sobriety, more gravity, more careful\npains, more sense of responsibility in the Tracts and in the whole\nmovement.\" At the end of 1835 Dr. Pusey gave an example of what he\nmeant. In place of the \"short and incomplete papers,\" such as the\nearlier Tracts had been, Nos. 67, 68, and 69 formed the three parts of a\nclosely-printed pamphlet of more than 300 pages.[50] It was a treatise\non Baptism, perhaps the most elaborate that has yet appeared in the\nEnglish language. \"It is to be regarded,\" says the advertisement to the\nsecond volume of the Tracts, \"not as an inquiry into a single or\nisolated doctrine, but as a delineation and serious examination of a\nmodern system of theology, of extensive popularity and great\nspeciousness, in its elementary and characteristic principles.\" The\nTract on Baptism was like the advance of a battery of heavy artillery on\na field where the battle has been hitherto carried on by skirmishing and\nmusketry. It altered the look of things and the condition of the\nfighting. After No. 67 the earlier form of the Tracts appeared no more.\nExcept two or three reprints from writers like Bishop Wilson, the Tracts\nfrom No. 70 to No. 90 were either grave and carefully worked out essays\non some question arising out of the discussions of the time, or else\nthose ponderous _catenae_ of patristic or Anglican divinity, by which\nthe historical continuity and Church authority of various points of\ndoctrine were established.\n\nDr. Pusey was indeed a man of \"large designs.\" The vision rose before\nhim of a revived and instructed Church, earnest in purpose and strict in\nlife, and of a great Christian University roused and quickened to a\nsense of its powers and responsibilities. He thought of the enormous\nadvantages offered by its magnificent foundations for serious study and\nthe production of works for which time and deep learning and continuous\nlabour were essential. Such works, in the hands of single-minded\nstudents, living lives of simplicity and hard toil, had in the case of\nthe Portroyalists, the Oratorians, and above all, the Benedictines of\nSt. Maur, splendidly redeemed the Church of France, in otherwise evil\ndays, from the reproach of idleness and self-indulgence. He found under\nhis hand men who had in them something of the making of students; and he\nhoped to see college fellowships filled more and more by such men, and\nthe life of a college fellow more and more recognised as that of a man\nto whom learning, and especially sacred learning, was his call and\nsufficient object, as pastoral or educational work might be the call of\nothers. Where fellowships were not to be had, he encouraged such men to\nstay up in Oxford; he took them into his own house; later, he tried a\nkind of hall to receive them. And by way of beginning at once, and\ngiving them something to do, he planned on a large scale a series of\ntranslations and also editions of the Fathers. It was announced, with an\nelaborate prospectus, in 1836, under the title, in conformity with the\nusage of the time, which had _Libraries of Useful Knowledge, etc._, of a\n_Library of Fathers of the Holy Catholic Church anterior to the Division\nof the East and West_, under the editorship of Dr. Pusey, Mr. Keble,\nand Mr. Newman. It was dedicated to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and\nhad a considerable number of Bishops among its subscribers. Down to a\nvery late date, the _Library of the Fathers_, in which Charles Marriott\ncame to take a leading part, was a matter of much concern to Dr. Pusey.\nAnd to bring men together, and to interest them in theological subjects,\nhe had evening meetings at his own house, where papers were read and\ndiscussed. \"Some persons,\" writes a gossiping chronicler of the\ntime,[51] \"thought that these meetings were liable to the statute, _De\nconventiculis illicitis reprimendis_.\" Some important papers were the\nresult of these meetings; but the meetings themselves were irresistibly\nsleepy, and in time they were discontinued. But indefatigable and\npowerful in all these beginnings Dr. Pusey stirred men to activity and\nsaw great ground of hope. He was prepared for opposition, but he had\nboundless reliance on his friends and his cause. His forecast of the\nfuture, of great days in store for the Church of England, was, not\nunreasonably, one of great promise. Ten years might work wonders. The\nlast fear that occurred to him was that within ten years a hopeless\nrift, not of affection but of conviction, would have run through that\ncompany of friends, and parted irrevocably their course and work in\nlife.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[48] The subjoined extracts record the impression made by Mr. Newman's\npreaching on contemporaries well qualified to judge, and standing\nrespectively in very different relations to the movement. This is the\njudgment of a very close observer, and very independent critic, James\nMozley. In an article in the _Christian Remembrancer_, January 1846 (p.\n169), after speaking of the obvious reasons of Mr. Newman's\ninfluence, he proceeds:--\n\n  We inquire further, and we find that this influence has been of a\n  peculiarly ethical and inward kind; that it has touched the deepest\n  part of our minds, and that the great work on which it has been\n  founded is a practical, religious one--his Sermons. We speak not from\n  our own fixed impression, however deeply felt, but from what we have\n  heard and observed everywhere, from the natural, incidental,\n  unconscious remarks dropped from persons' mouths, and evidently\n  showing what they thought and felt. For ourselves, we must say, one of\n  Mr. Newman's sermons is to us a marvellous production. It has perfect\n  power, and perfect nature; but the latter it is which makes it so\n  great. A sermon of Mr. Newman's enters into all our feelings, ideas,\n  modes of viewing things. He wonderfully realises a state of mind,\n  enters into a difficulty, a temptation, a disappointment, a grief; he\n  goes into the different turns and incidental, unconscious symptoms of\n  a case, with notions which come into the head and go out again, and\n  are forgotten, till some chance recalls them.... To take the first\n  instance that happens to occur to us ... we have often been struck by\n  the keen way in which he enters into a regular tradesman's\n  vice--avarice, fortune-getting, amassing capital, and so on. This is\n  not a temper to which we can imagine Mr. Newman ever having felt in\n  his own mind even the temptation; but he understands it, and the\n  temptation to it, as perfectly as any merchant could. No man of\n  business could express it more naturally, more pungently, more _ex\n  animo_.... So with the view that worldly men take of religion, in a\n  certain sense, he quite enters into it, and the world's point of view:\n  he sees, with a regular worldly man's eye, religion vanishing into\n  nothing, and becoming an unreality, while the visible system of life\n  and facts, politics and society, gets more and more solid and grows\n  upon him. The whole influence of the world on the imagination; the\n  weight of example; the force of repetition; the way in which maxims,\n  rules, sentiments, by being simply sounded in the ear from day to day,\n  seem to prove themselves, and make themselves believed by being often\n  heard,--every part of the easy, natural, passive process by which a\n  man becomes a man of the world is entered into, as if the preacher\n  were going to justify or excuse him, rather than condemn him. Nay, he\n  enters deeply into what even scepticism has to say for itself; he puts\n  himself into the infidel's state of mind, in which the world, as a\n  great fact, seems to give the lie to all religions, converting them\n  into phenomena which counterbalance and negative each other, and he\n  goes down into that lowest abyss and bottom of things, at which the\n  intellect undercuts spiritual truth altogether. He enters into the\n  ordinary common states of mind just in the same way. He is most\n  consoling, most sympathetic. He sets before persons their own feelings\n  with such truth of detail, such natural expressive touches, that they\n  seem not to be ordinary states of mind which everybody has, but very\n  peculiar ones; for he and the reader seem to be the only two persons\n  in the world that have them in common. Here is the point. Persons look\n  into Mr. Newman's sermons and see their own thoughts in them. This is,\n  after all, what as much as anything gives a book hold upon minds....\n  Wonderful pathetic power, that can so intimately, so subtilely and\n  kindly, deal with the soul!--and wonderful soul that can be so dealt\n  with.\n\nCompare with this the judgment pronounced by one of quite a different\nschool, the late Principal Shairp:--\n\n  Both Dr. Pusey and Mr. Keble at that time were quite second in\n  importance to Mr. Newman. The centre from which his power went forth\n  was the pulpit of St. Mary's, with those wonderful afternoon sermons.\n  Sunday after Sunday, year by year, they went on, each continuing and\n  deepening the impression produced by the last. As the hour interfered\n  with the dinner-hour of the Colleges, most men preferred a warm dinner\n  without Newman's sermon to a cold one with it; so the audience was not\n  crowded--the large church little more than half filled. The service\n  was very simple, no pomp, no ritualism; for it was characteristic of\n  the leading men of the movement that they left these things to the\n  weaker brethren. Their thoughts, at all events, were set on great\n  questions which touched the heart of unseen things. About the service,\n  the most remarkable thing was the beauty, the silver intonation of Mr.\n  Newman's voice as he read the lessons.... When he began to preach, a\n  stranger was not likely to be much struck. Here was no vehemence, no\n  declamation, no show of elaborated argument, so that one who came\n  prepared to hear \"a great intellectual effort\" was almost sure to go\n  away disappointed. Indeed, we believe that if he had preached one of\n  his St. Mary's sermons before a Scotch town congregation, they would\n  have thought the preacher a \"silly body\".... Those who never heard him\n  might fancy that his sermons would generally be about apostolical\n  succession, or rights of the Church, or against Dissenters. Nothing of\n  the kind. You might hear him preach for weeks without an allusion to\n  these things. What there was of High Church teaching was implied\n  rather than enforced. The local, the temporary, and the modern were\n  ennobled by the presence of the Catholic truth belonging to all ages\n  that pervaded the whole. His power showed itself chiefly in the new\n  and unlooked-for way in which he touched into life old truths, moral\n  or spiritual, which all Christians acknowledge, but most have ceased\n  to feel--when he spoke of \"unreal words,\" of the \"individuality of the\n  soul,\" of the \"invisible world,\" of a \"particular Providence,\" or\n  again, of the \"ventures of faith,\" \"warfare the condition of victory,\"\n  \"the Cross of Christ the measure of the world,\" \"the Church a Home for\n  the lonely.\" As he spoke, how the old truth became new; how it came\n  home with a meaning never felt before! He laid his finger how gently,\n  yet how powerfully, on some inner place in the hearer's heart, and\n  told him things about himself he had never known till then. Subtlest\n  truths, which it would have taken philosophers pages of circumlocution\n  and big words to state, were dropt out by the way in a sentence or two\n  of the most transparent Saxon. What delicacy of style, yet what\n  strength! how simple, yet how suggestive! how homely, yet how refined!\n  how penetrating, yet how tender-hearted! If now and then there was a\n  forlorn undertone which at the time seemed inexplicable, you might be\n  perplexed at the drift of what he said, but you felt all the more\n  drawn to the speaker. ... After hearing these sermons you might come\n  away still not believing the tenets peculiar to the High Church\n  system; but you would be harder than most men, if you did not feel\n  more than ever ashamed of coarseness, selfishness, worldliness, if you\n  did not feel the things of faith brought closer to the soul.--_John\n  Keble,_ by J. C. Shairp, Professor of Humanity, St. Andrews (1866),\n  pp. 12-17.\n\nI venture to add the judgment of another contemporary, on the effect of\nthis preaching, from the _Reminiscences_ of Sir F. Doyle, p. 145:--\n\n  That great man's extraordinary genius drew all those within his\n  sphere, like a magnet, to attach themselves to him and his doctrines.\n  Nay, before he became a Romanist, what we may call his mesmeric\n  influence acted not only on his Tractarian adherents, but even in some\n  degree on outsiders like myself. Whenever I was at Oxford, I used to\n  go regularly on Sunday afternoons to listen to his sermon at St.\n  Mary's, and I have never heard such preaching since. I do not know\n  whether it is a mere fancy of mine, or whether those who know him\n  better will accept and endorse my belief, that one element of his\n  wonderful power showed itself after this fashion. He always began as\n  if he had determined to set forth his idea of the truth in the\n  plainest and simplest language--language, as men say, \"intelligible to\n  the meanest understanding.\" But his ardent zeal and fine poetical\n  imagination were not thus to be controlled. As I hung upon his words,\n  it seemed to me as if I could trace behind his will, and pressing, so\n  to speak, against it, a rush of thoughts, of feelings which he kept\n  struggling to hold back, but in the end they were generally too strong\n  for him, and poured themselves out in a torrent of eloquence all the\n  more impetuous from having been so long repressed. The effect of these\n  outbursts was irresistible, and carried his hearers beyond themselves\n  at once. Even when his efforts of self-restraint were more successful,\n  those very efforts gave a life and colour to his style which riveted\n  the attention of all within the reach of his voice. Mr. Justin\n  McCarthy, in his _History of Our Own Times_, says of him: \"In all the\n  arts that make a great preacher or orator, Cardinal Newman was\n  deficient. His manner was constrained and ungraceful, and even\n  awkward; his voice was thin and weak, his bearing was not at first\n  impressive in any way--a gaunt emaciated figure, a sharp eagle face,\n  and a cold meditative eye, rather repelled than attracted those who\n  saw him for the first time.\" I do not think Mr. McCarthy's phrases\n  very happily chosen to convey his meaning. Surely a gaunt emaciated\n  frame and a sharp eagle face are the very characteristics which we\n  should picture to ourselves as belonging to Peter the Hermit, or\n  Scott's Ephraim Macbriar in _Old Mortality_. However unimpressive the\n  look of an eagle may be in Mr. McCarthy's opinion, I do not agree with\n  him about Dr. Newman.\n\n  When I knew him at Oxford, these somewhat disparaging remarks would\n  not have been applicable. His manner, it is true, may have been\n  self-repressed, constrained it was not. His bearing was neither\n  awkward nor ungraceful; it was simply quiet and calm, because under\n  strict control; but beneath that calmness, intense feeling, I think,\n  was obvious to those who had any instinct of sympathy with him. But if\n  Mr. McCarthy's acquaintance with him only began when he took office in\n  an Irish Catholic university, I can quite understand that (flexibility\n  not being one of his special gifts) he may have failed now and again\n  to bring himself into perfect harmony with an Irish audience. He was\n  probably too much of a typical Englishman for his place; nevertheless\n  Mr. McCarthy, though he does not seem to have admired him in the\n  pulpit, is fully sensible of his intellectual powers and general\n  eminence.\n\n  Dr. Pusey, who used every now and then to take Newman's duties at St.\n  Mary's, was to me a much less interesting person. [A learned man, no\n  doubt, but dull and tedious as a preacher.] Certainly, in spite of the\n  name Puseyism having been given to the Oxford attempt at a new\n  Catholic departure, he was not the Columbus of that voyage of\n  discovery undertaken to find a safer haven for the Church of England.\n  I may, however, be more or less unjust to him, as I owe him a sort of\n  grudge. His discourses were not only less attractive than those of Dr.\n  Newman, but always much longer, and the result of this was that the\n  learned Canon of Christ Church generally made me late for dinner at my\n  College, a calamity never inflicted on his All Souls' hearers by the\n  terser and swifter fellow of Oriel whom he was replacing.\n\n\n[49] _Apologia_, p 136.\n\n[50] It swelled in the second edition to 400 pages [in spite of the fact\nthat in that edition the historical range of the treatise was greatly\nreduced].\n\n[51] _Recollections of Oxford_, by G.V. Cox, p. 278.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nSUBSCRIPTION AT MATRICULATION AND ADMISSION OF DISSENTERS\n\n\n\"Depend upon it,\" an earnest High Churchman of the Joshua Watson type\nhad said to one of Mr. Newman's friends, who was a link between the old\nChurchmanship and the new--\"depend upon it, the day will come when those\ngreat doctrines\" connected with the Church, \"now buried, will be brought\nout to the light of the day, and then the effect will be quite\nfearful.\"[52] With the publication of the _Tracts for the Times_, and\nthe excitement caused by them, the day had come.\n\nTheir unflinching and severe proclamation of Church principles and\nChurch doctrines coincided with a state of feeling and opinion in the\ncountry, in which two very different tendencies might be observed. They\nfell on the public mind just when one of these tendencies would help\nthem, and the other be fiercely hostile. On the one hand, the issue of\nthe political controversy with the Roman Catholics, their triumph all\nalong the line, and the now scarcely disguised contempt shown by their\npolitical representatives for the pledges and explanations on which\ntheir relief was supposed to have been conceded, had left the public\nmind sore, angry, and suspicious. Orthodox and Evangelicals were alike\nalarmed and indignant; and the Evangelicals, always doctrinally jealous\nof Popery, and of anything \"unsound\" in that direction, had been roused\nto increased irritation by the proceedings of the Reformation Society,\nwhich had made it its business to hold meetings and discussions all over\nthe country, where fervid and sometimes eloquent and able Irishmen, like\nMr. E. Tottenham, afterwards of Laura Chapel, Bath, had argued and\ndeclaimed, with Roman text-books in hand, on such questions as the Right\nof Private Judgment, the Rule of Faith, and the articles of the\nTridentine Creed--not always with the effect which they intended on\nthose who heard them, with whom their arguments, and those which they\nelicited from their opponents, sometimes left behind uncomfortable\nmisgivings, and questions even more serious than the controversy itself.\nOn the other hand, in quarters quite unconnected with the recognised\nreligious schools, interest had been independently and strongly awakened\nin the minds of theologians and philosophical thinkers, in regard to the\nidea, history, and relations to society of the Christian Church. In\nIreland, a recluse, who was the centre of a small knot of earnest\nfriends, a man of deep piety and great freedom and originality of mind,\nMr. Alexander Knox, had been led, partly, it may be, by his intimacy\nwith John Wesley, to think out for himself the character and true\nconstitution of the Church, and the nature of the doctrines which it was\ncommissioned to teach. In England, another recluse, of splendid genius\nand wayward humour, had dealt in his own way, with far-reaching insight,\nwith vast reading, and often with impressive eloquence, with the same\nsubject; and his profound sympathy and faith had been shared and\nreflected by a great poet. What Coleridge and Wordsworth had put in the\nforefront of their speculations and poetry, as the object of their\nprofoundest interest, and of their highest hopes for mankind, might, of\ncourse, fail to appear in the same light to others; but it could not\nfail, in those days at least, to attract attention, as a matter of grave\nand well-founded importance. Coleridge's theories of the Church were his\nown, and were very wide of theories recognised by any of those who had\nto deal practically with the question, and who were influenced, in one\nway or another, by the traditional doctrines of theologians. But\nColeridge had lifted the subject to a very high level. He had taken the\nsimple but all-important step of viewing the Church in its spiritual\ncharacter as first and foremost and above all things essentially a\nreligious society of divine institution, not dependent on the creation\nor will of man, or on the privileges and honours which man might think\nfit to assign to it; and he had undoubtedly familiarised the minds of\nmany with this way of regarding it, however imperfect, or cloudy, or\nunpractical they might find the development of his ideas, and his\ndeductions from them. And in Oxford the questions which had stirred the\nfriends at Hadleigh had stirred others also, and had waked up various\nresponses. Whately's acute mind had not missed these questions, and had\ngiven original if insufficient answers to them. Blanco White knew only\ntoo well their bearing and importance, and had laboured, not without\nsuccess, to leave behind him his own impress on the way in which they\nshould be dealt with. Dr. Hampden, the man in Oxford best acquainted\nwith Aristotle's works and with the scholastic philosophy, had thrown\nChristian doctrines into a philosophical calculus which seemed to leave\nthem little better than the inventions of men. On the other hand, a\nbrilliant scholar, whose after-career was strangely full of great\nsuccesses and deplorable disasters, William Sewell of Exeter College,\nhad opened, in a way new to Oxford, the wealth and magnificence of\nPlato; and his thoughts had been dazzled by seeming to find in the\ntruths and facts of the Christian Church the counterpart and realisation\nof the grandest of Plato's imaginations. The subjects treated with such\ndogmatic severity and such impetuous earnestness in the Tracts were, in\none shape or another, in all men's minds, when these Tracts broke on the\nUniversity and English society with their peremptory call to men \"to\ntake their side.\"\n\nThere was just a moment of surprise and uncertainty--uncertainty as to\nwhat the Tracts meant; whether they were to be a new weapon against the\nenemies of the Church, or were simply extravagant and preposterous\nnovelties--just a certain perplexity and hesitation at their conflicting\naspects; on the one hand, the known and high character of the writers,\ntheir evident determination and confidence in their cause, the\nattraction of their religious warmth and unselfishness and nobleness,\nthe dim consciousness that much that they said was undeniable; and on\nthe other hand, the apparent wildness and recklessness of their words:\nand then public opinion began steadily to take its \"ply,\" and to be\nagreed in condemning them. It soon went farther, and became vehement in\nreprobating them as scandalous and dangerous publications. They incensed\nthe Evangelicals by their alleged Romanism, and their unsound views\nabout justification, good works, and the sacraments; they angered the\n\"two-bottle orthodox\" by their asceticism--the steady men, by their\naudacity and strong words--the liberals, by their dogmatic severity;\ntheir seriously practical bearing was early disclosed in a tract on\n\"Fasting.\" But while they repelled strongly, they attracted strongly;\nthey touched many consciences, they won many hearts, they opened new\nthoughts and hopes to many minds. One of the mischiefs of the Tracts,\nand of those sermons at St. Mary's which were the commentaries on them,\nwas that so many people seemed to like them and to be struck by them.\nThe gathering storm muttered and growled for some time at a distance,\nand men seemed to be taking time to make up their minds; but it began to\nlour from early days, till after various threatenings it broke in a\nfurious article in the _Edinburgh_, by Dr. Arnold, on the \"Oxford\nMalignants\"; and the Tract-writers and their friends became, what they\nlong continued to be, the most unpopular and suspected body of men in\nthe Church, whom everybody was at liberty to insult, both as dishonest\nand absurd, of whom nothing was too cruel to say, nothing too ridiculous\nto believe. It is only equitable to take into account the unprepared\nstate of the public mind, the surprise and novelty of even the\ncommonest things when put in a new light, the prejudices which the\nTract-writers were thought wantonly to offend and defy, their militant\nand uncompromising attitude, where principles were at stake. But\nconsidering what these men were known to be in character and life, what\nwas the emergency and what were the pressing motives which called for\naction, and what is thought of them now that their course is run, it is\nstrange indeed to remember who they were, to whom the courtesies of\ncontroversy were denied, not only by the vulgar herd of pamphleteers,\nbut by men of ability and position, some of whom had been their familiar\nfriends. Of course a nickname was soon found for them: the word\n\"Tractarian\" was invented, and Archbishop Whately thought it worth\nwhile, but not successfully, to improve it into \"Tractites.\" Archbishop\nWhately, always ingenious, appears to have suspected that the real but\nconcealed object of the movement was to propagate a secret infidelity;\nthey were \"Children of the Mist,\" or \"Veiled Prophets\";[53] and he\nseriously suggested to a friend who was writing against it,--\"this\nrapidly spreading pestilence,\"--to parallel it, in its characteristics\nand modes of working, with Indian Thuggee.[54]\n\nBut these things were of gradual growth. Towards the end of 1834 a\nquestion appeared in Oxford interesting to numbers besides Mr. Newman\nand his friends, which was to lead to momentous consequences. The old,\ncrude ideas of change in the Church had come to appear, even to their\nadvocates, for the present impracticable, and there was no more talk for\na long time of schemes which had been in favour two years before. The\nground was changed, and a point was now brought forward on the Liberal\nside, for which a good deal might be plausibly said. This was the\nrequirement of subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles from young men\nat matriculation; and a strong pamphlet advocating its abolition, with\nthe express purpose of admitting Dissenters, was published by Dr.\nHampden, the Bampton Lecturer of two years before.\n\nOxford had always been one of the great schools of the Church. Its\ntraditions, its tone, its customs, its rules, all expressed or presumed\nthe closest attachment to that way of religion which was specially\nidentified with the Church, in its doctrinal and historical aspect.\nOxford was emphatically definite, dogmatic, orthodox, compared even with\nCambridge, which had largely favoured the Evangelical school, and had\nleanings to Liberalism. Oxford, unlike Cambridge, gave notice of its\nattitude by requiring every one who matriculated to subscribe the\nThirty-nine Articles: the theory of its Tutorial system, of its lectures\nand examinations, implied what of late years in the better colleges,\nthough certainly not everywhere, had been realised in fact--a\nconsiderable amount of religious and theological teaching. And whatever\nmight have been said originally of the lay character of the University,\nthe colleges, which had become coextensive with the University, were for\nthe most part, in the intention of their founders, meant to educate and\nsupport theological students on their foundations for the service of the\nChurch. It became in time the fashion to call them lay institutions:\nlegally they may have been so, but judged by their statutes, they were\nnearly all of them as ecclesiastical as the Chapter of a Cathedral. And\nOxford was the fulcrum from which the theological revival hoped to move\nthe Church. It was therefore a shock and a challenge of no light kind,\nwhen not merely the proposal was made to abolish the matriculation\nsubscription with the express object of attracting Dissenters, and to\nget Parliament to force the change on the University if the University\nresisted, but the proposal itself was vindicated and enforced in a\npamphlet by Dr. Hampden by a definite and precise theory which stopped\nnot short of the position that all creeds and formularies--everything\nwhich represented the authority of the teaching Church--however\nincidentally and temporarily useful, were in their own nature the\ninventions of a mistaken and corrupt philosophy, and invasions of\nChristian liberty. This was cutting deep with a vengeance, though the\nauthor of the theory seemed alone unable to see it. It went to the root\nof the whole mutter; and if Dr. Hampden was right, there was neither\nChurch nor doctrine worth contending for, except as men contend about\nthe Newtonian or the undulatory theory of light.\n\nNo one ought now to affect, as some people used to affect at the time,\nthat the question was of secondary importance, and turned mainly on the\nspecial fitness of the Thirty-nine Articles to be offered for the proof\nof a young man's belief. It was a much more critical question. It was\nreally, however disguised, the question, asked then for the first time,\nand since finally decided, whether Oxford was to continue to be a\nschool of the Church of England; and it also involved the wider\nquestion, what part belief in definite religion should have in higher\neducation. It is speciously said that you have no right to forestall a\nyoung man's inquiries and convictions by imposing on him in his early\nyears opinions which to him become prejudices. And if the world\nconsisted simply of individuals, entirely insulated and self-sufficing;\nif men could be taught anything whatever, without presuming what is\nbelieved by those who teach them; and if the attempt to exclude\nreligious prejudice did not necessarily, by the mere force of the\nattempt, involve the creation of anti-religious prejudice, these\nreasoners, who try in vain to get out of the conditions which hem them\nin, might have more to say for themselves. To the men who had made such\nan effort to restore a living confidence in the Church, the demand\nimplied giving up all that they had done and all that they hoped for. It\nwas not the time for yielding even a clumsy proof of the religious\ncharacter of the University. And the beginning of a long and doubtful\nwar was inevitable.\n\nA war of pamphlets ensued. By the one side the distinction was strongly\ninsisted on between mere instruction and education, the distinctly\nreligious character of the University education was not perhaps\noverstated in its theory, but portrayed in stronger colours than was\neverywhere the fact; and assertions were made, which sound strange in\ntheir boldness now, of the independent and constitutional right to\nself-government in the great University corporations. By the other side,\nthe ordinary arguments were used, about the injustice and mischief of\nexclusion, and the hurtfulness of tests, especially such tests as the\nArticles applied to young and ignorant men. Two pamphlets had more than\na passing interest: one, by a then unknown writer who signed himself\n_Rusticus_, and whose name was Mr. F.D. Maurice, defended subscription\non the ground that the Articles were signed, not as tests and\nconfessions of faith, but as \"conditions of thought,\" the expressly\nstated conditions, such as there must be in all teaching, under which\nthe learners are willing to learn and the teacher to teach: and he\ndeveloped his view at great length, with great wealth of original\nthought and illustration and much eloquence, but with that fatal want of\nclearness which, as so often afterwards, came from his struggles to\nembrace in one large view what appeared opposite aspects of a difficult\nsubject. The other was the pamphlet, already referred to, by Dr.\nHampden: and of which the importance arose, not from its conclusions,\nbut from its reasons. Its ground was the distinction which he had argued\nout at great length in his Bampton Lectures--the distinction between the\n\"Divine facts\" of revelation, and all human interpretations of them and\ninferences from them. \"Divine facts,\" he maintained, were of course\nbinding on all Christians, and in matter of fact were accepted by all\nwho called themselves Christians, including Unitarians. Human\ninterpretations and inferences--and all Church formularies were\nsuch--were binding on no one but those who had reason to think them\ntrue; and therefore least of all on undergraduates who could not have\nexamined them. The distinction, when first put forward, seemed to mean\nmuch; at a later time it was explained to mean very little. But at\npresent its value as a ground of argument against the old system of the\nUniversity was thought much of by its author and his friends. A warning\nnote was at once given that its significance was perceived and\nappreciated. Mr. Newman, in acknowledging a presentation copy, added\nwords which foreshadowed much that was to follow. \"While I respect,\" he\nwrote, \"the tone of piety which the pamphlet displays, I dare not trust\nmyself to put on paper my feelings about the principles contained in it;\n_tending, as they do, in my opinion, to make ship-wreck of Christian\nfaith_. I also lament that, by its appearance, the first step has been\ntaken towards interrupting that peace and mutual good understanding\nwhich has prevailed so long in this place, and which, if once seriously\ndisturbed, will be succeeded by discussions the more intractable,\nbecause justified in the minds of those who resist innovation by a\nfeeling of imperative duty.\" \"Since that time,\" he goes on in the\n_Apologia_, where he quotes this letter, \"Phaeton has got into the\nchariot of the sun.\"[55] But they were early days then; and when the\nHeads of Houses, who the year before had joined with the great body of\nthe University in a declaration against the threatened legislation, were\npersuaded to propose to the Oxford Convocation the abolition of\nsubscription at matriculation in May 1835, this proposal was rejected by\na majority of five to one.\n\nThis large majority was a genuine expression of the sense of the\nUniversity. It was not specially a \"Tractarian\" success, though most of\nthe arguments which contributed to it came from men who more or less\nsympathised with the effort to make a vigorous fight for the Church and\nits teaching; and it showed that they who had made the effort had\ntouched springs of thought and feeling, and awakened new hopes and\ninterest in those around them, in Oxford, and in the country. But graver\nevents were at hand. Towards the end of the year (1835), Dr. Burton, the\nRegius Professor of Divinity, suddenly died, still a young man. And Lord\nMelbourne was induced to appoint as his successor, and as the head of\nthe theological teaching of the University, the writer who had just a\nsecond time seemed to lay the axe to the root of all theology; who had\njust reasserted that he looked upon creeds, and all the documents which\nembodied the traditional doctrine and collective thought of the Church,\nas invested by ignorance and prejudice with an authority which was\nwithout foundation, and which was misleading and mischievous.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[52] The conversation between Mr. Sikes of Guilsborough and Mr. Copeland\nis given in full in Dr. Pusey's _Letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury_\n(1842), pp. 32-34.\n\n[53] \"Dr. Wilson was mightily pleased with my calling the traditionals\nthe 'Children of the Mist.' The title of 'Veiled Prophets' he thought\ntoo severe\" (1838), _Life_, ed. 1875, p. 167. Compare \"Hints to\nTranscendentalists for Working Infidel Designs through Tractarianism,\" a\n_jeu d'esprit_ (1840), _ib._ p. 188. \"As for the suspicion of secret\ninfidelity, I have said no more than I sincerely feel,\" _ib._ p. 181.\n\n[54] \"It would be a curious thing if you (the Provost of Oriel) were to\nbring into your Bampton Lectures a mention of the Thugs.... Observe\ntheir submissive piety, their faith in long-preserved _tradition_, their\nregular succession of ordinations to their offices, their _faith_ in the\nsacramental virtue of the consecrated governor; in short, compare our\nreligion with the _Thuggee, putting out of account all those\nconsiderations which the traditionists deprecate the discussion of,_\nand where is the difference?\" (1840), _ib._ p. 194.\n\n[55] _Apologia_, pp. 131, 132.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nDR. HAMPDEN\n\n\nThe stage on which what is called the Oxford movement ran through its\ncourse had a special character of its own, unlike the circumstances in\nwhich other religious efforts had done their work. The scene of\nJansenism had been a great capital, a brilliant society, the precincts\nof a court, the cells of a convent, the studies and libraries of the\ndoctors of the Sorbonne, the council chambers of the Vatican. The scene\nof Methodism had been English villages and country towns, the moors of\nCornwall, and the collieries of Bristol, at length London fashionable\nchapels. The scene of this new movement was as like as it could be in\nour modern world to a Greek _polis_, or an Italian self-centred city of\nthe Middle Ages. Oxford stood by itself in its meadows by the rivers,\nhaving its relations with all England, but, like its sister at\nCambridge, living a life of its own, unlike that of any other spot in\nEngland, with its privileged powers, and exemptions from the general\nlaw, with its special mode of government and police, its usages and\ntastes and traditions, and even costume, which the rest of England\nlooked at from the outside, much interested but much puzzled, or knew\nonly by transient visits. And Oxford was as proud and jealous of its own\nways as Athens or Florence; and like them it had its quaint fashions of\npolity; its democratic Convocation and its oligarchy; its social ranks;\nits discipline, severe in theory and usually lax in fact; its\nself-governed bodies and corporations within itself; its faculties and\ncolleges, like the guilds and \"arts\" of Florence; its internal rivalries\nand discords; its \"sets\" and factions. Like these, too, it professed a\nspecial recognition of the supremacy of religion; it claimed to be a\nhome of worship and religious training, _Dominus illuminatio mea_, a\nclaim too often falsified in the habit and tempers of life. It was a\nsmall sphere, but it was a conspicuous one; for there was much strong\nand energetic character, brought out by the aims and conditions of\nUniversity life; and though moving in a separate orbit, the influence of\nthe famous place over the outside England, though imperfectly\nunderstood, was recognised and great. These conditions affected the\ncharacter of the movement, and of the conflicts which it caused. Oxford\nclaimed to be eminently the guardian of \"true religion and sound\nlearning\"; and therefore it was eminently the place where religion\nshould be recalled to its purity and strength, and also the place where\nthere ought to be the most vigilant jealousy against the perversions and\ncorruptions of religion, Oxford was a place where every one knew his\nneighbour, and measured him, and was more or less friendly or repellent;\nwhere the customs of life brought men together every day and all day, in\nconverse or discussion; and where every fresh statement or every new\nstep taken furnished endless material for speculation or debate, in\ncommon rooms or in the afternoon walk. And for this reason, too,\nfeelings were apt to be more keen and intense and personal than in the\nlarger scenes of life; the man who was disliked or distrusted was so\nclose to his neighbours that he was more irritating than if he had been\nobscured by a crowd; the man who attracted confidence and kindled\nenthusiasm, whose voice was continually in men's ears, and whose private\nconversation and life was something ever new in its sympathy and charm,\ncreated in those about him not mere admiration, but passionate\nfriendship, or unreserved discipleship. And these feelings passed from\nindividuals into parties; the small factions of a limited area. Men\nstruck blows and loved and hated in those days in Oxford as they hardly\ndid on the wider stage of London politics or general religious\ncontroversy.\n\nThe conflicts which for a time turned Oxford into a kind of image of\nwhat Florence was in the days of Savonarola, with its nicknames,\nPuseyites, and Neomaniacs, and High and Dry, counterparts to the\n_Piagnoni_ and _Arrabbiati_, of the older strife, began around a student\nof retired habits, interested more than was usual at Oxford in abstruse\nphilosophy, and the last person who might be expected to be the occasion\nof great dissensions in the University. Dr. Hampden was a man who, with\nno definite intentions of innovating on the received doctrines of the\nChurch--indeed, as his sermons showed, with a full acceptance of\nthem--had taken a very difficult subject for a course of Bampton\nLectures, without at all fathoming its depth and reach, and had got into\na serious scrape in consequence. Personally he was a man of serious but\ncold religion, having little sympathy with others, and consequently not\nable to attract any. His isolation during the whole of his career is\nremarkable; he attached no one, as Whately or Arnold attached men. His\nmind, which was a speculative one, was not one, in its own order, of the\nfirst class. He had not the grasp nor the subtlety necessary for his\ntask. He had a certain power of statement, but little of co-ordination;\nhe seems not to have had the power of seeing when his ideas were really\nirreconcilable, and he thought that simply by insisting on his\ndistinctly orthodox statements he not only balanced, but neutralised,\nand did away with his distinctly unorthodox ones. He had read a good\ndeal of Aristotle and something of the Schoolmen, which probably no one\nelse in Oxford had done except Blanco White; and the temptation of\nhaving read what no one else knows anything about sometimes leads men to\nmake an unprofitable use of their special knowledge, which they consider\ntheir monopoly.\n\nThe creed and dogmas of the Christian Church are at least in their\nbroad features, not a speculation, but a fact. That not only the\nApostles' Creed, but the Nicene and Constantinopolitan Creeds, are\nassumed as facts by the whole of anything that can be called the Church,\nis as certain as the reception by the same body, and for the same time,\nof the Scriptures. Not only the Creed, but, up to the sixteenth century,\nthe hierarchy, and not only Creed and hierarchy and Scriptures, but the\nsacramental idea as expressed in the liturgies, are equally in the same\nclass of facts. Of course it is open to any one to question the genuine\norigin of any of these great portions of the constitution of the Church;\nbut the Church is so committed to them that he cannot enter on his\ndestructive criticism without having to criticise, not one only, but all\nthese beliefs, and without soon having to face the question whether the\nwhole idea of the Church, as a real and divinely ordained society, with\na definite doctrine and belief, is not a delusion, and whether\nChristianity, whatever it is, is addressed solely to each individual,\none by one, to make what he can of it. It need hardly be said that\nwithin the limits of what the Church is committed to there is room for\nvery wide differences of opinion; it is also true that these limits\nhave, in different times of the Church, been illegitimately and\nmischievously narrowed by prevailing opinions, and by documents and\nformularies respecting it. But though we may claim not to be bound by\nthe Augsburg Confession, or by the Lambeth articles, or the Synod of\nDort, or the Bull _Unigenitus_, it does not follow that, if there is a\nChurch at all, there is no more binding authority in the theology of the\nNicene and Athanasian Creeds. And it is the province of the divine who\nbelieves in a Church at all, and in its office to be the teacher and\nwitness of religious truth, to distinguish between the infinitely\nvarying degrees of authority with which professed representations of\nportions of this truth are propounded for acceptance. It may be\ndifficult or impossible to agree on a theory of inspiration; but that\nthe Church doctrine of some kind of special inspiration of Scripture is\npart of Christianity is, unless Christianity be a dream, certain. No one\ncan reasonably doubt, with history before him, that the answer of the\nChristian Church was, the first time the question was asked, and has\ncontinued to be through ages of controversy, _against_ Arianism,\n_against_ Socinianism, _against_ Pelagianism, _against_ Zwinglianism. It\ndoes not follow that the Church has settled everything, or that there\nare not hundreds of questions which it is vain and presumptuous to\nattempt to settle by any alleged authority.\n\nDr. Hampden was in fact unexceptionably, even rigidly orthodox in his\nacceptance of Church doctrine and Church creeds. He had published a\nvolume of sermons containing, among other things, an able statement of\nthe Scriptural argument for the doctrine of the Trinity, and an equally\nable defence of the Athanasian Creed. But he felt that there are\nformularies which may be only the interpretations of doctrine and\ninferences from Scripture of a particular time or set of men; and he\nwas desirous of putting into their proper place the authority of such\nformularies. His object was to put an interval between them and the\nScriptures from which they professed to be derived, and to prevent them\nfrom claiming the command over faith and conscience which was due only\nto the authentic evidences of God's revelation. He wished to make room\nfor a deeper sense of the weight of Scripture. He proposed to himself\nthe same thing which was aimed at by the German divines, Arndt,\nCalixtus, and Spener, when they rose up against the grinding oppression\nwhich Lutheran dogmatism had raised on its _Symbolical Books_,[56] and\nwhich had come to outdo the worst extravagances of scholasticism. This\nseems to have been his object--a fair and legitimate one. But in arguing\nagainst investing the Thirty-nine Articles with an authority which did\nnot belong to them, he unquestionably, without seeing what he was doing,\nwent much farther--where he never meant to go. In fact, he so stated his\nargument that he took in with the Thirty-nine Articles every expression\nof collective belief, every document, however venerable, which the\nChurch had sanctioned from the first. Strangely enough, without\nobserving it, he took in--what he meant to separate by a wide interval\nfrom what he called dogma--the doctrine of the infallible authority and\nsufficiency of Scripture. In denying the worth of the _consensus_ and\nimmemorial judgment of the Church, he cut from under him the claim to\nthat which he accepted as the source and witness of \"divine facts.\" He\ndid not mean to do this, or to do many other things; but from want of\nclearness of head, he certainly, in these writings which were complained\nof, did it. He was, in temper and habit, too desirous to be \"orthodox,\"\nas Whately feared, to accept in its consequences his own theory. The\ntheory which he put forward in his Bampton Lectures, and on which he\nfounded his plan of comprehension in his pamphlet on Dissent, left\nnothing standing but the authority of the letter of Scripture. All\nelse--right or wrong as it might be--was \"speculation,\" \"human\ninference,\" \"dogma.\" With perfect consistency, he did not pretend to\ntake even the Creeds out of this category. But the truth was, he did not\nconsciously mean all that he said; and when keener and more powerful and\nmore theological minds pointed out with relentless accuracy what he _had\nsaid_ he was profuse and overflowing with explanations, which showed how\nlittle he had perceived the drift of his words. There is not the least\nreason to doubt the sincerity of these explanations; but at the same\ntime they showed the unfitness of a man who had so to explain away his\nown speculations to be the official guide and teacher of the clergy. The\ncriticisms on his language, and the objections to it, were made before\nthese explanations were given; and though he gave them, he was furious\nwith those who called for them, and he never for a moment admitted that\nthere was anything seriously wrong or mistaken in what he had said. To\nthose who pointed out the meaning and effect of his words and theories,\nhe replied by the assertion of his personal belief. If words mean\nanything, he had said that neither Unitarians nor any one else could get\nbehind the bare letter, and what he called \"facts,\" of Scripture, which\nall equally accepted in good faith; and that therefore there was no\nreason for excluding Unitarians as long as they accepted the \"facts.\"\nBut when it was pointed out that this reasoning reduced all belief in\nthe realities behind the bare letter to the level of personal and\nprivate opinion, he answered by saying that he valued supremely the\nCreeds and Articles, and by giving a statement of the great Christian\ndoctrines which he held, and which the Church taught. But he never\nexplained what their authority could be with any one but himself. There\nmight be interpretations and inferences from Scripture, by the hundred\nor the thousand, but no one certain and authoritative one; none that\nwarranted an organised Church, much more a Catholic and Apostolic\nChurch, founded on the assumption of this interpretation being the one\ntrue faith, the one truth of the Bible. The point was brought out\nforcibly in a famous pamphlet written by Mr. Newman, though without his\nname, called \"Elucidations of Dr. Hampden's Theological Statements.\"\nThis pamphlet was a favourite object of attack on the part of Dr.\nHampden's supporters as a flagrant instance of unfairness and garbled\nextracts. No one, they said, ever read the Bampton Lectures, but took\ntheir estimate of the work from Mr. Newman's quotations. Extracts are\noften open to the charge of unfairness, and always to suspicion. But in\nthis case there was no need of unfairness. Dr. Hampden's theory lay on\nthe very surface of his Hampton Lectures and pamphlet; and any unbiassed\njudge may be challenged to read these works of his, and say whether the\nextracts in the \"Elucidations\" do not adequately represent Dr. Hampden's\nstatements and arguments, and whether the comments on them are forced or\nstrained. They do not represent his explanations, for the explanations\nhad not been given; and when the explanations came, though they said\nmany things which showed that Dr. Hampden did not mean to be unorthodox\nand unevangelical, but only anti-scholastic and anti-Roman, they did not\nunsay a word which he had said. And what this was, what had been Dr.\nHampden's professed theological theory up to the time when the\nUniversity heard the news of his appointment, the \"Elucidations\"\nrepresent as fairly as any adverse statement can represent the subject\nof its attack.\n\nIn quieter times such an appointment might have passed with nothing more\nthan a paper controversy or protest, or more probably without more than\nconversational criticism. But these wore not quiet and unsuspicious\ntimes. There was reason for disquiet. It was fresh in men's minds what\nlanguage and speculation like that of the Bampton Lectures had come to\nin the case of Whately's intimate friend, Blanco White. The\nunquestionable hostility of Whately's school to the old ideas of the\nChurch had roused alarm and a strong spirit of resistance in Churchmen.\nEach party was on the watch, and there certainly was something at stake\nfor both parties. Coupled with some recent events, and with the part\nwhich Dr. Hampden had taken on the subscription question, the\nappointment naturally seemed significant. Probably it was not so\nsignificant as it seemed on the part at least of Lord Melbourne, who had\ntaken pains to find a fit man. Dr. Hampden was said to have been\nrecommended by Bishop Copleston, and not disallowed by Archbishop\nHowley. In the University, up to this time, there had been no\nauthoritative protest against Dr. Hampden's writings. And there were not\nmany Liberals to choose from. In the appointment there is hardly\nsufficient ground to blame Lord Melbourne. But the outcry against it at\nOxford, when it came, was so instantaneous, so strong, and so unusual,\nthat it might have warned Lord Melbourne that he had been led into a\nmistake, out of which it would be wise to seek at least a way of escape.\nDoubtless it was a strong measure for the University to protest as it\ndid; but it was also a strong measure, at least in those days, for a\nMinister of the Crown to force so extremely unacceptable a Regius\nProfessor of Divinity on a great University. Dr. Hampden offered to\nresign; and there would have been plenty of opportunities to compensate\nhim for his sacrifice of a post which could only be a painful one. But\nthe temper of both sides was up. The remonstrances from Oxford were\ntreated with something like contempt, and the affair was hurried through\ntill there was no retreating; and Dr. Hampden became Regius Professor.\n\nMr. Palmer has recorded how various efforts were made to neutralise the\neffect of the appointment. But the Heads of Houses, though angry, were\ncautious. They evaded the responsibility of stating Dr. Hampden's\nunsound positions; but to mark their distrust, brought in a proposal to\ndeprive him of his vote in the choice of Select Preachers till the\nUniversity should otherwise determine. It was defeated in Convocation by\nthe veto of the two Proctors (March 1836), who exercised their right\nwith the full approval of Dr. Hampden's friends, and the indignation of\nthe large majority of the University. But it was not unfairly used: it\ncould have only a suspending effect, of which no one had a right to\ncomplain; and when new Proctors came into office, the proposal was\nintroduced again, and carried (May 1836) by 474 to 94. The Liberal\nminority had increased since the vote on subscription, and Dr. Hampden\nwent on with his work as if nothing had happened. The attempt was twice\nmade to rescind the vote: first, after the outcry about the Ninetieth\nTract and the contest about the Poetry Professorship, by a simple\nrepeal, which was rejected by 334 to 219 (June 1842); and next,\nindirectly by a statute enlarging the Professor's powers over Divinity\ndegrees, which was also rejected by 341 to 21 (May 1844). From first to\nlast, these things and others were the unfortunate incidents of an\nunfortunate appointment.\n\nThe \"persecution of Dr. Hampden\" has been an unfailing subject of\nreproach to the party of the Oxford movement, since the days when the\n_Edinburgh Review_ held them up to public scorn and hatred in an article\nof strange violence. They certainly had their full share in the\nopposition to him, and in the measures by which that opposition was\ncarried out. But it would be the greatest mistake to suppose that in\nthis matter they stood alone. All in the University at this time, except\na small minority, were of one mind, Heads of Houses and country parsons,\nEvangelicals and High Churchmen--all who felt that the grounds of a\ndefinite belief were seriously threatened by Dr. Hampden's speculations.\nAll were angry at the appointment; all were agreed that something ought\nto be done to hinder the mischief of it. In this matter Mr. Newman and\nhis friends were absolutely at one with everybody round them, with those\nwho were soon to be their implacable opponents. Whatever deeper view\nthey might have of the evil which had been done by the appointment, and\nhowever much graver and more permanent their objections to it, they were\nresponsible only as the whole University was responsible for what was\ndone against Dr. Hampden. It was convenient afterwards to single them\nout, and to throw this responsibility and the odium of it on them alone;\nand when they came under the popular ban, it was forgotten that Dr.\nGilbert, the Principal of Brasenose, Dr. Symons, the Warden of Wadham,\nDr. Faussett, afterwards the denouncer of Dr. Pusey, Mr. Vaughan Thomas,\nand Mr. Hill of St. Edmund Hall, were quite as forward at the time as\nDr. Pusey and Mr. Newman in protesting against Dr. Hampden, and in the\nsteps to make their protest effective. Mr. Palmer, in his\n_Narrative_,[57] anxious to dissociate himself from the movement under\nMr. Newman's influence, has perhaps underrated the part taken by Mr.\nNewman and Dr. Pusey; for they, any rate, did most of the argumentative\nwork. But as far as personal action goes, it is true, as he says, that\nthe \"movement against Dr. Hampden was not guided by the Tract writers.\"\n\"The condemnation of Dr. Hampden, then, was not carried by the Tract\nwriters; it was carried by the _independent_ body of the University. The\nfact is that, had those writers taken any leading part, the measure\nwould have been a failure, for the number of their friends at that time\nwas a _very small proportion_ to the University at large, and there was\na general feeling of distrust in the soundness of their views.\"\n\nWe are a long way from those days in time, and still more in habits and\nsentiment; and a manifold and varied experience has taught most of us\nsome lessons against impatience and violent measures. But if we put\nourselves back equitably into the ways of thinking prevalent then, the\nexcitement about Dr. Hampden will not seem so unreasonable or so\nunjustifiable as it is sometimes assumed to be. The University\nlegislation, indeed, to which it led was poor and petty, doing small and\nannoying things, because the University rulers dared not commit\nthemselves to definite charges. But, in the first place, the provocation\nwas great on the part of the Government in putting into the chief\ntheological chair an unwelcome man who could only save his orthodoxy by\nmaking his speculations mean next to nothing--whose _prim\u00e2 facie_\nunguarded and startling statements were resolved into truisms put in a\ngrand and obscure form. And in the next place, it was assumed in those\ndays to be the most natural and obvious thing in the world to condemn\nunsound doctrine, and to exclude unsound teachers. The principle was\naccepted as indisputable, however slack might have been in recent times\nthe application of it. That it was accepted, not on one side only, but\non all, was soon to be shown by the subsequent course of events. No one\nsuffered more severely and more persistently from its application than\nthe Tractarians; no one was more ready to apply it to them than Dr.\nHampden with his friends; no one approved and encouraged its vigorous\nenforcement against them more than Dr. Whately. The idle distinction set\nup, that they were not merely unsound but dishonest, was a mere insolent\npretext to save trouble in argument, and to heighten the charge against\nthem; no one could seriously doubt that they wrote in good faith as much\nas Dr. Whately or Dr. Faussett. But unless acts like Dr. Pusey's\nsuspension, and the long proscription that went on for years after it,\nwere mere instances of vindictive retaliation, the reproach of\npersecution must be shared by all parties then, and by none more than by\nthe party which in general terms most denounced it. Those who think the\nHampden agitation unique in its injustice ought to ask themselves what\ntheir party would have done if at any time between 1836 and 1843 Mr.\nNewman had been placed in Dr. Hampden's seat.\n\nPeople in our days mean by religious persecution what happens when the\nsame sort of repressive policy is applied to a religious party as is\napplied to vaccination recusants, or to the \"Peculiar People.\" All\nreligious persecution, from the days of Socrates, has taken a legal\nform, and justified itself on legal grounds. It is the action of\nauthority, or of strong social judgments backed by authority, against a\nset of opinions, or the expression of them in word or act--usually\ninnovating opinions, but not by any means necessarily such. The\ndisciples of M. Monod, the \"Momiers\" of Geneva, were persecuted by the\nLiberals of Geneva, not because they broke away from the creed of\nCalvin, but because they adhered to it. The word is not properly applied\nto the incidental effects in the way of disadvantage, resulting from\nsome broad constitutional settlement--from the government of the Church\nbeing Episcopal and not Presbyterian, or its creed Nicene and not\nArian--any more than it is persecution for a nation to change its\ngovernment, or for a legitimist to have to live under a republic, or for\na Christian to have to live in an infidel state, though persecution may\nfollow from these conditions. But the _privilegium_ passed against Dr.\nHampden was an act of persecution, though a mild one compared with what\nafterwards fell on his opponents with his full sanction. Persecution is\nthe natural impulse, in those who think a certain thing right and\nimportant or worth guarding, to disable those who, thinking it wrong,\nare trying to discredit and upset it, and to substitute something\ndifferent. It implies a state of war, and the resort to the most\navailable weapons to inflict damage on those who are regarded as\nrebellious and dangerous. These weapons were formidable enough once:\nthey are not without force still. But in its mildest form--personal\ndisqualification or proscription--it is a disturbance which only war\njustifies. It may, of course, make itself odious by its modes of\nproceeding, by meanness and shabbiness and violence, by underhand and\nignoble methods of misrepresentation and slander, or by cruelty and\nplain injustice; and then the odium of these things fairly falls upon\nit. But it is very hard to draw the line between conscientious\nrepression, feeling itself bound to do what is possible to prevent\nmischief, and what those who are opposed, if they are the weaker party,\nof course call persecution.\n\nIf persecution implies a state of war in which one side is stronger, and\nthe other weaker, it is hardly a paradox to say that (1) no one has a\nright to complain of persecution as such, apart from odious\naccompaniments, any more than of superior numbers or hard blows in\nbattle; and (2) that every one has a right to take advantage and make\nthe most of being persecuted, by appeals to sympathy and the principle\nof doing as you would be done by. No one likes to be accused of\npersecution, and few people like to give up the claim to use it, if\nnecessary. But no one can help observing in the course of events the\nstrange way in which, in almost all cases, the \"wheel comes full\ncircle.\" \u0394\u03c1\u03ac\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b1\u03b8\u03b5\u1fd6\u03bd--_Chi la fa, l' aspetti_,[58] are some of the\nexpressions of Greek awe and Italian shrewdness representing the\nexperience of the world on this subject; on a large scale and a small.\nProtestants and Catholics, Churchmen and Nonconformists, have all in\ntheir turn made full proof of what seems like a law of action and\nreaction. Except in cases beyond debate, cases where no justification is\npossible, the note of failure is upon this mode of repression.\nProvidence, by the visible Nemesis which it seems always to bring round,\nby the regularity with which it has enforced the rule that infliction\nand suffering are bound together and in time duly change places, seems\ncertainly and clearly to have declared against it. It may be that no\ninnovating party has a right to complain of persecution; but the\nquestion is not for them. It is for those who have the power, and who\nare tempted to think that they have the call, to persecute. It is for\nthem to consider whether it is right, or wise, or useful for their\ncause; whether it is agreeable to what seems the leading of Providence\nto have recourse to it.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[56] See Pusey's _Theology of Germany_ (1828), p. 18 _sqq_.\n\n[57] _Narrative_ pp. 29, 30, ed. 1841; p 131. ed. 1883.\n\n[58] \u0394\u03c1\u03ac\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b1\u03b8\u03b5\u1fd6\u03bd, \u03a4\u03c1\u03b9\u03b3\u03ad\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd \u03bc\u1fe6\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c4\u03ac\u03b4\u03b5 \u03c6\u03c9\u03bd\u03b5\u1fd6. Aesch. _Choeph_. 310.\nItalian proverb, in _Landucci, Diario Fiorentino_, 1513, p. 343.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nGROWTH OF THE MOVEMENT\n\n1835-1840\n\n\nBy the end of 1835, the band of friends, whom great fears and great\nhopes for the Church had united, and others who sympathised with them\nboth within and outside the University, had grown into what those who\ndisliked them naturally called a party. The Hampden controversy, though\nbut an episode in the history of the movement, was an important one, and\nundoubtedly gave a great impulse to it. Dr. Hampden's attitude and\nlanguage seemed to be its justification--a palpable instance of what the\nChurch had to expect. And in this controversy, though the feeling\nagainst Dr. Hampden's views was so widely shared, and though the\nmajority which voted against him was a very mixed one, and contained\nsome who hoped that the next time they were called to vote it might be\nagainst the Tractarians, yet the leaders of the movement had undertaken\nthe responsibility, conspicuously and almost alone, of pointing out\ndefinitely and argumentatively the objections to Dr. Hampden's teaching.\nThe number of Mr. Newman's friends might be, as Mr. Palmer says,\ninsignificant, but it was they who had taken the trouble to understand\nand give expression to the true reasons for alarm.[59] Even in this\nhasty and imperfect way, the discussion revealed to many how much deeper\nand more various the treatment of the subject was in the hands of Mr.\nNewman and Dr. Pusey compared with the ordinary criticisms on Dr.\nHampden. He had learned in too subtle a school to be much touched by the\npopular exceptions to his theories, however loudly expressed. The\nmischief was much deeper. It was that he had, unconsciously, no doubt,\nundermined the foundation of definite Christian belief, and had resolved\nit into a philosophy, so-called scholastic, which was now exploded. It\nwas the sense of the perilous issues to which this diluted form of\nBlanco White's speculations, so recklessly patronised by Whately, was\nleading theological teaching in the University, which opened the eyes of\nmany to the meaning of the movement, and brought some fresh friends to\nits side.\n\nThere was no attempt to form a party, or to proselytise; there was no\norganisation, no distinct and recognised party marks. \"I would not have\nit called a party,\" writes Dr. Newman in the _Apologia_. But a party it\ncould not help being: quietly and spontaneously it had grown to be what\ncommunity of ideas, aims, and sympathies, naturally, and without blame,\nleads men to become. And it had acquired a number of recognised\nnicknames, to friends and enemies the sign of growing concentration. For\nthe questions started in the Tracts and outside them became of\nincreasing interest to the more intelligent men who had finished their\nUniversity course and were preparing to enter into life, the Bachelors\nand younger Masters of Arts. One by one they passed from various states\nof mind--alienation, suspicion, fear, indifference, blank\nignorance--into a consciousness that something beyond the mere\ncommonplace of religious novelty and eccentricity, of which there had\nbeen a good deal recently, was before them; that doctrines and\nstatements running counter to the received religious language of the\nday, doctrines about which, in confident prejudice, they had perhaps\nbandied about off-hand judgments, had more to say for themselves than\nwas thought at first; that the questions thus raised drove them in on\nthemselves, and appealed to their honesty and seriousness; and that, at\nany rate, in the men who were arresting so much attention, however\nextravagant their teaching might be called, there was a remarkable\ndegree of sober and reserved force, an earnestness of conviction which\ncould not be doubted, an undeniable and subtle power of touching souls\nand attracting sympathies. One by one, and in many different ways, these\nyoung men went through various stages of curiosity, of surprise, of\nperplexity, of doubt, of misgiving, of interest; some were frightened,\nand wavered, and drew back more or less reluctantly; others, in spite of\nthemselves, in spite of opposing influences, were led on step by step,\nhardly knowing whither, by a spell which they could not resist, of\nintellectual, or still more, moral pressure. Some found their old home\nteaching completed, explained, lighted up, by that of the new school.\nOthers, shocked at first at hearing the old watchwords and traditions of\ntheir homes decried and put aside, found themselves, when they least\nexpected it, passing from the letter to the spirit, from the technical\nand formal theory to the wide and living truth. And thus, though many of\ncourse held aloof, and not a few became hostile, a large number, one by\none, some rapidly, others slowly, some unreservedly, others with large\nand jealous reserves, more and more took in the leading idea of the\nmovement, accepted the influence of its chiefs, and looked to them for\ninstruction and guidance. As it naturally happens, when a number of\nminds are drawn together by a common and strong interest, some men, by\ncircumstances, or by strength of conviction, or by the mutual affinities\nof tastes and character, came more and more into direct personal and\nintimate relations with the leaders, took service, as it were, under\nthem, and prepared to throw themselves into their plans of work. Others,\nin various moods, but more independent, more critical, more disturbed\nabout consequences, or unpersuaded on special points, formed a kind of\nfringe of friendly neutrality about the more thoroughgoing portion of\nthe party. And outside of these were thoughtful and able men, to whom\nthe whole movement, with much that was utterly displeasing and utterly\nperplexing, had the interest of being a break-up of stagnation and dull\nindolence in a place which ought to have the highest spiritual and\nintellectual aims; who, whatever repelled them, could not help feeling\nthat great ideas, great prospects, a new outburst of bold thought, a new\neffort of moral purpose and force, had disturbed the old routine; could\nnot help being fascinated, if only as by a spectacle, by the strange and\nunwonted teaching, which partly made them smile, partly perhaps\npermanently disgusted them, but which also, they could not deny, spoke\nin a language more fearless, more pathetic, more subtle, and yet more\nhuman, than they had heard from the religious teachers of the day. And\nthus the circle of persons interested in the Tracts, of persons who\nsympathised with their views, of persons who more and more gave a warm\nand earnest adherence to them, was gradually extended in the\nUniversity--and, in time, in the country also. The truth was that the\nmovement, in its many sides, had almost monopolised for the time both\nthe intelligence and the highest religious earnestness of the\nUniversity,[60] and either in curiosity or inquiry, in approval or in\ncondemnation, all that was deepest and most vigorous, all that was most\nrefined, most serious, most high-toned, and most promising in Oxford was\ndrawn to the issues which it raised. It is hardly too much to say that\nwherever men spoke seriously of the grounds and prospects of religion,\nin Oxford, or in Vacation reading-parties, in their walks and social\nmeetings, in their studies or in common-room, the \"Tractarian\"\ndoctrines, whether assented to or laughed at, deplored or fiercely\ndenounced, were sure to come to the front. All subjects in discussion\nseemed to lead up to them--art and poetry, Gothic architecture and\nGerman romance and painting, the philosophy of language, and the novels\nof Walter Scott and Miss Austen, Coleridge's transcendentalism and\nBishop Butler's practical wisdom, Plato's ideas and Aristotle's\nanalysis. It was difficult to keep them out of lecture-rooms and\nexaminations for Fellowships.\n\nBut in addition to the intrinsic interest of the questions and\ndiscussions which the movement opened, personal influence played a great\nand decisive part in it. As it became a party, it had chiefs. It was not\nmerely as leaders of thought but as teachers with their disciples, as\nfriends with friends, as witnesses and examples of high self-rule and\nrefined purity and goodness, that the chiefs whose names were in all\nmen's mouths won the hearts and trust of so many, in the crowds that\nstood about them. Foremost, of course, ever since he had thrown himself\ninto it in 1835, was Dr. Pusey. His position, his dignified office, his\nlearning, his solidity and seriousness of character, his high standard\nof religious life, the charm of his charity, and the sweetness of his\ntemper naturally gave him the first place in the movement in Oxford and\nthe world. It came to be especially associated with him. Its enemies\nfastened on it a nickname from his name, and this nickname, partly from\na greater smoothness of sound, partly from an odd suggestion of\nsomething funny in it, came more into use than others; and the terms\n_Puseismus, Pus\u00e9isme, Puseista_ found their way into German\nlecture-halls and Paris salons and remote convents and police offices in\nItaly and Sicily; indeed, in the shape of \u03c0\u03bf\u03c5\u03b6\u03b5\u03b9\u03c3\u03bc\u03cc\u03c2 it might be lighted\non in a Greek newspaper. Dr. Pusey was a person who commanded the utmost\ninterest and reverence; he was more in communication with the great\nworld outside than Oxford people generally, and lived much in retirement\nfrom Oxford society; but to all interested in the movement he was its\nrepresentative and highest authority. He and Mr. Newman had the fullest\nconfidence in one another, though conscious at times of not perfect\nagreement; yet each had a line of his own, and each of them was apt to\ndo things out of his own head. Dr. Pusey was accessible to all who\nwished to see him; but he did not encourage visits which wasted time.\nAnd the person who was pre-eminently, not only before their eyes, but\nwithin their reach in the ordinary intercourse of man with man, was Mr.\nNewman. Mr. Newman, who lived in College in the ordinary way of a\nresident Fellow, met other university men, older or younger, on equal\nterms. As time went on, a certain wonder and awe gathered round him.\nPeople were a little afraid of him; but the fear was in themselves, not\ncreated by any intentional stiffness or coldness on his part. He did not\ntry to draw men to him, he was no proselytiser; he shrank with fear and\nrepugnance from the character--it was an invasion of the privileges of\nthe heart.[61] But if men came to him, he was accessible; he allowed his\nfriends to bring their friends to him, and met them more than half-way.\nHe was impatient of mere idle worldliness, of conceit and impertinence,\nof men who gave themselves airs; he was very impatient of pompous and\nsolemn emptiness. But he was very patient with those whom he believed to\nsympathise with what was nearest his heart; no one, probably, of his\npower and penetration and sense of the absurd, was ever so ready to\ncomply with the two demands which a witty prelate proposed to put into\nthe examination in the Consecration Service of Bishops: \"Wilt thou\nanswer thy letters?\" \"Wilt thou suffer fools gladly?\" But courteous,\naffable, easy as he was, he was a keen trier of character; he gauged,\nand men felt that he gauged, their motives, their reality and soundness\nof purpose; he let them see, if they at all came into his intimacy,\nthat if _they_ were not, _he_, at any rate, was in the deepest earnest.\nAnd at an early period, in a memorable sermon,[62] the vivid impression\nof which at the time still haunts the recollection of some who heard it,\nhe gave warning to his friends and to those whom his influence touched,\nthat no child's play lay before them; that they were making, it might be\nwithout knowing it, the \"Ventures of Faith.\" But feeling that he had\nmuch to say, and that a university was a place for the circulation and\ndiscussion of ideas, he let himself be seen and known and felt, both\npublicly and in private. He had his breakfast parties and his evening\ngatherings. His conversation ranged widely, marked by its peculiar\nstamp--entire ease, unstudied perfection of apt and clean-cut words,\nunexpected glimpses of a sure and piercing judgment. At times, at more\nprivate meetings, the violin, which he knew how to touch, came into\nplay.\n\nHe had great gifts for leadership. But as a party chief he was also\ndeficient in some of the qualities which make a successful one. His\ndoctrine of the Church had the disadvantage of an apparently\nintermediate and ambiguous position, refusing the broad, intelligible\nwatchwords and reasonings of popular religionism. It was not without\nclearness and strength; but such a position naturally often leads to\nwhat seem over-subtle modes of argument, seemingly over-subtle because\ndeeper and more original than the common ones; and he seemed sometimes\nto want sobriety in his use of dialectic weapons, which he wielded with\nsuch force and effect. Over-subtlety in the leader of a party tends to\nperplex friends and give a handle to opponents. And with all his\nconfidence in his cause, and also in his power and his call to use it,\nhe had a curious shyness and self-distrust as to his own way of doing\nwhat he had to do; he was afraid of \"wilfulness,\" of too great reliance\non intellect. He had long been accustomed to observe and judge himself,\nand while conscious of his force, he was fully alive to the drawbacks,\nmoral and intellectual, which wait on the highest powers. When attacks\nwere made on him by authorities, as in the case of the Tract No. 90, his\nmore eager friends thought him too submissive; they would have liked a\nmore combative temper and would not accept his view that confidence in\nhim was lost, because it might be shaken.[63] But if he bent before\nofficial authority the disapproval of friends was a severer trouble.\nMost tender in his affections, most trustful in his confidence, craving\nfor sympathy, it came like a shock and chill when things did not go\nright between himself and his friends. He was too sensitive under such\ndisapproval for a successful party chief. The true party leader takes\nthese things as part of that tiresome human stupidity and perverseness\nwith which he must make his account. Perhaps they sting for the moment,\nbut he brushes them away and goes forward, soon forgetting them. But\nwith Mr. Newman, his cause was identified with his friendships and even\nhis family affections. And as a leader, he was embarrassed by the\nkeenness with which he sympathised with the doubts and fears of friends;\nwant of sympathy and signs of distrust darkened the prospect of the\nfuture; they fell like a blight on his stores of hope, never\nover-abundant; they tempted him, not to assert himself, but to throw up\nthe game as convicted of unfitness, and retire for good and all to his\nbooks and silence. \"Let them,\" he seemed to say, \"have their way, as\nthey will not let me have mine; they have the right to take theirs, only\nnot to make me take it.\" In spite of his enthusiasm and energy, his\nunceasing work, his occasional bursts of severe punishment inflicted on\nthose who provoked him, there was always present this keen\nsensitiveness, the source of so much joy and so much pain. He would not\nhave been himself without it. But he would have been a much more\npowerful and much more formidable combatant if he had cared less for\nwhat his friends felt, and followed more unhesitatingly his own line and\njudgment. This keen sensitiveness made him more quickly alive than other\npeople to all that lay round him and before; it made him quicker to\ndiscern danger and disaster; it led him to give up hope and to retire\nfrom the contest long before he had a right to do so. The experience of\nlater years shows that he had despaired too soon. Such delicate\nsensitiveness, leading to impatience, was not capable of coping with the\nrough work involved in the task of reform, which he had undertaken.\n\nAll this time the four o'clock sermons at St. Mary's were always going\non. But, besides these, he anticipated a freedom--familiar now, but\nunknown then--of public lecturing. In Advent and after Easter a company,\nnever very large, used to gather on a week-day afternoon in Adam de\nBrome's Chapel--the old Chapel of \"Our Lady of Littlemore\"--to hear him\nlecture on some theological subject. It is a dark, dreary appendage to\nSt. Mary's on the north side, in which Adam de Brome, Edward II.'s\nalmoner, and the founder of Oriel College, is supposed to lie, beneath\nan unshapely tomb, covered by a huge slab of Purbeck marble, from which\nthe brass has been stripped. The place is called a chapel, but is more\nlike a court or place of business, for which, indeed, it was used in the\nold days by one of the Faculties of the House of Convocation, which held\nits assemblies there. At the end is a high seat and desk for the person\npresiding, and an enclosure and a table for officials below him; and\nround the rest of the dingy walls run benches fixed to the wall, dingy\nas the walls themselves. But it also had another use. On occasions of a\nuniversity sermon, a few minutes before it began, the Heads of Houses\nassembled, as they still assemble, in the chapel, ranging themselves on\nthe benches round the walls. The Vice-Chancellor has his seat on one\nside, the preacher, with the two Proctors below him, sits opposite; and\nthere all sit in their robes, more or less grand, according to the day,\ntill the beadle comes to announce that it is time to form the procession\ninto church. This desolate place Mr. Newman turned into his\nlecture-room; in it he delivered the lectures which afterwards became\nthe volume on the _Prophetical Character of the Church_, or _Romanism\nand Popular Protestantism_; the lectures which formed the volume on\n_Justification_; those on _Antichrist_, and on _Rationalism and the\nCanon of Scripture_, which afterwards became Nos. 83 and 85 of the\n_Tracts for the Times_.[64] The force, the boldness, the freedom from\nthe trammels of commonplace, the breadth of view and grasp of the\nsubject which marked those lectures, may be seen in them still. But it\nis difficult to realise now the interest with which they were heard at\nthe time by the first listeners to that clear and perfectly modulated\nvoice, opening to them fresh and original ways of regarding questions\nwhich seemed worn out and exhausted. The volumes which grew out of the\nAdam de Brome lectures were some of the most characteristic portions of\nthe theological literature of the early movement. They certainly greatly\ninfluenced the course of thought in it, and some of its most serious\nissues.\n\nThe movement was not one of mere opinion. It took two distinct though\nconnected lines. It was, on the one hand, theological; on the other,\nresolutely practical. Theologically, it dealt with great questions of\nreligious principle--What is the Church? Is it a reality or a mode of\nspeech? On what grounds does it rest? How may it be known? Is it among\nus? How is it to be discriminated from its rivals or counterfeits? What\nis its essential constitution? What does it teach? What are its\nshortcomings? Does it nerd reform? But, on the other hand, the movement\nwas marked by its deep earnestness on the practical side of genuine\nChristian life. Very early in the movement (1833) a series of\nsketches of primitive Christian life appeared in the _British\nMagazine_--afterwards collected under the title of the _Church of the\nFathers_ (1840)--to remind people who were becoming interested in\nancient and patristic theology that, besides the doctrines to be found\nin the vast folios of the Fathers, there were to be sought in them and\nlaid to heart the temptations and trials, the aspirations and moral\npossibilities of actual life, \"the tone and modes of thought, the habits\nand manners of the early times of the Church.\" The note struck in the\nfirst of Mr. Newman's published sermons--\"Holiness necessary for future\nblessedness\"--was never allowed to be out of mind. The movement was,\nabove all, a moral one; it was nothing, allowed to be nothing, if it\nwas not this.[65] Seriousness, reverence, the fear of insincere words\nand unsound professions, were essential in the character, which alone it\nwould tolerate in those who made common cause with it.\n\nIts ethical tendency was shown in two things, which were characteristic\nof it. One was the increased care for the Gospels, and study of them,\ncompared with other parts of the Bible. Evangelical theology had dwelt\nupon the work of Christ, and laid comparatively little stress on His\nexample, or the picture left us of His Personality and Life. It regarded\nthe Epistles of St. Paul as the last word of the Gospel message. People\nwho can recall the popular teaching, which was spoken of then as \"sound\"\nand \"faithful,\" and \"preaching Christ,\" can remember how the Epistles\nwere ransacked for texts to prove the \"sufficiency of Scripture\" or the\n\"right of private judgment,\" or the distinction between justification\nand sanctification, while the Gospel narrative was imperfectly studied\nand was felt to be much less interesting. The movement made a great\nchange. The great Name stood no longer for an abstract symbol of\ndoctrine, but for a living Master, who could teach as well as save. And\nnot forgetting whither He had gone and what He was, the readers of\nScripture now sought Him eagerly in those sacred records, where we can\nalmost see and hear His going in and out among men. It was a change in\nthe look and use of Scripture, which some can still look back to as an\nepoch in their religious history. The other feature was the increased\nand practical sense of the necessity of self-discipline, of taking real\ntrouble with one's self to keep thoughts and wishes in order, to lay the\nfoundation of habits, to acquire the power of self-control. Deeply fixed\nin the mind of the teachers, this serious governance of life, this\ndirection and purification of its aims, laid strong hold on the\nconsciences of those who accepted their teaching. This training was not\nshowy; it was sometimes austere, even extravagantly austere; but it was\ntrue, and enduring, and it issued often in a steady and unconscious\nelevation of the religious character. How this character was fed and\nnurtured and encouraged--how, too, it was frankly warned of its dangers,\nmay be seen in those _Parochial Sermons_ at St. Mary's, under whose\ninspiration it was developed, and which will always be the best\ncommentary on the character thus formed. Even among those who ultimately\nparted from the movement, with judgment more or less unfavourable to its\ntheology and general line, it left, as if uneffaceable, this moral\nstamp; this value for sincerity and simplicity of feeling and life, this\nkeen sense of the awfulness of things unseen. There was something _sui\ngeneris_ in the profoundly serious, profoundly reverent tone, about\neverything that touched religion in all who had ever come strongly under\nits influence.\n\nOf course the party soon had the faults of a party, real and\nimputed.[66] Is it conceivable that there should ever have been a\nreligious movement, which has not provoked smiles from those outside of\nit, and which has not lent itself to caricature? There were weaker\nmembers of it, and headstrong ones, and imitative ones; there were\ngrotesque and absurd ones; some were deeper, some shallower; some liked\nit for its excitement, and some liked it for its cause; there were those\nwho were for pushing on, and those who were for holding back; there were\nmen of combat, and men of peace; there were those whom it made conceited\nand self-important, and those whom it drove into seriousness, anxiety,\nand retirement. But, whatever faults it had, a pure and high spirit\nruled in it; there were no disloyal members, and there were none who\nsought their own in it, or thought of high things for themselves in\njoining it. It was this whole-heartedness, this supreme reverence for\nmoral goodness, more even than the great ability of the leaders, and in\nspite of mistakes and failures, which gave its cohesion and its momentum\nto the movement in its earlier stages.\n\nThe state of feeling and opinion among Churchmen towards the end of\n1835, two years after the Tracts had begun, is thus sketched by one who\nwas anxiously observing it, in the preface to the second volume of the\nTracts (November 1835).\n\n  In completing the second volume of a publication, to which the\n  circumstances of the day have given rise, it may be right to allude to\n  a change which has taken place in them since the date of its\n  commencement. At that time, in consequence of long security, the\n  attention of members of our Church had been but partially engaged, in\n  ascertaining the grounds of their adherence to it; but the imminent\n  peril to all which is dear to them which has since been confessed, has\n  naturally turned their thoughts that way, and obliged them to defend\n  it on one or other of the principles which are usually put forward in\n  its behalf. Discussions have thus been renewed in various quarters, on\n  points which had long remained undisturbed; and though numbers\n  continue undecided in opinion, or take up a temporary position in some\n  one of the hundred middle points which may be assumed between the two\n  main theories in which the question issues; and others, again, have\n  deliberately entrenched themselves in the modern or ultra-Protestant\n  alternative; yet, on the whole, there has been much hearty and\n  intelligent adoption, and much respectful study, of those more\n  primitive views maintained by our great Divines. As the altered state\n  of public information and opinion has a necessary bearing on the\n  efforts of those who desire to excite attention to the subject (in\n  which number the writers of these Tracts are to be included), it will\n  not be inappropriate briefly to state in this place what it is\n  conceived is the present position of the great body of Churchmen with\n  reference to it.\n\n  While we have cause to be thankful for the sounder and more accurate\n  language, which is now very generally adopted among well-judging men\n  on ecclesiastical subjects, we must beware of over-estimating what has\n  been done, and so becoming sanguine in our hopes of success, or\n  slackening our exertions to secure it. Many more persons, doubtless,\n  have taken up a profession of the main doctrine in question, that,\n  namely, of the one Catholic and Apostolic Church, than fully enter\n  into it. This was to be expected, it being the peculiarity of all\n  religious teaching, that words are imparted before ideas. A child\n  learns his Creed or Catechism before he understands it; and in\n  beginning any deep subject we are all but children to the end of our\n  lives. The instinctive perception of a rightly instructed mind, _prim\u00e2\n  facie_ force of the argument, or the authority of our celebrated\n  writers, have all had their due and extensive influence in furthering\n  the reception of the doctrine, when once it was openly maintained; to\n  which must be added the prospect of the loss of State protection,\n  which made it necessary to look out for other reasons for adherence to\n  the Church besides that of obedience to the civil magistrate. Nothing\n  which has spread quickly has been received thoroughly. Doubtless there\n  are a number of seriously-minded persons who think that they admit the\n  doctrine in question much more fully than they do, and who would be\n  startled at seeing that realised in particulars which they confess in\n  an abstract form. Many there are who do not at all feel that it is\n  capable of a practical application; and while they bring it forward on\n  special occasions, in formal expositions of faith, or in answer to a\n  direct interrogatory, let it slip from their minds almost entirely in\n  their daily conduct or their religious teaching, from the long and\n  inveterate habit of thinking and acting without it. We must not, then,\n  at all be surprised at finding that to modify the principles and\n  motives on which men act is not the work of a day; nor at undergoing\n  disappointments, at witnessing relapses, misconceptions, sudden\n  disgusts, and, on the other hand, abuses and perversions of the true\n  doctrine, in the case of those who have taken it up with more warmth\n  than discernment.\n\nFrom the end of 1835, or the beginning of 1836, the world outside of\nOxford began to be alive to the force and the rapid growth of this new\nand, to the world at large, not very intelligible movement. The ideas\nwhich had laid hold so powerfully on a number of leading minds in the\nUniversity began to work with a spell, which seemed to many\ninexplicable, on others unconnected with them. This rapidity of\nexpansion, viewed as a feature of a party, was noticed on all sides, by\nenemies no less than friends. In an article in the _British Critic_ of\nApril 1839, by Mr. Newman, on the State of Religious Parties, the fact\nis illustrated from contemporary notices.\n\n  There is at the present moment a reaction in the Church, and a growing\n  reaction, towards the views which it has been the endeavours [of the\n  Tract writers] and, as it seemed at the commencement, _almost hopeless\n  endeavours_, to advocate. The fairness of the prospect at present is\n  proved by the attack made on them by the public journals, and is\n  confessed by the more candid and the more violent among their\n  opponents. Thus the amiable Mr. Bickersteth speaks of it as having\n  manifested itself \"with the _most rapid_ growth of the hot-bed of\n  these evil days.\" The scoffing author of the _Via Media_ says: \"At\n  this moment the Via is _crowded_ with young enthusiasts who never\n  presume to argue, except against the propriety of arguing at all.\" The\n  candid Mr. Baden-Powell, who sees more of the difficulties of the\n  controversy than the rest of their antagonists pot together, says that\n  it is clear that \"these views ... have been extensively adopted, and\n  are daily gaining ground among a considerable and influential portion\n  of the members, as well as the ministers of the Established Church.\"\n  The author of the _Natural History of Enthusiasm_ says: \"The spread of\n  these doctrines is in fact having the effect of rendering all other\n  distinctions obsolete. Soon there will be no middle ground left, and\n  every man, especially every clergyman, will be compelled to make his\n  choice between the two.\" ... The Bishop of Chester speaks of the\n  subject \"daily assuming a more serious and alarming aspect\": a\n  gossiping writer of the moment describes these doctrines as having\n  insinuated themselves not only into popular churches and fashionable\n  chapels, and the columns of newspapers, but \"into the House of\n  Commons.\"\n\nAnd the writer of the article goes on:--\n\n  Now, if there be any truth in these remarks, it is plainly idle and\n  perverse to refer the change of opinions which is now going on to the\n  acts of two or three individuals, as is sometimes done. Of course\n  every event in human affairs has a beginning; and a beginning implies\n  a when, and a where, and a by whom, and how. But except in these\n  necessary circumstance, the phenomenon in question is in a manner\n  quite independent of things visible and historical. It is not here or\n  there; it has no progress, no causes, no fortunes: it is not a\n  movement, it is a spirit, it is a spirit afloat, neither \"in the\n  secret chambers\" nor \"in the desert,\" but everywhere. It is within us,\n  rising up in the heart where it was least expected, and working its\n  way, though not in secret, yet so subtly and impalpably, as hardly to\n  admit of precaution or encounter on any ordinary human rules of\n  opposition. It is an adversary in the air, a something one and entire,\n  a whole wherever it is, unapproachable and incapable of being grasped,\n  as being the result of causes far deeper than political or other\n  visible agencies, the spiritual awakening of spiritual wants.\n\n  Nothing can show more strikingly the truth of this representation than\n  to refer to what may be called the theological history of the\n  individuals who, whatever be their differences from each other on\n  important or unimportant points, yet are associated together in the\n  advocacy of the doctrines in question. Dr. Hook and Mr. Churton\n  represent the High Church dignitaries of the last generation; Mr.\n  Perceval, the Tory aristocracy; Mr. Keble is of the country clergy,\n  and comes from valleys and woods, far removed both from notoriety and\n  noise; Mr. Palmer and Mr. Todd are of Ireland; Dr. Pusey became what\n  he is from among the Universities of Germany, and after a severe and\n  tedious analysis of Arabic MSS. Mr. Dodsworth is said to have begun in\n  the study of Prophecy; Mr. Newman to have been much indebted to the\n  friendship of Archbishop Whately; Mr. Froude, if any one, gained his\n  views from his own mind. Others have passed over from Calvinism and\n  kindred religions.\n\nYears afterwards, and in changed circumstances, the same writer has left\nthe following record of what came before his experience in those\nyears:--[67]\n\n  From beginnings so small (I said), from elements of thought so\n  fortuitous, with prospects so unpromising, the Anglo-Catholic party\n  suddenly became a power in the National Church, and an object of\n  alarm to her rulers and friends. Its originators would have found it\n  difficult to say what they aimed at of a practical kind: rather, they\n  put forth views and principles, for their own sake, because they were\n  true, as if they were obliged to say them; and, as they might be\n  themselves surprised at their earnestness in uttering them, they had\n  as great cause to be surprised at the success which attended their\n  propagation. And, in fact, they could only say that those doctrines\n  were in the air; that to assert was to prove, and that to explain was\n  to persuade; and that the movement in which they were taking part was\n  the birth of a crisis rather than of a place. In a very few years a\n  school of opinion was formed, fixed in its principles, indefinite and\n  progressive in their range; and it extended itself into every part of\n  the country. If we inquire what the world thought of it, we have still\n  more to raise our wonder; for, not to mention the excitement it caused\n  in England, the movement and its party-names were known to the police\n  of Italy and to the backwoods-men of America. And so it proceeded,\n  getting stronger and stronger every year, till it came into collision\n  with the Nation and that Church of the Nation, which it began by\n  professing especially to serve.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[59] \"I answered, the person whom we were opposing had committed himself\nin writing, and we ought to commit ourselves, too.\"--_Apologia_, p. 143.\n\n[60] \"I very much doubt between Oxford and Cambridge for my boy. Oxford,\nwhich I should otherwise prefer, on many accounts, has at present\ntwo-thirds of the steady-reading men, Rabbinists, _i.e._ Puseyites.\" But\nthis was probably an exaggeration.--Whately's _Life_; letter of Oct.\n1838, p. 163 (ed. 1875).\n\n[61] \"The sagacious and aspiring man of the world, the scrutiniser\nof the heart, the conspirator against its privileges and\nrights.\"--_Prophetical Office of the Church_, p. 132.\n\n[62] _Parochial Sermons_, iv. 20. Feb. 1836.\n\n[63] _Vide_ J.B. Mozley, _Letters_, pp. 114, 115. \"Confidence in me was\nlost, but I had already lost confidence in myself.\" This, to a friend\nlike J.B. Mozley, seemed exaggeration. \"Though admiring the letter [to\nthe Vice Chancellor] I confess, for my own part, I think a general\nconfession of humility was irrelevant to the present occasion, the\nquestion being simply on a point of theological interpretation. I have\nalways had a prejudice against general confessions.\" Mozley plainly\nthought Newman's attitude too meek. He would have liked something more\nspirited and pugnacious.\n\n[64] _Romanism and Popular Protestantism_, from 1834 to 1836, published\nMarch 1837; _Justification_, after Easter 1837, published March 1838;\n_Canon of Scripture_, published May 1838; _Antichrist_, published June\n1838.\n\n[65] Cf. _Lyra Apostolica_, No. 65:\n\n  _Thou_ to wax fierce\n  In the cause of the Lord!\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  Anger and zeal,\n  And the joy of the brave,\n  Who bade _thee_ to feel,\n     Sin's slave?\n\n\n[66] This weak side was portrayed with severity in a story published by\nMr. Newman in 1848, after he left the English Church--_Loss and Gain_.\n\n[67] _Apologia_, p. 156.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE ROMAN QUESTION\n\n\nThe Hampden controversy had contributed to bring to the front a\nquestion, which from the first starting of the Tracts had made itself\nfelt, but which now became a pressing one. If the Church of England\nclaimed to be part of the Catholic Church, what was the answer of the\nChurch of England to the claims and charges of the Church of Rome? What\nwere the true distinctions between the doctrines of the two Churches on\nthe great points on which they were supposed to be at issue? The vague\noutcry of Popery had of course been raised both against the general\ndoctrine of the Church, enforced in the Tracts, and against special\ndoctrines and modes of speaking, popularly identified with Romanism; and\nthe answer had been an appeal to the authority of the most learned and\nauthoritative of our writers. But, of course, to the general public this\nlearning was new; and the cry went on with a dreary and stupid monotony.\nBut the charges against Dr. Hampden led his defenders to adopt as their\nbest weapon an aggressive policy. To the attack on his orthodoxy, the\ncounter buffet was the charge against his chief opponents of secret or\nopen Romanising. In its keenest and most popular form it was put forth\nin a mocking pamphlet written probably under Whately's inspiration by\nhis most trusted confidant, Dr. Dickinson, in which, in the form of a\n\"Pastoral Epistle from his Holiness the Pope to some Members of the\nUniversity of Oxford,\" the Tract-writers are made to appear as the\nemissaries and secret tools of Rome, as in a _jeu d'esprit_ of Whately's\nthey are made to appear as the veiled prophets of infidelity.[68] It was\nclever, but not clever enough to stand, at least in Oxford, against Dr.\nPusey's dignified and gravely earnest _Remonstrance_ against its\ninjustice and trifling. But the fire of all Dr. Hampden's friends had\nbeen drawn on the leaders of the movement. With them, and almost alone\nwith them, the opposition to him was made a personal matter. As time\nwent on, those who had been as hot as they against Dr. Hampden managed\nto get their part in the business forgotten. Old scores between\nOrthodox, Evangelicals, and Liberals were wiped out, and the Tractarians\nwere left to bear alone the odium of the \"persecution\" of Dr. Hampden.\nIt must be said that they showed no signs of caring for it.\n\nBut the Roman controversy was looming in earnest, and it was idle to\nexpect to keep it long out of sight. The Tracts had set forth with\nstartling vehemence the forgotten claims of the Church. One reason why\nthis had been done was the belief, as stated in the first volume of\nthem, \"that nothing but these neglected doctrines, faithfully preached,\nwill repress the extension of Popery, for which the ever-multiplying\ndivisions of the religious world are too clearly preparing the way.\"[69]\nThe question, What _is_ the Church? was one which the conditions of the\ntimes would not permit men any longer to leave alone. It had become\nurgent to meet it clearly and decisively. \"We could not move a step in\ncomfort till this was done.\"[70] \"The controversy with the Romanists,\"\nwrites Mr. Newman in No. 71 of the Tracts, about the end of 1835, \"has\novertaken us 'like a summer's cloud.' We find ourselves in various parts\nof the country preparing for it, yet, when we look back, we cannot\ntrace the steps by which we arrived at our present position. We do not\nrecollect what our feelings were this time last year on the subject;\nwhat was the state of our apprehensions and anticipations. All we know\nis, that here we are, from long security ignorant why we are not Roman\nCatholics, and they on the other side are said to be spreading and\nstrengthening on all sides of us, vaunting of their success, real or\napparent, and taunting us with our inability to argue with them.\"\n\nThe attitude taken by Mr. Newman at this time, as regards the Roman\nChurch, both in the Tracts and in his book on _Romanism and Popular\nProtestantism_, published in the early months of 1836, was a new one. He\nhad started, as he tells us, with the common belief that the Pope was\nAntichrist, and that the case was so clear against the whole system,\ndoctrinal and practical, of the Church of Rome, that it scarcely needed\nfurther examination. His feeling against Rome had been increased by the\nfierce struggle about Emancipation, and by the political conduct of the\nRoman Catholic party afterwards; and his growing dissatisfaction with\nthe ordinary Protestantism had no visible effect in softening this\nfeeling. Hurrell Froude's daring questions had made his friends feel\nthat there might be more to be known about the subject than they yet\nknew; yet what the fellow-travellers saw of things abroad in their visit\nto the South in 1832 did not impress them favourably. \"They are wretched\nTridentines everywhere,\" was Froude's comment. But attention had been\ndrawn to the subject, and its deep interest and importance and\ndifficulty recognised. Men began to read with new eyes. Froude's keen\nand deep sense of shortcomings at home disposed him to claim equity and\ncandour in judging of the alleged faults and corruptions of the Church\nabroad. It did more, it disposed him--naturally enough, but still\nunfairly, and certainly without adequate knowledge--to treat Roman\nshortcomings with an indulgence which he refused to English. Mr. Newman,\nknowing more, and more comprehensive in his view of things, and\ntherefore more cautious and guarded than Froude, was much less ready to\nallow a favourable interpretation of the obvious allegations against\nRome. But thought and reading, and the authority of our own leading\ndivines, had brought him to the conviction that whatever was to be said\nagainst the modern Roman Church--and the charges against it were very\nheavy--it was still, amid serious corruption and error, a teacher to the\nnations of the Christian creed and hope; it had not forfeited, any more\nthan the English Church, its title to be a part of that historic body\nwhich connects us with the Apostles of our Lord. It had a strong and\nconsistent theory to oppose to its assailants; it had much more to say\nfor itself than the popular traditions supposed. This was no new idea in\nAnglican divinity, however ill it might sort with the current language\nof Protestant controversy. But our old divines, more easily satisfied\nthan we with the course of things at home under the protection of the\nStuart kings, and stung to bitter recrimination by the insults and the\nunscrupulous political intrigues of Roman Catholic agents, had exhausted\nthe language of vituperation against a great aggressive rival, which was\nthreatening everything that they held dear. They had damaged their own\ncharacter for fairness, and overlaid their substantial grounds of\nobjection and complaint, by this unbalanced exaggeration. Mr. Newman, in\nhis study of these matters, early saw both the need and the difficulty\nof discrimination in the Roman controversy. It had to be waged, not as\nof old, with penal legislation behind, but against adversaries who\ncould now make themselves listened to, and before a public sufficiently\nrobust in its Protestantism, to look with amused interest on a\ndialectical triumph of the Roman over the Anglican claims. Romanism, he\nthought, was fatal both to his recent hopes for the English Church, and\nto the honour and welfare of Christianity at large. But in opposing it,\nground loosely taken of old must be carefully examined, and if\nuntenable, abandoned. Arguments which proved too much, which availed\nagainst any Church at all, must be given up. Popular objections, arising\nfrom ignorance or misconception, must be reduced to their true limits or\nlaid aside. The controversy was sure to be a real one, and nothing but\nwhat was real and would stand scrutiny was worth anything in it.\n\nMr. Newman had always been impressed with the greatness of the Roman\nChurch. Of old it had seemed to him great with the greatness of\nAntichrist. Now it seemed great with the strange weird greatness of a\nwonderful mixed system, commanding from its extent of sway and its\nimperial authority, complicated and mysterious in its organisation and\ninfluence, in its devotion and its superstitions, and surpassing every\nother form of religion both in its good and its evil.[71] What now\npresented itself to Mr. Newman's thoughts, instead of the old notion of\na pure Church on one side, and a corrupt Church on the other, sharply\nopposed to one another, was the more reasonable supposition of two great\nportions of the divided Church, each with its realities of history and\nfact and character, each with its special claims and excellences, each\nwith its special sins and corruptions, and neither realising in practice\nand fact all it professed to be on paper; each of which further, in the\nconflicts of past days, had deeply, almost unpardonably, wronged the\nother. The Church of England was in possession, with its own call and\nits immense work to do, and striving to do it. Whatever the Church of\nRome was abroad, it was here an intruder and a disturber. That to his\nmind was the fact and the true position of things; and this ought to\ngovern the character and course of controversy. The true line was not to\ndenounce and abuse wholesale, not to attack with any argument, good or\nbad, not to deny or ignore what was solid in the Roman ground, and good\nand elevated in the Roman system, but admitting all that fairly ought to\nbe admitted, to bring into prominence, not for mere polemical\ndenunciation, but for grave and reasonable and judicial condemnation,\nall that was extravagant and arrogant in Roman assumptions, and all that\nwas base, corrupt, and unchristian in the popular religion, which, with\nall its claims to infallibility and authority, Rome not only permitted\nbut encouraged. For us to condemn Rome wholesale, as was ordinarily the\nfashion, even in respectable writers, was as wrong, as unfair, as\nunprofitable to the cause of truth and Christianity, as the Roman\ncharges against us were felt by us to be ignorant and unjust. Rome\nprofesses like England to continue the constitution, doctrine,\ntraditions, and spirit of the ancient and undivided Church: and so far\nas she does so--and she does so in a great degree--we can have no\nquarrel with her. But in a great degree also, she does this only in\nprofession and as a theory: she claims the witness and suffrage of\nantiquity, but she interprets it at her own convenience and by her own\nauthority. We cannot claim exemption from mistakes, from deviations from\nour own standard and principles, any more than Rome; but while she\nremains as she is, and makes the monstrous claims of infallibility and\nsupremacy, there is nothing for English Churchmen but to resist her.\nUnion is impossible. Submission is impossible. What we have to beware of\nfor our own sake, as well as for our cause, are false arguments, unreal\nobjections, ignorant allegations. There is enough on the very surface,\nin her audacious assertions and high-handed changes, for popular\narguments against her, without having recourse to exaggeration and\nfalsehood; she may be a very faulty Church, without being Babylon and\nAntichrist. And in the higher forms of argument, there is abundance in\nthose provinces of ancient theology and ecclesiastical history and law,\nwhich Protestant controversialists have commonly surrendered and left\nopen to their opponents, to supply a more telling weapon than any which\nthese controversialists have used.\n\nThis line, though substantially involved in the theory of our most\nlearned divines, from Andrewes to Wake, was new in its moderation and\nreasonable caution; in its abstention from insult and vague abuse, in\nits recognition of the _prim\u00e2 facie_ strength of much of the Roman case,\nin its fearless attempt, in defiance of the deepest prejudices, to face\nthe facts and conditions of the question. Mr. Newman dared to know and\nto acknowledge much that our insular self-satisfaction did not know, and\ndid not care to know, of real Christian life in the Church of Rome. He\ndared to admit that much that was popularly held to be Popish was\nancient, Catholic, edifying; he dared to warn Churchmen that the loose\nunsifted imputations, so securely hazarded against Rome, were both\ndiscreditable and dangerous. All this, from one whose condemnation of\nRome was decisive and severe, was novel. The attempt, both in its spirit\nand its ability, was not unworthy of being part of the general effort to\nraise the standard of thought and teaching in the English Church. It\nrecalled men from slovenly prejudices to the study of the real facts of\nthe living world. It narrowed the front of battle, but it strengthened\nit enormously. The volume on _Romanism and Popular Protestantism_ is not\nan exhaustive survey of the controversy with Rome or of the theory of\nthe Church. There are great portions of the subject, both theological\nand historical, which it did not fall within the scope of the book to\ntouch. It was unsystematic and incomplete. But so far as its argument\nextended, it almost formed an epoch in this kind of controversial\nwriting. It showed the command of a man of learning over all the\ntechnical points and minutiae of a question highly scholastical in its\nconceptions and its customary treatment, and it presented this question\nin its bearings and consequences on life and practice with the freedom\nand breadth of the most vigorous popular writing. The indictment against\nRome was no vague or general one. It was one of those arguments which\ncut the ground from under a great established structure of reasonings\nand proofs. And its conclusions, clear and measured, but stern, were\nthe more impressive, because they came from one who did not disguise his\nfeeling that there was much in what was preserved in the Roman system to\nadmire and to learn from.\n\nThe point which he chose for his assault was indeed the key of the Roman\nposition--the doctrine of Infallibility. He was naturally led to this\nside of the question by the stress which the movement had laid on the\nidea of the Church as the witness and teacher of revealed truth: and the\nimmediate challenge given by the critics or opponents of the movement\nwas, how to distinguish this lofty idea of the Church, with its claim to\nauthority, if it was at all substantial, from the imposing and\nconsistent theory of Romanism. He urged against the Roman claim of\nInfallibility two leading objections. One was the way in which the\nassumed infallibility of the present Church was made to override and\nsupersede, in fact, what in words was so ostentatiously put forward, the\nhistorical evidence of antiquity to doctrine, expressed by the phrase,\nthe \"consent of the Fathers.\" The other objection was the inherent\ncontradiction of the notion of infallibility to the conditions of human\nreception of teaching and knowledge, and its practical uselessness as an\nassurance of truth, its partly delusive, partly mischievous, working.\nBut he felt, as all deep minds must feel, that it is easier to overthrow\nthe Roman theory of Church authority than to replace it by another,\nequally complete and commanding, and more unassailable. He was quite\nalive to the difficulties of the Anglican position; but he was a\ndisciple in the school of Bishop Butler, and had learned as a first\nprinciple to recognise the limitations of human knowledge, and the\nunphilosophical folly of trying to round off into finished and\npretentious schemes our fragmentary yet certain notices of our own\ncondition and of God's dealings with it. He followed his teacher in\ninsisting on the reality and importance of moral evidence as opposed to\ndemonstrative proof; and he followed the great Anglican divines in\nasserting that there was a true authority, varying in its degrees, in\nthe historic Church; that on the most fundamental points of religion\nthis authority was trustworthy and supreme; that on many other questions\nit was clear and weighty, though it could not decide everything. This\nview of the \"prophetical office of the Church\" had the dialectical\ndisadvantage of appearing to be a compromise, to many minds a fatal\ndisadvantage. It got the name of the _Via Media_; a satisfactory one to\npractical men like Dr. Hook, to whom it recommended itself for use in\npopular teaching; but to others, in aftertimes, an ill-sounding phrase\nof dislike, which summed up the weakness of the Anglican case. Yet it\nonly answered to the certain fact, that in the early and undivided\nChurch there was such a thing as authority, and there was no such thing\nknown as Infallibility. It was an appeal to the facts of history and\nhuman nature against the logical exigencies of a theory. Men must\ntranscend the conditions of our experience if they want the certainty\nwhich the theory of Infallibility speaks of.\n\nThere were especially two weak points in this view of Anglicanism. Mr.\nNewman felt and admitted them, and of course they were forced on his\nattention by controversialists on both sides; by the Ultra Protestant\nschool, whose modes of dealing with Scripture he had exposed with\nmerciless logic and by the now eager Roman disputants, of whom Dr.\nWiseman was the able and not over-scrupulous chief. The first of these\npoints was that the authority of the undivided Church, which Anglicanism\ninvoked, though it completely covered the great foundations of Christian\ndoctrine, our faith as to the nature of God, did not cover with equal\ncompleteness other important points of controversy, such as those\nraised at the Reformation as to the Sacraments, and the justification of\nthe sinner. The Anglican answer was that though the formal and conciliar\nauthority was not the same in each case, the patristic literature of the\ntime of the great councils, all that it took for granted and preserved\nas current belief and practice, all that resulted from the questions and\ndebates of the time, formed a body of proof, which carried with it moral\nevidence only short of authoritative definition, and was so regarded in\nthe Anglican formularies. These formularies implied the authority of the\nChurch to speak; and what was defined on this authority was based on\ngood evidence, though there were portions of its teaching which had even\nbetter. The other point was more serious. \"Your theory,\" was the\nobjection, \"is nothing but a paper theory; it never was a reality; it\nnever can be. There may be an ideal halting-place, there is neither a\nlogical nor an actual one, between Romanism and the ordinary negations\nof Protestantism.\" The answer to the challenge then was, \"Let us see if\nit cannot be realised. It has recognised foundations to build upon, and\nthe impediments and interruptions which have hindered it are well known.\nLet us see if it will not turn out something more than a paper theory.\"\nThat was the answer given at the time, abandoned ten years afterwards.\nBut this at least may be said, that the longer experience of the last\nfifty years has shown that the Church of England has been working more\nand more on such a theory, and that the Church of England, whatever its\nfaults may be, is certainly not a Church only on paper.\n\nBut on the principles laid down in this volume, the Roman controversy,\nin its varying forms, was carried on--for the time by Mr. Newman,\npermanently by the other leaders of the movement. In its main outlines,\nthe view has become the accepted Anglican view. Many other most\nimportant matters have come into the debate. The publicly altered\nattitude of the Papacy has indefinitely widened the breach between\nEngland and Rome. But the fundamental idea of the relations and\ncharacter of the two Churches remains the same as it was shadowed forth\nin 1836.\n\nOne very important volume on these questions ought not to be passed by\nwithout notice. This was the _Treatise on the Church of Christ_, 1838,\nby Mr. W. Palmer, who had already by his _Origines_ of the English\nRitual, 1832, done much to keep up that interest of Churchmen in the\nearly devotional language of the Church, which had first been called\nforth by Bishop Lloyd's lectures on the Prayer Book. The _Treatise on\nthe Church_ was an honour to English theology and learning; in point of\nplan and structure we have few books like it.[72] It is comprehensive,\nmethodical, well-compacted, and, from its own point of view,\nexhaustive. It is written with full knowledge of the state of the\nquestion at the time, both on the Anglican side and on the Roman. Its\nauthor evades no objection, and is aware of most. It is rigorous in\nform, and has no place for anything but substantial argument. It is a\nbook which, as the _Apologia_ tells us, commanded the respect of such an\naccomplished controversialist as Perrone; and, it may be added, of a\ntheologian of an opposite school, Dr. D\u00f6llinger. It is also one on which\nthe highest value has been set by Mr. Gladstone. It is remarkable that\nit did not exercise more influence on religious thought in Oxford at the\ncritical time when it appeared. But it had defects, and the moment was\nagainst it. It was dry and formal--inevitably so, from the scientific\nplan deliberately adopted for it; it treated as problems of the\ntheological schools, to be discussed by the rules of severe and\npassionless disputation, questions which were once more, after the\ninterval of more than a century, beginning to touch hearts and\nconsciences, and were felt to be fraught with the gravest practical\nissues. And Mr. Newman, in his mode of dealing with them, unsystematic,\nincomplete, unsatisfactory in many ways as it was, yet saw in them not\nabstract and scholastic inquiries, however important, but matters in\nwhich not only sound argument, but sympathy and quick intelligence of\nthe conditions and working of the living minds around him, were needed\nto win their attention and interest. To persons accustomed to Mr.\nNewman's habit of mind and way of writing, his ease, his frankness, his\ncandour, his impatience of conventionality, his piercing insight into\nthe very centre of questions, his ever-ready recognition of nature and\nreality, his range of thought, his bright and clear and fearless style\nof argument, his undisplayed but never unfelt consciousness of the true\nawfulness of anything connected with religion, any stiff and heavy way\nof treating questions which he had treated would have seemed\nunattractive and unpersuasive. He had spoiled his friends for any mere\ntechnical handling, however skilful, of great and critical subjects. He\nhimself pointed out in a review the unique merit and the real value of\nMr. Palmer's book, pointing out also, significantly enough, where it\nfell short, both in substance and in manner. Observing that the\n\"scientific\" system of the English Church is not yet \"sufficiently\ncleared and adjusted,\" and adding a variety of instances of this\ndeficiency, he lets us see what he wanted done, where difficulties most\npressed upon himself, and where Mr. Palmer had missed the real substance\nof such difficulties. Looking at it by the light of after-events, we can\nsee the contradiction and reaction produced by Mr. Palmer's too\noptimist statements. Still, Mr. Newman's praise was sincere and\ndiscriminating. But Mr. Palmer's book, though never forgotten, scarcely\nbecame, what it at another time might well have become, an English\ntext-book.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[68] Whately's _Life_, ed. 1875, pp. 187-190.\n\n[69] Advertisement to vol. i. 1st Nov. 1834.\n\n[70] _Apologia_, p. 139.\n\n[71] Vide _Lyra Apostolica_, Nos. 170, 172:\n\n  How shall I name thee, Light of the wide West,\n    Or heinous error-seat?...\n  Oh, that thy creed were sound!\n  For thou dost soothe the heart, thou Church of Rome,\n  By thy unwearied watch and varied round\n  Of service, in thy Saviour's holy home.\n\nAnd comp. No. 171, _The Cruel Church_.\n\n[72] \"The most important theological work which has lately appeared is\nMr. Palmer's _Treatise on the Church_.... Whatever judgment may be\nformed of the conclusions to which he has come on the variety of points\nwhich he had to consider, we cannot contemplate without admiration, and\n(if it were right) without envy, the thorough treatment which his\nsubject has received at his hands. It is indeed a work quite in\ncharacter with the religious movement which has commenced in various\nparts of the Church, displaying a magnificence of design similar to that\nof the Bishop of London's plan of fifty new churches, and Dr. Pusey, of\nOxford's, projected translation of the Fathers.\"--_Brit. Crit._. July\n1838. Short Notices.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nCHANGES\n\n\nThe first seven years of the movement, as it is said in the _Apologia_,\nhad been years of prosperity. There had been mistakes; there had been\nopposition; there had been distrust and uneasiness. There was in some\nplaces a ban on the friends of Mr. Newman; men like Mr. James Mozley and\nMr. Mark Pattison found their connexion with him a difficulty in the way\nof fellowships. But on the whole, things had gone smoothly, without any\ngreat breakdown, or any open collision with authority. But after 1840\nanother period was to begin of trouble and disaster. The seeds of this\nhad been partially sown before in the days of quiet, and the time was\ncome for their development. Differences in the party itself had been\ngrowing sharper; differences between the more cautious and the more\nfearless, between the more steady-going and the more subtle thinkers.\nThe contrast between the familiar and customary, and the new--between\nthe unknown or forgotten, and a mass of knowledge only recently\nrealised--became more pronounced. Consequences of a practical kind, real\nor supposed; began to show themselves, and to press. And above all, a\nsecond generation, without the sobering experience of the first, was\nstarting from where the first had reached to, and, in some instances,\nwas rising up against their teachers' caution and patience. The usual\ndangers of all earnest and aggressive assertions of great principles\nappeared: contempt for everything in opinion and practice that was not\nadvanced, men vying with each other in bold inferences, in the pleasure\nof \"talking strong.\" With this grew fear and exasperation on the other\nside, misunderstandings, misgivings, strainings of mutual confidence,\nwithin. Dr. Hook alternated between violent bursts of irritation and\ndisgust, and equally strong returns of sympathy, admiration, and\ngratitude; and he represented a large amount of feeling among Churchmen.\nIt was but too clear that storms were at hand. They came perhaps quicker\nthan they were anticipated.\n\nTowards the end of 1838, a proposal was brought forward, for which in\nits direct aspect much might plausibly be said, but which was in\nintention and indirectly a test question, meant to put the Tractarians\nin a difficulty, and to obtain the weight of authority in the University\nagainst them. It was proposed to raise a subscription, and to erect a\nmonument in Oxford, to the martyrs of the Reformation, Cranmer, Ridley,\nand Latimer. Considering that the current and popular language dated\nthe Church of England from the Reformation of the sixteenth century, and\ncited the Reformers as ultimate and paramount authorities on its\ndoctrine, there was nothing unreasonable in such a proposal. Dr. Hook,\nstrong Churchman as he was, \"called to union on the principles of the\nEnglish Reformation.\" But the criticism which had been set afloat by the\nmovement had discovered and realised, what defenders of the English\nChurch had hitherto felt it an act of piety to disbelieve, when put\nbefore them by Romanists like Lingard, and radicals like Cobbett. that\nthe Reformers had been accomplices in many indefensible acts, and had\nbeen inconsistent and untrustworthy theologians. Providentially, it was\nfelt, the force of old convictions and tradition and the historical\nevents of the time had obliged them to respect the essentials of\nCatholic truth and polity and usage; we owed to them much that was\nbeautiful and devotional in the Prayer Book; and their Articles, clear\nin all matters decided by the early theology, avoided foreign extremes\nin dealing with later controversies. But their own individual language\nwas often far in advance of the public and official language of\nformularies, in the direction of the great Protestant authorities of\nGeneva and Zurich. There were still, even among the movement party, many\nwho respected the Reformers for the work which they had attempted, and\npartly and imperfectly done, to be more wisely and soberly carried on by\ntheir successors of the seventeenth century. But the charges against\ntheir Calvinistic and even Zwinglian language were hard to parry; even\nto those who respected them for their connexion with our present order\nof things, their learning, their soundness, their authority appeared to\nbe greatly exaggerated; and the reaction from excessive veneration made\nothers dislike and depreciate them. This was the state of feeling when\nthe Martyrs' Memorial was started. It was eagerly pressed with ingenious\nand persevering arguments by Mr. Golightly, the indefatigable and\nlong-labouring opponent of all that savoured of Tractarianism. The\nappeal seemed so specious that at first many even of the party gave in\ntheir adhesion. Even Dr. Pusey was disposed to subscribe to it. But Mr.\nNewman, as was natural, held aloof; and his friends for the most part\ndid the same. It was what was expected and intended. They were either to\ncommit themselves to the Reformation as understood by the promoters of\nthe Memorial; or they were to be marked as showing their disloyalty to\nit. The subscription was successful. The Memorial was set up, and stood,\na derisive though unofficial sign of the judgment of the University\nagainst them.\n\nBut the \"Memorial\" made little difference to the progress of the\nmovement. It was an indication of hostility in reserve, but this was\nall; it formed an ornament to the city, but failed as a religious and\neffective protest. Up to the spring of 1839, Anglicanism, placed on an\nintellectual basin by Mr. Newman, developed practically in different\nways by Dr. Pusey and Dr. Hook, sanctioned in theory by divines who\nrepresented the old divinity of the English Church, like Bishop\nPhillpotts and Mr. H.J. Rose, could speak with confident and hopeful\nvoice. It might well seem that it was on its way to win over the coming\ngenerations of the English clergy. It had on its side all that gives\ninterest and power to a cause,--thought, force of character, unselfish\nearnestness; it had unity of idea and agreement in purpose, and was\ncemented by the bonds of warm affection and common sympathies. It had\nthe promise of a nobler religion, as energetic and as spiritual as\nPuritanism and Wesleyanism, while it drew its inspiration, its canons of\ndoctrine, its moral standards, from purer and more venerable\nsources;--from communion, not with individual teachers and partial\ntraditions, but with the consenting teaching and authoritative documents\nof the continuous Catholic Church.\n\nAnglicanism was agreed, up to this time--the summer of 1839--as to its\ngeneral principles. Charges of an inclination to Roman views had been\npromptly and stoutly met; nor was there really anything but the\nignorance or ill-feeling of the accusers to throw doubt on the sincerity\nof these disavowals. The deepest and strongest mind in the movement was\nsatisfied; and his steadiness of conviction could be appealed to if his\nfollowers talked wildly and rashly. He had kept one unwavering path; he\nhad not shrunk from facing with fearless honesty the real living array\nof reasons which the most serious Roman advocates could put forward.\nWith a frankness new in controversy, he had not been afraid to state\nthem with a force which few of his opponents could have put forth. With\nan eye ever open to that supreme Judge of all our controversies, who\nlistens to them on His throne on high, he had with conscientious\nfairness admitted what he saw to be good and just on the side of his\nadversaries, conceded what in the confused wrangle of conflicting claims\nhe judged ought to be conceded. But after all admissions and all\nconcessions, the comparative strength of his own case appeared all the\nmore undeniable. He had stripped it of its weaknesses, its incumbrances,\nits falsehoods; and it did not seem the weaker for being presented in\nits real aspect and on its real grounds. People felt that he had gone to\nthe bottom of the question as no one had yet dared to do. He was yet\nstaunch in his convictions; and they could feel secure.\n\nBut a change was at hand. In the course of 1839, the little cloud showed\nitself in the outlook of the future; the little rift opened, small and\nhardly perceptible, which was to widen into an impassable gulf.\nAnglicanism started with undoubted confidence in its own foundations and\nits own position, as much against Romanism as against the more recent\nforms of religion. In the consciousness of its strength, it could afford\nto make admissions and to refrain from tempting but unworthy arguments\nin controversy with Rome; indeed the necessity of such controversy had\ncome upon it unexpectedly and by surprise. With English frankness, in\nits impatience of abuses and desire for improvement within, it had dwelt\nstrongly on the faults and shortcomings of the English Church which it\ndesired to remedy; but while allowing what was undeniably excellent in\nRome, it had been equally outspoken and emphatic in condemnation of the\nevils of Rome. What is there to wonder at in such a position? It is the\nposition of every honest reforming movement, at least in England. But\nAnglican self-reliance was unshaken, and Anglican hope waxed stronger as\nthe years went on, and the impression made by Anglican teaching became\nwider and deeper. Outside attacks, outside persecution, could now do\nlittle harm; the time was past for that. What might have happened had\nthings gone on as they began, it is idle to inquire. But at the moment\nwhen all seemed to promise fair, the one fatal influence, the presence\nof internal uncertainty and doubt, showed itself. The body of men who\nhad so for acted together began to show a double aspect. While one\nportion of it continued on the old lines, holding the old ground,\ndefending the old principles, and attempting to apply them for the\nimprovement of the practical system of the English Church, another\nportion had asked the question, and were pursuing the anxious inquiry,\nwhether the English Church was a true Church at all, a true portion of\nthe one uninterrupted Catholic Church of the Redeemer. And the question\nhad forced itself with importunate persistence on the leading mind of\nthe movement. From this time the fate of Tractarianism, as a party, was\ndecided.\n\nIn this overthrow of confidence, two sets of influences may be traced.\n\n1. One, which came from above, from the highest leading authority in the\nmovement, was the unsettlement of Mr. Newman's mind. He has told the\nstory, the story as he believed of his enfranchisement and deliverance;\nand he has told the story, though the story of a deliverance, with so\nkeen a feeling of its pathetic and tragic character,--as it is indeed\nthe most tragic story of a conversion to peace and hope on record,--that\nit will never cease to be read where the English language is spoken. Up\nto the summer of 1839, his view of the English position had satisfied\nhim--satisfied him, that is, as a tenable one in the anomalies of\nexisting Christendom. All seemed clear and hopeful, and the one thing to\nbe thought of was to raise the English Church to the height of its own\nstandard. But in the autumn of that year (1839), as he has told us, a\nchange took place. In the summer of 1839, he had set himself to study\nthe history of the Monophysite controversy. \"I have no reason,\" he\nwrites, \"to suppose that the thought of Rome came across my mind at\nall.... It was during this course of reading that for the first time a\ndoubt came across me of the tenableness of Anglicanism. I had seen the\nshadow of a hand on the wall. He who has seen a ghost cannot be as if he\nhad never seen it. The heavens had opened and closed again.\" To less\nimaginative and slower minds this seems an overwrought description of a\nphenomenon, which must present itself sometime or other to all who\nsearch the foundations of conviction; and by itself he was for the time\nproof against its force. \"The thought for the moment had been, The\nChurch of Rome will be found right after all; and then it had vanished.\nMy old convictions remained as before.\" But another blow came, and then\nanother. An article by Dr. Wiseman on the Donatists greatly disturbed\nhim. The words of St. Augustine about the Donatists, _securus judicat\norbis terrarum_, rang continually in his ears, like words out of the\nsky. He found the threatenings of the Monophysite controversy renewed in\nthe _Arian_: \"the ghost had come a second time.\" It was a \"most\nuncomfortable article,\" he writes in his letters; \"the first real hit\nfrom Romanism which has happened to me\"; it gave him, as he says, \"a\nstomach-ache.\" But he still held his ground, and returned his answer to\nthe attack in an article in the _British Critic_, on the \"Catholicity of\nthe English Church.\" He did not mean to take the attack for more than it\nwas worth, an able bit of _ex parte_ statement. But it told on him, as\nnothing had yet told on him. What it did, was to \"open a vista which was\nclosed before, and of which he could not see the end\"; \"we are not at\nthe bottom of things,\" was the sting it left behind From this time, the\nhope and exultation with which, in spite of checks and misgivings, he\nhad watched the movement, gave way to uneasiness and distress. A new\nstruggle was beginning, a long struggle with himself, a long struggle\nbetween rival claims which would not be denied, each equally imperious,\nand involving fatal consequences if by mistake the wrong one was\nadmitted. And it was not only the effect of these thoughts on his own\nmind which filled him with grief and trouble. He always thought much for\nothers; and now there was the misery of perhaps unsettling\nothers--others who had trusted him with their very souls--others, to\nwhom it was impossible to explain the conflicts which were passing in\nhis own mind. It was so bitter to unsettle their hope and confidence.\nAll through this time, more trying than his own difficulties, were the\nperplexities and sorrows which he foresaw for those whom he loved. Very\nillogical and inconsecutive, doubtless; if only he had had the hard\nheart of a proselytiser, he would have seen that it was his duty to\nundermine and shatter their old convictions. But he cared more for the\ntempers and beliefs in which he was at one with his Anglican friends,\nthan for those in which they could not follow him. But the struggle came\non gradually. What he feared at first was not the triumph of Rome, but\nthe break-up of the English Church; the apparent probability of a great\nschism in it. \"I fear I see more clearly that we are working up to a\nschism in the English Church, that is, a split between Peculiars and\nApostolicals ... I never can be surprised at individuals going off to\nRome, but that is not my chief fear, but a schism; that is, those two\nparties, which have hitherto got on together as they could, from the\ntimes of Puritanism downwards, gathering up into clear, tangible, and\ndirect forces, and colliding. Our Church is not at one with itself,\nthere is no denying it.\" That was at first the disaster before him. His\nthought for himself began to turn, not to Rome, but to a new life\nwithout office and authority, but still within the English Church. \"You\nsee, if things come to the worst, I should turn brother of charity in\nLondon.\" And he began to prepare for a move from Oxford, from St.\nMary's, from his fellowship. He bought land at Littlemore, and began to\nplant. He asks his brother-in-law for plans for building what he calls a\n\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03ae. He looks forward to its becoming a sort of Monastic school, but\nstill connected with the University.\n\nIn Mr. Newman's view of the debate between England and Rome, he had all\nalong dwelt on two broad features, _Apostolicity_ and _Catholicity_,\nlikeness to the Apostolic teaching, and likeness to the uninterrupted\nunity and extent of the undivided Church; and of those two features he\nfound the first signally wanting in Rome, and the second signally\nwanting in England. When he began to distrust his own reasonings, still\nthe disturbing and repelling element in Rome was the alleged defect of\nApostolicity, the contrast between primitive and Roman religion; while\nthe attractive one was the apparent widely extended Catholicity in all\nlands, East and West, continents and isles, of the world-wide spiritual\nempire of the Pope. It is these two great points which may be traced in\ntheir action on his mind at this crisis. The contrast between early and\nRoman doctrine and practice, in a variety of ways, some of them most\ngrave and important, was long a great difficulty in the way of\nattempting to identify the Roman Church, absolutely and exclusively,\nwith the Primitive Church. The study of antiquity indisposed him,\nindeed, more and more to the existing system of the English Church; its\nclaims to model itself on the purity and simplicity of the Early Church\nseemed to him, in the light of its documents, and still more of the\nfacts of history and life, more and more questionable. But modern Rome\nwas just as distant from the Early Church though it preserved many\nancient features, lost or unvalued by England. Still, Rome was not the\nsame thing as the Early Church; and Mr. Newman ultimately sought a way\nout of his difficulty--and indeed there was no other--in the famous\ndoctrine of Development. But when the difficulty about _Apostolicity_\nwas thus provided for, then the force of the great vision of the\nCatholic Church came upon him, unchecked and irresistible. That was a\nthing present, visible, undeniable as a fact of nature; that was a thing\nat once old and new; it belonged as truly, as manifestly, to the recent\nand modern world of democracy and science, as it did to the Middle Ages\nand the Fathers, to the world of Gregory and Innocent, to the world of\nAthanasius and Augustine. The majesty, the vastness of an imperial\npolity, outlasting all states and kingdoms, all social changes and\npolitical revolutions, answered at once to the promises of the\nprophecies, and to the antecedent idea of the universal kingdom of God.\nBefore this great idea, embodied in concrete form, and not a paper\ndoctrine, partial scandals and abuses seemed to sink into\ninsignificance. Objections seemed petty and ignoble; the pretence of\nrival systems impertinent and absurd. He resented almost with impatience\nanything in the way of theory or explanation which seemed to him narrow,\ntechnical, dialectical. He would look at nothing but what had on it the\nmark of greatness and largeness which befitted the awful subject, and\nwas worthy of arresting the eye and attention of an ecclesiastical\nstatesman, alive to mighty interests, compared to which even the most\nserious human affairs were dwarfed and obscured. But all this was\ngradual in coming. His recognition of the claims of the English Church,\nfaulty and imperfect as he thought it, did not give way suddenly and at\nonce. It survived the rude shock of 1839, From first to almost the last\nshe was owned as his \"mother\"--owned in passionate accents of\ndisappointment and despair as a Church which knew not how to use its\ngifts; yet still, even though life seemed failing her, and her power of\nteaching and ruling seemed paralysed, his mother; and as long as there\nseemed to him a prospect of restoration to health, it was his duty to\nstay by her.[73] This was his first attitude for three or four years\nafter 1839. He could not speak of her with the enthusiasm and triumph of\nthe first years of the movement. When he fought her battles, it was with\nthe sense that her imperfections made his task the harder. Still he\nclung to the belief that she held a higher standard than she had yet\nacted up to, and discouraged and perplexed he yet maintained her cause.\nBut now two things happened. The Roman claims, as was natural when\nalways before him, seemed to him more and more indisputable. And in\nEngland his interpretation of Anglican theology seemed to be more and\nmore contradicted, disavowed, condemned, by all that spoke with any\nauthority in the Church. The University was not an ecclesiastical body,\nyet it had practically much weight in matters of theology; it\ninformally, but effectually, declared against him. The Bishops, one by\none, of course only spoke as individuals; but they were the official\nspokesmen of the Church, and their consent, though not the act of a\nSynod, was weighty--they too had declared against him. And finally that\nvague but powerful voice of public opinion, which claims to represent at\nonce the cool judgment of the unbiassed, and the passion of the\nzealous--it too declared against him. Could he claim to understand the\nmind of the Church better than its own organs?\n\nThen at length a change came; and it was marked outwardly by a curious\nretractation of his severe language about Rome, published in a paper\ncalled the _Conservative Journal_, in January 1843; and more distinctly,\nby his resignation of St. Mary's in September 1843, a step contemplated\nfor some time, and by his announcement that he was preparing to resign\nhis fellowship. From this time he felt that he could no longer hold\noffice, or be a champion of the English Church; from this time, it was\nonly a matter of waiting, waiting to make quite certain that he was\nright and was under no delusion, when he should leave her for the Roman\nCommunion. And to his intimate friends, to his sisters, he gave notice\nthat this was now impending. To the world outside, all that was known\nwas that he was much unsettled and distressed by difficulties.\n\nIt may be asked why this change was not at this time communicated, not\nto a few intimates, but to the world? Why did he not at this time hoist\nhis quarantine flag and warn every one that he was dangerous to come\nnear? So keen a mind must, it was said, have by this time foreseen how\nthings would end; he ought to have given earlier notice. His answer was\nthat he was sincerely desirous of avoiding, as far as possible, what\nmight prejudice the Church in which he had ministered, even at the\nmoment of leaving her. He saw his own way becoming clearer and clearer;\nbut he saw it for himself alone. He was not one of those who forced the\nconvictions of others; he was not one of those who think it a great\nthing to be followed in a serious change by a crowd of disciples.\nWhatever might be at the end, it was now an agonising wrench to part\nfrom the English body, to part from the numbers of friends whose loyalty\nwas immovable, to part from numbers who had trusted and learned from\nhim. Of course, if he was in the right way, he could wish them nothing\nbetter than that they should follow him. But they were in God's hands;\nit was not his business to unsettle them; it was not his business to\nensnare and coerce their faith. And so he tried for this time to steer\nhis course alone. He wished to avoid observation. He was silent on all\nthat went on round him, exciting as some of the incidents were. He would\nnot he hurried; he would give himself full time; he would do what he\ncould to make sure that he was not acting under the influence of a\ndelusion.\n\nThe final result of all this was long in coming; there was, we know, a\nbitter agony of five years, a prolonged and obstinate and cruel struggle\nbetween the deepest affections and ever-growing convictions. But this\nstruggle, as has been said, did not begin with the conviction in which\nit ended. It began and long continued with the belief that though\nEngland was wrong, Rome was not right; that though the Roman argument\nseemed more and more unanswerable, there were insuperable difficulties\nof certain fact which made the Roman conclusion incredible; that there\nwas so much good and truth in England, with all its defects and faults,\nwhich was unaccountable and unintelligible on the Roman hypothesis; that\nthe real upshot was that the whole state of things in Christendom was\nabnormal; that to English Churchmen the English Church had immediate and\ndirect claims which nothing but the most irresistible counter-claims\ncould overcome or neutralise--the claims of a shipwrecked body cut off\nfrom country and home, yet as a shipwrecked body still organised, and\nwith much saved from the wreck, and not to be deserted, as long as it\nheld together, in an uncertain attempt to rejoin its lost unity.\nResignation, retirement, silence, lay communion, the hope of ultimate,\nthough perhaps long-deferred reunion--these were his first thoughts.\nMisgivings could not be helped, would not be denied, but need not be\nparaded, were to be kept at arm's-length as long as possible. This is\nthe picture presented in the autobiography of these painful and dreary\nyears; and there is every evidence that it is a faithful one. It is\nconceivable, though not very probable, that such a course might go on\nindefinitely. It is conceivable that under different circumstances he\nmight, like other perplexed and doubting seekers after truth, have\nworked round through doubt and perplexity to his first conviction. But\nthe actual result, as it came, was natural enough; and it was\naccelerated by provocation, by opponents without, and by the pressure of\nadvanced and impatient followers and disciples in the party itself.\n\n2. This last was the second of the two influences spoken of above. It\nworked from below, as the first worked from above.\n\nDiscussions and agitations, such as accompanied the movement, however\nmuch under the control of the moral and intellectual ascendancy of the\nleaders, could not of course be guaranteed from escaping from that\ncontrol. And as the time went on, men joined the movement who had but\nqualified sympathy with that passionate love and zeal for the actual\nEnglish Church, that acquaintance with its historical theology, and that\ntemper of discipline, sobriety, and self-distrust, which marked its\nfirst representatives. These younger disciples shared in the growing\nexcitement of the society round them. They were attracted by visible\nheight of character, and brilliant intellectual power. They were alive\nto vast and original prospects, opening a new world which should be a\ncontrast to the worn-out interest of the old. Some of these were men of\nwide and abstruse learning; quaint and eccentric scholars both in habit\nand look, students of the ancient type, who even fifty years ago seemed\nout of date to their generation. Some were men of considerable force of\nmind, destined afterwards to leave a mark on their age as thinkers and\nwriters. To the former class belonged Charles Seager, and John Brande\nMorris, of Exeter College, both learned Orientalists, steeped in\nrecondite knowledge of all kinds; men who had worked their way to\nknowledge through hardship and grinding labour, and not to be outdone in\nGermany itself for devouring love of learning and a scholar's plainness\nof life. In the other class may be mentioned Frederic Faber, J.D.\nDalgairns, and W.G. Ward, men who have all since risen to eminence in\ntheir different spheres. Faber was a man with a high gift of\nimagination, remarkable powers of assimilating knowledge, and a great\nrichness and novelty and elegance of thought, which with much melody of\nvoice made him ultimately a very attractive preacher. If the promise of\nhis powers has not been adequately fulfilled, it is partly to be traced\nto a want of severity of taste and self-restraint, but his name will\nlive in some of his hymns, and in some very beautiful portions of his\ndevotional writings. Dalgairns's mind was of a different order. \"That\nman has an eye for theology,\" was the remark of a competent judge on\nsome early paper of Dalgairns's which came before him. He had something\nof the Frenchman about him. There was in him, in his Oxford days, a\nbright and frank briskness, a mixture of modesty and arch daring, which\ngave him an almost boyish appearance; but beneath this boyish appearance\nthere was a subtle and powerful intellect, alive to the problems of\nreligious philosophy, and impatient of any but the most thorough\nsolutions of them; while, on the other hand, the religious affections\nwere part of his nature, and mind and will and heart yielded an\nunreserved and absolute obedience to the leading and guidance of faith.\nIn his later days, with his mind at ease, Father Dalgairns threw himself\ninto the great battle with unbelief; and few men have commanded more\nthe respect of opponents not much given to think well of the arguments\nfor religion, by the freshness and the solidity of his reasoning. At\nthis time, enthusiastic in temper, and acute and exacting as a thinker,\nhe found the Church movement just, as it were, on the turn of the wave.\nHe was attracted to it at first by its reaction against what was unreal\nand shallow, by its affinities with what was deep in idea and earnest in\nlife; then, and finally, he was repelled from it, by its want of\ncompleteness, by its English acquiescence in compromise, by its\nhesitations and clinging to insular associations and sympathies, which\nhad little interest for him.\n\nAnother person, who was at this time even more prominent in the advanced\nportion of the movement party, and whose action had more decisive\ninfluence on its course, was Mr. W.G. Ward, Fellow of Balliol. Mr. Ward,\nwho was first at Christ Church, had distinguished himself greatly at the\nOxford Union as a vigorous speaker, at first on the Tory side; he came\nafterwards under the influence of Arthur Stanley, then fresh from Rugby,\nand naturally learned to admire Dr. Arnold; but Dr. Arnold's religious\ndoctrines did not satisfy him; the movement, with its boldness and\noriginality of idea and ethical character, had laid strong hold on him,\nand he passed into one of the most thoroughgoing adherents of Mr.\nNewman. There was something to smile at in his person, and in some of\nhis ways--his unbusiness-like habits, his joyousness of manner, his racy\nstories; but few more powerful intellects passed through Oxford in his\ntime, and he has justified his University reputation by his distinction\nsince, both as a Roman Catholic theologian and professor, and as a\nprofound metaphysical thinker, the equal antagonist on their own ground\nof J. Stuart Mill and Herbert Spencer. But his intellect at that time\nwas as remarkable for its defects as for its powers. He used to divide\nhis friends, and thinking people in general, into those who had facts\nand did not know what to do with them, and those who had in perfection\nthe logical faculties, but wanted the facts to reason upon. He belonged\nhimself to the latter class. He had, not unnaturally, boundless\nconfidence in his argumentative powers; they were subtle, piercing,\nnimble, never at a loss, and they included a power of exposition which,\nif it was not always succinct and lively, was always weighty and\nimpressive. Premises in his hands were not long in bringing forth their\nconclusions; and if abstractions always corresponded exactly to their\nconcrete embodiments, and ideals were fulfilled in realities, no one\ncould point out more perspicuously and decisively the practical\njudgments on them which reason must sanction. But that knowledge of\nthings and of men which mere power of reasoning will not give was not\none of his special endowments. The study of facts, often in their\ncomplicated and perplexing reality, was not to his taste. He was apt to\naccept them on what he considered adequate authority, and his\nargumentation, formidable as it always was, recalled, even when most\nunanswerable at the moment, the application of pure mathematics without\nallowance for the actual forces, often difficult to ascertain except by\nexperiment, which would have to be taken account of in practice.\n\nThe tendency of this section of able men was unquestionably Romewards,\nalmost from the beginning of their connexion with the movement. Both the\ntheory and the actual system of Rome, so far as they understood it, had\nattractions for them which nothing else had. But with whatever\nperplexity and perhaps impatience, Mr. Newman's power held them back. He\nkept before their minds continually those difficulties of fact which\nstood in the way of their absolute and peremptory conclusions, and of\nwhich they were not much inclined to take account. He insisted on those\nfeatures, neither few nor unimportant nor hard to see, which proved the\ncontinuity of the English Church with the Church Universal. Sharing\ntheir sense of anomaly in the Anglican theory and position, he pointed\nout with his own force and insight that anomaly was not in England only,\nbut everywhere. There was much to regret, there was much to improve,\nthere were many unwelcome and dangerous truths, _invidiosi veri_, to be\ntold and defended at any cost. But patience, as well as honesty and\ncourage, was a Christian virtue; and they who had received their\nChristianity at the hands of the English Church had duties towards it\nfrom which neither dissatisfaction nor the idea of something better\ncould absolve them. _Spartam nactus es, hanc exorna_ is the motto for\nevery one whose lot is cast in any portion of Christ's Church. And as\nlong as he could speak with this conviction, the strongest of them could\nnot break away from his restraint. It was when the tremendous question\ntook shape, Is the English Church a true Church, a real part of the\nChurch Catholic?--when the question became to his mind more and more\ndoubtful, at length desperate--that they, of course, became more\ndifficult to satisfy, more confident in their own allegations, more\nunchecked in their sympathies, and, in consequence, in their dislikes.\nAnd in the continued effort--for it did continue--to make them pause and\nwait and hope, they reacted on him; they asked him questions which he\nfound it hard to answer; they pressed him with inferences which he might\nput by, but of which he felt the sting; they forced on him all the\nindications, of which every day brought its contribution, that the\nactual living system of the English Church was against what he had\ntaught to be Catholic, that its energetic temper and spirit condemned\nand rejected him. What was it that private men were staunch and\nundismayed? What was it that month by month all over England hearts and\nminds were attracted to his side, felt the spell of his teaching, gave\nhim their confidence? Suspicion and disapprobation, which had only too\nmuch to ground itself upon, had taken possession of the high places of\nthe Church. Authority in all its shapes had pronounced as decisively as\nhis opponents could wish; as decisively as they too could wish, who\ndesired no longer a barrier between themselves and Rome.\n\nThus a great and momentous change had come over the movement, over its\naction and prospects. It had started in a heroic effort to save the\nEnglish Church. The claims, the blessings, the divinity of the English\nChurch, as a true branch of Catholic Christendom, had been assumed as\nthe foundation of all that was felt and said and attempted. The English\nChurch was the one object to which English Christians were called upon\nto turn their thoughts. Its spirit animated the _Christian Year_, and\nthe teaching of those whom the _Christian Year_ represented. Its\ninterests were what called forth the zeal and the indignation recorded\nin Froude's _Remains_. No one seriously thought of Rome, except as a\nhopelessly corrupt system, though it had some good and Catholic things,\nwhich it was Christian and honest to recognise. The movement of 1833\nstarted out of the Anti-Roman feelings of the Emancipation time. It was\nAnti-Roman as much as it was Anti-Sectarian and Anti-Erastian. It was to\navert the danger of people becoming Romanists from ignorance of Church\nprinciples. This was all changed in one important section of the party.\nThe fundamental conceptions and assumptions were reversed. It was not\nthe Roman Church, but the English Church, which was put on its trial; it\nwas not the Roman Church, but the English, which was to be, if possible,\napologised for, perhaps borne with for a time, but which was to be\nregarded as deeply fallen, holding an untenable position, and\nincomparably, unpardonably, below both the standard and the practical\nsystem of the Roman Church. From this point of view the object of the\nmovement was no longer to elevate and improve an independent English\nChurch, but to approximate it as far as possible to what was assumed to\nbe undeniable--the perfect Catholicity of Rome. More almost than ideas\nand assumptions, the tone of feeling changed. It had been, towards the\nEnglish Church, affectionate, enthusiastic, reverential, hopeful. It\nbecame contemptuous, critical, intolerant, hostile with the hostility\nnot merely of alienation but disgust This was not of course the work of\na moment, but it was of very rapid growth. \"How I hate these Anglicans!\"\nwas the expression of one of the younger men of this section, an\nintemperate and insolent specimen of it. It did not represent the tone\nor the language of the leader to whom the advanced section deferred,\nvexed as he often was with the course of his own thoughts, and irritated\nand impatient at the course of things without. But it expressed but too\ntruly the difference between 1833 and 1840.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[73] See Sermons on _Subjects of the Day_, 1843.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE AUTHORITIES AND THE MOVEMENT\n\n\nWhile the movement was making itself felt as a moral force, without a\nparallel in Oxford for more than two centuries, and was impressing\ndeeply and permanently some of the most promising men in the rising\ngeneration in the University, what was the attitude of the University\nauthorities? What was the attitude of the Bishops?\n\nAt Oxford it was that of contemptuous indifference, passing into\nhelpless and passionate hostility. There is no sadder passage to be\nfound in the history of Oxford than the behaviour and policy of the\nheads of this great Christian University towards the religious movement\nwhich was stirring the interest, the hopes, the fears of Oxford. The\nmovement was, for its first years at least, a loyal and earnest effort\nto serve the cause of the Church. Its objects were clear and reasonable;\nit aimed at creating a sincere and intelligent zeal for the Church, and\nat making the Church itself worthy of the great position which her\nfriends claimed for her. Its leaders were men well known in the\nUniversity, in the first rank in point of ability and character; men of\nlearning, who knew what they were talking about; men of religious and\npure, if also severe lives. They were not men merely of speculation and\ncriticism, but men ready to forego anything, to devote everything for\nthe practical work of elevating religious thought and life. All this did\nnot necessarily make their purposes and attempts wise and good; but it\ndid entitle them to respectful attention. If they spoke language new to\nthe popular mind or the \"religious world,\" it was not new--at least it\nought not to have been new--to orthodox Churchmen, with opportunities of\nstudy and acquainted with our best divinity. If their temper was eager\nand enthusiastic, they alleged the presence of a great and perilous\ncrisis. Their appeal was mainly not to the general public, but to the\nsober and the learned; to those to whom was entrusted the formation of\nfaith and character in the future clergy of the Church; to those who\nwere responsible for the discipline and moral tone of the first\nUniversity of Christendom, and who held their conspicuous position on\nthe understanding of that responsibility. It behoved the heads of the\nUniversity to be cautious, even to be suspicious; movements might be\nhollow or dangerous things. But it behoved them also to become\nacquainted with so striking a phenomenon as this; to judge it by what it\nappealed to--the learning of English divines, the standard of a high and\ngenerous moral rule; to recognise its aims at least, with equity and\nsympathy, if some of its methods and arguments seemed questionable. The\nmen of the movement were not mere hostile innovators; they were fighting\nfor what the University and its chiefs held dear and sacred, the\nprivileges and safety of the Church. It was the natural part of the\nheads of the University to act as moderators; at any rate, to have\nshown, with whatever reserve, that they appreciated what they needed\ntime to judge of. But while on the one side there was burning and\ndevouring earnestness, and that power of conviction which doubles the\nstrength of the strong, there was on the other a serene ignoring of all\nthat was going on, worthy of a set of dignified French _abb\u00e9s_ on the\neve of the Revolution. This sublime or imbecile security was\noccasionally interrupted by bursts of irritation at some fresh piece of\nTractarian oddness or audacity, or at some strange story which made its\nway from the gossip of common rooms to the society of the Heads of\nHouses. And there was always ready a stick to beat the offenders;\neverything could be called Popish. But for the most part they looked on,\nwith smiles, with jokes, sometimes with scolding.[74] Thus the men who\nby their place ought to have been able to gauge and control the\nmovement, who might have been expected to meet half-way a serious\nattempt to brace up the religious and moral tone of the place, so\nincalculably important in days confessed to be anxious ones, simply set\ntheir faces steadily to discountenance and discredit it. They were good\nand respectable men, living comfortably in a certain state and ease.\nTheir lives were mostly simple compared with the standard of the outer\nworld, though Fellows of Colleges thought them luxurious. But they were\nblind and dull as tea-table gossips as to what was the meaning of the\nmovement, as to what might come of it, as to what use might be made of\nit by wise and just and generous recognition, and, if need be, by wise\nand just criticism and repression. There were points of danger in it;\nbut they could only see what _seemed_ to be dangerous, whether it was\nso or not; and they multiplied these points of danger by all that was\ngood and hopeful in it. It perplexed and annoyed them; they had not\nimagination nor moral elevation to take in what it aimed at; they were\ncontent with the routine which they had inherited; and, so that men read\nfor honours and took first classes, it did not seem to them strange or a\nprofanation that a whole mixed crowd of undergraduates should be\nexpected to go on a certain Sunday in term, willing or unwilling, fit or\nunlit, to the Sacrament, and be fined if they did not appear. Doubtless\nwe are all of us too prone to be content with the customary, and to be\nprejudiced against the novel, nor is this condition of things without\nadvantage. But we must bear our condemnation if we stick to the\ncustomary too long, and so miss our signal opportunities. In their\napathy, in their self-satisfied ignorance, in their dulness of\napprehension and forethought, the authorities of the University let pass\nthe great opportunity of their time. As it usually happens, when this\nposture of lofty ignoring what is palpable and active, and the object of\neverybody's thought, goes on too long, it is apt to turn into impatient\ndislike and bitter antipathy. The Heads of Houses drifted insensibly\ninto this position. They had not taken the trouble to understand the\nmovement, to discriminate between its aspects, to put themselves frankly\ninto communication with its leading persons, to judge with the knowledge\nand justice of scholars and clergymen of its designs and ways. They let\nthemselves be diverted from this, their proper though troublesome task,\nby distrust, by the jealousies of their position, by the impossibility\nof conceiving that anything so strange could really be true and sound.\nAnd at length they found themselves going along with the outside current\nof uninstructed and ignoble prejudice, in a settled and pronounced\ndislike, which took for granted that all was wrong in the movement,\nwhich admitted any ill-natured surmise and foolish misrepresentation,\nand really allowed itself to acquiesce in the belief that men so well\nknown in Oxford, once so admired and honoured, had sunk down to\ndeliberate corrupters of the truth, and palterers with their own\nintellects and consciences. It came in a few years to be understood on\nboth sides, that the authorities were in direct antagonism to the\nmovement; and though their efforts in opposition to it were feeble and\npetty, it went on under the dead weight of official University\ndisapproval. It would have been a great thing for the English\nChurch--though it is hard to see how, things being as they were, it\ncould have come about--if the movement had gone on, at least with the\nfriendly interest, if not with the support, of the University rulers.\nInstead of that, after the first two or three years there was one long\nand bitter fight in Oxford, with the anger on one side created by the\nbelief of vague but growing dangers, and a sense of incapacity in\nresisting them, and with deep resentment at injustice and stupidity on\nthe other.\n\nThe Bishops were farther from the immediate scene of the movement, and\nbesides, had other things to think of. Three or four of them might be\nconsidered theologians--Archbishop Howley, Phillpotts of Exeter, Kaye of\nLincoln, Marsh of Peterborough. Two or three belonged to the Evangelical\nschool, Ryder of Lichfield, and the two Sumners at Winchester and\nChester. The most prominent among them, and next to the Bishop of Exeter\nthe ablest, alive to the real dangers of the Church, anxious to infuse\nvigour into its work, and busy with plans for extending its influence,\nwas Blomfield, Bishop of London. But Blomfield was not at his best as a\ndivine, and, for a man of his unquestionable power, singularly unsure of\nhis own mind. He knew, in fact, that when the questions raised by the\nTracts came before him he was unqualified to deal with them; he was no\nbetter furnished by thought or knowledge or habits to judge of them than\nthe average Bishop of the time, appointed, as was so often the case, for\npolitical or personal reasons. At the first start of the movement, the\nBishops not unnaturally waited to see what would come of it. It was\nindeed an effort in favour of the Church, but it was in irresponsible\nhands, begun by men whose words were strong and vehement and of unusual\nsound, and who, while they called on the clergy to rally round their\nfathers the Bishops, did not shrink from wishing for the Bishops the\nfortunes of the early days: \"we could not wish them a more blessed\ntermination of their course than the spoiling of their goods and\nmartyrdom.\"[76] It may reasonably be supposed that such good wishes were\nnot to the taste of all of them. As the movement developed, besides that\nit would seem to them extravagant and violent, they would be perplexed\nby its doctrine. It took strong ground for the Church; but it did so in\nthe teeth of religious opinions and prejudices, which were popular and\nintolerant. For a moment the Bishops were in a difficulty; on the one\nhand, no one for generations had so exalted the office of a Bishop as\nthe Tractarians; no one had claimed for it so high and sacred an origin;\nno one had urged with such practical earnestness the duty of Churchmen\nto recognise and maintain the unique authority of the Episcopate against\nits despisers or oppressors. On the other hand, this was just the time\nwhen the Evangelical party, after long disfavour, was beginning to gain\nrecognition, for the sake of its past earnestness and good works, with\nmen in power, and with ecclesiastical authorities of a different and\nhitherto hostile school; and in the Tractarian movement the Evangelical\nparty saw from the first its natural enemy. The Bishops could not have\nanything to do with the Tractarians without deeply offending the\nEvangelicals. The result was that, for the present, the Bishops held\naloof. They let the movement run on by itself. Sharp sarcasms,\nworldly-wise predictions, kind messages of approval, kind cautions,\npassed from mouth to mouth, or in private correspondence from high\nquarters, which showed that the movement was watched. But for some time\nthe authorities spoke neither good nor bad of it publicly. In his Charge\nat the close of 1836, Bishop Phillpotts spoke in clear and unfaltering\nlanguage--language remarkable for its bold decision--of the necessity of\nsetting forth the true idea of the Church and the sacraments; but he was\nsilent about the call of the same kind which had come from Oxford. It\nwould have been well if the other Bishops later on, in their charges,\nhad followed his example. The Bishop of Oxford, in his Charge of 1838,\nreferred to the movement in balanced terms of praise and warning. The\nfirst who condemned the movement was the Bishop of Chester, J. Bird\nSumner; in a later Charge he came to describe it as the work of Satan;\nin 1838 he only denounced the \"undermining of the foundations of our\nProtestant Church by men who dwell within her walls,\" and the bad faith\nof those \"who sit in the Reformers' seat, and traduce the Reformation.\"\n\nThese were grave mistakes on the part of those who were responsible for\nthe government of the University and the Church. They treated as absurd,\nmischievous, and at length traitorous, an effort, than which nothing\ncould be more sincere, to serve the Church, to place its claims on\nadequate grounds, to elevate the standard of duty in its clergy, and in\nall its members. To have missed the aim of the movement and to have been\noccupied and irritated by obnoxious details and vulgar suspicions was a\nblunder which gave the measure of those who made it, and led to great\nevils. They alienated those who wished for nothing better than to help\nthem in their true work. Their \"unkindness\" was felt to be, in Bacon's\nphrase,[77] _injuriae potentiorum_. But on the side of the party of the\nmovement there were mistakes also.\n\n1. The rapidity with which the movement had grown, showing that some\ndeep need had long been obscurely felt, which the movement promised to\nmeet,[78] had been too great to be altogether wholesome. When we compare\nwhat was commonly received before 1833, in teaching, in habits of life,\nin the ordinary assumptions of history, in the ideas and modes of\nworship, public and private--the almost sacramental conception of\npreaching, the neglect of the common prayer of the Prayer Book, the\nslight regard to the sacraments--with what the teaching of the Tracts\nand their writers had impressed for good and all, five years later, on\nnumbers of earnest people, the change seems astonishing. The change was\na beneficial one and it was a permanent one. The minds which it\naffected, it affected profoundly. Still it was but a short time, for\nyoung minds especially, to have come to a decision on great and debated\nquestions. There was the possibility, the danger, of men having been\ncaptivated and carried away by the excitement and interest of the time;\nof not having looked all round and thought out the difficulties before\nthem; of having embraced opinions without sufficiently knowing their\ngrounds or counting the cost or considering the consequences. There was\nthe danger of precipitate judgment, of ill-balanced and disproportionate\nviews of what was true and all-important. There was an inevitable\nfeverishness in the way in which the movement was begun, in the way in\nwhich it went on. Those affected by it were themselves surprised at the\nswiftness of the pace. When a cause so great and so sacred seemed thus\nto be flourishing, and carrying along with it men's assent and\nsympathies, it was hardly wonderful that there should often be\nexaggeration, impatience at resistance, scant consideration for the\nslowness or the scruples or the alarms of others. Eager and sanguine men\ntalked as if their work was accomplished, when in truth it was but\nbeginning. No one gave more serious warnings against this and other\ndangers than the leaders; and their warnings were needed.[79]\n\n2. Another mistake, akin to the last, was the frequent forgetfulness of\nthe apostolic maxim, \"All things are lawful for me, but all things are\nnot expedient.\" In what almost amounted to a revolution in many of the\nreligious ideas of the time, it was especially important to keep\ndistinct the great central truths, the restoration of which to their\nproper place justified and made it necessary, and the many subordinate\npoints allied with them and naturally following from them, which yet\nwere not necessary to their establishment or acceptance. But it was on\nthese subordinate points that the interest of a certain number of\nfollowers of the movement was fastened. Conclusions which they had a\nperfect right to come to, practices innocent and edifying to themselves,\nbut of secondary account, began to be thrust forward into prominence,\nwhether or not these instances of self-will really helped the common\ncause, whether or not they gave a handle to ill-nature and ill-will.\nSuspicion must always have attached to such a movement as this; but a\ngreat deal of it was provoked by indiscreet defiance, which was rather\nglad to provoke it.\n\n3. Apart from these incidents--common wherever a number of men are\nanimated with zeal for an inspiring cause--there were what to us now\nseem mistakes made in the conduct itself of the movement. Considering\nthe difficulties of the work, it is wonderful that there were not more;\nand none of them were discreditable, none but what arose from the\nlimitation of human powers matched against confused and baffling\ncircumstances.\n\nIn the position claimed for the Church of England, confessedly unique\nand anomalous in the history of Christendom, between Roman authority and\ninfallibility on one side, and Protestant freedom of private judgment on\nthe other, the question would at once arise as to the grounds of belief.\nWhat, if any, are the foundations of conviction and certitude, apart\nfrom personal inquiry, and examination of opposing arguments on\ndifferent sides of the case, and satisfactory logical conclusions? The\nold antithesis between Faith and Reason, and the various problems\nconnected with it, could not but come to the front, and require to be\ndealt with. It is a question which faces us from a hundred sides, and,\nsubtly and insensibly transforming itself, looks different from them\nall. It was among the earliest attempted to be solved by the chief\nintellectual leader of the movement, and it has occupied his mind to the\nlast.[80] However near the human mind seems to come to a solution, it\nonly, if so be, comes near; it never arrives. In the early days of the\nmovement it found prevailing the specious but shallow view that\neverything in the search for truth was to be done by mere producible and\nexplicit argumentation; and yet it was obvious that of this two-thirds\nof the world are absolutely incapable. Against this Mr. Newman and his\nfollowers pressed, what was as manifestly certain in fact as it accorded\nwith any deep and comprehensive philosophy of the formation and growth\nof human belief, that not arguments only, but the whole condition of the\nmind to which they were addressed--and not the reasonings only which\ncould be stated, but those which went on darkly in the mind, and which\n\"there was not at the moment strength to bring forth,\" real and weighty\nreasons which acted like the obscure rays of the spectrum, with their\nproper force, yet eluding distinct observation--had their necessary and\ninevitable and legitimate place in determining belief. All this was\nperfectly true; but it is obvious how easily it might be taken hold of,\non very opposite sides, as a ground for saying that Tractarian or Church\nviews did not care about argument, or, indeed, rather preferred weak\narguments to strong ones in the practical work of life. It was ludicrous\nto say it in a field of controversy, which, on the \"Tractarian\" side,\nwas absolutely bristling with argument, keen, subtle, deep, living\nargument, and in which the victory in argument was certainly not always\nwith those who ventured to measure swords with Mr. Newman or Dr. Pusey.\nStill, the scoff could be plausibly pointed at the \"young enthusiasts\nwho crowded the Via Media, and who never presumed to argue, except\nagainst the propriety of arguing at all.\" There was a good deal of\nfoolish sneering at reason; there was a good deal of silly bravado about\nnot caring whether the avowed grounds of opinions taken up were strong\nor feeble. It was not merely the assent of a learner to his teacher, of\na mind without means of instruction to the belief which it has\ninherited, or of one new to the ways and conditions of life to the\nunproved assertions and opinions of one to whom experience had given an\nopen and sure eye. It was a positive carelessness, almost accounted\nmeritorious, to inquire and think, when their leaders called them to do\nso. \"The Gospel of Christ is not a matter of mere argument.\" It is not,\nindeed, when it comes in its full reality, in half a hundred different\nways, known and unsearchable, felt and unfelt, moral and intellectual,\non the awakened and quickened soul. But the wildest fanatic can take the\nsame words into his mouth. Their true meaning was variously and\nabundantly illustrated, especially in Mr. Newman's sermons. Still, the\nadequate, the emphatic warning against their early abuse was hardly\npressed on the public opinion and sentiment of the party of the movement\nwith the force which really was requisite. To the end there were men who\ntook up their belief avowedly on insufficient and precarious grounds,\nglorying in the venturesomeness of their faith and courage, and\njustifying their temper of mind and their intellectual attitude by\nalleging misinterpreted language of their wiser and deeper teachers. A\nrecoil from Whately's hard and barren dialectics, a sympathy with many\ntender and refined natures which the movement had touched, made the\nleaders patient with intellectual feebleness when it was joined with\nreal goodness and Christian temper; but this also sometimes made them\nless impatient than they might well have been with that curious form of\nconceit and affectation which veils itself under an intended and\nsupposed humility, a supposed distrust of self and its own powers.\n\nAnother difficult matter, not altogether successfully managed--at least\nfrom the original point of view of the movement, and of those who saw in\nit a great effort for the good of the English Church--was the treatment\nof the Roman controversy. The general line which the leaders proposed to\ntake was the one which was worthy of Christian and truth-loving\nteachers. They took a new departure; and it was not less just than it\nwas brave, when, recognising to the full the overwhelming reasons why\n\"we should not be Romanists,\" they refused to take up the popular and\neasy method of regarding the Roman Church as apostate and antichristian;\nand declined to commit themselves to the vulgar and indiscriminate abuse\nof it which was the discreditable legacy of the old days of controversy.\nThey did what all the world was loudly professing to do, they looked\nfacts in the face; they found, as any one would find who looked for\nhimself into the realities of the Roman Church, that though the bad was\noften as bad as could be, there was still, and there had been all\nalong, goodness of the highest type, excellence both of system and of\npersonal life which it was monstrous to deny, and which we might well\nadmire and envy. To ignore all this was to fail in the first duty, not\nmerely of Christians, but of honest men; and we at home were not so\nblameless that we could safely take this lofty tone of contemptuous\nsuperiority. If Rome would only leave us alone, there would be\nestrangement, lamentable enough among Christians, but there need be no\nbitterness. But Rome would not leave us alone. The moment that there\nwere signs of awakening energy in England, that moment was chosen by its\nagents, for now it could be done safely, to assail and thwart the\nEnglish Church. Doubtless they were within their rights, but this made\ncontroversy inevitable, and for controversy the leaders of the movement\nprepared themselves. It was an obstacle which they seemed hardly to have\nexpected, but which the nature of things placed in their way. But the\nold style of controversy was impossible; impossible because it was so\ncoarse, impossible because it was so hollow.\n\nIf the argument (says the writer of Tract 71, in words which are\napplicable to every controversy) is radically unreal, or (what may be\ncalled) rhetorical or sophistical, it may serve the purpose of\nencouraging those who are really convinced, though scarcely without\ndoing mischief to them, but certainly it will offend and alienate the\nmore acute and sensible; while those who are in doubt, and who desire\nsome real and substantial ground for their faith, will not bear to be\nput off with such shadows. The arguments (he continues) which we use\nmust be such as are likely to convince serious and earnest minds, which\nare really seeking for the truth, not amusing themselves with\nintellectual combats, or desiring to support an existing opinion anyhow.\nHowever popular these latter methods may be, of however long standing,\nhowever easy both to find and to use, they are a scandal; and while they\nlower our religious standard from the first, they are sure of hurting\nour cause in the end.\n\nAnd on this principle the line of argument in _The Prophetical Office of\nthe Church_ was taken by Mr. Newman. It was certainly no make-believe,\nor unreal argument. It was a forcible and original way of putting part\nof the case against Rome. It was part of the case, a very important\npart; but it was not the whole case, and it ought to have been evident\nfrom the first that in this controversy we could not afford to do\nwithout the whole case. The argument from the claim of infallibility\nsaid nothing of what are equally real parts of the case--the practical\nworking of the Roman Church, its system of government, the part which it\nand its rulers have played in the history of the world. Rome has not\nsuch a clean record of history, it has not such a clean account of what\nis done and permitted in its dominions under an authority supposed to be\nirresistible, that it can claim to be the one pure and perfect Church,\nentitled to judge and correct and govern all other Churches. And if the\nclaim is made, there is no help for it, we must not shrink from the task\nof giving the answer.[81] And, as experience has shown, the more that\nrigid good faith is kept to in giving the answer, the more that\nstrictness and severity of even understatement are observed, the more\nconvincing will be the result that the Roman Church cannot be that which\nit is alleged to be in its necessary theory and ideal.\n\nBut this task was never adequately undertaken. It was one of no easy\nexecution.[82] Other things, apparently more immediately pressing,\nintervened. There was no question for the present of perfect and\nunfeigned confidence in the English Church, with whatever regrets for\nits shortcomings, and desires for its improvement But to the outside\nworld it seemed as if there were a reluctance to face seriously the\nwhole of the Roman controversy; a disposition to be indulgent to Roman\ndefects, and unfairly hard on English faults. How mischievously this\ntold in the course of opinion outside and inside of the movement; how it\nwas misinterpreted and misrepresented; how these misinterpretations and\nmisrepresentations, with the bitterness and injustice which they\nengendered, helped to realise themselves, was seen but too clearly at a\nlater stage.\n\n4. Lastly, looking back on the publications, regarded as characteristic\nof the party, it is difficult not to feel that some of them gave an\nunfortunate and unnecessary turn to things.\n\nThe book which made most stir and caused the greatest outcry was\nFroude's _Remains_. It was undoubtedly a bold experiment; but it was not\nmerely boldness. Except that it might be perverted into an excuse by the\nshallow and thoughtless for merely \"strong talk,\" it may fairly be said\nthat it was right and wise to let the world know the full measure and\ndepth of conviction which gave birth to the movement; and Froude's\n_Remains_ did that in an unsuspiciously genuine way that nothing else\ncould have done. And, besides, it was worth while for its own sake to\nexhibit with fearless honesty such a character, so high, so true, so\nrefined, so heroic. So again, Dr. Pusey's Tract on Baptism was a bold\nbook, and one which brought heavy imputations and misconstructions on\nthe party. In the teaching of his long life, Dr. Pusey has abundantly\ndispelled the charges of harshness and over-severity which were urged,\nnot always very scrupulously, against the doctrine of the Tract on\nPost-baptismal Sin. But it was written to redress the balance against\nthe fatally easy doctrines then in fashion; it was like the Portroyalist\nprotest against the fashionable Jesuits; it was one-sided, and\nsometimes, in his earnestness, unguarded; and it wanted as yet the\ncomplement of encouragement, consolation, and tenderness which his\nfuture teaching was to supply so amply. But it was a blow struck, not\nbefore it was necessary, by a strong hand; and it may safely be said\nthat it settled the place of the sacrament of baptism in the living\nsystem of the English Church, which the negations and vagueness of the\nEvangelical party had gravely endangered. But two other essays appeared\nin the Tracts, most innocent in themselves, which ten or twenty years\nlater would have been judged simply on their merits, but which at the\ntime became potent weapons against Tractarianism. They were the\nproductions of two poets--of two of the most beautiful and religious\nminds of their time; but in that stage of the movement it is hardly too\nmuch to say that they were out of place. The cause of the movement\nneeded clear explanations; definite statements of doctrines which were\npopularly misunderstood; plain, convincing reasoning on the issues which\nwere raised by it; a careful laying out of the ground on which English\ntheology was to be strengthened and enriched. Such were Mr. Newman's\n_Lectures on Justification_, a work which made its lasting mark on\nEnglish theological thought; Mr. Keble's masterly exposition of the\nmeaning of Tradition; and not least, the important collections which\nwere documentary and historical evidence of the character of English\ntheology, the so-called laborious _Catenas_. These were the real tasks\nof the hour, and they needed all that labour and industry could give.\nBut the first of these inopportune Tracts was an elaborate essay, by Mr.\nKeble, on the \"Mysticism of the Fathers in the use and interpretation of\nScripture.\" It was hardly what the practical needs of the time required,\nand it took away men's thoughts from them; the prospect was hopeless\nthat in that state of men's minds it should be understood, except by a\nvery few; it merely helped to add another charge, the vague but\nmischievous charge of mysticism, to the list of accusations against the\nTracts. The other, to the astonishment of every one, was like the\nexplosion of a mine. That it should be criticised and objected to was\nnatural; but the extraordinary irritation caused by it could hardly have\nbeen anticipated. Written in the most devout and reverent spirit by one\nof the gentlest and most refined of scholars, and full of deep\nScriptural knowledge, it furnished for some years the material for the\nmost savage attacks and the bitterest sneers to the opponents of the\nmovement. It was called \"On Reserve in communicating Religious\nKnowledge\"; and it was a protest against the coarseness and shallowness\nwhich threw the most sacred words about at random in loud and\ndeclamatory appeals, and which especially dragged in the awful mystery\nof the Atonement, under the crudest and most vulgar conception of it, as\na ready topic of excitement in otherwise commonplace and helpless\npreaching. The word \"Reserve\" was enough. It meant that the\nTract-writers avowed the principle of keeping back part of the counsel\nof God. It meant, further, that the real spirit of the party was\ndisclosed; its love of secret and crooked methods, its indifference to\nknowledge, its disingenuous professions, its deliberate concealments,\nits holding doctrines and its pursuit of aims which it dared not avow,\nits _disciplina arcani_, its conspiracies, its Jesuitical spirit. All\nthis kind of abuse was flung plentifully on the party as the controversy\nbecame warm; and it mainly justified itself by the Tract on \"Reserve.\"\nThe Tract was in many ways a beautiful and suggestive essay, full of\ndeep and original thoughts, though composed in that spirit of the\nrecluse which was characteristic of the writer, and which is in strong\ncontrast with the energetic temper of to-day.[83] But it could well have\nbeen spared at the moment, and it certainly offered itself to an\nunfortunate use. The suspiciousness which so innocently it helped to\nawaken and confirm was never again allayed.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[74] Fifty years ago there was much greater contrast than now between\nold and young. There was more outward respect for the authorities, and\namong the younger men, graduates and undergraduates, more inward\namusement at foibles and eccentricities. There still lingered the\nsurvivals of a more old-fashioned type of University life and character,\nwhich, quite apart from the movements of religious opinion, provoked\nthose \u03bd\u03b5\u03b1\u03bd\u03b9\u03b5\u03cd\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 \u1f30\u03b4\u03b9\u03c9\u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd \u03b5\u1f30\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf\u1f50\u03c2 \u1f04\u03c1\u03c7\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c2,[75] _impertinences of\nirresponsible juniors towards superiors_, which Wordsworth, speaking of\na yet earlier time, remembered at Cambridge--\n\n  \"In serious mood, but oftener, I confess,\n  With playful zest of fancy, did we note\n  (How could we less?) the manners and the ways\n  Of those who lived distinguished by the badge\n  Of good or ill report; or those with whom\n  By frame of Academic discipline\n  We were perforce connected, men whose sway\n  And known authority of office served\n  To set our minds on edge, and did no more.\n  Nor wanted we rich pastime of this kind,\n  Found everywhere, but chiefly in the ring\n  Of the grave Elders, men unsecured, grotesque\n  In character, tricked out like aged trees\n  Which through the lapse of their infirmity\n  Give ready place to any random seed\n  That chooses to be reared upon their trunks.\"\n\n  _Prelude_, bk. iii.\n\n\n[75] Plat. _R.P._ iii. 390.\n\n[76] _Tracts for the Times_, No. 1, 9th September 1833.\n\n[77] _An Advertisement touching the Controversies of the Church of\nEngland:_ printed in the _Resuscitatio_, p. 138 (ed. 1671).\n\n[78] See Mr. Newman's article, \"The State of Religious Parties,\" in the\n_British Critic_, April 1839, reprinted in his _Essays Historical and\nCritical_, 1871, Vol. 1., essay vi.\n\n[79] \"It would not be at all surprising, though, in spite of the\nearnestness of the principal advocates of the views in question, for\nwhich every one seems to give them credit, there should be among their\nfollowers much that is enthusiastic, extravagant, or excessive. All\nthese aberrations will be and are imputed to the doctrines from which\nthey proceed; nor unnaturally, but hardly fairly, for aberrations there\nmust be, whatever the doctrine is, while the human heart is sensitive,\ncapricious, and wayward.... There will ever be a number of persons\nprofessing the opinions of a movement party, who talk loudly and\nstrangely, do odd and fierce things, display themselves unnecessarily,\nand disgust other people; there will ever be those who are too young to\nbe wise, too generous to be cautious, too warm to be sober, or too\nintellectual to be humble; of whom human sagacity cannot determine, only\nthe event, and perhaps not even that, whether they feel what they\nsay, or how far; whether they are to be encouraged or\ndiscountenanced.\"--_British Critic_, April 1839, \"State of Religious\nParties,\" p. 405.\n\n[80] Cardinal Newman, _Grammar of Assent_.\n\n[81] The argument from history is sketched fairly, but only sketched in\n_The Prophetic Office_, Lect. xiv.\n\n[82] In the Roman controversy it is sometimes hard to be just without\nappearing to mean more than is said; for the obligation of justice\nsometimes forces one who wishes to be a fair judge to be apparently an\napologist or advocate. Yet the supreme duty in religious controversy is\njustice. But for the very reason that these controversialists wished to\nbe just to Rome, they were bound to be just against her. They meant to\nbe so; but events passed quickly, and leisure never came for a work\nwhich involved a serious appeal to history.\n\n[83] _Vide_ a striking review in the _British Critic_, April 1839,\npartly correcting and guarding the view given in the Tract.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nNO. 90\n\n\nThe formation of a strong Romanising section in the Tractarian party was\nobviously damaging to the party and dangerous to the Church. It was _pro\ntanto_ a verification of the fundamental charge against the party, a\ncharge which on paper they had met successfully, but which acquired\ndouble force when this paper defence was traversed by facts. And a great\nblow was impending over the Church, if the zeal and ability which the\nmovement had called forth and animated were to be sucked away from the\nChurch, and not only lost to it, but educated into a special instrument\nagainst it. But the divergence became clear only gradually, and the hope\nthat after all it was only temporary and would ultimately disappear was\nlong kept up by the tenacity with which Mr. Newman, in spite of\nmisgivings and disturbing thoughts, still recognised the gifts and\nclaims of the English Church. And on the other hand, the bulk of the\nparty, and its other Oxford leaders, Dr. Pusey, Mr. Keble, Mr. Isaac\nWilliams, Mr. Marriott, were quite unaffected by the disquieting\napprehensions which were beginning to beset Mr. Newman. With a humbling\nconsciousness of the practical shortcomings of the English Church, with\na ready disposition to be honest and just towards Rome, and even to\nminimise our differences with it, they had not admitted for a moment any\ndoubt of the reality of the English Church. The class of arguments which\nspecially laid hold of Mr. Newman's mind did not tell upon them--the\npeculiar aspect of early precedents, about which, moreover, a good deal\nof criticism was possible; or the large and sweeping conception of a\nvast, ever-growing, imperial Church, great enough to make flaws and\nimperfections of no account, which appealed so strongly to his\nstatesmanlike imagination. Their content with the Church in which they\nhad been brought up, in which they had been taught religion, and in\nwhich they had taken service, their deep and affectionate loyalty and\npiety to it, in spite of all its faults, remained unimpaired; and\nunimpaired, also, was their sense of vast masses of practical evil in\nthe Roman Church, evils from which they shrank both as Englishmen and as\nChristians, and which seemed as incurable as they were undeniable.\nBeyond the hope which they vaguely cherished that some day or other, by\nsome great act of Divine mercy, these evils might disappear, and the\nwhole Church become once more united, there was nothing to draw them\ntowards Rome; submission was out of the question, and they could only\nsee in its attitude in England the hostility of a jealous and\nunscrupulous disturber of their Master's work. The movement still went\non, with its original purpose, and on its original lines, in spite of\nthe presence in it, and even the co-operation, of men who might one day\nhave other views, and serious and fatal differences with their old\nfriends.\n\nThe change of religion when it comes on a man gradually,--when it is not\nwelcomed from the first, but, on the contrary, long resisted, must\nalways be a mysterious and perplexing process, hard to realise and\nfollow by the person most deeply interested, veiled and clouded to\nlookers-on, because naturally belonging to the deepest depths of the\nhuman conscience, and inevitably, and without much fault on either side,\nliable to be misinterpreted and misunderstood. And this process is all\nthe more tangled when it goes on, not in an individual mind, travelling\nin its own way on its own path, little affected by others, and little\naffecting them, but in a representative person, with the\nresponsibilities of a great cause upon him, bound by closest ties of\nevery kind to friends, colleagues, and disciples, thinking, feeling,\nleading, pointing out the way for hundreds who love and depend on him.\nViews and feelings vary from day to day, according to the events and\nconditions of the day. How shall he speak, and how shall he be silent?\nHow shall he let doubts and difficulties appear, yet how shall he\nsuppress them?--doubts which may grow and become hopeless, but which, on\nthe other hand, may be solved and disappear. How shall he go on as if\nnothing had happened, when all the foundations of the world seem to have\nsunk from under him? Yet how shall he disclose the dreadful secret, when\nhe is not yet quite sure whether his mind will not still rally from its\nterror and despair? He must in honesty, in kindness, give some warning,\nyet how much? and how to prevent it being taken for more than it means?\nThere are counter-considerations, to which he cannot shut his eyes.\nThere are friends who will not believe his warnings. There are watchful\nenemies who are on the look-out for proofs of disingenuousness and bad\nfaith. He could cut through his difficulties at once by making the\nplunge in obedience to this or that plausible sign or train of\nreasoning, but his conscience and good faith will not let him take\nthings so easily; and yet he knows that if he hangs on, he will be\naccused by and by, perhaps speciously, of having been dishonest and\ndeceiving. So subtle, so shifting, so impalpable are the steps by which\na faith is disintegrated; so evanescent, and impossible to follow, the\nshades by which one set of convictions pass into others wholly opposite;\nfor it is not knowledge and intellect alone which come into play, but\nall the moral tastes and habits of the character, its likings and\ndislikings, its weakness and its strength, its triumphs and its\nvexations, its keenness and its insensibilities, which are in full\naction, while the intellect alone seems to be busy with its problems. A\npicture has been given us, belonging to this time, of the process, by a\ngreat master of human nature, and a great sufferer under the process; it\nis, perhaps, the greatest attempt ever made to describe it; but it is\nnot wholly successful. It tells us much, for it is written with touching\ngood faith, but the complete effect as an intelligible whole is wanting.\n\n\"In the spring of 1839,\" we read in the _Apologia_, \"my position in the\nAnglican Church was at its height. I had a supreme confidence in my\ncontroversial _status_, and I had a great and still growing success in\nrecommending it to others.\"[84] This, then, may be taken as the point\nfrom which, in the writer's own estimate, the change is to be traced. He\nrefers for illustration of his state of mind to the remarkable article\non the \"State of Religious Parties,\" in the April number of the _British\nCritic_ for 1839, which he has since republished under the title of\n\"Prospects of the Anglican Church.\"[85] \"I have looked over it now,\" he\nwrites in 1864, \"for the first time since it was published; and have\nbeen struck by it for this reason: it contains _the last words which I\never spoke as an Anglican to Anglicans_.... It may now be read as my\nparting address and valediction, made to my friends. I little knew it at\nthe time.\" He thus describes the position which he took in the article\nreferred to:--\n\n  Conscious as I was that my opinions in religious matters were not\n  gained, as the world said, from Roman sources, but were, on the\n  contrary, the birth of my own mind and of the circumstances in which I\n  had been placed, I had a scorn of the imputations which were heaped\n  upon me. It was true that I held a large, bold system of religion,\n  very unlike the Protestantism of the day, but it was the concentration\n  and adjustment of the statements of great Anglican authorities, and I\n  had as much right to do so as the Evangelical party had, and more\n  right than the Liberal, to hold their own respective doctrines. As I\n  spoke on occasion of Tract 90, I claimed, on behalf of the writer,\n  that he might hold in the Anglican Church a comprecation of the Saints\n  with Bramhall; and the Mass, all but Transubstantiation, with\n  Andrewes; or with Hooker that Transubstantiation itself is not a point\n  for Churches to part communion upon; or with Hammond that a General\n  Council, truly such, never did, never shall err in a matter of faith;\n  or with Bull that man lost inward grace by the Fall; or with Thorndike\n  that penance is a propitiation for post-baptismal sin; or with\n  Pearson that the all-powerful name of Jesus is no otherwise given than\n  in the Catholic Church. \"Two can play at that game\" was often in my\n  mouth, when men of Protestant sentiments appealed to the Articles,\n  Homilies, and Reformers, in the sense that if they had a right to\n  speak loud I had both the liberty and the means of giving them tit for\n  tat. I thought that the Anglican Church had been tyrannised over by a\n  Party, and I aimed at bringing into effect the promise contained in\n  the motto to the _Lyra_: \"They shall know the difference now.\" I only\n  asked to be allowed to show them the difference.\n\n  I have said already (he goes on) that though the object of the\n  movement was to withstand the Liberalism of the day, I found and felt\n  that this could not be done by negatives. It was necessary for me to\n  have a positive Church theory erected on a definite basis. This took\n  me to the great Anglican divines; and then, of course, I found at once\n  that it was impossible to form any such theory without cutting across\n  the teaching of the Church of Rome. Thus came in the Roman\n  controversy. When I first turned myself to it I had neither doubt on\n  the subject, nor suspicion that doubt would ever come on me. It was in\n  this state of mind that I began to read up Bellarmine on the one hand,\n  and numberless Anglican writers on the other.[86]\n\nAnd he quotes from the article the language which he used, to show the\nnecessity of providing some clear and strong basis for religious thought\nin view of the impending conflict of principles, religious and\nanti-religious, \"Catholic and Rationalist,\" which to far-seeing men,\neven at that comparatively early time, seemed inevitable:--\n\n  Then indeed will be the stern encounter, when two real and living\n  principles, simple, entire, and consistent, one in the Church, the\n  other out of it, at length rush upon each other, contending not for\n  names and words, a half view, but for elementary notions and\n  distinctive moral characters. Men will not keep standing in that very\n  attitude which you call sound Church-of-Englandism or orthodox\n  Protestantism. They will take one view or another, but it will be a\n  consistent one ... it will be real.... Is it sensible, sober,\n  judicious, to be so very angry with the writers of the day who point\n  to the fact, that our divines of the seventeenth century have occupied\n  a ground which is the true and intelligible mean between extremes?...\n  Would you rather have your sons and your daughters members of the\n  Church of England or of the Church of Rome?[87]\n\n\"The last words that I spoke as an Anglican to Anglicans,\"--so he\ndescribes this statement of his position and its reasons; so it seems to\nhim, as he looks back. And yet in the intimate and frank disclosures\nwhich he makes, he has shown us much that indicates both that his\nAnglicanism lasted much longer and that his Roman sympathies began to\nstir much earlier. This only shows the enormous difficulties of\nmeasuring accurately the steps of a transition state. The mind, in such\na strain of buffeting, is never in one stay. The old seems impregnable,\nyet it has been undermined; the new is indignantly and honestly\nrepelled, and yet leaves behind it its never-to-be-forgotten and\nunaccountable spell. The story, as he tells it, goes on, how, in the\nfull swing and confidence of his Anglicanism, and in the course of his\nsecure and fearless study of antiquity, appearance after appearance\npresented itself, unexpected, threatening, obstinate, in the history of\nthe Early Church, by which this confidence was first shaken and then\nutterly broken down in the summer of 1839. And he speaks as though all\nhad been over after two years from that summer: \"From the end of 1841 I\nwas on my death-bed, as regards my membership with the Anglican Church,\nthough at the time I became aware of it only by degrees.\" In truth, it\nwas only the end which showed that it was a \"death-bed.\" He had not yet\ndied to allegiance or \"to hope, then or for some time afterwards.\" He\nspeaks in later years of the result, and reads what was then in the\nlight of what followed. But after all that had happened, and much, of\ncourse, disturbing happened in 1841, he was a long way off from what\nthen could have been spoken of as \"a death-bed.\" Deep and painful\nmisgivings may assail the sincerest faith; they are not fatal signs till\nfaith has finally given way.\n\nWhat is true is, that the whole state of religion, and the whole aspect\nof Christianity in the world, had come to seem to him portentously\nstrange and anomalous. No theory would take in and suit all the facts,\nwhich the certainties of history and experience presented. Neither in\nEngland, nor in Rome, and much less anywhere else, did the old, to which\nall appealed, agree with the new; it might agree variously in this point\nor in that, in others there were contrarieties which it was vain to\nreconcile. Facts were against the English claim to be a Catholic\nChurch--how could Catholicity be shut up in one island? How could\nEngland assert its continuity of doctrine? Facts were against the Roman\nclaim to be an infallible, and a perfect, and the whole Church--how\ncould that be perfect which was marked in the face of day with enormous\nand undeniable corruptions? How could that be infallible which was\nirreconcilable with ancient teaching? How could that be the whole\nChurch, which, to say nothing of the break-up in the West, ignored, as\nif it had no existence, the ancient and uninterrupted Eastern Church?\nTheory after theory came up, and was tried, and was found wanting. Each\nhad much to say for itself, its strong points, its superiority over its\nrivals in dealing with the difficulties of the case, its plausibilities\nand its imaginative attractions. But all had their tender spot, and\nflinched when they were touched in earnest. In the confusions and sins\nand divisions of the last fifteen centuries, profound disorganisation\nhad fastened on the Western Church. Christendom was not, could not be\npretended to be, what it had been in the fourth century; and whichever\nway men looked the reasons were not hard to see. The first and\ncharacteristic feeling of the movement, one which Mr. Newman had done so\nmuch to deepen, was that of shame and humiliation at the disorder at\nhome, as well as in every part of the Church. It was not in Rome only,\nor in England only; it was everywhere. What had been peculiar to\nAnglicanism among all its rivals, was that it had emphatically and\nwithout reserve confessed it.\n\nWith this view of the dislocation and the sins of the Church, he could\nat once with perfect consistency recognise the shortcomings of the\nEnglish branch of the Church, and yet believe and maintain that it was\na true and living branch. The English fragment was not what it should\nbe, was indeed much that it should not be; the same could be said of the\nRoman, though in different respects. This, as he himself reminds us, was\nno new thing to his mind when the unsettlement of 1839 began. \"At the\nend of 1835, or the beginning of 1836, I had the whole state of the\nquestion before me, on which, to my mind, the decision between the\nChurches depended.\" It did not, he says, depend on the claims of the\nPope, as centre of unity; \"it turned on the Faith of the Church\"; \"there\nwas a contrariety of _claims_ between the Roman and Anglican religions\";\nand up to 1839, with the full weight of Roman arguments recognised, with\nthe full consciousness of Anglican disadvantages, he yet spoke clearly\nfor Anglicanism. Even when misgivings became serious, the balance still\ninclined without question the old way. He hardly spoke stronger in 1834\nthan he did in 1841, after No. 90.\n\n  And now (he writes in his Letter to the Bishop of Oxford[88]) having\n  said, I trust, as much as your Lordship requires on the subject of\n  Romanism, I will add a few words, to complete my explanation, in\n  acknowledgment of the inestimable privilege I feel in being a member\n  of that Church over which your Lordship, with others, presides.\n  Indeed, did I not feel it to be a privilege which I am able to seek\n  nowhere else on earth, why should I be at this moment writing to your\n  Lordship? What motive have I for an unreserved and joyful submission\n  to your authority, but the feeling that the Church in which your\n  Lordship rules is a divinely-ordained channel of supernatural grace to\n  the souls of her members? Why should I not prefer my own opinion, and\n  my own way of acting, to that of the Bishop's, except that I know full\n  well that in matters indifferent I should be acting lightly towards\n  the Spouse of Christ and the awful Presence which dwells in her, if I\n  hesitated a moment to put your Lordship's will before my own? I know\n  full well that your Lordship's kindness to me personally would be in\n  itself quite enough to win any but the most insensible heart, and, did\n  a clear matter of conscience occur in which I felt bound to act for\n  myself, my feelings towards your Lordship would be a most severe trial\n  to me, independently of the higher considerations to which I have\n  alluded; but I trust I have shown my dutifulness to you prior to the\n  influence of personal motives; and this I have done because I think\n  that to belong to the Catholic Church is the first of all privileges\n  here below, as involving in it heavenly privileges, and because I\n  consider the Church over which your Lordship presides to be the\n  Catholic Church in this country. Surely then I have no need to profess\n  in words, I will not say my attachment, but my deep reverence towards\n  the Mother of Saints, when I am showing it in action; yet that words\n  may not be altogether wanting, I beg to lay before your Lordship the\n  following extract from a defence of the English Church, which I wrote\n  against a Roman controversialist in the course of the last year.\n\n  \"The Church is emphatically a living body, and there can be no greater\n  proof of a particular communion being part of the Church than the\n  appearance in it of a continued and abiding energy, nor a more\n  melancholy proof of its being a corpse than torpidity. We say an\n  energy continued and abiding, for accident will cause the activity of\n  a moment, and an external principle give the semblance of self-motion.\n  On the other hand, even a living body may for a while be asleep.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"It concerns, then, those who deny that we are the true Church because\n  we have not at present this special note, intercommunion with other\n  Christians, to show cause why the Roman Church in the tenth century\n  should be so accounted, with profligates, or rather the profligate\n  mothers of profligate sons for her supreme rulers. And still\n  notwithstanding life _is_ a note of the Church; she alone revives,\n  even if she declines; heretical and schismatical bodies cannot keep\n  life; they gradually became cold, stiff, and insensible.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Now if there ever were a Church on whom the experiment has been\n  tried, whether it had life in it or not, the English is that one. For\n  three centuries it has endured all vicissitudes of fortune. It has\n  endured in trouble and prosperity, under seduction, and under\n  oppression. It has been practised upon by theorists, browbeaten by\n  sophists, intimidated by princes, betrayed by false sons, laid waste\n  by tyranny, corrupted by wealth, torn by schism, and persecuted by\n  fanaticism. Revolutions have come upon it sharply and suddenly, to and\n  fro, hot and cold, as if to try what it was made of.\n\n  It has been a sort of battlefield on which opposite principles have\n  been tried. No opinion, however extreme any way, but may be found, as\n  the Romanists are not slow to reproach us, among its Bishops and\n  Divines. Yet what has been its career upon the whole? Which way has it\n  been moving through 300 years? Where does it find itself at the end?\n  Lutherans have tended to Rationalism; Calvinists have become\n  Socinians; but what has it become? As far as its Formularies are\n  concerned, it may be said all along to have grown towards a more\n  perfect Catholicism than that with which it started at the time of its\n  estrangement; every act, every crisis which marks its course, has been\n  upward.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"What a note of the Church is the mere production of a man like\n  Butler, a pregnant fact much to be meditated on! and how strange it\n  is, if it be as it seems to be, that the real influence of his work is\n  only just now beginning! and who can prophesy in what it will end?\n  Thus our Divines grow with centuries, expanding after their death in\n  the minds of their readers into more and more exact Catholicism as\n  years roll on.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Look across the Atlantic to the daughter Churches of England in the\n  States: 'Shall one that is barren bear a child in her old age?' yet\n  'the barren hath borne seven.' Schismatic branches put out their\n  leaves at once, in an expiring effort; our Church has waited three\n  centuries, and then blossoms like Aaron's rod, budding and blooming\n  and yielding fruit, while the rest are dry. And lastly, look at the\n  present position of the Church at home; there, too, we shall find a\n  note of the true City of God, the Holy Jerusalem. She is in warfare\n  with the world, as the Church Militant should be; she is rebuking the\n  world, she is hated, she is pillaged by the world.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Much might be said on this subject. At all times, since Christianity\n  came into the world, an open contest has been going on between\n  religion and irreligion; and the true Church, of course, has ever been\n  on the religious side. This, then, is a sure test in every age _where_\n  the Christian should stand.... Now, applying this simple criterion to\n  the public Parties of this DAY, it is very plain that the English\n  Church is at present on God's side, and therefore, so far, God's\n  Church; we are sorry to be obliged to add that there is as little\n  doubt on which side English Romanism is.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"As for the English Church, surely she has notes enough, 'the signs of\n  an Apostle in all patience, and signs and wonders and mighty deeds.'\n  She has the note of possession, the note of freedom from party-titles;\n  the note of life, a tough life and a vigorous; she has ancient\n  descent, unbroken continuance, agreement in doctrine with the ancient\n  Church. Those of Bellarmine's Notes, which she certainly has not, are\n  intercommunion with Christendom, the glory of miracles, and the\n  prophetical light, but the question is, whether she has not enough of\n  Divinity about her to satisfy her sister Churches on their own\n  principles, that she is one body with them.\"\n\n  This may be sufficient to show my feelings towards my Church, as far\n  as Statements on paper can show them.\n\nHow earnestly, how sincerely he clung to the English Church, even after\nhe describes himself on his \"death-bed,\" no one can doubt. The charm of\nthe _Apologia_ is the perfect candour with which he records fluctuations\nwhich to many are inconceivable and unintelligible, the different and\nsometimes opposite and irreconcilable states of mind through which he\npassed, with no attempt to make one fit into another. It is clear, from\nwhat he tells us, that his words in 1839 were not his _last_ words as an\nAnglican to Anglicans. With whatever troubles of mind, he strove to be a\nloyal and faithful Anglican long after that. He spoke as an Anglican. He\nfought for Anglicanism. The theory, as he says, may have gone by the\nboard, in the intellectual storms raised by the histories of the\nMonophysites and Donatists. \"By these great words of the ancient\nfather--_Securus judicat orbis terrarum_\"--the theory of the _Via Media_\nwas \"absolutely pulverised.\" He was \"sore,\" as he says in 1840, \"about\nthe great Anglican divines, as if they had taken me in, and made me say\nstrong things against Rome, which facts did not justify.\"[89] Yes, he\nfelt, as other men do not feel, the weak points of even a strong\nargument, the exaggerations and unfairness of controversialists on his\nown side, the consciousness that you cannot have things in fact, or in\ntheory, or in reasoning, smoothly and exactly as it would be convenient,\nand as you would like to have them. But his conclusion, on the whole,\nwas unshaken. There was enough, and amply enough, in the English Church\nto bind him to its allegiance, to satisfy him of its truth and its life,\nenough in the Roman to warn him away. In the confusions of Christendom,\nin the strong and obstinate differences of schools and parties in the\nEnglish Church, he, living in days of inquiry and criticism, claimed to\ntake and recommend a theological position on many controverted\nquestions, which many might think a new one, and which might not be\nexactly that occupied by any existing school or party.[90] \"We are all,\"\nhe writes to an intimate friend on 22d April 1842, a year after No. 90,\n\"much quieter and more resigned than we were, and are remarkably\ndesirous of building up a position, and proving that the English theory\nis tenable, or rather the English state of things. If the Bishops would\nleave us alone, the fever would subside.\"\n\nHe wanted, when all other parties were claiming room for their\nspeculations, to claim room for his own preference for ancient doctrine.\nHe wished to make out that no branch of the Church had authoritatively\ncommitted itself to language which was hopelessly and fatally\nirreconcilable with Christian truth. But he claimed nothing but what he\ncould maintain to be fairly within the authorised formularies of the\nEnglish Church. He courted inquiry, he courted argument. If his claim\nseemed a new one, if his avowed leaning to ancient and Catholic views\nseemed to make him more tolerant than had been customary, not to Roman\nabuses, but to Roman authoritative language, it was part of the more\naccurate and the more temperate and charitable thought of our day\ncompared with past times. It was part of the same change which has\nbrought Church opinions from the unmitigated Calvinism of the Lambeth\nArticles to what the authorities of those days would have denounced,\nwithout a doubt, as Arminianism. Hooker was gravely and seriously\naccused to the Council for saying that a Papist could be saved, and had\nsome difficulty to clear himself; it was as natural then as it is\namazing now.[91]\n\nBut with this sincere loyalty to the English Church, as he believed it\nto be, there was, no doubt, in the background the haunting and\ndisquieting misgiving that the attempt to connect more closely the\nmodern Church with the ancient, and this widened theology in a direction\nwhich had been hitherto specially and jealously barred, was putting the\nEnglish Church on its trial. Would it bear it? Would it respond to the\ncall to rise to a higher and wider type of doctrine, to a higher\nstandard of life? Would it justify what Mr. Newman had placed in the\nforefront among the notes of the true Church, the note of Sanctity?\nWould the _Via Media_ make up for its incompleteness as a theory by\ndeveloping into reality and fruitfulness of actual results? Would the\nChurch bear to be told of its defaults? Would it allow to the\nmaintainers of Catholic and Anglican principles the liberty which\nothers claimed, and which by large and powerful bodies of opinion was\ndenied to Anglicans? Or would it turn out on trial, that the _Via Media_\nwas an idea without substance, a dialectical fiction, a mere theological\nexpedient for getting out of difficulties, unrecognised, and when put\nforward, disowned? Would it turn out that the line of thought and\nteaching which connected the modern with the ancient Church was but the\nprivate and accidental opinion of Hooker and Andrewes and Bull and\nWilson, unauthorised in the English Church, uncongenial to its spirit,\nif not contradictory to its formularies? It is only just to Mr. Newman\nto say, that even after some of his friends were frightened, he long\ncontinued to hope for the best; but undoubtedly, more and more, his\nbelief in the reality of the English Church was undergoing a very\nsevere, and as time went on, discouraging testing.\n\nIn this state of things he published the Tract No. 90. It was occasioned\nby the common allegation, on the side of some of the advanced section of\nthe Tractarians, as well as on the side of their opponents, that the\nThirty-nine Articles were hopelessly irreconcilable with that Catholic\nteaching which Mr. Newman had defended on the authority of our great\ndivines, but which both the parties above mentioned were ready to\nidentify with the teaching of the Roman Church. The Tract was intended,\nby a rigorous examination of the language of the Articles, to traverse\nthis allegation. It sought to show that all that was clearly and\nundoubtedly Catholic, this language left untouched:[92] that it was\ndoubtful whether even the formal definitions of the Council of Trent\nwere directly and intentionally contradicted; and that what were really\naimed at were the abuses and perversions of a great popular and\nauthorised system, tyrannical by the force of custom and the obstinate\nrefusal of any real reformation.\n\n  It is often urged (says the writer), and sometimes felt and granted,\n  that there are in the Articles propositions or terms inconsistent with\n  the Catholic faith; or, at least, if persons do not go so far as to\n  feel the objection as of force, they are perplexed how best to answer\n  it, or how most simply to explain the passages on which it is made to\n  rest. The following Tract is drawn up with the view of showing how\n  groundless the objection is, and further, of approximating towards the\n  argumentative answer to it, of which most men have an implicit\n  apprehension, though they may have nothing more. That there are real\n  difficulties to a Catholic Christian in the ecclesiastical position of\n  our Church at this day, no one can deny; but the statements of the\n  Articles are not in the number, and it may be right at the present\n  moment to insist upon this.\n\nWhen met by the objection that the ideas of the framers of the Articles\nwere well known, and that it was notorious that they had meant to put an\ninsuperable barrier between the English Church and everything that\nsavoured of Rome, the writer replied that the actual English Church\nreceived the Articles not from them but from a much later authority,\nthat we are bound by their words not by their private sentiments either\nas theologians or ecclesiastical politicians, and that in fact they had\nintended the Articles to comprehend a great body of their countrymen,\nwho would have been driven away by any extreme and anti-Catholic\ndeclarations even against Rome. The temper of compromise is\ncharacteristic of the English as contrasted with the foreign\nReformation. It is visible, not only in the Articles, but in the polity\nof the English Church, which clung so obstinately to the continuity and\nforms of the ancient hierarchical system, it is visible in the\nsacramental offices of the Prayer Book, which left so much out to\nsatisfy the Protestants, and left so much in to satisfy the Catholics.\n\nThe Tract went in detail through the Articles which were commonly looked\nupon as either anti-Catholic or anti-Roman. It went through them with a\ndry logical way of interpretation, such as a professed theologian might\nuse, who was accustomed to all the niceties of language and the\ndistinctions of the science. It was the way in which they would be\nlikely to be examined and construed by a purely legal court. The effect\nof it, doubtless, was like that produced on ordinary minds by the\nrefinements of a subtle advocate, or by the judicial interpretation of\nan Act of Parliament which the judges do not like; and some of the\ninterpretations undoubtedly seemed far-fetched and artificial. Yet some\nof those which were pointed to at the time as flagrant instances of\nextravagant misinterpretation have now come to look different. Nothing\ncould exceed the scorn poured on the interpretation of the Twenty-second\nArticle, that it condemns the \"_Roman_\" doctrine of Purgatory, but not\n_all_ doctrine of purgatory as a place of gradual purification beyond\ndeath. But in our days a school very far removed from Mr. Newman's would\nrequire and would claim to make the same distinction. And so with the\ninterpretation of the \"Sacrifices of Masses\" in the same article. It was\nthe fashion in 1841 to see in this the condemnation of all doctrine of a\nsacrifice in the Eucharist; and when Mr. Newman confined the phrase to\nthe gross abuses connected with the Mass, this was treated as an affront\nto common sense and honesty. Since then we have become better acquainted\nwith the language of the ancient liturgies--, and no instructed\ntheologian could now venture to treat Mr. Newman's distinction as idle.\nThere was in fact nothing new in his distinctions on these two points.\nThey had already been made in two of the preceding Tracts, the reprint\nof Archbishop Ussher on Prayers for the Dead, and the Catena on the\nEucharistie Sacrifice; and in both cases the distinctions were supported\nby a great mass of Anglican authority.[93]\n\nBut the Tract had sufficient novelty about it to account for most of\nthe excitement which it caused. Its dryness and negative curtness were\nprovoking. It was not a positive argument, it was not an appeal to\nauthorities; it was a paring down of language, alleged in certain\nportions of the Articles to be somewhat loose, to its barest meaning;\nand to those to whom that language had always seemed to speak with\nfulness and decision, it seemed like sapping and undermining a cherished\nbulwark. Then it seemed to ask for more liberty than the writer in his\nposition at that time needed; and the object of such an indefinite\nclaim, in order to remove, if possible, misunderstandings between two\nlong-alienated branches of the Western Church, was one to excite in many\nminds profound horror and dismay. That it maintained without flinching\nand as strongly as ever the position and the claim of the English Church\nwas nothing to the purpose; the admission, both that Rome, though\nwrong, might not be as wrong as we thought her, and that the language of\nthe Articles, though unquestionably condemnatory of much, was not\ncondemnatory of as much as people thought, and might possibly be even\nharmonised with Roman authoritative language, was looked upon as\nincompatible with loyalty to the English Church.\n\nThe question which the Tract had opened, what the Articles meant and to\nwhat men were bound by accepting them, was a most legitimate one for\ndiscussion; and it was most natural also that any one should hesitate to\nanswer it as the Tract answered it. But it was distinctly a question for\ndiscussion. It was not so easy for any of the parties in the Church to\ngive a clear and consistent answer, as that the matter ought at once to\nhave been carried out of the region of discussion. The Articles were the\nArticles of a Church which had seen as great differences as those\nbetween the Church of Edward VI and the Church of the Restoration. Take\nthem broadly as the condemnation--strong but loose in expression, as,\nfor instance, in the language on the \"five, commonly called\nSacraments\"--of a powerful and well-known antagonist system, and there\nwas no difficulty about them. But take them as scientific and accurate\nand precise enunciations of a systematic theology, and difficulties\nbegin at once, with every one who does not hold the special and\nwell-marked doctrines of the age when the German and Swiss authorities\nruled supreme. The course of events from that day to this has shown\nmore than once, in surprising and even startling examples, how much\nthose who at the time least thought that they needed such strict\nconstruing of the language of the Articles, and were fierce in\ndenouncing the \"kind of interpretation\" said to be claimed in No. 90,\nhave since found that they require a good deal more elasticity of\nreading than even it asked for. The \"whirligig of time\" was thought to\nhave brought \"its revenges,\" when Mr. Newman, who had called for the\nexercise of authority against Dr. Hampden, found himself, five years\nafterwards, under the ban of the same authority. The difference between\nMr. Newman's case and Dr. Hampden's, both as to the alleged offence and\nthe position of the men, was considerable. But the \"whirligig of time\"\nbrought about even stranger \"revenges,\" when not only Mr. Gorham and Mr.\nH.B. Wilson in their own defence, but the tribunals which had to decide\non their cases, carried the strictness of reading and the latitude of\ninterpretation, quite as far, to say the least, as anything in No. 90.\n\nUnhappily Tract 90 was met at Oxford, not with argument, but with panic\nand wrath.[94] There is always a sting in every charge, to which other\nparts of it seem subordinate. No. 90 was charged of course with false\ndoctrine, with false history, and with false reasoning; but the emphatic\npart of the charge, the short and easy method which dispensed from the\nnecessity of theological examination and argument, was that it was\ndishonest and immoral. Professors of Divinity, and accomplished\nscholars, such as there were in Oxford, might very well have considered\nit an occasion to dispute both the general principle of the Tract, if it\nwas so dangerous, and the illustrations, in the abundance of which the\nwriter had so frankly thrown open his position to searching criticism.\nIt was a crisis in which much might have been usefully said, if there\nhad been any one to say it; much too, to make any one feel, if he was\ncompetent to feel, that he had a good deal to think about in his own\nposition, and that it would be well to ascertain what was tenable and\nwhat untenable in it. But it seemed as if the opportunity must not be\nlost for striking a blow. The Tract was published on 27th February. On\nthe 8th of March four Senior Tutors, one of whom was Mr. H.B. Wilson, of\nSt. John's, and another Mr. Tait, of Balliol, addressed the Editor of\nthe Tract, charging No. 90 with suggesting and opening a way, by which\nmen might, at least in the case of Roman views, violate their solemn\nengagements to their University. On the 15th of March, the Board of\nHeads of Houses, refusing to wait for Mr. Newman's defence, which was\nknown to be coming, and which bears date 13th March, published their\njudgment They declared that in No. 90 \"modes of interpretation were\nsuggested, and have since been advocated in other publications\npurporting to be written by members of the University, by which\nsubscription to the Articles might be reconciled with the adoption of\nRoman Catholic error.\" And they announced their resolution, \"That modes\nof interpretation, such as are suggested in the said Tract, evading\nrather than explaining the sense of the Thirty-nine Articles, and\nreconciling subscription to them with the adoption of errors which they\nare designed to counteract, defeat the object, and are inconsistent with\nthe due observance of the above-mentioned statutes.\"[95]\n\nIt was an ungenerous and stupid blunder, such as men make, when they\nthink or are told that \"something must be done,\" and do not know what.\nIt gave the writer an opportunity, of which he took full advantage, of\nshowing his superiority in temper, in courtesy, and in reason, to those\nwho had not so much condemned as insulted him. He was immediately ready\nwith his personal expression of apology and regret, and also with his\nreassertion in more developed argument of the principle of the Tract;\nand this was followed up by further explanations in a letter to the\nBishop. And in spite of the invidious position in which the Board had\ntried to place him, not merely as an unsound divine, but as a dishonest\nman teaching others to palter with their engagements, the crisis drew\nforth strong support and sympathy where they were not perhaps to be\nexpected. It rallied to him, at least for the time, some of the friends\nwho had begun to hold aloof. Mr. Palmer, of Worcester, Mr. Perceval, Dr.\nHook, with reserves according to each man's point of view, yet came\nforward in his defence. The Board was made to feel that they had been\ndriven by violent and partisan instigations to commit themselves to a\nvery foolish as well as a very passionate and impotent step; that they\nhad by very questionable authority simply thrown an ill-sounding and\nill-mannered word at an argument on a very difficult question, to which\nthey themselves certainly were not prepared with a clear and\nsatisfactory answer; that they had made the double mistake of declaring\nwar against a formidable antagonist, and of beginning it by creating the\nimpression that they had treated him shabbily, and were really afraid to\ncome to close quarters with him. As the excitement of hasty counsels\nsubsided, the sense of this began to awake in some of them; they tried\nto represent the off-hand and ambiguous words of the condemnation as not\nmeaning all that they had been taken to mean. But the seed of bitterness\nhad been sown. Very little light was thrown, in the strife of pamphlets\nwhich ensued, on the main subject dealt with in No. 90, the authority\nand interpretation of such formularies as our Articles. The easier and\nmore tempting and very fertile topic of debate was the honesty and good\nfaith of the various disputants. Of the four Tutors, only one, Mr. H.B.\nWilson, published an explanation of their part in the matter; it was a\nclumsy, ill-written and laboured pamphlet, which hardly gave promise of\nthe intellectual vigour subsequently displayed by Mr. Wilson, when he\nappeared, not as the defender, but the assailant of received opinions.\nThe more distinguished of the combatants were Mr. Ward and Mr. R. Lowe.\nMr. Ward, with his usual dialectical skill, not only defended the Tract,\nbut pushed its argument yet further, in claiming tolerance for doctrines\nalleged to be Roman. Mr. Lowe, not troubling himself either with\ntheological history or the relation of other parties in the Church to\nthe formularies, threw his strength into the popular and plausible topic\nof dishonesty, and into a bitter and unqualified invective against the\nbad faith and immorality manifested in the teaching of which No. 90 was\nthe outcome. Dr. Faussett, as was to be expected, threw himself into the\nfray with his accustomed zest and violence, and caused some amusement at\nOxford, first by exposing himself to the merciless wit of a reviewer in\nthe _British Critic_, and then by the fright into which he was thrown by\na rumour that his reelection to his professorship would be endangered by\nTractarian votes.[96] But the storm, at Oxford at least, seemed to die\nout. The difficulty which at one moment threatened of a strike among\nsome of the college Tutors passed; and things went back to their\nordinary course. But an epoch and a new point of departure had come into\nthe movement. Things after No. 90 were never the same as to language and\nhopes and prospects as they had been before; it was the date from which\na new set of conditions in men's thoughts and attitude had to be\nreckoned. Each side felt that a certain liberty had been claimed and\nhad been peremptorily denied. And this was more than confirmed by the\npublic language of the greater part of the Bishops. The charges against\nthe Tractarian party of Romanising, and of flagrant dishonesty, long\nurged by irresponsible opponents, were now formally adopted by the\nUniversity authorities, and specially directed against the foremost man\nof the party. From that time the fate of the party at Oxford was\ndetermined. It must break up. Sooner or later, there must be a secession\nmore or less discrediting and disabling those who remained. And so the\nbreak-up came, and yet, so well grounded and so congenial to the English\nChurch were the leading principles of the movement, that not even that\ndisastrous and apparently hopeless wreck prevented them from again\nasserting their claim and becoming once more active and powerful. The\n_Via Media_, whether or not logically consistent, was a thing of genuine\nEnglish growth, and was at least a working theory.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[84] _Apologia_, p. 180.\n\n[85] _Essays Critical and Historical_, 1871.\n\n[86] _Apologia_, pp. 181, 182. Comp. _Letter to Jelf_, p. 18.\n\n[87] _British Critic_, April 1839, pp. 419-426. Condensed in the\n_Apologia_, pp. 192-194.\n\n[88] _Letter to the Bishop of Oxford_ (29th March 1841), pp. 33-40.\nComp. _Letter to Jelf_, pp. 7, 8.\n\n[89] _Apologia_, pp. 212, 221.\n\n[90] _Letter to Jelf_ [especially p. 19].\n\n[91] _Walton's Life_, i. 59 (Oxford: 1845).\n\n[92] No. 90, p. 24.\n\n[93] The following letter of Mr. James Mozley (8th March 1841) gives the\nfirst impression of the Tract:--\"A new Tract has come out this week, and\nis beginning to make a sensation. It is on the Articles, and shows that\nthey bear a highly Catholic meaning; and that many doctrines, of which\nthe Romanist are corruptions, may be held consistently with them. This\nis no more than what we know as a matter of history, for the Articles\nwere expressly worded to bring in Roman Catholics. But people are\nastonished and confused at the idea now, as if it were quite new. And\nthey have been so accustomed for a long time to look at the Articles as\non a par with the Creed, that they think, I suppose, that if they\nsubscribe to them they are bound to hold whatever doctrines (not\npositively stated in them) are merely not condemned. So if they will\nhave a Tractarian sense, they are thereby all Tractarians.... It is, of\ncourse, highly complimentary to the whole set of us to be so very much\nsurprised that we should think what we held to be consistent with the\nArticles which we have subscribed.\" See also a clever Whateleian\npamphlet, \"The Controversy between Tract No. 90 and the Oxford Tutors.\"\n(How and Parsons, 1841.)\n\n[94] See J.B. Mozley's _Letters_, 13th March 1841.\n\n[95] _Scil._, those cited in the preamble to this resolution.\n\n[96] J.B. Mozley's _Letters_, 13th July 1841.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nAFTER NO. 90\n\n\nThe proceedings about No. 90 were a declaration of war on the part of\nthe Oxford authorities against the Tractarian party. The suspicions,\nalarms, antipathies, jealousies, which had long been smouldering among\nthose in power, had at last taken shape in a definite act. And it was a\nturning-point in the history of the movement. After this it never was\nexactly what it had been hitherto. It had been so far a movement within\nthe English Church, for its elevation and reform indeed, but at every\nstep invoking its authority with deep respect, acknowledging allegiance\nto its rulers in unqualified and even excessive terms, and aiming\nloyally to make it in reality all that it was in its devotional language\nand its classical literature. But after what passed about No. 90 a\nchange came. The party came under an official ban and stigma. The common\nconsequences of harsh treatment on the tendencies and thought of a\nparty, which considers itself unjustly proscribed, showed themselves\nmore and more. Its mind was divided; its temper was exasperated; while\nthe attitude of the governing authorities hardened more into determined\nhostility. From the time of the censure, and especially after the events\nconnected with it,--the contest for the Poetry Professorship and the\nrenewed Hampden question,--it may be said that the characteristic\ntempers of the Corcyrean sedition were reproduced on a small scale in\nOxford.[97] The scare of Popery, not without foundation--the reaction\nagainst it, also not without foundation--had thrown the wisest off their\nbalance; and what of those who were not wise? In the heat of those days\nthere were few Tractarians who did not think Dr. Wynter, Dr. Faussett,\nand Dr. Symons heretics in theology and persecutors in temper, despisers\nof Christian devotion and self-denial. There were few of the party of\nthe Heads who did not think every Tractarian a dishonest and perjured\ntraitor, equivocating about his most solemn engagements, the ignorant\nslave of childish superstitions which he was conspiring to bring back.\nIt was the day of the violent on both sides: the courtesies of life were\nforgotten; men were afraid of being weak in their censures, their\ndislike, and their opposition; old friendships were broken up, and men\nbelieved the worst of those whom a few years back they had loved and\nhonoured.\n\nIt is not agreeable to recall these long extinct animosities, but they\nare part of the history of that time, and affected the course in which\nthings ran. And it is easy to blame, it is hard to do justice to, the\nvarious persons and parties who contributed to the events of that\nstrange and confused time. All was new, and unusual, and without\nprecedent in Oxford; a powerful and enthusiastic school reviving old\ndoctrines in a way to make them seem novelties, and creating a wild\npanic from a quarter where it was the least expected; the terror of this\npanic acting on authorities not in the least prepared for such a trial\nof their sagacity, patience, and skill, driving them to unexampled\nseverity, and to a desperate effort to expel the disturbing\ninnovators--among them some of the first men in Oxford in character and\nability--from their places in the University.[98] In order to do justice\non each side at this distance of time, we are bound to make\nallowance--both for the alarm and the mistaken violence of the\nauthorities, and for the disaffection, the irritation, the strange\nmethods which grew up in the worried and suspected party--for the\ndifficulties which beset both sides in the conflict, and the\ncounter-influences which drew them hither and thither. But the facts are\nas they are; and even then a calmer temper was possible to those who\nwilled it; and in the heat of the strife there were men among the\nauthorities, as well as in the unpopular party, who kept their balance,\nwhile others lost it.\n\nUndoubtedly the publication of No. 90 was the occasion of the aggravated\nform which dissension took, and not unnaturally. Yet it was anything but\nwhat it was taken to mean by the authorities, an intentional move in\nfavour of Rome. It was intended to reconcile a large and growing class\nof minds, penetrated and disgusted with the ignorance and injustice of\nmuch of the current controversial assumptions against Rome, to a larger\nand more defensible view of the position of the English Church. And this\nwas done by calling attention to that which was not now for the first\ntime observed--to the loose and unguarded mode of speaking visible in\nthe later controversial Articles, and to the contrast between them and\nthe technical and precise theology of the first five Articles. The\nArticles need not mean all which they were supposed popularly to mean\nagainst what was Catholic in Roman doctrine. This was urged in simple\ngood faith; it was but the necessary assumption of all who held with the\nCatholic theology, which the Tractarians all along maintained that they\nhad a right to teach; it left plenty of ground of difference with\nunreformed and usurping Rome. And we know that the storm which No. 90\nraised took the writer by surprise. He did not expect that he should\ngive such deep offence. But if he thought of the effect on one set of\nminds, he forgot the probable effect on another; and he forgot, or\nunder-estimated, the effect not only of the things said, but of the way\nin which they were said.[99] No. 90 was a surprise, in the state of\nordinary theological knowledge at the time. It was a strong thing to say\nthat the Articles left a great deal of formal Roman language untouched;\nbut to work this out in dry, bald, technical logic, on the face of it,\nnarrow in scope, often merely ingenious, was even a greater\nstumbling-block. It was, undoubtedly, a great miscalculation, such as\nmen of keen and far-reaching genius sometimes make. They mistake the\nstrength and set of the tide; they imagine that minds round them are\ngoing as fast as their own. We can see, looking back, that such an\ninterpretation of the Articles, with the view then taken of them in\nOxford as the theological text-book, and in the condition of men's\nminds, could not but be a great shock.\n\nAnd what seemed to give a sinister significance to No. 90 was that, as\nhas been said, a strong current was beginning to set in the direction of\nRome. It was not yet of the nature, nor of the force, which was\nimagined. The authorities suspected it where it was not. They accepted\nany contemptible bit of gossip collected by ignorance or ill-nature as a\nproof of it. The constitutional frankness of Englishmen in finding fault\nwith what is their own--disgust at pompous glorification--scepticism as\nto our insular claims against all the rest of Christendom to be exactly\nright, to be alone, \"pure and apostolic\"; real increase and enlargement\nof knowledge, theological and historical; criticism on portions of our\nReformation history; admiration for characters in mediaeval times;\neagerness, over-generous it might be, to admit and repair wrong to an\nopponent unjustly accused; all were set down together with other more\nunequivocal signs as \"leanings to Rome.\" It was clear that there was a\ncurrent setting towards Rome; but it was as clear that there was a much\nstronger current in the party as a whole, setting in the opposite\ndirection. To those who chose to see and to distinguish, the love, the\npassionate loyalty of the bulk of the Tractarians to the English Church\nwas as evident and unquestionable as any public fact could be. At this\ntime there was no reason to call in question the strong assurances\ngiven by the writer of No. 90 himself of his yet unshaken faith in the\nEnglish Church. But all these important features of the\nmovement--witnessing, indeed, to deep searchings of heart, but to a\ngenuine desire to serve the English Church--were overlooked in the one\noverwhelming fear which had taken possession of the authorities.\nAlarming symptoms of a disposition to acknowledge and even exaggerate\nthe claims and the attractions of the Roman system were indeed apparent.\nNo doubt there were reasons for disquiet and anxiety. But the test of\nmanliness and wisdom, in the face of such reasons, is how men measure\ntheir proportion, and how they meet the danger.\n\nThe Heads saw a real danger before them; but they met it in a wrong and\nunworthy way. They committed two great errors. In the first place, like\nthe Jesuits in their quarrel with Portroyal and the Jansenists, they\nentirely failed to recognise the moral elevation and religious purpose\nof the men whom they opposed. There was that before them which it was to\ntheir deep discredit that they did not see. The movement, whatever else\nit was, or whatever else it became, was in its first stages a movement\nfor deeper religion, for a more real and earnest self-discipline, for a\nloftier morality, for more genuine self-devotion to a serious life, than\nhad ever been seen in Oxford. It was an honest attempt to raise Oxford\nlife, which by all evidence needed raising, to something more laborious\nand something more religious, to something more worthy of the great\nChristian foundations of Oxford than the rivalry of colleges and of the\nschools, the mere literary atmosphere of the tutor's lecture-room, and\nthe easy and gentlemanly and somewhat idle fellowship of the\ncommon-rooms. It was the effort of men who had all the love of\nscholarship, and the feeling for it of the Oxford of their day, to add\nto this the habits of Christian students and the pursuit of Christian\nlearning. If all this was dangerous and uncongenial to Oxford, so much\nthe worse for Oxford, with its great opportunities and great\nprofessions--_Dominus illuminatio mea_. But certainly this mark of moral\npurpose and moral force was so plain in the movement that the rulers of\nOxford had no right to mistake it. When the names come back to our minds\nof those who led and most represented the Tractarians, it must be a\nmatter of surprise to any man who has not almost parted with the idea of\nChristian goodness, that this feature of the movement could escape or\nfail to impress those who had known well all their lives long what these\nleaders were. But amid the clamour and the tell-tale gossip, and, it\nmust be admitted, the folly round them, they missed it. Perhaps they\nwere bewildered. But they must have the blame, the heavy blame, which\nbelongs to all those who, when good is before them, do not recognise it\naccording to its due measure.[100]\n\nIn the next place, the authorities attacked and condemned the\nTractarian teaching at once violently and ignorantly, and in them\nignorance of the ground on which the battle was fought was hardly\npardonable. Doubtless the Tractarian language was in many respects novel\nand strange. But Oxford was not only a city of libraries, it was the\nhome of what was especially accounted Church theology; and the\nTractarian teaching, in its foundation and main outlines, had little but\nwhat ought to have been perfectly familiar to any one who chose to take\nthe trouble to study the great Church of England writers. To one who,\nlike Dr. Routh of Magdalen, had gone below the surface, and was\nacquainted with the questions debated by those divines, there was\nnothing startling in what so alarmed his brethren, whether he agreed\nwith it or not; and to him the indiscriminate charge of Popery meant\nnothing. But Dr. Routh stood alone among his brother Heads in his\nknowledge of what English theology was. To most of them it was an\nunexplored and misty region; some of the ablest, under the influence of\nDr. Whately's vigorous and scornful discipline, had learned to slight\nit. But there it was. Whether it was read or not, its great names were\npronounced with honour, and quoted on occasion. From Hooker to Van\nMildert, there was an unbroken thread of common principles giving\ncontinuity to a line of Church teachers. The Puritan line of doctrine,\nthough it could claim much sanction among the divines of the\nReformation--the Latitudinarian idea, though it had the countenance of\nfamous names and powerful intellects--never could aspire to the special\ntitle of Church theology. And the teaching which had that name, both in\npraise, and often in dispraise, as technical, scholastic, unspiritual,\ntranscendental, nay, even Popish, countenanced the Tractarians. They\nwere sneered at for their ponderous _Catenae_ of authorities; but on the\nground on which this debate raged, the appeal was a pertinent and solid\none. Yet to High Church Oxford and its rulers, all this was strange\ndoctrine. Proof and quotation might lie before their eyes, but their\nminds still ran in one groove, and they could not realise what they saw.\nThe words meant no harm in the venerable folio; they meant perilous\nheresy in the modern Tract. When the authorities had to judge of the\nquestions raised by the movement, they were unprovided with the adequate\nknowledge; and this was knowledge which they ought to have possessed for\nits own sake, as doctors of the Theological Faculty of the University.\n\nAnd it was not only for their want of learning, manifest all through the\ncontroversy, that they were to blame. Their most telling charge against\nthe Tractarians, which was embodied in the censure of No. 90, was the\ncharge of dishonesty. The charge is a very handy one against opponents,\nand it may rest on good grounds; but those who think right to make it\nought, both as a matter of policy and as a matter of conscience, to be\nquite assured of their own position. The Articles are a public, common\ndocument. It is the differing interpretations of a common document which\ncreate political and religious parties; and only shallowness and\nprejudice will impute to an opponent dishonesty without strong and clear\nreason. Mr. Newman's interpretation in No. 90,--new, not in claiming for\nthe Articles a Catholic meaning, but in _limiting_, though it does not\ndeny, their anti-Roman scope, was fairly open to criticism. It might be\ntaken as a challenge, and as a challenge might have to be met. But it\nwould have been both fair and wise in the Heads, before proceeding to\nunusual extremities, to have shown that they had fully considered their\nown theological doctrines in relation to the Church formularies. They\nall had obvious difficulties, and in some cases formidable ones. The\nmajority of them were what would have been called in older controversial\ndays frank Arminians, shutting their eyes by force of custom to the look\nof some of the Articles, which, if of Lutheran origin, had been claimed\nfrom the first by Calvinists. The Evangelicals had long confessed\ndifficulties, at least, in the Baptismal Service and the Visitation\nOffice; while the men most loud in denunciation of dishonesty were the\ndivines of Whately's school, who had been undermining the authority of\nall creeds and articles, and had never been tired of proclaiming their\ndislike of that solemn Athanasian Creed to which Prayer Book and\nArticles alike bound them. Men with these difficulties daily before them\nhad no right to ignore them. Doubtless they all had their explanations\nwhich they _bona fide_ believed in. But what was there that excluded Mr.\nNewman from the claim to _bona fides_? He had attacked no foundation of\nChristianity; he had denied or doubted no article of the Creed. He gave\nhis explanations, certainly not more far-fetched than those of some of\nhis judges. In a Church divided by many conflicting views, and therefore\nbound to all possible tolerance, he had adopted one view which certainly\nwas unpopular and perhaps was dangerous. He might be confuted, he might\nbe accused, or, if so be, convicted of error, perhaps of heresy. But\nnothing of this kind was attempted. The incompatibility of his view, not\nmerely with the Articles, but with morality in signing what all, of\nwhatever party, had signed, was asserted in a censure, which evaded the\nresponsibility of specifying the point which it condemned. The alarm of\ntreachery and conspiracy is one of the most maddening of human impulses.\nThe Heads of Houses, instead of moderating and sobering it, with the\nauthority of instructed and sagacious rulers, blew it into a flame. And\nthey acted in such a hurry that all sense of proportion and dignity was\nlost. They peremptorily refused to wait even a few days, as the writer\nrequested, and as was due to his character, for explanation. They dared\nnot risk an appeal to the University at large. They dared not abide the\neffect of discussion on the blow which they were urged to strike. They\nchose, that they might strike without delay, the inexpressibly childish\nstep of sticking up at the Schools' gates, and at College butteries,\nwithout trial, or conviction, or sentence, a notice declaring that\ncertain modes of signing the Articles suggested in a certain Tract were\ndishonest. It was, they said, to protect undergraduates; as if\nundergraduates would be affected by a vague assertion on a difficult\nsubject, about which nothing was more certain than that those who issued\nthe notice were not agreed among themselves.\n\nThe men who acted thus were good and conscientious men, who thought\nthemselves in the presence of a great danger. It is only fair to\nremember this. But it is also impossible to be fair to the party of the\nmovement without remembering this deplorable failure in consistency, in\njustice, in temper, in charity, on the part of those in power in the\nUniversity. The drift towards Rome had not yet become an unmanageable\nrush; and though there were cases in which nothing could have stopped\nits course, there is no reason to doubt that generous and equitable\ndealing, a more considerate reasonableness, a larger and more\ncomprehensive judgment of facts, and a more patient waiting for strong\nfirst impressions to justify and verify themselves, would have averted\nmuch mischief. There was much that was to be regretted from this time\nforward in the temper and spirit of the movement party. But that which\nnourished and strengthened impatience, exaggeration of language and\nviews, scorn of things as they were, intolerance of everything\nmoderate, both in men and in words, was the consciousness with which\nevery man got up in the morning and passed the day, of the bitter\nhostility of those foremost in place in Oxford--of their incompetence to\njudge fairly--of their incapacity to apprehend what was high and earnest\nin those whom they condemned--of the impossibility of getting them to\nimagine that Tractarians could be anything but fools or traitors--of\ntheir hopeless blindness to any fact or any teaching to which they were\nnot accustomed. If the authorities could only have stopped to consider\nwhether after all they were not dealing with real thought and real wish\nto do right, they might after all have disliked the movement, but they\nwould have seen that which would have kept them from violence. They\nwould not listen, they would not inquire, they would not consider. Could\nsuch ignorance, could such wrong possibly be without mischievous\ninfluence on those who were the victims of it, much more on friends and\ndisciples who knew and loved them? The Tractarians had been preaching\nthat the Church of England, with all its Protestant feeling and all its\nProtestant acts and history, was yet, as it professed to be, part and\nparcel of the great historic Catholic Church, which had framed the\nCreeds, which had continued the Sacraments, which had preached and\ntaught out of the Bible, which had given us our immemorial prayers. They\nhad spared no pains to make out this great commonplace from history and\ntheology: nor had they spared pains, while insisting on this dominant\nfeature in the English Church, to draw strongly and broadly the lines\nwhich distinguished it from Rome. Was it wonderful, when all guarding\nand explanatory limitations were contemptuously tossed aside by\n\"all-daring ignorance,\" and all was lumped together in the\nindiscriminate charge of \"Romanising,\" that there should have been some\nto take the authorities at their word? Was it wonderful when men were\ntold that the Church of England was no place for them, that they were\nbreaking their vows and violating solemn engagements by acting as its\nministers, and that in order to preserve the respect of honest men they\nshould leave it--that the question of change, far off as it had once\nseemed, came within \"measurable distance\"? The generation to which they\nbelonged had been brought up with strong exhortations to be real, and to\nhate shams; and now the question was forced on them whether it was not a\nsham for the English Church to call itself Catholic; whether a body of\nteaching which was denounced by its authorities, however it might look\non paper and be defended by learning, could be more than a plausible\nliterary hypothesis in contrast to the great working system of which the\nhead was Rome. When we consider the singular and anomalous position on\nany theory, including the Roman, of the English Church; with what great\ndifferences its various features and elements have been prominent at\ndifferent times; how largely its history has been marked by\ncontradictory facts and appearances; and how hard it is for any one to\nkeep all, according to their real importance, simultaneously in view;\nwhen we remember also what are the temptations of human nature in great\ncollisions of religious belief, the excitement and passion of the time,\nthe mixed character of all religious zeal, the natural inevitable anger\nwhich accompanies it when resisted, the fervour which welcomes\nself-sacrifice for the truth; and when we think of all this kept aglow\nby the continuous provocation of unfair and harsh dealing from persons\nwho were scarcely entitled to be severe judges; the wonder is, human\nnature being what it is, not that so many went, but that so many stayed.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[97] \u03a4\u03cc\u03bb\u03bc\u03b1 \u1f00\u03bb\u03cc\u03b3\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f00\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u03af\u03b1 \u03c6\u03b9\u03bb\u03ad\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bd\u03bf\u03bc\u03af\u03c3\u03b8\u03b7 ... \u03c4\u1f78 \u03b4\u1f72 \u03c3\u1ff6\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6\n\u1f00\u03bd\u03ac\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c5 \u03c0\u03c1\u03cc\u03c3\u03c7\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1f78 \u03c0\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2 \u1f04\u03c0\u03b1\u03bd \u03be\u03c5\u03bd\u03b5\u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u1f76 \u03c0\u1fb6\u03bd \u1f00\u03c1\u03b3\u03cc\u03bd \u03c4\u1f78 \u03b4\u1f72\n\u1f72\u03bc\u03c0\u03bb\u03ae\u03ba\u03c4\u03c9\u03c2 \u1f40\u03be\u1f50 \u1f00\u03bd\u03b4\u03c1\u1f78\u03c2 \u03bc\u03bf\u03af\u03c1\u1fb3 \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c3\u03b5\u03c4\u03ad\u03b8\u03b7 ... \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f41 \u03bc\u1f72\u03bd \u03c7\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u03c0\u03b1\u03af\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd \u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u1f78\u03c2\n\u1f00\u03b5\u03af, \u1f41 \u03b4\u1f72 \u1f00\u03bd\u03c4\u03b9\u03bb\u03ad\u03b3\u03c9\u03bd \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1ff7 \u1f55\u03c0\u03bf\u03c0\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2.--Thuc. iii. 82. \"Reckless daring was\nheld to be loyal courage; moderation was the disguise of unmanly\nweakness; to know everything was to do nothing; frantic energy was the\ntrue character of a man; the lover of violence was always trusted, and\nhis opponent suspected.\"--Jowett's translation.\n\n[98] One of the strangest features in the conflict was the entire\nmisconception shown of what Mr. Newman was--the blindness to his real\ncharacter and objects--the imputation to him not merely of grave faults,\nbut of small and mean ones. His critics could not rise above the poorest\nmeasure of his intellect and motives. One of the ablest of them, who had\nonce been his friend, in a farewell letter of kindly remonstrance,\nspecifies certain Roman errors, which he hopes that Mr. Newman will not\nfall into--adoring images and worshipping saints--as if the pleasure and\nprivilege of worshipping images and saints were to Mr. Newman the\ninducement to join Rome and break the ties of a lifetime. And so of his\nmoral qualities. A prominent Evangelical leader, Dr. Close of\nCheltenham, afterwards Dean of Carlisle, at a complimentary dinner, in\nwhich he himself gloried in the \"foul, personal abuse to which he had\nbeen subjected in his zeal for truth,\" proceeded to give his judgment on\nMr. Newman: \"When I first read No. 90, I did not then know the author;\nbut I said then, and I repeat here, _not with any personal reference to\nthe author_, that I should be sorry to trust the author of that Tract\nwith my purse,\"--Report of Speech in _Cheltenham Examiner_, 1st March\n1843.\n\n[99] \u03bf\u1f50 \u03b3\u1f70\u03c1 \u1f00\u03c0\u03cc\u03c7\u03c1\u03b7 \u03c4\u1f78 \u1f14\u03c7\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd \u1f04 \u03b4\u03b5\u1fd6 \u03bb\u03ad\u03b3\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd, \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb' \u1f00\u03bd\u03ac\u03b3\u03ba\u03b7 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u03b1\u1fe6\u03c4\u03bf \u1f60\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b5\u1fd6\n\u03b5\u03af\u03c0\u03b5\u1fd6\u03bd.--Arist. _Rhet._ iii. I.\n\n[100] Dr. Richards, the Rector of Exeter, seems to have stood apart from\nhis brother heads.--Cf. _Letters of the Rev. J.B. Mozley_, p. 113.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nTHE THREE DEFEATS:\n\nISAAC WILLIAMS, MACMULLEN, PUSEY\n\n\nThe year 1841, though it had begun in storm, and though signs were not\nwanting of further disturbance, was at Oxford, outwardly at least, a\npeaceable one. A great change had happened; but, when the first burst of\nexcitement was over, men settled down to their usual work, their\nlectures, or their reading, or their parishes, and by Easter things\nseemed to go on as before. The ordinary habits of University life\nresumed their course with a curious quietness. There was, no doubt, much\ntrouble brooding underneath. Mr. Ward and others continued a war of\npamphlets; and in June Mr. Ward was dismissed from his Mathematical\nLectureship at Balliol. But faith in the great leader was still strong.\nNo. 90, if it had shocked or disquieted some, had elicited equally\nremarkable expressions of confidence and sympathy from others who might\nhave been, at least, silent. The events of the spring had made men\nconscious of what their leader was, and called forth warm and\nenthusiastic affection. It was not in vain that, whatever might be\nthought of the wisdom or the reasonings of No. 90, he had shown the\nheight of his character and the purity and greatness of his religious\npurpose; and that being what he was, in the eyes of all Oxford, he had\nbeen treated with contumely, and had borne it with patience and loyal\nsubmission. There were keen observers, to whom that patience told of\nfuture dangers; they would have liked him to show more fight. But he\ngave no signs of defeat, nor, outwardly, of disquiet; he forbore to\nretaliate at Oxford: and the sermons at St. Mary's continued,\npenetrating and searching as ever, perhaps with something more pathetic\nand anxious in their undertone than before.\n\nBut if he forbore at Oxford, he did not let things pass outside. Sir\nRobert Peel, in opening a reading-room at Tamworth, had spoken loosely,\nin the conventional and pompous way then fashionable, of the\nall-sufficing and exclusive blessings of knowledge. While Mr. Newman was\ncorrecting the proofs of No. 90, he was also writing to the _Times_ the\nfamous letters of _Catholicus_; a warning to eminent public men of the\ndanger of declaiming on popular commonplaces without due examination of\ntheir worth. But all seemed quiet. \"In the summer of 1841,\" we read in\nthe _Apologia_, \"I found myself at Littlemore without any harass or\nanxiety on my mind. I had determined to put aside all controversy, and\nset myself down to my translation of St. Athanasius.\" Outside of Oxford\nthere was a gathering of friends in the summer at the consecration of\none of Mr. Keble's district churches, Ampfield--an occasion less common\nand more noticeable then than now. Again, what was a new thought then, a\nlittle band of young Oxford men, ten or twelve, taxed themselves to\nbuild a new church, which was ultimately placed at Bussage, in Mr.\nThomas Keble's parish. One of Mr. Keble's curates, Mr. Peter Young, had\nbeen refused Priest's orders by the Bishop of Winchester, for alleged\nunsoundness on the doctrine of the Eucharist. Mr. Selwyn, not without\nmisgivings on the part of the Whig powers, had been appointed Bishop of\nNew Zealand. Dr. Arnold had been appointed to the Chair of Modern\nHistory at Oxford. In the course of the year there passed away one who\nhad had a very real though unacknowledged influence on much that had\nhappened--Mr. Blanco White. And at the end of the year, 29th October,\nMr. Keble gave his last lecture on Poetry, and finished a course the\nmost original and memorable ever delivered from his chair.\n\nTowards the end of the year two incidents, besides some roughly-worded\nEpiscopal charges, disturbed this quiet. They were only indirectly\nconnected with theological controversy at Oxford; but they had great\nultimate influence on it, and they helped to marshal parties and\nconsolidate animosities. One was the beginning of the contest for the\nPoetry Professorship which Mr. Keble had vacated. There was no one of\nequal eminence to succeed him; but there was in Oxford a man of\nundoubted poetical genius, of refined taste and subtle thought, though\nof unequal power, who had devoted his gifts to the same great purpose\nfor which Mr. Keble had written the _Christian Year._ No one who has\nlooked into the _Baptistery_, whatever his feeling towards the writer,\ncan doubt whether Mr. Isaac Williams was a poet and knew what poetry\nmeant. He was an intimate friend of Mr. Keble and Mr. Newman, and so he\nwas styled a Tractarian; but no name offered itself so obviously to the\nelectors as his, and in due time his friends announced their intention\nof bringing him forward. His competitor was Mr. (afterwards Archdeacon)\nGarbett of Brasenose, the college of Heber and Milman, an accomplished\ngentleman of high culture, believed to have an acquaintance, not common\nthen in Oxford, with foreign literature, whose qualifications stood high\nin the opinion of his University friends, but who had given no evidence\nto the public of his claims to the office. It was inevitable, it was no\none's special fault, that the question of theological opinions should\nintrude itself; but at first it was only in private that objections were\nraised or candidatures recommended on theological grounds. But rumours\nwere abroad that the authorities of Brasenose were canvassing their\ncollege on these grounds: and in an unlucky moment for Mr. Williams, Dr.\nPusey, not without the knowledge, but without the assenting judgment of\nMr. Newman, thought it well to send forth a circular in Christ Church\nfirst, but soon with wider publicity, asking support for Mr. Williams as\na person whose known religious views would ensure his making his office\nminister to religious truth. Nothing could be more innocently meant. It\nwas the highest purpose to which that office could be devoted. But the\nmistake was seen on all sides as soon as made. The Principal of Mr.\nGarbett's college. Dr. Gilbert, like a general jumping on his antagonist\nwhom he has caught in the act of a false move, put forth a dignified\ncounter-appeal, alleging that he had not raised this issue, but adding\nthat as it had been raised and avowed on the other side, he was quite\nwilling that it should be taken into account, and the dangers duly\nconsidered of that teaching with which Dr. Pusey's letter had identified\nMr. Williams. No one from that moment could prevent the contest from\nbecoming almost entirely a theological one, which was to try the\nstrength of the party of the movement. Attempts were made, but in vain,\nto divest it of this character. The war of pamphlets and leaflets\ndispersed in the common-rooms, which usually accompanied these contests,\nbegan, and the year closed with preparations for a severe struggle when\nthe University met in the following January.\n\nThe other matter was the establishment of the Anglo-Prussian bishopric\nat Jerusalem. It was the object of the ambition of M. Bunsen to pave the\nway for a recognition, by the English Church, of the new State Church\nof Prussia, and ultimately for some closer alliance between the two\nbodies; and the plan of a Protestant Bishop of Jerusalem, nominated\nalternately by England and Prussia, consecrated by English Bishops, and\nexercising jurisdiction over English and German Protestants in\nPalestine, was proposed by him to Archbishop Howley and Bishop\nBlomfield, and somewhat hastily and incautiously accepted by them. To\nMr. Newman, fighting a hard battle, as he felt it, for the historical\nand constitutional catholicity of the English Church, this step on their\npart came as a practical and even ostentatious contradiction of his\narguments. England, it seemed, which was out of communion with the East\nand with Rome, could lightly enter into close communion with Lutherans\nand Calvinists against them both. He recorded an indignant and even\nbitter protest; and though the scheme had its warm apologists, such as\nDr. Hook and Mr. F. Maurice, it had its keen-sighted critics, and it was\nnever received with favour by the Church at large. And, indeed, it was\nonly active for mischief. It created irritation, suspicion, discord in\nEngland, while no German cared a straw about it. Never was an ambitious\nscheme so marked by impotence and failure from its first steps to its\nlast. But it was one, as the _Apologia_ informs us,[101] in the chain of\nevents which destroyed Mr. Newman's belief in the English Church. \"It\nwas one of the blows,\" he writes, \"which broke me.\"\n\nThe next year, 1842, opened with war; war between the University\nauthorities and the party of the movement, which was to continue in\nvarious forms and with little intermission till the strange and pathetic\nevents of 1845 suspended the righting and stunned the fighters, and for\na time hushed even anger in feelings of amazement, sorrow, and fear.\nThose events imposed stillness on all who had taken part in the strife,\nlike the blowing up of the _Orient_ at the battle of the Nile.\n\nAs soon as the University met in January 1842, the contest for the\nPoetry Professorship was settled. There was no meeting of Convocation,\nbut a comparison of votes gave a majority of three to two to Mr.\nGarbett,[102] and Mr. Williams withdrew. The Tractarians had been\ndistinctly beaten; it was their first defeat as a party. It seems as if\nthis encouraged the Hebdomadal Board to a move, which would be felt as a\nblow against the Tractarians, and which, as an act of reparation to Dr.\nHampden, would give satisfaction to the ablest section of their own\nsupporters, the theological Liberals. They proposed to repeal the\ndisqualification which had been imposed on Dr. Hampden in 1836. But they\nhad miscalculated. It was too evidently a move to take advantage of the\nrecent Tractarian discomfiture to whitewash Dr. Hampden's Liberalism.\nThe proposal, and the way in which it was made, roused a strong feeling\namong the residents; a request to withdraw it received the signatures\nnot only of moderate Anglicans and independent men, like Mr. Francis\nFaber of Magdalen, Mr. Sewell, the Greswells, and Mr. W. Palmer of\nWorcester, but of Mr. Tait of Balliol, and Mr. Golightly. Dr. Hampden's\nown attitude did not help it. There was great want of dignity in his\nostentatious profession of orthodoxy and attachment to the Articles, in\nhis emphatic adoption of Evangelical phraseology, and in his unmeasured\ndenunciation of his opponents, and especially of those whom he viewed as\nmost responsible for the censure of 1836--the \"Tractarians\" or\n\"Romanisers.\" And the difficulty with those who had passed and who now\nproposed to withdraw the censure, was that Dr. Hampden persistently and\nloudly declared that he had nothing to retract, and retracted nothing;\nand if it was right to pass it in 1836, it would not be right to\nwithdraw it in 1842. At the last moment, Mr. Tait and Mr. Piers\nClaughton of University made an attempt to get something from Dr.\nHampden which might pass as a withdrawal of what was supposed to be\ndangerous in his Bampton Lectures; and there were some even among Mr.\nNewman's friends, who, disliking from the first the form of the censure,\nmight have found in such a withdrawal a reason for voting for its\nrepeal. But Dr. Hampden was obdurate. The measure was pressed, and in\nJune it was thrown out in Convocation by a majority of three to\ntwo[103]--the same proportion, though in smaller numbers, as in the vote\nagainst Mr. Williams. The measure was not an honest one on the part of\nthe Hebdomadal Board, and deserved to be defeated. Among the pamphlets\nwhich the discussion produced, two by Mr. James Mozley gave early\nevidence, by their force of statement and their trenchant logic, of the\npower with which he was to take part in the questions which agitated the\nUniversity.\n\nDr. Hampden took his revenge, and it was not a noble one. The fellows of\ncertain colleges were obliged to proceed to the B.D. degree on pain of\nforfeiting their fellowships. The exercises for the degree, which, by\nthe Statutes, took the old-fashioned shape of formal Latin disputations\nbetween Opponents and Respondents on given theses in the Divinity\nSchool, had by an arrangement introduced by Dr. Burton, with no\nauthority from the Statutes, come to consist of two English essays on\nsubjects chosen by the candidate and approved by the Divinity Professor.\nThe exercises for the degree had long ceased to be looked upon as very\nserious matters, and certainly were never regarded as tests of the\nsoundness of the candidate's faith. They were usually on well-worn\ncommonplaces, of which the Regius Professor kept a stock, and about\nwhich no one troubled himself but the person who wanted the degree. It\nwas not a creditable system, but it was of a piece with the prevalent\nabsence of any serious examination for the superior degrees. It would\nhave been quite befitting his position, if Dr. Hampden had called the\nattention of the authorities to the evil of sham exercises for degrees\nin his own important Faculty. It would have been quite right to make a\nvigorous effort on public grounds to turn these sham trials into\nrealities; to use them, like the examination for the B.A. degree, as\ntests of knowledge and competent ability. Such a move on his part would\nhave been in harmony with the legislation which had recently added two\ntheological Professors to the Faculty, and had sketched out, however\nimperfectly, the outlines of a revived theological school.\n\nThis is what, with good reason, Dr. Hampden might have attempted on\ngeneral grounds, and had he been successful (though this in the\nsuspicious state of University feeling was not very likely) he would\nhave gained in a regular and lawful way that power of embarrassing his\nopponents which he was resolved to use in defiance of all existing\ncustom. But such was not the course which he chose. Mr. Macmullen of\nCorpus, who, in pursuance of the College Statutes, had to proceed to the\nB.D. degree, applied, as the custom was, for theses to the Professor.\nMr. Macmullen was known to hold the opinions of the movement school; of\ncourse he was called a Tractarian; he had put his name to some of the\nmany papers which expressed the sentiments of his friends on current\nevents. Dr. Hampden sent him two propositions, which the candidate was\nto support, framed so as to commit him to assertions which Mr.\nMacmullen, whose high Anglican opinions were well known, could not\nconsistently make. It was a novel and unexampled act on the part of the\nProfessor, to turn what had been a mere formal exercise into a sharp and\nsweeping test of doctrine, which would place all future Divinity degrees\nin the University at his mercy; and the case was made more serious, when\nthe very form of exercise which the Professor used as an instrument of\nsuch formidable power was itself without question unstatutable and\nillegal, and had been simply connived at by the authorities. To\nintroduce by his own authority a new feature into a system which he had\nno business to use at all, and to do this for the first time with the\nmanifest purpose of annoying an obnoxious individual, was, on Dr.\nHampden's part, to do more to discredit his chair and himself, than the\ncensure of the University could do; and it was as unwise as it was\nunworthy. The strength of his own case before the public was that he\ncould be made to appear as the victim of a personal and partisan attack;\nyet on the first opportunity he acts in the spirit of an inquisitor, and\nthat not in fair conflict with some one worthy of his hostility, but to\nwreak an injury, in a matter of private interest, on an individual, in\nno way known to him or opposed to him, except as holding certain\nunpopular opinions.\n\nMr. Macmullen was not the person to take such treatment quietly. The\nright was substantially on his side, and the Professor, and the\nUniversity authorities who more or less played into the hands of the\nProfessor in defence of his illegal and ultimately untenable claims,\nappeared before the University, the one as a persecutor, the others as\nrulers who were afraid to do justice on behalf of an ill-used man\nbecause he was a Tractarian. The right course was perfectly clear. It\nwas to put an end to these unauthorised exercises, and to recall both\ncandidates and Professor to the statutable system which imposed\ndisputations conducted under the moderatorship of the Professor, but\nwhich gave him no veto, at the time, on the theological sufficiency of\nthe disputations, leaving him to state his objections, if he was not\nsatisfied, when the candidate's degree was asked for in the House of\nCongregation. This course, after some hesitation, was followed, but only\npartially; and without allowing or disallowing the Professor's claim to\na veto, the Vice-Chancellor on his own responsibility stopped the\ndegree. A vexatious dispute lingered on for two or three years, with\nactions in the Vice-Chancellor's Court, and distinguished lawyers to\nplead for each side, and appeals to the University Court of Delegates,\nwho reversed the decision of the Vice-Chancellor's assessor. Somehow or\nother, Mr. Macmullen at last got his degree, but at the cost of a great\ndeal of ill-blood in Oxford, for which Dr. Hampden, by his unwarranted\ninterference, and the University authorities, by their questionable\ndevices to save the credit and claims of one of their own body, must be\nheld mainly responsible.\n\nBefore the matter was ended, they were made to feel, in rather a\nstartling way, how greatly they had lost the confidence of the\nUniversity. One of the attempts to find a way out of the tangle of the\ndispute was the introduction, in February 1844, of a Statute which\nshould give to the Professor the power which was now contested, and\npractically place all the Divinity degrees under the control of a Board\nin conjunction with the Vice-Chancellor.[104] The proposed legislation\nraised such indignation in the University, that the Hebdomadal Board\ntook back their scheme for further revision, and introduced it again in\na modified shape, which still however gave new powers to the Professor\nand the Vice-Chancellor. But the University would have none of it. No\none could say that the defeat of the altered Statute by 341 to 21 was\nthe work merely of a party.[105] It was the most decisive vote given in\nthe course of these conflicts. And it was observed that on the same day\nMr. Macmullen's degree was vetoed by the Vice-Chancellor at the instance\nof Dr. Hampden at 10 o'clock in Congregation, and the Hebdomadal Board,\nwhich had supported him, received the vote of want of confidence at noon\nin Convocation.\n\nNothing could show more decisively that the authorities in the\nHebdomadal Board were out of touch with the feeling of the University,\nor, at all events, of that part of it which was resident. The residents\nwere not, as a body, identified with the Tractarians; it would be more\ntrue to say that the residents, as a body, looked on this marked school\nwith misgiving and apprehension; but they saw what manner of men these\nTractarians were; they lived with them in college and common-room; their\nbehaviour was before their brethren as a whole, with its strength and\nits weakness, its moral elevation and its hazardous excitement, its\nsincerity of purpose and its one-sidedness of judgment and sympathy, its\nunfairness to what was English, its over-value for what was foreign.\nTypes of those who looked at things more or less independently were Mr.\nHussey of Christ Church, Mr. C.P. Eden of Oriel, Mr. Sewell of Exeter,\nMr. Francis Faber of Magdalen, Dr. Greenhill of Trinity, Mr. Wall of\nBalliol, Mr. Hobhouse of Merton, with some of the more consistent\nLiberals, like Mr. Stanley of University, and latterly Mr. Tait. Men of\nthis kind, men of high character and weight in Oxford, found much to\ndislike and regret in the Tractarians. But they could also see that the\nleaders of the Hebdomadal Board laboured under a fatal incapacity to\nrecognise what these unpopular Tractarians were doing for the cause of\ntrue and deep religion; they could see that the judgment of the Heads of\nHouses, living as they did apart, in a kind of superior state, was\nnarrow, ill-informed, and harsh, and that the warfare which they waged\nwas petty, irritating, and profitless; while they also saw with great\nclearness that under cover of suppressing \"Puseyism,\" the policy of the\nBoard was, in fact, tending to increase and strengthen the power of an\nirresponsible and incompetent oligarchy, not only over a troublesome\nparty, but over the whole body of residents. To the great honour of\nOxford it must be said, that throughout these trying times, on to the\nvery end, there was in the body of Masters a spirit of fairness, a\nrecognition of the force both of argument and character, a dislike of\nhigh-handedness and shabbiness, which was in strong and painful contrast\nto the short-sighted violence in which the Hebdomadal Board was\nunhappily induced to put their trust, and which proved at last the main\ncause of the overthrow of their power. When changes began to threaten\nOxford, there was no one to say a word for them.\n\nBut, for the moment, in spite of this defeat in Convocation, they had no\nmisgivings as to the wisdom of their course or the force of their\nauthority. There was, no doubt, much urging from outside, both on\npolitical and theological grounds, to make them use their power to stay\nthe plague of Tractarianism; and they were led by three able and\nresolute men, unfortunately unable to understand the moral or the\nintellectual character of the movement, and having the highest dislike\nand disdain for it in both aspects--Dr. Hawkins, Provost of Oriel, the\nlast remaining disciple of Whately's school, a man of rigid\nconscientiousness, and very genuine though undemonstrative piety, of\ngreat kindliness in private life, of keen and alert intellect, but not\nof breadth and knowledge proportionate to his intellectual power; Dr.\nSymons, Warden of Wadham, a courageous witness for Evangelical divinity\nin the days when Evangelicals were not in fashion in Oxford, a man of\nponderous and pedantic learning and considerable practical acuteness;\nand Dr. Cardwell, Principal of St. Alban's Hall, more a man of the world\nthan his colleagues, with considerable knowledge of portions of English\nChurch history. Under the inspiration of these chiefs, the authorities\nhad adopted, as far as they could, the policy of combat; and the\nVice-Chancellor of the time, Dr. Wynter of St. John's, a kind-hearted\nman, but quite unfit to moderate among the strong wills and fierce\ntempers round him, was induced to single out for the severest blow yet\nstruck, the most distinguished person in the ranks of the movement, Dr.\nPusey himself.\n\nDr. Pusey was a person with whom it was not wise to meddle, unless his\nassailants could make out a case without a flaw. He was without question\nthe most venerated person in Oxford. Without an equal, in Oxford at\nleast, in the depth and range of his learning, he stood out yet more\nimpressively among his fellows in the lofty moral elevation and\nsimplicity of his life, the blamelessness of his youth, and the profound\ndevotion of his manhood, to which the family sorrows of his later years,\nand the habits which grew out of them, added a kind of pathetic and\nsolemn interest. Stern and severe in his teaching at one time,--at least\nas he was understood,--beyond even the severity of Puritanism, he was\nyet overflowing with affection, tender and sympathetic to all who came\nnear him, and, in the midst of continual controversy, he endeavoured,\nwith deep conscientiousness, to avoid the bitternesses of controversy.\nHe was the last man to attack; much more the last man to be unfair to.\nThe men who ruled in Oxford contrived, in attacking him, to make almost\nevery mistake which it was possible to make.\n\nOn the 24th of May 1843 Dr. Pusey, intending to balance and complement\nthe severer, and, to many, the disquieting aspects of doctrine in his\nwork on Baptism, preached on the Holy Eucharist as a comfort to the\npenitent. He spoke of it as a disciple of Andrewes and Bramhall would\nspeak of it; it was a high Anglican sermon, full, after the example of\nthe Homilies, Jeremy Taylor, and devotional writers like George Herbert\nand Bishop Ken, of the fervid language of the Fathers; and that was all.\nBeyond this it did not go; its phraseology was strictly within Anglican\nlimits. In the course of the week that followed, the University was\nsurprised by the announcement that Dr. Faussett, the Margaret Professor\nof Divinity, had \"_delated_\" the sermon to the Vice-Chancellor as\nteaching heresy; and even more surprised at the news that the\nVice-Chancellor had commenced proceedings. The Statutes provided that\nwhen a sermon was complained of, or _delated_ to the Vice-Chancellor,\nthe Vice-Chancellor should demand a copy of the sermon, and summoning to\nhim as his assessors Six Doctors of Divinity, should examine the\nlanguage complained of, and, if necessary, condemn and punish the\npreacher. The Statute is thus drawn up in general terms, and prescribes\nnothing as to the mode in which the examination into the alleged offence\nis to be carried on; that is, it leaves it to the Vice-Chancellor's\ndiscretion. What happened was this. The sermon was asked for, but the\nname of the accuser was not given; the Statute did not enjoin it. The\nsermon was sent, with a request from Dr. Pusey that he might have a\nhearing. The Six Doctors were appointed, five of them being Dr. Hawkins,\nDr. Symons, Dr. Jenkyns, Dr. Ogilvie, Dr. Jelf; the Statute said the\nRegius Professor was, if possible, to be one of the number; as he was\nunder the ban of a special Statute, he was spared the task, and his\nplace was taken by the next Divinity Professor, Dr. Faussett, the person\nwho had preferred the charge, and who was thus, from having been\naccuser, promoted to be a judge. To Dr. Pusey's request for a hearing,\nno answer was returned; the Statute, no doubt, said nothing of a\nhearing. But after the deliberations of the judges were concluded, and\nafter the decision to condemn the sermon had been reached, one of them,\nDr. Pusey's old friend, Dr. Jelf, was privately charged with certain\ncommunications from the Vice-Chancellor, on which the seal of absolute\nsecrecy was imposed, and which, in fact, we believe, have never been\ndivulged from that _day_ to this. Whatever passed between the\nVice-Chancellor, Dr. Jelf, and Dr. Pusey, it had no effect in arresting\nthe sentence; and it came out, in informal ways, and through Dr. Pusey\nhimself, that on the 2d of June Dr. Pusey had been accused and condemned\nfor having taught doctrine contrary to that of the Church of England,\nand that by the authority of the Vice-Chancellor he was suspended from\npreaching within the University for two years. But no formal\nnotification of the transaction was ever made to the University.\n\nThe summary suppression of erroneous and dangerous teaching had long\nbeen a recognised part of the University discipline; and with the ideas\nthen accepted of the religious character of the University, it was\nnatural that some such power as that given in the Statutes should be\nprovided. The power, even after all the changes in Oxford, exists still,\nand has been recently appealed to. Dr. Pusey, as a member of the\nUniversity, had no more right than any other preacher to complain of his\ndoctrine being thus solemnly called in question. But it is strange that\nit should not have occurred to the authorities that, under the\nconditions of modern times, and against a man like Dr. Pusey, such power\nshould be warily used. For it was not only arbitrary power, such as was\nexerted in the condemnation of No. 90, but it was arbitrary power acting\nunder the semblance of a judicial inquiry, with accusers, examination,\ntrial, judges, and a heavy penalty. The act of a court of justice which\nsets at defiance the rules of justice is a very different thing from a\nstraightforward act of arbitrary power, because it pretends to be what\nit is not. The information against Dr. Pusey, if accepted, involved a\ntrial--that was the fixed condition and point of departure from which\nthere was no escaping--and if a trial be held, then, if it be not a fair\ntrial, the proceeding becomes, according to English notions, a flagrant\nand cowardly wrong. All this, all the intrinsic injustice, all the\nscandal and discredit in the eyes of honest men, was forgotten in the\nobstinate and blind confidence in the letter of a vague Statute. The\naccused was not allowed to defend or explain himself; he was refused the\nknowledge of the definite charges against him; he was refused, in spite\nof his earnest entreaties, a hearing, even an appearance in the presence\nof his judges. The Statute, it was said, enjoined none of these things.\nThe name of his accuser was not told him; he was left to learn it by\nreport To the end of the business all was wrought in secrecy; no one\nknows to this day how the examination of the sermon was conducted, or\nwhat were the opinions of the judges. The Statute, it was said, neither\nenjoined nor implied publicity. To this day no one knows what were the\ndefinite passages, what was the express or necessarily involved heresy\nor contradiction of the formularies, on which the condemnation was\nbased; nor--except on the supposition of gross ignorance of English\ndivinity on the part of the judges--is it easy for a reader to put his\nfinger on the probably incriminated passages. To make the proceedings\nstill more unlike ordinary public justice, informal and private\ncommunications were carried on between the judge and the accused, in\nwhich the accused was bound to absolute silence, and forbidden to\nconsult his nearest friends.\n\nAnd of the judges what can be said but that they were, with one\nexception, the foremost and sternest opponents of all that was\nidentified with Dr. Pusey's name; and that one of them was the colleague\nwho had volunteered to accuse him? Dr. Faussett's share in the matter is\nintelligible; hating the movement in all its parts, he struck with the\nvehemence of a mediaeval zealot. But that men like Dr. Hawkins and Dr.\nOgilvie, one of them reputed to be a theologian, the other one of the\nshrewdest and most cautious of men, and in ordinary matters one of the\nmost conscientious and fairest, should not have seen what justice, or at\nleast the show of justice, demanded, and what the refusal of that demand\nwould look like, and that they should have persuaded the Vice-Chancellor\nto accept the entire responsibility of haughtily refusing it, is, even\nto those who remember the excitement of those days, a subject of wonder.\nThe plea was actually put forth that such opportunities of defence of\nhis language and teaching as Dr. Pusey asked for would have led to the\n\"inconvenience\" of an interminable debate, and confronting of texts and\nauthorities.[106] The fact, with Dr. Pusey as the accused person, is\nlikely enough; but in a criminal charge with a heavy penalty, it would\nhave been better for the reputation of the judges to have submitted to\nthe inconvenience.\n\nIt was a great injustice and a great blunder--a blunder, because the\ngratuitous defiance of accepted rules of fairness neutralised whatever\nthere might seem to be of boldness and strength in the blow. They were\nafraid to meet Dr. Pusey face to face. They were afraid to publish the\nreasons of their condemnation. The effect on the University, both on\nresident and non-resident members, was not to be misunderstood. The\nProtestantism of the Vice-Chancellor and the Six Doctors was, of course,\nextolled by partisans in the press with reckless ignorance and reckless\ncontempt at once for common justice and their own consistency. One\nperson of some distinction at Oxford ventured to make himself the\nmouthpiece of those who were bold enough to defend the proceeding--the\nrecently-elected Professor of Poetry, Mr. Garbett. But deep offence was\ngiven among the wiser and more reasonable men who had a regard for the\ncharacter of the University. A request to know the grounds of the\nsentence from men who were certainly of no party was curtly refused by\nthe Vice-Chancellor, with a suggestion that it did not concern them. A\nmore important memorial was sent from London, showing how persons at a\ndistance were shocked by the unaccountable indifference to the\nappearance of justice in the proceeding. It was signed among others by\nMr. Gladstone and Mr. Justice Coleridge. The Vice-Chancellor lost his\ntemper. He sent back the memorial to London \"by the hands of his bedel,\"\nas if that in some way stamped his official disapprobation more than if\nit had been returned through the post. And he proceeded, in language\nwonderful even for that moment, as \"Resident Governor\" of the\nUniversity, to reprimand statesmen and lawyers of eminence and high\ncharacter, not merely for presuming to interfere with his own duties,\nbut for forgetting the oaths on the strength of which they had received\ntheir degrees, and for coming very near to that high, almost highest,\nacademical crime, the crime of being _perturbatores pacis_--breaking the\npeace of the University.\n\nSuch foolishness, affecting dignity, only made more to talk of. If the\nmen who ruled the University had wished to disgust and alienate the\nMasters of Arts, and especially the younger ones who were coming forward\ninto power and influence, they could not have done better. The chronic\njealousy and distrust of the time were deepened. And all this was\naggravated by what went on in private. A system of espionage,\nwhisperings, backbitings, and miserable tittle-tattle, sometimes of the\nmost slanderous or the most ridiculous kind, was set going all over\nOxford. Never in Oxford, before or since, were busybodies more truculent\nor more unscrupulous. Difficulties arose between Heads of Colleges and\ntheir tutors. Candidates for fellowships were closely examined as to\ntheir opinions and their associates. Men applying for testimonials were\ncross-questioned on No. 90, as to the infallibility of general councils,\npurgatory, the worship of images, the _Ora pro nobis_ and the\nintercession of the saints: the real critical questions upon which men's\nminds were working being absolutely uncomprehended and ignored. It was a\nmiserable state of misunderstanding and distrust, and none of the\nUniversity leaders had the temper and the manliness to endeavour with\njustice and knowledge to get to the bottom of it. It was enough to\nsuppose that a Popish Conspiracy was being carried on.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[101] Pp. 243, 253.\n\n[102] Garbett, 921. Williams, 623.\n\n[103] The numbers were 334 to 219.\n\n[104] _Christian Remembrancer_, vol. ix. p. 175.\n\n[105] Ibid. pp. 177-179.\n\n[106] Cf. _British Critic_, No. xlvii. pp. 221-223.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nW.G. WARD\n\n\nIf only the Oxford authorities could have had patience--if only they\ncould have known more largely and more truly the deep changes that were\nat work everywhere, and how things were beginning to look in the eyes of\nthe generation that was coming, perhaps many things might have been\ndifferent. Yes, it was true that there was a strong current setting\ntowards Rome. It was acting on some of the most vigorous of the younger\nmen. It was acting powerfully on the foremost mind in Oxford. Whither,\nif not arrested, it was carrying them was clear, but as yet it was by no\nmeans clear at what rate; and time, and thought, and being left alone\nand dealt with justly, have a great effect on men's minds. Extravagance,\ndisproportion, mischievous, dangerous exaggeration, in much that was\nsaid and taught--all this might have settled down, as so many things are\nin the habit of settling down, into reasonable and practical shapes,\nafter a first burst of crudeness and strain--as, in fact, it _did_\nsettle down at last. For Anglicanism itself was not Roman; friends and\nfoes said it was not, to reproach as well as to defend it. It was not\nRoman in Dr. Pusey, though he was not afraid to acknowledge what was\ngood in Rome. It was not Roman in Mr. Keble and his friends, in Dr.\nMoberly of Winchester, and the Barters. It was not Roman in Mr. Isaac\nWilliams, Mr. Copeland, and Mr. Woodgate, each of them a centre of\ninfluence in Oxford and the country. It was not Roman in the devoted\nCharles Marriott, or in Isaac Williams's able and learned pupil, Mr.\nArthur Haddan. It was not Roman in Mr. James Mozley, after Mr. Newman,\nthe most forcible and impressive of the Oxford writers. A distinctively\nEnglish party grew up, both in Oxford and away from it, strong in\neminent names, in proportion as Roman sympathies showed themselves.\nThese men were, in any fair judgment, as free from Romanising as any of\ntheir accusers; but they made their appeal for patience and fair\njudgment in vain. If only the rulers could have had patience:--but\npatience is a difficult virtue in the presence of what seem pressing\ndangers. Their policy was wrong, stupid, unjust, pernicious. It was a\ndeplorable mistake, and all will wish now that the discredit of it did\nnot rest on the history of Oxford. And yet it was the mistake of upright\nand conscientious men.\n\nDoubtless there was danger; the danger was that a number of men would\ncertainly not acquiesce much longer in Anglicanism, while the Heads\ncontinued absolutely blind to what was really in these men's thoughts.\nFor the Heads could not conceive the attraction which the Roman Church\nhad for a religious man; they talked in the old-fashioned way about the\nabsurdity of the Roman system. They could not understand how reasonable\nmen could turn Roman Catholics. They accounted for it by supposing a\nsilly hankering after the pomp or the frippery of Roman Catholic\nworship, and at best a craving after the romantic and sentimental. Their\nthoughts dwelt continually on image worship and the adoration of saints.\nBut what really was astir was something much deeper--something much more\nakin to the new and strong forces which were beginning to act in very\ndifferent directions from this in English society--forces which were not\nonly leading minds to Rome, but making men Utilitarians, Rationalists,\nPositivists, and, though the word had not yet been coined, Agnostics.\nThe men who doubted about the English Church saw in Rome a strong,\nlogical, consistent theory of religion, not of yesterday nor to-day--not\nonly comprehensive and profound, but actually in full work, and fruitful\nin great results; and this, in contrast to the alleged and undeniable\nanomalies and shortcomings of Protestantism and Anglicanism. And next,\nthere was the immense amount which they saw in Rome of self-denial and\nself-devotion; the surrender of home and family in the clergy; the great\norganised ministry of women in works of mercy; the resolute abandonment\nof the world and its attractions in the religious life. If in England\nthere flourished the homely and modest types of goodness, it was in Rome\nthat, at that day at least, men must look for the heroic. They were not\nindisposed to the idea that a true Church which had lost all this might\nyet regain it, and they were willing to wait and see what the English\nChurch would do to recover what it had lost; but there was obviously a\nlong way to make up, and they came to think that there was no chance of\nits overtaking its true position. Of course they knew all that was so\nloudly urged about the abuses and mischiefs growing out of the professed\nseverity of Rome. They knew that in spite of it foreign society was lax;\nthat the discipline of the confessional was often exercised with a light\nrein. But if the good side of it was real, they easily accounted for the\nbad: the bad did not destroy, it was a tacit witness to the good. And\nthey knew the Latin Church mainly from France, where it was more in\nearnest, and exhibited more moral life and intellectual activity, than,\nas far as Englishmen knew, in Italy or Spain. There was a strong rebound\nfrom insular ignorance and unfairness, when English travellers came on\nthe poorly-paid but often intelligent and hard-working French clergy; on\nthe great works of mercy in the towns; on the originality and eloquence\nof De Maistre, La Mennais, Lacordaire, Montalembert.\n\nThese ideas took possession of a remarkable mind, the index and organ of\na remarkable character. Mr. W.G. Ward had learned the interest of\nearnest religion from Dr. Arnold, in part through his close friend\nArthur Stanley. But if there was ever any tendency in him to combine\nwith the peculiar elements of the Rugby School, it was interrupted in\nits _nascent_ state, as chemists speak, by the intervention of a still\nmore potent affinity, the personality of Mr. Newman. Mr. Ward had\ndeveloped in the Oxford Union, and in a wide social circle of the most\nrising men of the time--including Tait, Cardwell, Lowe, Roundell\nPalmer--a very unusual dialectical skill and power of argumentative\nstatement: qualities which seemed to point to the House of Commons. But\nMr. Newman's ideas gave him material, not only for argument but for\nthought. The lectures and sermons at St. Mary's subdued and led him\ncaptive. The impression produced on him was expressed in the formula\nthat primitive Christianity might have been corrupted into Popery, but\nthat Protestantism never could.[107] For a moment he hung in the wind.\nHe might have been one of the earliest of Broad Churchmen. He might have\nbeen a Utilitarian and Necessitarian follower of Mr. J.S. Mill. But\nmoral influences of a higher kind prevailed. And he became, in the most\nthoroughgoing yet independent fashion, a disciple of Mr. Newman. He\nbrought to his new side a fresh power of controversial writing; but his\nchief influence was a social one, from his bright and attractive\nconversation, his bold and startling candour, his frank, not to say\nreckless, fearlessness of consequences, his unrivalled skill in logical\nfence, his unfailing good-humour and love of fun, in which his personal\nclumsiness set off the vivacity and nimbleness of his joyous moods. \"He\nwas,\" says Mr. Mozley, \"a great musical critic, knew all the operas, and\nwas an admirable buffo singer.\"--No one could doubt that, having\nstarted, Mr. Ward would go far and probably go fast.\n\nMr. Ward was well known in Oxford, and his language might have warned\nthe Heads that if there was a drift towards Rome, it came from something\nmuch more serious than a hankering after a sentimental ritual or\nmediaeval legends. In Mr. Ward's writings in the _British Critic_, as in\nhis conversation--and he wrote much and at great length--three ideas\nwere manifestly at the bottom of his attraction to Rome. One was that\nRome did, and, he believed, nothing else did, keep up the continuous\nrecognition of the supernatural element in religion, that consciousness\nof an ever-present power not of this world which is so prominent a\nfeature in the New Testament, and which is spoken of there as a\npermanent and characteristic element in the Gospel dispensation. The\nRoman view of the nature and offices of the Church, of man's relations\nto the unseen world, of devotion, of the Eucharist and of the Sacraments\nin general, assumed and put forward this supernatural aspect; other\nsystems ignored it or made it mean nothing, unless in secret to the\nindividual and converted soul. In the next place he revolted--no weaker\nword can be used--from the popular exhibition in England, more or less\nLutheran and Calvinistic, of the doctrine of justification. The\nostentatious separation of justification from morality, with all its\ntheological refinements and fictions, seemed to him profoundly\nunscriptural, profoundly unreal and hollow, or else profoundly immoral.\nIn conscience and moral honesty and strict obedience he saw the only\nsafe and trustworthy guidance in regard to the choice and formation of\nreligious opinions; it was a principle on which all his philosophy was\nbuilt, that \"careful and individual moral discipline is the only\npossible basis on which Christian faith and practice can be reared.\" In\nthe third place he was greatly affected, not merely by the paramount\nplace of sanctity in the Roman theology and the professed Roman system,\nbut by the standard of saintliness which he found there, involving\ncomplete and heroic self-sacrifice for great religious ends, complete\nabandonment of the world, painful and continuous self-discipline,\npurified and exalted religious affections, beside which English piety\nand goodness at its best, in such examples as George Herbert and Ken and\nBishop Wilson, seemed unambitious and pale and tame, of a different\norder from the Roman, and less closely resembling what we read of in the\nfirst ages and in the New Testament. Whether such views were right or\nwrong, exaggerated or unbalanced, accurate or superficial, they were\nmatters fit to interest grave men; but there is no reason to think that\nthey made the slightest impression on the authorities of the University.\n\nOn the other hand, Mr. Ward, with the greatest good-humour, was\nunreservedly defiant and aggressive. There was something intolerably\nprovoking in his mixture of jauntiness and seriousness, his avowal of\nutter personal unworthiness and his undoubting certainty of being in the\nright, his downright charges of heresy and his ungrudging readiness to\nmake allowance for the heretics and give them credit for special virtues\ngreater than those of the orthodox. He was not a person to hide his own\nviews or to let others hide theirs. He lived in an atmosphere of\ndiscussion with all around him, friends or opponents, fellows and tutors\nin common-rooms, undergraduates after lecture or out walking. The most\namusing, the most tolerant man in Oxford, he had round him perpetually\nsome of the cleverest and brightest scholars and thinkers of the place;\nand where he was, there was debate, cross-questioning, pushing\ninferences, starting alarming problems, beating out ideas, trying the\nstuff and mettle of mental capacity. Not always with real knowledge, or\na real sense of fact, but always rapid and impetuous, taking in the\nwhole dialectical chess-board at a glance, he gave no quarter, and a man\nfound himself in a perilous corner before he perceived the drift of the\ngame; but it was to clear his own thought, not--for he was much too\ngood-natured--to embarrass another. If the old scholastic disputations\nhad been still in use at Oxford, his triumphs would have been signal and\nmemorable. His success, compared with that of other leaders of the\nmovement, in influencing life and judgment, was a pre-eminently\nintellectual success; and it cut two ways. The stress which he laid on\nthe moral side of questions, his own generosity, his earnestness on\nbehalf of fair play and good faith, elevated and purified intercourse.\nBut he did not always win assent in proportion to his power of argument.\nAbstract reasoning, in matters with which human action is concerned, may\nbe too absolute to be convincing. It may not leave sufficient margin for\nthe play and interference of actual experience. And Mr. Ward, having\nperfect confidence in his conclusions, rather liked to leave them in a\nstartling form, which he innocently declared to be manifest and\ninevitable. And so stories of Ward's audacity and paradoxes flew all\nover Oxford, shocking and perplexing grave heads with fear of they knew\nnot what. Dr. Jenkyns, the Master of Balliol, one of those curious\nmixtures of pompous absurdity with genuine shrewdness which used to pass\nacross the University stage, not clever himself but an unfailing judge\nof a clever man, as a jockey might be of a horse, liking Ward and proud\nof him for his cleverness, was aghast at his monstrous and\nunintelligible language, and driven half wild with it. Mr. Tait, a\nfellow-tutor, though living on terms of hearty friendship with Ward,\nprevailed on the Master after No. 90 to dismiss Ward from the office of\nteaching mathematics. It seemed a petty step thus to mix up theology\nwith mathematics, though it was not so absurd as it looked, for Ward\nbrought in theology everywhere, and discussed it when his mathematics\nwere done. But Ward accepted it frankly and defended it. It was natural,\nhe said, that Tait, thinking his principles mischievous, should wish to\nsilence him as a teacher; and their friendship remained unbroken.\n\nMr. Ward's theological position was really a provisional one, though, at\nstarting at least, he would not have allowed it. He had no early or\ntraditional attachment to the English Church, such as that which acted\nso strongly on the leaders of the movement: but he found himself a\nmember of it, and Mr. Newman had interpreted it to him. He so accepted\nit, quite loyally and in earnest, as a point of departure. But he\nproceeded at once to put \"our Church\" (as he called it) on its trial, in\ncomparison with its own professions, and with the ideal standard of a\nChurch which he had thought out for himself; and this rapidly led to\ngrave consequences. He accepted from authority which satisfied him both\nintellectually and morally the main scheme of Catholic theology, as the\ndeepest and truest philosophy of religion, satisfying at once conscience\nand intellect. The Catholic theology gave him, among other things, the\nidea and the notes of the Church; with these, in part at least, the\nEnglish Church agreed; but in other respects, and these very serious\nones, it differed widely; it seemed inconsistent and anomalous. The\nEnglish Church was separate and isolated from Christendom. It was\nsupposed to differ widely from other Churches in doctrine. It admitted\nvariety of opinion and teaching, even to the point of tolerating alleged\nheresy. With such data as these, he entered on an investigation which\nultimately came to the question whether the English Church could claim\nto be a part of the Church Catholic. He postulated from the first, what\nhe afterwards developed in the book in which his Anglican position\nculminated,--the famous _Ideal_,--the existence at some time or another\nof a Catholic Church which not only aimed at, but fulfilled all the\nconditions of a perfect Church in creed, communion, discipline, and\nlife. Of course the English and, as at starting he held, the Roman\nChurch, fell far short of this perfection. But at starting, the moral\nwhich he drew was, not to leave the English Church, but to do his best\nto raise it up to what it ought to be. Whether he took in all the\nconditions of the problem, whether it was not far more complicated and\ndifficult than he supposed, whether his knowledge of the facts of the\ncase was accurate and adequate, whether he was always fair in his\ncomparisons and judgments, and whether he did not overlook elements of\nthe gravest importance in the inquiry; whether, in fact, save for\ncertain strong and broad lines common to the whole historic Church, the\nreign of anomaly, inconsistency, difficulty did not extend much farther\nover the whole field of debate than he chose to admit: all this is\nfairly open to question. But within the limits which he laid down, and\nwithin which he confined his reasonings, he used his materials with\nskill and force; and even those who least agreed with him and were most\nsensible of the strong and hardly disguised bias which so greatly\naffected the value of his judgments, could not deny the frankness and\nthe desire to be fair and candid, with which, as far as intention went,\nhe conducted his argument. His first appearance as a writer was in the\ncontroversy, as has been said before, on the subject of No. 90. That\ntract had made the well-worn distinction between what was Catholic and\nwhat was distinctively Roman, and had urged--what had been urged over\nand over again by English divines--that the Articles, in their\ncondemnation of what was Roman, were drawn in such a way as to leave\nuntouched what was unquestionably Catholic. They were drawn indeed by\nProtestants, but by men who also earnestly professed to hold with the\nold Catholic doctors and disavowed any purpose to depart from their\nteaching, and who further had to meet the views and gain the assent of\nmen who were much less Protestant than themselves--men who were willing\nto break with the Pope and condemn the abuses associated with his name,\nbut by no means willing to break with the old theology. The Articles\nwere the natural result of a compromise between two strong parties--the\nCatholics agreeing that the abuses should be condemned, so that the\nCatholic doctrine was not touched; the Protestants insisting that, so\nthat the Catholic doctrine was not touched, the abuses of it should be\ndenounced with great severity: that there should be no question about\nthe condemnation of the abuses, and of the system which had maintained\nthem. The Articles were undoubtedly anti-Roman; that was obvious from\nthe historical position of the English Church, which in a very real\nsense was anti-Roman; but were they so anti-Roman as to exclude\ndoctrines which English divines had over and over again maintained as\nCatholic and distinguished from Romanism, but which the popular opinion,\nat this time or that, identified therewith?[108] With flagrant\nignorance--ignorance of the history of thought and teaching in the\nEnglish Church, ignorance far more inexcusable of the state of parties\nand their several notorious difficulties in relation to the various\nformularies of the Church, it was maintained on the other side that the\n\"Articles construed by themselves\" left no doubt that they were not only\nanti-Roman but anti-Catholic, and that nothing but the grossest\ndishonesty and immorality could allow any doubt on the subject.\n\nNeither estimate was logical enough to satisfy Mr. Ward. The charge of\ninsincerity, he retorted with great effect on those who made it: if\nwords meant anything, the Ordination Service, the Visitation Service,\nand the Baptismal Service were far greater difficulties to Evangelicals,\nand to Latitudinarians like Whately and Hampden, than the words of any\nArticle could be to Catholics; and there was besides the tone of the\nwhole Prayer Book, intelligible, congenial, on Catholic assumptions, and\non no other. But as to the Articles themselves, he was indisposed to\naccept the defence made for them. He criticised indeed with acuteness\nand severity the attempt to make the loose language of many of them\nintolerant of primitive doctrine; but he frankly accepted the allegation\nthat apart from this or that explanation, their general look, as regards\nlater controversies, was visibly against, not only Roman doctrines or\nRoman abuses, but that whole system of principles and mode of viewing\nreligion which he called Catholic. They were, he said, _patient_ of a\nCatholic meaning, but _ambitious_ of a Protestant meaning; whatever\ntheir logic was, their rhetoric was Protestant. It was just possible,\nbut not more, for a Catholic to subscribe to them. But they were the\ncreation and the legacy of a bad age, and though they had not\nextinguished Catholic teaching and Catholic belief in the English\nChurch, they had been a serious hindrance to it, and a support to its\nopponents.\n\nThis was going beyond the position of No. 90. No. 90 had made light of\nthe difficulties of the Articles.\n\nThat there are real difficulties to a Catholic Christian in the\necclesiastical position of our Church at this day, no one can deny; but\nthe statements of the Articles are not in the number. Our present scope\nis merely to show that, while our Prayer Book is acknowledged on all\nhands to be of Catholic origin, our Articles also--the offspring of an\nuncatholic age--are, through God's good providence, to say the least,\nnot uncatholic, and may be subscribed by those who aim at being Catholic\nin heart and doctrine.\n\n\nMr. Ward not only went beyond this position, but in the teeth of these\nstatements; and he gave a new aspect and new issues to the whole\ncontroversy. The Articles, to him, were a difficulty, which they were\nnot to the writer of No. 90, or to Dr. Pusey, or to Mr. Keble. To him\nthey were not only the \"offspring of an uncatholic age,\" but in\nthemselves uncatholic; and his answer to the charge of dishonest\nsubscription was, not that the Articles \"in their natural meaning are\nCatholic,\"[109] but that the system of the English Church is a\ncompromise between what is Catholic and what is Protestant, and that\nthe Protestant parties in it are involved in even greater difficulties,\nin relation to subscription and use of its formularies, than the\nCatholic. He admitted that he _did_ evade the spirit, but accepted the\n\"statements of the Articles,\" maintaining that this was the intention of\ntheir original sanctioners. With characteristic boldness, inventing a\nphrase which has become famous, he wrote: \"Our twelfth Article is as\nplain as words can make it on the Evangelical side; of course I think\nits natural meaning may be explained away, for I subscribe it myself in\na non-natural sense\":[110] but he showed that Evangelicals, high church\nAnglicans, and Latitudinarians were equally obliged to have recourse to\nexplanations, which to all but themselves were unsatisfactory.\n\nBut he went a step beyond this. Hitherto the distinction had been\nuniformly insisted upon between what was Catholic and what was Roman;\nbetween what was witnessed to by the primitive and the undivided Church,\nand what had been developed beyond that in the Schools, and by the\ndefinitions and decisions of Rome, and in the enormous mass of its\npost-Reformation theology, at once so comprehensive, and so minute in\napplication. This distinction was the foundation of what was,\ncharacteristically, Anglican theology, from Hooker downwards. This\ndistinction, at least for all important purposes, Mr. Ward gradually\ngave up. It was to a certain degree recognised in his early controversy\nabout No. 90; but it gradually grew fainter till at last it avowedly\ndisappeared. The Anglican writers had drawn their ideas and their\ninspiration from the Fathers; the Fathers lived long ago, and the\nteaching drawn from them, however spiritual and lofty, wanted the modern\nlook, and seemed to recognise insufficiently modern needs. The Roman\napplications of the same principles were definite and practical, and Mr.\nWard's mind, essentially one of his own century, and little alive to\nwhat touched more imaginative and sensitive minds, turned at once to\nRoman sources for the interpretation of what was Catholic. In the\n_British Critic_, and still more in the remarkable volume in which his\nOxford controversies culminated, the substitution of _Roman_ for the old\nconception of _Catholic_ appears, and the absolute identification of\nRoman with Catholic. Roman authorities become more and more the measure\nand rule of what is Catholic. They belong to the present in a way in\nwhich the older fountains of teaching do not; in the recognised teaching\nof the Latin Church, they have taken their place and superseded them.\n\nIt was characteristic of Mr. Ward that his chief quarrel with the\nArticles was not about the Sacraments, not about their language on\nalleged Roman errors, but about the doctrine of grace, the relation of\nthe soul of man to the law, the forgiveness, the holiness of God,--the\ndoctrine, that is, in all its bearings, of justification. Mr. Newman had\nexamined this doctrine and the various language held about it with great\ncare, very firmly but very temperately, and had attempted to reconcile\nwith each other all but the extreme Lutheran statements. It was, he\nsaid, among really religious men, a question of words. He had recognised\nthe faulty state of things in the pre-Reformation Church, the faulty\nideas about forgiveness, merit, grace, and works, from which the\nProtestant language was a reaction, natural, if often excessive; and in\nthe English authoritative form of this language, he had found nothing\nbut what was perfectly capable of a sound and true meaning. From the\nfirst, Mr. Ward's judgment was far more severe than this. To him, the\nwhole structure of the Articles on Justification and the doctrines\nconnected with it seemed based on the Lutheran theory, and for this\ntheory, as fundamentally and hopelessly immoral, he could not find words\nsufficiently expressive of detestation and loathing. For the basis of\nhis own theory of religious knowledge was a moral basis; men came to the\nknowledge of religious truth primarily not by the intellect, but by\nabsolute and unfailing loyalty to conscience and moral light; and a\ndoctrine which separated faith from morality and holiness, which made\nman's highest good and his acceptance with God independent of what he\nwas as a moral agent, which relegated the realities of moral discipline\nand goodness to a secondary and subordinate place,--as a mere sequel to\nfollow, almost mechanically and of course, on an act or feeling which\nhad nothing moral in it,--which substituted a fictitious and imputed\nrighteousness for an inherent and infused and real one, seemed to him\nto confound the eternal foundations of right and wrong, and to be a\nblasphemy against all that was true and sacred in religion.\n\nOf the Lutheran doctrine[111] of justification, and the principle of\nprivate judgment, I have argued that, in their abstract nature and\nnecessary tendency, they sink below atheism itself.... A religious\nperson who shall be sufficiently clear-headed to understand the meaning\nof words, is warranted in rejecting Lutheranism on the very same grounds\nwhich would induce him to reject atheism, viz. as being the\ncontradiction of truths which he feels on most certain grounds to be\nfirst principles.[112]\n\nThere is nothing which he looks back on with so much satisfaction in his\nwritings as on this, that he has \"ventured to characterise that hateful\nand fearful type of Antichrist in terms not wholly inadequate to its\nprodigious demerits.\"[113]\n\nMr. Ward had started with a very definite idea of the Church and of its\nnotes and tests. It was obvious that the Anglican Church--and so, it was\nthought, the Roman--failed to satisfy these notes in their\ncompleteness; but it seemed, at least at first, to satisfy some of them,\nand to do this so remarkably, and in such strong contrast to other\nreligious bodies, that in England at all events it seemed the true\nrepresentative and branch of the Church Catholic; and the duty of\nadhering to it and serving it was fully recognised, even by those who\nmost felt its apparent departure from the more Catholic principles and\ntemper preserved in many points by the Roman Church. From this point of\nview Mr. Ward avowedly began. But the position gradually gave way before\nhis relentless and dissolving logic. The whole course of his writing in\nthe _British Critic_ may be said to have consisted in a prolonged and\ndisparaging comparison of the English Church, in theory, in doctrine, in\nmoral and devotional temper, in discipline of character, in education,\nin its public and authoritative tone in regard to social, political, and\nmoral questions, and in the type and standard of its clergy, with those\nof the Catholic Church, which to him was represented by the mediaeval\nand later Roman Church. And in the general result, and in all important\nmatters, the comparison became more and more fatally disadvantageous to\nthe English Church. In the perplexing condition of Christendom, it had\njust enough good and promise to justify those who had been brought up in\nit remaining where they were, as long as they saw any prospect of\nimproving it, and till they were driven out. That was a\nduty--uncomfortable and thankless as it was, and open to any amount of\nmisconstruction and misrepresentation--which they owed to their\nbrethren, and to the Lord of the Church. But it involved plain speaking\nand its consequences; and Mr. Ward never shrank from either.\n\nMost people, looking back, would probably agree, whatever their general\njudgment on these matters, and whatever they may think of Mr. Ward's\ncase, that he was, at the time at least, the most unpersuasive of\nwriters. Considering his great acuteness, and the frequent originality\nof his remarks--considering, further, his moral earnestness, and the\nplace which the moral aspects of things occupy in his thoughts, this is\nremarkable; but so it is. In the first place, in dealing with these\neventful questions, which came home with such awful force to thousands\nof awakened minds and consciences, full of hope and full of fear, there\nwas an entire and ostentatious want of sympathy with all that was\ncharacteristically English in matters of religion. This arose partly\nfrom his deep dislike to habits, very marked in Englishmen, but not\npeculiar to them, of self-satisfaction and national self-glorification;\nbut it drove him into a welcoming of opposite foreign ways, of which he\nreally knew little, except superficially. Next, his boundless confidence\nin the accuracy of his logical processes led him to habits of extreme\nand absolute statement, which to those who did not agree with him, and\nalso to some who did, bore on their face the character of\nover-statement, exaggeration, extravagance, not redeemed by an\noccasional and somewhat ostentatious candour, often at the expense of\nhis own side and in favour of opponents to whom he could afford to be\nfrank. And further, while to the English Church he was merciless in the\nsearching severity of his judgment, he seemed to be blind to the whole\ncondition of things to which she, as well as her rival, had for the last\nthree centuries been subjected, and in which she had played a part at\nleast as important for Christian faith as that sustained by any portion\nof Christendom; blind to all her special and characteristic excellences,\nwhere these did not fit the pattern of the continental types (obviously,\nin countless instances, matters of national and local character and\nhabits); blind to the enormous difficulties in which the political game\nof her Roman opponents had placed her; blind to the fact that, judged\nwith the same adverse bias and prepossessions, the same unsparing\nrigour, the same refusal to give real weight to what was good, on the\nground that it was mixed with something lower, the Roman Church would\nshow just as much deflection from the ideal as the English. Indeed, he\nwould have done a great service--people would have been far more\ndisposed to attend to his really interesting, and, to English readers,\nnovel, proofs of the moral and devotional character of the Roman popular\ndiscipline, if he had not been so unfair on the English: if he had not\nignored the plain fact that just such a picture as he gave of the\nEnglish Church, as failing in required notes, might be found of the\nRoman before the Reformation, say in the writings of Gerson, and in our\nown days in those of Rosmini. Mr. Ward, if any one, appealed to fair\njudgment; and to this fair judgment he presented allegations on the face\nof them violent and monstrous. The English Church, according to him, was\nin the anomalous position of being \"gifted with the power of dispensing\nsacramental grace,\"[114] and yet, at the same time, \"_wholly destitute_\nof external notes, and _wholly indefensible_ as to her position, by\nexternal, historical, ecclesiastical arguments\": and he for his part\ndeclares, correcting Mr. Newman, who speaks of \"outward notes as partly\ngone and partly going,\" that he is \"_wholly unable_ to discern the\noutward notes of which Mr. Newman speaks, during any part of the last\nthree hundred years.\" He might as well have said at once that she did\nnot exist, if the outward aspects of a Church--orders, creeds,\nsacraments, and, in some degree at any rate, preaching and witnessing\nfor righteousness--are not some of the \"outward notes\" of a Church.\n\"Should the pure light of the Gospel be ever restored to _this\nbenighted land_,\"[115] he writes, at the beginning, as the last extract\nwas written at the end, of his controversial career at Oxford. Is not\nsuch writing as if he wished to emulate in a reverse sense the folly and\nfalsehood of those who spoke of English Protestants having a monopoly\nof the Gospel? He was unpersuasive, he irritated and repelled, in spite\nof his wish to be fair and candid, in spite of having so much to teach,\nin spite of such vigour of statement and argument, because on the face\nof all his writings he was so extravagantly one-sided, so incapable of\nan equitable view, so much a slave to the unreality of extremes.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[107] Cf. T. Mozley, _Reminiscences_, vol. ii. p. 5.\n\n[108] In dealing with the Articles either as a test or as a text-book,\nthis question was manifestly both an honest and a reasonable one. As a\ntest, and therefore penal, they must be construed strictly; like\njudicial decisions, they only ruled as much as was necessary, and in the\nwide field of theology confined themselves to the points at issue at the\nmoment. And as a text-book for instruction, it was obvious that while on\nsome points they were precise and clear, on others they were vague and\nimperfect. The first five Articles left no room for doubt. When the\ncompilers came to the controversies of their day, for all their strong\nlanguage, they left all kinds of questions unanswered. For instance,\nthey actually left unnoticed the primacy, and much more the\ninfallibility of the Pope. They condemned the \"sacrifices of\nMasses\"--did they condemn the ancient and universal doctrine of a\nEucharistic sacrifice? They condemned the Romish doctrine of Purgatory,\nwith its popular tenet of material fire--did that exclude every doctrine\nof purgation after death? They condemned Transubstantiation--did they\ncondemn the Real Presence? They condemned a great popular system--did\nthey condemn that of which it was a corruption and travesty? These\nquestions could not be foreclosed, unless on the assumption that there\nwas no doctrine on such points which could be called Catholic _except\nthe Roman_. The inquiry was not new; and divines so stoutly anti-Roman\nas Dr. Hook and Mr. W. Palmer of Worcester had answered it substantially\nin the same sense as Mr. Newman in No. 90.\n\n[109] W.G. Ward, _The Ideal of a Christian Church_, p. 478.\n\n[110] _The Ideal, etc._, p. 479.\n\n[111] It is curious, and characteristic of the unhistorical quality of\nMr. Ward's mind, that his whole hostility should have been concentrated\non Luther and Lutheranism--on Luther, the enthusiastic, declamatory,\nunsystematic denouncer of practical abuses, with his strong attachments\nto portions of orthodoxy, rather than on Calvin, with his cold love of\npower, and the iron consistency and strength of his logical\nanti-Catholic system, which has really lived and moulded Protestantism,\nwhile Lutheranism as a religion has passed into countless different\nforms. Luther was to Calvin as Carlyle to J.S. Mill or Herbert Spencer;\nhe defied system. But Luther had burst into outrageous paradoxes, which\nfastened on Mr. Ward's imagination.--Yet outrageous language is not\nalways the most dangerous. Nobody would really find a provocation to\nsin, or an excuse for it, in Luther's _Pecca fortiter_ any more than in\nEscobar's ridiculous casuistry. There may be much more mischief in the\ndelicate unrealities of a fashionable preacher, or in many a smooth\nsentimental treatise on the religious affections.\n\n[112] _The Ideal, etc._, pp. 587, 305.\n\n[113] Ibid. p. 305.\n\n[114] _Ideal,_ p 286.\n\n[115] _British Critic_ October 1841, p. 340.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE IDEAL OF A CHRISTIAN CHURCH\n\n\nNo. 90, with the explanations of it given by Mr. Newman and the other\nleaders of the movement, might have raised an important and not very\neasy question, but one in no way different from the general character of\nthe matters in debate in the theological controversy of the time. But\nNo. 90, with the comments on it of Mr. Ward, was quite another matter,\nand finally broke up the party of the movement. It was one thing to show\nhow much there is in common between England and Rome, and quite another\nto argue that there is no difference. Mr. Ward's refusal to allow a\nreasonable and a Catholic interpretation to the doctrine of the Articles\non Justification, though such an understanding of it had not only been\nmaintained by Bishop Bull and the later orthodox divines, but was\nimpressed on all the popular books of devotion, such as the _Whole Duty\nof Man_ and Bishop Wilson's _Sacra Privata_; and along with this, the\nextreme claim to hold compatible with the Articles the \"whole cycle of\nRoman doctrine,\" introduced entirely new conditions into the whole\nquestion. _Non hoec in foedera_ was the natural reflection of numbers of\nthose who most sympathised with the Tractarian school. The English\nChurch might have many shortcomings and want many improvements; but\nafter all she had something to say for herself in her quarrel with Rome;\nand the witness of experience for fifteen hundred years must be not\nmerely qualified and corrected, but absolutely wiped out, if the\nallegation were to be accepted that Rome was blameless in all that\nquarrel, and had no part in bringing about the confusions of\nChristendom. And this contention was more and more enforced in Mr.\nWard's articles in the _British Critic_--enforced, more effectively than\nby direct statement, by continual and passing assumption and\nimplication. They were papers of considerable power and acuteness, and\nof great earnestness in their constant appeal to the moral criteria of\ntruth; though Mr. Ward was not then at his best as a writer, and they\nwere in composition heavy, diffuse, monotonous, and wearisome. But the\nattitude of deep depreciation, steady, systematic, unrelieved, in regard\nto that which ought, if acknowledged at all, to deserve the highest\nreverence among all things on earth, in regard to an institution which,\nwith whatever faults, he himself in words still recognised as the Church\nof God, was an indefensible and an unwholesome paradox. The analogy is a\ncommonly accepted one between the Church and the family. How could any\nhousehold go on in which there was at work an _animus_ of unceasing and\nrelentless, though possibly too just criticism, on its characteristic\nand perhaps serious faults; and of comparisons, also possibly most just,\nwith the better ways of other families? It might be the honest desire of\nreform and improvement; but charity, patience, equitableness, are\nvirtues of men in society, as well as strict justice and the desire of\nimprovement. In the case of the family, such action could only lead to\ndaily misery and the wasting and dying out of home affections. In the\ncase of a Church, it must come to the sundering of ties which ought no\nlonger to bind. Mr. Ward all along insisted that there was no necessity\nfor looking forward to such an event. He wished to raise, purify, reform\nthe Church in which Providence had placed him; utterly dissatisfied as\nhe was with it, intellectually and morally, convinced more and more that\nit was wrong, dismally, fearfully wrong, it was his duty, he thought, to\nabide in it without looking to consequences; but it was also his duty to\nshake the faith of any one he could in its present claims and working,\nand to hold up an incomparably purer model of truth and holiness. That\nhis purpose was what he considered real reform, there is no reason to\ndoubt, though he chose to shut his eyes to what must come of it. The\nposition was an unnatural one, but he had great faith in his own\nwell-fenced logical creations, and defied the objections of a homelier\ncommon sense. He was not content to wait in silence the slow and sad\nchanges of old convictions, the painful decay and disappearance of\nlong-cherished ties. His mind was too active, restless, unreserved. To\nthe last he persisted in forcing on the world, professedly to influence\nit, really to defy it, the most violent assertions which he could\nformulate of the most paradoxical claims on friends and opponents which\nhad ever been made.\n\nMr. Ward's influence was felt also in another way; though here it is not\neasy to measure the degree of its force. He was in the habit of\nappealing to Mr. Newman to pronounce on the soundness of his principles\nand inferences, with the view of getting Mr. Newman's sanction for them\nagainst more timid or more dissatisfied friends; and he would come down\nwith great glee on objectors to some new and startling position, with\nthe reply, \"Newman says so,\" Every one knows from the _Apologia_ what\nwas Mr. Newman's state of mind after 1841--a state of perplexity,\ndistress, anxiety; he was moving undoubtedly in one direction, but\nmoving slowly, painfully, reluctantly, intermittently, with views\nsometimes clear, sometimes clouded, of that terribly complicated\nproblem, the answer to which was full of such consequences to himself\nand to others. No one ever felt more keenly that it was no mere affair\nof dexterous or brilliant logic; if logic could have settled it, the\nquestion would never have arisen. But in this fevered state, with mind,\nsoul, heart all torn and distracted by the tremendous responsibilities\npressing on him, wishing above everything to be quiet, to be silent, at\nleast not to speak except at his own times and when he saw the\noccasion, he had, besides bearing his own difficulties, to return\noff-hand and at the moment some response to questions which he had not\nframed, which he did not care for, on which he felt no call to\npronounce, which he was not perhaps yet ready to face, and to answer\nwhich he must commit himself irrevocably and publicly to more than he\nwas prepared for. Every one is familiar with the proverbial distribution\nof parts in the asking and the answering of questions; but when the\nasker is no fool, but one of the sharpest-witted of mankind, asking with\nlittle consideration for the condition or the wishes of the answerer,\nwith great power to force the answer he wants, and with no great\ntenderness in the use he makes of it, the situation becomes a trying\none. Mr. Ward was continually forcing on Mr. Newman so-called\nirresistible inferences; \"If you say so and so, surely you must also say\nsomething more?\" Avowedly ignorant of facts and depending for them on\nothers, he was only concerned with logical consistency. And accordingly\nMr. Newman, with whom producible logical consistency was indeed a great\nthing, but with whom it was very far from being everything, had\ncontinually to accept conclusions which he would rather have kept in\nabeyance, to make admissions which were used without their\nqualifications, to push on and sanction extreme ideas which he himself\nshrank from because they were extreme. But it was all over with his\ncommand of time, his liberty to make up his mind slowly on the great\ndecision. He had to go at Mr. Ward's pace, and not his own. He had to\ntake Mr. Ward's questions, not when he wanted to have them and at his\nown time, but at Mr. Ward's. No one can tell how much this state of\nthings affected the working of Mr. Newman's mind in that pause of\nhesitation before the final step; how far it accelerated the view which\nhe ultimately took of his position. No one can tell, for many other\ninfluences were mixed up with this one. But there is no doubt that Mr.\nNewman felt the annoyance and the unfairness of this perpetual\nquestioning for the benefit of Mr. Ward's theories, and there can be\nlittle doubt that, in effect, it drove him onwards and cut short his\ntime of waiting. Engineers tell us that, in the case of a ship rolling\nin a sea-way, when the periodic times of the ship's roll coincide with\nthose of the undulations of the waves, a condition of things arises\nhighly dangerous to the ship's stability. So the agitations of Mr.\nNewman's mind were reinforced by the impulses of Mr. Ward's.[116]\n\nBut the great question between England and Rome was not the only matter\nwhich engaged Mr. Ward's active mind. In the course of his articles in\nthe _British Critic_ he endeavoured to develop in large outlines a\nphilosophy of religious belief. Restless on all matters without a\ntheory, he felt the need of a theory of the true method of reaching,\nverifying, and judging of religious truth; it seemed to him necessary\nespecially to a popular religion, such as Christianity claimed to be;\nand it was not the least of the points on which he congratulated himself\nthat he had worked out a view which extended greatly the province and\noffice of conscience, and of fidelity to it, and greatly narrowed the\nprovince and office of the mere intellect in the case of the great mass\nof mankind. The Oxford writers had all along laid stress on the\nparamount necessity of the single eye and disciplined heart in accepting\nor judging religion; moral subjects could be only appreciated by moral\nexperience; purity, reverence, humility were as essential in such\nquestions as zeal, industry, truthfulness, honesty; religious truth is a\ngift as well as a conquest; and they dwelt on the great maxims of the\nNew Testament: \"To him that hath shall be given\"; \"If any man will do\nthe will of the Father, he shall know of the doctrine.\" But though Mr.\nNewman especially had thrown out deep and illuminating thoughts on this\ndifficult question, it had not been treated systematically; and this\ntreatment Mr. Ward attempted to give to it. It was a striking and\npowerful effort, full of keen insight into human experience and acute\nobservations on its real laws and conditions; but on the face of it, it\nwas laboured and strained; it chose its own ground, and passed unnoticed\nneighbouring regions under different conditions; it left undealt with\nthe infinite variety of circumstances, history, capacities, natural\ntemperament, and those unexplored depths of will and character,\naffecting choice and judgment, the realities of which have been brought\nhome to us by our later ethical literature. Up to a certain point his\ntask was easy. It is easy to say that a bad life, a rebellious temper, a\nselfish spirit are hopeless disqualifications for judging spiritual\nthings; that we must take something for granted in learning any truths\nwhatever; that men must act as moral creatures to attain insight into\nmoral truths, to realise and grasp them as things, and not abstractions\nand words. But then came the questions--What is that moral training,\nwhich, in the case of the good heart, will be practically infallible in\nleading into truth? And what is that type of character, of saintliness,\nwhich gives authority which we cannot do wrong in following; where, if\nquestion and controversy arise, is the common measure binding on both\nsides; and can even the saints, with their immense variations and\napparent mixtures and failings, furnish that type? And next, where, in\nthe investigations which may be endlessly diversified, does intellect\nproperly come in and give its help? For come in somewhere, of course it\nmust; and the conspicuous dominance of the intellectual element in Mr.\nWard's treatment of the subject is palpable on the face of it. His\nattempt is to make out a theory of the reasonableness of unproducible;\nbecause unanalysed, reasons; reasons which, though the individual cannot\nstate them, may be as real and as legitimately active as the obscure\nrays of the spectrum. But though the discussion in Mr. Ward's hands was\nsuggestive of much, though he might expose the superciliousness of\nWhately or the shallowness of Mr. Goode, and show himself no unequal\nantagonist to Mr. J.S. Mill, it left great difficulties unanswered, and\nit had too much the appearance of being directed to a particular end,\nthat of guarding the Catholic view of a popular religion from formidable\nobjections.\n\nThe moral side of religion had been from the first a prominent subject\nin the teaching of the movement Its protests had been earnest and\nconstant against intellectual self-sufficiency, and the notion that mere\nshrewdness and cleverness were competent judges of Christian truth, or\nthat soundness of judgment in religious matters was compatible with\narrogance or an imperfect moral standard; and it revolted against the\nconventional and inconsistent severity of Puritanism, which was shocked\nat dancing but indulged freely in good dinners, and was ostentatious in\nusing the phrases of spiritual life and in marking a separation from the\nworld, while it surrounded itself with all the luxuries of modern\ninventiveness. But this moral teaching was confined to the statement of\nprinciples, and it was carried out in actual life with the utmost\ndislike of display and with a shrinking from strong professions. The\nmotto of Froude's _Remains_, which embodied his characteristic temper,\nwas an expression of the feeling of the school:\n\n  Se sub serenis vultibus\n  Austera virtus occulit:\n  Timet videri, ne suum,\n  Dum prodit, amittat decus,[117]\n\nThe heroic strictness and self-denial of the early Church were the\nobjects of admiration, as what ought to be the standard of Christians;\nbut people did not yet like to talk much about attempts to copy them.\nSuch a book as the _Church of the Fathers_ brought out with great force\nand great sympathy the ascetic temper and the value put on celibacy in\nthe early days, and it made a deep impression; but nothing was yet\nformulated as characteristic and accepted doctrine.\n\nIt was not unnatural that this should change. The principles exemplified\nin the high Christian lives of antiquity became concrete in definite\nrules and doctrines, and these rules and doctrines were most readily\nfound in the forms in which the Roman schools and teachers had embodied\nthem. The distinction between the secular life and the life of\n\"religion,\" with all its consequences, became an accepted one. Celibacy\ncame to be regarded as an obvious part of the self-sacrifice of a\nclergyman's life, and the belief and the profession of it formed a test,\nunderstood if not avowed, by which the more advanced or resolute members\nof the party were distinguished from the rest. This came home to men on\nthe threshold of life with a keener and closer touch than questions\nabout doctrine. It was the subject of many a bitter, agonising struggle\nwhich no one knew anything of; it was with many the act of a supreme\nself-oblation. The idea of the single life may be a utilitarian one as\nwell as a religious one. It may be chosen with no thought of\nrenunciation or self-denial, for the greater convenience and freedom of\nthe student or the philosopher, the soldier or the man of affairs. It\nmay also be chosen without any special feeling of a sacrifice by the\nclergyman, as most helpful for his work. But the idea of celibacy, in\nthose whom it affected at Oxford, was in the highest degree a religious\nand romantic one. The hold which it had on the leader of the movement\nmade itself felt, though little was directly said. To shrink from it was\na mark of want of strength or intelligence, of an unmanly preference for\nEnglish home life, of insensibility to the generous devotion and purity\nof the saints. It cannot be doubted that at this period of the movement\nthe power of this idea over imagination and conscience was one of the\nstrongest forces in the direction of Rome.\n\nOf all these ideas Mr. Ward's articles in the _British Critic_ were the\nvigorous and unintermittent exposition. He spoke out, and without\nhesitation. There was a perpetual contrast implied, when it was not\nforcibly insisted on, between all that had usually been esteemed highest\nin the moral temper of the English Church, always closely connected with\nhome life and much variety of character, and the loftier and bolder but\nnarrower standard of Roman piety. And Mr. Ward was seconded in the\n_British Critic_ by other writers, all fervid in the same cause, some\nable and eloquent. The most distinguished of his allies was Mr. Oakeley,\nFellow of Balliol and minister of Margaret Chapel in London. Mr. Oakeley\nwas, perhaps, the first to realise the capacities of the Anglican ritual\nfor impressive devotional use, and his services, in spite of the\ndisadvantages of the time, and also of his chapel, are still remembered\nby some as having realised for them, in a way never since surpassed, the\nsecrets and the consolations of the worship of the Church. Mr. Oakeley,\nwithout much learning, was master of a facile and elegant pen. He was a\nman who followed a trusted leader with chivalrous boldness, and was not\nafraid of strengthening his statements. Without Mr. Ward's force and\noriginality, his articles were more attractive reading. His article on\n\"Jewel\" was more than anything else a landmark in the progress of Roman\nideas.[118]\n\nFrom the time of Mr. Ward's connexion with the _British Critic_, its\nanti-Anglican articles had given rise to complaints which did not become\nless loud as time went on. He was a troublesome contributor to his\neditor, Mr. T. Mozley, and he made the hair of many of his readers\nstand on end with his denunciations of things English and eulogies of\nthings Roman.\n\n  My first troubles (writes Mr. Mozley) were with Oakeley and Ward. I\n  will not say that I hesitated much as to the truth of what they wrote,\n  for in that matter I was inclined to go very far, at least in the way\n  of toleration. Yet it appeared to me quite impossible either that any\n  great number of English Churchmen would ever go so far, or that the\n  persons possessing authority in the Church would fail to protest, not\n  to say more.... As to Ward I did but touch a filament or two in one of\n  his monstrous cobwebs, and off he ran instantly to Newman to complain\n  of my gratuitous impertinence. Many years after I was forcibly\n  reminded of him by a pretty group of a little Cupid flying to his\n  mother to show a wasp-sting he had just received. Newman was then in\n  this difficulty. He did not disagree with what Ward had written; but,\n  on the other hand, he had given neither me nor Ward to understand that\n  he was likely to step in between us. In fact, he wished to be entirely\n  clear of the editorship. This, however, was a thing that Ward could\n  not or would not understand.[119]\n\nThe discontent of readers of the _British Critic_ was great. It was\nexpressed in various ways, and was represented by a pamphlet of Mr. W.\nPalmer's of Worcester, in which he contrasted, with words of severe\ncondemnation, the later writers in the Review with the teaching of the\nearlier _Tracts for the Times_, and denounced the \"Romanising\" tendency\nshown in its articles. In the autumn of 1843 the Review came to an end.\nA field of work was thus cut off from Mr. Ward. Full of the interest of\nthe ideas which possessed him, always equipped and cheerfully ready for\nthe argumentative encounter, and keenly relishing the _certaminis\ngaudia_, he at once seized the occasion of Mr. Palmer's pamphlet to\nstate what he considered his position, and to set himself right in the\neyes of all fair and intelligent readers. He intended a long pamphlet.\nIt gradually grew under his hands--he was not yet gifted with the power\nof compression and arrangement--into a volume of 600 pages: the famous\n_Ideal of a Christian Church, considered in Comparison with Existing\nPractice_, published in the summer of 1844.\n\nThe _Ideal_ is a ponderous and unattractive volume, ill arranged and\nrambling, which its style and other circumstances have caused to be\nalmost forgotten. But there are interesting discussions in it which may\nstill repay perusal for their own sakes. The object of the book was\ntwofold. Starting with an \"ideal\" of what the Christian Church may be\nexpected to be in its various relations to men, it assumes that the\nRoman Church, and only the Roman Church, satisfies the conditions of\nwhat a Church ought to be, and it argues in detail that the English\nChurch, in spite of its professions, utterly and absolutely fails to\nfulfil them. It is _plaidoirie_ against everything English, on the\nground that it cannot be Catholic because it is not Roman. It was not\nconsistent, for while the writer alleged that \"our Church totally\nneglected her duties both as guardian of and witness to morality, and as\nwitness and teacher of orthodoxy,\" yet he saw no difficulty in\nattributing the revival of Catholic truth to \"the inherent vitality and\npowers of our own Church.\"[120] But this was not the sting and\nprovocation of the book. That lay in the developed claim, put forward by\nimplication in Mr. Ward's previous writings, and now repeated in the\nbroadest and most unqualified form, to hold his position in the English\nChurch, avowing and teaching all Roman doctrine.\n\n  We find (he exclaims), oh, most joyful, most wonderful, most\n  unexpected sight! we find the whole cycle of Roman doctrine gradually\n  possessing numbers of English Churchmen.... Three years have passed\n  since I said plainly that in subscribing the Articles I renounce no\n  Roman doctrine; yet I retain my fellowship which I hold on the tenure\n  of subscription, and have received no ecclesiastical censure in any\n  shape.[121]\n\nThere was much to learn from the book; much that might bring home to the\nmost loyal Churchman a sense of shortcomings, a burning desire for\nimprovement; much that might give every one a great deal to think about,\non some of the deepest problems of the intellectual and religious life.\nBut it could not be expected that such a challenge, in such sentences as\nthese, should remain unnoticed.\n\nThe book came out in the Long Vacation, and it was not till the\nUniversity met in October that signs of storm began to appear. But\nbefore it broke an incident occurred which inflamed men's tempers. Dr.\nWynter's reign as Vice-Chancellor had come to a close, and the next\nperson, according to the usual custom of succession, was Dr. Symons,\nWarden of Wadham. Dr. Symons had never concealed his strong hostility to\nthe movement, and he had been one of Dr. Pusey's judges. The prospect of\na partisan Vice-Chancellor, certainly very determined, and supposed not\nto be over-scrupulous, was alarming. The consent of Convocation to the\nChancellor's nomination of his substitute had always been given in\nwords, though no instance of its having been refused was known, at least\nin recent times. But a great jealousy about the rights of Convocation\nhad been growing up under the late autocratic policy of the Heads, and\nthere was a disposition to assert, and even to stretch these rights, a\ndisposition not confined to the party of the movement. It was proposed\nto challenge Dr. Symons's nomination. Great doubts were felt and\nexpressed about the wisdom of the proposal; but at length opposition was\nresolved upon. The step was a warning to the Heads, who had been\nprovoking enough; but there was not enough to warrant such a violent\ndeparture from usage, and it was the act of exasperation rather than of\nwisdom. The blame for it must be shared between the few who fiercely\nurged it, and the many who disapproved and acquiesced. On the day of\nnomination, the scrutiny was allowed, _salv\u00e2 auctoritate Cancellarii_;\nbut Dr. Symons's opponents were completely defeated by 883 to 183. It\ncounted, not unreasonably, as a \"Puseyite defeat.\"\n\nThe attempt and its result made it certain that in the attack that was\nsure to come on Mr. Ward's book, he would meet with no mercy. As soon as\nterm began the Board of Heads of Houses took up the matter; they were\nearnestly exhorted to it by a letter of Archbishop Whately's, which was\nread at the Board. But they wanted no pressing, nor is it astonishing\nthat they could not understand the claim to hold the \"whole cycle\" of\nRoman doctrine in the English Church. Mr. Ward's view was that he was\nloyally doing the best he could for \"our Church,\" not only in showing up\nits heresies and faults, but in urging that the only remedy was\nwholesale submission to Rome. To the University authorities this was\ntaking advantage of his position in the Church to assail and if possible\ndestroy it. And to numbers of much more sober and moderate Churchmen,\nsympathisers with the general spirit of the movement, it was evident\nthat Mr. Ward had long passed the point when tolerance could be fairly\nasked, consistently with any respect for the English Church, for such\nsweeping and paradoxical contradictions, by her own servants, of her\nclaims and title. Mr. Ward's manner also, which, while it was serious\nenough in his writings, was easy and even jocular in social intercourse,\nleft the impression, in reality a most unfair impression, that he was\nplaying and amusing himself with these momentous questions.\n\nA Committee of the Board examined the book; a number of startling\npropositions were with ease picked out, some preliminary skirmishing as\nto matters of form took place, and in December 1844 the Board announced\nthat they proposed to submit to Convocation without delay three\nmeasures:--(1) to condemn Mr. Ward's book; (2) to degrade Mr. Ward by\ndepriving him of all his University degrees; and (3) whereas the\nexisting Statutes gave the Vice-Chancellor power of calling on any\nmember of the University at any time to prove his orthodoxy by\nsubscribing the Articles, to add to this a declaration, to be henceforth\nmade by the subscriber, that he took them in the sense in which \"they\nwere both first published and were now imposed by the University,\" with\nthe penalty of expulsion against any one, lay or clerical, who thrice\nrefused subscription with this declaration.\n\nAs usual, the Board entirely mistook the temper of the University, and\nby their violence and want of judgment turned the best chance they ever\nhad, of carrying the University with them, into what their blunders\nreally made an ignominious defeat. If they had contented themselves with\nthe condemnation, in almost any terms, of Mr. Ward's book, and even of\nits author, the condemnation would have been overwhelming. A certain\nnumber of men would have still stood by Mr. Ward, either from friendship\nor sympathy, or from independence of judgment, or from dislike of the\npolicy of the Board; but they would have been greatly outnumbered. The\ndegradation--the Board did not venture on the logical consequence,\nexpulsion--was a poor and even ridiculous measure of punishment; to\nreduce Mr. Ward to an undergraduate _in statu pupillari_, and a\ncommoner's short gown, was a thing to amuse rather than terrify. The\npersonal punishment seemed unworthy when they dared not go farther,\nwhile to many the condemnation of the book seemed penalty enough; and\nthe condemnation of the book by these voters was weakened by their\nrefusal to carry it into personal disgrace and disadvantage. Still, if\nthese two measures had stood by themselves, they could not have been\nresisted, and the triumph of the Board would have been a signal one. But\nthey could not rest. They must needs attempt to put upon subscription,\njust when its difficulties were beginning to be felt, not by one party,\nbut by all, an interpretation which set the University and Church in a\nflame. The cry, almost the shriek, arose that it was a new test, and a\ntest which took for granted what certainly needed proof, that the sense\nin which the Articles were first understood and published was exactly\nthe same as that in which the University now received and imposed them.\nIt was in vain that explanations, assurances, protests, were proffered;\nno new test, it was said, was thought of--the Board would never think of\nsuch a thing; it was only something to ensure good faith and honesty.\nBut it was utterly useless to contend against the storm. A test it was,\nand a new test no one would have. It was clear that, if the third\nproposal was pushed, it would endanger the votes about Mr. Ward. After\nsome fruitless attempts at justification the Board had, in the course\nof a month, to recognise that it had made a great mistake. The\ncondemnation of Mr. Ward was to come on, on the 13th of February; and on\nthe 23d of January the Vice-Chancellor, in giving notice of it,\nannounced that the third proposal was withdrawn.\n\nIt might have been thought that this was lesson enough to leave well\nalone. The Heads were sure of votes against Mr. Ward, more or less\nnumerous; they were sure of a victory which would be a severe blow, not\nonly to Mr. Ward and his special followers, but to the Tractarian party\nwith which he had been so closely connected. But those bitter and\nintemperate spirits which had so long led them wrong were not to be\ntaught prudence even by their last experience. The mischief makers were\nat work, flitting about the official lodgings at Wadham and Oriel. Could\nnot something be done, even at this late hour, to make up for the loss\nof the test? Could not something be done to disgrace a greater name than\nMr. Ward's? Could not the opportunity which was coming of rousing the\nfeeling of the University against the disciple be turned to account to\ndrag forth his supposed master from his retirement and impunity, and\nbrand the author of No. 90 with the public stigma--no longer this time\nof a Hebdomadal censure, but of a University condemnation? The\ntemptation was irresistible to a number of disappointed\npartisans--kindly, generous, good-natured men in private life, but\nimplacable in their fierce fanaticism. In their impetuous vehemence\nthey would not even stop to think what would be said of the conditions\nand circumstances under which they pressed their point. On the 23d of\nJanuary the Vice-Chancellor had withdrawn the test. On the 25th of\nJanuary--those curious in coincidences may observe that it was the date\nof No. 90 in 1841--a circular was issued inviting signatures for a\nrequisition to the Board, asking them to propose, in the approaching\nConvocation of the 13th of February, a formal censure of the principles\nof No. 90. The invitation to sign was issued in the names of Dr.\nFaussett and Dr. Ellerton of Magdalen. It received between four and five\nhundred signatures, as far as was known; but it was withheld by the\nVice-Chancellor from the inspection of those who officially had a right\nto have it before them. On the 4th of February its prayer came before\nthe Hebdomadal Board. The objection of haste--that not ten days\nintervened between this new and momentous proposal and the day of\nvoting--was brushed aside. The members of the Board were mad enough not\nto see, not merely the odiousness of the course, but the aggravated\nodiousness of hurry. The proposal was voted by the majority, _sans\nphrase._ And they ventured, amid all the excitement and irritation of\nthe moment, to offer for the sanction of the University a decree framed\nin the words of their own censure.\n\nThe interval before the Convocation was short, but it was long enough\nfor decisive opinions on the proposal of the Board to be formed and\nexpressed. Leading men in London, Mr. Gladstone among them, were clear\nthat it was an occasion for the exercise of the joint veto with which\nthe Proctors were invested. The veto was intended, if for anything, to\nsave the University from inconsiderate and hasty measures; and seldom,\nexcept in revolutionary times, had so momentous and so unexpected a\nmeasure been urged on with such unseemly haste. The feeling of the\nyounger Liberals, Mr. Stanley, Mr. Donkin, Mr. Jowett, Dr. Greenhill,\nwas in the same direction. On the 10th of February the Proctors\nannounced to the Board their intention to veto the third proposal. But\nof course the thing went forward. The Proctors were friends of Mr.\nNewman, and the Heads believed that this would counterbalance any effect\nfrom their act of authority. It is possible that the announcement may\nhave been regarded as a mere menace, too audacious to be fulfilled. On\nthe 13th of February, amid slush and snow, Convocation met in the\nTheatre. Mr. Ward asked leave to defend himself in English, and occupied\none of the rostra, usually devoted to the recital of prize poems and\nessays. He spoke with vigour and ability, dividing his speech, and\nresting in the interval between the two portions in the rostrum.[122]\nThere was no other address, and the voting began. The first vote, the\ncondemnation of the book, was carried by 777 to 386. The second, by a\nmore evenly balanced division, 569 to 511. When the Vice-Chancellor put\nthe third, the Proctors rose, and the senior Proctor, Mr. Guillemard of\nTrinity, stopped it in the words, _Nobis procuratoribus non placet_.\nSuch a step, of course, only suspended the vote, and the year of office\nof these Proctors was nearly run. But they had expressed the feeling of\nthose whom they represented. It was shown not only in a largely-signed\naddress of thanks. All attempts to revive the decree at the expiration\nof their year of office failed. The wiser heads in the Hebdomadal Board\nrecognised at last that they had better hold their hand. Mistakes men\nmay commit, and defeats they may undergo, and yet lose nothing that\nconcerns their character for acting as men of a high standard ought to\nact. But in this case, mistakes and defeat were the least of what the\nBoard brought on themselves. This was the last act of a long and\ndeliberately pursued course of conduct; and if it was the last, it was\nbecause it was the upshot and climax, and neither the University nor any\none else would endure that it should go on any longer. The proposed\nattack on Mr. Newman betrayed how helpless they were, and to what paltry\nacts of worrying it was, in their judgment, right and judicious to\ncondescend. It gave a measure of their statesmanship, wisdom, and good\nfeeling in defending the interests of the Church; and it made a very\ndeep and lasting impression on all who were interested in the honour and\nwelfare of Oxford. Men must have blinded themselves to the plainest\neffects of their own actions who could have laid themselves open to such\na description of their conduct as is contained in the following extract\nfrom a paper of the time--a passage of which the indignant and pathetic\nundertone reflected the indignation and the sympathy of hundreds of men\nof widely differing opinions.\n\n  The vote is an answer to a cry--that cry is one of dishonesty, and\n  this dishonesty the proposed resolution, as plainly as it dares to say\n  anything, insinuates. On this part of the question, those who have\n  ever been honoured by Mr. Newman's friendship must feel it dangerous\n  to allow themselves thus to speak. And yet they must speak; for no one\n  else can appreciate it as truly as they do. When they see the person\n  whom they have been accustomed to revere as few men are revered, whose\n  labours, whose greatness, whose tenderness, whose singleness and\n  holiness of purpose, they have been permitted to know intimately--not\n  allowed even the poor privilege of satisfying, by silence and\n  retirement--by the relinquishment of preferment, position, and\n  influence--the persevering hostility of persons whom they cannot help\n  comparing with him--not permitted even to submit in peace to those\n  irregular censures, to which he seems to have been even morbidly\n  alive, but dragged forth to suffer an oblique and tardy condemnation;\n  called again to account for matters now long ago accounted for; on\n  which a judgment has been pronounced, which, whatever others may think\n  of it, he at least has accepted as conclusive--when they contrast his\n  merits, his submission, his treatment, which they see and know, with\n  the merits, the bearing, the fortunes of those who are doggedly\n  pursuing him, it does become very difficult to speak without sullying\n  what it is a kind of pleasure to feel is _his_ cause by using hard\n  words, or betraying it by not using them. It is too difficult to\n  speak, as ought to be spoken, of this ungenerous and gratuitous\n  afterthought--too difficult to keep clear of what, at least, will be\n  _thought_ exaggeration; too difficult to do justice to what they feel\n  to be undoubtedly true; and I will not attempt to say more than enough\n  to mark an opinion which ought to be plainly avowed, as to the nature\n  of this procedure.[123]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[116] A pencilled note indicates that this illustration was suggested by\nexperiments in naval engineering carried on at one time by Mr. W.\nFroude. Cf. T. Mozley, _Reminiscences_, vol. ii. p. 17.\n\n[117] Hymn in Paris Breviary, _Commune Sanctarum Mulierum_.\n\n[118] _Reminiscences_, ii. 243, 244. Cf. _British Critic_, July 1841.\n\n[119] _Reminiscences,_ ii. 223.\n\n[120] _Ideal_, p. 566.\n\n[121] _Ibid._ pp. 565-567.\n\n[122] It is part of the history of the time, that during those anxious\ndays, Mr. Ward was engaged to be married. The engagement came to the\nknowledge of his friends, to their great astonishment and amusement,\nvery soon after the events in the Theatre.\n\n[123] From a _Short Appeal to Members of Convocation on the proposed\nCensure on No. 90_. By Frederic Rogers, Fellow of Oriel. (Dated\nSaturday, 8th of February 1845.)\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE CATASTROPHE\n\n\nThe events of February were a great shock. The routine of Oxford had\nbeen broken as it had never been broken by the fiercest strifes before.\nCondemnations had been before passed on opinions, and even on persons.\nBut to see an eminent man, of blameless life, a fellow of one of the\nfirst among the Colleges, solemnly deprived of his degree and all that\nthe degree carried with it, and that on a charge in which bad faith and\ntreachery were combined with alleged heresy, was a novel experience,\nwhere the kindnesses of daily companionship and social intercourse still\nasserted themselves as paramount to official ideas of position. And\nwhen, besides this, people realised what more had been attempted, and by\nhow narrow a chance a still heavier blow had been averted from one\ntowards whom so many hearts warmed, how narrowly a yoke had been escaped\nwhich would have seemed to subject all religious thought in the\nUniversity to the caprice or the blind zeal of a partisan official, the\nsense of relief was mixed with the still present memory of a desperate\nperil And then came the question as to what was to come next. That the\nold policy of the Board would be revived and pursued when the end of the\nProctors' year delivered it from their inconvenient presence, was soon\nunderstood to be out of the question. The very violence of the measures\nattempted had its reaction, which stopped anything further. The\nopponents of Tractarianism, Orthodox and Liberal, were for the moment\ngorged with their success. What men waited to see was the effect on the\nparty of the movement; how it would influence the advanced portion of\nit; how it would influence the little company who had looked on in\nsilence from their retirement at Littlemore. The more serious aspect of\nrecent events was succeeded for the moment by a certain comic contrast,\ncreated by Mr. Ward's engagement to be married, which was announced\nwithin a week of his degradation, and which gave the common-rooms\nsomething to smile at after the strain and excitement of the scene in\nthe Theatre. But that passed, and the graver outlook of the situation\noccupied men's thoughts.\n\nThere was a widespread feeling of insecurity. Friends did not know of\nfriends, how their minds were working, how they might go. Anxious\nletters passed, the writers not daring to say too much, or reveal too\nmuch alarm. And yet there was still some hope that at least with the\ngreat leader matters were not desperate. To his own friends he gave\nwarning; he had already done so in a way to leave little to expect but\nat last to lose him; he spoke of resigning his fellowship in October,\nthough he wished to defer this till the following June; but nothing\nfinal had been said publicly. Even at the last it was only anticipated\nby some that he would retire into lay communion. But that silence was\nawful and ominous. He showed no signs of being affected by what had\npassed in Oxford. He privately thanked the Proctors for saving him from\nwhat would have distressed him; but he made no comments on the measures\nthemselves. Still it could not but be a climax of everything as far as\nOxford was concerned. And he was a man who saw signs in such events.\n\nIt was inevitable that the events of the end of 1844 and the beginning\nof 1845 should bring with them a great crisis in the development of\nreligious opinion, in the relations of its different forms to one\nanother, and further, in the thoughts of many minds as to their personal\nposition, their duty, and their prospects. There had been such a crisis\nin 1841 at the publication of No. 90. After the discussions which\nfollowed that tract, Anglican theology could never be quite the same\nthat it had been before. It was made to feel the sense of some grave\nwants, which, however they might be supplied in the future, could no\nlonger be unnoticed or uncared for. And individuals, amid the strife of\ntongues, had felt, some strongly and practically, but a much larger\nnumber dimly and reluctantly, the possibility, unwelcome to most, but\nnot without interest to others, of having to face the strange and at\none time inconceivable task of revising the very foundations of their\nreligion. And such a revision had since that time been going on more or\nless actively in many minds; in some cases with very decisive results.\nBut after the explosion caused by Mr. Ward's book, a crisis of a much\nmore grave and wide-reaching sort had arrived. To ordinary lookers-on it\nnaturally seemed that a shattering and decisive blow had been struck at\nthe Tractarian party and their cause; struck, indeed, formally and\nofficially, only at its extravagances, but struck, none the less,\nvirtually, at the premisses which led to these extravagances, and at the\nparty, which, while disapproving them, shrank, with whatever\nmotives,--policy, generosity, or secret sympathy,--from joining in the\ncondemnation of them. It was more than a defeat, it was a rout, in which\nthey were driven and chased headlong from the field; a wreck in which\ntheir boasts and hopes of the last few years met the fate which wise men\nhad always anticipated. Oxford repudiated them. Their theories, their\ncontroversial successes, their learned arguments, their appeals to the\nimagination, all seemed to go down, and to be swept away like chaff,\nbefore the breath of straightforward common sense and honesty.\nHenceforth there was a badge affixed to them and all who belonged to\nthem, a badge of suspicion and discredit, and even shame, which bade men\nbeware of them, an overthrow under which it seemed wonderful that they\ncould raise their heads or expect a hearing. It is true, that to those\nwho looked below the surface, the overthrow might have seemed almost too\nshowy and theatrical to be quite all that it was generally thought to\nbe. There had been too much passion, and too little looking forward to\nthe next steps, in the proceedings of the victors. There was too much\nblindness to weak points of their own position, too much forgetfulness\nof the wise generosity of cautious warfare. The victory was easy to win;\nthe next moment it was quite obvious that they did not know what to do\nwith it, and were at their wits' end to understand what it meant. And\nthe defeated party, though defeated signally and conspicuously in the\nsight of the Church and the country, had in it too large a proportion of\nthe serious and able men of the University, with too clear and high a\npurpose, and too distinct a sense of the strength and reality of their\nground, to be in as disadvantageous a condition as from a distance might\nbe imagined. A closer view would have discovered how much sympathy there\nwas for their objects and for their main principles in many who greatly\ndisapproved of much in the recent course and tendency of the movement.\nIt might have been seen how the unwise measures of the Heads had\nawakened convictions among many who were not naturally on their side,\nthat it was necessary both on the ground of justice and policy to arrest\nall extreme measures, and to give a breathing time to the minority.\nConfidence in their prospects as a party might have been impaired in the\nTractarians; but confidence in their principles; confidence that they\nhad rightly interpreted the spirit, the claims, and the duties of the\nEnglish Church, confidence that devotion to its cause was the call of\nGod, whatever might happen to their own fortunes, this confidence was\nunshaken by the catastrophe of February.\n\nBut that crisis had another important result, not much noticed then, but\none which made itself abundantly evident in the times that followed. The\ndecisive breach between the old parties in the Church, both Orthodox and\nEvangelical, and the new party of the movement, with the violent and\napparently irretrievable discomfiture of the latter as the rising force\nin Oxford, opened the way and cleared the ground for the formation and\nthe power of a third school of opinion, which was to be the most\nformidable rival of the Tractarians, and whose leaders were eventually\nto succeed where the Tractarians had failed, in becoming the masters and\nthe reformers of the University. Liberalism had hitherto been\nrepresented in Oxford in forms which though respectable from\nintellectual vigour were unattractive, sometimes even repulsive. They\nwere dry, cold, supercilious, critical; they wanted enthusiasm; they\nwere out of sympathy with religion and the religious temper and aims.\nThey played, without knowing it, on the edge of the most dangerous\nquestions. The older Oxford Liberals were either intellectually\naristocratic, dissecting the inaccuracies or showing up the paralogisms\nof the current orthodoxy, or they were poor in character, Liberals from\nthe zest of sneering and mocking at what was received and established,\nor from the convenience of getting rid of strict and troublesome rules\nof life. They patronised Dissenters; they gave Whig votes; they made\nfree, in a mild way, with the pet conventions and prejudices of Tories\nand High Churchmen. There was nothing inspiring in them, however much\nmen might respect their correct and sincere lives. But a younger set of\nmen brought, mainly from Rugby and Arnold's teaching, a new kind of\nLiberalism. It was much bolder and more independent than the older\nforms, less inclined to put up with the traditional, more searching and\ninquisitive in its methods, more suspicious and daring in its criticism;\nbut it was much larger in its views and its sympathies, and, above all,\nit was imaginative, it was enthusiastic, and, without much of the\ndevotional temper, it was penetrated by a sense of the reality and\nseriousness of religion. It saw greater hopes in the present and the\nfuture than the Tractarians. It disliked their reverence for the past\nand the received as inconsistent with what seemed evidence of the\nprovidential order of great and fruitful change. It could not enter into\ntheir discipline of character, and shrank from it as antiquated,\nunnatural, and narrow. But these younger Liberals were interested in the\nTractarian innovators, and, in a degree, sympathised with them as a\nparty of movement who had had the courage to risk and sacrifice much for\nan unworldly end. And they felt that their own opportunity was come when\nall the parties which claimed to represent the orthodoxy of the English\nChurch appeared to have broken for good with one another, and when their\ndifferences had thrown so much doubt and disparagement on so important\nand revered a symbol of orthodoxy as the Thirty-nine Articles. They\nlooked on partly with amusement, partly with serious anxiety, at the\ndispute; they discriminated with impartiality between the strong and the\nweak points in the arguments on both sides: and they enforced with the\nsame impartiality on both of them the reasons, arising out of the\ndifficulties in which each party was involved, for new and large\nmeasures, for a policy of forbearance and toleration. They inflicted on\nthe beaten side, sometimes with more ingenuity than fairness, the lesson\nthat the \"wheel had come round full circle\" with them; that they were\nbut reaping as they themselves had sown:--but now that there seemed\nlittle more to fear from the Tractarians, the victorious authorities\nwere the power which the Liberals had to keep in check. They used their\ninfluence, such as it was (and it was not then what it was afterwards),\nto protect the weaker party. It was a favourite boast of Dean Stanley's\nin after-times, that the intervention of the Liberals had saved the\nTractarians from complete disaster. It is quite true that the younger\nLiberals disapproved the continuance of harsh measures, and some of them\nexerted themselves against such measures. They did so in many ways and\nfor various reasons; from consistency, from feelings of personal\nkindness, from a sense of justice, from a sense of interest--some in a\nfrank and generous spirit, others with contemptuous indifference. But\nthe debt of the Tractarians to their Liberal friends in 1845 was not so\ngreat as Dean Stanley, thinking of the Liberal party as what it had\nultimately grown to be, supposed to be the case. The Liberals of his\nschool were then still a little flock: a very distinguished and a very\nearnest set of men, but too young and too few as yet to hold the balance\nin such a contest. The Tractarians were saved by what they were and what\nthey had done, and could do, themselves. But it is also true, that out\nof these feuds and discords, the Liberal party which was to be dominant\nin Oxford took its rise, soon to astonish old-fashioned Heads of Houses\nwith new and deep forms of doubt more audacious than Tractarianism, and\nultimately to overthrow not only the victorious authorities, but the\nancient position of the Church, and to recast from top to bottom the\ninstitutions of the University. The 13th of February was not only the\nfinal defeat and conclusion of the first stage of the movement. It was\nthe birthday of the modern Liberalism of Oxford.\n\nBut it was also a crisis in the history of many lives. From that moment,\nthe decision of a number of good and able men, who had once promised to\nbe among the most valuable servants of the English Church, became\nclear. If it were doubtful before, in many cases, whether they would\nstay with her, the doubt existed no longer. It was now only a question\nof time when they would break the tie and renounce their old\nallegiance. In the bitter, and in many cases agonising struggle which\nthey had gone through as to their duty to God and conscience, a sign\nseemed now to be given them which they could not mistake. They were\ninvited, on one side, to come; they were told sternly and scornfully, on\nthe other, to go. They could no longer be accused of impatience if they\nbrought their doubts to an end, and made up their minds that their call\nwas to submit to the claims of Rome, that their place was in its\ncommunion.\n\nYet there was a pause. It was no secret what was coming. But men\nlingered. It was not till the summer that the first drops of the storm\nbegan to fall. Then through the autumn and the next year, friends, whose\nnames and forms were familiar in Oxford, one by one disappeared and were\nlost to it. Fellowships, livings, curacies, intended careers, were given\nup. Mr. Ward went. Mr. Capes, who had long followed Mr. Ward's line, and\nhad spent his private means to build a church near Bridgewater, went\nalso. Mr. Oakeley resigned Margaret Chapel and went. Mr. Ambrose St.\nJohn, Mr. Coffin, Mr. Dalgairns, Mr. Faber, Mr. T. Meyrick, Mr. Albany\nChristie, Mr. R. Simpson of Oriel, were received in various places and\nvarious ways, and in the next year, Mr. J.S. Northcote, Mr. J.B.\nMorris, Mr. G. Ryder, Mr. David Lewis. On the 3d of October 1845 Mr.\nNewman requested the Provost of Oriel to remove his name from the books\nof the College and University, but without giving any reason. The 6th of\nOctober is the date of the \"Advertisement\" to the work which had\noccupied Mr. Newman through the year--the _Essay on the Development of\nChristian Doctrine_. On the 8th he was, as he has told us in the\n_Apologia_, received by Father Dominic, the Passionist. To the\n\"Advertisement\" are subjoined the following words:\n\n  _Postscript_.--Since the above was written the Author has joined the\n  Catholic Church. It was his intention and wish to have carried his\n  volume through the press before deciding finally on this step. But\n  when he got some way in the printing, he recognised in himself a\n  conviction of the truth of the conclusion, to which the discussion\n  leads, so clear as to preclude further deliberation. Shortly\n  afterwards circumstances gave him the opportunity of acting on it, and\n  he felt that he had no warrant for refusing to act on it.\n\nSo the reality of what had been so long and often so lightly talked\nabout by those who dared it, provoked it, or hoped for it, had come\nindeed; and a considerable portion of English society learned what it\nwas to be novices in a religious system, hitherto not only alien and\nunknown, but dreaded, or else to have lost friends and relatives, who\nwere suddenly transformed into severe and uncompromising opponents,\nspeaking in unfamiliar terms, and sharply estranged in sympathies and\nrules of life. Some of them, especially those who had caught the spirit\nof their leader, began life anew, took their position as humble learners\nin the Roman Schools, and made the most absolute sacrifice of a whole\nlifetime that a man can make. To others the change came and was accepted\nas an emancipation, not only from the bonds of Anglicanism, but from the\nobligations of orders and priestly vows and devotion. In some cases,\nwhere they were married, there was no help for it. But in almost all\ncases there was a great surrender of what English life has to offer to\nthose brought up in it. Of the defeated party, those who remained had\nmuch to think about, between grief at the breaking of old ties, and the\nloss of dear friends, and perplexities about their own position. The\nanxiety, the sorrow at differing and parting, seem now almost\nextravagant and unintelligible. There are those who sneer at the\n\"distress\" of that time. There had not been the same suffering, the same\nestrangement, when Churchmen turned dissenters, like Bulteel and Baptist\nNoel. But the movement had raised the whole scale of feeling about\nreligious matters so high, the questions were felt to be so momentous,\nthe stake and the issue so precious, the \"Loss and Gain\" so immense,\nthat to differ on such subjects was the differing on the greatest things\nwhich men could differ about. But in a time of distress, of which few\nanalogous situations in our days can give the measure, the leaders stood\nfirm. Dr. Pusey, Mr. Keble, Mr. Marriott accepted, with unshaken faith\nin the cause of the English Church, the terrible separation. They\nsubmitted to the blow--submitted to the reproach of having been\nassociates of those who had betrayed hopes and done so much mischief;\nsubmitted to the charge of inconsistency, insincerity, cowardice; but\nthey did not flinch. Their unshrinking attitude was a new point of\ndeparture for those who believed in the Catholic foundation of the\nEnglish Church.\n\nAmong those deeply affected by these changes, there were many who had\nbeen absolutely uninfluenced by the strong Roman current. They had\nrecognised many good things in the Roman Church; they were fully alive\nto many shortcomings in the English Church; but the possibility of\nsubmission to the Roman claims had never been a question with them. A\ntypical example of such minds was Mr. Isaac Williams, a pupil of Mr.\nKeble, an intimate friend of Mr. Newman, a man of simple and saintly\nlife, with heart and soul steeped in the ancient theology of undivided\nChristendom, and for that very reason untempted by the newer principles\nand fashions of Rome. There were numbers who thought like him; but there\nwere others also, who were forced in afresh upon themselves, and who had\nto ask themselves why they stayed, when a teacher, to whom they had\nlooked up as they had to Mr. Newman, and into whose confidence they had\nbeen admitted, thought it his duty to go. With some the ultimate, though\ndelayed, decision was to follow him. With others, the old and fair\n_proejudicium_ against the claims of Rome, which had always asserted\nitself even against the stringent logic of Mr. Ward and the deep and\nsubtle ideas of Mr. Newman, became, when closed with, and tested face to\nface in the light of fact and history, the settled conviction of life.\nSome extracts from contemporary papers, real records of the private\nperplexities and troubles actually felt at the time, may illustrate what\nwas passing in the minds of some whom knowledge and love of Mr. Newman\nfailed to make his followers in his ultimate step. The first extract\nbelongs to some years before, but it is part of the same train of\nthinking.[124]\n\n  As to myself, I am getting into a very unsettled state as to aims and\n  prospects. I mean that as things are going on, a man does not know\n  where he is going to; one cannot imagine what state of things to look\n  forward to; in what way, and under what circumstances, one's coming\n  life--if it does come--is to be spent; what is to become of one. I\n  cannot at all imagine myself a convert; but how am I likely, in the\n  probable state of things, to be able to serve as an English clergyman?\n  Shall I ever get Priest's orders? Shall I be able to continue always\n  serving? What is one's line to be; what ought to be one's aims; or can\n  one have any?\n\n  The storm is not yet come: how it may come, and how soon it may blow\n  over, and what it may leave behind, is doubtful; but some sort of\n  crisis, I think, must come before things settle. With the Bishops\n  against us, and Puritanism aggressive, we may see strange things\n  before the end.\n\nWhen the \"storm\" had at length come, though, before its final violence,\nthe same writer continues:\n\n  The present hopeless check and weight to our party--what has for the\n  time absolutely crushed us--is the total loss of confidence arising\n  from the strong tendency, no longer to be dissembled or explained\n  away, among many of us to Rome. I see no chance of our recovery, or\n  getting our heads above water from this, at least in England, for\n  years to come. And it is a check which will one day be far greater\n  than it is now. Under the circumstances--having not the most distant\n  thought of leaving the English Church myself, and yet having no means\n  of escaping the very natural suspicion of Romanising without giving up\n  my best friends and the most saint-like men in England--how am I to\n  view my position? What am I witnessing to? What, if need be, is one to\n  suffer for? A man has no leaning towards Rome, does not feel, as\n  others do, the strength of her exclusive claims to allegiance, the\n  perfection of her system, its right so to overbalance all the good\n  found in ours as to make ours absolutely untrustworthy for a Christian\n  to rest in, notwithstanding all circumstances of habit, position, and\n  national character; has such doubts on the Roman theory of the\n  Church, the Ultramontane, and such instincts not only against many of\n  their popular religious customs and practical ways of going on, but\n  against their principles of belief (_e.g._ divine faith = relics), as\n  to repel him from any wish to sacrifice his own communion for theirs;\n  yet withal, and without any great right on his part to complain, is\n  set down as a man who may any day, and certainly will some day, go\n  over; and he has no lawful means of removing the suspicion:--why is it\n  _tanti_ to submit to this?\n\n  However little sympathy we Englishmen have with Rome, the Western\n  Churches under Rome are really living and holy branches of the Church\n  Catholic; corruptions they may have, so may we; but putting these\n  aside, they are Catholic Christians, or Catholic Christianity has\n  failed out of the world: we are no more [Catholic] than they. But\n  this, _public opinion_ has not for centuries, and _does not now_,\n  realise or allow. So no one can express in reality and detail a\n  practical belief in their Catholicity, in their equality (setting one\n  thing against another) with us as Christians, without being suspected\n  of what such belief continually leads to--disloyalty to the English\n  Church. Yet such belief is nevertheless well-grounded and right, and\n  there is no great hope for the Church till it gains ground, soberly,\n  powerfully, and apart from all low views of proselytising, or fear of\n  danger. What therefore the disadvantage of those among us who do not\n  really deserve the imputation of Romanising may be meant for, is to\n  break this practical belief to the English Church. We may be silenced,\n  but, without any wish to leave the English Church, we cannot give up\n  the belief, that the Western Church under Rome is a true, living,\n  venerable branch of the Christian Church. There are dangers in such a\n  belief, but they must be provided against, they do not affect the\n  truth of the belief.\n\nSuch searchings of heart were necessarily rendered more severe and acute\nby Mr. Newman's act. There was no longer any respite; his dearest\nfriends must choose between him and the English Church. And the choice\nwas made, by those who did not follow him, on a principle little\nhonoured or believed in at the time on either side, Roman or\nProtestant; but a principle which in the long-run restored hope and\nenergy to a cause which was supposed to be lost. It was not the revival\nof the old _Via Media_; it was not the assertion of the superiority of\nthe English Church; it was not a return to the old-fashioned and\nungenerous methods of controversy with Rome--one-sided in all cases,\nignorant, coarse, unchristian in many. It was not the proposal of a new\ntheory of the Church--its functions, authority and teaching, a\ncounter-ideal to Mr. Ward's imposing _Ideal_ It was the resolute and\nserious appeal from brilliant logic, and keen sarcasm, and pathetic and\nimpressive eloquence, to reality and experience, as well as to history,\nas to the positive and substantial characteristics of the traditional\nand actually existing English Church, shown not on paper but in work,\nand in spite of contradictory appearances and inconsistent elements; and\nalong with this, an attempt to put in a fair and just light the\ncomparative excellences and defects of other parts of Christendom,\nexcellences to be ungrudgingly admitted, but not to be allowed to bar\nthe recognition of defects. The feeling which had often stirred, even\nwhen things looked at the worst, that Mr. Newman had dealt unequally and\nhardly with the English Church, returned with gathered strength. The\nEnglish Church was after all as well worth living in and fighting for as\nany other; it was not only in England that light and dark, in teaching\nand in life, were largely intermingled, and the mixture had to be\nlargely allowed for. We had our Sparta, a noble, if a rough and an\nincomplete one; patiently to do our best for it was better than leaving\nit to its fate, in obedience to signs and reasonings which the heat of\nstrife might well make delusive. It was one hopeful token, that boasting\nhad to be put away from us for a long time to come. In these days of\nstress and sorrow were laid the beginnings of a school, whose main\npurpose was to see things as they are; which had learned by experience\nto distrust unqualified admiration and unqualified disparagement;\ndetermined not to be blinded even by genius to plain certainties; not\nafraid to honour all that is great and beneficent in Rome, not afraid\nwith English frankness to criticise freely at home; but not to be won\nover, in one case, by the good things, to condone and accept the bad\nthings; and not deterred, in the other, from service, from love, from\nself-sacrifice, by the presence of much to regret and to resist.\n\nAll this new sense of independence, arising from the sense of having\nbeen left almost desolate by the disappearance of a great stay and light\nin men's daily life, led to various and different results. In some\nminds, after a certain trial, it actually led men back to that Romeward\ntendency from which they had at first recoiled. In others, the break-up\nof the movement under such a chief led them on, more or less, and some\nvery far, into a career of speculative Liberalism like that of Mr.\nBlanco White, the publication of whose biography coincided with Mr.\nNewman's change. In many others, especially in London and the towns, it\nled to new and increasing efforts to popularise in various ways--through\npreaching, organisation, greater attention to the meaning, the\nsolemnities, and the fitnesses of worship--the ideas of the Church\nmovement. Dr. Pusey and Mr. Keble were still the recognised chiefs of\nthe continued yet remodelled movement. It had its quarterly organ, the\n_Christian Remembrancer_, which had taken the place of the old _British\nCritic_ in the autumn of 1844. A number of able Cambridge men had thrown\ntheir knowledge and thoroughness of work into the _Ecclesiologist_.\nThere were newspapers--the _English Churchman_, and, starting in 1846\nfrom small and difficult beginnings, in the face of long discouragement\nand at times despair, the _Guardian_. One mind of great and rare power,\nthough only recognised for what he was much later in his life, one\nundaunted heart, undismayed, almost undepressed, so that those who knew\nnot its inner fires thought him cold and stoical, had lifted itself\nabove the wreck at Oxford. The shock which had cowed and almost crushed\nsome of Mr. Newman's friends roused and fired Mr. James Mozley.\n\n  To take leave of Mr. Newman (he writes on the morrow of the event) is\n  a heavy task. His step was not unforeseen; but when it is come those\n  who knew him feel the fact as a real change within them--feel as if\n  they were entering upon a fresh stage of their own life. May that very\n  change turn to their profit, and discipline them by its hardness! It\n  may do so if they will use it so. Let nobody complain; a time must\n  come, sooner or later, in every one's life, when he has to part with\n  advantages, connexions, supports, consolations, that he has had\n  hitherto, and face a new state of things. Every one knows that he is\n  not always to have all that he has now: he says to himself, \"What\n  shall I do when this or that stay, or connexion, is gone?\" and the\n  answer is, \"That he will do without it.\" ... The time comes when this\n  is taken away; and then the mind is left alone, and is thrown back\n  upon itself, as the expression is. But no religious mind tolerates the\n  notion of being really thrown upon itself; this is only to say in\n  other words, that it is thrown back upon God.... Secret mental\n  consolations, whether of innocent self-flattery or reposing\n  confidence, are over; a more real and graver life begins--a firmer,\n  harder disinterestedness, able to go on its course by itself. Let them\n  see in the change a call to greater earnestness, sincerer simplicity,\n  and more solid manliness. What were weaknesses before will be sins\n  now.[125]\n\n\"A new stage has begun. Let no one complain\":--this, the expression of\nindividual feeling, represents pretty accurately the temper into which\nthe Church party settled when the first shock was over. They knew that\nhenceforward they had difficult times before them. They knew that they\nmust work under suspicion, even under proscription. They knew that they\nmust expect to see men among themselves perplexed, unsettled, swept away\nby the influences which had affected Mr. Newman, and still more by the\nprecedent of his example. They knew that they must be prepared to lose\nfriends and fellow-helpers, and to lose them sometimes unexpectedly and\nsuddenly, as the wont was so often at this time. Above all, they knew\nthat they had a new form of antagonism to reckon with, harder than any\nthey had yet encountered. It had the peculiar sad bitterness which\nbelongs to civil war, when men's foes are they of their own\nhouseholds--the bitterness arising out of interrupted intimacy and\naffection. Neither side could be held blameless; the charge from the one\nof betrayal and desertion was answered by the charge from the other of\ninsincerity and faithlessness to conscience, and by natural but not\nalways very fair attempts to proselytise; and undoubtedly, the English\nChurch, and those who adhered to it, had, for some years after 1845, to\nhear from the lips of old friends the most cruel and merciless\ninvectives which knowledge of her weak points, wit, argumentative power,\neloquence, and the triumphant exultation at once of deliverance and\nsuperiority could frame. It was such writing and such preaching as had\ncertainly never been seen on the Roman side before, at least in England.\nWhether it was adapted to its professed purpose may perhaps be doubted;\nbut the men who went certainly lost none of their vigour as\ncontroversialists or their culture as scholars. Not to speak of Mr.\nNewman, such men as Mr. Oakeley, Mr. Ward, Mr. Faber, and Mr. Dalgairns\nmore than fulfilled in the great world of London their reputation at\nOxford. This was all in prospect before the eyes of those who had\nelected to cast in their lot with the English Church. It was not an\nencouraging position. The old enthusiastic sanguineness had been\neffectually quenched. Their Liberal critics and their Liberal friends\nhave hardly yet ceased to remind them how sorry a figure they cut in the\neyes of men of the world, and in the eyes of men of bold and effective\nthinking.[126] The \"poor Puseyites\" are spoken of in tones half of pity\nand half of sneer. Their part seemed played out. There seemed nothing\nmore to make them of importance. They had not succeeded in Catholicising\nthe English Church, they had not even shaken it by a wide secession.\nHenceforth they were only marked men. All that could be said for them\nwas, that at the worst, they did not lose heart. They had not forgotten\nthe lessons of their earlier time.\n\nIt is not my purpose to pursue farther the course of the movement. All\nthe world knows that it was not, in fact, killed or even much arrested\nby the shock of 1845. But after 1845, its field was at least as much out\nof Oxford as in it. As long as Mr. Newman remained, Oxford was\nnecessarily its centre, necessarily, even after he had seemed to\nwithdraw from it. When he left his place vacant, the direction of it was\nnot removed from Oxford, but it was largely shared by men in London and\nthe country. It ceased to be strongly and prominently Academical. No\none in deed held such a position as Dr. Pusey's and Mr. Keble's; but\nthough Dr. Pusey continued to be a great power at Oxford, he now became\nevery day a much greater power outside of it; while Mr. Keble was now\nless than ever an Academic, and became more and more closely connected\nwith men out of Oxford, his friends in London and his neighbours at\nHursley and Winchester. The cause which Mr. Newman had given up in\ndespair was found to be deeply interesting in ever new parts of the\ncountry: and it passed gradually into the hands of new leaders more\nwidely acquainted with English society. It passed into the hands of the\nWilberforces, and Archdeacon Manning; of Mr. Bennett, Mr. Dodsworth, Mr.\nW. Scott, Dr. Irons, Mr. E. Hawkins, and Mr. Upton Richards in London.\nIt had the sympathy and counsels of men of weight, or men who were\nrising into eminence and importance--some of the Judges, Mr. Gladstone,\nMr. Roundell Palmer, Mr. Frederic Rogers, Mr. Mountague Bernard, Mr.\nHope Scott (as he afterwards was), Mr. Badeley, and a brilliant recruit\nfrom Cambridge, Mr. Beresford Hope. It attracted the sympathy of another\nboast of Cambridge, the great Bishop of New Zealand, and his friend Mr.\nWhytehead. Those times were the link between what we are now, so changed\nin many ways, and the original impulse given at Oxford; but to those\ntimes I am as much of an outsider as most of the foremost in them were\noutsiders to Oxford in the earlier days. Those times are almost more\nimportant than the history of the movement; for, besides vindicating it,\nthey carried on its work to achievements and successes which, even in\nthe most sanguine days of \"Tractarianism,\" had not presented themselves\nto men's minds, much less to their hopes. But that story must be told by\nothers.\n\n\"Show thy servants thy work, and their children thy glory.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[124] Compare Mozley's _Reminiscences_, ii. 1-3.\n\n[125] _Christian Remembrancer_, January 1846, pp. 167, 168.\n\n[126] _E.g._ the Warden of Merton's _History of the University of\nOxford,_ p. 212. \"The first panic was succeeded by a reaction; some\ndevoted adherents followed him (Mr. Newman) to Rome; others relapsed\ninto lifeless conformity; and the University soon resumed its wonted\ntranquillity.\" \"_Lifeless_ conformity\" sounds odd connected with Dr.\nPusey or Mr. J.B. Mozley, and the London men who were the founders of\nthe so-called Ritualist schools.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\nAddresses to Archbishop of Canterbury, by clergy and laity\nAnglicanism, its features in 1830\n  Newman's views on\n  Newman's interpretation of\n_Apologia_, quotations from\nApostolic Succession\n  Newman's insistence on\n  its foundation on Prayer Book\nApostolitity of English Church\nArchbishop of Canterbury. _See_ Addresses, and Howley\n_Arians_, the\nArnold, Dr., theories on the Church\n  his proposal to unite all sects by law\n  attack on Tractarians\n  Professorship at Oxford\n  his influence shown in rise of third school\nArticles, the, and Dissenters\n  subscription of. _See_ Dr. Hampden, and Thirty-nine Articles\n\nBaptism, Tract on\n_Baptistery_, the\nBennett, Mr.\nBentham. _see_ Utilitarianism\nBernard, Mr. Mountague\nBishoprics, suppression of ten Irish\nBishops' attitude to movement\n  the first Tract on\nBlachford, Lord, reminiscences of Froude\nBliss, James\nBlomfield, Bishop\nBritish Association, a sign of the times\n_British Critic_ on the movement\n_British Magazine_\nBrougham, Lord\nBunsen, M., and the Bishopric of Jerusalem\nBurton, Dr.\n\nCambridge, critical school of theology\nCapes, Mr.\nCardwell, Dr.\nCatastrophe, the\nCatholicity of English Church\n_Catholicus's_ letters to the _Times_\nCelibacy, observations on\nCelibate clergy scheme\nChanges in movement\n_Christian Remembrancer_\n_Christian Year_\nChristianity, Church of England, two schools of\nChristie, Albany\nChristie, J.F.\nChurch, the, in eighteenth century\n  Dr. Whately's theories on\n  Dr. Arnold's theories\n  Coleridge's theories\n  Apostolic origin of\n  various conceptions of\n  political attacks on\n  public mind indifferent to\n  Dr. Pusey's theories on\n  theological aspect of\n  practical aspect of\n  and the Roman question\n  Catholicity of\n  and the doctrine of Development\n_Church of the Fathers_\n\"Churchman's Manual\"\n  Scotch Bishops on\nChurton, Mr. (of Crayke)\nClaughton, Mr. Piers\nClergy of eighteenth century, character of\nClose, Dr. (of Cheltenham)\nCoffin, Mr.\nColeridge, Mr. Justice\nColeridge, S.T., influence on Charles Marriott\n  Church theories\n_Conservative Journal_, Newman's language towards Rome\nCopeland, William John\nCornish, C.L.\nCreeds, the, pamphlets on\n  authority of\n\nDalgairns, Mr.\nDefeats, the Three, 312-335. _See also_ Isaac Williams,\n  Macmullen, and Pusey\nDickinson, Dr., \"Pastoral Epistle from his Holiness the Pope\"\nDiffusion of Useful Knowledge Society\nDissenters and the Articles. _See also_ Thirty-nine Articles\nDodsworth, Mr.\nDominic, Father, receives Newman into Church of Rome\nDonkin, Mr.\nDoyle, Sir F., on Newman's sermons\n\n_Ecclesiologist_ founded\nEden, C.P.\n_Edinburgh Review_, article by Dr. Arnold on Tractarians\n\"Elucidations of Dr. Hampden's Theological Statements\"\n_English Churchman_ founded\nEvangelicism in 1830, character of\n\nFaber, Francis\nFaber, Frederic\nFasting, Tract on\nFaussett, Dr.\n  attack on Dr. Pusey\nFroude, Richard Hurrell\n  pupil of Keble\n  Fellow of Oriel\n  first meeting with Newman\n  early estimate of Newman\n  travels with Newman\n  influence on the movement\n  his severe self-discipline\n  character\n  Mozley's remarks on\n  correspondence\n  his _Remains_ published\n  effect of publication\n  a modern estimate of the _Remains_\n  events of 1830\n  theory of the Church\n  sermons and writings\n  Lord Blachford's reminiscences of\nFroude, William\n\nGarbett, Mr., elected Professor of Poetry\nGilbert, Dr.\nGladstone, Mr.\nGolightly, Mr.\nGorham, Mr.\n_Grammar of Assent_ on Faith and Reason\nGreenhill, Dr.\n_Guardian_ founded\nGuillemard, Mr.\n\nHaddan, A.\nHadleigh, Conference of leaders at\n  policy adopted\nHampden, Dr.\n  advocates abolition of subscription of Articles\n  his election as Professor of Divinity\n  outcry against election of\n  Bampton Lectures\n  so-called \"persecution\" of\n  modern estimate of the \"persecution\"\n  deprived of vote for Select Preachers\n  his action in the B.D. degree contest\nHare, Julius\nHawkins, Dr.\nHawkins, E.\nHill, Mr.\nHobhouse, Mr.\nHolland House\n\"Home Thoughts Abroad\"\nHook, Dr.\nHope, Mr. Beresford\nHowley, Archbishop\nHussey, Mr.\n\n_Ideal of a Christian Church_, _See_ W.G. Ward\nInfallibility, views on\nIrons, Dr.\n\nJebb, Bishop\nJelf, Dr.\nJenkyns, Dr.\nJerusalem, Bishopric of\nJerusalem, Bishopric of, Newman's protest against\nJolly, Bishop\nJowett, Mr.\n\nKaye, Bishop\nKeble, John\n  brilliant Oxford career\n  suspicions of Evangelicism\n  a strong Tory\n  his poetic nature\n  influence on Froude\n  his pupils\n  sermon on _National Apostasy_\n  tract on \"Mysticism of the Fathers\"\n  resigns Poetry Professorship\nKeble, Thomas\nKnox, Alexander\n\nLaw's _Serious Call_, Keble's remark on\nLe Bas, Mr.\n_Lectures on Justification_, Newman's, influence of\n_Letter to the Bishop of Oxford_, Newman's\nLetters of an Episcopalian\nLewis, D.\n_Library of the Fathers_\nLloyd's, Bishop, Lectures, influence of\nLowe, R.\nLyall, Mr.\n_Lyra Apostolica_\n\nMacmullen, Mr.\n  his contest on B.D. degree\nManning, Archdeacon\nMarriott, Charles\n  influenced by Coleridge and Dr. Hampden\n  aversion to party action\n  Scholar of Balliol\n  Fellow of Oriel\n  Newman's influence on\n  Moberly's influence on\n  Principal of Chichester Theological College\n  scheme of poor students' hall\n  Tutor of Oriel\n  Vicar of St. Mary's\n  his sermons\n  rooms and parties\n  share in _Library of the Fathers_\n  Mozley's estimate of\n  death\nMarsh, Bishop\n\"Martyrs' Memorial,\" connexion with the movement\nMaurice, F.D., views of\nMelbourne, Lord\nMeyrick, T.\nMiller, John (of Worcester), Bampton Lectures, influence of\nMoberly, Dr. (of Winchester)\nMonophysite Controversy\nMorris, John Brande\nMozley, James\n  on Newman's sermons\n  on \"No. 90\"\nMozley, Thomas\n  on Charles Marriott\n  on Froude\n\"Mysticism of the Fathers in the use and interpretation of Scripture,\"\n           Keble's Tract on\n\nNational Apostasy, Keble's sermon on\nNewman, John Henry--\n  his early preaching\n  meeting with Froude\n  Froude's early estimate of\n  on Apostolic Succession, _q.v._\n  on Infallibility\n  attitude at different times to Rome\n  early friends\n  first Tract, written by\n  his four o'clock sermons\n  chief coadjutors of\n  views on subscription of Articles\n  on Dr. Hampden's theology\n  character\n  Lectures\n  _Lectures on Justification_\n  Anglicanism, views on\n  resigns St. Mary's\n  not a proselytiser\n  _Letter to Bishop of Oxford_\n  interpretation of Church formularies\n  on the Articles, _See_ \"No. 90\"\n  _Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine_\n  joins Church of Rome\nNicknames\n\"No. 90\"\n  Newman's attitude on\n  object to defend Catholicity of the Articles\n  its reception\n  charge of dishonesty against\n  condemned by Board of Heads\n  pamphlet war on\n  the crisis of the movement\n  events after\n\nOakeley, Mr.\n  article on \"Jewel\"\nOgilvie, Dr.\nOrdination, validity of\n_Origines Liturgicae_\nOxford, Liberal School of Theology\n  Orthodoxy\n  as a Church School\nOxford Movement--\n  political conditions of\n  beginnings of\n  Keble the primary author of\n  early writings towards\n  the leaders\n  forced on the originators\n  object of\n  accession of Dr. Pusey and his influence\n  gradual growth of\n  attitude to Romanism\n  changes in\n  tendency to Romanism\n  in origin anti-Roman\n  attitude of University authorities towards\n  attitude of Bishops towards\n  mistakes in conduct of\nOxford Movement--\n  rise of third school\n  secessions to Rome\n\nPalmer, William, share in movement\n  _Origines Liturgicae_\n  _Narrative_\n  _Treatise on the Church of Christ_\nPalmer, Mr. Roundell\nPark, Judge Allan\n_Parochial Sermons_\nPattison, Mark\nPeel, Sir Robert\nPerceval, A., share in movement\nPhillpotts, Bishop\n_Plain Sermons_\nPoetry Professorship, contest for, made a theological one\n_Prophetical Office of the Church_\n\"Prospects of the Anglican Church\"\n  Newman's after-thoughts on\nPusey, Dr.\n  joins the movement\n  effect of his adhesion\n  his _Remonstrance_\n  tract on Baptism\n  attack on him\n  sermon on the Holy Eucharist \"delated\" to Vice-Chancellor\n  unfairness of proceedings against\n  memorial to Vice-Chancellor, on his case\n\n\"Records of the Church\"\nReform days, state of Church\nReformers, early, views of\n_Remonstrance_\n\"Reserve in communicating Religious Knowledge,\" Isaac\n  Williams's tract on\nRichards, Mr. Upton\nRogers, Frederic\n_Romanism and Popular Protestantism_\nRomanism\n  misconceptions of\n  Newman's attitude towards\n  tendency in party of movement towards\nRose, Hugh James\n  an estimate of\n  lectures on German speculation\n  controversy with Dr. Pusey\n  early death\nRouth, Dr.\n_Rusticus_, pamphlets by\nRyder, G.\n\nSt. John, Mr. Ambrose\nScott, Mr. Hope\nScott, W.\nSeager, Charles\nSelwyn, Bishop\nSewell, William\nShairp, Principal, on Newman's sermons\nSikes, Mr. (of Guilsborough)\nSimpson, Mr.\nStanley, Mr. Arthur\nSterling, John\nSubscription. _See_ Thirty-nine Articles\nSumner, J. Bird, Bishop\nSymons, Dr.\n  opposition to, as Vice-Chancellor\n\nTait, Mr. (of Balliol)\nTheologians of 1830\nThird party in Church--\n  rise of\n  influence\nThirlwall, Connop\nThirty-nine Articles, subscription of\n  Dr. Hampden and subscription\n  pamphlet war on subscription\n  Newman on subscription\n  their Catholicity\n  _And see_ W.G. Ward \"No. 90\" on\nThomas, Vaughan\n_Times_, letters of _Catholicus_ to\nTottenham, E.\nTractarian doctrines, discussion of\n  Movement. _See_ Oxford\nTractarians, excitement against\nTract, text of the first\nTracts, the--\n  topics of\n  mode of circulating\n  reception of\n  accused of Romanism\n  first volume of\n  later numbers, character of\n  public opinion against\n  \"No. 90,\" _q.v._\n  contributors to\n  on \"Reserve,\" _q.v._\n  on \"Mysticism,\" _q.v._\n_Treatise on the Church of Christ_\n\nUtilitarianism, influence on religious belief\n\n_Via Media_\n\nWall, Mr.\nWard, W.G.\n  dismissed from Balliol Lectureship\n  writings on Romanism\n  his criticisms of English Church\n  _Ideal of a Christian Church_\n  on \"No. 90\"\n  on the Articles\n  hostility to Lutheranism\n  his philosophy of religion\n  his book condemned\n  himself \"degraded\"\n  joins Church of Rome\nWatson, Joshua\nWellington, Duke of\nWhately, Dr.--\n  theories on Church\n  opposed to Tractarians\n  _Letters of an Episcopalian_\nWhite, Blanco\nWhytehead, Mr.\nWilberforce, Henry\nWilberforce, Robert\nWilliams, Isaac\nWilliams, Isaac, Keble's influence on\n  Fellow of Trinity\n  connexion with Newman\n  divergences from Newman\n  contributions to _Plain Sermons_\n  aversion to Rome\n  his poetry\n  defeated for Poetry Professorship\n  Tract on \"Reserve\"\nWilson, H.B.\nWilson, R.F.\nWiseman, Dr.\n  article on Donatists\nWood, S.F.\nWoodgate, Mr.\nWordsworth, Dr.\nWynter, Dr.\n\n\nTHE END","title":"The Oxford Movement; Twelve Years, 1833-1845","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":107805}