THE STORY CONTINUED. WHAT FOLLOWED EXPULSION. DESPERATE WORD FIGHTING.
ABUSE.
I was expelled on a Saturday afternoon. I was unable to stay till the
closing scene, as I had an engagement to preach anniversary sermons on
the Sunday, some thirty miles away. But the news soon reached me, and I
received it with strange and indescribable emotions. I felt that
something very important had happened,--that I was placed in a new and
serious position, and was entering on a new and untried way of life; but
I little dreamt what the results would be. I expected an eventful
future, but not the kind of future that was really waiting for me. I
anticipated trials, and sorrows, and great changes; but how strangely
different the realities have proved from what I anticipated in my
fevered dreams! But I had strong faith in God, and a firm trust in His
all-perfect Providence, and no one saw me tremble or turn pale.
I had not been expelled long when I found myself face to face with a
terrible host of trials. Some who had promised to stand by my side took
fright, and left me to my fate. Some found their interests were
endangered by their attachment to me, and fell away. Some were
influenced by the threats of their masters, and some by the tears and
entreaties of their kindred, and reluctantly joined the ranks of my
enemies. Some thought I should have yielded a point or two, and were
vexed at what they called my obstinacy. There were fearful and
melancholy changes. People who had always heretofore received me with
smiles of welcome, now looked cold and gloomy. Some raged, some wept,
and some embraced me with unspeakable tenderness; while some wished me
dead, and said it had been better for me if I had never been born.
One man, a person of considerable influence, who had encouraged me in my
movements, and joined me in lamenting the shortcomings of the Connexion,
and in condemning the conduct of my opponents, no sooner saw that I was
doomed, than he sent me a most unfeeling letter. I met the postman and
got the letter in the street, and read it as I walked along. It pained
me terribly, but it comforted me to think that it had not fallen into
the hands of my delicate and sensitive wife. That no other eye might see
it, and no other soul be afflicted with the treachery and cruelty of the
writer, I tore it in pieces, and threw it into the Tyne, and kept the
matter a secret from those whose souls it might have shocked too rudely
for endurance.
Another man, who had said to me a short time before my expulsion, that
whoever else might close their doors against me, his would always be
open, proved as faithless as the basest. I called one day at his shop.
As soon as he saw me, he turned away his eyes, and stood motionless and
speechless behind the counter, as if agitated with painful and
unutterable passion. I saw his family move hurriedly from the room
behind the shop to another room, as if afraid lest I should step forward
into their presence. The man kept his door open sure enough, his _shop_
door; but his heart was closed, and he never spoke to me more as long as
he lived.
One day I went with a brother of mine to the house of a tradesman near
Gateshead, a member and a leading man in the New Connexion, on a matter
of business. As soon as the person saw me, he began to abuse me in a
very extravagant manner. I had always had a favorable opinion of the
man, and I quietly answered, "I can excuse your severity; for you no
doubt are acting conscientiously." "That is more than I believe you are
doing," he answered, and turned away.
There was great excitement throughout the whole Connexion. And while
many were transported with rage, great numbers took my part. The feeling
in my favor was both strong and very general. One-third of the whole
Connexion probably separated from my opponents, and formed themselves
into a new society. Several ministers joined them, and had not the
chapels been secured to the Conference, it is probable that the greater
portion of the community would have seceded. As it was, the existence of
the Body seemed in peril, and the leaders found it necessary to strain
every nerve to save it from utter destruction.
And they were not particular as to the means they used. Before my
expulsion even my enemies had considered me a virtuous, godly man, and
acknowledged me to be a most laborious and successful minister. Now they
fabricated and circulated all manner of slanderous reports respecting
me. One day they gave it out that I had broken my teetotal pledge, and
had been taken up drunk out of the gutter, and wheeled home in a
wheelbarrow. Then it was discovered that I had not broken my pledge, but
I had been seen nibbling a little Spanish juice, so it was said I was
eating opium, and killing myself as fast as the poison could destroy me.
At another time it was said I had gone stark mad, and had been smothered
to death between two beds. A friend came, pale and dismally sorrowful,
to condole with my wife on the dreadful catastrophe, and was himself
almost mad with delight when he found that I was in the parlor writing,
as well and as sane as usual.
Then it was reported that I had applied for a place in the ministry
among the Calvinists, though I had up to that time professed views at
variance with Calvinism, and had even objected to be a hired minister.
When I called for the names of the parties to whom I had made the offer,
and engaged to give a large reward if my slanderers would produce them,
they found it was another Joseph that had applied for the place, and not
Joseph Barker. But the death of one slander seemed to be the birth of
two or three fresh ones. And sometimes opposite slanders sprang up
together. "If he had been a good man," said one, "he would have stopped
in the Connexion quietly, and waited for reform!" "If he had been an
honest man," said another, "he would have left the Connexion long ago,
and not remained in a community that he thought in error." I had been
"too hasty" for one, and "too slow" for another. One wrote to assure me
that I should die a violent death in less than eighteen months. Another
said he foresaw me lying on my death-bed, with Satan sitting on my
breast, ready to carry away my soul to eternal torments. One sent me a
number of my pamphlets blotted and torn, packed up with a piece of wood,
for the carriage of which I was charged from four to five shillings.
Another sent me a number of my publications defaced in another way,
with offensive enclosures that do not admit of description.
At one time it was reported that I had died suddenly at Leeds. "After
lecturing there one night," the story said, "a certain person got upon
the platform to oppose me, and I was so frightened, that I first turned
pale, then fainted, and in two hours breathed my last." I was preaching
at Penrith, in Cumberland, some seventy or eighty miles away, at the
time I was said to have died at Leeds.
Some weeks later it was rumored that I had destroyed myself at Otley.
The maker of the tale in this case had been very particular, and given
his story the appearance of great truthfulness. He said I had gone to
lecture at Otley, and on my arrival there, was found to be more than
usually thoughtful and depressed. I lectured with my usual freedom and
power, but seemed oppressed with some mysterious sorrow. After the
lecture, instead of going along with my host, I unaccountably
disappeared, and though my friends sought for me and inquired for me all
about the town, I was nowhere to be found. In the morning, as the son of
my host was seeking for some cows in a wood on the side of the Chevin,
he found me dead and cold, with my throat cut, and the razor in my hand
with which I had done the deadly deed. The news soon spread, and my body
was taken back to Otley, where an inquest was held. The verdict was that
I had died by my own hand, in a fit of temporary insanity.
These stories were printed and published, and circulated through the
whole country. They were shouted aloud in the street opposite my own
door, in the hearing of my wife and family, during my absence. At first
my wife and children were terribly alarmed when they heard men crying,
"The melancholy death of Mr. Joseph Barker." But they got so used to me
dying and destroying myself in time, that they took such matters more
calmly, especially as I always came again, and appeared no worse for the
terrible deaths through which I had been made to pass.
For a year or two my enemies published a periodical called _The Beacon_,
every page of which they filled with malignant slanders. The loss of
members exasperated them past measure. The danger which threatened the
Connexion drove them mad. They took up evil reports respecting me
without consideration. They looked on all I did with an evil eye, and
recklessly charged me with wicked devices which had no existence but in
their own disturbed imaginations. One charged me with having acted
inconsistently with my views with regard to the use of money, and
another with having acted inconsistently with my belief with regard to
baptism. Any tale to my discredit was welcome, and the supply of
slanderous tales seemed infinite. They wrested my words, they belied my
deeds, they misinterpreted my motives, they misrepresented the whole
course of my life, and the whole texture of my character.
One of the pitiful slanders circulated by my enemies was the following.
My custom was, when I went out to lecture, or to preach anniversary
sermons, to charge only my coach fares, rendering my services gratis.
For eighteen years I never charged a penny either for preaching or
lecturing. But the people of Berry Brow, near Huddersfield, said I had
charged them thirty shillings for preaching their anniversary sermons,
and the Conference party took the trouble to spread the contemptible
charge through the Connexion.
The facts of the case were these: I had an engagement to preach
anniversary sermons at Hanley, in the Staffordshire Potteries. The Berry
Brow people heard of this, and as I had to pass their place on my way to
Hanley, they requested me to spend a Sabbath with them, and preach
_their_ anniversary sermons. I did so, and charged them thirty
shillings, about one-third of the expenses of my journey, taking the
other two-thirds from the Hanley people. This was all.
Of course such matters would not be worth naming, if it were not to show
how much there was in the conduct of my persecutors to give me a dislike
to their character, and to prejudice me against their views.
That you may have an idea of my labors as a preacher, take the following
account of one week's work, when I was lecturing against the infidel
Socialists, previous to my expulsion. I had preached three times on the
Sunday, walked six miles, and attended to several other duties. At half
past ten at night I started by stage coach for Bolton, a hundred and
fifty miles away. I travelled all night, and all next day, outside the
coach. It was winter, and the weather was very cold. About six in the
evening I reached Bolton. At half past seven I began my lecture, in a
place crowded almost to suffocation. After the lecture, I had an hour
and a half's debate. Between eleven and twelve I went to bed. I spent
next day mostly in writing. At half past seven I began my second
lecture, with a congregation more closely packed than the night before.
The lecture was followed with a somewhat longer debate. This continued
five nights. On Friday night I got to bed about twelve. At half past two
I started in an open gig for Manchester, twelve miles off. The morning
was very cold. There was a severe frost and a thick fog. At Manchester I
took the coach for Newcastle, and I rode outside all day, until half
past ten at night. The Sunday following I preached three times again.
And in this way I labored for nearly two years. I paid all my own
expenses. I also engaged and paid a person to preach for me, and to
attend to my other duties in the circuit, during the week. If there was
a loss at my meetings I bore it myself; never asking any one for aid.
And at times I had heavy losses. At Manchester once, after giving five
lectures, I was eleven pounds out of pocket. At Birmingham I had a loss
of thirty-seven pounds on five lectures. That was about the hardest week
I ever had. My tongue got rather white. My food lost its relish. My
thoughts kept me awake after I lay down in bed sometimes, and sometimes
awoke me after I had gone to sleep. I caught myself drawing long breaths
at times. Money came into my head at prayer, though none came into my
pocket. I did not even ask for that. I met with Combe's work on
digestion and read it, but it did not help me much, either in digesting
my food, or my heavy loss. But I made no complaints. I did not even tell
my wife till long after, when I was prosperous and comfortable again.
And none of those who heard my lectures, saw in me any sign of
discouragement. I lectured to my small audience as earnestly as if the
vast amphitheatre had been crowded. And I paid the whole loss out of my
own pocket, asking help from neither stranger nor friend.
Just about this time Mr. Hulme, the son-in-law of my chief persecutor,
set afloat a story that I was getting immensely rich by my lectures, and
demanded that I should hand over my gains to the Connexional funds. I
could hardly help wishing that he had been compelled to take one-half of
my Manchester and Birmingham gains.
I never charged more than two-pence, I seldom charged more than a penny,
for admission to my lectures: but such were the crowds that attended,
and such was the readiness of my friends in different places to help me
without charge, that in nine cases out of ten I had a surplus. I had
forty pounds in hand with which to pay the loss of thirty-seven at
Birmingham. Besides, I sold large quantities of my pamphlets, and they
yielded me a profit, though I sold my works eighty or ninety per cent.
cheaper than my envious brethren sold theirs.
After my expulsion I worked harder than I had done before. The following
is only a part of one week's work. I preached three times on the Sunday;
twice to immense crowds in the open air. The time between the three
meetings I spent in talking, writing, and walking. I walked fifteen
miles. On Monday I wrote a lengthy article for my periodical, the
_Christian Investigator_. At night I lectured to a crowded audience, and
had a three hours' discussion after. About one I got to bed. At five I
was up to take the coach to Manchester. At Manchester I carried a heavy
pack two miles to the railway station. I went by train to Sandbach, then
walked about twenty-three miles to Longton, carrying my carpet bag, and
some thirty pounds weight of books, on my shoulder. It was a hot day in
June. At Longton I preached an hour and a quarter to about five thousand
people in the open air, and had a lengthy discussion after. How I slept,
I forget. I believe I was feverish through the night. In the morning my
nose bled freely, and I was better. I walked six, eight, or ten miles
daily, carrying my bag and books along with me, and preaching, or
lecturing and discussing, every night. I did this daily for weeks, and
months, and years. And I never charged a penny for my labors. And I had
no salary. I supported myself and my family by the sale of my cheap
publications.
Yet one of the slanders circulated by my enemies was, as I said, that I
acted inconsistently with my published views on the use of money. I
taught, as Wesley had taught, and as Jesus and Paul had taught, that a
man should not lay up _for himself_ treasures on earth,--that money was
a trust from God, to be used in His service, for the good of mankind.
And I acted on these principles. I did not lay up a penny for myself on
earth. I employed all I received in doing good, hardly spending enough
on myself and family to purchase the barest necessaries. But my enemies
found I had placed fifty pounds _on interest_, in the hands of Mr.
Townsend; and away went the charge of inconsistency, hypocrisy, and what
not, through the country. There was no inconsistency at all in what I
had done.
It was a principle with me, never to go into debt. And my plan was,
never to begin to print a book, till I had, in the first place, got the
money ready to pay the expense of printing, and, in the second place,
reconciled myself to lose the money in case the book did not sell. At
the time I placed the fifty pounds in the hands of Mr. T., I was
preparing to print a book that would cost me thrice that amount. I did
print it, and paid the expense in cash, according to my principles and
plan. I follow the same plan still: my printers like it; and so do I. I
owed a dollar and a half at the close of last year. The thought of it
troubled me, not much, but still a little, during the watch-night
services at Siloam church. I had only owed the sum ten hours, and I paid
it next morning, but still, the thought of the debt made the ending of
the old year, and the beginning of the new one, a trifle less happy than
they might have been, if I had been entirely straight with all the
world.
In some cases, when I went out to lecture, the leading ministers of the
Connexion would come to my meetings, and exciting discussions followed.
These injured the Connexion still more, for I invariably gained the
sympathy of the audience. On some occasions my enemies behaved in such a
manner as to provoke my audiences past endurance, and uproar followed;
and the greatest coolness on my part, and the employment of all my
influence, were necessary to keep the more excitable of my friends from
resorting to violence.
Very curious incidents took place sometimes, strangely confounding my
opponents, and making the impression on my friends, and on myself as
well, that God had specially interfered on my behalf. On more than one
occasion, when discreditable tales were told of me by my opponents, some
one in the audience who knew the facts, would rise and testify in my
behalf, and publicly convict my slanderers of falsehood. In one case, at
Dudley, Mr. Bakewell, who had always taken a leading part against me,
charged me before a crowded audience, with having baptized a child of
certain parents, at Hawarden in Wales, a hundred miles away, after I had
declared my belief that it was improper to baptize children. He adduced
some testimony in support of his statement, which seemed to satisfy many
in the audience that I had been guilty of inconsistency. What could I
do? I had nothing to oppose to his testimony and his pretended proofs,
but my solemn denial of the statement. Most happily for me, as soon as
my opponent took his seat, a lady rose, towards the farther end of the
room, with a baby in her arms. "I wish to speak," said the lady. The
people near her helped her to step upon a seat, that she might be seen
and heard to better advantage. "_I_ am the mother referred to by Mr.
Bakewell," said the lady, "and this is the child. Mr. Bakewell's
statement is untrue. Mr. Barker did not sprinkle my child. He only named
it, and asked God's blessing on it. Here is my husband, and he can
testify to the truth of this statement." The lady stepped down and the
husband rose. "I am the Richard Burrows mentioned by Mr. Bakewell. This
is my wife, and that is our child. Mr. Barker did not baptize it. Mr.
Bakewell's statement is false." That settled the question. The feeling
against my slanderer was tremendous. The people would not hear him speak
another word.
It had so happened that Mr. and Mrs. Burrows had been obliged to remove
from Wales to the neighborhood of Dudley, and had just arrived at their
new home. Hearing that I was lecturing at Dudley, they hastened to the
meeting, and got there just in time to hear my opponent mention their
names in support of his charge of inconsistency. What could be more
natural than that I and my friends should regard this remarkable and
happy incident as a gracious interposition of Providence in our behalf?
The conduct of my opponents had a most injurious effect not only on my
own mind, but on the minds of my wife and children. We came to look on
New Connexion Methodist preachers as some of the worst of men,--as the
very essence or embodiment of deceit and malignity; and our respect for
Methodist preachers generally, and even for Methodism itself, was
greatly abated. The consequence was, we were prepared to move in almost
any direction that would take us farther away from our old associates,
and we all became, to some extent, anti-Methodistical in our feelings
and sentiments.
Exciting meetings like the one at Dudley took place in almost every part
of the country. The numbers attending them were so great that no room
could hold them, so that I generally had to speak in the open air. And I
lectured almost every night, and often through the day as well; and
every lecture was followed with discussion. When opponents did not rise
to assail me, friends rose to consult me, and our evening meetings often
continued till nearly midnight. And I preached three times on a Sunday.
And after every meeting there was a crowd of friends anxious to talk
with me, or have my counsel about the formation or management of
societies. Some had heard strange stories about me, and wanted to know
whether they were true or not. Others had had discussions with
opponents, and wished to tell me how they had fared. Some had been
puzzled with passages of Scripture quoted by opponents, and they wished
to know my views of their meaning. Some were sick, and wanted my
prayers. Some wanted prescriptions as well as prayers, and I was obliged
to be a physician as well as a preacher and reformer. Reports of cures
wrought by my means led many to believe I had the gift of healing, and
sufferers sought my aid wherever I made my appearance.
While one-half of each day was taken up with talking, another half was
taken up with writing. I had hundreds of letters to write, and hundreds
upon hundreds of all kinds of letters to read. I had, besides, a new
periodical on hand, for which I was expected to provide the principal
part of the articles. And special attacks on me or on my views required
a constant succession of pamphlets.
In addition to my press of work, I had no small share of anxiety. My
wife was greatly tried, and saw no prospect of a speedy end to her
trials. When expelled I was living in the preacher's house, and had the
preacher's furniture, and many in the circuit considered that I had a
right to them, and advised me to keep them, and set the Conference
partly at defiance. I however refused to retain possession of property
with a doubtful title, and gave all up. And now I had not a chair on
which to sit, nor a bed on which to sleep. And the little money I had
was wanted for the printers. My friends provided for me in a way, but
not in the way to satisfy an anxious mother. One child was taken by one
family, and another by another, while I and my wife were accommodated by
a third. And one of the children was unkindly treated, and the rest were
not content; and no house could be a home to my wife which was not her
own; and no condition could make her content while deprived of the
company of her children. And I saw her heart was the seat of fearful
conflicts.
For several months I went through my arduous and ceaseless labors, and
my varied and exhausting trials, without apparent injury to my health.
At length, however, continual excitement, intense thought, ceaseless
anxiety, the foul air of close and crowded rooms, perpetual travelling,
loss of sleep, lack of domestic comforts, unhealthy food, and trials of
other kinds without end, so exhausted me, that I found it difficult to
rise from my chair, or to steady myself on my feet. To walk was quite a
task,--a really painful one. I had a difficulty in putting one foot
before the other. It was a labor to drag myself along. A walk of two or
three miles quite wearied me. And when I got to my journey's end, my
lungs lacked power to utter words; my brain lacked energy to supply
thoughts; and lecturing and preaching became a weariness. When I sat
down to write, my pen seemed reluctant to touch the paper. My mind
shrank back from its task. In my ignorance of the laws of life, I
charged myself with idleness, and tried to spur myself on to renewed
activity. The attempt was vain. One afternoon I ventured to lie down and
treat myself to an after-dinner nap. I slept three hours. I had no
engagement that night, and feeling still unaccountably sleepy, I
slipped off to bed about eight o'clock. I slept till nearly nine next
morning. I slept an hour or two more after dinner. At night I slept
about ten hours more. Next day I felt as if my strength was running
over. I could do anything. My pen seemed to point to the paper of
itself, as if anxious to be writing. Walking was a pleasure. I could
preach or lecture without effort. Words, thoughts, and feelings were all
at hand to do my bidding. What I had charged on myself as idleness, was
strengthlessness, the result of sheer exhaustion.
I had suffered so much from the intolerance of my old colleagues, that I
now resolved to be subject to no authority whatever but God and my own
conscience. And I kept my resolution. I would neither rule nor be ruled.
The extreme of priestly tyranny, from which I had suffered so
grievously, had begotten in me the extreme of religious license. I have
seen since, that a man may have too much liberty, as well as too little;
too little restraint as well as too much; and that a church without
authority and discipline must inevitably lose itself in confusion and
ruin. We are none of us fit for unlimited liberty: we all need the
supervision, and counsels, and admonitions, of our Christian brethren.
After my separation from the Methodist New Connexion I became the pastor
of a church in Newcastle, which had left the Connexion on account of my
expulsion. The trustees had legal and rightful possession of the large
and nice new chapel there, and they and the other officials of the
church were both dissatisfied with the doings of Conference, and
desirous to secure me as their minister. They were aware of my
admiration of the Quakers, and of my leaning towards some of their
peculiar views and customs. They were also acquainted with my way of
preaching, for I had travelled in that Circuit some years before, and I
had preached for them frequently while stationed at Gateshead. They knew
my character too, and were acquainted with all my conflicts with the
ruling party in the Connexion from which I had been expelled. And though
they did not think exactly as I thought on every point, they saw nothing
in my views but what they could freely tolerate. They were satisfied
that I was conscientious; and they considered my general deportment to
be highly exemplary. And they knew I was a hard-working and successful
minister. One of the leading members was a printer, and had been
consulted by the Annual Committee of the New Connexion in reference to
my communications to them about the publication of cheap books by the
Book-room. They thought my statements were extravagant; he told them
they were very near the truth, if not the truth itself. This gentleman
was one of the most eager now to arrange for my settlement as a minister
in Newcastle. The officers and members of the church generally were
disposed to consult my feelings and meet my views. They did not require
me to be a hired or salaried minister. They knew the wants of my family,
and they would provide for them. They would appoint a person to baptize
children. They were not particular about theological niceties. They had
read my writings; they were acquainted with the controversies that had
taken place between me and my opponents; and they were satisfied that I
was right on every point of importance; and that was enough. And they
liked my simple, earnest, practical style of preaching. So everything
was comfortably arranged.
We united on the principle laid down in my article on "_Toleration,
Human Creeds_," &c. The Bible was our creed: the Bible was our law-book;
though we were still, on the whole, methodistical, both in doctrine and
discipline. Numbers of other churches were organized on the same
principle, in various parts of the country; and several young preachers
left the body to which I had belonged, or were expelled on account of
their attachment to me, and became their ministers. And the churches
prospered. Numbers of people joined them, both from the world and from
other religious communities.
For nearly two years things went on very happily at Newcastle, and the
church was very prosperous. I labored to the utmost extent of my powers.
I preached twice every Sunday to my own congregation, and once to
another congregation at Gateshead, or in the country. I visited the
churches also in every part of the land, preaching and lecturing
continually.
All this time my old opponents continued their abuse. Though I
relinquished no Christian doctrine, and added to the truth no dreams or
speculations of my own, but employed myself continually in preaching the
great practical principles of the Gospel, and in urging my hearers to
love and good works, they assailed me with the bitterest hatred. And the
more the churches with which I was connected prospered, the more
furiously my enemies raged.
And when people left other denominations to unite with my friends,
ministers and members of those denominations joined my opponents in
their evil work. They preached abusive sermons and published abusive
pamphlets. There was eager, angry controversy on every hand. Hard words
were used on both sides. The feelings of both parties were heated to a
high pitch. And as is usual in such cases, both parties, under the
influence of their passions, came to the conclusion that their opponents
were neither sound in doctrine, nor good in character.
Towards the close of the second year I got into trouble at Newcastle. A
religious reformer of the name of George Bird came to the town. His
father was a clergyman in the Church of England, and he himself was
rector of Cumberworth. He was recommended to me by some of my friends
who lived near Cumberworth, and as he was wishful to spend some time in
Newcastle and the neighborhood, I took him into my house, and gave him a
home. He had published a book on the Reform of the Church of England,
urging the abolition of a number of abuses, and recommending the
restoration of what he considered true Christian discipline. His idea
was, that Christians should meet for religious _worship apart_ from
people of the world,--that though preachers might _preach_ to mixed
audiences, they should reserve their singing and praying, and all that
was strictly worship, for assemblies of Christians alone. He recommended
that the members of the church should meet first, in a place apart, or
in a part of the chapel marked off for themselves, and go through their
devotions all alone, and that the sermon, addressed both to believers
and unbelievers, should be quite a separate service. He had passages of
Scripture, and church tradition, and considerations of fitness and
propriety, by which he recommended his doctrine, and to some they proved
convincing. I began myself, after thinking the matter over for awhile,
to have a leaning towards his views. My friends could so far tolerate
the new views, that they allowed Mr. Bird to preach in their chapels,
letting some one else conduct the singing and praying parts of the
service. But when they found that their own minister began to look with
favor on the new plan, they became alarmed. They could tolerate
peculiarities in others, but they were not disposed to appear before the
world as reformers and innovators themselves. Nor would they allow their
minister to go any farther in the way of reform than he had gone before
they had accepted him as their pastor. They had reconciled themselves to
the changes of which he had been the subject previous to his special
connection with them, but they would have no new ones. He might go back
a little if he pleased, but not forwards.
Both my friends and I were placed in a trying position. I was bent on
compliance with whatever seemed to be the requirements of the Gospel,
and my friends, who had no misgivings on the subject of public worship,
were resolved not to tolerate a change. I kept the usual course as long
as I could do so without self-condemnation, but at length was
constrained to change. One Sunday night I preached from the concluding
words of the Sermon on the Mount,--"Therefore whosoever heareth these
sayings of Mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which
built his house upon a rock: and the rain descended, and the floods
came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for
it was founded upon a rock. And every one that heareth these sayings of
Mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which
built his house upon the sand: and the rain descended, and the floods
came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and
great was the fall of it." I reviewed the sayings of Christ referred to
in the text. I dwelt at some length on the passage about praying in the
synagogues and in the corners of the streets. The congregation was very
large, and the sermon was unusually impressive. Some said they had never
heard me preach with so much power. As I drew towards a close, I
referred again to the words on public prayer, and gave what appeared to
me to be their meaning. I remarked, that I felt bound to comply with
what I believed to be the command of the Saviour, and that I must
therefore decline to conclude the service in the usual way, by a public
prayer, and request the disciples of Christ to retire to their homes and
secret places to pray.
The result was exceedingly painful. The confusion was dreadful. Some,
who had never thought on the subject before, and who had probably
listened to me that evening without comprehending properly my meaning,
were horrified. The officers of the church, who had accepted me as their
minister in the belief that I should never try them by anything new in
my views or proceedings, were grieved beyond measure. One of them said
to me at a meeting the following evening: "You have committed a crime,
compared with which the sin of him who betrayed his Lord for silver, was
honor and piety!" This, of course, was madness, if not blasphemy. But it
helps to show the fearful difficulties that lie in the way of the man
who feels himself called to be a religious reformer. And it tends to
show the tempest of excitement in which, for so long a period, it was my
lot to live.
The result of this last step in my reforming career was, that almost all
the richer and more influential members of the church deserted me, and
some even of the less influential followed their example. This however
did not change my determination to do what I believed to be the will of
God. Nor did it dispose me to hesitate longer before making changes when
they seemed to be called for by the teachings of Christ. On the
contrary, it led me to resolve, that I would hold myself more at liberty
to follow the revelations of truth and duty than ever. I blamed myself
for having accepted the situation of a regular minister, blamed myself
for having allowed myself to be influenced so much by a regard to the
judgments and feelings of others. I felt a kind of pleasure at length,
when I found the leading friends who had held me so much in check, were
gone. I attributed their departure to my fidelity to Christ, and to my
growing conformity to His likeness; and I resolved to labor more than
ever to come to the perfection of Christian manhood, "to the measure of
the stature of the fulness of Christ." I comforted myself with the
thought that Jesus had been deserted, betrayed, and persecuted, before
me; and felt happy in the assurance, that if I "suffered with Him, I
should also be glorified with Him."
I now resolved to speak and write and act more freely than ever. I would
no longer keep my thoughts to myself till I was thoroughly convinced of
their truth, but submit them to the consideration of my friends as soon
as they assumed the appearance of probability. I would think aloud. I
would search to the bottom of all things, and make known the result
without reserve. I would favor a free and fearless discussion of every
subject. And I would reduce to practice everything inculcated by Christ
and His Apostles, however much at variance it might be with the customs
of the Church. I would rid myself of prejudice. I would take nothing on
trust. Old things should now, at last, pass away, unless they were found
to form part of the doctrine of Christ; and all things should become
new. And what I purposed, I did, to the best of my ability. I arranged
for meetings of the church, at which we sang and prayed, and endeavored
to instruct and comfort one another, and provoke each other to love and
good works. When this church meeting was over, I ascended the pulpit,
and addressed the public congregation. We changed the manner of
conducting class-meetings, encouraging the members to read hymns, or
portions of Scripture, or extracts from any instructive book, or to
speak to each other for comfort or improvement. I would be no longer
_the_ teacher of the church, but only _one_ of its teachers.
That I might be able to support my family without the aid of the church,
and so feel myself thoroughly free and independent, I resolved to
commence business as a printer. I bought a press, and type, and all the
other requisites of a printing-office, and set to work. Elizabeth Pease,
a good kind Quakeress of Darlington, gave me thirty pounds to help me in
my undertaking, and others, nearer at hand, assisted me according to
their ability. I engaged a man to work for me, and teach me how to work
myself, for I was quite a stranger to the business. I soon was able both
to set up type and work the press, though the pressure of other work
prevented me from excelling in either of those lines. Before long I had
two men at work. But my workmen were not so faithful as they should
have been, and it cost me more to print my works myself, than it had
done to get them printed by others. I got a foreman, but he used my
office to carry on a business of his own, instead of doing what he could
for mine, and I was obliged to turn him off, and pay him a considerable
sum to keep him from troubling me with a law-suit. A short time after, a
very unpromising-looking young man came and asked me for a place in my
printing establishment. He was hardly a young man, in fact, but just a
half-taught random-looking kind of boy. I asked what he could do. To my
unspeakable astonishment he told me that the place he wanted was that of
foreman. I smiled, and looked on the poor creature as a simpleton. But
though he seemed a little disconcerted, he was not to be abashed. He
told me, that if I would give him a trial, he would let me see whether
he could manage the office or not. "But how can you manage the men?"
said I. Nothing however would satisfy the poor boy but a trial, and I,
under some kind of influence, agreed to give him one. What the men
thought when he took his place, I don't know; but they seemed to act on
the principle, that as I had made him foreman, they must obey his
orders; and obey him they did, and to my agreeable surprise, everything
went on in a satisfactory manner. The youthful foreman, who turned out
to be a sensible, modest, hard-working, honest young man, did well from
the first, and improved every year, and remained with me, giving
satisfaction both to me and to my men, so long as I continued in
business.
I had many fearful trials to pass through after I offended the leading
members of my congregation by giving up singing and prayer at public
meetings, and a heavy loss entailed on me by the dishonesty of one of
those leading members was not the least.
Ever since the time when I first became an author, I had acted as my own
publisher and bookseller, sending out parcels to my friends, keeping
accounts, and doing the whole work of a Book-room. When I engaged to be
minister of the church in Newcastle, and became servant of the
newly-formed churches all over the country, Mr. Blackwell, the printer
referred to on page 175, advised me to put the book-selling business
into the hands of Mr. Townsend, another leading official of the church.
"You have work enough," said he, "and too much, in preaching, lecturing,
writing, and travelling, and Mr. Townsend can do the book-selling better
than you. He is a business man; he understands book-keeping; and he will
conduct the business in an orderly and efficient manner." It had always
been a principle with me never to go into debt, and I said to Mr.
Blackwell, who was then my printer, "If you will give me a guarantee
that no debt shall be incurred,--that you will never print anything till
Mr. Townsend has paid you for all work previously printed, I will agree
to your proposal." He gave me his word that he would do exactly as I
requested. Mr. Townsend was accordingly made wholesale agent for my new
periodical, and for all my other publications, and all my stock of books
was placed in his hands. For fifteen or eighteen months I gave myself no
concern about matters of business, trusting to Mr. Blackwell to keep
things right, according to his pledge.
Mr. Townsend had another business besides my book concern, the china and
earthenware business, and about eighteen months after my business was
placed in his hands, he went into Scotland to dispose of a quantity of
his surplus stock. He had only been gone a few days before word came
that he was dead. It then came out that Mr. Blackwell had allowed him to
run up a debt of nearly seven hundred pounds for printing. It also came
out that Mr. Townsend was insolvent. He had been in difficulties for
years, and he had used the money he had received for my books to prevent
his creditors from making him a bankrupt. His journey to Scotland was
his last shift, and failing in that, he had taken opiates, it was said,
to such an extent, as to cause death. The dreadful revelations that were
laid before me shocked and troubled me beyond measure, and I knew not
what to do. Mr. Blackwell, through whose neglect or unfaithfulness the
debt had been incurred, exhorted me not to be alarmed, assuring me that
he should never trouble me for the money. So I set to work to gather up
the fragments of my property, and re-organize the business. I got in
what money I could from the agents, and gave it, along with all I could
earn, to Mr. Blackwell, to reduce the debt, though it was not in
reality a debt of mine. I gave him also a sum belonging to my wife,
which she had just received as a legacy. I gave him all that came into
my hands, except a trifle that I spent in procuring food for my family;
and in eight months I had reduced the debt to two hundred and thirty
pounds.
It was while I was exerting myself to pay off this debt that I offended
the leaders of my congregation by giving up public worship. The person
who said that in doing so, "I had been guilty of a crime, compared with
which that of Judas in selling his Master, was honor and piety," was
this same Mr. Blackwell. When I began to print for myself, he demanded
the instant payment of the remaining two hundred and thirty pounds, and
followed the demand by legal proceedings. A friend, Mr. John Hindhaugh,
who had heard how I was situated, and who had also heard that Mr.
Blackwell had said that he would soon put a stop to my printing, went
and paid the amount demanded, and brought me the receipt, and said, that
if ever I found myself able, I might repay him the amount, but that I
must by no means put myself to any inconvenience. In course of time I
repaid my friend, and was once more out of debt.
It was just while tried by this sad affair, that I formed the resolution
to throw off all restraints of prevailing creeds and customs, and enter
on a career of wholesale and untrammelled investigation and discussion.
I was not in the fittest state of mind to do justice to the forms of
Christianity in favor with the churches. On the contrary, the influences
to which I had been long subjected, and the peculiar state of excitement
in which I was still living, could hardly fail to carry me into
extremes. No matter, I set to work. I printed thousands upon thousands
of hand-bills, announcing a three months' convention and free discussion
in my chapel, and had them posted and distributed all round the country.
Free admission and freedom of speech were promised to all comers. Among
the subjects announced for discussion were, the Trinity, the Godhead of
Christ, the Atonement, Natural Depravity, Hereditary Guilt, Eternal
Torments, Everlasting Destruction, Justification by Faith alone, the
Nature of Saving Faith, What is a Christian? Trust in the Merits of
Christ, Instantaneous Regeneration, Christian Perfection, the direct
Witness of the Spirit, the Sabbath Question, Non-resistance, Peace, War,
and Human Governments, Law-Suits, the Credit System, Toleration and
Human Creeds, the Church, the Hired Ministry, Public Prayer, Public
Worship generally, Preaching, Sunday Schools, Freedom of Thought,
Freedom of Conscience, Class-Meetings, and the Duty of the Church to its
Poor Members.
The chapel was kept open every day, and every day, when not called out
of town, I delivered one or two lectures on one of those subjects,
stating my own views on the point, and my reasons for holding them, and
then calling on any one that might differ from me, to state his views in
reply. The chapel was generally crowded, and the discussions were often
very animated. Persons of various denominations took part in them, and
people came from almost every part of the country to witness the
proceedings. My principal opponent, for a portion of the time, was
George Bird, the rector of Cumberworth, who had inoculated me with his
views on public worship. He was very orthodox on many points, while I,
on some points, was leaning towards Latitudinarianism. We had, at times,
very exciting contests. Mr. Bird was exceedingly anxious to gain a
victory, both for himself and for his views. And he was not particular
as to the means he employed to accomplish his object. He was very
unfair. He could not, or he would not, refrain from personal abuse, nor
from misrepresentations of my views and statements. I was severe enough
in my criticisms, but I never was knowingly, and I do not think I was
often even unintentionally, unjust to an opponent. I never charged
people with saying what they did not say, and I never forced a meaning
on their words which they were not intended to express. And if at any
time an opponent charged me with misquoting his words, or with
misrepresenting his meaning, I always accepted his corrections or
explanations. Nor did I indulge in personal abuse. Nor did I lose my
temper. I did my utmost to be just to all, and when I could not exhibit
much esteem or love for an opponent, I tried to be respectful.
The records of those long-continued and strange debates are, I am sorry
to say, lost. But while they were proceeding I drifted further away, on
some points, from the views maintained by orthodox communities. I am not
aware however that I went much further than Wesley went during the
latter years of his life. I found, not only in Scripture, but in the
sermons of Wesley, and in the writings of Baxter, who was a favorite
with Wesley, what seemed to me fully to justify all that I had taught on
the great doctrines of Christianity up to this period.
I gave up the _Christian Investigator_ at the end of two years, and as
two of my friends were anxious to publish a periodical, I refrained for
a time from commencing another, to give them a better chance of success.
I also helped them by writing for them, at their request, a number of
articles for the earlier numbers of their work. Their attempt however
proved a failure. The work contained a heap of Antinomian and
Millenarian nonsense, and my readers had no taste for such stuff; and
the work was given up, and the Editors shortly after left me and my
friends, and joined the Plymouth Brethren, repaying me for my kindness
by treachery and abuse. One of them published a tract when he took
himself away, exhorting my friends to be on their guard lest they should
be led by me into anti-christian error. Their conduct towards me
altogether, as I thought, was unjust and dishonorable, and though they
are now both dead, I can think of no good excuse for the way in which
they acted. But God is judge.
I now laid aside the name of _Methodist_ and adopted that of
_Christian_, and I commenced a new periodical, bearing the same title. I
made it, as I had made my other periodicals, the organ of my own mind,
the vehicle of my own thoughts on every subject of importance that
engaged my attention. My writing was simply free and friendly talk with
my readers on matters in which we were all greatly interested. And the
work contains the history of the changes which took place in my views
during the period of its publication.
While publishing _The Christian_, I published a multitude of pamphlets.
In answer to a pamphlet by the Rev. W. Cooke, in which I was roughly and
unjustly handled, I published seven letters entitled _Truth and Reform
against the World_, signing myself _A Christian_. In these letters I
spoke with the greatest freedom both of myself and of my opponents, as
well as on a great variety of other subjects. I exposed a number of what
seemed extravagant or unguarded statements made by my assailant with
regard to the Scriptures. I also published a work on _The Hired
Ministry_. My tracts on _Saving Faith_ and _The Atonement_ came out
about the same time. My aim in these latter publications was to free the
subject of Saving Faith and the doctrine of the Atonement from needless
mystery, by separating from the teachings of Christ and the Apostles on
those points, the bewildering and mischievous additions of ignorant
theologians. I did not deny the doctrine of salvation by faith in
Christ, but only showed that the faith in Christ spoken of in the New
Testament was simply a belief in Him as the Messiah, leading us to
receive and obey His teachings, and to trust in Him for salvation. Nor
did I deny the doctrine of redemption or atonement; but simply
endeavored to put what the New Testament said on these subjects in its
true light. In most of those works, if not in all of them, there are
evidences of undue excitement, and in many of them there are passages
which, in one's calmer and more candid mood, one is obliged to condemn.
I extended my investigations to all religious subjects, endeavoring to
bring my views and proceedings on every point into perfect harmony with
the teachings of Christ and His Apostles. I also did my best, in
connection with my friends, to carry into practice in our church at
Newcastle what we regarded as the New Testament principles of discipline
and church government. The following were among our regulations:--We
would have no fixed payments. All must be given freely. There must be no
charge for admission to the church feasts. We would support our poor
members. We would deal with offenders according to the instructions of
Christ: first, tell them of their faults between them and us alone, &c.,
&c.
We encountered many difficulties in our attempts to carry out some of
our principles. Some, that were able to contribute, were too selfish to
do so, and left the expenses of the church to be met by the generous
few. They would eat like gluttons at the church feasts, but give nothing
towards paying for the provisions. Some seemed to enter the church to
get supported in idleness out of its funds. This seemed to be the case
especially with a blind beggar. He spared no pains in making known his
connection with the church, and its generosity in supporting him, to the
public. This brought in a number of others who were wishful to be
supported. But many of these people, after joining the church, refused
to work. It was plain that we must either give up the attempt to carry
out our generous principles, or else adopt some method of testing people
before admitting them as members, and some wise system of discipline and
government with regard to those already admitted. But we had said so
much about unlimited liberty, that we could do neither the one nor the
other without breaking up the church and building it up anew; and it
seemed too late to do that. So we dragged along as well as we could.
Some lost patience, and went to other churches. Some came to the
conclusion that Christianity as laid down in the New Testament was
impracticable, and so became skeptical. Some kept aloof from all the
churches, but still retained their faith in Christianity, and their
attachment to the principles to which we had given prominence.
At one period I lectured frequently on Peace. The Quakers aided me in
obtaining rooms for my lectures, and supplied me with money to pay my
travelling expenses; and the Backhouses and Peases of Darlington, and
the Richardsons and others of Newcastle, contributed to the support of
my family. I met with some of the best and most agreeable people I ever
knew, among the Quakers. Many of them were remarkably liberal and
enlightened in their views, not only on religion, but on many other
subjects. I was astonished at the extent of their reading, and at the
amount of knowledge they possessed. And they had a wonderful amount of
charity towards other religious denominations. They believed the
churches were doing much good, and rejoiced in their usefulness, though
they could not always join them in their labors. I also found that in
their dealings with each other, they were exceedingly conscientious. One
Friend had recommended another, a lady, to invest her money in some
mining speculation, which he believed was likely to prove profitable.
She did so, and lost her money, or received no interest from it. The
Friend who had counselled the investment, took the shares, and returned
the lady her money. This, I believe, was not a thing by itself, but a
sample of Quaker dealings with each other. I learned some useful lessons
from the Quakers, and I received from them many favors. I retain many
pleasant recollections of my intercourse with them, and expect to think
of them with pleasure to my dying day.
After I ceased to receive a salary for preaching, I and my family were
often in straits, and at times we seemed on the very verge of
starvation. My printing business did not pay its own expenses at first,
and for several years after it began to yield a profit, the profit was
required for new presses, new type, or had to lie dead in the shape of
increased stock of publications. And I had no income from property. Yet
in every case when we seemed to be reduced to extremities, supplies came
from some quarter or other. Sometimes I knew the hand by which
assistance was sent, but at other times my benefactors remained unknown.
There was one good Christian, John Donaldson, who was always ready with
his help. He not only aided me by many gifts, but busied himself to
induce his friends to send mo aid. He gave the first subscription
towards a steam press; and when the press was bought, he sent a sum to
purchase the first load of coals to get up the steam, to put the press
in motion.
On one occasion, while I was lecturing in the South, nearly two hundred
miles away from home, I failed to receive the supplies I expected from
the agents for my publications, and my family seemed likely to be out of
provisions before I could send them help. My wife and children had begun
to feel uneasy and afraid. That day a man came up to the door with a
cart-load of provisions. "Does Mr. Barker live here?" said the man to my
eldest son, who had answered the knock at the door. "Yes," answered my
son. "I have brought you some things," said the man, "some flour, and
potatoes, and things." "They are not for us," said the poor little
fellow, "my father is away." "But this is Mr. Barker's, is it not?" said
the man. "Yes," said my son, "Then it is all right," said the man, "I
was told to leave them here," and he began to unload. Both children and
mother were afraid there was some mistake, but the man went on
unloading, and stocked the house with food for weeks to come.
A day or two before, my wife and children had been talking to each
other, and expressing their apprehensions, as I had not been able to
send them any money, that they would soon be without anything to eat.
One of the children said, 'Let us pray, mother: perhaps God will send us
something.' They all knelt down, and both mother and children prayed:
and when they saw the abundant supplies with which the cart had stocked
the house, they believed that God had sent them in answer to their
prayers.
I refused to buy paper, or type, or anything, on credit, and I was often
at a loss, when my stock of paper was almost out, to know where the
money was to come from to get a fresh supply. And I had not so much
faith as G. Mueller of Bristol; at any rate, my faith did not give me the
same pleasant assurances that I should receive what I desired, that
Mueller's faith gave him. I am inclined however to think that I had not
so much trust in Providence, as I ought to have had. I certainly had not
so much as I have now. But then, I am better off now than I was then.
But I was lacking, to some extent, in Christian trust in God, as well as
in resignation to His will, and hence my uneasiness. Many a time when I
laid myself down on my bed at night, instead of going to sleep, I spent
long hours in thought about my business, looking in every direction for
a prospect of supplies to enable me to pay the wages of my men, and
purchase paper. The first thing was to think of all the men that owed me
money,--to consider which of all the number would be likely to send me
remittances in time, and to reckon up the sums, to see if they would
enable me to meet the demands upon me. The next thing was to do the same
thing over again; and the next, to do it over again a third time. All
this was accompanied with long and deep-drawn sighs, which were listened
to by a fond and wakeful bedfellow, who silently sympathized with me in
all my trials, and who was as restless and anxious as myself. Sometimes
I moaned, and sometimes I prayed; and when I was wearied out with my
fruitless labors, I fell asleep. It would have been better, if I could
have done it, to have "given to the winds my fears," and lost myself in
peaceful and refreshing slumbers; for generally, on the following
morning, the needful supplies arrived. They seldom came from the parties
from whom I expected them, but they came notwithstanding.
One day, towards the close of the year, my stock of paper was very low,
and I had nothing with which to purchase a fresh supply. Next morning a
letter came, enclosing thirty-five pounds, a Christmas gift from friends
in Ireland.
On one occasion, when I was unwell, a gentleman whom I had never seen,
and whom I have not seen yet in fact, sent me forty pounds, to enable me
to spend a month at some hydropathic establishment. He had read a number
of my publications, and had been pleased with them, and having learned
in some way that I was not well, had sent this proof of his kind regard.
There was one man in Newcastle, a wealthy man, who said to me, "Come to
me whenever you are in difficulty, and you shall have whatever you
need." I was often in difficulties, but hesitated to ask his help. One
day, however, after having waited for supplies from other quarters as
long as I durst, I went to him, and stated my case. He kept me waiting
an hour or more, and then said, "No." I turned away ashamed and sad. A
friend whom I encountered on my way home, said, "What is the matter with
you? Are you ill? You look bad." I was obliged to tell him my story. "Is
that all?" said he. "We can soon put that right." And he gave me,
unasked, as much as I needed.
While we were struggling with our other difficulties, my wife was taken
ill. The house in which we lived was badly drained, or rather, the
drains being out of order, the offensive materials from other houses
lodged under the floor of our cellar kitchen, and sent forth, through
the floor, deadly effluvia. In this cellar kitchen we were obliged to
live. I was so much from home, and when at home was so much in the open
air, travelling to my appointments, and even when in the house, I spent
so much of my time in an upper room writing, that I took no harm. It was
otherwise with my poor wife. She had to be in this room almost all day
long, and often till late at night. The result was a deadly attack of
fever. She had felt unwell for some days, but had still gone on with her
work, and sought no medical advice or help. At length, as she was going
to bed one night, she fainted on the stairs. The stairs were very steep,
and the point at which she lost her consciousness was a most dangerous
one, and it seemed a miracle that she had not fallen back to the bottom
and been killed. But somehow she fell only a step or two. My eldest son
heard there was something the matter, and ran to see what it was. There
he found his poor, darling mother apparently dead, in the middle of the
steep and winding staircase. How he did it, I do not know, nor does he,
but though he was only a child of about thirteen years of age, he took
his mother, and by some mysterious means, carried her up the remainder
of the stairs, placed her on her bed, and then stood sorrowing and
trembling till she came to herself. She was ill thirteen weeks. For two
or three weeks she seemed on the point of death. On my return, late one
night, from one of my engagements, ten miles away in the country, I
found her strangely changed for the worse. She looked at me with a look
I can never forget. She thought she was dying. I thought so too. Her eye
said, Death; her whole expression said, Death. I burst into tears, and
gave what I thought was my last fond embrace. She had power to utter
just one sentence: it was an expression of tenderness and kindness, more
kind and tender than I deserved; and then fell back on her pillow, as if
giving up the ghost. But she lived through the night, and she lived
through the following day, helpless and speechless, yet still breathing.
She recovered, and remained with us to comfort and guide and bless us
for nearly thirty years, and then, alas, all too soon apparently, for
those who loved and all but adored her, she passed in peace to the
worlds of light.
I believed myself all this time engaged in the service of my Maker, and
I regarded the arrival of seasonable help from time to time, as a proof
that I was an object of His tender care, and that my labors had His
smile and blessing. Why did I not trust Him more fully?
By the time I had carried on my printing business for four or five
years, the outlay for type, and presses, and other kinds of printing
apparatus, became much less, while my income from the sale of books
became much greater, and I found myself able, at length, to purchase
whatever I needed as soon as I wanted it. By-and-bye I had money always
on hand. The relief I felt, when I found myself fairly above want and
difficulty, was delightful beyond measure.