"I enjoyed my visit to the North quite as much as your or my
own expectations promised. I think the jaunt was in every way
beneficial to me. I spent a week delightfully in New York,
where a new world, as it were, of churches was opened to me,
and had a most happy (what I call) _heart_ visit to Troy.
But you will expect to hear particulars. To commence with the
commencement, then, what shall I say of Trinity Church? In some
respects it is far beyond my conceptions. The first impression
was really overpowering. It was on Saturday morning, and but
for a few minutes, and it seemed to me that both externally and
internally the building was most majestic and beautiful. I next
saw it on Sunday morning, to great advantage. It was communion
day, and fourteen priests in their surplices were in attendance
(the Convention having adjourned late the night before). The
church was full, but very orderly--the music grave and
fine--though I confess to you (pardon my ignorance and
temerity) it was not exactly as I should have liked. It seemed
to me to want _impressiveness_ or _expression_. It
was neither soothing, nor, _to me_, very grand. Dr. ----
preached. I never saw the Holy Communion celebrated and
_administered_ in any church with so fine effect. The
scene, when the choir was filled with the worshippers waiting
for their turn to receive, was truly majestic. On that day I
went away with a most agreeable impression. After I had been
there, how ever, in the week, and especially as I became
familiar with it, I was very conscious of the great defect and
coldness of the chancel. The meanness of the altar is
positively too bad; and the _unmeaningness_ of the heavy
altar-screen is curious. The window is not just up my taste;
but I do not think so badly of it as some do. On the whole, I
think there can be no doubt that the chancel is a failure; but
the nave is very fine, and the doorway, the organ-gallery, the
organ, the tower, and the side-porches most beautiful.
{78}
On the afternoon of the Sunday, I went to Grace Church,
listened to the music---exquisite _of its kind_--saw the
images!!! looked at the church, and examined the stained
windows. I cannot agree with you about this building. Certainly
it has some beauties. The external appearance is very fine, and
the single figure of our Blessed Lord, in the east window,
beautiful; but I must say that the whole of the interior
presented to me a look of _finery_, and an absence of
solemnity, most unpleasant in the sanctuary. The windows were
simply distressing. It will seem very Protestant after this to
say it, but still it is true, that the church looked very like
a Roman Catholic Church to me; perhaps it would be truer to say
_Romish_, for it seemed to me in keeping with some things
we call by this name. I was disappointed in Grace Church; for I
went prepared to like it, from your representation, and from my
confidence in your taste.
"Next in order of my seeing, but really, perhaps, first of all,
is the Church of the Holy Communion. This is really a gem. I
was there at evening prayer on a week-day, and I left with a
grateful heart that it was granted me to worship there. I am
not much of an architect, but the building seemed to me
_perfect_. I at least had no fault to find with it. The
services were read at the chancel rail. The canticles were
chanted with the organ accompaniment. It was at once solemn and
very beautiful. I said I had no fault to find. Perhaps that is
too much. I do think there is an absence of warmth in the
colors of the church, and of a certain grace and brightness
about the chancel, which would be entirely obviated by
substituting, instead of the present altar, a white or colored
marble one of the same size, adorned with candlesticks and
covered with a lace cloth. This, however, is to make it a
_perfect_ church for my eye, and I am not at all sure that
I am right.
{79}
"I said Troy was the most agreeable place I had visited. You
will not need to be told what it was which gave it this
interest: the Church of the Holy Cross. Oh, how glorious that
enterprise is! How perfectly devotional and elevating those
services! I was made very, very happy by this visit. It seemed
unearthly, and it seemed, too, a promise of better and holier
days, a harbinger of returning glory to our depressed Church.
Could you not introduce this service into the college. It is
worth a very great effort. Nothing else can produce such an
effect as the choral service. With the material you have, I
should not think it would be impossible, and at nothing short
of this ought you to stop. I formed a valuable acquaintance
with, and had the pleasure of visiting all the clergy of the
place, who are remarkably united, and who received me with
Southern warmth and cordiality. I was at the Church of the Holy
Cross as often as it was possible for me to be there, you may
be sure, and left it at the last with real regret. I consider
this visit alone fully repaid me for the journey."
* * * * *
From this time there is not a trace of disquietude with his
position to be observed in his correspondence, until 1849. Under
date of February, 1847, he writes to his friend, who, as it
appears from his own declarations, was the only intimate friend
he had among his brother clergymen:
"I still write now and then to H., but there is such a
restriction on the freedom of thought and expression in
speaking to him, that I have but very little interest in the
correspondence; indeed I think it hardly likely long to
continue; but from you there is no need or wish on my part to
conceal any thing.
* * * * *
I _long_ to leave St. Paul's. I do not say this to anyone
here, for nothing is gained of talking; but to you I say that I
am obliged constantly to fall back on the reflection that,
until some other way is opened, my duty lies here. It is not on
account of any disagreeables in my position; but there are
peculiar dangers and difficulties attending it, and I cannot
help fearing constantly that my life is too easy and too soft
to please God.
{80}
Still I see not which way to move. I think I wish to submit
myself entirely to the Divine Will. I hope it will not seem
impertinent, dear Dwight, to express a hope that this coming
Lent may be a season of strict discipline to us both. Oh, I
need it! I cannot tell you how the sense of responsibility
concerning the souls of others sometimes alarms me. I can say
this to you, without hypocrisy, I trust. I need to be purged by
penance very, very much, to be drawn away from pride and
vain-glory, and slothfulness and self-will; these are my
besetting sins; and to be stirred up to diligent study, to
obedience, to humility, to labor, and to prayer. I pray that I
may have the grace to fulfil the work which God has put in my
heart to undertake this Lent, that He would draw me away from
all things else, entirely to be united to Him. It would be a
most pleasant thought that we were thus entering on this
penitential season together."
The following extract from a letter of June 23, 1848, shows the
interest which the writer still felt in Mr. Newman:--
"Is it not encouraging to see the stir that has been raised in
England about Dr. Hampden's nomination? The secular papers all
call the opposition a 'Tractarian Movement.' If they mean by
this that none but Tractarians are engaged in it, it is
palpably false; but in another sense it is certainly true. I
see clearly in the whole matter the fruits of that movement,
the greater earnestness and zeal for orthodoxy, _as such_,
so different from what would have been exhibited a quarter of a
century ago. And whom are we to thank for fixing the brand of
heterodoxy upon this man; so that he cannot pass off his
sophisms upon an unwary Church, but the great master to worn we
once looked up, to whom God gave so clear a vision of the truth
and so great a zeal to uphold it? This is the fruit of a seed
sown by a hand now raised up against us, one of the many gifts
by which we keep him and his great faculties in remembrance,
though, alas! 'we now see him no more.'"
{81}
In one of these letters Mr. Baker speaks of his desire to leave
St. Paul's Church for some other field of labor. Nevertheless, he
remained there six years out of the eight years of his Protestant
ministry. In 1848 he received an invitation to the Church of St.
James the Less, a very beautiful and costly, though small church,
in the suburbs of Philadelphia, built after the style of the
English Benedictine abbey-churches, and fitted up after the
manner which delights the Anglo-Catholic heart. This invitation
he declined, at the request of his bishop, who was naturally loth
to part with him. A proposal was then made that he should found a
new parish; and this, I suppose, was the plan afterward carried
out at St. Luke's. This plan was postponed from time to time on
account of the precarious health of Alfred Baker. Meanwhile, he
devoted himself most assiduously to his private religious
exercises and to his ministerial labors. I have never known a
young clergyman more universally and warmly loved and admired
than he was among the people of his communion. He improved
sedulously his admirable gifts for preaching, and in a diocese
containing a number of excellent preachers, he attained and kept
the first rank. His fastidious taste and sense of propriety led
him soon to drop the long cassock, and every thing else in
outward dress and demeanor which had appeared singular in the
first years of his ministry. He avoided controversy and all
peculiarities of doctrine in his sermons, and confined himself
chiefly to those truths of religion and those practical points
which could be received without question by his hearers. Aside
from the pastoral intercourse which he had with his people, his
life was very retired. He had the ideal of the Catholic
priesthood always in view, and this encompassed his discharge of
ministerial duties with many practical difficulties. He felt this
particularly, as he has often said, in his visits to the sick and
dying, on account of the want of the proper sacraments, and the
want of a real and recognized sacerdotal relation.
{82}
He could not help feeling always that while theoretically he
regarded himself as a Catholic priest, in point of fact he was
but a Protestant minister, compelled to fall back on a system of
subjective pietism, based on Lutheran doctrine, to which he had
an invincible repugnance, and in which his hands were tied.
Meanwhile events were progressing in the English Church and
producing their reflex action in this country. On the one hand,
the Oxford movement was still going forward under new leaders,
and on the other, the Protestant character of the Anglican
Establishment and its American colony was exhibiting itself every
day more and more decisively. The first great wave that had
rolled toward Catholicity had cast up those who were foremost on
its crest on the Rock of Peter. Another wave was rolling forward
in the same direction, which was destined to bear on its summit
still more of those who floated on the great sea of doubt and
error to the same secure refuge. The first converts were given up
to obloquy, and their influence in every possible way lowered or
destroyed, by belittling their character, if that was possible,
or, if not, by inventing specious reasons to show that the course
they had taken was the result of some personal idiosyncrasy, and
not the just consequence of their Catholic principles. It was
stoutly asserted that the movement was not responsible for them,
and that it did not of itself lead to Rome. It began again afresh
with new men, new books, new projects. Again there was an
advanced party; and in due time this advanced party began to move
Romeward, denying as before that it would ever actually arrive at
Rome. Nevertheless, many of its members, some of very high
character and position, did eventually follow the earlier
converts over to the Catholic Church. Others, especially those
who were in stations of dignity and authority, began to recoil
and retract, and call back their followers to the safer ground of
the old High Church.
{83}
In this country there was a sad lack of earnestness and reality
on the part of the majority of those who had yielded themselves
to Oxford influences, and these influences were but faintly felt
by the laity. Mr. Baker was, however, deeply and sadly in
earnest. He had schooled himself into submission to his
_soi-disant_ Church and bishop, and resolutely determined to
believe that he could think, act, and live up to Catholic
doctrines and laws where he was. He had thrown himself anew into
Anglicanism, putting faith in its new leaders and the old ones
who remained, and confiding in the reality and success of their
efforts. Long and wearily he struggled to hold out in this
course, in spite of the daily increasing evidence that it was
delusive and hopeless. For long years he was tossed backward and
forward on the waves of doubt and uncertainty, sometimes almost
gaining a foothold on the Rock, and then dashed again backward
into the sea.
Most persons, whether they are Catholics or Protestants, will
wonder that Mr. Baker, having approached at first, by almost a
single bound, so near the very threshold of the Catholic Church,
should have waited and hesitated so long before taking the final
step over its border. Those who have not felt it can hardly
understand the strong spell by which the system so ably advocated
by the Oxford divines captivated many minds. To those who were
deeply imbued with certain Catholic prepossessions, and yet not
emancipated from the old hereditary prejudice against the Roman
Church, it offered a compromise which allowed them to cherish
their prepossessions and yet remain in the reformed Church, where
they were at home and among their friends, and free to select
some and reject other Catholic doctrines and usages, according to
their own private judgment and taste. It pretended to give them
"a Catholicity more Catholic, and an antiquity more ancient" than
those of the ancient, universal mother and mistress of churches
herself.
{84}
Once seduced by this specious pretence, there was no end to the
ingenious arguments, wire-drawn distinctions, fine-spun theories,
and plausible special pleading by which they were detained under
its influence. The theory has infinite variations, and a
flexibility which accommodates itself to every form of doctrine,
from the lowest tolerated in the Episcopal ministry to the
highest advocated in the _Union Review_. This influence on
the mind and conscience is a very injurious one, and tends to
disable them from reasoning and deciding, in a plain and direct
manner, on broad and general principles. Mr. Baker became aware
of this afterward, and regretted that he had permitted himself to
be swayed so much by the authority of others instead of following
the dictates of his own judgment and conscience. It is impossible
for me to say whether he was dilatory in following the
inspirations of divine grace or not. No one but God can certainly
judge how much time is necessary in any individual case for the
full maturing of the convictions into a distinct and undoubting
faith. One thing I can assert, however, with confidence, and I
believe that every one who reads the ensuing extracts from Mr.
Baker's letters will share the same conviction: that he never
deliberately quenched the light of the Divine Spirit, or refused
to follow it from any worldly and unworthy motives. He sought for
wisdom by study, prayer, and a pure life, and although he was
slow in arriving at a full determination, yet he made a continual
progress toward it; and when he reached it, he did not shrink
from any sacrifice which obedience to God and his conscience
required of him.
In a letter under the date of June 4, 1849, after speaking of the
probability of his leaving St. Paul's, and the uncertainty he was
in in regard to his future plans, which were interfered with by
the ill-health of his brother, he thus writes:
{85}
"I missed you at the Convention; indeed, there are several
reasons why I did not enjoy myself at that time. It seemed to
me that there were but one or two with whom I had any real
sympathy. There was very little done. The bishop could not be
present on account of indisposition. K. read the bishop's
charge. It was able, but _thoroughly_ and _strongly_
Protestant. The position it took was perfectly unequivocal; and
it places certain people, whose position before was
sufficiently uncomfortable, in a most painful predicament. He
shuts us up to the very sense of the Articles and Prayer-Book,
_as understood by the Reformers;_ and tells those who
cannot submit to this, who are willing not to _contradict_
that sense, but do not _believe_ it, he tells them very
plainly that they are obliged to leave a ministry for which
they are no longer competent. The charge convinces me either
that we have heretofore misunderstood the bishop, or that he
has fixed himself upon a new platform. He now makes the
Protestant element in our Church's teaching (which is certainly
the most prominent one in her history) the most authoritative
and controlling. It appears to me that he might as well have
said at once that the Church of England was _founded_ at
the Reformation. May God teach us what we ought to do."
I have been told by Mr. Baker that the bishop, on some occasion,
sent him his charge to look over, with the request that he would
read it for him at the Convention, and that he declined reading
it, on account of his strong objection to the doctrine it
contained. I suppose that this must have been the charge in
question. I find no other letter from this date until January 9,
1850, under which date he writes at length, and begins to unbosom
himself more freely than he had done before:
"There was something in your last letter which was particularly
refreshing to me. It seemed like old times, and brought an
assurance of sympathy when I had begun deeply to feel the want
of it. You say that my letter was not so full or like myself as
some others. There was a reason why it was not so, and the same
reason has delayed the answer to your last kind favor.
{86}
I have had many painful and distressing thoughts, which I
hardly knew how to express to any one; and it seemed a wrong
and cruelty to grieve one's friends when every catholic-minded
brother had so much to bear on his own account. Now that I have
decided upon the course I will take, I can write more calmly,
and with less risk of perplexing others. You will guess the
cause of anxiety. My conviction of the truth and holiness of
Catholic doctrines has not diminished since I saw you; my
apprehension of what I hold is firmer and more distinct; my
prejudice against some things which the Roman Church holds as
catholic truths, but which we deny, has been shaken; and while
this was enough to make my present position in some respects
uncomfortable, the longing for a fuller measure of catholic
privileges, the want of sympathy, the uncertainty, dissension,
and mutability among us, and the awful greatness of the claims
and promises of Rome, made me willing to entertain the thought
of changing my ecclesiastical relations. On looking back upon
this state of feeling, there was much that was wrong. I felt in
many ways the results of past unfaithfulness; I was confused
and perplexed; I was doubtful of my own sincerity. Sometimes
every thing seemed uncertain to me. But whatever were the
causes, and whatever the characteristics of my state of mind, I
felt, upon a careful examination of myself that the only proper
course for me to pursue was to institute a candid and diligent
search into the claims of the Roman Church to be _the_
Holy Catholic Church. All her claims seem to resolve themselves
into that of the supremacy of the See of St. Peter, and I
accordingly resolved to confine my investigations to that
point. I communicated my determination to the bishop last week,
and asked him whether I could continue to officiate while I was
engaged in such a course. He thought I could and ought, and
offered me every assistance in his power, in the way of books,
advice, etc. He was wonderfully kind and forbearing, but firm
in assuring me that investigation of the point would but end in
conviction of the untenableness of the Roman claim.
{87}
I have felt calmer since I acted thus, and propose to enter
forthwith upon the study of this question, keeping it as clear
as I can of exterior matters, and pushing it, if I may, to a
decision. I need not, I know, ask of you the charity to
continue your prayers for the Divine blessing and guidance to
your perplexed friend."
"_Tuesday Night_.
"You will understand, from what I have been telling you of the
thoughts which have occupied my mind for some time past, how
the various events in the Church during the last few months
have affected me. With regard to ----'s departure, I confess it
was the deepest grief to me, and, in connection with other
circumstances, did much to distress and unsettle me. It is one
of the most afflicting things about the present controversies,
these separations between friend and friend, between master and
disciple; yet I know that even this is to be borne meekly and
obediently, if we cannot see it to be our _imperative
duty_ to follow those we have loved and lost; and now that I
have undertaken in a rational way to satisfy myself on this
point I can think more calmly of our isolation and bereavement.
To return to more Protestant ground (I know that it does not
suit unlearned people to say what they will do, but) I feel is
impossible. My conviction of the truth of the system (in
opposing and barking at which Protestantism has its life and
occupation) continually increases; but I think I feel that if I
could be persuaded that the Divine Will made it to be my duty
to remain where I am, I could submit to all the difficulties
and privations of our position uncomplainingly and even
cheerfully.
"Bishop Ives's movement, so far as it was intended to introduce
the general practice of auricular confession, had my
unrestrained sympathy. How far he meant to go in asserting its
_necessity_, I confess myself unable to determine; but
anyhow, I think he went farther than Protestant Episcopalianism
will bear him out in going.
{88}
It was an infinite relief to me when he came out as boldly as
he did; and now that he has presented the subject anew to the
Church, I feel assured that the Church will be obliged to meet
the question. I confess I do not feel very hopeful as to the
issue of the controversy, for it seems to me that nothing short
of a miracle could dispose the mass of our people to the
practice of confession. The High Churchmen will be as opposed
to it as the Low Churchmen. Maryland will kick as much as Ohio.
But _nous verrons_."
Some time after the date of this letter, Mr. Baker made a voyage
to Bermuda with his brother Alfred, who was now in a deep and
hopeless decline. He returned some time in the early part of the
ensuing summer. One day, either a little before or a little after
this voyage, I accidentally met him as I was out walking. I had
returned once more to Baltimore, and was making my novitiate at
the House attached to St. Alphonsus' Church. It was now nearly
five years since I had seen my former friend, and three since I
had received any letters from him. I was startled and pleased at
our unexpected rencontre, and at the light of friendship which I
saw in his face and eyes; but the pain of being separated from
him was renewed. Mr. Lyman came to see me, one day, during the
spring of 1850; and was much more frank and cordial in his manner
than Mr. Baker, who kept a close vail of reserve over his heart
until the last. I inquired of him particularly about Mr. Baker,
whether he had made any retrograde movement, &c. He replied that
he had rather advanced, and had become more spiritual in his
preaching, advised me to visit him, and on my objecting to this
on the ground that a visit might be intrusive and unwelcome,
assured me of the contrary. It was through his influence that
some degree of intercourse was from this time re-established
between Mr. Baker and myself. A subsequent letter of Mr. Baker
speaks of his visiting me, and also describes his visit to
Bermuda in the following terms. The letter is dated October 24,
1850:--
{89}
"On my return from Bermuda, I found your kind and interesting
letter, and felt grateful to you for the friendship which you
have now continued to me for several years. I am sorry not to
have seen you when you were in Baltimore, and in fact that was
the only regret I felt on account of my absence from home at
the time of the Convention. The Convention itself I have ceased
to look forward to with any pleasure. The truth is, it always
saddens me to mingle at all with the clergy promiscuously. I
feel that there is so little sympathy between us, that the
sense of loneliness is forced upon me more distinctly than when
I keep to myself altogether. But I do not mean to write
gloomily to a friend with whom I communicate so seldom, and
indeed I do not _complain_ of the want of sympathy which I
feel, or blame others for it. I know that the cause of it is in
myself, and I acknowledge with gratitude the great degree of
indulgence, kindness, and forbearance with which I have been
universally treated.
"I have felt happier lately, though I do not know why I should,
for I cannot say that I have gained a satisfactory position;
and when I think of dying, anxious thoughts come across me; but
I have been pursuing (as my occupation allows me) my
investigations into the question of the supremacy, and I wish
to abide by the result, without being swayed by feeling one way
or another. I have read Newman's Discourses since I received
your letter. They are like all that he writes, thoughtful,
earnest, holy, and deeply impressive; but I think they differ
from his Parochial Sermons in having the appearance of more
excited feeling, and in being more affectionate in their tone.
He seems to write under a pressing anxiety to influence those
he addresses, and he opens his heart more than he did of old. I
think this accounts in part for an objection which I have heard
brought against them, that they are not so strictly logical.
{90}
He seems to me possessed with that proselyting spirit which has
always appeared to me to be so divine a token about the Church
of Rome, as if the constant reflection of his mind was, 'What
shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world, and
lose his own soul?'
"I was deeply interested in the account of your visit to H. I
too saw H., but only for a moment. We met on the road, and he
stopped most kindly, and we had a minute's conversation. Of
course there was nothing but commonplace. I know not how he
felt, but I felt very sad.