CHAPTER I.

PHASES OF FAITH

- or -

PASSAGES FROM THE HISTORY OF MY CREED.

Francis William Newman, 1874

PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION.

This is perhaps an egotistical book; egotistical certainly in its

form, yet not in its purport and essence.

Personal reasons the writer cannot wholly disown, for desiring to

explain himself to more than a few, who on religious grounds are

unjustly alienated from him. If by any motive of curiosity or

lingering remembrances they may be led to read his straightforward

account, he trusts to be able to show them that he has had _no choice_

but to adopt the intellectual conclusions which offend them;--that

the difference between them and him turns on questions of Learning,

History, Criticism and Abstract Thought;--and that to make _their_

results (if indeed they have ever deeply and honestly investigated

the matter) the tests of _his_ spiritual state, is to employ unjust

weights and a false balance, which are an abomination to the Lord. To

defraud one's neighbour of any tithe of mint and cummin, would seem

to them a sin: is it less to withhold affection, trust and free

intercourse, and build up unpassable barriers of coldness and alarm,

against one whose sole offence is to differ from them intellectually?

But the argument before the writer is something immensely greater

than a personal one. So it happens, that to vindicate himself is to

establish a mighty truth; a truth which can in no other way so well

enter the heart, as when it comes embodied in an individual case.

If he can show, that to have shrunk from his successive convictions

_would_ have been "infidelity" to God and Truth and Righteousness; but

that he has been "faithful" to the highest and most urgent duty;--it

will be made clear that Belief is one thing and Faith another; that to

believe is intellectual, nay possibly "earthly, devilish;" and that

to set up any fixed creed as a test of spiritual character is a most

unjust, oppressive and mischievous superstition. The historical form

has been deliberately selected, as easier and more interesting to

the reader; but it must not be imagined that the author has given his

mental history in general, much less an autobiography. The progress

of his _creed_ is his sole subject; and other topics are introduced

either to illustrate this or as digressions suggested by it.

_March 22nd, 1850._

PREFACE TO SIXTH EDITION

I had long thought that the elaborate reply made for me in the

"Prospective Review" (1854) to Mr. Henry Rogers's Defence of the

"Eclipse of Faith," superseded anything more from my pen. But in the

course of six years a review is forgotten and buried away, while Mr.

Rogers is circulating the ninth edition of his misrepresentations.

As my publisher announces to me the opportunity, I at length consent

to reply myself to the Defence, cancelling what was previously my last

chapter, written against the "Eclipse."

All that follows p. 175 in this edition is new.

_June_, 1860.

CONTENTS.

I. MY YOUTHFUL CREED

II. STRIVINGS AFTER A MORE PRIMITIVE CHRISTIANITY

III. CALVINISM ABANDONED

IV. THE RELIGION OF THE LETTER RENOUNCED

V. FAITH AT SECOND HAND FOUND TO BE VAIN

VI. HISTORY DISCOVERED TO BE NO PART OF RELIGION

VII. ON THE MORAL PERFECTION OF JESUS

VIII. ON BIGOTRY AND PROGRESS

IX. REPLY TO THE "DEFENCE OF THE ECLIPSE OF FAITH"

APPENDIX I

APPENDIX II

PHASES OF FAITH.

CHAPTER I.

MY YOUTHFUL CREED.

I first began to read religious books at school, and especially the

Bible, when I was eleven years old; and almost immediately commenced

a habit of secret prayer. But it was not until I was fourteen that I

gained any definite idea of a "scheme of doctrine," or could have

been called a "converted person" by one of the Evangelical School.

My religion then certainly exerted a great general influence over

my conduct; for I soon underwent various persecution from my

schoolfellows on account of it: the worst kind consisted in their

deliberate attempts to corrupt me. An Evangelical clergyman at the

school gained my affections, and from him I imbibed more and more

distinctly the full creed which distinguishes that body of men; a

body whose bright side I shall ever appreciate, in spite of my present

perception that they have a dark side also. I well remember, that one

day when I said to this friend of mine, that I could not understand

how the doctrine of Election was reconcilable to God's Justice, but

supposed that I should know this in due time, if I waited and believed

His word;--he replied with emphatic commendation, that this was the

spirit which God always blessed. Such was the beginning and foundation

of my faith,--an unhesitating unconditional acceptance of whatever was

found in the Bible. While I am far from saying that my _whole_ moral

conduct was subjugated by my creed, I must insist that it was no mere

fancy resting in my intellect: it was really operative on my temper,

tastes, pursuits and conduct.

When I was sixteen, in 1821, I was "confirmed" by Dr. Howley, then

Bishop of London, and endeavoured to take on myself with greater

decision and more conscientious consistency the whole yoke of Christ.

Every thing in the Service was solemn to me, except the bishop: he

seemed to me a _made-up_ man and a mere pageant. I also remember that

when I was examined by the clergyman for confirmation, it troubled me

much that he only put questions which tested my _memory_ concerning

the Catechism and other formulas, instead of trying to find out

whether I had any actual faith in that about which I was to be called

to profess faith: I was not then aware that his sole duty was to try

my _knowledge_. But I already felt keenly the chasm that separated

the High from the Low Church; and that it was impossible for me

to sympathize with those who imagined that Forms could command the

Spirit.

Yet so entirely was I enslaved to one Form,--that of observing the

Sunday, or, as I had learned falsely to call it, the Sabbath,--that I

fell into painful and injurious conflict with a superior kinsman, by

refusing to obey his orders on the Sunday. He attempted to deal with

me by mere authority, not by instruction; and to yield my conscience

to authority would have been to yield up all spiritual life. I erred,

but I was faithful to God.

When I was rather more than seventeen, I subscribed the 39 Articles at

Oxford in order to be admitted to the University. Subscription was "no

bondage," but pleasure; for I well knew and loved the Articles, and

looked on them as a great bulwark of the truth; a bulwark, however,

not by being imposed, but by the spiritual and classical beauty which

to me shone in them. But it was certain to me before I went to

Oxford, and manifest in my first acquaintance with it, that very few

academicians could be said to believe them. Of the young men, not one

in five seemed to have any religious convictions at all: the elder

residents seldom or never showed sympathy with the doctrines that

pervade that formula. I felt from my first day there, that the system

of compulsory subscription was hollow, false, and wholly evil.

Oxford is a pleasant place for making friends,--friends of all sorts

that young men wish. One who is above envy and scorns servility,--who

can praise and delight in all the good qualities of his equals in

age, and does not desire to set himself above them, or to vie with his

superiors in rank,--may have more than enough of friends, for pleasure

and for profit. So certainly had I; yet no one of my equals gained

any ascendancy over me, nor perhaps could I have looked up to any for

advice. In some the intellect, in others the religious qualities, were

as yet insufficiently developed: in part also I wanted discrimination,

and did not well pick out the profounder minds of my acquaintance.

However, on my very first residence in College, I received a useful

lesson from another freshman,--a grave and thoughtful person, older

(I imagine) than most youths in their first term. Some readers may

be amused, as well as surprized, when I name the delicate question

on which I got into discussion with my fellow freshman. I had learned

from Evangelical books, that there is a _twofold_ imputation to every

saint,--not of the "sufferings" only, but also of the "righteousness"

of Christ. They alleged that, while the sufferings of Jesus are a

compensation for the guilt of the believer and make him innocent, yet

this suffices not to give him a title to heavenly glory; for which

he must over and above be invested in active righteousness, by all

Christ's good works being made over to him. My new friend contested

the latter part of the doctrine. Admitting fully that guilt is atoned

for by the sufferings of the Saviour, he yet maintained, there was no

farther imputation of Christ's active service as if it had been our

service. After a rather sharp controversy, I was sent back to study

the matter for myself, especially in the third and fourth chapters of

the Epistle to the Romans; and some weeks after, freely avowed to him

that I was convinced. Such was my first effort at independent thought

against the teaching of my spiritual fathers, and I suppose it had

much value for me. This friend might probably have been of service

to me, though he was rather cold and lawyerlike; but he was abruptly

withdrawn from Oxford to be employed in active life.

I first received a temporary discomfort about the 39 Articles from

an irreligious young man, who had been my schoolfellow; who one day

attacked the article which asserts that Christ carried "his flesh and

bones" with him into heaven. I was not moved by the physical absurdity

which this youth mercilessly derided; and I repelled his objections

as on impiety. But I afterwards remembered the text, "_Flesh and blood

shall not inherit the kingdom of God_;" and it seemed to me as if the

compiler had really gone a little too far. If I had immediately

then been called on to subscribe, I suppose it would have somewhat

discomposed me; but as time went on, I forgot this small point,

which was swallowed up by others more important. Yet I believe that

henceforth a greater disposition to criticize the Articles grew upon

me.

The first novel opinion of any great importance that I actually

embraced, so as to give roughness to my course, was that which many

then called the Oriel heresy about Sunday. Oriel College at this time

contained many active and several original minds; and it was rumoured

that one of the Fellows rejoiced in seeing his parishioners play at

cricket on Sunday: I do not know whether that was true, but so it

was said. Another of them preached an excellent sermon before the

University, clearly showing that Sunday had nothing to do with the

Sabbath, nor the Sabbath with us, and inculcating on its own ground

a wise and devout use of the Sunday hours. The evidently pious and

sincere tone of this discourse impressed me, and I felt that I had no

right to reject as profane and undeserving of examination the doctrine

which it enforced. Accordingly I entered into a thorough searching of

the Scripture without bias, and was amazed to find how baseless was

the tenet for which in fact I had endured a sort of martyrdom. This, I

believe, had a great effect in showing me how little right we have at

any time to count on our opinions as final truth, however necessary

they may just then be felt to our spiritual life. I was also

scandalized to find how little candour or discernment some Evangelical

friends, with whom I communicated, displayed in discussing the

subject.

In fact, this opened to me a large sphere of new thought. In the

investigation, I had learned, more distinctly than before, that the

preceptive code of the Law was an essentially imperfect and temporary

system, given "for the hardness of men's hearts." I was thus prepared

to enter into the Lectures on Prophecy, by another Oriel Fellow,--Mr.

Davison,--in which he traces the successive improvements and

developments of religious doctrine, from the patriarchal system

onward. I in consequence enjoyed with new zest the epistles of St.

Paul, which I read as with fresh eyes; and now understood somewhat

better his whole doctrine of "the Spirit," the coming of which had

brought the church out of her childish into a mature condition, and by

establishing a higher law had abolished that of the letter. Into this

view I entered with so eager an interest, that I felt no bondage of

the letter in Paul's own words: his wisdom was too much above me

to allow free criticism of his weak points. At the same time, the

systematic use of the Old Testament by the Puritans, as if it were

"the rule of life" to Christians, I saw to be a glaring mistake,

intensely opposed to the Pauline doctrine. This discovery, moreover,

soon became important to me, as furnishing a ready evasion of

objections against the meagre or puerile views of the Pentateuch;

for without very minute inquiry how far I must go to make the defence

adequate, I gave a general reply, that the New Testament _confessed_

the imperfections of the older dispensation. I still presumed the Old

to have been perfect for its own objects and in its own place; and

had not defined to myself how far it was correct or absurd, to imagine

morality to change with time and circumstances.

Before long, ground was broken in my mind on a still more critical

question, by another Fellow of a College; who maintained that nothing

but unbelief could arise out of the attempt to understand _in what

way_ and _by what moral right_ the blood of Christ atoned for sins.

He said, that he bowed before the doctrine as one of "Revelation," and

accepted it reverentially by an act of faith; but that he certainly

felt unable to understand _why_ the sacrifice of Christ, any more than

the Mosaic sacrifices, should compensate for the punishment of our

sins. Could carnal reason discern that human or divine blood, any

more than that of beasts, had efficacy to make the sinner as it were

sinless? It appeared to him a necessarily inscrutable mystery, into

which we ought not to look.--The matter being thus forced on my

attention, I certainly saw that to establish the abstract moral

_right_ and _justice_ of vicarious punishment was not easy, and that

to make out the fact of any "compensation"--(_i.e._ that Jesus really

endured on the cross a true equivalent for the eternal sufferings

due to the whole human race,)--was harder still. Nevertheless I had

difficulty in adopting the conclusions of this gentleman; FIRST,

because, in a passage of the Epistle to the Hebrews, the sacred

writer, in arguing--"_For_ it is impossible that the blood of bulls

and goats can take away sins," &c., &c....--seems to expect his

readers to see an inherent impropriety in the sacrifices of the Law,

and an inherent moral fitness in the sacrifice of Christ. SECONDLY:

I had always been accustomed to hear that it was by seeing the

moral fitness of the doctrine of the Atonement, that converts to

Christianity were chiefly made: so said the Moravians among the

Greenlanders, so Brainerd among the North American Indians, so English

missionaries among the negroes at Sierra Leone:--and I could not at

all renounce this idea. Indeed I seemed to myself to see this fitness

most emphatically; and as for the _forensic_ difficulties, I passed

them over with a certain conscious reverence. I was not as yet ripe

for deeper inquiry: yet I, about this time, decidedly modified my

boyish creed on the subject, on which more will be said below.

Of more immediate practical importance to me was the controversy

concerning Infant Baptism. For several years together I had been more

or less conversant with the arguments adduced for the practice; and

at this time I read Wall's defence of it, which was the book specially

recommended at Oxford. The perusal brought to a head the doubts which

had at an earlier period flitted over my mind. Wall's historical

attempt to trace Infant Baptism up to the apostles seemed to me a

clear failure:[1] and if he failed, then who was likely to succeed?

The arguments from Scripture had never recommended themselves to

me. Even allowing that they might confirm, they certainly could not

suggest and establish the practice. It now appeared that there was no

basis at all; indeed, several of the arguments struck me as cutting

the other way. "Suffer little children to come unto me," urged as

decisive: but it occurred to me that the disciples would not have

scolded the little children away, if they had ever been accustomed

to baptize them. Wall also, if I remember aright, declares that the

children of proselytes were baptized by the Jews; and deduces, that

unless the contrary were stated, we must assume that also Christ's

disciples baptized children: but I reflected that the baptism _of

John_ was one of "repentance," and therefore could not have been

administered to infants; which (if precedent is to guide us) afforded

the truer presumption concerning _Christian_ baptism. Prepossessions

being thus overthrown, when I read the apostolic epistles with a view

to this special question, the proof so multiplied against the Church

doctrine, that I did not see what was left to be said for it. I talked

much and freely of this, as of most other topics, with equals in age,

who took interest in religious questions; but the more the matters

were discussed, the more decidedly impossible it seemed to maintain

that the popular Church views were apostolic.

Here also, as before, the Evangelical clergy whom I consulted were

found by me a broken reed. The clerical friend whom I had known at

school wrote kindly to me, but quite declined attempting to solve my

doubts; and in other quarters I soon saw that no fresh light was to be

got. One person there was at Oxford, who might have seemed my natural

adviser; his name, character, and religious peculiarities have been so

made public property, that I need not shrink to name him:--I mean

my elder brother, the Rev. John Henry Newman. As a warm-hearted and

generous brother, who exercised towards me paternal cares, I esteemed

him and felt a deep gratitude; as a man of various culture, and

peculiar genius, I admired and was proud of him; but my doctrinal

religion impeded my loving him as much as he deserved, and even

justified my feeling some distrust of him. He never showed any strong

attraction towards those whom I regarded as spiritual persons: on the

contrary, I thought him stiff and cold towards them. Moreover, soon

after his ordination, he had startled and distressed me by adopting

the doctrine of Baptismal Regeneration; and in rapid succession worked

out views which I regarded as full-blown "Popery." I speak of the

years 1823-6: it is strange to think that twenty years more had to

pass before he learnt the place to which his doctrines belonged.

In the earliest period of my Oxford residence I fell into uneasy

collision with him concerning Episcopal powers. I had on one occasion

dropt something disrespectful against bishops or a bishop,--something

which, if it had been said about a clergyman, would have passed

unnoticed: but my brother checked and reproved me,--as I thought, very

uninstructively--for "wanting reverence towards Bishops." I knew

not then, and I know not now, why Bishops, _as such_, should be more

reverenced than common clergymen; or Clergymen, _as such_, more than

common men. In the World I expected pomp and vain show and formality

and counterfeits: but of the Church, as Christ's own kingdom, I

demanded reality and could not digest legal fictions. I saw round

me what sort of young men were preparing to be clergymen: I knew the

attractions of family "livings" and fellowships, and of a respectable

position and undefinable hopes of preferment. I farther knew, that

when youths had become clergymen through a great variety of mixed

motives, bishops were selected out of these clergy on avowedly

political grounds; it therefore amazed me how a man of good sense

should be able to set up a duty of religious veneration towards

bishops. I was willing to honour a Lord Bishop as a peer of

Parliament; but his office was to me no guarantee of spiritual

eminence.--To find my brother thus stop my mouth, was a puzzle; and

impeded all free speech towards him. In fact, I very soon left off the

attempt at intimate religious intercourse with him, or asking counsel

as of one who could sympathize. We talked, indeed, a great deal on the

surface of religious matters; and on some questions I was overpowered

and received a temporary bias from his superior knowledge; but as

time went on, and my own intellect ripened, I distinctly felt that his

arguments were too fine-drawn and subtle, often elaborately missing

the moral points and the main points, to rest on some ecclesiastical

fiction; and his conclusions were to me so marvellous and painful,

that I constantly thought I had mistaken him. In short, he was my

senior by a very few years: nor was there any elder resident at

Oxford, accessible to me, who united all the qualities which I wanted

in an adviser. Nothing was left for me but to cast myself on Him who

is named the Father of Lights, and resolve to follow the light which

He might give, however opposed to my own prejudices, and however I

might be condemned by men. This solemn engagement I made in early

youth, and neither the frowns nor the grief of my brethren can make me

ashamed of it in my manhood.

Among the religious authors whom I read familiarly was the Rev.

T. Scott, of Aston Sandford, a rather dull, very unoriginal,

half-educated, but honest, worthy, sensible, strong-minded man, whose

works were then much in vogue among the Evangelicals. One day my

attention was arrested by a sentence in his defence of the doctrine

of the Trinity. He complained that Anti-Trinitarians unjustly charged

Trinitarians with self-contradiction. "If indeed we said" (argued he)

"that God is three _in the same sense_ as that in which He is one,

that would be self-refuting; but we hold Him to be _three in one

sense, and one in another_." It crossed my mind very forcibly, that,

if that was all, the Athanasian Creed had gratuitously invented an

enigma. I exchanged thoughts on this with an undergraduate friend, and

got no fresh light: in fact, I feared to be profane, if I attempted

to understand the subject. Yet it came distinctly home to me, that,

whatever the depth of the mystery, if we lay down anything about

it _at all_, we ought to understand our own words; and I presently

augured that Tillotson had been right in "wishing our Church well rid"

of the Athanasian Creed; which seemed a mere offensive blurting out

of intellectual difficulties. I had, however, no doubts, even of a

passing kind, for years to come, concerning the substantial truth and

certainty of the ecclesiastical Trinity.

When the period arrived for taking my Bachelors degree, it was

requisite again to sign the 39 Articles, and I now found myself

embarrassed by the question of Infant Baptism. One of the articles

contains the following words, "The baptism of young children is in any

wise to be retained, as most agreeable to the institution of Christ."

I was unable to conceal from myself that I did not believe this

sentence; and I was on the point of refusing to take my degree. I

overcame my scruples by considering, 1. That concerning this doctrine

I had no active _dis_-belief, on which I would take any practical

step, as I felt myself too young to make any counterdeclaration: 2.

That it had no possible practical meaning to me, since I could not

be called on to baptize, nor to give a child for baptism. Thus I

persuaded myself. Yet I had not an easy conscience, nor can I now

defend my compromise; for I believe that my repugnance to Infant

Baptism was really intense, and my conviction that it is unapostolic

as strong then as now. The topic of my "youth" was irrelevant; for,

if I was not too young to subscribe, I was not too young to refuse

subscription. The argument that the article was "unpractical" to me,

goes to prove, that if I were ordered by a despot to qualify myself

for a place in the Church by solemnly renouncing the first book of

Euclid as false, I might do so without any loss of moral dignity.

Altogether, this humiliating affair showed me what a trap for the

conscience these subscriptions are: how comfortably they are passed

while the intellect is torpid or immature, or where the conscience is

callous, but how they undermine truthfulness in the active thinker,

and torture the sensitiveness of the tenderminded. As long as they

are maintained, in Church or University, these institutions exert a

positive influence to deprave or eject those who ought to be their

most useful and honoured members.

It was already breaking upon me, that I could not fulfil the dreams of

my boyhood as a minister in the Church of England. For, supposing that

with increased knowledge I might arrive at the conclusion that Infant

Baptism was a fore-arranged "development,"--not indeed practised in

the _first_ generation, but expedient, justifiable, and intended

for the _second_, and probably then sanctioned by one still living

apostle,--even so, I foresaw the still greater difficulty of Baptismal

Regeneration behind. For any one to avow that Regeneration took place

in Baptism, seemed to me little short of a confession that he had

never himself experienced what Regeneration is. If I _could_ then

have been convinced that the apostles taught no other regeneration,

I almost think that even their authority would have snapt under the

strain: but this is idle theory; for it was as clear as daylight to me

that they held a totally different doctrine, and that the High Church

and Popish fancy is a superstitious perversion, based upon carnal

inability to understand a strong spiritual metaphor. On the other

hand, my brother's arguments that the Baptismal Service of the Church

taught "spiritual regeneration" during the ordinance, were short,

simple, and overwhelming. To imagine a _twofold_ "spiritual

regeneration" was evidently a hypothesis to serve a turn, nor in any

of the Church formulas was such an idea broached. Nor could I hope for

relief by searching through the Homilies or by drawing deductions from

the Articles: for if I there elicited a truer doctrine, it would never

show the Baptismal Service not to teach the Popish tenet; it would

merely prove the Church-system to contain contradictions, and not to

deserve that absolute declaration of its truth, which is demanded of

Church ministers. With little hope of advantage, I yet felt it a duty

to consult many of the Evangelical clergymen whom I knew, and to ask

how _they_ reconciled the Baptismal Service to their consciences.

I found (if I remember) three separate theories among them,--all

evidently mere shifts invented to avoid the disagreeable necessity of

resigning their functions. Not one of these good people seemed to have

the most remote idea that it was their duty to investigate the meaning

of the formulary with the same unbiassed simplicity as if it belonged

to the Gallican Church. They did not seek to know what it was written

to mean, nor what sense it must carry to every simpleminded hearer;

but they solely asked, how they could manage to assign to it a sense

not wholly irreconcilable with their own doctrines and preaching. This

was too obviously hollow. The last gentleman whom I consulted, was the

rector of a parish, who from week to week baptized children with the

prescribed formula: but to my amazement, he told me that _he_ did not

like the Service, and did not approve of Infant Baptism; to both of

which things he submitted, solely because, as an inferior minister of

the Church, it was his duty to obey established authority! The case

was desperate. But I may here add, that this clergyman, within a few

years from that time, redeemed his freedom and his conscience by the

painful ordeal of abandoning his position and his flock, against the

remonstrances of his wife, to the annoyance of his friends, and with a

young family about him.

Let no reader accept the preceding paragraph as my testimony that the

Evangelical clergy are less simpleminded and less honourable in their

subscriptions than the High Church. I do not say, and I do not believe

this. _All_ who subscribe, labour under a common difficulty, in having

to give an absolute assent to formulas that were made by a compromise

and are not homogeneous in character. To the High Churchman, the

_Articles_ are a difficulty; to the Low Churchman, various parts of

the _Liturgy_. All have to do violence to some portion of the

system; and considering at how early an age they are entrapped into

subscription, they all deserve our sincere sympathy and very ample

allowance, as long as they are pleading for the rights of conscience:

only when they become overbearing, dictatorial, proud of their chains,

and desirous of ejecting others, does it seem right to press them with

the topic of inconsistency. There in, besides, in the ministry of

the Established Church a sprinkling of original minds, who cannot

be included in either of the two great divisions; and from these _à

priori_ one might have hoped much good to the Church. But such persons

no sooner speak out, than the two hostile parties hush their strife,

in order the more effectually to overwhelm with just and unjust

imputations those who dare to utter truth that has not yet been

consecrated by Act of Parliament or by Church Councils. Among those

who have subscribed, to attack others is easy, to defend oneself most

arduous. Recrimination is the only powerful weapon; and noble minds

are ashamed to use this. No hope, therefore, shows itself of Reform

from within.--For myself, I feel that nothing saved me from the

infinite distresses which I should have encountered, had I become a

minister of the Episcopal Church, but the very unusual prematureness

of my religious development.

Besides the great subject of Baptismal Regeneration, the entire

Episcopal theory and practice offended me. How little favourably I was

impressed, when a boy, by the lawn sleeves, wig, artificial voice and

manner of the Bishop of London, I have already said: but in six

years more, reading and observation had intensely confirmed my first

auguries. It was clear beyond denial, that for a century after the

death of Edward VI. the bishops were the tools of court-bigotry, and

often owed their highest promotions to base subservience. After the

Revolution, the Episcopal order (on a rough and general view) might be

described as a body of supine persons, known to the public only as a

dead weight against all change that was distasteful to the Government.

In the last century and a half, the nation was often afflicted with

sensual royalty, bloody wars, venal statesmen, corrupt constituencies,

bribery and violence at elections, flagitious drunkenness pervading

all ranks, and insinuating itself into Colleges and Rectories. The

prisons of the country had been in a most disgraceful state; the

fairs and waits were scenes of rude debauchery, and the theatres

were--still, in this nineteenth century--whispered to be haunts of the

most debasing immorality. I could not learn that any bishop had ever

taken the lead in denouncing these iniquities; nor that when any man

or class of men rose to denounce them, the Episcopal Order failed to

throw itself into the breach to defend corruption by at least passive

resistance. Neither Howard, Wesley and Whitfield, nor yet Clarkson,

Wilberforce, or Romilly, could boast of the episcopal bench as an ally

against inhuman or immoral practices. Our oppressions in India, and

our sanction to the most cruel superstitions of the natives, led to no

outcry from the Bishops. Under their patronage the two old Societies

of the Church had gone to sleep until aroused by the Church Missionary

and Bible Societies, which were opposed by the Bishops. Their policy

seemed to be, to do nothing, until somebody else was likely to do

it; upon which they at last joined the movement in order to damp its

energy, and get some credit from it. Now what were Bishops for, but to

be the originators and energetic organs of all pious and good works?

and what were they in the House of Lords for, if not to set a higher

tone of purity, justice, and truth? and if they never did this, but

weighed down those who attempted it, was not that a condemnation (not,

perhaps, of all possible Episcopacy, but) of Episcopacy as it exists

in England? If such a thing as a moral argument _for_ Christianity

was admitted as valid, surely the above was a moral argument _against_

English Prelacy. It was, moreover, evident at a glance, that this

system of ours neither was, nor could have been, apostolic: for as

long as the civil power was hostile to the Church, _a Lord bishop

nominated by the civil ruler_ was an impossibility: and this it is,

which determines the moral and spiritual character of the English

institution, not indeed exclusively, but preeminently.

I still feel amazement at the only defence which (as far as I know)

the pretended followers of Antiquity make for the nomination of

bishops by the Crown. In the third and fourth centuries, it is well

known that every new bishop was elected by the universal suffrage of

the laity of the church; and it is to these centuries that the High

Episcopalians love to appeal, because they can quote thence out of

Cyprian[2] and others in favour of Episcopal authority. When I alleged

the dissimilarity in the mode of election, as fatal to this argument

in the mouth of an English High Churchman, I was told that "the Crown

now _represents_ the Laity!" Such a fiction may be satisfactory to a

pettifogging lawyer, but as the basis of a spiritual system is indeed

supremely contemptible.

With these considerations on my mind,--while quite aware that some of

the bishops were good and valuable men,--I could not help feeling

that it would be a perfect misery to me to have to address one of them

taken at random as my "Right Reverend Father in God," which seemed

like a foul hypocrisy; and when I remembered who had said, "Call

no man Father on earth; for one is your Father, who is in

heaven:"--words, which not merely in the letter, but still more

distinctly in the spirit, forbid the state of feeling which suggested

this episcopal appellation,--it did appear to me, as if "Prelacy"

had been rightly coupled by the Scotch Puritans with "Popery" as

antichristian.

Connected inseparably with this, was the form of Ordination, which,

the more I thought of it, seemed the more offensively and outrageously

Popish, and quite opposed to the Article on the same subject. In the

Article I read, that we were to regard such to be legitimate ministers

of the word, as had been duly appointed to this work _by those who

have public authority for the same_. It was evident to me that this

very wide phrase was adapted and intended to comprehend the "public

authorities" of all the Reformed Churches, and could never have been

selected by one who wished to narrow the idea of a legitimate minister

to Episcopalian Orders; besides that we know Lutheran and Calvinistic

ministers to have been actually admitted in the early times of the

Reformed English Church, by the force of that very Article. To this,

the only genuine Protestant view of a Church, I gave my most cordial

adherence: but when I turned to the Ordination Service, I found the

Bishop there, by his authoritative voice, absolutely to bestow on

the candidate for Priesthood the power to forgive or retain

sins!--"Receive ye the Holy Ghost! Whose sins ye forgive, they are

forgiven: whose sins ye retain, they are retained." If the Bishop

really had this power, he of course had it only _as_ Bishop, that is,

by his consecration; thus it was formally transmitted. To allow this,

vested in all the Romish bishops a spiritual power of the highest

order, and denied the legitimate priesthood in nearly all the

Continental Protestant Churches--a doctrine irreconcilable with the

article just referred to and intrinsically to me incredible. That

an unspiritual--and it may be, a wicked--man, who can have no pure

insight into devout and penitent hearts, and no communion with the

Source of holy discernment, could never receive by an outward form the

divine power to forgive or retain sins, or the power of bestowing this

power, was to me then, as now, as clear and certain as any possible

first axiom. Yet if the Bishop had not this power, how profane was

the pretension! Thus again I came into rude collision with English

Prelacy.

The year after taking my degree, I made myself fully master of Paley's

acute and original treatise, the "Horæ Paulinæ," and realized the

whole life of Paul as never before. This book greatly enlarged my mind

as to the resources of historical criticism. Previously, my sole idea

of criticism was that of the direct discernment of style; but I now

began to understand what powerful argument rose out of combinations:

and the very complete establishment which this work gives to the

narrative concerning Paul in the latter half of the "Acts," appeared

to me to reflect critical honour[3] on the whole New Testament. In the

epistles of this great apostle, notwithstanding their argumentative

difficulties, I found a moral reality and a depth of wisdom

perpetually growing upon me with acquaintance: in contrast to which

I was conscious that I made no progress in understanding the four

gospels. Their first impression had been their strongest: and their

difficulties remained as fixed blocks in my way. Was this possibly

because Paul is a reasoner, (I asked)? hence, with the cultivation

of my understanding, I have entered more easily into the heart of

his views:--while Christ enunciates divine truth dogmatically;

consequently insight is needed to understand him? On the contrary,

however, it seemed to me, that the doctrinal difficulties of the

gospels depend chiefly either on obscure metaphor or on apparent

incoherence: and I timidly asked a friend, whether the _dislocation_

of the discourses of Christ by the narrators may not be one reason why

they are often obscure: for on comparing Luke with Matthew, it appears

that we cannot deny occasional dislocation. If at this period a German

divinity professor had been lecturing at Oxford, or German books had

been accessible to me, it might have saved me long peregrinations of

body and mind.

About this time I had also begun to think that the old writers called

_Fathers_ deserved but a small fraction of the reverence which is

awarded to them. I had been strongly urged to read Chrysostom's work

on the Priesthood, by one who regarded it as a suitable preparation

for Holy Orders; and I did read it. But I not only thought it

inflated, and without moral depth, but what was far worse, I

encountered in it an elaborate defence of falsehood in the cause of

the Church, and generally of deceit in any good cause.[4] I rose

from the treatise in disgust, and for the first time sympathized with

Gibbon; and augured that if he had spoken with moral indignation,

instead of pompous sarcasm, against the frauds of the ancient

"Fathers," his blows would have fallen far more heavily on

Christianity itself.

I also, with much effort and no profit, read the Apostolic Fathers.

Of these, Clement alone seemed to me respectable, and even he to write

only what I could myself have written, with Paul and Peter to serve

as a model. But for Barnabas and Hermas I felt a contempt so profound,

that I could hardly believe them genuine. On the whole, this reading

greatly exalted my sense of the unapproachable greatness[5] of the New

Testament. The moral chasm between it and the very earliest Christian

writers seemed to me so vast, as only to be accounted for by the

doctrine in which all spiritual men (as I thought) unhesitatingly

agreed,--that the New Testament was dictated by the immediate action

of the Holy Spirit. The infatuation of those, who, after this, rested

on _the Councils_, was to me unintelligible. Thus the Bible in its

simplicity became only the more all-ruling to my judgment, because

I could find no Articles, no Church Decrees, and no apostolic

individual, whose rule over my understanding or conscience I could

bear. Such may be conveniently regarded as the first period of my

Creed.

[Footnote 1: It was not until many years later that I became aware,

that unbiased ecclesiastical historians, as Neander and others, while

approving of the practice of Infant Baptism, freely concede that it is

not apostolic. Let this fact be my defence against critics, who snarl

at me for having dared, at that age, to come to _any_ conclusion on

such a subject. But, in fact, the subscriptions compel young men to

it.]

[Footnote 2: I remember reading about that time a sentence in one of

his Epistles, in which this same Cyprian, the earliest mouthpiece of

"proud prelacy," claims for the _populace_ supreme right of deposing

an unworthy bishop. I quote the words from memory, and do not know

the reference. "Pleba summam habet potentatem episcopos seu dignos

eligendi seu indignos detrudendi."]

[Footnote 3: A critic absurdly complains that I do not account for

this. Account for what? I still hold the authenticity of nearly all

the Pauline epistles, and that the Pauline Acts are compiled from some

valuable source, from chap. xiii. onward; but it was gratuitous to

infer that this could accredit the four gospels.]

[Footnote 4: He argues from the Bible, that a victory gained by deceit

is more to be esteemed than one obtained by force; and that, provided

the end aimed at be good, we ought not to call it _deceit_, but a sort

of _admirable management_. A learned friend informs me that in

his 45th Homily on Genesis, this father, in his zeal to vindicate

Scriptural characters at any cost, goes further still in immorality.

My friend adds, "It is really frightful to reflect to what guidance

the moral sentiment of mankind was committed for many ages: Chrysostom

is usually considered one of the best of the fathers."]

[Footnote 5: I thought that the latter part of this book would

sufficiently show how and why I now need to modify this sentiment. I

_now_ see the doctrine of the Atonement, especially as expounded

in the Epistle of the Hebrews, to deserve no honour. I see false

interpretations of the Old Testament to be dogmatically proposed in

the New. I see the moral teaching concerning Patriotism, Property,

Slavery, Marriage, Science, and indirectly Fine Art, to be essentially

defective, and the threats against unbelief to be a pernicious

immorality. See also p. 80. Why will critics use my frankly-stated

juvenile opinions as a stone to pelt me with?]