Part I.

APOLOGIA PRO VITA SUA

BEING

A History of his Religious Opinions.

BY

JOHN HENRY CARDINAL NEWMAN.

"Commit thy way to the Lord and trust in Him, and He will do it.

And He will bring forth thy justice as the light, and thy

judgment as the noon-day."

LONDON

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.

AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET

1890.

PRINTED BY

KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS,

AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.

PREFACE.

The following History of my Religious Opinions, now that it is detached

from the context in which it originally stood, requires some preliminary

explanation; and that, not only in order to introduce it generally to

the reader, but specially to make him understand, how I came to write a

whole book about myself, and about my most private thoughts and

feelings. Did I consult indeed my own impulses, I should do my best

simply to wipe out of my Volume, and consign to oblivion, every trace of

the circumstances to which it is to be ascribed; but its original title

of "Apologia" is too exactly borne out by its matter and structure, and

these again are too suggestive of correlative circumstances, and those

circumstances are of too grave a character, to allow of my indulging so

natural a wish. And therefore, though in this new Edition I have managed

to omit nearly a hundred pages of my original Volume, which I could

safely consider to be of merely ephemeral importance, I am even for that

very reason obliged, by way of making up for their absence, to prefix to

my Narrative some account of the provocation out of which it arose.

It is now more than twenty years that a vague impression to my

disadvantage has rested on the popular mind, as if my conduct towards

the Anglican Church, while I was a member of it, was inconsistent with

Christian simplicity and uprightness. An impression of this kind was

almost unavoidable under the circumstances of the case, when a man, who

had written strongly against a cause, and had collected a party round

him by virtue of such writings, gradually faltered in his opposition to

it, unsaid his words, threw his own friends into perplexity and their

proceedings into confusion, and ended by passing over to the side of

those whom he had so vigorously denounced. Sensitive then as I have ever

been of the imputations which have been so freely cast upon me, I have

never felt much impatience under them, as considering them to be a

portion of the penalty which I naturally and justly incurred by my

change of religion, even though they were to continue as long as I

lived. I left their removal to a future day, when personal feelings

would have died out, and documents would see the light, which were as

yet buried in closets or scattered through the country.

This was my state of mind, as it had been for many years, when, in the

beginning of 1864, I unexpectedly found myself publicly put upon my

defence, and furnished with an opportunity of pleading my cause before

the world, and, as it so happened, with a fair prospect of an impartial

hearing. Taken indeed by surprise, as I was, I had much reason to be

anxious how I should be able to acquit myself in so serious a matter;

however, I had long had a tacit understanding with myself, that, in the

improbable event of a challenge being formally made to me, by a person

of name, it would be my duty to meet it. That opportunity had now

occurred; it never might occur again; not to avail myself of it at once

would be virtually to give up my cause; accordingly, I took advantage of

it, and, as it has turned out, the circumstance that no time was allowed

me for any studied statements has compensated, in the equitable judgment

of the public, for such imperfections in composition as my want of

leisure involved.

* * * * *

It was in the number for January 1864, of a magazine of wide

circulation, and in an Article upon Queen Elizabeth, that a popular

writer took occasion formally to accuse me by name of thinking so

lightly of the virtue of Veracity, as in set terms to have countenanced

and defended that neglect of it which he at the same time imputed to the

Catholic Priesthood. His words were these:--

"Truth, for its own sake, had never been a virtue with the Roman

clergy. Father Newman informs us that it need not, and on the

whole ought not to be; that cunning is the weapon which heaven

has given to the Saints wherewith to withstand the brute male

force of the wicked world which marries and is given in

marriage. Whether his notion be doctrinally correct or not, it

is at least historically so."

These assertions, going far beyond the popular prejudice entertained

against me, had no foundation whatever in fact. I never had said, I

never had dreamed of saying, that truth for its own sake need not, and

on the whole ought not to be, a virtue with the Roman Clergy; or that

cunning is the weapon which heaven has given to the Saints wherewith to

withstand the wicked world. To what work of mine then could the writer

be referring? In a correspondence which ensued upon the subject between

him and myself, he rested his charge against me on a Sermon of mine,

preached, before I was a Catholic, in the pulpit of my Church at Oxford;

and he gave me to understand, that, after having done as much as this,

he was not bound, over and above such a general reference to my Sermon,

to specify the passages of it, in which the doctrine, which he imputed

to me, was contained. On my part I considered this not enough; and I

demanded of him to bring out his proof of his accusation in form and in

detail, or to confess he was unable to do so. But he persevered in his

refusal to cite any distinct passages from any writing of mine; and,

though he consented to withdraw his charge, he would not do so on the

issue of its truth or falsehood, but simply on the ground that I assured

him that I had had no intention of incurring it. This did not satisfy my

sense of justice. Formally to charge me with committing a fault is one

thing; to allow that I did not intend to commit it, is another; it is no

satisfaction to me, if a man accuses me of _this_ offence, for him to

profess that he does not accuse me _of that_; but he thought

differently. Not being able then to gain redress in the quarter, where I

had a right to ask it, I appealed to the public. I published the

correspondence in the shape of a Pamphlet, with some remarks of my own

at the end, on the course which that correspondence had taken.

This Pamphlet, which appeared in the first weeks of February, received a

reply from my accuser towards the end of March, in another Pamphlet of

48 pages, entitled, "What then does Dr. Newman mean?" in which he

professed to do that which I had called upon him to do; that is, he

brought together a number of extracts from various works of mine,

Catholic and Anglican, with the object of showing that, if I was to be

acquitted of the crime of teaching and practising deceit and dishonesty,

according to his first supposition, it was at the price of my being

considered no longer responsible for my actions; for, as he expressed

it, "I had a human reason once, no doubt, but I had gambled it away,"

and I had "worked my mind into that morbid state, in which nonsense was

the only food for which it hungered;" and that it could not be called "a

hasty or farfetched or unfounded mistake, when he concluded that I did

not care for truth for its own sake, or teach my disciples to regard it

as a virtue;" and, though "too many prefer the charge of insincerity to

that of insipience, Dr. Newman seemed not to be of that number."

He ended his Pamphlet by returning to his original imputation against

me, which he had professed to abandon. Alluding by anticipation to my

probable answer to what he was then publishing, he professed his

heartfelt embarrassment how he was to believe any thing I might say in

my exculpation, in the plain and literal sense of the words. "I am

henceforth," he said, "in doubt and fear, as much as an honest man can

be, concerning every word Dr. Newman may write. How can I tell, that I

shall not be the dupe of some cunning equivocation, of one of the three

kinds laid down as permissible by the blessed St. Alfonso da Liguori and

his pupils, even when confirmed with an oath, because 'then we do not

deceive our neighbour, but allow him to deceive himself?' ... How can I

tell, that I may not in this Pamphlet have made an accusation, of the

truth of which Dr. Newman is perfectly conscious; but that, as I, a

heretic Protestant, have no business to make it, he has a full right to

deny it?"

Even if I could have found it consistent with my duty to my own

reputation to leave such an elaborate impeachment of my moral nature

unanswered, my duty to my Brethren in the Catholic Priesthood, would

have forbidden such a course. _They_ were involved in the charges which

this writer, all along, from the original passage in the Magazine, to

the very last paragraph of the Pamphlet, had so confidently, so

pertinaciously made. In exculpating myself, it was plain I should be

pursuing no mere personal quarrel;--I was offering my humble service to

a sacred cause. I was making my protest in behalf of a large body of men

of high character, of honest and religious minds, and of sensitive

honour,--who had their place and their rights in this world, though they

were ministers of the world unseen, and who were insulted by my Accuser,

as the above extracts from him sufficiently show, not only in my person,

but directly and pointedly in their own. Accordingly, I at once set

about writing the _Apologia pro vitâ suâ_, of which the present Volume

is a New Edition; and it was a great reward to me to find, as the

controversy proceeded, such large numbers of my clerical brethren

supporting me by their sympathy in the course which I was pursuing, and,

as occasion offered, bestowing on me the formal and public expression of

their approbation. These testimonials in my behalf, so important and so

grateful to me, are, together with the Letter, sent to me with the same

purpose, from my Bishop, contained in the last pages of this Volume.

* * * * *

This Edition differs from the first form of the Apologia as

follows:--The original work consisted of seven Parts, which were

published in series on consecutive Thursdays, between April 21 and June

2. An Appendix, in answer to specific allegations urged against me in

the Pamphlet of Accusation, appeared on June 16. Of these Parts 1 and 2,

as being for the most part directly controversial, are omitted in this

Edition, excepting certain passages in them, which are subjoined to this

Preface, as being necessary for the due explanation of the subsequent

five Parts. These, (being 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, of the Apologia,) are here

numbered as Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 respectively. Of the Appendix, about

half has been omitted, for the same reason as has led to the omission of

Parts 1 and 2. The rest of it is thrown into the shape of Notes of a

discursive character, with two new ones on Liberalism and the Lives of

the English Saints of 1843-4, and another, new in part, on

Ecclesiastical Miracles. In the body of the work, the only addition of

consequence is the letter which is found at p. 228, a copy of which has

recently come into my possession.

I should add that, since writing the Apologia last year, I have seen for

the first time Mr. Oakeley's "Notes on the Tractarian Movement." This

work remarkably corroborates the substance of my Narrative, while the

kind terms in which he speaks of me personally, call for my sincere

gratitude.

_May 2, 1865._

I make these extracts from the first edition of my Apologia, Part 1, pp.

3, 20-25, and Part 2, pp. 29-31 and pp. 41-51, in order to set before

the reader the drift I had in writing my Volume:--

I cannot be sorry to have forced my Accuser to bring out in

fulness his charges against me. It is far better that he should

discharge his thoughts upon me in my lifetime, than after I am

dead. Under the circumstances I am happy in having the

opportunity of reading the worst that can be said of me by a

writer who has taken pains with his work and is well satisfied

with it. I account it a gain to be surveyed from without by one

who hates the principles which are nearest to my heart, has no

personal knowledge of me to set right his misconceptions of my

doctrine, and who has some motive or other to be as severe with

me as he can possibly be....

But I really feel sad for what I am obliged now to say. I am in

warfare with him, but I wish him no ill;--it is very difficult

to get up resentment towards persons whom one has never seen. It

is easy enough to be irritated with friends or foes _vis-à-vis_;

but, though I am writing with all my heart against what he has

said of me, I am not conscious of personal unkindness towards

himself. I think it necessary to write as I am writing, for my

own sake, and for the sake of the Catholic Priesthood; but I

wish to impute nothing worse to him than that he has been

furiously carried away by his feelings. Yet what shall I say of

the upshot of all his talk of my economies and equivocations and

the like? What is the precise _work_ which it is directed to

effect? I am at war with him; but there is such a thing as

legitimate warfare: war has its laws; there are things which may

fairly be done, and things which may not be done. I say it with

shame and with stern sorrow;--he has attempted a great

transgression; he has attempted (as I may call it) to _poison

the wells_. I will quote him and explain what I mean.... He

says,--

"I am henceforth in doubt and fear, as much as any honest man

can be, _concerning every word_ Dr. Newman may write. _How can I

tell that I shall not be the dupe of some cunning equivocation_,

of one of the three kinds laid down as permissible by the

blessed Alfonso da Liguori and his pupils, even when confirmed

by an oath, because 'then we do not deceive our neighbour, but

allow him to deceive himself?' ... It is admissible, therefore,

to use words and sentences which have a double signification,

and leave the hapless hearer to take which of them he may

choose. _What proof have I, then, that by 'mean it? I never said

it!' Dr. Newman does not signify_, I did not say it, but I did

mean it?"--Pp. 44, 45.

Now these insinuations and questions shall be answered in their

proper places; here I will but say that I scorn and detest

lying, and quibbling, and double-tongued practice, and slyness,

and cunning, and smoothness, and cant, and pretence, quite as

much as any Protestants hate them; and I pray to be kept from

the snare of them. But all this is just now by the bye; my

present subject is my Accuser; what I insist upon here is this

unmanly attempt of his, in his concluding pages, to cut the

ground from under my feet;--to poison by anticipation the public

mind against me, John Henry Newman, and to infuse into the

imaginations of my readers, suspicion and mistrust of everything

that I may say in reply to him. This I call _poisoning the

wells_.

"I am henceforth in _doubt and fear_," he says, "as much as any

_honest_ man can be, _concerning every word_ Dr. Newman may

write. _How can I tell that I shall not be the dupe of some

cunning equivocation?_" ...

Well, I can only say, that, if his taunt is to take effect, I am

but wasting my time in saying a word in answer to his calumnies;

and this is precisely what he knows and intends to be its fruit.

I can hardly get myself to protest against a method of

controversy so base and cruel, lest in doing so, I should be

violating my self-respect and self-possession; but most base and

most cruel it is. We all know how our imagination runs away with

us, how suddenly and at what a pace;--the saying, "Cæsar's wife

should not be suspected," is an instance of what I mean. The

habitual prejudice, the humour of the moment, is the

turning-point which leads us to read a defence in a good sense

or a bad. We interpret it by our antecedent impressions.

The very same sentiments, according as our jealousy is or is not

awake, or our aversion stimulated, are tokens of truth or of

dissimulation and pretence. There is a story of a sane person

being by mistake shut up in the wards of a Lunatic Asylum, and

that, when he pleaded his cause to some strangers visiting the

establishment, the only remark he elicited in answer was, "How

naturally he talks! you would think he was in his senses."

Controversies should be decided by the reason; is it legitimate

warfare to appeal to the misgivings of the public mind and to

its dislikings? Any how, if my accuser is able thus to practise

upon my readers, the more I succeed, the less will be my

success. If I am natural, he will tell them "Ars est celare

artem;" if I am convincing, he will suggest that I am an able

logician; if I show warmth, I am acting the indignant innocent;

if I am calm, I am thereby detected as a smooth hypocrite; if I

clear up difficulties, I am too plausible and perfect to be

true. The more triumphant are my statements, the more certain

will be my defeat.

So will it be if my Accuser succeeds in his man[oe]uvre; but I

do not for an instant believe that he will. Whatever judgment my

readers may eventually form of me from these pages, I am

confident that they will believe me in what I shall say in the

course of them. I have no misgiving at all, that they will be

ungenerous or harsh towards a man who has been so long before

the eyes of the world; who has so many to speak of him from

personal knowledge; whose natural impulse it has ever been to

speak out; who has ever spoken too much rather than too little;

who would have saved himself many a scrape, if he had been wise

enough to hold his tongue; who has ever been fair to the

doctrines and arguments of his opponents; who has never slurred

over facts and reasonings which told against himself; who has

never given his name or authority to proofs which he thought

unsound, or to testimony which he did not think at least

plausible; who has never shrunk from confessing a fault when he

felt that he had committed one; who has ever consulted for

others more than for himself; who has given up much that he

loved and prized and could have retained, but that he loved

honesty better than name, and Truth better than dear friends....

* * * * *

What then shall be the special imputation, against which I shall

throw myself in these pages, out of the thousand and one which

my Accuser directs upon me? I mean to confine myself to one, for

there is only one about which I much care,--the charge of

Untruthfulness. He may cast upon me as many other imputations as

he pleases, and they may stick on me, as long as they can, in

the course of nature. They will fall to the ground in their

season.

And indeed I think the same of the charge of Untruthfulness, and

select it from the rest, not because it is more formidable but

because it is more serious. Like the rest, it may disfigure me

for a time, but it will not stain: Archbishop Whately used to

say, "Throw dirt enough, and some will stick;" well, will stick,

but not, will stain. I think he used to mean "stain," and I do

not agree with him. Some dirt sticks longer than other dirt; but

no dirt is immortal. According to the old saying, Prævalebit

Veritas. There are virtues indeed, which the world is not fitted

to judge of or to uphold, such as faith, hope, and charity: but

it can judge about Truthfulness; it can judge about the natural

virtues, and Truthfulness is one of them. Natural virtues may

also become supernatural; Truthfulness is such; but that does

not withdraw it from the jurisdiction of mankind at large. It

may be more difficult in this or that particular case for men to

take cognizance of it, as it may be difficult for the Court of

Queen's Bench at Westminster to try a case fairly which took

place in Hindostan: but that is a question of capacity, not of

right. Mankind has the right to judge of Truthfulness in a

Catholic, as in the case of a Protestant, of an Italian, or of a

Chinese. I have never doubted, that in my hour, in God's hour,

my avenger will appear, and the world will acquit me of

untruthfulness, even though it be not while I live.

Still more confident am I of such eventual acquittal, seeing

that my judges are my own countrymen. I consider, indeed,

Englishmen the most suspicious and touchy of mankind; I think

them unreasonable, and unjust in their seasons of excitement;

but I had rather be an Englishman, (as in fact I am,) than

belong to any other race under heaven. They are as generous, as

they are hasty and burly; and their repentance for their

injustice is greater than their sin.

For twenty years and more I have borne an imputation, of which I

am at least as sensitive, who am the object of it, as they can

be, who are only the judges. I have not set myself to remove it,

first, because I never have had an opening to speak, and, next,

because I never saw in them the disposition to hear. I have

wished to appeal from Philip drunk to Philip sober. When shall I

pronounce him to be himself again? If I may judge from the tone

of the public press, which represents the public voice, I have

great reason to take heart at this time. I have been treated by

contemporary critics in this controversy with great fairness and

gentleness, and I am grateful to them for it. However, the

decision of the time and mode of my defence has been taken out

of my hands; and I am thankful that it has been so. I am bound

now as a duty to myself, to the Catholic cause, to the Catholic

Priesthood, to give account of myself without any delay, when I

am so rudely and circumstantially charged with Untruthfulness. I

accept the challenge; I shall do my best to meet it, and I shall

be content when I have done so.

* * * * *

It is not my present accuser alone who entertains, and has

entertained, so dishonourable an opinion of me and of my

writings. It is the impression of large classes of men; the

impression twenty years ago and the impression now. There has

been a general feeling that I was for years where I had no right

to be; that I was a "Romanist" in Protestant livery and service;

that I was doing the work of a hostile Church in the bosom of

the English Establishment, and knew it, or ought to have known

it. There was no need of arguing about particular passages in my

writings, when the fact was so patent, as men thought it to be.

First it was certain, and I could not myself deny it, that I

scouted the name "Protestant." It was certain again, that many

of the doctrines which I professed were popularly and generally

known as badges of the Roman Church, as distinguished from the

faith of the Reformation. Next, how could I have come by them?

Evidently, I had certain friends and advisers who did not

appear; there was some underground communication between

Stonyhurst or Oscott and my rooms at Oriel. Beyond a doubt, I

was advocating certain doctrines, not by accident, but on an

understanding with ecclesiastics of the old religion. Then men

went further, and said that I had actually been received into

that religion, and withal had leave given me to profess myself a

Protestant still. Others went even further, and gave it out to

the world, as a matter of fact, of which they themselves had the

proof in their hands, that I was actually a Jesuit. And when the

opinions which I advocated spread, and younger men went further

than I, the feeling against me waxed stronger and took a wider

range.

And now indignation arose at the knavery of a conspiracy such as

this:--and it became of course all the greater in consequence of

its being the received belief of the public at large, that craft

and intrigue, such as they fancied they beheld with their eyes,

were the very instruments to which the Catholic Church has in

these last centuries been indebted for her maintenance and

extension.

There was another circumstance still, which increased the

irritation and aversion felt by the large classes, of whom I

have been speaking, against the preachers of doctrines, so new

to them and so unpalatable; and that was, that they developed

them in so measured a way. If they were inspired by Roman

theologians, (and this was taken for granted,) why did they not

speak out at once? Why did they keep the world in such suspense

and anxiety as to what was coming next, and what was to be the

upshot of the whole? Why this reticence, and half-speaking, and

apparent indecision? It was plain that the plan of operations

had been carefully mapped out from the first, and that these men

were cautiously advancing towards its accomplishment, as far as

was safe at the moment; that their aim and their hope was to

carry off a large body with them of the young and the ignorant;

that they meant gradually to leaven the minds of the rising

generation, and to open the gates of that city, of which they

were the sworn defenders, to the enemy who lay in ambush outside

of it. And when in spite of the many protestations of the party

to the contrary, there was at length an actual movement among

their disciples, and one went over to Rome, and then another,

the worst anticipations and the worst judgments which had been

formed of them received their justification. And, lastly, when

men first had said of me, "You will see, _he_ will go, he is

only biding his time, he is waiting the word of command from

Rome," and, when after all, after my arguments and denunciations

of former years, at length I did leave the Anglican Church for

the Roman, then they said to each other, "It is just as we said:

we knew it would be so."

This was the state of mind of masses of men twenty years ago,

who took no more than an external and common sense view of what

was going on. And partly the tradition, partly the effect of

that feeling, remains to the present time. Certainly I consider

that, in my own case, it is the great obstacle in the way of my

being favourably heard, as at present, when I have to make my

defence. Not only am I now a member of a most un-English

communion, whose great aim is considered to be the extinction of

Protestantism and the Protestant Church, and whose means of

attack are popularly supposed to be unscrupulous cunning and

deceit, but how came I originally to have any relations with the

Church of Rome at all? did I, or my opinions, drop from the sky?

how came I, in Oxford, _in gremio Universitatis_, to present

myself to the eyes of men in that full blown investiture of

Popery? How could I dare, how could I have the conscience, with

warnings, with prophecies, with accusations against me, to

persevere in a path which steadily advanced towards, which ended

in, the religion of Rome? And how am I now to be trusted, when

long ago I was trusted, and was found wanting?

It is this which is the strength of the case of my Accuser

against me;--not the articles of impeachment which he has framed

from my writings, and which I shall easily crumble into dust,

but the bias of the court. It is the state of the atmosphere; it

is the vibration all around, which will echo his bold assertion

of my dishonesty; it is that prepossession against me, which

takes it for granted that, when my reasoning is convincing it is

only ingenious, and that when my statements are unanswerable,

there is always something put out of sight or hidden in my

sleeve; it is that plausible, but cruel conclusion to which men

are apt to jump, that when much is imputed, much must be true,

and that it is more likely that one should be to blame, than

that many should be mistaken in blaming him;--these are the real

foes which I have to fight, and the auxiliaries to whom my

Accuser makes his advances.

Well, I must break through this barrier of prejudice against me

if I can; and I think I shall be able to do so. When first I

read the Pamphlet of Accusation, I almost despaired of meeting

effectively such a heap of misrepresentations and such a

vehemence of animosity. What was the good of answering first one

point, and then another, and going through the whole circle of

its abuse; when my answer to the first point would be forgotten,

as soon as I got to the second? What was the use of bringing out

half a hundred separate principles or views for the refutation

of the separate counts in the Indictment, when rejoinders of

this sort would but confuse and torment the reader by their

number and their diversity? What hope was there of condensing

into a pamphlet of a readable length, matter which ought freely

to expand itself into half a dozen volumes? What means was

there, except the expenditure of interminable pages, to set

right even one of that series of "single passing hints," to use

my Assailant's own language, which, "as with his finger tip he

had delivered" against me?

All those separate charges had their force in being

illustrations of one and the same great imputation. He had

already a positive idea to illuminate his whole matter, and to

stamp it with a force, and to quicken it with an interpretation.

He called me a _liar_,--a simple, a broad, an intelligible, to

the English public a plausible arraignment; but for me, to

answer in detail charge one by reason one, and charge two by

reason two, and charge three by reason three, and so on through

the whole string both of accusations and replies, each of which

was to be independent of the rest, this would be certainly

labour lost as regards any effective result. What I needed was a

corresponding antagonist unity in my defence, and where was that

to be found? We see, in the case of commentators on the

prophecies of Scripture, an exemplification of the principle on

which I am insisting; viz. how much more powerful even a false

interpretation of the sacred text is than none at all;--how a

certain key to the visions of the Apocalypse, for instance, may

cling to the mind (I have found it so in the case of my own),

because the view, which it opens on us, is positive and

objective, in spite of the fullest demonstration that it really

has no claim upon our reception. The reader says, "What else can

the prophecy mean?" just as my Accuser asks, "What, then, does

Dr. Newman mean?" ... I reflected, and I saw a way out of my

perplexity.

Yes, I said to myself, his very question is about my _meaning_;

"What does Dr. Newman mean?" It pointed in the very same

direction as that into which my musings had turned me already.

He asks what I _mean_; not about my words, not about my

arguments, not about my actions, as his ultimate point, but

about that living intelligence, by which I write, and argue, and

act. He asks about my Mind and its Beliefs and its sentiments;

and he shall be answered;--not for his own sake, but for mine,

for the sake of the Religion which I profess, and of the

Priesthood in which I am unworthily included, and of my friends

and of my foes, and of that general public which consists of

neither one nor the other, but of well-wishers, lovers of fair

play, sceptical cross-questioners, interested inquirers, curious

lookers-on, and simple strangers, unconcerned yet not careless

about the issue,--for the sake of all these he shall be

answered.

My perplexity had not lasted half an hour. I recognized what I

had to do, though I shrank from both the task and the exposure

which it would entail. I must, I said, give the true key to my

whole life; I must show what I am, that it may be seen what I am

not, and that the phantom may be extinguished which gibbers

instead of me. I wish to be known as a living man, and not as a

scarecrow which is dressed up in my clothes. False ideas may be

refuted indeed by argument, but by true ideas alone are they

expelled. I will vanquish, not my Accuser, but my judges. I will

indeed answer his charges and criticisms on me one by one[1],

lest any one should say that they are unanswerable, but such a

work shall not be the scope nor the substance of my reply. I

will draw out, as far as may be, the history of my mind; I will

state the point at which I began, in what external suggestion or

accident each opinion had its rise, how far and how they

developed from within, how they grew, were modified, were

combined, were in collision with each other, and were changed;

again how I conducted myself towards them, and how, and how far,

and for how long a time, I thought I could hold them

consistently with the ecclesiastical engagements which I had

made and with the position which I held. I must show,--what is

the very truth,--that the doctrines which I held, and have held

for so many years, have been taught me (speaking humanly) partly

by the suggestions of Protestant friends, partly by the teaching

of books, and partly by the action of my own mind: and thus I

shall account for that phenomenon which to so many seems so

wonderful, that I should have left "my kindred and my father's

house" for a Church from which once I turned away with

dread;--so wonderful to them! as if forsooth a Religion which

has flourished through so many ages, among so many nations, amid

such varieties of social life, in such contrary classes and

conditions of men, and after so many revolutions, political and

civil, could not subdue the reason and overcome the heart,

without the aid of fraud in the process and the sophistries of

the schools.

[1] This was done in the Appendix, of which the more important

parts are preserved in the Notes.

* * * * *

What I had proposed to myself in the course of half-an-hour, I

determined on at the end of ten days. However, I have many

difficulties in fulfilling my design. How am I to say all that

has to be said in a reasonable compass? And then as to the

materials of my narrative; I have no autobiographical notes to

consult, no written explanations of particular treatises or of

tracts which at the time gave offence, hardly any minutes of

definite transactions or conversations, and few contemporary

memoranda, I fear, of the feelings or motives under which, from

time to time I acted. I have an abundance of letters from

friends with some copies or drafts of my answers to them, but

they are for the most part unsorted; and, till this process has

taken place, they are even too numerous and various to be

available at a moment for my purpose. Then, as to the volumes

which I have published, they would in many ways serve me, were I

well up in them: but though I took great pains in their

composition, I have thought little about them, when they were

once out of my hands, and for the most part the last time I read

them has been when I revised their last proof sheets.

Under these circumstances my sketch will of course be

incomplete. I now for the first time contemplate my course as a

whole; it is a first essay, but it will contain, I trust, no

serious or substantial mistake, and so far will answer the

purpose for which I write it. I purpose to set nothing down in

it as certain, of which I have not a clear memory, or some

written memorial, or the corroboration of some friend. There are

witnesses enough up and down the country to verify, or correct,

or complete it; and letters moreover of my own in abundance,

unless they have been destroyed.

Moreover, I mean to be simply personal and historical: I am not

expounding Catholic doctrine, I am doing no more than explaining

myself, and my opinions and actions. I wish, as far as I am

able, simply to state facts, whether they are ultimately

determined to be for me or against me. Of course there will be

room enough for contrariety of judgment among my readers, as to

the necessity, or appositeness, or value, or good taste, or

religious prudence, of the details which I shall introduce. I

may be accused of laying stress on little things, of being

beside the mark, of going into impertinent or ridiculous

details, of sounding my own praise, of giving scandal; but this

is a case above all others, in which I am bound to follow my own

lights and to speak out my own heart. It is not at all pleasant

for me to be egotistical; nor to be criticized for being so. It

is not pleasant to reveal to high and low, young and old, what

has gone on within me from my early years. It is not pleasant to

be giving to every shallow or flippant disputant the advantage

over me of knowing my most private thoughts, I might even say

the intercourse between myself and my Maker. But I do not like

to be called to my face a liar and a knave; nor should I be

doing my duty to my faith or to my name, if I were to suffer it.

I know I have done nothing to deserve such an insult, and if I

prove this, as I hope to do, I must not care for such incidental

annoyances as are involved in the process.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

History of my Religious Opinions up to 1833

CHAPTER II.

History of my Religious Opinions from 1833 to 1839

CHAPTER III.

History of my Religious Opinions from 1839 to 1841

CHAPTER IV.

History of my Religious Opinions from 1841 to 1845

CHAPTER V.

Position of my Mind since 1845

NOTES.

Note A. On page 14. Liberalism

B. On page 23. Ecclesiastical Miracles

C. On page 153. Sermon on Wisdom and Innocence

D. On page 213. Series of Saints' Lives of 1843-4

E. On page 227. Anglican Church

F. On page 269. The Economy

G. On page 279. Lying and Equivocation

SUPPLEMENTAL MATTER.

1. Chronological List of Letters and Papers quoted in this Narrative

2. List of the Author's Works

3. Letter to him from his Diocesan

4. Addresses from bodies of Clergy and Laity

ADDITIONAL NOTES.

Note 1, on page 12. Correspondence with Archbishop Whately in 1834

2, on page 90. Extract of a Letter from the Rev. E. Smedley in 1828

3, on page 185. Extract of a Letter of the Rev. Francis Faber about 1849

4, on pages 194-196. The late Very Rev. Dr. Russell

5, on page 232. Extract of a Letter from the Rev. John Keble in 1844

6, on page 237. Extract from the _Times_ concerning the Author's visit

to Oxford in 1878

7, on page 302. The oil of St. Walburga

8, on page 323. Boniface of Canterbury

MY RELIGIOUS OPINIONS.

CHAPTER I.

HISTORY OF MY RELIGIOUS OPINIONS TO THE YEAR 1833.

It may easily be conceived how great a trial it is to me to write the

following history of myself; but I must not shrink from the task. The

words, "Secretum meum mihi," keep ringing in my ears; but as men draw

towards their end, they care less for disclosures. Nor is it the least

part of my trial, to anticipate that, upon first reading what I have

written, my friends may consider much in it irrelevant to my purpose;

yet I cannot help thinking that, viewed as a whole, it will effect what

I propose to myself in giving it to the public.

* * * * *

I was brought up from a child to take great delight in reading the

Bible; but I had no formed religious convictions till I was fifteen. Of

course I had a perfect knowledge of my Catechism.

After I was grown up, I put on paper my recollections of the thoughts

and feelings on religious subjects, which I had at the time that I was a

child and a boy,--such as had remained on my mind with sufficient

prominence to make me then consider them worth recording. Out of these,

written in the Long Vacation of 1820, and transcribed with additions in

1823, I select two, which are at once the most definite among them, and

also have a bearing on my later convictions.

1. "I used to wish the Arabian Tales were true: my imagination ran on

unknown influences, on magical powers, and talismans.... I thought life

might be a dream, or I an Angel, and all this world a deception, my

fellow-angels by a playful device concealing themselves from me, and

deceiving me with the semblance of a material world."

Again: "Reading in the Spring of 1816 a sentence from [Dr. Watts's]

'Remnants of Time,' entitled 'the Saints unknown to the world,' to the

effect, that 'there is nothing in their figure or countenance to

distinguish them,' &c., &c., I supposed he spoke of Angels who lived in

the world, as it were disguised."

2. The other remark is this: "I was very superstitious, and for some

time previous to my conversion" [when I was fifteen] "used constantly to

cross myself on going into the dark."

Of course I must have got this practice from some external source or

other; but I can make no sort of conjecture whence; and certainly no one

had ever spoken to me on the subject of the Catholic religion, which I

only knew by name. The French master was an _émigré_ Priest, but he was

simply made a butt, as French masters too commonly were in that day, and

spoke English very imperfectly. There was a Catholic family in the

village, old maiden ladies we used to think; but I knew nothing about

them. I have of late years heard that there were one or two Catholic

boys in the school; but either we were carefully kept from knowing this,

or the knowledge of it made simply no impression on our minds. My

brother will bear witness how free the school was from Catholic ideas.

I had once been into Warwick Street Chapel, with my father, who, I

believe, wanted to hear some piece of music; all that I bore away from

it was the recollection of a pulpit and a preacher, and a boy swinging a

censer.

When I was at Littlemore, I was looking over old copy-books of my school

days, and I found among them my first Latin verse-book; and in the first

page of it there was a device which almost took my breath away with

surprise. I have the book before me now, and have just been showing it

to others. I have written in the first page, in my school-boy hand,

"John. H. Newman, February 11th, 1811, Verse Book;" then follow my first

Verses. Between "Verse" and "Book" I have drawn the figure of a solid

cross upright, and next to it is, what may indeed be meant for a

necklace, but what I cannot make out to be any thing else than a set of

beads suspended, with a little cross attached. At this time I was not

quite ten years old. I suppose I got these ideas from some romance, Mrs.

Radcliffe's or Miss Porter's; or from some religious picture; but the

strange thing is, how, among the thousand objects which meet a boy's

eyes, these in particular should so have fixed themselves in my mind,

that I made them thus practically my own. I am certain there was nothing

in the churches I attended, or the prayer books I read, to suggest them.

It must be recollected that Anglican churches and prayer books were not

decorated in those days as I believe they are now.

When I was fourteen, I read Paine's Tracts against the Old Testament,

and found pleasure in thinking of the objections which were contained in

them. Also, I read some of Hume's Essays; and perhaps that on Miracles.

So at least I gave my Father to understand; but perhaps it was a brag.

Also, I recollect copying out some French verses, perhaps Voltaire's, in

denial of the immortality of the soul, and saying to myself something

like "How dreadful, but how plausible!"

When I was fifteen, (in the autumn of 1816,) a great change of thought

took place in me. I fell under the influences of a definite Creed, and

received into my intellect impressions of dogma, which, through God's

mercy, have never been effaced or obscured. Above and beyond the

conversations and sermons of the excellent man, long dead, the Rev.

Walter Mayers, of Pembroke College, Oxford, who was the human means of

this beginning of divine faith in me, was the effect of the books which

he put into my hands, all of the school of Calvin. One of the first

books I read was a work of Romaine's; I neither recollect the title nor

the contents, except one doctrine, which of course I do not include

among those which I believe to have come from a divine source, viz. the

doctrine of final perseverance. I received it at once, and believed that

the inward conversion of which I was conscious, (and of which I still am

more certain than that I have hands and feet,) would last into the next

life, and that I was elected to eternal glory. I have no consciousness

that this belief had any tendency whatever to lead me to be careless

about pleasing God. I retained it till the age of twenty-one, when it

gradually faded away; but I believe that it had some influence on my

opinions, in the direction of those childish imaginations which I have

already mentioned, viz. in isolating me from the objects which

surrounded me, in confirming me in my mistrust of the reality of

material phenomena, and making me rest in the thought of two and two

only absolute and luminously self-evident beings, myself and my

Creator;--for while I considered myself predestined to salvation, my

mind did not dwell upon others, as fancying them simply passed over, not

predestined to eternal death. I only thought of the mercy to myself.

The detestable doctrine last mentioned is simply denied and abjured,

unless my memory strangely deceives me, by the writer who made a deeper

impression on my mind than any other, and to whom (humanly speaking) I

almost owe my soul,--Thomas Scott of Aston Sandford. I so admired and

delighted in his writings, that, when I was an under-graduate, I thought

of making a visit to his Parsonage, in order to see a man whom I so

deeply revered. I hardly think I could have given up the idea of this

expedition, even after I had taken my degree; for the news of his death

in 1821 came upon me as a disappointment as well as a sorrow. I hung

upon the lips of Daniel Wilson, afterwards Bishop of Calcutta, as in two

sermons at St. John's Chapel he gave the history of Scott's life and

death. I had been possessed of his "Force of Truth" and Essays from a

boy; his Commentary I bought when I was an under-graduate.

What, I suppose, will strike any reader of Scott's history and writings,

is his bold unworldliness and vigorous independence of mind. He followed

truth wherever it led him, beginning with Unitarianism, and ending in a

zealous faith in the Holy Trinity. It was he who first planted deep in

my mind that fundamental truth of religion. With the assistance of

Scott's Essays, and the admirable work of Jones of Nayland, I made a

collection of Scripture texts in proof of the doctrine, with remarks (I

think) of my own upon them, before I was sixteen; and a few months later

I drew up a series of texts in support of each verse of the Athanasian

Creed. These papers I have still.

Besides his unworldliness, what I also admired in Scott was his resolute

opposition to Antinomianism, and the minutely practical character of his

writings. They show him to be a true Englishman, and I deeply felt his

influence; and for years I used almost as proverbs what I considered to

be the scope and issue of his doctrine, "Holiness rather than peace,"

and "Growth the only evidence of life."

Calvinists make a sharp separation between the elect and the world;

there is much in this that is cognate or parallel to the Catholic

doctrine; but they go on to say, as I understand them, very differently

from Catholicism,--that the converted and the unconverted can be

discriminated by man, that the justified are conscious of their state of

justification, and that the regenerate cannot fall away. Catholics on

the other hand shade and soften the awful antagonism between good and

evil, which is one of their dogmas, by holding that there are different

degrees of justification, that there is a great difference in point of

gravity between sin and sin, that there is the possibility and the

danger of falling away, and that there is no certain knowledge given to

any one that he is simply in a state of grace, and much less that he is

to persevere to the end:--of the Calvinistic tenets the only one which

took root in my mind was the fact of heaven and hell, divine favour and

divine wrath, of the justified and the unjustified. The notion that the

regenerate and the justified were one and the same, and that the

regenerate, as such, had the gift of perseverance, remained with me not

many years, as I have said already.

This main Catholic doctrine of the warfare between the city of God and

the powers of darkness was also deeply impressed upon my mind by a work

of a character very opposite to Calvinism, Law's "Serious Call."

From this time I have held with a full inward assent and belief the

doctrine of eternal punishment, as delivered by our Lord Himself, in as

true a sense as I hold that of eternal happiness; though I have tried in

various ways to make that truth less terrible to the imagination.

Now I come to two other works, which produced a deep impression on me in

the same Autumn of 1816, when I was fifteen years old, each contrary to

each, and planting in me the seeds of an intellectual inconsistency

which disabled me for a long course of years. I read Joseph Milner's

Church History, and was nothing short of enamoured of the long extracts

from St. Augustine, St. Ambrose, and the other Fathers which I found

there. I read them as being the religion of the primitive Christians:

but simultaneously with Milner I read Newton on the Prophecies, and in

consequence became most firmly convinced that the Pope was the

Antichrist predicted by Daniel, St. Paul, and St. John. My imagination

was stained by the effects of this doctrine up to the year 1843; it had

been obliterated from my reason and judgment at an earlier date; but the

thought remained upon me as a sort of false conscience. Hence came that

conflict of mind, which so many have felt besides myself;--leading some

men to make a compromise between two ideas, so inconsistent with each

other,--driving others to beat out the one idea or the other from their

minds,--and ending in my own case, after many years of intellectual

unrest, in the gradual decay and extinction of one of them,--I do not

say in its violent death, for why should I not have murdered it sooner,

if I murdered it at all?

I am obliged to mention, though I do it with great reluctance, another

deep imagination, which at this time, the autumn of 1816, took

possession of me,--there can be no mistake about the fact; viz. that it

would be the will of God that I should lead a single life. This

anticipation, which has held its ground almost continuously ever

since,--with the break of a month now and a month then, up to 1829, and,

after that date, without any break at all,--was more or less connected

in my mind with the notion, that my calling in life would require such a

sacrifice as celibacy involved; as, for instance, missionary work among

the heathen, to which I had a great drawing for some years. It also

strengthened my feeling of separation from the visible world, of which I

have spoken above.

In 1822 I came under very different influences from those to which I had

hitherto been subjected. At that time, Mr. Whately, as he was then,

afterwards Archbishop of Dublin, for the few months he remained in

Oxford, which he was leaving for good, showed great kindness to me. He

renewed it in 1825, when he became Principal of Alban Hall, making me

his Vice-Principal and Tutor. Of Dr. Whately I will speak presently: for

from 1822 to 1825 I saw most of the present Provost of Oriel, Dr.

Hawkins, at that time Vicar of St. Mary's; and, when I took orders in

1824 and had a curacy in Oxford, then, during the Long Vacations, I was

especially thrown into his company. I can say with a full heart that I

love him, and have never ceased to love him; and I thus preface what

otherwise might sound rude, that in the course of the many years in

which we were together afterwards, he provoked me very much from time to

time, though I am perfectly certain that I have provoked him a great

deal more. Moreover, in me such provocation was unbecoming, both because

he was the Head of my College, and because, in the first years that I

knew him, he had been in many ways of great service to my mind.

He was the first who taught me to weigh my words, and to be cautious in

my statements. He led me to that mode of limiting and clearing my sense

in discussion and in controversy, and of distinguishing between cognate

ideas, and of obviating mistakes by anticipation, which to my surprise

has been since considered, even in quarters friendly to me, to savour of

the polemics of Rome. He is a man of most exact mind himself, and he

used to snub me severely, on reading, as he was kind enough to do, the

first Sermons that I wrote, and other compositions which I was engaged

upon.

Then as to doctrine, he was the means of great additions to my belief.

As I have noticed elsewhere, he gave me the "Treatise on Apostolical

Preaching," by Sumner, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, from which I

was led to give up my remaining Calvinism, and to receive the doctrine

of Baptismal Regeneration. In many other ways too he was of use to me,

on subjects semi-religious and semi-scholastic.

It was Dr. Hawkins too who taught me to anticipate that, before many

years were over, there would be an attack made upon the books and the

canon of Scripture, I was brought to the same belief by the conversation

of Mr. Blanco White, who also led me to have freer views on the subject

of inspiration than were usual in the Church of England at the time.

There is one other principle, which I gained from Dr. Hawkins, more

directly bearing upon Catholicism, than any that I have mentioned; and

that is the doctrine of Tradition. When I was an Under-graduate, I heard

him preach in the University Pulpit his celebrated sermon on the

subject, and recollect how long it appeared to me, though he was at that

time a very striking preacher; but, when I read it and studied it as his

gift, it made a most serious impression upon me. He does not go one

step, I think, beyond the high Anglican doctrine, nay he does not reach

it; but he does his work thoroughly, and his view was in him original,

and his subject was a novel one at the time. He lays down a proposition,

self-evident as soon as stated, to those who have at all examined the

structure of Scripture, viz. that the sacred text was never intended to

teach doctrine, but only to prove it, and that, if we would learn

doctrine, we must have recourse to the formularies of the Church; for

instance to the Catechism, and to the Creeds. He considers, that, after

learning from them the doctrines of Christianity, the inquirer must

verify them by Scripture. This view, most true in its outline, most

fruitful in its consequences, opened upon me a large field of thought.

Dr. Whately held it too. One of its effects was to strike at the root of

the principle on which the Bible Society was set up. I belonged to its

Oxford Association; it became a matter of time when I should withdraw my

name from its subscription-list, though I did not do so at once.

It is with pleasure that I pay here a tribute to the memory of the Rev.

William James, then Fellow of Oriel; who, about the year 1823, taught me

the doctrine of Apostolical Succession, in the course of a walk, I

think, round Christ Church meadow; I recollect being somewhat impatient

of the subject at the time.

It was at about this date, I suppose, that I read Bishop Butler's

Analogy; the study of which has been to so many, as it was to me, an era

in their religious opinions. Its inculcation of a visible Church, the

oracle of truth and a pattern of sanctity, of the duties of external

religion, and of the historical character of Revelation, are

characteristics of this great work which strike the reader at once; for

myself, if I may attempt to determine what I most gained from it, it lay

in two points, which I shall have an opportunity of dwelling on in the

sequel; they are the underlying principles of a great portion of my

teaching. First, the very idea of an analogy between the separate works

of God leads to the conclusion that the system which is of less

importance is economically or sacramentally connected with the more

momentous system[2], and of this conclusion the theory, to which I was

inclined as a boy, viz. the unreality of material phenomena, is an

ultimate resolution. At this time I did not make the distinction between

matter itself and its phenomena, which is so necessary and so obvious in

discussing the subject. Secondly, Butler's doctrine that Probability is

the guide of life, led me, at least under the teaching to which a few

years later I was introduced, to the question of the logical cogency of

Faith, on which I have written so much. Thus to Butler I trace those two

principles of my teaching, which have led to a charge against me both of

fancifulness and of scepticism.

[2] It is significant that Butler begins his work with a quotation from

Origen.

And now as to Dr. Whately. I owe him a great deal. He was a man of

generous and warm heart. He was particularly loyal to his friends, and

to use the common phrase, "all his geese were swans." While I was still

awkward and timid in 1822, he took me by the hand, and acted towards me

the part of a gentle and encouraging instructor. He, emphatically,

opened my mind, and taught me to think and to use my reason. After being

first noticed by him in 1822, I became very intimate with him in 1825,

when I was his Vice-Principal at Alban Hall. I gave up that office in

1826, when I became Tutor of my College, and his hold upon me gradually

relaxed. He had done his work towards me or nearly so, when he had

taught me to see with my own eyes and to walk with my own feet. Not that

I had not a good deal to learn from others still, but I influenced them

as well as they me, and co-operated rather than merely concurred with

them. As to Dr. Whately, his mind was too different from mine for us to

remain long on one line. I recollect how dissatisfied he was with an

Article of mine in the London Review, which Blanco White,

good-humouredly, only called Platonic. When I was diverging from him in

opinion (which he did not like), I thought of dedicating my first book

to him, in words to the effect that he had not only taught me to think,

but to think for myself. He left Oxford in 1831; after that, as far as I

can recollect, I never saw him but twice,--when he visited the

University; once in the street in 1834, once in a room in 1838. From the

time that he left, I have always felt a real affection for what I must

call his memory; for, at least from the year 1834, he made himself dead

to me. He had practically indeed given me up from the time that he

became Archbishop in 1831; but in 1834 a correspondence took place

between us, which, though conducted especially on his side in a friendly

spirit, was the expression of differences of opinion which acted as a

final close to our intercourse. My reason told me that it was impossible

we could have got on together longer, had he stayed in Oxford; yet I

loved him too much to bid him farewell without pain. After a few years

had passed, I began to believe that his influence on me in a higher

respect than intellectual advance, (I will not say through his fault,)

had not been satisfactory. I believe that he has inserted sharp things

in his later works about me. They have never come in my way, and I have

not thought it necessary to seek out what would pain me so much in the

reading.

What he did for me in point of religious opinion, was, first, to teach

me the existence of the Church, as a substantive body or corporation;

next to fix in me those anti-Erastian views of Church polity, which were

one of the most prominent features of the Tractarian movement. On this

point, and, as far as I know, on this point alone, he and Hurrell Froude

intimately sympathized, though Froude's development of opinion here was

of a later date. In the year 1826, in the course of a walk, he said much

to me about a work then just published, called "Letters on the Church by

an Episcopalian." He said that it would make my blood boil. It was

certainly a most powerful composition. One of our common friends told

me, that, after reading it, he could not keep still, but went on walking

up and down his room. It was ascribed at once to Whately; I gave eager

expression to the contrary opinion; but I found the belief of Oxford in

the affirmative to be too strong for me; rightly or wrongly I yielded to

the general voice; and I have never heard, then or since, of any

disclaimer of authorship on the part of Dr. Whately.

The main positions of this able essay are these; first that Church and

State should be independent of each other:--he speaks of the duty of

protesting "against the profanation of Christ's kingdom, by that _double

usurpation_, the interference of the Church in temporals, of the State

in spirituals," p. 191; and, secondly, that the Church may justly and by

right retain its property, though separated from the State. "The

clergy," he says p. 133, "though they ought not to be the hired servants

of the Civil Magistrate, may justly retain their revenues; and the

State, though it has no right of interference in spiritual concerns, not

only is justly entitled to support from the ministers of religion, and

from all other Christians, but would, under the system I am

recommending, obtain it much more effectually." The author of this work,

whoever he may be, argues out both these points with great force and

ingenuity, and with a thorough-going vehemence, which perhaps we may

refer to the circumstance, that he wrote, not _in propriâ personâ_, and

as thereby answerable for every sentiment that he advanced, but in the

professed character of a Scotch Episcopalian. His work had a gradual,

but a deep effect on my mind.

I am not aware of any other religious opinion which I owe to Dr.

Whately. In his special theological tenets I had no sympathy. In the

next year, 1827, he told me he considered that I was Arianizing. The

case was this: though at that time I had not read Bishop Bull's

_Defensio_ nor the Fathers, I was just then very strong for that

ante-Nicene view of the Trinitarian doctrine, which some writers, both

Catholic and non-Catholic, have accused of wearing a sort of Arian

exterior. This is the meaning of a passage in Froude's Remains, in which

he seems to accuse me of speaking against the Athanasian Creed. I had

contrasted the two aspects of the Trinitarian doctrine, which are

respectively presented by the Athanasian Creed and the Nicene. My

criticisms were to the effect that some of the verses of the former

Creed were unnecessarily scientific. This is a specimen of a certain

disdain for Antiquity which had been growing on me now for several

years. It showed itself in some flippant language against the Fathers in

the Encyclopædia Metropolitana, about whom I knew little at the time,

except what I had learnt as a boy from Joseph Milner. In writing on the

Scripture Miracles in 1825-6, I had read Middleton on the Miracles of

the early Church, and had imbibed a portion of his spirit.

The truth is, I was beginning to prefer intellectual excellence to

moral; I was drifting in the direction of the Liberalism of the day[3].

I was rudely awakened from my dream at the end of 1827 by two great

blows--illness and bereavement.

[3] Vide Note A, _Liberalism_, at the end of the volume.

In the beginning of 1829, came the formal break between Dr. Whately and

me; the affair of Mr. Peel's re-election was the occasion of it. I think

in 1828 or 1827 I had voted in the minority, when the Petition to

Parliament against the Catholic Claims was brought into Convocation. I

did so mainly on the views suggested to me in the Letters of an

Episcopalian. Also I shrank from the bigoted "two-bottle-orthodox," as

they were invidiously called. When then I took part against Mr. Peel, it

was on an academical, not at all an ecclesiastical or a political

ground; and this I professed at the time. I considered that Mr. Peel had

taken the University by surprise; that his friends had no right to call

upon us to turn round on a sudden, and to expose ourselves to the

imputation of time-serving; and that a great University ought not to be

bullied even by a great Duke of Wellington. Also by this time I was

under the influence of Keble and Froude; who, in addition to the reasons

I have given, disliked the Duke's change of policy as dictated by

liberalism.

Whately was considerably annoyed at me, and he took a humourous revenge,

of which he had given me due notice beforehand. As head of a house he

had duties of hospitality to men of all parties; he asked a set of the

least intellectual men in Oxford to dinner, and men most fond of port;

he made me one of this party; placed me between Provost This and

Principal That, and then asked me if I was proud of my friends. However,

he had a serious meaning in his act; he saw, more clearly than I could

do, that I was separating from his own friends for good and all.

Dr. Whately attributed my leaving his _clientela_ to a wish on my part

to be the head of a party myself. I do not think that this charge was

deserved. My habitual feeling then and since has been, that it was not I

who sought friends, but friends who sought me. Never man had kinder or

more indulgent friends than I have had; but I expressed my own feeling

as to the mode in which I gained them, in this very year 1829, in the

course of a copy of verses. Speaking of my blessings, I said, "Blessings

of friends, which to my door _unasked, unhoped_, have come." They have

come, they have gone; they came to my great joy, they went to my great

grief. He who gave took away. Dr. Whately's impression about me,

however, admits of this explanation:--

During the first years of my residence at Oriel, though proud of my

College, I was not quite at home there. I was very much alone, and I

used often to take my daily walk by myself. I recollect once meeting Dr.

Copleston, then Provost, with one of the Fellows. He turned round, and

with the kind courteousness which sat so well on him, made me a bow and

said, "Nunquam minus solus, quàm cùm solus." At that time indeed (from

1823) I had the intimacy of my dear and true friend Dr. Pusey, and could

not fail to admire and revere a soul so devoted to the cause of

religion, so full of good works, so faithful in his affections; but he

left residence when I was getting to know him well. As to Dr. Whately

himself, he was too much my superior to allow of my being at my ease

with him; and to no one in Oxford at this time did I open my heart fully

and familiarly. But things changed in 1826. At that time I became one of

the Tutors of my College, and this gave me position; besides, I had

written one or two Essays which had been well received. I began to be

known. I preached my first University Sermon. Next year I was one of the

Public Examiners for the B.A. degree. In 1828 I became Vicar of St.

Mary's. It was to me like the feeling of spring weather after winter;

and, if I may so speak, I came out of my shell; I remained out of it

till 1841.

The two persons who knew me best at that time are still alive, beneficed

clergymen, no longer my friends. They could tell better than any one

else what I was in those years. From this time my tongue was, as it

were, loosened, and I spoke spontaneously and without effort. One of the

two, Mr. Rickards, said of me, I have been told, "Here is a fellow who,

when he is silent, will never begin to speak; and when he once begins to

speak, will never stop." It was at this time that I began to have

influence, which steadily increased for a course of years. I gained upon

my pupils, and was in particular intimate and affectionate with two of

our probationer Fellows, Robert Isaac Wilberforce (afterwards

Archdeacon) and Richard Hurrell Froude. Whately then, an acute man,

perhaps saw around me the signs of an incipient party, of which I was

not conscious myself. And thus we discern the first elements of that

movement afterwards called Tractarian.

The true and primary author of it, however, as is usual with great

motive-powers, was out of sight. Having carried off as a mere boy the

highest honours of the University, he had turned from the admiration

which haunted his steps, and sought for a better and holier satisfaction

in pastoral work in the country. Need I say that I am speaking of John

Keble? The first time that I was in a room with him was on occasion of

my election to a fellowship at Oriel, when I was sent for into the

Tower, to shake hands with the Provost and Fellows. How is that hour

fixed in my memory after the changes of forty-two years, forty-two this

very day on which I write! I have lately had a letter in my hands, which

I sent at the time to my great friend, John William Bowden, with whom I

passed almost exclusively my Under-graduate years. "I had to hasten to

the Tower," I say to him, "to receive the congratulations of all the

Fellows. I bore it till Keble took my hand, and then felt so abashed and

unworthy of the honour done me, that I seemed desirous of quite sinking

into the ground." His had been the first name which I had heard spoken

of, with reverence rather than admiration, when I came up to Oxford.

When one day I was walking in High Street with my dear earliest friend

just mentioned, with what eagerness did he cry out, "There's Keble!" and

with what awe did I look at him! Then at another time I heard a Master

of Arts of my College give an account how he had just then had occasion

to introduce himself on some business to Keble, and how gentle,

courteous, and unaffected Keble had been, so as almost to put him out of

countenance. Then too it was reported, truly or falsely, how a rising

man of brilliant reputation, the present Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. Milman,

admired and loved him, adding, that somehow he was strangely unlike any

one else. However, at the time when I was elected Fellow of Oriel he was

not in residence, and he was shy of me for years in consequence of the

marks which I bore upon me of the evangelical and liberal schools. At

least so I have ever thought. Hurrell Froude brought us together about

1828: it is one of the sayings preserved in his "Remains,"--"Do you know

the story of the murderer who had done one good thing in his life? Well;

if I was ever asked what good deed I had ever done, I should say that I

had brought Keble and Newman to understand each other."

The Christian Year made its appearance in 1827. It is not necessary, and

scarcely becoming, to praise a book which has already become one of the

classics of the language. When the general tone of religious literature

was so nerveless and impotent, as it was at that time, Keble struck an

original note and woke up in the hearts of thousands a new music, the

music of a school, long unknown in England. Nor can I pretend to

analyze, in my own instance, the effect of religious teaching so deep,

so pure, so beautiful. I have never till now tried to do so; yet I think

I am not wrong in saying, that the two main intellectual truths which it

brought home to me, were the same two, which I had learned from Butler,

though recast in the creative mind of my new master. The first of those

was what may be called, in a large sense of the word, the Sacramental

system; that is, the doctrine that material phenomena are both the types

and the instruments of real things unseen,--a doctrine, which embraces

in its fulness, not only what Anglicans, as well as Catholics, believe

about Sacraments properly so called; but also the article of "the

Communion of Saints;" and likewise the Mysteries of the faith. The

connexion of this philosophy of religion with what is sometimes called

"Berkeleyism" has been mentioned above; I knew little of Berkeley at

this time except by name; nor have I ever studied him.

On the second intellectual principle which I gained from Mr. Keble, I

could say a great deal; if this were the place for it. It runs through

very much that I have written, and has gained for me many hard names.

Butler teaches us that probability is the guide of life. The danger of

this doctrine, in the case of many minds, is, its tendency to destroy in

them absolute certainty, leading them to consider every conclusion as

doubtful, and resolving truth into an opinion, which it is safe indeed

to obey or to profess, but not possible to embrace with full internal

assent. If this were to be allowed, then the celebrated saying, "O God,

if there be a God, save my soul, if I have a soul!" would be the highest

measure of devotion:--but who can really pray to a Being, about whose

existence he is seriously in doubt?

I considered that Mr. Keble met this difficulty by ascribing the

firmness of assent which we give to religious doctrine, not to the

probabilities which introduced it, but to the living power of faith and

love which accepted it. In matters of religion, he seemed to say, it is

not merely probability which makes us intellectually certain, but

probability as it is put to account by faith and love. It is faith and

love which give to probability a force which it has not in itself. Faith

and love are directed towards an Object; in the vision of that Object

they live; it is that Object, received in faith and love, which renders

it reasonable to take probability as sufficient for internal conviction.

Thus the argument from Probability, in the matter of religion, became an

argument from Personality, which in fact is one form of the argument

from Authority.

In illustration, Mr. Keble used to quote the words of the Psalm: "I will

guide thee with mine _eye_. Be ye not like to horse and mule, which have

no understanding; whose mouths must be held with bit and bridle, lest

they fall upon thee." This is the very difference, he used to say,

between slaves, and friends or children. Friends do not ask for literal

commands; but, from their knowledge of the speaker, they understand his

half-words, and from love of him they anticipate his wishes. Hence it

is, that in his Poem for St. Bartholomew's Day, he speaks of the "Eye of

God's word;" and in the note quotes Mr. Miller, of Worcester College,

who remarks in his Bampton Lectures, on the special power of Scripture,

as having "this Eye, like that of a portrait, uniformly fixed upon us,

turn where we will." The view thus suggested by Mr. Keble, is brought

forward in one of the earliest of the "Tracts for the Times." In No. 8 I

say, "The Gospel is a Law of Liberty. We are treated as sons, not as

servants; not subjected to a code of formal commandments, but addressed

as those who love God, and wish to please Him."

I did not at all dispute this view of the matter, for I made use of it

myself; but I was dissatisfied, because it did not go to the root of the

difficulty. It was beautiful and religious, but it did not even profess

to be logical; and accordingly I tried to complete it by considerations

of my own, which are to be found in my University Sermons, Essay on

Ecclesiastical Miracles, and Essay on Development of Doctrine. My

argument is in outline as follows: that that absolute certitude which we

were able to possess, whether as to the truths of natural theology, or

as to the fact of a revelation, was the result of an _assemblage_ of

concurring and converging probabilities, and that, both according to the

constitution of the human mind and the will of its Maker; that certitude

was a habit of mind, that certainty was a quality of propositions; that

probabilities which did not reach to logical certainty, might suffice

for a mental certitude; that the certitude thus brought about might

equal in measure and strength the certitude which was created by the

strictest scientific demonstration; and that to possess such certitude

might in given cases and to given individuals be a plain duty, though

not to others in other circumstances:--

Moreover, that as there were probabilities which sufficed for certitude,

so there were other probabilities which were legitimately adapted to

create opinion; that it might be quite as much a matter of duty in given

cases and to given persons to have about a fact an opinion of a definite

strength and consistency, as in the case of greater or of more numerous

probabilities it was a duty to have a certitude; that accordingly we

were bound to be more or less sure, on a sort of (as it were) graduated

scale of assent, viz. according as the probabilities attaching to a

professed fact were brought home to us, and as the case might be, to

entertain about it a pious belief, or a pious opinion, or a religious

conjecture, or at least, a tolerance of such belief, or opinion or

conjecture in others; that on the other hand, as it was a duty to have a

belief, of more or less strong texture, in given cases, so in other

cases it was a duty not to believe, not to opine, not to conjecture, not

even to tolerate the notion that a professed fact was true, inasmuch as

it would be credulity or superstition, or some other moral fault, to do

so. This was the region of Private Judgment in religion; that is, of a

Private Judgment, not formed arbitrarily and according to one's fancy or

liking, but conscientiously, and under a sense of duty.

Considerations such as these throw a new light on the subject of

Miracles, and they seem to have led me to reconsider the view which I

had taken of them in my Essay in 1825-6. I do not know what was the date

of this change in me, nor of the train of ideas on which it was founded.

That there had been already great miracles, as those of Scripture, as

the Resurrection, was a fact establishing the principle that the laws of

nature had sometimes been suspended by their Divine Author, and since

what had happened once might happen again, a certain probability, at

least no kind of improbability, was attached to the idea taken in

itself, of miraculous intervention in later times, and miraculous

accounts were to be regarded in connexion with the verisimilitude,

scope, instrument, character, testimony, and circumstances, with which

they presented themselves to us; and, according to the final result of

those various considerations, it was our duty to be sure, or to believe,

or to opine, or to surmise, or to tolerate, or to reject, or to

denounce. The main difference between my Essay on Miracles in 1826 and

my Essay in 1842 is this: that in 1826 I considered that miracles were

sharply divided into two classes, those which were to be received, and

those which were to be rejected; whereas in 1842 I saw that they were to

be regarded according to their greater or less probability, which was in

some cases sufficient to create certitude about them, in other cases

only belief or opinion.

Moreover, the argument from Analogy, on which this view of the question

was founded, suggested to me something besides, in recommendation of the

Ecclesiastical Miracles. It fastened itself upon the theory of Church

History which I had learned as a boy from Joseph Milner. It is Milner's

doctrine, that upon the visible Church come down from above, at certain

intervals, large and temporary _Effusions_ of divine grace. This is the

leading idea of his work. He begins by speaking of the Day of Pentecost,

as marking "the first of those _Effusions_ of the Spirit of God, which

from age to age have visited the earth since the coming of Christ." Vol.

i. p. 3. In a note he adds that "in the term 'Effusion' there is _not_

here included the idea of the miraculous or extraordinary operations of

the Spirit of God;" but still it was natural for me, admitting Milner's

general theory, and applying to it the principle of analogy, not to stop

short at his abrupt _ipse dixit_, but boldly to pass forward to the

conclusion, on other grounds plausible, that as miracles accompanied the

first effusion of grace, so they might accompany the later. It is surely

a natural and on the whole, a true anticipation (though of course there

are exceptions in particular cases), that gifts and graces go together;

now, according to the ancient Catholic doctrine, the gift of miracles

was viewed as the attendant and shadow of transcendent sanctity: and

moreover, since such sanctity was not of every day's occurrence, nay

further, since one period of Church history differed widely from

another, and, as Joseph Milner would say, there have been generations or

centuries of degeneracy or disorder, and times of revival, and since one

region might be in the mid-day of religious fervour, and another in

twilight or gloom, there was no force in the popular argument, that,

because we did not see miracles with our own eyes, miracles had not

happened in former times, or were not now at this very time taking place

in distant places:--but I must not dwell longer on a subject, to which

in a few words it is impossible to do justice[4].

[4] Vide note B, _Ecclesiastical Miracles_, at the end of the volume.

* * * * *

Hurrell Froude was a pupil of Keble's, formed by him, and in turn

reacting upon him. I knew him first in 1826, and was in the closest and

most affectionate friendship with him from about 1829 till his death in

1836. He was a man of the highest gifts,--so truly many-sided, that it

would be presumptuous in me to attempt to describe him, except under

those aspects in which he came before me. Nor have I here to speak of

the gentleness and tenderness of nature, the playfulness, the free

elastic force and graceful versatility of mind, and the patient winning

considerateness in discussion, which endeared him to those to whom he

opened his heart; for I am all along engaged upon matters of belief and

opinion, and am introducing others into my narrative, not for their own

sake, or because I love and have loved them, so much as because, and so

far as, they have influenced my theological views. In this respect then,

I speak of Hurrell Froude,--in his intellectual aspect,--as a man of

high genius, brimful and overflowing with ideas and views, in him

original, which were too many and strong even for his bodily strength,

and which crowded and jostled against each other in their effort after

distinct shape and expression. And he had an intellect as critical and

logical as it was speculative and bold. Dying prematurely, as he did,

and in the conflict and transition-state of opinion, his religious views

never reached their ultimate conclusion, by the very reason of their

multitude and their depth. His opinions arrested and influenced me, even

when they did not gain my assent. He professed openly his admiration of

the Church of Rome, and his hatred of the Reformers. He delighted in the

notion of an hierarchical system, of sacerdotal power, and of full

ecclesiastical liberty. He felt scorn of the maxim, "The Bible and the

Bible only is the religion of Protestants;" and he gloried in accepting

Tradition as a main instrument of religious teaching. He had a high

severe idea of the intrinsic excellence of Virginity; and he considered

the Blessed Virgin its great Pattern. He delighted in thinking of the

Saints; he had a vivid appreciation of the idea of sanctity, its

possibility and its heights; and he was more than inclined to believe a

large amount of miraculous interference as occurring in the early and

middle ages. He embraced the principle of penance and mortification. He

had a deep devotion to the Real Presence, in which he had a firm faith.

He was powerfully drawn to the Medieval Church, but not to the

Primitive.

He had a keen insight into abstract truth; but he was an Englishman to

the backbone in his severe adherence to the real and the concrete. He

had a most classical taste, and a genius for philosophy and art; and he

was fond of historical inquiry, and the politics of religion. He had no

turn for theology as such. He set no sufficient value on the writings of

the Fathers, on the detail or development of doctrine, on the definite

traditions of the Church viewed in their matter, on the teaching of the

Ecumenical Councils, or on the controversies out of which they arose. He

took an eager courageous view of things on the whole. I should say that

his power of entering into the minds of others did not equal his other

gifts; he could not believe, for instance, that I really held the Roman

Church to be Anti-christian. On many points he would not believe but

that I agreed with him, when I did not. He seemed not to understand my

difficulties. His were of a different kind, the contrariety between

theory and fact. He was a high Tory of the Cavalier stamp, and was

disgusted with the Toryism of the opponents of the Reform Bill. He was

smitten with the love of the Theocratic Church; he went abroad and was

shocked by the degeneracy which he thought he saw in the Catholics of

Italy.

It is difficult to enumerate the precise additions to my theological

creed which I derived from a friend to whom I owe so much. He taught me

to look with admiration towards the Church of Rome, and in the same

degree to dislike the Reformation. He fixed deep in me the idea of

devotion to the Blessed Virgin, and he led me gradually to believe in

the Real Presence.

* * * * *

There is one remaining source of my opinions to be mentioned, and that

far from the least important. In proportion as I moved out of the shadow

of that liberalism which had hung over my course, my early devotion

towards the Fathers returned; and in the Long Vacation of 1828 I set

about to read them chronologically, beginning with St. Ignatius and St.

Justin. About 1830 a proposal was made to me by Mr. Hugh Rose, who with

Mr. Lyall (afterwards Dean of Canterbury) was providing writers for a

Theological Library, to furnish them with a History of the Principal

Councils. I accepted it, and at once set to work on the Council of

Nicæa. It was to launch myself on an ocean with currents innumerable;

and I was drifted back first to the ante-Nicene history, and then to the

Church of Alexandria. The work at last appeared under the title of "The

Arians of the Fourth Century;" and of its 422 pages, the first 117

consisted of introductory matter, and the Council of Nicæa did not

appear till the 254th, and then occupied at most twenty pages.

I do not know when I first learnt to consider that Antiquity was the

true exponent of the doctrines of Christianity and the basis of the

Church of England; but I take it for granted that the works of Bishop

Bull, which at this time I read, were my chief introduction to this

principle. The course of reading, which I pursued in the composition of

my volume, was directly adapted to develope it in my mind. What

principally attracted me in the ante-Nicene period was the great Church

of Alexandria, the historical centre of teaching in those times. Of Rome

for some centuries comparatively little is known. The battle of Arianism

was first fought in Alexandria; Athanasius, the champion of the truth,

was Bishop of Alexandria; and in his writings he refers to the great

religious names of an earlier date, to Origen, Dionysius, and others,

who were the glory of its see, or of its school. The broad philosophy of

Clement and Origen carried me away; the philosophy, not the theological

doctrine; and I have drawn out some features of it in my volume, with

the zeal and freshness, but with the partiality, of a neophyte. Some

portions of their teaching, magnificent in themselves, came like music

to my inward ear, as if the response to ideas, which, with little

external to encourage them, I had cherished so long. These were based on

the mystical or sacramental principle, and spoke of the various

Economies or Dispensations of the Eternal. I understood these passages

to mean that the exterior world, physical and historical, was but the

manifestation to our senses of realities greater than itself. Nature was

a parable: Scripture was an allegory: pagan literature, philosophy, and

mythology, properly understood, were but a preparation for the Gospel.

The Greek poets and sages were in a certain sense prophets; for

"thoughts beyond their thought to those high bards were given." There

had been a directly divine dispensation granted to the Jews; but there

had been in some sense a dispensation carried on in favour of the

Gentiles. He who had taken the seed of Jacob for His elect people had

not therefore cast the rest of mankind out of His sight. In the fulness

of time both Judaism and Paganism had come to nought; the outward

framework, which concealed yet suggested the Living Truth, had never

been intended to last, and it was dissolving under the beams of the Sun

of Justice which shone behind it and through it. The process of change

had been slow; it had been done not rashly, but by rule and measure, "at

sundry times and in divers manners," first one disclosure and then

another, till the whole evangelical doctrine was brought into full

manifestation. And thus room was made for the anticipation of further

and deeper disclosures, of truths still under the veil of the letter,

and in their season to be revealed. The visible world still remains

without its divine interpretation; Holy Church in her sacraments and her

hierarchical appointments, will remain, even to the end of the world,

after all but a symbol of those heavenly facts which fill eternity. Her

mysteries are but the expressions in human language of truths to which

the human mind is unequal. It is evident how much there was in all this

in correspondence with the thoughts which had attracted me when I was

young, and with the doctrine which I have already associated with the

Analogy and the Christian Year.

It was, I suppose, to the Alexandrian school and to the early Church,

that I owe in particular what I definitely held about the Angels. I

viewed them, not only as the ministers employed by the Creator in the

Jewish and Christian dispensations, as we find on the face of Scripture,

but as carrying on, as Scripture also implies, the Economy of the

Visible World. I considered them as the real causes of motion, light,

and life, and of those elementary principles of the physical universe,

which, when offered in their developments to our senses, suggest to us

the notion of cause and effect, and of what are called the laws of

nature. This doctrine I have drawn out in my Sermon for Michaelmas day,

written in 1831. I say of the Angels, "Every breath of air and ray of

light and heat, every beautiful prospect, is, as it were, the skirts of

their garments, the waving of the robes of those whose faces see God."

Again, I ask what would be the thoughts of a man who, "when examining a

flower, or a herb, or a pebble, or a ray of light, which he treats as

something so beneath him in the scale of existence, suddenly discovered

that he was in the presence of some powerful being who was hidden behind

the visible things he was inspecting,--who, though concealing his wise

hand, was giving them their beauty, grace, and perfection, as being

God's instrument for the purpose,--nay, whose robe and ornaments those

objects were, which he was so eager to analyze?" and I therefore remark

that "we may say with grateful and simple hearts with the Three Holy

Children, 'O all ye works of the Lord, &c., &c., bless ye the Lord,

praise Him, and magnify Him for ever.'"

Also, besides the hosts of evil spirits, I considered there was a middle

race, [Greek: daimonia], neither in heaven, nor in hell; partially

fallen, capricious, wayward; noble or crafty, benevolent or malicious,

as the case might be. These beings gave a sort of inspiration or

intelligence to races, nations, and classes of men. Hence the action of

bodies politic and associations, which is often so different from that

of the individuals who compose them. Hence the character and the

instinct of states and governments, of religious communities and

communions. I thought these assemblages had their life in certain unseen

Powers. My preference of the Personal to the Abstract would naturally

lead me to this view. I thought it countenanced by the mention of "the

Prince of Persia" in the Prophet Daniel; and I think I considered that

it was of such intermediate beings that the Apocalypse spoke, in its

notice of "the Angels of the Seven Churches."

In 1837 I made a further development of this doctrine. I said to an

intimate and dear friend, Samuel Francis Wood, in a letter which came

into my hands on his death. "I have an idea. The mass of the Fathers

(Justin, Athenagoras, Irenæus, Clement, Tertullian, Origen, Lactantius,

Sulpicius, Ambrose, Nazianzen,) hold that, though Satan fell from the

beginning, the Angels fell before the deluge, falling in love with the

daughters of men. This has lately come across me as a remarkable

solution of a notion which I cannot help holding. Daniel speaks as if

each nation had its guardian Angel. I cannot but think that there are

beings with a great deal of good in them, yet with great defects, who

are the animating principles of certain institutions, &c., &c.... Take

England with many high virtues, and yet a low Catholicism. It seems to

me that John Bull is a spirit neither of heaven nor hell.... Has not the

Christian Church, in its parts, surrendered itself to one or other of

these simulations of the truth?... How are we to avoid Scylla and

Charybdis and go straight on to the very image of Christ?" &c., &c.

I am aware that what I have been saying will, with many men, be doing

credit to my imagination at the expense of my judgment--"Hippoclides

doesn't care;" I am not setting myself up as a pattern of good sense or

of any thing else: I am but giving a history of my opinions, and that,

with the view of showing that I have come by them through intelligible

processes of thought and honest external means. The doctrine indeed of

the Economy has in some quarters been itself condemned as intrinsically

pernicious,--as if leading to lying and equivocation, when applied, as I

have applied it in my remarks upon it in my History of the Arians, to

matters of conduct. My answer to this imputation I postpone to the

concluding pages of my Volume.

While I was engaged in writing my work upon the Arians, great events

were happening at home and abroad, which brought out into form and

passionate expression the various beliefs which had so gradually been

winning their way into my mind. Shortly before, there had been a

Revolution in France; the Bourbons had been dismissed: and I held that

it was unchristian for nations to cast off their governors, and, much

more, sovereigns who had the divine right of inheritance. Again, the

great Reform Agitation was going on around me as I wrote. The Whigs had

come into power; Lord Grey had told the Bishops to set their house in

order, and some of the Prelates had been insulted and threatened in the

streets of London. The vital question was, how were we to keep the

Church from being liberalized? there was such apathy on the subject in

some quarters, such imbecile alarm in others; the true principles of

Churchmanship seemed so radically decayed, and there was such

distraction in the councils of the Clergy. Blomfield, the Bishop of

London of the day, an active and open-hearted man, had been for years

engaged in diluting the high orthodoxy of the Church by the introduction

of members of the Evangelical body into places of influence and trust.

He had deeply offended men who agreed in opinion with myself, by an

off-hand saying (as it was reported) to the effect that belief in the

Apostolical succession had gone out with the Non-jurors. "We can count

you," he said to some of the gravest and most venerated persons of the

old school. And the Evangelical party itself, with their late successes,

seemed to have lost that simplicity and unworldliness which I admired so

much in Milner and Scott. It was not that I did not venerate such men as

Ryder, the then Bishop of Lichfield, and others of similar sentiments,

who were not yet promoted out of the ranks of the Clergy, but I thought

little of the Evangelicals as a class. I thought they played into the

hands of the Liberals. With the Establishment thus divided and

threatened, thus ignorant of its true strength, I compared that fresh

vigorous Power of which I was reading in the first centuries. In her

triumphant zeal on behalf of that Primeval Mystery, to which I had had

so great a devotion from my youth, I recognized the movement of my

Spiritual Mother. "Incessu patuit Dea." The self-conquest of her

Ascetics, the patience of her Martyrs, the irresistible determination of

her Bishops, the joyous swing of her advance, both exalted and abashed

me. I said to myself, "Look on this picture and on that;" I felt

affection for my own Church, but not tenderness; I felt dismay at her

prospects, anger and scorn at her do-nothing perplexity. I thought that

if Liberalism once got a footing within her, it was sure of the victory

in the event. I saw that Reformation principles were powerless to rescue

her. As to leaving her, the thought never crossed my imagination; still

I ever kept before me that there was something greater than the

Established Church, and that that was the Church Catholic and Apostolic,

set up from the beginning, of which she was but the local presence and

the organ. She was nothing, unless she was this. She must be dealt with

strongly, or she would be lost. There was need of a second reformation.

At this time I was disengaged from College duties, and my health had

suffered from the labour involved in the composition of my Volume. It

was ready for the Press in July, 1832, though not published till the end

of 1833. I was easily persuaded to join Hurrell Froude and his Father,

who were going to the south of Europe for the health of the former.

We set out in December, 1832. It was during this expedition that my

Verses which are in the Lyra Apostolica were written;--a few indeed

before it, but not more than one or two of them after it. Exchanging, as

I was, definite Tutorial work, and the literary quiet and pleasant

friendships of the last six years, for foreign countries and an unknown

future, I naturally was led to think that some inward changes, as well

as some larger course of action, were coming upon me. At Whitchurch,

while waiting for the down mail to Falmouth, I wrote the verses about my

Guardian Angel, which begin with these words: "Are these the tracks of

some unearthly Friend?" and which go on to speak of "the vision" which

haunted me:--that vision is more or less brought out in the whole series

of these compositions.

I went to various coasts of the Mediterranean; parted with my friends at

Rome; went down for the second time to Sicily without companion, at the

end of April; and got back to England by Palermo in the early part of

July. The strangeness of foreign life threw me back into myself; I found

pleasure in historical sites and beautiful scenes, not in men and

manners. We kept clear of Catholics throughout our tour. I had a

conversation with the Dean of Malta, a most pleasant man, lately dead;

but it was about the Fathers, and the Library of the great church. I

knew the Abbate Santini, at Rome, who did no more than copy for me the

Gregorian tones. Froude and I made two calls upon Monsignore (now

Cardinal) Wiseman at the Collegio Inglese, shortly before we left Rome.

Once we heard him preach at a church in the Corso. I do not recollect

being in a room with any other ecclesiastics, except a Priest at

Castro-Giovanni in Sicily, who called on me when I was ill, and with

whom I wished to hold a controversy. As to Church Services, we attended

the Tenebræ, at the Sestine, for the sake of the Miserere; and that was

all. My general feeling was, "All, save the spirit of man, is divine." I

saw nothing but what was external; of the hidden life of Catholics I

knew nothing. I was still more driven back into myself, and felt my

isolation. England was in my thoughts solely, and the news from England

came rarely and imperfectly. The Bill for the Suppression of the Irish

Sees was in progress, and filled my mind. I had fierce thoughts against

the Liberals.

It was the success of the Liberal cause which fretted me inwardly. I

became fierce against its instruments and its manifestations. A French

vessel was at Algiers; I would not even look at the tricolour. On my

return, though forced to stop twenty-four hours at Paris, I kept indoors

the whole time, and all that I saw of that beautiful city was what I saw

from the Diligence. The Bishop of London had already sounded me as to my

filling one of the Whitehall preacherships, which he had just then put

on a new footing; but I was indignant at the line which he was taking,

and from my Steamer I had sent home a letter declining the appointment

by anticipation, should it be offered to me. At this time I was

specially annoyed with Dr. Arnold, though it did not last into later

years. Some one, I think, asked, in conversation at Rome, whether a

certain interpretation of Scripture was Christian? it was answered that

Dr. Arnold took it; I interposed, "But is _he_ a Christian?" The subject

went out of my head at once; when afterwards I was taxed with it, I

could say no more in explanation, than (what I believe was the fact)

that I must have had in mind some free views of Dr. Arnold about the Old

Testament:--I thought I must have meant, "Arnold answers for the

interpretation, but who is to answer for Arnold?" It was at Rome, too,

that we began the Lyra Apostolica which appeared monthly in the British

Magazine. The motto shows the feeling of both Froude and myself at the

time: we borrowed from M. Bunsen a Homer, and Froude chose the words in

which Achilles, on returning to the battle, says, "You shall know the

difference, now that I am back again."

Especially when I was left by myself, the thought came upon me that

deliverance is wrought, not by the many but by the few, not by bodies

but by persons. Now it was, I think, that I repeated to myself the

words, which had ever been dear to me from my school days, "Exoriare

aliquis!"--now too, that Southey's beautiful poem of Thalaba, for which

I had an immense liking, came forcibly to my mind. I began to think that

I had a mission. There are sentences of my letters to my friends to this

effect, if they are not destroyed. When we took leave of Monsignore

Wiseman, he had courteously expressed a wish that we might make a second

visit to Rome; I said with great gravity, "We have a work to do in

England." I went down at once to Sicily, and the presentiment grew

stronger. I struck into the middle of the island, and fell ill of a

fever at Leonforte. My servant thought that I was dying, and begged for

my last directions. I gave them, as he wished; but I said, "I shall not

die." I repeated, "I shall not die, for I have not sinned against light,

I have not sinned against light." I never have been able quite to make

out what I meant.

I got to Castro-Giovanni, and was laid up there for nearly three weeks.

Towards the end of May I left for Palermo, taking three days for the

journey. Before starting from my inn in the morning of May 26th or 27th,

I sat down on my bed, and began to sob violently. My servant, who had

acted as my nurse, asked what ailed me. I could only answer him, "I have

a work to do in England."

I was aching to get home; yet for want of a vessel I was kept at Palermo

for three weeks. I began to visit the Churches, and they calmed my

impatience, though I did not attend any services. I knew nothing of the

Presence of the Blessed Sacrament there. At last I got off in an orange

boat, bound for Marseilles. Then it was that I wrote the lines, "Lead,

kindly light," which have since become well known. We were becalmed a

whole week in the Straits of Bonifacio. I was writing verses the whole

time of my passage. At length I got to Marseilles, and set off for

England. The fatigue of travelling was too much for me, and I was laid

up for several days at Lyons. At last I got off again, and did not stop

night or day, (except a compulsory delay at Paris,) till I reached

England, and my mother's house. My brother had arrived from Persia only

a few hours before. This was on the Tuesday. The following Sunday, July

14th, Mr. Keble preached the Assize Sermon in the University Pulpit. It

was published under the title of "National Apostasy." I have ever

considered and kept the day, as the start of the religious movement of

1833.

CHAPTER II.

HISTORY OF MY RELIGIOUS OPINIONS FROM 1833 TO 1839.

In spite of the foregoing pages, I have no romantic story to tell; but I

have written them, because it is my duty to tell things as they took

place. I have not exaggerated the feelings with which I returned to

England, and I have no desire to dress up the events which followed, so

as to make them in keeping with the narrative which has gone before. I

soon relapsed into the every-day life which I had hitherto led; in all

things the same, except that a new object was given me. I had employed

myself in my own rooms in reading and writing, and in the care of a

Church, before I left England, and I returned to the same occupations

when I was back again. And yet perhaps those first vehement feelings

which carried me on, were necessary for the beginning of the Movement;

and afterwards, when it was once begun, the special need of me was over.

* * * * *

When I got home from abroad, I found that already a movement had

commenced, in opposition to the specific danger which at that time was

threatening the religion of the nation and its Church. Several zealous

and able men had united their counsels, and were in correspondence with

each other. The principal of these were Mr. Keble, Hurrell Froude, who

had reached home long before me, Mr. William Palmer of Dublin and

Worcester College (not Mr. William Palmer of Magdalen, who is now a

Catholic), Mr. Arthur Perceval, and Mr. Hugh Rose.

To mention Mr. Hugh Rose's name is to kindle in the minds of those who

knew him a host of pleasant and affectionate remembrances. He was the

man above all others fitted by his cast of mind and literary powers to

make a stand, if a stand could be made, against the calamity of the

times. He was gifted with a high and large mind, and a true sensibility

of what was great and beautiful; he wrote with warmth and energy; and he

had a cool head and cautious judgment. He spent his strength and

shortened his life. Pro Ecclesia Dei, as he understood that sovereign

idea. Some years earlier he had been the first to give warning, I think

from the University Pulpit at Cambridge, of the perils to England which

lay in the biblical and theological speculations of Germany. The Reform

agitation followed, and the Whig Government came into power; and he

anticipated in their distribution of Church patronage the authoritative

introduction of liberal opinions into the country. He feared that by the

Whig party a door would be opened in England to the most grievous of

heresies, which never could be closed again. In order under such grave

circumstances to unite Churchmen together, and to make a front against

the coming danger, he had in 1832 commenced the British Magazine, and in

the same year he came to Oxford in the summer term, in order to beat up

for writers for his publication; on that occasion I became known to him

through Mr. Palmer. His reputation and position came in aid of his

obvious fitness, in point of character and intellect, to become the

centre of an ecclesiastical movement, if such a movement were to depend

on the action of a party. His delicate health, his premature death,

would have frustrated the expectation, even though the new school of

opinion had been more exactly thrown into the shape of a party, than in

fact was the case. But he zealously backed up the first efforts of those

who were principals in it; and, when he went abroad to die, in 1838, he

allowed me the solace of expressing my feelings of attachment and

gratitude to him by addressing him, in the dedication of a volume of my

Sermons, as the man "who, when hearts were failing, bade us stir up the

gift that was in us, and betake ourselves to our true Mother."

But there were other reasons, besides Mr. Rose's state of health, which

hindered those who so much admired him from availing themselves of his

close co-operation in the coming fight. United as both he and they were

in the general scope of the Movement, they were in discordance with each

other from the first in their estimate of the means to be adopted for

attaining it. Mr. Rose had a position in the Church, a name, and serious

responsibilities; he had direct ecclesiastical superiors; he had

intimate relations with his own University, and a large clerical

connexion through the country. Froude and I were nobodies; with no

characters to lose, and no antecedents to fetter us. Rose could not go

a-head across country, as Froude had no scruples in doing. Froude was a

bold rider, as on horseback, so also in his speculations. After a long

conversation with him on the logical bearing of his principles, Mr. Rose

said of him with quiet humour, that "he did not seem to be afraid of

inferences." It was simply the truth; Froude had that strong hold of

first principles, and that keen perception of their value, that he was

comparatively indifferent to the revolutionary action which would attend

on their application to a given state of things; whereas in the thoughts

of Rose, as a practical man, existing facts had the precedence of every

other idea, and the chief test of the soundness of a line of policy lay

in the consideration whether it would work. This was one of the first

questions, which, as it seemed to me, on every occasion occurred to his

mind. With Froude, Erastianism,--that is, the union (so he viewed it) of

Church and State,--was the parent, or if not the parent, the serviceable

and sufficient tool, of liberalism. Till that union was snapped,

Christian doctrine never could be safe; and, while he well knew how high

and unselfish was the temper of Mr. Rose, yet he used to apply to him an

epithet, reproachful in his own mouth;--Rose was a "conservative." By

bad luck, I brought out this word to Mr. Rose in a letter of my own,

which I wrote to him in criticism of something he had inserted in his

Magazine: I got a vehement rebuke for my pains, for though Rose pursued

a conservative line, he had as high a disdain, as Froude could have, of

a worldly ambition, and an extreme sensitiveness of such an imputation.

But there was another reason still, and a more elementary one, which

severed Mr. Rose from the Oxford Movement. Living movements do not come

of committees, nor are great ideas worked out through the post, even

though it had been the penny post. This principle deeply penetrated both

Froude and myself from the first, and recommended to us the course which

things soon took spontaneously, and without set purpose of our own.

Universities are the natural centres of intellectual movements. How

could men act together, whatever was their zeal, unless they were united

in a sort of individuality? Now, first, we had no unity of place. Mr.

Rose was in Suffolk, Mr. Perceval in Surrey, Mr. Keble in

Gloucestershire; Hurrell Froude had to go for his health to Barbadoes.

Mr. Palmer was indeed in Oxford; this was an important advantage, and

told well in the first months of the Movement;--but another condition,

besides that of place, was required.

A far more essential unity was that of antecedents,--a common history,

common memories, an intercourse of mind with mind in the past, and a

progress and increase in that intercourse in the present. Mr. Perceval,

to be sure, was a pupil of Mr. Keble's; but Keble, Rose, and Palmer,

represented distinct parties, or at least tempers, in the Establishment.

Mr. Palmer had many conditions of authority and influence. He was the

only really learned man among us. He understood theology as a science;

he was practised in the scholastic mode of controversial writing; and, I

believe, was as well acquainted, as he was dissatisfied, with the

Catholic schools. He was as decided in his religious views, as he was

cautious and even subtle in their expression, and gentle in their

enforcement. But he was deficient in depth; and besides, coming from a

distance, he never had really grown into an Oxford man, nor was he

generally received as such; nor had he any insight into the force of

personal influence and congeniality of thought in carrying out a

religious theory,--a condition which Froude and I considered essential

to any true success in the stand which had to be made against

Liberalism. Mr. Palmer had a certain connexion, as it may be called, in

the Establishment, consisting of high Church dignitaries, Archdeacons,

London Rectors, and the like, who belonged to what was commonly called

the high-and-dry school. They were far more opposed than even he was to

the irresponsible action of individuals. Of course their _beau idéal_ in

ecclesiastical action was a board of safe, sound, sensible men. Mr.

Palmer was their organ and representative; and he wished for a

Committee, an Association, with rules and meetings, to protect the

interests of the Church in its existing peril. He was in some measure

supported by Mr. Perceval.

I, on the other hand, had out of my own head begun the Tracts; and

these, as representing the antagonist principle of personality, were

looked upon by Mr. Palmer's friends with considerable alarm. The great

point at the time with these good men in London,--some of them men of

the highest principle, and far from influenced by what we used to call

Erastianism,--was to put down the Tracts. I, as their editor, and mainly

their author, was of course willing to give way. Keble and Froude

advocated their continuance strongly, and were angry with me for

consenting to stop them. Mr. Palmer shared the anxiety of his own

friends; and, kind as were his thoughts of us, he still not unnaturally

felt, for reasons of his own, some fidget and nervousness at the course

which his Oriel friends were taking. Froude, for whom he had a real

liking, took a high tone in his project of measures for dealing with

bishops and clergy, which must have shocked and scandalized him

considerably. As for me, there was matter enough in the early Tracts to

give him equal disgust; and doubtless I much tasked his generosity, when

he had to defend me, whether against the London dignitaries or the

country clergy. Oriel, from the time of Dr. Copleston to Dr. Hampden,

had had a name far and wide for liberality of thought; it had received a

formal recognition from the Edinburgh Review, if my memory serves me

truly, as the school of speculative philosophy in England; and on one

occasion, in 1833, when I presented myself, with some of the first

papers of the Movement, to a country clergyman in Northamptonshire, he

paused awhile, and then, eyeing me with significance, asked "Whether

Whately was at the bottom of them?"

Mr. Perceval wrote to me in support of the judgment of Mr. Palmer and

the dignitaries. I replied in a letter, which he afterwards published.

"As to the Tracts," I said to him (I quote my own words from his

Pamphlet), "every one has his own taste. You object to some things,

another to others. If we altered to please every one, the effect would

be spoiled. They were not intended as symbols _è cathedrâ_ but as the

expression of individual minds; and individuals, feeling strongly, while

on the one hand, they are incidentally faulty in mode or language, are

still peculiarly effective. No great work was done by a system; whereas

systems rise out of individual exertions. Luther was an individual. The

very faults of an individual excite attention; he loses, but his cause

(if good and he powerful-minded) gains. This is the way of things; we

promote truth by a self-sacrifice."

The visit which I made to the Northamptonshire Rector was only one of a

series of similar expedients, which I adopted during the year 1833. I

called upon clergy in various parts of the country, whether I was

acquainted with them or not, and I attended at the houses of friends

where several of them were from time to time assembled. I do not think

that much came of such attempts, nor were they quite in my way. Also I

wrote various letters to clergymen, which fared not much better, except

that they advertised the fact, that a rally in favour of the Church was

commencing. I did not care whether my visits were made to high Church or

low Church; I wished to make a strong pull in union with all who were

opposed to the principles of liberalism, whoever they might be. Giving

my name to the Editor, I commenced a series of letters in the Record

Newspaper: they ran to a considerable length; and were borne by him with

great courtesy and patience. The heading given to them was, "Church

Reform." The first was on the revival of Church Discipline; the second,

on its Scripture proof; the third, on the application of the doctrine;

the fourth was an answer to objections; the fifth was on the benefits of

discipline. And then the series was abruptly brought to a termination. I

had said what I really felt, and what was also in keeping with the

strong teaching of the Tracts, but I suppose the Editor discovered in me

some divergence from his own line of thought; for at length he sent a

very civil letter, apologizing for the non-appearance of my sixth

communication, on the ground that it contained an attack upon

"Temperance Societies," about which he did not wish a controversy in his

columns. He added, however, his serious regret at the theological views

of the Tracts. I had subscribed a small sum in 1828 towards the first

start of the Record.

Acts of the officious character, which I have been describing, were

uncongenial to my natural temper, to the genius of the Movement, and to

the historical mode of its success:--they were the fruit of that

exuberant and joyous energy with which I had returned from abroad, and

which I never had before or since. I had the exultation of health

restored, and home regained. While I was at Palermo and thought of the

breadth of the Mediterranean, and the wearisome journey across France, I

could not imagine how I was ever to get to England; but now I was amid

familiar scenes and faces once more. And my health and strength came

back to me with such a rebound, that some friends at Oxford, on seeing

me, did not well know that it was I, and hesitated before they spoke to

me. And I had the consciousness that I was employed in that work which I

had been dreaming about, and which I felt to be so momentous and

inspiring. I had a supreme confidence in our cause; we were upholding

that primitive Christianity which was delivered for all time by the

early teachers of the Church, and which was registered and attested in

the Anglican formularies and by the Anglican divines. That ancient

religion had well nigh faded away out of the land, through the political

changes of the last 150 years, and it must be restored. It would be in

fact a second Reformation:--a better reformation, for it would be a

return not to the sixteenth century, but to the seventeenth. No time was

to be lost, for the Whigs had come to do their worst, and the rescue

might come too late. Bishopricks were already in course of suppression;

Church property was in course of confiscation; Sees would soon be

receiving unsuitable occupants. We knew enough to begin preaching upon,

and there was no one else to preach. I felt as on board a vessel, which

first gets under weigh, and then the deck is cleared out, and luggage

and live stock stowed away into their proper receptacles.

Nor was it only that I had confidence in our cause, both in itself, and

in its polemical force, but also, on the other hand, I despised every

rival system of doctrine and its arguments too. As to the high Church

and the low Church, I thought that the one had not much more of a

logical basis than the other; while I had a thorough contempt for the

controversial position of the latter. I had a real respect for the

character of many of the advocates of each party, but that did not give

cogency to their arguments; and I thought, on the contrary, that the

Apostolical form of doctrine was essential and imperative, and its

grounds of evidence impregnable. Owing to this supreme confidence, it

came to pass at that time, that there was a double aspect in my bearing

towards others, which it is necessary for me to enlarge upon. My

behaviour had a mixture in it both of fierceness and of sport; and on

this account, I dare say, it gave offence to many; nor am I here

defending it.

I wished men to agree with me, and I walked with them step by step, as

far as they would go; this I did sincerely; but if they would stop, I

did not much care about it, but walked on, with some satisfaction that I

had brought them so far. I liked to make them preach the truth without

knowing it, and encouraged them to do so. It was a satisfaction to me

that the Record had allowed me to say so much in its columns, without

remonstrance. I was amused to hear of one of the Bishops, who, on

reading an early Tract on the Apostolical Succession, could not make up

his mind whether he held the doctrine or not. I was not distressed at

the wonder or anger of dull and self-conceited men, at propositions

which they did not understand. When a correspondent, in good faith,

wrote to a newspaper, to say that the "Sacrifice of the Holy Eucharist,"

spoken of in the Tract, was a false print for "Sacrament," I thought the

mistake too pleasant to be corrected before I was asked about it. I was

not unwilling to draw an opponent on step by step, by virtue of his own

opinions, to the brink of some intellectual absurdity, and to leave him

to get back as he could. I was not unwilling to play with a man, who

asked me impertinent questions. I think I had in my mouth the words of

the Wise man, "Answer a fool according to his folly," especially if he

was prying or spiteful. I was reckless of the gossip which was

circulated about me; and, when I might easily have set it right, did not

deign to do so. Also I used irony in conversation, when

matter-of-fact-men would not see what I meant.

This kind of behaviour was a sort of habit with me. If I have ever

trifled with my subject, it was a more serious fault. I never used

arguments which I saw clearly to be unsound. The nearest approach which

I remember to such conduct, but which I consider was clear of it

nevertheless, was in the case of Tract 15. The matter of this Tract was

furnished to me by a friend, to whom I had applied for assistance, but

who did not wish to be mixed up with the publication. He gave it me,

that I might throw it into shape, and I took his arguments as they

stood. In the chief portion of the Tract I fully agreed; for instance,

as to what it says about the Council of Trent; but there were arguments,

or some argument, in it which I did not follow; I do not recollect what

it was. Froude, I think, was disgusted with the whole Tract, and accused

me of _economy_ in publishing it. It is principally through Mr. Froude's

Remains that this word has got into our language. I think, I defended

myself with arguments such as these:--that, as every one knew, the

Tracts were written by various persons who agreed together in their

doctrine, but not always in the arguments by which it was to be proved;

that we must be tolerant of difference of opinion among ourselves; that

the author of the Tract had a right to his own opinion, and that the

argument in question was ordinarily received; that I did not give my own

name or authority, nor was asked for my personal belief, but only acted

instrumentally, as one might translate a friend's book into a foreign

language. I account these to be good arguments; nevertheless I feel also

that such practices admit of easy abuse and are consequently dangerous;

but then, again, I feel also this,--that if all such mistakes were to be

severely visited, not many men in public life would be left with a

character for honour and honesty.

This absolute confidence in my cause, which led me to the negligence or

wantonness which I have been instancing, also laid me open, not

unfairly, to the opposite charge of fierceness in certain steps which I

took, or words which I published. In the Lyra Apostolica, I have said

that before learning to love, we must "learn to hate;" though I had

explained my words by adding "hatred of sin." In one of my first Sermons

I said, "I do not shrink from uttering my firm conviction that it would

be a gain to the country were it vastly more superstitious, more

bigoted, more gloomy, more fierce in its religion than at present it

shows itself to be." I added, of course, that it would be an absurdity

to suppose such tempers of mind desirable in themselves. The corrector

of the press bore these strong epithets till he got to "more fierce,"

and then he put in the margin a _query_. In the very first page of the

first Tract, I said of the Bishops, that, "black event though it would

be for the country, yet we could not wish them a more blessed

termination of their course, than the spoiling of their goods and

martyrdom." In consequence of a passage in my work upon the Arian

History, a Northern dignitary wrote to accuse me of wishing to

re-establish the blood and torture of the Inquisition. Contrasting

heretics and heresiarchs, I had said, "The latter should meet with no

mercy: he assumes the office of the Tempter; and, so far forth as his

error goes, must be dealt with by the competent authority, as if he were

embodied evil. To spare him is a false and dangerous pity. It is to

endanger the souls of thousands, and it is uncharitable towards

himself." I cannot deny that this is a very fierce passage; but Arius

was banished, not burned; and it is only fair to myself to say that

neither at this, nor any other time of my life, not even when I was

fiercest, could I have even cut off a Puritan's ears, and I think the

sight of a Spanish _auto-da-fè_ would have been the death of me. Again,

when one of my friends, of liberal and evangelical opinions, wrote to

expostulate with me on the course I was taking, I said that we would

ride over him and his, as Othniel prevailed over Chushan-rishathaim,

king of Mesopotamia. Again, I would have no dealings with my brother,

and I put my conduct upon a syllogism. I said, "St. Paul bids us avoid

those who cause divisions; you cause divisions: therefore I must avoid

you." I dissuaded a lady from attending the marriage of a sister who had

seceded from the Anglican Church. No wonder that Blanco White, who had

known me under such different circumstances, now hearing the general

course that I was taking, was amazed at the change which he recognized

in me. He speaks bitterly and unfairly of me in his letters

contemporaneously with the first years of the Movement; but in 1839, on

looking back, he uses terms of me, which it would be hardly modest in me

to quote, were it not that what he says of me in praise occurs in the

midst of blame. He says: "In this party [the anti-Peel, in 1829] I

found, to my great surprise, my dear friend, Mr. Newman of Oriel. As he

had been one of the annual Petitioners to Parliament for Catholic

Emancipation, his sudden union with the most violent bigots was

inexplicable to me. That change was the first manifestation of the

mental revolution, which has suddenly made him one of the leading

persecutors of Dr. Hampden, and the most active and influential member

of that association called the Puseyite party, from which we have those

very strange productions, entitled, Tracts for the Times. While stating

these public facts, my heart feels a pang at the recollection of the

affectionate and mutual friendship between that excellent man and

myself; a friendship, which his principles of orthodoxy could not allow

him to continue in regard to one, whom he now regards as inevitably

doomed to eternal perdition. Such is the venomous character of

orthodoxy. What mischief must it create in a bad heart and narrow mind,

when it can work so effectually for evil, in one of the most benevolent

of bosoms, and one of the ablest of minds, in the amiable, the

intellectual, the refined John Henry Newman!" (Vol. iii. p. 131.) He

adds that I would have nothing to do with him, a circumstance which I do

not recollect, and very much doubt.

* * * * *

I have spoken of my firm confidence in my position; and now let me state

more definitely what the position was which I took up, and the

propositions about which I was so confident. These were three:--

1. First was the principle of dogma: my battle was with liberalism; by

liberalism I mean the anti-dogmatic principle and its developments. This

was the first point on which I was certain. Here I make a remark:

persistence in a given belief is no sufficient test of its truth: but

departure from it is at least a slur upon the man who has felt so

certain about it. In proportion, then, as I had in 1832 a strong

persuasion of the truth of opinions which I have since given up, so far

a sort of guilt attaches to me, not only for that vain confidence, but

for all the various proceedings which were the consequence of it. But

under this first head I have the satisfaction of feeling that I have

nothing to retract, and nothing to repent of. The main principle of the

movement is as dear to me now, as it ever was. I have changed in many

things: in this I have not. From the age of fifteen, dogma has been the

fundamental principle of my religion: I know no other religion; I cannot

enter into the idea of any other sort of religion; religion, as a mere

sentiment, is to me a dream and a mockery. As well can there be filial

love without the fact of a father, as devotion without the fact of a

Supreme Being. What I held in 1816, I held in 1833, and I hold in 1864.

Please God, I shall hold it to the end. Even when I was under Dr.

Whately's influence, I had no temptation to be less zealous for the

great dogmas of the faith, and at various times I used to resist such

trains of thought on his part as seemed to me (rightly or wrongly) to

obscure them. Such was the fundamental principle of the Movement of

1833.

2. Secondly, I was confident in the truth of a certain definite

religious teaching, based upon this foundation of dogma; viz. that there

was a visible Church, with sacraments and rites which are the channels

of invisible grace. I thought that this was the doctrine of Scripture,

of the early Church, and of the Anglican Church. Here again, I have not

changed in opinion; I am as certain now on this point as I was in 1833,

and have never ceased to be certain. In 1834 and the following years I

put this ecclesiastical doctrine on a broader basis, after reading Laud,

Bramhall, and Stillingfleet and other Anglican divines on the one hand,

and after prosecuting the study of the Fathers on the other; but the

doctrine of 1833 was strengthened in me, not changed. When I began the

Tracts for the Times I rested the main doctrine, of which I am speaking,

upon Scripture, on the Anglican Prayer Book, and on St. Ignatius's

Epistles. (1) As to the existence of a visible Church, I especially

argued out the point from Scripture, in Tract 11, viz. from the Acts of

the Apostles and the Epistles. (2) As to the Sacraments and Sacramental

rites, I stood on the Prayer Book. I appealed to the Ordination Service,

in which the Bishop says, "Receive the Holy Ghost;" to the Visitation

Service, which teaches confession and absolution; to the Baptismal

Service, in which the Priest speaks of the child after baptism as

regenerate; to the Catechism, in which Sacramental Communion is

receiving "verily and indeed the Body and Blood of Christ;" to the

Commination Service, in which we are told to do "works of penance;" to

the Collects, Epistles, and Gospels, to the calendar and rubricks,

portions of the Prayer Book, wherein we find the festivals of the

Apostles, notice of certain other Saints, and days of fasting and

abstinence.

(3.) And further, as to the Episcopal system, I founded it upon the

Epistles of St. Ignatius, which inculcated it in various ways. One

passage especially impressed itself upon me: speaking of cases of

disobedience to ecclesiastical authority, he says, "A man does not

deceive that Bishop whom he sees, but he practises rather with the

Bishop Invisible, and so the question is not with flesh, but with God,

who knows the secret heart." I wished to act on this principle to the

letter, and I may say with confidence that I never consciously

transgressed it. I loved to act as feeling myself in my Bishop's sight,

as if it were the sight of God. It was one of my special supports and

safeguards against myself; I could not go very wrong while I had reason

to believe that I was in no respect displeasing him. It was not a mere

formal obedience to rule that I put before me, but I desired to please

him personally, as I considered him set over me by the Divine Hand. I

was strict in observing my clerical engagements, not only because they

_were_ engagements, but because I considered myself simply as the

servant and instrument of my Bishop. I did not care much for the Bench

of Bishops, except as they might be the voice of my Church: nor should I

have cared much for a Provincial Council; nor for a Diocesan Synod

presided over by my Bishop; all these matters seemed to me to be _jure

ecclesiastico_, but what to me was _jure divino_ was the voice of my

Bishop in his own person. My own Bishop was my Pope; I knew no other;

the successor of the Apostles, the Vicar of Christ. This was but a

practical exhibition of the Anglican theory of Church Government, as I

had already drawn it out myself, after various Anglican Divines. This

continued all through my course; when at length, in 1845, I wrote to

Bishop Wiseman, in whose Vicariate I found myself, to announce my

conversion, I could find nothing better to say to him than that I would

obey the Pope as I had obeyed my own Bishop in the Anglican Church. My

duty to him was my point of honour; his disapprobation was the one thing

which I could not bear. I believe it to have been a generous and honest

feeling; and in consequence I was rewarded by having all my time for

ecclesiastical superior a man, whom, had I had a choice, I should have

preferred, out and out, to any other Bishop on the Bench, and for whose

memory I have a special affection. Dr. Bagot--a man of noble mind, and

as kind-hearted and as considerate as he was noble. He ever sympathized

with me in my trials which followed; it was my own fault, that I was not

brought into more familiar personal relations with him, than it was my

happiness to be. May his name be ever blessed!

And now in concluding my remarks on the second point on which my

confidence rested, I repeat that here again I have no retractation to

announce as to its main outline. While I am now as clear in my

acceptance of the principle of dogma, as I was in 1833 and 1816, so

again I am now as firm in my belief of a visible Church, of the

authority of Bishops, of the grace of the sacraments, of the religious

worth of works of penance, as I was in 1833. I have added Articles to my

Creed; but the old ones, which I then held with a divine faith, remain.

3. But now, as to the third point on which I stood in 1833, and which I

have utterly renounced and trampled upon since,--my then view of the

Church of Rome;--I will speak about it as exactly as I can. When I was

young, as I have said already, and after I was grown up, I thought the

Pope to be Antichrist. At Christmas 1824-5 I preached a sermon to that

effect. But in 1827 I accepted eagerly the stanza in the Christian Year,

which many people thought too charitable, "Speak _gently_ of thy

sister's fall." From the time that I knew Froude I got less and less

bitter on the subject. I spoke (successively, but I cannot tell in what

order or at what dates) of the Roman Church as being bound up with "the

_cause_ of Antichrist," as being _one_ of the "_many_ antichrists"

foretold by St. John, as being influenced by "the _spirit_ of

Antichrist," and as having something "very Anti-christian" or

"unchristian" about her. From my boyhood and in 1824 I considered, after

Protestant authorities, that St. Gregory I. about A.D. 600 was the first

Pope that was Antichrist, though, in spite of this, he was also a great

and holy man; but in 1832-3 I thought the Church of Rome was bound up

with the cause of Antichrist by the Council of Trent. When it was that

in my deliberate judgment I gave up the notion altogether in any shape,

that some special reproach was attached to her name, I cannot tell; but

I had a shrinking from renouncing it, even when my reason so ordered me,

from a sort of conscience or prejudice, I think up to 1843. Moreover, at

least during the Tract Movement, I thought the essence of her offence to

consist in the honours which she paid to the Blessed Virgin and the

Saints; and the more I grew in devotion, both to the Saints and to our

Lady, the more impatient was I at the Roman practices, as if those

glorified creations of God must be gravely shocked, if pain could be

theirs, at the undue veneration of which they were the objects.

On the other hand, Hurrell Froude in his familiar conversations was

always tending to rub the idea out of my mind. In a passage of one of

his letters from abroad, alluding, I suppose, to what I used to say in

opposition to him, he observes; "I think people are injudicious who talk

against the Roman Catholics for worshipping Saints, and honouring the

Virgin and images, &c. These things may perhaps be idolatrous; I cannot

make up my mind about it; but to my mind it is the Carnival that is real

practical idolatry, as it is written, 'the people sat down to eat and

drink, and rose up to play.'" The Carnival, I observe in passing, is, in

fact, one of those very excesses, to which, for at least three

centuries, religious Catholics have ever opposed themselves, as we see

in the life of St. Philip, to say nothing of the present day; but this

we did not then know. Moreover, from Froude I learned to admire the

great medieval Pontiffs; and, of course, when I had come to consider the

Council of Trent to be the turning-point of the history of Christian

Rome, I found myself as free, as I was rejoiced, to speak in their

praise. Then, when I was abroad, the sight of so many great places,

venerable shrines, and noble churches, much impressed my imagination.

And my heart was touched also. Making an expedition on foot across some

wild country in Sicily, at six in the morning, I came upon a small

church; I heard voices, and I looked in. It was crowded, and the

congregation was singing. Of course it was the mass, though I did not

know it at the time. And, in my weary days at Palermo, I was not

ungrateful for the comfort which I had received in frequenting the

churches; nor did I ever forget it. Then, again, her zealous maintenance

of the doctrine and the rule of celibacy, which I recognized as

Apostolic, and her faithful agreement with Antiquity in so many other

points which were dear to me, was an argument as well as a plea in

favour of the great Church of Rome. Thus I learned to have tender

feelings towards her; but still my reason was not affected at all. My

judgment was against her, when viewed as an institution, as truly as it

ever had been.

This conflict between reason and affection I expressed in one of the

early Tracts, published July, 1834. "Considering the high gifts and the

strong claims of the Church of Rome and its dependencies on our

admiration, reverence, love, and gratitude; how could we withstand it,

as we do, how could we refrain from being melted into tenderness, and

rushing into communion with it, but for the words of Truth itself, which

bid us prefer It to the whole world? 'He that loveth father or mother

more than Me, is not worthy of me.' How could 'we learn to be severe,

and execute judgment,' but for the warning of Moses against even a

divinely-gifted teacher, who should preach new gods; and the anathema of

St. Paul even against Angels and Apostles, who should bring in a new

doctrine?"--_Records_, No. 24. My feeling was something like that of a

man, who is obliged in a court of justice to bear witness against a

friend; or like my own now, when I have said, and shall say, so many

things on which I had rather be silent.

As a matter, then, of simple conscience, though it went against my

feelings, I felt it to be a duty to protest against the Church of Rome.

But besides this, it was a duty, because the prescription of such a

protest was a living principle of my own Church, as expressed not simply

in a _catena_, but by a _consensus_ of her divines, and by the voice of

her people. Moreover, such a protest was necessary as an integral

portion of her controversial basis; for I adopted the argument of

Bernard Gilpin, that Protestants "were _not able_ to give any _firm and

solid_ reason of the separation besides this, to wit, that the Pope is

Antichrist." But while I thus thought such a protest to be based upon

truth, and to be a religious duty, and a rule of Anglicanism, and a

necessity of the case, I did not at all like the work. Hurrell Froude

attacked me for doing it; and, besides, I felt that my language had a

vulgar and rhetorical look about it. I believed, and really measured, my

words, when I used them; but I knew that I had a temptation, on the

other hand, to say against Rome as much as ever I could, in order to

protect myself against the charge of Popery.

And now I come to the very point, for which I have introduced the

subject of my feelings about Rome. I felt such confidence in the

substantial justice of the charges which I advanced against her, that I

considered them to be a safeguard and an assurance that no harm could

ever arise from the freest exposition of what I used to call Anglican

principles. All the world was astounded at what Froude and I were

saying: men said that it was sheer Popery. I answered, "True, we seem to

be making straight for it; but go on awhile, and you will come to a deep

chasm across the path, which makes real approximation impossible." And I

urged in addition, that many Anglican divines had been accused of

Popery, yet had died in their Anglicanism;--now, the ecclesiastical

principles which I professed, they had professed also; and the judgment

against Rome which they had formed, I had formed also. Whatever

deficiencies then had to be supplied in the existing Anglican system,

and however boldly I might point them out, any how that system would not

in the process be brought nearer to the special creed of Rome, and might

be mended in spite of her. In that very agreement of the two forms of

faith, close as it might seem, would really be found, on examination,

the elements and principles of an essential discordance.

It was with this absolute persuasion on my mind that I fancied that

there could be no rashness in giving to the world in fullest measure the

teaching and the writings of the Fathers. I thought that the Church of

England was substantially founded upon them. I did not know all that the

Fathers had said, but I felt that, even when their tenets happened to

differ from the Anglican, no harm could come of reporting them. I said

out what I was clear they had said; I spoke vaguely and imperfectly, of

what I thought they said, or what some of them had said. Any how, no

harm could come of bending the crooked stick the other way, in the

process of straightening it; it was impossible to break it. If there was

any thing in the Fathers of a startling character, this would be only

for a time; it would admit of explanation, or it might suggest something

profitable to Anglicans; it could not lead to Rome. I express this view

of the matter in a passage of the Preface to the first volume, which I

edited, of the Library of the Fathers. Speaking of the strangeness at

first sight, in the judgment of the present day, of some of their

principles and opinions, I bid the reader go forward hopefully, and not

indulge his criticism till he knows more about them, than he will learn

at the outset. "Since the evil," I say, "is in the nature of the case

itself, we can do no more than have patience, and recommend patience to

others, and with the racer in the Tragedy, look forward steadily and

hopefully to the _event_, [Greek: tô telei pistin pherôn], when, as we

trust, all that is inharmonious and anomalous in the details, will at

length be practically smoothed."

Such was the position, such the defences, such the tactics, by which I

thought that it was both incumbent on us, and possible for us, to meet

that onset of Liberal principles, of which we were all in immediate

anticipation, whether in the Church or in the University. And during the

first year of the Tracts, the attack upon the University began. In

November, 1834, was sent to me by Dr. Hampden the second edition of his

Pamphlet, entitled, "Observations on Religious Dissent, with particular

reference to the use of religious tests in the University." In this

Pamphlet it was maintained, that "Religion is distinct from Theological

Opinion," pp. 1. 28. 30, &c.; that it is but a common prejudice to

identify theological propositions methodically deduced and stated, with

the simple religion of Christ, p. 1; that under Theological Opinion were

to be placed the Trinitarian doctrine, p. 27, and the Unitarian, p. 19;

that a dogma was a theological opinion formally insisted on, pp. 20, 21;

that speculation always left an opening for improvement, p. 22; that the

Church of England was not dogmatic in its spirit, though the wording of

its formularies might often carry the sound of dogmatism, p. 23.

I acknowledged the receipt of this work in the following letter:--

"The kindness which has led to your presenting me with your late

Pamphlet, encourages me to hope that you will forgive me, if I take the

opportunity it affords of expressing to you my very sincere and deep

regret that it has been published. Such an opportunity I could not let

slip without being unfaithful to my own serious thoughts on the subject.

"While I respect the tone of piety which the Pamphlet displays, I dare

not trust myself to put on paper my feelings about the principles

contained in it; tending as they do, in my opinion, altogether to make

shipwreck of Christian faith. I also lament, that, by its appearance,

the first step has been taken towards interrupting that peace and mutual

good understanding which has prevailed so long in this place, and which,

if once seriously disturbed, will be succeeded by dissensions the more

intractable, because justified in the minds of those who resist

innovation by a feeling of imperative duty."

Since that time Phaeton has got into the chariot of the sun; we, alas!

can only look on, and watch him down the steep of heaven. Meanwhile, the

lands, which he is passing over, suffer from his driving.

* * * * *

Such was the commencement of the assault of Liberalism upon the old

orthodoxy of Oxford and England; and it could not have been broken, as

it was, for so long a time, had not a great change taken place in the

circumstances of that counter-movement which had already started with

the view of resisting it. For myself, I was not the person to take the

lead of a party; I never was, from first to last, more than a leading

author of a school; nor did I ever wish to be anything else. This is my

own account of the matter; and I say it, neither as intending to disown

the responsibility of what was done, or as if ungrateful to those who at

that time made more of me than I deserved, and did more for my sake and

at my bidding than I realized myself. I am giving my history from my own

point of sight, and it is as follows:--I had lived for ten years among

my personal friends; the greater part of the time, I had been

influenced, not influencing; and at no time have I acted on others,

without their acting upon me. As is the custom of a University, I had

lived with my private, nay, with some of my public, pupils, and with the

junior fellows of my College, without form or distance, on a footing of

equality. Thus it was through friends, younger, for the most part, than

myself, that my principles were spreading. They heard what I said in

conversation, and told it to others. Under-graduates in due time took

their degree, and became private tutors themselves. In their new

_status_, they in turn preached the opinions, with which they had

already become acquainted. Others went down to the country, and became

curates of parishes. Then they had down from London parcels of the

Tracts, and other publications. They placed them in the shops of local

booksellers, got them into newspapers, introduced them to clerical

meetings, and converted more or less their Rectors and their brother

curates. Thus the Movement, viewed with relation to myself, was but a

floating opinion; it was not a power. It never would have been a power,

if it had remained in my hands. Years after, a friend, writing to me in

remonstrance at the excesses, as he thought them, of my disciples,

applied to me my own verse about St. Gregory Nazianzen, "Thou couldst a

people raise, but couldst not rule." At the time that he wrote to me, I

had special impediments in the way of such an exercise of power; but at

no time could I exercise over others that authority, which under the

circumstances was imperatively required. My great principle ever was,

Live and let live. I never had the staidness or dignity necessary for a

leader. To the last I never recognized the hold I had over young men. Of

late years I have read and heard that they even imitated me in various

ways. I was quite unconscious of it, and I think my immediate friends

knew too well how disgusted I should be at such proceedings, to have the

heart to tell me. I felt great impatience at our being called a party,

and would not allow that we were such. I had a lounging, free-and-easy

way of carrying things on. I exercised no sufficient censorship upon the

Tracts. I did not confine them to the writings of such persons as agreed

in all things with myself; and, as to my own Tracts, I printed on them a

notice to the effect, that any one who pleased, might make what use he

would of them, and reprint them with alterations if he chose, under the

conviction that their main scope could not be damaged by such a process.

It was the same with me afterwards, as regards other publications. For

two years I furnished a certain number of sheets for the British Critic

from myself and my friends, while a gentleman was editor, a man of

splendid talent, who, however, was scarcely an acquaintance of mine, and

had no sympathy with the Tracts. When I was Editor myself, from 1838 to

1841, in my very first number I suffered to appear a critique

unfavorable to my work on Justification, which had been published a few

months before, from a feeling of propriety, because I had put the book

into the hands of the writer who so handled it. Afterwards I suffered an

article against the Jesuits to appear in it, of which I did not like the

tone. When I had to provide a curate for my new church at Littlemore, I

engaged a friend, by no fault of his, who, before he had entered into

his charge, preached a sermon, either in depreciation of baptismal

regeneration, or of Dr. Pusey's view of it. I showed a similar easiness

as to the Editors who helped me in the separate volumes of Fleury's

Church History; they were able, learned, and excellent men, but their

after-history has shown, how little my choice of them was influenced by

any notion I could have had of any intimate agreement of opinion between

them and myself. I shall have to make the same remark in its place

concerning the Lives of the English Saints, which subsequently appeared.

All this may seem inconsistent with what I have said of my fierceness. I

am not bound to account for it; but there have been men before me,

fierce in act, yet tolerant and moderate in their reasonings; at least,

so I read history. However, such was the case, and such its effect upon

the Tracts. These at first starting were short, hasty, and some of them

ineffective; and at the end of the year, when collected into a volume,

they had a slovenly appearance.

It was under these circumstances, that Dr. Pusey joined us. I had known

him well since 1827-8, and had felt for him an enthusiastic admiration,

I used to call him [Greek: ho megas]. His great learning, his immense

diligence, his scholarlike mind, his simple devotion to the cause of

religion, overcame me; and great of course was my joy, when in the last

days of 1833 he showed a disposition to make common cause with us. His

Tract on Fasting appeared as one of the series with the date of December

21. He was not, however, I think, fully associated in the Movement till

1835 and 1836, when he published his Tract on Baptism, and started the

Library of the Fathers. He at once gave to us a position and a name.

Without him we should have had little chance, especially at the early

date of 1834, of making any serious resistance to the Liberal

aggression. But Dr. Pusey was a Professor and Canon of Christ Church; he

had a vast influence in consequence of his deep religious seriousness,

the munificence of his charities, his Professorship, his family

connexions, and his easy relations with University authorities. He was

to the Movement all that Mr. Rose might have been, with that

indispensable addition, which was wanting to Mr. Rose, the intimate

friendship and the familiar daily society of the persons who had

commenced it. And he had that special claim on their attachment, which

lies in the living presence of a faithful and loyal affectionateness.

There was henceforth a man who could be the head and centre of the

zealous people in every part of the country, who were adopting the new

opinions; and not only so, but there was one who furnished the Movement

with a front to the world, and gained for it a recognition from other

parties in the University. In 1829, Mr. Froude, or Mr. Robert

Wilberforce, or Mr. Newman were but individuals; and, when they ranged

themselves in the contest of that year on the side of Sir Robert Inglis,

men on either side only asked with surprise how they got there, and

attached no significancy to the fact; but Dr. Pusey was, to use the

common expression, a host in himself; he was able to give a name, a

form, and a personality, to what was without him a sort of mob; and when

various parties had to meet together in order to resist the liberal acts

of the Government, we of the Movement took our place by right among

them.

Such was the benefit which he conferred on the Movement externally; nor

were the internal advantages at all inferior to it. He was a man of

large designs; he had a hopeful, sanguine mind; he had no fear of

others; he was haunted by no intellectual perplexities. People are apt

to say that he was once nearer to the Catholic Church than he is now; I

pray God that he may be one day far nearer to the Catholic Church than

he was then; for I believe that, in his reason and judgment, all the

time that I knew him, he never was near to it at all. When I became a

Catholic, I was often asked, "What of Dr. Pusey?"; when I said that I

did not see symptoms of his doing as I had done, I was sometimes thought

uncharitable. If confidence in his position is, (as it is,) a first

essential in the leader of a party, this Dr. Pusey possessed

pre-eminently. The most remarkable instance of this, was his statement,

in one of his subsequent defences of the Movement, when moreover it had

advanced a considerable way in the direction of Rome, that among its

more hopeful peculiarities was its "stationariness." He made it in good

faith; it was his subjective view of it.

Dr. Pusey's influence was felt at once. He saw that there ought to be

more sobriety, more gravity, more careful pains, more sense of

responsibility in the Tracts and in the whole Movement. It was through

him that the character of the Tracts was changed. When he gave to us his

Tract on Fasting, he put his initials to it. In 1835 he published his

elaborate Treatise on Baptism, which was followed by other Tracts from

different authors, if not of equal learning, yet of equal power and

appositeness. The Catenas of Anglican divines, projected by me, which

occur in the Series were executed with a like aim at greater accuracy

and method. In 1836 he advertised his great project for a Translation of

the Fathers:--but I must return to myself. I am not writing the history

either of Dr. Pusey or of the Movement; but it is a pleasure to me to

have been able to introduce here reminiscences of the place which he

held in it, which have so direct a bearing on myself, that they are no

digression from my narrative.

* * * * *

I suspect it was Dr. Pusey's influence and example which set me, and

made me set others, on the larger and more careful works in defence of

the principles of the Movement which followed in a course of

years,--some of them demanding and receiving from their authors, such

elaborate treatment that they did not make their appearance till both

its temper and its fortunes had changed. I set about a work at once; one

in which was brought out with precision the relation in which we stood

to the Church of Rome. We could not move a step in comfort, till this

was done. It was of absolute necessity and a plain duty from the first,

to provide as soon as possible a large statement, which would encourage

and reassure our friends, and repel the attacks of our opponents. A cry

was heard on all sides of us, that the Tracts and the writings of the

Fathers would lead us to become Catholics, before we were aware of it.

This was loudly expressed by members of the Evangelical party, who in

1836 had joined us in making a protest in Convocation against a

memorable appointment of the Prime Minister. These clergymen even then

avowed their desire, that the next time they were brought up to Oxford

to give a vote, it might be in order to put down the Popery of the

Movement. There was another reason still, and quite as important.

Monsignore Wiseman, with the acuteness and zeal which might be expected

from that great Prelate, had anticipated what was coming, had returned

to England by 1836, had delivered Lectures in London on the doctrines of

Catholicism, and created an impression through the country, shared in by

ourselves, that we had for our opponents in controversy, not only our

brethren, but our hereditary foes. These were the circumstances, which

led to my publication of "The Prophetical office of the Church viewed

relatively to Romanism and Popular Protestantism."

This work employed me for three years, from the beginning of 1834 to the

end of 1836, and was published in 1837. It was composed, after a careful

consideration and comparison of the principal Anglican divines of the

17th century. It was first written in the shape of controversial

correspondence with a learned French Priest; then it was re-cast, and

delivered in Lectures at St. Mary's; lastly, with considerable

retrenchments and additions, it was rewritten for publication.

It attempts to trace out the rudimental lines on which Christian faith

and teaching proceed, and to use them as means of determining the

relation of the Roman and Anglican systems to each other. In this way it

shows that to confuse the two together is impossible, and that the

Anglican can be as little said to tend to the Roman, as the Roman to the

Anglican. The spirit of the Volume is not so gentle to the Church of

Rome, as Tract 71 published the year before; on the contrary, it is very

fierce; and this I attribute to the circumstance that the Volume is

theological and didactic, whereas the Tract, being controversial,

assumes as little and grants as much as possible on the points in

dispute, and insists on points of agreement as well as of difference. A

further and more direct reason is, that in my Volume I deal with

"Romanism" (as I call it), not so much in its formal decrees and in the

substance of its creed, as in its traditional action and its authorized

teaching as represented by its prominent writers;--whereas the Tract is

written as if discussing the differences of the Churches with a view to

a reconciliation between them. There is a further reason too, which I

will state presently.

But this Volume had a larger scope than that of opposing the Roman

system. It was an attempt at commencing a system of theology on the

Anglican idea, and based upon Anglican authorities. Mr. Palmer, about

the same time, was projecting a work of a similar nature in his own way.

It was published, I think, under the title, "A Treatise on the Christian

Church." As was to be expected from the author, it was a most learned,

most careful composition; and in its form, I should say, polemical. So

happily at least did he follow the logical method of the Roman Schools,

that Father Perrone in his Treatise on dogmatic theology, recognized in

him a combatant of the true cast, and saluted him as a foe worthy of

being vanquished. Other soldiers in that field he seems to have thought

little better than the _Lanzknechts_ of the middle ages, and, I dare

say, with very good reason. When I knew that excellent and kind-hearted

man at Rome at a later time, he allowed me to put him to ample penance

for those light thoughts of me, which he had once had, by encroaching on

his valuable time with my theological questions. As to Mr. Palmer's

book, it was one which no Anglican could write but himself,--in no

sense, if I recollect aright, a tentative work. The ground of

controversy was cut into squares, and then every objection had its

answer. This is the proper method to adopt in teaching authoritatively

young men; and the work in fact was intended for students in theology.

My own book, on the other hand, was of a directly tentative and

empirical character. I wished to build up an Anglican theology out of

the stores which already lay cut and hewn upon the ground, the past toil

of great divines. To do this could not be the work of one man; much

less, could it be at once received into Anglican theology, however well

it was done. This I fully recognized; and, while I trusted that my

statements of doctrine would turn out to be true and important, still I

wrote, to use the common phrase, "under correction."

There was another motive for my publishing, of a personal nature, which

I think I should mention. I felt then, and all along felt, that there

was an intellectual cowardice in not finding a basis in reason for my

belief, and a moral cowardice in not avowing that basis. I should have

felt myself less than a man, if I did not bring it out, whatever it was.

This is one principal reason why I wrote and published the "Prophetical

Office." It was from the same feeling, that in the spring of 1836, at a

meeting of residents on the subject of the struggle then proceeding

against a Whig appointment, when some one wanted us all merely to act on

college and conservative grounds (as I understood him), with as few

published statements as possible, I answered, that the person whom we

were resisting had committed himself in writing, and that we ought to

commit ourselves too. This again was a main reason for the publication

of Tract 90. Alas! it was my portion for whole years to remain without

any satisfactory basis for my religious profession, in a state of moral

sickness, neither able to acquiesce in Anglicanism, nor able to go to

Rome. But I bore it, till in course of time my way was made clear to me.

If here it be objected to me, that as time went on, I often in my

writings hinted at things which I did not fully bring out, I submit for

consideration whether this occurred except when I was in great

difficulties, how to speak, or how to be silent, with due regard for the

position of mind or the feelings of others. However, I may have an

opportunity to say more on this subject. But to return to the

"Prophetical Office."

I thus speak in the Introduction to my Volume:--

"It is proposed," I say, "to offer helps towards the formation of a

recognized Anglican theology in one of its departments. The present

state of our divinity is as follows: the most vigorous, the clearest,

the most fertile minds, have through God's mercy been employed in the

service of our Church: minds too as reverential and holy, and as fully

imbued with Ancient Truth, and as well versed in the writings of the

Fathers, as they were intellectually gifted. This is God's great mercy

indeed, for which we must ever be thankful. Primitive doctrine has been

explored for us in every direction, and the original principles of the

Gospel and the Church patiently brought to light. But one thing is still

wanting: our champions and teachers have lived in stormy times:

political and other influences have acted upon them variously in their

day, and have since obstructed a careful consolidation of their

judgments. We have a vast inheritance, but no inventory of our

treasures. All is given us in profusion; it remains for us to catalogue,

sort, distribute, select, harmonize, and complete. We have more than we

know how to use; stores of learning, but little that is precise and

serviceable; Catholic truth and individual opinion, first principles and

the guesses of genius, all mingled in the same works, and requiring to

be discriminated. We meet with truths overstated or misdirected, matters

of detail variously taken, facts incompletely proved or applied, and

rules inconsistently urged or discordantly interpreted. Such indeed is

the state of every deep philosophy in its first stages, and therefore of

theological knowledge. What we need at present for our Church's

well-being, is not invention, nor originality, nor sagacity, nor even

learning in our divines, at least in the first place, though all gifts

of God are in a measure needed, and never can be unseasonable when used

religiously, but we need peculiarly a sound judgment, patient thought,

discrimination, a comprehensive mind, an abstinence from all private

fancies and caprices and personal tastes,--in a word, Divine Wisdom."

The subject of the Volume is the doctrine of the _Via Media_, a name

which had already been applied to the Anglican system by writers of

repute. It is an expressive title, but not altogether satisfactory,

because it is at first sight negative. This had been the reason of my

dislike to the word "Protestant;" viz. it did not denote the profession

of any particular religion at all, and was compatible with infidelity. A

_Via Media_ was but a receding from extremes,--therefore it needed to be

drawn out into a definite shape and character: before it could have

claims on our respect, it must first be shown to be one, intelligible,

and consistent. This was the first condition of any reasonable treatise

on the _Via Media_. The second condition, and necessary too, was not in

my power. I could only hope that it would one day be fulfilled. Even if

the _Via Media_ were ever so positive a religious system, it was not as

yet objective and real; it had no original any where of which it was the

representative. It was at present a paper religion. This I confess in my

Introduction; I say, "Protestantism and Popery are real religions ...

but the _Via Media_, viewed as an integral system, has scarcely had

existence except on paper." I grant the objection, though I endeavour to

lessen it:--"It still remains to be tried, whether what is called

Anglo-Catholicism, the religion of Andrewes, Laud, Hammond, Butler, and

Wilson, is capable of being professed, acted on, and maintained on a

large sphere of action, or whether it be a mere modification or

transition-state of either Romanism or popular Protestantism." I trusted

that some day it would prove to be a substantive religion.

Lest I should be misunderstood, let me observe that this hesitation

about the validity of the theory of the _Via Media_ implied no doubt of

the three fundamental points on which it was based, as I have described

them above, dogma, the sacramental system, and anti-Romanism.

Other investigations which had to be followed up were of a still more

tentative character. The basis of the _Via Media_, consisting of the

three elementary points, which I have just mentioned, was clear enough;

but, not only had the house itself to be built upon them, but it had

also to be furnished, and it is not wonderful if, after building it,

both I and others erred in detail in determining what its furniture

should be, what was consistent with the style of building, and what was

in itself desirable. I will explain what I mean.

I had brought out in the "Prophetical Office" in what the Roman and the

Anglican systems differed from each other, but less distinctly in what

they agreed. I had indeed enumerated the Fundamentals, common to both,

in the following passage:--"In both systems the same Creeds are

acknowledged. Besides other points in common, we both hold, that certain

doctrines are necessary to be believed for salvation; we both believe in

the doctrines of the Trinity, Incarnation, and Atonement; in original

sin; in the necessity of regeneration; in the supernatural grace of the

Sacraments; in the Apostolical succession; in the obligation of faith

and obedience, and in the eternity of future punishment,"--pp. 55, 56.

So much I had said, but I had not said enough. This enumeration implied

a great many more points of agreement than were found in those very

Articles which were fundamental. If the two Churches were thus the same

in fundamentals, they were also one and the same in such plain

consequences as were contained in those fundamentals and in such natural

observances as outwardly represented them. It was an Anglican principle

that "the abuse of a thing doth not take away the lawful use of it;" and

an Anglican Canon in 1603 had declared that the English Church had no

purpose to forsake all that was held in the Churches of Italy, France,

and Spain, and reverenced those ceremonies and particular points which

were Apostolic. Excepting then such exceptional matters, as are implied

in this avowal, whether they were many or few, all these Churches were

evidently to be considered as one with the Anglican. The Catholic Church

in all lands had been one from the first for many centuries; then,

various portions had followed their own way to the injury, but not to

the destruction, whether of truth or of charity. These portions or

branches were mainly three:--the Greek, Latin, and Anglican. Each of

these inherited the early undivided Church _in solido_ as its own

possession. Each branch was identical with that early undivided Church,

and in the unity of that Church it had unity with the other branches.

The three branches agreed together in _all but_ their later accidental

errors. Some branches had retained in detail portions of Apostolical

truth and usage, which the others had not; and these portions might be

and should be appropriated again by the others which had let them slip.

Thus, the middle age belonged to the Anglican Church, and much more did

the middle age of England. The Church of the 12th century was the Church

of the 19th. Dr. Howley sat in the seat of St. Thomas the Martyr; Oxford

was a medieval University. Saving our engagements to Prayer Book and

Articles, we might breathe and live and act and speak, as in the

atmosphere and climate of Henry III.'s day, or the Confessor's, or of

Alfred's. And we ought to be indulgent to all that Rome taught now, as

to what Rome taught then, saving our protest. We might boldly welcome,

even what we did not ourselves think right to adopt. And, when we were

obliged on the contrary boldly to denounce, we should do so with pain,

not with exultation. By very reason of our protest, which we had made,

and made _ex animo_, we could agree to differ. What the members of the

Bible Society did on the basis of Scripture, we could do on the basis of

the Church; Trinitarian and Unitarian were further apart than Roman and

Anglican. Thus we had a real wish to co-operate with Rome in all lawful

things, if she would let us, and if the rules of our own Church let us;

and we thought there was no better way towards the restoration of

doctrinal purity and unity. And we thought that Rome was not committed

by her formal decrees to all that she actually taught: and again, if her

disputants had been unfair to us, or her rulers tyrannical, we bore in

mind that on our side too there had been rancour and slander in our

controversial attacks upon her, and violence in our political measures.

As to ourselves being direct instruments in improving her belief or

practice, I used to say, "Look at home; let us first, (or at least let

us the while,) supply our own shortcomings, before we attempt to be

physicians to any one else." This is very much the spirit of Tract 71,

to which I referred just now. I am well aware that there is a paragraph

inconsistent with it in the Prospectus to the Library of the Fathers;

but I do not consider myself responsible for it. Indeed, I have no

intention whatever of implying that Dr. Pusey concurred in the

ecclesiastical theory, which I have been now drawing out; nor that I

took it up myself except by degrees in the course of ten years. It was

necessarily the growth of time. In fact, hardly any two persons, who

took part in the Movement, agreed in their view of the limit to which

our general principles might religiously be carried.

And now I have said enough on what I consider to have been the general

objects of the various works, which I wrote, edited, or prompted in the

years which I am reviewing. I wanted to bring out in a substantive form

a living Church of England, in a position proper to herself, and founded

on distinct principles; as far as paper could do it, as far as earnestly

preaching it and influencing others towards it, could tend to make it a

fact;--a living Church, made of flesh and blood, with voice, complexion,

and motion and action, and a will of its own. I believe I had no private

motive, and no personal aim. Nor did I ask for more than "a fair stage

and no favour," nor expect the work would be accomplished in my days;

but I thought that enough would be secured to continue it in the future,

under, perhaps, more hopeful circumstances and prospects than the

present.

I will mention in illustration some of the principal works, doctrinal

and historical, which originated in the object which I have stated.

I wrote my Essay on Justification in 1837; it was aimed at the Lutheran

dictum that justification by faith only was the cardinal doctrine of

Christianity. I considered that this doctrine was either a paradox or a

truism,--a paradox in Luther's mouth, a truism in Melanchthon's. I

thought that the Anglican Church followed Melanchthon, and that in

consequence between Rome and Anglicanism, between high Church and low

Church, there was no real intellectual difference on the point. I wished

to fill up a ditch, the work of man. In this Volume again, I express my

desire to build up a system of theology out of the Anglican divines, and

imply that my dissertation was a tentative Inquiry. I speak in the

Preface of "offering suggestions towards a work, which must be uppermost

in the mind of every true son of the English Church at this day,--the

consolidation of a theological system, which, built upon those

formularies, to which all clergymen are bound, may tend to inform,

persuade, and absorb into itself religious minds, which hitherto have

fancied, that, on the peculiar Protestant questions, they were seriously

opposed to each other."--P. vii.

In my University Sermons there is a series of discussions upon the

subject of Faith and Reason; these again were the tentative commencement

of a grave and necessary work, viz. an inquiry into the ultimate basis

of religious faith, prior to the distinction into Creeds.

In like manner in a Pamphlet, which I published in the summer of 1838,

is an attempt at placing the doctrine of the Real Presence on an

intellectual basis. The fundamental idea is consonant to that to which I

had been so long attached: it is the denial of the existence of space

except as a subjective idea of our minds.

The Church of the Fathers is one of the earliest productions of the

Movement, and appeared in numbers in the British Magazine, being written

with the aim of introducing the religious sentiments, views, and customs

of the first ages into the modern Church of England.

The Translation of Fleury's Church History was commenced under these

circumstances:--I was fond of Fleury for a reason which I express in the

Advertisement; because it presented a sort of photograph of

ecclesiastical history without any comment upon it. In the event, that

simple representation of the early centuries had a good deal to do with

unsettling me in my Anglicanism; but how little I could anticipate this,

will be seen in the fact that the publication of Fleury was a favourite

scheme with Mr. Rose. He proposed it to me twice, between the years 1834

and 1837; and I mention it as one out of many particulars curiously

illustrating how truly my change of opinion arose, not from foreign

influences, but from the working of my own mind, and the accidents

around me. The date, from which the portion actually translated began,

was determined by the Publisher on reasons with which we were not

concerned.

Another historical work, but drawn from original sources, was given to

the world by my old friend Mr. Bowden, being a Life of Pope Gregory VII.

I need scarcely recall to those who have read it, the power and the

liveliness of the narrative. This composition was the author's

relaxation, on evenings and in his summer vacations, from his ordinary

engagements in London. It had been suggested to him originally by me, at

the instance of Hurrell Froude.

The Series of the Lives of the English Saints was projected at a later

period, under circumstances which I shall have in the sequel to

describe. Those beautiful compositions have nothing in them, as far as I

recollect, simply inconsistent with the general objects which I have

been assigning to my labours in these years, though the immediate

occasion which led to them, and the tone in which they were written, had

little that was congenial with Anglicanism.

At a comparatively early date I drew up the Tract on the Roman Breviary.

It frightened my own friends on its first appearance; and several years

afterwards, when younger men began to translate for publication the four

volumes _in extenso_, they were dissuaded from doing so by advice to

which from a sense of duty they listened. It was an apparent accident,

which introduced me to the knowledge of that most wonderful and most

attractive monument of the devotion of saints. On Hurrell Froude's

death, in 1836, I was asked to select one of his books as a keepsake. I

selected Butler's Analogy; finding that it had been already chosen, I

looked with some perplexity along the shelves as they stood before me,

when an intimate friend at my elbow said, "Take that." It was the

Breviary which Hurrell had had with him at Barbadoes. Accordingly I took

it, studied it, wrote my Tract from it, and have it on my table in

constant use till this day.

That dear and familiar companion, who thus put the Breviary into my

hands, is still in the Anglican Church. So, too, is that early venerated

long-loved friend, together with whom I edited a work which, more

perhaps than any other, caused disturbance and annoyance in the Anglican

world,--Froude's Remains; yet, however judgments might run as to the

prudence of publishing it, I never heard any one impute to Mr. Keble the

very shadow of dishonesty or treachery towards his Church in so acting.

The annotated Translation of the Treatises of St. Athanasius was of

course in no sense of a tentative character; it belongs to another order

of thought. This historico-dogmatic work employed me for years. I had

made preparations for following it up with a doctrinal history of the

heresies which succeeded to the Arian.

I should make mention also of the British Critic. I was Editor of it for

three years, from July 1838 to July 1841. My writers belonged to various

schools, some to none at all. The subjects are various,--classical,

academical, political, critical, and artistic, as well as theological,

and upon the Movement none are to be found which do not keep quite clear

of advocating the cause of Rome.

* * * * *

So I went on for years up to 1841. It was, in a human point of view, the

happiest time of my life. I was truly at home. I had in one of my

volumes appropriated to myself the words of Bramhall, "Bees, by the

instinct of nature, do love their hives, and birds their nests." I did

not suppose that such sunshine would last, though I knew not what would

be its termination. It was the time of plenty, and, during its seven

years, I tried to lay up as much as I could for the dearth which was to

follow it. We prospered and spread. I have spoken of the doings of these

years, since I was a Catholic, in a passage, part of which I will here

quote:

"From beginnings so small," I said, "from elements of thought so

fortuitous, with prospects so unpromising, the Anglo-Catholic party

suddenly became a power in the National Church, and an object of alarm

to her rulers and friends. Its originators would have found it difficult

to say what they aimed at of a practical kind: rather, they put forth

views and principles for their own sake, because they were true, as if

they were obliged to say them; and, as they might be themselves

surprised at their earnestness in uttering them, they had as great cause

to be surprised at the success which attended their propagation. And, in

fact, they could only say that those doctrines were in the air; that to

assert was to prove, and that to explain was to persuade; and that the

Movement in which they were taking part was the birth of a crisis rather

than of a place. In a very few years a school of opinion was formed,

fixed in its principles, indefinite and progressive in their range; and

it extended itself into every part of the country. If we inquire what

the world thought of it, we have still more to raise our wonder; for,

not to mention the excitement it caused in England, the Movement and its

party-names were known to the police of Italy and to the back-woodmen of

America. And so it proceeded, getting stronger and stronger every year,

till it came into collision with the Nation, and that Church of the

Nation, which it began by professing especially to serve."

The greater its success, the nearer was that collision at hand. The

first threatenings of what was coming were heard in 1838. At that time,

my Bishop in a Charge made some light animadversions, but they _were_

animadversions, on the Tracts for the Times. At once I offered to stop

them. What took place on the occasion I prefer to state in the words, in

which I related it in a Pamphlet addressed to him in a later year, when

the blow actually came down upon me.

"In your Lordship's Charge for 1838," I said, "an allusion was made to

the Tracts for the Times. Some opponents of the Tracts said that you

treated them with undue indulgence.... I wrote to the Archdeacon on the

subject, submitting the Tracts entirely to your Lordship's disposal.

What I thought about your Charge will appear from the words I then used

to him. I said, 'A Bishop's lightest word _ex cathedrâ_ is heavy. His

judgment on a book cannot be light. It is a rare occurrence.' And I

offered to withdraw any of the Tracts over which I had control, if I

were informed which were those to which your Lordship had objections. I

afterwards wrote to your Lordship to this effect, that 'I trusted I

might say sincerely, that I should feel a more lively pleasure in

knowing that I was submitting myself to your Lordship's expressed

judgment in a matter of that kind, than I could have even in the widest

circulation of the volumes in question.' Your Lordship did not think it

necessary to proceed to such a measure, but I felt, and always have

felt, that, if ever you determined on it, I was bound to obey."

That day at length came, and I conclude this portion of my narrative,

with relating the circumstances of it.

* * * * *

From the time that I had entered upon the duties of Public Tutor at my

College, when my doctrinal views were very different from what they were

in 1841, I had meditated a comment upon the Articles. Then, when the

Movement was in its swing, friends had said to me, "What will you make

of the Articles?" but I did not share the apprehension which their

question implied. Whether, as time went on, I should have been forced,

by the necessities of the original theory of the Movement, to put on

paper the speculations which I had about them, I am not able to

conjecture. The actual cause of my doing so, in the beginning of 1841,

was the restlessness, actual and prospective, of those who neither liked

the _Via Media_, nor my strong judgment against Rome. I had been

enjoined, I think by my Bishop, to keep these men straight, and I wished

so to do: but their tangible difficulty was subscription to the

Articles; and thus the question of the Articles came before me. It was

thrown in our teeth; "How can you manage to sign the Articles? they are

directly against Rome." "Against Rome?" I made answer, "What do you mean

by 'Rome?'" and then I proceeded to make distinctions, of which I shall

now give an account.

By "Roman doctrine" might be meant one of three things: 1, the _Catholic

teaching_ of the early centuries; or 2, the _formal dogmas of Rome_ as

contained in the later Councils, especially the Council of Trent, and as

condensed in the Creed of Pope Pius IV.; 3, the _actual popular beliefs

and usages_ sanctioned by Rome in the countries in communion with it,

over and above the dogmas; and these I called "dominant errors." Now

Protestants commonly thought that in all three senses, "Roman doctrine"

was condemned in the Articles: I thought that the _Catholic teaching_

was not condemned; that the _dominant errors_ were; and as to the

_formal dogmas_, that some were, some were not, and that the line had to

be drawn between them. Thus, 1. The use of Prayers for the dead was a

Catholic doctrine,--not condemned in the Articles; 2. The prison of

Purgatory was a Roman dogma,--which was condemned in them; but the

infallibility of Ecumenical Councils was a Roman dogma,--not condemned;

and 3. The fire of Purgatory was an authorized and popular error, not a

dogma,--which was condemned.

Further, I considered that the difficulties, felt by the persons whom I

have mentioned, mainly lay in their mistaking, 1, Catholic teaching,

which was not condemned in the Articles, for Roman dogma which was

condemned; and 2, Roman dogma, which was not condemned in the Articles,

for dominant error which was. If they went further than this, I had

nothing more to say to them.

A further motive which I had for my attempt, was the desire to ascertain

the ultimate points of contrariety between the Roman and Anglican

creeds, and to make them as few as possible. I thought that each creed

was obscured and misrepresented by a dominant circumambient "Popery" and

"Protestantism."

The main thesis then of my Essay was this:--the Articles do not oppose

Catholic teaching; they but partially oppose Roman dogma; they for the

most part oppose the dominant errors of Rome. And the problem was, as I

have said, to draw the line as to what they allowed and what they

condemned.

Such being the object which I had in view, what were my prospects of

widening and of defining their meaning? The prospect was encouraging;

there was no doubt at all of the elasticity of the Articles: to take a

palmary instance, the seventeenth was assumed by one party to be

Lutheran, by another Calvinistic, though the two interpretations were

contradictory of each other; why then should not other Articles be drawn

up with a vagueness of an equally intense character? I wanted to

ascertain what was the limit of that elasticity in the direction of

Roman dogma. But next, I had a way of inquiry of my own, which I state

without defending. I instanced it afterwards in my Essay on Doctrinal

Development. That work, I believe, I have not read since I published it,

and I do not doubt at all I have made many mistakes in it;--partly, from

my ignorance of the details of doctrine, as the Church of Rome holds

them, but partly from my impatience to clear as large a range for the

_principle_ of doctrinal Development (waiving the question of historical

_fact_) as was consistent with the strict Apostolicity and identity of

the Catholic Creed. In like manner, as regards the 39 Articles, my

method of inquiry was to leap _in medias res_. I wished to institute an

inquiry how far, in critical fairness, the text _could_ be opened; I was

aiming far more at ascertaining what a man who subscribed it might hold

than what he must, so that my conclusions were negative rather than

positive. It was but a first essay. And I made it with the full

recognition and consciousness, which I had already expressed in my

Prophetical Office, as regards the _Via Media_, that I was making only

"a first approximation to the required solution;"--"a series of

illustrations supplying hints for the removal" of a difficulty, and with

full acknowledgment "that in minor points, whether in question of fact

or of judgment, there was room for difference or error of opinion," and

that I "should not be ashamed to own a mistake, if it were proved

against me, nor reluctant to bear the just blame of it."--Proph. Off. p.

31.

I will add, I was embarrassed in consequence of my wish to go as far as

was possible in interpreting the Articles in the direction of Roman

dogma, without disclosing what I was doing to the parties whose doubts I

was meeting; who, if they understood at once the full extent of the

licence which the Articles admitted, might be thereby encouraged to

proceed still further than at present they found in themselves any call

to go.

1. But in the way of such an attempt comes the prompt objection that the

Articles were actually drawn up against "Popery," and therefore it was

transcendently absurd and dishonest to suppose that Popery, in any

shape,--patristic belief, Tridentine dogma, or popular corruption

authoritatively sanctioned,--would be able to take refuge under their

text. This premiss I denied. Not any religious doctrine at all, but a

political principle, was the primary English idea of "Popery" at the

date of the Reformation. And what was that political principle, and how

could it best be suppressed in England? What was the great question in

the days of Henry and Elizabeth? The _Supremacy_;--now, was I saying one

single word in favour of the Supremacy of the Holy See, in favour of the

foreign jurisdiction? No, I did not believe in it myself. Did Henry

VIII. religiously hold Justification by faith only? did he disbelieve

Purgatory? Was Elizabeth zealous for the marriage of the Clergy? or had

she a conscience against the Mass? The Supremacy of the Pope was the

essence of the "Popery" to which, at the time of the composition of the

Articles, the Supreme Head or Governor of the English Church was so

violently hostile.

2. But again I said this:--let "Popery" mean what it would in the mouths

of the compilers of the Articles, let it even, for argument's sake,

include the doctrines of that Tridentine Council, which was not yet over

when the Articles were drawn up, and against which they could not be

simply directed, yet, consider, what was the object of the Government in

their imposition? merely to get rid of "Popery?" No; it had the further

object of gaining the "Papists." What then was the best way to induce

reluctant or wavering minds, and these, I supposed, were the majority,

to give in their adhesion to the new symbol? how had the Arians drawn up

their Creeds? was it not on the principle of using vague ambiguous

language, which to the subscribers would seem to bear a Catholic sense,

but which, when worked out on the long run, would prove to be heterodox?

Accordingly, there was great antecedent probability, that, fierce as the

Articles might look at first sight, their bark would prove worse than

their bite. I say antecedent probability, for to what extent that

surmise might be true, could only be ascertained by investigation.

3. But a consideration came up at once, which threw light on this

surmise:--what if it should turn out that the very men who drew up the

Articles, in the very act of doing so, had avowed, or rather in one of

those very Articles themselves had imposed on subscribers, a number of

those very "Papistical" doctrines, which they were now thought to deny,

as part and parcel of that very Protestantism, which they were now

thought to consider divine? and this was the fact, and I showed it in my

Essay.

Let the reader observe:--the 35th Article says: "The second Book of

Homilies doth contain _a godly and wholesome doctrine, and necessary

for_ these times, as doth the former Book of Homilies." Here the

_doctrine_ of the Homilies is recognized as godly and wholesome, and

concurrence in that recognition is imposed on all subscribers of the

Articles. Let us then turn to the Homilies, and see what this godly

doctrine is: I quoted from them to the following effect:

1. They declare that the so-called "apocryphal" book of Tobit is the

teaching of the Holy Ghost, and is Scripture.

2. That the so-called "apocryphal" book of Wisdom is Scripture, and the

infallible and undeceivable word of God.

3. That the Primitive Church, next to the Apostles' time, and, as they

imply, for almost 700 years, is no doubt most pure.

4. That the Primitive Church is specially to be followed.

5. That the Four first General Councils belong to the Primitive Church.

6. That there are Six Councils which are allowed and received by all

men.

7. Again, they speak of a certain truth, and say that it is declared by

God's word, the sentences of the ancient doctors, and judgment of the

Primitive Church.

8. Of the learned and holy Bishops and doctors of the Church of the

first eight centuries being of great authority and credit with the

people.

9. Of the declaration of Christ and His Apostles and all the rest of the

Holy Fathers.

10. Of the authority both of Scripture and also of Augustine.

11. Of Augustine, Chrysostom, Ambrose, Jerome, and about thirty other

Fathers, to some of whom they give the title of "Saint," to others of

"ancient Catholic Fathers and doctors, &c."

12. They declare that, not only the holy Apostles and disciples of

Christ, but the godly Fathers also, before and since Christ, were endued

without doubt with the Holy Ghost.

13. That the ancient Catholic Fathers say that the "Lord's Supper" is

the salve of immortality, the sovereign preservative against death, the

food of immortality, the healthful grace.

14. That the Lord's Blessed Body and Blood are received under the form

of bread and wine.

15. That the meat in the Sacrament is an invisible meat and a ghostly

substance.

16. That the holy Body and Blood of thy God ought to be touched with the

mind.

17. That Ordination is a Sacrament.

18. That Matrimony is a Sacrament.

19. That there are other Sacraments besides "Baptism and the Lord's

Supper," though not "such as" they.

20. That the souls of the Saints are reigning in joy and in heaven with

God.

21. That alms-deeds purge the soul from the infection and filthy spots

of sin, and are a precious medicine, an inestimable jewel.

22. That mercifulness wipes out and washes away sins, as salves and

remedies to heal sores and grievous diseases.

23. That the duty of fasting is a truth more manifest than it should

need to be proved.

24. That fasting, used with prayer, is of great efficacy and weigheth

much with God; so the Angel Raphael told Tobias.

25. That the puissant and mighty Emperor Theodosius was, in the

Primitive Church which was most holy and godly, excommunicated by St.

Ambrose.

26. That Constantine, Bishop of Rome, did condemn Philippicus, then

Emperor, not without a cause indeed, but very justly.

Putting altogether aside the question how far these separate theses came

under the matter to which subscription was to be made, it was quite

plain, that in the minds of the men who wrote the Homilies, and who thus

incorporated them into the Anglican system of doctrine, there was no

such nice discrimination between the Catholic and the Protestant faith,

no such clear recognition of formal Protestant principles and tenets, no

such accurate definition of "Roman doctrine," as is received at the

present day:--hence great probability accrued to my presentiment, that

the Articles were tolerant, not only of what I called "Catholic

teaching," but of much that was "Roman."

4. And here was another reason against the notion that the Articles

directly attacked the Roman dogmas as declared at Trent and as

promulgated by Pius the Fourth:--the Council of Trent was not over, nor

its Canons promulgated at the date when the Articles were drawn up[5],

so that those Articles must be aiming at something else? What was that

something else? The Homilies tell us: the Homilies are the best comment

upon the Articles. Let us turn to the Homilies, and we shall find from

first to last that, not only is not the Catholic teaching of the first

centuries, but neither again are the dogmas of Rome, the objects of the

protest of the compilers of the Articles, but the dominant errors, the

popular corruptions, authorized or suffered by the high name of Rome.

The eloquent declamation of the Homilies finds its matter almost

exclusively in the dominant errors. As to Catholic teaching, nay as to

Roman dogma, of such theology those Homilies, as I have shown, contained

no small portion themselves.

[5] The Pope's Confirmation of the Council, by which its Canons became

_de fide_, and his Bull _super confirmatione_ by which they were

promulgated to the world, are dated January 26, 1564. The Articles are

dated 1562.

5. So much for the writers of the Articles and Homilies;--they were

witnesses, not authorities, and I used them as such; but in the next

place, who were the actual authorities imposing them? I reasonably

considered the authority _imponens_ to be the Convocation of 1571; but

here again, it would be found that the very Convocation, which received

and confirmed the 39 Articles, also enjoined by Canon that "preachers

should be _careful_, that they should _never_ teach aught in a sermon,

to be religiously held and believed by the people, except that which is

agreeable to the doctrine of the Old and New Testament, and _which the

Catholic Fathers and ancient Bishops have collected_ from that very

doctrine." Here, let it be observed, an appeal is made by the

Convocation _imponens_ to the very same ancient authorities, as had been

mentioned with such profound veneration by the writers of the Homilies

and the Articles, and thus, if the Homilies contained views of doctrine

which now would be called Roman, there seemed to me to be an extreme

probability that the Convocation of 1571 also countenanced and received,

or at least did not reject, those doctrines.

6. And further, when at length I came actually to look into the text of

the Articles, I saw in many cases a patent justification of all that I

had surmised as to their vagueness and indecisiveness, and that, not

only on questions which lay between Lutherans, Calvinists, and

Zuinglians, but on Catholic questions also; and I have noticed them in

my Tract. In the conclusion of my Tract I observe: The Articles are

"evidently framed on the principle of leaving open large questions on

which the controversy hinges. They state broadly extreme truths, and are

silent about their adjustment. For instance, they say that all necessary

faith must be proved from Scripture; but do not say _who_ is to prove

it. They say, that the Church has authority in controversies; they do

not say _what_ authority. They say that it may enforce nothing beyond

Scripture, but do not say _where_ the remedy lies when it does. They say

that works _before_ grace _and_ justification are worthless and worse,

and that works _after_ grace _and_ justification are acceptable, but

they do not speak at all of works _with_ God's aid _before_

justification. They say that men are lawfully called and sent to

minister and preach, who are chosen and called by men who have public

authority _given_ them in the Congregation; but they do not add _by

whom_ the authority is to be given. They say that Councils called by

_princes_ may err; they do not determine whether Councils called in the

name of Christ may err."

Such were the considerations which weighed with me in my inquiry how far

the Articles were tolerant of a Catholic, or even a Roman

interpretation; and such was the defence which I made in my Tract for

having attempted it. From what I have already said, it will appear that

I have no need or intention at this day to maintain every particular

interpretation which I suggested in the course of my Tract, nor indeed

had I then. Whether it was prudent or not, whether it was sensible or

not, any how I attempted only a first essay of a necessary work, an

essay which, as I was quite prepared to find, would require revision and

modification by means of the lights which I should gain from the

criticism of others. I should have gladly withdrawn any statement, which

could be proved to me to be erroneous; I considered my work to be faulty

and open to objection in the same sense in which I now consider my

Anglican interpretations of Scripture to be erroneous; but in no other

sense. I am surprised that men do not apply to the interpreters of

Scripture generally the hard names which they apply to the author of

Tract 90. He held a large system of theology, and applied it to the

Articles: Episcopalians, or Lutherans, or Presbyterians, or Unitarians,

hold a large system of theology and apply it to Scripture. Every

theology has its difficulties; Protestants hold justification by faith

only, though there is no text in St. Paul which enunciates it, and

though St. James expressly denies it; do we therefore call Protestants

dishonest? they deny that the Church has a divine mission, though St.

Paul says that it is "the Pillar and ground of Truth;" they keep the

Sabbath, though St. Paul says, "Let no man judge you in meat or drink or

in respect of ... the sabbath days." Every creed has texts in its

favour, and again texts which run counter to it: and this is generally

confessed. And this is what I felt keenly:--how had I done worse in

Tract 90 than Anglicans, Wesleyans, and Calvinists did daily in their

Sermons and their publications? how had I done worse, than the

Evangelical party in their _ex animo_ reception of the Services for

Baptism and Visitation of the Sick[6]? Why was I to be dishonest and

they immaculate? There was an occasion on which our Lord gave an answer,

which seemed to be appropriate to my own case, when the tumult broke out

against my Tract:--"He that is without sin among you, let him first cast

a stone at him." I could have fancied that a sense of their own

difficulties of interpretation would have persuaded the great party I

have mentioned to some prudence, or at least moderation, in opposing a

teacher of an opposite school. But I suppose their alarm and their anger

overcame their sense of justice.

[6] For instance, let candid men consider the form of Absolution

contained in that Prayer Book, of which all clergymen, Evangelical and

Liberal as well as high Church, and (I think) all persons in University

office declare that "it containeth _nothing contrary to the Word of

God_."

I challenge, in the sight of all England, Evangelical clergymen

generally, to put on paper an interpretation of this form of words,

consistent with their sentiments, which shall be less forced than the

most objectionable of the interpretations which Tract 90 puts upon any

passage in the Articles.

"Our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath left _power_ to His Church to absolve

all sinners who truly repent and believe in Him, of His great mercy

forgive thee thine offences; and by _His authority committed to me, I

absolve thee from all thy sins_, in the Name of the Father, and of the

Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

I subjoin the Roman form, as used in England and elsewhere: "Dominus

noster Jesus Christus te absolvat; et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo,

ab omni vinculo excommunicationis et interdicti, in quantum possum et tu

indiges. Deinde ego te absolvo à peccatis tuis, in nomine Patris et

Filii et Spiritûs Sancti. Amen."

* * * * *

In the sudden storm of indignation with which the Tract was received

throughout the country on its appearance, I recognize much of real

religious feeling, much of honest and true principle, much of

straightforward ignorant common sense. In Oxford there was genuine

feeling too; but there had been a smouldering, stern, energetic

animosity, not at all unnatural, partly rational, against its author. A

false step had been made; now was the time for action. I am told that,

even before the publication of the Tract, rumours of its contents had

got into the hostile camp in an exaggerated form; and not a moment was

lost in proceeding to action, when I was actually fallen into the hands

of the Philistines. I was quite unprepared for the outbreak, and was

startled at its violence. I do not think I had any fear. Nay, I will

add, I am not sure that it was not in one point of view a relief to me.

I saw indeed clearly that my place in the Movement was lost; public

confidence was at an end; my occupation was gone. It was simply an

impossibility that I could say any thing henceforth to good effect, when

I had been posted up by the marshal on the buttery-hatch of every

College of my University, after the manner of discommoned pastry-cooks,

and when in every part of the country and every class of society,

through every organ and opportunity of opinion, in newspapers, in

periodicals, at meetings, in pulpits, at dinner-tables, in coffee-rooms,

in railway carriages, I was denounced as a traitor who had laid his

train and was detected in the very act of firing it against the

time-honoured Establishment. There were indeed men, besides my own

immediate friends, men of name and position, who gallantly took my part,

as Dr. Hook, Mr. Palmer, and Mr. Perceval; it must have been a grievous

trial for themselves; yet what after all could they do for me?

Confidence in me was lost;--but I had already lost full confidence in

myself. Thoughts had passed over me a year and a half before in respect

to the Anglican claims, which for the time had profoundly troubled me.

They had gone: I had not less confidence in the power and the prospects

of the Apostolical movement than before; not less confidence than before

in the grievousness of what I called the "dominant errors" of Rome: but

how was I any more to have absolute confidence in myself? how was I to

have confidence in my present confidence? how was I to be sure that I

should always think as I thought now? I felt that by this event a kind

Providence had saved me from an impossible position in the future.

* * * * *

First, if I remember right, they wished me to withdraw the Tract. This I

refused to do: I would not do so for the sake of those who were

unsettled or in danger of unsettlement. I would not do so for my own

sake; for how could I acquiesce in a mere Protestant interpretation of

the Articles? how could I range myself among the professors of a

theology, of which it put my teeth on edge even to hear the sound?

Next they said, "Keep silence; do not defend the Tract;" I answered,

"Yes, if you will not condemn it,--if you will allow it to continue on

sale." They pressed on me whenever I gave way; they fell back when they

saw me obstinate. Their line of action was to get out of me as much as

they could; but upon the point of their tolerating the Tract I _was_

obstinate. So they let me continue it on sale; and they said they would

not condemn it. But they said that this was on condition that I did not

defend it, that I stopped the series, and that I myself published my own

condemnation in a letter to the Bishop of Oxford. I impute nothing

whatever to him, he was ever most kind to me. Also, they said they could

not answer for what some individual Bishops might perhaps say about the

Tract in their own charges. I agreed to their conditions. My one point

was to save the Tract.

Not a line in writing was given me, as a pledge of the observance of the

main article on their side of the engagement. Parts of letters from them

were read to me, without being put into my hands. It was an

"understanding." A clever man had warned me against "understandings"

some thirteen years before: I have hated them ever since.

In the last words of my letter to the Bishop of Oxford I thus resigned

my place in the Movement:--

"I have nothing to be sorry for," I say to him, "except having made your

Lordship anxious, and others whom I am bound to revere. I have nothing

to be sorry for, but everything to rejoice in and be thankful for. I

have never taken pleasure in seeming to be able to move a party, and

whatever influence I have had, has been found, not sought after. I have

acted because others did not act, and have sacrificed a quiet which I

prized. May God be with me in time to come, as He has been hitherto! and

He will be, if I can but keep my hand clean and my heart pure. I think I

can bear, or at least will try to bear, any personal humiliation, so

that I am preserved from betraying sacred interests, which the Lord of

grace and power has given into my charge[7]."

[7] To the Pamphlets published in my behalf at this time I should add

"One Tract more," an able and generous defence of Tractarianism and No.

90, by the present Lord Houghton.

CHAPTER III.

HISTORY OF MY RELIGIOUS OPINIONS FROM 1839 TO 1841.

And now that I am about to trace, as far as I can, the course of that

great revolution of mind, which led me to leave my own home, to which I

was bound by so many strong and tender ties, I feel overcome with the

difficulty of satisfying myself in my account of it, and have recoiled

from the attempt, till the near approach of the day, on which these

lines must be given to the world, forces me to set about the task. For

who can know himself, and the multitude of subtle influences which act

upon him? And who can recollect, at the distance of twenty-five years,

all that he once knew about his thoughts and his deeds, and that, during

a portion of his life, when, even at the time, his observation, whether

of himself or of the external world, was less than before or after, by

very reason of the perplexity and dismay which weighed upon him,--when,

in spite of the light given to him according to his need amid his

darkness, yet a darkness it emphatically was? And who can suddenly gird

himself to a new and anxious undertaking, which he might be able indeed

to perform well, were full and calm leisure allowed him to look through

every thing that he had written, whether in published works or private

letters? yet again, granting that calm contemplation of the past, in

itself so desirable, who could afford to be leisurely and deliberate,

while he practises on himself a cruel operation, the ripping up of old

griefs, and the venturing again upon the "infandum dolorem" of years in

which the stars of this lower heaven were one by one going out? I could

not in cool blood, nor except upon the imperious call of duty, attempt

what I have set myself to do. It is both to head and heart an extreme

trial, thus to analyze what has so long gone by, and to bring out the

results of that examination. I have done various bold things in my life:

this is the boldest: and, were I not sure I should after all succeed in

my object, it would be madness to set about it.

* * * * *

In the spring of 1839 my position in the Anglican Church was at its

height. I had supreme confidence in my controversial _status_, and I had

a great and still growing success, in recommending it to others. I had

in the foregoing autumn been somewhat sore at the Bishop's Charge, but I

have a letter which shows that all annoyance had passed from my mind. In

January, if I recollect aright, in order to meet the popular clamour

against myself and others, and to satisfy the Bishop, I had collected

into one all the strong things which they, and especially I, had said

against the Church of Rome, in order to their insertion among the

advertisements appended to our publications. Conscious as I was that my

opinions in religion were not gained, as the world said, from Roman

sources, but were, on the contrary, the birth of my own mind and of the

circumstances in which I had been placed, I had a scorn of the

imputations which were heaped upon me. It was true that I held a large

bold system of religion, very unlike the Protestantism of the day, but

it was the concentration and adjustment of the statements of great

Anglican authorities, and I had as much right to hold it, as the

Evangelical, and more right than the Liberal party could show, for

asserting their own respective doctrines. As I declared on occasion of

Tract 90, I claimed, in behalf of who would in the Anglican Church, the

right of holding with Bramhall a comprecation with the Saints, and the

Mass all but Transubstantiation with Andrewes, or with Hooker that

Transubstantiation itself is not a point for Churches to part communion

upon, or with Hammond that a General Council, truly such, never did,

never shall err in a matter of faith, or with Bull that man had in

paradise and lost on the fall, a supernatural habit of grace, or with

Thorndike that penance is a propitiation for post-baptismal sin, or with

Pearson that the all-powerful name of Jesus is no otherwise given than

in the Catholic Church. "Two can play at that," was often in my mouth,

when men of Protestant sentiments appealed to the Articles, Homilies, or

Reformers; in the sense that, if they had a right to speak loud, I had

the liberty to speak out as well as they, and had the means, by the same

or parallel appeals, of giving them tit for tat. I thought that the

Anglican Church was tyrannized over by a mere party, and I aimed at

bringing into effect the promise contained in the motto to the Lyra,

"They shall know the difference now." I only asked to be allowed to show

them the difference.

What will best describe my state of mind at the early part of 1839, is

an Article in the British Critic for that April. I have looked over it

now, for the first time since it was published; and have been struck by

it for this reason:--it contains the last words which I ever spoke as an

Anglican to Anglicans. It may now be read as my parting address and

valediction, made to my friends. I little knew it at the time. It

reviews the actual state of things, and it ends by looking towards the

future. It is not altogether mine; for my memory goes to this,--that I

had asked a friend to do the work; that then, the thought came on me,

that I would do it myself: and that he was good enough to put into my

hands what he had with great appositeness written, and that I embodied

it in my Article. Every one, I think, will recognize the greater part of

it as mine. It was published two years before the affair of Tract 90,

and was entitled "The State of Religious Parties."

In this Article, I begin by bringing together testimonies from our

enemies to the remarkable success of our exertions. One writer said:

"Opinions and views of a theology of a very marked and peculiar kind

have been extensively adopted and strenuously upheld, and are daily

gaining ground among a considerable and influential portion of the

members, as well as ministers of the Established Church." Another: The

Movement has manifested itself "with the most rapid growth of the

hot-bed of these evil days." Another: "The _Via Media_ is crowded with

young enthusiasts, who never presume to argue, except against the

propriety of arguing at all." Another: "Were I to give you a full list

of the works, which they have produced within the short space of five

years, I should surprise you. You would see what a task it would be to

make yourself complete master of their system, even in its present

probably immature state. The writers have adopted the motto, 'In

quietness and confidence shall be your strength.' With regard to

confidence, they have justified their adopting it; but as to quietness,

it is not very quiet to pour forth such a succession of controversial

publications." Another: "The spread of these doctrines is in fact now

having the effect of rendering all other distinctions obsolete, and of

severing the religious community into two portions, fundamentally and

vehemently opposed one to the other. Soon there will be no middle ground

left; and every man, and especially every clergyman, will be compelled

to make his choice between the two." Another: "The time has gone by,

when those unfortunate and deeply regretted publications can be passed

over without notice, and the hope that their influence would fail is now

dead." Another: "These doctrines had already made fearful progress. One

of the largest churches in Brighton is crowded to hear them; so is the

church at Leeds. There are few towns of note, to which they have not

extended. They are preached in small towns in Scotland. They obtain in

Elginshire, 600 miles north of London. I found them myself in the heart

of the highlands of Scotland. They are advocated in the newspaper and

periodical press. They have even insinuated themselves into the House of

Commons." And, lastly, a bishop in a charge:--It "is daily assuming a

more serious and alarming aspect. Under the specious pretence of

deference to Antiquity and respect for primitive models, the foundations

of the Protestant Church are undermined by men, who dwell within her

walls, and those who sit in the Reformers' seat are traducing the

Reformation."

After thus stating the phenomenon of the time, as it presented itself to

those who did not sympathize in it, the Article proceeds to account for

it; and this it does by considering it as a re-action from the dry and

superficial character of the religious teaching and the literature of

the last generation, or century, and as a result of the need which was

felt both by the hearts and the intellects of the nation for a deeper

philosophy, and as the evidence and as the partial fulfilment of that

need, to which even the chief authors of the then generation had borne

witness. First, I mentioned the literary influence of Walter Scott, who

turned men's minds in the direction of the middle ages. "The general

need," I said, "of something deeper and more attractive, than what had

offered itself elsewhere, may be considered to have led to his

popularity; and by means of his popularity he re-acted on his readers,

stimulating their mental thirst, feeding their hopes, setting before

them visions, which, when once seen, are not easily forgotten, and

silently indoctrinating them with nobler ideas, which might afterwards

be appealed to as first principles."

Then I spoke of Coleridge, thus: "While history in prose and verse was

thus made the instrument of Church feelings and opinions, a

philosophical basis for the same was laid in England by a very original

thinker, who, while he indulged a liberty of speculation, which no

Christian can tolerate, and advocated conclusions which were often

heathen rather than Christian, yet after all installed a higher

philosophy into inquiring minds, than they had hitherto been accustomed

to accept. In this way he made trial of his age, and succeeded in

interesting its genius in the cause of Catholic truth."

Then come Southey and Wordsworth, "two living poets, one of whom in the

department of fantastic fiction, the other in that of philosophical

meditation, have addressed themselves to the same high principles and

feelings, and carried forward their readers in the same direction."

Then comes the prediction of this re-action hazarded by "a sagacious

observer withdrawn from the world, and surveying its movements from a

distance," Mr. Alexander Knox. He had said twenty years before the date

of my Article: "No Church on earth has more intrinsic excellence than

the English Church, yet no Church probably has less practical

influence.... The rich provision, made by the grace and providence of

God, for habits of a noble kind, is evidence that men shall arise,

fitted both by nature and ability, to discover for themselves, and to

display to others, whatever yet remains undiscovered, whether in the

words or works of God." Also I referred to "a much venerated clergyman

of the last generation," who said shortly before his death, "Depend on

it, the day will come, when those great doctrines, now buried, will be

brought out to the light of day, and then the effect will be fearful." I

remarked upon this, that they who "now blame the impetuosity of the

current, should rather turn their animadversions upon those who have

dammed up a majestic river, till it has become a flood."

These being the circumstances under which the Movement began and

progressed, it was absurd to refer it to the act of two or three

individuals. It was not so much a movement as a "spirit afloat;" it was

within us, "rising up in hearts where it was least suspected, and

working itself, though not in secret, yet so subtly and impalpably, as

hardly to admit of precaution or encounter on any ordinary human rules

of opposition. It is," I continued, "an adversary in the air, a

something one and entire, a whole wherever it is, unapproachable and

incapable of being grasped, as being the result of causes far deeper

than political or other visible agencies, the spiritual awakening of

spiritual wants."

To make this clear, I proceed to refer to the chief preachers of the

revived doctrines at that moment, and to draw attention to the variety

of their respective antecedents. Dr. Hook and Mr. Churton represented

the high Church dignitaries of the last century; Mr. Perceval, the Tory

aristocracy; Mr. Keble came from a country parsonage; Mr. Palmer from

Ireland; Dr. Pusey from the Universities of Germany, and the study of

Arabic MSS.; Mr. Dodsworth from the study of Prophecy; Mr. Oakeley had

gained his views, as he himself expressed it, "partly by study, partly

by reflection, partly by conversation with one or two friends, inquirers

like himself:" while I speak of myself as being "much indebted to the

friendship of Archbishop Whately." And thus I am led on to ask, "What

head of a sect is there? What march of opinions can be traced from mind

to mind among preachers such as these? They are one and all in their

degree the organs of one Sentiment, which has risen up simultaneously in

many places very mysteriously."

My train of thought next led me to speak of the disciples of the

Movement, and I freely acknowledged and lamented that they needed to be

kept in order. It is very much to the purpose to draw attention to this

point now, when such extravagances as then occurred, whatever they were,

are simply laid to my door, or to the charge of the doctrines which I

advocated. A man cannot do more than freely confess what is wrong, say

that it need not be, that it ought not to be, and that he is very sorry

that it should be. Now I said in the Article, which I am reviewing, that

the great truths themselves, which we were preaching, must not be

condemned on account of such abuse of them. "Aberrations there must ever

be, whatever the doctrine is, while the human heart is sensitive,

capricious, and wayward. A mixed multitude went out of Egypt with the

Israelites." "There will ever be a number of persons," I continued,

"professing the opinions of a movement party, who talk loudly and

strangely, do odd or fierce things, display themselves unnecessarily,

and disgust other people; persons, too young to be wise, too generous to

be cautious, too warm to be sober, or too intellectual to be humble.

Such persons will be very apt to attach themselves to particular

persons, to use particular names, to say things merely because others

do, and to act in a party-spirited way."

While I thus republish what I then said about such extravagances as

occurred in these years, at the same time I have a very strong

conviction that those extravagances furnished quite as much the welcome

excuse for those who were jealous or shy of us, as the stumbling-blocks

of those who were well inclined to our doctrines. This too we felt at

the time; but it was our duty to see that our good should not be

evil-spoken of; and accordingly, two or three of the writers of the

Tracts for the Times had commenced a Series of what they called "Plain

Sermons" with the avowed purpose of discouraging and correcting whatever

was uppish or extreme in our followers: to this Series I contributed a

volume myself.

Its conductors say in their Preface: "If therefore as time goes on,

there shall be found persons, who admiring the innate beauty and majesty

of the fuller system of Primitive Christianity, and seeing the

transcendent strength of its principles, _shall become loud and voluble

advocates_ in their behalf, speaking the more freely, _because they do

not feel them deeply as founded_ in divine and eternal truth, of such

persons _it is our duty to declare plainly_, that, as we should

contemplate their condition with serious misgiving, _so would they be

the last persons from whom we should_ seek support.

"But if, on the other hand, there shall be any, who, in the silent

humility of their lives, and in their unaffected reverence for holy

things, show that they in truth accept these principles as real and

substantial, and by habitual purity of heart and serenity of temper,

give proof of their deep veneration for sacraments and sacramental

ordinances, those persons, _whether our professed adherents or not_,

best exemplify the kind of character which the writers of the Tracts for

the Times have wished to form."

These clergymen had the best of claims to use these beautiful words, for

they were themselves, all of them, important writers in the Tracts, the

two Mr. Kebles, and Mr. Isaac Williams. And this passage, with which

they ushered their Series into the world, I quoted in the Article, of

which I am giving an account, and I added, "What more can be required of

the preachers of neglected truth, than that they should admit that some,

who do not assent to their preaching, are holier and better men than

some who do?" They were not answerable for the intemperance of those who

dishonoured a true doctrine, provided they protested, as they did,

against such intemperance. "They were not answerable for the dust and

din which attends any great moral movement. The truer doctrines are, the

more liable they are to be perverted."

The notice of these incidental faults of opinion or temper in adherents

of the Movement, led on to a discussion of the secondary causes, by

means of which a system of doctrine may be embraced, modified, or

developed, of the variety of schools which may all be in the One Church,

and of the succession of one phase of doctrine to another, while that

doctrine is ever one and the same. Thus I was brought on to the subject

of Antiquity, which was the basis of the doctrine of the _Via Media_,

and by which was not to be understood a servile imitation of the past,

but such a reproduction of it as is really new, while it is old. "We

have good hope," I say, "that a system will be rising up, superior to

the age, yet harmonizing with, and carrying out its higher points, which

will attract to itself those who are willing to make a venture and to

face difficulties, for the sake of something higher in prospect. On

this, as on other subjects, the proverb will apply, 'Fortes fortuna

adjuvat.'"

Lastly, I proceeded to the question of that future of the Anglican

Church, which was to be a new birth of the Ancient Religion. And I did

not venture to pronounce upon it. "About the future, we have no prospect

before our minds whatever, good or bad. Ever since that great luminary,

Augustine, proved to be the last bishop of Hippo, Christians have had a

lesson against attempting to foretell, _how_ Providence will prosper

and" [or?] "bring to an end, what it begins." Perhaps the lately-revived

principles would prevail in the Anglican Church; perhaps they would be

lost in some miserable schism, or some more miserable compromise; but

there was nothing rash in venturing to predict that "neither Puritanism

nor Liberalism had any permanent inheritance within her."

Then I went on: "As to Liberalism, we think the formularies of the

Church will ever, with the aid of a good Providence, keep it from making

any serious inroads upon the clergy. Besides, it is too cold a principle

to prevail with the multitude." But as regarded what was called

Evangelical Religion or Puritanism, there was more to cause alarm. I

observed upon its organization; but on the other hand it had no

intellectual basis; no internal idea, no principle of unity, no

theology. "Its adherents," I said, "are already separating from each

other; they will melt away like a snow-drift. It has no straightforward

view on any one point, on which it professes to teach, and to hide its

poverty, it has dressed itself out in a maze of words. We have no dread

of it at all; we only fear what it may lead to. It does not stand on

intrenched ground, or make any pretence to a position; it does but

occupy the space between contending powers, Catholic Truth and

Rationalism. Then indeed will be the stern encounter, when two real and

living principles, simple, entire, and consistent, one in the Church,

the other out of it, at length rush upon each other, contending not for

names and words, or half-views, but for elementary notions and

distinctive moral characters."

Whether the ideas of the coming age upon religion were true or false, at

least they would be real. "In the present day," I said, "mistiness is

the mother of wisdom. A man who can set down a half-a-dozen general

propositions, which escape from destroying one another only by being

diluted into truisms, who can hold the balance between opposites so

skilfully as to do without fulcrum or beam, who never enunciates a truth

without guarding himself against being supposed to exclude the

contradictory,--who holds that Scripture is the only authority, yet that

the Church is to be deferred to, that faith only justifies, yet that it

does not justify without works, that grace does not depend on the

sacraments, yet is not given without them, that bishops are a divine

ordinance, yet those who have them not are in the same religious

condition as those who have,--this is your safe man and the hope of the

Church; this is what the Church is said to want, not party men, but

sensible, temperate, sober, well-judging persons, to guide it through

the channel of no-meaning, between the Scylla and Charybdis of Aye and

No."

This state of things, however, I said, could not last, if men were to

read and think. They "will not keep in that very attitude which you call

sound Church-of-Englandism or orthodox Protestantism. They cannot go on

for ever standing on one leg, or sitting without a chair, or walking

with their feet tied, or like Tityrus's stags grazing in the air. They

will take one view or another, but it will be a consistent view. It may

be Liberalism, or Erastianism, or Popery, or Catholicity; but it will be

real."

I concluded the Article by saying, that all who did not wish to be

"democratic, or pantheistic, or popish," must "look out for _some_ Via

Media which will preserve us from what threatens, though it cannot

restore the dead. The spirit of Luther is dead; but Hildebrand and

Loyola are alive. Is it sensible, sober, judicious, to be so very angry

with those writers of the day, who point to the fact, that our divines

of the seventeenth century have occupied a ground which is the true and

intelligible mean between extremes? Is it wise to quarrel with this

ground, because it is not exactly what we should choose, had we the

power of choice? Is it true moderation, instead of trying to fortify a

middle doctrine, to fling stones at those who do?... Would you rather

have your sons and daughters members of the Church of England or of the

Church of Rome?"

And thus I left the matter. But, while I was thus speaking of the future

of the Movement, I was in truth winding up my accounts with it, little

dreaming that it was so to be;--while I was still, in some way or other,

feeling about for an available _Via Media_, I was soon to receive a

shock which was to cast out of my imagination all middle courses and

compromises for ever. As I have said, this Article appeared in the April

number of the British Critic; in the July number, I cannot tell why,

there is no Article of mine; before the number for October, the event

had happened to which I have alluded.

But before I proceed to describe what happened to me in the summer of

1839, I must detain the reader for a while, in order to describe the

_issue_ of the controversy between Rome and the Anglican Church, as I

viewed it. This will involve some dry discussion; but it is as necessary

for my narrative, as plans of buildings and homesteads are at times

needed in the proceedings of our law courts.

* * * * *

I have said already that, though the object of the Movement was to

withstand the Liberalism of the day, I found and felt this could not be

done by mere negatives. It was necessary for us to have a positive

Church theory erected on a definite basis. This took me to the great

Anglican divines; and then of course I found at once that it was

impossible to form any such theory, without cutting across the teaching

of the Church of Rome. Thus came in the Roman controversy.

When I first turned myself to it, I had neither doubt on the subject,

nor suspicion that doubt would ever come upon me. It was in this state

of mind that I began to read up Bellarmine on the one hand, and

numberless Anglican writers on the other. But I soon found, as others

had found before me, that it was a tangled and manifold controversy,

difficult to master, more difficult to put out of hand with neatness and

precision. It was easy to make points, not easy to sum up and settle. It

was not easy to find a clear issue for the dispute, and still less by a

logical process to decide it in favour of Anglicanism. This difficulty,

however, had no tendency whatever to harass or perplex me: it was a

matter which bore not on convictions, but on proofs.

First I saw, as all see who study the subject, that a broad distinction

had to be drawn between the actual state of belief and of usage in the

countries which were in communion with the Roman Church, and her formal

dogmas; the latter did not cover the former. Sensible pain, for

instance, is not implied in the Tridentine decree upon Purgatory; but it

was the tradition of the Latin Church, and I had seen the pictures of

souls in flames in the streets of Naples. Bishop Lloyd had brought this

distinction out strongly in an Article in the British Critic in 1825;

indeed, it was one of the most common objections made to the Church of

Rome, that she dared not commit herself by formal decree, to what

nevertheless she sanctioned and allowed. Accordingly, in my Prophetical

Office, I view as simply separate ideas, Rome quiescent, and Rome in

action. I contrasted her creed on the one hand, with her ordinary

teaching, her controversial tone, her political and social bearing, and

her popular beliefs and practices, on the other.

While I made this distinction between the decrees and the traditions of

Rome, I drew a parallel distinction between Anglicanism quiescent, and

Anglicanism in action. In its formal creed Anglicanism was not at a

great distance from Rome: far otherwise, when viewed in its insular

spirit, the traditions of its establishment, its historical

characteristics, its controversial rancour, and its private judgment. I

disavowed and condemned those excesses, and called them "Protestantism"

or "Ultra-Protestantism:" I wished to find a parallel disclaimer, on the

part of Roman controversialists, of that popular system of beliefs and

usages in their own Church, which I called "Popery." When that hope was

a dream, I saw that the controversy lay between the book-theology of

Anglicanism on the one side, and the living system of what I called

Roman corruption on the other. I could not get further than this; with

this result I was forced to content myself.

These then were the _parties_ in the controversy:--the Anglican _Via

Media_ and the popular religion of Rome. And next, as to the _issue_, to

which the controversy between them was to be brought, it was this:--the

Anglican disputant took his stand upon Antiquity or Apostolicity, the

Roman upon Catholicity. The Anglican said to the Roman: "There is but

One Faith, the Ancient, and you have not kept to it;" the Roman

retorted: "There is but One Church, the Catholic, and you are out of

it." The Anglican urged "Your special beliefs, practices, modes of

action, are nowhere in Antiquity;" the Roman objected: "You do not

communicate with any one Church besides your own and its offshoots, and

you have discarded principles, doctrines, sacraments, and usages, which

are and ever have been received in the East and the West." The true

Church, as defined in the Creeds, was both Catholic and Apostolic; now,

as I viewed the controversy in which I was engaged, England and Rome had

divided these notes or prerogatives between them: the cause lay thus,

Apostolicity _versus_ Catholicity.

However, in thus stating the matter, of course I do not wish it supposed

that I allowed the note of Catholicity really to belong to Rome, to the

disparagement of the Anglican Church; but I considered that the special

point or plea of Rome in the controversy was Catholicity, as the

Anglican plea was Antiquity. Of course I contended that the Roman idea

of Catholicity was not ancient and apostolic. It was in my judgment at

the utmost only natural, becoming, expedient, that the whole of

Christendom should be united in one visible body; while such a unity

might, on the other hand, be nothing more than a mere heartless and

political combination. For myself, I held with the Anglican divines,

that, in the Primitive Church, there was a very real mutual independence

between its separate parts, though, from a dictate of charity, there was

in fact a close union between them. I considered that each See and

Diocese might be compared to a crystal, and that each was similar to the

rest, and that the sum total of them all was only a collection of

crystals. The unity of the Church lay, not in its being a polity, but in

its being a family, a race, coming down by apostolical descent from its

first founders and bishops. And I considered this truth brought out,

beyond the possibility of dispute, in the Epistles of St. Ignatius, in

which the Bishop is represented as the one supreme authority in the

Church, that is, in his own place, with no one above him, except as, for

the sake of ecclesiastical order and expedience, arrangements had been

made by which one was put over or under another. So much for our own

claim to Catholicity, which was so perversely appropriated by our

opponents to themselves:--on the other hand, as to our special strong

point, Antiquity, while, of course, by means of it, we were able to

condemn most emphatically the novel claim of Rome to domineer over other

Churches, which were in truth her equals, further than that, we thereby

especially convicted her of the intolerable offence of having added to

the Faith. This was the critical head of accusation urged against her by

the Anglican disputant; and as he referred to St. Ignatius in proof that

he himself was a true Catholic, in spite of being separated from Rome,

so he triumphantly referred to the Treatise of Vincentius of Lerins upon

the "Quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus," in proof that the

controversialists of Rome, in spite of their possession of the Catholic

name, were separated in their creed from the Apostolical and primitive

faith.

Of course those controversialists had their own mode of answering him,

with which I am not concerned in this place; here I am only concerned

with the issue itself, between the one party and the other--Antiquity

_versus_ Catholicity.

Now I will proceed to illustrate what I have been saying of the _status_

of the controversy, as it presented itself to my mind, by extracts from

my writings of the dates of 1836, 1840, and 1841. And I introduce them

with a remark, which especially applies to the paper, from which I shall

quote first, of the date of 1836. That paper appeared in the March and

April numbers of the British Magazine of that year, and was entitled

"Home Thoughts Abroad." Now it will be found, that, in the discussion

which it contains, as in various other writings of mine, when I was in

the Anglican Church, the argument in behalf of Rome is stated with

considerable perspicuity and force. And at the time my friends and

supporters cried out, "How imprudent!" and, both at the time, and

especially at a later date, my enemies have cried out, "How insidious!"

Friends and foes virtually agreed in their criticism; I had set out the

cause which I was combating to the best advantage: this was an offence;

it might be from imprudence, it might be with a traitorous design. It

was from neither the one nor the other; but for the following reasons.

First, I had a great impatience, whatever was the subject, of not

bringing out the whole of it, as clearly as I could; next I wished to be

as fair to my adversaries as possible; and thirdly I thought that there

was a great deal of shallowness among our own friends, and that they

undervalued the strength of the argument in behalf of Rome, and that

they ought to be roused to a more exact apprehension of the position of

the controversy. At a later date, (1841,) when I really felt the force

of the Roman side of the question myself, as a difficulty which had to

be met, I had a fourth reason for such frankness in argument, and that

was, because a number of persons were unsettled far more than I was, as

to the Catholicity of the Anglican Church. It was quite plain that,

unless I was perfectly candid in stating what could be said against it,

there was no chance that any representations, which I felt to be in its

favour, or at least to be adverse to Rome, would have had any success

with the persons in question.

At all times I had a deep conviction, to put the matter on the lowest

ground, that "honesty was the best policy." Accordingly, in July 1841, I

expressed myself thus on the Anglican difficulty: "This is an objection

which we must honestly say is deeply felt by many people, and not

inconsiderable ones; and the more it is openly avowed to be a

difficulty, the better; for there is then the chance of its being

acknowledged, and in the course of time obviated, as far as may be, by

those who have the power. Flagrant evils cure themselves by being

flagrant; and we are sanguine that the time is come when so great an

evil as this is, cannot stand its ground against the good feeling and

common sense of religious persons. It is the very strength of Romanism

against us; and, unless the proper persons take it into their serious

consideration, they may look for certain to undergo the loss, as time

goes on, of some whom they would least like to be lost to our Church."

The measure which I had especially in view in this passage, was the

project of a Jerusalem Bishopric, which the then Archbishop of

Canterbury was at that time concocting with M. Bunsen, and of which I

shall speak more in the sequel. And now to return to the Home Thoughts

Abroad of the spring of 1836:--

The discussion contained in this composition runs in the form of a

dialogue. One of the disputants says: "You say to me that the Church of

Rome is corrupt. What then? to cut off a limb is a strange way of saving

it from the influence of some constitutional ailment. Indigestion may

cause cramp in the extremities; yet we spare our poor feet

notwithstanding. Surely there is such a religious _fact_ as the

existence of a great Catholic body, union with which is a Christian

privilege and duty. Now, we English are separate from it."

The other answers: "The present is an unsatisfactory, miserable state of

things, yet I can grant no more. The Church is founded on a

doctrine,--on the gospel of Truth; it is a means to an end. Perish the

Church, (though, blessed be the promise! this cannot be,) yet let it

perish _rather_ than the Truth should fail. Purity of faith is more

precious to the Christian than unity itself. If Rome has erred

grievously in doctrine, then it is a duty to separate even from Rome."

His friend, who takes the Roman side of the argument, refers to the

image of the Vine and its branches, which is found, I think, in St.

Cyprian, as if a branch cut from the Catholic Vine must necessarily die.

Also he quotes a passage from St. Augustine in controversy with the

Donatists to the same effect; viz. that, as being separated from the

body of the Church, they were _ipso facto_ cut off from the heritage of

Christ. And he quotes St. Cyril's argument drawn from the very title

Catholic, which no body or communion of men has ever dared or been able

to appropriate, besides one. He adds, "Now I am only contending for the

fact, that the communion of Rome constitutes the main body of the Church

Catholic, and that we are split off from it, and in the condition of the

Donatists."

The other replies by denying the fact that the present Roman communion

is like St. Augustine's Catholic Church, inasmuch as there must be taken

into account the large Anglican and Greek communions. Presently he takes

the offensive, naming distinctly the points, in which Rome has departed

from Primitive Christianity, viz. "the practical idolatry, the virtual

worship of the Virgin and Saints, which are the offence of the Latin

Church, and the degradation of moral truth and duty, which follows from

these." And again: "We cannot join a Church, did we wish it ever so

much, which does not acknowledge our orders, refuses us the Cup, demands

our acquiescence in image-worship, and excommunicates us, if we do not

receive it and all other decisions of the Tridentine Council."

His opponent answers these objections by referring to the doctrine of

"developments of gospel truth." Besides, "The Anglican system itself is

not found complete in those early centuries; so that the [Anglican]

principle [of Antiquity] is self-destructive." "When a man takes up this

_Via Media_, he is a mere _doctrinaire_;" he is like those, "who, in

some matter of business, start up to suggest their own little crotchet,

and are ever measuring mountains with a pocket ruler, or improving the

planetary courses." "The _Via Media_ has slept in libraries; it is a

substitute of infancy for manhood."

It is plain, then, that at the end of 1835 or beginning of 1836, I had

the whole state of the question before me, on which, to my mind, the

decision between the Churches depended. It is observable that the

question of the position of the Pope, whether as the centre of unity, or

as the source of jurisdiction, did not come into my thoughts at all; nor

did it, I think I may say, to the end. I doubt whether I ever distinctly

held any of his powers to be _de jure divino_, while I was in the

Anglican Church;--not that I saw any difficulty in the doctrine; not

that in connexion with the history of St. Leo, of which I shall speak by

and by, the idea of his infallibility did not cross my mind, for it

did,--but after all, in my view the controversy did not turn upon it; it

turned upon the Faith and the Church. This was my issue of the

controversy from the beginning to the end. There was a contrariety of

claims between the Roman and Anglican religions, and the history of my

conversion is simply the process of working it out to a solution. In

1838 I illustrated it by the contrast presented to us between the

Madonna and Child, and a Calvary. The peculiarity of the Anglican

theology was this,--that it "supposed the Truth to be entirely objective

and detached, not" (as in the theology of Rome) "lying hid in the bosom

of the Church as if one with her, clinging to and (as it were) lost in

her embrace, but as being sole and unapproachable, as on the Cross or at

the Resurrection, with the Church close by, but in the background."

As I viewed the controversy in 1836 and 1838, so I viewed it in 1840 and

1841. In the British Critic of January 1840, after gradually

investigating how the matter lies between the Churches by means of a

dialogue, I end thus: "It would seem, that, in the above discussion,

each disputant has a strong point: our strong point is the argument from

Primitiveness, that of Romanists from Universality. It is a fact,

however it is to be accounted for, that Rome has added to the Creed; and

it is a fact, however we justify ourselves, that we are estranged from

the great body of Christians over the world. And each of these two facts

is at first sight a grave difficulty in the respective systems to which

they belong." Again, "While Rome, though not deferring to the Fathers,

recognizes them, and England, not deferring to the large body of the

Church, recognizes it, both Rome and England have a point to clear up."

And still more strongly, in July, 1841:

"If the Note of schism, on the one hand, lies against England, an

antagonist disgrace lies upon Rome, the Note of idolatry. Let us not be

mistaken here; we are neither accusing Rome of idolatry nor ourselves of

schism; we think neither charge tenable; but still the Roman Church

practises what is so like idolatry, and the English Church makes much of

what is so very like schism, that without deciding what is the duty of a

Roman Catholic towards the Church of England in her present state, we do

seriously think that members of the English Church have a providential

direction given them, how to comport themselves towards the Church of

Rome, while she is what she is."

One remark more about Antiquity and the _Via Media_. As time went on,

without doubting the strength of the Anglican argument from Antiquity, I

felt also that it was not merely our special plea, but our only one.

Also I felt that the _Via Media_, which was to represent it, was to be a

sort of remodelled and adapted Antiquity. This I advanced both in Home

Thoughts Abroad and in the Article of the British Critic which I have

analyzed above. But this circumstance, that after all we must use

private judgment upon Antiquity, created a sort of distrust of my theory

altogether, which in the conclusion of my Volume on the Prophetical

Office (1836-7) I express thus: "Now that our discussions draw to a

close, the thought, with which we entered on the subject, is apt to

recur, when the excitement of the inquiry has subsided, and weariness

has succeeded, that what has been said is but a dream, the wanton

exercise, rather than the practical conclusions of the intellect." And I

conclude the paragraph by anticipating a line of thought into which I

was, in the event, almost obliged to take refuge: "After all," I say,

"the Church is ever invisible in its day, and faith only apprehends it."

What was this, but to give up the Notes of a visible Church altogether,

whether the Catholic Note or the Apostolic?

* * * * *

The Long Vacation of 1839 began early. There had been a great many

visitors to Oxford from Easter to Commemoration; and Dr. Pusey's party

had attracted attention, more, I think, than in any former year. I had

put away from me the controversy with Rome for more than two years. In

my Parochial Sermons the subject had at no time been introduced: there

had been nothing for two years, either in my Tracts or in the British

Critic, of a polemical character. I was returning, for the Vacation, to

the course of reading which I had many years before chosen as especially

my own. I have no reason to suppose that the thoughts of Rome came

across my mind at all. About the middle of June I began to study and

master the history of the Monophysites. I was absorbed in the doctrinal

question. This was from about June 13th to August 30th. It was during

this course of reading that for the first time a doubt came upon me of

the tenableness of Anglicanism. I recollect on the 30th of July

mentioning to a friend, whom I had accidentally met, how remarkable the

history was; but by the end of August I was seriously alarmed.

I have described in a former work, how the history affected me. My

stronghold was Antiquity; now here, in the middle of the fifth century,

I found, as it seemed to me, Christendom of the sixteenth and the

nineteenth centuries reflected. I saw my face in that mirror, and I was

a Monophysite. The Church of the _Via Media_ was in the position of the

Oriental communion, Rome was, where she now is; and the Protestants were

the Eutychians. Of all passages of history, since history has been, who

would have thought of going to the sayings and doings of old Eutyches,

that _delirus senex_, as (I think) Petavius calls him, and to the

enormities of the unprincipled Dioscorus, in order to be converted to

Rome!

Now let it be simply understood that I am not writing controversially,

but with the one object of relating things as they happened to me in the

course of my conversion. With this view I will quote a passage from the

account, which I gave in 1850, of my reasonings and feelings in 1839:

"It was difficult to make out how the Eutychians or Monophysites were

heretics, unless Protestants and Anglicans were heretics also; difficult

to find arguments against the Tridentine Fathers, which did not tell

against the Fathers of Chalcedon; difficult to condemn the Popes of the

sixteenth century, without condemning the Popes of the fifth. The drama

of religion, and the combat of truth and error, were ever one and the

same. The principles and proceedings of the Church now, were those of

the Church then; the principles and proceedings of heretics then, were

those of Protestants now. I found it so,--almost fearfully; there was an

awful similitude, more awful, because so silent and unimpassioned,

between the dead records of the past and the feverish chronicle of the

present. The shadow of the fifth century was on the sixteenth. It was

like a spirit rising from the troubled waters of the old world, with the

shape and lineaments of the new. The Church then, as now, might be

called peremptory and stern, resolute, overbearing, and relentless; and

heretics were shifting, changeable, reserved, and deceitful, ever

courting civil power, and never agreeing together, except by its aid;

and the civil power was ever aiming at comprehensions, trying to put the

invisible out of view, and substituting expediency for faith. What was

the use of continuing the controversy, or defending my position, if,

after all, I was forging arguments for Arius or Eutyches, and turning

devil's advocate against the much-enduring Athanasius and the majestic

Leo? Be my soul with the Saints! and shall I lift up my hand against

them? Sooner may my right hand forget her cunning, and wither outright,

as his who once stretched it out against a prophet of God! anathema to a

whole tribe of Cranmers, Ridleys, Latimers, and Jewels! perish the names

of Bramhall, Ussher, Taylor, Stillingfleet, and Barrow from the face of

the earth, ere I should do ought but fall at their feet in love and in

worship, whose image was continually before my eyes, and whose musical

words were ever in my ears and on my tongue!"

Hardly had I brought my course of reading to a close, when the Dublin

Review of that same August was put into my hands, by friends who were

more favourable to the cause of Rome than I was myself. There was an

article in it on the "Anglican Claim" by Dr. Wiseman. This was about the

middle of September. It was on the Donatists, with an application to

Anglicanism. I read it, and did not see much in it. The Donatist

controversy was known to me for some years, as has appeared already. The

case was not parallel to that of the Anglican Church. St. Augustine in

Africa wrote against the Donatists in Africa. They were a furious party

who made a schism within the African Church, and not beyond its limits.

It was a case of Altar against Altar, of two occupants of the same See,

as that between the Non-jurors in England and the Established Church;

not the case of one Church against another, as of Rome against the

Oriental Monophysites. But my friend, an anxiously religious man, now,

as then, very dear to me, a Protestant still, pointed out the palmary

words of St. Augustine, which were contained in one of the extracts made

in the Review, and which had escaped my observation. "Securus judicat

orbis terrarum." He repeated these words again and again, and, when he

was gone, they kept ringing in my ears. "Securus judicat orbis

terrarum;" they were words which went beyond the occasion of the

Donatists: they applied to that of the Monophysites. They gave a cogency

to the Article, which had escaped me at first. They decided

ecclesiastical questions on a simpler rule than that of Antiquity; nay,

St. Augustine was one of the prime oracles of Antiquity; here then

Antiquity was deciding against itself. What a light was hereby thrown

upon every controversy in the Church! not that, for the moment, the

multitude may not falter in their judgment,--not that, in the Arian

hurricane, Sees more than can be numbered did not bend before its fury,

and fall off from St. Athanasius,--not that the crowd of Oriental

Bishops did not need to be sustained during the contest by the voice and

the eye of St. Leo; but that the deliberate judgment, in which the whole

Church at length rests and acquiesces, is an infallible prescription and

a final sentence against such portions of it as protest and secede. Who

can account for the impressions which are made on him? For a mere

sentence, the words of St. Augustine, struck me with a power which I

never had felt from any words before. To take a familiar instance, they

were like the "Turn again Whittington" of the chime; or, to take a more

serious one, they were like the "Tolle, lege,--Tolle, lege," of the

child, which converted St. Augustine himself. "Securus judicat orbis

terrarum!" By those great words of the ancient Father, interpreting and

summing up the long and varied course of ecclesiastical history, the

theory of the _Via Media_ was absolutely pulverized.

I became excited at the view thus opened upon me. I was just starting on

a round of visits; and I mentioned my state of mind to two most intimate

friends: I think to no others. After a while, I got calm, and at length

the vivid impression upon my imagination faded away. What I thought

about it on reflection, I will attempt to describe presently. I had to

determine its logical value, and its bearing upon my duty. Meanwhile, so

far as this was certain,--I had seen the shadow of a hand upon the wall.

It was clear that I had a good deal to learn on the question of the

Churches, and that perhaps some new light was coming upon me. He who has

seen a ghost, cannot be as if he had never seen it. The heavens had

opened and closed again. The thought for the moment had been, "The

Church of Rome will be found right after all;" and then it had vanished.

My old convictions remained as before.

At this time, I wrote my Sermon on Divine Calls, which I published in my

volume of Plain Sermons. It ends thus:--

"O that we could take that simple view of things, as to feel that the

one thing which lies before us is to please God! What gain is it to

please the world, to please the great, nay even to please those whom we

love, compared with this? What gain is it to be applauded, admired,

courted, followed,--compared with this one aim, of not being disobedient

to a heavenly vision? What can this world offer comparable with that

insight into spiritual things, that keen faith, that heavenly peace,

that high sanctity, that everlasting righteousness, that hope of glory,

which they have, who in sincerity love and follow our Lord Jesus Christ?

Let us beg and pray Him day by day to reveal Himself to our souls more

fully, to quicken our senses, to give us sight and hearing, taste and

touch of the world to come; so to work within us, that we may sincerely

say, 'Thou shalt guide me with Thy counsel, and after that receive me

with glory. Whom have I in heaven but Thee? and there is none upon earth

that I desire in comparison of Thee. My flesh and my heart faileth, but

God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.'"

* * * * *

Now to trace the succession of thoughts, and the conclusions, and the

consequent innovations on my previous belief, and the general conduct,

to which I was led, upon this sudden visitation. And first, I will say,

whatever comes of saying it, for I leave inferences to others, that for

years I must have had something of an habitual notion, though it was

latent, and had never led me to distrust my own convictions, that my

mind had not found its ultimate rest, and that in some sense or other I

was on journey. During the same passage across the Mediterranean in

which I wrote "Lead kindly light," I also wrote the verses, which are

found in the Lyra under the head of "Providences," beginning, "When I

look back." This was in 1833; and, since I have begun this narrative, I

have found a memorandum under the date of September 7, 1829, in which I

speak of myself, as "now in my rooms in Oriel College, slowly advancing

&c. and led on by God's hand blindly, not knowing whither He is taking

me." But, whatever this presentiment be worth, it was no protection

against the dismay and disgust, which I felt, in consequence of the

dreadful misgiving, of which I have been relating the history. The one

question was, what was I to do? I had to make up my mind for myself, and

others could not help me. I determined to be guided, not by my

imagination, but by my reason. And this I said over and over again in

the years which followed, both in conversation and in private letters.

Had it not been for this severe resolve, I should have been a Catholic

sooner than I was. Moreover, I felt on consideration a positive doubt,

on the other hand, whether the suggestion did not come from below. Then

I said to myself, Time alone can solve that question. It was my business

to go on as usual, to obey those convictions to which I had so long

surrendered myself, which still had possession of me, and on which my

new thoughts had no direct bearing. That new conception of things should

only so far influence me, as it had a logical claim to do so. If it came

from above, it would come again;--so I trusted,--and with more definite

outlines and greater cogency and consistency of proof. I thought of

Samuel, before "he knew the word of the Lord;" and therefore I went, and

lay down to sleep again. This was my broad view of the matter, and my

_primâ facie_ conclusion.

However, my new historical fact had already to a certain point a logical

force. Down had come the _Via Media_ as a definite theory or scheme,

under the blows of St. Leo. My "Prophetical Office" had come to pieces;

not indeed as an argument against "Roman errors," nor as against

Protestantism, but as in behalf of England. I had no longer a

distinctive plea for Anglicanism, unless I would be a Monophysite. I

had, most painfully, to fall back upon my three original points of

belief, which I have spoken so much of in a former passage,--the

principle of dogma, the sacramental system, and anti-Romanism. Of these

three, the first two were better secured in Rome than in the Anglican

Church. The Apostolical Succession, the two prominent sacraments, and

the primitive Creeds, belonged, indeed, to the latter; but there had

been and was far less strictness on matters of dogma and ritual in the

Anglican system than in the Roman: in consequence, my main argument for

the Anglican claims lay in the positive and special charges, which I

could bring against Rome. I had no positive Anglican theory. I was very

nearly a pure Protestant. Lutherans had a sort of theology, so had

Calvinists; I had none.

However, this pure Protestantism, to which I was gradually left, was

really a practical principle. It was a strong, though it was only a

negative ground, and it still had great hold on me. As a boy of fifteen,

I had so fully imbibed it, that I had actually erased in my _Gradus ad

Parnassum_, such titles, under the word "Papa," as "Christi Vicarius,"

"sacer interpres," and "sceptra gerens," and substituted epithets so

vile that I cannot bring myself to write them down here. The effect of

this early persuasion remained as, what I have already called it, a

"stain upon my imagination." As regards my reason, I began in 1833 to

form theories on the subject, which tended to obliterate it; yet by 1838

I had got no further than to consider Antichrist, as not the Church of

Rome, but the spirit of the old pagan city, the fourth monster of

Daniel, which was still alive, and which had corrupted the Church which

was planted there. Soon after this indeed, and before my attention was

directed to the Monophysite controversy, I underwent a great change of

opinion. I saw that, from the nature of the case, the true Vicar of

Christ must ever to the world seem like Antichrist, and be stigmatized

as such, because a resemblance must ever exist between an original and a

forgery; and thus the fact of such a calumny was almost one of the notes

of the Church. But we cannot unmake ourselves or change our habits in a

moment. Though my reason was convinced, I did not throw off, for some

time after,--I could not have thrown off,--the unreasoning prejudice and

suspicion, which I cherished about her at least by fits and starts, in

spite of this conviction of my reason. I cannot prove this, but I

believe it to have been the case from what I recollect of myself. Nor

was there any thing in the history of St. Leo and the Monophysites to

undo the firm belief I had in the existence of what I called the

practical abuses and excesses of Rome.

To her inconsistencies then, to her ambition and intrigue, to her

sophistries (as I considered them to be) I now had recourse in my

opposition to her, both public and personal. I did so by way of a

relief. I had a great and growing dislike, after the summer of 1839, to

speak against the Roman Church herself or her formal doctrines. I was

very averse to speaking against doctrines, which might possibly turn out

to be true, though at the time I had no reason for thinking they were;

or against the Church, which had preserved them. I began to have

misgivings, that, strong as my own feelings had been against her, yet in

some things which I had said, I had taken the statements of Anglican

divines for granted without weighing them for myself. I said to a friend

in 1840, in a letter, which I shall use presently, "I am troubled by

doubts whether as it is, I have not, in what I have published, spoken

too strongly against Rome, though I think I did it in a kind of faith,

being determined to put myself into the English system, and say all that

our divines said, whether I had fully weighed it or not." I was sore

about the great Anglican divines, as if they had taken me in, and made

me say strong things, which facts did not justify. Yet I _did_ still

hold in substance all that I had said against the Church of Rome in my

Prophetical Office. I felt the force of the usual Protestant objections

against her; I believed that we had the Apostolical succession in the

Anglican Church, and the grace of the sacraments; I was not sure that

the difficulty of its isolation might not be overcome, though I was far

from sure that it could. I did not see any clear proof that it had

committed itself to any heresy, or had taken part against the truth; and

I was not sure that it would not revive into full Apostolic purity and

strength, and grow into union with Rome herself (Rome explaining her

doctrines and guarding against their abuse), that is, if we were but

patient and hopeful. I began to wish for union between the Anglican

Church and Rome, if, and when, it was possible; and I did what I could

to gain weekly prayers for that object. The ground which I felt to be

good against her was the moral ground: I felt I could not be wrong in

striking at her political and social line of action. The alliance of a

dogmatic religion with liberals, high or low, seemed to me a

providential direction against moving towards Rome, and a better

"Preservative against Popery," than the three volumes in folio, in

which, I think, that prophylactic is to be found. However, on occasions

which demanded it, I felt it a duty to give out plainly all that I

thought, though I did not like to do so. One such instance occurred,

when I had to publish a Letter about Tract 90. In that Letter, I said,

"Instead of setting before the soul the Holy Trinity, and heaven and

hell, the Church of Rome does seem to me, as a popular system, to preach

the Blessed Virgin and the Saints, and purgatory." On this occasion I

recollect expressing to a friend the distress it gave me thus to speak;

but, I said, "How can I help saying it, if I think it? and I _do_ think

it; my Bishop calls on me to say out what I think; and that is the long

and the short of it." But I recollected Hurrell Froude's words to me,

almost his dying words, "I must enter another protest against your

cursing and swearing. What good can it do? and I call it uncharitable to

an excess. How mistaken we may ourselves be, on many points that are

only gradually opening on us!"

Instead then of speaking of errors in doctrine, I was driven, by my

state of mind, to insist upon the political conduct, the controversial

bearing, and the social methods and manifestations of Rome. And here I

found a matter ready to my hand, which affected me the more sensibly for

the reason that it lay at our very doors. I can hardly describe too

strongly my feeling upon it. I had an unspeakable aversion to the policy

and acts of Mr. O'Connell, because, as I thought, he associated himself

with men of all religions and no religion against the Anglican Church,

and advanced Catholicism by violence and intrigue. When then I found him

taken up by the English Catholics, and, as I supposed, at Rome, I

considered I had a fulfilment before my eyes how the Court of Rome

played fast and loose, and justified the serious charges which I had

seen put down in books against it. Here we saw what Rome was in action,

whatever she might be when quiescent. Her conduct was simply secular and

political.

This feeling led me into the excess of being very rude to that zealous

and most charitable man, Mr. Spencer, when he came to Oxford in January,

1840, to get Anglicans to set about praying for Unity. I myself, at that

time, or soon after, drew up such prayers; their desirableness was one

of the first thoughts which came upon me after my shock; but I was too

much annoyed with the political action of the Catholic body in these

islands to wish to have any thing to do with them personally. So glad in

my heart was I to see him, when he came to my rooms with Mr. Palmer of

Magdalen, that I could have laughed for joy; I think I did laugh; but I

was very rude to him, I would not meet him at dinner, and that, (though

I did not say so,) because I considered him "in loco apostatæ" from the

Anglican Church, and I hereby beg his pardon for it. I wrote afterwards

with a view to apologize, but I dare say he must have thought that I

made the matter worse, for these were my words to him:--

"The news that you are praying for us is most touching, and raises a

variety of indescribable emotions.... May their prayers return

abundantly into their own bosoms.... Why then do I not meet you in a

manner conformable with these first feelings? For this single reason, if

I may say it, that your acts are contrary to your words. You invite us

to a union of hearts, at the same time that you are doing all you can,

not to restore, not to reform, not to re-unite, but to destroy our

Church. You go further than your principles require. You are leagued

with our enemies. 'The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the

hands of Esau.' This is what especially distresses us; this is what we

cannot understand; how Christians, like yourselves, with the clear view

you have that a warfare is ever waging in the world between good and

evil, should, in the present state of England, ally yourselves with the

side of evil against the side of good.... Of parties now in the country,

you cannot but allow, that next to yourselves we are nearest to revealed

truth. We maintain great and holy principles; we profess Catholic

doctrines.... So near are we as a body to yourselves in modes of

thinking, as even to have been taunted with the nicknames which belong

to you; and, on the other hand, if there are professed infidels,

scoffers, sceptics, unprincipled men, rebels, they are found among our

opponents. And yet you take part with them against us.... You consent to

act hand in hand [with these and others] for our overthrow. Alas! all

this it is that impresses us irresistibly with the notion that you are a

political, not a religious party; that in order to gain an end on which

you set your hearts,--an open stage for yourselves in England,--you ally

yourselves with those who hold nothing against those who hold something.

This is what distresses my own mind so greatly, to speak of myself,

that, with limitations which need not now be mentioned, I cannot meet

familiarly any leading persons of the Roman Communion, and least of all

when they come on a religious errand. Break off, I would say, with Mr.

O'Connell in Ireland and the liberal party in England, or come not to us

with overtures for mutual prayer and religious sympathy."

And here came in another feeling, of a personal nature, which had little

to do with the argument against Rome, except that, in my prejudice, I

viewed what happened to myself in the light of my own ideas of the

traditionary conduct of her advocates and instruments. I was very stern

in the case of any interference in our Oxford matters on the part of

charitable Catholics, and of any attempt to do me good personally. There

was nothing, indeed, at the time more likely to throw me back. "Why do

you meddle? why cannot you let me alone? You can do me no good; you know

nothing on earth about me; you may actually do me harm; I am in better

hands than yours. I know my own sincerity of purpose; and I am

determined upon taking my time." Since I have been a Catholic, people

have sometimes accused me of backwardness in making converts; and

Protestants have argued from it that I have no great eagerness to do so.

It would be against my nature to act otherwise than I do; but besides,

it would be to forget the lessons which I gained in the experience of my

own history in the past.

This is the account which I have to give of some savage and ungrateful

words in the British Critic of 1840 against the controversialists of

Rome: "By their fruits ye shall know them.... We see it attempting to

gain converts among us by unreal representations of its doctrines,

plausible statements, bold assertions, appeals to the weaknesses of

human nature, to our fancies, our eccentricities, our fears, our

frivolities, our false philosophies. We see its agents, smiling and

nodding and ducking to attract attention, as gipsies make up to truant

boys, holding out tales for the nursery, and pretty pictures, and gilt

gingerbread, and physic concealed in jam, and sugar-plums for good

children. Who can but feel shame when the religion of Ximenes, Borromeo,

and Pascal, is so overlaid? Who can but feel sorrow, when its devout and

earnest defenders so mistake its genius and its capabilities? We

Englishmen like manliness, openness, consistency, truth. Rome will never

gain on us, till she learns these virtues, and uses them; and then she

_may_ gain us, but it will be by ceasing to be what we now mean by Rome,

by having a right, not to 'have dominion over our faith,' but to gain

and possess our affections in the bonds of the gospel. Till she ceases

to be what she practically is, a union is impossible between her and

England; but, if she does reform, (and who can presume to say that so

large a part of Christendom never can?) then it will be our Church's

duty at once to join in communion with the continental Churches,

whatever politicians at home may say to it, and whatever steps the civil

power may take in consequence. And though we may not live to see that

day, at least we are bound to pray for it; we are bound to pray for our

brethren that they and we may be led together into the pure light of the

gospel, and be one as we once were one. It was most touching news to be

told, as we were lately, that Christians on the Continent were praying

together for the spiritual well-being of England. May they gain light,

while they aim at unity, and grow in faith while they manifest their

love! We too have our duties to them; not of reviling, not of

slandering, not of hating, though political interests require it; but

the duty of loving brethren still more abundantly in spirit, whose

faces, for our sins and their sins, we are not allowed to see in the

flesh."

No one ought to indulge in insinuations; it certainly diminishes my

right to complain of slanders uttered against myself, when, as in this

passage, I had already spoken in disparagement of the controversialists

of that religious body, to which I myself now belong.

* * * * *

I have thus put together, as well as I can, what has to be said about my

general state of mind from the autumn of 1839 to the summer of 1841;

and, having done so, I go on to narrate how my new misgivings affected

my conduct, and my relations towards the Anglican Church.

When I got back to Oxford in October, 1839, after the visits which I had

been paying, it so happened, there had been, in my absence, occurrences

of an awkward character, compromising me both with my Bishop and also

with the authorities of the University; and this drew my attention at

once to the state of the Movement party there, and made me very anxious

for the future. In the spring of the year, as has been seen in the

Article analyzed above, I had spoken of the excesses which were to be

found among persons commonly included in it:--at that time I thought

little of such an evil, but the new views, which had come on me during

the Long Vacation, on the one hand made me comprehend it, and on the

other took away my power of effectually meeting it. A firm and powerful

control was necessary to keep men straight; I never had a strong wrist,

but at the very time, when it was most needed, the reins had broken in

my hands. With an anxious presentiment on my mind of the upshot of the

whole inquiry, which it was almost impossible for me to conceal from men

who saw me day by day, who heard my familiar conversation, who came

perhaps for the express purpose of pumping me, and having a categorical

_yes_ or _no_ to their questions,--how could I expect to say any thing

about my actual, positive, present belief, which would be sustaining or

consoling to such persons as were haunted already by doubts of their

own? Nay, how could I, with satisfaction to myself, analyze my own mind,

and say what I held and what I did not hold? or how could I say with

what limitations, shades of difference, or degrees of belief, I still

held that body of Anglican opinions which I had openly professed and

taught? how could I deny or assert this point or that, without injustice

to the new light, in which the whole evidence for those old opinions

presented itself to my mind?

However, I had to do what I could, and what was best, under the

circumstances; I found a general talk on the subject of the Article in

the Dublin Review; and, if it had affected me, it was not wonderful,

that it affected others also. As to myself, I felt no kind of certainty

that the argument in it was conclusive. Taking it at the worst, granting

that the Anglican Church had not the Note of Catholicity; yet there were

many Notes of the Church. Some belonged to one age or place, some to

another. Bellarmine had reckoned Temporal Prosperity among the Notes of

the Church; but the Roman Church had not any great popularity, wealth,

glory, power, or prospects, in the nineteenth century. It was not at all

certain as yet, even that we had not the Note of Catholicity; but, if

not this, we had others. My first business then, was to examine this

question carefully, and see, whether a great deal could not be said

after all for the Anglican Church, in spite of its acknowledged

short-comings. This I did in an Article "on the Catholicity of the

English Church," which appeared in the British Critic of January, 1840.

As to my personal distress on the point, I think it had gone by February

21st in that year, for I wrote then to Mr. Bowden about the important

Article in the Dublin, thus: "It made a great impression here [Oxford];

and, I say what of course I would only say to such as yourself, it made

me for a while very uncomfortable in my own mind. The great speciousness

of his argument is one of the things which have made me despond so

much," that is, as anticipating its effect upon others.

But, secondly, the great stumbling-block lay in the 39 Articles. It was

urged that here was a positive Note _against_ Anglicanism:--Anglicanism

claimed to hold, that the Church of England was nothing else than a

continuation in this country, (as the Church of Rome might be in France

or Spain,) of that one Church of which in old times Athanasius and

Augustine were members. But, if so, the doctrine must be the same; the

doctrine of the Old Church must live and speak in Anglican formularies,

in the 39 Articles. Did it? Yes, it did; that is what I maintained; it

did in substance, in a true sense. Man had done his worst to disfigure,

to mutilate, the old Catholic Truth; but there it was, in spite of them,

in the Articles still. It was there,--but this must be shown. It was a

matter of life and death to us to show it. And I believed that it could

be shown; I considered that those grounds of justification, which I gave

above, when I was speaking of Tract 90, were sufficient for the purpose;

and therefore

I set about showing it at once. This was in March, 1840, when I went up

to Littlemore. And, as it was a matter of life and death with us, all

risks must be run to show it. When the attempt was actually made, I had

got reconciled to the prospect of it, and had no apprehensions as to the

experiment; but in 1840, while my purpose was honest, and my grounds of

reason satisfactory, I did nevertheless recognize that I was engaged in

an _experimentum crucis_. I have no doubt that then I acknowledged to

myself that it would be a trial of the Anglican Church, which it had

never undergone before,--not that the Catholic sense of the Articles had

not been held or at least suffered by their framers and promulgators,

not that it was not implied in the teaching of Andrewes or Beveridge,

but that it had never been publicly recognized, while the interpretation

of the day was Protestant and exclusive. I observe also, that, though my

Tract was an experiment, it was, as I said at the time, "no _feeler_";

the event showed this; for, when my principle was not granted, I did not

draw back, but gave up. I would not hold office in a Church which would

not allow my sense of the Articles. My tone was, "This is necessary for

us, and have it we must and will, and, if it tends to bring men to look

less bitterly on the Church of Rome, so much the better."

This then was the second work to which I set myself; though when I got

to Littlemore, other things interfered to prevent my accomplishing it at

the moment. I had in mind to remove all such obstacles as lay in the way

of holding the Apostolic and Catholic character of the Anglican

teaching; to assert the right of all who chose, to say in the face of

day, "Our Church teaches the Primitive Ancient faith." I did not conceal

this: in Tract 90, it is put forward as the first principle of all, "It

is a duty which we owe both to the Catholic Church, and to our own, to

take our reformed confessions in the most Catholic sense they will

admit: we have no duties towards their framers." And still more

pointedly in my Letter, explanatory of the Tract, addressed to Dr. Jelf,

I say: "The only peculiarity of the view I advocate, if I must so call

it, is this--that whereas it is usual at this day to make the

_particular belief of their writers_ their true interpretation, I would

make the _belief of the Catholic Church such_. That is, as it is often

said that infants are regenerated in Baptism, not on the faith of their

parents, but of the Church, so in like manner I would say that the

Articles are received, not in the sense of their framers, but (as far as

the wording will admit or any ambiguity requires it) in the one Catholic

sense."

A third measure which I distinctly contemplated, was the resignation of

St. Mary's, whatever became of the question of the 39 Articles; and as a

first step I meditated a retirement to Littlemore. Littlemore was an

integral part of St. Mary's Parish, and between two and three miles

distant from Oxford. I had built a Church there several years before;

and I went there to pass the Lent of 1840, and gave myself up to

teaching in the Parish School, and practising the choir. At the same

time, I had in view a monastic house there. I bought ten acres of ground

and began planting; but this great design was never carried out. I

mention it, because it shows how little I had really the idea at that

time of ever leaving the Anglican Church. That I contemplated as early

as 1839 the further step of giving up St. Mary's, appears from a letter

which I wrote in October, 1840, to Mr. Keble, the friend whom it was

most natural for me to consult on such a point. It ran as follows:--

"For a year past a feeling has been growing on me that I ought to give

up St. Mary's, but I am no fit judge in the matter. I cannot ascertain

accurately my own impressions and convictions, which are the basis of

the difficulty, and though you cannot of course do this for me, yet you

may help me generally, and perhaps supersede the necessity of my going

by them at all.

"First, it is certain that I do not know my Oxford parishioners; I am

not conscious of influencing them, and certainly I have no insight into

their spiritual state. I have no personal, no pastoral acquaintance with

them. To very few have I any opportunity of saying a religious word.

Whatever influence I exert on them is precisely that which I may be

exerting on persons out of my parish. In my excuse I am accustomed to

say to myself that I am not adapted to get on with them, while others

are. On the other hand, I am conscious that by means of my position at

St. Mary's, I do exert a considerable influence on the University,

whether on Under-graduates or Graduates. It seems, then, on the whole

that I am using St. Mary's, to the neglect of its direct duties, for

objects not belonging to it; I am converting a parochial charge into a

sort of University office.

"I think I may say truly that I have begun scarcely any plan but for the

sake of my parish, but every one has turned, independently of me, into

the direction of the University. I began Saints'-days Services, daily

Services, and Lectures in Adam de Brome's Chapel, for my parishioners;

but they have not come to them. In consequence I dropped the last

mentioned, having, while it lasted, been naturally led to direct it to

the instruction of those who did come, instead of those who did not. The

Weekly Communion, I believe, I did begin for the sake of the University.

"Added to this the authorities of the University, the appointed

guardians of those who form great part of the attendants on my Sermons,

have shown a dislike of my preaching. One dissuades men from

coming;--the late Vice-Chancellor threatens to take his own children

away from the Church; and the present, having an opportunity last spring

of preaching in my parish pulpit, gets up and preaches against doctrine

with which I am in good measure identified. No plainer proof can be

given of the feeling in these quarters, than the absurd myth, now a

second time put forward, 'that Vice-Chancellors cannot be got to take

the office on account of Puseyism.'

"But further than this, I cannot disguise from myself that my preaching

is not calculated to defend that system of religion which has been

received for 300 years, and of which the Heads of Houses are the

legitimate maintainers in this place. They exclude me, as far as may be,

from the University Pulpit; and, though I never have preached strong

doctrine in it, they do so rightly, so far as this, that they understand

that my sermons are calculated to undermine things established. I cannot

disguise from myself that they are. No one will deny that most of my

sermons are on moral subjects, not doctrinal; still I am leading my

hearers to the Primitive Church, if you will, but not to the Church of

England. Now, ought one to be disgusting the minds of young men with the

received religion, in the exercise of a sacred office, yet without a

commission, and against the wish of their guides and governors?

"But this is not all. I fear I must allow that, whether I will or no, I

am disposing them towards Rome. First, because Rome is the only

representative of the Primitive Church besides ourselves; in proportion

then as they are loosened from the one, they will go to the other. Next,

because many doctrines which I have held have far greater, or their only

scope, in the Roman system. And, moreover, if, as is not unlikely, we

have in process of time heretical Bishops or teachers among us, an evil

which _ipso facto_ infects the whole community to which they belong, and

if, again (what there are at this moment symptoms of), there be a

movement in the English Roman Catholics to break the alliance of

O'Connell and of Exeter Hall, strong temptations will be placed in the

way of individuals, already imbued with a tone of thought congenial to

Rome, to join her Communion.

"People tell me, on the other hand, that I am, whether by sermons or

otherwise, exerting at St. Mary's a beneficial influence on our

prospective clergy; but what if I take to myself the credit of seeing

further than they, and of having in the course of the last year

discovered that what they approve so much is very likely to end in

Romanism?

"The _arguments_ which I have published against Romanism seem to myself

as cogent as ever, but men go by their sympathies, not by argument; and

if I feel the force of this influence myself, who bow to the arguments,

why may not others still more, who never have in the same degree

admitted the arguments?

"Nor can I counteract the danger by preaching or writing against Rome. I

seem to myself almost to have shot my last arrow in the Article on

English Catholicity. It must be added, that the very circumstance that I

have committed myself against Rome has the effect of setting to sleep

people suspicious about me, which is painful now that I begin to have

suspicions about myself. I mentioned my general difficulty to Rogers a

year since, than whom I know no one of a more fine and accurate

conscience, and it was his spontaneous idea that I should give up St.

Mary's, if my feelings continued. I mentioned it again to him lately,

and he did not reverse his opinion, only expressed great reluctance to

believe it must be so."

Mr. Keble's judgment was in favour of my retaining my living; at least

for the present; what weighed with me most was his saying, "You must

consider, whether your retiring either from the Pastoral Care only, or

from writing and printing and editing in the cause, would not be a sort

of scandalous thing, unless it were done very warily. It would be said,

'You see he can go on no longer with the Church of England, except in

mere Lay Communion;' or people might say you repented of the cause

altogether. Till you see [your way to mitigate, if not remove this evil]

I certainly should advise you to stay." I answered as follows:--

"Since you think I _may_ go on, it seems to follow that, under the

circumstances, I _ought_ to do so. There are plenty of reasons for it,

directly it is allowed to be lawful. The following considerations have

much reconciled my feelings to your conclusion.

"1. I do not think that we have yet made fair trial how much the English

Church will bear. I know it is a hazardous experiment,--like proving

cannon. Yet we must not take it for granted that the metal will burst in

the operation. It has borne at various times, not to say at this time, a

great infusion of Catholic truth without damage. As to the result, viz.

whether this process will not approximate the whole English Church, as a

body, to Rome, that is nothing to us. For what we know, it may be the

providential means of uniting the whole Church in one, without fresh

schismatizing or use of private judgment."

Here I observe, that, what was contemplated was the bursting of the

_Catholicity_ of the Anglican Church, that is, my _subjective idea_ of

that Church. Its bursting would not hurt her with the world, but would

be a discovery that she was purely and essentially Protestant, and would

be really the "hoisting of the engineer with his own petar." And this

was the result. I continue:--

"2. Say, that I move sympathies for Rome: in the same sense does Hooker,

Taylor, Bull, &c. Their _arguments_ may be against Rome, but the

sympathies they raise must be towards Rome, _so far_ as Rome maintains

truths which our Church does not teach or enforce. Thus it is a question

of _degree_ between our divines and me. I may, if so be, go further; I

may raise sympathies _more_; but I am but urging minds in the same

direction as they do. I am doing just the very thing which all our

doctors have ever been doing. In short, would not Hooker, if Vicar of

St. Mary's, be in my difficulty?"--Here it may be objected, that Hooker

could preach against Rome and I could not; but I doubt whether he could

have preached effectively against Transubstantiation better than I,

though neither he nor I held that doctrine.

"3. Rationalism is the great evil of the day. May not I consider my post

at St. Mary's as a place of protest against it? I am more certain that

the Protestant [spirit], which I oppose, leads to infidelity, than that

which I recommend, leads to Rome. Who knows what the state of the

University may be, as regards Divinity Professors in a few years hence?

Any how, a great battle may be coming on, of which Milman's book is a

sort of earnest. The whole of _our_ day may be a battle with this

spirit. May we not leave to another age _its own_ evil,--to settle the

question of Romanism?"

I may add that from this time I had a curate at St. Mary's, who

gradually took more and more of my work.

Also, this same year, 1840, I made arrangements for giving up the

British Critic, in the following July, which were carried into effect at

that date.

* * * * *

Such was about my state of mind, on the publication of Tract 90 in

February 1841. I was indeed in prudence taking steps towards eventually

withdrawing from St. Mary's, and I was not confident about my permanent

adhesion to the Anglican creed; but I was in no actual perplexity or

trouble of mind. Nor did the immense commotion consequent upon the

publication of the Tract unsettle me again; for I fancied I had

weathered the storm, as far as the Bishops were concerned: the Tract had

not been condemned: that was the great point, and I made much of it.

To illustrate my feelings during this trial, I will make extracts from

my letters addressed severally to Mr. Bowden and another friend, which

have come into my possession.

1. March 15.--"The Heads, I believe, have just done a violent act: they

have said that my interpretation of the Articles is an _evasion_. Do not

think that this will pain me. You see, no _doctrine_ is censured, and my

shoulders shall manage to bear the charge. If you knew all, or were

here, you would see that I have asserted a great principle, and I

_ought_ to suffer for it:--that the Articles are to be interpreted, not

according to the meaning of the writers, but (as far as the wording will

admit) according to the sense of the Catholic Church."

2. March 25.--"I do trust I shall make no false step, and hope my

friends will pray for me to this effect. If, as you say, a destiny hangs

over us, a single false step may ruin all. I am very well and

comfortable; but we are not yet out of the wood."

3. April 1.--"The Bishop sent me word on Sunday to write a Letter to him

'_instanter_.' So I wrote it on Monday: on Tuesday it passed through the

press: on Wednesday it was out: and to-day [Thursday] it is in London.

"I trust that things are smoothing now; and that we have made a _great

step_ is certain. It is not right to boast, till I am clear out of the

wood, i.e. till I know how the Letter is received in London. You know, I

suppose, that I am to stop the Tracts; but you will see in the Letter,

though I speak _quite_ what I feel, yet I have managed to take out on

_my_ side my snubbing's worth. And this makes me anxious how it will be

received in London.

"I have not had a misgiving for five minutes from the first: but I do

not like to boast, lest some harm come."

4. April 4.--"Your letter of this morning was an exceedingly great

gratification to me; and it is confirmed, I am thankful to say, by the

opinion of others. The Bishop sent me a message that my Letter had his

unqualified approbation; and since that, he has sent me a note to the

same effect, only going more into detail. It is most pleasant too to my

feelings, to have such a testimony to the substantial truth and

importance of No. 90, as I have had from so many of my friends, from

those who, from their cautious turn of mind, I was least sanguine about.

I have not had one misgiving myself about it throughout; and I do trust

that what has happened will be overruled to subserve the great cause we

all have at heart."

5. May 9.--"The Bishops are very desirous of hushing the matter up: and

I certainly have done my utmost to co-operate with them, on the

understanding that the Tract is not to be withdrawn or condemned."

Upon this occasion several Catholics wrote to me; I answered one of my

correspondents in the same tone:--

"April 8.--You have no cause to be surprised at the discontinuance of

the Tracts. We feel no misgivings about it whatever, as if the cause of

what we hold to be Catholic truth would suffer thereby. My letter to my

Bishop has, I trust, had the effect of bringing the preponderating

_authority_ of the Church on our side. No stopping of the Tracts can,

humanly speaking, stop the spread of the opinions which they have

inculcated.

"The Tracts are not _suppressed_. No doctrine or principle has been

conceded by us, or condemned by authority. The Bishop has but said that

a certain Tract is 'objectionable,' no reason being stated, I have no

intention whatever of yielding any one point which I hold on conviction;

and that the authorities of the Church know full well."

* * * * *

In the summer of 1841, I found myself at Littlemore without any harass

or anxiety on my mind. I had determined to put aside all controversy,

and I set myself down to my translation of St. Athanasius; but, between

July and November, I received three blows which broke me.

1. I had got but a little way in my work, when my trouble returned on

me. The ghost had come a second time. In the Arian History I found the

very same phenomenon, in a far bolder shape, which I had found in the

Monophysite. I had not observed it in 1832. Wonderful that this should

come upon me! I had not sought it out; I was reading and writing in my

own line of study, far from the controversies of the day, on what is

called a "metaphysical" subject; but I saw clearly, that in the history

of Arianism, the pure Arians were the Protestants, the semi-Arians were

the Anglicans, and that Rome now was what it was then. The truth lay,

not with the _Via Media_, but with what was called "the extreme party."

As I am not writing a work of controversy, I need not enlarge upon the

argument; I have said something on the subject in a Volume, from which I

have already quoted.

2. I was in the misery of this new unsettlement, when a second blow came

upon me. The Bishops one after another began to charge against me. It

was a formal, determinate movement. This was the real "understanding;"

that, on which I had acted on the first appearance of Tract 90, had come

to nought. I think the words, which had then been used to me, were, that

"perhaps two or three of them might think it necessary to say something

in their charges;" but by this time they had tided over the difficulty

of the Tract, and there was no one to enforce the "understanding." They

went on in this way, directing charges at me, for three whole years. I

recognized it as a condemnation; it was the only one that was in their

power. At first I intended to protest; but I gave up the thought in

despair.

On October 17th, I wrote thus to a friend: "I suppose it will be

necessary in some shape or other to re-assert Tract 90; else, it will

seem, after these Bishops' Charges, as if it were silenced, which it has

not been, nor do I intend it should be. I wish to keep quiet; but if

Bishops speak, I will speak too. If the view were silenced, I could not

remain in the Church, nor could many others; and therefore, since it is

_not_ silenced, I shall take care to show that it isn't."

A day or two after, Oct. 22, a stranger wrote to me to say, that the

Tracts for the Times had made a young friend of his a Catholic, and to

ask, "would I be so good as to convert him back;" I made answer:

"If conversions to Rome take place in consequence of the Tracts for the

Times, I do not impute blame to them, but to those who, instead of

acknowledging such Anglican principles of theology and ecclesiastical

polity as they contain, set themselves to oppose them. Whatever be the

influence of the Tracts, great or small, they may become just as

powerful for Rome, if our Church refuses them, as they would be for our

Church if she accepted them. If our rulers speak either against the

Tracts, or not at all, if any number of them, not only do not favour,

but even do not suffer the principles contained in them, it is plain

that our members may easily be persuaded either to give up those

principles, or to give up the Church. If this state of things goes on, I

mournfully prophesy, not one or two, but many secessions to the Church

of Rome."

Two years afterwards, looking back on what had passed, I said, "There

were no converts to Rome, till after the condemnation of No. 90."

3. As if all this were not enough, there came the affair of the

Jerusalem Bishopric; and, with a brief mention of it, I shall conclude.

I think I am right in saying that it had been long a desire with the

Prussian Court to introduce Episcopacy into the new Evangelical

Religion, which was intended in that country to embrace both the

Lutheran and Calvinistic bodies. I almost think I heard of the project,

when I was at Rome in 1833, at the Hotel of the Prussian Minister, M.

Bunsen, who was most hospitable and kind, as to other English visitors,

so also to my friends and myself. The idea of Episcopacy, as the

Prussian king understood it, was, I suppose, very different from that

taught in the Tractarian School: but still, I suppose also, that the

chief authors of that school would have gladly seen such a measure

carried out in Prussia, had it been done without compromising those

principles which were necessary to the being of a Church. About the time

of the publication of Tract 90, M. Bunsen and the then Archbishop of

Canterbury were taking steps for its execution, by appointing and

consecrating a Bishop for Jerusalem. Jerusalem, it would seem, was

considered a safe place for the experiment; it was too far from Prussia

to awaken the susceptibilities of any party at home; if the project

failed, it failed without harm to any one; and, if it succeeded, it gave

Protestantism a _status_ in the East, which, in association with the

Monophysite or Jacobite and the Nestorian bodies, formed a political

instrument for England, parallel to that which Russia had in the Greek

Church, and France in the Latin.

Accordingly, in July 1841, full of the Anglican difficulty on the

question of Catholicity, I thus spoke of the Jerusalem scheme in an

Article in the British Critic: "When our thoughts turn to the East,

instead of recollecting that there are Christian Churches there, we

leave it to the Russians to take care of the Greeks, and the French to

take care of the Romans, and we content ourselves with erecting a

Protestant Church at Jerusalem, or with helping the Jews to rebuild

their Temple there, or with becoming the august protectors of

Nestorians, Monophysites, and all the heretics we can hear of, or with

forming a league with the Mussulman against Greeks and Romans together."

I do not pretend, so long after the time, to give a full or exact

account of this measure in detail. I will but say that in the Act of

Parliament, under date of October 5, 1841, (if the copy, from which I

quote, contains the measure as it passed the Houses,) provision is made

for the consecration of "British subjects, or the subjects or citizens

of any foreign state, to be Bishops in any foreign country, whether such

foreign subjects or citizens be or be not subjects or citizens of the

country in which they are to act, and ... without requiring such of them

as may be subjects or citizens of any foreign kingdom or state to take

the oaths of allegiance and supremacy, and the oath of due obedience to

the Archbishop for the time being" ... also "that such Bishop or

Bishops, so consecrated, may exercise, within such limits, as may from

time to time be assigned for that purpose in such foreign countries by

her Majesty, spiritual jurisdiction over the ministers of British

congregations of the United Church of England and Ireland, and over

_such other Protestant_ Congregations, as may be desirous of placing

themselves under his or their authority."

Now here, at the very time that the Anglican Bishops were directing

their censure upon me for avowing an approach to the Catholic Church not

closer than I believed the Anglican formularies would allow, they were

on the other hand, fraternizing, by their act or by their sufferance,

with Protestant bodies, and allowing them to put themselves under an

Anglican Bishop, without any renunciation of their errors or regard to

their due reception of baptism and confirmation; while there was great

reason to suppose that the said Bishop was intended to make converts

from the orthodox Greeks, and the schismatical Oriental bodies, by means

of the influence of England. This was the third blow, which finally

shattered my faith in the Anglican Church. That Church was not only

forbidding any sympathy or concurrence with the Church of Rome, but it

actually was courting an intercommunion with Protestant Prussia and the

heresy of the Orientals. The Anglican Church might have the Apostolical

succession, as had the Monophysites; but such acts as were in progress

led me to the gravest suspicion, not that it would soon cease to be a

Church, but that, since the 16th century, it had never been a Church all

along.

On October 12th, I thus wrote to Mr. Bowden:--"We have not a single

Anglican in Jerusalem; so we are sending a Bishop to _make_ a communion,

not to govern our own people. Next, the excuse is, that there are

converted Anglican Jews there who require a Bishop; I am told there are

not half-a-dozen. But for _them_ the Bishop is sent out, and for them he

is a Bishop of the _circumcision_" (I think he was a converted Jew, who

boasted of his Jewish descent), "against the Epistle to the Galatians

pretty nearly. Thirdly, for the sake of Prussia, he is to take under him

all the foreign Protestants who will come; and the political advantages

will be so great, from the influence of England, that there is no doubt

they _will_ come. They are to sign the Confession of Augsburg, and there

is nothing to show that they hold the doctrine of Baptismal

Regeneration.

"As to myself, I shall do nothing whatever publicly, unless indeed it

were to give my signature to a Protest; but I think it would be out of

place in _me_ to agitate, having been in a way silenced; but the

Archbishop is really doing most grave work, of which we cannot see the

end."

I did make a solemn Protest, and sent it to the Archbishop of

Canterbury, and also sent it to my own Bishop with the following

letter:--

"It seems as if I were never to write to your Lordship, without giving

you pain, and I know that my present subject does not specially concern

your Lordship; yet, after a great deal of anxious thought, I lay before

you the enclosed Protest.

"Your Lordship will observe that I am not asking for any notice of it,

unless you think that I ought to receive one. I do this very serious act

in obedience to my sense of duty.

"If the English Church is to enter on a new course, and assume a new

aspect, it will be more pleasant to me hereafter to think, that I did

not suffer so grievous an event to happen, without bearing witness

against it.

"May I be allowed to say, that I augur nothing but evil, if we in any

respect prejudice our title to be a branch of the Apostolic Church? That

Article of the Creed, I need hardly observe to your Lordship, is of such

constraining power, that, if _we_ will not claim it, and use it for

ourselves, _others_ will use it in their own behalf against us. Men who

learn whether by means of documents or measures, whether from the

statements or the acts of persons in authority, that our communion is

not a branch of the One Church, I foresee with much grief, will be

tempted to look out for that Church elsewhere.

"It is to me a subject of great dismay, that, as far as the Church has

lately spoken out, on the subject of the opinions which I and others

hold, those opinions are, not merely not _sanctioned_ (for that I do not

ask), but not even _suffered_.

"I earnestly hope that your Lordship will excuse my freedom in thus

speaking to you of some members of your Most Rev. and Right Rev. Body.

With every feeling of reverent attachment to your Lordship,

"I am, &c."

PROTEST.

"Whereas the Church of England has a claim on the allegiance of Catholic

believers only on the ground of her own claim to be considered a branch

of the Catholic Church:

"And whereas the recognition of heresy, indirect as well as direct, goes

far to destroy such claim in the case of any religious body:

"And whereas to admit maintainers of heresy to communion, without formal

renunciation of their errors, goes far towards recognizing the same:

"And whereas Lutheranism and Calvinism are heresies, repugnant to

Scripture, springing up three centuries since, and anathematized by East

as well as West:

"And whereas it is reported that the Most Reverend Primate and other

Right Reverend Rulers of our Church have consecrated a Bishop with a

view to exercising spiritual jurisdiction over Protestant, that is,

Lutheran and Calvinist congregations in the East (under the provisions

of an Act made in the last session of Parliament to amend an Act made in

the 26th year of the reign of his Majesty King George the Third,

intituled, 'An Act to empower the Archbishop of Canterbury, or the

Archbishop of York for the time being, to consecrate to the office of

Bishop persons being subjects or citizens of countries out of his

Majesty's dominions'), dispensing at the same time, not in particular

cases and accidentally, but as if on principle and universally, with any

abjuration of error on the part of such congregations, and with any

reconciliation to the Church on the part of the presiding Bishop;

thereby giving some sort of formal recognition to the doctrines which

such congregations maintain:

"And whereas the dioceses in England are connected together by so close

an intercommunion, that what is done by authority in one, immediately

affects the rest:

"On these grounds, I in my place, being a priest of the English Church

and Vicar of St. Mary the Virgin's, Oxford, by way of relieving my

conscience, do hereby solemnly protest against the measure aforesaid,

and disown it, as removing our Church from her present ground and

tending to her disorganization.

"John Henry Newman.

"November 11, 1841."

* * * * *

Looking back two years afterwards on the above-mentioned and other acts,

on the part of Anglican Ecclesiastical authorities, I observed: "Many a

man might have held an abstract theory about the Catholic Church, to

which it was difficult to adjust the Anglican,--might have admitted a

suspicion, or even painful doubts about the latter,--yet never have been

impelled onwards, had our Rulers preserved the quiescence of former

years; but it is the corroboration of a present, living, and energetic

heterodoxy, that realizes and makes such doubts practical; it has been

the recent speeches and acts of authorities, who had so long been

tolerant of Protestant error, which has given to inquiry and to theory

its force and its edge."

As to the project of a Jerusalem Bishopric, I never heard of any good or

harm it has ever done, except what it has done for me; which many think

a great misfortune, and I one of the greatest of mercies. It brought me

on to the beginning of the end.

CHAPTER IV.

HISTORY OF MY RELIGIOUS OPINIONS FROM 1841 TO 1845.

§ 1.

From the end of 1841, I was on my death-bed, as regards my membership

with the Anglican Church, though at the time I became aware of it only

by degrees. I introduce what I have to say with this remark, by way of

accounting for the character of this remaining portion of my narrative.

A death-bed has scarcely a history; it is a tedious decline, with

seasons of rallying and seasons of falling back; and since the end is

foreseen, or what is called a matter of time, it has little interest for

the reader, especially if he has a kind heart. Moreover, it is a season

when doors are closed and curtains drawn, and when the sick man neither

cares nor is able to record the stages of his malady. I was in these

circumstances, except so far as I was not allowed to die in

peace,--except so far as friends, who had still a full right to come in

upon me, and the public world which had not, have given a sort of

history to those last four years. But in consequence, my narrative must

be in great measure documentary, as I cannot rely on my memory, except

for definite particulars, positive or negative. Letters of mine to

friends since dead have come into my hands; others have been kindly lent

me for the occasion; and I have some drafts of others, and some notes

which I made, though I have no strictly personal or continuous memoranda

to consult, and have unluckily mislaid some valuable papers.

And first as to my position in the view of duty; it was this:--1. I had

given up my place in the Movement in my letter to the Bishop of Oxford

in the spring of 1841; but 2. I could not give up my duties towards the

many and various minds who had more or less been brought into it by me;

3. I expected or intended gradually to fall back into Lay Communion; 4.

I never contemplated leaving the Church of England; 5. I could not hold

office in its service, if I were not allowed to hold the Catholic sense

of the Articles; 6. I could not go to Rome, while she suffered honours

to be paid to the Blessed Virgin and the Saints which I thought in my

conscience to be incompatible with the Supreme, Incommunicable Glory of

the One Infinite and Eternal; 7. I desired a union with Rome under

conditions, Church with Church; 8. I called Littlemore my Torres Vedras,

and thought that some day we might advance again within the Anglican

Church, as we had been forced to retire; 9. I kept back all persons who

were disposed to go to Rome with all my might.

And I kept them back for three or four reasons; 1. because what I could

not in conscience do myself, I could not suffer them to do; 2. because I

thought that in various cases they were acting under excitement; 3.

because I had duties to my Bishop and to the Anglican Church; and 4, in

some cases, because I had received from their Anglican parents or

superiors direct charge of them.

This was my view of my duty from the end of 1841, to my resignation of

St. Mary's in the autumn of 1843. And now I shall relate my view, during

that time, of the state of the controversy between the Churches.

* * * * *

As soon as I saw the hitch in the Anglican argument, during my course of

reading in the summer of 1839, I began to look about, as I have said,

for some ground which might supply a controversial basis for my need.

The difficulty in question had affected my view both of Antiquity and

Catholicity; for, while the history of St. Leo showed me that the

deliberate and eventual consent of the great body of the Church ratified

a doctrinal decision as a part of revealed truth, it also showed that

the rule of Antiquity was not infringed, though a doctrine had not been

publicly recognized as so revealed, till centuries after the time of the

Apostles. Thus, whereas the Creeds tell us that the Church is One, Holy,

Catholic, and Apostolic, I could not prove that the Anglican communion

was an integral part of the One Church, on the ground of its teaching

being Apostolic or Catholic, without reasoning in favour of what are

commonly called the Roman corruptions; and I could not defend our

separation from Rome and her faith without using arguments prejudicial

to those great doctrines concerning our Lord, which are the very

foundation of the Christian religion. The Via Media was an impossible

idea; it was what I had called "standing on one leg;" and it was

necessary, if my old issue of the controversy was to be retained, to go

further either one way or the other.

Accordingly, I abandoned that old ground and took another. I

deliberately quitted the old Anglican ground as untenable; though I did

not do so all at once, but as I became more and more convinced of the

state of the case. The Jerusalem Bishopric was the ultimate condemnation

of the old theory of the Via Media:--if its establishment did nothing

else, at least it demolished the sacredness of diocesan rights. If

England could be in Palestine, Rome might be in England. But its bearing

upon the controversy, as I have shown in the foregoing chapter, was much

more serious than this technical ground. From that time the Anglican

Church was, in my mind, either not a normal portion of that One Church

to which the promises were made, or at least in an abnormal state; and

from that time I said boldly (as I did in my Protest, and as indeed I

had even intimated in my Letter to the Bishop of Oxford), that the

Church in which I found myself had no claim on me, except on condition

of its being a portion of the One Catholic Communion, and that that

condition must ever be borne in mind as a practical matter, and had to

be distinctly proved. All this is not inconsistent with my saying above

that, at this time, I had no thought of leaving the Church of England;

because I felt some of my old objections against Rome as strongly as

ever. I had no right, I had no leave, to act against my conscience. That

was a higher rule than any argument about the Notes of the Church.

Under these circumstances I turned for protection to the Note of

Sanctity, with a view of showing that we had at least one of the

necessary Notes, as fully as the Church of Rome; or, at least, without

entering into comparisons, that we had it in such a sufficient sense as

to reconcile us to our position, and to supply full evidence, and a

clear direction, on the point of practical duty. We had the Note of

Life,--not any sort of life, not such only as can come of nature, but a

supernatural Christian life, which could only come directly from above.

Thus, in my Article in the British Critic, to which I have so often

referred, in January, 1840 (before the time of Tract 90), I said of the

Anglican Church that "she has the note of possession, the note of

freedom from party titles, the note of life,--a tough life and a

vigorous; she has ancient descent, unbroken continuance, agreement in

doctrine with the Ancient Church." Presently I go on to speak of

sanctity: "Much as Roman Catholics may denounce us at present as

schismatical, they could not resist us if the Anglican communion had but

that one note of the Church upon it,--sanctity. The Church of the day

[4th century] could not resist Meletius; his enemies were fairly

overcome by him, by his meekness and holiness, which melted the most

jealous of them." And I continue, "We are almost content to say to

Romanists, account us not yet as a branch of the Catholic Church, though

we be a branch, till we are like a branch, provided that when we do

become like a branch, then you consent to acknowledge us," &c. And so I

was led on in the Article to that sharp attack on English Catholics, for

their shortcomings as regards this Note, a good portion of which I have

already quoted in another place. It is there that I speak of the great

scandal which I took at their political, social, and controversial

bearing; and this was a second reason why I fell back upon the Note of

Sanctity, because it took me away from the necessity of making any

attack upon the doctrines of the Roman Church, nay, from the

consideration of her popular beliefs, and brought me upon a ground on

which I felt I could not make a mistake; for what is a higher guide for

us in speculation and in practice, than that conscience of right and

wrong, of truth and falsehood, those sentiments of what is decorous,

consistent, and noble, which our Creator has made a part of our original

nature? Therefore I felt I could not be wrong in attacking what I

fancied was a fact,--the unscrupulousness, the deceit, and the

intriguing spirit of the agents and representatives of Rome.

This reference to Holiness as the true test of a Church was steadily

kept in view in what I wrote in connexion with Tract 90. I say in its

Introduction, "The writer can never be party to forcing the opinions or

projects of one school upon another; religious changes should be the act

of the whole body. No good can come of a change which is not a

development of feelings springing up freely and calmly within the bosom

of the whole body itself; every change in religion" must be "attended by

deep repentance; changes" must be "nurtured in mutual love; we cannot

agree without a supernatural influence;" we must come "together to God

to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves." In my Letter to the

Bishop I said, "I have set myself against suggestions for considering

the differences between ourselves and the foreign Churches with a view

to their adjustment." (I meant in the way of negotiation, conference,

agitation, or the like.) "Our business is with ourselves,--to make

ourselves more holy, more self-denying, more primitive, more worthy of

our high calling. To be anxious for a composition of differences is to

begin at the end. Political reconciliations are but outward and hollow,

and fallacious. And till Roman Catholics renounce political efforts, and

manifest in their public measures the light of holiness and truth,

perpetual war is our only prospect."

According to this theory, a religious body is part of the One Catholic

and Apostolic Church, if it has the succession and the creed of the

Apostles, with the note of holiness of life; and there is much in such a

view to approve itself to the direct common sense and practical habits

of an Englishman. However, with the events consequent upon Tract 90, I

sunk my theory to a lower level. For what could be said in apology, when

the Bishops and the people of my Church, not only did not suffer, but

actually rejected primitive Catholic doctrine, and tried to eject from

their communion all who held it? after the Bishops' charges? after the

Jerusalem "abomination[8]?" Well, this could be said; still we were not

nothing: we could not be as if we never had been a Church; we were

"Samaria." This then was that lower level on which I placed myself, and

all who felt with me, at the end of 1841.

[8] Matt. xxiv. 15.

To bring out this view was the purpose of Four Sermons preached at St.

Mary's in December of that year. Hitherto I had not introduced the

exciting topics of the day into the Pulpit[9]; on this occasion I did. I

did so, for the moment was urgent; there was great unsettlement of mind

among us, in consequence of those same events which had unsettled me.

One special anxiety, very obvious, which was coming on me now, was, that

what was "one man's meat was another man's poison." I had said even of

Tract 90, "It was addressed to one set of persons, and has been used and

commented on by another;" still more was it true now, that whatever I

wrote for the service of those whom I knew to be in trouble of mind,

would become on the one hand matter of suspicion and slander in the

mouths of my opponents, and of distress and surprise to those on the

other hand, who had no difficulties of faith at all. Accordingly, when I

published these Four Sermons at the end of 1843, I introduced them with

a recommendation that none should read them who did not need them. But

in truth the virtual condemnation of Tract 90, after that the whole

difficulty seemed to have been weathered, was an enormous disappointment

and trial. My Protest also against the Jerusalem Bishopric was an

unavoidable cause of excitement in the case of many; but it calmed them

too, for the very fact of a Protest was a relief to their impatience.

And so, in like manner, as regards the Four Sermons, of which I speak,

though they acknowledged freely the great scandal which was involved in

the recent episcopal doings, yet at the same time they might be said to

bestow upon the multiplied disorders and shortcomings of the Anglican

Church a sort of place in the Revealed Dispensation, and an intellectual

position in the controversy, and the dignity of a great principle, for

unsettled minds to take and use,--a principle which might teach them to

recognize their own consistency, and to be reconciled to themselves, and

which might absorb and dry up a multitude of their grudgings,

discontents, misgivings, and questionings, and lead the way to humble,

thankful, and tranquil thoughts;--and this was the effect which

certainly it produced on myself.

[9] Vide Note C. _Sermon on Wisdom and Innocence._

The point of these Sermons is, that, in spite of the rigid character of

the Jewish law, the formal and literal force of its precepts, and the

manifest schism, and worse than schism, of the Ten Tribes, yet in fact

they were still recognized as a people by the Divine Mercy; that the

great prophets Elias and Eliseus were sent to them; and not only so, but

were sent to preach to them and reclaim them, without any intimation

that they must be reconciled to the line of David and the Aaronic

priesthood, or go up to Jerusalem to worship. They were not in the

Church, yet they had the means of grace and the hope of acceptance with

their Maker. The application of all this to the Anglican Church was

immediate;--whether, under the circumstances, a man could assume or

exercise ministerial functions, or not, might not clearly appear (though

it must be remembered that England had the Apostolic Priesthood, whereas

Israel had no priesthood at all), but so far was clear, that there was

no call at all for an Anglican to leave his Church for Rome, though he

did not believe his own to be part of the One Church:--and for this

reason, because it was a fact that the kingdom of Israel was cut off

from the Temple; and yet its subjects, neither in a mass, nor as

individuals, neither the multitudes on Mount Carmel, nor the Shunammite

and her household, had any command given them, though miracles were

displayed before them, to break off from their own people, and to submit

themselves to Judah[10].

[10] As I am not writing controversially, I will only here remark upon

this argument, that there is a great difference between a command, which

presupposes physical, material, and political conditions, and one which

is moral. To go to Jerusalem was a matter of the body, not of the soul.

It is plain, that a theory such as this,--whether the marks of a divine

presence and life in the Anglican Church were sufficient to prove that

she was actually within the covenant, or only sufficient to prove that

she was at least enjoying extraordinary and uncovenanted mercies,--not

only lowered her level in a religious point of view, but weakened her

controversial basis. Its very novelty made it suspicious; and there was

no guarantee that the process of subsidence might not continue, and that

it might not end in a submersion. Indeed, to many minds, to say that

England was wrong was even to say that Rome was right; and no ethical or

casuistic reasoning whatever could overcome in their case the argument

from prescription and authority. To this objection, as made to my new

teaching, I could only answer that I did not make my circumstances. I

fully acknowledged the force and effectiveness of the genuine Anglican

theory, and that it was all but proof against the disputants of Rome;

but still like Achilles, it had a vulnerable point, and that St. Leo had

found it out for me, and that I could not help it;--that, were it not

for matter of fact, the theory would be great indeed; it would be

irresistible, if it were only true. When I became a Catholic, the Editor

of the Christian Observer, Mr. Wilkes, who had in former days accused

me, to my indignation, of tending towards Rome, wrote to me to ask,

which of the two was now right, he or I? I answered him in a letter,

part of which I here insert, as it will serve as a sort of leave-taking

of the great theory, which is so specious to look upon, so difficult to

prove, and so hopeless to work.

"Nov. 8, 1845. I do not think, at all more than I did, that the Anglican

principles which I advocated at the date you mention, lead men to the

Church of Rome. If I must specify what I mean by 'Anglican principles,'

I should say, e.g. taking _Antiquity_, not the _existing Church_, as the

oracle of truth; and holding that the _Apostolical Succession_ is a

sufficient guarantee of Sacramental Grace, _without union with the

Christian Church throughout the world_. I think these still the firmest,

strongest ground against Rome--that is, _if they can be held_" [as

truths or facts.] "They _have_ been held by many, and are far more

difficult to refute in the Roman controversy, than those of any other

religious body.

"For myself, I found _I could not_ hold them. I left them. From the time

I began to suspect their unsoundness, I ceased to put them forward. When

I was fairly sure of their unsoundness, I gave up my Living. When I was

fully confident that the Church of Rome was the only true Church, I

joined her.

"I have felt all along that Bp. Bull's theology was the only theology on

which the English Church could stand. I have felt, that opposition to

the Church of Rome was _part_ of that theology; and that he who could

not protest against the Church of Rome was no true divine in the English

Church. I have never said, nor attempted to say, that any one in office

in the English Church, whether Bishop or incumbent, could be otherwise

than in hostility to the Church of Rome."

* * * * *

The _Via Media_ then disappeared for ever, and a Theory, made expressly

for the occasion, took its place. I was pleased with my new view. I

wrote to an intimate friend, Samuel F. Wood, Dec. 13, 1841: "I think you

will give me the credit, Carissime, of not undervaluing the strength of

the feelings which draw one [to Rome], and yet I am (I trust) quite

clear about my duty to remain where I am; indeed, much clearer than I

was some time since. If it is not presumptuous to say, I have ... a much

more definite view of the promised inward Presence of Christ with us in

the Sacraments now that the outward notes of it are being removed. And I

am content to be with Moses in the desert, or with Elijah excommunicated

from the Temple. I say this, putting things at the strongest."

However, my friends of the moderate Apostolical party, who were my

friends for the very reason of my having been so moderate and Anglican

myself in general tone in times past, who had stood up for Tract 90

partly from faith in me, and certainly from generous and kind feeling,

and had thereby shared an obloquy which was none of theirs, were

naturally surprised and offended at a line of argument, novel, and, as

it appeared to them, wanton, which threw the whole controversy into

confusion, stultified my former principles, and substituted, as they

would consider, a sort of methodistic self-contemplation, especially

abhorrent both to my nature and to my past professions, for the plain

and honest tokens, as they were commonly received, of a divine mission

in the Anglican Church. They could not tell whither I was going; and

were still further annoyed when I persisted in viewing the condemnation

of Tract 90 by the public and the Bishops as so grave a matter, and when

I threw about what they considered mysterious hints of "eventualities,"

and would not simply say, "An Anglican I was born, and an Anglican I

will die." One of my familiar friends, Mr. Church, who was in the

country at Christmas, 1841-2, reported to me the feeling that prevailed

about me; and how I felt towards it will appear in the following letter

of mine, written in answer:--

"Oriel, Dec. 24, 1841. Carissime, you cannot tell how sad your account

of Moberly has made me. His view of the sinfulness of the decrees of

Trent is as much against union of Churches as against individual

conversions. To tell the truth, I never have examined those decrees with

this object, and have no view; but that is very different from having a

deliberate view against them. Could not he say _which_ they are? I

suppose Transubstantiation is one. Charles Marriott, though of course he

would not like to have it repeated[11], does not scruple at that. I have

not my mind clear. Moberly must recollect that Palmer [of Worcester]

thinks they all bear a Catholic interpretation. For myself, this only I

see, that there is indefinitely more in the Fathers against our own

state of alienation from Christendom than against the Tridentine

Decrees.

"The only thing I can think of," [that I can have said of a startling

character,] "is this, that there were persons who, if our Church

committed herself to heresy, _sooner_ than think that there was no

Church any where, would believe the Roman to be the Church; and

therefore would on faith accept what they could not otherwise acquiesce

in. I suppose, it would be no relief to him to insist upon the

circumstance that there is no immediate danger. Individuals can never be

answered for of course; but I should think lightly of that man, who, for

some act of the Bishops, should all at once leave the Church. Now,

considering how the Clergy really are improving, considering that this

row is even making them read the Tracts, is it not possible we may all

be in a better state of mind seven years hence to consider these

matters? and may we not leave them meanwhile to the will of Providence?

I _cannot_ believe this work has been of man; God has a right to His own

work, to do what He will with it. May we not try to leave it in His

hands, and be content?

"If you learn any thing about Barter, which leads you to think that I

can relieve him by a letter, let me know. The truth is this,--our good

friends do not read the Fathers; they assent to us from the common sense

of the case: then, when the Fathers, and we, say _more_ than their

common sense, they are dreadfully shocked.

"The Bishop of London has rejected a man, 1. For holding _any_ Sacrifice

in the Eucharist. 2. The Real Presence. 3. That there is a grace in

Ordination[12].

"Are we quite sure that the Bishops will not be drawing up some

stringent declarations of faith? Is this what Moberly fears? Would the

Bishop of Oxford accept them? If so, I should be driven into the Refuge

for the Destitute [Littlemore]. But I promise Moberly, I would do my

utmost to catch all dangerous persons and clap them into confinement

there."

[11] As things stand now, I do not think he would have objected to his

opinion being generally known.

[12] I cannot prove this at this distance of time; but I do not think it

wrong to introduce here the passage containing it, as I am imputing to

the Bishop nothing which the world would think disgraceful, but, on the

contrary, what a large religious body would approve.

Christmas Bay, 1841. "I have been dreaming of Moberly all night. Should

not he and the like see, that it is unwise, unfair, and impatient to ask

others, What will you do under circumstances, which have not, which may

never come? Why bring fear, suspicion, and disunion into the camp about

things which are merely _in posse_? Natural, and exceedingly kind as

Barter's and another friend's letters were, I think they have done great

harm. I speak most sincerely when I say, that there are things which I

neither contemplate, nor wish to contemplate; but, when I am asked about

them ten times, at length I begin to contemplate them.

"He surely does not mean to say, that _nothing_ could separate a man

from the English Church, e.g. its avowing Socinianism; its holding the

Holy Eucharist in a Socinian sense. Yet, he would say, it was not

_right_ to contemplate such things.

"Again, our case is [diverging] from that of Ken's. To say nothing of

the last miserable century, which has given us to _start_ from a much

lower level and with much less to _spare_ than a Churchman in the 17th

century, questions of _doctrine_ are now coming in; with him, it was a

question of discipline.

"If such dreadful events were realized, I cannot help thinking we should

all be vastly more agreed than we think now. Indeed, is it possible

(humanly speaking) that those, who have so much the same heart, should

widely differ? But let this be considered, as to alternatives. _What_

communion could we join? Could the Scotch or American sanction the

presence of its Bishops and congregations in England, without incurring

the imputation of schism, unless indeed (and is that likely?) they

denounced the English as heretical?

"Is not this a time of strange providences? is it not our safest course,

without looking to consequences, to do simply _what we think right_ day

by day? shall we not be sure to go wrong, if we attempt to trace by

anticipation the course of divine Providence?

"Has not all our misery, as a Church, arisen from people being afraid to

look difficulties in the face? They have palliated acts, when they

should have denounced them. There is that good fellow, Worcester Palmer,

can whitewash the Ecclesiastical Commission and the Jerusalem Bishopric.

And what is the consequence? that our Church has, through centuries,

ever been sinking lower and lower, till good part of its pretensions and

professions is a mere sham, though it be a duty to make the best of what

we have received. Yet, though bound to make the best of other men's

shams, let us not incur any of our own. The truest friends of our Church

are they, who say boldly when her rulers are going wrong, and the

consequences; and (to speak catachrestically) _they_ are most likely to

die in the Church, who are, under these black circumstances, most

prepared to leave it.

"And I will add, that, considering the traces of God's grace which

surround us, I am very sanguine, or rather confident, (if it is right so

to speak,) that our prayers and our alms will come up as a memorial

before God, and that all this miserable confusion tends to good.

"Let us not then be anxious, and anticipate differences in prospect,

when we agree in the present.

"P.S. I think when friends" [i.e. the extreme party] "get over their

first unsettlement of mind and consequent vague apprehensions, which the

new attitude of the Bishops, and our feelings upon it, have brought

about, they will get contented and satisfied. They will see that they

exaggerated things.... Of course it would have been wrong to anticipate

what one's feelings would be under such a painful contingency as the

Bishops' charging as they have done,--so it seems to me nobody's fault.

Nor is it wonderful that others" [moderate men] "are startled" [i.e. at

my Protest, &c. &c.]; "yet they should recollect that the more implicit

the reverence one pays to a Bishop, the more keen will be one's

perception of heresy in him. The cord is binding and compelling, till it

snaps.

"Men of reflection would have seen this, if they had looked that way.

Last spring, a very high churchman talked to me of resisting my Bishop,

of asking him for the Canons under which he acted, and so forth; but

those, who have cultivated a loyal feeling towards their superiors, are

the most loving servants, or the most zealous protestors. If others

became so too, if the clergy of Chester denounced the heresy of their

diocesan, they would be doing their duty, and relieving themselves of

the share which they otherwise have in any possible defection of their

brethren.

"St. Stephen's [Day, December 26]. How I fidget! I now fear that the

note I wrote yesterday only makes matters worse by _disclosing_ too

much. This is always my great difficulty.

"In the present state of excitement on both sides, I think of leaving

out altogether my reassertion of No. 90 in my Preface to Volume 6 [of

Parochial Sermons], and merely saying, 'As many false reports are at

this time in circulation about him, he hopes his well-wishers will take

this Volume as an indication of his real thoughts and feelings: those

who are not, he leaves in God's hand to bring them to a better mind in

His own time.' What do you say to the logic, sentiment, and propriety of

this?"

An old friend, at a distance from Oxford, Archdeacon Robert I.

Wilberforce, must have said something to me at this time, I do not know

what, which challenged a frank reply; for I disclosed to him, I do not

know in what words, my frightful suspicion, hitherto only known to two

persons, viz. his brother Henry and Mr. Frederic Rogers,[13] that, as

regards my Anglicanism, perhaps I might break down in the event,--that

perhaps we were both out of the Church. I think I recollect expressing

my difficulty, as derived from the Arian and Monophysite history, in a

form in which it would be most intelligible to him, as being in fact an

admission of Bishop Bull's; viz. that in the controversies of the early

centuries the Roman Church was ever on the right side, which was of

course a _primâ facie_ argument in favour of Rome and against

Anglicanism now. He answered me thus, under date of Jan. 29, 1842: "I

don't think that I ever was so shocked by any communication, which was

ever made to me, as by your letter of this morning. It has quite

unnerved me.... I cannot but write to you, though I am at a loss where

to begin.... I know of no act by which we have dissevered ourselves from

the communion of the Church Universal.... The more I study Scripture,

the more am I impressed with the resemblance between the Romish

principle in the Church and the Babylon of St. John.... I am ready to

grieve that I ever directed my thoughts to theology, if it is indeed so

uncertain, as your doubts seem to indicate."

[13] Now Lord Blachford.

While my old and true friends were thus in trouble about me, I suppose

they felt not only anxiety but pain, to see that I was gradually

surrendering myself to the influence of others, who had not their own

claims upon me, younger men, and of a cast of mind in no small degree

uncongenial to my own. A new school of thought was rising, as is usual

in doctrinal inquiries, and was sweeping the original party of the

Movement aside, and was taking its place. The most prominent person in

it, was a man of elegant genius, of classical mind, of rare talent in

literary composition:--Mr. Oakeley. He was not far from my own age; I

had long known him, though of late years he had not been in residence at

Oxford; and quite lately, he has been taking several signal occasions of

renewing that kindness, which he ever showed towards me when we were

both in the Anglican Church. His tone of mind was not unlike that which

gave a character to the early Movement; he was almost a typical Oxford

man, and, as far as I recollect, both in political and ecclesiastical

views, would have been of one spirit with the Oriel party of 1826-1833.

But he had entered late into the Movement; he did not know its first

years; and, beginning with a new start, he was naturally thrown together

with that body of eager, acute, resolute minds who had begun their

Catholic life about the same time as he, who knew nothing about the _Via

Media_, but had heard much about Rome. This new party rapidly formed and

increased, in and out of Oxford, and, as it so happened,

contemporaneously with that very summer, when I received so serious a

blow to my ecclesiastical views from the study of the Monophysite

controversy. These men cut into the original Movement at an angle, fell

across its line of thought, and then set about turning that line in its

own direction. They were most of them keenly religious men, with a true

concern for their souls as the first matter of all, with a great zeal

for me, but giving little certainty at the time as to which way they

would ultimately turn. Some in the event have remained firm to

Anglicanism, some have become Catholics, and some have found a refuge in

Liberalism. Nothing was clearer concerning them, than that they needed

to be kept in order; and on me who had had so much to do with the making

of them, that duty was as clearly incumbent; and it is equally clear,

from what I have already said, that I was just the person, above all

others, who could not undertake it. There are no friends like old

friends; but of those old friends, few could help me, few could

understand me, many were annoyed with me, some were angry, because I was

breaking up a compact party, and some, as a matter of conscience, could

not listen to me. When I looked round for those whom I might consult in

my difficulties, I found the very hypothesis of those difficulties

acting as a bar to their giving me their advice. Then I said, bitterly,

"You are throwing me on others, whether I will or no." Yet still I had

good and true friends around me of the old sort, in and out of Oxford

too, who were a great help to me. But on the other hand, though I

neither was so fond (with a few exceptions) of the persons, nor of the

methods of thought, which belonged to this new school, as of the old

set, though I could not trust in their firmness of purpose, for, like a

swarm of flies, they might come and go, and at length be divided and

dissipated, yet I had an intense sympathy in their object and in the

direction in which their path lay, in spite of my old friends, in spite

of my old life-long prejudices. In spite of my ingrained fears of Rome,

and the decision of my reason and conscience against her usages, in

spite of my affection for Oxford and Oriel, yet I had a secret longing

love of Rome the Mother of English Christianity, and I had a true

devotion to the Blessed Virgin, in whose College I lived, whose Altar I

served, and whose Immaculate Purity I had in one of my earliest printed

Sermons made much of. And it was the consciousness of this bias in

myself, if it is so to be called, which made me preach so earnestly

against the danger of being swayed in religious inquiry by our sympathy

rather than by our reason. And moreover, the members of this new school

looked up to me, as I have said, and did me true kindnesses, and really

loved me, and stood by me in trouble, when others went away, and for all

this I was grateful; nay, many of them were in trouble themselves, and

in the same boat with me, and that was a further cause of sympathy

between us; and hence it was, when the new school came on in force, and

into collision with the old, I had not the heart, any more than the

power, to repel them; I was in great perplexity, and hardly knew where I

stood; I took their part; and, when I wanted to be in peace and silence,

I had to speak out, and I incurred the charge of weakness from some men,

and of mysteriousness, shuffling, and underhand dealing from the

majority.

* * * * *

Now I will say here frankly, that this sort of charge is a matter which

I cannot properly meet, because I cannot duly realize it. I have never

had any suspicion of my own honesty; and, when men say that I was

dishonest, I cannot grasp the accusation as a distinct conception, such

as it is possible to encounter. If a man said to me, "On such a day and

before such persons you said a thing was white, when it was black," I

understand what is meant well enough, and I can set myself to prove an

_alibi_ or to explain the mistake; or if a man said to me, "You tried to

gain me over to your party, intending to take me with you to Rome, but

you did not succeed," I can give him the lie, and lay down an assertion

of my own as firm and as exact as his, that not from the time that I was

first unsettled, did I ever attempt to gain any one over to myself or to

my Romanizing opinions, and that it is only his own coxcombical fancy

which has bred such a thought in him: but my imagination is at a loss in

presence of those vague charges, which have commonly been brought

against me, charges, which are made up of impressions, and

understandings, and inferences, and hearsay, and surmises. Accordingly,

I shall not make the attempt, for, in doing so, I should be dealing

blows in the air; what I shall attempt is to state what I know of myself

and what I recollect, and leave to others its application.

While I had confidence in the _Via Media_, and thought that nothing

could overset it, I did not mind laying down large principles, which I

saw would go further than was commonly perceived. I considered that to

make the _Via Media_ concrete and substantive, it must be much more than

it was in outline; that the Anglican Church must have a ceremonial, a

ritual, and a fulness of doctrine and devotion, which it had not at

present, if it were to compete with the Roman Church with any prospect

of success. Such additions would not remove it from its proper basis,

but would merely strengthen and beautify it: such, for instance, would

be confraternities, particular devotions, reverence for the Blessed

Virgin, prayers for the dead, beautiful churches, munificent offerings

to them and in them, monastic houses, and many other observances and

institutions, which I used to say belonged to us as much as to Rome,

though Rome had appropriated them and boasted of them, by reason of our

having let them slip from us. The principle, on which all this turned,

is brought out in one of the Letters I published on occasion of Tract

90. "The age is moving," I said, "towards something; and most unhappily

the one religious communion among us, which has of late years been

practically in possession of this something, is the Church of Rome. She

alone, amid all the errors and evils of her practical system, has given

free scope to the feelings of awe, mystery, tenderness, reverence,

devotedness, and other feelings which may be especially called Catholic.

The question then is, whether we shall give them up to the Roman Church

or claim them for ourselves.... But if we do give them up, we must give

up the men who cherish them. We must consent either to give up the men,

or to admit their principles." With these feelings I frankly admit,

that, while I was working simply for the sake of the Anglican Church, I

did not at all mind, though I found myself laying down principles in its

defence, which went beyond that particular kind of defence which

high-and-dry men thought perfection, and even though I ended in framing

a kind of defence, which they might call a revolution, while I thought

it a restoration. Thus, for illustration, I might discourse upon the

"Communion of Saints" in such a manner, (though I do not recollect doing

so,) as might lead the way towards devotion to the Blessed Virgin and

the Saints on the one hand, and towards prayers for the dead on the

other. In a memorandum of the year 1844 or 1845, I thus speak on this

subject: "If the Church be not defended on establishment grounds, it

must be upon principles, which go far beyond their immediate object.

Sometimes I saw these further results, sometimes not. Though I saw them,

I sometimes did not say that I saw them:--so long as I thought they were

inconsistent, _not_ with our Church, but only with the existing

opinions, I was not unwilling to insinuate truths into our Church, which

I thought had a right to be there."

To so much I confess; but I do not confess, I simply deny that I ever

said any thing which secretly bore against the Church of England,

knowing it myself, in order that others might unwarily accept it. It was

indeed one of my great difficulties and causes of reserve, as time went

on, that I at length recognized in principles which I had honestly

preached as if Anglican, conclusions favourable to the cause of Rome. Of

course I did not like to confess this; and, when interrogated, was in

consequence in perplexity. The prime instance of this was the appeal to

Antiquity; St. Leo had overset, in my own judgment, its force as the

special argument for Anglicanism; yet I was committed to Antiquity,

together with the whole Anglican school; what then was I to say, when

acute minds urged this or that application of it against the _Via

Media_? it was impossible that, in such circumstances, any answer could

be given which was not unsatisfactory, or any behaviour adopted which

was not mysterious. Again, sometimes in what I wrote I went just as far

as I saw, and could as little say more, as I could see what is below the

horizon; and therefore, when asked as to the consequences of what I had

said, I had no answer to give. Again, sometimes when I was asked,

whether certain conclusions did not follow from a certain principle, I

might not be able to tell at the moment, especially if the matter were

complicated; and for this reason, if for no other, because there is

great difference between a conclusion in the abstract and a conclusion

in the concrete, and because a conclusion may be modified in fact by a

conclusion from some opposite principle. Or it might so happen that my

head got simply confused, by the very strength of the logic which was

administered to me, and thus I gave my sanction to conclusions which

really were not mine; and when the report of those conclusions came

round to me through others, I had to unsay them. And then again, perhaps

I did not like to see men scared or scandalized by unfeeling logical

inferences, which would not have troubled them to the day of their

death, had they not been forced to recognize them. And then I felt

altogether the force of the maxim of St. Ambrose, "Non in dialecticâ

complacuit Deo salvum facere populum suum;"--I had a great dislike of

paper logic. For myself, it was not logic that carried me on; as well

might one say that the quicksilver in the barometer changes the weather.

It is the concrete being that reasons; pass a number of years, and I

find my mind in a new place; how? the whole man moves; paper logic is

but the record of it. All the logic in the world would not have made me

move faster towards Rome than I did; as well might you say that I have

arrived at the end of my journey, because I see the village church

before me, as venture to assert that the miles, over which my soul had

to pass before it got to Rome, could be annihilated, even though I had

been in possession of some far clearer view than I then had, that Rome

was my ultimate destination. Great acts take time. At least this is what

I felt in my own case; and therefore to come to me with methods of logic

had in it the nature of a provocation, and, though I do not think I ever

showed it, made me somewhat indifferent how I met them, and perhaps led

me, as a means of relieving my impatience, to be mysterious or

irrelevant, or to give in because I could not meet them to my

satisfaction. And a greater trouble still than these logical mazes, was

the introduction of logic into every subject whatever, so far, that is,

as this was done. Before I was at Oriel, I recollect an acquaintance

saying to me that "the Oriel Common Room stank of Logic." One is not at

all pleased when poetry, or eloquence, or devotion, is considered as if

chiefly intended to feed syllogisms. Now, in saying all this, I am

saying nothing against the deep piety and earnestness which were

characteristics of this second phase of the Movement, in which I had

taken so prominent a part. What I have been observing is, that this

phase had a tendency to bewilder and to upset me; and, that, instead of

saying so, as I ought to have done, perhaps from a sort of laziness I

gave answers at random, which have led to my appearing close or

inconsistent.

I have turned up two letters of this period, which in a measure

illustrate what I have been saying. The first was written to the Bishop

of Oxford on occasion of Tract 90:

"March 20, 1841. No one can enter into my situation but myself. I see a

great many minds working in various directions and a variety of

principles with multiplied bearings; I act for the best. I sincerely

think that matters would not have gone better for the Church, had I

never written. And if I write I have a choice of difficulties. It is

easy for those who do not enter into those difficulties to say, 'He

ought to say this and not say that,' but things are wonderfully linked

together, and I cannot, or rather I would not be dishonest. When persons

too interrogate me, I am obliged in many cases to give an opinion, or I

seem to be underhand. Keeping silence looks like artifice. And I do not

like people to consult or respect me, from thinking differently of my

opinions from what I know them to be. And again (to use the proverb)

what is one man's food is another man's poison. All these things make my

situation very difficult. But that collision must at some time ensue

between members of the Church of opposite sentiments, I have long been

aware. The time and mode has been in the hand of Providence; I do not

mean to exclude my own great imperfections in bringing it about; yet I

still feel obliged to think the Tract necessary."

The second is taken from the notes of a letter which I sent to Dr. Pusey

in the next year:

"October 16, 1842. As to my being entirely with Ward, I do not know the

limits of my own opinions. If Ward says that this or that is a

development from what I have said, I cannot say Yes or No. It is

plausible, it _may_ be true. Of course the fact that the Roman Church

_has_ so developed and maintained, adds great weight to the antecedent

plausibility. I cannot assert that it is not true; but I cannot, with

that keen perception which some people have, appropriate it. It is a

nuisance to me to be _forced_ beyond what I can fairly accept."

* * * * *

There was another source of the perplexity with which at this time I was

encompassed, and of the reserve and mysteriousness, of which that

perplexity gained for me the credit. After Tract 90 the Protestant world

would not let me alone; they pursued me in the public journals to

Littlemore. Reports of all kinds were circulated about me. "Imprimis,

why did I go up to Littlemore at all? For no good purpose certainly; I

dared not tell why." Why, to be sure, it was hard that I should be

obliged to say to the Editors of newspapers that I went up there to say

my prayers; it was hard to have to tell the world in confidence, that I

had a certain doubt about the Anglican system, and could not at that

moment resolve it, or say what would come of it; it was hard to have to

confess that I had thought of giving up my Living a year or two before,

and that this was a first step to it. It was hard to have to plead,

that, for what I knew, my doubts would vanish, if the newspapers would

be so good as to give me time and let me alone. Who would ever dream of

making the world his confidant? yet I was considered insidious, sly,

dishonest, if I would not open my heart to the tender mercies of the

world. But they persisted: "What was I doing at Littlemore?" Doing

there! have I not retreated from you? have I not given up my position

and my place? am I alone, of Englishmen, not to have the privilege to go

where I will, no questions asked? am I alone to be followed about by

jealous prying eyes, which take note whether I go in at a back door or

at the front, and who the men are who happen to call on me in the

afternoon? Cowards! if I advanced one step, you would run away; it is

not you that I fear: "Di me terrent, et Jupiter hostis." It is because

the Bishops still go on charging against me, though I have quite given

up: it is that secret misgiving of heart which tells me that they do

well, for I have neither lot nor part with them: this it is which weighs

me down. I cannot walk into or out of my house, but curious eyes are

upon me. Why will you not let me die in peace? Wounded brutes creep into

some hole to die in, and no one grudges it them. Let me alone, I shall

not trouble you long. This was the keen feeling which pierced me, and, I

think, these are the very words in which I expressed it to myself. I

asked, in the words of a great motto, "Ubi lapsus? quid feci?" One day

when I entered my house, I found a flight of Under-graduates inside.

Heads of Houses, as mounted patrols, walked their horses round those

poor cottages. Doctors of Divinity dived into the hidden recesses of

that private tenement uninvited, and drew domestic conclusions from what

they saw there. I had thought that an Englishman's house was his castle;

but the newspapers thought otherwise, and at last the matter came before

my good Bishop. I insert his letter, and a portion of my reply to him:--

"April 12, 1842. So many of the charges against yourself and your

friends which I have seen in the public journals have been, within my

own knowledge, false and calumnious, that I am not apt to pay much

attention, to what is asserted with respect to you in the newspapers.

"In" [a newspaper] "however, of April 9, there appears a paragraph in

which it is asserted, as a matter of notoriety, that a 'so-called

Anglo-Catholic Monastery is in process of erection at Littlemore, and

that the cells of dormitories, the chapel, the refectory, the cloisters

all may be seen advancing to perfection, under the eye of a Parish

Priest of the Diocese of Oxford.'

"Now, as I have understood that you really are possessed of some

tenements at Littlemore,--as it is generally believed that they are

destined for the purposes of study and devotion,--and as much suspicion

and jealousy are felt about the matter, I am anxious to afford you an

opportunity of making me an explanation on the subject.

"I know you too well not to be aware that you are the last man living to

attempt in my Diocese a revival of the Monastic orders (in any thing

approaching to the Romanist sense of the term) without previous

communication with me,--or indeed that you should take upon yourself to

originate any measure of importance without authority from the heads of

the Church,--and therefore I at once exonerate you from the accusation

brought against you by the newspaper I have quoted, but I feel it

nevertheless a duty to my Diocese and myself, as well as to you, to ask

you to put it in my power to contradict what, if uncontradicted, would

appear to imply a glaring invasion of all ecclesiastical discipline on

_your_ part, or of inexcusable neglect and indifference to my duties on

_mine_."

I wrote in answer as follows:--

"April 14, 1842. I am very much obliged by your Lordship's kindness in

allowing me to write to you on the subject of my house at Littlemore; at

the same time I feel it hard both on your Lordship and myself that the

restlessness of the public mind should oblige you to require an

explanation of me.

"It is now a whole year that I have been the subject of incessant

misrepresentation. A year since I submitted entirely to your Lordship's

authority; and, with the intention of following out the particular act

enjoined upon me, I not only stopped the series of Tracts, on which I

was engaged, but withdrew from all public discussion of Church matters

of the day, or what may be called ecclesiastical politics. I turned

myself at once to the preparation for the Press of the translations of

St. Athanasius to which I had long wished to devote myself, and I

intended and intend to employ myself in the like theological studies,

and in the concerns of my own parish and in practical works.

"With the same view of personal improvement I was led more seriously to

a design which had been long on my mind. For many years, at least

thirteen, I have wished to give myself to a life of greater religious

regularity than I have hitherto led; but it is very unpleasant to

confess such a wish even to my Bishop, because it seems arrogant, and

because it is committing me to a profession which may come to nothing.

For what have I done that I am to be called to account by the world for

my private actions, in a way in which no one else is called? Why may I

not have that liberty which all others are allowed? I am often accused

of being underhand and uncandid in respect to the intentions to which I

have been alluding: but no one likes his own good resolutions noised

about, both from mere common delicacy and from fear lest he should not

be able to fulfil them. I feel it very cruel, though the parties in

fault do not know what they are doing, that very sacred matters between

me and my conscience are made a matter of public talk. May I take a case

parallel though different? suppose a person in prospect of marriage;

would he like the subject discussed in newspapers, and parties,

circumstances, &c., &c., publicly demanded of him, at the penalty of

being accused of craft and duplicity?

"The resolution I speak of has been taken with reference to myself

alone, and has been contemplated quite independent of the co-operation

of any other human being, and without reference to success or failure

other than personal, and without regard to the blame or approbation of

man. And being a resolution of years, and one to which I feel God has

called me, and in which I am violating no rule of the Church any more

than if I married, I should have to answer for it, if I did not pursue

it, as a good Providence made openings for it. In pursuing it then I am

thinking of myself alone, not aiming at any ecclesiastical or external

effects. At the same time of course it would be a great comfort to me to

know that God had put it into the hearts of others to pursue their

personal edification in the same way, and unnatural not to wish to have

the benefit of their presence and encouragement, or not to think it a

great infringement on the rights of conscience if such personal and

private resolutions were interfered with. Your Lordship will allow me to

add my firm conviction that such religious resolutions are most

necessary for keeping a certain class of minds firm in their allegiance

to our Church; but still I can as truly say that my own reason for any

thing I have done has been a personal one, without which I should not

have entered upon it, and which I hope to pursue whether with or without

the sympathies of others pursuing a similar course....

"As to my intentions, I purpose to live there myself a good deal, as I

have a resident curate in Oxford. In doing this, I believe I am

consulting for the good of my parish, as my population at Littlemore is

at least equal to that of St. Mary's in Oxford, and the _whole_ of

Littlemore is double of it. It has been very much neglected; and in

providing a parsonage-house at Littlemore, as this will be, and will be

called, I conceive I am doing a very great benefit to my people. At the

same time it has appeared to me that a partial or temporary retirement

from St. Mary's Church might be expedient under the prevailing

excitement.

"As to the quotation from the [newspaper], which I have not seen, your

Lordship will perceive from what I have said, that no 'monastery is in

process of erection;' there is no 'chapel;' no 'refectory', hardly a

dining-room or parlour. The 'cloisters' are my shed connecting the

cottages. I do not understand what 'cells of dormitories' means. Of

course I can repeat your Lordship's words that 'I am not attempting a

revival of the Monastic Orders, in any thing approaching to the Romanist

sense of the term,' or 'taking on myself to originate any measure of

importance without authority from the Heads of the Church.' I am

attempting nothing ecclesiastical, but something personal and private,

and which can only be made public, not private, by newspapers and

letter-writers, in which sense the most sacred and conscientious

resolves and acts may certainly be made the objects of an unmannerly and

unfeeling curiosity."

* * * * *

One calumny there was which the Bishop did not believe, and of which of

course he had no idea of speaking. It was that I was actually in the

service of the enemy. I had forsooth been already received into the

Catholic Church, and was rearing at Littlemore a nest of Papists, who,

like me, were to take the Anglican oaths which they disbelieved, by

virtue of a dispensation from Rome, and thus in due time were to bring

over to that unprincipled Church great numbers of the Anglican Clergy

and Laity. Bishops gave their countenance to this imputation against me.

The case was simply this:--as I made Littlemore a place of retirement

for myself, so did I offer it to others. There were young men in Oxford,

whose testimonials for Orders had been refused by their Colleges; there

were young clergymen, who had found themselves unable from conscience to

go on with their duties, and had thrown up their parochial engagements.

Such men were already going straight to Rome, and I interposed; I

interposed for the reasons I have given in the beginning of this portion

of my narrative. I interposed from fidelity to my clerical engagements,

and from duty to my Bishop; and from the interest which I was bound to

take in them, and from belief that they were premature or excited. Their

friends besought me to quiet them, if I could. Some of them came to live

with me at Littlemore. They were laymen, or in the place of laymen. I

kept some of them back for several years from being received into the

Catholic Church. Even when I had given up my living, I was still bound

by my duty to their parents or friends, and I did not forget still to do

what I could for them. The immediate occasion of my resigning St.

Mary's, was the unexpected conversion of one of them. After that, I felt

it was impossible to keep my post there, for I had been unable to keep

my word with my Bishop.

The following letters refer, more or less, to these men, whether they

were actually with me at Littlemore or not:--

1. "March 6, 1842. Church doctrines are a powerful weapon; they were not

sent into the world for nothing. God's word does not return unto Him

void: If I have said, as I have, that the doctrines of the Tracts for

the Times would build up our Church and destroy parties, I meant, if

they were used, not if they were denounced. Else, they will be as

powerful against us, as they might be powerful for us.

"If people who have a liking for another, hear him called a Roman

Catholic; they will say, 'Then after all Romanism is no such bad thing.'

All these persons, who are making the cry, are fulfilling their own

prophecy. If all the world agree in telling a man, he has no business in

our Church, he will at length begin to think he has none. How easy is it

to persuade a man of any thing, when numbers affirm it! so great is the

force of imagination. Did every one who met you in the streets look hard

at you, you would think you were somehow in fault. I do not know any

thing so irritating, so unsettling, especially in the case of young

persons, as, when they are going on calmly and unconsciously, obeying

their Church and following its divines, (I am speaking from facts,) as

suddenly to their surprise to be conjured not to make a leap, of which

they have not a dream and from which they are far removed."

2. 1843 or 1844. "I did not explain to you sufficiently the state of

mind of those who were in danger. I only spoke of those who were

convinced that our Church was external to the Church Catholic, though

they felt it unsafe to trust their own private convictions; but there

are two other states of mind; 1. that of those who are unconsciously

near Rome, and whose _despair_ about our Church would at once develope

into a state of conscious approximation, or a _quasi_-resolution to go

over; 2. those who feel they can with a safe conscience remain with us

_while_ they are allowed to _testify_ in behalf of Catholicism, i.e. as

if by such acts they were putting our Church, or at least that portion

of it in which they were included, in the position of catechumens."

3. "June 20, 1843. I return the very pleasing letter you have permitted

me to read. What a sad thing it is, that it should be a plain duty to

restrain one's sympathies, and to keep them from boiling over; but I

suppose it is a matter of common prudence.

"Things are very serious here; but I should not like you to say so, as

it might do no good. The Authorities find, that, by the Statutes, they

have more than military power; and the general impression seems to be,

that they intend to exert it, and put down Catholicism at any risk. I

believe that by the Statutes, they can pretty nearly suspend a Preacher,

as _seditiosus_ or causing dissension, without assigning their grounds

in the particular case, nay, banish him, or imprison him. If so, all

holders of preferment in the University should make as quiet an _exit_

as they can. There is more exasperation on both sides at this moment, as

I am told, than ever there was."

4. "July 16, 1843. I assure you that I feel, with only too much

sympathy, what you say. You need not be told that the whole subject of

our position is a subject of anxiety to others beside yourself. It is no

good attempting to offer advice, when perhaps I might raise difficulties

instead of removing them. It seems to me quite a case, in which you

should, as far as may be, make up your mind for yourself. Come to

Littlemore by all means. We shall all rejoice in your company; and, if

quiet and retirement are able, as they very likely will be, to reconcile

you to things as they are, you shall have your fill of them. How

distressed poor Henry Wilberforce must be! Knowing how he values you, I

feel for him; but, alas! he has his own position, and every one else has

his own, and the misery is that no two of us have exactly the same.

"It is very kind of you to be so frank and open with me, as you are; but

this is a time which throws together persons who feel alike. May I

without taking a liberty sign myself, yours affectionately, &c."

5. "August 30, 1843. A. B. has suddenly conformed to the Church of Rome.

He was away for three weeks. I suppose I must say in my defence, that he

promised me distinctly to remain in our Church three years, before I

received him here."

6. "June 17, 1845. I am concerned to find you speak of me in a tone of

distrust. If you knew me ever so little, instead of hearing of me from

persons who do not know me at all, you would think differently of me,

whatever you thought of my opinions. Two years since, I got your son to

tell you my intention of resigning St. Mary's, before I made it public,

thinking you ought to know it. When you expressed some painful feeling

upon it, I told him I could not consent to his remaining here, painful

as it would be to me to part with him, without your written sanction.

And this you did me the favour to give.

"I believe you will find that it has been merely a delicacy on your

son's part, which has delayed his speaking to you about me for two

months past; a delicacy, lest he should say either too much or too

little about me. I have urged him several times to speak to you.

"Nothing can be done after your letter, but to recommend him to go to A.

B. (his home) at once. I am very sorry to part with him."

7. The following letter is addressed to Cardinal Wiseman, then Vicar

Apostolic, who accused me of coldness in my conduct towards him:--

"April 16, 1845. I was at that time in charge of a ministerial office in

the English Church, with persons entrusted to me, and a Bishop to obey;

how could I possibly write otherwise than I did without violating sacred

obligations and betraying momentous interests which were upon me? I felt

that my immediate, undeniable duty, clear if any thing was clear, was to

fulfil that trust. It might be right indeed to give it up, that was

another thing; but it never could be right to hold it, and to act as if

I did not hold it.... If you knew me, you would acquit me, I think, of

having ever felt towards your Lordship in an unfriendly spirit, or ever

having had a shadow on my mind (as far as I dare witness about myself)

of what might be called controversial rivalry or desire of getting the

better, or fear lest the world should think I had got the worse, or

irritation of any kind. You are too kind indeed to imply this, and yet

your words lead me to say it. And now in like manner, pray believe,

though I cannot explain it to you, that I am encompassed with

responsibilities, so great and so various, as utterly to overcome me,

unless I have mercy from Him, who all through my life has sustained and

guided me, and to whom I can now submit myself, though men of all

parties are thinking evil of me."

* * * * *

Such fidelity, however, was taken _in malam partem_ by the high Anglican

authorities; they thought it insidious. I happen still to have a

correspondence which took place in 1843, in which the chief place is

filled by one of the most eminent Bishops of the day, a theologian and

reader of the Fathers, a moderate man, who at one time was talked of as

likely on a vacancy to succeed to the Primacy. A young clergyman in his

diocese became a Catholic; the papers at once reported on authority from

"a very high quarter," that, after his reception, "the Oxford men had

been recommending him to retain his living." I had reasons for thinking

that the allusion was made to me, and I authorized the Editor of a

Paper, who had inquired of me on the point, to "give it, as far as I was

concerned, an unqualified contradiction;"--when from a motive of

delicacy he hesitated, I added "my direct and indignant contradiction."

"Whoever is the author of it," I continued to the Editor, "no

correspondence or intercourse of any kind, direct or indirect, has

passed between Mr. S. and myself, since his conforming to the Church of

Rome, except my formally and merely acknowledging the receipt of his

letter, in which he informed me of the fact, without, as far as I

recollect, my expressing any opinion upon it. You may state this as

broadly as I have set it down." My denial was told to the Bishop; what

took place upon it is given in a letter from which I copy. "My father

showed the letter to the Bishop, who, as he laid it down, said, 'Ah,

those Oxford men are not ingenuous.' 'How do you mean?' asked my father.

'Why,' said the Bishop, 'they advised Mr. B. S. to retain his living

after he turned Catholic. I know that to be a fact, because A. B. told

me so.'" "The Bishop," continues the letter, "who is perhaps the most

influential man in reality on the bench, evidently believes it to be the

truth." Upon this Dr. Pusey wrote in my behalf to the Bishop; and the

Bishop instantly beat a retreat. "I have the honour," he says in the

autograph which I transcribe, "to acknowledge the receipt of your note,

and to say in reply that it has not been stated by me, (though such a

statement has, I believe, appeared in some of the Public Prints,) that

Mr. Newman had advised Mr. B. S. to retain his living, after he had

forsaken our Church. But it has been stated to me, that Mr. Newman was

in close correspondence with Mr. B. S., and, being fully aware of his

state of opinions and feelings, yet advised him to continue in our

communion. Allow me to add," he says to Dr. Pusey, "that neither your

name, nor that of Mr. Keble, was mentioned to me in connexion with that

of Mr. B. S."

I was not going to let the Bishop off on this evasion, so I wrote to him

myself. After quoting his Letter to Dr. Pusey, I continued, "I beg to

trouble your Lordship with my own account of the two allegations"

[_close correspondence_ and _fully aware_, &c.] "which are contained in

your statement, and which have led to your speaking of me in terms which

I hope never to deserve. 1. Since Mr. B. S. has been in your Lordship's

diocese, I have seen him in Common rooms or private parties in Oxford

two or three times, when I never (as far as I can recollect) had any

conversation with him. During the same time I have, to the best of my

memory, written to him three letters. One was lately, in acknowledgment

of his informing me of his change of religion. Another was last summer,

when I asked him (to no purpose) to come and stay with me in this place.

The earliest of the three letters was written just a year since, as far

as I recollect, and it certainly was on the subject of his joining the

Church of Rome. I wrote this letter at the earnest wish of a friend of

his. I cannot be sure that, on his replying, I did not send him a brief

note in explanation of points in my letter which he had misapprehended.

I cannot recollect any other correspondence between us.

"2. As to my knowledge of his opinions and feelings, as far as I

remember, the only point of perplexity which I knew, the only point

which to this hour I know, as pressing upon him, was that of the Pope's

supremacy. He professed to be searching Antiquity whether the see of

Rome had formerly that relation to the whole Church which Roman

Catholics now assign to it. My letter was directed to the point, that it

was his duty not to perplex himself with arguments on [such] a question,

... and to put it altogether aside.... It is hard that I am put upon my

memory, without knowing the details of the statement made against me,

considering the various correspondence in which I am from time to time

unavoidably engaged.... Be assured, my Lord, that there are very

definite limits, beyond which persons like me would never urge another

to retain preferment in the English Church, nor would retain it

themselves; and that the censure which has been directed against them by

so many of its Rulers has a very grave bearing upon those limits." The

Bishop replied in a civil letter, and sent my own letter to his original

informant, who wrote to me the letter of a gentleman. It seems that an

anxious lady had said something or other which had been misinterpreted,

against her real meaning, into the calumny which was circulated, and so

the report vanished into thin air. I closed the correspondence with the

following Letter to the Bishop:--

"I hope your Lordship will believe me when I say, that statements about

me, equally incorrect with that which has come to your Lordship's ears,

are from time to time reported to me as credited and repeated by the

highest authorities in our Church, though it is very seldom that I have

the opportunity of denying them. I am obliged by your Lordship's letter

to Dr. Pusey as giving me such an opportunity." Then I added, with a

purpose, "Your Lordship will observe that in my Letter I had no occasion

to proceed to the question, whether a person holding Roman Catholic

opinions can in honesty remain in our Church. Lest then any

misconception should arise from my silence, I here take the liberty of

adding, that I see nothing wrong in such a person's continuing in

communion with us, provided he holds no preferment or office, abstains

from the management of ecclesiastical matters, and is bound by no

subscription or oath to our doctrines."

This was written on March 8, 1843, and was in anticipation of my own

retirement into lay communion. This again leads me to a remark:--for two

years I was in lay communion, not indeed being a Catholic in my

convictions, but in a state of serious doubt, and with the probable

prospect of becoming some day, what as yet I was not. Under these

circumstances I thought the best thing I could do was to give up duty

and to throw myself into lay communion, remaining an Anglican. I could

not go to Rome, while I thought what I did of the devotions she

sanctioned to the Blessed Virgin and the Saints. I did not give up my

fellowship, for I could not be sure that my doubts would not be reduced

or overcome, however unlikely I might consider such an event. But I gave

up my living; and, for two years before my conversion, I took no

clerical duty. My last Sermon was in September, 1843; then I remained at

Littlemore in quiet for two years. But it was made a subject of reproach

to me at the time, and is at this day, that I did not leave the Anglican

Church sooner. To me this seems a wonderful charge; why, even had I been

quite sure that Rome was the true Church, the Anglican Bishops would

have had no just subject of complaint against me, provided I took no

Anglican oath, no clerical duty, no ecclesiastical administration. Do

they force all men who go to their Churches to believe in the 39

Articles, or to join in the Athanasian Creed? However, I was to have

other measure dealt to me; great authorities ruled it so; and a great

controversialist, Mr. Stanley Faber, thought it a shame that I did not

leave the Church of England as much as ten years sooner than I did. He

said this in print between the years 1847 and 1849. His nephew, an

Anglican clergyman, kindly wished to undeceive him on this point. So, in

the latter year, after some correspondence, I wrote the following

letter, which will be of service to this narrative, from its

chronological notes:--

"Dec. 6, 1849. Your uncle says, 'If he (Mr. N.) will declare, _sans

phrase_, as the French say, that I have laboured under an entire

mistake, and that he was not a concealed Romanist during the ten years

in question,' (I suppose, the last ten years of my membership with the

Anglican Church,) 'or during any part of the time, my controversial

antipathy will be at an end, and I will readily express to him that I am

truly sorry that I have made such a mistake.'

"So candid an avowal is what I should have expected from a mind like

your uncle's. I am extremely glad he has brought it to this issue.

"By a 'concealed Romanist' I understand him to mean one, who, professing

to belong to the Church of England, in his heart and will intends to

benefit the Church of Rome, at the expense of the Church of England. He

cannot mean by the expression merely a person who in fact is benefiting

the Church of Rome, while he is intending to benefit the Church of

England, for that is no discredit to him morally, and he (your uncle)

evidently means to impute blame.

"In the sense in which I have explained the words, I can simply and

honestly say that I was not a concealed Romanist during the whole, or

any part of, the years in question.

"For the first four years of the ten, (up to Michaelmas, 1839,) I

honestly wished to benefit the Church of England, at the expense of the

Church of Rome:

"For the second four years I wished to benefit the Church of England

without prejudice to the Church of Rome:

"At the beginning of the ninth year (Michaelmas, 1843) I began to

despair of the Church of England, and gave up all clerical duty; and

then, what I wrote and did was influenced by a mere wish not to injure

it, and not by the wish to benefit it:

"At the beginning of the tenth year I distinctly contemplated leaving

it, but I also distinctly told my friends that it was in my

contemplation.

"Lastly, during the last half of that tenth year I was engaged in

writing a book (Essay on Development) in favour of the Roman Church, and

indirectly against the English; but even then, till it was finished, I

had not absolutely intended to publish it, wishing to reserve to myself

the chance of changing my mind when the argumentative views which were

actuating me had been distinctly brought out before me in writing.

"I wish this statement, which I make from memory, and without consulting

any document, severely tested by my writings and doings, as I am

confident it will, on the whole, be borne out, whatever real or apparent

exceptions (I suspect none) have to be allowed by me in detail.

"Your uncle is at liberty to make what use he pleases of this

explanation."

* * * * *

I have now reached an important date in my narrative, the year 1843; but

before proceeding to the matters which it contains, I will insert

portions of my letters from 1841 to 1843, addressed to Catholic

acquaintances.

1. "April 8, 1841 ... The unity of the Church Catholic is very near my

heart, only I do not see any prospect of it in our time; and I despair

of its being effected without great sacrifices on all hands. As to

resisting the Bishop's will, I observe that no point of doctrine or

principle was in dispute, but a course of action, the publication of

certain works. I do not think you sufficiently understood our position.

I suppose you would obey the Holy See in such a case; now, when we were

separated from the Pope, his authority reverted to our Diocesans. Our

Bishop is our Pope. It is our theory, that each diocese is an integral

Church, intercommunion being a duty, (and the breach of it a sin,) but

not essential to Catholicity. To have resisted my Bishop, would have

been to place myself in an utterly false position, which I never could

have recovered. Depend upon it, the strength of any party lies in its

being _true to its theory_. Consistency is the life of a movement.

"I have no misgivings whatever that the line I have taken can be other

than a prosperous one: that is, in itself, for of course Providence may

refuse to us its legitimate issues for our sins.

"I am afraid, that in one respect you may be disappointed. It is my

trust, though I must not be too sanguine, that we shall not have

individual members of our communion going over to yours. What one's duty

would be under other circumstances, what our duty would have been ten or

twenty years ago, I cannot say; but I do think that there is less of

private judgment in going with one's Church, than in leaving it. I can

earnestly desire a union between my Church and yours. I cannot listen to

the thought of your being joined by individuals among us."

2. "April 26, 1841. My only anxiety is lest your branch of the Church

should not meet us by those reforms which surely are _necessary_. It

never could be, that so large a portion of Christendom should have split

off from the communion of Rome, and kept up a protest for 300 years for

nothing. I think I never shall believe that so much piety and

earnestness would be found among Protestants, if there were not some

very grave errors on the side of Rome. To suppose the contrary is most

unreal, and violates all one's notions of moral probabilities. All

aberrations are founded on, and have their life in, some truth or

other--and Protestantism, so widely spread and so long enduring, must

have in it, and must be witness for, a great truth or much truth. That I

am an advocate for Protestantism, you cannot suppose;--but I am forced

into a _Via Media_, short of Rome, as it is at present."

3. "May 5, 1841. While I most sincerely hold that there is in the Roman

Church a traditionary system which is not necessarily connected with her

essential formularies, yet, were I ever so much to change my mind on

this point, this would not tend to bring me from my present position,

providentially appointed in the English Church. That your communion was

unassailable, would not prove that mine was indefensible. Nor would it

at all affect the sense in which I receive our Articles; they would

still speak against certain definite errors, though you had reformed

them.

"I say this lest any lurking suspicion should be left in the mind of

your friends that persons who think with me are likely, by the growth of

their present views, to find it imperative on them to pass over to your

communion. Allow me to state strongly, that if you have any such

thoughts, and proceed to act upon them, your friends will be committing

a fatal mistake. We have (I trust) the principle and temper of obedience

too intimately wrought into us to allow of our separating ourselves from

our ecclesiastical superiors because in many points we may sympathize

with others. We have too great a horror of the principle of private

judgment to trust it in so immense a matter as that of changing from one

communion to another. We may be cast out of our communion, or it may

decree heresy to be truth,--you shall say whether such contingencies are

likely; but I do not see other conceivable causes of our leaving the

Church in which we were baptized.

"For myself, persons must be well acquainted with what I have written

before they venture to say whether I have much changed my main opinions

and cardinal views in the course of the last eight years. That my

_sympathies_ have grown towards the religion of Rome I do not deny; that

my _reasons_ for _shunning_ her communion have lessened or altered it

would be difficult perhaps to prove. And I wish to go by reason, not by

feeling."

4. "June 18, 1841. You urge persons whose views agree with mine to

commence a movement in behalf of a union between the Churches. Now in

the letters I have written, I have uniformly said that I did not expect

that union in our time, and have discouraged the notion of all sudden

proceedings with a view to it. I must ask your leave to repeat on this

occasion most distinctly, that I cannot be party to any agitation, but

mean to remain quiet in my own place, and to do all I can to make others

take the same course. This I conceive to be my simple duty; but, over

and above this, I will not set my teeth on edge with sour grapes. I know

it is quite within the range of possibilities that one or another of our

people should go over to your communion; however, it would be a greater

misfortune to you than grief to us. If your friends wish to put a gulf

between themselves and us, let them make converts, but not else. Some

months ago, I ventured to say that I felt it a painful duty to keep

aloof from all Roman Catholics who came with the intention of opening

negotiations for the union of the Churches: when you now urge us to

petition our Bishops for a union, this, I conceive, is very like an act

of negotiation."

5. I have the first sketch or draft of a letter, which I wrote to a

zealous Catholic layman: it runs as follows, as far as I have preserved

it, but I think there were various changes and additions:--"September

12, 1841. It would rejoice all Catholic minds among us, more than words

can say, if you could persuade members of the Church of Rome to take the

line in politics which you so earnestly advocate. Suspicion and distrust

are the main causes at present of the separation between us, and the

nearest approaches in doctrine will but increase the hostility, which,

alas, our people feel towards yours, while these causes continue. Depend

upon it, you must not rely upon our Catholic tendencies till they are

removed. I am not speaking of myself, or of any friends of mine; but of

our Church generally. Whatever _our_ personal feelings may be, we shall

but tend to raise and spread a _rival_ Church to yours in the four

quarters of the world, unless _you_ do what none but you _can_ do.

Sympathies, which would flow over to the Church of Rome, as a matter of

course, did she admit them, will but be developed in the consolidation

of our own system, if she continues to be the object of our suspicions

and fears. I wish, of course I do, that our own Church may be built up

and extended, but still, not at the cost of the Church of Rome, not in

opposition to it. I am sure, that, while you suffer, we suffer too from

the separation; _but we cannot remove the obstacles_; it is with you to

do so. You do not fear us; we fear you. Till we cease to fear you, we

cannot love you.

"While you are in your present position, the friends of Catholic unity

in our Church are but fulfilling the prediction of those of your body

who are averse to them, viz. that they will be merely strengthening a

rival communion to yours. Many of you say that _we_ are your greatest

enemies; we have said so ourselves: so we are, so we shall be, as things

stand at present. We are keeping people from you, by supplying their

wants in our own Church. We _are_ keeping persons from you: do you wish

us to keep them from you for a time or for ever? It rests with you to

determine. I do not fear that you will succeed among us; you will not

supplant our Church in the affections of the English nation; only

through the English Church can you act upon the English nation. I wish

of course our Church should be consolidated, with and through and in

your communion, for its sake, and your sake, and for the sake of unity.

"Are you aware that the more serious thinkers among us are used, as far

as they dare form an opinion, to regard the spirit of Liberalism as the

characteristic of the destined Antichrist? In vain does any one clear

the Church of Rome from the badges of Antichrist, in which Protestants

would invest her, if she deliberately takes up her position in the very

quarter, whither we have cast them, when we took them off from her.

Antichrist is described as the [Greek: anomos], as exalting himself

above the yoke of religion and law. The spirit of lawlessness came in

with the Reformation, and Liberalism is its offspring.

"And now I fear I am going to pain you by telling you, that you consider

the approaches in doctrine on our part towards you, closer than they

really are. I cannot help repeating what I have many times said in

print, that your services and devotions to St. Mary in matter of fact do

most deeply pain me. I am only stating it as a fact.

"Again, I have nowhere said that I can accept the decrees of Trent

throughout, nor implied it. The doctrine of Transubstantiation is a

great difficulty with me, as being, as I think, not primitive. Nor have

I said that our Articles in all respects admit of a Roman

interpretation; the very word 'Transubstantiation' is disowned in them.

"Thus, you see, it is not merely on grounds of expedience that we do not

join you. There are positive difficulties in the way of it. And, even if

there were not, we shall have no divine warrant for doing so, while we

think that the Church of England is a branch of the true Church, and

that intercommunion with the rest of Christendom is necessary, not for

the life of a particular Church, but for its health only. I have never

disguised that there are actual circumstances in the Church of Rome,

which pain me much; of the removal of these I see no chance, while we

join you one by one; but if our Church were prepared for a union, she

might make her terms; she might gain the cup; she might protest against

the extreme honours paid to St. Mary; she might make some explanation of

the doctrine of Transubstantiation. I am not prepared to say that a

reform in other branches of the Roman Church would be necessary for our

uniting with them, however desirable in itself, so that we were allowed

to make a reform in our own country. We do not look towards Rome as

believing that its communion is infallible, but that union is a duty."

6. The following letter was occasioned by the present made to me of a

book by the friend to whom it is written; more will be said on the

subject of it presently:--

"Nov. 22, 1842. I only wish that your Church were more known among us by

such writings. You will not interest us in her, till we see her, not in

politics, but in her true functions of exhorting, teaching, and guiding.

I wish there were a chance of making the leading men among you

understand, what I believe is no novel thought to yourself. It is not by

learned discussions, or acute arguments, or reports of miracles, that

the heart of England can be gained. It is by men 'approving themselves,'

like the Apostle, 'ministers of Christ.'

"As to your question, whether the Volume you have sent is not calculated

to remove my apprehensions that another gospel is substituted for the

true one in your practical instructions, before I can answer it in any

way, I ought to know how far the Sermons which it comprises are

_selected_ from a number, or whether they are the whole, or such as the

whole, which have been published of the author's. I assure you, or at

least I trust, that, if it is ever clearly brought home to me that I

have been wrong in what I have said on this subject, my public avowal of

that conviction will only be a question of time with me.

"If, however, you saw our Church as we see it, you would easily

understand that such a change of feeling, did it take place, would have

no necessary tendency, which you seem to expect, to draw a person from

the Church of England to that of Rome. There is a divine life among us,

clearly manifested, in spite of all our disorders, which is as great a

note of the Church, as any can be. Why should we seek our Lord's

presence elsewhere, when He vouchsafes it to us where we are? What

_call_ have we to change our communion?

"Roman Catholics will find this to be the state of things in time to

come, whatever promise they may fancy there is of a large secession to

their Church. This man or that may leave us, but there will be no

general movement. There is, indeed, an incipient movement of our

_Church_ towards yours, and this your leading men are doing all they can

to frustrate by their unwearied efforts at all risks to carry off

individuals. When will they know their position, and embrace a larger

and wiser policy?"

§ 2.

The letter which I have last inserted, is addressed to my dear friend,

Dr. Russell, the present President of Maynooth. He had, perhaps, more to

do with my conversion than any one else. He called upon me, in passing

through Oxford in the summer of 1841, and I think I took him over some

of the buildings of the University. He called again another summer, on

his way from Dublin to London. I do not recollect that he said a word on

the subject of religion on either occasion. He sent me at different

times several letters; he was always gentle, mild, unobtrusive,

uncontroversial. He let me alone. He also gave me one or two books.

Veron's Rule of Faith and some Treatises of the Wallenburghs was one; a

volume of St. Alfonso Liguori's Sermons was another; and it is to those

Sermons that my letter to Dr. Russell relates.

Now it must be observed that the writings of St. Alfonso, as I knew them

by the extracts commonly made from them, prejudiced me as much against

the Roman Church as any thing else, on account of what was called their

"Mariolatry;" but there was nothing of the kind in this book. I wrote to

ask Dr. Russell whether any thing had been left out in the translation;

he answered that there certainly were omissions in one Sermon about the

Blessed Virgin. This omission, in the case of a book intended for

Catholics, at least showed that such passages as are found in the works

of Italian Authors were not acceptable to every part of the Catholic

world. Such devotional manifestations in honour of our Lady had been my

great _crux_ as regards Catholicism; I say frankly, I do not fully enter

into them now; I trust I do not love her the less, because I cannot

enter into them. They may be fully explained and defended; but sentiment

and taste do not run with logic: they are suitable for Italy, but they

are not suitable for England. But, over and above England, my own case

was special; from a boy I had been led to consider that my Maker and I,

His creature, were the two beings, luminously such, _in rerum naturâ_. I

will not here speculate, however, about my own feelings. Only this I

know full well now, and did not know then, that the Catholic Church

allows no image of any sort, material or immaterial, no dogmatic symbol,

no rite, no sacrament, no Saint, not even the Blessed Virgin herself, to

come between the soul and its Creator. It is face to face, "solus cum

solo," in all matters between man and his God. He alone creates; He

alone has redeemed; before His awful eyes we go in death; in the vision

of Him is our eternal beatitude.

1. Solus cum solo:--I recollect but indistinctly what I gained from the

Volume of which I have been speaking; but it must have been something

considerable. At least I had got a key to a difficulty; in these

Sermons, (or rather heads of sermons, as they seem to be, taken down by

a hearer,) there is much of what would be called legendary illustration;

but the substance of them is plain, practical, awful preaching upon the

great truths of salvation. What I can speak of with greater confidence

is the effect produced on me a little later by studying the Exercises of

St. Ignatius. For here again, in a matter consisting in the purest and

most direct acts of religion,--in the intercourse between God and the

soul, during a season of recollection, of repentance, of good

resolution, of inquiry into vocation,--the soul was "sola cum solo;"

there was no cloud interposed between the creature and the Object of his

faith and love. The command practically enforced was, "My son, give Me

thy heart." The devotions then to Angels and Saints as little interfered

with the incommunicable glory of the Eternal, as the love which we bear

our friends and relations, our tender human sympathies, are inconsistent

with that supreme homage of the heart to the Unseen, which really does

but sanctify and exalt, not jealously destroy, what is of earth. At a

later date Dr. Russell sent me a large bundle of penny or half-penny

books of devotion, of all sorts, as they are found in the booksellers'

shops at Rome; and, on looking them over, I was quite astonished to find

how different they were from what I had fancied, how little there was in

them to which I could really object. I have given an account of them in

my Essay on the Development of Doctrine. Dr. Russell sent me St.

Alfonso's book at the end of 1842; however, it was still a long time

before I got over my difficulty, on the score of the devotions paid to

the Saints; perhaps, as I judge from a letter I have turned up, it was

some way into 1844 before I could be said fully to have got over it.

2. I am not sure that I did not also at this time feel the force of

another consideration. The idea of the Blessed Virgin was as it were

_magnified_ in the Church of Rome, as time went on,--but so were all the

Christian ideas; as that of the Blessed Eucharist. The whole scene of

pale, faint, distant Apostolic Christianity is seen in Rome, as through

a telescope or magnifier. The harmony of the whole, however, is of

course what it was. It is unfair then to take one Roman idea, that of

the Blessed Virgin, out of what may be called its context.

3. Thus I am brought to the principle of development of doctrine in the

Christian Church, to which I gave my mind at the end of 1842. I had made

mention of it in the passage, which I quoted many pages back (vide p.

111), in "Home Thoughts Abroad," published in 1836; and even at an

earlier date I had introduced it into my History of the Arians in 1832;

nor had I ever lost sight of it in my speculations. And it is certainly

recognized in the Treatise of Vincent of Lerins, which has so often been

taken as the basis of Anglicanism. In 1843 I began to consider it

attentively; I made it the subject of my last University Sermon on

February 2; and the general view to which I came is stated thus in a

letter to a friend of the date of July 14, 1844;--it will be observed

that, now as before, my _issue_ is still Creed _versus_ Church:--

"The kind of considerations which weighs with me are such as the

following:--1. I am far more certain (according to the Fathers) that we

_are_ in a state of culpable separation, _than_ that developments do

_not_ exist under the Gospel, and that the Roman developments are not

the true ones. 2. I am far more certain, that _our_ (modern) doctrines

are wrong, _than_ that the _Roman_ (modern) doctrines are wrong. 3.

Granting that the Roman (special) doctrines are not found drawn out in

the early Church, yet I think there is sufficient trace of them in it,

to recommend and prove them, _on the hypothesis_ of the Church having a

divine guidance, though not sufficient to prove them by itself. So that

the question simply turns on the nature of the promise of the Spirit,

made to the Church. 4. The proof of the Roman (modern) doctrine is as

strong (or stronger) in Antiquity, as that of certain doctrines which

both we and Romans hold: e.g. there is more of evidence in Antiquity for

the necessity of Unity, than for the Apostolical Succession; for the

Supremacy of the See of Rome, than for the Presence in the Eucharist;

for the practice of Invocation, than for certain books in the present

Canon of Scripture, &c. &c. 5. The analogy of the Old Testament, and

also of the New, leads to the acknowledgment of doctrinal developments."

4. And thus I was led on to a further consideration. I saw that the

principle of development not only accounted for certain facts, but was

in itself a remarkable philosophical phenomenon, giving a character to

the whole course of Christian thought. It was discernible from the first

years of the Catholic teaching up to the present day, and gave to that

teaching a unity and individuality. It served as a sort of test, which

the Anglican could not exhibit, that modern Rome was in truth ancient

Antioch, Alexandria, and Constantinople, just as a mathematical curve

has its own law and expression.

5. And thus again I was led on to examine more attentively what I doubt

not was in my thoughts long before, viz. the concatenation of argument

by which the mind ascends from its first to its final religious idea;

and I came to the conclusion that there was no medium, in true

philosophy, between Atheism and Catholicity, and that a perfectly

consistent mind, under those circumstances in which it finds itself here

below, must embrace either the one or the other. And I hold this still:

I am a Catholic by virtue of my believing in a God; and if I am asked

why I believe in a God, I answer that it is because I believe in myself,

for I feel it impossible to believe in my own existence (and of that

fact I am quite sure) without believing also in the existence of Him,

who lives as a Personal, All-seeing, All-judging Being in my conscience.

Now, I dare say, I have not expressed myself with philosophical

correctness, because I have not given myself to the study of what

metaphysicians have said on the subject; but I think I have a strong

true meaning in what I say which will stand examination.

6. Moreover, I found a corroboration of the fact of the logical

connexion of Theism with Catholicism in a consideration parallel to that

which I had adopted on the subject of development of doctrine. The fact

of the operation from first to last of that principle of development in

the truths of Revelation, is an argument in favour of the identity of

Roman and Primitive Christianity; but as there is a law which acts upon

the subject-matter of dogmatic theology, so is there a law in the matter

of religious faith. In the first chapter of this Narrative I spoke of

certitude as the consequence, divinely intended and enjoined upon us, of

the accumulative force of certain given reasons which, taken one by one,

were only probabilities. Let it be recollected that I am historically

relating my state of mind, at the period of my life which I am

surveying. I am not speaking theologically, nor have I any intention of

going into controversy, or of defending myself; but speaking

historically of what I held in 1843-4, I say, that I believed in a God

on a ground of probability, that I believed in Christianity on a

probability, and that I believed in Catholicism on a probability, and

that these three grounds of probability, distinct from each other of

course in subject matter, were still all of them one and the same in

nature of proof, as being probabilities--probabilities of a special

kind, a cumulative, a transcendent probability but still probability;

inasmuch as He who made us has so willed, that in mathematics indeed we

should arrive at certitude by rigid demonstration, but in religious

inquiry we should arrive at certitude by accumulated probabilities;--He

has willed, I say, that we should so act, and, as willing it, He

co-operates with us in our acting, and thereby enables us to do that

which He wills us to do, and carries us on, if our will does but

co-operate with His, to a certitude which rises higher than the logical

force of our conclusions. And thus I came to see clearly, and to have a

satisfaction in seeing, that, in being led on into the Church of Rome, I

was not proceeding on any secondary or isolated grounds of reason, or by

controversial points in detail, but was protected and justified, even in

the use of those secondary or particular arguments, by a great and broad

principle. But, let it be observed, that I am stating a matter of fact,

not defending it; and if any Catholic says in consequence that I have

been converted in a wrong way, I cannot help that now.

I have nothing more to say on the subject of the change in my religious

opinions. On the one hand I came gradually to see that the Anglican

Church was formally in the wrong, on the other that the Church of Rome

was formally in the right; then, that no valid reasons could be assigned

for continuing in the Anglican, and again that no valid objections could

be taken to joining the Roman. Then, I had nothing more to learn; what

still remained for my conversion, was, not further change of opinion,

but to change opinion itself into the clearness and firmness of

intellectual conviction.

Now I proceed to detail the acts, to which I committed myself during

this last stage of my inquiry.

* * * * *

In 1843, I took two very significant steps:--1. In February, I made a

formal Retractation of all the hard things which I had said against the

Church of Rome. 2. In September, I resigned the Living of St. Mary's,

Littlemore included:--I will speak of these two acts separately.

1. The words, in which I made my Retractation, have given rise to much

criticism. After quoting a number of passages from my writings against

the Church of Rome, which I withdrew, I ended thus:--"If you ask me how

an individual could venture, not simply to hold, but to publish such

views of a communion so ancient, so wide-spreading, so fruitful in

Saints, I answer that I said to myself, 'I am not speaking my own words,

I am but following almost a _consensus_ of the divines of my own Church.

They have ever used the strongest language against Rome, even the most

able and learned of them. I wish to throw myself into their system.

While I say what they say, I am safe. Such views, too, are necessary for

our position.' Yet I have reason to fear still, that such language is to

be ascribed, in no small measure, to an impetuous temper, a hope of

approving myself to persons I respect, and a wish to repel the charge of

Romanism."

These words have been, and are, again and again cited against me, as if

a confession that, when in the Anglican Church, I said things against

Rome which I did not really believe.

For myself, I cannot understand how any impartial man can so take them;

and I have explained them in print several times. I trust that by this

time their plain meaning has been satisfactorily brought out by what I

have said in former portions of this Narrative; still I have a word or

two to say in addition to my former remarks upon them.

In the passage in question I apologize for _saying out_ in controversy

charges against the Church of Rome, which withal I affirm that I fully

_believed_ at the time when I made them. What is wonderful in such an

apology? There are surely many things a man may hold, which at the same

time he may feel that he has no right to say publicly, and which it may

annoy him that he has said publicly. The law recognizes this principle.

In our own time, men have been imprisoned and fined for saying true

things of a bad king. The maxim has been held, that, "The greater the

truth, the greater is the libel." And so as to the judgment of society,

a just indignation would be felt against a writer who brought forward

wantonly the weaknesses of a great man, though the whole world knew that

they existed. No one is at liberty to speak ill of another without a

justifiable reason, even though he knows he is speaking truth, and the

public knows it too. Therefore, though I believed what I said against

the Roman Church, nevertheless I could not religiously speak it out,

unless I was really justified, not only in believing ill, but in

speaking ill. I did believe what I said on what I thought to be good

reasons; but had I also a just cause for saying out what I believed? I

thought I had, and it was this, viz. that to say out what I believed was

simply necessary in the controversy for self-defence. It was impossible

to let it alone: the Anglican position could not be satisfactorily

maintained, without assailing the Roman. In this, as in most cases of

conflict, one party was right or the other, not both; and the best

defence was to attack. Is not this almost a truism in the Roman

controversy? Is it not what every one says, who speaks on the subject at

all? Does any serious man abuse the Church of Rome, for the sake of

abusing her, or because that abuse justifies his own religious position?

What is the meaning of the very word "Protestantism," but that there is

a call to speak out? This then is what I said: "I know I spoke strongly

against the Church of Rome; but it was no mere abuse, for I had a

serious reason for doing so."

But, not only did I think such language necessary for my Church's

religious position, but I recollected that all the great Anglican

divines had thought so before me. They had thought so, and they had

acted accordingly. And therefore I observe in the passage in question,

with much propriety, that I had not used strong language simply out of

my own head, but that in doing so I was following the track, or rather

reproducing the teaching, of those who had preceded me.

I was pleading guilty to using violent language, but I was pleading also

that there were extenuating circumstances in the case. We all know the

story of the convict, who on the scaffold bit off his mother's ear. By

doing so he did not deny the fact of his own crime, for which he was to

hang; but he said that his mother's indulgence when he was a boy, had a

good deal to do with it. In like manner I had made a charge, and I had

made it _ex animo_; but I accused others of having, by their own

example, led me into believing it and publishing it.

I was in a humour, certainly, to bite off their ears. I will freely

confess, indeed I said it some pages back, that I was angry with the

Anglican divines. I thought they had taken me in; I had read the Fathers

with their eyes; I had sometimes trusted their quotations or their

reasonings; and from reliance on them, I had used words or made

statements, which by right I ought rigidly to have examined myself. I

had thought myself safe, while I had their warrant for what I said. I

had exercised more faith than criticism in the matter. This did not

imply any broad misstatements on my part, arising from reliance on their

authority, but it implied carelessness in matters of detail. And this of

course was a fault.

But there was a far deeper reason for my saying what I said in this

matter, on which I have not hitherto touched; and it was this:--The most

oppressive thought, in the whole process of my change of opinion, was

the clear anticipation, verified by the event, that it would issue in

the triumph of Liberalism. Against the Anti-dogmatic principle I had

thrown my whole mind; yet now I was doing more than any one else could

do, to promote it. I was one of those who had kept it at bay in Oxford

for so many years; and thus my very retirement was its triumph. The men

who had driven me from Oxford were distinctly the Liberals; it was they

who had opened the attack upon Tract 90, and it was they who would gain

a second benefit, if I went on to abandon the Anglican Church. But this

was not all. As I have already said, there are but two alternatives, the

way to Rome, and the way to Atheism: Anglicanism is the halfway house on

the one side, and Liberalism is the halfway house on the other. How many

men were there, as I knew full well, who would not follow me now in my

advance from Anglicanism to Rome, but would at once leave Anglicanism

and me for the Liberal camp. It is not at all easy (humanly speaking) to

wind up an Englishman to a dogmatic level. I had done so in good

measure, in the case both of young men and of laymen, the Anglican _Via

Media_ being the representative of dogma. The dogmatic and the Anglican

principle were one, as I had taught them; but I was breaking the _Via

Media_ to pieces, and would not dogmatic faith altogether be broken up,

in the minds of a great number, by the demolition of the _Via Media_?

Oh! how unhappy this made me! I heard once from an eye-witness the

account of a poor sailor whose legs were shattered by a ball, in the

action off Algiers in 1816, and who was taken below for an operation.

The surgeon and the chaplain persuaded him to have a leg off; it was

done and the tourniquet applied to the wound. Then, they broke it to him

that he must have the other off too. The poor fellow said, "You should

have told me that, gentlemen," and deliberately unscrewed the instrument

and bled to death. Would not that be the case with many friends of my

own? How could I ever hope to make them believe in a second theology,

when I had cheated them in the first? With what face could I publish a

new edition of a dogmatic creed, and ask them to receive it as gospel?

Would it not be plain to them that no certainty was to be found any

where? Well, in my defence I could but make a lame apology; however, it

was the true one, viz. that I had not read the Fathers cautiously

enough; that in such nice points, as those which determine the angle of

divergence between the two Churches, I had made considerable

miscalculations. But how came this about? why, the fact was, unpleasant

as it was to avow, that I had leaned too much upon the assertions of

Ussher, Jeremy Taylor, or Barrow, and had been deceived by them. Valeat

quantum,--it was all that _could_ be said. This then was a chief reason

of that wording of the Retractation, which has given so much offence,

because the bitterness, with which it was written, was not

understood;--and the following letter will illustrate it:--

"April 3, 1844. I wish to remark on William's chief distress, that my

changing my opinion seemed to unsettle one's confidence in truth and

falsehood as external things, and led one to be suspicious of the new

opinion as one became distrustful of the old. Now in what I shall say, I

am not going to speak in favour of my second thoughts in comparison of

my first, but against such scepticism and unsettlement about truth and

falsehood generally, the idea of which is very painful.

"The case with me, then, was this, and not surely an unnatural one:--as

a matter of feeling and of duty I threw myself into the system which I

found myself in. I saw that the English Church had a theological idea or

theory as such, and I took it up. I read Laud on Tradition, and thought

it (as I still think it) very masterly. The Anglican Theory was very

distinctive. I admired it and took it on faith. It did not (I think)

occur to me to doubt it; I saw that it was able, and supported by

learning, and I felt it was a duty to maintain it. Further, on looking

into Antiquity and reading the Fathers, I saw such portions of it as I

examined, fully confirmed (e.g. the supremacy of Scripture). There was

only one question about which I had a doubt, viz. whether it would

_work_, for it has never been more than a paper system....

"So far from my change of opinion having any fair tendency to unsettle

persons as to truth and falsehood viewed as objective realities, it

should be considered whether such change is not _necessary_, if truth be

a real objective thing, and be made to confront a person who has been

brought up in a system _short of_ truth. Surely the _continuance_ of a

person, who wishes to go right, in a wrong system, and not his _giving

it up_, would be that which militated against the objectiveness of

Truth, leading, as it would, to the suspicion, that one thing and

another were equally pleasing to our Maker, where men were sincere.

"Nor surely is it a thing I need be sorry for, that I defended the

system in which I found myself, and thus have had to unsay my words. For

is it not one's duty, instead of beginning with criticism, to throw

oneself generously into that form of religion which is providentially

put before one? Is it right, or is it wrong, to begin with private

judgment? May we not, on the other hand, look for a blessing _through_

obedience even to an erroneous system, and a guidance even by means of

it out of it? Were those who were strict and conscientious in their

Judaism, or those who were lukewarm and sceptical, more likely to be led

into Christianity, when Christ came? Yet in proportion to their previous

zeal, would be their appearance of inconsistency. Certainly, I have

always contended that obedience even to an erring conscience was the way

to gain light, and that it mattered not where a man began, so that he

began on what came to hand, and in faith; and that any thing might

become a divine method of Truth; that to the pure all things are pure,

and have a self-correcting virtue and a power of germinating. And though

I have no right at all to assume that this mercy is granted to me, yet

the fact, that a person in my situation _may_ have it granted to him,

seems to me to remove the perplexity which my change of opinion may

occasion.

"It may be said,--I have said it to myself,--'Why, however, did you

_publish_? had you waited quietly, you would have changed your opinion

without any of the misery, which now is involved in the change, of

disappointing and distressing people.' I answer, that things are so

bound up together, as to form a whole, and one cannot tell what is or is

not a condition of what. I do not see how possibly I could have

published the Tracts, or other works professing to defend our Church,

without accompanying them with a strong protest or argument against

Rome. The one obvious objection against the whole Anglican line is, that

it is Roman; so that I really think there was no alternative between

silence altogether, and forming a theory and attacking the Roman

system."

2. And now, in the next place, as to my Resignation of St. Mary's, which

was the second of the steps which I took in 1843. The ostensible,

direct, and sufficient reason for my doing so was the persevering attack

of the Bishops on Tract 90. I alluded to it in the letter which I have

inserted above, addressed to one of the most influential among them. A

series of their _ex cathedrâ_ judgments, lasting through three years,

and including a notice of no little severity in a Charge of my own

Bishop, came as near to a condemnation of my Tract, and, so far, to a

repudiation of the ancient Catholic doctrine, which was the scope of the

Tract, as was possible in the Church of England. It was in order to

shield the Tract from such a condemnation, that I had at the time of its

publication in 1841 so simply put myself at the disposal of the higher

powers in London. At that time, all that was distinctly contemplated in

the way of censure, was contained in the message which my Bishop sent

me, that the Tract was "objectionable." That I thought was the end of

the matter. I had refused to suppress it, and they had yielded that

point. Since I published the former portions of this Narrative, I have

found what I wrote to Dr. Pusey on March 24, while the matter was in

progress. "The more I think of it," I said, "the more reluctant I am to

suppress Tract 90, though _of course_ I will do it if the Bishop wishes

it; I cannot, however, deny that I shall feel it a severe act."

According to the notes which I took of the letters or messages which I

sent to him on that and the following days, I wrote successively, "My

first feeling was to obey without a word; I will obey still; but my

judgment has steadily risen against it ever since." Then in the

Postscript, "If I have done any good to the Church, I do ask the Bishop

this favour, as my reward for it, that he would not insist on a measure,

from which I think good will not come. However, I will submit to him."

Afterwards, I got stronger still and wrote: "I have almost come to the

resolution, if the Bishop publicly intimates that I must suppress the

Tract, or speaks strongly in his charge against it, to suppress it

indeed, but to resign my living also. I could not in conscience act

otherwise. You may show this in any quarter you please."

All my then hopes, all my satisfaction at the apparent fulfilment of

those hopes was at an end in 1843. It is not wonderful then, that in May

of that year, when two out of the three years were gone, I wrote on the

subject of my retiring from St. Mary's to the same friend, whom I had

consulted upon it in 1840. But I did more now; I told him my great

unsettlement of mind on the question of the Churches. I will insert

portions of two of my letters:--

"May 4, 1843.... At present I fear, as far as I can analyze my own

convictions, I consider the Roman Catholic Communion to be the Church of

the Apostles, and that what grace is among us (which, through God's

mercy, is not little) is extraordinary, and from the overflowings of His

dispensation. I am very far more sure that England is in schism, than

that the Roman additions to the Primitive Creed may not be developments,

arising out of a keen and vivid realizing of the Divine Depositum of

Faith.

"You will now understand what gives edge to the Bishops' Charges,

without any undue sensitiveness on my part. They distress me in two

ways:--first, as being in some sense protests and witnesses to my

conscience against my own unfaithfulness to the English Church, and

next, as being samples of her teaching, and tokens how very far she is

from even aspiring to Catholicity.

"Of course my being unfaithful to a trust is my great subject of

dread,--as it has long been, as you know."

When he wrote to make natural objections to my purpose, such as the

apprehension that the removal of clerical obligations might have the

indirect effect of propelling me towards Rome, I answered:--

"May 18, 1843.... My office or charge at St. Mary's is not a mere

_state_, but a continual _energy_. People assume and assert certain

things of me in consequence. With what sort of sincerity can I obey the

Bishop? how am I to act in the frequent cases, in which one way or

another the Church of Rome comes into consideration? I have to the

utmost of my power tried to keep persons from Rome, and with some

success; but even a year and a half since, my arguments, though more

efficacious with the persons I aimed at than any others could be, were

of a nature to infuse great suspicion of me into the minds of

lookers-on.

"By retaining St. Mary's, I am an offence and a stumbling-block. Persons

are keen-sighted enough to make out what I think on certain points, and

then they infer that such opinions are compatible with holding

situations of trust in our Church. A number of younger men take the

validity of their interpretation of the Articles, &c. from me on

_faith_. Is not my present position a cruelty, as well as a treachery

towards the Church?

"I do not see how I can either preach or publish again, while I hold St.

Mary's;--but consider again the following difficulty in such a

resolution, which I must state at some length.

"Last Long Vacation the idea suggested itself to me of publishing the

Lives of the English Saints; and I had a conversation with [a publisher]

upon it. I thought it would be useful, as employing the minds of men who

were in danger of running wild, bringing them from doctrine to history,

and from speculation to fact;--again, as giving them an interest in the

English soil, and the English Church, and keeping them from seeking

sympathy in Rome, as she is; and further, as tending to promote the

spread of right views.

"But, within the last month, it has come upon me, that, if the scheme

goes on, it will be a practical carrying out of No. 90, from the

character of the usages and opinions of ante-reformation times.

"It is easy to say, 'Why _will_ you do _any_ thing? why won't you keep

quiet? what business had you to think of any such plan at all?' But I

cannot leave a number of poor fellows in the lurch. I am bound to do my

best for a great number of people both in Oxford and elsewhere. If _I_

did not act, others would find means to do so.

"Well, the plan has been taken up with great eagerness and interest.

Many men are setting to work. I set down the names of men, most of them

engaged, the rest half engaged and probable, some actually writing."

About thirty names follow, some of them at that time of the school of

Dr. Arnold, others of Dr. Pusey's, some my personal friends and of my

own standing, others whom I hardly knew, while of course the majority

were of the party of the new Movement. I continue:--

"The plan has gone so far, that it would create surprise and talk, were

it now suddenly given over. Yet how is it compatible with my holding St.

Mary's, being what I am?"

* * * * *

Such was the object and the origin of the projected Series of the

English Saints; and, since the publication was connected, as has been

seen, with my resignation of St. Mary's, I may be allowed to conclude

what I have to say on the subject here, though it may read like a

digression. As soon then as the first of the Series got into print, the

whole project broke down. I had already anticipated that some portions

of the Series would be written in a style inconsistent with the

professions of a beneficed clergyman, and therefore I had given up my

Living; but men of great weight went further in their misgivings than I,

when they saw the Life of St. Stephen Harding, and decided that it was

of a character inconsistent even with its proceeding from an Anglican

publisher: and so the scheme was given up at once. After the two first

numbers, I retired from the Editorship, and those Lives only were

published in addition, which were then already finished, or in advanced

preparation. The following passages from what I or others wrote at the

time will illustrate what I have been saying:--

In November, 1844, I wrote thus to the author of one of them: "I am not

Editor, I have no direct control over the Series. It is T.'s work; he

may admit what he pleases; and exclude what he pleases. I was to have

been Editor. I did edit the two first numbers. I was responsible for

them, in the way in which an Editor is responsible. Had I continued

Editor, I should have exercised a control over all. I laid down in the

Preface that doctrinal subjects were, if possible, to be excluded. But,

even then, I also set down that no writer was to be held answerable for

any of the Lives but his own. When I gave up the Editorship, I had

various engagements with friends for separate Lives remaining on my

hands. I should have liked to have broken from them all, but there were

some from which I could not break, and I let them take their course.

Some have come to nothing; others like yours have gone on. I have seen

such, either in MS. or Proof. As time goes on, I shall have less and

less to do with the Series. I think the engagement between you and me

should come to an end. I have any how abundant responsibility on me, and

too much. I shall write to T. that if he wants the advantage of your

assistance, he must write to you direct."

In accordance with this letter, I had already advertised in January

1844, ten months before it, that "other Lives," after St. Stephen

Harding, would "be published by their respective authors on their own

responsibility." This notice was repeated in February, in the

advertisement to the second number entitled "The Family of St. Richard,"

though to this number, for some reason which I cannot now recollect, I

also put my initials. In the Life of St. Augustine, the author, a man of

nearly my own age, says in like manner, "No one but himself is

responsible for the way in which these materials have been used." I have

in MS. another advertisement to the same effect, but I cannot tell

whether it ever appeared in print.

I will add, since the authors have been considered "hot-headed fanatic

young men," whom I was in charge of, and whom I suffered to do

intemperate things, that, while the writer of St. Augustine was in 1844

past forty, the author of the proposed Life of St. Boniface, Mr. Bowden,

was forty-six; Mr. Johnson, who was to write St. Aldhelm, forty-three;

and most of the others were on one side or other of thirty. Three, I

think, were under twenty-five. Moreover, of these writers some became

Catholics, some remained Anglicans, and others have professed what are

called free or liberal opinions[14].

[14] Vide Note D, _Lives of the English Saints_.

* * * * *

The immediate cause of the resignation of my Living is stated in the

following letter, which I wrote to my Bishop:--

"August 29, 1843. It is with much concern that I inform your Lordship,

that Mr. A. B., who has been for the last year an inmate of my house

here, has just conformed to the Church of Rome. As I have ever been

desirous, not only of faithfully discharging the trust, which is

involved in holding a living in your Lordship's diocese, but of

approving myself to your Lordship, I will for your information state one

or two circumstances connected with this unfortunate event.... I

received him on condition of his promising me, which he distinctly did,

that he would remain quietly in our Church for three years. A year has

passed since that time, and, though I saw nothing in him which promised

that he would eventually be contented with his present position, yet for

the time his mind became as settled as one could wish, and he frequently

expressed his satisfaction at being under the promise which I had

exacted of him."

I felt it impossible to remain any longer in the service of the Anglican

Church, when such a breach of trust, however little I had to do with it,

would be laid at my door. I wrote in a few days to a friend:

"September 7, 1843. I this day ask the Bishop leave to resign St.

Mary's. Men whom you little think, or at least whom I little thought,

are in almost a hopeless way. Really we may expect any thing. I am going

to publish a Volume of Sermons, including those Four against moving."

* * * * *

I resigned my living on September the 18th. I had not the means of doing

it legally at Oxford. The late Mr. Goldsmid was kind enough to aid me in

resigning it in London. I found no fault with the Liberals; they had

beaten me in a fair field. As to the act of the Bishops, I thought, to

borrow a Scriptural image from Walter Scott, that they had "seethed the

kid in his mother's milk."

I said to a friend:--

"Victrix causa diis placuit, sed victa Catoni."

* * * * *

And now I may be almost said to have brought to an end, as far as is

necessary for a sketch such as this is, the history both of my changes

of religious opinion and of the public acts which they involved.

I had one final advance of mind to accomplish, and one final step to

take. That further advance of mind was to be able honestly to say that I

was _certain_ of the conclusions at which I had already arrived. That

further step, imperative when such certitude was attained, was my

_submission_ to the Catholic Church.

This submission did not take place till two full years after the

resignation of my living in September 1843; nor could I have made it at

an earlier day, without doubt and apprehension, that is, with any true

conviction of mind or certitude.

In the interval, of which it remains to speak, viz. between the autumns

of 1843 and 1845, I was in lay communion with the Church of England,

attending its services as usual, and abstaining altogether from

intercourse with Catholics, from their places of worship, and from those

religious rites and usages, such as the Invocation of Saints, which are

characteristics of their creed. I did all this on principle; for I never

could understand how a man could be of two religions at once.

What I have to say about myself between these two autumns I shall almost

confine to this one point,--the difficulty I was in, as to the best mode

of revealing the state of my mind to my friends and others, and how I

managed to reveal it.

* * * * *

Up to January, 1842, I had not disclosed my state of unsettlement to

more than three persons, as has been mentioned above, and as is repeated

in the course of the letters which I am now about to give to the reader.

To two of them, intimate and familiar companions, in the Autumn of 1839:

to the third, an old friend too, whom I have also named above, I

suppose, when I was in great distress of mind upon the affair of the

Jerusalem Bishopric. In May, 1843, I made it known, as has been seen, to

the friend, by whose advice I wished, as far as possible, to be guided.

To mention it on set purpose to any one, unless indeed I was asking

advice, I should have felt to be a crime. If there is any thing that was

abhorrent to me, it was the scattering doubts, and unsettling

consciences without necessity. A strong presentiment that my existing

opinions would ultimately give way, and that the grounds of them were

unsound, was not a sufficient warrant for disclosing the state of my

mind. I had no guarantee yet, that that presentiment would be realized.

Supposing I were crossing ice, which came right in my way, which I had

good reasons for considering sound, and which I saw numbers before me

crossing in safety, and supposing a stranger from the bank, in a voice

of authority, and in an earnest tone, warned me that it was dangerous,

and then was silent, I think I should be startled, and should look about

me anxiously, but I think too that I should go on, till I had better

grounds for doubt; and such was my state, I believe, till the end of

1842. Then again, when my dissatisfaction became greater, it was hard at

first to determine the point of time, when it was too strong to suppress

with propriety. Certitude of course is a point, but doubt is a progress;

I was not near certitude yet. Certitude is a reflex action; it is to

know that one knows. Of that I believe I was not possessed, till close

upon my reception into the Catholic Church. Again, a practical,

effective doubt is a point too, but who can easily ascertain it for

himself? Who can determine when it is, that the scales in the balance of

opinion begin to turn, and what was a greater probability in behalf of a

belief becomes a positive doubt against it?

In considering this question in its bearing upon my conduct in 1843, my

own simple answer to my great difficulty had been, _Do_ what your

present state of opinion requires in the light of duty, and let that

_doing_ tell: speak by _acts_. This I had done; my first _act_ of the

year had been in February. After three months' deliberation I had

published my retractation of the violent charges which I had made

against Rome: I could not be wrong in doing so much as this; but I did

no more at the time: I did not retract my Anglican teaching. My second

_act_ had been in September in the same year; after much sorrowful

lingering and hesitation, I had resigned my Living. I tried indeed,

before I did so, to keep Littlemore for myself, even though it was still

to remain an integral part of St. Mary's. I had given to it a Church and

a sort of Parsonage; I had made it a Parish, and I loved it; I thought

in 1843 that perhaps I need not forfeit my existing relations towards

it. I could indeed submit to become the curate at will of another, but I

hoped an arrangement was possible, by which, while I had the curacy, I

might have been my own master in serving it. I had hoped an exception

might have been made in my favour, under the circumstances; but I did

not gain my request. Perhaps I was asking what was impracticable, and it

is well for me that it was so.

These had been my two acts of the year, and I said, "I cannot be wrong

in making them; let that follow which must follow in the thoughts of the

world about me, when they see what I do." And, as time went on, they

fully answered my purpose. What I felt it a simple duty to do, did

create a general suspicion about me, without such responsibility as

would be involved in my initiating any direct act for the sake of

creating it. Then, when friends wrote me on the subject, I either did

not deny or I confessed my state of mind, according to the character and

need of their letters. Sometimes in the case of intimate friends, whom I

should otherwise have been leaving in ignorance of what others knew on

every side of them, I invited the question.

And here comes in another point for explanation. While I was fighting in

Oxford for the Anglican Church, then indeed I was very glad to make

converts, and, though I never broke away from that rule of my mind, (as

I may call it,) of which I have already spoken, of finding disciples

rather than seeking them, yet, that I made advances to others in a

special way, I have no doubt; this came to an end, however, as soon as I

fell into misgivings as to the true ground to be taken in the

controversy. For then, when I gave up my place in the Movement, I ceased

from any such proceedings: and my utmost endeavour was to tranquillize

such persons, especially those who belonged to the new school, as were

unsettled in their religious views, and, as I judged, hasty in their

conclusions. This went on till 1843; but, at that date, as soon as I

turned my face Rome-ward, I gave up, as far as ever was possible, the

thought of in any respect and in any shape acting upon others. Then I

myself was simply my own concern. How could I in any sense direct

others, who had to be guided in so momentous a matter myself? How could

I be considered in a position, even to say a word to them one way or the

other? How could I presume to unsettle them, as I was unsettled, when I

had no means of bringing them out of such unsettlement? And, if they

were unsettled already, how could I point to them a place of refuge,

when I was not sure that I should choose it for myself? My only line, my

only duty, was to keep simply to my own case. I recollected Pascal's

words, "Je mourrai seul." I deliberately put out of my thoughts all

other works and claims, and said nothing to any one, unless I was

obliged.

But this brought upon me a great trouble. In the newspapers there were

continual reports about my intentions; I did not answer them; presently

strangers or friends wrote, begging to be allowed to answer them; and,

if I still kept to my resolution and said nothing, then I was thought to

be mysterious, and a prejudice was excited against me. But, what was far

worse, there were a number of tender, eager hearts, of whom I knew

nothing at all, who were watching me, wishing to think as I thought, and

to do as I did, if they could but find it out; who in consequence were

distressed, that, in so solemn a matter, they could not see what was

coming, and who heard reports about me this way or that, on a first day

and on a second; and felt the weariness of waiting, and the sickness of

delayed hope, and did not understand that I was as perplexed as they

were, and, being of more sensitive complexion of mind than myself, were

made ill by the suspense. And they too of course for the time thought me

mysterious and inexplicable. I ask their pardon as far as I was really

unkind to them. There was a gifted and deeply earnest lady, who in a

parabolical account of that time, has described both my conduct as she

felt it, and her own feelings upon it. In a singularly graphic, amusing

vision of pilgrims, who were making their way across a bleak common in

great discomfort, and who were ever warned against, yet continually

nearing, "the king's highway" on the right, she says, "All my fears and

disquiets were speedily renewed by seeing the most daring of our

leaders, (the same who had first forced his way through the palisade,

and in whose courage and sagacity we all put implicit trust,) suddenly

stop short, and declare that he would go on no further. He did not,

however, take the leap at once, but quietly sat down on the top of the

fence with his feet hanging towards the road, as if he meant to take his

time about it, and let himself down easily." I do not wonder at all that

I thus seemed so unkind to a lady, who at that time had never seen me.

We were both in trial in our different ways. I am far from denying that

I was acting selfishly both in her case and in that of others; but it

was a religious selfishness. Certainly to myself my own duty seemed

clear. They that are whole can heal others; but in my case it was,

"Physician, heal thyself." My own soul was my first concern, and it

seemed an absurdity to my reason to be converted in partnership. I

wished to go to my Lord by myself, and in my own way, or rather His way.

I had neither wish, nor, I may say, thought of taking a number with me.

Moreover, it is but the truth to say, that it had ever been an annoyance

to me to seem to be the head of a party; and that even from

fastidiousness of mind, I could not bear to find a thing done elsewhere,

simply or mainly because I did it myself, and that, from distrust of

myself, I shrank from the thought, whenever it was brought home to me,

that I was influencing others. But nothing of this could be known to the

world.

The following three letters are written to a friend, who had every claim

upon me to be frank with him, Archdeacon Manning:--it will be seen that

I disclose the real state of my mind in proportion as he presses me.

1. "October 14, 1843. I would tell you in a few words why I have

resigned St. Mary's, as you seem to wish, were it possible to do so. But

it is most difficult to bring out in brief, or even _in extenso_, any

just view of my feelings and reasons.

"The nearest approach I can give to a general account of them is to say,

that it has been caused by the general repudiation of the view,

contained in No. 90, on the part of the Church. I could not stand

against such an unanimous expression of opinion from the Bishops,

supported, as it has been, by the concurrence, or at least silence, of

all classes in the Church, lay and clerical. If there ever was a case,

in which an individual teacher has been put aside and virtually put away

by a community, mine is one. No decency has been observed in the attacks

upon me from authority; no protests have been offered against them. It

is felt,--I am far from denying, justly felt,--that I am a foreign

material, and cannot assimilate with the Church of England.

"Even my own Bishop has said that my mode of interpreting the Articles

makes them mean _any thing or nothing_. When I heard this delivered, I

did not believe my ears. I denied to others that it was said.... Out

came the charge, and the words could not be mistaken. This astonished me

the more, because I published that Letter to him, (how unwillingly you

know,) on the understanding that _I_ was to deliver his judgment on No.

90 _instead_ of him. A year elapses, and a second and heavier judgment

came forth. I did not bargain for this,--nor did he, but the tide was

too strong for him.

"I fear that I must confess, that, in proportion as I think the English

Church is showing herself intrinsically and radically alien from

Catholic principles, so do I feel the difficulties of defending her

claims to be a branch of the Catholic Church. It seems a dream to call a

communion Catholic, when one can neither appeal to any clear statement

of Catholic doctrine in its formularies, nor interpret ambiguous

formularies by the received and living Catholic sense, whether past or

present. Men of Catholic views are too truly but a party in our Church.

I cannot deny that many other independent circumstances, which it is not

worth while entering into, have led me to the same conclusion.

"I do not say all this to every body, as you may suppose; but I do not

like to make a secret of it to you."

2. "Oct. 25, 1843. You have engaged in a dangerous correspondence; I am

deeply sorry for the pain I shall give you.

"I must tell you then frankly, (but I combat arguments which to me,

alas, are shadows,) that it is not from disappointment, irritation, or

impatience, that I have, whether rightly or wrongly, resigned St.

Mary's; but because I think the Church of Rome the Catholic Church, and

ours not part of the Catholic Church, because not in communion with

Rome; and because I feel that I could not honestly be a teacher in it

any longer.

"This thought came to me last summer four years.... I mentioned it to

two friends in the autumn.... It arose in the first instance from the

Monophysite and Donatist controversies, the former of which I was

engaged with in the course of theological study to which I had given

myself. This was at a time when no Bishop, I believe, had declared

against us[15], and when all was progress and hope. I do not think I

have ever felt disappointment or impatience, certainly not then; for I

never looked forward to the future, nor do I realize it now.

"My first effort was to write that article on the Catholicity of the

English Church; for two years it quieted me. Since the summer of 1839 I

have written little or nothing on modern controversy.... You know how

unwillingly I wrote my letter to the Bishop in which I committed myself

again, as the safest course under circumstances. The article I speak of

quieted me till the end of 1841, over the affair of No. 90, when that

wretched Jerusalem Bishopric (no personal matter) revived all my alarms.

They have increased up to this moment. At that time I told my secret to

another person in addition.

"You see then that the various ecclesiastical and quasi-ecclesiastical

acts, which have taken place in the course of the last two years and a

half, are not the _cause_ of my state of opinion, but are keen

stimulants and weighty confirmations of a conviction forced upon me,

while engaged in the _course of duty_, viz. that theological reading to

which I had given myself. And this last-mentioned circumstance is a

fact, which has never, I think, come before me till now that I write to

you.

"It is three years since, on account of my state of opinion, I urged the

Provost in vain to let St. Mary's be separated from Littlemore; thinking

I might with a safe conscience serve the latter, though I could not

comfortably continue in so public a place as a University. This was

before No. 90.

"Finally, I have acted under advice, and that, not of my own choosing,

but what came to me in the way of duty, nor the advice of those only who

agree with me, but of near friends who differ from me.

"I have nothing to reproach myself with, as far as I see, in the matter

of impatience; i.e. practically or in conduct. And I trust that He, who

has kept me in the slow course of change hitherto, will keep me still

from hasty acts, or resolves with a doubtful conscience.

"This I am sure of, that such interposition as yours, kind as it is,

only does what _you_ would consider harm. It makes me realize my own

views to myself; it makes me see their consistency; it assures me of my

own deliberateness; it suggests to me the traces of a Providential Hand;

it takes away the pain of disclosures; it relieves me of a heavy secret.

"You may make what use of my letters you think right."

[15] I think Sumner, Bishop of Chester, must have done so already.

3. My correspondent wrote to me once more, and I replied thus: "October

31, 1843. Your letter has made my heart ache more, and caused me more

and deeper sighs than any I have had a long while, though I assure you

there is much on all sides of me to cause sighing and heartache. On all

sides:--I am quite haunted by the one dreadful whisper repeated from so

many quarters, and causing the keenest distress to friends. You know but

a part of my present trial, in knowing that I am unsettled myself.

"Since the beginning of this year I have been obliged to tell the state

of my mind to some others; but never, I think, without being in a way

obliged, as from friends writing to me as you did, or guessing how

matters stood. No one in Oxford knows it or here" [Littlemore], "but one

near friend whom I felt I could not help telling the other day. But, I

suppose, many more suspect it."

On receiving these letters, my correspondent, if I recollect rightly, at

once communicated the matter of them to Dr. Pusey, and this will enable

me to describe, as nearly as I can, the way in which he first became

aware of my changed state of opinion.

I had from the first a great difficulty in making Dr. Pusey understand

such differences of opinion as existed between himself and me. When

there was a proposal about the end of 1838 for a subscription for a

Cranmer Memorial, he wished us both to subscribe together to it. I could

not, of course, and wished him to subscribe by himself. That he would

not do; he could not bear the thought of our appearing to the world in

separate positions, in a matter of importance. And, as time went on, he

would not take any hints, which I gave him, on the subject of my growing

inclination to Rome. When I found him so determined, I often had not the

heart to go on. And then I knew, that, from affection to me, he so often

took up and threw himself into what I said, that I felt the great

responsibility I should incur, if I put things before him just as I

might view them myself. And, not knowing him so well as I did

afterwards, I feared lest I should unsettle him. And moreover, I

recollected well, how prostrated he had been with illness in 1832, and I

used always to think that the start of the Movement had given him a

fresh life. I fancied that his physical energies even depended on the

presence of a vigorous hope and bright prospects for his imagination to

feed upon; so much so, that when he was so unworthily treated by the

authorities of the place in 1843, I recollect writing to the late Mr.

Dodsworth to state my anxiety, lest, if his mind became dejected in

consequence, his health should suffer seriously also. These were

difficulties in my way; and then again, another difficulty was, that, as

we were not together under the same roof, we only saw each other at set

times; others indeed, who were coming in or out of my rooms freely, and

according to the need of the moment, knew all my thoughts easily; but

for him to know them well, formal efforts were necessary. A common

friend of ours broke it all to him in 1841, as far as matters had gone

at that time, and showed him clearly the logical conclusions which must

lie in propositions to which I had committed myself; but somehow or

other in a little while, his mind fell back into its former happy state,

and he could not bring himself to believe that he and I should not go on

pleasantly together to the end. But that affectionate dream needs must

have been broken at last; and two years afterwards, that friend to whom

I wrote the letters which I have just now inserted, set himself, as I

have said, to break it. Upon that, I too begged Dr. Pusey to tell in

private to any one he would, that I thought in the event I should leave

the Church of England. However, he would not do so; and at the end of

1844 had almost relapsed into his former thoughts about me, if I may

judge from a letter of his which I have found. Nay, at the Commemoration

of 1845, a few months before I left the Anglican Church, I think he said

about me to a friend, "I trust after all we shall keep him."

In that autumn of 1843, at the time that I spoke to Dr. Pusey, I asked

another friend also to communicate in confidence, to whom he would, the

prospect which lay before me.

To another friend, Mr. James Hope, now Mr. Hope Scott, I gave the

opportunity of knowing it, if he would, in the following Postscript to a

letter:--

"While I write, I will add a word about myself. You may come near a

person or two who, owing to circumstances, know more exactly my state of

feeling than you do, though they would not tell you. Now I do not like

that you should not be aware of this, though I see no _reason_ why you

should know what they happen to know. Your wishing it would _be_ a

reason."

I had a dear and old friend, near his death; I never told him my state

of mind. Why should I unsettle that sweet calm tranquillity, when I had

nothing to offer him instead? I could not say, "Go to Rome;" else I

should have shown him the way. Yet I offered myself for his examination.

One day he led the way to my speaking out; but, rightly or wrongly, I

could not respond. My reason was, "I have no certainty on the matter

myself. To say 'I think' is to tease and to distress, not to persuade."

I wrote to him on Michaelmas Day, 1843: "As you may suppose, I have

nothing to write to you about, pleasant. I _could_ tell you some very

painful things; but it is best not to anticipate trouble, which after

all can but happen, and, for what one knows, may be averted. You are

always so kind, that sometimes, when I part with you, I am nearly moved

to tears, and it would be a relief to be so, at your kindness and at my

hardness. I think no one ever had such kind friends as I have."

The next year, January 22, I wrote to him: "Pusey has quite enough on

him, and generously takes on himself more than enough, for me to add

burdens when I am not obliged; particularly too, when I am very

conscious, that there _are_ burdens, which I am or shall be obliged to

lay upon him some time or other, whether I will or no."

And on February 21: "Half-past ten. I am just up, having a bad cold; the

like has not happened to me (except twice in January) in my memory. You

may think you have been in my thoughts, long before my rising. Of course

you are so continually, as you well know. I could not come to see you; I

am not worthy of friends. With my opinions, to the full of which I dare

not confess, I feel like a guilty person with others, though I trust I

am not so. People kindly think that I have much to bear externally,

disappointment, slander, &c. No, I have nothing to bear, but the anxiety

which I feel for my friends' anxiety for me, and their perplexity. This

is a better Ash-Wednesday than birthday present;" [his birthday was the

same day as mine; it was Ash-Wednesday that year;] "but I cannot help

writing about what is uppermost. And now, my dear B., all kindest and

best wishes to you, my oldest friend, whom I must not speak more about,

and with reference to myself, lest you should be angry." It was not in

his nature to have doubts: he used to look at me with anxiety, and

wonder what had come over me.

On Easter Monday: "All that is good and gracious descend upon you and

yours from the influences of this Blessed Season; and it will be so, (so

be it!) for what is the life of you all, as day passes after day, but a

simple endeavour to serve Him, from whom all blessing comes? Though we

are separated in place, yet this we have in common, that you are living

a calm and cheerful time, and I am enjoying the thought of you. It is

your blessing to have a clear heaven, and peace around, according to the

blessing pronounced on Benjamin[16]. So it is, my dear B., and so may it

ever be."

[16] Deut. xxxiii. 12.

He was in simple good faith. He died in September of the same year. I

had expected that his last illness would have brought light to my mind,

as to what I ought to do. It brought none. I made a note, which runs

thus: "I sobbed bitterly over his coffin, to think that he left me still

dark as to what the way of truth was, and what I ought to do in order to

please God and fulfil His will." I think I wrote to Charles Marriott to

say, that at that moment, with the thought of my friend before me, my

strong view in favour of Rome remained just what it was. On the other

hand, my firm belief that grace was to be found within the Anglican

Church remained too[17]. I wrote to another friend thus:--

[17] On this subject, vide my Third Lecture on "Anglican Difficulties,"

also Note E, _Anglican Church_.

"Sept. 16, 1844. I am full of wrong and miserable feelings, which it is

useless to detail, so grudging and sullen, when I should be thankful. Of

course, when one sees so blessed an end, and that, the termination of so

blameless a life, of one who really fed on our ordinances and got

strength from them, and sees the same continued in a whole family, the

little children finding quite a solace of their pain in the Daily

Prayer, it is impossible not to feel more at ease in our Church, as at

least a sort of Zoar, a place of refuge and temporary rest, because of

the steepness of the way. Only, may we be kept from unlawful security,

lest we have Moab and Ammon for our progeny, the enemies of Israel."

I could not continue in this state, either in the light of duty or of

reason. My difficulty was this: I had been deceived greatly once; how

could I be sure that I was not deceived a second time? I thought myself

right then; how was I to be certain that I was right now? How many years

had I thought myself sure of what I now rejected? how could I ever again

have confidence in myself? As in 1840 I listened to the rising doubt in

favour of Rome, now I listened to the waning doubt in favour of the

Anglican Church. To be certain is to know that one knows; what inward

test had I, that I should not change again, after that I had become a

Catholic? I had still apprehension of this, though I thought a time

would come, when it would depart. However, some limit ought to be put to

these vague misgivings; I must do my best and then leave it to a higher

Power to prosper it. So, at the end of 1844, I came to the resolution of

writing an Essay on Doctrinal Development; and then, if, at the end of

it, my convictions in favour of the Roman Church were not weaker, of

taking the necessary steps for admission into her fold.

By this time the state of my mind was generally known, and I made no

great secret of it. I will illustrate it by letters of mine which have

been put into my hands.

"November 16, 1844. I am going through what must be gone through; and my

trust only is that every day of pain is so much taken from the necessary

draught which must be exhausted. There is no fear (humanly speaking) of

my moving for a long time yet. This has got out without my intending it;

but it is all well. As far as I know myself, my one great distress is

the perplexity, unsettlement, alarm, scepticism, which I am causing to

so many; and the loss of kind feeling and good opinion on the part of so

many, known and unknown, who have wished well to me. And of these two

sources of pain it is the former that is the constant, urgent,

unmitigated one. I had for days a literal ache all about my heart; and

from time to time all the complaints of the Psalmist seemed to belong to

me.

"And as far as I know myself, my one paramount reason for contemplating

a change is my deep, unvarying conviction that our Church is in schism,

and that my salvation depends on my joining the Church of Rome. I may

use _argumenta ad hominem_ to this person or that[18]; but I am not

conscious of resentment, or disgust, at any thing that has happened to

me. I have no visions whatever of hope, no schemes of action, in any

other sphere more suited to me. I have no existing sympathies with Roman

Catholics; I hardly ever, even abroad, was at one of their services; I

know none of them, I do not like what I hear of them.

"And then, how much I am giving up in so many ways! and to me sacrifices

irreparable, not only from my age, when people hate changing, but from

my especial love of old associations and the pleasures of memory. Nor am

I conscious of any feeling, enthusiastic or heroic, of pleasure in the

sacrifice; I have nothing to support me here.

"What keeps me yet is what has kept me long; a fear that I am under a

delusion; but the conviction remains firm under all circumstances, in

all frames of mind. And this most serious feeling is growing on me; viz.

that the reasons for which I believe as much as our system teaches,

_must_ lead me to believe more, and that not to believe more is to fall

back into scepticism.

"A thousand thanks for your most kind and consoling letter; though I

have not yet spoken of it, it was a great gift."

[18] Vide supr. p. 219, &c. Letter of Oct. 14, 1843, compared with that

of Oct. 25.

Shortly after I wrote to the same friend thus: "My intention is, if

nothing comes upon me, which I cannot foresee, to remain quietly _in

statu quo_ for a considerable time, trusting that my friends will kindly

remember me and my trial in their prayers. And I should give up my

fellowship some time before any thing further took place."

There was a lady, now a nun of the Visitation, to whom at this time I

wrote the following letters:--

1. "November 7, 1844. I am still where I was; I am not moving. Two

things, however, seem plain, that every one is prepared for such an

event, next, that every one expects it of me. Few, indeed, who do not

think it suitable, fewer still, who do not think it likely. However, I

do not think it either suitable or likely. I have very little reason to

doubt about the issue of things, but the when and the how are known to

Him, from whom, I trust, both the course of things and the issue come.

The expression of opinion, and the latent and habitual feeling about me,

which is on every side and among all parties, has great force. I insist

upon it, because I have a great dread of going by my own feelings, lest

they should mislead me. By one's sense of duty one must go; but external

facts support one in doing so."

2. "January 8, 1845. What am I to say in answer to your letter? I know

perfectly well, I ought to let you know more of my feelings and state of

mind than you do know. But how is that possible in a few words? Any

thing I say must be abrupt; nothing can I say which will not leave a

bewildering feeling, as needing so much to explain it, and being

isolated, and (as it were) unlocated, and not having any thing with it

to show its bearings upon other parts of the subject.

"At present, my full belief is, in accordance with your letter, that, if

there is a move in our Church, very few persons indeed will be partners

to it. I doubt whether one or two at the most among residents at Oxford.

And I don't know whether I can wish it. The state of the Roman Catholics

is at present so unsatisfactory. This I am sure of, that nothing but a

simple, direct call of duty is a warrant for any one leaving our Church;

no preference of another Church, no delight in its services, no hope of

greater religious advancement in it, no indignation, no disgust, at the

persons and things, among which we may find ourselves in the Church of

England. The simple question is, Can _I_ (it is personal, not whether

another, but can _I_) be saved in the English Church? am _I_ in safety,

were I to die to-night? Is it a mortal sin in _me_, not joining another

communion?

"P.S. I hardly see my way to concur in attendance, though occasional, in

the Roman Catholic chapel, unless a man has made up his mind pretty well

to join it eventually. Invocations are not _required_ in the Church of

Rome; somehow, I do not like using them except under the sanction of the

Church, and this makes me unwilling to admit them in members of our

Church."

3. "March 30. Now I will tell you more than any one knows except two

friends. My own convictions are as strong as I suppose they can become:

only it is so difficult to know whether it is a call of _reason_ or of

conscience. I cannot make out, if I am impelled by what seems _clear_,

or by a sense of _duty_. You can understand how painful this doubt is;

so I have waited, hoping for light, and using the words of the Psalmist,

'Show some token upon me.' But I suppose I have no right to wait for

ever for this. Then I am waiting, because friends are most considerately

bearing me in mind, and asking guidance for me; and, I trust, I should

attend to any new feelings which came upon me, should that be the effect

of their kindness. And then this waiting subserves the purpose of

preparing men's minds. I dread shocking, unsettling people. Any how, I

can't avoid giving incalculable pain. So, if I had my will, I should

like to wait till the summer of 1846, which would be a full seven years

from the time that my convictions first began to fall on me. But I don't

think I shall last so long.

"My present intention is to give up my Fellowship in October, and to

publish some work or treatise between that and Christmas. I wish people

to know _why_ I am acting, as well as _what_ I am doing; it takes off

that vague and distressing surprise, 'What _can_ have made him?'"

4. "June 1. What you tell me of yourself makes it plain that it is your

duty to remain quietly and patiently, till you see more clearly where

you are; else you are leaping in the dark."

In the early part of this year, if not before, there was an idea afloat

that my retirement from the Anglican Church was owing to my distress

that I had been so thrust aside, without any one's taking my part.

Various measures were, I believe, talked of in consequence of this

surmise. Coincidently with it appeared an exceedingly kind article about

me in a Quarterly, in its April number. The writer praised me in kind

and beautiful language far above my deserts. In the course of his

remarks, he said, speaking of me as Vicar of St. Mary's: "He had the

future race of clergy hearing him. Did he value and feel tender about,

and cling to his position?... Not at all.... No sacrifice to him

perhaps, he did not care about such things."

There was a censure implied, however covertly, in these words; and it is

alluded to in the following letter, addressed to a very intimate

friend:--

"April 3, 1845.... Accept this apology, my dear Church, and forgive me.

As I say so, tears come into my eyes;--that arises from the accident of

this time, when I am giving up so much I love. Just now I have been

overset by James Mozley's article in the Remembrancer; yet really, my

dear Church, I have never for an instant had even the temptation of

repenting my leaving Oxford. The feeling of repentance has not even come

into my mind. How could it? How could I remain at St. Mary's a

hypocrite? how could I be answerable for souls, (and life so uncertain,)

with the convictions, or at least persuasions, which I had upon me? It

is indeed a responsibility to act as I am doing; and I feel His hand

heavy on me without intermission, who is all Wisdom and Love, so that my

heart and mind are tired out, just as the limbs might be from a load on

one's back. That sort of dull aching pain is mine; but my responsibility

really is nothing to what it would be, to be answerable for souls, for

confiding loving souls, in the English Church, with my convictions. My

love to Marriott, and save me the pain of sending him a line."

* * * * *

I am now close upon the date of my reception into the Catholic Church;

at the beginning of the year a letter had been addressed to me by a very

dear friend, now no more, Charles Marriott. I quote some sentences from

it, for the love which I bear him and the value that I set on his good

word.

"January 15, 1845. You know me well enough to be aware, that I never see

through any thing at first. Your letter to Badeley casts a gloom over

the future, which you can understand, if you have understood me, as I

believe you have. But I may speak out at once, of what I see and feel at

once, and doubt not that I shall ever feel: that your whole conduct

towards the Church of England and towards us, who have striven and are

still striving to seek after God for ourselves, and to revive true

religion among others, under her authority and guidance, has been

generous and considerate, and, were that word appropriate, dutiful, to a

degree that I could scarcely have conceived possible, more unsparing of

self than I should have thought nature could sustain. I have felt with

pain every link that you have severed, and I have asked no questions,

because I felt that you ought to measure the disclosure of your thoughts

according to the occasion, and the capacity of those to whom you spoke.

I write in haste, in the midst of engagements engrossing in themselves,

but partly made tasteless, partly embittered by what I have heard; but I

am willing to trust even you, whom I love best on earth, in God's Hand,

in the earnest prayer that you may be so employed as is best for the

Holy Catholic Church."

In July, a Bishop thought it worth while to give out to the world that

"the adherents of Mr. Newman are few in number. A short time will now

probably suffice to prove this fact. It is well known that he is

preparing for secession; and, when that event takes place, it will be

seen how few will go with him."

I had begun my Essay on the Development of Doctrine in the beginning of

1845, and I was hard at it all through the year till October. As I

advanced, my difficulties so cleared away that I ceased to speak of "the

Roman Catholics," and boldly called them Catholics. Before I got to the

end, I resolved to be received, and the book remains in the state in

which it was then, unfinished.

One of my friends at Littlemore had been received into the Church on

Michaelmas Day, at the Passionist House at Aston, near Stone, by Father

Dominic, the Superior. At the beginning of October the latter was

passing through London to Belgium; and, as I was in some perplexity what

steps to take for being received myself, I assented to the proposition

made to me that the good priest should take Littlemore in his way, with

a view to his doing for me the same charitable service as he had done to

my friend.

On October the 8th I wrote to a number of friends the following

letter:--

"Littlemore, October 8th, 1845. I am this night expecting Father

Dominic, the Passionist, who, from his youth, has been led to have

distinct and direct thoughts, first of the countries of the North, then

of England. After thirty years' (almost) waiting, he was without his own

act sent here. But he has had little to do with conversions. I saw him

here for a few minutes on St. John Baptist's day last year.

"He is a simple, holy man; and withal gifted with remarkable powers. He

does not know of my intention; but I mean to ask of him admission into

the One Fold of Christ....

"I have so many letters to write, that this must do for all who choose

to ask about me. With my best love to dear Charles Marriott, who is over

your head, &c., &c.

"P.S. This will not go till all is over. Of course it requires no

answer."

* * * * *

For a while after my reception, I proposed to betake myself to some

secular calling. I wrote thus in answer to a very gracious letter of

congratulation sent me by Cardinal Acton:--

"Nov. 25, 1845. I hope you will have anticipated, before I express it,

the great gratification which I received from your Eminence's letter.

That gratification, however, was tempered by the apprehension, that kind

and anxious well-wishers at a distance attach more importance to my step

than really belongs to it. To me indeed personally it is of course an

inestimable gain; but persons and things look great at a distance, which

are not so when seen close; and, did your Eminence know me, you would

see that I was one, about whom there has been far more talk for good and

bad than he deserves, and about whose movements far more expectation has

been raised than the event will justify.

"As I never, I do trust, aimed at any thing else than obedience to my

own sense of right, and have been magnified into the leader of a party

without my wishing it or acting as such, so now, much as I may wish to

the contrary, and earnestly as I may labour (as is my duty) to minister

in a humble way to the Catholic Church, yet my powers will, I fear,

disappoint the expectations of both my own friends, and of those who

pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

"If I might ask of your Eminence a favour, it is that you would kindly

moderate those anticipations. Would it were in my power to do, what I do

not aspire to do! At present certainly I cannot look forward to the

future, and, though it would be a good work if I could persuade others

to do as I have done, yet it seems as if I had quite enough to do in

thinking of myself."

Soon, Dr. Wiseman, in whose Vicariate Oxford lay, called me to Oscott;

and I went there with others; afterwards he sent me to Rome, and finally

placed me in Birmingham.

I wrote to a friend:--

"January 20, 1846. You may think how lonely I am. 'Obliviscere populum

tuum et domum patris tui,' has been in my ears for the last twelve

hours. I realize more that we are leaving Littlemore, and it is like

going on the open sea."

I left Oxford for good on Monday, February 23, 1846. On the Saturday and

Sunday before, I was in my house at Littlemore simply by myself, as I

had been for the first day or two when I had originally taken possession

of it. I slept on Sunday night at my dear friend's, Mr. Johnson's, at

the Observatory. Various friends came to see the last of me; Mr.

Copeland, Mr. Church, Mr. Buckle, Mr. Pattison, and Mr. Lewis. Dr. Pusey

too came up to take leave of me; and I called on Dr. Ogle, one of my

very oldest friends, for he was my private Tutor, when I was an

Undergraduate. In him I took leave of my first College, Trinity, which

was so dear to me, and which held on its foundation so many who had been

kind to me both when I was a boy, and all through my Oxford life.

Trinity had never been unkind to me. There used to be much snap-dragon

growing on the walls opposite my freshman's rooms there, and I had for

years taken it as the emblem of my own perpetual residence even unto

death in my University.

On the morning of the 23rd I left the Observatory. I have never seen

Oxford since, excepting its spires, as they are seen from the

railway[19].

[19] At length I revisited Oxford on February 26th, 1878, after an

absence of just 32 years. Vide Additional Note at the end of the volume.

CHAPTER V.

POSITION OF MY MIND SINCE 1845.

From the time that I became a Catholic, of course I have no further

history of my religious opinions to narrate. In saying this, I do not

mean to say that my mind has been idle, or that I have given up thinking

on theological subjects; but that I have had no variations to record,

and have had no anxiety of heart whatever. I have been in perfect peace

and contentment; I never have had one doubt. I was not conscious to

myself, on my conversion, of any change, intellectual or moral, wrought

in my mind. I was not conscious of firmer faith in the fundamental

truths of Revelation, or of more self-command; I had not more fervour;

but it was like coming into port after a rough sea; and my happiness on

that score remains to this day without interruption.

Nor had I any trouble about receiving those additional articles, which

are not found in the Anglican Creed. Some of them I believed already,

but not any one of them was a trial to me. I made a profession of them

upon my reception with the greatest ease, and I have the same ease in

believing them now. I am far of course from denying that every article

of the Christian Creed, whether as held by Catholics or by Protestants,

is beset with intellectual difficulties; and it is simple fact, that,

for myself, I cannot answer those difficulties. Many persons are very

sensitive of the difficulties of Religion; I am as sensitive of them as

any one; but I have never been able to see a connexion between

apprehending those difficulties, however keenly, and multiplying them to

any extent, and on the other hand doubting the doctrines to which they

are attached. Ten thousand difficulties do not make one doubt, as I

understand the subject; difficulty and doubt are incommensurate. There

of course may be difficulties in the evidence; but I am speaking of

difficulties intrinsic to the doctrines themselves, or to their

relations with each other. A man may be annoyed that he cannot work out

a mathematical problem, of which the answer is or is not given to him,

without doubting that it admits of an answer, or that a certain

particular answer is the true one. Of all points of faith, the being of

a God is, to my own apprehension, encompassed with most difficulty, and

yet borne in upon our minds with most power.

People say that the doctrine of Transubstantiation is difficult to

believe; I did not believe the doctrine till I was a Catholic. I had no

difficulty in believing it, as soon as I believed that the Catholic

Roman Church was the oracle of God, and that she had declared this

doctrine to be part of the original revelation. It is difficult,

impossible, to imagine, I grant;--but how is it difficult to believe?

Yet Macaulay thought it so difficult to believe, that he had need of a

believer in it of talents as eminent as Sir Thomas More, before he could

bring himself to conceive that the Catholics of an enlightened age could

resist "the overwhelming force of the argument against it." "Sir Thomas

More," he says, "is one of the choice specimens of wisdom and virtue;

and the doctrine of transubstantiation is a kind of proof charge. A

faith which stands that test, will stand any test." But for myself, I

cannot indeed prove it, I cannot tell _how_ it is; but I say, "Why

should it not be? What's to hinder it? What do I know of substance or

matter? just as much as the greatest philosophers, and that is nothing

at all;"--so much is this the case, that there is a rising school of

philosophy now, which considers phenomena to constitute the whole of our

knowledge in physics. The Catholic doctrine leaves phenomena alone. It

does not say that the phenomena go; on the contrary, it says that they

remain; nor does it say that the same phenomena are in several places at

once. It deals with what no one on earth knows any thing about, the

material substances themselves. And, in like manner, of that majestic

Article of the Anglican as well as of the Catholic Creed,--the doctrine

of the Trinity in Unity. What do I know of the Essence of the Divine

Being? I know that my abstract idea of three is simply incompatible with

my idea of one; but when I come to the question of concrete fact, I have

no means of proving that there is not a sense in which one and three can

equally be predicated of the Incommunicable God.

But I am going to take upon myself the responsibility of more than the

mere Creed of the Church; as the parties accusing me are determined I

shall do. They say, that now, in that I am a Catholic, though I may not

have offences of my own against honesty to answer for, yet, at least, I

am answerable for the offences of others, of my co-religionists, of my

brother priests, of the Church herself. I am quite willing to accept the

responsibility; and, as I have been able, as I trust, by means of a few

words, to dissipate, in the minds of all those who do not begin with

disbelieving me, the suspicion with which so many Protestants start, in

forming their judgment of Catholics, viz. that our Creed is actually set

up in inevitable superstition and hypocrisy, as the original sin of

Catholicism; so now I will proceed, as before, identifying myself with

the Church and vindicating it,--not of course denying the enormous mass

of sin and error which exists of necessity in that world-wide multiform

Communion,--but going to the proof of this one point, that its system is

in no sense dishonest, and that therefore the upholders and teachers of

that system, as such, have a claim to be acquitted in their own persons

of that odious imputation.

* * * * *

Starting then with the being of a God, (which, as I have said, is as

certain to me as the certainty of my own existence, though when I try to

put the grounds of that certainty into logical shape I find a difficulty

in doing so in mood and figure to my satisfaction,) I look out of myself

into the world of men, and there I see a sight which fills me with

unspeakable distress. The world seems simply to give the lie to that

great truth, of which my whole being is so full; and the effect upon me

is, in consequence, as a matter of necessity, as confusing as if it

denied that I am in existence myself. If I looked into a mirror, and did

not see my face, I should have the sort of feeling which actually comes

upon me, when I look into this living busy world, and see no reflexion

of its Creator. This is, to me, one of those great difficulties of this

absolute primary truth, to which I referred just now. Were it not for

this voice, speaking so clearly in my conscience and my heart, I should

be an atheist, or a pantheist, or a polytheist when I looked into the

world. I am speaking for myself only; and I am far from denying the real

force of the arguments in proof of a God, drawn from the general facts

of human society and the course of history, but these do not warm me or

enlighten me; they do not take away the winter of my desolation, or make

the buds unfold and the leaves grow within me, and my moral being

rejoice. The sight of the world is nothing else than the prophet's

scroll, full of "lamentations, and mourning, and woe."

To consider the world in its length and breadth, its various history,

the many races of man, their starts, their fortunes, their mutual

alienation, their conflicts; and then their ways, habits, governments,

forms of worship; their enterprises, their aimless courses, their random

achievements and acquirements, the impotent conclusion of long-standing

facts, the tokens so faint and broken of a superintending design, the

blind evolution of what turn out to be great powers or truths, the

progress of things, as if from unreasoning elements, not towards final

causes, the greatness and littleness of man, his far-reaching aims, his

short duration, the curtain hung over his futurity, the disappointments

of life, the defeat of good, the success of evil, physical pain, mental

anguish, the prevalence and intensity of sin, the pervading idolatries,

the corruptions, the dreary hopeless irreligion, that condition of the

whole race, so fearfully yet exactly described in the Apostle's words,

"having no hope and without God in the world,"--all this is a vision to

dizzy and appal; and inflicts upon the mind the sense of a profound

mystery, which is absolutely beyond human solution.

What shall be said to this heart-piercing, reason-bewildering fact? I

can only answer, that either there is no Creator, or this living society

of men is in a true sense discarded from His presence. Did I see a boy

of good make and mind, with the tokens on him of a refined nature, cast

upon the world without provision, unable to say whence he came, his

birth-place or his family connexions, I should conclude that there was

some mystery connected with his history, and that he was one, of whom,

from one cause or other, his parents were ashamed. Thus only should I be

able to account for the contrast between the promise and the condition

of his being. And so I argue about the world;--_if_ there be a God,

_since_ there is a God, the human race is implicated in some terrible

aboriginal calamity. It is out of joint with the purposes of its

Creator. This is a fact, a fact as true as the fact of its existence;

and thus the doctrine of what is theologically called original sin

becomes to me almost as certain as that the world exists, and as the

existence of God.

And now, supposing it were the blessed and loving will of the Creator to

interfere in this anarchical condition of things, what are we to suppose

would be the methods which might be necessarily or naturally involved in

His purpose of mercy? Since the world is in so abnormal a state, surely

it would be no surprise to me, if the interposition were of necessity

equally extraordinary--or what is called miraculous. But that subject

does not directly come into the scope of my present remarks. Miracles as

evidence, involve a process of reason, or an argument; and of course I

am thinking of some mode of interference which does not immediately run

into argument. I am rather asking what must be the face-to-face

antagonist, by which to withstand and baffle the fierce energy of

passion and the all-corroding, all-dissolving scepticism of the

intellect in religious inquiries? I have no intention at all of denying,

that truth is the real object of our reason, and that, if it does not

attain to truth, either the premiss or the process is in fault; but I am

not speaking here of right reason, but of reason as it acts in fact and

concretely in fallen man. I know that even the unaided reason, when

correctly exercised, leads to a belief in God, in the immortality of the

soul, and in a future retribution; but I am considering the faculty of

reason actually and historically; and in this point of view, I do not

think I am wrong in saying that its tendency is towards a simple

unbelief in matters of religion. No truth, however sacred, can stand

against it, in the long run; and hence it is that in the pagan world,

when our Lord came, the last traces of the religious knowledge of former

times were all but disappearing from those portions of the world in

which the intellect had been active and had had a career.

And in these latter days, in like manner, outside the Catholic Church

things are tending,--with far greater rapidity than in that old time

from the circumstance of the age,--to atheism in one shape or other.

What a scene, what a prospect, does the whole of Europe present at this

day! and not only Europe, but every government and every civilization

through the world, which is under the influence of the European mind!

Especially, for it most concerns us, how sorrowful, in the view of

religion, even taken in its most elementary, most attenuated form, is

the spectacle presented to us by the educated intellect of England,

France, and Germany! Lovers of their country and of their race,

religious men, external to the Catholic Church, have attempted various

expedients to arrest fierce wilful human nature in its onward course,

and to bring it into subjection. The necessity of some form of religion

for the interests of humanity, has been generally acknowledged: but

where was the concrete representative of things invisible, which would

have the force and the toughness necessary to be a breakwater against

the deluge? Three centuries ago the establishment of religion, material,

legal, and social, was generally adopted as the best expedient for the

purpose, in those countries which separated from the Catholic Church;

and for a long time it was successful; but now the crevices of those

establishments are admitting the enemy. Thirty years ago, education was

relied upon: ten years ago there was a hope that wars would cease for

ever, under the influence of commercial enterprise and the reign of the

useful and fine arts; but will any one venture to say that there is any

thing any where on this earth, which will afford a fulcrum for us,

whereby to keep the earth from moving onwards?

The judgment, which experience passes whether on establishments or on

education, as a means of maintaining religious truth in this anarchical

world, must be extended even to Scripture, though Scripture be divine.

Experience proves surely that the Bible does not answer a purpose for

which it was never intended. It may be accidentally the means of the

conversion of individuals; but a book, after all, cannot make a stand

against the wild living intellect of man, and in this day it begins to

testify, as regards its own structure and contents, to the power of that

universal solvent, which is so successfully acting upon religious

establishments.

Supposing then it to be the Will of the Creator to interfere in human

affairs, and to make provisions for retaining in the world a knowledge

of Himself, so definite and distinct as to be proof against the energy

of human scepticism, in such a case,--I am far from saying that there

was no other way,--but there is nothing to surprise the mind, if He

should think fit to introduce a power into the world, invested with the

prerogative of infallibility in religious matters. Such a provision

would be a direct, immediate, active, and prompt means of withstanding

the difficulty; it would be an instrument suited to the need; and, when

I find that this is the very claim of the Catholic Church, not only do I

feel no difficulty in admitting the idea, but there is a fitness in it,

which recommends it to my mind. And thus I am brought to speak of the

Church's infallibility, as a provision, adapted by the mercy of the

Creator, to preserve religion in the world, and to restrain that freedom

of thought, which of course in itself is one of the greatest of our

natural gifts, and to rescue it from its own suicidal excesses. And let

it be observed that, neither here nor in what follows, shall I have

occasion to speak directly of Revelation in its subject-matter, but in

reference to the sanction which it gives to truths which may be known

independently of it,--as it bears upon the defence of natural religion.

I say, that a power, possessed of infallibility in religious teaching,

is happily adapted to be a working instrument, in the course of human

affairs, for smiting hard and throwing back the immense energy of the

aggressive, capricious, untrustworthy intellect:--and in saying this, as

in the other things that I have to say, it must still be recollected

that I am all along bearing in mind my main purpose, which is a defence

of myself.

I am defending myself here from a plausible charge brought against

Catholics, as will be seen better as I proceed. The charge is

this:--that I, as a Catholic, not only make profession to hold doctrines

which I cannot possibly believe in my heart, but that I also believe in

the existence of a power on earth, which at its own will imposes upon

men any new set of _credenda_, when it pleases, by a claim to

infallibility; in consequence, that my own thoughts are not my own

property; that I cannot tell that to-morrow I may not have to give up

what I hold to-day, and that the necessary effect of such a condition of

mind must be a degrading bondage, or a bitter inward rebellion relieving

itself in secret infidelity, or the necessity of ignoring the whole

subject of religion in a sort of disgust, and of mechanically saying

every thing that the Church says, and leaving to others the defence of

it. As then I have above spoken of the relation of my mind towards the

Catholic Creed, so now I shall speak of the attitude which it takes up

in the view of the Church's infallibility.

And first, the initial doctrine of the infallible teacher must be an

emphatic protest against the existing state of mankind. Man had rebelled

against his Maker. It was this that caused the divine interposition: and

to proclaim it must be the first act of the divinely-accredited

messenger. The Church must denounce rebellion as of all possible evils

the greatest. She must have no terms with it; if she would be true to

her Master, she must ban and anathematize it. This is the meaning of a

statement of mine which has furnished matter for one of those special

accusations to which I am at present replying: I have, however, no fault

at all to confess in regard to it; I have nothing to withdraw, and in

consequence I here deliberately repeat it. I said, "The Catholic Church

holds it better for the sun and moon to drop from heaven, for the earth

to fail, and for all the many millions on it to die of starvation in

extremest agony, as far as temporal affliction goes, than that one soul,

I will not say, should be lost, but should commit one single venial sin,

should tell one wilful untruth, or should steal one poor farthing

without excuse." I think the principle here enunciated to be the mere

preamble in the formal credentials of the Catholic Church, as an Act of

Parliament might begin with a "_Whereas_." It is because of the

intensity of the evil which has possession of mankind, that a suitable

antagonist has been provided against it; and the initial act of that

divinely-commissioned power is of course to deliver her challenge and to

defy the enemy. Such a preamble then gives a meaning to her position in

the world, and an interpretation to her whole course of teaching and

action.

In like manner she has ever put forth, with most energetic distinctness,

those other great elementary truths, which either are an explanation of

her mission or give a character to her work. She does not teach that

human nature is irreclaimable, else wherefore should she be sent? not,

that it is to be shattered and reversed, but to be extricated, purified,

and restored; not, that it is a mere mass of hopeless evil, but that it

has the promise upon it of great things, and even now, in its present

state of disorder and excess, has a virtue and a praise proper to

itself. But in the next place she knows and she preaches that such a

restoration, as she aims at effecting in it, must be brought about, not

simply through certain outward provisions of preaching and teaching,

even though they be her own, but from an inward spiritual power or grace

imparted directly from above, and of which she is the channel. She has

it in charge to rescue human nature from its misery, but not simply by

restoring it on its own level, but by lifting it up to a higher level

than its own. She recognizes in it real moral excellence though

degraded, but she cannot set it free from earth except by exalting it

towards heaven. It was for this end that a renovating grace was put into

her hands; and therefore from the nature of the gift, as well as from

the reasonableness of the case, she goes on, as a further point, to

insist, that all true conversion must begin with the first springs of

thought, and to teach that each individual man must be in his own person

one whole and perfect temple of God, while he is also one of the living

stones which build up a visible religious community. And thus the

distinctions between nature and grace, and between outward and inward

religion, become two further articles in what I have called the preamble

of her divine commission.

Such truths as these she vigorously reiterates, and pertinaciously

inflicts upon mankind; as to such she observes no half-measures, no

economical reserve, no delicacy or prudence. "Ye must be born again," is

the simple, direct form of words which she uses after her Divine Master:

"your whole nature must be re-born; your passions, and your affections,

and your aims, and your conscience, and your will, must all be bathed in

a new element, and reconsecrated to your Maker,--and, the last not the

least, your intellect." It was for repeating these points of her

teaching in my own way, that certain passages of one of my Volumes have

been brought into the general accusation which has been made against my

religious opinions. The writer has said that I was demented if I

believed, and unprincipled if I did not believe, in my own statement,

that a lazy, ragged, filthy, story-telling beggar-woman, if chaste,

sober, cheerful, and religious, had a prospect of heaven, such as was

absolutely closed to an accomplished statesman, or lawyer, or noble, be

he ever so just, upright, generous, honourable, and conscientious,

unless he had also some portion of the divine Christian graces;--yet I

should have thought myself defended from criticism by the words which

our Lord used to the chief priests, "The publicans and harlots go into

the kingdom of God before you." And I was subjected again to the same

alternative of imputations, for having ventured to say that consent to

an unchaste wish was indefinitely more heinous than any lie viewed apart

from its causes, its motives, and its consequences: though a lie, viewed

under the limitation of these conditions, is a random utterance, an

almost outward act, not directly from the heart, however disgraceful and

despicable it may be, however prejudicial to the social contract,

however deserving of public reprobation; whereas we have the express

words of our Lord to the doctrine that "whoso looketh on a woman to lust

after her, hath committed adultery with her already in his heart." On

the strength of these texts, I have surely as much right to believe in

these doctrines which have caused so much surprise, as to believe in

original sin, or that there is a supernatural revelation, or that a

Divine Person suffered, or that punishment is eternal.

Passing now from what I have called the preamble of that grant of power,

which is made to the Church, to that power itself, Infallibility, I

premise two brief remarks:--1. on the one hand, I am not here

determining any thing about the essential seat of that power, because

that is a question doctrinal, not historical and practical; 2. nor, on

the other hand, am I extending the direct subject-matter, over which

that power of Infallibility has jurisdiction, beyond religious

opinion:--and now as to the power itself.

This power, viewed in its fulness, is as tremendous as the giant evil

which has called for it. It claims, when brought into exercise but in

the legitimate manner, for otherwise of course it is but quiescent, to

know for certain the very meaning of every portion of that Divine

Message in detail, which was committed by our Lord to His Apostles. It

claims to know its own limits, and to decide what it can determine

absolutely and what it cannot. It claims, moreover, to have a hold upon

statements not directly religious, so far as this,--to determine whether

they indirectly relate to religion, and, according to its own definitive

judgment, to pronounce whether or not, in a particular case, they are

simply consistent with revealed truth. It claims to decide

magisterially, whether as within its own province or not, that such and

such statements are or are not prejudicial to the _Depositum_ of faith,

in their spirit or in their consequences, and to allow them, or condemn

and forbid them, accordingly. It claims to impose silence at will on any

matters, or controversies, of doctrine, which on its own _ipse dixit_,

it pronounces to be dangerous, or inexpedient, or inopportune. It claims

that, whatever may be the judgment of Catholics upon such acts, these

acts should be received by them with those outward marks of reverence,

submission, and loyalty, which Englishmen, for instance, pay to the

presence of their sovereign, without expressing any criticism on them on

the ground that in their matter they are inexpedient, or in their manner

violent or harsh. And lastly, it claims to have the right of inflicting

spiritual punishment, of cutting off from the ordinary channels of the

divine life, and of simply excommunicating, those who refuse to submit

themselves to its formal declarations. Such is the infallibility lodged

in the Catholic Church, viewed in the concrete, as clothed and

surrounded by the appendages of its high sovereignty: it is, to repeat

what I said above, a supereminent prodigious power sent upon earth to

encounter and master a giant evil.

And now, having thus described it, I profess my own absolute submission

to its claim. I believe the whole revealed dogma as taught by the

Apostles, as committed by the Apostles to the Church; and as declared by

the Church to me. I receive it, as it is infallibly interpreted by the

authority to whom it is thus committed, and (implicitly) as it shall be,

in like manner, further interpreted by that same authority till the end

of time. I submit, moreover, to the universally received traditions of

the Church, in which lies the matter of those new dogmatic definitions

which are from time to time made, and which in all times are the

clothing and the illustration of the Catholic dogma as already defined.

And I submit myself to those other decisions of the Holy See,

theological or not, through the organs which it has itself appointed,

which, waiving the question of their infallibility, on the lowest ground

come to me with a claim to be accepted and obeyed. Also, I consider

that, gradually and in the course of ages, Catholic inquiry has taken

certain definite shapes, and has thrown itself into the form of a

science, with a method and a phraseology of its own, under the

intellectual handling of great minds, such as St. Athanasius, St.

Augustine, and St. Thomas; and I feel no temptation at all to break in

pieces the great legacy of thought thus committed to us for these latter

days.

All this being considered as the profession which I make _ex animo_, as

for myself, so also on the part of the Catholic body, as far as I know

it, it will at first sight be said that the restless intellect of our

common humanity is utterly weighed down, to the repression of all

independent effort and action whatever, so that, if this is to be the

mode of bringing it into order, it is brought into order only to be

destroyed. But this is far from the result, far from what I conceive to

be the intention of that high Providence who has provided a great remedy

for a great evil,--far from borne out by the history of the conflict

between Infallibility and Reason in the past, and the prospect of it in

the future. The energy of the human intellect "does from opposition

grow;" it thrives and is joyous, with a tough elastic strength, under

the terrible blows of the divinely-fashioned weapon, and is never so

much itself as when it has lately been overthrown. It is the custom with

Protestant writers to consider that, whereas there are two great

principles in action in the history of religion, Authority and Private

Judgment, they have all the Private Judgment to themselves, and we have

the full inheritance and the superincumbent oppression of Authority. But

this is not so; it is the vast Catholic body itself, and it only, which

affords an arena for both combatants in that awful, never-dying duel. It

is necessary for the very life of religion, viewed in its large

operations and its history, that the warfare should be incessantly

carried on. Every exercise of Infallibility is brought out into act by

an intense and varied operation of the Reason, both as its ally and as

its opponent, and provokes again, when it has done its work, a re-action

of Reason against it; and, as in a civil polity the State exists and

endures by means of the rivalry and collision, the encroachments and

defeats of its constituent parts, so in like manner Catholic Christendom

is no simple exhibition of religious absolutism, but presents a

continuous picture of Authority and Private Judgment alternately

advancing and retreating as the ebb and flow of the tide;--it is a vast

assemblage of human beings with wilful intellects and wild passions,

brought together into one by the beauty and the Majesty of a Superhuman

Power,--into what may be called a large reformatory or training-school,

not as if into a hospital or into a prison, not in order to be sent to

bed, not to be buried alive, but (if I may change my metaphor) brought

together as if into some moral factory, for the melting, refining, and

moulding, by an incessant, noisy process, of the raw material of human

nature, so excellent, so dangerous, so capable of divine purposes.

St. Paul says in one place that his Apostolical power is given him to

edification, and not to destruction. There can be no better account of

the Infallibility of the Church. It is a supply for a need, and it does

not go beyond that need. Its object is, and its effect also, not to

enfeeble the freedom or vigour of human thought in religious

speculation, but to resist and control its extravagance. What have been

its great works? All of them in the distinct province of theology:--to

put down Arianism, Eutychianism, Pelagianism, Manichæism, Lutheranism,

Jansenism. Such is the broad result of its action in the past;--and now

as to the securities which are given us that so it ever will act in time

to come.

First, Infallibility cannot act outside of a definite circle of thought,

and it must in all its decisions, or _definitions_, as they are called,

profess to be keeping within it. The great truths of the moral law, of

natural religion, and of Apostolical faith, are both its boundary and

its foundation. It must not go beyond them, and it must ever appeal to

them. Both its subject-matter, and its articles in that subject-matter,

are fixed. And it must ever profess to be guided by Scripture and by

tradition. It must refer to the particular Apostolic truth which it is

enforcing, or (what is called) _defining_. Nothing, then, can be

presented to me, in time to come, as part of the faith, but what I ought

already to have received, and hitherto have been kept from receiving,

(if so,) merely because it has not been brought home to me. Nothing can

be imposed upon me different in kind from what I hold already,--much

less contrary to it. The new truth which is promulgated, if it is to be

called new, must be at least homogeneous, cognate, implicit, viewed

relatively to the old truth. It must be what I may even have guessed, or

wished, to be included in the Apostolic revelation; and at least it will

be of such a character, that my thoughts readily concur in it or

coalesce with it, as soon as I hear it. Perhaps I and others actually

have always believed it, and the only question which is now decided in

my behalf, is, that I have henceforth the satisfaction of having to

believe, that I have only been holding all along what the Apostles held

before me.

Let me take the doctrine which Protestants consider our greatest

difficulty, that of the Immaculate Conception. Here I entreat the reader

to recollect my main drift, which is this. I have no difficulty in

receiving the doctrine; and that, because it so intimately harmonizes

with that circle of recognized dogmatic truths, into which it has been

recently received;--but if _I_ have no difficulty, why may not another

have no difficulty also? why may not a hundred? a thousand? Now I am

sure that Catholics in general have not any intellectual difficulty at

all on the subject of the Immaculate Conception; and that there is no

reason why they should. Priests have no difficulty. You tell me that

they _ought_ to have a difficulty;--but they have not. Be large-minded

enough to believe, that men may reason and feel very differently from

yourselves; how is it that men, when left to themselves, fall into such

various forms of religion, except that there are various types of mind

among them, very distinct from each other? From my testimony then about

myself, if you believe it, judge of others also who are Catholics: we do

not find the difficulties which you do in the doctrines which we hold;

we have no intellectual difficulty in that doctrine in particular, which

you call a novelty of this day. We priests need not be hypocrites,

though we be called upon to believe in the Immaculate Conception. To

that large class of minds, who believe in Christianity after our

manner,--in the particular temper, spirit, and light, (whatever word is

used,) in which Catholics believe it,--there is no burden at all in

holding that the Blessed Virgin was conceived without original sin;

indeed, it is a simple fact to say, that Catholics have not come to

believe it because it is defined, but that it was defined because they

believed it.

So far from the definition in 1854 being a tyrannical infliction on the

Catholic world, it was received every where on its promulgation with the

greatest enthusiasm. It was in consequence of the unanimous petition,

presented from all parts of the Church to the Holy See, in behalf of an

_ex cathedrâ_ declaration that the doctrine was Apostolic, that it was

declared so to be. I never heard of one Catholic having difficulties in

receiving the doctrine, whose faith on other grounds was not already

suspicious. Of course there were grave and good men, who were made

anxious by the doubt whether it could be formally proved to be

Apostolical either by Scripture or tradition, and who accordingly,

though believing it themselves, did not see how it could be defined by

authority and imposed upon all Catholics as a matter of faith; but this

is another matter. The point in question is, whether the doctrine is a

burden. I believe it to be none. So far from it being so, I sincerely

think that St. Bernard and St. Thomas, who scrupled at it in their day,

had they lived into this, would have rejoiced to accept it for its own

sake. Their difficulty, as I view it, consisted in matters of words,

ideas, and arguments. They thought the doctrine inconsistent with other

doctrines; and those who defended it in that age had not that precision

in their view of it, which has been attained by means of the long

disputes of the centuries which followed. And in this want of precision

lay the difference of opinion, and the controversy.

Now the instance which I have been taking suggests another remark; the

number of those (so called) new doctrines will not oppress us, if it

takes eight centuries to promulgate even one of them. Such is about the

length of time through which the preparation has been carried on for the

definition of the Immaculate Conception. This of course is an

extraordinary case; but it is difficult to say what is ordinary,

considering how few are the formal occasions on which the voice of

Infallibility has been solemnly lifted up. It is to the Pope in

Ecumenical Council that we look, as to the normal seat of Infallibility:

now there have been only eighteen such Councils since Christianity

was,--an average of one to a century,--and of these Councils some passed

no doctrinal decree at all, others were employed on only one, and many

of them were concerned with only elementary points of the Creed. The

Council of Trent embraced a large field of doctrine certainly; but I

should apply to its Canons a remark contained in that University Sermon

of mine, which has been so ignorantly criticized in the Pamphlet which

has been the occasion of this Volume;--I there have said that the

various verses of the Athanasian Creed are only repetitions in various

shapes of one and the same idea; and in like manner, the Tridentine

Decrees are not isolated from each other, but are occupied in bringing

out in detail, by a number of separate declarations, as if into bodily

form, a few necessary truths. I should make the same remark on the

various theological censures, promulgated by Popes, which the Church has

received, and on their dogmatic decisions generally. I own that at first

sight those decisions seem from their number to be a greater burden on

the faith of individuals than are the Canons of Councils; still I do not

believe that in matter of fact they are so at all, and I give this

reason for it:--it is not that a Catholic, layman or priest, is

indifferent to the subject, or, from a sort of recklessness, will accept

any thing that is placed before him, or is willing, like a lawyer, to

speak according to his brief, but that in such condemnations the Holy

See is engaged, for the most part, in repudiating one or two great lines

of error, such as Lutheranism or Jansenism, principally ethical not

doctrinal, which are divergent from the Catholic mind, and that it is

but expressing what any good Catholic, of fair abilities, though

unlearned, would say himself, from common and sound sense, if the matter

could be put before him.

Now I will go on in fairness to say what I think _is_ the great trial to

the Reason, when confronted with that august prerogative of the Catholic

Church, of which I have been speaking. I enlarged just now upon the

concrete shape and circumstances, under which pure infallible authority

presents itself to the Catholic. That authority has the prerogative of

an indirect jurisdiction on subject-matters which lie beyond its own

proper limits, and it most reasonably has such a jurisdiction. It could

not act in its own province, unless it had a right to act out of it. It

could not properly defend religious truth, without claiming for that

truth what may be called its _pom[oe]ria_; or, to take another

illustration, without acting as we act, as a nation, in claiming as our

own, not only the land on which we live, but what are called British

waters. The Catholic Church claims, not only to judge infallibly on

religious questions, but to animadvert on opinions in secular matters

which bear upon religion, on matters of philosophy, of science, of

literature, of history, and it demands our submission to her claim. It

claims to censure books, to silence authors, and to forbid discussions.

In this province, taken as a whole, it does not so much speak

doctrinally, as enforce measures of discipline. It must of course be

obeyed without a word, and perhaps in process of time it will tacitly

recede from its own injunctions. In such cases the question of faith

does not come in at all; for what is matter of faith is true for all

times, and never can be unsaid. Nor does it at all follow, because there

is a gift of infallibility in the Catholic Church, that therefore the

parties who are in possession of it are in all their proceedings

infallible. "O, it is excellent," says the poet, "to have a giant's

strength, but tyrannous, to use it like a giant." I think history

supplies us with instances in the Church, where legitimate power has

been harshly used. To make such admission is no more than saying that

the divine treasure, in the words of the Apostle, is "in earthen

vessels;" nor does it follow that the substance of the acts of the

ruling power is not right and expedient, because its manner may have

been faulty. Such high authorities act by means of instruments; we know

how such instruments claim for themselves the name of their principals,

who thus get the credit of faults which really are not theirs. But

granting all this to an extent greater than can with any show of reason

be imputed to the ruling power in the Church, what difficulty is there

in the fact of this want of prudence or moderation more than can be

urged, with far greater justice, against Protestant communities and

institutions? What is there in it to make us hypocrites, if it has not

that effect upon Protestants? We are called upon, not to profess any

thing, but to submit and be silent, as Protestant Churchmen have before

now obeyed the royal command to abstain from certain theological

questions. Such injunctions as I have been contemplating are laid merely

upon our actions, not upon our thoughts. How, for instance, does it tend

to make a man a hypocrite, to be forbidden to publish a libel? his

thoughts are as free as before: authoritative prohibitions may tease and

irritate, but they have no bearing whatever upon the exercise of reason.

So much at first sight; but I will go on to say further, that, in spite

of all that the most hostile critic may urge about the encroachments or

severities of high ecclesiastics, in times past, in the use of their

power, I think that the event has shown after all, that they were mainly

in the right, and that those whom they were hard upon were mainly in the

wrong. I love, for instance, the name of Origen: I will not listen to

the notion that so great a soul was lost; but I am quite sure that, in

the contest between his doctrine and followers and the ecclesiastical

power, his opponents were right, and he was wrong. Yet who can speak

with patience of his enemy and the enemy of St. John Chrysostom, that

Theophilus, bishop of Alexandria? who can admire or revere Pope

Vigilius? And here another consideration presents itself to my thoughts.

In reading ecclesiastical history, when I was an Anglican, it used to be

forcibly brought home to me, how the initial error of what afterwards

became heresy was the urging forward some truth against the prohibition

of authority at an unseasonable time. There is a time for every thing,

and many a man desires a reformation of an abuse, or the fuller

development of a doctrine, or the adoption of a particular policy, but

forgets to ask himself whether the right time for it is come: and,

knowing that there is no one who will be doing any thing towards its

accomplishment in his own lifetime unless he does it himself, he will

not listen to the voice of authority, and he spoils a good work in his

own century, in order that another man, as yet unborn, may not have the

opportunity of bringing it happily to perfection in the next. He may

seem to the world to be nothing else than a bold champion for the truth

and a martyr to free opinion, when he is just one of those persons whom

the competent authority ought to silence; and, though the case may not

fall within that subject-matter in which that authority is infallible,

or the formal conditions of the exercise of that gift may be wanting, it

is clearly the duty of authority to act vigorously in the case. Yet its

act will go down to posterity as an instance of a tyrannical

interference with private judgment, and of the silencing of a reformer,

and of a base love of corruption or error; and it will show still less

to advantage, if the ruling power happens in its proceedings to evince

any defect of prudence or consideration. And all those who take the part

of that ruling authority will be considered as time-servers, or

indifferent to the cause of uprightness and truth; while, on the other

hand, the said authority may be accidentally supported by a violent

ultra party, which exalts opinions into dogmas, and has it principally

at heart to destroy every school of thought but its own.

Such a state of things may be provoking and discouraging at the time, in

the case of two classes of persons; of moderate men who wish to make

differences in religious opinion as little as they fairly can be made;

and of such as keenly perceive, and are honestly eager to remedy,

existing evils,--evils, of which divines in this or that foreign country

know nothing at all, and which even at home, where they exist, it is not

every one who has the means of estimating. This is a state of things

both of past time and of the present. We live in a wonderful age; the

enlargement of the circle of secular knowledge just now is simply a

bewilderment, and the more so, because it has the promise of continuing,

and that with greater rapidity, and more signal results. Now these

discoveries, certain or probable, have in matter of fact an indirect

bearing upon religious opinions, and the question arises how are the

respective claims of revelation and of natural science to be adjusted.

Few minds in earnest can remain at ease without some sort of rational

grounds for their religious belief; to reconcile theory and fact is

almost an instinct of the mind. When then a flood of facts, ascertained

or suspected, comes pouring in upon us, with a multitude of others in

prospect, all believers in Revelation, be they Catholic or not, are

roused to consider their bearing upon themselves, both for the honour of

God, and from tenderness for those many souls who, in consequence of the

confident tone of the schools of secular knowledge, are in danger of

being led away into a bottomless liberalism of thought.

I am not going to criticize here that vast body of men, in the mass, who

at this time would profess to be liberals in religion; and who look

towards the discoveries of the age, certain or in progress, as their

informants, direct or indirect, as to what they shall think about the

unseen and the future. The Liberalism which gives a colour to society

now, is very different from that character of thought which bore the

name thirty or forty years ago. Now it is scarcely a party; it is the

educated lay world. When I was young, I knew the word first as giving

name to a periodical, set up by Lord Byron and others. Now, as then, I

have no sympathy with the philosophy of Byron. Afterwards, Liberalism

was the badge of a theological school, of a dry and repulsive character,

not very dangerous in itself, though dangerous as opening the door to

evils which it did not itself either anticipate or comprehend. At

present it is nothing else than that deep, plausible scepticism, of

which I spoke above, as being the development of human reason, as

practically exercised by the natural man.

The Liberal religionists of this day are a very mixed body, and

therefore I am not intending to speak against them. There may be, and

doubtless is, in the hearts of some or many of them a real antipathy or

anger against revealed truth, which it is distressing to think of.

Again, in many men of science or literature there may be an animosity

arising from almost a personal feeling; it being a matter of party, a

point of honour, the excitement of a game, or a satisfaction to the

soreness or annoyance occasioned by the acrimony or narrowness of

apologists for religion, to prove that Christianity or that Scripture is

untrustworthy. Many scientific and literary men, on the other hand, go

on, I am confident, in a straightforward impartial way, in their own

province and on their own line of thought, without any disturbance from

religious difficulties in themselves, or any wish at all to give pain to

others by the result of their investigations. It would ill become me, as

if I were afraid of truth of any kind, to blame those who pursue secular

facts, by means of the reason which God has given them, to their logical

conclusions: or to be angry with science, because religion is bound in

duty to take cognizance of its teaching. But putting these particular

classes of men aside, as having no special call on the sympathy of the

Catholic, of course he does most deeply enter into the feelings of a

fourth and large class of men, in the educated portions of society, of

religious and sincere minds, who are simply perplexed,--frightened or

rendered desperate, as the case may be,--by the utter confusion into

which late discoveries or speculations have thrown their most elementary

ideas of religion. Who does not feel for such men? who can have one

unkind thought of them? I take up in their behalf St. Augustine's

beautiful words, "Illi in vos sæviant," &c. Let them be fierce with you

who have no experience of the difficulty with which error is

discriminated from truth, and the way of life is found amid the

illusions of the world. How many a Catholic has in his thoughts followed

such men, many of them so good, so true, so noble! how often has the

wish risen in his heart that some one from among his own people should

come forward as the champion of revealed truth against its opponents!

Various persons, Catholic and Protestant, have asked me to do so myself;

but I had several strong difficulties in the way. One of the greatest is

this, that at the moment it is so difficult to say precisely what it is

that is to be encountered and overthrown. I am far from denying that

scientific knowledge is really growing, but it is by fits and starts;

hypotheses rise and fall; it is difficult to anticipate which of them

will keep their ground, and what the state of knowledge in relation to

them will be from year to year. In this condition of things, it has

seemed to me to be very undignified for a Catholic to commit himself to

the work of chasing what might turn out to be phantoms, and, in behalf

of some special objections, to be ingenious in devising a theory, which,

before it was completed, might have to give place to some theory newer

still, from the fact that those former objections had already come to

nought under the uprising of others. It seemed to be specially a time,

in which Christians had a call to be patient, in which they had no other

way of helping those who were alarmed, than that of exhorting them to

have a little faith and fortitude, and to "beware," as the poet says,

"of dangerous steps." This seemed so clear to me, the more I thought of

the matter, as to make me surmise, that, if I attempted what had so

little promise in it, I should find that the highest Catholic Authority

was against the attempt, and that I should have spent my time and my

thought, in doing what either it would be imprudent to bring before the

public at all, or what, did I do so, would only complicate matters

further which were already complicated, without my interference, more

than enough. And I interpret recent acts of that authority as fulfilling

my expectation; I interpret them as tying the hands of a

controversialist, such as I should be, and teaching us that true wisdom,

which Moses inculcated on his people, when the Egyptians were pursuing

them, "Fear ye not, stand still; the Lord shall fight for you, and ye

shall hold your peace." And so far from finding a difficulty in obeying

in this case, I have cause to be thankful and to rejoice to have so

clear a direction in a matter of difficulty.

But if we would ascertain with correctness the real course of a

principle, we must look at it at a certain distance, and as history