GROWTH OF THE MOVEMENT
1835-1840
By the end of 1835, the band of friends, whom great fears and great
hopes for the Church had united, and others who sympathised with them
both within and outside the University, had grown into what those who
disliked them naturally called a party. The Hampden controversy, though
but an episode in the history of the movement, was an important one, and
undoubtedly gave a great impulse to it. Dr. Hampden's attitude and
language seemed to be its justification--a palpable instance of what the
Church had to expect. And in this controversy, though the feeling
against Dr. Hampden's views was so widely shared, and though the
majority which voted against him was a very mixed one, and contained
some who hoped that the next time they were called to vote it might be
against the Tractarians, yet the leaders of the movement had undertaken
the responsibility, conspicuously and almost alone, of pointing out
definitely and argumentatively the objections to Dr. Hampden's teaching.
The number of Mr. Newman's friends might be, as Mr. Palmer says,
insignificant, but it was they who had taken the trouble to understand
and give expression to the true reasons for alarm.[59] Even in this
hasty and imperfect way, the discussion revealed to many how much deeper
and more various the treatment of the subject was in the hands of Mr.
Newman and Dr. Pusey compared with the ordinary criticisms on Dr.
Hampden. He had learned in too subtle a school to be much touched by the
popular exceptions to his theories, however loudly expressed. The
mischief was much deeper. It was that he had, unconsciously, no doubt,
undermined the foundation of definite Christian belief, and had resolved
it into a philosophy, so-called scholastic, which was now exploded. It
was the sense of the perilous issues to which this diluted form of
Blanco White's speculations, so recklessly patronised by Whately, was
leading theological teaching in the University, which opened the eyes of
many to the meaning of the movement, and brought some fresh friends to
its side.
There was no attempt to form a party, or to proselytise; there was no
organisation, no distinct and recognised party marks. "I would not have
it called a party," writes Dr. Newman in the _Apologia_. But a party it
could not help being: quietly and spontaneously it had grown to be what
community of ideas, aims, and sympathies, naturally, and without blame,
leads men to become. And it had acquired a number of recognised
nicknames, to friends and enemies the sign of growing concentration. For
the questions started in the Tracts and outside them became of
increasing interest to the more intelligent men who had finished their
University course and were preparing to enter into life, the Bachelors
and younger Masters of Arts. One by one they passed from various states
of mind--alienation, suspicion, fear, indifference, blank
ignorance--into a consciousness that something beyond the mere
commonplace of religious novelty and eccentricity, of which there had
been a good deal recently, was before them; that doctrines and
statements running counter to the received religious language of the
day, doctrines about which, in confident prejudice, they had perhaps
bandied about off-hand judgments, had more to say for themselves than
was thought at first; that the questions thus raised drove them in on
themselves, and appealed to their honesty and seriousness; and that, at
any rate, in the men who were arresting so much attention, however
extravagant their teaching might be called, there was a remarkable
degree of sober and reserved force, an earnestness of conviction which
could not be doubted, an undeniable and subtle power of touching souls
and attracting sympathies. One by one, and in many different ways, these
young men went through various stages of curiosity, of surprise, of
perplexity, of doubt, of misgiving, of interest; some were frightened,
and wavered, and drew back more or less reluctantly; others, in spite of
themselves, in spite of opposing influences, were led on step by step,
hardly knowing whither, by a spell which they could not resist, of
intellectual, or still more, moral pressure. Some found their old home
teaching completed, explained, lighted up, by that of the new school.
Others, shocked at first at hearing the old watchwords and traditions of
their homes decried and put aside, found themselves, when they least
expected it, passing from the letter to the spirit, from the technical
and formal theory to the wide and living truth. And thus, though many of
course held aloof, and not a few became hostile, a large number, one by
one, some rapidly, others slowly, some unreservedly, others with large
and jealous reserves, more and more took in the leading idea of the
movement, accepted the influence of its chiefs, and looked to them for
instruction and guidance. As it naturally happens, when a number of
minds are drawn together by a common and strong interest, some men, by
circumstances, or by strength of conviction, or by the mutual affinities
of tastes and character, came more and more into direct personal and
intimate relations with the leaders, took service, as it were, under
them, and prepared to throw themselves into their plans of work. Others,
in various moods, but more independent, more critical, more disturbed
about consequences, or unpersuaded on special points, formed a kind of
fringe of friendly neutrality about the more thoroughgoing portion of
the party. And outside of these were thoughtful and able men, to whom
the whole movement, with much that was utterly displeasing and utterly
perplexing, had the interest of being a break-up of stagnation and dull
indolence in a place which ought to have the highest spiritual and
intellectual aims; who, whatever repelled them, could not help feeling
that great ideas, great prospects, a new outburst of bold thought, a new
effort of moral purpose and force, had disturbed the old routine; could
not help being fascinated, if only as by a spectacle, by the strange and
unwonted teaching, which partly made them smile, partly perhaps
permanently disgusted them, but which also, they could not deny, spoke
in a language more fearless, more pathetic, more subtle, and yet more
human, than they had heard from the religious teachers of the day. And
thus the circle of persons interested in the Tracts, of persons who
sympathised with their views, of persons who more and more gave a warm
and earnest adherence to them, was gradually extended in the
University--and, in time, in the country also. The truth was that the
movement, in its many sides, had almost monopolised for the time both
the intelligence and the highest religious earnestness of the
University,[60] and either in curiosity or inquiry, in approval or in
condemnation, all that was deepest and most vigorous, all that was most
refined, most serious, most high-toned, and most promising in Oxford was
drawn to the issues which it raised. It is hardly too much to say that
wherever men spoke seriously of the grounds and prospects of religion,
in Oxford, or in Vacation reading-parties, in their walks and social
meetings, in their studies or in common-room, the "Tractarian"
doctrines, whether assented to or laughed at, deplored or fiercely
denounced, were sure to come to the front. All subjects in discussion
seemed to lead up to them--art and poetry, Gothic architecture and
German romance and painting, the philosophy of language, and the novels
of Walter Scott and Miss Austen, Coleridge's transcendentalism and
Bishop Butler's practical wisdom, Plato's ideas and Aristotle's
analysis. It was difficult to keep them out of lecture-rooms and
examinations for Fellowships.
But in addition to the intrinsic interest of the questions and
discussions which the movement opened, personal influence played a great
and decisive part in it. As it became a party, it had chiefs. It was not
merely as leaders of thought but as teachers with their disciples, as
friends with friends, as witnesses and examples of high self-rule and
refined purity and goodness, that the chiefs whose names were in all
men's mouths won the hearts and trust of so many, in the crowds that
stood about them. Foremost, of course, ever since he had thrown himself
into it in 1835, was Dr. Pusey. His position, his dignified office, his
learning, his solidity and seriousness of character, his high standard
of religious life, the charm of his charity, and the sweetness of his
temper naturally gave him the first place in the movement in Oxford and
the world. It came to be especially associated with him. Its enemies
fastened on it a nickname from his name, and this nickname, partly from
a greater smoothness of sound, partly from an odd suggestion of
something funny in it, came more into use than others; and the terms
_Puseismus, Puséisme, Puseista_ found their way into German
lecture-halls and Paris salons and remote convents and police offices in
Italy and Sicily; indeed, in the shape of πουζεισμός it might be lighted
on in a Greek newspaper. Dr. Pusey was a person who commanded the utmost
interest and reverence; he was more in communication with the great
world outside than Oxford people generally, and lived much in retirement
from Oxford society; but to all interested in the movement he was its
representative and highest authority. He and Mr. Newman had the fullest
confidence in one another, though conscious at times of not perfect
agreement; yet each had a line of his own, and each of them was apt to
do things out of his own head. Dr. Pusey was accessible to all who
wished to see him; but he did not encourage visits which wasted time.
And the person who was pre-eminently, not only before their eyes, but
within their reach in the ordinary intercourse of man with man, was Mr.
Newman. Mr. Newman, who lived in College in the ordinary way of a
resident Fellow, met other university men, older or younger, on equal
terms. As time went on, a certain wonder and awe gathered round him.
People were a little afraid of him; but the fear was in themselves, not
created by any intentional stiffness or coldness on his part. He did not
try to draw men to him, he was no proselytiser; he shrank with fear and
repugnance from the character--it was an invasion of the privileges of
the heart.[61] But if men came to him, he was accessible; he allowed his
friends to bring their friends to him, and met them more than half-way.
He was impatient of mere idle worldliness, of conceit and impertinence,
of men who gave themselves airs; he was very impatient of pompous and
solemn emptiness. But he was very patient with those whom he believed to
sympathise with what was nearest his heart; no one, probably, of his
power and penetration and sense of the absurd, was ever so ready to
comply with the two demands which a witty prelate proposed to put into
the examination in the Consecration Service of Bishops: "Wilt thou
answer thy letters?" "Wilt thou suffer fools gladly?" But courteous,
affable, easy as he was, he was a keen trier of character; he gauged,
and men felt that he gauged, their motives, their reality and soundness
of purpose; he let them see, if they at all came into his intimacy,
that if _they_ were not, _he_, at any rate, was in the deepest earnest.
And at an early period, in a memorable sermon,[62] the vivid impression
of which at the time still haunts the recollection of some who heard it,
he gave warning to his friends and to those whom his influence touched,
that no child's play lay before them; that they were making, it might be
without knowing it, the "Ventures of Faith." But feeling that he had
much to say, and that a university was a place for the circulation and
discussion of ideas, he let himself be seen and known and felt, both
publicly and in private. He had his breakfast parties and his evening
gatherings. His conversation ranged widely, marked by its peculiar
stamp--entire ease, unstudied perfection of apt and clean-cut words,
unexpected glimpses of a sure and piercing judgment. At times, at more
private meetings, the violin, which he knew how to touch, came into
play.
He had great gifts for leadership. But as a party chief he was also
deficient in some of the qualities which make a successful one. His
doctrine of the Church had the disadvantage of an apparently
intermediate and ambiguous position, refusing the broad, intelligible
watchwords and reasonings of popular religionism. It was not without
clearness and strength; but such a position naturally often leads to
what seem over-subtle modes of argument, seemingly over-subtle because
deeper and more original than the common ones; and he seemed sometimes
to want sobriety in his use of dialectic weapons, which he wielded with
such force and effect. Over-subtlety in the leader of a party tends to
perplex friends and give a handle to opponents. And with all his
confidence in his cause, and also in his power and his call to use it,
he had a curious shyness and self-distrust as to his own way of doing
what he had to do; he was afraid of "wilfulness," of too great reliance
on intellect. He had long been accustomed to observe and judge himself,
and while conscious of his force, he was fully alive to the drawbacks,
moral and intellectual, which wait on the highest powers. When attacks
were made on him by authorities, as in the case of the Tract No. 90, his
more eager friends thought him too submissive; they would have liked a
more combative temper and would not accept his view that confidence in
him was lost, because it might be shaken.[63] But if he bent before
official authority the disapproval of friends was a severer trouble.
Most tender in his affections, most trustful in his confidence, craving
for sympathy, it came like a shock and chill when things did not go
right between himself and his friends. He was too sensitive under such
disapproval for a successful party chief. The true party leader takes
these things as part of that tiresome human stupidity and perverseness
with which he must make his account. Perhaps they sting for the moment,
but he brushes them away and goes forward, soon forgetting them. But
with Mr. Newman, his cause was identified with his friendships and even
his family affections. And as a leader, he was embarrassed by the
keenness with which he sympathised with the doubts and fears of friends;
want of sympathy and signs of distrust darkened the prospect of the
future; they fell like a blight on his stores of hope, never
over-abundant; they tempted him, not to assert himself, but to throw up
the game as convicted of unfitness, and retire for good and all to his
books and silence. "Let them," he seemed to say, "have their way, as
they will not let me have mine; they have the right to take theirs, only
not to make me take it." In spite of his enthusiasm and energy, his
unceasing work, his occasional bursts of severe punishment inflicted on
those who provoked him, there was always present this keen
sensitiveness, the source of so much joy and so much pain. He would not
have been himself without it. But he would have been a much more
powerful and much more formidable combatant if he had cared less for
what his friends felt, and followed more unhesitatingly his own line and
judgment. This keen sensitiveness made him more quickly alive than other
people to all that lay round him and before; it made him quicker to
discern danger and disaster; it led him to give up hope and to retire
from the contest long before he had a right to do so. The experience of
later years shows that he had despaired too soon. Such delicate
sensitiveness, leading to impatience, was not capable of coping with the
rough work involved in the task of reform, which he had undertaken.
All this time the four o'clock sermons at St. Mary's were always going
on. But, besides these, he anticipated a freedom--familiar now, but
unknown then--of public lecturing. In Advent and after Easter a company,
never very large, used to gather on a week-day afternoon in Adam de
Brome's Chapel--the old Chapel of "Our Lady of Littlemore"--to hear him
lecture on some theological subject. It is a dark, dreary appendage to
St. Mary's on the north side, in which Adam de Brome, Edward II.'s
almoner, and the founder of Oriel College, is supposed to lie, beneath
an unshapely tomb, covered by a huge slab of Purbeck marble, from which
the brass has been stripped. The place is called a chapel, but is more
like a court or place of business, for which, indeed, it was used in the
old days by one of the Faculties of the House of Convocation, which held
its assemblies there. At the end is a high seat and desk for the person
presiding, and an enclosure and a table for officials below him; and
round the rest of the dingy walls run benches fixed to the wall, dingy
as the walls themselves. But it also had another use. On occasions of a
university sermon, a few minutes before it began, the Heads of Houses
assembled, as they still assemble, in the chapel, ranging themselves on
the benches round the walls. The Vice-Chancellor has his seat on one
side, the preacher, with the two Proctors below him, sits opposite; and
there all sit in their robes, more or less grand, according to the day,
till the beadle comes to announce that it is time to form the procession
into church. This desolate place Mr. Newman turned into his
lecture-room; in it he delivered the lectures which afterwards became
the volume on the _Prophetical Character of the Church_, or _Romanism
and Popular Protestantism_; the lectures which formed the volume on
_Justification_; those on _Antichrist_, and on _Rationalism and the
Canon of Scripture_, which afterwards became Nos. 83 and 85 of the
_Tracts for the Times_.[64] The force, the boldness, the freedom from
the trammels of commonplace, the breadth of view and grasp of the
subject which marked those lectures, may be seen in them still. But it
is difficult to realise now the interest with which they were heard at
the time by the first listeners to that clear and perfectly modulated
voice, opening to them fresh and original ways of regarding questions
which seemed worn out and exhausted. The volumes which grew out of the
Adam de Brome lectures were some of the most characteristic portions of
the theological literature of the early movement. They certainly greatly
influenced the course of thought in it, and some of its most serious
issues.
The movement was not one of mere opinion. It took two distinct though
connected lines. It was, on the one hand, theological; on the other,
resolutely practical. Theologically, it dealt with great questions of
religious principle--What is the Church? Is it a reality or a mode of
speech? On what grounds does it rest? How may it be known? Is it among
us? How is it to be discriminated from its rivals or counterfeits? What
is its essential constitution? What does it teach? What are its
shortcomings? Does it nerd reform? But, on the other hand, the movement
was marked by its deep earnestness on the practical side of genuine
Christian life. Very early in the movement (1833) a series of
sketches of primitive Christian life appeared in the _British
Magazine_--afterwards collected under the title of the _Church of the
Fathers_ (1840)--to remind people who were becoming interested in
ancient and patristic theology that, besides the doctrines to be found
in the vast folios of the Fathers, there were to be sought in them and
laid to heart the temptations and trials, the aspirations and moral
possibilities of actual life, "the tone and modes of thought, the habits
and manners of the early times of the Church." The note struck in the
first of Mr. Newman's published sermons--"Holiness necessary for future
blessedness"--was never allowed to be out of mind. The movement was,
above all, a moral one; it was nothing, allowed to be nothing, if it
was not this.[65] Seriousness, reverence, the fear of insincere words
and unsound professions, were essential in the character, which alone it
would tolerate in those who made common cause with it.
Its ethical tendency was shown in two things, which were characteristic
of it. One was the increased care for the Gospels, and study of them,
compared with other parts of the Bible. Evangelical theology had dwelt
upon the work of Christ, and laid comparatively little stress on His
example, or the picture left us of His Personality and Life. It regarded
the Epistles of St. Paul as the last word of the Gospel message. People
who can recall the popular teaching, which was spoken of then as "sound"
and "faithful," and "preaching Christ," can remember how the Epistles
were ransacked for texts to prove the "sufficiency of Scripture" or the
"right of private judgment," or the distinction between justification
and sanctification, while the Gospel narrative was imperfectly studied
and was felt to be much less interesting. The movement made a great
change. The great Name stood no longer for an abstract symbol of
doctrine, but for a living Master, who could teach as well as save. And
not forgetting whither He had gone and what He was, the readers of
Scripture now sought Him eagerly in those sacred records, where we can
almost see and hear His going in and out among men. It was a change in
the look and use of Scripture, which some can still look back to as an
epoch in their religious history. The other feature was the increased
and practical sense of the necessity of self-discipline, of taking real
trouble with one's self to keep thoughts and wishes in order, to lay the
foundation of habits, to acquire the power of self-control. Deeply fixed
in the mind of the teachers, this serious governance of life, this
direction and purification of its aims, laid strong hold on the
consciences of those who accepted their teaching. This training was not
showy; it was sometimes austere, even extravagantly austere; but it was
true, and enduring, and it issued often in a steady and unconscious
elevation of the religious character. How this character was fed and
nurtured and encouraged--how, too, it was frankly warned of its dangers,
may be seen in those _Parochial Sermons_ at St. Mary's, under whose
inspiration it was developed, and which will always be the best
commentary on the character thus formed. Even among those who ultimately
parted from the movement, with judgment more or less unfavourable to its
theology and general line, it left, as if uneffaceable, this moral
stamp; this value for sincerity and simplicity of feeling and life, this
keen sense of the awfulness of things unseen. There was something _sui
generis_ in the profoundly serious, profoundly reverent tone, about
everything that touched religion in all who had ever come strongly under
its influence.
Of course the party soon had the faults of a party, real and
imputed.[66] Is it conceivable that there should ever have been a
religious movement, which has not provoked smiles from those outside of
it, and which has not lent itself to caricature? There were weaker
members of it, and headstrong ones, and imitative ones; there were
grotesque and absurd ones; some were deeper, some shallower; some liked
it for its excitement, and some liked it for its cause; there were those
who were for pushing on, and those who were for holding back; there were
men of combat, and men of peace; there were those whom it made conceited
and self-important, and those whom it drove into seriousness, anxiety,
and retirement. But, whatever faults it had, a pure and high spirit
ruled in it; there were no disloyal members, and there were none who
sought their own in it, or thought of high things for themselves in
joining it. It was this whole-heartedness, this supreme reverence for
moral goodness, more even than the great ability of the leaders, and in
spite of mistakes and failures, which gave its cohesion and its momentum
to the movement in its earlier stages.
The state of feeling and opinion among Churchmen towards the end of
1835, two years after the Tracts had begun, is thus sketched by one who
was anxiously observing it, in the preface to the second volume of the
Tracts (November 1835).
In completing the second volume of a publication, to which the
circumstances of the day have given rise, it may be right to allude to
a change which has taken place in them since the date of its
commencement. At that time, in consequence of long security, the
attention of members of our Church had been but partially engaged, in
ascertaining the grounds of their adherence to it; but the imminent
peril to all which is dear to them which has since been confessed, has
naturally turned their thoughts that way, and obliged them to defend
it on one or other of the principles which are usually put forward in
its behalf. Discussions have thus been renewed in various quarters, on
points which had long remained undisturbed; and though numbers
continue undecided in opinion, or take up a temporary position in some
one of the hundred middle points which may be assumed between the two
main theories in which the question issues; and others, again, have
deliberately entrenched themselves in the modern or ultra-Protestant
alternative; yet, on the whole, there has been much hearty and
intelligent adoption, and much respectful study, of those more
primitive views maintained by our great Divines. As the altered state
of public information and opinion has a necessary bearing on the
efforts of those who desire to excite attention to the subject (in
which number the writers of these Tracts are to be included), it will
not be inappropriate briefly to state in this place what it is
conceived is the present position of the great body of Churchmen with
reference to it.
While we have cause to be thankful for the sounder and more accurate
language, which is now very generally adopted among well-judging men
on ecclesiastical subjects, we must beware of over-estimating what has
been done, and so becoming sanguine in our hopes of success, or
slackening our exertions to secure it. Many more persons, doubtless,
have taken up a profession of the main doctrine in question, that,
namely, of the one Catholic and Apostolic Church, than fully enter
into it. This was to be expected, it being the peculiarity of all
religious teaching, that words are imparted before ideas. A child
learns his Creed or Catechism before he understands it; and in
beginning any deep subject we are all but children to the end of our
lives. The instinctive perception of a rightly instructed mind, _primâ
facie_ force of the argument, or the authority of our celebrated
writers, have all had their due and extensive influence in furthering
the reception of the doctrine, when once it was openly maintained; to
which must be added the prospect of the loss of State protection,
which made it necessary to look out for other reasons for adherence to
the Church besides that of obedience to the civil magistrate. Nothing
which has spread quickly has been received thoroughly. Doubtless there
are a number of seriously-minded persons who think that they admit the
doctrine in question much more fully than they do, and who would be
startled at seeing that realised in particulars which they confess in
an abstract form. Many there are who do not at all feel that it is
capable of a practical application; and while they bring it forward on
special occasions, in formal expositions of faith, or in answer to a
direct interrogatory, let it slip from their minds almost entirely in
their daily conduct or their religious teaching, from the long and
inveterate habit of thinking and acting without it. We must not, then,
at all be surprised at finding that to modify the principles and
motives on which men act is not the work of a day; nor at undergoing
disappointments, at witnessing relapses, misconceptions, sudden
disgusts, and, on the other hand, abuses and perversions of the true
doctrine, in the case of those who have taken it up with more warmth
than discernment.
From the end of 1835, or the beginning of 1836, the world outside of
Oxford began to be alive to the force and the rapid growth of this new
and, to the world at large, not very intelligible movement. The ideas
which had laid hold so powerfully on a number of leading minds in the
University began to work with a spell, which seemed to many
inexplicable, on others unconnected with them. This rapidity of
expansion, viewed as a feature of a party, was noticed on all sides, by
enemies no less than friends. In an article in the _British Critic_ of
April 1839, by Mr. Newman, on the State of Religious Parties, the fact
is illustrated from contemporary notices.
There is at the present moment a reaction in the Church, and a growing
reaction, towards the views which it has been the endeavours [of the
Tract writers] and, as it seemed at the commencement, _almost hopeless
endeavours_, to advocate. The fairness of the prospect at present is
proved by the attack made on them by the public journals, and is
confessed by the more candid and the more violent among their
opponents. Thus the amiable Mr. Bickersteth speaks of it as having
manifested itself "with the _most rapid_ growth of the hot-bed of
these evil days." The scoffing author of the _Via Media_ says: "At
this moment the Via is _crowded_ with young enthusiasts who never
presume to argue, except against the propriety of arguing at all." The
candid Mr. Baden-Powell, who sees more of the difficulties of the
controversy than the rest of their antagonists pot together, says that
it is clear that "these views ... have been extensively adopted, and
are daily gaining ground among a considerable and influential portion
of the members, as well as the ministers of the Established Church."
The author of the _Natural History of Enthusiasm_ says: "The spread of
these doctrines is in fact having the effect of rendering all other
distinctions obsolete. Soon there will be no middle ground left, and
every man, especially every clergyman, will be compelled to make his
choice between the two." ... The Bishop of Chester speaks of the
subject "daily assuming a more serious and alarming aspect": a
gossiping writer of the moment describes these doctrines as having
insinuated themselves not only into popular churches and fashionable
chapels, and the columns of newspapers, but "into the House of
Commons."
And the writer of the article goes on:--
Now, if there be any truth in these remarks, it is plainly idle and
perverse to refer the change of opinions which is now going on to the
acts of two or three individuals, as is sometimes done. Of course
every event in human affairs has a beginning; and a beginning implies
a when, and a where, and a by whom, and how. But except in these
necessary circumstance, the phenomenon in question is in a manner
quite independent of things visible and historical. It is not here or
there; it has no progress, no causes, no fortunes: it is not a
movement, it is a spirit, it is a spirit afloat, neither "in the
secret chambers" nor "in the desert," but everywhere. It is within us,
rising up in the heart where it was least expected, and working its
way, 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 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.
Nothing can show more strikingly the truth of this representation than
to refer to what may be called the theological history of the
individuals who, whatever be their differences from each other on
important or unimportant points, yet are associated together in the
advocacy of the doctrines in question. Dr. Hook and Mr. Churton
represent the High Church dignitaries of the last generation; Mr.
Perceval, the Tory aristocracy; Mr. Keble is of the country clergy,
and comes from valleys and woods, far removed both from notoriety and
noise; Mr. Palmer and Mr. Todd are of Ireland; Dr. Pusey became what
he is from among the Universities of Germany, and after a severe and
tedious analysis of Arabic MSS. Mr. Dodsworth is said to have begun in
the study of Prophecy; Mr. Newman to have been much indebted to the
friendship of Archbishop Whately; Mr. Froude, if any one, gained his
views from his own mind. Others have passed over from Calvinism and
kindred religions.
Years afterwards, and in changed circumstances, the same writer has left
the following record of what came before his experience in those
years:--[67]
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 backwoods-men 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.
FOOTNOTES:
[59] "I answered, the person whom we were opposing had committed himself
in writing, and we ought to commit ourselves, too."--_Apologia_, p. 143.
[60] "I very much doubt between Oxford and Cambridge for my boy. Oxford,
which I should otherwise prefer, on many accounts, has at present
two-thirds of the steady-reading men, Rabbinists, _i.e._ Puseyites." But
this was probably an exaggeration.--Whately's _Life_; letter of Oct.
1838, p. 163 (ed. 1875).
[61] "The sagacious and aspiring man of the world, the scrutiniser
of the heart, the conspirator against its privileges and
rights."--_Prophetical Office of the Church_, p. 132.
[62] _Parochial Sermons_, iv. 20. Feb. 1836.
[63] _Vide_ J.B. Mozley, _Letters_, pp. 114, 115. "Confidence in me was
lost, but I had already lost confidence in myself." This, to a friend
like J.B. Mozley, seemed exaggeration. "Though admiring the letter [to
the Vice Chancellor] I confess, for my own part, I think a general
confession of humility was irrelevant to the present occasion, the
question being simply on a point of theological interpretation. I have
always had a prejudice against general confessions." Mozley plainly
thought Newman's attitude too meek. He would have liked something more
spirited and pugnacious.
[64] _Romanism and Popular Protestantism_, from 1834 to 1836, published
March 1837; _Justification_, after Easter 1837, published March 1838;
_Canon of Scripture_, published May 1838; _Antichrist_, published June
1838.
[65] Cf. _Lyra Apostolica_, No. 65:
_Thou_ to wax fierce
In the cause of the Lord!
* * * * *
Anger and zeal,
And the joy of the brave,
Who bade _thee_ to feel,
Sin's slave?
[66] This weak side was portrayed with severity in a story published by
Mr. Newman in 1848, after he left the English Church--_Loss and Gain_.
[67] _Apologia_, p. 156.