_OXFORD METHODISM, ETC._
[Sidenote: 1729 Age 26]
Wesley returned to Oxford shortly after the coronation of George II.
In some respects this was an age of giants. Bolingbroke, though a rake
and an infidel, was a man of exalted powers and of splendid eloquence.
Walpole, more than any other man, was the means of keeping the British
crown on the heads of the house of Hanover. The Earl of Granville, by
his brilliant talents, raised himself to the highest offices of state;
though, thinking ignorance the best security for obedience, he opposed
the education of the poor, and disliked the propagation of Christ’s
religion in the colonies. Chesterfield was a gambler and a _roué_, but,
as Johnson said, “he was also a wit among lords, and a lord among wits.”
In the Church, Atterbury, though a Jacobite, passionate, ambitious,
and double dealing, was also talented, learned, and eloquent. Whiston,
though extremely heterodox, was a man of great ability. Gibson, Bishop
of London, was one whose piety was equal to his erudition. Hoadly,
Bishop of Winchester, has, not without reason, been pronounced “the
greatest dissenter that ever wore a mitre.” Sherlock was famous for his
pulpit power. The head of Waterland was “an immense library, where the
treasures of learning were arranged in such exact order that whatever
he or his friends wanted he could produce at once.” To these might be
added Butler, Secker, Warburton, and others.
Among the Dissenters we find Edmund Calamy, Isaac Watts, Nathaniel
Lardner, and Philip Doddridge.
Among men of science and of letters, Edmund Halley was exploring the
starry heavens; and Sir Hans Sloane was revelling among the plants
and flowers of earth. Nicholas Saunderson, blind from childhood, was
lecturing upon optics; Roubiliac was making marble almost breathe, and
Handel composing his immortal oratorios. Tindal was pouring out his
streams of erudite infidelity. Daniel De Foe was still living. Bentley
was at the zenith of his literary fame. Jonathan Swift was playing the
part of a clever ecclesiastical buffoon. Edward Young was pondering
poetry among the tombs of his own churchyard. Pope was employing his
accomplished genius, surrounded by the beauties of his lovely retreat
at Twickenham. Gay was composing comedies with more ability than
ambition. Richardson, afterwards the novelist, was writing “indexes,
prefaces, and honest dedications.” Savage was penning beautiful ideas
amid tavern riots and cellar filth. Thomson, so lazy as to be a fit
occupant for his own “Castle of Indolence,” was suffering his eye to
roll in a fine frenzy among the beauties of the “Seasons;” and Samuel
Johnson was preparing himself to be the Jupiter of letters, and to rule
the literary world.
Greatness unfortunately does not always give birth to goodness.
“Never,” says a modern writer,[68] “has century risen on Christian
England so void of soul and faith as that which opened with Queen Anne,
and which reached its misty noon beneath the second George—a dewless
night succeeded by a sunless dawn. There was no freshness in the
past, and no promise in the future. The Puritans were buried, and the
Methodists were not born. The philosopher of the age was Bolingbroke,
the moralist was Addison, the minstrel was Pope, and the preacher was
Atterbury. The world had the idle, discontented look of the morning
after some mad holiday, and, like rocket-sticks and the singed paper
from last night’s squibs, the spent jokes of Charles and Rochester lay
all about, and people yawned to look at them. The reign of buffoonery
was past, but the reign of faith and earnestness had not commenced.”
Let it not be said that this is modern imagination. Bishops are, or
ought to be, sober minded men, and to one of these we refer the reader
for a testimony concerning the moral and religious state of England
during the period of which we are now writing. The Bishop of Lichfield,
in 1724, in a sermon before the Society for the Reformation of Manners,
said:—
“The Lord’s day is now the devil’s market day. More lewdness, more
drunkenness, more quarrels and murders, more sin is contrived and
committed on this day than on all the other days of the week together.
Strong liquors are become the epidemic distemper of this great city.
More of the common people die of consumptions, fevers, dropsies,
cholics, palsies, and apoplexies, contracted by the immoderate use of
brandies and distilled waters, than of all other distempers besides,
arising from other causes. Sin, in general, is grown so hardened
and rampant, as that immoralities are defended, yea, justified on
principle. Obscene, wanton, and profane books find so good a market as
to encourage the trade of publishing them. Every kind of sin has found
a writer to teach and vindicate it, and a bookseller and hawker to
divulge and spread it.”
These were not rash and random statements. From the report of the
society before which the bishop preached, it appears that in that very
year, 1724, the society had prosecuted not fewer than 2723 persons
for lewd, profane, drunken, and gambling practices; and that during
the last thirty-three years the number of their prosecutions had been
89,393.
From the literature of the period, we learn that gin-drinking in
the great towns of England had become a mania; the sellers of this
pernicious spirit announcing on their signboards that they would make
a man drunk for a penny, and find him straw on which to lie till he
recovered the use of his lost faculties. In 1736 every sixth house in
London was a licensed grogshop, and parliament, to check the evil,
enacted that all intoxicating spirits should pay a duty of £1 per
gallon, and every victualler £50 per annum for his licence.
In the higher classes of society, the taint left by Charles II and his
licentious court still festered. Among the lower classes, laziness
and dishonesty were next to universal. Superstition flourished almost
as vigorously as it had done in the middle ages, and nearly every
old mansion in England was haunted by a ghost, and almost every
parish tormented by a witch. In the metropolis, Ranelagh and Vauxhall
were the resorts of thousands, of the upper strata of society; and
puppetshows, hops, balls, prize-fights, merry meetings, cockfights, and
badger-baitings furnished entertainment for the masses. In the rural
districts, rustic squires found their greatest enjoyment in hunting
foxes, and in gorging venison, and guzzling sack; while the peasantry
relieved the monotony of their daily toils at wakes and fairs, and in
wrestling, cudgel playing, and foot racing.
Extravagance was the order of the day. Scarcely one family in ten
kept within its income. The grand controversy then, as now, was, who
should _out-dress_, _out-drink_, or _out-eat_ his neighbour. Citizens
and young tradesmen, whose ancestors would have fainted at the sight
of drawing-rooms, were the chief visitors at plays and masquerades;
and even shopkeepers were seen wearing long wigs and swords, velvet
breeches and hunting caps. Families, who were oftentimes resolved
into committees on ways and means to pay a butcher’s bill, paraded
themselves in attire the most pompous, and adorned with the richest
brocades and jewels. London swarmed with ruined rakes and broken
traders, who contrived to live in the best society by reciting scraps
of poetry, singing licentious songs, and retailing drunken puns and
quibbles. In fact, all ranks and classes seemed to be corrupted to the
core. “A sinful nation, a people laden with iniquity, a seed of evil
doers; children that are corrupters; the whole head is sick, and the
whole heart faint; from the sole of the foot even unto the head, there
is no soundness in it, but wounds, bruises, and putrifying sores.”
What was done to improve this state of things? From a report of the
charity schools, we learn that, in 1715, there were, throughout the
kingdom, 1193 schools for the education of the children of the poor,
containing 26,920 scholars. In other words, and to say nothing of other
churches, there are at present in the Wesleyan-Methodist day-schools of
England four times more scholars than there were in all the schools for
primary education throughout the kingdom in 1715.
Turning from schools to churches, there is no amelioration of the dark
picture. The Church, which ought to have reformed the nation, needed
to be reformed itself. The Dissenters complained of their ministers
conforming to the Establishment, but comforted themselves with thinking
that the apostates were mainly young fops and dandies. The three
Dissenting denominations, Presbyterians, Independents, and Baptists,
considered themselves the great barriers to the doctrine of passive
obedience to the crown, and of submission to the priestly encroachments
of the Church. They maintained that they had greatly contributed to
the interests of the Protestant succession, and had promoted a better
observance of the sabbath, and the more frequent preaching of the high
church clergy; but still they lamented that numbers of their ministers
were immoral, negligent, and insufficient; that they devoted too much
time to the fashionable study of the classics, and read their sermons
instead of preaching them. They also complained of their children
being sent to high church schools, and of the artful caballing of
their congregations in appointing ministers to vacant pastorates. (See
“Observations upon the Present State of the Dissenting Interest.”
London: 1731.)
The clergy of the Established Church! What of them? Bishop Burnet, in
1713, wrote: “Our ember weeks are the burden and grief of my life. The
much greater part of those who come to be ordained are ignorant to a
degree not to be apprehended by those who are not obliged to know it.
The easiest part of knowledge is that to which they are the greatest
strangers; I mean the plainest parts of the Scriptures. They can give
no account, or at least a very imperfect one, of the contents even of
the gospels, or of the catechism itself.”
This is a doleful picture, but there was more than this. The
dissensions in the Church of England then were quite as violent as
dissensions now. The high church clergy were moral, and many of them
talented and learned, but they were as intolerant as intolerance could
make them. Of course, they held that none were ministers of Christ
except those who had been _episcopally_ ordained; and hence they held
that all sacraments administered by Dissenters were invalid, and all
Dissenting churches in a state of sin and damnation. They boldly
preached the doctrine of a proper sacrifice being made in the Christian
eucharist, and most furiously contended for the Divine right of kings,
and the kindred dogma of passive obedience. Many of them, in heart at
least, were Jacobites, and, while promising allegiance, regarded King
George as a usurper, and branded those of their brethren who differed
from them with opprobrium. Endless were the pamphlets published, and
fierce were the feuds of those who ought to have dwelt together in
unity. The foulest sins were made sinless by intemperate zeal for the
Pretender, and the fairest virtues were besmeared in those who showed a
friendly feeling for Dissenters. A man might be drunken and quarrelsome
all the week, but if on Sunday he bowed to the altar and cursed King
William he was esteemed a saint. He might cheat everybody, and pay
nobody, but if he drank health to the royal orphan, hated King George,
and abhorred the Whigs, his want of probity was a peccadillo scarce
worth noticing. On the other hand, a man might be learned, diligent,
devout, and useful, but if he opposed the Pretender and Popery, or if
he thought the Dissenters should not be damned, he was at once set down
as heterodox, and, according to his importance, became a target for the
poisoned shafts of high church malice.
Such, in brief, was the state of things when God raised up the
Methodists. The court of England was corrupt to its very core, and
the people were too faithful imitators of a bad example. Popery was
intriguing, Dissenters were declining, and the Church was full of fiery
and drunken feuds. Reformers, like the Methodists, were needed. Without
them, or others of a kindred spirit, the nation must have sunk into an
inconceivable depth of depravity, and social and political degradation.
In estimating the benefits which have accrued from the great Methodist
movement, the reader must think not only of the good effected but of
the ill averted.
Methodism arose in Oxford, and not before it was needed, even there.
When Wesley returned to the university in 1729, the vice-chancellor,
the heads of houses and proctors, issued an edict, which was posted in
most of the college halls, to the effect that certain members of the
university had of late been in danger of being corrupted by the wicked
and blasphemous notions of the advocates of pretended human reason
against Divine revelation; and that therefore it was a matter of the
utmost consequence that the college tutors should use double diligence
in explaining to their respective pupils the articles of religion and
their Christian duty, and in recommending to them the frequent and
careful reading of the Scriptures, and such other books as might serve
more effectually the orthodox faith and sound principles.
The Dean of Christ Church, however, where Charles Wesley was a tutor,
was so much a friend to infidelity, that he forbade the posting of this
edict in his college hall, forgetting that there was One higher than
himself, who, in that very college, had already begun to raise one of
the strongest barriers against the spread of this pernicious evil.
A few months afterwards, on the 4th of July, 1730, it was announced
in _Fogg’s Weekly Journal_, that one of the principal colleges in
Oxford had of late been infested with Deists, and that three Deistical
students had been expelled, and a fourth had had his degree deferred
two years, during which he was to be closely confined in college, and,
among other things, was to translate Leslie’s “Short and Easy Method
with the Deists.”
Wesley was now a tutor in Lincoln College, and presided in the hall
as Moderator in the disputations, six of which were held weekly; and,
by this, he acquired the remarkable expertness in arguing, and in
discerning and pointing out well concealed and plausible fallacies,
which distinguished him to the end of life. He writes: “In November,
1729, the then Rector of Lincoln College, Dr. Morley, sent for me
to Oxford, to take pupils, eleven of whom he put under my care
immediately. In this employ I continued[69] till 1735, when I went as
a _missioner_ to Georgia.” Several of Wesley’s pupils were among the
first Oxford Methodists.
The Methodist movement, however, was begun not by Wesley, but by his
brother Charles. When the latter was elected to Christ Church, in 1726,
he was a sprightly, rollicking young fellow, with more genius than
grace; John spoke to him about religion, but Charles answered, “What,
would you have me to be a saint all at once!” This was an unfavourable
beginning; but, while John was serving as his father’s curate at
Epworth and at Wroote, Charles began to attend the weekly sacrament,
and induced two or three other students to attend with him. On John’s
return from Lincolnshire, he heartily united with his brother and his
friends. The regularity of their behaviour led a young collegian to
call them Methodists; and “as the name,” says Wesley, “was new and
quaint, it clave to them immediately, and, from that time, all that had
any connection with them were thus distinguished.”[70]
The name was not new. Wesley says “it was given in allusion to an
ancient sect of physicians, of the time of the Emperor Nero, who taught
that almost all diseases might be cured by a specific _method_ of diet
and exercise.”[71] This might be so, and yet it is a curious fact that
the name was in use in England long before it was applied to Wesley and
his friends. In 1693 a pamphlet was published with the title, “A War
among the Angels of the Churches: wherein is shewed the Principles of
the New Methodists in the great point of Justification. By a Country
Professor of Jesus Christ.” And even as early as 1639, in a sermon
preached at Lambeth the following perfumed eloquence occurs:—“Where are
now our Anabaptists, and plain pack-staff Methodists, who esteem all
flowers of rhetoric in sermons no better than stinking weeds, and all
elegance of speech no better than profane spells?”
The two young gentlemen who, with Wesley and his brother Charles, were
first called Methodists, were Robert Kirkham, already mentioned on
a previous page, and William Morgan.[72] To these were subsequently
added, George Whitefield, John Clayton, J. Broughton, Benjamin Ingham,
James Hervey, John Whitelamb, Westley Hall, John Gambold, Charles
Kinchin, William Smith, and Messrs. Salmon, Wogan, Boyce, Atkinson, and
others.[73]
What shall we say of these Oxford Methodists?
William Morgan’s career was brief and painful; he was the first
Methodist who passed the pearly gates of the celestial city. Charles
Kinchin, a lovely character, soon followed him. Charles Wesley, in
his incomparable hymns, left behind him one of the noblest legacies
that an uninspired man ever bequeathed to the Christian church. George
Whitefield was the prince of preachers—a glorious emblem of the
apocalyptic angel flying through the midst of heaven with the good
tidings of great joy unto all people. And James Hervey will be loved
and honoured as long as there are men to appreciate the highest order
of Christian piety and the most mellifluent compositions in the English
language.
The history of the Oxford Methodists is not, however, an unspotted
one. Clayton’s high churchism was not an excellency to be admired.
Broughton’s usefulness was crippled and cut short by his imperfect,
stunted, stereotyped views of Christian truth. Westley Hall, though
we hope he died a penitent, was, throughout the greatest part of his
vicious life, an unmitigated scamp. John Whitelamb sunk down into an
ecclesiastical village drone. Gambold, though good, was visionary, and
throughout life was injured by his Moravian maggots. And Ingham, for
many years one of the most successful of evangelists, through the ill
judged connections that he formed, died beneath a cloud. But, with
all these drawbacks, the reader is challenged to produce a band of
godly friends, whose lives and labours have, upon the whole, issued
in such an amount of blessing to mankind as that which has resulted
from the lives and labours of the students who, in 1735, were known
as “Oxford Methodists.” They were widely scattered; their views were
different; they were often brought into painful collision with each
other; but, with the one or two exceptions mentioned, they were all
sincere, earnest, laborious, successful ministers of Christ; and five
or six of them must for ever occupy a high position in the history of
the Christian church. Clayton shunned the Wesleys; Broughton opposed
them; Ingham left them; Hervey, though with Christian courtesy, wrote
against them; Gambold, at one period, hesitated not to say that he was
ashamed of them; and even Whitefield, for a little while, was alienated
from them; but we earnestly hope and have little doubt that they have
all long been re-united in that blessed world where friends are free
from misconceptions, and where the din of controversial strife does not
exist—a world where all churches are merged into one grand Church, the
members of which make one vast, happy, and harmonious family, and sing
in the same ceaseless tune the same great song for ever—the song of
Moses and of the Lamb.
Of the Methodists, three were tutors in colleges; and the rest were
bachelors of arts, or undergraduates. All were of one judgment and
of one heart; and all tenacious of order to the last degree, and
observant, for conscience sake, of every rule of the Church, and every
statute both of the university and of their respective colleges. They
all thought themselves orthodox in every point, firmly believing, not
only the three creeds, but whatsoever they judged to be the doctrine
of the Church of England, as contained in her articles and homilies.
Practically, they had all things common; and no one was allowed to want
what another had the ability to spare.[74] Wesley was nicknamed “the
Curator of the Holy Club,” and not a few branded him a “crack-brained
enthusiast”; and yet others acknowledged that though his views and
doctrines were peculiar his piety was unimpeachable; and Mr. Gerard,
the bishop’s chaplain, dared to express an opinion to George Lascelles,
one of his revilers, that he “would one day be a standard-bearer of
the Cross, either in his own country or beyond the seas.”[75] Charles
Wesley paid the utmost deference to his brother, and all the Methodists
acknowledged his fitness to be their chief director. This was not
surprising, for, confessedly, he had more learning and experience than
the others; and was blessed with such activity and steadiness that
he was always gaining ground, and losing none. Every affair was well
considered before he propounded it, and all his decisions were made in
the fear of God, without passion, or self-confidence. His countenance
also wore an air of authority; and yet there was no assumption of
super-eminence; but all were allowed to speak their minds with the
utmost freedom, and no one was a more respectful listener than himself.
Hence it was, that, whatever proposals he submitted, they were readily
adopted, and the brotherhood was as perfect as unity of sentiment and
feeling could make it.
Every night they met together,[76] to review what each had done
during the day, and to consult what should be done the day following;
their meetings always commencing with prayer, and ending with a frugal
supper. Their plans of action were various. Some conversed with young
students, and endeavoured to rescue them from evil company, and to
encourage them in a sober and studious life. Others undertook the
instruction and relief of impoverished families; others the charge of
some particular school, and others of the parish workhouse. Some or
other of them went daily to the Castle, and to the city prison, reading
in the chapel, to as many of the prisoners as would attend, books
like the “Christian Monitor” and the “Country Parson’s Advice to his
Parishioners,” and then summing up the reading in a few sentences easy
to be remembered. On the introduction of a new prisoner, they would
subject him to the most searching examination as to whether he bore
malice towards his prosecutors or others, and whether he repented of
his sins, and used private prayer, and received the sacrament. Out of
their own scanty means, and by quarterly contributions from others,
they raised a fund to purchase books, medicines, and other necessaries
for the prisoners, and to release those who were confined for debts
of small amount. They read prayers at the Castle on most Wednesdays
and Fridays, preached a sermon to the prisoners every Sunday, and
administered the sacrament once a month. One of the schools which they
visited was a school which Wesley himself had founded, the mistress
of which he paid, and some, if not all, of the children of which he
clothed.
In all this the world saw nought but oddity and folly, and called these
hardworking and godly students “Bible bigots,” and “Bible moths;”
but, in the midst of all, Wesley calmly pursued the path which he had
marked out for himself and his friends. Gambold, in a letter written
whilst Wesley was in Georgia, tells us that Wesley at Oxford was always
cheerful but never arrogant. By strict watchfulness, he beat down the
impetuosity of his nature into a childlike simplicity. His piety was
nourished by continual communion with God, for he thought prayer to
be his greatest duty; and often did Gambold see him come out of his
closet of devotion with a serenity of countenance that was next to
shining. The secret consolations of God seldom left him, and never
but in a posture of strong and longsuffering faith. In him there were
no idle cravings, no chagrin or sickliness of spirit. Slanders never
ruffled him, and his chief fear was lest he should grow proud of this
conformity to his great Master. Coming home from long journeys, where
he had been in different companies, he would calmly resume his usual
employments, as if he had never left them. Himself setting an example,
he urged upon his associates method, diligence, and early rising. His
hours for private devotion were from five to six o’clock every morning
and every night. Every day he noted in a diary what had been his chief
employments; and one day every week he set apart for writing letters to
his friends.[77]
His charity to the poor was limited only by the means at his command.
One cold winter’s day, he tells us, a young girl, whom the Methodists
kept at school, called upon him in a state nearly frozen, to whom he
said, “You seem half-starved; have you nothing to wear but that linen
gown?” The poor girl said, “Sir, this is all I have.” Wesley put his
hand in his pocket, but found it nearly empty. The walls of his chamber
however were hung with pictures, and these now became his accusers.
“It struck me,” says he, “will thy Master say, ‘Well done, good and
faithful steward’? thou hast adorned thy walls with the money which
might have screened this poor creature from the cold! O Justice! O
Mercy! Are not these pictures the blood of this poor maid?”[78] To
say the least, this story shows the intense conscientiousness of the
man, and his dread of spending anything upon himself which might have
been spent more properly upon the poor. He says it was the practice of
all the Oxford Methodists to give away each year all they had after
providing for their own necessities; and then, as an illustration, he
adds, in reference to himself, “One of them had thirty pounds a year.
He lived on twenty-eight, and gave away forty shillings. The next year
receiving sixty pounds, he still lived on twenty-eight, and gave away
thirty-two. The third year he received ninety pounds, and gave away
sixty-two. The fourth year he received a hundred and twenty pounds;
still he lived as before on twenty-eight, and gave to the poor all the
rest.”[79]
Wesley at Oxford was as conscientious in the use of time as he was in
the use of money. Finding that he awoke every night about twelve or
one o’clock, he concluded that this arose from his lying longer in bed
than nature needed; and, to satisfy himself, he procured an alarum
which aroused him next morning at seven, an hour earlier than he rose
the day previous; but still he lay awake again at night. The second
morning his alarum roused him up at six; and the third at five; but
notwithstanding this he still lay awake when he ought to have been fast
asleep. The fourth morning, by means of his alarum, he got up at four,
and now wakefulness was unknown to him. Sixty years after adopting this
expedient to ascertain how much sleep his nature needed, he wrote, “By
the grace of God, I have risen at four o’clock ever since; and, taking
the year round, I don’t lie awake a quarter of an hour together in a
month.”[80]
The Bible now, as ever afterwards, was Wesley’s book of books.
He writes: “In 1729, I began not only to read, but to study, the
Bible, as the one, the only standard of truth, and the only model
of pure religion. Hence, I saw, in a clearer and clearer light, the
indispensable necessity of having ‘the mind which was in Christ,’
and of ‘walking as Christ also walked.’ I considered religion as an
entire inward and outward conformity to our Master. Nor was I afraid of
anything more than of bending this rule to the experience of myself, or
of other men; or of allowing myself in any the least disconformity to
our grand Exemplar.”[81]
Such was Wesley in 1729. What about his friends? To some extent,
their principles and practice may be learnt from the scheme of
self-examination they adopted. They tried to act upon the principle
of doing nothing without a previous perception that it was the will
of God. Every morning and every evening they spent an hour in private
prayer. They always prayed in going in and out of church. Three days
every week, though separate from each other, they, at the same hour,
prayed in concert. In secret devotion they frequently stopped short to
observe if they were using proper fervour, and, before concluding in
the name of Christ, they adverted to the Saviour now interceding on
their behalf at the right hand of God, and offering up their prayers.
They habituated themselves to the use of ejaculations for humility,
faith, hope, and love; used a collect every day at nine, twelve, and
three o’clock; and each one said aloud, in his own room, a grace
before and after eating. They embraced every possible opportunity of
doing good, and of preventing, removing, or lessening evil. They tried
to spend an hour every day in speaking to men directly on religious
things, never relinquishing the objects of their attention till
they were positively repelled, and always, before addressing them,
trying to learn, as far as possible, their tempers, way of life, and
peculiar hindrances. In order to converse usefully, they planned every
conversation before they went into company; and considered what subject
would be most useful, and how to prosecute it.[82] They persuaded all
they could to attend public prayers, sermons, and sacraments; and,
in general, to obey the laws of the church catholic, the Church of
England, the state, the university, and their respective colleges.
They refrained from thinking or speaking unkindly of any one; and used
intercession for their friends on Sundays, for their pupils on Mondays,
for those who particularly desired it on Wednesdays and Fridays,
and for the family with whom they lodged every day.[83] They also
communicated at Christ Church once a week.[84]
They had one, and only one, rule of judgment, with regard to all their
tempers, words, and actions—namely, the oracles of God, and were one
and all determined to be Bible Christians. The book which, next to the
holy Scripture, was of the greatest use to them, in settling their
judgment as to the grand point of justification by faith, was the Book
of Homilies.[85]
They were tenacious, not only of all the doctrines of the Church of
England, but of all her discipline, to the minutest points, and were
scrupulously strict in observing the rubrics and canons. In short,
“they were,” says Wesley, “in the strongest sense, high churchmen.”[86]
Many of their proceedings were ecclesiastically irregular, though
religiously right; and Wesley, fearful of doing evil even while doing
good, wrote to his brother Samuel and to his father for advice. Samuel
replied that, though there might be some things concerning which he was
dubious, yet he would choose to follow his two brothers to the grave
rather than they should abandon their course of piety, and especially
that relating to the prisoners in the Castle.[87] The venerable rector,
in his reply, said, “As to your designs and employments, what can I say
less than _Valde probo_; and that I have the highest reason to bless
God that He has given me two sons together at Oxford, to whom He has
granted grace and courage to turn the war against the world and the
devil?” At the same time, however, he advised them to obtain consent
to visit the prisoners from the chaplain, who had charge of them, and
likewise to seek the approbation of their bishop. This advice was
adopted; the chaplain commended their design; and the bishop expressed
himself as highly pleased with their undertaking.[88]
At the commencement of the year 1730, Wesley had the offer of a curacy,
eight miles from Oxford, for three or for six months, at the rate of
£30 a year; and this he readily accepted, not only because it opened to
him a field of usefulness, but also because it enabled him to retain
his horse, when he began to feel that he must sell it; for if he had
not a horse of his own he must hire one to ride to his cure on Sundays,
and the _hire_ would be quite as expensive as the _keep_.[89]
It was in the same year that he begun his remarkable correspondence
with Mary Granville, afterwards the celebrated wife and widow of the
Very Rev. Dr. Delany, Dean of Down, in Ireland. Mary Granville, while
living in Gloucestershire, became acquainted with Sarah, daughter of
the Rev. Lionel Kirkham, of Staunton; and, ever after, the two ladies
were the most devoted friends.[90] We have already seen that Wesley was
a visitor of the Kirkhams; and that, in 1726, a warm-hearted intimacy
existed between him and one of the young ladies of that family, whose
pet name, among her friends, was “Varanese.” It is almost certain
that it was here Wesley was first introduced to the remarkable woman
above-mentioned. Their correspondence with each other was conducted
in feigned names, Wesley calling himself “Cyrus,” and Mary Granville
calling herself “Aspasia,” that being the name by which she was often
designated by her most intimate acquaintance.[91] The first letter from
“Aspasia” is dated “August 28th, 1730.” She writes:—
“SIR,—I think myself extremely obliged to you for the favour of
the sermon and the letters. I received them safe last week, and
should sooner have made my acknowledgments for them, but that
I have been engaged with so much company since my return from
dear, delightful Staunton, that, till this moment, I have not
had time to express my gratitude for the elegant entertainment
I have had, not only from the manuscripts, but in recollecting
and repeating the conversation you and your brother made so
agreeable, which I hope will soon be renewed. If you have any
affairs that call you to Gloucester, don’t forget that you have
two pupils, who are desirous of improving their understanding;
and that friendship has already taught them to be, sir, your
most sincere, humble servants. My companion joins me in all I
have said, as well as in service to Araspes.”[92]
The companion referred to was probably Mary Granville’s mother (with
whom also Wesley corresponded),[93] or her beloved friend, Sarah
Kirkham. Araspes was most likely a feigned name for Wesley’s brother
Charles. On the fly-leaf of the letter there is a postscript, in the
handwriting of Mary Granville’s sister, whose pet name was Selina,
telling Wesley that Aspasia was about to visit Bath, and that, if he
designed to wait upon her, he had best write to her to ascertain her
movements. He is further told that “Varanese” (see Robert Kirkham’s
letter, p. 50) had sent him a letter by the carrier about a fortnight
ago, and wished to know whether it had come safe to hand.
Mary Granville, at this period, was the widow of Alexander Pendarves,
Esq., and was three years older than Wesley. As a member of the
Lansdowne family, she had moved in the most fashionable circles
of London society, and was now a frequent attendant at ridottos,
masquerades, operas, and other amusements: but, in the midst of all,
she maintained an unblemished character; evinced talents and virtues of
an exceedingly high order; was received at court during each successive
reign; and, to the day of her death, was honoured with the notice and
confidence of George III. and his Queen Charlotte. Are we justified
in inferring, from the language employed in the postscript of the
above letter, that Wesley was thinking of making Mary Granville (or
rather Mrs. Pendarves) his wife? Or that there was some intrigue among
his friends, to bring about an interview at Bath, and to initiate a
correspondence which might ripen into something more than an ordinary
intimacy between friends? A correspondence was now begun which lasted
for four years, from August 1730 to July 1734. Mrs. Pendarves, however,
remained in widowhood until 1743, when she married Dr. Delany. A few
extracts, from some of Wesley’s letters to this distinguished lady, may
cast some light upon the questions we have ventured to suggest, and
will also help to illustrate his character at this important period of
his history.
“_November 25, 1730._
“O that our friendship (since you give me leave to use that
dear word) may be built on a firm foundation. For want of
humility, I cannot follow you as I would. I must be left behind
in the race of virtue. I am sick of pride: it quite weighs my
spirit down. O, pray for me, that I may be healed. I have the
greater dependence on your intercession, because you know what
you ask. Every line of your last shows the heart of the writer,
where, with friendship, dwells humility. Ours, dear Aspasia,
it is to make acknowledgments; upon us lie the obligations of
gratitude. If it be a fault to have too harmonious a soul,
too exquisite a sense of elegant, generous transports, then,
indeed, I must own there is an obvious fault both in Selina
and Aspasia. If not, I fancy one may easily reconcile whatever
they think or act to the strictest reason; unless it be their
entertaining so favourable a thought of their most obliged and
most faithful—CYRUS.”
“_Innocents’ Day, 1730._
“Should one, who was as my own soul, be torn from me, it would
be best for me. Surely if you were called first, mine eyes
ought not to overflow because all tears were wiped away from
yours. But I much doubt whether self-love would not be found
too strong for a friendship, which I even now find to be less
disinterested than I hitherto imagined. Is it a fault to desire
to recommend myself to those who so strongly recommend virtue
to me? Tell me, Aspasia,—tell me, Selina,—if it be a fault that
my heart burns within me, when I reflect on the many marks of
regard you have already shown.”
Aspasia made an inquiry of Wesley, couched in the following terms:—
“Every Sunday evening, a gentleman in this town has a concert
of music. I am invited there to-night, and design to go. I
charge you, on the friendship you have professed for me, to
tell me your sincere opinion about it, and all your objections.
For, if I am in error by going, you ought to prevent my doing
so again.”
Wesley replied:—
“Far be it from me to think that any circumstance of life
shall ever give the enemy an advantage over Aspasia. He, who
has overcome the world and its princes, shall give His angels
charge over her to keep her in all her ways.
“To judge whether any action be lawful on the sabbath or no,
we are to consider whether it advances the end for which the
sabbath was ordained. Now, the end for which the sabbath was
ordained is the attainment of holiness. Whatever, therefore,
tends to advance this end is lawful on this day. Whatever does
not tend to advance this end is not lawful on this day.”
Mary Granville spent the summer of 1731 principally in London, and, to
a great extent, in the family of Richard Colley, Esq., who, three years
before, had succeeded to the estates of his cousin Garrett Wesley,
Esq., of the county of Meath, and had assumed the name and arms of
Wesley, and who, in 1746, was created Baron of Mornington. One day
would be spent in boating upon the Thames, the Duchess of Ancaster
affording them high amusement by singing, or rather catterwauling,
a piece out of the “Beggars’ Opera”; the next day in witnessing the
working of her friend Wesley’s orrery, and in representing Lady
Shelburn at the baptism of a baby; another day in a jaunt to Greenwich.
Then we find her attending court; and then sitting by the side of
Hogarth, while painting a picture of the Wesley family, and obtaining a
promise that he would give her instructions in drawing. In the midst of
all this fashionable, fluttering kind of life, John Wesley, at Oxford,
was writing her frequent letters.
Under the date of June 19, he says:—
“If Providence has used me as an instrument of doing any good
to Aspasia, I had almost said, ‘I have my reward.’ The thought
of having added anything to your ease will make many of my
hours the happier. I am extremely glad to find you among those
few who are yet concerned for the honour of their Master; and
cannot but congratulate you upon your wise choice. ‘If we
suffer with Him, we shall also reign with Him,’”
A month later, he writes:—
“I have been charged with being _too strict_; with carrying
things too far in religion, and laying burdens upon myself,
if not on others, which are neither necessary nor possible
to be borne. Do not blame me, Aspasia, for using every means
to find whether I am thus guilty or no; and particularly for
appealing to the judgment of one who, in this, is not likely
to be prejudiced in my favour. Those among whom your lot is
chiefly cast are not accused of too much strictness. Whatever
other ill weeds may flourish there, a court is not a fit soil
for these. Give me leave, then, to lay freely before you what
my sentiments in this point are, and to conjure you to tell me
which of them you disapprove.”
By return of post, on July 21, Aspasia answers:—
“The imputation thrown upon you is a most extraordinary one.
But such is the temper of the world, when you have no vice to
feed their spleen with, they will condemn the highest virtue.
O Cyrus, how noble a defence you make! and how are you adorned
with the beauty of holiness! You really are in a state to be
envied. How ardently do I wish to be as resigned and humble
as yourself. As you say, my lot is fallen among those who
cannot be accused of too much strictness in religion; so far
from that, they generally make an open profession of having no
religion at all; and I cannot observe my fellow-creatures in
such manifest danger without feeling an inexpressible concern.”
Three days later, on July 24, Wesley writes:—
“I am extremely happy in having your approbation, where I am
most careful to be approved. Give me the censure of the many,
the praise of the few. I have all the advantages that outward
circumstances can afford. _I_ spend, day by day, many hours
in those employments that have a direct tendency to improve
me. _You_ can rarely have one, wherein to pursue that great
work with the full bent of your mind. _I_ have scarce any
acquaintance in the world, who is not either apt to teach or
willing to learn. _You_ are entangled among several who can
plead for themselves little more than that they do no hurt. And
would to God even that plea would hold! I much fear it will
not. Is it no hurt to rob you of your time, for which there is
no equivalent but eternity? Must Aspasia ever submit to this
insupportable misfortune? Every time a gay wretch wants to
trifle away a part of that invaluable treasure which God has
lent him, shall he force away also a part of hers? Surely there
is a way to escape. The God whom you serve point it out to
you!”[94]
Aspasia, in other words Mrs. Delany, spent the winter of 1731 in
Ireland. On the 11th of March, 1732, writing to her sister from Dublin,
she says:—
“Cyrus, by this time, has blotted me out of his memory, or,
if he does remember me, it can only be to reproach me. What
can I say for myself, in having neglected so extraordinary a
correspondent? I only am the sufferer, but I should be very
sorry to have him think my silence proceeded from negligence. I
declare it is want of time.”[95]
Twelve months after this, while still in Ireland, in another letter to
her sister, she remarks:—
“As for the ridicule Cyrus has been exposed to, I do not at all
wonder at it. Religion, in its plainest dress, suffers daily
from the insolence and ignorance of the world; then how should
that person escape, who dares to appear openly in its cause? He
will meet with all the mortifications such rebels are able to
give, which can be no other than that of finding them wilfully
blinding themselves, and running headlong into the gulf of
perdition; a melancholy prospect for the honest-hearted man who
earnestly desires the salvation of his fellow-creatures.”[96]
Here we close these specimens of correspondence. How are they to be
interpreted? When begun, John Wesley was a young man, twenty-seven
years of age, a fellow and tutor of a college, profoundly pious, and
the leader of the Oxford Methodists. His fair correspondent was a
young widow, only three years older than himself, the niece of Lord
Lansdowne, opulent, talented, accomplished, beautiful, a favourite at
court, and an intimate friend of the gentleman who had succeeded to
the estates of Garrett Wesley, who had wished to make Wesley’s brother
Charles his heir.[97] Did Wesley correspond with Aspasia merely for the
improvement of himself in piety and knowledge? And did she correspond
with Wesley merely because she sympathised with the principles and
practices of the Oxford Methodists? To say the least, this is extremely
doubtful. Mary Granville was a talented and accomplished woman, but,
in that respect, Wesley was greatly her superior. She was moral,
and, upon the whole, religious; but her life, among her aristocratic
friends, was fluttering and empty when compared with the intensely
religious life of Wesley and his friends at Oxford. The correspondence
is a puzzle. There is nothing that is sickly or merely sentimental;
but, on both sides, there is an endearment which perplexes. Was Wesley
enamoured? And was he groping his way to something else than ordinary
friendship? Did Mary Granville experience a reciprocity of feeling? And
was the reproach, which began to be heaped upon the Oxford Methodists,
the means of quenching it? We know not. But, supposing such conjectures
to be true, what then? Was Wesley inconsistent with his principles, or
unpardonably ambitious in longing for such an alliance? Or did Mary
Granville at all demean herself in reciprocating Wesley’s feelings?
We think otherwise. Mary Granville ultimately married Patrick Delany,
who, except that he had become rich by already marrying a wealthy
widow, was, in no respect, the superior of John Wesley; and, in point
of birth, was greatly his inferior; for, while the one was a son of an
eminently learned clergyman of the Established Church, the other was
the son of a servant to an Irish judge. The suspicions above mentioned
are reasonable, though perhaps not true; and they naturally lead the
contemplative reader to inquire, if Cyrus had married Aspasia, would
Oxford Methodism have grown into what it afterwards became? If, to use
Wesley’s words, Charles Wesley had “a fair escape” when he declined to
become Garrett Wesley’s heir, had not Wesley himself “a fair escape”
when his letters to the intimate friend of Garrett Wesley’s successor
ended as they did?
This is an episode. We return to the Methodism of the Oxford Methodists.
In 1731, Wesley and his brother began the practice of conversing with
each other in Latin when by themselves, and this they continued to the
end of life. In the same year, a meeting was held by several of the
senior graduates, to consult on the readiest way to stop the progress
of the Methodist movement; and it was soon publicly reported that the
censors were about to blow up the _Godly Club_. In April, Wesley,
accompanied by his brother, set out on foot for Epworth; and, after
a three weeks’ visit walked the same distance back, having made two
discoveries: 1. That four or five and twenty miles is an easy and safe
day’s journey in hot weather as well as cold; and, 2. That it was easy
to read as they walked, for a distance of ten or a dozen miles, without
feeling either faint or weary. By this lengthened pedestrian tour they
had been freed from all superfluous humours, and were not now in the
slightest danger of an attack of gout. During their brief absence,
however, their “little company” had “shrunk into almost none at all;
for Mr. Morgan was sick at Holt; Mr. Boyce at his father’s house at
Barton; Mr. Kirkham was about to leave to become his uncle’s curate;
and another young gentleman of Christ Church had returned to the ways
of the world, and studiously shunned their company.”[98]
In August, Wesley, writing to one of his pupils, says:—
“You, who have not the assurance of a day to live, are not
wise if you waste a moment. The shortest way to knowledge
seems to be this: 1. To ascertain what knowledge you desire
to attain. 2. To read no book which does not in some way tend
to the attainment of that knowledge. 3. To read no book which
does tend to the attainment of it, unless it be the best in
its kind. 4. To finish one before you begin another. 5. To
read them all in such order, that every subsequent book may
illustrate and confirm the preceding.”[99]
In the meantime Wesley had begun observing the Wednesday and Friday
fasts, commonly observed in the ancient church, tasting no food
whatever till three in the afternoon. Some of his friends had left
him; but he still diligently strove against all kinds of sin; omitted
no sort of self-denial which he thought lawful; carefully used, both
in public and in private, all the means of grace; and embraced every
opportunity of doing good.[100]
In 1732, he wrote a sermon on the sacrament of the Lord’s supper, for
the use of his pupils, in which he shows the duty of all Christians
to communicate as often as they can. He asserts that, with “the
first Christians, the Christian sacrifice was a constant part of the
Lord’s day service; and that, for several centuries, they received
it almost daily; four days a week always, and every saint’s day
beside.” He further asserts that the Church of England has taken “all
possible care that the sacrament be duly administered, wherever the
Common-Prayer is read, every Sunday and holiday in the year;” and that
those who do not receive it, at least thrice in a year, are liable to
excommunication.[101]
In the same month (February) in which Wesley wrote his sermon, his
mother addressed to him a letter from which we extract the following:—
“The young gentleman you mention seems to me to be in the right
concerning the real presence of Christ in the sacrament. I
own, I never understood by the _real presence_ more than what
he has elegantly expressed, that ‘the Divine nature of Christ
is then eminently present, to impart, by the operation of His
Spirit, the benefits of His death to worthy receivers,’ And
surely, the Divine presence of our Lord, thus applying the
virtue and merits of the great atonement to each true believer,
makes the consecrated bread more than a sign of Christ’s body;
since, by His so doing, we receive not only the sign, but with
it the thing signified—all the benefits of His incarnation and
passion. But still, however this Divine institution may seem to
others, to me it is full of mystery.”[102]
To this Wesley replied as follows:—
“_February 28, 1732._
“One consideration is enough to make me assent to your judgment
concerning the holy sacrament; which is, that we cannot allow
Christ’s human nature to be present in it, without allowing
either con- or trans-substantiation. But that His Divinity is
so united to us then, as He never is but to worthy receivers,
I firmly believe, though the manner of that union is utterly a
mystery to me.”[103]
Such was the sacramentarian theory of the high church Oxford Methodists
in 1732.
In the same letter, Wesley introduces another subject, showing that,
after all, his earnest piety was not unmixed with morbidness. He
continues:—
“To all who give signs of their not being strangers to the mind
of Christ, I propose this question,—and why not to you rather
than any? shall I quite break off my pursuit of all learning
but what immediately tends to practice? I once desired to
make a fair show in language and philosophy; but it is past;
there is a more excellent way; and, if I cannot attain to any
progress in the one, without throwing up all thoughts of the
other, why, fare it well! Yet a little while, and we shall all
be equal in knowledge, if we are in virtue.”
This was simply silly and absurd; for, on the same principle, a man
ought to give up business, because business does not “immediately tend
to the practice of piety.”
It has been already stated that, during Wesley’s brief visit to
Epworth, in 1731, the Oxford Methodists were greatly scattered. In
the spring of 1732, their forces were recruited by the adhesion of
Mr. Clayton, and Mr. Broughton, and half-a-dozen pupils belonging to
himself, his brother, and Mr. Clayton. Six evenings every week were
spent, from six to nine o’clock, partly in reading and considering the
Greek Testament, and partly in close conversation.[104]
In the month of July, Wesley, being in London, paid a visit to the
Rev. William Law, at Putney, and commenced a friendship which lasted
for several years. From this period, he began to read the “Theologia
Germanica,” and other mystic writings, with what results will be seen
hereafter. On the 3rd of August, he was made a member of “The Society
for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge;” and, during his stay in
London, received from Mr. Clayton a long letter, which will help to
give the reader an insight into the difficulties and daily life of
the Oxford Methodists. It was first published in the _Wesleyan Times_
newspaper, of September 24, 1866.
“OXON, _August 1, 1732_.
“REV. AND DEAR SIR,—I cannot but think it an extraordinary
providence, that, when we had lost our best advocate and
patron, all opposition against us should immediately cease.
Since you left us, nobody has thought it worth while to attack
either Mr. Smith or me, or to endeavour to remove us from those
principles wherein you, by the grace of God, have fixed us. Mr.
Smith goes out of town to-morrow, and so will be entirely out
of danger from the fellows of Lincoln. He seems to be forearmed
against the temptations which may possibly arise from strange
company and from travelling. My little flock at Brazenose are,
God be praised, true to their principles. Bocardo,” [a room
over the north gate of the city used as a debtors’ prison,]
“I fear, grows worse upon my hands: they have done nothing
but quarrel ever since you left us. They carried matters so
high on Saturday, that the bailiff was sent for, who ordered
Tomlyn to be fettered, and put into the dungeon. The Castle
is, I thank God! in much better condition. All the felons were
acquitted, except Salmon, who is to be tried at Warwick; and
the sheep-stealer, who is burnt in the hand and is a great
penitent. Jempro is discharged, and I have appointed Harris to
read to the prisoners in his stead. Two of the felons likewise
have paid their fees and are gone out, both of them able to
read mighty well. There are only two in the gaol who want this
accomplishment,—John Clanville, who reads but moderately, and
the horse-stealer who cannot read at all, though he knows all
his letters and can spell most of the monosyllables. I hear
them both read three times a week; and, I believe, Salmon
hears them so many times daily. The woman, who was a perfect
novice, spells tolerably; and so does one of the boys; and
the other makes shift to read with spelling every word that
is longer than ordinary. They can both say their catechism
to the end of the commandments, and can likewise repeat the
morning and evening prayers for children in Ken’s Manual. I
have been twice at the school, namely, on Tuesday and Saturday
last; and intend to go again as soon as I have finished this
letter. The children all go on pretty well, except one, who,
I find, truants till eleven o’clock in a morning. I have
obtained leave to go to St. Thomas’s workhouse twice a week. I
am sure the people much need instruction, for there is hardly
a soul can read in the whole house. Pray, do not forget a few
Common-Prayer Books for the Castle.
“You cannot imagine the pleasure it is for me to know that you
are engaged every morning in prayer for me. I wish for nine
o’clock more eagerly than ever I did before; and, I think, I
begin to perceive what is meant by that union of souls which
is so much talked of in Pere Malebranche and Madam Bourignon.
Mr. Hall is not yet come home; so that I am pretty much taken
up with the poor people and the prisoners. I thank God, I
have fully conquered my affection for a morning nap, and rise
constantly by five o’clock, and have the pleasure to see
myself imitated by the greatest part of my pupils. I have made
Mr. Clements a proselyte to early rising, though I cannot to
constant communion. May God prosper all your designs of doing
good in London.
“I am, Rev. and dear Sir,
“Your affectionate friend and obedient humble servant,
“J. CLAYTON.”
The lull in the opposition to the Oxford Methodists was of short
continuance. A month after the date of Mr. Clayton’s letter, Wesley had
to mourn the death of his friend Morgan, and to defend himself against
the accusation that Morgan had hastened his death by the rigorous
fasting, which he had practised at Wesley’s recommendation.[105]
Wesley’s long letter fully satisfied Morgan’s father, who expressed
himself as almost wishing to be one of the Oxford Methodists himself,
and as ready to vindicate them from any calumny or aspersion that might
be cast upon them.[106] There were others, however, of a different
mind, for a fortnight after Mr. Morgan wrote thus to Wesley, an article
appeared in _Fogg’s Weekly Journal_, to the effect that there were,
in the Oxford University, a number of persons who, in order “to live
up to the principles of Christianity had doomed themselves to absurd
and perpetual melancholy;” and that “these sons of sorrow designed
to make the whole place a monastery.” The writer continues: “These
Methodists pretend to great refinements, as well as to what regards
the speculative, as the practical part of religion; and have a very
near affinity to the Essenes among the Jews, and the Pietists in
Switzerland. The chief hinge, on which their whole scheme of religion
turns, is, that no action whatever is indifferent; and hence they
condemn several actions as bad, which are not only allowed to be
innocent, but laudable, by the rest of mankind. They avoid, as much
as possible, every object that may affect them with any pleasant or
grateful sensations. All social entertainments and diversions are
disapproved of; and, in endeavouring to avoid luxury, they not only
exclude what is convenient, but what is absolutely necessary for the
support of life; fancying, (as is thought,) that religion was designed
to contradict nature. They neglect and voluntarily afflict their
bodies, and practise several rigorous and superstitious customs, which
God never required of them. All Wednesdays and Fridays are strictly
to be kept as fasts; and blood let once a fortnight, to keep down the
carnal man. At dinner, they sigh for the time they are obliged to spend
in eating. Every morning to rise at four o’clock, is supposed a duty;
and to employ two hours a day in singing of psalms and hymns, is judged
an indispensable requisite to being a Christian. In short, they
practise everything contrary to the judgment of other persons, and
allow none to have any (religion) but those of their own sect, which is
the farthest from it.
“As these Methodists have occasioned no small stir in Oxford, so there
has not been wanting a variety of conjectures about them. Some are
apt to ascribe their gloomy and disconsolate way of life to want of
money; thus being denied the enjoyment of those pleasures they chiefly
desire, they are weighed down by an habitual sorrow; and it is certain
that their founder took formerly no small liberty in indulging his
appetites. Others tax their characters with hypocrisy, and suppose them
to use religion only as a veil to vice; and, indeed, if we should give
credit to the several tales related of them, their greatest friends
would be ashamed to stand in their defence. Others judge that their way
of life is owing to enthusiasm, madness, and superstitious scruples.
Among their own party, they pass for religious persons, and men of
extraordinary parts; but they have the misfortune to be taken by all,
who have ever been in their company, for madmen and fools.”
Such are some of the scandalous charges contained in this precious
epistolary morsel,—we believe the first attack ever made upon the
Methodists in the public prints. The entire letter is before us; but
only a part of it is quoted,—first because there is a great amount of
empty and ungrammatical verbiage unworthy of being admitted into what
was, at that period, perhaps the most literary and respectable paper
published—_Fogg’s Weekly Journal_; and secondly because there is one
paragraph, which, despite its verbosity, is so loathsomely impure, that
it would be a sin against both God and man to reproduce it.
The letter was published in _Fogg’s Journal_, on December 9th, 1732;
and, within two months after, it was answered in an octavo pamphlet of
thirty pages, entitled, “The Oxford Methodists: Being some account of a
society of young gentlemen in that city, so denominated; setting forth
their rise, views, and designs; in a letter from a gent, near Oxford,
to his friend in London. Printed for J. Roberts, price 6_d._” The
second edition of this first defence of Methodism, published in 1738
“with very great alterations and improvements,” is that from which the
following extracts are taken.
The writer says that he knew nothing of the Methodists till his friend
requested him to make inquiry concerning them. On doing this, he was
first of all told that they were “miserable enthusiasts and zealots;”
and he found that almost every one, with whom he conversed, had a
prejudice against them; and yet, notwithstanding this, he was unable
to learn that the least slur had been cast upon their moral behaviour,
except that “they pretended to be more pious than their neighbours,”
and that “they put a gloomy and melancholy face upon religion, and
affected greater austerities and exemplariness than the doctrines of
the gospel demanded.”
The writer continues; after he “had heard all that could be said
against them by their enemies,” he “thought it was but fair to inquire
of their friends what could be said in their favour.” He found it,
however, difficult to meet with any who would acknowledge himself to be
a friend; and hence he was obliged to seek his information from one of
the Methodists themselves. It is probable that Wesley was the Methodist
thus consulted; but, be that as it may, a full account was given of the
origin of Methodism at the end of the year 1729, and of its progress
to the present time. The writer adds: “The gentleman assured me, that
they” (the Methodists) “were so diffident of themselves, especially
when they found a spirit of contemptuous raillery stirred up against
them, that they took advice from time to time of a worthy and venerable
gentleman, a near relation of one of them, who had much knowledge and
experience of the world; and that they formed their conduct upon his
advice; and, upon the encouragement he gave them, they were determined,
at all events, to persevere in the course they had begun.”
The “near relation,” referred to in this extract, was Wesley’s father;
and the extract is of vast importance as tending to confirm the
opinion that the “father of the Wesleys”—the noble-hearted rector of
Epworth—deserves more credit for the organisation and establishment
of Oxford Methodism than the Methodists and the Church have ever yet
awarded him. Several of his “encouraging epistles” were shown to the
inquiring writer of the pamphlet before us, and gave him “a high
notion of the piety and good sense of the venerable author.” “How
happy,” he writes, “are these sacramentarians, these Methodists, these
enthusiasts, as their enemies call them, to have so very excellent a
director! and how much are they to be commended for submitting their
conduct and designs to so pious and experienced a judge.”
He then proceeds: “There are three points to which these gentlemen
think themselves obliged to adhere—1. That of visiting and relieving
the prisoners and the sick, and giving away Bibles, Common-Prayer
Books, and the ‘Whole Duty of Man’; and of explaining the catechism to
the children of poor families, and of dropping a shilling or so to such
families where they deem it needful. 2. That of weekly communion. 3.
That of observing strictly the fasts of the Church, which has caused
some to call them ‘Supererogation Men.’”
After this, the writer proceeds to notice the accusations contained
in the letter published in _Fogg’s Weekly Journal_, and, as far as
necessary, replies to them.
Such is an outline of the first defence of Methodism ever published.
Wesley, in 1733, composed two sermons full of a great doctrine, which
had well-nigh been forgotten—the absolute need of the influences of
the Holy Ghost to convert the soul. It is a gross mistake to imagine
that this, with its cognate truths, was not discovered and embraced by
Wesley until his meeting with Peter Bohler in 1738. Take the following
extracts from the first of the sermons above mentioned, and which was
preached at St. Mary’s, Oxford, before the university, on January 1st,
1733.[107]
“The circumcision of the heart is that habitual disposition of soul,
which, in the sacred writings, is termed holiness; and which directly
implies the being cleansed from sin, from all filthiness both of flesh
and spirit; and, by consequence, the being endued with those virtues
which were also in Christ Jesus; the being so renewed in the image of
our mind, as to be perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect.”
Here we have propounded, in the plainest terms, as early as the year
1733, Wesley’s famous doctrine of Christian perfection. “This sermon,”
said he, in 1765, “contained all that I now teach concerning salvation
from all sin, and loving God with an undivided heart.”[108]
In the same sermon he tells us that, “without the Spirit of God we
can do nothing but add sin to sin; it being as impossible for us even
to think a good thought without His supernatural assistance, as to
create ourselves, or to renew our whole souls in righteousness and true
holiness. He alone can quicken those who are dead unto God, and breathe
into them the breath of Christian life.”
We are further taught that this holiness of heart is to be obtained
“alone by faith, which is not only an unshaken assent to all that
God hath revealed in Scripture, but in particular to those important
truths,—‘Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners,’—‘He bare
our sins in His own body on the tree,’—‘He is the propitiation for our
sins; and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world.’”
Then follows: “Those who are thus, by faith, born of God, have also
strong consolation through hope. This is the next thing which the
circumcision of the heart implies; even the testimony of their own
spirit, with the Spirit which witnesses in their hearts, that they are
the children of God.”
Then, as if intended to answer one of the false accusations which had
appeared in _Fogg’s Weekly Journal_ only three weeks before, and to
justify one of the practices there condemned, he tells his reverend
and learned auditors that this heart religion “does not forbid us, as
some have strangely imagined, to take pleasure in anything but God;
to suppose this, is to suppose the Fountain of holiness is directly
the author of sin; since He has inseparably annexed pleasure to the
use of those creatures which are necessary to sustain the life He has
given us.” But, at the same time, “every good soldier of Christ will
not only renounce the works of darkness, but every appetite too, and
every affection, which is not subject to the law of God. Vain hope!
that a child of Adam should ever expect to see the kingdom of Christ
and of God, without striving, without agonizing first, to enter in at
the strait gate,—without a constant and continued course of general
self-denial.”
“This,” adds Wesley, “is God’s short and plain account of true religion
and virtue. Other sacrifices from us He would not; but the living
sacrifice of the heart He hath chosen. Let it be continually offered
up to God through Christ, in flames of holy love. And let no creature
be suffered to share with Him; for He is a jealous God. His throne
will He not divide with another; He will reign without a rival. Be no
design, no desire admitted there, but what has Him for its ultimate
object. This is the way wherein those children of God once walked, who,
being dead, still speak to us.”[109]
Such then were the principles held by Wesley and the Oxford Methodists,
in 1733. From these he never varied; and dark will be the day when they
are either abandoned or forgotten by his followers.
The other sermon, written in 1733, was founded upon the text, “Grieve
not the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of
redemption.” Here again we are told that the Holy Spirit “is the great
Fountain of holiness to His church. From Him flows all the grace and
virtue, by which the stains of guilt are cleansed, and we are renewed
in all holy dispositions, and again bear the image of our Creator. He
is the immediate Minister of God’s will upon earth, and transacts all
the great affairs of the church of Christ.”[110]
Precious truths are truths like these. Without them the church, no
matter how learned, rich, respectable, and ritualistic, is utterly
powerless in converting men. With them, nothing is impossible; for, in
such a case, the church has, for the accomplishment of its purposes,
not only the resources of man, but the omnipotence of God.
In the same year, 1733, Wesley issued his first printed production, “A
Collection of Forms of Prayer for every day in the Week.” These prayers
were originally intended for the use of his college pupils; but the
reader may also gather from them some of the principles and aims of the
Oxford Methodists.
They longed for the love of God to be the sole actuating power in the
use they made of their understanding, affections, senses, health, time,
and talents; that God might always be present to their minds; that they
might ever have awful thoughts of Him, and never mention His holy and
reverend name, unless on just, solemn, and devout occasions; nor even
then, without acts of adoration; and that they might glorify Him by
every thought of their hearts, every word of their tongues, and every
work of their hands, and by professing His truth, even to the death, if
it should please Him to call them to it.
They wished to be made all kindness and benignity, all goodness and
gentleness, all meekness and longsuffering; and to be filled with the
whole spirit of humility, and to have it the constant, ruling habit
of their minds. They dreaded applause, and desired never to speak a
word that might tend to their own praise, unless the good of others
required it. They endeavoured to abstain from all pleasures which did
not prepare them for taking pleasure in God.
They acted upon the principle of excluding none from their charity,
who were the objects of God’s mercy. They embraced all occasions to
assist the needy, to protect the oppressed, to instruct the ignorant,
to confirm the wavering, to exhort the good, and to reprove the wicked.
They wished to look upon the failings of their neighbours as if they
were their own; and never revealed them but when charity required, and
then with tenderness and compassion.
Space forbids further reference to these prayers. Suffice it to say
that, for reverential feeling, simplicity and beauty of expression,
scriptural sentiment, Christian benevolence, and earnest longings for
the highest holiness; for adoration, penitence, deprecation, petition,
thanksgiving, and intercession,—they have no superiors, perhaps hardly
any equals, in the English language. They are little known, and less
used; but would be of great service to thousands of Methodists, if
sometimes employed as an aid in their private devotions.
In January, 1733, Wesley set out on horseback for Epworth, to see his
father, whose health was failing; and, on his way, had a narrow escape,
by his horse falling over a bridge, not far from Daventry. His parents
suggested to him the propriety of using means to obtain the Epworth
living; but he was deterred from acquiescing in the proposal, by a
conviction that, “if he could stand his ground at Oxford, and approve
himself a faithful minister of Christ, through evil report and good
report, there was no place under heaven where he was so likely to make
improvement in every good work.”[111]
In May, he again went to Epworth, visiting, on the way, his friend
Clayton, at Manchester, where he spent a sabbath, and preached thrice,
in three different churches. On his return to Oxford, in June, he
found the ill effects of his absence; for three of his own pupils and
the whole of Mr. Clayton’s had abandoned the Methodists; and, instead
of finding seven-and-twenty communicants at St. Mary’s, he now found
not more than five. His friends were deserting him, and his enemies
triumphing over him; but, in the midst of all, he stood unmoved. “My
friends,” says he, “were either trifling or serious: if triflers, fare
them well; a noble escape: if serious, those who are more serious are
left, whom the others would rather have opposed than forwarded in the
service they have done, and still do, us. As for reputation, though
it be a glorious instrument of advancing our Master’s service, yet
there is a better than that—a clean heart, a single eye, a soul full
of God.”[112] “The thing that gives offence here is the being singular
with regard to time, expense, and company. Ill men say all manner of
evil of me, and good men believe them. There is a way, and there is
but one, of making my peace. God forbid I should ever take it. I have
as many pupils as I need, and as many friends; when more are better
for me, I shall have more. If I have no more pupils after these are
gone from me, I shall then be glad of a curacy near you; if I have, I
shall take it as a signal to remain here. What I do is this; when I am
entrusted with a person who is first to understand and practise, and
then to teach, the law of Christ, I endeavour to show him what that
law is. When he appears seriously sensible of this, I propose to him
the means God hath commanded him to use, in order to that end; and a
week, or a month, or a year after, as the state of his soul seems to
require it, the several prudential means recommended by wise and good
men. Only two rules it is my principle to observe in all cases; first,
to begin, continue, and end all my advices in the spirit of meekness;
and secondly, to add to meekness long suffering; in pursuance of a rule
which I fixed long since, never to give up any one till I have tried
him at least ten years.”[113]
These are significant facts. Methodism at Oxford was organised in
1729. Two years after, while Wesley and his brother were at Epworth,
it dwindled into almost nothing; and two years later still, when it
had increased to seven-and-twenty communicants, during another brief
Epworth visit it was almost utterly destroyed, for the seven-and-twenty
were reduced to five. All this goes to show that Wesley was the soul of
this mighty movement, and that without him it would have been dissolved
and become extinct.
It is far from certain that the seven-and-twenty communicants, just
mentioned, were all collegians. On the contrary, there is strong
presumptive proof that they were not; and, indeed, that some of them
were ladies. One of them seems to have been Miss Potter, probably the
bishop’s daughter, concerning whom Clayton writes to Wesley, in a
letter dated “Manchester, September 10, 1733,” as follows:—
“Poor Miss Potter! I wonder not that she is fallen. Where
humility is not the foundation, the superstructure cannot be
good. And yet I am sorry to hear the tidings of her, especially
that she has a great man for her confessor, who dissuades her
from constant communion. I am sure she has great occasion to
use all the means of grace which Providence provides for her.
I would not persuade you to leave off reading with her. Who
knows whether you may not raise her again to the eminence
from which she has fallen? At least, though she neglect the
weightier matters of the law, yet keep up in her that reverend
respect she bears it, even by the ‘tithing of mint and anise
and cummin.’”[114]
Whether there were other ladies besides this one, included in the
seven-and-twenty Methodist communicants, it is impossible to say; but
none were included in the five. The five poor Methodists remaining,
not reckoning Wesley himself, nor Morgan who was dead, nor Clayton who
was removed to Manchester, nor Whitelamb who was gone to Wroote, were
doubtless Charles Wesley, Benjamin Ingham[115] and James Hervey (both
of whom joined them in 1733), John Gambold, and, probably, Charles
Kinchin. All honour to such names! They kept the fire burning when it
was in danger of going out. Wesley was their master spirit; but they
were faithful and willing co-workers.
Mr. Clayton, in the letter just quoted, refers to confession and to
constant communion. Did the Oxford Methodists recommend confession?
It would seem they did; hence the following extract from a long,
unpublished letter, written at this period, and addressed to Wesley, by
his sister Emily:—
“To lay open the state of my soul to you, or any of our clergy,
is what I have no inclination to at present; and, I believe, I
never shall. I shall not put my conscience under the direction
of mortal man, frail as myself. To my own master I stand or
fall. Nay, I scruple not to say, that all such desire in you,
or any other ecclesiastic, seems to me like church tyranny, and
assuming to yourselves a dominion over your fellow-creatures,
which was never designed you by God.... I farther own that I do
not hold frequent communion necessary to salvation, nor a means
of Christian perfection. But do not mistake my meaning; I only
think communing every Sunday, or very frequently, lessens our
veneration for that sacred ordinance, and, consequently, our
profiting by it.”
Two other extracts from letters, belonging to this period, may be
useful as illustrative of Oxford Methodism. In the month of July, 1733,
Mr. Clayton, then resident in Manchester, wrote to Wesley as follows:—
“As to your question about Saturday, I can only answer it by
giving an account of how I spend the day. I do not look upon
it as a preparation for Sunday, but as a festival itself;
and, therefore, I have continued festival prayer, for the
three primitive hours, and for morning and evening, from the
Apostolical Constitutions, which, I think, I communicated
to you whilst I was at Oxford. I look upon Friday as my
preparation for the celebration of both the sabbath and the
Lord’s day; the first of which I observe much like a common
saint’s day, or as one of the inferior holidays of the Church.
I have, I bless God! generally contrived to have the eucharist
celebrated on Saturdays as well as other holidays, for the use
of myself and the sick people whom I visit.
“I was at Dr. Deacon’s when your letter came to hand, and we
had a deal of talk about your scheme of avowing yourselves as
a society, and fixing upon a set of rules. The Doctor seemed
to think you had better let it alone; for to what end would
it serve? It would be no additional tie upon yourselves; and
perhaps would be a snare for the consciences of those weak
brethren who might chance to come among you. Observing the
stations” [the fast on Wednesdays and Fridays] “and weekly
communion are duties which stand upon a much higher footing
than a rule of society; and they who can set aside the command
of God and the authority of the Church will hardly, I doubt, be
tied by the rules of a private society.
“As to the mixture” [of water with sacramental wine] “Mr.
Colley told me it was constantly used at Christ Church.
However, if you have reason to doubt it, I would have you
inquire; but I cannot think the want of it a reason for not
communicating. If I could receive where the mixture was used,
I would; and, therefore, I used to prefer the Castle to Christ
Church; but if not I should not think myself any further
concerned in the matter than as it might be in my power to get
it restored.”[116]
Again, in another letter, dated “Manchester, September 10, 1733,” Mr.
Clayton writes:—
“How should I direct my instructor in the school of Christ!
However, I must be free to tell you my sentiments of what
you inquire about. On Wednesdays and Fridays I have, for
some time past, used the Office for Passion Week, out of
Spinckes’s Devotions, and bless God for it. I have found it
very useful to excite in me that love of God, and that sorrow
for having offended Him, which make up the first main branch
of repentance. Refer your last question to Mr. Law; I dare not
give directions for spending that time which I consume in bed,
nor teach you, who rise at four, when I indulge myself in sleep
till five.”[117]
These are important letters, not only as exhibiting the religious
earnestness of Wesley and his friends, but as affording a glimpse
of the high churchism of the Oxford Methodists. Wesley seriously
contemplated the formation of a society, who should strictly observe
saint days, holidays, and Saturdays, besides other ritualistic
practices, down to superstitious admixture of sacramental wine with
water. In truth, these were ardent spirits. Visiting prisons, and
teaching children; rising at five every morning; praying for each
other and for their friends; and observing the weekly communion, are
things which all will regard with commendation: but the other were
silly, popish practices, not only unauthorised and useless, but too
much resembling the pernicious nonsense of the high church party of
the present day to receive the approval of those who have learned to
be thankful for the inestimable blessings of the great Protestant
reformation.
The health of Wesley’s father was now extremely feeble; and it became
an anxiously discussed family question whether Wesley should be his
father’s successor. Samuel was first urged to use means to obtain
the next presentation of the Epworth rectory; but he positively
declined doing so, and directed his father’s attention to John. The
correspondence on this subject extends over the whole of the year
1734. The Epworth living was valuable, as may be judged by the fact
that, though then worth only £200 per annum, it is now, through the
relative changes that have taken place in the value of money and the
price of food, worth near £1000.[118] The dying rector had been at
great expense in improving the parsonage and its premises. Here he had
diligently and faithfully laboured as an earnest parish minister for
nearly forty successive years. Here most of his nineteen children had
been born. Here he was about to die himself; and here he was anxious
that his wife should die. John was pressed to secure the living, and
thereby secure a continuance of the old homestead for his mother and
his unmarried sisters. His brother Samuel allowed that at Oxford he
would have “more friends, more freedom from care, and more Divine
ordinances than he could have elsewhere;” but then at Oxford he was
“despised,” and therefore could “do no good there.” To this John
answered: “1. A Christian will be despised anywhere. 2. No one is a
Christian till he is despised. 3. His being despised will not hinder
his doing good, but much further it, by making him a better Christian.
4. Another can supply my place at Epworth better than at Oxford, and
the good done here is of a far more diffusive nature; inasmuch as it is
a more extensive benefit to sweeten the fountain than to do the same to
particular streams.”[119]
In writing to his father, he put the case thus: “The question is not
whether I could do more good to others there or here; but whether
I could do more good to myself: seeing wherever I can be most holy
myself, there I can most promote holiness in others. But I can improve
myself more at Oxford than at any other place,” etc.
To this his father properly replied that our main consideration in
choosing a course of life “is not dear self, but the glory of God, and
the different degrees of promoting it.”[120]
John agreed to this; but argued that “that course of life tends most
to the glory of God, wherein we can most promote holiness in ourselves
and others;” and that at Oxford he had several advantages for doing
this which were almost peculiar to the place. 1. He could always have
at hand half-a-dozen friends, nearly of his own judgment, and engaged
in the same studies; persons who had wholly and absolutely devoted
themselves to God, and who denied themselves and took up their cross
daily. 2. He could not only have as much, but as little company as
he pleased; for he had no trifling visitors, except about an hour in
a month, when he invited some of the fellows to breakfast. 3. He was
entirely free from worldly cares, for his income was ready for him on
stated days, and all he had to do was to count it and carry it home.
4. He had the privilege of public prayer twice a day, and of weekly
communion. 5. At Oxford there was room for charity in all its forms;
poor families to be relieved; children to be educated; workhouses and
prisons to be visited; and the schools of the prophets, where tender
minds were to be formed and strengthened. 6. He had the joint advice
of many friends in any difficulty that might arise; the good bishop
and vice-chancellor to supply his want of experience; and a fund,
which this year would amount to near £80, to supply the bodily wants
of the poor, and thereby prepare their souls to receive instruction.
In addition to all this, he alleges that the care of two thousand
souls at Epworth would crush him; and that, were he to abandon all
his Oxford advantages, he would not be able to stand his ground for a
single month against intemperance in sleeping, eating, and drinking;
against irregularity in study; against a general lukewarmness in
his affections, and remissness in his actions; against softness and
self-indulgence, directly opposite to that discipline and hardship
which become a soldier of Jesus Christ.[121]
The letter from which the above is taken is dated December 10, 1734.
His brother Samuel wrote a fortnight later, saying that his father
had told him John was unalterably resolved not to accept the living,
even if he could get it. Samuel protests against the decision, and
says that in Wesley’s arguments he can see his love to himself, but he
cannot see his love to his neighbour. Besides, he was not at liberty
to resolve against undertaking a cure of souls, having been solemnly
engaged to do this at his ordination. Charles might be silly enough to
vow he would not depart from Oxford, and thereby avoid orders; but the
faith of John was already plighted to the contrary; and the idea scarce
ever entered the head of any Christian but his own, that a parish
priest cannot attain to the highest perfection possible on this side
heaven.[122]
Wesley’s reasons and arguments were doubtless well intended; but they
were feeble, sophistical, and inconclusive. It is easy to imagine that
they would be painful both to his father and family; and it seems
impossible to excuse them except upon the ground that God had elected
him for another kind of work, and that by an unseen power he was
prevented realising his father’s wishes. Wesley’s father died April
25, 1735, and the Epworth living passed into other hands; but before
proceeding farther, we give the last letter Wesley received from him.
The venerable rector was now anxiously employed in the publication of
his grand folio volume of 600 pages, “_Dissertationes in Librum Jobi_,”
and had requested his son to assist him with the engravings for it.
“EPWORTH, _January 21, 1735_.
“DEAR SON,—About an hour since, your letter of the 13th
instant came to hand, and indeed not before I had need of it,
especially when I considered how extremely weak I was, and
found myself grow sensibly weaker every day. My people have
been very kind to me during my long illness, which has brought
me now so low that I cannot walk half-a-dozen times about my
chamber; but then I am often refreshed with seeing Mr. Hale’s
noble present of books to me lying in my window, near half of
which I have already spread in my parish, some to those who
came to see me, and to others I have sent them, and with very
good effect, many having read them, and some lent them to
others. A spirit of Christianity, beyond what I have hitherto
known, seems to be raised among them; one proof of which is in
the greater frequency of the sacraments. Nor is Mr. Whitelamb
wanting in any part of his duty, though I am not able to preach
or give the sacrament to them myself, except one day, and that
with his assistance.
“And now let us go on to matter of less moment, though I hope
not quite frivolous. Had I had all Mr. Rivington’s advice at
first, all my plates and cuts would have been done before
this, and that with less expense, and to greater perfection.
The agreement you have made with the engraver seems to be
very reasonable. Whether the cuts are to be done on sheets
or half sheets I leave to you and Mr. Rivington; but I would
have leviathan’s rival, that is, the whale, as well as the
crocodile. As for the elephant, he is so common that he need
not be added. I am glad the tombs want no more than retouching,
and especially that Mr. Garden is not ill pleased with them.
‘Job in Adversity’ I leave to your direction, as likewise the
frontispiece, which Mr. Virtue is doing, who now duns me pretty
hard for money for it; and I have writ him lately to send me
word what he will charge for the whole when it is finished,
and what he desires in part, with a promise to send him some
money by the first opportunity I have of doing it. As for poor
Pentapolis, it must even shift as it can, though my heart is
pretty much in it, and I have taken a little pains about it.
This I must likewise leave with you; but cannot you send me a
copy of the drawings before they are engraven, that I may weigh
them, as is proper? As for Job’s horse, I cannot for my life
imagine how I shall get him into my Lord Oxford’s stable,—I
mean, get liberty to inscribe it to him, unless you yourself
would speak to my Lord Duplin about it. Have you yet found any
news of ‘_De Morbo Jobi_,’ which has been so long incognito?
Or, is there anything else that you find wanting? I heartily
commend you and your brother to God, and am this evening
Your affectionate father,
SAMUEL WESLEY.”[123]
Wesley endorsed this characteristic letter from his father with the
words, “The last I received from him.” Thirteen weeks afterwards, the
venerable man rested from his cares and earthly labours.
On June 11, 1734, Wesley preached before the university what his
brother Charles calls “his Jacobite sermon,” for which he was “much
mauled and threatened.” He was prudent enough, however, before
preaching it, to get the vice-chancellor to read and approve of it,
and hence was able to set “Wadham, Merton, Exeter, and Christ Church”
objectors at defiance.
He then set out for Epworth, accompanied by Westley Hall, who proposed
marriage to his sister Keziah, greatly to the satisfaction of all the
parties concerned, except Hall’s own mother. On his return to Oxford,
he spent some time in London, chiefly in consulting Mr. Law about one
of his pupils, referred to in Wesley’s Works, vol. xii., p. 46; but
also partly in putting through the press his father’s “Dissertations on
the Book of Job.”[124]
About the same period, he began the practice of reading as he rode on
horseback,—a practice he continued nearly forty years. He also made
frequent excursions to different parts of the country, often on foot;
and, during the year, walked more than a thousand miles, constantly
preaching on the sabbath, and already acting the part of an itinerant.
His walking, preaching, reading, studying, visiting, and fasting
began to affect his health; he lost his strength, and frequently spat
blood.[125] On the 16th of July, while asleep in bed, he had such an
attack of bleeding as led him to exclaim: “O God, prepare me for Thy
coming, and then come when Thou wilt!” His friends became alarmed;
and his mother wrote letters blaming him for neglecting his health. A
physician was called in, his advice adopted, and gradually the well
worn devotee regained his lost vigour.[126]
Though Wesley’s letter to his father, dated December 10, 1734, seemed
to decide the question respecting his seeking to obtain the Epworth
living, his brother Samuel, during the correspondence arising out
of it, started an idea which, ghost like, haunted Wesley for months
afterwards, and which, we incline to think, had considerable influence
in inducing him to change his views, and ultimately to go to Georgia.
Samuel, on Christmas-day, 1734, wrote as follows:—“You are not at
liberty to resolve against undertaking a cure of souls. You are
solemnly engaged to do it before God, and His high-priest, and His
Church. Are you not ordained? Did you not deliberately and openly
promise to instruct, to teach, to admonish, to exhort those committed
to your charge? Did you equivocate then with so vile a reservation, as
to purpose in your heart that you would never have a charge? It is not
a college, it is not an university; it is the _order of the Church_,
according to which you were called.”[127]
This was touching Wesley in a tender place. On conscientious grounds,
he had already refused to apply for the Epworth living; and yet here
his brother Samuel maintains that on conscientious grounds, he is bound
not to bury himself at Oxford, but to undertake a cure of souls, either
at Epworth or somewhere else. His faith is plighted. Before God and His
Church he has sworn to be, not a tutor, but a minister of Christ. What
was the effect of this? In December, 1734, Wesley refused to apply for
his father’s living; and yet, ten months afterwards, he left Oxford and
set sail to Georgia. What occurred during this brief interval?
In January, 1735, Wesley wrote to Samuel, saying:—“I do not, nor ever
did, resolve against undertaking a cure of souls. There are four
cures belonging to our college, and consistent with a fellowship. I
do not know but I may take one of them at Michaelmas. Not that I am
clearly assured that I should be false to my engagement, were I only to
instruct and exhort the pupils committed to my charge. But of that I
should think more. I desire your full thoughts upon the whole, as well
as your prayers.”[128]
To this Samuel replied, February 8, 1735:—“_The order of the Church_
stakes you down, and the more you struggle you will be held the faster.
If there be such a thing as truth, I insist upon it, you must, when
opportunity offers, either perform that promise, or repent of it.”[129]
In answer, five days afterwards, John remarked:—“Your last argument is
either _ignoratio elenchi_, or implies these two propositions: 1. ‘You
resolve against any parochial cure of souls.’ 2. ‘The priest who does
not undertake the first parochial cure that offers is perjured.’ Let us
add a third: ‘The tutor who, being in orders, never accepts of a parish
is perjured.’ And then I deny all three.”[130]
Samuel’s reply was as follows:—“An ordained tutor, who accepts not a
cure, is perjured; alter the term into ‘who resolves not to accept,’
and I will maintain it, unless you can prove either of these two: (1)
there is no such obligation at taking orders; (2) this obligation is
dispensed with. Both which I utterly deny.”[131]
On the 4th of March John replied:—“I had rather dispute with you,
if I must dispute, than with any man living; because it may be done
with so little expense of time and words. You think I engaged myself
at my ordination to undertake the cure of a parish. I think I did
not. However, I own I am not the proper judge of the oath I then
took; accordingly, the post after I received yours, I referred it to
‘the high-priest of God,’ before whom I contracted that engagement,
proposing this single question to him,—Whether I had, at my ordination,
engaged myself to undertake the cure of a parish or no. His answer runs
in these words: ‘It doth not seem to me that, at your ordination, you
engaged yourself to undertake the cure of any parish, provided you can,
as a clergyman, better serve God and His Church in your present or some
other station.’ Now, that I can, as a clergyman, better serve God and
His Church in my present station, I have all reasonable evidence.”[132]
Wesley’s father died within two months after this; and yet, during
this short interval, Wesley seems to have been induced to lay aside
his scruples and to apply for the Epworth living. He applied, but he
was not successful. This is a bold assertion to be made in the teeth
of statements directly opposite; statements made and repeated and
re-repeated, without dispute, for more than the last seventy years: but
before the reader rejects it, let him ponder the significance of the
following letter, written by Wesley’s friend, Broughton, and published,
for the first time, in the _Wesleyan Times_, of October 28, 1861:—
“LONDON, _April 15, 1735_.
“REV. AND DEAR SIR,—The same evening I received the favour of
yours, I waited on St. John, promising myself a kind reception.
He rejoiced with me to hear that your father was yet alive; but
did not close readily with me in attempting what, if crowned
with success, might prove a means of making our declining
friend end his days in peace. What shall we say for so sudden,
so unwished for a change? Oh, put not your trust in princes!
St. John disowns his giving me any encouragement to promise
you hopes of success. Did I then write you an untruth? If his
charge be just, I did; but his words were, ‘though he had
solicited the Bishop of London and Sir Robert on behalf of
another, not for Epworth, yet he would be glad to serve Mr.
Wesley.’ But where is the obstacle? Why, my lord of London,
who is usually consulted by the minister of state on such
occasions, spoke some disadvantageous things of you once in
the presence of St. John. But I could not but observe to our
friend that the misrepresented strictness of life, which gave
occasion for these disadvantageous things to be spoken of you,
was so far from being an objection to your being favoured by
a Christian bishop, that I humbly hoped it would turn to your
good account, inasmuch as over exactness of behaviour was the
sign of a tender and well regulated mind. But I cannot here
help thinking, ‘_Tros Tyriusve illi nullo discrimine agetur_.’
St. John thinks the Bishop of Oxford can be your friend. Yes,
I told him, my lord might give you a favourable word, if
asked; but I did not think the interest in his lordship was
so prevalent as to make him bestir himself on your behalf.
However, if you judge it proper to write to the bishop, I will
wait upon him, and do the best I can to serve my dear friend.
“Could your father’s book be presented to the queen soon? It
might do good. Do you know any great man about the court? The
king is not so difficult (I hope), if one could get a hearty
friend to espouse you. My interest in the speaker is not
powerful enough to bring about so desired a work; yet if there
was any other great man to befriend you, a serviceable hint
might be dropped. I doubt not but our good and loving God will
order this and everything else for your great and best good.
This is the wish and prayer of, dear sir,
“Yours most sincerely,
“J. BROUGHTON.”
Broughton was now curate at the Tower, in London.[133] Henry St.
John, Viscount Bolingbroke, was a politician of great ability and
power. Sir Robert Walpole was prime minister. The Bishop of London was
the celebrated Edmund Gibson. The Epworth living was a gift of the
crown. Bear these facts in mind, and the above epistle will be easily
interpreted.
Wesley’s objections to leave Oxford being overcome, probably by the
hard facts and logic of his brother Samuel, he took steps to become his
father’s successor. Broughton, who was evidently a man of influence
and position, was employed to secure the help of Bolingbroke; and
Bolingbroke had promised to use his endeavours to serve Wesley; but,
on being pressed to fulfil his promise, shrank from doing so, on the
ground that he had heard Gibson speak disparagingly of Wesley in
Walpole’s presence; and, as the next presentation of the Epworth living
was, _ipso facto_, at the disposal of these two dignitaries, it was
almost useless to bring before them Wesley’s wish.
Broughton suggests two other steps to be taken, which might be of
service in securing the living: (1) that the good services of the
Bishop of Oxford be solicited; and (2) that the dying rector’s
“Dissertations on the Book of Job,” dedicated to Queen Caroline, might
be presented to her majesty as soon as possible. To adopt the second of
these suggestions was impracticable, as the work was only in the course
of being printed, and the first opportunity of presenting a copy to the
queen did not occur until six months after the rector’s death. Whether
the first was carried out we have no means of knowing.
The reader will excuse these lengthy observations, on the ground
that they help to clear up what has always been a somewhat painfully
mysterious chapter in Wesley’s history. It is not true that he could
not be induced to apply for his father’s living. Indirectly, at least,
he did apply, but failed; and, remembering this, the wonder is not so
great that a few months afterwards he embarked for Georgia.[134]
Little more remains to be said before accompanying Wesley on his
mission.
It was in the midst of this correspondence respecting the Epworth
rectory, that George Whitefield was introduced to Wesley’s
acquaintance, and became one of the Oxford Methodists.[135] Three years
before, Whitefield had been admitted a servitor of Pembroke College,
and had begun to pray and sing psalms five times every day. He longed
to be acquainted with the Methodists, and often watched them passing,
through ridiculing crowds, to receive the sacrament at St. Mary’s; but
he was a poor youth, the servitor of other students, and shrunk from
obtruding himself upon their notice. At length, a woman, in one of
the workhouses, attempted to cut her throat; and Whitefield sent an
apple-seller, attached to Pembroke College, to inform Charles Wesley
of her condition; and this led Charles to invite him to breakfast
next morning. He was now introduced to the rest of the Methodists,
and adopted all their rules. The master of his college threatened to
expel him. Some of the students shot at him their shafts of ridicule;
others threw dirt at him; and others took away their pay from him.
Being in great distress about his soul, he lay whole days prostrate
on the ground, in silent or vocal prayer; he chose the worst sort of
food; he fasted twice a week; he wore woollen gloves, a patched gown,
and dirty shoes; and, as a penitent, thought it unbecoming to have his
hair powdered. Like all his brother Methodists, he observed Lent with
the greatest severity, eating no flesh during the six weeks, except
on Saturdays and Sundays. On the other days, his only food was coarse
bread, and sage tea without sugar. Abstinence and inward conflicts
brought on illness; but, after about seven weeks, he was enabled
to lay hold on Christ by a living faith, was filled with peace and
joy, and became probably by far the most happy member of the Oxford
brotherhood.[136]
Mention has been already made of the first of Wesley’s
publications,—his “Forms of Prayer,” printed in 1733. In 1735 he issued
three others.
First, “A Sermon on the Trouble and Rest of Good Men, preached at St.
Mary’s, Oxford, on Sunday, September 21st, and published at the request
of several of the hearers.” London: C. Rivington. 1735. This sermon,
in two respects, is remarkable; (1) for its un-Wesleyan theology; (2)
for its boldly bearding Methodist persecutors in their head-quarters.
The preacher tells his hearers that “perfect holiness is not found
on earth; but death will destroy, at once, the whole body of sin,
and therewith its companion—pain.” Two years before, in his sermon
on “The Circumcision of the Heart,” Wesley had given a beautiful
definition of “holiness;” but here he teaches that this holiness is not
attainable in life; not until the hour of death; a different doctrine
this to that which he afterwards embodied in his “Plain Account of
Christian Perfection.” But however much the preacher lacked theological
correctness, there was no lack of heroic daring: remembering that, for
six years past, he and his associates had been the constant butt of
collegiate scorn and ridicule, and that his present congregation, in
a great degree, consisted of those who had thought it a privilege to
make themselves witty at his expense; one cannot but admire his pluck
in telling them, face to face, that, “as at first, he that was born
after the flesh persecuted him that was born after the Spirit, even so
it is now, and so it must be, till all things are fulfilled. Despisers
were now multiplied upon the earth, who feared not the Son, neither the
Father; but blasphemed the Lord and His Anointed; either reviling the
whole of His glorious gospel, or making Him a liar as to some of the
blessed truths revealed therein. But in heaven good men are hid from
the scourge of the tongue. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the prophets
do not revile, or separate them from their company. They are no longer
despitefully used, and persecuted; neither do they groan under the hand
of the oppressor. In a word, in heaven there is no earthly or sensual,
no devilish spirit; none who do not love the Lord their God with all
their heart.”
The second of Wesley’s publications, in 1735, was “The Christian’s
Pattern; or, a Treatise of the Imitation of Christ. Written originally
in Latin by Thomas à Kempis. With a Preface containing an Account
of the Usefulness of this Treatise. Compared with the original, and
corrected throughout. By John Wesley, M.A.” London: C. Rivington. Of
this work he, at the same time, published two editions,—one in 8vo, 319
pages, with five engravings; and the other in 24mo, 344 pages, with a
frontispiece.
His third publication was a manuscript written by his father, and was
entitled, “Advice to a Young Clergyman. By a Divine of the Church of
England.” 12mo, 76 pages.
We now bid adieu to Oxford. We have seen Methodism at its
fountain-head; we must hereafter trace it, in its streams of blessing,
all the wide world over. The principles and practices of Oxford
Methodism may easily be gathered from the present chapter. Nothing has
been omitted, nothing exaggerated, and nothing altered. The system was
cradled in a storm, and more than once, even at Oxford, was in danger
of perishing. At least twice, during Wesley’s absence, it was all but
wrecked; and, from names casually mentioned, we incline to think its
permanently established converts were much less numerous than its
timid, time serving backsliders. At all events, but for the ministry of
the two Wesleys, of Whitefield, Ingham, Hervey, and Gambold, the memory
of Oxford Methodism might, without public loss, have been buried in
oblivion. As it is, no English historian can ignore it. In its results
it is one of the greatest facts in church annals. At Oxford, it was far
from perfect. It was misty, austere, gloomy, and forbidding; but it was
intensely sincere, earnest, and self denying. Its principles and its
aims may substantially be summed up in the words of Wesley himself,
written forty years afterwards:—
“Two young men, without a name, without friends, without either power
or fortune, set out from college with principles totally different
from those of the common people, to oppose all the world, learned and
unlearned; and to combat popular prejudices of every kind. Their first
principle directly attacked all the wickedness; their second, all
the bigotry in the world. Thus they attempted a reformation, not of
opinions (feathers, trifles not worth naming), but of men’s tempers and
lives; of vice in every kind; of everything contrary to justice, mercy,
or truth. And for this it was, that they carried their lives in their
hands; and that both the great vulgar and the small looked upon them as
mad dogs, and treated them as such.”[137]
Let us follow them.