answered by these services, I have here no concern with them. I know
that it is sometimes said that the attendance at chapel is essential to
discipline; but I have never been able to understand what kind of
discipline is meant: whether it is a discipline of the body, or of the
mind, or of the heart and affections. As to the first, I am very
sensible of the advantage of early rising; but I think this end might be
attained by a much less circuitous process; and I suppose that it will
hardly be reckoned among the uses of our evening service, that it
sometimes proves a seasonable interruption to intemperate gaiety. But I
confess that the word discipline, applied to this subject, conveys to my
mind no notions which I would not wish to banish: it reminds me either
of a military parade, or of the age when we were taught to be _good_ at
church[51].’
As a remedy for the existing state of things he suggested a weekly
service, ‘which should remind the young men of that to which they have,
most of them, been accustomed at home.’ Such a service as this, he
thought, ‘would afford the best opportunity of affording instruction of
a really religious kind, which should apply itself to their situation
and prospects, and address itself to their feelings.’
Next he took the college lectures in divinity, and proceeded to show,
that, for the most part, they had no claim to be called theological.
This part of his pamphlet excited even greater dissatisfaction than the
other; and it must be admitted that it was by far the weakest part of
his case. His statements under this head were presently examined, and
completely refuted, by Mr Robert Wilson Evans, then a resident Fellow of
Trinity, who published a detailed account of the lectures on the New
Testament which he had given during the past year in his own college.
Up to this time Mr Whewell had taken no part in the controversy, because
he had felt himself unable ‘fully to agree with either of the contending
parties.’ But his position as tutor of the college whence the
denunciation of the existing system had emanated—for the system of
Trinity College was practically the system of all the other colleges in
the University also—compelled him, though evidently with the greatest
reluctance, to break silence. He argued that Thirlwall’s opinion, that
we cannot prescribe exercises or propose rewards for religion without
killing that which we fain would foster, strikes at the root of all
connexion between religion and civil institutions, such as an
Established Church and the like; that external influences have always
been recognized by Christian communities, and must have been used even
in the case of those services at home which his opponent approved.
Chapel service is nothing more than family prayers. If, therefore, we
teach our students that compulsion is destructive of all religion, shall
we not make them doubt the validity of the religion which was instilled
into their minds at home? The aim of such ordinances and safeguards is
to throw a religious character over all the business of life; to bind
religious thought upon us by the strongest of all constraints—the
constraint of habit. He admitted that all was not perfect in the chapel
services as they existed; and lamented that the task of those who wished
to make the undergraduates more devout would henceforward be harder than
it had ever been before, through their consciousness of a want of
unanimity among their instructors. A stated method is of use in religion
as it is in other studies. What would become of men under the voluntary
system? It is interesting to remark that in a subsequent pamphlet
written a few months later—in September 1834—he spoke in favour of such
a change in the Sunday service as Thirlwall had suggested. Towards the
close of his Mastership this change was effected, and a sermon was
introduced at the second of the two morning services on Sundays. We are
not aware, however, that the movement which resulted in this alteration
was regarded with any special favour by the Master[52].
Thirlwall’s pamphlet is dated May 21, 1834; Whewell’s four days later.
On the 26th the Master, Dr Wordsworth, wrote to Mr Thirlwall, calling
upon him to resign the assistant-tutorship. The words used were:
‘I trust you will find no difficulty in resigning the appointment of
assistant-tutor which I confided to you somewhat more than two years
ago. Your continuing to retain it would, I am convinced, be very
injurious to the good government, the reputation, and the prosperity of
the college in general, to the interests of Mr Whewell in particular,
and to the welfare of the young men, and of many others.’
In another passage he went further still:
‘With respect to the letter itself, I have read it with some attention,
and, I am sorry to say, with extreme pain and regret. It appears to me
of a character so out of harmony with the whole constitution and system
of the college that I find some difficulty in understanding how a person
with such sentiments can reconcile it to himself to continue a member of
a society founded and conducted on principles from which he differs so
widely.’
The Heads of Houses of that day regarded themselves as seated upon an
academic Olympus, from whose serene heights they surveyed the common
herd beneath them with a sort of contemptuous pity; and they not only
exacted, but were commonly successful in obtaining, the most precise
obedience from their subjects. In Trinity College, however, at least
since the days of Dr Bentley, the Master had usually been in the habit
of consulting the Seniors before taking any important step; but, on this
occasion, it is quite clear that the Seniors were not consulted. The
Master probably thought that as he appointed the assistant-tutors he
could also remove them. We believe, however, that even in those days the
Master usually consulted the tutors before appointing their
subordinates; and common courtesy would have suggested a similar course
of action before dismissing a distinguished scholar[53].
Thirlwall lost no time in obeying the Master’s commands, and then issued
a circular to the Fellows of the college, enclosing a copy of the
Master’s letter, in order that they might learn what was ‘the power
claimed by the Master over the persons engaged in the public instruction
of the college, and the manner in which it has been exercised;’ and,
secondly, that he might learn from them how far they agreed with the
Master as to the propriety of his continuing a member of the Society. On
this point he entreated each of them to favour him with a ‘private,
explicit, and unreserved declaration’ of his opinions. It is needless to
say that one and all desired to retain him among them; and the Master’s
conduct was condemned by a large majority. It must not, however, be
supposed that Thirlwall’s own conduct was held to be free from fault. He
was much blamed for having resigned so hastily, without consulting any
one, as it would appear, except Whewell and Perry. Moreover, many of the
Fellows, among whom was Mr Hare, condemned the Master’s action, and
censured Thirlwall’s rashness in publishing such sentiments while
holding a responsible office, with almost equal severity. This feeling
explains, as we imagine, the very slight resistance made to an act
which, under any other circumstances, would have caused an explosion.
The Fellows felt that the victim had put himself in the wrong; and that,
much as they regretted the necessity of submission, it was the only
course to be taken. Thirlwall mentions in a letter to Professor Pryme
that when he showed the Masters communication to Whewell, the latter
‘expressed great regret,’ but ‘did not intimate that there could be any
doubt as to our connexion being at an end.’
It has often been said that Whewell did not exert himself as he might
have done to avert the catastrophe. We are glad to know, as we now do
most distinctly, from a letter written by him to Professor Sedgwick[54],
full of grief at what had happened, and of apprehension at its probable
consequences, that he had done all in his power to stay the Master’s
hand. He does not say, in so many words, that the Master had consulted
him _before_ he sent the letter; but he does say that ‘the Master’s
request to him (Mr Thirlwall) to resign the tuition I entirely
disapprove of, and expressed my opinion against it to the Master as
strongly as I could.’ If Thirlwall felt some resentment against Whewell
at first—as we believe he did—the feeling soon died away, and towards
the end of September he wrote him a long letter which ended with the
following passage:
‘Besides the explanations which I desired, your letter has afforded me a
still higher satisfaction, in shewing me that I am indebted to you for
an obligation on which I shall always reflect with pleasure and
gratitude—in the attempt which you made to avert the evil which my
imprudence had drawn upon me. And as this is the strongest proof you
could have given of the desire you felt to continue the relation in
which we stood with one another, so it encourages me to hope that I may
still find opportunities, before I leave this place, of co-operating
with you, though in a different form, for the like ends. But at all
events I shall never cease to retain that esteem and regard with which I
now remain yours most truly,
C. THIRLWALL[55].’
In reviewing the whole controversy at a distance of more than half a
century, with, we must admit, a strong bias in Thirlwall’s favour, it is
impossible not to admit that he had made a mistake. In all questions of
college management it is most important that the authorities should
appear, at any rate, to be unanimous; and the words ‘my imprudence,’
which occur in the passage quoted above from his letter to Whewell,
indicate that by that time he had begun to take the same view himself.
It is easy to see how he had been drawn into an opposite course. He had
never considered that he had anything to do with the chapel discipline;
he had agreed to attend himself, but he did not consider that such
attendance implied approval of the system. His own attendance, as we
learn from a contemporary, was something more than formal; he was rarely
absent, morning or evening; and his behaviour was remarkable for
reverence and devotion. With him, religion had nothing to do with
discipline; and it was infinitely shocking to his pure and thoughtful
mind to defile things heavenly with things earthly. The far too rigorous
rules of attendance which were then in force had exasperated the
undergraduates, and their behaviour, without being absolutely profane,
was careless and irreverent. Talking was very prevalent, especially on
surplice nights, when the service is choral. Thirlwall probably knew,
from the friendly intercourse which he maintained with the younger
members of the College, what their feelings were, and determined to do
his best to get a system altered which produced such disastrous results.
It must be remembered that at that time the Act of Uniformity prevented
any shortening of the service. Whewell’s mind was a very different one.
Without being a bigot, he had a profound respect for the existing order
of things; shut his eyes to any defects it might have, even when they
were pointed out to him; and regarded attempts to subvert it, or even to
weaken it, as acts of profanity.
It will be readily conceived that these events rendered Cambridge no
pleasant place of residence for Thirlwall, deprived of his occupation as
a teacher and unsupported by any particularly strong force of liberal
opinion in the University. Yet he had the courage to make the experiment
of continuing to live in college. He went abroad for the Long Vacation
of 1834, and returned at the beginning of the October term. In a few
weeks, however, the course of his life was changed by an unexpected
event. Lord Melbourne’s first Ministry broke up, and just as Lord
Chancellor Brougham was regretting that Sedgwick and Thirlwall were the
only clergymen who had deserved well of the Liberal party for whom he
had been unable to provide, came the news of the death of a gentleman
who was both canon of Norwich and rector of Kirby Underdale, a valuable
but very secluded living in Yorkshire. He at once offered the canonry to
Sedgwick and the rectory to Thirlwall. Both offers were accepted, we
believe, without hesitation; and both appointments, though evidently
made without regard to the special fitness of the persons selected, were
thoroughly successful. Sedgwick threw himself into the duties of a
cathedral dignitary with characteristic vigour; and Thirlwall, whose
only experience of parochial work had been at Over, in Cambridgeshire, a
small village without a parsonage, of which he was vicar for a few
months in 1829, became a zealous and popular parish priest. We are told
that ‘the recollection still survives of regular services with full and
attentive congregations, including incomers from neighbouring villages;
of the frequent visits to the village school; of the extempore prayers
with his flock, of which the larger number were Dissenters; of the
assiduous attentions to the sick and poor.’ And his old friend Hare,
writing to Whewell in 1840, describes his work in his parish as
‘perfect,’ and holds up his example as ‘an encouragement’ to his
correspondent to go and do likewise[56].
Thirlwall did not revisit Cambridge until 1842, when he stayed in
Trinity College for two days during the installation of the Duke of
Northumberland as Chancellor. Such an occasion, however, does not give
much opportunity for judging of the real state of the University. He
paid a similar visit in 1847, when Prince Albert was installed. After
this he did not see Cambridge again until the spring of 1869, when he
stayed at Trinity Lodge with his old friend Dr Thompson, and on
Whitsunday, May 16, preached before the University in Great S. Mary’s
Church. He has himself recorded that he was never so much pleased with
the place since he went up as a freshman, and has given an amusing
description of a leisurely stroll round the backs of the colleges and
through part of the town[57], which, he might have added, he insisted
upon taking without a companion. Those who conversed with him on that
occasion remember that he was much struck by the changes which had taken
place in the University since he had left it; and that he observed with
pleasure the increased numbers of the undergraduates, and the movement
and activity which seemed to reign everywhere.
It was at Kirby Underdale that Thirlwall wrote the greater part of the
work on which his reputation as a scholar and a man of letters will
chiefly rest—his _History of Greece_—of which the first volume had been
published before he finally left Cambridge[58]. It is, perhaps,
fortunate for the world that he had bound himself to produce the volumes
at regular intervals[59], and that his editor, Dr Dionysius Lardner
(whom he used to call ‘Dionysius the Tyrant’), was not a man to grant
delays; for, had the conditions been easier, parochial cares and new
interests might have retarded the production of it indefinitely, or even
stopped it altogether. From the first Thirlwall had applied himself to
the work with strenuous and unremitting energy. At Cambridge he used to
work all day until half-past three o’clock in the afternoon, when he
might be seen leaving his rooms for a half-hour’s rapid walk before
dinner in Hall, then served at four o’clock; and in the country he is
said to have spent sixteen hours of the twenty-four in his study. We do
not know what was the original design of the work, as part of the
_Cabinet Cyclopædia_, but we have it on Thirlwall’s own authority that
it was ‘much narrower than that which it actually reached[60],’ and
before long it was further expanded into eight goodly octavos. The first
of these was scarcely in the hands of the public when Grote’s _History
of Greece_, published, like its predecessor, volume by volume, began to
make its appearance. It was mentioned above that Grote and Thirlwall had
been school-fellows; but, though they met not unfrequently in London
afterwards, Thirlwall knew so little of his friend’s intentions that he
had been heard to say, ‘Grote is the man who ought to write the History
of Greece.’ When it did appear, he at once welcomed it with enthusiasm.
‘High as my expectations were of it,’ he writes to Dr Schmitz, ‘it has
very much surpassed them all, and affords an earnest of something which
has never been done for the subject either in our own or any other
literature[61]’; and to Grote himself, when the publication of four
volumes had enabled him to form a maturer judgment, he not only used
stronger words of praise, but contrasted it with his own History in
terms which for generosity and sincerity can never be surpassed. After
alluding to ‘the great inferiority’ of his ‘own performance,’ he
concludes as follows: ‘I may well be satisfied with that measure of
temporary success and usefulness which has attended it, and can
unfeignedly rejoice that it will, for all highest purposes, be so
superseded[62].’ It would be beside our present purpose to attempt a
comparison of the relative merits of these two works, which, by a
curious coincidence, had been elaborated simultaneously. They have many
points of resemblance. Both originated in a desire to apply to the
history of Greece those principles of criticism which Niebuhr had
applied so successfully to the history of Rome; both were intended to
counteract the misrepresentations of Mitford; both were the result of
long and careful preparation. Grote has a decided advantage in point of
style; he writes vigorous, ‘newspaper’ English, as might be expected
from a successful pamphleteer; while Thirlwall’s periods are laboured
and somewhat wooden. Grote has infused animation into his work by being
always a partisan. We do not mean that he wilfully misrepresents facts;
he certainly does not; but he unconsciously finds ‘extenuating
circumstances’ for those with whom he sympathizes, and condemns
remorselessly those whose springs of action are alien to his own.
Thirlwall, on the contrary, holds the judicial balance with a firm hand.
In estimating character his serene intellect is never warped by
partisanship, or by a wish to present old facts under a new face; while
from his scholarship and critical power there is no appeal.
After a residence of five years at Kirby Underdale Thirlwall was
unexpectedly made Bishop of S. David’s by Lord Melbourne. Lord Houghton,
an intimate friend of both the Bishop and the Minister, has recorded
that Lord Melbourne was in the habit not merely of reading, but of
severely judging and criticising the writings of every divine whom he
thought of promoting. By some accident the translation of
Schleiermacher’s essay had fallen in his way soon after it appeared; he
had formed a high opinion of Thirlwall’s share in the work, and so far
back as 1837 had done his best to send the author to Norwich instead of
Dr Stanley. On this occasion the bishops whom the Minister consulted
regarded the orthodoxy of the views sustained in the essay as
questionable, and Thirlwall’s promotion was deferred. In 1840, however,
Lord Melbourne got his way, and the bishopric of S. David’s was offered
in due form to the Rector of Kirby Underdale. His first impulse was to
refuse; but his friends persuaded him to go to London, and at least have
an interview with Lord Melbourne. We do not vouch for the literal
accuracy of the following scene, but it is too amusing not to be
related. The time is the forenoon; the place, Lord Melbourne’s bedroom.
He is supposed to be in bed, surrounded by letters and newspapers. On
Thirlwall’s entrance he delivers the following allocution:
‘Very glad to see you; sit down, sit down. Hope you are come to say you
accept? I only wish you to understand that I don’t intend, if I know it,
to make a heterodox bishop. I don’t like heterodox bishops. As men they
may be very good anywhere else, but I think they have no business on the
bench. I take great interest,’ he continued, ‘in theological questions,
and I have read a good deal of those old fellows,’ pointing to a pile of
folio editions of the Fathers. ‘They are excellent reading, and very
amusing. Some time or other we must have a talk about them. I sent your
edition of Schleiermacher to Lambeth, and asked the Primate (Howley) to
tell me candidly what he thought of it; and look, here are his notes in
the margin. Pretty copious, you see. He does not concur in all your
opinions, but he says there is nothing heterodox in your book. Had he
objected I would not have appointed you[63].’
We should like to know how Thirlwall answered this strange defender of
the faith; but tradition is silent on the point. Before leaving,
however, the offer was accepted; and, with as little delay as possible,
the Bishop removed to his diocese and entered upon his duties.
Thirlwall’s life as a bishop did not differ much, at least in its
outward surroundings, from his life as a parish clergyman. The palace at
S. David’s having been allowed to fall to ruin, the Bishop is compelled
to live at Abergwili, a small village near Carmarthen, distant nearly
fifty miles from his cathedral. Most persons would have regretted the
isolation of such a position, but to Thirlwall the enforced solitude of
Abergwili was thoroughly congenial. There he could read, as he delighted
to do, ‘literally from morning till night.’ Except in summer time he
rarely quitted ‘Chaos,’ as he called his library, where books lined the
walls and shared with papers and letters the tables, chairs, and floor.
It is curious that a man with so orderly a mind should have had such
disorderly habits. His letters are full of references to lost papers;
and when offers to arrange his drawers were made he would answer
regretfully, ‘I can find nothing in them now, but if they were set to
rights for me I should certainly find nothing then.’ Books accompanied
him to his meals; and when he went out for a walk or a drive he read
steadily most of the time. He does not seem to have had any favourite
authors; he read eagerly new books in all languages and on all subjects.
We believe that he took no notes of what he read; but his singularly
powerful memory enabled him to seize all that he wanted, and, as may be
seen from the collection of his writings which is now before us, to
retain it until required for use. His charges, essays, and serious
correspondence reveal his mastery of theological literature, both past
and present; the charming _Letters to a Friend_ give us very pleasant
glimpses of the gentler side of his character. We find from them that he
took a keen interest in the general literature of England and the
Continent, whether in philosophy, science, history, biography, fiction,
poetry; and, as he and his young correspondent exchanged their
sentiments without restraint, we can enjoy to the full his criticisms,
now serious, now playful, on authors and their productions, his generous
appreciation of all that is noble in life or art. We must find room for
one passage on George Eliot’s last story, written in 1872, when he was
seventy-five years old.
‘I suppose you cannot have read _Middlemarch_, as you say nothing about
it. It stands quite alone. As one only just moistens one’s lips with an
exquisite liqueur to keep the taste as long as possible in one’s mouth,
I never read more than a single chapter of _Middlemarch_ in the evening,
dreading to come to the last, when I must wait two months for a renewal
of the pleasure. The depth of humour has certainly never been surpassed
in English literature. If there is ever a shade too much learning that
is Lewes’s fault[64].’