CHAPTER IX.

THE EVANGELICAL REVIVAL.

(1) THE METHODIST MOVEMENT.

The middle part of the eighteenth century presents a somewhat curious

spectacle to the student of Church history. From one point of view the

Church of England seemed to be signally successful; from another,

signally unsuccessful. Intellectually her work was a great triumph,

morally and spiritually it was a great failure. She passed not only

unscathed, but with greatly increased strength, through a serious

crisis. She crushed most effectually an attack which, if not really very

formidable or very systematic, was at any rate very noisy and very

violent; and her success was at least as much due to the strength of her

friends as to the weakness of her foes. So completely did she beat her

assailants out of the field that for some time they were obliged to make

their assaults under a masked battery in order to obtain a popular

hearing at all. It should never be forgotten that the period in which

the Church sank to her nadir in one sense was also the period in which

she almost reached her zenith in another sense. The intellectual giants

who flourished in the reigns of the first two Georges cleared the way

for that revival which is the subject of these pages. It was in

consequence of the successful results of their efforts that the ground

was opened to the heart-stirring preachers and disinterested workers who

gave practical effect to the truths which had been so ably vindicated.

It was unfortunate that there should ever have been any antagonism

between men who were really workers in the same great cause. Neither

could have done the other's part of the work. Warburton could have no

more moved the hearts of living masses to their inmost depths, as

Whitefield did, than Whitefield could have written the 'Divine

Legation.' Butler could no more have carried on the great crusade

against sin and Satan which Wesley did, than Wesley could have written

the 'Analogy.' But without such work as Wesley and Whitefield did,

Butler's and Warburton's would have been comparatively inefficacious;

and without such work as Butler and Warburton did, Wesley's and

Whitefield's work would have been, humanly speaking, impossible.

The truths of Christianity required not only to be defended, but to be

applied to the heart and life; and this was the special work of what has

been called, for want of a better term, 'the Evangelical school.' The

term is not altogether a satisfactory one, because it seems to imply

that this school alone held the distinctive doctrines of Christianity.

But this was by no means the case. All the great features of that system

which is summed up in the term 'the Gospel' may be plainly recognised in

the writings of those theologians who belonged to a different and in

some respects a violently antagonistic school of thought. The fall of

man, his redemption by Christ, his sanctification by the Holy Spirit,

his absolute need of God's grace both preventing and following

him--these are doctrines which an unprejudiced reader will find as

clearly enunciated in the writings of Waterland, and Butler, and

Warburton as by those who are called _par excellence_ Evangelical

writers. And yet it is perfectly true that there is a sense in which the

latter may fairly claim the epithet 'Evangelical' as peculiarly their

own; for they made what had sunk too generally into a mere barren theory

a living and fruitful reality. The truths which they brought into

prominence were not new truths, nor truths which were actually denied,

but they were truths which acquired under the vigorous preaching of the

revivalists a freshness and a vitality, and an influence over men's

practice, which they had to a great extent ceased to exercise. In this

sense the revival of which we are to treat may with perfect propriety be

termed the _Evangelical_ Revival. The epithet is more suitable than

either 'Methodist' or 'Puritan,' both of which are misleading. The term

'Methodist' does not, of course, in itself imply anything discreditable

or contemptuous; but it was given as a name of contempt, and was

accepted as such by those to whom it was first applied. Moreover, not

only the term, but also the system with which it has become identified

was repudiated by many--perhaps by the majority--of those who would be

included under the title of 'Evangelical.' It was not because they

feared the ridicule and contempt attaching to the term 'Methodist' that

so many disowned its application to themselves, but because they really

disapproved of many things which were supposed to be connoted by the

term. Their adversaries would persist in confounding them with those who

gloried in the title of 'Methodists,' but the line of demarcation is

really very distinct.

Still more misleading is the term 'Puritan.' The 'Evangelicalism' of the

eighteenth century was by no means simply a revival of the system

properly called Puritanism as it existed in the sixteenth and

seventeenth centuries. There were, of course, certain leading features

which were common to the two schemes. We can recognise a sort of family

likeness in the strictness of life prescribed by both systems, in their

abhorrence of certain kinds of amusement, in their fondness for

Scriptural phraseology, and, above all, in the importance which they

both attached to the distinctive doctrines of Christianity. But the

points of difference between them were at least as marked as the points

of resemblance. In Puritanism, politics were inextricably intermixed

with theology; Evangelicalism stood quite aloof from politics. The

typical Puritan was gloomy and austere; the typical Evangelical was

bright and genial. The Puritan would not be kept _within_ the pale of

the National Church; the Evangelical would not be kept _out_ of it. The

Puritan was dissatisfied with our liturgy, our ceremonies, our

vestments, and our hierarchy; the Evangelical was not only perfectly

contented with every one of these things, but was ready to contend for

them all as heartily as the highest of High Churchmen. The Puritans

produced a very powerful body of theological literature; the

Evangelicals were more conspicuous as good men and stirring preachers

than as profound theologians. On the other hand, if Puritanism was the

more fruitful in theological literature, both devotional and

controversial, Evangelicalism was infinitely more fruitful in works of

piety and benevolence; there was hardly a single missionary or

philanthropic scheme of the day which was not either originated or

warmly taken up by the Evangelical party. The Puritans were frequently

in antagonism with 'the powers that be,' the Evangelicals never; no

amount of ill-treatment could put them out of love with our constitution

both in Church and State.

These points will be further illustrated in the course of this chapter;

they are touched upon here merely to show that neither 'Methodist' nor

'Puritan' would be an adequate description of the great revival whose

course we are now to follow; only it should be noted that in terming it

the 'Evangelical' revival we are applying to it an epithet which was not

applied until many years after its rise. When and by whom the term was

first used to describe the movement it is difficult to say. Towards the

close of the century it is not unusual to find among writers of

different views censures of those 'who have arrogated to themselves the

exclusive title of Evangelical,' as if there were something presumptuous

in the claim, and something uncharitable in the tacit assumption that

none but those so called were worthy of the designation; but it is very

unusual indeed to find the writers of the Evangelical school applying

the title to their own party; and when they do it is generally followed

by some apology, intimating that they only use it because it has become

usual in common parlance. There is not the slightest evidence to show

that the early Evangelicals claimed the title as their own in any spirit

of self-glorification.

Thus much of the name. Let us now turn to the thing itself. How did this

great movement, so fruitful in good to the whole community, first arise?

It is somewhat remarkable that, so far as the revival can be traced to

any one individual, the man to whom the credit belongs was never himself

an Evangelical. '_William Law_' (1686-1761) 'begot Methodism,' wrote

Bishop Warburton; and in one sense the statement was undoubtedly

true,[708] but what a curious paradox it suggests! A distinctly High

Churchman was the originator of what afterwards became the Low Church

party--a Nonjuror, of the most decidedly 'Orange' element in the Church;

a Quietist who scarcely ever quitted his retirement in an obscure

Northamptonshire village, of that party which, above all others, was

distinguished for its activity, bodily no less than spiritual, a

clergyman who rarely preached a sermon, of the party whose great forte

was preaching!

As Law had no further share in the Evangelical movement beyond writing

the 'Serious Call,' there is no need to dwell upon his singular career.

We may pass on at once from the master to one of his most appreciative

and distinguished disciples.

If Law was the most effective writer, _John Wesley_ (1703-91) was

unquestionably the most effective worker connected with the early phase

of the Evangelical revival. If Law gave the first impulse to the

movement, Wesley was the first and the ablest who turned it to practical

account. How he formed at Oxford a little band of High Church ascetics;

how he went forth to Georgia on an unsuccessful mission, and returned to

England a sadder and a wiser man; how he fell under the influence of the

Moravians; how his whole course and habits of mind were changed on one

eventful day in 1738; how for more than half a century he went about

doing good through evil report and good report; how he encountered with

undaunted courage opposition from all quarters from the Church which he

loved, and from the people whom he only wished to benefit; how he formed

societies, and organised them with marvellous skill; how he travelled

thousands of miles, and preached thousands of sermons throughout the

length and breadth of England, in Scotland, in Ireland, and in America;

how he became involved in controversies with his friends and

fellow-workers--is not all this and much more written in books which may

be in everybody's hands--in the books of Southey, of Tyerman, of Watson,

of Beecham, of Stevens, of Coke and Moore, of Isaac Taylor, of Julia

Wedgwood, of Urlin, and of many others? It need not, therefore, be

repeated here. Neither is it necessary to vindicate the character of

this great and good man from the imputations which were freely cast upon

him both by his contemporaries (and that not only by the adversaries,

but by many of the friends and promoters of the Evangelical movement),

and also by some of his later biographers. The saying of Mark Antony--

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones--

has been reversed in the case of John Wesley. Posterity has fully

acquitted him of the charge of being actuated by a mere vulgar ambition,

of desiring to head a party, of an undue love of power. It has at last

owned that if ever a poor frail human being was actuated by pure and

disinterested motives, that man was John Wesley. Eight years before his

death he said, 'I have been reflecting on my past life; I have been

wandering up and down between fifty and sixty years, endeavouring in my

poor way to do a little good to my fellow-creatures.' And the more

closely his career has been analysed, the more plainly has the truth of

his own words been proved. His quarrel was solely with sin and Satan.

His master passion was, in his own often-repeated expression, the love

of God and the love of man for God's sake. The world has at length done

tardy justice to its benefactor. Indeed, the danger seems now to lie in

a different direction--not indeed, in over-estimating the character of

this remarkable man, but in making him a mere name to conjure with, a

mere peg to hang pet theories upon. The Churchman casts in the teeth of

the Dissenter John Wesley's unabated attachment to the Church; the

Dissenter casts in the teeth of the Churchman the bad treatment Wesley

received from the Church; and each can make out a very fair case for his

own side. But meanwhile the real John Wesley is apt to be presented to

us in a very one-sided fashion. Moreover, his character has suffered

from the partiality of injudicious friends quite as much as from the

unjust accusations of enemies. It is peculiarly cruel to represent him

as a faultless being, a sort of vapid angel. We can never take much

interest in such a character, because we feel quite sure that, if the

whole truth were before us, he would appear in a different light. John

Wesley's character is a singularly interesting one, interesting for this

very reason, that he was such a thorough man--full of human infirmities,

constantly falling into errors of judgment and inconsistencies, but

withal a noble specimen of humanity, a monument of the power of Divine

grace to mould the rough materials of which man is made into a polished

stone, meet to take its place in the fabric of the temple of the living

God.

The best interpreter of John Wesley is John Wesley himself. He has left

us in his own writings a picture of himself, drawn by his own hand,

which is far more faithful than that which has been drawn by any other.

The whole family of the Wesleys, including the father, the mother, and

all the brothers and sisters without exception, was a very interesting

one. There are certain traits of character which seem to have been

common to them all. Strong, vigorous good sense, an earnest,

straightforward desire to do their duty, a decidedness in forming

opinions, and a plainness, not to say bluntness, in expressing them,

belong to all alike. The picture given us of the family at Epworth

Rectory is an illustration of the remark made in another chapter that

the wholesale censure of the whole body of the parochial clergy in the

early part of the eighteenth century has been far too sweeping and

severe. Here is an instance--and it is not spoken of as a unique, or

even an exceptional, instance--of a worthy clergyman who was, with his

whole family, living an exemplary life, and adorning the profession to

which he belonged. The influence of his early training, and especially

that of his mother, is traceable throughout the whole of Wesley's

career; and it is not unreasonable to suppose that Wesley's unflinching

attachment to the Church, his reluctance to speak ill of her

ministers,[709] and the displeasure which he constantly showed when he

observed any tendency on the part of his followers to separate from her

communion, may have been intensified by his recollections of that good

and useful parson's family in Lincolnshire in which he passed his youth.

The year 1729 is the date which Wesley himself gives of the rise of that

revival of religion in which he himself took so prominent a part. It is

somewhat curious that he places the commencement of the revival at a

date nine years earlier than that of his own conversion; but it must be

remembered that in his later years he took a somewhat different view of

the latter event from that which he held in his hot youth. He believed

that before 1738 he had faith in God as a servant; after that, as a son.

At any rate, we shall not be far wrong in regarding that little meeting

at Oxford of a few young men, called in derision the Holy Club, the

Sacramentarian Club, and finally the _Methodists_, as the germ of that

great movement now to be described. No doubt the views of its members

materially changed in the course of years; but the object of the later

movement was precisely the same as that of the little band from the very

first--viz. to promote the love of God and the love of man for God's

sake, to stem the torrent of vice and irreligion, and to fill the land

with a godly and useful population.

This, it is verily believed, was from first to last the master key to a

right understanding of John Wesley's life. Everything must give way to

this one great object. In subservience to this he was ready to sacrifice

many predilections, and thereby to lay himself open to the charge of

changeableness and inconsistency.

As an illustration let us take the somewhat complicated question of John

Wesley's Churchmanship. That he was most sincerely and heartily attached

to the Church of England is undeniable. In the language of one of his

most ardent but not undiscriminating admirers, 'he was a Church of

England man even in circumstantials; there was not a service or a

ceremony, a gesture or a habit, for which he had not an unfeigned

predilection.'[710] He was, in fact, a distinctly High Churchman, but a

High Churchman in a far nobler sense than that in which the term was

generally used in the eighteenth century. Indeed, in this latter sense

John Wesley hardly falls under the denomination at all. As a staunch

supporter of the British Constitution, both in Church and State, he was

no doubt in favour of the establishment of the National Church as an

essential part of that Constitution. But it was not this view of the

Church which was uppermost in his mind. On several occasions he spoke

and wrote of the Church as a national establishment in terms which would

have shocked the political High Churchmen of his day. He 'can find no

trace of a national Church in the New Testament;'--it is 'a mere

political institution;'[711] the establishment by Constantine was a

gigantic evil:' 'the King and the Parliament have no right to prescribe

to him what pastor he shall use;'[712] he does not care to discuss the

question as to whether all outward establishments are a Babel. But does

it follow from this and similar language that he taught, as the

historians of the Dissenters contend, the principles and language of

Dissent?[713] Very far from it. The fact is, John Wesley in his

conception of the Church was both before and behind his age. He would

have found abundance of sympathisers with his views in the seventeenth,

and abundance after the first thirty years of the nineteenth, century.

But in the eighteenth century they were quite out of date. Here and

there a man like Jones of Nayland or Bishop Horsley[714] might express

High Church views of the same kind as those of John Wesley, but they

were quite out of harmony with the general spirit of the times. Wesley's

idea of the Church was not like that of high and dry Churchmen of his

day; that Church which was always 'in danger' was not what he meant;

neither was it, like that of the later Evangelical school, the Church of

the Reformation period. He went back to far earlier times, and took for

his model in doctrine and worship the Primitive Church before its

divisions into East and West. Thus we find him recording with evident

satisfaction at Christmastide, 1774, 'During the twelve festival days we

had the Lord's Supper daily--_a little emblem of the Primitive

Church_.'[715] When he first appointed district visitors he looked with

great satisfaction upon the arrangement, because it reminded him of the

deaconesses of the Primitive Church. In the very act which tended most

of all to the separation of Wesley's followers from the Church he was

still led--or, as some will think, misled--by his desire to follow in

what he conceived to be the steps of the Primitive Church. His ideas of

worship are strictly in accordance with what would now be called High

Church usages. He would have no pews, but open benches alike for all; he

would have the men and the women separated, _as they were in the

Primitive Church_;[716] he would have a hearty congregational service.

When it was seasonable to sing praise to God, they were to do it with

the spirit and the understanding also; 'not in the miserable, scandalous

doggerel of Sternhold and Hopkins, but in psalms and hymns which are

both sense and poetry, such as would sooner provoke a critic to turn

Christian than a Christian to turn critic;' they were to sing 'not

lolling at their ease, or in the indecent posture of sitting, but all

standing before God, praising Him lustily and with a good courage;'

there was to be 'no repetition of words, no dwelling on disjointed

syllables.'[717] Wesley was much struck with the remarkable decorum with

which public worship was conducted by the Scotch Episcopal Church, which

has always been more inclined to High Church usages than her English

sister.[718] The Fasts and Festivals of the Church Wesley desired to

observe most scrupulously: every Friday was to be kept as a day of

abstinence; the very children at Kingswood school were, if healthy, to

fast every Friday till 3 P.M. All Saints' Day was his favourite

festival, and he made it his constant practice on that day to preach on

the Communion of Saints. He distinctly implies that he considers the

celebration of the Holy Communion an essential part of the public

service at least on every Lord's Day, and adduces this as a proof that

the service at his own meetings must necessarily be imperfect. From his

private memoranda, quoted by Mr. Urlin,[719] we find that he believed it

to be a duty to observe so far as he could the following rules:--(1) to

baptize by immersion; (2) to use the mixed chalice; (3) to pray for the

faithful departed; (4) to pray standing on the Sunday in Pentecost. He

thought it prudent (1) to observe the stations [Wednesday and Friday],

(2) to keep Lent and especially Holy Week, (3) to turn to the east at

the Creed. It is useless to speculate upon what might have been; but can

it be doubted that if John Wesley's lot had been cast in the nineteenth

instead of the eighteenth century, he would have found much to fascinate

him in another revival, which, like his own, began at Oxford?

But how was it that if John Wesley showed this strong appreciation of

the æsthetic and the symbolical in public worship, this desire to bring

everything to the model of the Primitive Church, he never impressed

these views upon his followers? How is it that so few traces of these

predilections are to be found in his printed sermons? John Wesley had so

immense an influence over his disciples that he could have led them to

almost anything. How was it that he infused into them nothing whatever

of that spirit which was in him?

The answer to these questions is to be found in the fact which, it may

be remembered, led to these remarks. There is but one clue to the right

understanding of Wesley's career. It is this: that his one great object

was to promote the love of God and the love of man for God's sake.

Everything must give way to this object of paramount importance. His

tastes led him in one direction, but it was a direction in which very

few could follow him. Not only was there absolutely nothing congenial to

this taste either inside or outside the Church in the eighteenth

century, but it would have been simply unintelligible. If he had

followed out this taste, he would have been isolated.

Moreover, it is fully admitted that Wesley was essentially a many-sided

man. Look at him from another point of view, and he stands in precisely

the same attitude in which his contemporaries and successors of the

Evangelical school stood--as the _homo unius libri_, referring

everything to Scripture, and to Scripture alone. There would be in his

mind no inconsistency whatever between the one position and the other;

but he felt he could do more practical good by simply standing upon

Scriptural ground, and therefore he was quite content to rest there.

It was precisely the same motive which led Wesley to the various

separations which, to his sorrow, he was obliged to make from those who

had been his fellow-workers. He has been accused of being a quarrelsome

man, a man with whom it was not easy to be on good terms. The accusation

is unjust. Never was a man more ready to forgive injuries, more ready to

own his failings, more firm to his friends, and more patient with his

foes.

Nevertheless it is an undoubted fact that he was frequently brought into

collision with men whom he would have been the first to own as God's

faithful servants--with William Law, with the Moravians, with Whitefield

and the Calvinists, and with several of the Evangelical parish

clergymen. It also cannot be denied that he showed some abruptness--nay,

rudeness--in his communications with some of these.

But in each and all of these cases the clue to his conduct is still the

same; his one desire was to do all the good he could to the souls of

men, and to that great object friends, united action, and even common

politeness must give way. To come to details. In 1738 he wrote an angry

letter, and in 1756 an angry pamphlet, to William Law. Both these

effusions were hasty and indiscreet; but, in spite of his indiscretion

and discourtesy, it is easy to trace both in the letter and the pamphlet

the one motive which actuated him. Law was far more than a match for

Wesley in any purely intellectual dispute. But Wesley's fault, whatever

it may have been, was a fault of the head, not of the heart. It is

thoroughly characteristic of the generous and forgiving nature of the

man that, in spite of their differences, Wesley constantly alluded to

Law in his sermons, and always in terms of the warmest commendation.

The same motive which led Wesley to dispute with Law actuated him in

his separation from the Moravians. In justice to that exemplary body it

must be remembered that they were not well represented in London when

Wesley split from them. The mischievous notion that it was contrary to

the Gospel for a man to search the Scriptures, to pray, to

communicate--in fact, to use any ordinances--before he had faith, that

it was his duty simply to sit still and wait till this was given him,

would, if it had gained ground, have been absolutely fatal to Wesley's

efforts. He could not even tacitly countenance those who held such

tenets without grievous hindrance to his work.[720] One is thankful to

learn that he resisted his besetting temptation, and did not send to the

Herrnhut brethren a rude letter which he had written,[721] and thankful

also to find that he did full justice to the good qualities of Count

Zinzendorf.[722] But as to his separation from the London Moravians,

Wesley could not have acted otherwise without seriously damaging the

cause which he had at heart. His dispute with Whitefield will come under

our notice in connexion with the Calvinistic controversy, which forms a

painfully conspicuous feature in the Evangelical movement. It is

sufficient in this place to remark that the Antinomianism which, as a

plain matter of fact, admitted even by the Calvinists themselves, did

result from the perversion of Calvinism, was, if possible, a more fatal

hindrance to Wesley's work than the Moravian stillness itself. This was

obviously the ground of Wesley's dislike of Calvinism,[723] but it did

not separate him from Calvinists; so far as a separation did ensue the

fault did not lie with Wesley.[724]

His misunderstanding with some of the Evangelical clergy of his day

arose from the same cause as that which led him into other disputes. An

overpowering sense of the paramount importance of the great work which

he had to do made him set aside everything which he considered to be an

obstacle to that work without the slightest hesitation. Now, much as

Wesley loved the Church of England, he never appreciated one of her most

marked features, the parochial system. Perhaps under any circumstances

such a system would have found little favour in the eyes of one of

Wesley's temperament. To a man impatient of immediate results the slowly

but surely working influence of a pastor resident in the midst of his

flock, preaching to them a silent sermon every day and almost every hour

by his example among them, would naturally seem flat, tame and

impalpable when compared with the more showy effects resulting from the

rousing preaching of the itinerant. Such a life as that of the parish

priest would have been to Wesley himself simply unbearable. He was of

opinion--surely a most erroneous opinion--that if he were confined to

one spot he should preach himself and his whole congregation to sleep in

a twelvemonth. He never estimated at its proper value the real, solid

work which others were doing in their respective parishes. He bitterly

regretted that Fletcher would persist in wasting his sweetness on the

desert air of Madeley. He had little faith in the permanency of the good

which the apostolic Walker was doing at Truro. Much as he esteemed Venn

of Huddersfield, he could not be content to leave the parish in his

hands. He expressed himself very strongly to Adam of Winteringham on the

futility of his work in his parish. He utterly rejected Walker's advice

that he should induce some of his itinerant preachers to be ordained and

to settle in country parishes. He thought that this would not only

narrow their sphere of usefulness, but also cripple their energies even

in that contracted sphere. Mistaken as we may believe him to have been

in these opinions, we cannot doubt his thorough sincerity. In the slight

collision into which he was necessarily brought with the Evangelical

clergy by acting upon these views he was actuated by no vulgar desire to

make himself a name by encroaching upon other men's labours, but solely

by the conviction that he must do the work of God in the best way he

could, no matter whom he might offend or alienate by so doing. Order and

regularity were good things in their way, but better do the work of God

irregularly than let it be half-done or undone in the regular way.[725]

He predicted that even the earnest parochial clergy of his day would

prove a mere rope of sand--a prophecy which subsequent events will

scarcely endorse.

Not that John Wesley ever desired to upset the parochial system. From

first to last he consistently maintained his position that his work was

not to supplant but to supplement the ordinary work of the Church. This

supplementary agency formed so important a factor in the Evangelical

revival, and its arrangement was so characteristic of John Wesley, that

a few words on the subject seem necessary. It would fill too much space

to describe in detail the constitution of the first Methodist societies.

It is now purposed to consider them simply in their relation to their

founder. The most superficial sketch of the life and character of John

Wesley would be imperfect if it did not touch upon this subject; for,

after all, it is as the founder, and organiser, and ruler of these

societies that John Wesley is best known. There were connected with the

Evangelical revival other writers as able, other preachers as effective,

other workers as indefatigable, as he was; but there were none who

displayed anything like the administrative talent that he did. From

first to last Wesley held over this large and ever-increasing agency an

absolute supremacy. His word was literally law, and that law extended

not only to strictly religious matters, but to the minutest details of

daily life. It is most amusing to read his letters to his itinerant

preachers, whom he addresses in the most familiar terms. 'Dear Tommy' is

told that he is never to sit up later than ten. In general he (Mr.

Wesley) desires him to go to bed about a quarter after nine.[726] 'Dear

Sammy' is reminded, 'You are called to obey _me_ as a son in the Gospel.

But who can prove that you are so called to obey any other person?'

Another helper is admonished, 'Scream no more, at the peril of your

soul. Speak with all your heart, but with a moderate voice. It is said

of our Lord, "He shall not cry"--literally, scream.' The helpers

generally are commanded 'not to affect the gentleman. You have no more

to do with this character than with that of a dancing-master.' And

again, 'Do not mend our rules, but keep them,' with much more to the

same effect. His preachers in Ireland are instructed how they are to

avoid falling into the dirty habits of the country and the most minute

and delicate rules about personal cleanliness are laid down for them.

The congregations are ruled in almost the same lordly fashion as the

preachers. Of a certain congregation at Norwich Wesley writes, 'I told

them in plain terms that they were the most ignorant, self-conceited,

self-willed, fickle, untractable, disorderly, disjointed society that I

knew in the three kingdoms. And God applied to their hearts, so that

many were profited, but I do not find that one was offended.'[727] At

one time he had an idea that tea was expensive and unwholesome, and his

people are commanded to abstain from the deleterious beverage, and so to

'keep from sickness and pay their debts.' 'Many,' he writes, 'tell me to

my face I can persuade this people to anything;' so he tried to persuade

them to this. In the same year (1746) he determines to physic them all.

'I thought,' he says, 'of a kind of desperate experiment. I will prepare

and give them physic myself.' This indefatigable man provided for their

minds as well as for their souls and bodies. He furnished them with a

'Christian library,' writing, abridging, and condensing many books

himself, and recommending and editing others; and few, probably, of the

early Methodists read anything else.

As to the Conference, Wesley clearly gave its members to understand that

his autocracy was to be in no way limited by their action. '_They_ did

not,' he writes, 'desire the meeting, but _I_ did, knowing that in the

multitude of counsellors there is safety. But,' he adds significantly,

'I sent for them to advise, not to govern me. Neither did I at any of

those times divest myself of any part of that power which the providence

of God cast upon me without any desire or design of mine. What is that

power? It is a power of admitting into and excluding from the societies

under my care; of choosing and removing stewards, of receiving or not

receiving helpers: of appointing them where, when, and how to help me,

and of desiring any of them to meet me when I see good.'[728] They never

dreamt of disobeying him. So great was the awe which he inspired that

when the Deed of Declaration was drawn up in 1784, and Wesley selected,

somewhat arbitrarily, one hundred out of one hundred and ninety-two

preachers to be members of the Conference, though several murmured and

thought it hard that preachers of old standing should be rejected, yet

when the time came none durst oppose him. 'Many,' writes one of the

malcontents, 'were averse to the deed, but had not the courage to avow

their sentiments in Conference. Mr. Wesley made a speech and invited all

who were of his mind to stand up. They all rose to a man.'[729]

It certainly was an extraordinary power for one man to possess; but in

its exercise there was not the slightest taint of selfishness, nor yet

the slightest trace that he loved power for power's sake. His own

account of its rise is perfectly sincere, and artless, and, it is

honestly believed, perfectly true. 'The power I have,' he writes, 'I

never sought; it was the unadvised, unexpected result of the work which

God was pleased to work by me. I therefore suffer it till I can find

some one to ease me of my burthen.' He used his power simply to promote

his one great object--to make his followers better men and better

citizens, happier in this life and thrice happier in the life to come.

If it was a despotism it was a singularly useful and benevolent

despotism, a despotism which was founded wholly and solely upon the

respect which his personal character commanded. Surely if this man had

been, as his ablest biographer represents him,[730] an ambitious man, he

would have used his power for some personal end. He would at least have

yielded to the evident desire of some of his followers and have founded

a separate sect, in which he might have held a place not much inferior

to that which Mahomet held among the faithful. But he spoke the truth

when he said, 'So far as I know myself, I have no more concern for the

reputation of Methodism than for the reputation of Prester John.'[731]

When he heard of accusations being brought against him of 'shackling

free-born Englishmen' and of 'doing no less than making himself a Pope,'

he defended his power with an artless simplicity which was very

characteristic of the man. 'If,' he said, 'you mean by arbitrary power a

power which I exercise singly, without any colleague therein, this is

certainly true; but I see no harm in it. Arbitrary in this sense is a

very harmless word. I bear this burden merely for your sakes.' It is a

defence which one could fancy an Eastern tyrant making for the most

rigorous of 'paternal governments.' But Wesley was no tyrant; he had no

selfish end in view; it was literally 'for their sakes' that he ruled as

he did; and since he was infinitely superior to the mass of his subjects

(one can use no weaker term) in point of education, learning, and good

judgment, it was to their advantage that he did so.

At any rate a Churchman may be pardoned for thinking this, for one

effect of his unbounded influence was to prevent his followers from

separating from the Church. His sentiments on this point were so

constantly and so emphatically expressed that the only difficulty

consists in selecting the most suitable specimens. Perhaps the best plan

will be to quote a few passages in chronological order, written at

different periods of his life, to show how unalterable his opinions were

on this point, however much he might alter them in others. At the very

first Conference--in 1744, only six years after his conversion--we find

him declaring (for of course the dicta of Conference were simply his own

dicta), 'We believe the body of our hearers will even after our death

remain in the Church, unless they are thrust out. They will either be

thrust out or leaven the Church.' A few years later, 'In visiting

classes ask everyone, "Do you go to church as often as you did?" Set the

example and immediately alter any plan that interfereth therewith. Are

we not unawares, by little and little, tending to a separation from the

Church? Oh, remove every tendency thereto with all diligence. Receive

the Sacrament at every opportunity. Warn all against niceness in

hearing, a great and prevailing evil; against calling our society a

Church or the Church; against calling our preachers ministers and our

houses meeting-houses: call them plain preaching-houses. Do not license

yourself till you are constrained, and then not as a Dissenter, but as a

Methodist preacher.' In 1766, 'We will not, we dare not, separate from

the Church, for the reasons given several years ago. We are not

seceders.... Some may say, "Our own service is public worship." Yes, in

a sense, but not such as to supersede the Church service. We never

designed it should! If it were designed to be instead of the Church

service it would be essentially defective, for it seldom has the four

grand parts of public prayer--deprecation, petition, intercession, and

thanksgiving. Neither is it, even on the Lord's Day, concluded with the

Lord's Supper. If the people put ours in the place of the Church

service, we _hurt_ them that stay with us and _ruin_ them that leave

us.' In 1768, 'We are, in truth, so far from being enemies to the Church

that we are rather bigots to it. I dare not, like Mr. Venn, leave the

parish church where I am, and go to an Independent meeting. I advise all

over whom I have any influence to keep to the Church.' In 1777, in the

remarkable sermon which he preached on laying the foundation of the City

Road Chapel, after having given a succinct but graphic account of the

rise and progress of Methodism, 'we,' he concludes, 'do not, will not,

form any separate sect, but from principle remain, what we have always

been, true members of the Church of England.'[732] In 1778, 'To speak

freely, I myself find more life in the Church prayers than in any formal

extempore prayers of Dissenters.' In 1780, 'Having had opportunity of

seeing several Churches abroad, and having deeply considered the several

sorts of Dissenters at home, I am fully convinced our own Church, with

all her blemishes, is nearer the Scriptural plan than any other Church

in Europe.' In 1783, 'In every possible way I have advised the

Methodists to keep to the Church. They that do this most prosper best in

their souls. I have observed it long. If ever the Methodists in general

leave the Church, I must leave them.' In 1786, 'Wherever there is any

Church service I do not approve of any appointment the same hour,

because I love the Church of England, and would assist, not oppose it,

all I can.' In 1788, 'Still, the more I reflect the more I am convinced

that the Methodists ought not to leave the Church. I judge that to lose

a thousand--yea, ten thousand--of our people would be a less evil than

this. "But many had much comfort in this." So they would in any _new

thing_. I believe Satan himself would give them comfort therein, for he

knows what the end must be. Our glory has hitherto been not to be a

separate body. "_Hoc Ithacus velit_."' And finally, within two years of

his death, in his striking sermon on the ministerial office, 'In God's

name stop!... Ye are a new phenomenon on the earth--a body of people

who, being of no sect or party, are friends to all parties, and

endeavour to forward all in heart-religion, in the knowledge and love of

God and man. Ye yourselves were at first called in the Church of

England; and though ye have and will have a thousand temptations to

leave it, and set up for yourselves, regard them not; be Church of

England men still; do not cast away the peculiar glory which God hath

put upon you and frustrate the design of Providence, the very end for

which God raised you up.'

But some years before John Wesley uttered these memorable words had he

not himself done the very thing which he deprecated? Consciously and

intentionally, No! a thousand times no; but virtually and as a matter of

fact we must reluctantly answer, Yes. Lord Mansfield's famous dictum,

'Ordination is separation,' is unanswerable. When, in 1784, John Wesley

ordained Coke and Ashbury to be 'superintendents,' and Whatcoat and

Vasey to be 'elders,' in America, he to all intents and purposes crossed

the Rubicon. His brother Charles regarded the act in that light and

bitterly regretted it. How a logical mind like John Wesley's could

regard it in any other it is difficult to conceive. But that he had in

all sincerity persuaded himself that there was no inconsistency in it

with his strong Churchmanship there can be no manner of doubt.

The true explanation of John Wesley's conduct in this matter may perhaps

be found in the intensely practical character of his mind. His work in

America seemed likely to come to a deadlock for want of ordained

ministers. Thus we come back to the old motive. Everything must be

sacrificed for the sake of his work. Some may think this was doing evil

that good might come; but no such notion ever entered into John Wesley's

head; his rectitude of purpose, if not the clearness of his judgment, is

as conspicuous in this as in the other acts of his life.

It should also be remembered (for it serves to explain this, as well as

many other apparent inconsistencies in his career) that Wesley attached

very little value to the mere holding of right opinions. Orthodoxy, he

thought, constituted but a very small part, if a part at all, of true

religion. 'What,' he asks, 'is faith? Not an opinion nor any number of

opinions, be they ever so true. A string of opinions is no more

Christian faith than a string of beads is Christian holiness.' Opinions

were 'feathers light as air, trifles not worth naming.' Controversy was

his abhorrence; he thought 'God made practical divinity necessary, but

the Devil controversial.' When he entered into controversy with Tucker

in 1742, 'I now, he wrote, 'tread an untried path with fear and

trembling--fear not of my adversary, but of myself.' Just twenty years

later he records with evident satisfaction that he has entirely lost his

taste for controversy and his readiness in disputing, and this he takes

to be a providential discharge from it. 'I am sick,' he writes on

another occasion, 'of opinions; I am weary to bear them: my soul loathes

this frothy food. Give me solid, substantial religion. Give me an

humble, gentle lover of God and man. Whosoever thus doeth the will of my

Father which is in Heaven, the same is brother, and sister, and mother.'

He was anxious to promote a union between all the Evangelical clergy,

but it must be on the condition that the points of difference between

them should not be discussed. He was quite ready to hand over his

opponents to Fletcher, or Sellon, or Olivers, or anyone whom he judged

strong enough to take them in hand. He prided himself on the fact that

Methodism required no agreement on disputed points of doctrine among its

members. 'Are you in earnest about your soul?' That was the one question

that must be answered in the affirmative. 'Is thine heart right as my

heart is with thy heart? If so, then give me thine hand.' Or, as he

elsewhere expresses it, 'The sum is, One thing I know: whereas I was

blind, now I see--an argument of which a peasant, a woman, a child, may

feel all the force.'[733]

This almost supercilious disregard of mere orthodoxy was all very well

in Wesley's days, but it would never have done in the earlier part of

the century; for it tacitly assumed that the main truths of Christianity

had been firmly established; and the assumption was justifiable. The

work of the apologists had prepared the way for the work of the

practical reformer. If the former had not done their work, the latter

could not have afforded to think so lightly as he did of sound doctrine.

Feeling thus that opinions were a matter of quite secondary

consideration, Wesley had no hesitation about modifying, or even totally

abandoning, opinions which he found to be practically injurious.[734] He

confessed, as we have seen, that he was quite wrong in his theory of the

Divine origin of Episcopacy, and in his estimate of his own state of

mind previous to his conversion in 1738. He very materially modified his

doctrine of Christian perfection when he found it was liable to

practical abuse, and appended notes to an edition of hymns in which that

doctrine was too unguardedly stated.[735] He confessed his error on the

subject of Christian assurance in a characteristically outspoken

fashion. 'When,' he wrote in old age, 'fifty years ago, my brother

Charles and I, in the simplicity of our hearts, taught the people that

unless they _knew_ their sins were forgiven they were under the wrath

and curse of God, I marvel they did not stone us. The Methodists, I

hope, know better now. We preach assurance, as we always did, as a

common privilege of the children of God, but we do not enforce it under

pain of damnation denounced on all who enjoy it not.' He thought it idle

to discuss the question of regeneration in baptism when it was obvious

that baptized persons had practically as much need as heathens to be

born again.[736] It was quite as much their fondness for controversy as

their rigid Calvinism which put him out of love with the Scotch and made

him feel that he could do no good among them.[737]

In accounting for Wesley's repugnance to religious controversy it should

not be forgotten that in the latter half of his life controversial

divinity had sunk to a low ebb, at least among those with whom he would

most naturally come into contact. A man of his logical mind, clear

common sense, and extensive reading could hardly fail to be disgusted

with much that passed for religious literature. He shrunk with a horror

which is almost amusing from the task of reviewing religious

publications in the 'Arminian Magazine.' 'I would not,' he said, 'read

all the religious books that are now published for the whole world.' He

protested against 'what were vulgarly called Gospel sermons.' 'The

term,' he says, 'has now become a mere cant word. I wish none of our

Society would use it. It has no determinate meaning. Let but a pert,

self-sufficient animal that has neither sense nor grace bawl out

something about Christ and His blood, or justification by faith, and his

hearers cry out, "What a fine Gospel sermon!"'[738]

In fact, Wesley in his later years was very much alienated from what was

called 'the religious world.' He had received some of his severest

wounds in the house of his friends. Not Warburton, nor Lavington, nor

Gibson had spoken and written such hard things against him as many of

the most decidedly Evangelical clergy. He clung to the poor and

unlettered, not, as it has been asserted, because he desired to be a

sort of Pope among them, but because he really felt that his work was

there less hampered by the disturbing influence of conflicting opinions,

which were barren of practical effects upon the life. As usual, he made

no secret whatever of his preference. A nobleman accustomed to flattery

on all sides must have been rather taken aback on the receipt of this

very outspoken rebuff from plain John Wesley: 'To speak the rough

truth, I do not desire any intercourse with any persons of quality in

England. They can do me no good, and I fear I can do none to them.'[739]

One can fancy the amazement of Lady Huntingdon, who exacted and received

no small amount of homage from her protégés, when she received a letter

from John Wesley so different from those which were usually addressed to

her. 'My Lady, for a considerable time I have had it in my mind to write

a few lines to your ladyship, though I cannot learn that your ladyship

has ever enquired whether I was living or dead. By the mercy of God I am

still alive and following the work to which He has called me, although

without any help, even in the most trying times, from those I might have

expected it from. Their voice seemed to be rather, _Down with him! down,

even to the ground!_ I mean (for I use no ceremony or circumlocution)

Mr. Madan, Haweis, Berridge, and (I am sorry to say) Whitefield.' Had it

been to an earl instead of a countess the letter would probably have

been rougher still; but John Wesley was a thorough gentleman in every

sense of the word, and could not insult a female--only if the female had

been plain Sarah Ryan instead of Selina, Countess of Huntingdon, she

would have had more chance of being treated with deference; for Wesley

positively disliked the rich and noble. 'In most genteel religious

people,' he said, 'there is so strange a mixture that I have seldom much

confidence in them. But I love the poor; in many of them I find pure,

genuine grace, unmixed with paint, folly, and affectation.' And again,

'Tis well a few of the rich and noble are called. May God increase the

number. But I should rejoice, were it the will of God, if it were done

by the ministry of others. If I might choose, I would still, as

hitherto, preach the Gospel to the poor.' He had the lowest opinion both

of the intellectual and moral character of the higher classes. 'Oh! how

hard it is,' he once exclaimed, 'to be shallow enough for a polite

audience!' And on another occasion he records with some bitterness of a

rich congregation to which he had preached at Whitehaven, 'They all

behaved with as much decency as if they had been colliers.' 'I have

found,' he says again, 'some of the uneducated poor who have exquisite

taste and sentiment, and many, very many, of the rich who have scarcely

any at all.' He wrote to Fletcher, in what one must call an unprovoked

strain of rudeness, on the danger of his conversing with the 'genteel

Methodists.' Indeed, the leading members of the Evangelical school--Lady

Huntingdon, Sir Richard and Rowland Hill, Venn, Romaine, and

others--were, quite apart from their Calvinism, never cordially in

harmony with John Wesley. As years went on Wesley must have felt himself

more and more a lonely man so far as his equals were concerned, for in

point of breeding and culture he was fully the equal of the very best.

It must not be supposed that Wesley did not feel this isolation. There

is a sadness about the strain in which he wrote to Benson in 1770.

'Whatever I say, it will be all one. They will find fault because I say

it. There is implicit envy at my power (so called) and jealousy

therefrom.' Wesley was not demonstrative, but he was a man of strong

affections and acute feelings, and he felt his loneliness, and more so

than ever after the death of his brother Charles. There is a touching

story that a fortnight after the death of the latter Wesley was giving

out in chapel his dead brother's magnificent hymn,

Come, O thou traveller unknown,

and when he came to the lines,

My company before is gone,

And I am left alone with thee,

the old man (then in his eighty-fourth year) burst into tears and hid

his face in his hands.

One feature in Wesley's character must be carefully noted by all who

would form a fair estimate of him. If it was a weakness, and one which

frequently led him into serious practical mistakes, it was at any rate

an amiable weakness--a fault which was very near akin to a virtue. A

guileless trustfulness of his fellow-men, who often proved very unworthy

of his confidence, and, akin to this, a credulity, a readiness to

believe the marvellous, tinged his whole career. 'My brother,' said

Charles Wesley, 'was, I think, born for the benefit of knaves.'[740] It

is in the light of this quality that we must interpret many important

events of his life. His relations with the other sex were notoriously

unfortunate; not a breath of scandal was ever uttered against him; and

the mere fact that it was not is a convincing proof, if any were needed,

of the spotless purity of his life; for it is difficult to conceive

conduct more injudicious than his was. The story of his relationship

with Sophia Causton, Grace Murray, Sarah Ryan, and last, but not least,

the widow Vazeille, his termagant wife, need not here be repeated. In

the case of any other man scandal would often have been busy; but

Wesley was above suspicion. His conduct was put down to the right

cause--viz. a perfect guilelessness and simplicity of nature. The same

tone of mind led him to take men as well as women too much at their own

estimates. He was quite ready to believe those who said that they had

attained the summit of Christian perfection,[741] though, with

characteristic humility, he never professed to have attained it himself.

He was far more ready than either his brother Charles or Whitefield to

see in the physical symptoms which attended the early movement of

Methodism the hand of God; but, in justice to him, it should be added

that he was no less ready than they were to check them when in any case

he was convinced of their imposture. The same spirit led him to

attribute to the immediate interposition of Providence events which

might have been more reasonably attributed to ordinary causes; this laid

him open to the merciless attacks of Bishops Lavington and Warburton.

The same spirit led him to the superstitious and objectionable practice

of having recourse to the 'Sortes Biblicæ,' by which folly he was more

than once misled against his own better judgment; the same spirit

tempted him to lend far too eager an ear to tales of witchcraft and

magic.[742]

But, after all, these weaknesses detract but little from the greatness

and nothing from the goodness of John Wesley. He stands pre-eminent

among the worthies who originated and conducted the revival of practical

religion which took place in the last century. In particular points he

was surpassed by one or other of his fellow-workers. In preaching power

he was not equal to Whitefield; in saintliness of character he was

surpassed by Fletcher; in poetical talent he was inferior to his

brother; in solid learning he was, perhaps, not equal to his friend and

disciple Adam Clarke. But no one man combined _all_ these

characteristics in so remarkable a degree as John Wesley; and he

possessed others besides these which were all his own. He was a born

ruler of men; the powers which under different conditions would have

made him 'a heaven-born statesman' he dedicated to still nobler and

more useful purposes. Among the poor at least he was always appreciated

at his full worth. And one is thankful to find that towards the end of

his life his character began to be better understood and respected by

worthy men who could not entirely identify themselves with the

Evangelical movement. There is a pleasing story that Wesley met Bishop

Lowth at dinner in 1777, when the learned Bishop refused to sit above

Wesley at table, saying, 'Mr. Wesley, may I be found sitting at your

feet in another world.' When Wesley declined to take precedence the

Bishop asked him as a favour to sit above him, as he was deaf and

desired not to lose a sentence of Mr. Wesley's conversation. Wesley,

though, as we have seen, he had no partiality for the great, fully

appreciated this courtesy, and recorded in his journal, 'Dined with

Lowth, Bishop of London. His whole behaviour was worthy of a Christian

bishop--easy, affable, and courteous--and yet all his conversation spoke

the dignity which was suitable to his character.'[743] In 1782, at

Exeter, Wesley dined with the Bishop in his palace, five other clergy

being present.[744] In 1784, at Whitehaven, Wesley 'had all the Church

ministers to hear him, and most of the gentry of the town.'[745]

Still to the last Wesley had the mortification of seeing his work

occasionally thwarted by that Church which he loved so dearly. One of

the last letters which he wrote was a manly appeal to the Bishop of

Lincoln on the subject.

A few months later the noble old man was at rest from his labours. When

the clergyman who officiated at his funeral came to the words,

'Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God to take unto Himself the soul

of our dear _brother_ here departed,' he substituted the word 'father'

for 'brother,' and the vast multitude burst into tears. It remained for

the present generation to do justice to his memory by giving a place in

our Christian Walhalla among the great dead to one who was certainly

among the greatest of his day.[746]

The next great leader of the early Evangelical movement who claims our

attention is _George Whitefield_ (1714-1770). Whitefield, like Wesley,

appears from first to last to have been actuated by one pure and

disinterested motive--the desire to do as much good as he could in the

world, and to bring as many souls as possible into the Redeemer's

kingdom. But, except in this one grand point of resemblance, before

which all points of difference sink into insignificance, it would be

difficult to conceive two men whose characters and training were more

different than those of Wesley and Whitefield.[747] Instead of the calm

and cultured retirement of Epworth Rectory, Whitefield was brought up

amidst the vulgar bustle of a country town inn. His position was not

very much improved when he exchanged the drawer's apron at the 'Bell

Inn,' Gloucester, for the degrading badge of a servitor at Pembroke

College, Oxford. After two or three years' experience in this scarcely

less menial capacity than that which he had filled at home, he was at

once launched into the sea of life, and found himself, at the age of

twenty-two, with hardly any intellectual or moral discipline, without

having acquired any taste for study, without having ever had the benefit

of associating on anything like terms of equality with men of intellect

or refinement, suddenly elevated to a degree of notoriety which few have

attained. Scarcely one man in a thousand could have passed through such

a transformation without being spoiled. But Whitefield's was too noble a

spirit to be easily spoiled. Nature had given him a loving, generous,

unselfish disposition, and Divine grace had sanctified and elevated his

naturally amiable qualities and given him others which nature can never

bestow. He went forth into the world filled with one burning desire--the

desire of doing good to his fellow-men and of extending the kingdom of

his Divine Master.

It is needless here to repeat the story of the marvellous effects

produced by his preaching. Nothing like it had ever been seen in England

before. Ten thousand--twenty thousand--hearers hung breathless upon the

preacher's words. Rough colliers, who had been a terror to their

neighbourhood, wept until the tears made white gutters down their

cheeks--black as they came from the colliery--and, what is still more to

the purpose, changed their whole manner of life and became sober,

God-fearing citizens in consequence of what they heard; sceptical

philosophers listened respectfully, if not to much purpose, to one who

hardly knew what philosophy meant; fine gentlemen came to hear one who,

in the conventional sense of the term, had very little of the gentleman

about him; shrewd statesmen, who had a very keen appreciation of the

value of money, were induced by the orator to give first copper, then

silver, then gold, and then to borrow from their friends when they had

emptied their own pockets.

What was the secret of his fascination? His printed sermons which have

come down to us are certainly disappointing.[748] They are meagre

compositions enough, feeble in thought and badly expressed; and what is

known of Whitefield's mental powers would hardly lead us to expect them

to be anything else. But it is scarcely necessary to remark that to

judge of the effects of any address delivered by the way in which it

reads is misleading; and it should also be remembered that what would

sound to us mere truisms were new truths to the majority of those to

whom Whitefield preached. A man of simple, earnest, loving spirit,

utterly devoid of self-consciousness and filled with only one

thought--how best to recommend the religion which he loves--may produce

a great effect without much theological learning. Such a spirit

Whitefield had, if any man ever had. Moreover, if the first

qualification of an orator be action, the second action, and the third

action, Whitefield was undoubtedly an orator. A fine presence,

attractive features, and a magnificent voice which could make itself

heard at an almost incredible distance, and which he seems to have known

perfectly well how to modulate, all tended to heighten the effect of his

sermons. As to the matter of them, there was at least one point in which

Whitefield was not deficient. He had the descriptive power in a very

remarkable degree.

If it were not that the expression conveyed an idea of unreality--the

very last idea that should be associated with Whitefield's

preaching--one might say that he had a good eye for dramatic effect. On

a grassy knoll at Kingswood; in the midst of 'Vanity Fair' at

Basingstoke or Moorfields, where the very contrast of all the

surroundings would add impressiveness to the preacher's words; in Hyde

Park at midnight, in darkness which might be felt, when men's hearts

were panic-stricken at the prospect of the approaching earthquake, which

was to be the precursor of the end of the world; on Hampton Common,

surrounded by twelve thousand people, collected to see a man hung in

chains--the scenery would all lend effect to the great preacher's

utterances. Outdoor preaching was what he loved best. He felt 'cribbed,

cabined, and confined' within any walls. 'Mounts,' he said, 'are the

best pulpits, and the heavens the best sounding-boards.' 'I always find

I have most power when I speak in the open air--a proof to me that God

is pleased with this way of preaching.'[749] 'Every one hath his proper

gift. Field-preaching is my plan. In this I am carried as on eagle's

wings. God makes way for me everywhere.'[750]

In dwelling upon these secondary causes of Whitefield's success as a

preacher it is by no means intended to lose sight of the great First

Cause. God, who can make the weak things of this world to confound the

mighty, could and did work for the revival of religion by this weak

instrument. But God works through human agencies; and it is no

derogation to the power of His grace, but simply tracing out the laws by

which that grace works, when we note the human and natural agencies

which all contributed to lend a charm to Whitefield's preaching. The

difficulty of accounting for that charm is not so great as would at

first sight appear. Indeed, immeasurably superior as Wesley's printed

sermons are to Whitefield's in depth of thought, closeness of reasoning,

and purity of diction, it is more difficult to explain the _excitement_

which the older and far abler man produced than to explain that which

attended the younger man's oratory. For Wesley--if we may judge from his

printed sermons--carefully eschewed everything that would be called in

the present day 'sensational.' Plain, downright common sense, expressed

in admirably chosen but studiously simple language, formed the staple of

his preaching. One can quite well understand anyone being convinced and

edified by such discourses, but there is nothing in them which is

apparently calculated to produce the extraordinary excitement which, in

a second degree only to Whitefield, Wesley did in fact arouse.

Preaching was Whitefield's great work in life,--and his work was also

his pleasure. 'O that I could fly from pole to pole,' he exclaimed,

'preaching the everlasting Gospel.' When he is ill, he trusts that

preaching will soon cure him again. 'This,' he says, 'is my grand

Catholicon. O that I may drop and die in my blessed Master's work.' His

wish was almost literally fulfilled. When his strength was failing him,

when he was worn out before his time in his Master's work, he lamented

that he was 'reduced to the short allowance of one sermon a day, and

three on Sundays.'[751] He preached when he was literally a dying man.

His other work scarcely claims a passing notice in a short sketch like

the present, especially as his peculiar opinions and his relationship

with the Wesleys and others will again come under our notice in

connection with the Calvinistic controversy. With the exception of

letters to his friends and followers, and the inevitable journal (almost

every member of the Evangelical school in the last century kept a

journal), he wrote comparatively little; and what he did write,

certainly need not cause us to regret that he wrote no more. On one of

his voyages from America, Whitefield employed his leisure in abridging

and gospelising Law's 'Serious Call.' Happily the work does not appear

to have been finished; at any rate, it was not given to the world. Law's

great work would certainly bear 'gospelising,' but Whitefield was not

the man to do it. William Law improved by George Whitefield would be

something like William Shakspeare improved by Colley Gibber. But the

incident suggests the very different qualities which are required for

the preacher and the writer. What was the character of Law's preaching

we do not know, except from one sermon preached in his youth; but we may

safely assume that he could never have produced the effects which

Whitefield did.[752] On the other hand, one trembles at the very thought

of Whitefield meddling with Law's masterpiece, for he certainly could

not have touched it without spoiling it.

Whitefield's Orphan House in Georgia was his hobby; it was only one out

of a thousand instances of his benevolence; but his enthusiastic efforts

in behalf of it hardly form a part of the Evangelical revival, and

therefore need not be dwelt upon.

The individuality of _Charles Wesley_ (1708-1788), the sweet psalmist of

Methodism, is perhaps in some danger of being merged in that of his more

distinguished brother. And yet he had a very decided character of his

own; he would have been singularly unlike the Wesley family if he had

not. Charles Wesley was by no means the mere _fidus Achates_, or man

Friday, of his brother John. Quite apart from his poetry, the effects of

which upon the early Methodist movement it would be difficult to

exaggerate, he played a most important part in the revival. As a

preacher, he was almost as energetic as John; and before his marriage he

was almost as effective an itinerant. His elder brother always spoke of

the work which was being done as their joint work; 'my brother and I' is

the expression he constantly used in describing it.[753]

As a general rule, the two brothers acted in complete harmony; but

differences occurred sometimes, and, when they did, Charles Wesley

showed that he had a very decided will of his own; and he could

generally make it felt. For instance, in 1744, when the Wesleys were

most unreasonably suspected of inclining to Popery, and of favouring the

Pretender, John Wesley wrote an address to the king, 'in the name of the

Methodists;' but it was laid aside because Charles Wesley objected to

any act which would seem to constitute them a sect, or at least would

seem to allow that they were a body distinct from the National Church.

Again, from the first, Charles Wesley looked with great suspicion on the

bodily excitement which attended his brother's preaching, and it is more

than probable that he helped to modify John Wesley's opinions on this

subject. On the ordination question, Charles Wesley felt very strongly;

he never fell in with his brother's views, but vehemently disapproved of

his whole conduct in the matter. He would probably have interfered still

more actively, but for some years before the ordination question arose

he had almost ceased to itinerate, partly, Mr. Tyerman thinks, because

he was married, and partly because of the feeling in many societies, and

especially among many preachers, against the Church. In 1753, when John

Wesley was dangerously ill, Charles Wesley distinctly told the societies

that he neither could nor would stand in his brother's place, if it

pleased God to take him, for he had neither a body, nor a mind, nor

talents, nor grace for it. In 1779, he wrote to his brother in terms as

peremptory as John himself was wont to use, and such as few others would

have dared to employ in addressing the founder of Methodism. 'The

preachers,' he writes,[754] 'do not love the Church of England. When we

are gone, a separation is inevitable. Do you not wish to keep as many

good people in the Church as you can? Something might be done now to

save the remainder, if only you had resolution, and would stand by me as

firmly as I will stand by you. Consider what you are bound to do as a

clergyman, and what you do, do quickly.' It has been already stated that

Charles was, if possible, even more attached to the Church than John.

John, on his part, fully felt the need of his brother's help. In 1768,

he wrote to him, 'I am at my wits' end with regard to two things: the

Church and Christian perfection. Unless both you and I stand in the gap

in good earnest, the Methodists will drop them both. Talking will not

avail, we must _do_, or be borne away. "Age, vir esto! nervos intende

tuos."' On another occasion, John rescued his brother from a dangerous

tendency which he showed towards the stillness of the Moravians. He

wrote to him, 'The poison is in you, fair words have stolen away your

heart;' and made this characteristic entry in his journal:--'The

Philistines are upon thee, Samson; but the Lord is not departed from

thee; He shall strengthen thee yet again, and thou shalt be avenged for

the loss of thine eyes.'

There is an interesting letter from Whitefield to Charles Wesley, dated

December 22, 1752, from which it appears that there was a threatened

rupture between the two brothers, the cause of which we do not

know.[755] 'I have read and pondered your kind letter with a degree of

solemnity of spirit. What shall I say? Really I can scarce tell. The

connection between you and your brother hath been so close and

continued, and your attachment so necessary to him to keep up his

interest, that I could not willingly for the world do or say anything

that may separate such friends. I cannot help thinking that he is still

jealous of me and my proceedings; but I thank God I am quite easy about

it.'[756] The last sentence is characteristically injudicious, if

Whitefield desired, as undoubtedly he did, to heal the breach; but the

letter is valuable as showing that, in the opinion of Whitefield, who

must have known as much about the matter as anyone, the co-operation of

the two brothers was essential to their joint work.

Indeed, if for no other reason, Charles Wesley occupies a most important

place in the history of early Methodism, as forming the connecting link

between John Wesley and Whitefield. In October, 1749, he wrote, 'George

Whitefield and my brother and I are one; a threefold cord which shall no

more be broken;' but he does not add, as he might have done, that he

himself was the means by which the union was effected. The contrast

between Whitefield and John Wesley, in character, tastes, culture, &c.,

was so very great that, quite apart from their doctrinal differences,

there could probably never have been any real intimacy between them, had

there not been some common friend who had in his character some points

of contact with both. That common friend was Charles Wesley. Full of

sterling common sense, highly cultured and refined, possessed of strong

reasoning powers, and well read like his brother, he was impulsive,

demonstrative in his feelings, and very tenderhearted like Whitefield.

Whitefield never quite appreciated John Wesley, but Charles he loved

dearly, and so did John. As we have seen, the one solitary instance of

the strong man's breaking down was on the death of his brother. And

Charles Wesley was thoroughly worthy of every good man's love. His fame

(except as a poet) has been somewhat overshadowed by the still greater

renown of his brother, but he contributed his full share towards the

success of the Evangelical Revival.

If John Wesley was the great leader and organiser, Charles Wesley the

great poet, and George Whitefield the great preacher of Methodism, the

highest type of saintliness which it produced was unquestionably _John

Fletcher_ (1729-1785). Never, perhaps, since the rise of Christianity

has the mind which was in Christ Jesus been more faithfully copied than

it was in the Vicar of Madeley. To say that he was a good Christian is

saying too little. He was more than Christian, he was Christlike. It is

said that Voltaire, when challenged to produce a character as perfect as

that of Jesus Christ, at once mentioned Fletcher of Madeley; and if the

comparison between the God-man and any child of Adam were in any case

admissible, it would be difficult to find one with whom it could be

instituted with less appearance of blasphemy than this excellent man.

Fletcher was a Swiss by birth and education; and to the last he showed

traces of his foreign origin. But England can claim the credit of having

formed his spiritual character. Soon after his settlement in England as

tutor to the sons of Mr. Hill of Terne Hall, he became attracted by the

Methodist movement, which had then (1752) become a force in the country,

and in 1753 he was admitted into Holy Orders. The account of his

appointment to the living of Madeley presents a very unusual phenomenon

in the eighteenth century. His patron, Mr. Hill, offered him the living

of Dunham, 'where the population was small, the income good, and the

village situated in the midst of a fine sporting country.' These were no

recommendations in the eyes of Fletcher, and he declined the living on

the ground that the income was too large and the population too small.

Madeley had the advantage of having only half the income and double the

population of Dunham. On being asked whether he would accept Madeley if

the vicar of that parish would consent to exchange it for Dunham,

Fletcher gladly embraced the offer. As the Vicar of Madeley had

naturally no objection to so advantageous an exchange, Fletcher was

instituted to the cure of the large Shropshire village, in which he

spent a quarter of a century. There is no need to record his apostolical

labours in this humble sphere of duty. Madeley was a rough parish, full

of colliers; but there was also a sprinkling of resident gentry. Like

his friend John Wesley, Fletcher found more fruits of his work among the

poor than among the gentry. But none, whether rich or poor, could resist

the attractions of this saintly man. In 1772 he addressed to the

principal inhabitants of the Parish of Madeley 'An appeal to matter of

fact and common sense,' the dedication of which is so characteristic

that it is worth quoting in full. 'Gentlemen,' writes the vicar, 'you

are no less entitled to my private labours than the inferior class of my

parishioners. As you do not choose to partake with them of my evening

instructions, I take the liberty to present you with some of my morning

meditations. May these well-meant efforts of my pen be more acceptable

to you than those of my tongue! And may you carefully read in your

closets what you have perhaps inattentively heard in the church! I

appeal to the Searcher of hearts, that I had rather impart truth than

receive tithes. You kindly bestow the latter upon me; grant me the

satisfaction of seeing you receive favourably the former from,

gentlemen, your affectionate minister and obedient servant, J.

Fletcher.'

When Lady Huntingdon founded her college for the training of ministers

at Trevecca, she invited Fletcher to undertake a sort of general

superintendence over it. This Fletcher undertook without fee or

reward--not, of course, with the intention of residing there, for he had

no sympathy with the bad custom of non-residence which was only too

common in his day. He was simply to visit the college as frequently as

he could; 'and,' writes Dr. Benson, the first head-master, 'he was

received as an angel of God.' 'It is not possible,' he adds, 'for me to

describe the veneration in which we all held him. Like Elijah in the

schools of the Prophets, he was revered, he was loved, he was almost

adored. My heart kindles while I write. Here it was that I saw, shall I

say an angel in human flesh?--I should not far exceed the truth if I

said so'--and much more to the same effect. It was the same wherever

Fletcher went; the impression he made was extraordinary; language seems

to fail those who tried to describe it. 'I went,' said one who visited

him in an illness (he was always delicate), 'to see a man that had one

foot in the grave, but I found a man that had one foot in heaven.'[757]

'Sir,' said Mr. Venn to one who asked him his opinion of Fletcher, 'he

was a _luminary_--a luminary did I say?--he was a _sun_! I have known

all the great men for these fifty years, but none like him.' John Wesley

was of the same opinion; in Fletcher he saw realised in the highest

degree all that he meant by 'Christian Perfection.' For some time he

hesitated to write a description of this 'great man,' 'judging that only

an Apelles was proper to paint an Alexander;' but at length he published

his well-known sermon on the significant text, 'Mark the perfect man,'

&c. (Ps. xxxvii. 37), which he concluded with this striking testimony to

the unequalled character of his friend: 'I was intimately acquainted

with him for above thirty years; I conversed with him morning, noon, and

night without the least reserve, during a journey of many hundred miles;

and in all that time I never heard him speak one improper word, nor saw

him do an improper action. To conclude; many exemplary men have I known,

holy in heart and life, within fourscore years, but one equal to him I

have not known--one so inwardly and outwardly devoted to God. So

unblamable a character in every respect I have not found either in

Europe or America; and I scarce expect to find another such on this side

of eternity.' Fletcher, on his part, was one of the few parish clergymen

who to the end thoroughly appreciated John Wesley. He thought it

'shameful that no clergyman should join Wesley to keep in the Church the

work God had enabled him to carry on therein;' and he was half-inclined

to join him as his deacon, 'not,' he adds with genuine modesty, 'with

any view of presiding over the Methodists after you, but to ease you a

little in your old age, and to be in the way of receiving, perhaps

doing, more good.' Wesley was very anxious that Fletcher should be his

successor, and proposed it to him in a characteristic letter; but

Fletcher declined the office, and had he accepted, the plan could never

have been carried out, for the hale old man survived his younger friend

several years. The last few years of Fletcher's life were cheered by the

companionship of one to whom no higher praise can be awarded than to say

that she was worthy of being Fletcher's wife. Next to Susanna Wesley

herself, Mrs. Fletcher stands pre-eminent among the heroines of

Methodism. In 1785 the saint entered into his everlasting rest, dying in

harness at his beloved Madeley. His death-bed scene is too sacred to be

transferred to these pages.

Indeed, there is something almost unearthly about the whole of this

man's career. He is an object in some respects rather for admiration

than for imitation. He could do and say things which other men could not

without some sort of unreality. John Wesley, with his usual good sense,

warns his readers of this in reference to one particular habit, viz.

'the facility of raising useful observations from the most trifling

incidents.' 'In him,' he says, 'it partly resulted from nature, and was

partly a supernatural gift. But what was becoming and graceful in Mr.

Fletcher would be disgustful almost in any other.' An ordinary

Christian, for example, who, when he was having his likeness taken,

should exhort 'the limner, and all that were in the room, not only to

get the outlines drawn, but the colourings also of the image of Jesus on

their hearts;' who, 'when ordered to be let blood,' should, 'while his

blood was running into the cup, take occasion to expatiate on the

precious blood-shedding of the Lamb of God;' who should tell his cook

'to stir up the fire of divine love in her soul,' and intreat his

housemaid 'to sweep every corner in her heart;' who, when he received a

present of a new coat, should, in thanking the donor, draw a minute and

elaborate contrast between the broadcloth and the robe of Christ's

righteousness--would run the risk of making not only himself, but the

sacred subjects which he desired to recommend, ridiculous. Unfortunately

there were not a few, both in Fletcher's day and subsequently, who did

fall into this error, and, with the very best intentions, dragged the

most solemn truths through the dirt. Fletcher, besides being so

heavenly-minded that what would seem forced and strained in others

seemed perfectly natural in him, was also a man of cultivated

understanding and (with occasional exceptions) of refined and delicate

taste; but in this matter he was a dangerous model to follow. Who but

Fletcher, for instance, could, without savouring of irreverence or even

blasphemy, when offering some ordinary refreshment to his friends, have

accompanied it with the words, 'The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ,' &c.,

and 'The Blood of our Lord,' &c.? But extraordinary as was the

spiritual-mindedness of this man of God, he could, without an effort,

descend to earthly matters on occasion. One of the most beautiful traits

of his character was illustrated on one of these occasions. He had done

the Government good service by writing on the American Rebellion, and

Lord Dartmouth was commissioned to ask him whether any preferment would

be acceptable to him. 'I want nothing,' answered the simple-hearted

Christian, 'but more grace.' His love of children was another touching

characteristic of Fletcher. 'The birds of my fine wood,' he wrote to a

friend, 'have almost done singing; but I have met with a parcel of

children whose hearts seem turned towards singing the praises of God,

and we sing every day from four to five. Help us by your prayers.'

Having described the leader, the orator, the poet, and the saint of

Methodism, it still remains to say something about the patroness of the

movement. Methodism won its chief triumphs among the poor and lower

middle classes. The upper classes, though a revival of religion was

sorely needed among them, were not perceptibly affected. To promote this

desirable object, _Selina, Countess of Huntingdon_ (1707-1791),

sacrificed her time, her energies, her money, and her social reputation.