upon the governing body, I am not prepared to discuss that question
at the present stage. This, however, I know--viz., that there is only
one subject of the Queen who is now disqualified from presenting
a clergyman to any benefice in England. A Jew or a Mormonite, a
Mohammedan or a Parsee, Mr. Bradlaugh or Mr. Congreve, may be, and
for ought I know is, patron of the richest or the poorest living in
England; but if any of these worthy persons should suddenly become
influenced by Cardinal Manning and be received as a member of the
Church of Rome, then and then only would he become incapable by law
from exercising his patronage--then and then only would it pass out of
his hands. If we have come to this pass, that in anything like a large
majority of cases Churchmen should find themselves outvoted by Jews,
Turks, infidels, and heretics in the governing bodies, would it not be
pretty clear that something was wrong?
But would the functions of the governing body be confined to the
management of the estate of a benefice and to the appointing and,
where necessary, to the dismissal of the incumbent? Yes. It seems to
me that the functions of a governing body should go no further. That
was a golden rule which Lord Palmerston laid down for the governing
bodies of our endowed schools, and which these bodies have generally
had the wisdom to carry out in practice--“Get the best man you can
find and--get out of his way!” It should be no part of the duties of
the governing body to interfere with what may be called the internal
affairs of the church and the ministrations of the parson. These
should be matters of arrangement between the congregation and their
minister. Let the powers and the duties of churchwardens be defined
as clearly as may be--let the number of the churchwardens be increased
if you will, or let the old _sidesman_ be revived; but let it be
clearly understood that the parish is one thing and the congregation
is another. Let it be understood that the rector of the _parish_ as
a parish officer should be accountable to the governors in so far
as they are trustees for the _parish_ reserve fund; but in matters
with which only the congregation worshipping habitually in the church
are concerned, let no outsider have any _locus standi_. If in his
administrations a clergyman insists on doing or leaving undone certain
practices which are hateful to the congregation to which he ministers;
if between priest and people things should come to a deadlock; by all
means let it be allowable, as it ought to be, for the people to demand
redress, and let them ask for that redress with authority and a claim
to have their grievances considered. In such cases there would be no
need of rushing into the law courts, no spiteful resort to costly
legislation to crush or ruin a foolish, obstinate, and ignorantly
conscientious clergyman. The congregation--speaking through their
representatives, the churchwardens, sidesmen, or whatever other name
you might choose to call them by--would lay their complaint before the
bishop first, and as an ultimate resort would go to the governing body,
and claim that their parson should be dismissed, on grounds which
should be, of course, properly formulated.
And this brings us to another matter--viz., the prominence (I do not
say pre-eminence) to be given to the congregational element in any
readjustment of church regimen at the present time. It is idle to
talk as if the Church were co-extensive with the nation, or as if the
inhabitants of a parish were all worshippers in the church fabric. If
a man now does not like the ritual or the doctrine offered to him in
his parish church, he leaves it, and goes where he finds what he wants.
It will always be so. There was a good deal of nonconformity in the
Apostolic times, and there will be nonconformity as long as men love to
have things their own way. If an apostle were to find himself rector of
any parish in England, with an angel to play the organ, and a multitude
of the heavenly host to chant the psalms and “render” the anthems,
would Jannes and Jambres be satisfied? On the other hand, though it is
impossible but that offences should arise (which means that offence
should be _taken_), it is our duty and our interest to minimise the
occasion of offence; and it is clearly neither right nor politic that
any man should occupy such a position as that he may, if he please,
go very far towards making himself a “lord over God’s heritage,”
and by adopting such a course not only lessen his own influence, but
commit a serious wrong to the assembly of worshippers to whom, after
all, it must be remembered, he is appointed to minister, not to be an
irresponsible dictator.
Wherever there is a “congregation of faithful men” regularly
worshipping together in any church, the very sign and evidence of
life among them is that there is a great deal of mere _business_ to
be got through. There are large sums of money raised for various
purposes, there are organizations great and small to be looked to,
there are meetings to be held, arrangements of very different kinds to
be made, and work of all sorts to be done. It _must_ be done, and it
can _only_ be done by the incumbent in conjunction and co-operation
with the congregation; as long as the two work together all goes
on smoothly, if they are at variance friction ensues. It would be
preposterous that all the money collected by and through the voluntary
contributions and the voluntary exertions of the congregation should
be handed over to an outside body such as the governing body we have
been dealing with above. Indeed, such a proposal scarcely deserves to
be seriously considered; the congregation as a congregation must in
all reason be allowed to manage its own affairs. But, inasmuch as no
institution in the world can hope to flourish if its manager prove
himself incompetent, quarrelsome, and fractious, and when it becomes
apparent that the well-being of the institution is being sacrificed
only to keep the wrong man in the wrong place, then you get rid of that
wrong man, sometimes with joy, sometimes with sorrow. So should it be
with our churches. To give the congregations the appointment of their
parsons or to arm them with a veto would be to follow a course which
all our experience warns us against, and to which--I cannot explain
why--all our national habits of thought, convictions, and prejudices
are opposed. But, under any circumstances, cases might occur where a
reluctant congregation might find itself saddled with a minister who,
after a fair trial, should prove himself altogether unsuited to deal
with the peculiar conditions, social, financial, or religious--which
presented themselves; and where such cases did occur the congregation
in its own interests--to go no further--ought to have the opportunity
of making its wishes or its objections known. As to graver matters,
where a parson’s moral character was in question, I do not think
it worth while to deal with them. As to the proposal of setting up
parochial councils in our country villages, I find it very hard to
believe that this can have ever been put forward seriously by any sane
man of the world. Surely, surely it can only be the clumsy joke of a
dreamer which suggests that we should establish village parliaments
for the discussion of matters of ritual and theology among the
representatives of a population which sometimes counts by tens, usually
by a few hundreds, and very rarely by thousands. In the single diocese
of Norwich there are actually one hundred and two parishes in each of
which the population is less than a hundred, including the last baby.
Think of a parochial council in the parish of Bittering Parva, where I
was once told “there are _between_ fourteen and fifteen inhabitants!”
* * * * *
I am quite aware that the questions which still remain to be dealt with
in considering any comprehensive measure of what is known as Church
Reform are many and difficult, and some of them are of the highest
importance. They will come on for discussion, we may be sure, and abler
men than I am, and men better qualified to handle such questions, will
doubtless engage in them.
In the hands of such men I would gladly leave the serious and difficult
problems which are calling so loudly for solution. The power of
dismissal of a parson from his cure, for other than moral offences,
at once brings us face to face with the question, “How are we to
provide for aged and broken-down clergy in their time of need?” It also
suggests the question, “In what relations will the governing body stand
to the congregation on the one side and the bishop on the other?” The
throwing open the benefices to what is sure to be stigmatized as _open
competition_ will be distasteful to some, but will result in changes
which I am convinced will be, on the whole, of immense benefit to
clergy and people, and especially they will tend towards the promotion
of the best men to the most valuable cures. Yet here too, when we come
to details, it will be necessary to open our eyes to some difficulties,
from which, however, we need not shrink, nor will they, I believe, be
found so insuperable as may be imagined.
The training, too, of the younger clergy during their term of
_apprenticeship_, if I may use the expression, and the general
supervision and periodical inspection of the benefices which has
now become the emptiest of forms, will assuredly be called for by
all who desire a coherent scheme for the readjustment of matters
ecclesiastical. It is hardly to be expected that we should be allowed
to go on much longer in the rambling way we do.
If it were only the supremacy of this or that form of doctrine or
worship, however dear to us, however sacred, that was at stake, I for
one would not willingly embark in the conflict that is before us, or
step out from the limits of the humble sphere in which I find myself.
I would hold my peace except among my people, and try my best to till
the little plot in the heritage of God which His good providence has
assigned to me for my daily work. But there is much more at stake
than any merely sectarian view of the case would have us believe. It
is no mere fight between religious factions and sects and creeds. The
question now is whether or not that machinery whereby the schooling
of our moral sentiments has been carried on for ages shall be cast
from us as a thing of nought, while we surrender ourselves to the
private-venture teachers to provide a new machinery by-and-by. Are we
to have no functionaries whose remonstrances any one need attend to? Is
there to be no voice speaking with the semblance of authority, bidding
the people do the right and avoid the evil? Is there to be no national
worship, no national religion, and of course no national creed? How
long can Christian ethics be supposed to last?
For ages the vessel of the State has gone on its way riding through a
thousand storms, and buffeted by a million billows; its rudder has been
at times unskilfully handled; at times the course has been set with
evil consequences; at times the steersmen have been rash or blind. But
shall we now, in an outbreak of passion or panic, unship that rudder
and cut ourselves adrift, with never a helm to trust to, in the open
sea?
IV.
_QUIS CUSTODIET?_
There are very few Societies started in our time which have done so
much with such slender resources and with so very little adventitious
aid as the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings.
It was only the other day, so to speak, that a handful of men, whose
hearts were in the right place, banded themselves together to raise the
voice of warning against a fashion which had become a rage, and which
was threatening to make a clean sweep of all that was most venerable,
most precious, most unapproachably inimitable in the architectural
remains of our country.
Undeterred by the clamour of incompetent impostors, undismayed by the
ridicule of people of importance, undiscouraged by the difficulties
which must be expected by all gallant crusaders, the little band went
forth--a real Salvation Army without drums and without any flourish of
trumpets--to save what remained from the devastation that had been
going on, not despising the day of small things. They were an audacious
band; they proclaimed that the taste and the sentiment of the world had
got into an utterly vicious groove--that the taste and the sentiment
of the world needed to be corrected, set aright--educated in fact--and
that they were going to educate it whether the world liked being
educated or not.
Astonishing presumption! “Who are ye?” said the perplexed world,--“who
are ye; the apostles of a new toryism, ye that preach the keeping up
of the old, which time and tide, the storms and the elements, have
pronounced to be moribund? Who are ye that would watch over the homes
of the bats and the owls in this our age of advance, with the works of
the men of mind rising up to heaven to rebuke you? Ruin-mongers that
ye be, prating about the loveliness of mild decay, while we live in
the days of carving by machinery, and ashlar smoothed to the likeness
of the loveliest stucco by the help of the modern stone plough, and
windows that no age ever saw the like of till now, and the smuggest of
pulpits and the slipperiest of tiles, and the tallest of walls built
of, if not daubed with, the most untempered of mortar? Who are ye? Are
ye to be your brothers’ keepers?”
Well! all this was very terrible, especially that last thrust! But
even that last thrust seemed to read very like a leaf from the book of
the first murderer; seemed, too, as if some modern confederates of Cain
were afflicted with that same irritable temperament, that same jealousy
of being called to account for their misdeeds, which would even go the
length of justifying the slaughter of Abel if it should be made to
appear that the dead could not be restored to life again.
But the new Reformers, whatever they may have thought, were content to
hold their peace. They went peeping and prying about and protesting;
they exposed the gross ignorance of an adventurer here; they issued a
serious warning to a well-meaning gentleman there; they did as other
apostles have done before now--they were instant in season and out of
season; they reproved, rebuked, exhorted; and almost before they knew
where they were, they discovered that they had many more supporters
than at first they had suspected, that the world had been waiting for
them this long time back, and that they had started upon their mission
not a day too soon.
As soon as people begin to succeed in any mission, they are pretty
sure to get into bad odour by the excesses of their more impassioned
supporters. Then follow disclaimers, explanations, recriminations,
and they are comforted by the reminder that “when fools fall out wise
men get their due.” When this point has been reached, the other side
begins to take heart, and mis-statement is apt to be accepted as the
explanation of over-statement, just as now it is beginning to be
believed that _Antirestoration_ is a full and sufficient summing up of
what is meant by the word _Protection_, and that doing nothing is all
that this Society aims at.
If there are some crazy fanatics who have injured the cause which they
have at heart by advocating in a furious way that all we have to do
with an ancient building is to let it alone, and leave it to fall down,
rather than do anything to preserve it, I for one hereby declare that
I hold such fanatics to be heathen men and heretics of the worst kind.
I look upon such people much as I look upon those peculiar people who
denounce the whole medical profession as interferers with the laws of
Providence, and who forbid the members of their sect from ever setting
a broken bone or taking a prescription when sickness or infirmity
has attacked them. To talk of letting an ancient building take its
chance, and doing nothing to prolong its life, is to my mind to talk
pestiferous nonsense with which I have no manner of sympathy. But
unhappily there has been another view which has been put forward in a
very specious and ingenious and captivating manner by another set of
people, and which unhappily has met with immense favour at the hands of
the moneyed public, and which seems to me to find its exact parallel
in the proposal of a certain unfortunate lady who suffered martyrdom
for her faith, or at any rate her profession, some years ago. That
poor lady proclaimed to the world that she was so profoundly versed in
all the virtues of certain mysterious herbs and salves and potions and
mixtures, that she was prepared to guarantee the perfect restoration of
youth and loveliness to the most aged and most battered of her sex; in
fact, she asserted that she had discovered the grand secret of making
them “beautiful for ever.” She was, I take it, the high priestess and
prophetess of _restoration_.
Now between the criminal and indolent neglect of those who would sit
down with folded hands and never stretch out a finger to avert the
death of the stricken, and the pretentious puffery of quacks who assure
us that they have discovered the secret of rejuvenescence, there is a
whole world of difference, and between the stupid do-nothingism of the
one and the rash do-everythingism of the other there is--there must
be--a middle course. This is what we have to complain of, that when
well-meaning people have set themselves to “restore” a church (for I
shall keep myself to that branch of the subject for the present), some
of us have found the greatest difficulty in learning _what_ they were
going to restore.
When these good and well-meaning people take it into their heads that
an ancient ecclesiastical building is to be replaced by a modern
structure in which “all the characteristic features of the original
are to be reproduced and for the most part retained,” we ask ourselves
with wide-open eyes of amazement and perplexity what is going to be
reproduced? There is a sumptuous Norman doorway, there are abundant
indications of the existences of a Norman church having existed on
this spot--there are clear proofs that the Norman pillars have been
recklessly cut away here to make room for a splendid thirteenth-century
tomb, that the north aisle is an addition raised up at the sacrifice of
the original north wall--that a chapel of no great artistic merit was
added at another time, that the pitch of the roof was altered when the
clerestory was added, that the chancel was rebuilt, flimsily, faultily,
fantastically, just before the final rupture with Rome,--and yet that
the remains of the superb sedilia which the seventeenth-century mob
smashed to pieces were evidently removed from the earlier chancel
by the fifteenth-century architects. There are signs, in fact, of
the church never having been left undisturbed--that from generation
to generation the rude forefathers of the hamlet were always doing
something to their church, taking a pride in adding to or altering
it, according to their notions. They never thought of _reproducing_
anything, but rightly or wrongly they were always aiming at _improving_
everything. You are going to restore, are you? _What_ are you going
to restore? The Norman, the Early English, the Decorated, or the
Perpendicular church? What are the characteristic features of the
original? What is your notion of the original which you pretend to
be about to restore? The problem that presents itself becomes more
difficult, more complex, the longer you look at it--the problem,
namely, _what_ you are going to restore.
If my dear old grandmother should wish to be made “beautiful for
ever”--_i.e._ to be restored--what condition of former loveliness
shall we call back? There are some who paid homage to her beauty at
eighteen, some who loved her at thirty, and some who almost adored her
at threescore years and ten. Look at her portraits! Which shall we
take? Nay! I love her as she is, say I, with the smile that plays about
her venerable lips and the soft light in the gentle eyes. I love every
furrow on her broad brow and would not have the thin grey hairs turned
to masses of auburn. I would keep her for ever if I might, but I would
no more dream of restoring her to what she was before I was born than I
would replace her by something that she is not and never was.
Now up and down this land of England there are, say, 5,000 churches
that at this moment stand upon the same foundations that they stood
upon 500 years ago, some few of them standing in the main as they were
left eight centuries ago. If for 5,000 any one should suggest not
5,000, but 10,000, I should find no fault with the correction.
If we could go back in imagination to the condition of these churches
as they were left when the Reformation began, it may safely be affirmed
that there was not at that time, there never had been, and there is
never likely to be again, anything in the world that could at all
compare with our English churches. There never has been an area of
anything like equal extent so immeasurably rich in works of art such
as were then to be found within the four seas. The prodigious and
incalculable wealth stored up in the churches of this country in the
shape of sculpture, glass, needlework, sepulchral monuments in marble,
alabaster, and metal--the jewelled shrines, the precious MSS. and their
bindings, the frescoes and carved work, the vestments and exquisite
vessels in silver and gold, and all the quaint and dainty and splendid
productions of an exuberant artistic appetite and an artistic passion
for display which were to be found not only in the great religious
houses, but dispersed about more or less in every parish church in
England, constituted such an enormous aggregate of precious forms of
beauty as fairly baffles the imagination when we attempt to conceive
it. There are the lists of the _church goods_--_i.e._ of the contents
of churches--by the thousand, not only in the sixteenth century but in
the fourteenth: there they are for any one to read; and, considering
the smallness of the area and the poverty of the people, I say again
that the history of the world has nothing to show which can for one
moment be compared with our English churches as they were to be found
when the spoilers were let loose upon them.[5] Well! We all know that
a clean sweep was made of the _contents_ of those churches. The locusts
devoured all. But the _fabrics_ remained--the fabrics have remained
down to our own time--they are as it were the glorious framework of the
religious life of the past. There is no need for me to dwell upon the
claim which these survivals of a frightful conflagration have upon us
for safe custody. I presume we all acknowledge that claim, and the only
question is how best to exhibit our loyalty. But when we have got so
far we are suddenly met by a wholly unexpected and anomalous difficulty
before we can make a single step in advance.
Now I am free to confess that hardly a day of my life passes in which
I am not oppressed by the conviction that there are few men of my
age within the four seas who are as deplorably ignorant of things in
general as I feel myself to be;--but there is one branch of ignorance,
if I may use the expression, which I am convinced that the enormous
majority of my most gifted acquaintances are sharing with myself--I
really do not know to whom these thousands of churches belong.
There was a time when the church belonged to the parish as a sort of
corporation, and when by virtue of their proprietary right in their
church the parishioners were bound to keep the fabric in tenantable
repair. But when that obligation was removed by the abolition of Church
rates (so far as I can understand the matter), the church practically
ceased to belong to any one. Tell the most devoted church people in my
parish that because they are church people therefore they are bound to
keep the fabric in repair, and they would to a man become conscientious
nonconformists in twenty-four hours. Tell my most conscientious
nonconformists that next Monday there is to be a meeting in the vestry
and an opportunity of badgering the parson, and not a man of them but
would claim his right to be there:--because, under circumstances which
are favourable to his own interests and inclinations, every inhabitant
of a certain geographical area protests that he is a shareholder in his
parish church. It is true that on a memorable occasion I was presented
with the key of my church, and was directed to lock myself in and ring
the bell, and then was solemnly informed that I had taken possession
of my freehold. I daresay it was quite true, only I am quite certain
nobody did believe it at the time and nobody does believe it now. From
that day to this I never have been able to understand to whom my church
does belong.