of fancies and visions confronted with controversialists, Jesuits, and
lawyers, puzzling them with his subtlety, and with his logic beating
down their fence. Now in a court of justice he confronts the judge,
defies the bar, picks flaws in the indictment, quotes against them
adverse statutes, and wrings from baffled judges a reluctant acquittal.
Then he is in the Protector's court, to meet a man hard to dupe. There
he plants himself, his hat on his head, at Oliver's dressing table,
engages him in long discourse, sets before him his duty, presses on
him the policy of toleration, till the iron-hearted soldier, first
surprised, then attentive, at length interested, extends his hand to
the Quaker, bids him repeat the visit, and tells him if they could meet
oftener they would be firmer friends.
"No less remarkable are his courage and skill. As storms thicken, he
is always in the front of the battle; wherever the strife is vehement
there he is; now in Lancashire, now in Leicester, in Westmoreland or
Cornwall; meeting magistrates and judges, braving them at Quarter
Sessions, vanquishing officers, governors of castles, and judges.
Then he sits down calmly to organise, with a forecast equal to that
of Wesley, the scheme of Quaker polity which has lasted to our times.
And if we smile at the oddity of his language, at the curious missives
which he hurls at mayors and magistrates, jailors and judges, we find
at times a caustic style worthy of Hudibras or Cobbett, in which he
lashes the frippery of the court, or meets the casuistry of the Jesuits
or Ultra-Calvinists; and as we dwell on those words of wisdom in which
he tells us of his faith, and cheers the heart of Cromwell's daughter,
we perceive that he is no common man, but one who, with strange
training and singular notions, rose by the strength of genius and piety
to a wide command over men."
But though honoured by the Society which he founded, Fox has not
received his due from the religious world in general, nor from the
friends of civil and religious liberty. It is significant that whilst
his friend, William Penn, has found at least three respectable
biographers outside his own sect, Fox has found but one; and whilst
Penn has been defended again and again from Macaulay's charges,
the only defence of George Fox against his groundless sneers that
is well-known, is from the vigorous pen of Mr. J. S. Rowntree. Fox
has received scant justice from all but "Friends;" _their_ loyalty,
as we have seen, has been beautiful, unfaltering and enthusiastic.
Most writers seem to have been too much afraid of his peculiar views,
and repelled by his uncouth style, to be just to his large heart and
mind, and to his wonderful services as an evangelist. The man who
advocated general education, who was anxious that Philadelphia should
have a botanical garden, who battled for perfect religious liberty,
who pleaded for the rights of the negro and for the reform of prison
discipline, who organised the polity of Quakerism, and associated
philanthropy inseparably with its system, was a remarkable man, far in
advance of his age, and worthy of more regard from the country that has
been so greatly blessed by his labours.
Lord Macaulay has thought fit to speak of George Fox as not mad enough
for Bedlam, but too mad for liberty, as "not morally or intellectually
superior to Ludovic Muggleton or Joanna Southcote," he has termed his
journal "absurd" and his letters "crazy." Unfortunately, Hepworth
Dixon, whilst correcting Macaulay's gross misrepresentations of
Penn, has confirmed those concerning Fox. He speaks of his spiritual
struggles with a sneer, credits him with "imperious instincts," and
is evidently ashamed that Penn was in any way allied with him. It
will, therefore, be simple justice to Fox, to ask the reader who
may be prejudiced against him, by the vigorous epithets and dashing
portraiture of the historian, to set against his caricature some
opinions of men less biassed, and well worthy of confidence. Let him
remember that if Macaulay speaks with unmeasured contempt, Kingsley,
Carlyle, and a host of others speak of Fox with respect.
And first, as to his Journal, listen to the words of Coleridge
and Sir James Mackintosh. Coleridge in his _Biographia Literaria_
observes:--"There exist folios on the human understanding and the
nature of man which would have a far juster claim to the high rank and
celebrity if in the whole huge volume there could be found as much
fulness of heart and intellect as bursts forth in many a simple page of
George Fox."
Sir James Mackintosh describes his "absurd" book as "one of the most
extraordinary and instructive narratives in the world, which no reader
of competent judgment can peruse without revering the virtue of the
writer, pardoning his self-delusion, and ceasing to smile at his
peculiarities."--_Miscell's Works_, vol. II. p. 182.
Is not the testimony of these witnesses preferable to the manifest
prejudice of Macaulay?
Now as to George Fox's powers of mind and high moral character, place
against Macaulay's sarcasm the good opinion of other competent judges.
We will not quote the elaborate eulogy of Ellwood, the friend of
Milton; of William Penn's warm tribute we will only quote the saying
that he had never seen him "out of his place, or not a match for every
service or occasion." But these were personal friends. Let us hear
others. Marsden in his "Later Puritans," speaks of his "penetrating
intellect." The accomplished Alfred Vaughan speaks thus of Fox, in what
Charles Kingsley calls his "fair and liberal chapters on Fox and the
early Quakers," in his "Hours with the Mystics:"--
"Oppression and imprisonment awakened the benevolent, never the
malevolent impulses of his nature,--only adding fervour to his plea
for the captive and the oppressed. His tender conscience could know
no fellowship with the pleasures of the world; his tender heart could
know no weariness in seeking to make less its sum of suffering. He is a
Cato Howard.... In the prison experiences of George Fox are to be found
the germs of that modern philanthropy in which his followers have
distinguished themselves so nobly. In Derby gaol he is 'exceedingly
exercised' about the proceedings of the judges and magistrates,
concerning their putting men to death for cattle, money, and small
matters,--and is moved to write to them, showing the sin of such
severity, and, moreover, what a hurtful thing it was that prisoners
should lie so long in gaol; how that they learned badness one of
another in talking of their bad deeds; and therefore speedy justice
should be done.... As to doctrine again, consider how much religious
extravagance was then afloat, and let us set it down to the credit of
Fox that his mystical excesses were no greater."
The historian Bancroft says:--"His fame increased; crowds gathered like
flocks of pigeons to hear him. His frame in prayer is described as the
most awful, living, and reverent ever felt or seen; and his vigorous
understanding, soon disciplined by clear convictions to natural
dialectics, made him powerful in the public discussions to which he
defied the world.... The mind of George Fox had the highest systematic
sagacity."--_Bancroft's History of the U. S._, Vol. II. pp. 508-9.
But finally let us appeal to the high authority of Carlyle, who
estimated truly the spirit and aim of Fox's life. There was much in
common between them in their sturdy love of truth and reality, leading
to a hearty hatred of empty forms and mere conventionalities. Both had
a striking directness of thought and purpose, going right to the heart
of things; an intense earnestness that did not stop nicely to weigh
words, but hit hard at all unrighteousness. There was in both a strong
sense of personal responsibility that made them indifferent what others
might think or do. Carlyle gives us in "Sartor Resartus" (Popular
edition, pp. 144, 5) a striking eulogium on George Fox, from which we
will select the following characteristic passage:--"Perhaps the most
remarkable incident in modern history is not the diet of Worms, still
less the Battle of Austerlitz, Waterloo, Peterloo, or any other battle;
but an incident passed carelessly over by most historians, and treated
with some degree of ridicule by others; namely, George Fox making to
himself a suit of leather. This man, the first of the Quakers, and
by trade a shoemaker, was one of those to whom, under ruder or purer
form, the divine idea of the universe is pleased to manifest itself;
and across all the hulls of ignorance and earthly degradation, shine
through in unspeakable awfulness, unspeakable beauty on their souls;
who therefore are rightly accounted prophets, God-possessed, or even
Gods, as in some periods it has chanced."
The length of these quotations needs some apology; but the influence
of the vigor and cleverness of Macaulay's caricature needs to be
counteracted; and the confidence with which he pronounces judgment will
doubtless lead many unwary readers to accept his opinion. It should at
least be known that men equally able, and more competent to estimate a
nature like Fox's, have admired his character and valued his work. But
after all the best testimony to his worth is contained in the devoted
life which we have been endeavouring to sketch.
WILLIAM PENN,
THE
FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA.
PREFACE.
The story of William Penn has been told so often and so well that it is
impossible to introduce novelty into it without introducing falsehood.
This Macaulay found out to his cost, his representations doing more to
expose his liability to prejudice than to damage the stable reputation
of Penn. No wonder such a beautiful and eventful life has attracted
many biographers. If Clarkson did not possess all the information
that is now in existence, he is accurate and sympathetic. Hepworth
Dixon is brilliant but not always accurate, and he fails altogether
in the religious portion of his story from utter want of sympathy and
insight. In Dr. Stoughton both these qualities are joined to that
broad acquaintance with the religious history of the age which is so
essential to the just portraiture of such a man. He has added to the
biography many interesting details. Dixon complained that the memoirs
of Quakers are transcendental and lacking in human interest. No book
can deserve the censure less than Dr. Stoughton's life of Penn.
WILLIAM PENN,
THE
FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA.
William Penn was born in London, in 1644. His father was the famous but
time-serving admiral Sir William Penn; his mother, Margaret Jasper,
the beautiful and intelligent daughter of a Rotterdam merchant. His
father's ambition was high. He had gained wealth and the royal favour
by his daring and ability; his son should work out a grand career, and
should be a peer, Viscount Weymouth. But man proposes, God disposes.
The stout Admiral lived to find the strong, handsome, quick-witted
child, on whom he built so much, a very sword in his soul, the last
stroke that brought down his proud self-willed nature to the very dust
before God, and made him at last think seriously of that religion which
he had despised when in health and gaiety.
The child of such hopes received a careful training. First, he was sent
to Chigwell School in Essex, which was near the home of his childhood
at Wanstead. After that, he entered Christchurch College, Oxford,
where he met some of the friends of his after years, including Robert
Spencer, afterwards Earl of Sunderland, and John Locke. Already, signs
of strong religious feeling had manifested themselves in the boy. When
a child at Shangarry Castle, a Quaker preacher--Thomas Loe, destined to
play such a prominent part in his history--came to Cork. His father,
little suspecting the results that would follow, invited him to the
Castle, and gathered the neighbours to hear him. His preaching deeply
impressed the whole gathering; it made Sir William weep freely, and
left an impression on the mind of his child-hearer which was never
effaced. That impression was deepened by a singular vision which he had
at Chigwell School. "Alone in his chamber, being then eleven years old,
he was suddenly surprised with an inward comfort, and, as he thought,
an external glory in the room, which gave rise to religious emotions,
during which he had the strongest convictions of the being of a God,
and that the soul of man was capable of communication with Him. He
believed also, that the seal of Divinity had been placed upon him at
this moment, or that he had been awakened, or called upon to a holy
life." Again at Oxford, he was greatly influenced by Dr. Owen, with
whom Penn corresponded when he was removed from his position as Dean,
to make way for a more pliable instrument of the schemes of the court.
Penn's attainments were already considerable for his years, yet
his College course was doomed to be a failure. The most noteworthy
occurrences in it were, his again hearing the Quaker preacher, Thomas
Loe, and his vigorous opposition to the Ritualistic innovations of
the Stuarts. The authorities insisted on the gown being worn by all
under-graduates. Penn and others, recognising this as the thin end
of the Popish wedge, not only would not wear it themselves, but tore
it from the backs of those who did. This led to his expulsion for
rioting.[7] His father was most annoyed at the disgrace attending the
punishment, until he found that his son's conduct resulted from settled
convictions, already firmly rooted. Then the Admiral at once understood
the serious issues involved. He must vanquish these conscientious
scruples or his ambitious plans would be ruined. He never planned a
sea-fight more carefully. In the first moment of anger he had soundly
whipped his son, and turned him out of doors; now he tried gentler
and more insinuating means. Like a true man of the world, he had full
confidence in the power of a gay life to cast out such thoughts, and he
sent his son to Paris. The most interesting incident of the trip is his
treatment of a French gallant, who insisted on fighting him over some
supposed insult. In vain did Penn politely explain that no insult had
been offered. They must fight. Penn not only excelled in athletics, but
was a skillful fencer. He soon disarmed the man, but instead of then
punishing him for his quarrelsomeness, he only returned him his sword
with a polite bow.
[7] He tells us that his expulsion resulted from his writing a book,
which "the priests and masters did not like." Probably both reasons
were combined.
Sir William Penn, delighted with what he heard of the success of
this expedient, determined that his son should finish his education
in France, after which he destined him for the army. But in God's
providence, the chosen tutor, the learned divine Moses Amyrault, if
he did not deepen the gracious impressions already received, grounded
him thoroughly in theological studies, which were very useful to him
afterwards. Leaving him, Penn travelled for some time, and returned
home, says Pepys, "a fine gentleman." He then studied law awhile in
Lincoln's Inn, and to good purpose, as we shall see.
The great plague of 1665 drove him from London, and probably revived
his serious thoughts, which were further strengthened by intercourse
with serious people and the reading of serious books. His father again
remarked the dreaded relapse, and again tried what change would do.
This time he sent his son to Ireland, to the sprightly court of the
Lord Lieutenant, the Duke of Ormond. Again, he reckoned without his
host. There were Quakers in Ireland, and the very plan to which the
astute Admiral trusted to get his son out of danger, led to his joining
their Society. At first, indeed, nothing seemed less likely than such
a result. He was beginning to despair of finding "the Primitive Spirit
and Church upon Earth," and was ready recklessly to give himself up to
the glory of the world. He was so flattered by the cordial recognition
of the spirit and the success with which he assisted in quelling a
petty insurrection, that he was inclined to fall in with his father's
plan, and adopt the profession of arms. He even went so far as to apply
for a captaincy. But God had other things in store for him. Happening
to hear that Thomas Loe, the Quaker by whom he had been so impressed
in Oxford, was visiting in Cork, he went to hear him. His ministry is
said to have been singularly lively and convincing. The sermon was
wonderfully suited to Penn's case, and made him weep much. The opening
sentence cut him to the quick: "There is a faith that overcomes the
world, and there is a faith that is overcome by the world." From that
night he determined that, by God's grace, his faith should not be
overcome by the world. He began to attend Quaker meetings regularly.
At one of these, in November 1667, a soldier came in, and made a great
disturbance. Penn, like Phineas in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," not having yet
thoroughly subdued the old nature, took him by the collar, and would
have thrown him down stairs, had not Friends interfered. The soldier
went away, and gave information to the authorities, who came and broke
up the meeting, haling several, including Penn, before the magistrates.
His cavalier dress, so unlike that of his companions,[8] led the
mayor, before whom the party was taken, to offer to release him upon
bond for his good behaviour. Penn denied his right to demand such bond,
and challenged the legality of the arrest. When committed, he appealed
to his friend the Earl of Orrery, Lord President of Munster, by whom he
was speedily set at liberty. But that gentleman wrote the news to his
father, who at once summoned him home. He reasoned, he stormed, then,
proud and haughty as he was, he condescended to plead. Finally, finding
his son still unyielding, and hearing complaints of his preaching at
different meetings in town and country, he turned him out of doors,
telling him also that he should leave his estates to those that pleased
him better. He was then twenty-three years of age.
[8] He did not at once adopt the Quaker dress, and continued for some
time to wear a sword. When this non-compliance with Quaker customs
was reported to George Fox, it is said that he simply replied, "let
him wear it as long as he can." He mentioned years afterwards how the
peculiar garb was a stumbling-block to some, "It telleth tales, it is
blowing a trumpet and visibly crossing the world; and this the fear
of man cannot abide" (_Travels_, p. 121). Probably this very fact
commended the peculiarity to his bold and decided spirit.
Henceforth William Penn's time and strength were given to Quakerism.
There was neither hesitation nor half-heartedness. The welfare, work,
and sufferings of Friends he made his own. He wrote and preached with
untiring energy, and suffered, counting it joy.
Though turned out of doors by his father, he was not allowed to want.
His mother privately supplied his needs to the utmost of her ability,
and what she could not do was made up by several kind friends. The
situation was painful in the extreme; separated from home and parents,
his father grieved and mortified at his conduct. He tells pathetically
afterwards of "the bitter mockings and scornings that fell upon me,
the displeasure of my parents, the invectiveness and cruelty of the
priests, the strangeness of all my companions, what a sign and wonder
they made of me." But his conscience approved of the line he had
adopted, and his resolute nature was troubled by no waverings. He
set himself earnestly to do his duty. He united himself closely to
the Friends, and took up his pen on their behalf. His first work was
entitled "Truth exalted."
"The Guide Mistaken," soon followed. It was a reply to "A Guide to the
true Religion," in which the Quakers were treated with great severity.
Shortly afterwards he was drawn into a public discussion with the Rev.
Thomas Vincent, a Presbyterian minister in Spitalfields. Some of his
congregation having become converts to Quakerism, Vincent said some
slanderous things about the Friends. So George Whitehead and Wm. Penn
waited upon him, and insisted that as he had publicly misrepresented
them, he was bound in fairness to give them an opportunity publicly to
set themselves right. After some demur, Vincent agreed to meet them in
his own chapel on a certain day. The discussion lasted until midnight,
and turned principally upon the question of the Trinity. Friends have
always asserted that the doctrine, as taught by the orthodox, is an
attempt to explain the inexplicable, and goes beyond what is revealed
in the Scriptures. This contention in their early days cost them much
reproach; now the chief remnant of it is the annoyance of having their
authors, especially Penn, quoted as believers in the Unitarianism of
to-day.
The debate was one-sided and bitter, and the Friends only retired
at last on condition of having another opportunity to vindicate
themselves. But as Vincent plainly showed that he had no intention
of redeeming his promise, the only satisfaction left was the press.
In "The Sandy Foundation Shaken," Penn gave the public his view of
the matter. But he did not stop with the doctrine of the Trinity, he
went on to the Atonement. He advanced such arguments against "Imputed
Righteousness" as Barclay has elaborated in his Apology. He also
produced arguments against the method in which in those days the
necessity of a satisfaction to the Divine justice was taught. His
expressions unfortunately resemble those of modern Unitarians, but
his position is vitally different. Penn believed the death of Our
Saviour on the cross a real Sacrifice, that "Jesus Christ was our holy
sacrifice, atonement and propitiation, that he bore our iniquities,"
but that Christ is not the cause but the effect of God's love. (See his
"Primitive Christianity revived.")
This book brought down on Penn the anger of Dr. Sanderson, Bishop of
London, and led to his being sent to the Tower. But that only "added
one more glorious book to the literature of the Tower," "No Cross, No
Crown," of which Hepworth Dixon, more trustworthy in literature than in
religion, says, "Had the style been more condensed, it would have been
well entitled to claim a high place in literature." Whilst there he
also replied in a treatise entitled "Innocency with her open face," to
many strictures on the "Sandy Foundation Shaken."
This imprisonment revealed in two ways the stuff of which William Penn
was made. First severity was tried, and one day his servant brought
him the report that the bishop was determined he should recant or die
in prison. He only smiled and said, "They are mistaken in me; I value
not their threats. I will weary out their malice. Neither great nor
good things were ever attained without loss and hardship." Then they
sent Stillingfleet, the future bishop, to try his powers of persuasion,
but they, too, utterly failed. "Tell my father, who I know will ask
thee, that my prison shall be my grave before I will budge a jot, for
I owe my conscience to no mortal man." Such spirit, combined with the
ability his books were revealing, revived the admiral's pride in his
son. The court, too, began to take interest in him, and shortly after
Stillingfleet's visit he was released, having been in the Tower more
than eight months.
He at once resumed his preaching, and having been partially reconciled
to his father, was employed by him to attend to his Irish estates. On
his return home, his father received him fully into his favour, to the
great delight of his mother's heart.