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... DON 


 OF 1865 

THE following History of my Religious Opinions. now that it 
is detached from the context in which it originally stood, re- 
quires some preliminary explanation; and that, not only in order 
to introduce it gene.-ally to the reader. but specially to make 
him understand, how I cam
 to write a whole book about my- 
self. and about my most pnvate thoughts and feelings. Did I 
consult indeed my own impulses. I should do my best simply 
to wipe out of my Volume and consign to oblivion every trace 
of the circumstances to which it is to be ascribed; but its orig- 
inal title of Apologia is too exactly borne out by its matter and 
structure, and these again are too suggestive of correlati ve cir- 
cumstances, and those circumstances are of too grave a char- 
acter, to allow of my indulp-ing so natural a wish. And there- 
fore, though in this new edition I have managed to omit nearly 
a hundred pages of my original Volume, which I could safely 
consider to be of merely ephemeral importance, I am even for 
that very reason obliged. by way of making up for their absence, 
to prefix to my narrative some account of the provocation out 
of which it arose. 
It is now more than twenty years that a vague impression to 
my disadvantage has rested on the popular mind, as if my con- 
duct towards the Anglican Church, white I was a member of it. 
was inconsistent with Christian simplicity and uprightness. An 
impression of this kind was almost unavoidable under the cir- 
cumstances of the case, when a man, who had written strongly 
against a cause, and had. collected a party round him by virtue 
of such writings, gradually faltered in his opposition to it, unsaid 
his words. threw his own friends into perplexity, and their pro- 
ceerlings into confusion, and ended by passing over to the side 
of those whom he had so vigorously denounced. Sensitive then 
as I have ever been of the imputations which have been so 
freely cast upon me, I have never felt much impatience under 
them, as considering them to be a portion of the penalty which 
I naturally and justly incurred by my change of religion. even 
thoup:h they were to continue as long as I lived. I left their 
removal to a future day, when personal feelings would have died 
out. and documents would see the light, which were as yet 
buried in closets or scattered through the country. 
This was my state of mind. as it had been for many years. 
when, in the beginning of 18ü'J., I unexpectedly found myself 
publicly put upon my defence, and furnished with an opportunity 
of pleading my cause before the world. and, as it so happened. 
with a fair prospect of an impartial hearing. Taken indeed by 
surprise, as I was. I had much reason to be anxious how I should 
be able to acquit myself in so serious a matter; however. I had 
long had a tacit understanding with myself, that in the improb- 
able event of a challenge being formally made to me by a 
person of name, it would be my duty to meet it. That oppor- 
tunity had now occurred; it never might occur again: not to 
avail myself of it at once would be virtually to give up my 



camse; accordingly, I took advantage of it, and, as it has turned 
out, the circumstance that no time was allowed me for any 
c:;tudied statements has compensated, in the equitable judgment 
of the public. for such imperfections in composition as my want 
of leisure involved. 

It was in the number for January 180 f t-. of a magazine of wide 
circulation, and in an article upon Queen Elizabeth, that a 
popular writer took occasion formally to accuse ffie by name of 
thinking so lightly of the virtue of Veracity, as in set terms to 
have count.enanced and defended that neglect of it which he at 
the same time imputed to the Catholic Priesthood. His words 
were these: 
· Truth, for its own sake. had never been a virtue with the 
Roman clergy. Father Newman informs us that it need not. and 
on the whole ought not to be; that cunning is the weapon 'which 
heaven has given to the 
aints wherewith to withstaml the brute 
male force of the wicked world which marries and is given in 
marriage. ""hether his notion be doctrinally correct or not, it 
is at least historically so.' 
These assertions, going far beyond the popular prejudice enter- 
tained against me. had no foundation whatever in fact. I never 
had said, I never had dreamed of saying. that truth for its own !:;ake, 
need not, and on the whole ought not to be, a virtue with the Roman 
Clergy; or that cunning is the weapon which heaven has givcn 
to the Saints wherewith to withstand the wicked 'world. To 
what work of mine then could the writer be referring? In a 
correspondence which ensued upon the subject between him anù 
myself, he rested his charge against me on a sermon of mine, 
preached. before I was a Catholic. in the pulpit of my church 
at Oxford; and he gave me to understand, that. after having 
done as much as this, he was not bound. over and above such 
a general reference to my sermon, to specify the passages of it 
in which the doctrine, which he imputed to me. was contained. 
On my part. I considered this not enough; and I demandcd of 
him to bring out his proof of his accusation in form and in dctail, 
or to confess he was unable to do so. But he persevered in his 
refusal to cite any distinct passages. from any writing of minc; 
and. though he con
ented to withdraw his charge, he would not 
do so on the issue of its truth or falsehood, but simply on the 
ground that I assured him that I had had no intention of in- 
cUI'ring it. This did not satisfy my sense of justice. Formally 
to charge me with committing a fault is one thing; to allow 
that I did not intend to commit it, is another; it is no satisfact- 
ion to me, if a man accuses me of this offence, for him to 
profess that he does not accuse me of that; but he thought 
diffcrently. Not bcing able then to gain redress in the quarter, 
where I had a right to ask it. I appealed to the public. I pUb- 
lished thc correspondence in the shape of a pamphlet. with 
some rcmarks of my own at the cnd, on the course which that 
correspondence had taken. 
is pamphlet, which appeared in the first wecks of February, 
recClved a reply from my accuser towards thc end of March. in 
another pamphlet of 48 pages, entitlcd \\;"hat then docs Dr f.,Tcw_ 



man mean? in which hc profcsscd to do that which I had called 
upon him to do; that is, he brought togcther a number of ex- 
tracts from various works of mine, Catholic and Anglican, with 
thc oLject of showing that, if I was to be acquitted of thc crimc 
of tcaching and practising dcccit and dishonesty, according to 
his first supposition, it was at the price of my Leing considered 
no longer responsible for my actions; for, as he expressed it, 

 I had a human reason once. no doubt, but I had gambled it 
away', and I had 
worked my mind into that morbid state, in 
which nonsense was the only food for which it hungered'; and 
that it could not be called 'a hasty. or far-fetched or unfounded 
mistake, when he concludcd that I did not care for truth for its 
own sake. or teach my disciples to regard it as a virtue'; and. 
 too many prefer the charge of insincerity to that of 
insipience, Dr Newman scemed not to be of that number.' 
Hc ended his pamphlet by returninp; to his original imputa- 
tion ap:ainst mc, which he had professcd to abandon. Alluding 
by anticipation to my proLaLle answcr to what he was then 
publishing, he professed his heartfelt cmbarrassmcnt how he was 
to Lelieve anything I might say in my exculpation, in the plain 
and li tcral sense of the words. · I am henceforth'. he said. · in 
doubt and fear. as much as an honest man can be. concerning 
cvery word Dr Newman may write. How can I tcll. that I !-;hall 
not be the dupe of some cunning equivocation. of one of thc 
thrce kinds laid down as permissiblc by the blessed St Alfonso 
da Liguori and his pupils, even when confirmed with an oath, 
because "then we do not deceive our neighbour. but allow him 
to deccive himself"? . .. How can I tell, that. I may not in 
this pamphlet have made an accu
ation, of the truth of which 
Dr Newman is perfectly conscious; but that, as I. a herctic 
Protestant, have no business to make it, he has a full right to 
dcny it?' 
Evcn if I could have found it consistent with my duty to my 
own reputation to leavc such an elaborate impeachment of my 
moral nature unanswcred. my duty to my brcthren in thc 
Catholic Pricsthood would havc forbidden such a coursc. They 
wcrc involved in the charges which this writcr. all along, from 
thc original passage in thc magazine, to the vcry last paragraph 
of the pamphlet. hall so confidently. so pertinaciously madc. In 
exculpating myself, it was plain I shoulLl be pursuing no mcre 
Jlcrsonal ()IHUTcl; I was offcring my humhlc sf't"vicf' to a sacred 
cause. I was making my protcst in hehalf of a largc !Jody of 
mcn of high character. of honest and rcligious minds. and of 
sensitivc honour-who had their place and their rights in this 
world, though they were ministcrs of the world unsecn. and who 
were insulted by my accuser. as thc above extracts from him 
sllffitiently show. not only in my pcrson. but directly and point- 
edly in their own. Accordingly. I at oncc sct ahout writing the 
ApolOflirt ]11"0 vitii swì, of which the prescnt volumc is a new 
edition; and it was a grcat rcward to mc to find. as the con- 
tl'Oversy proceed ell. such large numbers of my clerical hrethren 
supporting me by their sympathy in thc course which I was 
pursuing, and. as occasion offercd. bestowing on mc the formal 
and puùlic cxprcssion of thcir approùation. 



HÜ:itory of my Religious Opinions up to 1833 . . . . 1 


History of my Ueligious Opinions from 1833 to 183
. . ,11 


llistory of my Religions Opinions from 1839 to 1811. . 10- 


History of my Hcligious Opinions from 1841 to 1845. . 1m 


IT may easily be conceived how great a trial 
it is to me to write the following history of 
rnysclf; but 1 must not shrink from the task. 
The words 'Secretum meum mihi', keep ringing 
in nlY ears; but as men draw towards their 
end, they care less for disclosures. N or is it 
the least part of my trial, to anticipate that 
my friends may, upon first reading- what I have 
written, consider much in it irrelevant to my 
purpose; yet I cannot help thinking that, viewed 
as a whole, it will effect what I wish it to do. 

I was brought up from a child to take great 
delight in reading the Bible; but I had no 
fonned religious con victions till I was fifteen. 
Of course, I had perfect knowledge of Iny 
After I was grown up, I put on paper such 
recollections as I had of my thoughts ;u}(} 
feeJings on religious subjects at the time that 
I was ël child and a boy. Out of these 1 select 
two, which arc at once the most definite alnong 
them, and also have a bearing on Iny later 
In the paper to which I have referred, written 
either in the Long Vacation of I 
20, or in 
October 1823, the following notices of my school 



days were sufficiently prominent in my memory 
for me to consider them worth recording: 
'I used to wish the Arabian Tales were true: 
my imagination ran on unknown influences, on 
magical powers, and talismans... I thought 
life might be a dream, or I an Angel, and 
all this world a deception, my fellow-angels by 
a playful device concealing themselves b'om HIe, 
and deceiving me with the semblance of a 
material world.' 
Again, 'Reading in the Spring of 1816 a 

entence from [Dr \Vatts's] Re11lnant.
 4 Time, 
d "the Saint unknown to the world", to 
the effect that "there is nothing in their fi
or countenance to distinguish them", &c. ,"
I supposed he spoke of Angels who lived in 
the world as it were disguised.' 
The other relnark is this: 'I was very super- 
stitious, and for some time previous to my 
conversion [when I was fifteen] used constautly 
to cross myself on going into the dark.' 
Of course I Inust have got this practice froln 
some external source or other; but I can make 
no sort of conjecture whence; and certainly no 
one had ever spoken to me on the subject of 
the Catholic religion, which 1. only knew by 
name. The French master was an é17ligl'é Priest, 
but he was simply made a butt, as French 
In asters too commonly were in that day, and 
spoke English very imperfectly. There was a 
Catholic family in the village, old Inaiden ladies, 
we u
ed to think; hut I knew nothing but their 
name. I have of late years heard that there 
were one or two Catholic boys in the school; 
but, either we were carefully kept from knowing 
this, or the knowledge of it made simply no 



impression on our minds. My brother will bear 
witness how free the school was from Catholic 
I had once been into 'Yarwick Street Chapel 
with my father, who, 1 believe, wanted to hear 
some piece of music; all that I bore away from 
it was the recollection of a pulpit, and a preacher, 
and a boy swinging a censer. 
\Vhen I was at LittIelTIOre, I was looking over 
old copy-books of nIY school days, and I found 
 them my first Latin verse-book; and in 
the first page of it there ,vas a device which 
almost took my breath away with surprise. I 
' the book before me now, and have just 
hee'h showing it to others. I have written in 
the first page, in my school-boy hand, 'John 
H. N eWlllan, February 11 th, 1811 , Verse Book'; 
then follow my first verses. Between ' Verse' 
and 'Book' I have drawn the figure of a solid 
cross upright, and next to it is, what may 
indeed be meant for a necklace, but what I 
cannot Inake out to be any thing else than a 
set of beads suspended, with a little cross 

ttached. At this time I was not quite ten 
years old. I suppose I got the idea frolTI some 
J"OlTIanCe, rvlrs Radcliffe's, or Miss Porter's; or 
from some religious picture; but the strange 
thing is, how, among the thousand objects which 
meet a boy's eyes, these in particular should 
so have fixed themselves in my mind, that I 
made them thus practically my own. I am 
certain there was nothing in the churches I 
attended, or the prayer books I read, to suggest 
them. It must be recollected that churches 
and prayer books were not decorated in those 
days as I believe they are now. 



vVhen I was fourteen, I read Paine's tracts 
against the Old Testmnent, and found pleasure 
in thinking of the objections which were con- 
tained in them. Also, I read some of H ulne' s 
Esso,1Js; and perhaps that on }1 iracles. So at 
least I gave my father to understand; hut per- 
haps it was a brag. Also, I recollect copying 
out some French verses, perhaps Voltaire's, 
against the immortality of the soul, and saying 
to myself sOlnething like, 'How dreadful, but 
how plausible!' 
When I was fifteen (in the autumn of 1816) 
reat change of thought took place in me. 
I fell under the influences of a definite Creed, 
and received into my intellect impressions of 
dogma, which, through God's mercy, have never 
been effaced or obscured. Above and beyond 
the conversations, and sermons, and the excellent 
man, long dead, who was the human means of 
of this be
inning of divine faith in me, was the 
effect of the books which he put into my hands, 
all of the school of Calvin. One of the first 
books I read was a work of Romaine's; 1 neither 
recollect the title nor the contents, except one 
doctrine, which of course I do not include among 
those which I believe to have conle from a divine 
source, viz. the doctrine of finàJ perseverance. 
I received it at once, and believed that the in- 
ward conversion of which I was conscious (and 
of which I still am more certain than that I 
have hands and feet) wou1d last into the next 
life, and that I was elected to eternal glory. 
I have no consciousness that this belief had any 
tendency whatever to lead me to be careless 
about pleasing God. I retained it till the age of 
twenty-one, when it gradually faded away; but I 



believe that it had some influence on my opinions, 
in the direction of those childish iInaginations 
which I have already mentioned, 'Vi!::. in isolating 
Ine from the objects which surrounded me, in 
confirming me in my mistrust of the reality of 
material phenomena, and making me rest in the 
thought of two, and two only, supreme and lunlÏn- 
ously self-evident beings, myself and my Creator; 
for while I considered Inyself predestined to 
salvation, I thought others simply passed over, 
not predestined to eternal death. I only thought 
of the mercy to myself. 
The detestable doctrine last mentioned is 
silnply denied and abjured, unless my nlelnory 
strangely deceives me, by the writer who made 
a deeper itnpression on my mind than any other, 
and to whoin (humanly speaking) I almost owe 
Iny soul-- Thonlas Scott, of Aston Sandford. I so 
adlnired and delighted in his writings, that, when 
I was an undergraduate, I thought of making a 
visit to his parsonage, in order to see a man 
wholn I so deeply revered. I hardly think I 
could have given up the idea of this expedition, 
even after I had taken my degree; for the news 
of his death, in 1821, came upon nle as a dis- 
appointment as well as a sorrow. I hung upon 
the lips of Daniel "Tilson, afterwards Bishop of 
Calcutta, as in two sermons at St. John's Chapel, 
he gave the history of Scott's life and death. 
I had been po"sessed of his E.\'.\'(l.1J'\' frOln a boy ; 
his Com1ncllta".1J [ bought when I was an ullder- 
grad ua te, 
What, I suppose, will strike any reader of 
Scott's history and writings, is his bold unworld- 
liness and vigorous independence of nlind. I Ie 
followed truth wherever it led hiIn, begiuning 



with Unitarianism, and ending in a zealous faith 
in the Holy Trinity. It was he who first planted 
deep in my mind that fundamental truth of 
religion. "7ith the assistance of Scott's Essays, 
and the adlnirable work of Jones of Nayland, 
I made a collection of Scripture texts in proof 
of the doctrine, with remarks (I think) of my 
own upon them, before I was sixteen; and a 
few months later I drew' up a series of texts 
in support of each verse of the Athanasian 
Creed. These papers I have still. 
Besides his unworldlinss, what I also admired 
in Scott was his resolute opposition to Anti- 
nomianism, and the minutely practical character 
of his writings. They show him to be a true 
Englishman, and I deeply felt his influence; and 
for years I used almost as proverbs what I 
considered to be the scope and issue of his 
doctrine, 'Holiness before peace', and 'Growth 
is the only evidence of life.' 
Calvinists make a sharp separation between 
the elect and the world; there is much in this 
that is' parallel or cognate to the Catholic doc- 
trine; but they go 011 to say, as I understand 
them, very differently from Catholicism-that 
the converted and the unconverted can be dis- 
criminated by man, that the justified are conscious 
of their state of justification, and that the re- 
generate cannot fall away. Catholics, on the 
other hand, shade and soften the awful antag- 
onism between good and evil, which is one of 
their dogmas, by holding that there is a great 
difference in point of gravity between sin and 
sin, that there is the possibility and the danger 
of falling away, and that there is no certain 
knowledge given to anyone that he is shnply 



in a state of grace, and much less that he is 
to persevere to the end: of the Calvinistic tenets, 
the only one which took root in my Inind was 
the fact of heaven and hell, divine favour and 
divine wrath, of the justified and the unjustified. 
The notion that the regenerate and the justified 
were one and the saIne, and that the regenerate, 
as such, had the gift of perseverance, renlained 
with me not many years, as I have said already. 
This main Catholic doctrine of the warfare 
between the City of God and the powers of 
darkness was also deeply impressed upon my 
mind by a work of a very opposite character, 
Law's Seriolls Call. 
From this time, I have given a full inward 
assent and belief to the doctrine of eternal 
punishment, as delivered by our Lord Himself, 
in as true a sense as I hold that of eternal 
happiness; though I have tried in various ways 
to make that truth less terrible to the reason. 

 ow I come to two other works, which pro- 
duced a deep hnpression on me in the saIne 
autunl11 of 18] 6, when I was fifteen years old, 
each contrary to each, and planting in lne the 
seeds of an intellectual inconsistency 'which 
disabled lne for a long course of ) ears. I read 
lilner's Church IJi.\'tor.lJ, and was nothing 
short of enalnoured of the long extracts from 
St Augustine and the other Fathers which I 
found there. I read theln as being the religion 
of the prhnitive Christians: but sinl1.Iltaneously 
with ðlilner, I read Newton's Oil the }>rupILCcîc.\', 
and in consequence becanle most firlnly convinced 
that the Pope was the Antichrist predicted by 
Daniel, St Paul, and St John. ðly iIuagination 
was stained by the effects of thi" doctrine up 



to the year 1843; it had been obliterated fro111 
lny reason and judgment at an earlier date, 
but the thought remained upon Ine as a sort 
of false conscience. Hence came that conflict of 
mind, which so many have felt besides myself; 
leading SOlne men to lnake a compromise between 
two ideas, so inconsistent with each other, driving 
others to beat out the one idea or the other fron1 
their Ininds, and ending in IllY own case, after 
many years of intellectual unrest, in the gradual 
decay and extinction of one of them- I do not 
say in its violent death, for why should I not 
have Inurdered it sooner, if I lllurdered it at all ? 
I aln obliged to mention, though I do it with 
great reI uctance, another deep imagination, which 
at this time, the autumn of 1816, took possession 
of me,-there can be no lnistake about the fact, 
'I,i:::. that it was the will of God that I 
lead a single life. This anticipation, which has 
held its ground almost continuously ever since- 
with the break of a month now and a lnonth 
then, up to 1829, and, after that date, without 
any bl'eak at all-was lnore or less connected, 
in IllY lnind, with the notion that my calling in 
life would require such a sacrifice as celibacy 
involved; as, for instance, missionary work among 
the heathen, to which I had a great drawing 
for some years. It also strengthened my feeling 
of separation frOln the visible world, of which 
I have spoken above. 

In 1822 I caIne under very different influences 
from those to which I had hitherto been subjected. 
At that time, 1\11' \Vhately, as he was then, after- 
'wards Archbishop of Dublin, for the few months 
he reI
d in Oxford, which he was leaving for 

..- . 

). . 




good, showed great kindness to me. He renewed 
it in 1l;25, when he became Principal of Alban 
Hall, making me his Vice-Principal and Tutor. 
Of Dr \Vhately I will speak presently, for from 
1822 to 1825 I saw IllOst of the present Provost 
of Oriel, Dr Hawkins, at that tillle Vicar of 
Iary's; and, when I took orders in 1824, 
and had a curacy at Oxford, then, during the 
Long Vacations, I ,vas especially thrown into 
 company. I can say with a full heart, that 
I love hiln, and have never ceased to love him; 
and I thus preface what otherwise might sound 
rude, that in the course of the many years in 
which we 'were together afterwards, he provoked 
me very much from tÍ1lle to time, though I am 
perfectly certain that I have provoked him a 
great deal lllore. l\loreover, in IllC such provoca- 
tion was unbecoming, both because he was the 
Head of my College, and because in the first 
years that I knew him, he had been in 111any 
ways of great service to lny mind. 
lIe was the first who taught Ine to weigh IllY 
words, and to be cautious in my statements. 
He led me to that lnode of limiting and clearing 
my sen"ie in discussion and in controversy, and 
of distinguishing between cogn:lte ideas, and of 
obviating lnistakes by anticipation, which to illY 
surprise has been since considered, even in 
quartcrs friendly to me, to savour of the polen1- 
ics of Rome. I I e is a lllan of most exact 
n1illd hhnself, and he used to snub lne severely, 
on reading, as he was kind enough to do, the 
first SerIIlOn" that I wrote, and other composi- 
tions which I was engaged upon. 
Then, as to doctrine, he was the means of 
great additions to lny belicf. As I have noticed 
,'ò.\\\)r ii"; 


 , 1 . .. · ",'.. 

 .' II I .., "'1 
l' t, ..,. ?I" 



elsewhere, he gave TIle the Treatise on AJ1ostolical 
Preaching, by Summer, afterwards Archbishop of 
Canterbury, from which I learned to give up 
my remaining Calvinism, and to receive the 
doctrine of Baptismal Regeneration. In many 
other ways, too, he was of use to me, on subjects 
semi-religious and semi-scholastic. 
It was Dr Hawkins, too, who taught me to 
anticipate, that, before many years were over, 
there would be an attack made upon the books 
and the canon of Scripture. I was brought to 
the same belief by the conversation of IV!r Blanco 
\Vhite, who also led me to have freer views en 
the subject of inspiration than were usual in 
the Church of England at the time. 
There is one other principle which I gained 
from Dr Hawkins, more directly bearing upon 
Catholic is In, than any that I have mentioned; 
and that is the doctrine of Tradition. When I 
was an undergraduate, I heard him preach in 
the University Pulpit his celebrated sernlon on 
the subject, and recollect how' long it appeared 
to me, though he was at that thne a very 
striking preacher; but, when I read it and 
studied it as his gift, it made a most serious 
impression upon me. lie does not go one step, 
I think, beyond the high Anglican docbine, 
nay he does not reach it;. but he does his 
work thoroughly, and his view was original 
with him, and his subject was a novel one at 
the time. He lays down a proposition, self- 
evident as soon as stated, to those who have 
at all examined the structure of Scripture, viz. 
that the sacred text was never intended to 
teach doctrine, but only to prove it, and that, if 
we would learn doctrine, we lnust have recourse 



to the forlnularies of the Church; for instance 
to the Catechisln, and to the Creeds. He 
considers, that, after learning from them the 
doctrines of Christianity, the inquirer must 
verify them by Scripture. This view, most 
true in its outline, most fruitful in its con- 
sequences, opened upon nle a large field of 
thought. Dr "
hately held it too. One of it:-, 
effects was to strike at the root of the principle 
on which the Bible Society was set up. I be- 
longed to its Oxford Association; it became a 
matter of time when I should withdraw my 
name from its subscription-list, though I did 
not do so at once. 
It is with pleasure that I pay here a tribute 
to the Inemory of the Rev. \Villiam James, then 
Fellow of Oriel; who, about the year 1823, 
taught me the doctrine of Apostolical Succes- 
sion, in the course of a walk, I think, round 
Christ Church meadow: I recollect being some- 
what inlpatient on the subject at the time. 
It was at about this date, I suppose, that I 
read Bishop Butler's .AlIalogl} J' the study of 
which has been to so many, as it was to Ine, 
an era in their religious opinions. Its inculcation 
of a visible Church, the oracle of truth and a 
pattern of sanctity, of the duties of external 
religion, and of the historical character of Re- 
velation, are characteristics of this great work 
which strike the reader at once; for myself, if 
I may attenlpt to determine what I mo
t g-ained 
from it, it lay in two points, which I shall have 
an opportunity of dwelling on in the sequel; they 
are the underlying principles of a great portion 
of my teaching. First, the very idea of an 
analogy between the separate works of God 



leads to the conclusion, that the system which 
is of less importance is economically or sacra- 
mentally connected with the more nlomentous 
system, and of this conclusion the theory, to 
which I was inclined as a boy, vi::. the unreality 
of material phenolnena, is an ultimate resolution. 
At this time I did not make the distinction 
between matter itself and its phenomena, which 
is so necessary and so obvious in discussing the 
subject. Secondly, Butler's doctrine that Pro- 
bability is the guide of life led me, at least 
under the teaching to which a few years later 
I was introduced, to the question of the logical 
cogency of Faith, on which I have written so 
much. Thus to Butler I trace those two prin- 
ciples of my teaching, which have led to a charge 
against me both of fancifulness and of scepticism. 
And now, as to Dr \Vhately. I owe him a 
great deal. He was a man of generous and 
warm heart. He was particularly loyal to his 
friends, and to use the common phrase, 'aU 
his geese were swans'. 'Vhile I was still awkward 
and timid, in 1822, he took me by the hand, 
and acted the part to me of a gentle and en- 
couraging instructor. He, emphatically, opened 
Iny Inind, and taught me to think and to use 
my reason. After being first noticed by him, in 
1822, I became very intimate with hhn in 1825, 
when I was his Vice-Principal at Alban Hall. 
I gave up that office in 1826, when I became 
Tutor of my College, and his hold upon me 
gradually relaxed. He had done his work towards 
me, or nearly so, when he had taught me to 
see with my own eyes, and to walk with my 
own feet. Not that I had not a good deal to 
learn from others still, but I influenced them 

R ]833 


 well as they me, and co-operated rather than 
mereIy concurred with them. As to Dr \""hately', 
his mind '\-vas too different from mine for us 
to remain long on one line. I recollect how 
I dissatisfied he was with an article of mine in 
the London RelJien', which Blanco "'Yhite, good- 
humouredly, only caned Platonic. \Vhen 1 ,vas 
diverging from hirn (which he did not like), 1 
thought of dedicating my first book to him, in 
words to the effect, that he had not only taught 
me to think, but to think for myself. He left 
Oxford in 1831; after that, as far as I can re- 
collect, 1 never saw hÜn but twice-when he 
visited the University; once in the street, once 
in a romn. From the time that he left, I have 
always felt a real affection for what I nlust call 
his memol'y; for thenceforward he made hhnself 
dead to me. 
1 y reason told me that it was 
impossible that we could have got on together 
longer; yet 1 loved him too much to bid him 
farewen 'without pain. After a few years had 
passed, 1 began to believe that his influence on 
me in a higher respect than intellectual advance 
(I win not say through his fault) had not been 
satisfactory. 1 believe that he has inserted 
sharp things in his later works about me. 
They have never come in my way, and 1 have 
not thought it nece<)sary to seek out what 
would pain me so much in the reading. 
\Vhat he did for me in point of religious 
opinion was first to teach me the existence of 
the Church, as a suhstantive body or corporation; 
next to fix in Ine those anti-Erastian views of 
Church polity, which were one of the most 
prominent features of the TracL'lrian movelnent. 
On this point, and, as far as 1 know, on this 



point alone, he and Hurrell Froude intimately 
sympathized, though Froude's development of 
opinion here was of a later date. In the year 
1826, in the course of a walk, he said much to 
me about a work then just published, caned 
Letters 0'/1 the Chu1'ch, bg an Episcopalian. He 
c;;aid that it would make my blood boil. I twas 
certainly a Inost powerful corn position. One of 
our COllUllon friends told me, that, after reading 
it, he could not keep still, but went on walking 
up and down his room. It 'was ascribed at 
once to \Vhately; I gave eager expression to 
the contrary opinion; but I found the belief of 
Oxford in the affirmative to be too strong for 
me; rightly or wrongly I yielded to the general 
voice; and I have never heard, then or since, 
of any disclaimer of authorship on the part of 
Dr. \Vhately. 
The main positions of this able essay are 
these; first that Church and State should be 
independent of each other; he speaks of the 
duty of protesting 'against the profanation of 
Christ's kingdom, by that double usurpation, the 
interference of the Church in telnporals, of the 
State in spirituals' (p. 191); and, secondly, that 
the Church may justly and by right retain its 
property, thoug-h separated from the State. 
, The clergy', he says (p. 133), 'though they 
oug-ht not to be the hired servants of the 
1agistrate, lllay justly. retain their reven- 
ues; and the State, though it has no right of 
interference in spiritual concerns, not only is justly 
entitled to support fronl the nlÎnisters of religion, 
and from all othe}' Chric;;tians, but would, under 
the system I am recommending, obtain it much 
more effectually.' The author of this work, 



whoever he may he, argues out both these 
points with great force and ingenuity, and with 
a thorough-going vehemence, which, perhaps, we 
may refer to the circumstance, that he wrote, 
not in propria persona, but in the professed 
character of a Scotch Episcopalian. His work 
had a gradual, but a deep effect on Iny mind. 
I 8111 not a,vare of any other religious opinion 
which I owe to Dr \Vhately. For his special 
theological tenets I had no syn1pathy. In the 
next year, 1827, he told me he considered that 
I was Arianizing. The case was this: though at 
that time I had not read Bishop Bun's Defellsio, 
nor the Fathers, I was just then very strong for 
that ante-Nicene view of the Trinitarian doctrine, 
which some writers, both Catholic andnon-CathoHc, 
have accused of wearing a sort of Arian exterior. 
This is the meaning of a passage in Froude's 
Remains, in which he seems to accuse me of 
speakinp; against the Athanasian Creed. I had 
contrasted the two aspects of the Trinitarian 
doctrine, which are respectively presented by 
the Athanasian Creed and the Nicene. Mv 
critieisrns were to the effect, that some of th
verses of the fOrIner Creed were unnecessarily 
seiel1tific. This is a specimen of a certain dis- 
dain for antiquity which had been growing on 
me now for several years. I t showed itself in 
some flippant language against the Fathers in 
the Rnï.1Jclopll'dia .L'íetropolitana, about whom I 
knew little at the time, except what I had 
learnt as a boy frorn Joseph 
Hlner. In writing 
on the Scripture 
1iracles in ] R
5-6, I had read 
Middleton on The Jfiracles qf the Ear(y Church, 
and had imbibed a portion of his spirit. 
The truth is, I was beginning to prefer intellec- 



tual excellence to Inol'al; I was drifting in the 
direction of libera1ism. I was rudely awakened 
from my drean1 at the end of 1827, by two great 
blows-illness and bereavement. 
In the beginning of 1829 came the fonnal 
break between Dr 'Yhatelv and me; lVlr Peel's 
attcll1pted re-election ,vas the occasion of it. 
I think in ]828, or 1827, I had voted in the 
111illority, when the petition to Parlimnent against 
the Catho1ic clainls was brought into Convocation. 
I did so mainly on the views suggested to me 
by the theory of the Lctten; qf all EpÙ'copaliall. 
Also I disliked the bigoted 'two bottle orthodox', 
as they were invidiously called. I took part 
against 1\11' Peel on a simple acaden1ical, not 
at all an ecclesiastical or a political, ground; and 
this I professed at the thne. I considered that 
1\11' Peel had taken the University by surprise, 
that he had no right to call upon us to turn 
round on a sudden, and to expose ourselves 
to the iInputation of thne-serving, and that a 
great University ought not to be bullied, even 
by a great Duke of \Vellington. Also by this 
time I ,,,.as under the influence of Keble and 
Fronde; who, in addition to the reasons I have 
given, dis1iked the Duke.s change of policy as 
dictated by liberalism. 
\Yhately 'was considerably annoyed at me, 
and he took a lnunourous revenge, of which 
he had given me due notice beforehand. As 
head of a house, he had duties of hospitality 
to men of all parties; he asked a set of the 
least intellectual men in Oxford to dinner, and 
men most fond of port; he lnade me one of 
the party; placed me between Provost This 
and Principal That, and then asked nle if I 

')'0 TH
 'EA H 1 S:


was proud of my friends. Ho,veve.., he had 
a serious lllcaning in his act; he saw, lllore 
clearly than I could do, that I was separating 
from his own friends for good and alL 
Dr \Vhately attributed Iny leaving his clienlela 
to a wish on my part to be the head of a 
party myself. I do not think that it was 
deserved. l\Iy habitual feeling then and since 
has been, that is was not I who sought friends, 
but friends who sought n1e. N ever man had 
kinder or n10re indulgent friends than I have 
had, but I expressed my own feeling as to the 
mode in which I gained them, in this very 
year 1829, in the course of a copy of verses. 
Speaking of nlY blessings, I said: 'Blessings of 
friends, ,vhich to my door, llJl{l.s'ked, un/lOped, have 
come'. They have come, they have gone; they 
came to my great joy, they went to my great 
grief. He who gave, took away. Dr \Vhately's 
impression about me, however, admits of this 
During the first years of my residence at 
Oriel, though proud of my College, I was not 
at home there. I was very n1uch alone, and I 
used often to take my daily walk by myself. 
I recollect once meeting Dr Copleston, then 
Provost, with one of the Fellows. He turned 
round, and with the kind courteousness which 
sat so well on him, made me a bow, and said 
'Nunquam minu" sol us, quam CUB1 sol us'. At 
that time, indeed, (frolll 1823) I had the intirnacy 
of my dear and true friend Dr Pusey, and could 
not fail to adnlire and revere a soul so devoted 
to the cause of religion, so full of good ,yorks, 
so faithful in his affections; but he left residence 
when I was getting to know him well. As to 



Dr \Vhately himself, he was too llluch my 
superiol' to allow of my being at nlY ease with 
him; and to no one in Oxford at this time did 
I open Iny heart fully and familiarly. But 
things changed in 1826. At that time I became 
one of the Tutors of my College, and this gave 
me position; besides I had written one or two 
Essays which had been wen received. I began 
to be known. I preached my first University 
Senlloll. N ext year I ,vas one of the Public 
Examiners for the B. A. degree. I t was to me 
like the feeling of spring weather after winter; 
and, if I may so speak, I came out of my 
shell; I remained out of it till 1841. 
The two persons who knew me best at that 
time are stin alive, beneficed clergymen, no 
longer 111Y friends. They could tell better than 
anyone else what I was in those years. From 
this time my tongue was, as it were, loosened, 
and I spoke spontaneously and without effort. 
A shrewd man, who knew me at this time, said, 
'Here is a man who, when he is silent, will 
never begin to speak; and, ,vhen he once begins 
to speak, ,viII never stop'. It was at this time 
that I began to have influence, which steadily 
increased for a course of years. I gained upon 
my pupils, and was in particular intimate and 
affectionate with two of our probationer Fellows, 
Robert I. \Vilberforce (afterwards Archdeacon) 
and Richard Hurrell Froude. ""'hatel)" then, an 
acute man, perhaps saw around me the signs 
of an incipient party of which I ,vas not conscious 
myself. And thus we discern the first elements 
of that movement afterwards called Tractarian. 
The true and primary author of it, however, 
as is usual with great motive-powers, was out 

TO Till<; YEAR 1 R3:


of sight. Having carried off, as a mere boy, the 
hig-hest honours of the University, he had turned 
from the admiration which haunted his steps, 
and sought for a better and holier satisfaction 
in pastoral work in the country. Need I say 
that I am speaking of John Keble? The first 
time that I was in a room with him was on 
occasion of my election to a fellowship at Oriel, 
when I was sent for into the Tower, to shake 
hands with the Provost and Fellows. How is 
that hour fixed in my memory after the changes 
of forty-two years, forty-two this very day on 
which I write! I have lately had a letter in 
my hands, which I sent at the time to my 
great friend, John Bowden, with whom I passed 
almost exclusively my Undergraduate years. 
'I had to hasten to the Tower', I say to him, 
'to receive the congratulations of all the Fellows. 
I bore it tin Keble took my hand, and then 
felt. so abashed and unwortl
y of the honour 
done me, that I seemed desirous of quite sinking 
into the ground '. His had been the first narne 
which I had heard "'poken of, with reverence 
rather than admiration, ,vhen I came up to 
Oxford. \Yhen, .one day, I was walking in High 
Street with my dear earliest friend just n1entioned, 
with what eagerness did he cry out, 'There's 
Keble' ! and with what awe did I look at him! 
Then at another time I heard a l'vlaster of Arts 
of my college give an account how he had just 
then had occasion to introduce hhnself on some 
business to Keble, and how gentle, courteous, 
and unaffected Keble had been, so as almost 
to put hinl out of countenance. Then, too, it 
was reported, truly or falsely, how a rising man 
of brilliant reputation, the present Dean of 



St Paul's, Dr 
1i1man, a(hnired :1nd loved hiln, 
adding, that sonlehow he was unlike anyone 
else. However, at the time when I was elected 
Fenow of Oriel, he was not in residence, and 
he was shy of me for years in consequence of 
the marks 'which I bore upon 111e of the evan- 
gelical and liberal schools. At least so I have 
ever thought. Hurrell Froude brought us together 
about 1828: it is one of the sayings preserved 
in his [lema; liS: 'Do you know the story of the 
murderer who had done one good thing in his 
life? \Ven; if I was ever asked what good deed 
I hãd ever done, I should say that I had brought 
Keble and Newman to understand each other.' 
1'lte r/zristirw Year made its appearance in 
1827. It is not necessary, and scarcely becoming, 
to praise a book which has already become one 
of the classics of the language. When the general 
tone of religious literature was so nerveless and 
impotent, as it was at that tilne, Keble struck 
an original note and woke up in the hearts of 
thousands a new music, the 111usic of a school, 
long unknown in England. N or can I pretend 
to analyze, in my own instance, the effect of 
religious teaching so deep, so pure, so beautifu1. 
I have never tin now tried to do so; yet I think 
I am not wrong in saying, that the two main 
intenectual truths which it brought home to me, 
were the san1e two, which ] had learned from 
Butler, though recast in the creative mind of 
my new master. The first of these was what 
may be caHed, in a large sense of the word, 
the Sacramental system; that is, the doctrine 
that material phe
omena are both the types 
and the instruments of real things unseen, a 
doctrine which enlbraces not only "That Angli- 



cans as "Tell as CathoHcs beHeve about Sacraments 
properly so called, but also the article of 'the 
Communion of Saints' in its fulness: and Hke- 
wise the 
I ysteries of the faith. The conn
of this philosophy of reHgion ,'dth what is some- 
tÏ1nes called' Berkeleyislll' has been mentioned 
above; I knew Httle of Berkeley at this, time 
except by name; nor have I ever studied him. 
On the second intellectual principle which I 
gained from Mr Keble, I could say a great deal, 
if this were the place for it. It runs through 
very Inuch that I have written, and has gained 
for me many hard names. Butler teaches us that 
probability is the guide of life. The danger of 
this doctrine, in the case of many minds, is its 
tendency to destroy in them absolute certainty, 
leading them to consider every conclusion as 
douhtful, and resolving truth into an opinion, 
which it is safe to obey or to profess, but not 
possible to embrace with full internal assent. 
If this 
'ere to be allo\ved, then the celebrated 
saying, '0 God, if there be a God, save my soul, 
if I have a soul!' would be the highest measure 
of devotion-but who can really pray to a Being 
about whose existence he is seriously in doubt? 
J considered that Mr Keble met this difficulty 
by ascribing the firnU1ess of assent which we give 
to religious do('trine, not to the probabiHties which 
introduced it, but to the living power of faith and 
love which accepted it. Tn matters of religion, 
he seemed to say, it is not lTIerely probability 
which nlakes us intelle(.tually certain. but 
probability as it is put to account by f;lÍth and 
love. It is f:tith and Jove whieh give to proba- 
bility a force which it has not in itself: Faith 
and love are directed towards an Object; in 



the VISion of that Object they live; it is that 
Object, received in faith and love, which renders 
it reasonable to take probability as sufficient 
for internal conviction. Thus the argument about 
Probability, in the matter of religion, became 
an argullient frOI11 Personality, which in fact is 
one form of the argument from Authority. 
In illustration, Mr Keble used to quote the 
ords of the Psalm: 'I will guide thee with 
mine Be ye not like to horse and mule, 
which have no understanding; whose mouths 
must be held with bit and bridle, lest they 
fall upon thee'. This is the very difference, 
he used to say, between slaves, and friends, or 
children. Friends do not ask for literal commands; 
but, from their knowledge of the speaker, they 
understand his half-words, and from love of him 
they anticipate his wishes. Hence it is that, 
in his Poem for Sf Barilwlomero's Day, he speaks 
of the 'Eye of God's word'; and in the note 
quotes Mr 
1iner, of \V orcester College, who 
remarks, in his Bmnpton Lectures, on the special 
power of Scripture, as having 'this Rye, Iike 
that of a portrait, uniformly fixed upon us, turn 
where ,,
e win'. The view thus suggested by 

lr Kehle is brought forward in one of the 
earliest of the Tracts .for the Times. In No. 8 
I say, 'The Gospel is a Law of Liberty. \Ve 
are treated as sons, not as servants; not sub- 
jected to a code of formal commandments, but 
addressed as those who love God, and wish to 
please Him.' 
I did not at an dispute this view of the 
matter, for I made use of it myself; but I was 
dissatisfied, because it did not go to the root 
of the difficulty, It was be&utifuJ and religious J 



but it did not even profess to be logical; and, 
accordingly, I tried to complete it by consider- 
ations of my own, which are implied in my 
University Sermons, E.\'say Oll Ecclesia.ftical ltliracles, 
and E,\'sa.lJ on Development of Doclrine. 
I y argu- 
ment is in outline as follows: that that absolute 
certitude which we were able to possess, whether 
as to the truths of natural theology, or as to 
the fact of a revelation, "yas the result of an 
assemblage of concurring and converging proba- 
bilities, and that, both according to the con- 
stitution of the human lTIind and the will of 
 )Iaker, that certitude was a habit of mind, 
that certainty was a quality of propositions; 
that probabilities which did not reach to logical 
certainty, might create a mental certitude; that 
the certitude thus created might equal in measure 
and strength the certitude which ,vas created 
by the strictest scientific demonstration; and 
that to have such certitude might, in given cases 
and to given individuals, be a plain duty, though 
not to others in other circumstances: 
}loreover, that as there were probabilities 
which sufficed to create certitude, so there were 
other probabilities which were legitimately adapt- 
ed to create opinion; that it might be quite as 
much a matter of duty in given cases and to 
given persons to have about a fact an opinion 
of a definite strength and consistency, as in the 
case of greater or of lnore nUlnerous probabilities 
it was a duty to have a certitude; that, accord- 
ingly, we wel'e bound to be more or less sure, 
on a <;ort of (as it were) gl.aduated scale of 
assent, l'Ï!::. according as the probabilities attach- 
ing to a professed fact were brought hOlne to 
us, and, as the case might be
 to ente..tail1 about 



it a pious belief, or a pious opinion, or a religious 
conjecture, or ot least, a tolerance of such belief, 
or opinion, or conjecture in others; that on the 
other hand, as it was a duty to have a belief, 
of more or less strong texture, in given cases, 
so in other cases it was a duty not to believe, 
not to opine, not to conjecture, not even to 
tolerate the notion that a professed fact was 
true, inasmuch as it would be credulity, or 
superstition, or some other moral fault, to do 
so. This was the region of Private Judgment 
in religion; that is, of a Private Judgment, not 
formed arbitrarily, and according to one's fancy 
or liking, but conscientiously, and under a sense 
of duty. 
Considerations such as these throw a ne'w 
light on the subject of l.\Hracles, and they seem 
to have led me to re-consider the view which 
I took of them in my ElJwa,y in 1825-6. I do 
not know what was the date of this change 
in me, nor of the train of ideas on which it 
was founded. That there had been already 
great miracles, as those of Scripture, as the 
Resurrection, was a fact estabHshing the principle 
that, the laws of nature had somethnes been 
suspended by their Divine Author; and since 
what had happened once might happen again, 
a certain probability, at least no kind of hnprob- 
ability, was attached to the idea, taken in 
itself, of miraculous intervention in later times, 
and miraculous accounts "yere to be regarded 
in connexion ,vith the verishnilitude, -scope, 
instrument, character, testimony, and circum- 
stances, with which they presented themselves 
to us; and, according to the final result of 
those various considerations, it was our duty to 

TO THE YK\R 1833 


be sure, or to believe, or to opine, or to surmise, 
or to tolerate, or to denounce. The main 
difference between my Essll,1J on }'[iracles in 18526 
and my in 1842 is this: that in 1826 
I considered that mirades were sharply divided 
into two classes, those which were to be received, 
and those which were to be rejected; whereas 
in 1842 I saw that they 'v ere to be regarded 
according to their greater or less probability, 
which was in some cases sufficient to create 
certitude about them, iu other cases only belief 
or opinion. 

Ioreover, the argument from Analogy, on 
which this view of the question "was founded, 
! suggested to me something besides, in recom- 
mendation of the Ecclesiastical 
liracles. It 
fastened itself upon the theory of Church 
I !istory which I had learned as a boy from 
J oseph 
lilner. I t is l\;Iilner's doctrine, that 
upon the visible Church come do\vn from above, 
from time to time, large and temporary E;l1ìt- 
sion.ç of divine 
race. This is the leading idea 
of his work. He begins by speaking of the 
Day of Pentecost, as marking' the first of those 
E../JìISlrm,\' of the Spirit of God, which from age 
to age have visited the earth since the coming- 
of Christ', (vol. i. p. 3). In a note he adds 
that 'in the term" Effusion" there is not here 
included the idea of the 111iraculous or extra- 
ordinary operations of the Spirit of God'; but 
stiH it was natural for me, adlnitting ::\lilner's 
general theory, and applyin
 to it the principle 
of analogy, not to stop short at his abrupt 'ip.çe 
dixit, but boldly to pass forward to the conclu- 
sion, un oth("r ground" plau,;ihle, that, as H1iracles 
accOlnpanied the first effusioJl of grace" so ther 



might accompany the later. It is surely a 
natural and, on the whole, a true anticipation 
(though of course there are exceptions in par- 
ticular cases), that gifts and graces go together; 
now, according to the ancient Catholic doctrine, 
the gift of miracles was vie,ved as the attendant 
and shadow of transcendent sanctity; and more- 
over, as such sanctity was not of every day's 
occurrence, Hay further, as one period of Church 
history differed widely from another, and, as 
.Joseph l\;Iilner ,vould say, there have been 
generations or centuries of degeneracy or dis- 
order, and tÎ1nes of revival, and as one region 
n1ight be in the Inid-day of religious fervour, 
and another in twilight or glooln, there was no 
force in the popular argument, that, because 
we did not see miracles with our own eyes, 
miracles had not happened in former times, or 
were not now at this very time taking place in 
distant places-but I must not dweU longer on 
a subject, to which in a few words it is impos- 
sible to do justice. 

Hurrell Froude was a pupil of Keble's, formed 
by him, and in turn reacting upon him. I 
knew him first in 1826, and was in the closest 
and most affectionate friendship with him from 
about 1829 till his death in 1836. He 'was a 
man of the highest gifts-so truly many-sided, 
that it would be presumptuous in me to at- 
telnpt to describe hÎlll, except under those 
aspects. in which he CaIne before me. Nor have 
I here to speak 
of the gentleness and tender- 
ness of nature, the playfulness, the free elastic 
force, and graceful versatility of mind, and the 
patient winning' cQ
ess in discussion

TO TilE YEAR 1833 


which endeared hin1 to those to wholTI he opened 
his heart; for I am all along engaged upon matters 
of belief and opinion, and am introducing others 
into my narrative. not for their own sake, or 
because I love, and have loved them, so much 
as because, and so far as they have influenced 
my theological views. In this respect then, I 
speak of H urreH Froude- in his intellectual 
aspect-as a man of high genius, brimful, and 
overflowing with ideas and views, in him original, 
which were too many and strong even for his 
bodily strength, and which crowded and jostled 
against each other in their effort after distinct 
shape and expression. And he had an intellect 
as critical and logical as it was speculative and 
bold. Dying prematurely, as he did, and in 
the conflict and transition-state of opinion, his 
religious views never reached their ultimate 
condusion, by the very reason of their multitude 
and their depth. His opinions arrested and 
influenced me, even when they did not gain 
my assent. He professed openly his admiration 
of the Church of Rome, and his hatred of the 
Reformers. He delighted in the notion of an 
hierarchical system, of sacerdotal power and of 
full ecclesiastical liberty. He felt scorn of the 
maxim, 'The Bible and the Bible only is the 
religion of Protestants' ; and he gloried in accept- 
ing Tradition as a main instrument of reJigious 
teaching. He had a high, severe idea of the 
intrin,;ic excellence of Virginity; and he con- 
sidered the Blessed Virgin its great Pattern. 
He delighted in thinking of the Saints; he had 
a keen appreciation of the idea of sanctity, its 
possibility and its heights; and he was Inore 
than inclined to believe' a large amount of 



miraculous interference as occurring in the early 
and lniddle ages. He elTIbraced the principle 
of penance and lTIortification. He had a deep 
devotion to the Real Presence, in which he had 
a firm faith. He was powerfully drawn to the 

1edieval Church, but not to the Primitive. 
He had a keen insight into abstract truth; 
but he was an EngHshman to the backbone in 
his severe adherence to the real and the concrete. 
He had a most c1assical taste, and a genius for 
philosophy and art; and he was fond of historical 
inquiry, and the politics of religion. He had no 
turn for theology as such. He had no apprecia- 
tion of the writings of the Fathers, of the detail 
or developlTIent of doctrine, of the definite tradi- 
tions of the Church viewed in their matter, of 
the teaching of the Ecumenical Councils, or of 
the controversies out of which they arose. He 
took an eager, courageous view of things on the 
whole. I should say that his po\ver of entering 
into the minds of others did not equal his other 
gifts; he could not believe, for instance, that I 
really held the Roman Church to be An tichristian. 
On many points he would not believe but that 
I agreed with him, when I did not. He seemed 
not to understand my difficulties. His were of 
a different kind, the contrariety between theory 
and fact. He was a high Tory of the Cavalier 
stamp, and was disgusted ,vith the Toryism of 
the opponents of the RefC?rm Bin. He was 
smitten with the love of the Theocratic Church; 
he went abroad and was shocked by the degen- 
eracy which he thought he saw in the Catholics 
of Italy. 
I t is difficult to enumerate the precise addi- 
tions to lTIY theological creed which I derÏ\'ed 

TO TIlE YE.\R ] 8:33 


fi'om a friend to whOln I owe so Hluch. II e 
made me look with adlniration toward" the 
Church of Rome, and in the same degree to 
disHke the Reformation. He fixed deep in me 
the idea of devotion to the Blessed Virgin, and 
he led me gradual1y to believe in the Real 

There is one relnaInlng source of my opinions 
to be mentioned, and that far froln the least 
hnportant. In proportion as I_mo ved out of th e 

 hadow of liberalism which had hung over my 
course, m
rly devotion towards the Fathers 
returned; and in the Long Vacation of 1828 I 
set about to read them chronologically, beginning 
with 5t Ignatius and 5t Justin. About 1830 a 
proposal was made to me by Mr Hugh Rose, 
who with :\tIr Lyall (afterwards Dean of Canter- 
bury) was providing writers for a Theological 
Library, to furnish them with a History of the 
Principal Councils. I accepted it, and at once 
set to 'work on the Council of Nicæa. It was 
launching myself on an ocean with currents 
innumerable; and I was drifted back first to the 
ante-Nicelle history, and then to the Church of 
Alexandria. The work at last appeared under 
the title of The Arian.ç if tlte Fourtlt Century J' 
and, of its 422 pages, the first 117 consisted of 
introductory matter, and the Council of Nicæa 
did not appear till the 254th, and then occupied 
at most twenty pages. 
I do not know when I first learnt to consider 
that Antiquity was the true exponent of the 
doctrines of Christianity, and the basis of the 
Church of England; but I take it for granted 
that Bishop Bul1, whose works at this time I 




read, was my chief introduction to this principle. 
The course of reading which I pursued in the 
composition of my work was directly adapted 
to develop it in Iny mind. 'Vhat principally 
attracted me in the Ante-Nicene period was the 
great Church of Alexandria, the historical centre 
of teaching in those times. Of Rome, for SOlne 
centuries, comparatively little is known. The 
battle of Arianism was first fought in Alexandria; 
Athanasius, the champion of the truth, was Bishop 
of .AJexandria; and in his writings he refers to 
the great religious names of an earlier date, to 
Origen, DionJsius, and others who were the glory 
of its see, or of its school. The broad philo- 
sophy of Clement and Origen carried me away; 
the philosophy, not the theological doctrine; 
and I have drawn out SOine features of it in 
Iny volume, with the zeal and freshness, but 
with the partiality of a neophyte. Sonle portions 
of their teaching, lnagnificent in thelnselves, came 
like music to n1Y inward ear, as if the response 
to ideas, which, with little external to encourage 
them, I had cherished so long. These were 
based on the mystical or sacramental principle, 
and spoke of the various Econolnies or Dispen- 
sations of the Eternal. I understood then1 to 
mean that the exterior world, physical and 
historical, was but the outward manifestation of 
realities greater than ib;elf. Nature was a par- 
able *: Scripture was an a]Jegory: pagan liter- 
ature, philosophy, and mythology, properly 
understood, were but a preparation for the 
Gospel. The Greek poets and sages were in a 
certain sense prophets; for 'thoughts beyond 

.. Vide l\Ir Morris's beautiful poem with this title. 



their thought to those high bards were given'. 
There had been a divine dispensation granted 
to the Jews; there had been in SOllie sense a 
dispensation carried on in favour of the Gentiles. 
He who had taken the seed of Jacob for His 
elect people, had not therefore cast the rest of 
mankind out of His sight. In the fulness of 
time both Judaism and Pagal1iSlli had COllie to 
nought: the outward framework, which concealed, 
yet suggested, the Living Truth, had never been 
intended to last, and it was dissolving under 
the beanls of the SUIl of Justice behind it, and 
through it. The process of change had been 
slow; it had been done, not rashly, but by rule 
and measure, 'at sundry times and in divers 
luanners " first one disclosure and then another, 
till the whole was brought into full nlanifestation. 
And thus rOOlli was made for the anticipation 
of further and deeper disclosures, of truths still 
under the veil of the letter, and in their 
to be revealed. The visible world still remains 
without its divine interpretation; Holy Church 
in her sacraments and her hierarchical appoint- 
ments, will remain even to the end of the world, 
only a symbol of those heavenly facts which fill 
eternity. Her mysteries are but the expressions 
in human language of truths to ,vhich the human 
mind is unequal. It is evident how lliuch there 
was in all this in correspondence with the 
thoughts which had attracted me when I was 
young, and with the doctrine which I have 
already connected with the Analogy and the 
Christian Year. 
I suppose it was to the Alexandrian school, 
and to the early Church, that I owe in particular 
what I definite]y held about the Angels. I 



viewed them, not only as the Ininisters employed 
by the Creator in the .Jewish and Christian 
dispensations, as we find on the face of Scrip- 
ture, but as carrying on, as Scripture also hnplies, 
the Economy of the Visible \" orld. I considered 
theln as the real causes of Inotion, light, and 
life, and of those elementary principles of the 
physical universe, which, when offered in their 
developments to our senses, suggest to us the 
notion of cause and effect, and of what are 
called the laws of nature. I have drawn 
out this doctrine in my Sernlon for Michael- 
Inas day, written not later than] 834. I say of the 
Angels: 'Every breath of air and ray of light and 
heat, every beautiful prospect, is, as it were, the 
skirts of their garments, the waving of the robes 
of those whose faces see God'. Again, I ask what 
would be the thoughts of a lllan who, 'when 
examining a flower, or a herb, or a pebble, or 
a ray of light, which he treats as something so 
beneath him in the scale of existence, suddenly 
discovered that he was in the presence of SOlne 
powerful being who was hidden behind the visible 
things he was inspecting, who, though concealing 
his' wise hand, ,vas giving them their beauty, 
grace, and perfection, as being God's instrument 
for the purpose, nay, whose robe and ornaments 
those objects were, which he was so eager to 
analyze?' and I therefore remark, that 'we may 
say with grateful and simple hearts, witb the 
Three Holy Children, "0 all ye works of thE 
Lord, etc., etc., bless ye the Lord, praise Him. 
and magnify Him for ever.'" 
Also, besides the hosts of evil spirits, I con. 
sidered there was a middle race, ð:XI(.l.ÓlIla, neithe] 
in heaven, nor in hell; partially fallen, capricious 

... ,," 
. ':!.r 

. .ø: ir.;...1' 
1-."'1""" ./',' 

TO TilE YEAR ]833 


wayward; noble or crafty, benevolent or mali- 
cious, as the case might be. They gave a sort 
of inspiration or intelligence to races, nations, 
and classes of men. Hence the action of bodies 
politic, and associations, which is so different 
often from that of the individuals who compose 
them. Hence the character and the instinct of 
states and governments, of religious communities 
and comlllunions. I thought they were inhabited 
by unseen intelligences. :\1 y preference of the 
Personal to the Abstract would naturally lead 
me to this vie,v. I thought it countenanced 
by the Illention of 'the Prince of Persia' in the 
Prophet Daniel; and I think I considered that 
it was of such intermediate beings that the 
Apocalypse spoke, when it introduced 'the 
Angels of the Seven Churches.' 
In 1837 I made a further development of this 
I doctrine. I said to my great friend, Sallluel Francis 
\V ood, in a letter which came into my hands on 
his death, 'I have an idea. The mass of the 
Fathers (Justin, Athenagoras, Irenæus, Clement, 
Tertullian, Origen, Lactantius, Sulpicius,Ambrose, 
Nazianzen) hold that, though Satan fell from the 
beginning, the Angels fell before the deluge, fall- 
ing in love with the daughters of men. This has 
lately come acro!'s me as a remarkable solution 
of a notion which I cannot help holding. Daniel 
speaks as if each nation had its guardian Angel. 
I cannot but think that there are beings with 
a great deal of good in theIn, yet with great 
defects, who are the animating principles of 
certain institutions, etc., etc... Télke England, 
with many high virtues, and yet a low Catholicism. 
It seems to Ine that John Hull is a spirit neither 
of heaven nor hell.. Has not the Christian Church, 


r , f . 

.. . Ñ 
.. :.,. . . 
.... l"'" 
, . 
 ,\.'!'....r. .-4 



in its parts, surrendered itself to one or other of 
these simulations of the truth?. How are we 
to avoid Scylla and Charybdis, and go straight 
on to the very image of Christ?' etc., etc. 
I am aware that what I have been saying will, 
"with many men, be doing credit to my imagination 
at the expense of Iny judgment: 'Hippoclidcs 
doesn't care'; I aln not setting n1yself up as a 
pattern of good sense or of any thing else; I 
alll but vindicating myself from the charge of 
dishonesty. There is indeed another view of 
the Economy brought out, in the course of the 
same dissertation on the subject, in my His/or!! 
qf tlu
 Arialls, which has afforded matter for the 
latter imputation; but I reserve it for the con- 
cluding portion of my Reply. 

'Y"hile I was engaged in writing my work upon 
the Arians, great events were happening at home 
and abro:ld, which brought out into form and 
passionate expression the various beliefs which 
had so gradually been winning their way into 
my mind. Shortly before, there had been a 
Revolution in France; the Bourbons had been 
disillisscd: and I believed that it was unchristian 
for nations to cast off their governors, and, much 
more, sovereigns who had the Divine Right of 
inheritance. Again, the great Refonll Agitation 
was going on around me as I wrote. The \Yhigs 
had come into power; Lord Grey had told the 
Bishops to set their house in order, and some 
of the prelates had been insulted a.nd threat- 
ened in the streets of London. The vital question 
was how were we 
1l'ch fro
l b
H beraJized? There was such apathy on the subject 
in borne quarters; such imbecile alarm in others; 




the true principles of Churchman ship seen1ed so 
radically decayed, and there was such distraction 
in the councils of the Clergy. The Bishop of 
London of the day, an active and open-hearted 
man, had been for years engaged in 
luting the 
high orthodoxy of the Church by the introducti 
of the Evangelical body into places of influence 
and trust. He had deeply offended men who 
agreed with myself, by an off-hand saying (as 
it was reported) to the effect that belief in the 
Apostolical succession had gone out with the 
Non-jurors. '\Ve can count you 7, he said to some 
of the gravest and most venerated persons of 
the old school. And the Evangelical party itself 
seemed,. with their late successes, to have lost 
that simplicity and unworldliness which I admired 
so much in 
Iilner and Scott. It waS not that I 
did not venerate such men as the then Bishop 
of Lichfield, and others of similar sentiments, 
who were not yet promoted out of the ranks 
of the Clergy, but I thought little of them as 
a cJass. I thought they played into the hands 
of the Liberals. With the Establishment thus 
divided and threatened, thus ignorant of its true 
strength, I compared that fresh vigorous power 
of which I was reading in the first centuries. 
In her triulnphant zeal on behalf of that Primeval 

fystery, to which I had had so great a devotion 
from my youth, I recognized the movement of my 
Iother. 'Incessu patuit Dea'. The self- 
conq uest of her Ascetics, the patience of her Mar- 
tyrs, the irresistible determination of her Bishops, 
the joyous swing of her advance, both exalted 
aud abashed me. J said to myself, 'Look on 
this picture and on that'; I felt affection for 
my own Church, but not tenderness; I felt 



dismay at her prospects, anger and SCOI"n at 
her do-nothing perplexity. I thought that if 
Liberalism once got a footing within her, it 
was sure of the victory in the event. I saw 
that Reformation principles were powerless to 
rescue her. As to leaving her, the thought never 
crossed my imagination; still, I ever kept before 
me that there was something greater than the 
Established Church, and that that was the Church 
Catholic and Apostolic, set up from the beginning, 
of which she was but the local presence and 
organ. She was nothing, unless she was this. She 
must be dealt with strongly, or she ,vould be lost. 
There was need of a second Reforluation. 
At this time I was disengaged frolu College 
duties, and my health had suffered from the 
labour involved in the cOlnposition of my volume. 
It was ready for the Press in July, 1832, though 
not pubJished till the end of 1833. I was easily 
persuaded to join Hurrell Froude and his father, 
who were going to the south of Europe for the 
health of the former. 
We set out in December, 1832. It was during 
this expedition that my verses which are in the 
Lyra Apo
.tolica were written; a few indeed 
before it, but not more than one or two of theln 
after it. Exchanging, as I was, definite tutorial 
labours, and the literary quiet, and pleasant friend- 
ships of the last six years, for foreign countries and 
an unknown future, I naturaHy was led to think 
that some inward change, as well as some larger 
course of action, was cOluing upon me. At "Thit- 
church, while waiting for the down mail to Fal- 
mouth, I wrote the verses about my Guardian 
Angel, which begin with these words: 'Are these 
the tracks of some unearthly Friend?' and go on 

TO TilE YE.\R 18:


to speak of 'the vi"ion' which haunted llle ; that 
vision is more or less brought out in the whole 
series of tbese compositions. 
I went to various coasts of the Mediterranean, 
parted with my friends at Rome; went down 
for the second tiIne to Sicily, at the end of 
April, and got back to England by Palermo in 
the early part of J ul y. The strangeness of 
foreign life threw Ille back into myself; I found 
pleasure in historical sites and beautiful scenes, 
not in men and manners. We kept clear of 
Catholics throughout our tour. I had a conversa- 
tion with the Dean of :\Ialta, a most pleasant 
man, lately dead; but it was about the Fathers, 
and the Library of the great church. I knew 
the Abbate Santini, at Rome, who did no lllore 
than copy for me the Gregorian tones. Froude 
and I made two calls upon Monsignore (now 
Cardinal) \Viselnan at the CoUegio Inglese, 
shortly before we left Rome. I do not recollect 
being in a room with any other ecclesiastics, 
except a Priest at Castro-Giovanni, in Sicily, 
who called on me when I \vas ill, and with 
whom I wished to hold a controversy. As to 
Church Services, we attended the Tenebræ, at 
the Sistine, for the sake of the Miserere; and 
that was all. My general feeling was, 'All, 
save the spirit of man, is divine'. I saw nothing 
but what was external; of the hidden life of 
Catholics I knew nothing. I was. still nlore 
driven back into myself, and felt Iny isolation. 
England was in my thoughts solely, and the 
news from England caIne rarely and imperfectly. 
The Bill for the Suppression of the Irish Sees 
was in progress, and filled my mind. I had 
fierce thoughts against the Liberals. 



It ,\"""a<; the success of the Liberal cause which 
fretted n1e inwardly. I became fierce against 
its instrun1ents and its n1anifestations. A French 
vessel ".as at Algiers; I ,vould not even look 
at the tricolour. On my return, though forced 
to stop a day at Paris, I kept indoors the whole 
time, and all that 1 saw of that beautiful citv, 
was what I saw fro111 the diligence. The Bish
of London had already sounded me as to Iny 
filling one of the 'Yhitehall preacherships. which 
he had just then put on a new footing; but I 
was indignant at the line which he was taking, 
and from Iny stealner I had sent home a letter 
declining th
 appoinhllent, by anticipation, should 
it be offered to 111e. At this time I was specially 
annoyed w"ith Dr Arnold, though it did not last 
into later years. Some one, I think, asked in 
, at ROlne, whether a certain inter- 
pretation of Scripture was Christian? it ",'as 
answered that Dr Arnold took it: I interposed 
'But is he a Christian'? The subject went out 
of lny head at once; when afterw'ards I was 
taxed with it I could sar no more in explanation 
than, that I thought I luust have been allud- 
ing' to some free views of Dr ,Arnold about 
the Old Test3ment-1 thought I luust have 
n1eant 'But who is to ans
er for Arnold'? 
It ,,,,as at Ron1e too that we began the L:'1 ra 
Apostolica, which appeared monthly in The 
Bri/ish nlaga=ine. The motto shows the feeling 
of both Froude and myself at the time: we 
borrowed from )1. Bunsën a Homer, and Froude 
chose the \\ ords in which Achilles, on returning 
to the battle, saYS, '\
 ou shall know the differ- 
ence, now that i am back again.' 
Especially when I ",'as left by myself, the 

TO TIlE YEAR 183::; 


thought came upon Ine that deliverance is 
wrought, not by the many but by the fe'w, 
not by bodies but by persons. No
. it was, I 
think, that I repeated to myself the words, 
which had ever been dear to me from my 
school days, 'Exoriare aliquis' !-now too, that 
Southey's beautiful poeln of Tlwlaba, for which 
I had an immense liking, caIne forcibly to my 
mind. I began to think that I had a mission. 
There are sentences of my letters to Iny friends 
to this effect, if they are not destroyed. \rhen 
we took leave of l\fon,;ignore \Yiseman, he had 
courteously expressed a wish that we might 
lnake a second visit to Rome; I said with great 
gravity '\Ye have a 'work to do in England'. 
I went down at once to Sicily, and the presenti- 
I11ent grew stronger. I struck into the middle 
of the island, and fell ill of a fever at Leonforte. 

Iy servant throught that I was dying, and 
begged for my last directions. I ga\'e thenl, as 
he wished; but I said, 'I "hall not die'. I 
repeated 'I shall not die, for I have not sinned 
against light, I have not sinned against light'. 
I never have been able to make out at all 
what I meant. 
I got to Castro-Giovanni, and was laid up 
there for nearly three weeks. Towards the end 
of \Iay I set off for Palermo, taking three days 
for the journey. Before starting froln my inn, 
in the morning of l\lay 
6th or 2ïth, I sat do".n 
on my bed, and began to sob bitterly. )ly 
servant, who had acted as Iny nurse, asked what 
ailed me. I could only ans'wer 'I have a work 
to do in England.' 
I was aching to get home; yet for want of 
a vessel I was kept at Palerlllo for three weeks, 



I began to visit the Churches, and. they calmed 
Iny iInpatience, though I did not attend any 
services. I knew nothing of the Presence of 
the Blessed Sacrament there. At last I got off 
in an orange boat, bound for Marseilles. \Ye 
were becalmed a ,vhole week in the Straits of 
Bonifacio. Then it was that I wrote the lines 
'Lead, kindly light', which have since become 
well known. I was writing verses the whole 
time of my passage. At length I got to 1\Iar- 
seilles, and set off for England. The fatigue of 
travelling was too lnuch for me, and I was laid 
up for several days at Lyons. At last I got off 
again, and did not stop night or day till I 
reached England, and my mother's house. 
brother had arrived from Persia only a few hours 
before. This was on the Tuesday. The fonow- 
ing Sunday, July 14th, 1\11' Keble preached the 
Assize Senllon in the University Pulpit. It ,vas 
published under the title of l\
atiollal Aposta.
I have ever considered, and kept the day, as 
the start of the religious movelnent of 1833. 


1833 TO 1839 

I:'J spite of the foregoing pages, I have no ro- 
mantic story to tell; but I "Tote thein, because 
it is my duty to tell things as they took place. 
I have not exaggerated the feelings with which 
I returned to England, and I have no desire 
to dress up the events which followed, so as to 
make theln in keeping with the narrative which 
has gone before. I soon relapsed into the every- 
day life which I had hitherto led; in all things 
the same, except that a new object was given 
me. I had employed myself in my own roolns 
in reading and writing, and in the care of a 
Church, before I left England, and I returned 
to the same occupations when I was back again. 
And yet, perhaps, those first vehement feelings 
which carried me on were necessary for the 
beginning of the l\tlovement; and afterwards, 
when it was once begun, the special need of 
Ine was over. 

\Yhen I got hOlne frOln abroad, I found that 
already a llloveUlent had cOlnmenced in opposi- 
tion to the specific danger which at that thne 
was threatening the religion of the nation and 
it!) Church. Several zealous and able men had 
united their counsels, and were in correspondence 
with each other. The principal of the!)e were 



lVlr Keble, Hurrell Froude, who had reached 
home long before Ine, Mr William Palmer of 
Dublin, and Worcester College (not 1\1r W, 
l)ahner of Magdalen, 'who is now a Catholic), 
M r Arthur Perceval, and Mr Hugh Rose. 
To mention Mr Hugh Rose's naine is to kindle 
in the minds of those who knew hhn a host of 
pleasant and affectionate relnenlbrances. He was 
the man above an others fitted by his cast of 
mind and literary powers to n1ake a stand, if a 
stand could be made, against the calamity of 
the times. He was gifted with a high and large 
mind, and a true sensibility of what was great 
and beautiful; he wrote with warmth and energy; 
and he had a cool head and cautious judgment. 
He spent his strength, and shortened his life, 
, Pro Ecclesia Dei', as he understood that sovereign 
idea. Some years earlier, he had been the first 
to give ,varning, I think from the University 
Pulpit at Cambridge, of the perils to England 
which lay in the biblical and theological specula- 
tions of Gerlnany. The Reform agitation followed, 
and the Whig Government came into power; and 
he anticipated in their distribution of Church 
patronage the authoritative introduction of lib em I 
opinions into the country-by 'liberal' I mean 
liberalism in religion, for questions of politics, 
as such, do not come into this narrative at all. He 
feared, that by the 'Vhig party a door would be 
opened in England to the most grievous of heresies, 
which never could be closed àgain. In order, under 
such grave circumstances, to unite Churchmen 
together, and to make a front against the coming 
danger, he had, in ] 832, commenced The British 
Magazine, and in the same year he came to Oxford 
in the summel' term, in order to beat up for writer

1883 TO 1839 


for his publication; on that occasion 1 became 
known to him through l\tIr Palmer. His reputa- 
jon and position came in aid of his obvious fitness, 
n point of character and intellect, to become the 

entre of an ecclesiastical movelnent, if such a 
:novement were to depend on the action of a 
party. His delicate health, his premature death, 
would have frustrated the expectation, even 
though the new school of opinion had been 
more exactly thrown into the shape of a party 
than in fact was the case. But he zealously 
backed up the first efforts of those who wer
principals in it; and, when he went abroad to 
lie, in 1838, he allowed me the solace of express- 
ing my feelings of attachment and gratitude to 
him, by addressing hhn, in the dedication of a 
volume of my Sermons, as the man, 'who, when 
hearts were failing, bade us stir up the gift 
that was in us, and betake ourselves to our 
true rvlother.' 
But there were other reasons, besides Mr Rose's 
state of health, which hindered those who so 
Inuch admired him from availing themselves of 
his close co-operation in the coming fight. United 
as both he and they were in the general scope 
of the Movement,' they were in discordance with 
each other from the first in their estimate of the 
mean,> to be adopted for attaining it. rvlr Rose 
had a position in the Church, a nalTIe, and serious 
responsibilities; he had direct ecclesiastical super- 
iors; he had intimate relations with his own 
UnÏ\rersity, and a large clerical connexion through 
the country. Froude and I were nobodies; with 
no characters to lose, and no antecedents to fetter 
us. Rose could not go a-head across country, as 
Froude had no scruples in doing. Fronde wa



a bold rider, as on horseback, so also in his 
speculations. After a long conversation with 
him on the logical bearing of his principles, 
Mr Rose said of him with quiet humour, that 
'he did not seem to be afraid of inferences'. 
I t was simply the truth; Froude had that strong 
hold of first principles, and that keen perception 
of their value, that he was comparatively indifferent 
to the revolutionary action which would attend 
on their application to a given state of things; 
whereas, in the thoughts of Rose, as a practical 
man, existing facts had the precedence of every 
other idea, and the chief test of the soundness 
of a line of policy lay in the consideration whether 
it would work. This was one of the first questions, 
which, as it seemed to me, ever occured to his 
mind. With Froude, Erastianism-that is, the 
union (so he viewed it) of Church and State- 
was the parent, or if not the parent, the service- 
able and sufficient tool, of Liberalism. Till that 
union was snapped, Christian doctrine never 
could be safe; and, while he ,veIl knew how 
high and unselfish was the temper of Mr Rose, 
yet he used to apply to him an epithet, reproach- 
ful in his own mouth-Rose was a 'conservative'. 
By bad luck, I brought out this word to Mr Rose 
in a letter of my own, which I wrote to him in 
criticism of something he had inserted into the 
]J;[agasine. I got a vehement rebuke for my pains, 
for though Rose persued a conservative line, he 
had as high a disdain, as Froude could have, of 
a worldly ambition, and an extreme sensitivene
of such an imputation. 
But there 'was another reason still, and a more 
elementary one, which severed Mr Rose from 
the Oxford 1.\10vement. Living movements do 

1833 TO 1839 


not come of comlnittees, nor are great ideas 
worked out through the post, even though it 
had been the penny post. This principle deeply 
penetrated both Froude and myself froln the first, 
l.nd recommended to us the course which things 

oon took spontaneously, and without set purpose 
of our own. V niversities are the natural centres 
af intellectual movements. How could men act 
together, whatever was their zeal, unless they 
were united in a sort of individuality? Now, 
first, 'we had no unity of place, :\Ir Hose was 
in Suffolk, 1\lr Perceval in Surrey, 1\lr Keble in 
Gloucestershire; Hurrell Froude had to go for 
 health to Barbados. :\tlr Palmer, indeed, was 
in Oxford; this was an important ad vantage, and 
told well in the first months of the 
-but another condition, besides that of place, 
was required. 
A far more essential unity was that of ante- 
cedents-a common history, common memories, 
an intercourse of mind with mind in the past, 
and a progress and increase of that intercourse 
in the present. :\lr Perceval, to be sure, was 
a pupil of 1\lr Keble's; but Keble, Rose, and 
Palmer, represented distinct parties, or at least 
tempers, in the Establishment. 
lr Palmer had 
many condition
 of authority and influence. I Ie 
was the only really learned man among us. lIe 
understood theology as a science; he was practised 
in the scholastic mode of controversial writing; 
and, I believe, was as well acquainted, as he was 
dissatisfied, with the CathoHc schools. He was as 
decided is his religious views, as he was cautious 
and even subtle in their expression, and gentle 
in their enforcement. Rut he was deficient in 
depth; and besides, coming frolH a distance, he 



never had really grown into an Oxford man, 
nor was he generally received as such; nor 
had he any insight into the force of personal 
influence and congeniality of thought in carrying 
out a religious theory-a condition which Froude 
and I considered essential to any true success 
in the stand which had to be made against 
Liberalism. 1.\lr Palmer had a certain connexion, 
as it may be called, in the Establishment, 
consisting of high Church dignitaries, archdea- 
cons, London rectors, and the like, who 
belonged to what was cOlnmonly called the 
high-and-dry school. They were far more op- 
posed than even he was to the irresponsible 
action of individuals. Of course their beall ideal 
in ecclesiastical action was a board of safe, 
sound, sensible men. Mr Palmer was their 
organ and representative; and he wished for a 
Committee, an Association, with rules and meet- 
ings, to protect the interests of the Church in 
its existing peril. He was in some measure 
supported by Mr Perceval 
I, on the other hand, had out of my own 
head begun the Tracts; and these, as represent- 
ing the antagonist principle of personality, were 
looked upon by Mr Palmer's friends with con- 
siderable alarm. The great point at the time, 
with these good men in London-some of them 
men of the highest principle, and far from in- 
fluenced by what we used to call Erastianism- 
was to put down the Tracts. I, as their editor, 
and mainly their author, ,vas not unnaturally 
willing to give way. Keble and Froude advocated 
their continuance strongly, and were angry with 
me for consenting to stop them. Mr Palmer 
shared the anxiety of his own friends; and, 


1833 TO 1839 


dnd as 'were his thoughts of us, he still not 
mnaturaHy felt, for reasons of his own, SOIne 
ì.dget and nervousness at the course which his 
8riel friends ,vere taking. Froude, for whom 
'Ie had a real liking, took a high tone in his 
?roject of meac:;ures for dealing with bishops 
!nd clergy, which 11lust have shocked and scan- 
lalized him considerably. As for me, there 
was matter enough in the early Tracts to give 
him equal disgust; and doubtless I much tasked 
his generosity, when he had to defend me, 
whether against the London dignitaries, or the 

ountry clergy. Oriel, from the time of Dr 
Copleston to Dr. Hampden, had had a name 
far and ,vide for liberality of thought; it had 
received a formal recognition from The Edin- 
fmrglz Review, if my memory serves me truly, 
1S the school of speculative philosophy in Eng- 
land; and on one occasion, in 1833, when I 
presented myself, with some of the first papers 
of the :\Iovement, to a country clergyman in 
Northamptonshire, he paused awhile, and then, 
eyeing me with significance, asked ,"\\Thether 
\Yhately was at the bottom of them J. 
Mr Perceval wrote to me in support of the 
judgment of 
Ir Palnler and the dignitaries. 
I repliet1 in a letter which he afterwards 
published. 'As to the Tract.\' J, I said to him 
(I quote my own words frolll his pamphlet), 
'everyone has his own taste. You object to 
some things, another to others. If we altered 
to please everyone, the effect would be 
spoiled. They were not intended as symbols 
ex cathedra, but as the expression of individual 
minds; and individuals, feeJing strongly, while 
on the one hand, they are incidentally faulty 



in mode or language, are still peculiarly effect- 
ive. No great work was done by a system; 
whereas systems rise out of individual exertions. 
Luther was an individual. The very faults of 
an individual excite attention; he loses, but his 
cause (if good, and he po,verful-minded) gains. 
This is the way of things; we promote truth 
by a self-sacrifice.' 
The visit which I made to the Northalnpton- 
shire rector ,vas only one of a series of similar 
expedients, which I adopted during the year 
1833. I called upon clergy in various parts of 
the country, ,vhether I was acquainted ,vith 
them or not, and I attended at the houses of 
friends ,vhere several of them were from time 
to time assembled. I do not think that much 
caIne of such attempts, nor were they quite in 
my way. Also I wrote various letters to clergy- 
men, which fared not much better, except that 
they advertised the fact, that a rally in favour 
of the Church was commencing. I did nqt care 
whether my visits were made to high Church 
or low Church; I wished to make a strong pull 
in union with all who were opposed to the 
principles of 1iberalism, whoever they might be. 
Giving my name to the editor, I commenced 
a series of letters in the Record newspaper: 
they ran to a considerable length; and were 
borne by him with great courtesy and patience. 
They were headed as being on 'Church Reform '. 
The first was on the Revival of Church Discipline; 
the second, on its Scripture proof; the third, 
on the application of the doctrine; the fourth, 
was an answer to objections; the fifth, was on 
the benefits of discipline. And then the series 
was abruptly brought to a termination. I had 

1833 TO 1839 


said what I really felt, and what was also in 
keeping with the strong teaching of the Tracts, 
but I suppose the Editor discovered in me some 
divergence from his own line of thought; for 
at length he sent a very civil letter, apologizing 
for the non-appearance of my sixth communica- 
tion, on the ground that it contained an attack 
upon Temperance Societies, about which he did 
not wish a controversy in his columns. He 
added, however, his serious regret as to the char- 
acter of the Tracts. I had subscribed a slnall 
sum in 1828 towards the first start of the Record. 
Acts of the officious character, which I have 
been describing, were uncongenial to my natural 
temper, to the genius of the l'vlovement, and 
to the historical mode of its success-they 
were the fruit of that exuberant and joyous 
energy with which I had returned from abroad, 
and which I never had before or since. I had 
the exultation of health restored, and home 
regained. \Yhile I was at Palermo and thought of 
the breadth of the l\lediterranean, and the weari- 
some journey across France, I could not imagine 
ho,,- I was ever to get to England; but now I 
was amid familiar scenes and faces once more. 
And lny health and strength came back to me 
with such a rebound, that SOlne friends at Oxford, 
on seeing IDe, did not well know that it was I, 
and hesitated before they spoke to me. And I 
had the consciousness that I 'was employed in 
that work which I had been dreaming about, 
and which I felt to be so InOlnentous and inspir- 
ing. I had a supreme confidence in our cause; 
we were upholding that primitive Christianity 
which was delivered for an time by the early 
teachers of the Church, and which wa



and attested in the Anglican formularies and 
by the Anglican divines. That ancient religion 
had well nigh faded away out of the land, 
through the political changes of the last 150 
years, and it must be restored. It would be in 
fact a second Reformation-a better reformation, 
for it would be a return not to the sixteenth 
centur}T, but to the seventeenth. No time was 
to be lost, for the Whigs had come to do their 
worst, and the rescue might come too late. 
Bishoprics were already in course of suppres- 
sion ; Church property was in course of confis- 
cation; Sees would soon be recei viug unsuitable 
occupants. We knew enough to begin preaching 
upon, and there ,vas no one else to preach. I 
felt as on a vessel, which first gets under weigh, 
and then clears out the deck, and stores 
away luggage and live-stock into their proper 
Nor was it only, that I had confidence in our 
cause, both in itself, and in its controversial force, 
but besides, I despised every rival system of 
doctrine and its arguments. As to the High 
Church and the Low Church, I thought that the 
one had not much more of a logical basis than 
the other; while I_h.2-Q... a tho r
gh con
for the evangelicaJ. I had a real re spec t for the 
chãrãëter of Inanyof the advocates of each party, 
but that did not give cogency to their arguments; 
and I thought, on the other hand, that the Apos- 
tolical forn1 of doctrine was essential and imper- 
ative, and its grounds of evidence impregnable, 
Owing to this confidence, it came to pass at 
that time, that there was a double aspect in 
my bearing towards others, which it is necessary 
for me to enlarge upon. l\tIy behaviour had 8 

]833 TO 1839 


mixture in it both of fierceness and of sport; 
and on this account, I dare say, it gave offence 
to many; nor am I here defending it 
I wished men to agree with me, and I walked 
with them step by step, as far as they would 
go; this I did sincerely; but if they 'would stop 
I did not much care about it, but walked on 
with some satisfaction that I had brought them 
so far. I liked to make theln preach the truth 
without knowing it, and encouraged them to do so. 
I t was a satisfaction to me that the Record had 
allowed me to say so nluch in its columns with- 
out remonstrance. I ,vas alnused to hear of one 
of the Bishops, who, on reading an early Tract on 
the Apostolical Succession, could not make up his 
lTIind whether he held the doctrine or not. I was 
not distressed at the wonder or anger of dull and 
self-conceited men at propositions which they 
did not understand. \Vhen a correspondent, in 
good faith, wrote to a newspaper to say, that 
the 'Sacrifice of the Holy Eucharist' spoken of 
in the Tract, was a false print for' Sacrament', I 
thought the mistake too pleasant to be corrected 
before I was asked about it. I was not un- 
willing to draw an opponent on, step by step, 
to the brink of some intellectual absurdity, and 
to leave him to get back as he could. I was 
not unwilling to play with a man who asked 
me impertinent questions. I think I had in 
my lTIouth the words of the \V ise Man ' Answer 
a fool according to his folly', especial1y ifhe was 
prying or spiteful. I was reckless of the gossip 
which was circulated about me; and, when I 
might easily have set it right, did not deign to 
do so. Also I used irony in conversation, when 
matter-of-fact lllen would not see what I meant, 



This kind of behaviour ,vas a sort of habit 
with nle. If I have ever trifled with lny sub- 
ject, it ,vas a more serious fault. I never used 
arguments which I saw clearly to be unsound. 
The nearest approach ,vhich I remember to 
such conduct, but which I consider was clear 
of it nevertheless, was in the case of Tract 15, 
The lnatter of this T'ract was supplied to me 
by a friend, to whom I had applied for assist- 
ance, but who did not wish to be mixed up 
with the publication. He gave it me, that I 
might throw it into shape, and I took his argu- 
ments as they stood. In the chief portion of 
the 1'ract I fully agreed; for instance, as to 
what it says about the Council of Trent; but 
there were arguments, or some argument, in it 
which I did not follow; I do not recollect what 
it was. Froude, I think, 'was disgusted with 
the ,vhole T1'act, and accused me of economy in 
publishing it. It is principally through Mr 
Froude's Remains that this word has got into 
our language. I think, I defended myself with 
arguments such as these: that, as everyone 
knew, the Tracts ,vere written by various per- 
sons who agreed together in their doctrine, but 
not always in the arguments by which it was 
to be proved; that we must be tolerant of 
difference of opinion among ourselves; that the 
author of the 1'ract had a right to his own 
opinion, and that the argunl.ent in question was 
ordinarily received; that I did not give my own 
nanle or authority, nor ,vas asked for my persona] 
belief, but only acted instrumentally, as ont: 
might translate a friend's book into a foreigr 
language. I account these to be good argu. 
ments; nevertheless, I feel also that such prac. 

]833 TO 1839 


tices admit of easy abuse, and are consequently 
dangerous; but then again, I feel also this- 
that if all such mistakes were to be severely 
visited, not nlany Inen in public life would be 
left with a character for honour and honesty. 
This absolute confidence in my cause, which 
led me to the imprudence or wantonness which 
I have been instancing, also laid lne open, not 
unfairly, to the opposite charge of fierceness in 
certain steps which I took, or words which I 
published. In the Lyra Apostolica I have said 
that, before learning to love, we must 'learn 
to hate'; though I had explained Iny words 
by adding- 'hatred of sin'. In one of my first 
sermons I said, 'I do not shrink fronl uttering 
my firm conviction that it ,vould be a gain to 
the country were it vastly Inore superstitious, 
more bigoted, lnore gloomy, more fierce in its 
religion than at present it shows itself to be.' 
I added, of course, that it would be an absurdity 
to suppose such tempers of mind desirable in 
themselves. The corrector of the press bore 
these strong epithets till he got to 'more fierce', 
and then he put in the margin a qUCJ:9. In the 
very first page of the first 1'ract, I said of the 
Bishops, that 'black event though it would be 
for the country, yet we could not wish them a 
Inore blessed termination of their course, than 
the spoiling of their goods and martyrdom.' In 
consequence of a passage in my work upon the 
Arian History, a Northern dignitary "Tote to 
accuse me of 'wishing to re-establish the blood 
and torture of the Inquisition. Contrasting heretics 
and heresiarchs, I had said, 'The latter should 
meet with no mercy: he assunIes the office of 
the Tempter, and, so far as his error goes,- 



must be dealt with by the competent authority, 
as if he were embodied evil. To spare him is 
a false and dangerous pity. It is to endanger 
the souls of thousands, and it is uncharitable 
towards himself.' I cannot deny that this is a 
very fierce passage; but Arius was banished, not 
burned; and it is only fair to myself to say that 
neither at this, nor any other time in my life, 
not even when I was fiercest, could I have even 
cut off a Puritan's ears, and I think the sight 
of a Spanish aulo-da-jé would have been the 
death of me. Again, when one of my friends, 
of liberal and evangelical opinions, ,vrote to 
expostulate with me on the course I was taking, 
I said that we would ride over hiIn and his as 
Othniel prevailed over Chushan-rishathaim, king 
of 1Vlesopotamia. Again, I would have no dealings 
with my brother, and I put my conduct upon a 
syllogism. I said, 'St Paul bids us avoid those 
who cause divisions; you cause divisions: there- 
fore I ITIUst avoid you.' I dissuaded a lady from 
attending the marriage of a sister who had 
seceded froITI the Anglican Church. No wonder 
that Blanco 'Vhite, who had known me under 
such, different circunl.stances, now, hearing the 
general course that I was taking, was amazed 
at the change which he recognized in me. He 
speaks bitterly and unfairly of ITIe in his letters, 
contemporaneously with the first years of the 
Movement; but in 1839, when looking back, 
he uses terms of me, which it would be hardly 
modest in me to quote, were it not that what 
he says of ITIe in praise is but part of a ,vhole 
account of 111e. He says: 'In this party [the 
anti-Peel, in 1829J I found, to my great surprise, 
my dear friend
 M r N eWl1Jan of Oriel. As he 

1833 TO 1839 


had been one of the annual petitioners to Par- 
liament for Ca.tholic Emancipation, his sudden 
union with the most violent bigots was inex- 
plicable to me. That change was the first 
manifestation of the mental revolution, which 
has suddenly lnade him one of the leading 
persecutors of Dr Hampden, and the most 
active and influential member of that association, 
called the Puseyite party, froni which we have 
those vcry strange productions, entitled Trach; 
jor the Times. 'Vhile stating these public facts, 
my heart feels a pang at the recollection of 
the affectionate and mutual friendship between 
that excellent lnan and Inyself; a friendship, 
which his principles of orthodoxy could not 
allow him to continue in regard to one whom 
he now regards as inevitably doomed to eternal 
perdition. Such is the venomous character of 
orthodoxy. What mischief must it create in a 
bad heart and narrow mind, when it can work 
so effectually for evil, in one of the most be- 
nevolent of bosoms, and one of the ablest of 
minds, in the amiable, the intellectual, the re- 
fined John Henry :Newman!' (vol. iii. p. 131). 
He adds, that I would have nothing to do with 
him, a circumstance which I do not recollect, 
and very much doubt. 

I have spoken of my firm confidence in my 
position; and now let lTIe state more definitely 
what the position was which I took up, and 
the propositions about which I was so confident. 
These were three: 
1. First was the principle of dognla: my battle 
was with liberalislTI; by liberalism I meant the 
antidogmatic principle and its development



This was the first point on which I was certain. 
Here I lllake a remark: persistence in a given 
belief is no sufficient test of its truth; but 
departure from it is at least a slur upon the 
man who has felt so certain about it. In pro- 
portion, then, as I had in 1832 a strong per- 
suasion in beliefs which I have since given up, 
so far a sort of guilt attaches to me, not only 
for that vain confidence, but for IllY multiforIll 
conduct in consequence of it. But here I have 
the satisfaction of feeling that I have nothing 
to retract, and nothing to repent of. The main 
principle of the Movement is as dear to me 
now as it ever was. I have changed in many 
things; in this I have not. From the age of 
fifteen, dogma has been the fundamental prin- 
ciple of my religion: I know no other religion; I 
cannot enter into the idea of any other sort ofrelig- 
ion, religion as a mere sentiment, is to me a dream 
and a mockery. As well can there be filial love 
without the fact of a father, as devotion without 
the fact of a Supreme Being. What I held in 
1816, I held in 1833, and J hold in ] 864. 
Please God, I shall hold it to the end. Even 
when I was under Dr vYhately's influence, I 
had no temptation to be less zealous for the 
great dogmas of the faith, and at various times 
I used to resist such trains of thought on his part, 
as seemed to me (rightly or wrongly) to obscure 
them. Such was the fundamental principle of 
the Movement of ] 833. 
2. Secondly, I was confident in the truth of 
certain definite religious teaching, based upon 
this foundation of dogma; viz. that there was 
a visible Church with sacraments and rites ,vhich 
are the channels of invisible grace. I thought 

1833 TO 1839. 


that this was the doctrine of Scripture, of the 
early Church, and of the Anglican Church. Here 
again, I have not changed in opinion; I am as 
certain now on this point as I was in 1833, 
and have never ceased to be certain. In 1834, 
and the following years I put this ecclesiastical 
doctrine on a broader basis, after reading Laud, 
BraITIhall, and Stillingfleet, and other Anglican 
divines, on the one hand, and after prosecuting 
I the study of the Fathers on the other; but the 
doctrine of 1833 was strengthened in me, not 
changed. 'Yhen I began the 7 racls for the 
Tímes I rested the main doctrine, of which I 
am speaking, upon Scripture, on St Ignatius's 
 and on the Anglican Pn
ller Book. As 
to the existence of a visible Church, I especially 
argued out the point from Scripture, in Tract 11, 
1Ji:::. from the Acts of the Apostles and the Epistles. 
As to the Sacraments and sacramental rites, I 
stood on the pT{
ljer Bool
. I appealed to the 
Ordination Sn'IJice in which the Bishop says, 'Re- 
ceive the Holy Ghost'; to the Visitation Service, 
which teaches confession a11d absolution; to the 
Baptismal Ser'l,ice, in which the Priest speaks 
of the child after baptism as regenerate; to the 
Calecl1i.'tm, in which SacralTIental Communion is 
receiving 'verily the Body and Blood of Christ' ; 
to the Commination Serl,ice, in which ,ve are told 
to do 'works of penance' ; to the Collects, Epistles, 
and Gospel.\", to the calendar and rubrics, wherein 
we find the festivals of the Apostles, notice of 
certain other Saints, and days of fasting and 
And, further, as to the episcopal system, I 
founded it upon the Epistles of St. Ignatius, 
which inculcated it in various ways. One passage 



especially impressed itself upon me: speaking 
of cases of disobedience to ecclesiastical author- 
ity, he says, , A man does not deceive that Bishop 
whom he sees, but he practises rather with the 
Bishop Invisible, and so the question is not 
with flesh, but with God, who knows the secret 
heart.' I wished to act on this principle to the 
letter, and I lTIay say with confidenee that I 
never consciously transgressed it. I loved to 
act in the sight of my Bishop as if I was, as 
it were, in the sight of God. I t was one of my 
special safeguards against myself and of my 
supports; I could not go very wrong while I had 
reason to believe that I was in no respect dis- 
pleasing him. It was not a mere fonnal obed- 
ience to rule that I put before me, but I 
desired to please him personally, as I considered 
him set over me by the Divine Hand. I was 
strict in observing my clerical engagements, not 
only because they mere engagements, but because 
I considered myself simply as the servant and 
instrument of my Bishop. I did not care much 
for the Bench of Bishops, except as they might 
be the voice of my Church: nor should I have 
cared much for a Provincial Council; nor for a 
Diocesan Synod presided over by my Bishop; 
all these matters seemed to me to be jure 
ecclesiastico, but what to me was jure di'vino 
was the voice of my Bishop in his own person. 

I y own Bishop was my Pope; I knew no 
other; the successor of the Apostles, the Vicar 
of Christ. This was but a practical exhibition 
of the Anglican theory of Church Government 
as I had already drawn it out myself. This 
continued all through my course. 'Vhen at 
 in 1845
 I wrote to Bishop WisetPan

1833 TO 1839 


who"e Vicariate I found ITIyself, to announce 
my conversion,. I could find nothing better to 
say to him than that I would obey the Pope 
as I had obeyed my own Bishop in the Anglican 
Church, l\Iy duty to him was my point of 
honour; his disapprobation was the one thing 
which I could not bear. I believe it to have 
been a generous and honest feeling; and, in 
:'onsequence, I ,vas rewarded by having all my 
jme, for ecclesiastical superior, a man, whom 
1ad I had a choice, I should have preferred, 
Jut and out, to any other Bishop on the Bench, 
lnd for whose meITIory I have a special affection, 
Dr Bagot-a man of noble mind, and as kind- 
1earted and as considerate as he was noble. 
.Ie ever sympathized with me in my trials 
.vhich followed; it was my own fault, that I 
.va." not brought into more faITIiIiar personal 
'elations with him than it was my happiness 
o be. 
fay his name be ever blessed! 
And now, in concluding my remarks on the 
,econd point on which ITIY confidence rested, 
observe that here again I ha \'e no retractation 
o announce as to its main outline. \Vhile I 
.m now as clear in my acceptance of the prin- 
'iple of dogma as I was in ] 833 and 1816, so 
gain I am now as firm in my belief of a visible 
I 'hurch, of the authority of Bishops, of the 

race of the "acraments, of the religious worth 
I f works of penance, as I was in 1833. I have 
, dded Articles to my Creed; but the old ones, 
vhich I then held with a divine faith, remain. 
3. But now, as to the third point on which 
stood in 1833, and which I have utterly 
enounced and trampled upon since-my then 
I iew of the Church of J1ome; I will speak 



about it as exactly as I can. ,\\Yhen I was young, 
as I have said already, and after I waS grown 
up, I thought the Pope to be Antichrist. At 
Christmas 18
4-5 I preached a Sermon to that 
effect: In 1827 I accepted eagerly the stanza 
in the Christian Year, which many people 
thought too charitable, , Speak gently of thy 
sister's fall '. From the time that I knew 
Froude I got less and less bitter on the sub- 
ject. I spoke (successively. but I cannot tell 
in ,vhat order, or at what dates) of the Roman 
Church as being bound up with 'the cause of 
Antichrist', as being one of the '11la1
1j antichrists' 
foretold by St John, as being influenced by 
, the spirit of Antichrist', and as having some- 
thing 'very Antichristian ' , or ' unchristian' , about 
her. From my boyhood, and in 18
4, I considered, 
after Protestant authorities, that St Gregory I, 
about A.D. 600, was the first Pope that was Anti- 
christ, and again that he was also a great and 
holy man; in 1832-3 I thoug-ht the Church of 
Rome was bound up with the cause of Anti- 
christ by the Council of Trent. \Vhen it was, 
that in my deliberate judgment I gave up the 
notion altogether in any shape, that some special 
reproach was attached to her name, I cannot 
tell; but I had a sluinking from renouncing it 
even when my reason so ordered me, from :3 
sort of conscience or prejudice, I think up h 
loreover, at least during the Trac1 
JVIovement, I thought the essence of he] 
offence to consist in the honours which sht 
paid to the Blessed Virg-in and the Saints 
and the more I grew in devotion, both to tht 
Saints and to Our Lady, the Inore impatien 
was I at the Roman l>ractices, as if thos. 

1838 TO 1839 


lorified creations of God Inust be gravely 
hocked, if pain could be theirs, at the undue 
reneration of which they were the objects. 
On the other hand, Hun'en Froude in his 
amiliaI' conversation ,vas always tending to rub 
'he idea out of my mind. In a passage of one 
)f his letters from abroad, alluding, I suppose, 

o what I used to say in opposition to hhn, 
1e observes: 'I think people are inj udicious 
I .vho talk against the ROlnan Catholics for wor- 
;hipping Saints, and honouring the Virgin and 
mages, etc. These things may perhaps be 
dolatrous; I cannot Inake up my mind about 
I t; but to my n1Ïnd it is the Carnival that is 
'eal, practical idolatry, as it is written, "the 
people sat down to eat, and drink, and rose up 
:0 play".' The Carnival, I observe in passing, 
lS, in fact, one of those very excesses, to which, 
for at least three centuries, religious Catholics 
have ever opposed themselves, as we see in the 
life of St Philip, to say nothing of the present 
day; but this he did not know. Moreover, 
from Froude I learned to adlnire the great 
medieval Pontiffs; and, of course, when I had 
come to consider the Council of Trent to be 
the turning-point of the history of Christian 
Rome, I found Inyself as free, as I was rejoiced, 
to speak in their praise. Then, 'when I was 
abroad, the sight of so many great places, 
venerable shrines, and noble churches, much 
impressed my imagination. And my heart was 
touched also. l\laking an expedition on foot 
across some wild country in Sicily, at six in 
the 1110rning I came upon a small church; I 
heard voices, and I looked in. It was crowded, 
and the congregation was singing. Of course 



it was the l\fass, though I did not know it at 
the time. And, in my weary days at Palermo, 
I was not ungrateful for the comfort which 
I had received in frequenting the Churches, 
nor did I ever forget it. Then, again, her zealous 
maintenance of the doctrine and the rule of 
celibacy, which I recognized as Apostolic, and 
her faithful agreement with Antiquity in so 
many points, besides, which were dear to me, 
,vas an argument as well as a plea in favour of 
the great Church of Rome. Thus I learned to 
have tender feelings towards her; but still my 
reason was not affected at all. l\Iy judglnent 
was against her, when viewed as an institution, 
as truly as it ever had been. 
This conflict between reason and affection 1 
expressed in one of the early Tracts, published 
July, 1834. 'Considering the high gifts, and the 
strong claims of the Church of Rome and its 
dependencies on our admiration, reverence, love, 
and gratitude; how could we withstand it, as I 
we do, how could we refrain from being melted 
into tenderness, and rushing into comlTIunion with 
it, but for the words of Truth itself, which bid 
us. prefer It to the whole ,,,orld? "He that 
loveth father or mother more than lVle, is not 
worthy of me." How could "we learn to be 
severe, and execute judgment", but for the 
warning of lVloses against even a divinely-gifted 
teacher, who should preach new gods; and the 
anathema of St Paul even against Angels and 
Apostles, who should bring in a new doctrine?: 
-RecordJ' No. 24. My feeJing was something 
like that of a man, who is obliged in a court 
of justice to bear witness against a friend; OJ 
like.. m
 own no,v, when I have said, and shal; 
.- . I ... 

.... t\- ..
. os -1'
' r 
.' "; ,'
, ,!
i t': ;:.-, \
 . ., 
r. J.' .' 
. '"\,. .Q..
 ' " ,; , 

1833 TO 1839 


say, so many things on which I had rather be 
As a matter, then, ofshnple conscience, though 
it went against lny feelings, I felt it to be a duty 
to protest against the Church of Rome. But, be- 
sides this, it was a duty, because the prescription 
of such a protest was a living principle of my 
own Church, as expressed in not shnply a calena, 
but a C01lSenSll/}' of her divines, and the voice 
of her people. 
Ioreover, such a protest was 
necessary as an integral portion of her controver- 
sial basis; for I adopted the argument of Bernard 
Gilpin, that Protestants 'were not able to give 
any Jirm {[nd solid reason of the separation be- 
sides this, to wit, that the Pope is Antichrist J. 
But while I thus thought such a protest to be 
based upon truth, and to be a religious duty, 
and a rule of Anglicanism, and a necessity of 
the case, I did not at all like the work. Hurrell 
Froude attacked me for doing it; and, besides, 
I felt that my language had a vulgar and 
l'hetorical look about it. I believed, and really 
measured, my words, when I used them; but 
I knew that I had a temptation, on the other 
hand, to say against Rome as much as ever I 
could, in order to protect myself against the 
charge of Popery. 
And now I COlne to the very point for which 
I have introduced the subject of my feelings 

bout Rome, I felt such confidence in the substan- 
tial justice of the charges which I advanced against 
her, that I considered theln to be a safeguard and 

n assurance, that no harln could ever arise from 
the freest exposition of what I used to can Angli- 
can principles. All the world was astounded at 
what Froude and I were saying; men said that 
\\t.C -;;"ï 
:t r.. " 
 fA...,', ø 

' :
'j,. ...-t 



it was sheer Popery. I answered, 'True, we 
seeln to be making straight for it; but go on 
awhile, and you will come to a deep chasm 
across the path, which makes real approxhnation 
impossible'. And I urged in addition, that 
many Anglican divines had been accused of 
Popery, yet had died in their Anglicanism- 
now, the ecclesiastical principles which I pro- 
fessed, they had professed also; and the j udg- 
Inent against Rome which they had formed, I 
had formed also. Whatever faults, then, the 
Anglican system might have, and however boldly 
I might point them out, anyhow that systeln 
was not vulnerable on the side of Rome, and 
might be lnended in spite of her. In that very 
agreement of the two forms of faith, close as 
it might seem, would really be found, on exa- 
mination, the elements and princi les of an 
essential discordance. 
It was with this 'supreme persuasion on my 
mind, that I fancied that there could be no 
rashness in giving to the world in fullest meas- 
ure the teaching and the writings of the Fathers. 
I thought that the Church of England was 
sul?stantially founded upon theln. I did not 
know all that the Fathers had said, but I felt 
that, even when their tenets happened to differ 
from the Anglican, no harm could COlne of 
reporting theln. I said out what I was clear 
they had said; I spoke vaguely and hnperfectly 
of what I thought they 'said, or what some 
of them had said. Anyhow, no harm could 
come of bending the crooked stick the othel 
way, in the process of straightening it; it wa
impossible to break it. If there was any thin
in the Fathers of a startling character, it wouk 

 TO 1839 


.Je only for a time; it would admit of explana- 

ion; it could not lead to Rome. I express thi
view of the matter in a passage of the preface 
:0 the first volume, which I edited, of the 
Library l!f tile Fatllcrs. Speaking of the strange- 
less, at first sight, presented to the Anglican 
llind, of sonle of their principles and opinions, I 
Jid the reader go forward hopefuHy, and not 
ndulge his criticism till he knows lnore about 
hem, than he will learn :it the outset. ' Since 
he evil', I say, 'is in the nature of the case 
tself, we can do no more than have patience, 
lnd recommend patience to others, and, with 
he racer in the Tragedy, look forward steadily 
md hopefully to the cl'c/iI, TéfJ TÉ}..EI '7r!(]'TIII (þEPWV. 
vhen as we trust, all that is inharmonious and 
lllomalous in the details will at length be 
>ractically smoothed.' 
Such ,vas the position, such the defences, 
,uch the tactics, by which I thought that it 
vas both incumbent on us, and possible to us, 
o meet that onset of Liberal principles of 
vhich we were all in immediate anticipation, 
vhether in the Church or in the University. 
\nd during the first year of the Tracht, the 
ttack upon the University began. In November 
834 was sent to me by the author, the second 
,clition of a pamphlet entitled Ob.r;p1ï'atio11.'; 011 
'leligious DÙ;scnt, 1l'itll particular rçfercJlce 10 Ille 
'se of rcligiou.r; tcsts in tlu' UllÍl'er.\'itg. In this 
)amph let it was maintained, that 'Ueligion is 
listinct fronl Theological Opinion' (pp. 1, 28, 
:0, etc.); that it is but a comnlon prejudice to 
:1entify theological propositions, methodically 
:educed and stated, with the simple religion 
f Christ (p, 1); that under Theological Opinion 




were to be placed the Trinitarian doctrine (p. 
27), and the Unitarian (p. 19); that a dogma 
was a theological opinion insisted on (pp. 20, 
21); that speculation always left an opening 
for improvement (p. 22); that the Church of 
England was not dogmatic in its spirit, though 
the wording of its formularies may often carry 
the sound of dogmatism (p. 23). 
I acknowledged the receipt of this work in 
the following letter: 

The kindness which has led to your presenting me with 
your late pamphlet encourages me to hope that you 
will forgive me, if I take the opportunity it affords of 
expressing to you my very sincere and deep regret that 
it has been published. Such an opportunit.y I could not 
Jet slip without being unfaithful t.o my own serious 
thoughts on the subject. 
While I respect the tone of piety which the pamphlet 
displays, I dare not trust myself to put on paper my 
feelings about the principles contained in it; tendmg, 
as they do, in my opinion, altogether to make shipwreck 
of Christian faith. I also lament, that, by its appearance, 
the first step has been taken towards interrupting that 
peace and mutual good understanding which has prevailed 
so long in this place, and which, if once seriously dis- 
turbed, will be succeeded by dissensions the more in- 
tractable, because justified in the minds of those who 
resist innovation by a feeling of imperative duty. 

Since that time, Phaeton has got into the 
chariot of the sun; we, alas! can only look on. 
and watch him down the steep of heaven. l\lean- 
,vhile, the lands, 'which he is passing over, suffeJ 
from his driving. 

Such was the commencement of the ar;;saul 
of Libera1ism upon the old orthodoxy of Oxfor( 
and England; and it could not have b
en broken 
as it was, for so long a time, had not a grea 

3 TO IR:19 


-hange taken place in the cirCU111stances of that 

ounter-movement which had already started with 
.he view of resisting it. For myself, I was not the 
>erson to take the lead of a party; I never was, 
rom first to last, more than a leading author of a 
ehool; nor did I ever wish to be any thing else. 
fhis is my own account of the matter, and I say it, 
leither as intending- to disown the responsibility of 
vhat ,vas done, nor as if ungrateful to those ,vho 
Lt that time nlade more of me than I deserved, 
nd did more for lllY sake, and at my bidding, 
han I realized myself. I am giving my history 
i'om my own point of sight, and it is as follows: 
had lived for ten years among my personal 
l-iends; the greater part of the time, I had been 
nfluenced, not influencing; and at no tÏ1lle have 
acted on others, without their acting upon 
net As is the custom of a University, I had 
ived with my private, nay, with some of my 
mblic, pupils, and with the junior Fellows of 
oy College, without form or distance, on a 
ooting of equality. Thus it was through friends, 
'ounger, for the most part, than myself, that 
oy principles were spreading-. They heard what 
I said in conversation, and told it to others. 
lndergraduates in due time took their degree, 
nd became private tutors themselves. In this 
lew .\'tatlls, in turn, they preached the opinions 
vhich they had already learned themselves. Others 
vent down to the country, and became curates 
If parishes. Then they had down from London 
)arcels of the Tracts, and other publications. 
['hey placed them in the shops of local book- 
ellers, got them into newspapers, introduced 
hem to clerical meetin
s, and converterl more 
>>r less their Rectors and their brother curates, . 



Thus the Movement, viewed with relation to 
myself, was but a floating opinion; it was not 
a power. It never would have been a power, if 
it had remained in my hands. Years after, a 
friend, writing to me in remonstrance at the 
excesses, as he thought them, of my disciples, 
applied to me my own verse about St Gregory 
Nazianzen: 'Thou couldst a people raise, but 
couldst not rule.' At the time that he wrote 
to me, I had special impediments in the way 
of such an exercise of power; but at no time 
could I exercise over others that authority which 
under the circumstances was imperatively required. 
:Nly great principle ever was, Live and let live. I 
never had the staidness or dignity necessary for 
a leader. To the last, I never recognized the 
hold I had over young men. Of late years, I 
have read and heard that they even imitated 
me in various ways. I was quite unconscious of 
it, and I think my immediate friends knew too 
wen how disgusted I should be at the news to 
have the heart to tell me. I felt great impatience 
at our being called a party, and would not allow 
that we were. I had a lounging, free-and-easy 
way of carrying things on. I exercised no suffic- 
ient censorship upon the Tracts. I did not 
confine them to the writings of such persons as 
agreed in all things with myself; and, as to my 
own Tracts, I printed on them a notice to the 
effect, that anyone who pleased might make what 
use he would of them, and reprint them with 
alterations, if he chose, under the conviction that 
their main scope could not be damaged by such 
a process. It was the same afterwards, as regards 
other publications. For two years I furnished a 
certain number of sheets for Tlu' British Critic 

1833 TO 1839 


from lnyself and lny friends, while a gentlelnan 
was editor, a man of splendid talent, who, how- 
ever, was scarcely an acquaintance of mine, and 
had no sympathy with the Tracts. When I was 
editor myself, from 1838 to 1841, in my very 
first number, I suffered to appear a critiquc un- 
favourable to my work on Justification, which 
had been published a few months before, from 
a feeling of propriety, because I had put the 
book into the hands of the writer who so 
handled it, Afterwards, I suffered an article 
against the Jesuits to appear in it of which I 
did not like the tone. ""'hen I had to provide 
a curate for my new church at Littlemore, I 
engaged a friend, by no fault of his, who, before 
he entered into his charge, preached a sermon, 
either in depreciation of Baptismal Regeneration, 
or of Dr Pusey's view of it, I showed a similar 
easiness as to the editors who helped me in 
the separate volulnes of Fleury's Church History; 
they were able, learned, and excellent men, but 
I their after-history has shown how little my 
choice of then1 was influenced by any notion 
I could have had of any intimate agreement 
of opinion between them and lnyself. I shall 
have to make the saIne remark in its place 
concerning the Live.f if the English Saints, which 
subsequently appeared. An this may seeln' 
inconsistent with what I have said of nlY fierce- 
ness. I aln not bound to account for it; but 
there have been men before Ine, fierce in act, 
yet tolerant and moderate in their reasonings; 
at least so I read history. However, such was 
the case, and such its effect upon the Tracts. 
fhese, at first starting, were short, hasty, and 
-;Olue of thcln ineffective; and at the end of 



the year, when collected into a volume, they 
had a slovenly appearance. 
It ,vas under these circumstances, that Dr 
Pusey joined us. I had known him ,veIl since 
1827-8, and had felt for him an enthusiastic 
admiration. I used to call him Ò {.I.Éyaç. His 
great learning, his Ï111mense diligence, his scholar- 
like mind, his simple devotion to the cause of 
religion, overcame me; and great of course was 
my joy, when in the last days of 1833 he 
showed a disposition to make common cause 
with us, His Tract on Fasting appeared as one 
of the series, with the date of December 21. 
He was not, however, I think fully associated 
in the 1"10vement till 1835 and 1836, when he 
published his Tract on Baptism, and started the 
Library qf the Fathers. He at once gave to us 
a position and a name. '\Vithout him we should 
have had no chance, especially at the early date 
of 1834, of making any serious resistance to the 
Liberal aggression. But Dr Pusey ,vas a Pro- 
fessor and Canon of Christ Church; he had a 
vast influence in consequence of his deep religious 
seriousness, the n1ullificence of his charities, his 
professorship, his falllily connexions, and his 
easy relations with University authorities. He was 
to the Movement all that Mr Rose might have 
been, with that indispensable addition, which 
was wanting to 1"1r Rose, the intÎ111ate friendship 
and the familiar daily society of the persons 
who had commenced it. And he had that 
special claim on their attachment ,vhich lies 
in the living presence of a faithful and loyal 
affectionateness. There was henceforth a luan 
who could be the head and centre of the zealous 
people, in every part of the country, who were 

1833 TO IHJ9 


adopting the new opinions; and not only so, 
but there was one who furnished the Movement 
with a front to the world, and gained for it a 
recognition fron1 other parties in the University. 
In 1829, :\lr Froude, or :\Ir R. Wilberforce, or 

lr N"ewlnan were but individuals; and, when 
they ranged themselves in the contest of that 
year on the side of Sir Robert Inglis, men on 
either side only asked with surprise how they 
got there, and attached no significancy to the 
fact; but Dr Pusey was, to use the cornlnon 
expression, a host in himself; he was able to 
give a nalne, a fOrIn, and a personality to what 
was without him a sort of mob; and ,vhen various 
parties 11ad to lneet together in order to resist 
the Liberal acts of the Governnlent, we of the 
Movement took our place by right among them. 
Such was the benefit which he conferred on 
ovenlent externally; nor was the internal 
advantage at all inferior to it. He was a man 
of large designs; he had a hopeful, sanguine 
mind; he had no fear of others; he was haunted 
by no intellectual perplexities. People are apt 
to say that he was once nearer to the Catholic 
Church than he is now; I pray God that he 
may be one day nearer to the Catholic Church 
than he was then; for I believe that, in his 
reason and judgment, all the thne that I knew 
hiIn, he never ,vas near to it at all. When I 
became a Catholic, 1 was often asked, '\Vhat of 
Dr Pusey?' -when I said that I did not see 
sYlnptoms of his doing as I had done, I was 
sometimes thought uncharitable. If confidence 
in his pusition is (as it is) a first essential in 
the leader of a party, Dr Pusey had it. The 
lnost relnarkable in
tance of this was his state- 



Inent, in one of his subsequent defences of the 

lovelnent, when, too, it had advanced a consider- 
able way in the direction of Rome, that among 
its nlost hopeful peculiarities was its' stationari- 
ness'. He Inade it in good faith; it was his 
subjective view of it. 
Dr Pusey's influence was felt at once. He 
saw that there ought to be more sobriety, Inore 
gravity, Inore careful pains, n10re sense of 
responsibility in the 1'racts, and in the whole 
l\IovenleIÜ. I t was through hÌln that the 
character of the 7'racts was changed. \Yhen 
he gave to us his Tract on Fasting, he put 
his initials to it. In 1835 he published his 
elaborate Treatise on Baptism, which was fol- 
lowed by other Tract
. fronl different authors, 
if not of equal learning, yet of equal power 
and appositeness. The Catenas of Anglican 
divines which occur in the Series, though pro- 
jected, I think, by me, were executed with a 
like aÏln at greater accuracy and method. In 
1830 he advertised his great project for a Trans- 
lation of the Fathers-but I Inust return to 
myself. I anI not writing the history either of 
Dr Pusey, or of the rvlovernent; but it is a 
pleasure to me to have been able to introduce 
here reminiscences of the place which he held 
in it, which have so direct a bearing on myself, 
that they are no digression froln Iny narrative. 

I suspect it was Dr Pusey's influence and 
exan1ple which set Ine, and made Ine set others, 
on the larger and more careful 'works in defence 
of the principles of the Movement which follow- 
ed in a course of yearS-S0111e of theln demanding, 
and receiving froln their authors, 
uch elaborate 

] 833 TO I H



treabnent that they did not Inake their appear- 
ance till both its temper and its fortunes had 
changed. I set about a work at once; one in 
which ,vas brought out ,vith precision the }"elat- 
ion in ,vhich we stood to the Church of Rome. 
lr e could not n10ve a step in cOlnfort till this 
was done. I t was of absolute necessity, and 
a plain duty, to provide as soon as possible a 
large statement, which would encourage and 
re-assure our friends, and repel the attacks of 
our opponents. A cry was heard on all sides of 
us, that the 1'racfs and the writings on the 
Fathers would lead us to become Catholics be- 
fore we were aware of it. This was loudly ex- 
pressed by members of the Evangelical party; who, 
in 18:}(j had joined us in making a protest in 
Convocation against a meinorable appointment 
of the Prime l\Iinister. These clergymen even 
then avowed their desire, that the next tÎlne 
they were brought up to Oxford to give a vote, 
it might be in order to put down the Popery 
of the 
Iovenlent. There was another reason 
still, and quite as important. Ivlonsignore \Viseman, 
with the acuteness and zeal which nJight be 
expected froin that great prelate, had antici- 
pated what was cOIning, had returned to England 
in 1 BS(), had delivered lectures in London on 
the doctrines of Catholicism, and created an 
impression through the country, shared in by 
ourselves, that we had for our opponents in 
controversy, not only our brethren, but our 
hereditary foes. These were the cirCUlnstances 
which led to lny publication of The Prophetical 
qfficc oj' the Church vie/red relalÏL'e!g tu RUlTlalli
alid Pupular }J ru l es lrl1ll i.\'111, 
This work clnploycd 11le for three years, froin 



the beginning of 18:14 to the end of 1836. It 
was composed after a careful consideration and 
comparison of the principal Anglican divines of 
the 17th century. It was first written in the 
shape of controversial correspondence with a 
learned French priest; then it was re-cast, and 
delivered in. lectures at St 
faryJs: lastly, with 
considerable retrenchn1ents and additions, it was 
re-written for publication. 
It attemps to trace out the rudinlental lines 
on which Christian faith and teaching proceed, 
and to use theln as means of detennining the 
relation of the Roman and Anglican systelns to 
each other. In this way it shows that to confuse 
the two together is impossible, and that the 
Anglican can be as little said to tend to the 
Roman, as the Roman to the Anglican. The 
spirit of the Volume is not so gentle to the 
Church of Rome, as Tract 71, published the year 
before; on the contrary, it is very fierce; and 
this I attribute to the circunlstallce that the 
volume is theological and didactic, whereas 
the Tract, being controversial, assumes as little 
and grants as much as possible on the points 
in dispute, and insists on points of agreenlent 
as well as of difference. A further and more 
direct reason is, that in my volume I deal with 
'Rolnanisln J (as I call it), not so lnuch in its 
fonnal decrees, and in the substance of its creed, 
as in its traditional action and its authorized 
teaching as represented by its prominent writers; 
whereas the 1'racl is written as discussing the 
differences of the Churches with a view' to a 
reconciliation between thenl. There is a further 
reason too, which 1 will state presently. 
But this volume had a larger scope than that 

1833 TO 18;

of opposing the Roman systeul. It was an attempt 
at commencing a system of theology on the 
Anglican idea, and based upon Anglican authori- 
ties. Mr Pahner, about the SaIne titne, was 
projecting a work of a similar nature in his 
own way. It was published, I think, under the 
title, A Treatise on the Christian Church. As was 
to be expected frmn the author, it was a lllost 
learned, lnost careful composition; and in its 
form, I should say, polemical. So happily at 
least did he follow the logical Inethod of the 
Roman Schools, that Father Perrone in his 1'rea- 
ti,s'e Oil Dugmatic Theuloglj, recognized in hÜn a 
combatant of the true cast, and saluted him as 
a foe worthy of being vanquished. Other soldiers 
in that field he seems to have thought little 
better than the Lll1cknechts of the middle a
and, I dare say, with very good reason. '''hen 
I knew that excellent and kind-hearted 111an 
at Rome, at a later tinIe, he allowed me to 
put him to ample penance for those light thoughts 
of me, which he had once had, by encroaching 
on his valuable time with Iny theological ques- 
tions. As to 
lr Palnler's book, it was one .which 
no Anglican could write but himself-in no 
sense, if I recollect aright, a tentative ,,"ork. 
The ground of controversy was cut into squares, 
and then every objection had its an!bwer. This 
is the proper method to adopt in teaching authori- 
tatively youn
 men; and the work in fact was 
intended for students in theology. 'Iy own 
book, on the other hand, was of a directly 
tentative and en1pirical character. I wished to 
build up an .Anglican theology out of the stores 
which already lay cut and hewn upon the ground, 
the past toil of great divines. To do this could 





not be the work of one n1an ; much less could it be at 
once received into Anglican theology, however well 
it was done. I fully trusted that my statements of 
doctrine would turn out true and important; yet I 
wrote, to use the common phrase,' under correction.' 
There was another Illotive for my publishing, 
of a personal nature, which I think I should 
mention. I felt then, and all along felt, that 
there was an intel]ectual cowardice in not having 
a basis in reason for my belief, and a moral 
cowardice in 110t avowing that basis. I should 
have felt myself less than a lllan if I did not 
bI'ing it out, whatever it was, 'Ihis is one 
principal reason why I wrote and published 
Tile l
roplletical Office. I t was on the same 
feeling that in the spring of 1836, at a meet- 
ing of residents on the subject of the struggle 
then proceeding, someone wanted us all merely 
to act on college and conservative grounds (as 
I understood him), with as few published state- 
ments as possibl
: I answered, that the person 
WhOIll we were resisting had c0111mitted himself 
in writing, and that we ought to COlllmit our- 
selves too. This again was a main reason for 
the publication of T'I"act 90. Alas! it was lllY 
portion for whole years to relnain without any 
satisfactory basis for my religious profession, in 
a state of moral sickness, neitl
er able to acquiesce 
in Anglicanism, 110r able to go to Rome. But I 
bore it till, in course of time, my way was made 
clear to me. If here it be objected to me, that as 
time went on I often in 111Y writings hinted at 
things which I did not fully bring out, I submit 
for consideration whether this occurred except 
when I was in great difficultiesJ how to speak, or 
how to be silent, with due I"egard for the position 

1833 TO ]839 

, , 

of mind or the feeJings of others. However, I 
may have an opportunity to say more on this 
subject. But to return to the Prophetical Office. 
I thus speak in the Introduction to my Volume: 
It is proposed (I say) to offer helps towards the formation 
of a recognized Anglican theology in one of its departments. 
The present state of our divinity is as foHows: the most. 
vigorous, the clearest, the most fertiJe minds, have through 
God's mercy been employed in the service of our Church: 
minds, too, as reverential and holy, and as fuBy imbued 
with Ancient Trnth, and as wen versed in the writings of 
the Fathers, as they were inteIlectna1Jy gifted. This is 
God's great mercy, indeed, for which we must ever be 
thankful. Primitive doctrine has been explored tor ns in 
every direction, and the ol"iginal principles of the Gospel 
and the Church patiently brought to light. But one thiug 
is st.ill wanting; our champions and teachers have lived 
in stormy times; poJitical and other influences have acted 
upon them variously in their day, and have since obstructed 
a careful conso1idation of their judgments. We have a 
vast inheritance, but no inventory of our treasures. All 
is given us in profusion; it remains for ns to catalogue, 
sort, distribute, select, harmonize, and complete. We 
have more than we know how to nse; footores of learning, 
but little that is precise and serviceable; Catholic truth 
and individual opinion, first principles. and the guesses 
of genius, all mingled in the same works, and requiring 
to be discriminated, We meet with truths o'
erstated, or 
misdirected, matters of dE-tail var-iously taken, facts 
incomplet.ely proved or applied, and rules inconsistently 
urged, or discordantly interpreted Such, indeed, is the 
state of every deep philosophy in its first stages, and 
therefore of theological knowledge. What we need at 
present for our Chnrch's wen-being. is not invention, nor 
originality, nor sagacity, nor even learning in our divines, 
at least in the first place, though an gifts of God ",re 
in a measure needed, and never can be unseasonable 
when used religiously, bnt we need peculiarly a sound 
judgment, patient thought, discrimination. a comprehensive 
mind, an abetinence from all private fancies and caprices 
and personal tastes-in ß word. Divine Wisdom. 
The subje('t of the volunle is the doctrine 
of the Via J[rdia, a name which had already 



been applied to the Ang-1ican system by writers 
of name. It is an expressive title, but not 
altogether satisfactory, because it is at first sight 
negative. This had been the reason of my dis- 
like to the 'word 
 Protestant' ; in the idea which 
it conveyed, it was not the profession of any 
religion at all, and ,vas compatible with infidelity. 
A ria ffledia was but a receding from extremes, 
therefore I had to draw it out into a shape, 
and a character; before it had clain1s on our 
respect, it must first be shown to be one, intellig- 
ible, and consistent. This was the first condi- 
tion of any reasonable treatise on the Via JIedia. 
The second condition, and necessary too, was 
not in iny power. I could only hope that it 
would one day be fulfilled. Even if the Fia 
Media were ever so positive a religious system, 
it was not as yet objective and real; it had no 
original anywhere of which it was the repre- 
sentative. It was at present a paper religion. 
This I confess in my Introduction; I say' Pro- 
testantism and Popery are real religions... but 
the ,Fia ltledia, viewed as an integral system, 
has scarcely had existence except on paper.' 
I grant the objection, and proceed to lessen it. 
There I say, 'It still remains to be tried, whether 
what is called Anglo-Catholicism, the religion 
of Andrewes, Laud, Hammond, Butler, and 
\ViJson, is capable of being professed, acted on, 
and maintained on a larg-e sphere of action, or 
whether it be a mere modification or b'ansition- 
state of either Romanism or popular Protestan- 
tism.' I trusted that some day it would prove 
to be a substantive religion. 
Lest I should be misunderstood, let me ob- 
Sel"Ve that this hesitation 
bout the validity of 

JR33 TO 1839 


the theory of the ria ]rledia implied no doubt 
of the three funrlamental points on which it 
was based, as I have described above, dogma, 
the sacramental system, and opposition to the 
Church of Rome. 
Other investigations w'hich followed, gave a 
still more tentative character to what I wrote, 
or got written. The basis of the ria ..L"\ledia, 
consisting of the three elementary points which 
J have just lnentioned, was clear enough; but, 
not only had the house to be built upon them, 
but it had also to be furnished, and it is not 
wonderful if both I and others erred in detail 
in determining what that furniture should be, 
what was consistent ,vith the style of building, 
and what was in itself desirable. I will explain 
what I mean. 
I had brought out in Tile Prophetical Office 
in what the Roman and the Anglican systems 
differed from each other, but less distinctly in 
what they agreed. I had, indeed, enumerated 
the Fundamentals common to both in the 
fonowing pa
In both systems the same Creeds arc acknowledged. 
Besides other points in common, we both hold, that certain 
doctrines are necessary to be believed for salvation; we 
both believe in the doctrines of the Trinity, Incarnation, 
and Atonement; in original sin; in the necessity of regenera- 
tion; in the supernatural grace of the Sacraments; in the 
Apostolical succession; in the obligation of faith and 
obedience, and in the eternity of future punishment. 

pp. 55-6) 
So much I had said, but I had not said 
f'nough. This enumeration implied a great many 
more points of agreelnent than were found in 
those very Articles which were fundamental. 
If the two Churches were thus the same in 



fundamentals, they were also one and the same 
in such plain consequences as are contained in 
those fundamentals, or as outwardly represented 
them. It ",vas an Anglican principle that 'the 
abuse of a thing doth not take away the lawful 
use of it'; and an Anglican Canon, in 1603, had 
dedared that the English Church had no pur- 
pose to forsake all that was held in the Churches 
of Italy, France, and Spain, and reverenced 
those ceremonies and particular points which 
were Apostolic. Excepting then such exeptional 
matters, as are implied in this avowal, whether 
they were many or few, all these Churches 
were evidently to be considered as one with 
the Anglican. The Catholic Church in aU lands 
had been one from the first for many centuries; 
then, various portions had foUo'wed their own 
way, to the injury, but not to the destruction, 
whether of truth or of charity. These portions, 
or branches, were mainly three: the Greek, 
Latin, and Anglican. Each of these inherited 
the early undivided Church in solido as its own 
possession. Each branch was identical with that 
early, undivided Church, and in the unity of 
that Church it had unity with the other branches. 
The three branches agreed together in nil but 
their later accidental errors. Some branches 
had retained in detail por.tions of Apostolical 
truth and usage which the others had not; and these 
portions might be, and should be, appropriated 
again by the others which had let them slip. Thus, 
the middle age belong-ed to the Anglican Church, 
and much more did the middle age of Eng-land. 
The Church of the 12th centurv was the Church 
of the 19th. Dr Howley sat in the seat of 
St Thomas the :\fartyr; Oxford was a rnedieval 

lS:J3 TO 1839 


University. Saving our engagements to Prayer 
Book and Articles, we Jnight breathe, and live, 
and act, and speak, in the atmosphere and cli- 
mate of Henry Ill's day, or the Confessor's, or 
of Alfred's. And ,ve ought to be indulgent of 
all that Rome taught now, as of what Rome 
taught then, saving our protest. We might 
boldly welcome even ",hat we did not ourselves 
think right to adopt. And, when we ,vere 
obliged, on the contrary, boldly to denounce, we 
should do so with pain, not with exultation. 
By very reason of our protest, which we had 
made, and Inade ex animo, we could agree to 
differ. \Vhat the members of the Bible Society 
did on the basis of Scripture, we could do on 
the basis of the Church; Trinitarian and Unitar- 
ian were fUl,ther apart than Roman and Anglican. 
Thus we had a real wish to co-operate with 
Rome in all lawful things, if she would let us, 
and the rules of our own Church let us; and 
we thought there was no better way towards the 
l'estoration of doctrinal purity and unity. And 
we thought that Rome was not cOlnmitted by 
her formal decrees to all that she actually taught; 
ind again, if her disputants had been unfair to 
18, or her rulers tyrannical, that on our side 
:00 there had been rancour and slander in our 

ontroversy with her, and violence in our polit- 
cal measures. As to ourselves being instruments 
n improving the belief or practice of Rome 
lirectly, I used to 
ay, 'Look at honle; let us 
Ìrst, or at least let us the while, supply our 
)wn short-comings before we attempt to be 
)hysicians to anyone else'. This is very much 
he spirit of Tract 71, to which I referred just 
lOW, I am well aware that there is a paragraph 



contrary to it in the Prospectus to the Library) 
qf the Fathers; but I never concurred in it. In- 
deed, I have no intention whatever of implying 
that Dr Pusey concurred in the ecclesiastical 
theory which I have been drawing out; nor 
that I took it up myself, except by degrees, in 
the course of ten years. It was necessarily the 
growth of time. In fact, hardly any two 
persons, who took part in the l\;lovement, 
agreed in their view of the limit to which 
our general principles might religiously be 
And now I have said enough on 'what I 
consider to have been the general objects of 
the various works ,vhich I ,vrote, edited, or 
prompted in the years 'which I alll reviewing; 
I wanted to bring out in a substanti\'e form a 
living Church of England, in a position proper 
to herself, and founded on distinct principles; 
as far as paper could do it, and as earnestly 
preaching it, and influencing others towards it, 
could tend to make it a fact-a living Church, 
made of flesh and blood, with voice, cornplexion, 
and motion, and action, and a will of its own. I 
believe I had no private motive, and no personal 
aim. N or did I ask for more than 'a fair stage 
and no favour', nor expect the work would be 
done in lilY days; but I thought that enough 
would be secured to continue it in the future 
under, perhaps, more hopeful circumstances and 
prospects than the present. 
I will Inention in illustration some of the princi- 
pal works, doctrinal and historical, which orig- 
inated in the object which I have stated. 
I wrote my Essa,y on Justification in 1837; i J 
was aimed at the Lutheran dictu111 that justifica 

1833 TO 1839 


tion by faith only was the cardinal doctrine of 
Christianity. I considered that this doctrine was 
either a paradox or a truism-a paradox in Luther's 
mouth, a truism in l"lelanchton's. I thought that 
the Anglican Church followed l\lelanchton, and 
that, in consequence, between Rome and Angli- 
canism, between high Church and low Church, 
there was no real intellectual diffel'ence on the 
point. I wished to fill up a ditch, the work of 
man. In this volume again I express my desire 
to build up a system of theology out of the 
Anglican divines, and imply that n1Y dissertation 
was a tentative inquiry. I speak in the preface 
of 'offering suggestions towards a work, which 
must be uppermost in the mind of every true 
son of the English Church at this day-the 
consolidation of a theological systeln, 'which, 
built upon those forlnularies, to which all clergy- 
men are bound, may tend to inform, persuade, 
and absorb into itself, religious minds, which 
hitherto have fancied, that, on the peculiar 
IProtestant questions, they were seriously opposed 
to each other.' - P. vii. 
In my U/liversi
y A"J'ermOlls there is a series of 
discussions upon the subject of Faith and Reason; 
these again were the tentative commencement of 
a grave and necessarJ' work; it was an inquiry 
into the ultimate basis of religious faith, prior 
to the distinction into Creeds. 
In like manner in a pamphlet which I published 
in the summer of 1838 is an attempt at placing the 
doctrine of the Real Presence on an intellectual 
basis. The fundanlental idea is consonant to that 
to which I had been so long attached; it is the 
denial of the existence of space except as a 
subjective idea of our minds. 




The Church qf tltc Fathcr.\' is one of the earliest 
productions of the Movement, and appeared in 
numbers, in The British lrIagazinc, and was written 
\vith the aim of introducing the religious sen- 
timents, views, and customs of the first ages 
into the modern Church of England. 
The translation of Fleury's Church His/my was 
commenced under these circumstances: I ,vas 
fond of Fleury for a reason which I express in 
the Advertisement; because it presented a sort 
of photograph of ecclesiastical history without 
any comment upon it. In the event, that simple 
representation of the early centuries had a good 
deal to do with unsettling me; but how little 
I could anticipate this will be seen in the fact 
that the publication was a favourite scheme of 
Mr Rose's. He proposed it to me twice, be- 
tween the years 1884 and 1887; and Ilnention 
it as one out of many particulars, curiously 
illustrating how truly my change of opinion 
arose, not from foreign influences, but froln the 
working of my own mind, and the accidents 
around me. The date at which the portion 
actually translated began was determined by 
the publisher on reasons with which we were 
not concerned. 
Another historical work, but drawn from orig- 
inal sources, was given to the world by my 
old friend Mr Bowden, being a Life qf Pope 
Gregory 17 II. I need scarcely recall to those 
who have read it the power and the liveliness 
of the narrative. This composition was the 
author's relaxation on evenings, and in his sum- 
mer vacations, from his ordinary engagements 
in London. I t had been suggested to him origin- 
aUy by me, at the instance of Hurrell Froude. 

18S3 TO 1839 


The Series of the Liz'l's qf the English Saints was 
projected at a later period, under circumstances 
which I shall have in the sequel to describe. 
Those beautiful compositions have nothing in 
them, as far as I recollect, sÏ1nply inconsistent 
with the general objects which I have been 
assigning to my labours in these years, though 
the immediate occasion of them and their 
tone could not, in the exel'cise of the largest 
indulgence, be ,;aid to have an Anglican 
At a comparatively early date I drew up the 
Tract on the Roman Brcl'iary. It frightened my 
own friends on its first appearance, and, several 
years afterwards, when younger men began to 
translate for publication the four volumes in 
exfen:w, they were dissuaded fron1 doing so by 
ad vice to which from a sense of duty they 
listened. It was an apparent accident which 
introduced me to the knowledge of that most 
wonderful and most attractive monUlnent of the 
devotion of saints. On Hurrel Froude's death, 
in 1836, I was asked to select one of his books 
as a keepsake. I selected Butler's AnaloglJ; 
finding that it had been already chosen, I looked 
with SOlllC perplexity along the shelves as they 
stood before me, when an intimate friend at 
my elbow said, 'Take that'. It wa" the Breviary 
which Hurrell had had with him at Barbados. 
Accordingly I took it, studied it, 'wrote my 
Tract froll} it, and have it on my table in con- 
stant use till this day. 
That dear and fa
iliar cOlnpanion, who thus 
put the Breviary into my hanùs, is still in the 
_\nglican Church. So, too, b that early vene- 
rated, long-loved fì'iend 1 together with 'VhOlll 



I edited a work which, more perhaps than 
any other, caused disturbance and annoyance 
in the Anglican world, Froude's Remains; yet, 
however judglnent might run as to the prudence 
of publishing it, I never heard anyone impute 
to Mr Keble the very shadow of dishonesty or 
treachery towards his Church in so acting. 
The annotated translation of the Treatise of 
St. At/wllasius was of course in no sense a 
tentative work; it belongs to another order of 
thought. This historico-dogmatic work employed 
me for years. I had made preparations for 
following it up with a doctrinal history of the 
heresies which succeeded to the Arian. 
I should make mention also of The British 
Critic. I was editor of it for three years, from 
.July 1838 to .July 1841. My writers belonged 
to various schools, some to none at all. The 
subjects are various-classical, academical, polit- 
ical, critical, and artistic, as well as theological, 
and upon the :Movement none are to be found 
which do not keep quite clear of advocating 
the cause of ROllle. 

So I went on for years, up to 18,1<1. It was, 
in a human point of view, the happiest time 
of my life. I was truly at home. I had in 
one of my volunles appropriated to myself the 
words of Bramhall, 'Bees, by the instinct of 
nature, do love their hives, and birds their 
nests'. I did not suppose that such sunshine 
would last, though I knew not what would be 
its terlllination. It was the time of plenty, 
and, during its seven years, I tried to lay up 
as much as I could for the death which was 
to follow it, We prospered and spread. I have 

1833 TO 1839 


spoken of the doings of these years, since I 
was a CathoJic, in a passage, part of which I 
will quote, though there is a sentence in it that 
requires some limitation: 
From beginnings so small (I said) from elements of 
thought so fortuitous, with prospects so unpromising, the 
Anglo-Catholic party suddenly became a power in the 
National Church, and an object of alarm to her rulers and 
friends. Its originators would have found it difficult to 
say what they aimed at of a practical kind: rather, they 
put forth views and principles, for their own sake, because 
they were true, as if they were obliged to say them; and, 
as they might be themselves surprised at their earnestness 
in uttering them, they had as great cause to be surprised 
at the success which attended their propagation. And, in 
fact, they could only say that those doctrines were in the 
air; that to assert was to prove, and that to explain was 
to persuade; and that the Movement in which they were 
taking part was the birth of a crisis rather than of a place. 
In a very few years a school of opinion was formed, .fixed 
in its principles, indefinite and progressive in their range; 
and it extended itself into every part of the country. If 
we inquire what the world thought of it, we have still 
more to raise our wonder; for, not to mention the excite- 
ment it caused in England, the :Movement and its party- 
names were known to the police of Italy and to the 
back-woodsmen of America. And so it proceeded. getting 
stronger and stronger every year, till it came into collision 
with the Nation, and that Church of the Nation, which it 
began by professing especially to serve. 
The greater its success, the nearer was that 
collision at hand. The first threatenings of the 
crisis were heard in 1838. At that time, Iny Bishop 
in a Charge Inade SOIllC light animadversions, but 
they were anÏ1nad versions, on the Tracl.ç jòr file 
'. At once I offered to stop them. \Yhat 
took place on the occasion I prefer to state in 
thf' words in which I related it in a Palnphlet 
addressed to him in a later year, when the blow 
actually came down upon me. 
e In your Lordship's Charge for] 838 " I said, 




'an allusion was made to the Tracts jor the Times, 
Some opponents of the 1'racts said that you treated 
them with undue indulgence... I wrote to the 
Archdeacon on the subject, submitting the Tracts 
entirely to your Lordship's disposal. What I 
thought about your Charge will appear from 
the words I then used to him. 1 said" A Bishop's 
lightest word ex cathedra is heavy. His judgment 
on a book cannot be light. It is a rare occur- 
rence." And J offered to withdraw any of the 
T1'acts over which I had control if I were informed 
which were those to which your Lordship had 
objections. I afterwards wrote to your Lordship 
to this effect, that" I trusted I 
ight say sincere- 
ly that I should feel a more lively pleasure in 
knowing that I was submitting myself to your 
Lordship's expressed jndgment in a matter of 
that kind, than I could have even in the widest 
circulation of the volumes in question." Your 
Lordship did not think it necessary to proceed 
to such a measure, but I felt, and always have 
felt, that, if ever you determined on it, I was 
bound to obey.' . 
That day at length came, and I conclude this 
portion of my narrative, with relating the circum- 
stances of it. 

From th
 time that I had entered upon the 
duties of Public Tutor at my college, when my 
doctrinal views were very different from what 
they were in ] 841, I had meditated a comment 
upon the Articles. Then, when the Movement 
was in its swing, friends had said to me 'What 
will you make of the Articles?' -but I did not 
share the apprehension which their question 
implied. Whether, as time ,vent on, I should 

1833 TO 1839 


have been forced, by the necessities of the original 
theory of the Movement, to put on paper the 
speculations which I had about them, I am not 
able to conjecture. The actual cause of my doing 
so, in the beginning of 1841, was the restlessness, 
actual and prospective, of those who neither liked 
the flia J',ledia nor my strong- judgment ag-ainst 
Rome. I had been enjoined, I think by my Bishop, 
to keep these men straig-ht, and I wished so to 
do: but their tangible difficulty was subscription 
to the Al.ticles; and thus the question of the 
Articles came before me. I t was thrown in our 
teeth; 'Ho,v can you manage to sign the 
Articles? They are directly against Rome '. 
r Against Rome? ' I . made answer, "Vhat do 
you mean by Rome?' and then I proceeded to 
make distinctions, of which I shall now give an 
By 'Roman doctrine' mig-ht be meant on
three things: 1, the Catholic teaching of the 

arly c
nturies; or 2, theformal dogmas qf Rome 
1S contained in the later Councils, especiaUy 
:he Council of Trent, and as condensed in the 
:reed of Pope Pius IV; 3, the actual popular 
' and wwge.\' sanctioned by Rome in the 
'ountries in communion with it, over and above 
'he dog-mas; and these I caned' dominant en'ors '. 
Now Protestants commonly thought that in an 
hree senses 'Roman doctrine' was condemned 
n the Articles: I thoug-ht that the Catholic 
caching was not condemned; that the dominant 
'rrOTS were; and as to the .formal dogma.
, that 
omp were, some were not, and that the line 
lad to be drawn between them. Thus, 1, the 
Ise of prayers for the dead was a Catholic 
loetrine-not condemned; 2, the prison of Pur- 



gatory was a Roman dogma-which was con- 
demned; but the infallibility of Ecumenical 
Councils was a Roman dogma-not condemned; 
and 3, the fire of Purgatory was an authorized 
and popular error, not a dogma-which was 
Further, I considered that the difficulties, felt 
by the persons whom I have Inentioned, mainly 
lay in their mistaking, 1, Catholic teaching, 
which was not condemned in the Articles, for 
Roman dogma which was condelnned; and 2, 
Roman dogma, which was not condemned in 
the Articles, for dominant error which was. If 
they went fUl"ther than this, I had nothing Inore 
to say to them. 
A further 1110tive which I had for my attempt 
was the desire to ascertain the ultimate points 
of contrariety between the ROlnan and Anglican 
creeds, and to make them as few as possible. 
I thought that each creed was obscured and 
misrepresented by a dominant, circulnambient 
, Popery', and 'Protestantism.' 
The main thesis then of my essay was this: 
the Articles do not oppose Catho1ic teaching; 
they but partially oppose Roman dogma; they 
for the most part oppose the dOlninant errors oj 
Rome. And the problem was to draw the line a
to what they allowed, and what they condemned 
Such being the object 'which I had in view 
what were my prospects of widening anf 
defining their meaning? The prospect wa; 
encouraging; there was no doubt at all of the 
elasticity of the Articles: to take a palmar: 
instance, the seventeenth was assumed by on 
party to be Lutheran, by another Calvinistic 
though the two interpretations were contradict 

1833 TO 1839 


Jry to each other; why then should not other 
\rticles be drawn up with a vagueness of an equal- 
y intense character? I ,vanted to ascertain what 
.vas the limit of that elasticity in the direction 
)f Roman dogma. But next, I had a way of 
nquiry of my own which I state without defend- 
ng. I instanced it afterwards in my Essay on 
Doctrinal Ðez 1 elop11lent. That ,york, I believe, I 
lave not read since I published it, and I doubt 
lot at all that I have made many mistakes in 
t; partly from my ignorance of the details of 
loctrine as the Church of Rome holds them, 
)ut partly from my impatience to clear as large 
L range for the principle of doctrinal development 
waiving the question of historical fact) as was 
'onsistent with the strict Apostolicity and identity 
)f the Catholic Creed. In like manner, as regards 
he 39 Articles, my method of inquiry was to 
eap in medias res. I wished to institute an inquiry, 
lOW far, in critical fairness, the text could be 
)pened; I was aiming far more at ascertaining 
vhat a man who subscribed it might hold than 
vhat he must, so that my conclusions were 
legative rather than positive. It was but a first 
'ssay. And I made it with the full recognition 
.nd consciousness, which I had already expressed 
n my Prophf'lical Office as regards the Via }rIcdia, 
hat I ,vas making only' a first approximation to 
, required solution' ,-' a series of illustrations sup- 
)Iying hints in the removal' of a difficulty, and 
vith full acknowledgment, 'that in minor points, 
vhether in question of fact or of judgrnent, there 
vas room for difference or error of opinion', and 
hat I 'should not be ashamed to o,vn a Inistake, 
f it were proved against me, nor reluctant to 
)ear the just blame of it.' -P. SI, 



In addition, I was embarras')ed in consequence 
of my wish to go as far as ,vas possible in 
interpreting the Articles in the direction of 
Roman dogma, without disclosing what I v."as 
doing to the parties ,vhose doubts I v.yas meeting, 
who mip;ht be thereby encouraged to go still 
further than at present they found in themselves 
any call to do. 
'1. But in the ,vay of such an attempt comes 
the prompt objection, that the Articles were 
actually drawn up against 'Popery', and there- 
fore it v.yas transcendently absurd and dishonest 
to suppose that Popery in any shape-patristic 
belief, Tridentine dogma, or popular corruption 
authoritatively sanctioned-,vould be able to take 
refuge under their text. This premiss I denied. 
Not any religious doctrine at all, but a political 
principle, was the primary Ellp;lish idea at that 
time of 'Popery'. And ,vhat ,vas that political 
principle, and ho,v could it best be kept out of 
England? \Vhat ,vas the great question in the 
days of Henry and Elizabeth? The Supremac,lJ 
-now, ,vas I saying one single 'word in favour 
of the Supremacy of the IIoly See, of the foreign 
jurisdiction? No; I did not believe in it myself. 
Did Henry VIII religiously hold Justification 
by faith only; did he disbelieve Purgatory? \Vas 
Elizabeth zealous for the marriage of the Clergy 
or had she a conscience against the 
Iass? The: 
Supremacy of the Pope ,vas the essence of the: 
'Popery', to which, at the time of the Articles 
the Supreme Head or Governor of the Englisl 
Church was so violently hostile. 
2. But again I said 
 this: let 'Popery' meal 
what it v.yould in the mouths of the compiler 
of the Articles" let it even, for argumenfs sake:: 

33 TO 1839 


include the doctrines of that Tridentine Council, 
,vhich ,vas not yet over when the Articles were 
drawn up, and against which they could not be 
simply directed, yet, consider, what ,vas the 
religious object of the Government in their 
imposition? Merely to disown' Popery'? No; it 
had the further object of gaining the' Papists '. 
\Vhat then was the best ,vay to induce reluctant 
or ,va vering minds, and these, I supposed, ,vere 
the majority, to give in their adhesion to the 
new symbol? How had the Arians drawn up 
reeds ? Was it not on the principle of 
using vague, alnbiguous language, which to the 
subscribers would seem to bear a Catholic sense, 
but ,vhich, when worked out in the long run, 
would prove to be heterodox? Accordingly, there 
was great antecedent probability, that, fierce as 
the Articles might look at first sight, their bark 
would prove ,vorse than their bite. I sayanteced- 
ent probability, for to what extent that surmise 
might be true, could only be ascertained by 
in vestiga tion. 
3. But a consideration came up at once which 
threw light on this surmise: what if it should 
turn out that the very men who dre,v up the 
Articles, in the very act of doing so, had avowed, 
or rather in one of those very Articles themselves, 
had imposed on subscribers, a number of those 
very' Papistical' doctrines, which they were now 
thought to deny, as part and parcel of that very 
Protestantism which they were now thought to 

onsider divine? And this was the fact, and I 
:;howed it in my Essay. 
Let the reader observe: the 35th Article says: 
The second Book of Homilies doth contain a 
?odl!J and wholesome doctrine, and necessaTJ for 



these times, as doth the former Book of Hon1Ïlies.' 
Here the doctrine of the Homilies is recognized 
as godly and who]esome, and subscription to that 
proposition is imposed on all subscribers of the 
Articles. Let us then turn to the Homilies, and 
see what this godly doctrine is: I quoted from 
them to the following effect: 
1. They declare that the so-called' apocryphal' Book of 
Tobit is the teaching of the Holy Ghost, and is Scripture, 
2. That the so-called 'apocryphal' Book of 'Wisdom is 
Scripture, and the infallible and un deceivable word of God. 
3. That the Primitive Church, next to the Apostles' 
time, and, as they imply, for almost 700 years, is no doubt 
most pure. 
4. That the Primitive Church is specially to be followed. 
5. That the Four first General Councils belong to the 
Primitive Church. 
6, That there are Six Councils which are allowed and 
received by all men_ 
7. Again, they speak of a certain truth which they 
are enforcing, as declared by God's word, the sentences 
of the ancient doctors, and judgment of the Primitive 
8. Of the learned and holy Bishops and doctors of the 
first eight centuries being of good authority and credit 
with the people. 
9. Of the declaration of Christ and B(s Apostles and 
all the rest of the Holy Fathers. 
10. Of the authority of both Scripture, and also of 
11. Of Augustine, Chrysostom, Ambrose, Jerome, and 
about thirty other Fathers, to some of whom they give 
the title of · Saint', to others of ancient Catholic Fathers 
and doctors. 
12. They declare that, not only the holy Apostles and 
disciples of Christ, but the godly Fathers also, before 
and since Christ, were endued without doubt with the 
Holy Ghost. 
13 That the ancient Catholic Fathers say that the 
'Lord's Supper' is the salve of immortality. the sovereign 
preservative against death, the food of immortality, the 
healthful grace. 
14. That the Lord's Blessed Body and Blood are receiveò 
under the form of bread and wine. 

1833 TO 18:39 


15. That the meat in the Sacrament is an invisible 
neat and a ghostly substance. 
16. That the holy Body and Blood ought to be touched 

ith the mind. 
17. That Ordination is a Sacrament. 
18. That Matrimony is a Sacrament. 
19. That there are other Sacraments besides Baptism 
md the Lord's Supper. 
20. That the sonls of the Saints are reigning in joy 
md in heaven with God. 
21. That alms-deeds purge the sonl from the infection 
md :filthy spots of sin, and are a precious medicine, an 
nestimable jewel. 
22. That mercifulness wipes out and washes away 
nfirmity and weakness, as salves and remedies to heal 
lores and grievous diseases. 
23. That the duty of fasting is a, truth more manifest 
han it should need to be proved. 
24. That fasting, used with prayer, is of great efficacy and 
;veigheth much with God; so the Angel Raphael told Tobias. 
25. That the puissant and mighty Emperor Theodosius 
Nas, in the Primitive Church, which was most holy and 

odly, excommunicated by St Ambrose. 
26. That Constantine, Bishop of Rome, did condemn 
Philippicus, the Emperor, not without a cause indeed, 
Jut most justly. 

Putting altogether aside the question ho,v far 
these separate theses came under the lllatter to 
which subscription was to be n1ade, it was quite 
plain, that the men who wrote the Homilies, 
and who thus incorporated them into the An- 
glican systeln of doctrine, could not have pos- 
sessed that exact discrimination between the 
Catholic and Protestant faith, or have made that 
clear recognition of formal Protestant principles 
and tenets, or have accepted that definition of 
'Roman doctrine', which is received at this day: 
hence great probability accrued to my presenti- 
ment, that the Articles were tolerant, not only 
of what I called' Catholic teaching', but of much 
that was' Roman.' 



4. And here ,vas another reason against the 
notion that the Articles directly attacked the 
Roman doglnas as dedared at Trent, and as 
promulgated by Pius the Fourth: the Council 
of Trent was not over, nor its Decrees promul- 
gated, at the date when the Artides were drawn 
up, so that those Artides must be aiming at 
something else. \Vhat was that something else? 
The Homilies tell us; the Homi1ies are the best 
comment upon the Articles. Let us turn to 
the Homilies, and we shaH find from first to 
last, that not only is not the Catholic teaching 
of the first centuries, but neither again are the 
dogmas of ROine the objects of the protest of 
the compilers of the ArticJes, but the dominant 
errors, the popular corruptions, authorized or 
suffered by the high nalne of Rome. As to 
Catholic teaching, nay as to Roman dogma, 
those Homilies, as I have shown, contained no 
small portion of it themselves. 
5. So much for the writers of the Artides 
and Homilies; they were witnesses, not author- 
ities, and I used them as such; but in the 
next place, who were the actual authorities 
imposing them? I cousidered the imponens to 
be the Convocation of 1571; but, here again, it 
would be found that th
 very Convocation, 
which received and confirmed the 39 Articles, 
also enjoined by Canon that 'preachers should 
be cariful, that they should never teach aught 
in a sermon, to be religiously held and believed 
by the people, except that which is agreeable 
to the doctrine of the Old and New Testament; 
and which the Catholic Fathers and ancient Bishop
have collected from that very doctrine.' Here, 
let it be observed, an appeal is made by tht: 

1833 TO ]839 


Convocation imponens to the very same ancient 
authorities, as had been mentioned with such 
profound veneration by the writers of the Ho- 
milies and of the Articles, and thus, if the 
Homilies contained views of doctrine which no,v 
would be called Roman, there seemed to me 
to be an extreme probability that the Convo- 
cation of 1571 also countenanced and received, 
or at least did not reject, those doctrines. 
6. And further, when at length I came ac- 
tually to look into the text of the Articles, I 

aw in lllany cases a patent fulfilment of all 
that I had surmised as to their vagueness and 
indecisiveness, and that, not only on questions 
which lay between Lutherans, Calvinists, and 
Zwinglians, but on Catholic questions also; and 
I have noticed them in my Tract. In the con- 
clusion of my Tract I observe: 
They are evidently framed on the principle of leaving 
>pen large questions on which the controversy hinges. 
rhey state broadly extreme truths, and are silent about 
heir adjustment. For instance, they say that all necessary 
aith must be proved from Scripture; but do not say who 
s to prove it. They say, that the Church has authority 
n controversies; they do not say what authority. They 
I :ay that it may enforce nothing beyond Scripture. but do 
I lot say where the remedy lies when it does. They say 
hat works befOf'e grace and justification are worthless 
.nd worse, and that works after grace and justification 
.re acceptable, but they do not speak at all of works 
, vifh God's aid before justification. They say that men 
.re lawfully called, and sent to minister and preach, who 
.re chosen and called by men who have public authority 
liven them in the Congregation; but they do not add 
y whom the authority is to be given. They say that 

ouncils called by Pr;nces may err; they do not determine 
vhether Councils caned in the name of Christ may err. 
Such were the considerations which weighed 
I\Tith me in my inquiry how far the Articles were 



tolerant of a Catholic, or even a Roman inter- 
pretation; and such was the defence which I 
made in my Tract for having attempted it. 
From what I have already said, it will appear 
that I have no need or intention at this day 
to maintain every particular interpretation which 
I suggested in the course of my Tract, nor 
indeed had I then. Whether it was prudent 
or not, whether it was sensible or not, any 
how I attempted only a first essay of a necessary 
wOl-k, an essay which, as I was quite prepared 
to find, ,vould require revision and modification 
by means of the lights which I should gain 
from the criticism of others_ I should have 
gladly withdrawn any statement which could 
be proved to me to be erroneous; I considered 
my work to be faulty and objectionable in the 
same sense in which I now consider my Anglican 
interpretations of Scripture to be erroneous, but 
in no other sense. I am surprised that men do 
not apply to the interpreters of Scripture gen- 
erally the hard names which they apply to the 
author of 7 ract 90. He held a large system 
of theology, and applied it to the Articles: 
Episcopalians, or Lutherans, or Presbyterians, 
or Unitarians, hold a large system of theology 
and apply it to Scripture. Every theology has 
its difficulties; Protestants hold justification by 
faith only, though there is no text in St Paul 
which enunciates it, and though 5t James ex- 
pressly denies it; do we therefore call Protestants, 
dishonest? They deny that the Church has a divine 
mission, thoug-h St Paul says, that it is 'the 
pillar and ground of Truth' ; they keep the Sab- 
bath, though St Paul says: 'Let no man judge 
you in meat, or drink, or in respect of... the 

I R33 TO 18:


;abbath days.' Every creed has texts in its 
àvour, and, again, texts which run counter to 
t; and this is generally confessed. And this 
s what I felt keenly: how had I done worse 
n Tract 90 than Anglicans, Wesleyans, and 
=al vinists did daily in their sermons and their 
Jublications? How had I done worse than the 

vangelical party in their ex animo reception of 
he Services for Baptism and Visitation of the 

ick * ? \ Y h Y ,vas I to be dishonest and they 
mmaculate? There was an occasion on which 
)ur Lord gave an answer, which seemed to be 
lppropriate to my own case, when the tumult 
)roke out against my Tract: 'He that is with- 
mt sin among you, let him first cast a stone 
It him.' I could have fancied that a sense of 
heir own difficulties of interpretation would 




· For instance, let candid men consider the form of 
Lbsolution contained in that Prayer Book, of which all 
lergymen, Evangelical and Liberal, as well as High Ohurcb, 
nd (I think) all persons in University office declare, that 
it containeth nothing cont'ra-ry to the Word of God.' I 
hallenge, in the sight of all England, Evangelical clergy- 
1en generally, to put on paper an interpretation of this 
orm of words, consistent with their sentiments, wbich 
ba.ll be less forced than the most objectionable of the 
lterpretations which Tract 90 puts upon any passage in 
he Articles. 
'Our Lord Jesus Ohrist, who hath left power to His 

bnrch to absolve all sinners who truly repent and believe 
1 Him, of His great mercy forgive thee thine offences; 
nd by lIis authnrit!/ committed to me, 1 absolve thee from 
II thy sins. in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, 
nd of the Holy Ghost. Amen.' 
I subjoin the Roman form, as used in England and 
Isewhere: 'Dominus noster Jesus Ohristus te absolvat; 
t ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo, ab omni vinculo ex- 
ommunicationis et interdicti, in quantum possum et tu 
'1diges. Deinde ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis, in nomine 
)atris et Filii et 
piritus Sancti. Amen.' 



have persuaded the great party I have men- 
tioned to some prudence, or at least moderation, 
in opposing a teacher of an opposite school. 
But I suppose their alarm and their anger over- 
came their sense of justice. 

In the universal storm of indignation with 
which the Tract ,vas received on its appearance, 
I recognize much of real religious feeling, much 
of honest and true principle, much of straight- 
forward, ignorant common sense. In Oxford 
there was genuine feeling too; but there had 
been a smouldering, stern
 energetic animosity, 
not at an unnatural, partly rational, against its 
author. A false step had been made; now was 
the time for action. I am told, that, even be- 
fore the publication of the Tract, rumours of 
its contents had got into the hostile camp in 
an exaggerated form; and not a moment was 
lost in proceeding to action, when I was actu- 
ally in the hands of the Philistines. I was 
quite unprepared for the outbreak, and was 
starled at its violence. I do not think I had 
any fear. Nay, I will add, I am not sure that 
it was not in one point of view a relief to me. 
I saw, indeed, clearly, that my place in the Move- 
ment was lost; public confidence 'was at an end; 
my occupation was gone. It was simply an im- 
possibility, that I could say anything henceforth 
to good effect, when I had been posted up by 
the marshal on the buttery hatch of every 
College of my University, after the Inanner of 
discommoned pastry-cooks, and when in every 
part of the country, and every class of society, 
through every organ and occasion of opinion, 
in newspapers, in periodicals, at meetings, in 

33 TO 18SY 


pulpits, at dinner-tables, in coffee-rooms, in rail- 
way carriages, I was denounced as a traitor who 
had laid his train and was detected in the very 
act of firing it against the time-honoured Estab- 
lishment. There were indeed men, besides my 
own friends, men of name and position, who 
gallantly took my part, as Dr Hook, 1\1r Palmer, 
and Mr Perceval: it must have been a grievous 
trial for themselves; yet what, after all, could 
they do for me? Confidence in me was lost- 

 but I had already lost full confidence in myself. 
Thoughts had passed over me, a year and a half 
before, which for the time had profoundly troubled 
me. They had gone: I had not less confidence 
in the power and the prospects of the Apostolical 
movement than before; not less confidence than 
before in the grievousness of what I called the 
'dominant errors' of Rome: but how was I any 
more to have absolute confidence in myself? 
How was I to have confidence in my present 
confidence? How was I to be sure that I 
should always think as I thought now? I felt 
that by this event a kind Providence had 
saved me from an impossible position in the 

First, if I remember right, they wished me 
Ito withdraw the Tract. This I refused to do: 
I would not do so, for the sake of those who 
were unsettled, or in danger of unsettlement. 
I I would not do so for my own sake; for how 
could I acquiesce in a mere Protestant inter- 
Ipretation of the Articles? How could I range 
myself among the professors of a theology, of 
which it put my teeth on edge even to hear 
the sound? 



N ext they said: 'Keep silence; do not defend 
the Tract'; I answered: ' Yes, if you will not 
condemn it-if you will allow it to continue 
on sale'. They pressed on me whenever I gave 
way; they fell back when they saw me obstinate. 
Their line of action was to get out of me as 
much as they could; but upon the point of 
their tolerating the Tract I '/Vas obstinate. So 
they let me continue it on sale; and they said 
they 'would not condeilln it. But they said 
that this was on condition that I did not defend 
it, that I stopped the series, and that I myself 
published my own condemnation in a letter to 
the Bishop of Oxford. I impute nothing what- 
ever to him, he was ever most kind to me. 
Also, they said they could not ans,ver for what 
individual bishops might perhaps say about 
the Tract in their own charges. I agreed to 
their conditions. My one point was to save 
the Tract. 
Not a scrap of writing was given me as a 
pledge of the perforillance of their side of 
the engagement, Parts of letters from them 
were read to me without being put into IllY 
hands. I t was an 'understanding'. A clever 
man had warned me against 'understandings' 
some six years before, I have hated them 
ever since. 
In the last words of my letter to the Bishop 
of Oxford I thus resigned my place in the 

I have nothing to be sorry for (I say to him) except 
having made your Lordship anxious, and others whom I 
am bound to revere. I have nothing to be sorry for, 
but every thing to rejoice in, and be thankful for. I 
have never taken pleasure in seeming to be able to move 

IS33 TO 1839 


a party, and whatever influence I have had, has been 
fouud, not sought after. I have acted because others 
did not act, and have sacrificed a quiet which I prized. 
May God be with me in time to come, as He has been 
hither to! and He will be, if I can but keep my hand 
clean and my heart pure. I think I can bear, or at least 
will try to bear, any personal humiliation, so that I am 
preserved from betraying sacred interests, which the 
Lord of grace and power has given into my charge. 



1839 TO 1841 

AND now that I am about to trace, as far as I 
can, the course of that great revolution of mind, 
which led me to leave my own home, to which 
I was bound by so lnany strong and tender ties, 
I feel overcome with the difficulty of satisfying 
myself in my account of it, and have recoiled 
from doing so, till the near approach of tbe 
day on which these lines must be given to the 
world forces me to set about the task. For 
who can know hiInself, and the multitude of 
subtle influences which act upon him? and who 
can recollect, at the distance of twenty-five 
years, all that he once knew about his thoughts 
and his deeds, and that, during a portion of 
his life, when, even at the time, his observation, 
whether of hiInself or the external world, was 
less than before or after, by very reason of the 
perplexity and dismay which weighed upon him 
-when, though it would be most unthankful 
to seem to imply that he had not all-suffiient 
light amid his darkness, yet a darkness it emphat- 
ically was? And who can gird himself suddenly 
to a new and anxious undertaking, which he 
might be able indeed to perform well, had he 
full and calm leisure to look through everything 
that he has written, whether in published works 
or private letters? but, on the other hand, as 

1839 TO IH-tl 


to that calm contemplation of the past, in itself 
so desirable, who can afford to be leisurely and 
deliberate, while he practises on himself a cruel 
operation, the ripping up of old griefs, and the 
venturing again upon the inJàndum dolorem of 
years, in ,vhich the stars of this lower heaven 
were one by one going out? I could not in 
cool blood, nor except upon the imperious call 
of duty, attempt what I have set myself to do. 
I t is, both to head and heart, an extreme trial 
thus to analyze ,vhat has so long gone by, and 
to bring out the results of that exalllination. 
I have done various bold things in IllY life; this 
is the boldest; and, were I not sure I should 
after all succeed in my object, it would be 
madness to set about it. 

In the spring of 1839 IllY position in the An- 
glican Church ,vas at its height. I had supreme 
confidence in my controversial status, and I had 
a great and still growing success in recolllmend- 
ing it to others. I had in the foregoing 
autullln been somewhat sore at the Bishop's 
Charge, but I have a letter which shows that 
all annoyance had passed from my mind. In 
January, if I recollect aright, in order to Ineet 
the popular clamour against myself and others, 
'lnd to satisfy the Bishop, I had collected into one, 

ll the strong things which they, and especially 
. I, had said against the Church of Rome, in 
order to their insertion alnong the ad vertise- 
ments appended to our publications. Conscious 
as I was, that my opinions in religion were not 
gained, as the world said, from Roman sources, 
but were, on the contrary, the birth of IllY 
own ITIind and of the cirCUlnstances in which 



I had been placed, 1 had a scorn of the imputa- 
tions which were heaped upon me. It was true 
that I held a large bold system of religion, very 
unlike the Protestantism of the day, but it was 
the concentration and adjustment of the state- 
ments of great Anglican authorities, and I had 
as much right to do so, as the Evangelical 
party had, and more right than the Liberal, to 
hold their own respective doctrines. As I spoke 
on occasion of Tract 90, I claimed, in behalf 
of who would, that he might hold in the An- 
glican Church a comprecation with the Saints 
with Bramhall, and the l\tlass, all but Transub- 
stantiation, with Andrewes; or with Hooker, that 
Transubstantiation itself is nota point for Churches 
to part communion upon, or with Halllillond, that 
a General Council, truly such, never did, never 
shall, err in a matter of faith, or with Bull, that 
man lost inward grace by the fall, or with Thorn- 
dike that penance is a propitiation for post- 
baptismal sin, or with Pearson that the all- 
powerful name of Jesus is no otherwise given 
than in the Catholic Church. 'Two can play 
at that', was often in my mouth, when lllen 
of Protestant sentiments appealed to the Articles, 
Homilies, or Reformers; in the sense that, if 
they had a right to speak loud, I had both the 
liberty and the means of giving them tit for tat. 
I thought that the Anglican Church had been 
tyrannized over by a party, and I aimed at 
bringing into effect the promise contained in 
the motto to the L!J'l a 'They shall know the 
difference now.' I only asked to be allowed 
to show them the difference. 
What will best describe my state of mind, at 
the.. e3:rly part of 1839, is an article in The 

. *' 

4 ".i 

.. ,. 


1839 TO lR41 


Briti.\'" Critic for that April. I have. looked over 
it now, for the first time since it was pub1ished ; 
and have been struck by it for this reason: it 
contains the last ,vords which I ever spoke as 1 
an Anglican to Anglicans. I t may now be read 
as my parting address and valediction, made to 
my fi-iends. I little knew it at the time. It 
reviews the actual state of things, and it ends ) 
by looking towards the future. It is not alto- 
gether mine; for my memory goes to this-that 
I had asked a friend to do the ,vork; that then 
the thought CalTle on ITle that I would do it 
myself; and that he was good enough to put 
into my hands what he had with great appo- 
siteness written, and I embodied it into my 
article. Everyone, I think, will recognize the 
greater part of it a,:; mine. It was published 
two years before the affair of 1'rad 90, and was 
entitled, The State qf Religious })alties. 
In this article J begin by bringing together I . 
testÏ1Tlonies frOITl our enelnies to the remarkable 
success of our exertions. One writer said: 'Opin- ) 
ions and views of a theology of a very marked 
and peculiar kind have been extensively adopted 
and strenuously upheld, and are daily gaining 
ground alTlOng a considerable and influential 
portion of the melnbers, as well as ministers of 
the Established Church.' Another: 'The l\love- 
ment has nlanifested itself with the lllost rapid 
growth of the hot-bed of these evil days.' An- 
other: 'The Via J,[cdia is crowded with young 
enthusiasts, who never preSUl1le to argue except 
against the propriety of arguing at alL' .A,nother: 
, \Vere I to give you a fuHlist of the works, which 
they have produced within the short space of five 
years, I should surprise you. You would sef.what.., 

,.. .. 
. .. :,' " . 

 ," .. : 
 . .. t 
.. . I 



a task it would be to make yourself complete 
Inaster of their system, even in its present pro- 
bably imn1ature state. The writers have adopted 
the motto, "In quietness and confidence shall be 
your strength". With regard to confidence, they 
have justified their adopting it; but as to quiet- 
ness, it is not very quiet to pour forth such a 
succession of controversial publications.' Another: 
'The spread of these doctrines is in fact now 
ha ving the effect of rendering all other distinctions 
obsolete, and of severing the religious comlnunity 
into two portions, fundamentally and vehemently 
opposed one to the other. Soon there will be no 
middle ground left; and every man, and especially 
every clergyman, win be compelled to make his 
choice between the two.' Another: 'The time 
has gone by when those unfortunate and deeply 
regretted publications can be passed over with- 
out notice, and the hope that their influence 
would fail is now dead.' Another: 'These doc- 
trines had already made fearful progress. One 
of the largest churches in Blighton is crowded 
to hear them; so is the church at Leeds. There 
are few towns of note to which they have not 
extended. They are preached in small towns 
in Scotland. They obtain in Elginshire, 600 
miles north of London. I found theln myself 
in the heart of the highlands of Scotland. They 
are advocated in the newspaper and periodical 
press. They have even insinuated themselves 
into the House of Commons.' And, lastJy, a 
bishop in a Charge: It' is daily assuming a 
more serious and alarming aspect. Under the 
specious pretence of deference to antiquity and 
respect for primitive models, the foundations of 
the Protestant Church are underlnined by men, 

1829 TO 184<1 

who dwell within her walls, and those who sit 
in the Reformers' seat are traducing the Reform- 
After thus stating the phenomenon of the time, 
as it presented itself to those who did not sym- 
pathize in it, the article proceeds to account 
for it; and this it does by considering it is a 
reaction from the dry and superficial character 
of the religious teaching and the literature of 
the last generation, or century, and as a result of 
the need which was felt both hy the hearts and 
the intellects of the nation for a deeper philo- 
sophy, and as the evidence, and as the partial 
fulfilment of that need to which even the chief 
authors of the then generation had bornc witness. 
First, I mentioned the literary influence of 
'Valter Scott, who turned nlen's 111inds to the 
direction of the 111iddle ages. ' The general 
need' , I said, 'of sOJl1ething deeper and nlore 
attractive, than what had offered itself elsewhere, 
I may be considered to have led to his popularity; 
and by 111eanS of his popularity he re-acted on 
I his readers, stimulating their mental thirst, feed- 
ing their hopes, setting before thenl visions, 
which, when once seen, are not casiJy forgotten. 
and silently indoctrinating them with nobler 
ideas, which might afterwards be appealed to 
as first principles.' 
Then I spoke of Coleridge, thus: "'''hile 
history in prose and verse was thus made the 
instrument of Church feelings and opinions, a 
philosophical basis for the same was laid in 
England by a very original thinker, who, while 
he indulged a liberty of speculation, which no 
Christian can tolerate, and advocatf'd conclusions 
which were often heathen rather than Christian, 





yet, after all, instilled a higher philosophy into 
inquiring minds than they had hitherto been 
accustomed to accept. In this way he made 
trial of his age, and succeeded in interesting its 
genius in the cause of Catholic truth.' 
Then come Southey and \Vordsworth, 'two 
living poets, one of ,vhom in the department 
of fantastic fiction, the other in that of philo- 
sophical meditation, have addresed thelllselves 
to the same high principles and feelings, and 
carried forward their readers in the same direction.' 
Then comes the prediction of this reaction, 
hazarded by 'a sagacious observer withdrawn 
from the world, and surveying its movements 
from a distance', 1\1 r Alexander Knox. He had 
said twenty years before the date of my writing: 
'No Church on earth has more intrinsic excellence 
than the English Church, yet no Church prob- 
ably has less practical influence.... The rich 
provision made by the grace and providence of 
God for habits of a noble kind, is evidence 
that men shall arise, fitted both by nature and 
ability to discover for thelllselves and to display 
to others whatever yet remains undiscovered, 
,\?hether in the ,vords or works of God.' Also I 
referred to 'a much venerated clergyman of 
the last generation', ,vho said, shortly before 
his death, 'Depend on it, the day will come, 
when those great doctrines, now buried, will be 
brought out to the light of day, and then the 
effect will be fearful.' I relnarked upon this, 
that they who 'now blame the impetuosity of 
the current, should rather turn their animad- 
versions upon those ,vho have damned up a 
majestic river, till it had become a flood.' 
These being the circumstances under which 

IR39 TO IR41 


the Movement began and progressed, it was 
ibsurd to refer it to the act of two or three 
ndividuals. It was not so much a movement 
is a 'spirit afloat'; it was within US, 'rising 
lp in hearts where it was least suspected, and 
working itself, though not in secret, yet so 
.;ubtly and impalpably, as hardly to admit of 
,Jrecaution or encounter on any ordinary human 
rules of opposition. It is', I continued, 'an 
tdversary in the air, a son1ething one and entire, 
t whole wherever it is, unapproachable and 
incapable of being grasped, as being the result 
)f causes far deeper than political or other visible 
1gencies, the spiritual awakening of spiritual 
,\.an ts. ' 
To make this clear, I proceed to refer to the 

hief preachers of the revived doctrines at that 
'Ilom ell t, and to draw attention to the variety 
)f their respective antecedents. Dr Hook and 
Mr Churton represented the high Church dig- 
1.itaries of the last century; :\Ir Perceval, the 
fory aristocracy; 
Ir Keble came from a country 
parsonage; 1\lr Palmer from Ireland; Dr Pusey 
rrom the universities of Germany, and the study 
)f Arabic 
ISS.; Nlr Dodsworth from the study 
)f prophecy; 
lr Oakeley had gained his views, 
lS he himself expressed it, 'partly by study, 
lartly by reflection, partIy by conversation with 
Jne or two friends, inquirers like himself:' while 
[ speak of myself as being 'much indebted to 
the friendship of Archbishop \Vhateley.' And 
thus I am led on to ask, ","hat head of a sect 
is there? \Yhat march of opinions can be traced 
from mind to mind aInong preachers such as 
these? They are one and all in their degree 
the organs of one Sentirnent, which has risen 



up simultaneously in many places very mys- 
teriously. ' 
My train of thought next led me to speak 
of the disciples of the Movement, and I freely 
acknowledged and lamented that they needed 
to be kept in order. It is very much to the 
purpose to draw attention to this point now, 
when such extravagances as then occurred, what- 
ever they Wel"e, are simply laid to my door, or 
to the charge of the doctrines which I advocated. 
A man cannot do more than freely confess what 
is wrong, say that it need not be, that it ought 
not to be, and that he is very sorry that it 
should be. N ow I said in the article, which I 
am reviewing, that the great truths themselves 
which we were preaching must not be condemned 
on account of such abuse of them. 'Aberrations 
there must ever be, whatever the doctrine is, 
,vhiJe the human heart is sensitive, capricious, 
and wayward. A mixed multitude went out of 
Egypt ,vith the Israelites.' 'There will ever be 
a number of persons', I continued, 'professing 
the opinions of a movement party, who talk 
loudly and strangely, do odd or fierce things, 
display thelnselves unnecessarily, and disgust 
other people; persons, too - young to be wise, 
too generous to be cautious, too warm to be 
sober, or too intellectual to be humble. Such 
persons will be very apt to attach themselves 
to particular persons, to use particular names, 
to say things merely because others do, and to 
act in a party-spirited way.' 
\Vhile I thus republish what I then said about 
such extravagances as occurred in these years, 
at the same time I have a very strong convic- 
tion that they furnished quite as much the 

1839 TO 1841 

welcome excuse for those who ,vere jealous or 
shy of us, as the stumbling-blocks of those who 
were well inclined to our doctrines. This too 
we f
lt at the time; but it was our duty to 
see that our good should not be evil-spoken of; 
and accordingly, two or three of the writers of 
the Tracts for tlte 1'ime
' had commenced a Series 
of what they called Plain Ser11lon
', with the 
avowed purpose of discouraging and correcting 
whatever was uppish or extreme in our followers: 
to this Series I contributed a volume myself. 
I ts conductors say in their Preface: 
If therefore, as time goes on, there shall be found per- 
IOns, who admiring the innate beauty and majesty of 
.he funer system of Primitive Christianity, and seeing 
he transcendent strength of its principles, shall become 
oud and voluble ad1Jocate$ in their behalf, speaking the 
nore freely because they do not feel them deeply as fou,nded 
n divine and eternal truth, of such persons it is our 
luty to declare plainly, that, as we should contemplate 
heir condition with serious misgiving, so would they be 
he last persons from whom we should seek support. 
But if, on the other hand, there shall be any, who, 
n the silent humility of their lives, and in their unaffected 
'everence for holy things, show that they in truth accept 
hese principles as real and substantial, and by habitual 
mrity of heart and serenity of temper give proof of their 
leep veneration for sacraments and sacramental ordinances, 
hose, persons, whether our professed adherents or not, 
)est exemplify the kind of character which the writers 
If the . Tracts for the Times' have wished to form. 
These clergymen had the best of c1aims to use 
:hese beautiful words, for they were themc;elves, 
III of them, important writers in the 1'racts, the 
lr Kebles, and 
Ir Isaac \ \' illiams, And 
.his passage, with which they ushered their 

eries into the world, I quoted in the article 
)f which I am giving an account, and I added: 
What more can be required of the preachers 






of neglected truth, than that they should admit 
that some who do not assent to their preaching 
are holier and better men than some who do?' 
They were not ans,verahle for the intemperance 
of those who dishonoured a true doctrine, pro- 
vided they protested, as they did, against such 
intemperance. 'They were not answerable for 
the dust and din which attends any great In oral 
moveinent. The truer doctrines are, the more 
liable they are to be perverted.' 
The notice of these incidental faults of opinion 
or telnper in adherents of the l\:1ovement led on 
to a discussion of the secondary causes, by means 
of which a system of doctrine may be embraced, 
Inodified, or developed, of the variety of schools 
which may all be in the One Church, and of 
the succession of one phase of doctrine to another, 
while it is ever one and the same. Thus I was 
brought on to the subject of Antiquity, which 
was the basis of the doctrine of the Via Media, 
and by which was not implied a servile imitation 
of the past, but such a reproduction of it as is 
really young, while it is old. 'We have good 
hope', I say, 'that a system ,viII be rising up: 
superior to the age, yet harmonizing with, and 
carrying out its higher points, which win attract 
to itself those who are willing to make a venture, 
and to face difficulties, for the sake of somethin
higher in prospect. On this, as on other subjects 
the proverb will apply: "Fortes fortuna adjuvat" 
Lastly, I proceeded to the question of tha- 
future of the Anglican Church, which was tc 
be a new birth of the Ancient Religion. Anc 
I did not venture to pronounce upon it. 'Abou 
the future, we have no prospect before ou 
minds whatever, good or bad. Ever since tha 

]839 TO 1841 


great luminary, Augustine, proved to be the 
last bishop of Hippo, Christians have had a 
lesson against attempting to foretell, how Prov- 
idence win prosper and' (or?) 'bring to an end, 
what it begins'. Perhaps the lately-revived 
principles would prevail in the Anglican Church; 
perhaps they would be lost in 'some miserable 
schism, or some more miserable compromise'; 
but there was nothing rash in venturing to 
predict, that' neither Puritanism nor Liberalism 
had any permanent inheritance ,vithin her'. 
I suppose I meant to say, that in the present 
age, without the aid of Apostolical principles, 
the Anglican Church would, in the event, cease 
to exist. 
'As to Liberalism, we think the formularies 
of the Church will ever, with the aid of a good 
Providence, keep it from making any serious 
inroads upon the Clergy. Besides, it is too 
cold a principle to prevail with the multitude '. 
But as regarded what was called Evangelical 
religion or Puritanism, there was more to cause 
!tlarm, I observed upon its organization; but 
3n the other hand it had no intellectual basis; 
no internal idea, no principle of unity, no 
theology. ' Its adherents', I said, 'are ah'ead y 
;eparating from each other; they ,viII melt 
J.way like a snow-drift. It has no straight- 
:orward view on anyone point on which it 
lrofesses to teach, and to hide its poverty, it 
las dressed itself out in a maze of words. \Ve 
lave no dread of it at all; we only fear what 
t may lead to. It does not stand on intrenched 

round, or make any pretence to a position; 
, t does but occupy the space between contending 
I )owers, Catholic Truth and Rationalism. Then 



indeed will be the stern encounter, when two 
real and living principles, sin1ple, entire, and 
consistent, one in the Church, the other out of 
it, at length rush upon each other, contending 
not for names and ,vords, or half-views, but 
for elementary notions and distinctive moral 
characters. ' 
'Vhether the ideas of the coming age upon 
religion were true or false, they would be real. 
'In the present day', I said, 'mistiness is the 
mother of wisdom. A man who can set down 
half-a-dozen general propositions, which escape 
from destroying one another only by being diluted 
into truisms, who can hold the balance between 
opposites so skiIfully as to do without fulcrum 
or beam, who never enunciates a truth without 
guarding himself against being supposed to exclude 
the contradictory-'who holds that Scripture is the 
only authority, yet that the Church is to be de- 
ferred to, that faith only justifies, yet that it doe
not justify ,vithout works, that grace does not 
depend on the sacraments, yet is not given with. 
out them, that bishops are a divine ordinance; 
yet those who have them not are in the sam{ 
religious condition as tho
e who have-this h 
your safe man, and the hope of the Church; thh 
is what the Church is said to ,vant, not part) 
men, but sensible, temperate, sober, well-judgin
persons, to guide it through the channel of no. 
meaning, between the Scylla and Charybdis O. 
Aye and No.' , 
This state of things, however, I said, couIc 
not last, if men were to read and think. The) 
'will not keep standing in that very attitudt 
which you can sound Church-of-Englandism 0: 
orthodox Protestantism. They cannot go on fer 

1839 TO 1841 


ever standing on one leg, or sitting without a 
chair, or walking with their feet tied, or grazing 
Jike Tityrus's stags in the air. They will take 
one view or another, but it will be a consistent 
view. It may be Liberalism, or Erastianism, or 
Popery, or Catholicity; but it will be real.' 
I concluded the article by saying, that all 
who did not wish to be 'democratic, or pantheistic, 
or popish' must 'look out for som,. ,- Via 
which will preserve us from what threatens, though 
it cannot restore the dead. The spirit of Luther 
is dead; but Hildebrand and Loyola are alive. 
Is it sensible, sober, judicious, to be so very angry 
with those writers of the day, who point to the 
fact, that our divines of the seventeenth century 
have occupied a ground which is the true and 
intelligible mean between extremes? Is it wise 
to quarrel with this ground, because it is not 
exactly what we should choose had we the 
POW(-'l" of choice? Is it true moderation, instead 
of trying- to fortify a middle doctrine, to fling 
stones at those who do?.. \V ould you rather 
have your sons and daughters members of 
the Church of England or of the Church of 
Rome ?' 
And thus I left the matter. But, while I was 
thus speaking of the future of the 
Jovelnent, I 
was, in truth, ,vinding up my accounts with it, 
little dreaming that it wa
 so to be; while I 
was still, in some way or other, feeling about 
for an available ria j\[edia, I was soon to receive 
a sho("k which was to cast out of lIlY iInagilla- 
tion all Hliddle ("ourscs and cOlnpromises for ever. 
As I have said, this article appeared in the April 
number of TILe Briti.\'h Critic,. in the July number, 
I cannot tell why, there is 110 altic1e of mine; 



before the number for October, the event had 
happened to which I have alluded. 
Bnt before I proceed to describe what hap- 
pened to me in the summer of 1839, I must 
detain the reader for a while, in order to describe 
the issue of the controversy between Rome and 
the Anglican Church, as I viewed it. This will 
involve some dry discussion; but it is as neces- 
sary for my narrative, as plans of buildings and 
homesteads are often found to be in the pro- 
ceedings of our law courts. 

I have said already that, though the object 
of the Movement was to withstand the Liber- 
alism of the day, I found and felt this could 
not be done by mere negatives. It was necess- 
ary for us to have a positive Church theory 
erected on a defini te basis. This took me to 
the great Anglican divines; and then, of course, 
I found at once that it was impossible to form 
any such theory without cutting across the 
teaching of the Church of Rome. Thus came in 
the Roman controversy. 
When I first turned myself to it, J had neither 
doubt on the subject, nor suspicion that doubt 
would ever come upon me. . It was in this state 
of mind that I began to read up Bellarmine on 
the one hand, and numberless Anglican writers 
on the other. But I soon found, as others had 
found before me, that it was a tangled and 
Inanifold controversy, difficult to master, more 
difficult to put out of hand with neatness and 
precision. I t was easy to make points, not easy 
to sum up and settle. I t was not easy to find 
a clear issue for the dispute, and still less by 
a logical process to decide it in favour of Angli.. 

1839 TO 1841 


canism. This difficulty, howe,"er, had no ten- 
dency whatever to harass or perplex me: it was 
a matter, not of convictions, but of proofs. 
First, I saw, as all see who study the subject, 
that a broad distinction had to be drawn between 
the actual state of belief and of usage in the 
countries which were in communion with the 
Roman Church, and her formal dogmas; the 
latter did not cover the former. Sensible pain, 
for instance, is not implied in the Tridentine 
decree upon Purgatory; but it was the tradition 
of the Latin Church, and I had seen the pictures 
of souls in flames in the streets of Naples, Bishop 
Lloyd had brought this distinction out strongly 
in an article in The British C1 4 itic in 1825; in- 
deed, it was one of the lllOSt common objections 
made to the Church of Rome, that she dared 
not commit herself by formal decree to what 
nevertheless she sanctioned and allowed. Ac- 
cordingly, in my }Jrophetical Office, I view as 
simply separate ideas, Rome quiescent, and 
Rome in action. I contrasted her creed, on the 
one hand, with her ordinary teaching, her con- 
troversial tone, her political and social bearing, 
and her popular belief') and practices on the other. 
\Vhile I made this distinction between the 
decrees and the traditions of Rome, I drew a 
parallel distinction between Anglicanism qui- 
escent, and AnglicanisIn in action. In its formal 
creed Anglicanism was not at a great distance 
from Rome: far otherwise, when viewed in its 
insular spirit, the traùitions of its establishment, 
its historical characteristics, its controversial 
rancour, and its private judgment. I dbavowed 
and condelnned those excesses, and called thenl 
'Protestantism' or 'Ultr&-Protestalltistn ': ! whh.. 




ed to find a parallel disclaimer, on the part of 
Roman controversialists, of that popular system 
of beliefs and usages in their own Church which 
I called' Popery'. When that hope was a dream, 
I saw that the controversy lay between the 
book-theology of Anglicanism on the one side, 
and the living system of what I called Roman 
corruption on the other. I could not get further 
than this; with this result I was forced to 
content myself. 
These then were the parties in the controversy: 
the Anglican Pia ]}[edia and the popular religion 
of Rome. And next, as to the issue, to which 
the controversy between them was to be brought, 
it was this :-the Anglican disputant took his 
stand upon Antiquity or Apostolicity, the Roman 
upon Catholicity. The Anglican said to the 
Roman: 'There is but One Faith, the Ancient, 
and you have not kept to it'; the Roman 
retorted: ' There is but One Church, the 
Catholic, and you are out of it'. The Anglican 
urged: ' Your special beliefs, practices, modes 
of action, are nowhere in Antiquity'; the Roman 
objected: 'You do not communicate with any 
one Church besides your own and its offshoots, 
and you have discarded principles, doctrines, 
sacraments, and usages, which are, and ever have 
been, received in the East and the ,\1 est'. The 
true Church, as defined in the Creeds, was both 
Catholic and Apostolic; now, as I viewed the 
controversy in which I was engaged, England 
and Rome had divided these notes or prerog- 
atives between them: the cause lay thus, 
Apostolicity versus Catholicity. 
However, in thus stating the matter, of course 
I do not wish it supposed, that I considered 

1839 TO 1841 


the note of Catholicity really to belong to Rome, \, 
to the disparagement of the Anglican Church; 
but that the special point or plea of Rome in 
the controversy was Catholicity, as the Anglican 
plea was Antiquity. Of course, I contended 
that the Roman idea of Catholicity was not 
ancient and apostolic. I t was, in my judgment, 
at the utmost only natural, becoming, expedient, 
that the whole of Christendom should be united 
in one visible body; while such a unity might 
be, on the other hand, a mere heartless and 
political combination. For myself, I helrl with 
the Anglican divines, that in the Primitive 
Church there was a very real, mutual inde- 
pendence between its separate parts, though, 
from a dictate of charity, there was in fact a 
close union between them. I considered, that 
each see and diocese might be compared to a 
crystal, and that each was similar to the rest, 
and that the sum total of them all was only a 
collection of crystals. The unity of the Church 
lay, not in its being a polity, but in its being 
a family, a race corning down by aposto1ical 
descent from its first founders and bishops. And 
I considered this truth brought out beyond the 
possibility of dispute in the Epistles of St. 
Ignatius, in which the bishop is represented as 
the one SUprelTIe authority in the Church, that 
is, in his own place, with no one above him, 
except as, for the sake of ecclesiastical order 
and expedience, arrangements had been made 
by which one was put over or under another. 
So 111uch for our own claim to Catholicity, which 
was so perversely appropriated by our opponents 
to thelTIselves: on the other hand, as to our 
special strong point, Antiquity, while of course, 



by Ineans of it, we were able to condemn most 
emphatically the novel claim of Rome to domineer 
over other Churches, which were in truth her 
equals; further than that we thereby especially 
convicted her of the intolerable offence of 
having added to the Faith. This was the critical 
head of accusation urged against her by the 
Anglican disputant, and, as he referred to St. 
Ignatius in proof that he himself was a true 
Catholic in spite of being separated from Rome, 
so he triumphantly referred to the Treatise of 
Vincentius of Lerins upon the 'Quod semper, 
quod ubique, quod ab olnnibus " in proof that 
the controversialists of Rome were separated in 
their creed from the Apostolical and primi- 
tive faith. 
Of course those controversialists had their own 
answer to hiIn, with which I am not concerned 
in this place; here I am only concerned with 
the issue itself, between the one party and the 
other-Antiquity versus Catholicity. 
Now I will proceed to illustrate what I have 
been saying of the status of the controversy, as 
it presented itself to my mind, by extracts from 
my writings of the dates of 1836, 1840, and 
1841. And I introduce them with a remark, 
which especially applies to the paper from 
which I shall quote first, of the date of 1836. 
That paper appeal'ed in the March and April 
numbers of 7'lze British J.1fagazillc of that year, 
and was entitled, Home Thoughts Abl.oad. Now 
it will be found, that, in the discussion which 
it contains, as in various other writings of mine 
when I "'
as in the Anglican Church, the argu- 
ment in behalf of RorHe is stated with consider- 
able perspicuity and force. .t\.pd at the titne 

1839 TO J841 


my friends and supporters cried out, 'How in1- 
prudent' I-and both at the time, and especially 
at a later date, my enemies have cried out, , How 
insidious'! Friends and foes virtually agreed in 
their criticism; I had set out the cause which I 
wa') combating to the best advantage: this was an 
offence; it might be from imprudence, it might 
be with a traitorous design. It was from neither 
the one nor the other; but for the following 
reasons. First, I had a great impatience, what- 
ever was the subject, of not bringing out the 
whole of it as clearly as I could; next I wished 
to be as fair to my adversaries as possible; and, 
thirdly, I thought that there was a great deal 
of shallowness among our own friends, and that 
they undervalued the strength of the argument 
in behalf of Rome, and that they ought to be 
roused to a more exact apprehension of the 
position of the controversy. At a later date 
(1841) when I really felt the force of the Roman 
side of the question myself as a difficulty which 
had to be met, I had a fourth reason for such 
frankness in argmnent, and that was, because 
a number of persons were unsettled far more 
I than I was, as to the Catholicity of the Anglican 
Church. It was quite plain, that, unless I was 
I perfectly candid in stating what could be said 
against it, there was no chance that any repre- 
sentations which I felt to be in its f:lVour, or 
at least to be adverse to Home, would have 
Ihad their real ,veight duly acknowledged. At 
all times I had a deep conviction, to put the 
matter on the lowest ground, that 'honesty 
was the best policy.' Accordingl)r, in 1841, I 
expressed myself thus on the AngHcan difficulty: 
{This is an objection which we must honestly 



say is deeply felt by many people, and not in- 
considerable ones; and the more it is openly 
avowed to be a difficulty, the better; for there 
is then the chance of its being acknowledged, 
and in the course of time obviated, as far as 
may be, by those who have the power. Flagrant 
evils cure themselves by being flagrant; and we 
are sanguine that the time is come when so 
great an evil as this is cannot stand its ground 
against the good feeling and common sense of 
religious persons. It is the very strength of 
Romanism against us; and, unless the proper 
persons take it into their serious consideration, 
they may look for certain to undergo the loss, 
as time goes on, of some whom they would 
least like to be lost to our Church.' The mea- 
sure which I had especiaUy in view in this 
passage was the project of a Jerusalem Bishopric, 
which the then Archbishop of Canterbury was 
at that time concocting- with 1\1. Bunsen, and 
of which I shall speak more in the sequel. And 
now to return to the Home 1'houghts Abroad of 
the spring of 1886: 
The discussion contained in this composition 
runs in the form of a dialogue. One of the dis- 
putants says: 'Y ou say to me that the Church 
of Rome is corrupt. What then? to cut off a 
limb is a strange way of saving it from the 
influence of some constitutional ailment. Indigest- 
ion may cause cralnp in the extremities; yet we 
spare our poor feet notwithstanding. Surely 
there is such a religious fact as the existence 
of a great Catholic body, union with which is 
a Christian privilege and duty. Now, we English 
are separate from it.' 
The other 3,nswe:rs: 'The present is 3,11 un. 

1839 TO 1841 


"atisfactory, miserable state of things, yet I can 
grant no more. The Church is founded on a 
doctrine-on the gospel of Truth; it is a means 
to an end. Perish the Church (though, blessed 
be the promise! this cannot be) yet let it perish 
rather than the Truth should fail. Purity of faith 
is more precious to the Christian than unity itself. 
If Rmne has erred grievously in doctrine, then 
it is a duty to separate even from Rome.' 
His friend, who takes the Roman side of the 
argument, refers to the image of the vine and its 
branches, which is found, I think, in St Cyprian, 
as if a branch cut from the Catholic vine must 
necessarily die. Also he quotes a passage from 
St Augustine, in controversy with the Donatists, 
to the same effect, viz., that, as being separated 
from the body of the Church, they were ip.\'o 

faclo cut off froln the heritage of Christ. And 
he quotes St Cyril's argument, drawn from the 
very title Catholic, which no body or communion 
of men has ever dared, or been able to appropriate, 
besides one. He adds, 'Now, I am only contending 
for the fact, that the communion of Rome con- 
stitutes the main body of the Church Catholic, 
and that we are split off from it, and in the 
condition of the Donatists.' 
The other replies by denying the fact that the 
present Homan communion is like St Augustine's 
Catholic Church, inasmuch as there are to be 
taken into account the large Anglican and Greek 
communions. Presently he takes the offensive, 
naming distinctly the points in which Rome has 
departed fronl PrÏ1nitive Christianity, 'viz., 'the 
practical idolatry, the virtual \\ orship of the 
Virgin and Saints, which are the offence of the 
Latin Church, and the degradation of Inoral truth 





and duty, which follows fronl these.' And again: 
, \Ve cannot join a Church, did we wish it ever so 
much, which does not acknowledge our orders, 
refuses us the Cup, demands our acquiescence 
in image-worship, and excommunicates us, if we 
do not receive it and all other decisions of the 
Tridentine Council.' 
His opponent answers these objections by re- 
ferring to the doctrine of ' developments of Gospel 
truth'. Besides, 
 The Anglican system itself is 
not found complete in those early centuries; so 
that the (Anglican) principle (of Antiquity) is self- 
destructive.' 'When a man takes up this ria 
Media, he is a mere doctrinaire'; he is like those 
'who, in some matter of business, start up to 
suggest their own little cl.otchet, and are ever 
measul"ing mountains with a pocket ruler, or im- 
proving the planetary courses'. 'The ria Media 
has slept in libraries; it is a substitute of infancy 
for manhood.' 
It is plain, then, that at the end of 1835, or 
beginning of 1836, I had the whole state of the 
question before me, on which, to my mind, the 
decision between the Churches depended. It is 
observable that the question of the position of 
the Pope, whether as the centre of unity, or 
as the source of jurisdiction, did not come into 
my thoughts at all; nor did it, I think I may 
say, to the end. I doubt whether I ever distinctly 
held any of his powers to be de jure dÙ,ino while 
I was in the Anglican Church; not that I saw 
any difficulty in the doctrine; not that, together 
with the history of St. Leo, of which I shall 
speak by and by, the idea of his infallibility 
did not cross my mind, for it did-but after 
all, in my view the controversy did not turn 

1839 TO 1841 


upon it; it turned upon the Faith and the 
Church. This was my issue of the controversy 
from the beginning to the end. There was a 
contrariety of claims between the Roman and 
Anglican religions, and the history of my con- 
version is simply the process of working it out 
to a solution. In 1838, I illustrated it by the 
contrast presented to us between the Madonna 
I and Child, and a Calvary. I said that the pecu- 
liarity of the Anglican theology was this, that 
it 'supposed the Truth to be entirely objective 
I and detached, not' (as the Roman) 'lying hid 
in the bosom of the Church as if one with her, 
clinging to, and (as it were) lost in her embrace, 
but as being sole and unapproachable, as on the 
I Cross or at the Resurrection, with the Church close 
by, but in the background.' 
As I viewed the controversy in 1836 and 1838, 
so I viewed it in 1840 and 1841. In 1'he British 
Critic of January 1840, after gradually investi- 
gating how the Blatter lies between the Churches 
by means of a dialogue, I end thus: 'It would 
seem, that, in the above discussion, each disputant 
has a strong point; our strong point is the argu- 
ment from Primitiveness, that of Romanists from 
Universality. It is a fact, however it is to be 
accounted for, that Rome has added to the Creed; 
and it is a fact, however we justify ourselves, that 
we are estranged from the great body of Christians 
over thc world. And each of these two facts is, 
at fir"t sight, a grave difficulty in the respective 
systems to which they belong.' Ag-ain, '\\Thile 
Rome, though not deferring- to the Fathers, re- 
cognizes them, and England, not deferring to the 
large body of the Church, recognizes it, both Rome 
and England have a point to clear up.' 




And still more strongly in July, 1841: 
'If the Note of schism, on the one hand, lies 
against England, an antagonist disgl'ace lies upon 
Rome, the Note of idolatry. Let us not be mis- 
taken here; we are neither accusing Rome of ido- 
latry, nor ourselves of schism; we think neither 
charge tenable; but still the Roman Church prac- 
tises what is so like idolatry, and the English 
Church makes much of what is so very like schism, 
that, without deciding what is the duty of a 
Roman Catholic towards the Church of England in 
her present state, we do seriously think that 
members of the English Church have a pro- 
vidential direction given them, how to cOlnport 
themsel ves towards the Church of Rome, while 
she is what she is.' 
One remark more about Antiquity and the 
Via lvIedia. As time went on, without doubting 
the strength of the Anglican argument from 
Antiquity, I felt also, that it was not merely 
our special plea, but our only one. Also I felt 
that the Via Prfedia, which was to represent it, 
was to be a sort of remodelled and adapted 
Antiquity. This I observe both in Home Thoughts 
A broad, and in the Article of The British Critic 
which I have analysed above. But this circum- 
stance, that after all we must use private judg- 
ment upon Antiquity, created a sort of distrust 
of my theory altogether, which in the conclusion 
of my volume on 1'he ]Jrophctical Office I express 
thus: 'Now that our discussions draw to a close, 
the thought with which we entered on the sub- 
ject is apt to recur, when the excitement of 
the inquiry has subsided, and weariness has 
succeeded, that what has been said is but a 
dream, the wanton exercise, rather than the 

IR:19 TO 1R41 


practical conclusions of the intellect'. And I 
conclude the paragraph by anticipating a line 
of thoug-ht into which I was, in the event, al- 
most obliged to take refuge: 'After all', I say, 
'the Church is ever invisible in its day, and 
faith only apprehends it.' \Vhat was this but to 
give up the Notes of a visible Church altogether, 
whether the Catholic Note or the Apostolic? 

The Long Vacation of 1839 began early. 
There had been a great many visitors to Oxford 
froln Easter to Commemoration; and l)r Pusey 
and Inyself had attracted attention, lllore, 1 think, 
I than any former year. I had put away from me the 
controversy with ROlne for more than two years. 
JIn Iny Paruchial Sermuns the subject had never 
been introduced: there had been nothing for 
two years, either in IllY Tracts, or in 1'11(' lJrifish 
Critic, of a polelnical character. 1 was returning, 
for the Vacation, to the course of reading which 
I had many years before chosen as especially 
nlY own. I have no reason to suppose that the 
thoughts of Home Caine across Iny mind at all. 
About the middle of June, I began to study 
and master the history of the l\10nophysites. I 
was absorbed in the doctrinal question. This 
was from ahout June 13th to August 30th. It 
was during this course of rt'ading, that, for the 
first time, a doubt came upon me of the tenable- 
ness of Anglicanism. I recollect, on the 30th of 
.July, mentioning to a friend, WhOID J had accident- 
ally met, how remarkable the histury was; but 
by the end of August ] was seriously alanned. 
I have described in a fornler work how the his- 
tory affected me. My stronghold was Antiquity; 
now here, in the n1Ïddle of the fifth cpntury, I 


:\1T nr:LlGIOU

found, as it seemed to me, Christendom of the 
sixteenth and the nineteenth centuries reflected. 
I saw my face in that mirror, and I 'was a Mono- 
physite. The Church of the Via l\Jedia was in 
the position of the Oriental communion, Rome 
,vas, where she now is; and the Protestants were 
the Eutychians. Of all passages of history since 
history has been, who would haye thought of 
g-oing to the sayings aud doings of old Eutyches, 
that delirus sene.-l', as (I think) Peta vius calls 
him, and to the enormities of the unprincipled 
Dioscorus, in order to be converted to Rome! 
N o'v let it be simply understood that I am 
not writing contro,'ersially, but with the one 
object of relating things as they happened to 
me in the course of my conversion. \\ïth this 
view I will quote a passage from the account, 
which 1 gave in 1850, of my reasonings and 
feelings in 1839: 
It was difficult to make out how the Eutychians or 
Monophysites were heretics, unless Protestants and Ang- 
licans were heretics also; difficult to find arguments 
against the Tridel1tine Fathers, which did not ten against 
the Fathers of Chalcedon; difficult to condemn the Popes 
of the sixteenth century, without condemning the Popes 
of the fifth. The drama of re1igion. and the combat of 
truth and error, were e\"er one and the same. The prin- 
ciples and proceedings of the Church now were those of 
the Church then; the principles and proceedings of 
heretics then were those of Protestants now. I found it 
so-almost fearful1y; there was an awfnl similitude, more 
awful, because so silent and unimpassioned, between the 
dead records of the past and the feverish chronicle of 
the present. The shadow of the fifth century was on the 
sixteenth, It was 1ike a spirit rising from the troubled 
waters of the old worJd with the shape and lineaments 
of the new. The Church then. as now, might be called 
peremptory and stern, resolute, overbearing, and relentless; 
and heretics were shifting, changeable, reserved, and 
deceitful. ever courting civil power, and never agreeing 

1839 TO 1841 


tog-ether, except by its aid; and the civil power was ever 
aiming at comprehensions, trying to put the invisible 
ont of view, and su b:;tituting expediency for faith. What 
was the use of continuing the controversy, or defending 
my position, if, after all, I was forging arguments for 
Arius or Eutyches, and turning devil's advocate against 
the much-enduring Athanasius and the majestic Leo? Be 
my soul with the Saints! and shall I lift up my hand 
against them? Sooner may my right hand forget her 
cunning, and wither outright, as his who once stretched 
it out against a pr ophet of God! anathema to a whole 
tf'Ìbe of Cranmers, nidleys, Latlmers. and Jewels! perish 
the names of Bramhall, Ussher, Taylor, Stillingfleet, and 
Barrow from the face of the earth, ere I should do aught 
but fall at their feet in love and in worship, whose 
image was continually before my eyes, and whose musical 
words were ever in my ears and on my tongue 1 

Hardly had I brought my course of reading 
to a close, when Tile Dublin lleview of that same 
August was put into my hands by friends who 
were lllore L'lvourable to the cause of ROlne 
than I was myself. There was an Article in it 
on Tile Anglican Claim by Bishop Wiseman. This 
was about the middle of September. It was on 
the Donatists, ,vith an application to Anglicanism. 
I read it
 and did not see much in it. The 1)0- 
natist controversy was known to me for some 
years, as I have instanced above. The case was 
not parallel to that of the Anglican Church. 
St Augustine in Africa wrote against the Do- 
natists in Africa. They were a furious party 
who made a schisnl within the African Church, 
and not beyond its limits. It was a case of 
Altar against Altar, of two occupants of the 
same See, as that between the Non-jurors in 
England and the Established Church; not the 
case of one Church against another, as Rome 
against the Oriental \Ionophysites. But my friend, 
an anxiously religious man, now, as then, very 



dear to me, a Protestant still, pointed out the 
pahnary words of St Augustine, which were 
contained in one of the ex tracts made in the 
Review, and which had escaped my observation. 
'Securus judicat orbis terrarum.' He repeated 
these words again and again, and, when he was 
gone, they kept ringing in my ears. ' Securus 
judicat orbis terrarUI11'; they were words which 
,vent beyond the occasion of the Donatists; they 
applied to that of the Monophysites. They gave 
a cogency to the article, which had escaped 
me at first. They decided ecclesiastical questi- 
ons on a simpler rule than that of Antiquity; 
nay, St Augustine was one of the prÏIne oracles 
of Antiquity; here then Antiquity was deciding 
against itself. \Vhat a light was hereby thrown 
upon every controversy in the Church! not that, 
for the n10ment, the multitude may not falter 
in their judgment-not that, in the Arian hur- 
ricane, Sees more than can be numbered did 
not bend before its fury, and fall off from St 
Athanasius-not that the cruwd of Oriental 
bishops did not need to be sustained during 
the contest by the voice and the eye of St Leo; 
but that the deliberate judgment, in which the 
whole Church at length rests and acquiesces, is 
an infallible prescription and a final sentence I 
against such portions of it as protest and secede. 
'Vho can account for the impressions which are 
made on him? For a mere sentence, the words 
of St Augustine struck me with a power which 
I never had felt from any words before. To take 
a familiar instance, they were like the 'Turn 
again Whittington' of the chime; or, to take 
a more serious one, the,y were like the 'Tolle, 
Iege- Tolle, lege' of the child, which conveJoted 

1839 TO 18.J.l 


St _\ugustine himself. 'Securus judicat orbis 
terrarum !' By those great words of the ancient 
Father the theory of the Via ðledia was absolutely 
I became excited at the view thus opened 
upon me. I was just starting on a round of 
visits; and I luentioned my state of mind to 
two most intimate friends: I think to no others. 
After a while, I got calm, and at length the 
vivid impression upon my imagination faded 
away. What I thought about it on reflection 
I will attelnpt to describe presently. I had to 
determine its logical value, and its bearing 
upon Iny duty. l\tleanwhile, so far as this was 
certain-I had seen the shadow of a hand upon 
the wall. It was clear that I had a good deal 
to learn on the question of the Churches, and 
that perhaps sOlne new light ,vas coming upon 
me. He who has seen a ghost cannot be as 
if he had never seen it. The heavens had open- 
ed and closed again. The thought for the mo- 
ment had been, 'The Church of Rome will be 
found right after all' ; and then it had vanished. 

Iy old convictions remained as before. 
At this time, I wrote my SC171101l Oil Dil'ÙW 
Calls, which I published in my volume of Plain 
Scrmoll,\'. It ends thus: 
o that we could take that simple view of things, as 
to feel that the one thing which lies before us is to 
please God I \Vhat gain is it to please the world, to 
I please tho great, nay even to please those whom we love, 
compal'ed with this? What gain is it to be applauded, 
admired, courted, foHowed-compared with this one aim, 
of 'not being disobedient to a heavenly vision?' What 
can this world offer comparable with that insight into 
spiritual things, that keen faith, that heavenly peace, that 
high sanctity, that everlasting rlghteousnoss, that hope of 
glory which they have, who in sincerIty love and follow 




our Lord Jesus Christ? Let us beg and pray Him day 
by day to reveal Himself to our souls more fully, to 
quicken our senses, to give us sIght and hearing, taste 
and touch of the world to come; so to work within us 
that we may sincerely say,' Thou shalt guide me witt 
Thy counsel; and after that receive me with glory. WhOlr 
have I in heaven but Thee?-and there is none upon earth 
that I desire in comparison of Thee. My flesh and m
heart faileth, but God. is the strength of my heart, and 
my portion for ever.' 
N OW to trace the succession of thoughts, and 
the conclusions, and the consequent innovation
on my previous belief, and the general conduct
to which I was led upon this sudden visitation, 
And first, I will say, whatever comes of saying 
it, for I leave inferences to others, that for 
years I must have had sOlnething of an habitual 
notion, though it was latent, and had never led 
me to distrust my own convictions, that In} 
mind had not found its ultimate rest, and that 
in some sense or other I was on journey. During 
the saIne passage across the Mediterranean iI1 
which I wrote Lead, kindly light, I also wrott 
the verses, which are found in the Lyra undel 
the head of 'Providences', beginning '"\Vhen ] 
look back '. This was in 1833; and, since ] 
have begun this narrative, I. have found a memor, 
andum under the date of September 7, 1829 
in which I speak of myself, as 'now in my room! 
in Oriel College, slowly advancing, etc., and lee 
on by God's hand blindly, not knowing whithe
He is taking me '. But, whatever this presenti- 
ment be worth, it was no protection agains' 
the dismay and disgust, which I felt in conse. 
quence of the dreadful misgiving of which 
have been relating the history. The one questioI 
was, what was I to do? I had to make up ffi) 
mind for myself, and others could not help me 

1839 TO 1841 



I determined to be guided, not by Iny ÏInagin- 

tion, but by my reason. And this I said, over 
and over again, in the years which followed, 
both in conversation and in private letters. Had 
it not been for this severe resol ve, I should 
have been a Catholic sooner than I was. :More- 
over, I felt on consideration a positive doubt, 
on the other hand, whether the suggestion did 
not conle from below. Then I said to lnyself: 
Time alone can solve that question. It ,"vas IllY 
business to go on as usual, to obey those con- 
victions to which I had so long surrendered 
myself, which still had possession of HIe, and 
on which lUY new thoughts had no direct bear- 
ing. That new conception of things should only 
so far influence me as it had a logical claim 
to do so. If it came from above, it would come 
again; so I trusted-and with more definite 
outlines. I thought of SalTIuel, before' he knew 
the word of the Lord'; and therefore I went, 
and lay down to sleep again. This was Iny 
broad view of the matter, and my prima facie 
concl usion. 
However, my new historical fact had, to a 
certain point, a logical force. I)own had conle 
the J'ia J[cdia, as a definite theory or schelne, 
under the blows of St Leo. 
1 y ]JruplLClical Office 
had COine to pieces; not indeed as an arguluent 
against 'Ruman errors', lIor as against Protest- 
antisln, but as in behalf of England. I had 
no Inure a distinctive plea for AnglicanislI1, un- 
less 1 would be a 
lonophysite. I had, Hlo
painfully, to fall back upon my three original 
points of belief, which I ha\ e spoken so llluch 
of in a forlner passage-the principle of dognla, 
the sacramental system, and anti-HomallisIlI. Of 




these three, the first two were better secured 
in ROine than in the Anglican Church. Th
Apostolical Succession, the two prominent sacra- 
ments, and the priInitive creeds, belonged, in- 
deed, to the latter, but there had been, an
was, far less strictness on matters of doglna ana. 
ritual in the Anglican system than in the Roman: 
in consequence, Iny main argument for the Angli- 
can claÏIns lay in the positive and special char- 
ges 'which I could bring against ROlne. I had 
no positive Anglican theory. I was very nearly 
a pure Protestant. Lutherans had a sort of 
theology, so had Calvinists; I had none. 
However, this pure ProtestantisIn, to which 
I was gradually left, was really a practical prin- 
ciple. It was a strong, though it ,vas only a 
negative ground, and it still had great hold on 
me. As a boy of fifteen, I had so fully Ï1nbibed 
it, that I had actually erased in Iny Gradlls ad 
ParllaSSll1ll, such titles, under the word 'Papa', 
as 'Christi Vicarius', 'sacer interpres', and 
'sceptra gerens', and substituted epithets bO 
vile that I cannot bring myself to write theln 
down here. The effect of this early persuasion 
remained as, ,vhat I have already called it, a 
'stain upon lny imagination'. As regards my 
reason, I began in 1833 to form theories on the 
subject, which tended to obliterate it. In the first 
part of flume 1'lwught.\' Abroad, written in that 
year, after speaking of HOlne as 'undeniably the 
most exalted Church in the whole world', and 
manifesting 'in aU the truth and beauty of the 
Spirit, that side of high mental excellence, which 
Pagan Rome atten1pted but could not realize
high-mindedness, majesty, and the caltn conscious- 
ness of power' - I proceed to say: ' Alas! . . the old 

9 TO 1841 


spirit has revived, and the monster of Daniel's 
vision, untamed by its former judgments, has 
seized upon Christianity as the new instrument 
of its impieties, and awaits a second and final 
woe from God's hand. Surely the doctrine of 
the GellÙu; Loci is not without foundation, and 
explains to us how the blessing or the curse 
attaches to cities and countries, not to genera- 
tions. 'Iichael is represented (in the book of 
Daniel) as opposed to the Prince of the kingdom 
of Persia. Old Rome is still alive. The Sorceress 
upon the Seven Hills, in the book of llevelatioll, 
 not the Church of ROlne, but Ronle itself
the bad spirit, which, in its former shape, was 
the anilnating spirit of the Fourth :\lonarchy.' 
Then I refer to St 
Ialachi's Prophecy which 
'makes a like distinction between the City and 
the Church of ROlne. "In the last persecution 
(it says) of the Hol)" ROlnan Church, Peter of 
Rome shall be on the throne, who shall feed 
his flock in many tribulations. ''''"hen these are 
past, the City upon the Seven Hills shall be 
destroyed, and the awful Judge shall judge the 
people": Then I append my moral: 'I deny 
that the distinction is unmeaning; Is it nothing 
to be able to look on our l\lother, to whonl we 
owe tIll' blessing of Christianity, with affection 
instead of hatred ?-with pity indeed, aye, and 
fear, but not with horror? Is it nothing to 
rescue her from the hard nmnes which inter- 
preters of prophecy have put upon her, as an 
idolatress, and an enelny of God, when she is 
deceived rather than a deceiver? Nothing to 
be able to account her prie:;ts as ordained of 
God, and anointed for their spiritual fUllctions 
by the IIoly Spirit, instead uf (
ulu)idt:ring her 




communion the bond of Satan?' This was my 
first advance in rescuing, on an intelligible, 
intellectual basis, the Roman Church from the 
designation of Antichrist; it was not the Church, 
but the old dethroned Pagan monster, stillli ving 
in the ruinèd city, that was Antichrist. 
In a 1'ract in 1838 I profess to give the opinions 
of the Fathers on the subject, and the conclusions 
to which I COine are still less violent against the 
Roman Church, though on the saIne basis as before. 
I say that the local Christian Church of Rome has 
been the means of shielding the pagan city from 
the fuluess of those judgments which are due 
to it; and that, in consequence of this, though 
Babylon has been utterly swept from the earth, 
Rome remains to this day. The reason seemed 
to be simply this, that, when the barbarians can1e 
down, God had a people in that city. Babylon 
was a mere prison of the Church; ROHle had 
received her as a guest. 'That vengeance has 
never fallen: it is still suspended; nor can reason 
be given why Rome has not fallen under the 
rule of God's general dealings with His rebellious 
creatures, except that a Christian Church is still 
in that city, sanctifying it,. interceding for it, 
saving it.' I add, in a note: 'No opinion, one 
way or the other, is here expressed as to the 
question, how far, as the local Church has saved 
Ron1e, so Rome has corrupted the local Church; 
or whether the local Church in consequence, or 
again whether other Churches elsewhere, mayor 
may not be types of Antichrist.' I quote all this 
in order to show how Bishop Newton was still upon 
my n1ind, even in 1 
38; and how I was feeling after 
some other interpretation of prophecy instead of 
his, and not without a good deal of hesitation. 

9 TO 1841 


However, I have found notes written in :\larch, 
1839, which anticipate IllY Article in Tile Briti:dl 
Critic of October, 1840, in which I contended 
that the Churches of Rome and England were 
both one, and also the one true Church, for 
the very reason that they had both been stig- 
matized by the naille of Antichrist, proving my 
point from the text, 'If they have called the 

Iaster of the House Beelzebub, how much more 
them of His household', and quoting largely 
from Puritans and Independents to show that, 
in their mouths, the Anglican Church is Anti- 
christ and Antichristian as well as the ROlnan. 
I urged in that artide, that the calumny of being 
Antichrist is ahnost 'one of the Notes of the true 
Church'; and, that' there is no nledium between 
a Vice-Christ and Anti-Christ' ; for' it is not the 
acts that make the difference between them, but 
the allt1wl'l
lJ for those acts'. This of course was 
a new Inode of viewing the question; but we 
cannot unnlake oursel ves, or change our habits, 
in a moment. It is quite clear, that, if I dared 
not commit myself in 1 R38 to the belief that 
the Church of Rome "
 not a type of Anti- 
christ, I could not have thrown ofr the unreason- 
ing prejudice and suspicion which I cherished 
about her for sonIC tinle after, at least by fits 
and starts, in spite of the conviction of lIlY reason. 
I cannot prove this, but I believe it to have been 
tht' case, frmll what I recollect of IIlYSe1f. Kor 
 there anything- in the history of St Leo 
and the 
lonophysites to undo thc finll belief 
I had in the existence of what I called the 
practical abuses and excesses of HOlne. 
To the in('onsistencie
 then, to the ambition 
and intrigue, to the sophistries of ROlne (as I 



considered them to be) I had recourse in filY 
opposition to her, both public and personal. I 
did so by way of a relief. I had a great and 
growing dislike, after the summer of 1839, to 
speak against the Roman Church herself, or her 
formal doctrines. I was very a verse to speak 
against doctrines which might possibly turn out 
to be true, though at the time I had no reason 
for thinking they were, or against the Church 
which had preserved them. I began to have 
misgivings, that, strong as my own feelings had 
been against her, yet in some things which I 
had said, I had taken the statements of Anglican 
divines for granted, without weighing them for 
n1yself. I said to a fHend in 1840, in a letter 
which I shaH use presently: 'I aIll troubled by 
doubts whether as it is, I have not, in what I 
have published, spoken too strongly against Rome, 
though I think I did it in a kind of faith, being 
deterillined to put myself into the English system, 
and say all that our divines said, whether I had 
fulIy weighed it or not.' I was sore about the 
great Anglican divines, as if they had taken me 
in, and made me say strong things, which facts 
did not justify. Yet I did still hold in substance 
all that I had said against the Church of Rome 
in my Prophetical Office. I felt the force of the 
usual Protestant objections against her; I believed 
that we had the Apostolical succession in the 
Anglican Church, and the grace of the sacraments; 
I was not sure that the difficulty of its isolation 
might not be overcome, though I was far frolll 
sure that it could. I did not see any clear proof 
that it had committed itself to any heresy, or 
had taken part against the truth; and I was not 
sure that it would not revive into full Apostolic 

9 TO 1841 

] 4] 

purity and strength, and grow into union with 
Rome herself (Rome explaining her doctrines, 
and guarding against their abuse), that is, if 
we were but patient and hopeful. I wished for 
union between the Anglican Church and Rome, 
if, and when, it was possible; and I did what 
I could to gain ,veekly prayers for that object. 
The ground which I felt good against her was 
the moral ground; I felt I could not be wrong 
in striking at her political and social line of 
action. The alliance of a dogmatic reIigion with 
Liberals, high or lo,v, seemed to me a providential 
direction against moving towards it, and a better 
Preservative against Poper.1J than the three volumes 
folio, in which, I think, that prophylactic is to be 
found. However, on accasions ,vhich demanded 
it, I felt it a duty to give out plainly all that 
I thought, though I did not like to do so. One 
such instance occurred when I had to publish 
a letter about Tract 90. In that letter I said, 
'Instead of setting before the soul the Holy 
Trinity, and heaven and hell, the Church of 
Rome does seem to me, as a popular systeln, to 
preach the Blessed Virgin, and the Saints, and 
purgatory.' On this occasion I recollect 
sing to a friend the distress it gave 111e thus 
to speak; but I said, 'How can I help saying 
it, if I think it? and do think it; my bishop 
calls on me to say out what I think; and that 
is the long and the short of it.' But I recoI- 
I lected Hurrell Froude's words to me, almost 
his dying words, 'I 111ust enter another protest 
against your cursing and swearing. \Vhat good 
can it do ?-and I call it uncharitable to an excess. 
How mistaken we may ourselves be on many 
points that are only gradually opening on us!' 




Instead, then, of speaking of errors in doctrine, 
I was driven by my state of mind to insist 
upon the political conduct, the controversial 
bearing, and the social methods and manifes- 
tations of Rome. And here I found a matter 
close at hand, which affected me most sensibly 
too, because it ,vas before my eyes. I can hardly 
describe too strongly my feeling upon it. I had 
an unspeakable aversion to the policy and acts 
of Mr O'Conne]], because, as I thought, he 
associated himself with men of a]] religions, and 
no religion, against the Anglican Church, and 
advanced Catholicism by violence and intrigue. 
When, then, I found him taken up by the English 
Catholics, and, as I supposed, at Rome, I con- 
sidered I had a fulfilment before my eyes how 
the Court of Rome played fast and loose, and 
fulfilled the bad points which I had seen put 
down in books against it. Here we saw ,vhat 
Rome was in action, ,vhatever she might be 
when quiescent. Her conduct was simply secular 
and political. 
This feeling led me into the excess of being 
very rude to that zealous and most charitable 
Ulan, Mr Spencer, when he came to Oxford in 
January, 1840, to get Anglicans to set about 
praying for Unity. I Inyself then, or soon after, 
drew up such prayers; it was one of the first 
thoughts ,vhich came upon me after my shock, 
but I was too much annoyed with the political 
action of the memhers of the Roman Church 
in England to wish to have any thing to de 
with them personal1y. So glad in my heart wa
I to see him when he came to my rooms; 
whither Mr Palmer of Magdalen brought him: 
that I could have laughed for joy; I think I 

9 TO 1841 


did; but I was yery rude to hhn, I would not 
meet him at dinner, and that (though I did 
not say so) because I con'3idered him 'in loco 
apostatæ' from the Anglican Church, and I 
hereby beg his pardon for it. I wrote afterwards 
with a view to apolog-ize, but I dare say he 
must have thought that I made the matter 
worse, for these were my words to him: 
'The news that you are praying for us is most 
I touching, and raises a variety of indescribable 
emotions. May their prayers return abundantly 
into their own bOSOlns! \Vhy, then, do I not 
meet you in manner conformable with these 
first feelings? For this single reason, if I may 
say it, that your acts are contrary to your words. 
You invite us to a' union of hearts, at the same 
time that you are doing all you can, not to 
restore, not to reform, not to l'e-unite, but to 
destroy our Church. You go further than your 
principles require. You are leagued with our 
enemies. "The voice is Jacob's voice, but the 
hands are the hands of Esau." This is what 
especially distresses us; this is what 've cannot 
understand, how Christians, like yourselves, with 
the clear vic,v you have, that a ,varfare is ever 
waging in the world behveen good and evil, 
should. in the present state of England, any 
yourselves with the side of evil against the side 
of good... Of parties now in the country, you 
cannot but allow, that next to yourselvec; we are 
nearest to revealed truth. \Ve maintain p:reat and 
holy principles; we profess Catholic doctrines...' 
'So near are we as a body to yourselves in 
modes of thinking-, as even to have bet'u taunted 
with the nicknames which belong to you; and, 
on the other hand, if there are profe
sed infidel,;, 



scoffers, sceptics, unprincipled men, rebels, they 
are found among our opponents. And yet you 
take part with them against us.. . You consent 
to act hand in hand (with these and others) 
for our overthrow. Alas! all this it is, that im- 
presses us irresistibly with the notion that you 
are a political, not a religious party; that, in 
order to gain an end on which you set your 
hearts-an open stage for yourselves in England- 
yon ally yourselves with those who hold nothing, 
against those who hold something. This is what 
distresses my own mind so greatly, to speak of 
myself, that, with limitations which need not 
now be mentioned, I cannot meet familiarly 
any leading persons of the Roman Communion, 
and least of all when they come on a religious 
errand. Break off, I would say, with NIl' O'Connell 
in Ireland and the Liberal party in England, or 
come not to us with overtures for mutual prayer 
and religious sympathy.' 
And here came in another feeling of a personal 
nature, which had little to do with the argument 
against Rome, except that, in Iny prejudice, I 
connected it with my own ideas of the usual 
conduct of her advocates and instruments. I was 
very stern upon any interference in our Oxford 
matters on the part of charitable Catholics, and 
on any attempt to do me good personally. There 
was nothing, indeed, at the time more likely to 
throw me back. 'Why do you meddle? \\
cannot you let me alone ? You can do me no 
good; you know nothing on earth about me; 
you may actually do me harm; I am in better 
hands than yours. I know my own sincerity of 
purpose; and I mn determined upon taking my 
time.' Since I have been a Catholic, people have 

1839 TO 1841 


ometimes accused me of backwardness in Illaking 
converts; and 'Protestants have argued frolll it that 
I bave no great eagerness to do so. It would be 
against my nature to act otherwise than I do; but 
besides, it would be to forget the lessons which 
I gained in the experience of my own history 
in the past. 
This is the account which I have to give of 
some savage and ungrateful words in The British 
Crilic of 1840 against the controversialists of 
Rome: 'By their fruits ye shall know them. . . 
\Ve see it attempting to gain converts among 
us by unreal representations of its doctrines, 
plausible stateillents, bold assertions, appeals to 
the weaknesses of hUlllan nature, to our fancies, 
our eccentricities, our fears, our frivolities, our 
false philosophies. \Ve see its agents, smiling 
and nodding and ducking to attract attention, 
as gipseys make up to truant boys, holding out 
les for the nursery, and pretty pictures, and 
gilt gingerbread, and physic concealed in jalll, 
and sugar-pI urns for good children. \Vho can 
but feel shame when the religion of Xhnenes, 
Hm'romeo, and Pascal, is so overlaid? \\'ho can 
but feel sorrow, when its devout and earnest 
defenders so mistake its genius and its capabili- 
ties? \Ve Englishmen like Illanliness, openness, 
consistency, truth. Home will never gain on 
us till she learns these virtues, and uses them; 
:tnd then she may gain us, but it will be by 
ceasing to be what we now mean by HOITIe, by 
having a right, not to "have donlinion over 
our faith", but to gain and poss
ss our affection
in the bonds of the gospel. Till she ceases to 
be what she practically is, a union is impo
-iiblc between her and England; but, if she does 



reforlll (and who can presume to say that so 
large a part of Christendom never can?) then it 
will be our Church's duty at once to join in 
communion with the continental Churches what- 
ever politicians at home may say to it, and 
whatever steps the civil power may take in 
consequence. And though we lllay not live to see 
that day, at least we are bound to pray for it; 
we are bound to pray for our brethren that they 
and we may be led together into the pure light 
of the gospel, and be one as we once were one. 
It was most touching news to be told, as we 
were lately, that Christians on the Continent were 
praying together for the spiritual well-being of 
England. May they gain light, while they aim 
at unity, and grow in faith while they manifest 
their love! \Ve, too, have our duties to them; 
not of reviling, not of slandering, not of hating, 
though political interests require it; but the 
duty of loving brethren still more abundantly 
in. spirit, .whose faces for our sins and their 
sins we are not allowed to see in the flesh.' 
No one ought to indulge in insinuations; it 
certainly diminishes my right to complain of 
slanders uttered against myself, when, as in thi
passage, I had already spoken iu condemnation 
of that class of controversialists to which ] 
myself now belong. 
I have thus put together, as well as I could, 
what has to be said about my general state of 
mind from the autumn of 1839 to the SUlllmel 
of 1841 ; and, having done so, I go on to narrab 
how my new misgivings affected my conduct 
and my relations towards the Anglican Church 
'Vhen I got back to Oxford in October, 1839 

1839 TO 1841 


after the visits which I had been paying, it so 
happened there had been, in my absence, occur- 
rences of an awkward character, bringing me into 
collision both with my Bishop and also with the 
University authorities; and this drew my attention 
at once to the state of what would be considered 
Ioveinent party there, and made me very 
anxious for the future. In the spring of the year, 
as has been seen in the article analyzed above, 
I had spoken of the excesses which were to be 
found among person
 commonly included in it; 
at that time I thought little of such an evil, 
but the new thoughts, ,vhich had come on me 
during the Long Vacation, on the one hand 
nlade me comprehend it, and on the other took 
away my power of effectually meeting it. A fil"ln 
and powerful control was necessary to keep men 
straight; I never had a strong wrist, but at the 
very time when it was Inost needed the reins 
had broken in my hands. 'Vith an anxious presenti- 
ment on my mind of the upshot of the whole 
inquiry, which it was almost hnpossible for me 
to conceal froin men ,vho saw me day by day, 
who heard 111Y familiar conversation, ,vho CaIne 
perhaps for the express purpose of pUlnping me, 
and having a categorical.lJc.f or no to their ques- 
tions-how could I expect to say anything about 
my actual, positive, present belief
 which would be 
sustaining or consoling to such persons as ,vere 
haunted already by doubts of their own? Nay, 
how could I, with satisfaction to Inyself, analyze 
my own mind, and say what I held and what 
I did not? or say with what limitations, shades 
of difference, or degrees of belief, I held that 
body of opinions which I had openly professed 
and taught? ho,v could I deny or assert this 



point or that, without injustice to the new view 
in which the whole evidence for those old opin- 
ions presented itself to my mind? 
However, I had to do what I could, and what 
was best, under the circulnstances; I found a 
general talk on the subject of the article in 
1'lze Dublin Revie1V,o and; if it had affected me, 
it was not wonderful that it affected others also. 
As to myself, I felt no kind of certainty that 
the argument in it was conclusive. Taking it 
at the worst, granting that the Anglican Church 
had not the Note of Catholicity; yet there were 
many Notes of the Church. Some belonged to 
one age or place, some to another. Bellarmine 
had reckoned Temporal Prosperity among the 
Notes of the Church; but the ROlnan Church 
had not any great popularity, wealth, glory, 
power, or prospects, in the nineteenth century. 
It was not at alJ certain yet even that we had 
not the Note of Catholicity; but, if not, we had 
others. My first business, then, was to examine 
this question carefully, and see if a great deal 
could not be said after all for the Anglican 
Church, in spite of its acknowledged short- 
comings. This I did in an article On tile Catholi- 
city çf the English Church, which appeared in 
The British Critic of January, 1840. As to my 
personal distress on the point, I think it had 
gone by February 21st in that year, for I 
wrote then to 1\11" Bowden about the important 
article in the Dublin, thus: 'It made a great 
impression here [Oxford]; and I say, what of 
course I would only say to such as yourself, it 
made me for a while very uncomfortable in 
my own mind. The great speciousness of his 
argument is one of the things which have made 

1839 TO 181-] 


me despond so nn1Ch', that is, as to its effect 
upon others. 
But, secondly, the great stumbling-block lay in 
the 39 Articles. It 'was urged that here was a 
positive Note against Anglicanisln: Ang'licallisln 
claimed to hold that the Church of England ,vas 
nothing else than a continuation in this country 
(as the Church of ROlne might be in France or 
Spain) of that one Church of which, in old times, 
Athanasius and Augustine were members. But, 
if so, the doctrine must be the same; the doctrine 
of the Old Church Inust live and speak in Anglican 
forlnularies, in the 39 Articles. Did it? Yes, it 
did; that is what I maintained; it did in sub- 
stance, in a true sense. !vI an had done his ,vorst 
to disfigure, to mutilate the old Catholic Truth, 
but there it was, in spite of them, in the Articles 
still. It was there, but this must be shown. It 
was a matter of life and death to us to show 
it. And I believed that it could be shown; I 
considered that those grounds of justification, 
which I gave above, ,vhen I was speaking of 
1 ract 9(), were sufficient for the purpose; and 
therefore I set about showing it at once. This 
was in March 18,1-0, when I went up to Lit- 
tlemore. And, as it was a matter of life and 
death with us, all risks must be run to show it. 
\\Then the attempt was actually made, I had 
got reconciled to the prospect of it, and had 
no apprehensions as to the experilnent; hut in 
1 H40, while my purpose 'was honest, and my 
grounds of reason satisfactory, I did nevertheless 
recognize that I was engaged in an c.rpcrimcnfll1n 
crllcis. I have no doubt that then I acknowledged 
to myself, that it would be a trial of the Anglican 
Church which it had never undergone brfol.e- 




not that the Catholic sense of the Articles had 
not been held, or at least suffered by their framers 
and promulgators, and was not implied in the 
teaching of Andrewes or Beveridge, but that it 
had never been publicly recognized, while the 
interpretation of the day was Protestant and 
exclusive. I observe also, that, though my Tract 
was an experiment, it was, as I said at the time, 
'no feeler', the event showed it; for, when my 
principle was not granted, I did not draw back, 
but gave up. I would not hold office in a Church 
which would not allow my sense of the Articles. 
My tone was, 'This is necessary for us, and have 
it we must and will, and, if it tends to bring 
men to look less bitterly on the Church of 
Rome, so much the better.' 
This, then, was the second work to which I 
set myself; though 'vhen I got to Littlemore, 
other things came in the ,vay of accomplishing 
it at the moment. I had in mind to remove 
all such obstacles as were in the way of holding 
the Apostolic and Catholic character of the 
Anglican teaching; to assert the right of all 
who chose to say in the face of day, 'Our 
Church teaches the primitive ancient faith '. I 
did not conceal this: in Tract 90, it is put 
forward as the first principle of all, 'It is a 
duty which we owe, both to the Catholic Church, 
and to our own, to take our reformed confessions 
in the most Catholic sense they will admit: we 
have no duties towards their framers.' And still 
more pointedly in my letter, explanatory of the 
'I'ract, addressed to Dr J elf, I say: 'The only 
peculiarity of the view I advocate, if I must 
so call it, is this-that whereas it is usual at 
this day to make the particular belief qf their 


,# f. .. 

. .. ,,:

1839 TO 1841 


llwiter,\' their true interpretation, I would Inake 
the belief of tile Catlzolic Clzurcll sucll. That is, 
as it is often said that infants are regenerated 
in Baptism, not on the faith of their parents, 
but of the Church, so in like m:tnner I would 
say that the Articles are received, not in the 
sense of their framers, but (as far as the "rording 
will admit, or any alnbiguity requires it) fn the 
one Catholic sense.' 
A third measure which I distinctly contem- 
pl:tted, was the resignation of St 
Iary's, whatever 
became of the question of the Articles; and as a 
first step I meditated a retirement to Littlemore. 
I had built a Church there, several years before; 
and I went there to pass the Lent of 1840, and 
gave myseJf up to te:tching in the Poor Schools, 
and practising the choir. At the same time, I 
contemplated a monastic house there. I bought 
ten acres of ground, and began planting; but this 
gre:tt design was never carried out. I mention 
it, because it sho,vs how little I had really the 
idea then of ever leaving the Anglic:tn Church. 
That 1 also conteroplated even the further step 
of giving- up St )'lary's itself as early as 1839, 
appears from a letter wrich I wrote in October, 
1840, to the friend whom it wa
 most natural for 
me to consult on sueh a point. It ran as foHows : 
For a year past. a feeling has been growing on me that 
I ought to give up St. !\I:try's, but I am no fit judgo in 
the matter. I cannot ascertain accurately my own im- 
pressions and convictions, which are the basis of the 
difficulty, and though you cannot of course do this for 
me, yet you may help me generally, and perhaps super- 
sede the necessity of my going by them at all, 
First, it is certain that I do not know my Oxford 
parishioners; I am not conscious of influencing them, and 
certainly I have no insight into their spiritual state, I 
have no versona), no pnstor
l acquaintance with tqem, 
\\"l' ti' 
' ð.A 
c--, ..,..... 
'- U 1. 

.( . 



To very few have I any opportunity of saying a religious 
word. Whatever influence I exert on them is precisely 
that which I may be exerting on persons out of my 
parish. In my excuse, I am accustomed to say to myself 
that I am not adapted to get on with them, while others 
are. On the other hand, I am conscious, that by means 
of my position at 8t Mary's I do exert a considerable 
influence on the University, whether on undergraduates 
or graduates. It seems, then, on the whole, that I am 
using 8t Mary's, to the neglect of its direct duties, for 
objects not belonging to it; I am converting a parochial 
charge into a sort of University office. 
I think I may say truly, that I have begun scarcely 
any plan but for the sake of my parish, but everyone 
bas turned, independently of me, into the direction of 
the University. I began Saints'-days services, daily ser- 
vices, and lectures in Adam de Brome's Chapel, for my 
parishioners; but they have not come to them, In conse- 
quence I dropped the last mentioned, having, while it 
lasted, been naturally led to direct it to the instruction 
of those who did come, instead of those who did not. 
The weekly Communion, I believe, I did begin for the 
sake of the University. 
Added to this, the authorities of the University, the 
appointed guardians of those who form great part of the 
attendants on my sermons, have shown a dislike of my 
preaching. One dissuades men from coming-the late 
Vice-Chancellor threatens to take his own children away 
from the Church; and the present, having an opportunity 
last spring of preaching in my parish pulpit, gets up and 
preaches against doctrine with which I am in good measure 
identified. No plainer proof can be given of the feeling 
in these quarters than the absurd myth, now a second 
time put forward, that 'Vice-Chancellors cannot be got 
to take the office on account of Puseyism.' 
But further than this, I cannot disguise from myself 
that my preaching is not calculated to defend that system 
of religion which has been received for 300 years, and 
of which the Heads of Houses are the legitimate main- 
tainers in this place. They exclude me, as far as may 
be, from the UniverBity Pulpit; and, though I never have 
preached strong doctrine in it, they do so rightJy, so fn,r 
as this, that they understand that my sermons are cal- 
culated to undermine things established, I cannot disguise 
from myself that they are. No one win deny that most 
of my sermons are on moral subjects, not doctrinal; still 

1839 TO 1841 


I am leading- my hearers to the Primitive ChtIrch, if YOtI 
will, but not to the Church of England. Now, ought one 
to be disgusting the minds of young men with the received 
re1igion, in the exercise of a sacred office, yet without a 
commission, against the wish of their guides and governors? 
But this is not all. I fear I must allow, that, whether 
I will or no, I am disposing them towards Rome. First, 
because Rome is the only representative of the Primitive 
Church besides ourselves; in proportion then as they are 
loosened from the one, they win go to the other. Next, 
because many doctrines which I have held, have far 
greater, or their only scope in the Roman system. And, 
moreover, if, as is not tInlikely, we have in process of 
time heretical bishops or teachers among us, an evil 
which ipso facto infects the whole community to which 
they belong, and if, again (what there are at this moment 
symptoms of), there be a movement in the English Roman 
Catholics to break the alliance of O'Connell and of Exeter 
Hall, strong temptations win be placed in the way of 
individuals, already imbued with a tone of thought congen- 
ial to Rome, to join her Com mtInion 
People ten me, on the other hand, that I am, whether 
by sermons or otherwise, exerting at 8t Mary's a beneficial 
influence on our prospective clergy; but what if I take 
to myself the credit of seeing further than they. and of 
having in the course of the last year discovered, that what 
they approve so much is very likely to end in Romanism? 
The m"yuments which I have published against Romanism 
seem to myself as cogent as ever, but men go by their 
sympathies, not by argument; and if 1 feel the force of 
this influence myself, who bow to the arguments, why 
may not others still more, who never have in the same 
degree admitted the arguments? 
Nor can I counteract the danger by preaching or writing 
against Rome. I seem to myself almost to have shot my 
last arrow. in the article on English Catholicity. It must 
be added. that the "\""ery circumstance that I have commit- 
ted myself against Rome has the effect of setting to sleep 
people suspicious about me, which is painful now that I 
begin to have suspicions about myself. I mentioned my 
genera) difficulty to A. n., a year since, than whom I 
know no onf3 of a more fine and accurate conscience, and 
it was his spontaneous idea that J shonld give up 8t 
Mary's, if my feelings continued. I mentioned it again 
to him lately, and he did not reverse his opinion, only 
expressed great reluctance to believe it must be so. 




My friend's judgn1ent was in favour of my re- 
taining my living, at least for the present; 
what ,veighed with me most was his saying: 
'Y ou lllust consider, whether your retiring, either 
from the pastoral care only, or frOlll writing 
and printing and editing in the cause, would 
not be a sort of scandalous thing, unless it were 
done very warily. It would be said, " You see 
he can go on no longer with the Church of 
England, except in mere Lay Comlllunion"; or 
people might say you repented of the cause 
altogether. Tin you see (your way to mitigate, 
if not remove this evil) I certain]y should advise 
you to stay.' I answered as foHows: 
Since you think I may go on, it seems to follow that, 
under the circumstances, I ooQht to do so. There are 
plenty of reasons for it directly it is allowed to be lawful. 
The following considerations have much reconciled my 
feelings to your conclusion. 
1. I do not think that we have yet made fair trial 
how much the English Church will bear. I know it is a 
hazardous experiment-like p,.oving cannon. Yet we must 
not take it tor granted, that the metal will burst in the 
operation. It has borne at various times, not to say at 
this time, a great infusion of Catholic truth without damage. 
As to the result, viz.. whether this process will not ap- 
proximate the whole English Church, as a body, to Uome, 
that is nothing to us. For wh,J.t we know, it may be the 
providential means of uniting the whole Church in one, 
without fresh schismatizing or use of private judgment. 

Here, I observe, that what was contemplated 
was the bursting of the Cat/wiieit!) of the Ang- 
HCRn Church, that is, my lUlbjeciive idea of that 
Church. Its bursting would not hurt her with the 
world, but would be a discovery that she was pure- 
ly and essentially Protestant, and would be really 
the' hoisting of the engineer with his own petard '. 
And this wars the w&S res
lt, ! continue 

1839 TO 1841 


2. Say, that I move sympathies for Rome: in the same 
sense do Hooker, Taylor. Bull, &c. Their argu.ments 
may be against Rome, but the sympathies they raise must 
be towards Rome, so far as Home maintains truths which 
our Church does not teach or enforce. Thus it is a 
question of degree between our divines and me. I may, 
if so be, go further; I may raise sympathies more; but I 
am but urging minds in the same direction as they do. 
I am doing just the very thing which all our doctors 
have ever been doing. In short, would not Hooker, if 
Vicar of 8t Mary's, be in my difficulty? 
Here it may be said, that Hooker could 
preach against Rome, and I could not; but I 
doubt whether he could have preached effective- 
ly against Transubstantiation better than I, 
though neither he nor I held it. 
3. Rationalism is the great evil of the day. May not 
I cono;ider my post at 8t Mary's as a place of protest 
against it? I am more certain that the Protestant (spirit), 
which I oppose, leads to infidelity, than that which I 
reC'ommend, leads to Rome. Who knows what the state 
of the University may be, as regards Divinity Professors. 
in a few years hence? Anyhow, a great battle may be 
coming- on, of which C. D.'s book is a sort of earnest. 
The whole of ou.r day may be a battle with this spirit. 
\fay we not leave to another age its own evil-to settle 
the question of Romanism? 
I may add that from this time I had a curate 
at St l\fary's, who gradually took more and 
mOl'e of my work. 
Also, this same year, 1840, I made arrange- 
ments for giving up TIll' British Critic in the 
following July, which 'v ere carried into effect 
at that date. 
Such was about lilY state of Inind on the publi- 
cation of 1'ract 90, in February, 1841. The im- 
Inense commotion consequent upon the publication 
of the Tract did not unsettle me again; for I had 
weathered the stonn: the 1'racf had not been 



condelnned: that ,vas the great point; I made 
Inuch of it. 
To illustrate my feelings during this trial, I will 
make extracts from my letters to a friend, which 
have come into my possession, The dates are 
respectively March 25, April 1, and l\lay 9. 

1. I do trust I shall make no false step, and hope 
my friends will pray for me to this effect. If, as you say, 
a destiny hangs over us, a single false step may ruin all, 
I am very' well and comfortable; but we are not yet out 
of the wood. 
2. The Bishop sent me word on Snnday to write a 
letter to him 'instanter'. So I wrote it on Monday: on 
Tuesday it passed through the press: on Wednesday it 
was out: and to-day (Thursday) it is in London. 
I trnst that things are smoothing now; and that we 
have made a great step is certain. It is not fight to 
boast, till I am clear out of the wood. i. e. till I know 
how the letter is received in London. You know. I snp- 
pose, that I am to stop the Tracts; but you will see in 
the letter, thongh I speak quite what I feel. yet I have 
managed to take out on my side my snubbing's worth. And 
this makes me anxious how it will be received in London. 
I have not had a misgiving for fhTe minutes from the 
first: but I do not like to boast, lest some harm come. 
3. The bishops are very desirous of hushing the matter 
up: and I certainly have done my utmost to co-operate 
with them, on the nnderstanding that the Tract is Dot to 
be withdrawn or condemned. 

And to my friend, 
Ir Bowden, under date 
of l\larch 15: 

The Heads, I believe, have just done a violent act: 
they have said that my interpretation of the Articles is 
an evasion. Do not think that this will pain me. You 
see, no doctrine is censnred, and my shoulders shall 
manage to bear the charge. If yon knew aU, or were 
here, yon would see that I have asserted a great principle, 
and I ought to suffer for it:-that the Articles are to be 
interpreted. not Rccording to the meaning of the writers, 
but (as far as the wording wiJ] admit) according to the 
sense of the Catholic Church, 

J829 TO 181<1 


Upon occasion of Tract DO, several Catholics 
wrote to Ine; I answered one of my correspondents 
ApriJ S.-You have no cause to be surprised at the 
discontinuance of the Tracts. We feel no misgidngs 
about it whatever, as if the cause of what we hold to be 
Catholic truth would suffer thereby. My letter to my 
Bishop has, I trust, had the effect of bringing the pre- 
ponderating authority of the Church on our side. No 
stopping of the Tracts can, humanly speaking, stop the 
spread of the opinions which they have inculcated. 
The Tracts are not suppressed. No doctrine or principle 
has been conceded by us, or condemned by authority. 
The Bishop has but said, that a certain Tract is · object- 
ionable', no reason bemg stated. I have no intention 
whatever of yieldmg anyone point which I hold on con- 
viction; and that the authorities of the Church know 
full well. 

In the summer of 1841 I found myself at 
Littlemore, without any harass or anxiety on my 
mind. I hRd deterlnined to put aside all contro- 
versy, and I set myself down to my translation 
of St Athanasius; but, between July and Novem- 
ber, I received three blows which broke me. 
1. I had got but a little way in my work, 
when my trouble returned on me. The ghost 
had COlne a second time. In the Arian History 
I found the very same phenomenon, in a far 
bolder shape, which I had found in the 
physite. I had not observed it in 1832. 'V onder- 
ful that this should COlne upon me! I had not 
sought it out; I was readin
 and writing- in 
Iny own line of study, far from the controversies 
of the day, on what is called a 'metaphysical' 
subject; but I :saw clearly, that in the history 
of Arianism, the pure Arians were the Protestants, 
the semi-Arians were the Anglicans, and that 
Home now was, what it was. The truth lay, not 



with the ria lY!edia, but in what was called 
, the extreme party'. As I am not writing a 
work of controversy, I need not enlarge upon 
the argument; I have said sOlnething on the 
subject, in a volume which I published fourteen 
years ago. 
2. I was in the t:nisery of this new unsettlement, 
when a second blow came upon me. The bishops, 
one after another, began to charge agaiñst me, 
It was a formal, deterlninate movement. This 
was the real' understanding'; that on which I 
had acted on occasion of Tract 90 had come to 
naught. I think the words, which had then been 
used to me, were, that 'perhaps two or three 
might think it necessary to say something in 
their charges' ; but, by this tÜnc, they had tided 
over the difficulty of the 1'ract, and there was 
no one to enforce the 'understanding'. They 
went on in this way, directing charges at me, 
for three whole years. I recognized it as a 
condemnation; it was the only one that was in 
their power. At first I intended to protest; but 
I gave up the thought in de
On October 17th, I wrote thus to a friend: 
I snppose it will be necessary in some shape or other 
to re-assert Tract 90; else, it will seem, after these Bis- 
hop's Charges, as if it were silenced, which it hai not 
been, nor do I intend it should be. I wish to keep quiet 
but if bishops speak, I will speak, too. If the view wer" 
silenced, I could not remam in the Church, nor conlë 
many others; and therefore, since it is not silenced, ] 
shall take care to show that it isn't. 
A day or two after, Oct. 22, a stranger wrote 
to me to say, that the 1'racts for the Times haè 
made a young friend of his Catholic, and to ask 
'would I be so good as to convert him back' 
I made anwer: 

1839 TO 1841 


If conversions to Rome take place in consequence of 
the Tracts tor the Times, I do not impute blame to them, 
but to those who, instead of acknowledging such Anglican 
princIples of theology and ecclesiastical polity as they 
contain, set themselves to oppose them. Whatever be the 
influence of the Tracts, great or smalJ, t.hey may become 
just as powerful for Rome, if our Church refuses them, 
as they would be for our Church if she accepted them. 
If our rulers speak either against the Tracts, or not at 
all, if any number of them, not only do not favour, but 
even do not suffer the principles contained in them, it is 
plain that our members may easily be persuaded either 
to give up those principles, or to give up the Church. 
If this state of things goes on, I mournfully prophesy, 
not one or two, but many secessions to the Church of Rome. 
Two years afterwards, looking back on what 
had passed, I said, 'There were no con verts to 
ROllle, till after the condemnation of ]......0. 90.' 
3. As if all this were not enough, there came 
the affair of the J erusaleln Bishopric; and with 
a brief mention of it I shall conclude. 
I think I aln right in saying, that it had been 
long a desire with the Prussian Court to intro- 
duce Episcopacy into the Evangelical religion, 
which was intended in that country to elnbrace 
both the Lutheran and Calvinistic bodies. I 
almost think I heard of the project, when I 
was at Rome in 1833, at the hôtel of the 
Pl"ussian :\Iinister, 1\-1. Bunsen, who was most 
hospitable and kind, as to other English visitors, 
so also to my friends and lnyself: I suppose 
that the idea of Episcopacy, as the Prussian 
 understood it, was very different frOlll that 
taught in the Tractarian School; but still, I 
suppose, that the chief authors of that school 
would have gladly spen such a Ineasure carried 
out in Prussia, had it been done without COln- 
promising those principles which were necessary 
to the heing of a Church, About the tillle of 



the publication of Tract 90, M. Bunsen and the 
then archbishop of Canterbury were taking steps 
for its execution, by appointing and consecrating 
a bishop for Jerusalem. Jerusalem, it wuuld seem, 
was considered a safe place for the experiment; 
it was too far from Prussia to awaken the 
susceptibilities of any party at home; if the 
project failed, it failed without harm to any 
one; and, if it succeeded, it gave Protestantisn1 
a status in the East, which, in association with 
the Monophysite, or Jacobite, and the Nestorian 
bodies, formed a political instrument for England, 
parallel to that which Russia had in the Greek 
Church, and France in the Latin. 
Accordingly, in July 1841, full of the Anglican 
difficulty on the question of Catholicity, I thus 
spoke of the J erusalelll scheme in an Article in 
he British Critic: '\
Vhen our thoughts turn to 
the East, instead of recollecting that there are 
Christian Churches there, we leave it to the 
Russians to take care of the Greelis, and the 
French to take care of the Romans, and we 
content ourselves with erect
ng a Protestant 
Church at Jerusaleln, or with helping the Jews 
to rebuild their Temple there, or with becoming 
the august protectors of N estorians, 
and all the heretics we can hear of, or with forming 
a league with the Mussubnan against Greeks and 
Romans together.' 
I do not pretend, so long after the time, to 
give a full or exact account of this measure in 
detail. I will but say that in the Act of Par- 
liament, under date of October 5, 1841 (if the 
copy, from which I quote, contains the measure 
as it passed the Houses) provision is made for the 
consecration of 'British subjects, or the subjects 

18J9 TO 1841 


or citizens of any foreign state, to be bishops 
in any foreign country, whether such foreign 
subjects or citizens be or be not subjects or 
citizens of the country in which they are to 
act, and... without requiring such of them as 
lllay be subjects or citizens of any foreign 
king-dom or state to take the oaths of allegiance 
and supreluacy, and the oath of due obedience 
to the Archbishop for the time being'... also 
'that such bishop or bishops, so consecrated, 
may exercise, 'within such linlits, as lllay from 
time to time be assigned for that purpose in 
such foreign countries by her 
Iajesty, spiritual 
jurisdiction over the Ininisters of British congrega- 
tions of the United Church of England and 
Ireland, and over such othpr ]>,otcstant Congrega- 
tions, as may be desirous of placing themselves 
under his or their authority.' 
Now here, at the very ti;ne that the Anglican 
bishops were directing their cen"ure upon me 
for avowing an approach to the Catholic Church 
not closer than I believed the Anglican formul- 
aries would al1ow, they were on the other hand 
fraternizing, by their act or by their sufferance, 
with Protestant bodies, and allowing theln to put 
thenlselves under an Anglican bishop, without 
any renunciation of their errors or regard to the 
due reception of baptism and confirrnation; while 
there was great reason to suppose that the ç;aid 
bishop was intended to Inake converts fì.OlU the 
orthodox Greeks, and the schismati('al Oriental 
hodies, by n1eans of the influcnce of England. 
This was the third blow, which finally shattered 
lny faith in the Anglican Church. That Church 
was not only forbidding any synlpathy or eûJlcur- 
rellce with the Church of HOIIle, but it :l('tually 




was courting an intercon1n1union with Protestant 
Prussia, and the heresy of the Orientals. The 
Anglican Church might have the Apostolical 
succession, as had the Monophysites; but such 
acts as were in progress led me to the gravest 
suspicion, not that it ,vould soon cease to be 
a Church, but that it had never been a Church 
all along. 
On October l
th I thus '''Tote to a friend: 
'We have not a single Anglican in Jerusalem, so we 
al'e sending a bishop to tnake a communion, not to govern 
OUI' own people. Next, the excuse is, that there are 
converted Anglican Jews there who require a Lishop; 
I am told there are not half-a-dozen. But for them the 
bishop is sent out, and for them he is a bishop of the 
circumcision' (1 think he was a converted Jew, who boasted 
of his Jewish descent), 'against the Epistle to the Ga- 
latians pretty nearly. r.rhirdly, for the sake of Prussia, 
he is to take under him all the foreign Protestants who 
will come; and the political advantages will be so great, 
from the influence of England, that there is no doubt 
they will come. They are to sign the Confession of Augs- 
burg, and there is nothing to show that they hold the 
doctrine of Baptismal Regeneration. 
As to myself, I shall do nothin
 whatever publicly, 
nnless indeed it were to give my signature to a protest; 
but I think it would be out of place in me to agitate, 
having been in a way silenced; but the Archbishop is 
really doing most grave wOl'k, of which we cannot see 
the end. 
I did make a solenln protest, and sent it to 
the Archbishop of Canterbury, and also sent it 
to my own Bishop, 'with the following letter: 
It seems as if I were never to wl'Ìte to your Lordship 
iving you pain. and I know that my present 
subject does not specially concern your Lordship; yet, 
after a great deal of anxious thought, I lay before you 
the enclosed protest. 
Yom' Lordship win observe that I am not asking for 
any notice of it, unless J 7 0u think that I ought to receive 
one. I do this very serious act in obedience to my 
bense of duty. 

IH39 TU lR41 


If the English Church is to enter on a new course, 
and assume a new aspect, it will be more pleasant to 
me hereafter to think, that I did not suffer so grievous 
an event to happen, without bearing witness against it. 
May I be allowed to say, that I augur nothing but evil, 
if we in any respect prejudice our title to be a branch 
of the Apostolic Church? That Article of the Creed, I 
need hardly observe to your Lordship, is of such con- 
straining power, that, if we will not claim it, and use it 
for ourselves, others will use it in their own behalf against 
us. 1\Ien who learn, whether by means of documents or 
measures, whether from the statements or the acts of 
persons in authurity, that our communion is not a branch 
of the One Church, I foresee with much grief, will be 
tempted to look out for that Church elsewhere. 
It is to me a subject of great dismay, that, as far as 
the Church has lately spoken out, on the subject of the 
opinions which I and othel's hold, those opinions are, 
not merely not sanctioned (for that I do not ask), but 
not even suffered. 
I earnestly hope that your Lordship will excuse my 
freedom in thus speaking to you of some members of 
your 1tlost Rev. and night Rev. body. With every feeling 
of reverent attachment to your Lordship, 

I am, etc. 


Whereas the Church of England has a claim on the 
allegiance of Catholic believers only on the ground of her 
own claim to be considered a branch of the Catholic Church: 
And whereas the recognition of heresy, indit'ect as well 
as direct, goes far to destroy such claim in the case of 
any religious body advancing it: 
And whereas to admit maintainers of heresy to com- 
munion, without formal renunciation of their errors, goes 
far towards recognizing the same: 
And whereas Lutheranism and Calvinism are heresies, 
repugnant to Scripture, springing up three centnries since, 
and anathematized by East as well as West: 
And whel"eas it is reported that the Most Reverend 
Primate and other Right Reverend rulers of our Church 
have consecrated a Bishop with a view to exercising 
spIritual juri
diction over Protestant, that is, Lutheran 




and Calvinist congregations in the East{under the privisions 
of an Act made in the last session of Parliament to 
amend an Act made in the 26th year of the reign of his 
Majesty King George the Third, intituled 'An .Act to tm- 
power the Archbishop of ('anterbury, or the Archbishop of 
York for the time being, to consecrate to the office of Bishop 
persons being subjects or citizens of countries out of his 
J.J1ajesty's dominions), dispensing at the same time, not 
in particular cases, and accidentally, but as if on principle, 
and universally, with any abjuration of error on the part 
of such congregations, and with any reconciliation to the 
Church on the part of the' presiding Bishop; thereby 
giving some sort of formal recognition to the doctrines 
which such congregations maintain: 
And whereas the dioceses in England are connected 
together by so close an intercommunion, that what is 
done by authority in one, immediately affects the rest: 
On these grounds, I in my place, being a priest of the 
English Church and Vicar of St Mary the Virgin's, Ox- 
ford, by way of relieving my conscience, do hereby solemn- 
ly protest against the measure aforesaid, and disown it, 
as removing 001' Church from her present gronnd, and 
tending to her disorganization. 


November 11, 1841, 

Looking back two years afterwards on the 
above-mentioned and other acts, on the part of 
Anglican ecclesiastical authorities, I obberve: 
'Many a man might have held an abstract theory 
about the Catholic Church, to which it was 
difficult to adjust the Anglican-might have 
admitted a suspicion, or even painful doubts 
about the latter-yet never have been impeUed 
onwards, had our rulers preserved the quies- 
cence of former years; but it is the corrobora- 
tion of a present, living, and energetic heter- 
odoxy, which realizes and Inakes them practical; 
it has becn the recent speeches and acts of 
authorities, who had so long been tolerant of 

S9 TO lS+1 


Protestant error, which have given to inquiry 
and to theory its force and its edge.' 
As to the project of a Jerusalem bishopric, I 
never heard of any good or harm it has ever 
done, except ,,
hat it has done for me; ,vhich 
many think a great misfortune, and lone of 
the greatest of mercies. It brought me on to 
the beginning of the end. 



1841 TO 1845 

FROM the end of 1841, I was on lny death-bed 
as regards lny membership with the Anglican 
Church, though at the time I became aware of 
it only by degrees. I introduce what I have to 
say with this remark, by way of accounting for 
the character of this remaining portion of nlY 
narrative. A death-bed has scarcely a history; 
it is a tedious decline, ,vith seasons of rallying, 
and seasons of falling back; and since the end 
is foreseen, or what is called a matter of time, 
it has little interest for the reader, especially 
if he has a kind heart. Moreover, it is a season 
,vhen doors are closed, and curtains drawn, and 
w hen the sick man neither cares nor is able to 
record the "tages of his In al ad)'. I was in these 
circumstances, except so far as I was not allowed 
to die in peace-except so far as friends, who 
had still a full right to come in upon me, and 
the public ,vorId, which had not, have given a 
sort of history to those four last years. But in 
consequence, Iny narrative lnust be in great 
measure documentary. Letters of mine to friends 
have come to me since their deaths; others have 
been kindly lent me for the' occasion; and I 
have sonle drafts of letters, and notes of my 
own, though r have no strictly personal or contin- 
uous memoranda to consult, and have unluckily 
mislaid some valuable papers. 

18 t 1 TO 1 8 


And first as to my position in the view of 
duty; it was this: (1) I had given up my place 
in the 
lovement in n1Y letter to the Bishop of 
Oxford in the spring of 1841; but (2) I could 
not give up Iny duties towards the ulan)'" and 
\rarious mind
 who had Inore or less been brought 
into it by Ine; (3) I expected, or intended, grad- 
ually to fall back into Lay COll1munion ; (4) I never 
contenIplated leaving thp ('hurch of En
(5) I could not hold office in her, if I were not 
allowed to hold the Catholic sense of the Articles; 
(6) I could not go to Rome while she suffered 
honours to be paid to the Blessed Virgin and 
the Saints which I thought incoInpatible with 
the Suprenle, IncomInullicable Glory of the One 
Infinite and Eternal; (7) I desired a union with 
Rome under conditions, Church with Church; 
(8) I called LittIelllore my Torre:-, Vedras, and 
thought that smne day we might advance ap;ain 
within the Anglican Church, as we had been 
forced to retire; (9) I kept back all persons who 
were disposed to go to ROlne with all my Inight. 
And I kept then1 back for three of four reasons; 
(1) because ,\-hat I could not in conscience do 
myself, I could not "uffer thenl to do; (2) because 
I thought that in various cases they werc acting 
under exciteulent; (3) while I held St 
because I had duties to DIY Bishop and to the 
Anglican (,h urch ; and C
), in SOll1e case:-" because 
I had received froln their An
li('an parents or 
superiors direct charge of thenl. 
This was my vie,\r of lIlY duty frOl11 the end 
of 18-
 1, to DIY resignation of St ftlary' 5, ill the 
autumn uf 1 H.
. And now I shall rdate my 
vic-w, during that time, of the state of the 
controversy between the Churches. 



As soon as I saw the hitch in the Anglican 
argument, during n1Y course of reading in the 
summer of 1839, I began to look about, as I 
have said, for some ground which might supply 
a controversial basis for lny need. The difficulty 
in question had affected my view both of Anti- 
quity and Catholicity; for, while the history of 
St Leo showed me, that the deliberate and even- 
tual consent of the great body of the Church 
ratified a doctrinal decision, it also showed that 
the rule of Antiquity was not infringed, though 
a doctrine had not been publicly recognized as 
a portion of the dogn1atic foundation of the 
Chur<ill, till centuries after the tÏ1ne of the 
Apostles. Thus, whereas the Creeds tell us that 
the Church is One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic, 
I could not prove that the Anglican communion 
was an integral part of the One Church, on the 
ground of its being Apostolic or Catholic, with- 
out reasoning in favour of what are commonly 
called the ROlnan corruptions; and I could not 
defend our separation from Rome without 
using arguments prejudicial to those great doc- 
trines concerning our Lord, which are the very 
foundation of the Christian religion. The ria 
},[cdia was an itnpossible idea; it was what I 
had called 'standing on one leg'; and it was 
necessary, if myoid issue of the controversy 
was to be retained, to go further either one 
way or the other. 
Accordingly, I abandoned that old ground and 
took another. 1 deliberately quitted the old 
Anglican ground as untenable; but I did not 
do so all at once, but as I became more and 
lllore convinced of the state of the case. The 
J erusalenl bishopric was the ultirnate condeln- 

] 84] TO ] 84:') 


nation of the old theory of the J 
ia j
[edia; frotH 
that time the Anglican Church was, in illY mind, 
either not a normal portion of that One Church 
to which the promises ,vere made, or at least in 
an abnormal state, and from that tÏIne I said 
boldly, as I did in my protest, and as indeed 
I had even intimated in my letter to the Bishop 
of Oxford, that the Church in which I found 
myself had no claim on me, except on condition 
of its being a portion of the ()ne Catholic Com- 
munion, and that that condition must ever be 
borne in mind as a practical matter, and had 
to be distinctly proved. All this ,vas not inconsist- 
ent with my saying that, at this time, I had no 
thought of leaving that Church; because I felt 
some of myoId objections against Rome as 
strongly as ever. I had no right, I had no leave, 
to act against my conscience. That was a higher 
rule than any argument about the Notes of the 
Ch urch. 
Under these circumstances I turned for protec- 
tion to the Note of Sanctity, ,vith a view of 
showing that we had at least one of the necess- 
ary Notes, as fuHy as the Church of Home; or, 
at least, without entering into comparisons, that 
we had it in such a sufficient sense as to reconcile 
us to our position, and to supply full evidence, 
and a clear direction, on the point of practical 
duty. \Ve had the Note of Life-not any sort 
of life, not such only as can come of nature, but 
a supernatural Christian life, which could only 
conle directly froll1 above. In my article in The 
British Critic, to which I have so often referred, 
in January 1 H.t.O (before the time of 1'ract 90), 
I said of the Anglican Church, that 'she has 
the note of possession, the note of fi"eedonl 



from party titles, the note of life-a tough life 
and a vigorous; she has ancient descent, un- 
broken continuance, agreement in doctrine ,vith 
the Ancient Church.' Presently I go on to speak 
of sanctity: ' 
1 uch as Roman Catholics may 
denounce us at present as schismatical, they 
could not resist us if the Anglican COllllllunioll 
had but that one note of the Church upon it- 
Sanctity. The Church of the day (4th century) 
could not resist Meletius; his enemies were 
fairly overcome by hill1, by his llleekness and 
holiness, which melted the most jealous of them.' 
And I continue: "V e are aln10st content to say 
to Romallists, account us not yet as a branch 
of the Catholic Church, though we be a branch, 
till .we are like a branch, provided that when 
we do become like a branch, then you consent 
to acknowledge us' etc. And so I was led on 
in the article to that sharp attack on English 
Catholics for their shortcOll1ings as regards this 
Note, a good portion of which I have already 
quoted in another place. It is there, that I 
speak of the great scandal which I took at their 
political, social, and controversial bearing; and 
this was a second reason why I fell back upon 
the Note of Sanctity, because it took me a,vay 
from the necessity of 111aking any attack upon 
the doctrines of the ROlDan Church, nay, from 
the consideration of her popular beliefs, and 
brought me upon a ground on ,vhich I felt I 
could not make a mistake; for what is a higher 
guide for us in speculation and in practice, than 
that conscience of right and wrong, of trutl1 
and falsehood, those sentiments of what is decor. 
ous, consistent, and noble, which our Creator ha! 
made a part of our original nature? Therefort 

1841 TO 1845 


I felt I could not be wron
 in attacking what 
I fancied wa
 a fact-the uncrupulousness, the 
deceit, and the intriguing spirit of tlu' agents 
and representatives of HOlne. 
Thil) reference to Iloliness as the true test of 
a Church was steadily kept in view in ,vhat I 
wrote in connexion with 1'1'act 90. I say in its 
Introduction: 'The writer can never be party 
to forcing the opinions or projects of one school 
upon another; religious changes should be the 
act of the whole body. Ko good can COllie of 
a change which is not a development of feelings 
springing up freely and cahnly within the bosonl 
of the whole body itself; every change in religion' 
must be 'attended by deep repentance; changes' 
Inust be 'nurtured in mutual love; we cannot 
ree without a supernatural influence' ; we Inust 
come 'together to God to do for us what we 
cannot do for ourselves'. In Iny letter to thf' 
Bishop I said: 'I have set Inyself against sug- 
gestions for considering the differences between 
ourselves and the foreign Churches with a view 
to their adjustnlent.' (I Ineant in the '\
ay of 
negotiation, conference, agitation, or the like.) 
'Our business is with ourselves -to Illake our- 
selves nlore holy, nlore self-denying, lTIOre prinl- 
itive, Illore worthy of our hi
h calling. To be 
ious for a composition of difference
 is to 
begin at the end. Political reconciliations ;ue 
but outward and hollow, and filllaeious. And 
till Honlan Catholics renounce politi('al eff()}.ts, 
and Ilmnifest in their public lllcasures the light 
of holiness and truth, perpetual war is our ouly 
prospect. ' 
According to this theory. a reli
ious body is 
part of the One Catholic and Apostolic Church, 



if it has the succession and the creed of the 
Apostles, with the note of holiness of life; and 
there is much in such a view to approve itself 
to the direct co Inmon sense and practical habits 
of an Englishman. However, ,vith events con- 
sequent upon Tract 90, I sunk my theory to 
a lower level. What could be said in apology, 
when the bishops and the people of my Church, 
not only did not suffer, but actually rejected 
prinlitive Catholic doctrine, and tried to eject 
from their communion all who held it? after 
the bishops' charges ?-after the Jerusalem 
'abomination?' - "\Vell, this could be said; still 
we were not nothing: we could not be as if we 
never had been a Church; we were' 5amaria'. 
This then was that lower level on which I 
placed lnyself, and all who felt with me, at 
the end of 1841. 
To bring out this view was the purpose of 
four sermons preached at 5t Mary's in Decem- 
ber of that year. Hitherto I had not introduced 
the exciting topics of the day into the pulpit; 
on this occasion I did. I did so, for the moment 
was urgent; there was great unsettlement 01 
mind among us, in consequence of those samE 
events ,vhich had unsettled me, One special 
anxiety, very obvious, which was coming on mt 
now, was, that what was' one nlan's meat wa
another nlan's poison'. I had said, even,of Tract 90 
, It was addressed to one set of persons, and ha
been used and comnlented on by another' ; stil 
more was it true now, that whatever I wrote fo 
the service of those whom I knew to be in troubl. 
of mind, would become on the one hand lnatte 
of suspicion and slander in the mouths of m: 
opponents, and of distress and surprise to th05 

1841 TO JR45 


on the other hand, who had no difficulties of 
faith at all. Accordingly, when I published these 
Four Sermons, at the end of 1843, I introduced 
them with a recommendation that none 
rtad thern who did not need them. But in truth, 
the virtual condernndation of Tract 90, after 
that the whole difficulty seemed to have been 
weathered, was an enormous disappoinbnent and 
trial. My protest also against the Jerusalem 
bishopric was an unavoidable cause of exciternent 
in the case of many; but it caltned therl1 too, 
for the very fact of a protest was a relief to 
their impatience. And so, in like manner, as 
regards the Four Sermons of which I speak, 
though they acknowledged freely the gn'at scau- 
dal which was invol ved in the recent episcopal 
doings, yet at the SaIne time they might be 
said to bestow upon the multiplied di.,orders 
and shortcomings of the Anglican Church, a sort 
of place in the Revealed IJispensation, and au 
intelltctual position in the controversy, and the 
dignity of a great principle, for unsettled rnind
to take and use, which might teach thelll to 
recognize their own consistency, and to be re- 
conciled to themselves, and which rnight absorb 
into it
elf and dry up a multitude of their grudg- 
ings, discontents, lllisgivings, and questionings. 
and lead the way to humble, thankful, and 
tranquil thoughts-and this was the effect which 
ccrtainly it produced on myself. 
The point of these Sermons is, that, in spite 
of the rigid character of the Jewish l:n\, the 
fOl'Inal aud literal force of its precepts, and the 
manifest schism, and worse than schisnl, of the 
Ten Tribes, yet, in fact, they were still recognized 
as a people by the J)ivine Mercy; that thè great 



prophets EJias and Eliseus were sent to theIn, 
and not only so, but sent to preach to them 
and reclaim them, without any intimation that 
they must be reconciled to the line of David and 
the Aaronic priesthood, or go up to J erusalenl 
to ,vorship. They 'v ere not in the Church, yet 
they had the Ineans of grace and the hope of 
acceptance ,vith their Maker. The application 
of aU this to the Anglican Church was immediate; 
,vhether a nlan could assume or exercise Inin- 
isterial functions under the cirCU111stances, or 
not, might not clearly appear, though it must be 
remembered that England had the Aposto1ic 
Priesthood, whereas Israel had no priesthood 
at all; but so far was clear, that there was no 
call at all for an Anglican to leave his Church 
for Rome, though he did not believe his own 
to ,be part of the One Church-and for this 
reason, because it was a fact that the kingdom 
of Israel was cut off from the temple; and yet 
its subjects, neither in a mas'), nor as individuals, 
neither the multitudes on J.\tlount Carinel, nor 
the Shunaminite and her household, had any 
c0111mand given them, though miracles were 
displayed before theIn, to break off from theh 
own people, and to subl1Iit theniselves to Judah *. 
I t is plain, that a theory such as this, whethel 
the marks of a divine presence and life in tIlt: 
Ang1ican Church were sufficient to prove thai 
she wa
 actually within the covenant, or onlj 
sufficient to prove that she was at least enjoyin! 

· As I am not writing controversially, I will only her 
remark upon this argument, that there is a great diffel 
ence between a command, which implies physical cond 
tions. and one whirh is moral. To go to Jerusalem W8 
a matter of the body, not of the soul. 

1 H41 TO 1 R4.:; 


extraordinary élnd uncovenanted nlercies, not only 
lowered her level in a religious point of view, 
but weakened her controversial basis. Its very 
novelty lnade it 1"uspicious; and there was no 
guarantee that the process of subsidence might 
not continue, and that it might not end in a 
submersion. Indeed, to many lninds, to say that 
England ,vas wrong was even to say that Houle 
was right; and no ethical reasoning whatever 
('ould overCOlne in their case the argument froln 
pres('ription and authority. 'To thb objection I 
could only answer, that I did not make my cir- 
cunlstances. r fully acknowledged the force and 
effectiveness of the genuine Anglican theory, and 
that it was all but proof a
ainst the disputants of 
Home; but still like Achilles, it had a vulnerable 
point, and that St Leo had found it out for me, 
and that I could not help it; that, were it not 
for matter of fact, the theory would be great 
indeed, it would be irresistible, if it were only 
true. \Vhen I becéllne a Catholic, the editor of 
a llmgazine who had in former days accused me, 
to my indignation, of tending towards Home, 
wrote to me to ask, 'whi('h of the two was now 
right, he or I? I answel'ed hirn in a letter, part 
of which I here insert, as it wi)) serve as a sort 
of leave-taking of the great theory, which is so 
specious to look upon, 
o difficult to prove, and 
so hopeless to ,vork. 
Nov. 8, 1845. I do not think, at all more than I did, 
that the AngJican principles which I advo('atcd at tho 
date yon mention, lead mon to the Church of llome. If 
I must specify what I mean by 'An
Jican principles', I 
should say, e. g. taking Anli'luit.'l, not the existinq ChUl'ch. 
as the oracle of truth; and holding that the Aposlolica.l 
succession is a sufficient gl1arantee of Sf\cramcntnl Grn('ü. 
without union with the Ch"Ù;tilin Church thruughout the 




world. I think these still the firmest, strongest ground 
against Rome-that is, if they can be held. They have 
been held by many, and are far more difficult to refute 
in the Roman controversy, than those of any other religi- 
ous body. 
For myself, I found I could not hold them. I left them. 
From the time I began to suspect their unsoundness, I 
ceased to put them forward. When I was fairly sure of 
their unsoundness, I gave np my Living. When I was 
fully confident that the Church of Rome was the onJy 
true Church, I joined her. 
I have f('It aU along that Bp. Bull's theology was the 
only theology on which the English Church conld stand. 
I have felt, that opposition to the Church of Rome was 
par't of that theology; and that he who could not protest 
against the Church of Rome was no true divine in the 
English Church. I have never said, nor attempted to 
say, that anyone in office in the Eng1ish Church, whethcr 
bishop or incumbent, could be otherwise than in hostil- 
ity to the Church of Rome. 
The Via }rícdia then disappeared for ever, and 
a ne,v theory, made expressly for the occasion, 
took its place. I was pleased with my new 
view. I wrote to an intimate friend, Dec. 13, 
1841: 'I think you will give me the credit, 
Carissime, of not undervaluing the strength of 
the feelings which draw one (to Rome), and yet 
1 alTI (I trust) quite clear about my duty to 
relTIain where I aITI; indeed, much clearer than 
I was SOITIe time since. If it is not presumptu- 
ous to say, I have . . a much more definite 
view of the promised inward Presence of Christ 
with us in the sacraments now that the out- 
ward notes of it are being removed. And I 
am content to be with Moses in the desert, 01 
with Elijah excolTImunicated from the Temple. 
I say this, putting- things at the strongest.' 
However, my friends of the moderate Apostol- 
ical party, who were my friends for the ver
reason of my having been so moderate ant 

1841 TO 1845 


Anglican myself in genera] tone in titTles past, 
who had stood up for Tract 90 partJy from faith 
in me, and certainly from generous and kind 
feeling, and had thereby shared an obloquy 
which was none of theirs, were naturally surprised 
and offended at a line of argument, novel, and, 
as it appeared to them, wanton, which threw 
the whole controversy into confusion, stuJtified 
n1Y former principles, and substituted, as they 
would consider, a sort of methodistic self-con- 
templation, especially abhorrent both to my 
nature and to my past professions, for the plain 
and honest tokens, as they were commonly 
received, of a divine mission in the Anglican 
Church. They could not tell whither I was 
going; and were still further annoyed, when I 
would view the reception of Tract 90 by the 
public and the Bishops as so grave a lnatter, 
and threw about what they considered lnysterious 
hints of 'eventualities', and would not simply 
say: 'An Anglican I was born, and an Anglican 
I will die.' One of my familiar friends, who 
was in the country at Chrisbnas, ] 841-2, re- 
ported to me the feeling that prevailed about 
me; and how I felt towards it will appear 
in the following letter of mine, written in 
Oriel, Dec. 24, 1841. Carissime, you cannot tell how 
sad yonr account of Moberly has made me. His view 
of the sinfnlness of the decrees of Trent is as much 
ag-ainst union of Churches as against individual convert 
sions. To tell the trnth, I never have examined those 
decrees with this object, and have no view; but that i
very different from having a deliberate view against them. 
Oould not he say which they are? I suppose Transubstantia
tion is one. A. B., thongh of course he wonld not like 
to have it repeated, does not scrnple at that. I have not 
my mind clear. Moberly mnst recollect that Palmer 



thinks they all bear a Catholic interpretation. For my- 
self, this only I see, that there is indefinitely more in 
the Fathers against our own state of alienation from 
Christendom than against the Tridentine Decrees. 

The only thing I can think of (that I call 
have said) is this, that there were persons who, 
if our Church committed herself to heresy, .WUller 
than think that there was no Church anywhere, 
would believe the Roman to be the Church; 
and therefore would on faith accept what they 
could not otherwise acquiesce in. 
I suppose, it would be no reJief to him to insist upon 
the circumstance that there is no immediate danger. 
Individuals can never be answered for of course; but I 
should think lightly of that man who, for some act of 
the bishops, should all at once leave the Church. Now, 
considering how the clergy really are improving, con- 
sidering that this row is even making them read the 
Tract8, is it not possible we may all be in a better state 
of mind seven years hence to consider these matters? 
And may we not leave them meanwhile to the will of 
Providence? I cannot believe this work has been of man; 
God has a right to His own work, to do what He will 
with it. May we not try to leave it in His hands, and 
be content? 
If you learn anything about Barter, which leads you 
to thmk that I can relieve him by a letter, let me know. 
The truth is this-our good friends do not read the 
Fathers; they assent to us from the' common sense of the 
case: then, when the Fathers, and we, say more than 
their common sense, they are dreadfully shocked. 
The BIshop of London has rejected a man, (1), For 
holding any Sacrifice in the Eucharist, (2), The Real 
Presence, (3), That there is a grace in Ordination *. 
Are we quite sure that the bishops will not be drawing 
up some stringent declarations of faith? Is this what 
Moberly fears ? Would the Bishop of Oxford accept them? 
· I cannot prove this at this distance of time; but I 
do not think it wrong to introduce here the passage 
containing it, as I am imputing to the Bishop nothing 
which the world would think disgraceful, but, on the 
contrary, what a large religious body would approve. 

1841 TO 18-t.5 


If so, I should be driven into the Refuge for the 
Destitute (Littlemore). But I promIse .M oberly, I would 
do my utmost to catch all dangerous persons and clap 
them into confinement there. 
Christmas Day, 1841. I have been dreaming of Moberly 
all night. Should not he and the like see, that it is nn- 
wise, unfair, and impatient to ask others, What will you 
do under circumstances, which have not, which may never 
come? Why bring fear. suspicion, and disunion into the 
camp about things which are merely in posse? Natural, 
and exceedingly kind as Barter's and a.nother friend's 
letters were, I think they have done great harm. I speak 
most sincerely when I say, that there are things which I 
neither contemplate, nor wish to contemplate; but, when 
I am asked about them ten times, at length I begin to 
contemplate them. 
He surely does not mean to say, that nothing could 
separate a man from the English Church, e. g. its avowing 
Socinianism; its holding the Holy Eucharist in a Socinian 
sense. Yet, he would sa.y, it was not right to contemplate 
such things. 
Again, our case is (diverging) from that of Ken's. To 
say nothing of the last miserable century, which has 
given us, to start from. a much lower level, and with much 
less to spare, than a Churchman in the 17th century, 
questions of doctrine are now coming in; with him, it 
was a question of discipline. 
If such dreadful events were realized, I cannot help 
thinking we should all be vastly more agreed than we 
think now. Indeed, is it possible ,humanly speaking) that 
those, who have so much the same heart, should widely 
differ? But let this be considered, as to alternatives. 
What communion could we join? Could the Scotch or 
American sanction the presence of its Bishops and congre- 
gations in England, without incurring the imputation of 
schism, unless indeed (and is that likely?) they denounced 
the English as heretical? 
Is not this a time of strange providences? Is it not our 
safest course, without looking to consequences, to do 
simply what we think right, day by day? shall we not be 
sure to go wrong, if we attempt to trace by anticipation 
the course of divine Providenc
Has not all our misery, a
 a Church, arisen from people 
Leing to look difficulties in the face? They have 
pal1iated acts, when they should have denounced them. 
There is that good fellow, Worcester Palmer, can white- 



wash the Ecclesiastical Commission and the Jerusalem 
Bishopric. And what is the consequence? That our Church 
has, through centuries, ever been sinking lower and 
lower, till good part of its pretensions and professions 
is a mere sham, though it be a duty to make the best 
of what we have received. Yet, though bound to make 
the best of other men s shams, let us not incur any of 
our own. The truest friends of our Church are they 
who say boldly when her rulers are going wrong, and 
the conseque.nces; and (to speak catachrestically) they are 
most likely to die in the Church, who are, under these 
black circumstances, most prepared to leave it. 
And I will add, that, considering the traces of God's 
grace which surround us, I am very sanguine, or rather 
confident, (if it is right so to speak,) that our prayers and 
our alms will come up as a memorial before God, and 
that aU this miserable confusion tends to good. 
Let us not then be anxious, and anticipate differences 
in prospect, when we agree in the present. 
P.S. I think, when friends (i. e. the extreme party) get 
over their first unsettlement of mind and consequent 
vague apprehensions, which the new attitude of the 
Bishops, and our feelings upon it. have brought about, 
they will get contented and satisfied. They will see that 
they exaggerated things. . . Of course it, would have been 
wrong to anticipate what one's feelings would be under 
such a painful contirrgency as the Bishops' charging as 
they have done- so it seems to me nobody's fault. Nor 
is it wonderful that others (moderate men) are startled 
(i. e. at my Protest, etc. etc.); yet they should recollect 
that the more implicit the reverence one pays to a bishop, 
the more keen will be one's perception of heresy in him. 
The cord is binding and compeJIing, till it snaps. 
Men of reflection would have seen this, if they had 
looked that way. Last spring, a very high churchman 
talked to me of resisting my Bishop, of asking him for 
the Canons under which he acted, and so forth; but those, 
who have cuJtivated a loyal feeling towards their superiors, 
are the most loving servants, or the most zealous pro- 
testors. If others became so too, if the clergy of Chester 
denounced the heresy of their diocesan, they would be 
doing their duty, and relieving themselves of the share 
which they otherwise have in any possible detection of 
their brethren. 
St. Stephen's [December 26]. How I fidget! I now fear 
that the note I wrote yesterday only makes matters worse 

18.1< 1 TO 1 845 


by disclosing too much. This is always my great difficulty 
In the present sta.te of excitement on both sides, I 
think of leaving out altogether my reassertion of No. 90 
in my preface to Volume 6, and merely saying. 'As many 
false reports are at this time in circulation about him, 
he hopes his wen-wishers will take this volume as an 
indication of his real thoughts and feelings: those who 
are not, he leaves in God's hands to bring them to a. 
better mind in His own time.' What do you say to the 
logic, sentiment, and propriety of this? 
There was one very old friend, at a distance 
frmll Oxford, afterwards a Catholic, no,v dead 
some years, who must have said something to 
me, I do not know what, which challenged a 
frank reply; for I disc10sed to him, I do not 
know in what 'words, my frightful suspicion, 
hitherto only known to two persons, that, as 
regards my Anglicanism, perhaps I might break 
down in the event, that perhaps we were both 
out of the Church. He ans,vered me thus, 
under date of Jan. 29, 18,t.52: 

I don't think that I ever was so shocked by any com- 
munication. which was ever made to me, as by your 
Jetter of this morning. It has quite unnerved me. .. I 
cannot but write to you, though I am at a loss where to 
hegin. . . I know of no act by which we ha-ve dissevered 
ourselves from the communion of the Church Universal. . . 
The more I study Scripture, the more am I impressed 
with the resemblance between the Romish principle in 
the Church and the Babylon ot St John. .. I am ready to 
grieve that I ever directed my thoughts to theology, if 
it is indeed so uncertain, as your doubts seem to indicate. 
\Yhile IllY old and true friends ,vere thus in 
troublf' about Ine, I suppose they fe1t not only 
anxiety but pain, to see that I was g-radualIy 
surrendering- lllyself to the influence of others, 
who had not tJ.u'ir own claÍ1ns upon Ine, younger 
BIen, and of a east of Illind uncongenial to my 
own. A new school of thought was l"ising, as 



is usual in such movelnellts, and was sweeping 
the original party of the movement aside, and 
was taking its place. The most prominent 
person in it was a man of elegant genius, of 
classical lnind, of rare talent in literary composi- 
lr. Oakeley. He was not far from my 
own age; I had long known him, though of 
late years he had not been in residence at Ox- 
ford; and quite lately he has been taking 
several signal occasions of renewing that kind- 
ness, which he ever showed towards me when 
we were both in the Anglican Church. His 
tone of mind was not unlike, which gave a 
character to the early lTIOVement; he was ahnost 
a typical Oxford man, and, as far as I recollect, 
both in political and ecclesiastical views, would 
have been of one spirit with the Oriel party 
of 1826-33. But he had entered late into the 

lovement ; he did not know its first years; 
and, beginning with a new start, he was naturally 
thrown together with that body of eager, acute, 
resolute minds who had begun their Catholic 
life about the same time as he, who knew 
nothing about the ria 1.y[edia, but had heard 
lllueh about ROllle. This new party rapidly forlned 
and increased, in and out of Oxford, and, as it 
so happened, contemporaneously with that very 
SUllllner, when I received so serious a blow to 
my ecclesiastical views froln the study of the 

fonophysitt" controversy. These men cut into 
the original :\lovement at an angle, fell across 
its line of thought, and then set about turning 
that line in its own direction. They wert" lllost 
of them keenly religious men, with a true 
concern for their souls as the first matter of 
aU, with a great zeal for me
 but giving little 

1841 TO 1845 


certainty at the time as to which way they 
would ultimately turn. Some, in the event, 
have remained firm to Anglicanism, some have 
become Catholics, and some ha ve found a 
refuge in Liberalism. Nothing was clearer 
concerning them than that they needed to 
be kept in order; and on me who had had 
so 11luch to do with the making of them, 
that duty was as clearly incumbent; and it 
 equally clear, froln what I have already said, 
that I was just the person, above all others, who 
could not undertake it. There are no friends like 
old friends; but of those old friends, few could 
help me, fe,v could understand me, many were 
annoyed with me, some were angry, because I 
was breaking up a compact party, and some, as 
a matter of conscience, could not listen to me. 
I said, bitterly, 'You are throwing me on others, 
whether I win or no.' Yet still I had good and 
true friends around me of the old sort, in and 
out of Oxford too. But, on the other hand, 
though I neither was so fond of the persons, 
nor of the 11lethods of thoug-ht, which belonged 
to this new school, excepting two of three men, 
as of the old set; though I could not trust in 
their firlnness of purpose, for, like a swarm of 
flies, they might COlne and go, and at length 
be divided and dissipated, yet I had an intense 
sYlupathy in their object, and in the direction 
of their path, in spite of myoId friends, in spite 
of 111Y old life-long- prejudices. In spite of my 
ingrained fears of Home, aHd the decision of 
my reason and conscience against her usages, 
in spite of lIlY affection for Oxford and Oriel, 
yet I had a secret, longing love of Home, the 
mother of Englisb Christianity, and I had & 



true devotion to the Blessed Virgin, in whose 
College I lived, whose Altar I served, and whose 
Immaculate Purity I had in one of my earliest 
printed sermons made much of. And it was the 
consciousness of this bias in myself, if it is so to 
be called, which made me preach so earnestly 
against the danger of being swayed by our sym- 
pathy, rather than our reason, in religious inquiry. 
And, moreover, the members of this new school 
looked up to me, as I have said, and did me 
true kindnesses, and really loved me, and stood 
by me in trouble, when others went away, and 
for all this I was grateful; nay, many of them 
were in trouble themselves, and in the same 
boat with me, and that was a further cause of 
sympathy between us; and hence it was, when 
the new school came on in force, and into 
collision with the old, I had not the heart, any 
more than the power, to repel them; I was in 
great perplexity, and hardly knew where I stood; 
I took their part; and, "\-vhen I wanted to be 
in peace and silence, I had to speak out, and 
I incurred the charge of weakness from SOlne 
men, and of mysteriousness, shuffling, and under- 
hand dealing from the majority. 
Now I will say here frankly, that this sort of 
charge is a matter which I cannot propedy meet, 
because I cannot duly realize it. I have never 
had any suspicion of my own honesty; and, when 
men say that I was dishonest, I cannot grasp 
the accusation as a distinct conception, such as 
it is possible to encounter. If a man said to 
me, 'On such a day, and before such persons 
you said a thing was white, when it was black', 
I understand what is meant well enough, and 
I can set lnyself to prove an alibi, or to explain 


IH41 TO 1845 


the mistake; or if a man said to me, 'You tried 
to gain me over to your party, intending to 
take me with you to Rome, but you did not 
succeed " I can give him the lie, and lay down 
an assertion of my own, as firm and as exact as 
his, that never, from the tillle that I was first 
unsettled, did I ever attempt to gain anyone 
over to myself, or to my Romanizing opinions, 
and that it is only his own coxcombical fancy 
which has bred such a thought in him: but my 
imagination is at a loss in presence of those 
v:lgue charges, which have commonly been 
brought against me, charges, which are made 
up of impressions, and understandings, and infer- 
ences, and hearsay, and surmises. Accordingly, 
I shall not make the attempt, for, in doing so, 
I should be dealing blows in the air; ,vhat I 
shall attempt is to state what I know of my- 
self, and what I recoUect, and leave its appHca- 
tion to others. 
\Vhile I had confidence in the Via j,[edia, 
and thought that nothing could overset it, I 
did not lllind laying down large principles, 
which I f,aw would go further than was commonly 
perceived. I considered, that to make the ria 
][edia concrete and substantive, it must be much 
more than it was in outline; that the Anglican 
Church must have a cerellloniaJ, a ritual, and 
a fulness of doctrine and devotion, which it 
had not at present, if it were to compete with 
the Homan ('hureh with any prospeet of suceess. 
Such additions would not remove it from its 
proper basis, but would merely strengthen and 
beautify it: such, for instance, would be con- · 
fraternities, particular devotions, reverence for 
the Blessed Virgin, praJers for the dcad J beautiful 



churches, rich offerings to them and in them, 
monastic houses, and many other observances 
and institutions, which I used to say belonged 
to us as llluch as to Rome, though Rome had 
appropriated them, and boasted of them, by 
reason of our having let them slip from us. 
The principle, on which all this turned, is 
brought out in one of the letters I published 
on occasion of l"ract 90. 'The age is moving', 
I said, 'towards something; and most unhappily 
the one religious communion among us, which 
has of late years been practically in possession 
of this something, is the Church of Rome. She 
alone, amid all the errors and evils of her 
practical system, has given free scope to the 
feelings of awe, mystery, tender!1ess, reverence, 
devotedness, and other feelings which may be 
especially called Catholic, The question then 
is, whether we shall give them up to the Roman 
Church or claim them for ourselves. . . But if 
we do give them up, we must give up the men 
who cherish them. \\Y e must consent either to 
g-ive up the men, or to admit their principles.' 
\Vith these feelings, I frankly admit, that, while 
I was working simply for the sake of the An- 
glican Church, I did not at all mind, though I 
found myself laying down principles in its defence, 
which went beyond that particular defence 
which high-and-dry men thoug-ht perfection, and 
though I ended in framing a sort of defence, 
which they might call a revolution, while I 
thought it a restoration. Thus, for illustration, 
I might discourse upon the' Communion of Saints' 
in such a luanneI' (though I do not recollect 
doing so) as might lead the way towards devotion 
to the Blessed Virgin and tbe saints au tbe one 

1841 TO 1845 


hand, and towards prayers for the dead on the 
other. In a memorandum of the year 1844 or 
1845, I thus speak on this subject: 'If the Church 
be not defended on establisillnent grounds, it 
must be upon principles, which go far beyond 
their immediate object. Sometimes I saw these 
further results, sometimes not. Though I saw 
them, I sometimes did not say that I saw them; 
so long as I thought they were inconsistent, /lot 
with our Chul'ch, but only with the existing 
opinions, I was not unwilling to insinuate truths 
into our Church, which I thought had a right 
to be there. ' 
To so much I confess; but I do not confess, 
I simply deny, that I ever said any thing which 
secretly bore against the Church of England, 
knowing it myself, in order that others might 
unwarily accept it. It 'was, indeed, one of my 
great difficulties and causes of reserve, as time 
went on, that I at length recognized in principles, 
which I had honestly preached as if Anglican, 
conclusions favourable to the ROlnan Church. 
Of course I did not like to confess this; and, 
when interrogated, 'vas in consequence in per- 
plexity. The prime instance of this was the 
appeal to Antiquity; St Leo had overset, in my 
own judgment, its force in the special argument 
for .Anglicanism: yet I was comnlith;d to Anti- 
quity, together with the whole Anglican school; 
what then was I to say, when acute Ininds urged 
this or that application of it against the ria 
Aledia? It was irnpossible that, in such cÏrCUln- 
stances, any answer could be given which was 
not unsatisfactory, or any behaviour adopted 
which was not n1ysterious. Again, sOInetiIues 
in what I wrote
 I went just <\s f
\r as I saw




and could as little say more, as 1 could see 
what is below the horizon; and therefore, when 
asked as to the consequences of what 1 had 
said, had no answer to give, Again, sometÌlnes 
when 1 was asked, whether certain conclusions 
did not follow from a certain principle, I might 
not be able to tell at the moment, especially 
if the matter were complicated; and for this 
reason, if for no other, because there is great 
difference between a conclusion in the abstract 
and a conclusion in the concrete, and because 
a conclusion may be modified in fact by a 
conclusion from some opposite principle, Or it 
might so happen, that 1 got simply confused 
by the very clearness of the logic which was 
administered to me, and thus gave my sanction 
to. conclusions which really were not mine; and 
when the report of those conclusions came round 
to me through others, 1 had to unsay them. 
And then, again, perhaps 1 did not like to see 
men scared or scandalized by unfeeling logical 
inferences, which would not have touched them 
to the day of their death, had they not been 
made to eat them. And then I felt altogether 
the force of the maxim of St Ambrose, 'Non 
in dialectica complacuit Deo salvum facere pop- 
ulum suum' -I had a great dislike of paper logic. 
For myself, it was not logic, then, that carried 
me on; as well might one say that the quick- 
silver in the barometer changes the weather. 
It is the concrete being- that reasons; pass a 
number of years, and 1 find my mind in a new 
place; how? the whole man moves; paper logic 
is but the record of it. All the logic in the 
world would not have made me move faster 
towards Rome than I did; as well might you 

1841 TO 1845 


say that I have arrived at the end of Iny jour- 
y, because I see the village church before 
Ine, as venture to assert that the miles, over 
which Iny soul had to pass before it got to 
Rome, could be annihilated, even though I 
had had some far clearer view than I then had, 
that Rome was my ultimate destination. Great 
acts take time. At least, this is what I felt in 
my own case; and therefore to come to me 
with methods of logic had in it the nature of 
a provocation, and, though I do not think I 
ever showed it, made me somewhat indifferent 
how I met them, and perhaps led me, as a 
means of relieving my impatience, to be mysteri- 
ous or irrelevant, or to give in because I could 
not reply. And a greater trouble still than these 
logical mazes, was the introduction of logic into 
every subject whatever, so far, that is, as it 
was done. Before I was at Oriel, I recollect 
an acquaintance saying to me, that 'the Odel 
common-room stank of logic'. One is not 
at all pleased when poetry, or eloquence, or 
devotion, is considered as if chiefly intended to 
feed syllogisms. Now, in saying all this, I am 
saying nothing against the deep piety and 
earnestness which were characteristics of this 
second phase of the :\lovement, in which I 
have taken so prominent a part. \Vhat I have 
been observing is, that this phase had a tendency 
to bewilder and to upset me, and, that instead 
of saying so, as I ought to have done, in a sort 
of easiness, for what I know, I gave answers 
at randoin which have led to my appearing 
close or inconsistent. 
I have turned up two letters of this period, 
which in a Ineasure illustrate what I have been 



saying. The first is what I said to the Bishop 
of Oxford on occasion of 1'ract 90: 
March 20, 1841. No one can enter into my situation 
but myself. I see a great many minds workíng in various 
directions, and a variety of principles with multiplied 
bearings; I act for the best. I sincerely think that 
matters would not have gone better for the Church, had 
I never written. And if I write, I have a choice of diffi- 
culties. It is easy for those who do not enter into those 
difficulties to say, 'He ought to say this and not say 
that', but things are wonderfully linked together, and I 
cannot, or rather I would not be dishonest. When per- 
sons, too, interrogate me, I am obJiged in many cases to 
give an opinion, or I seem to be underhand. Keeping 
silence looks like artifice. And I do not Jike people to 
consult or reRpect me, from thinking differently of my 
opinions from what I know them to be. And (again to 
use the proverb) what is one man's food is another man's 
poison. All these things make my situation very difficult. 
But that collision must at some time ensue between mem- 
bers of the Church of opposite sentiments, I have long 
been aware. The time, and mode, has been in the hand 
of Providence; I do not mean to exclude my own great 
imperfections in bringing it about; yet I still feel obliged 
to think the Tract necessary. 
Dr. Pusey has shown me your Lordship's letters to 
him. I am most desirous of saying in print anything 
which I can honestly say to remove false impressions 
created by the Tract. 
The second is part of the notes of a letter 
sent to Dr Pusey in the next year: 
October 16, 1842. As to my being entirely with A. B., 
I do not know the limits of my own opinions. It A. B., 
says, that this or that is a development from what I have 
said, I cannot say Yes, or No. It is plausible. it may be 
true. Of course the fact that the Roman Ohurch has so 
developed and maintained, adds great weight to the 
antecedent plausibility. I cannot assert that it is not 
true; bet I cannot, with that keen perception which some 
people have, appropriate it. It is a nuisance to me to 
be forced beyond what I can fairly accept. 
There was another source of the perplexity 
with which at this time I was encompassed, and 

184] TO 1845 


of the reserve and mysteriousness, of ,vhich it 
gave me the credit. After 1 rarl fJO, the Protestant 
world would not let me alone; they pursued me 
in the public journals to LittIenlore. Reports of 
all kinds were circulated about me. 'Imprimis, 
why did I go up to Littlenlore at all? For no 
good purpose certainly; I dared not tell why.' 
\Vhy, to be sure, it was hard that I should be 
obliged to say to the editors of newspapers that 
I went up there to say my prayers; it was hard 
to l1ave to tell the world in confidence, that I 
l1ad a certain doubt about the Anglican system, 
and could not at that moment resolve it, or say 
what would COine of it; it was hard to have to 
confess, that I had thought of giving up my 
living a year or two before, and that this was 
a first step to it. It 'vas hard to have to plead, 
that, for what I knew, my doubts would vanish, 
if the newspapers would be so good as to give 
Il1e time and let me alone. \Yho would ever 
dream of making the world his confidant? Yet 
I was considered insidious, sly, dishonest, if I 
would not open my heart to the tender mercies 
of the world. But they persisted: '\\"hat was I 
doing at LittIemore?' Doing there ?-have I 
not retreated from you? have I not given up 
my position and my place? Am I alone, of 
EnglishIl1en, not to have the privilege to go 
where I will, no questions asked ?-am I alone 
to be followed about by jealous prying eyes, 
who note down whether I go in at a back door 
or at the fl'ont, and who the Inen are who 
happen to call on me in the aftel'noon? Cowards! 
if I advanced one step, you would l'un away; it 
is not you that I feal.: 'Di me terrent, et Jupiter 
hostis,' I t is because the bishops still go on 



charging against me, though I have quite given 
up: it is that secret misgiving of heart which 
tells me that they do well, for I have neither 
lot not part with them: this it is which weighs 
me down. I cannot walk into or out of my house, 
but curious eyes are upon me. "'
hy not 
let me die in peace? \V ounded brutes creep into 
some hole to die in, and no one grudges it them. 
Let me alone, I shall not trouble you long, This 
was the keen heavy feeling which pierced me, 
and, I think, these are the very words that I 
used to myself. I asked, in the words of a great 
motto, 'Ubi lapsus? quid feci?' One day, when 
I entered my house, I found a flight of under- 
graduates inside. Heads of Houses, as Inounted 
patrols, walked their horses round those poor 
cottages. Doctors of Divinity dived into the 
hidden recesses of that private tenement un- 
invited, and drew domestic conclusions from what 
they saw there. I ha4 thought that an English- 
man's house was his castle; but the newspapers 
thought otherwise, and at last the matter came 
before my good Bishop. I insert his letter, and 
a portion of my reply to him: 
April 12, 1842. So many of the charges against your- 
self and your friends which I have seen in the public 
journals have been, within my own knowledge, false and 
calumnious, that I am not apt to pay much attention to 
what is asserted with respect to you in the newspapers. 
In a (newspaper) however, of April 9, there appears a 
paragraph in which it is asserted, as a matter of notoriety, 
that a so-called Anglo-Catholic monastery is in process 
of erection at Littlemore, and that the cells of dormitories, 
the chapel, the refectory, the cloisters, all may be seen 
advancing to perfection, under the eye of a Parish Priest 
of the diocese of Oxford. 
Now, as I have understood, that you really are possessed 
of som
.. tenements at Littlemore-as it is generally be
ed. that. tñey are destined for the purposes of study 



.. - ' 

I 8 1. ] TO 1 8 t.) 

J !):; 

amI devotiou-aud as much suspicion and jealousy arc 
felt about the matter, I am anxious to afl"OL'd you an 
opportunity of making- me an explanation on the subject. 
I know you too well not to be aware that you are the 
last man Jiving to attempt in my Diocese a revival of the 
l\Ionastic orders (in any thing approaching to the Eomanist 
sense of the term) without previous communication with 
me- or indeed that you should take upon yourself to 
originate any measure of importance without authority 
from the heads of the Church-and therefore I at once 
exonerate you from the accusation brought against you 
by the newspaper I have quoted, bnt I feel it never- 
theless a duty to my Diocese and myself, as well as to 

.ou, to ask you to put in my power to contradict what, 
if uncontr'adicted. would appear to imply a glaring ill- 
\asion of all eccJesiastical discipline on your part, or of 
inexcusable neglect and indifference to my dnties on mine. 

April 14, 1842. I am very much obliged by your Lorù- 
ship's kinùness in alJowiug me to write to you on the 
subject of my house at Littlemore; at the same time I 
fee] it hard both on your Lor dship and m
'self, that the 
restlessness of the public mind should oblige yon to 
requil.e an explanation of me. 
lt is now a whole year. that I have been the subject 
of incessant misrepresentation. A year since I submitted 
entÜ'ely to your Lordship's authority; and with the in- 
tention of following out the particular act enjoined upon 
me. I not only stopped the series of 7"/'Ul'ts. on which I 
was engaged. but withdrew from all public discussion of 
Church matters of the day. or what may be called ecc- 
lesia::)tical politics. I turned myself at once to tho 
preparation for the press of the tmnslations of St Athana- 
sius to which I had long wished to devote myself. and I 
intended, and intend, to employ myself in the like theolog- 
i('al studies, and in the concerns of my own parish and 
in practical works. 
\Vith the same view of per sonal improvement I wa
led more seriously to a design which had been long on 
my mind. For many years, at least thirteen, I have 
wished to give myself to a Jife of 
reater religiou"l 
regulal'ity than I han' hitherto led; but it is very un- 
pleasant to coufess such a wish eY('1l to my Bishop, be- 
cause it seems arrogant, and because it is committing 
me to a profession which may corne to nothing. FOI' 
what have I done, that I nm to be cì\lled,-
ount _ by 
"\.'ð.' t 
 " \ ðl'\ 
f""",\ ..,. IJ" ÿ 




the 'World for my private actions in a way in 'Which 110 
one else is called? Why may I not have that liberty 
which all others are allowed? I am often accused of 
being underhand and uncandid in respect to the intentions 
to which I have been alluding = but no one Jike::; his own 
good resolutions noised about, both from mere common 
delicacy, and from fear lest he should not be able to 
fulfil them. I feel it very cruel, though the parties in 
fault do not know what they are doing, that very sacred 
matters between me and my conscience are made a matter 
of public talk.
' I take a case parallel though different? 
suppose a person in prospect of marriage; would he like 
the subject discnsseù in newspapers, and parties, circum- 
stances, etc.. etc., pubJicly demanrled of him, at the penalty 
of being accused of craft and duplicity? 
The resolution I speak of has been taken with reference 
to myself alone, and has been contemplated quite in- 
dependent of the co-operation of any other human being. 

nd without reference to success or failure other than 
per::;onal. and without regard to the blame or approbation 
of man. And being a resolution of years, and one to 
which I feel God has called me, and in which I am 
violating no rule of the Church, any more than if I 
married, I should have to answer for it, if I did not 
pursue it, as a good Providence made openings for it. 
In pursuing it, then, I am thinking of myself alone, not 
aiming at any eccJesi.1.stical or external effects. At the 
::;ame time of course, it would be a great comfort to me 
to know that God had put it into the hearts of others to 
pursne their personal edification in the same way, and 
unnatural not to wish to have the bent'fit of th('lr pre- 
sence and enconragement, or not to. think it a great in- 
fringement on tho rights of conscience if such personal 
and private resolutions were interfered with. Your Lord- 
::;hip will allow me to add my fil'm conviction, that such 
religious resolutions are most necessaJ'Y for keeping a 
certain class of minds firm in their allegiance to our 
Church; but still I can as truly say, that my own reason 
for any thing I have done has been a personal one, 
without which I should not have entered upon it, and 
which I hope to pursue whether with or without the 
'mpathies of others pursuing a similar course. . . . 
As to my intentions, I purpose to live there myself a 
I?ood deal, as I have a resident curate in Oxford. In 
doing this, I believe I am consulting for the good of m
parish, as my population at Littlemore is at least equal 

IR H TO 18.1.3 


to that of St .31ary's in Oxforù, aud the 1-dwle of Littlf1- 
more is double of it. It has been very much neglected; 
and in providing a parsonage-house at Littlemore, as this 
wiJl be, and will be called, I conceive I am doing a very 
great benefit to my people. At the same time. it has 
appeared to me, that a partial or temporary retirement 
from St Mary's Church might be expedient under the 
prevailing excitement. 
As to the quotation from the (newspaper) which I have 
not seen, your Lordship will perceive from wha.t I have 
said, that no 'monastery is in process of erection'; there 
is no 'chapel '; no' refectory'; hardly a dining-room, or 
parlour. The' cloisters' are my shed, connecting the 
cottages. I do not understand what' cells of dormitories' 
means. Of course I con repeat yonr Lordship's words, 
that 'I am not attempting a revival of the 
Orders, in anything approaching to the Romanist sense 
of the term', or 'taking on myself to originate any 
measure of importance without authority from the heads 
of the Church '. I am attempting nothing ecclebiastical, 
but something- personal and private, and which can only 
be made public, not private, by newspapers and letter- 
writers, ill which sense tho most sacred and conscientious 
resolves and acts may certainly be made the objects of 
an unmannerly and unfeeling curiosity. 
One calunlny there wa
 which the Bishop 
did not believe, and of which of course he had 
110 idea of speaking. It was, that I was actually 
in the service of the enemy. I had been already 
received into the Catholic Church, and was 
 at Littlemore a nest of Papists, who, 
1ike me, were to take the 
 \nglican oaths which 
they did not believe, and for which they got 
dispensation frOlI1 ROBle, and thus in due timc 
were to bring over to that unprincipled Church 
great nUlnbers of thc Anglican clergy and laity. 
Bishops gave their countenance to this hnputa- 
tion aJ.{ain
t Inc. The case was sÌlnp]y this: as 
I nmdc LittIemore a place of retirclnent for 
Inyself, so did I offer it to others. There were 
young men in Oxford ,vhose testÎllloniab for 



Orders had been refused by their Colleges; there 
were young clergYlnen, who had found theIn- 
selves unable froln conscience to go on with 
their duties, and had thrown up their parochial 
engagelnents. Such men were already going 
straight to ROIne, and I interposed; I interposed 
for the reasons I have given in the beginning- 
of this portion of my narrative. I interposed 
from fidelity to lny clerical engagements, and 
from duty to my Bishop; and from the interest 
which I was bound to take in theIn, and from 
belief that they were prenlature or excited. 
Their friends besought nle to quiet them, if I 
could. Some of theln CaIne to live with me at 
Littlemore. They were laymen, or in the place 
of laYInen. I kept .,ome of theln back for several 
years fro\n being received into the Catholic 
Church. Even when I had given up lny living, 
I ,vas still bound by my duty to their parents 
or friends, and I did not forget still to do what 
I could for them. The iInlnediate occasion of 
my resigning St Mary's was the unexpected 
conversion of one of theln. After that, I felt it 
was impossible to keep Iny post there, for I had 
been unable to keep Iny word with my Bishop. 
The following letters refer, n10re or les!'" to these 
men, whether they were with Ine at LittlC1110re 
or not: 
1. 1843 or 1844. I did not explain to you sufficiently 
the state of mind of those who were in danger. I only 
spoke of those who were convinced that our Church was 
external to the Church Catholic, though they felt it 
unsafe to trust their own private convictions; but there 
are two other states of mind; (1) that of those who are 
unconsciously near Rome, and whose despair about our 
Church would at once develope into a state of conscious 
approximation, or a quasi-resolution to go over; (2) those 
who feel they can with a safe conscience remain with 

1 R.t 1 TO 1 R4.:; 


us while the
' are allowed tù testify in behalf of Catho- 
licism, i. c. as if by snch acts they were pntting our 
Church, or at least that portion of it in which they were 
included, in the position of catechumens. 
2. July 1(j, 1843. I assure you that I feel, with only 
too much sympathy. what you say. You need not be told 
that the whole subject of onr position is a subject of 
anxiety to others beside yourself. It is no good attempt- 
ing to offer advice, when, perhaps, I might raise difficulties 
instead of removing them. It seems to me quite a case, 
in which you should, as far as may be, make up your 
mind for yourself. Come to Littlemore by all means. 
'Ve shall all rejoice in your company; and, if qniet and 
retirement are able, as they very likely will be, to recon- 
cile you to things as they are, you shall have yonr fill 
of them. How distressed poor Henry Wilberforce mnst 
he! Knowing how he values you, I feel for him; but, alas I 
he has his own position, and everyone else has his own, 
and the misery is that no two of us have exactly the same. 
n is very kind of you to be so frank and open with 
me, as yon are; but this is a time which throws together 
persons who feel alike. May I, without taking a liberty, 
sign myself, yours affectionately, etc. 
3. 1845 I am concerned to find you speak of me in 
a tone of distrust. If you knew me ever so little, instead 
of hearing of me from persons who do not know me at 
all, you would think differûntly of me, whatever you 
thought of my opinions. Two years since, I got your son 
to tell you my intention of resigning 8t Mary's, before I 
made it public, thinking you ought to know it. \Vhen 
you expre::;
ed some painful feeling upon it, I told him I 
could not consent to his remaining here, painful as it 
would be to me to part with him, without your written 
sanction. And this you did me the favour to give. 
I helieve you will find that it has been merely a delicacy 
on yonI' son's part, which has delayed his speaking to 
yon about me for two months past; a delicacy, lest he 

hould sny either too much or too little about me. I 
have urged him several times to speak to you. 
Nothing can be done after your letter but to recommend 
him to go to A. 13. (his home) at once. I am very sorry 
to part with him. 
j.. Tht. fol1owing letter i" addressed to a 
Catholic prelate, who accused ute of ('oldncss in 
UIY conduct toward... hin}: 



April 16, 1845. I was at that time in charge of it 
ministerial office in the English Church, with persons 
entrusted to me, and a Bishop to obey; how could I 
possibly write otherwise than I did, without violating 
sacred obligations, Rnd betraying momentous interesls 
which were upon me? I feIt that my immediate, undeni- 
able dut.y, clear if any thing was dear, was to fulfil that 
trust. It might be right, indeed, to give it up, that was 
another thing; but it never could be right to hold it, and 
to act as if I did not hold it. . .. If you knew me, yon 
would acquit me, I think, of having ever felt towards 
your Lordship an unfriendly spirit, or ever having had a 
shadow on my mind (as fRr as I dare witness about 
myself) of what might be called controversial rivalry or 
desire of getting the better, or fear lest the world should 
think I had got the worst, or irritation of any kind. You 
are too kind indeed to imply this, and yet your words 
lead me to say it. And now, in like manner, pray be- 
lieve, though I cannot explain it to you, that I am en- 
compassed with responsibiJities, so great and so various, 
as utterly to overcome me, unless I have mercy from 
Him, who, :\lJ through my life, has sustamed and guided 
me, and to whom I can now submIt myself, though mell 
of all parties are thinking evil of me. 
August 30, 1843. A. B. has suddenly conformed to the 
Church of Rome. He was away fur three weeks. I 
suppose I must say in my defence, that he promised me 
distinctly to remain in our Church three years, before I 
received him here. 
Such fidelity, however, was taken ill ma/am 
par/em hy the high Anglican authorities; they 
thought it insidious. I happen still to have a 
correspondence in which the chief place is filled 
hy one of the Inost e111inent bishops of the day, 
;l theologian and reader of the Fathers, a n10derate 
lnan, who, at one tiIne, was talked of as likely 
to have the reversion of the PrÏ1nacy, A young- 
clergyn1an in his diocese became a Catholic; 
the papers at once reported, on authority fr01n 
'a very high quarter', that, after his reception, 
'the Oxford Inen had heen recol111nending him 
to I.etain his living'. I had reasons for thinking 

1841 TO 1845 


that the allusion was to HIe, and I authorized 
the editor of a paper, who had inquired of nle 
on the point, to 'give it, as far as I was con- 
cerned, an unqualified contradiction' ; when, fronl 
a motÏ\re of delicacy, he hesitated, I added' my 
direct and indignan t contradiction'. ' \Yhoevel. 
is the author of it, no correspondence or inter- 
course of any kind, direct or indirect, has passed', 
I continued to the editor, 'between 
lr S. and 
 since his conforming to th
 Church of 
Honle, except my forlnally, and 111erely, acknow- 
ledging thf' receipt of his letter in which he 
illforlned Ine of the fact, without, as far as I 
recollect, nIY expressing any opinion upon it. 
You may state this as broadly as I have set it 
down.' l\ly denial was told to the bishop; what 
took place upon it is given in a letter frolll 
which I copy. '
Iy father showed the letter to 
the bishop, who, as he laid it down, said "....'\.h, 
tho<;c Oxford men are not ingenuous." "How 
do you mean?" asked 11IY father. "'Vhy", said 
the bishop, "they advised 
lr. B. S. to retain 
his living after he turned Catholic. I know that 
to be a fact, because A. B, told me so." , The 
bishop', continues the letter, 'who is perhaps 
the Inost influenlÏallllan in reality on the bench, 
evidently believes it to be the truth.' Dr Pusey 
too wrote for me to the bishop, and the bishop 
instantly heat a retreat. 'I have the honour', 
he says in the autograph which J transcribe, 
'to acknowledge the receipt of your note, ;nul 
to say in reply thal it has not been stated by 
lne (though such a stateulellt has, I believe, 
appeared ill SOllie of the public prints) that 
\11' Kewrnan had advised 
Ir B. S. to rf'tain 
his living, after he lwd forsaken our Chu1'c.h. 




But it ha<; been stated to HIe, that 
Ir Newlnan 
was in close correspondence with :\lr B. S., and, 
being fully aware of his state of opinions and 
feelings, yet advised hiIn to continue in our 
communion. Allow nle to add', he says to Dr 
Pusey, 'that neither your name, nor. that of 
:\:1 r Keble, was n1entioned to nle in connection 
with that of :\lr B. S.' 
I was not going to let the bishop off on this 
evasion, so I wrote to him myself. After quoting- 
his letter to Dr Pusey, I continued: 

'I beg to trouble your Lordship with my own account 
of the two allegations J {clm;;e correspondence and full.l/ 
amare, etc.) 'which are contained in your statement, ann 
which have led to your speaking of me in terms which 
I hope never to deserve. (1) Since Mr B. S. has been in 
your Lordship's diocese, I have seen him in common- 
rooms or private parties in Oxford two or three times, 
when I never (as far I can recollect) had any conversa- 
tion with him. During the same time I have, to the best 
of my memory, written to him three letters. One was 
lately, in acknowledgment of his informing me of his 
change of religion. Another was last summer, when I 
asked him (to no pm'pose) to come and stay with me in 
this place. The earliest of the three letters was written 
just a 
'ear since, as far as I recoUect, and it certainly 
was on the subject of his joining the Church of Rome. 
I wrote this letter at the earnest wish of a friend of his, 
I cannot be sure that, on his replying. I did not send 
him a brief note in explanation of points in my letter 
which he had misapprehended. I cannot recollect an
other correspondence between us, 
(21 As to my knowledge of his opinions and feelings, 
as far as I remember. the only point of perplexity which 
I knew, the only point which to this hour I know as 
pressing upon him, was that of the Pope's supr'emacy. 
He l)rofessed to be searching Antiquity whether the See 
of Borne had formerly that relation to the whole Church 
which noman Catholics now assign to it. My letter was 
directed to the point, that it was his duty not to perplex 
himself with argument.s 011 (such) a question, . , . amI 
to put it altogetlll'r' aside , " It is hard that I am put 

18....1 TO 18 t.-J 


upon my memory, without knowing the debiJs of the 
statement made against me. considering the various 
correspondence in which I am from time to time unavoid- 
ably engaged. . .. Be assured, my Lord, that there are 
very detinite lImits, beyond which persons like me would 
never urge anothel' to retain preferment in the English 
Church, nor would retain it theruselves; and that the 
censure which has been directed against them by so 
many of its rulers has a very grave bearing upon thosc 

The bishop l'eplied in a civil letter, and sent 
my own letter to his original infornlant, who 
wrote to Hle the letter of a gentleluan. It 
seeU1S that an anxious lady had said sOlnething- 
or other which had been misinterpreted, ag-ainst 
her real IHeaning, into the cahl1nny which was 
circulated, and so the repol.t vanished into thin 
air. 1 clo-;ed the correspondence with the follow- 
ing letter to the bishop: 
I hope )'our Lordship will believe me when I say, that 
statements about me, equally incorrect with that which 
has come to your Lordship's ear
, are from time to time 
reported to me as credited and l'epeated by the highest 
authorIties in our Church, though it is very seldom that 
I have the opportunity of denying them. I am obliged 
hy yuur Lordship's letter to DI'. Pusey as giving me such 
an opportunity. 
Then I added, with :t purpose: 
YonI' Lorùship will observe that in my letter I had no 
occasion to proceed to the question, whethel' a person 
holding Homan Catholic opinions can in honest)' remain 
in our Church. Lest then any misconceptIOn should. al'isp 
from my silence, I here take the liberty of adding, that 
I see nothing wmug in such a person's continuing in 
communion with us, provided he holds no prefermcllt or 
onice, abstains from the malH\gement of ecclesiastic:!.1 
matters, and is bound by no suùscL'iplion 01' oath to onl' 
c loctrillcs. 
Thi.... wa
 written on 
lal'ch 7, 1 H ..:
, and wa
ill anticipation of 1HY own l'etin'Hlcnt into lay 



COllllllunion. This again leads lne to a reillark ; 
for two year
 I ,,'as in lay COlll1lllUlioll, not in- 
deed being a Catholic in IllY convictions, but 
in a state of serious doubt, and with the proba- 
ble prospect of becOllling SOllIe day what a
yet I was not. Under these circumstances, I 
thought the best thing T could do was to gh'e 
up duty, and to throw 111yself into lay COlU- 
lliunion, reillaining an AngJiC:lll. I could not 
go to HOllle while I thought what I did of tht" 
c1e,'otions she sanctioned to the Blessed Virgin 
and the Saints. I did not give up Iny fenow- 
ship, for ] could not be' sure that my doubts 
would not be reduced or overCOllle, however 
unlikely I thought such an e\'ent. But I gave 
up my Jiving; and, for two years before IllY 
conversion, I took no clerical duty. 1\-ly last 
Sel"1110n was in Septel11ber, 1843 ; then I rel11ained 
at Littleinore in quiet for two years. But it 
was ,made a subject of reproach to IHe at the 
tÏ111e, and is at this day, that I did not leave 
the Anglican Church sooner. To Iue this seCIllS 
a wonderful charge; why, even had I been 
quite sure that ROIlle was the true Church, 
the Anglican Bishops would have had no just 
subject of cOlnplaillt against l11e, provided I 
took no Anglican oath, no clerical duty, no 
ecclesiastical adIllinistration. })o they force all 
Inen who go to their Churches to beH{-'ve in 
the 39 Articles, 01' to join in the Athanasian 
Creed? However, I was to have other 111easure 
dealt to Ine; great authorities ruled it so; and 
a learned controversialist in the North thought 
it a shmue that I did not leave' the Church of 
England as Inuch as ten years sooner than J 
did. lJi
 ne'phew, an Anglicun clergynlan, kindly 

18 t 1 TO 18-tj 


wished to undeceive hiln OIl this point. So, in 
1 H50, after some correspondence, I wrote the 
following Jetter, which will be of service to 
this narl'ative, from its cluonological character: 

Dec. 6, 18:19. Your uncle says 'If he (Mr. N.) will 
declare, srms phrase, as the French say, that I have 
laboured under an entÜ'e mistake, and that he was not a 
('oncealed Romanist during the ten :years in question> 
(I suppose, the last ten years of my membership with 
the Anglican Church) 'or during any part of the time, 
lilY ('ontroversial antipathy will be at an end, a.nd I will 
readily express to him that I am truly sorry that I have 
made such a mistake.' 
So candid an avowal is what I should have ex.pected 
from n mind like 
rour uncle's. I nm extremely glad he 
has brought it to this issue. 
By a 'concealed Romanist' I understand him to mean 
Olle, who, professing to belong to the Church of England, 
in his heart and will intends to benefit the Church of 
nome at the expense of the Church of England. He 
cannot mean by the expression merely n person who in 
fact is benefiting the Church of Rome, while he is in- 
tending to benefit the Church of England, for that is no 
discredit to him morally, and he (your uncle) eviùently 
means to impute blame. 
In the sense in which I ha,.e explained the words, I 
('an simply and honestly say, that I was not a concealed 
Homanist during the whole, or any part of, the years ill 
For the first four years of the ten, (up to l\fichaelmas, 
1839,) I honestly wished to benefit the Church of England 
at the expense of the Church of Rome: 
1.'01' the second faur yeal's, I wished to benefit the 
Chul'('h of England without prejudice to the Church of 
At the beginning of the ninth year (Michael mas, 1843) 
I began to despair of the Church of England, and gave 
up all c1erical duty; and then, what I WI'ote and did was 
intluenced by a mere "ish not to inj urc it, nnd not hy 
the wish to benefit it: 
At the beginning of the tenth year I (]istinctI
. cûllt
plated leaving it, but I nlso distinctly tolù my friends 
tha.t it was ill my l'ontempllltioll. 
L:lstly, during tho last halt' of that tenth F'al' I was 



1\IY nELtGIO{'


engaged in wl"Íting a book (Essay on Development) if' 
favour of the Roman, and indirectly against the 
English; but even thon, till It was finished, I had not 
absolutely intended to publish it, wishing to reserve to 
myself the chance of changing my mind when the 
argumentative views which were actuating me had been 
distinctly brought out before me in wnting. 
1 wish this statement, which 1 make from memory, and 
without consulting any document, severely tested by m
writings and doings, as I am confident it will, on the 
whole, be borne out, whatever real or apparent exceptions 
(I suspect none) have to be allowed by me in detail. 
Your uncle is at liberty to make what use he pleases 
of this explanation. 
I have now reached an Ïl11portant date in 
Iny narrative, the year 18.1.:
, but before proceed- 
ing to the Inatters ,vhich it contains, I will 
insert portions of illY letters frol11 18 tl to 1 R.t.:
addressed to Catholic acquaintances. 
1. April 8, 1841. .. The unity of the Church Catholic 
is very Ileal' my heart, only 1 do not see any prospect 
of it in our time; and I despair of its being effected 
without great sacl"Îfices on all hands. As to resisting 
the Bishop's will, 1 obsorve that no point of doctrine or 
principle was in dispute, but a course of action, the 
publication of certain wor-ks. I do not think you suffici- 
ently undel.stood our position. 1 suppose you would obey 
the Holy See in such a case; now, when we were separated 
from the Pope, his authodty reverted to our Diocesans. 
Our Bishop is our Pope. It is our theOl'y, that each 
diocese is an integral Church, intercommunioll being a 
duty, (and the breach of it a sin,) but not essential to 
Catholicity. rro have resisted my Bishop would have 
been to place myself in an utterly false position, which 
I never could have recovered. Depend upon it, the 
strength of any l'arty lies in its being true tu it::; theory. 
Consistency is the life of a movement. 
1 have no misgivings whatevel. that the line 1 have 
taken can be other than a prosperous one; that is, in 
itself, for of course Providence may refuse to us its 
l('gitima te issues for our sins. 
I am afmid, that in one respect you may be disap- 
pointed. It is my trust, though 1 must not be too sanguine, 
that we shall not have individual members of our com- 

18 t 1 TO 1 8 1.> 


mUllion going over to yours. 'Vhat one's duty would he 
under other circumstances, what our duty ten or twenty 
years ago, I cannot say; but I do think that there is 
less of private judgment in going with one's Church 
than in leaving it. I cft.n earnestly desire a union he- 
tween my Church and yours. I cannot listen to the 
thought of yom' bf'ing joined by individuals among us. 
2. April 2G, 1841. :\ly only anxiety is lest your branch 
of the Church should not meet ns by those reforms which 
surely are neCtssal'Y, It never could be, that so large a 
portion of Clll'istendom should have split oft' from tbu 
communion of Rome. and kept up a protest for 300 years, 
for nothing. I think I never shall believe that so much 
piety and earnestness would be found among Protestants 
if there were not some very grave errors on the side of 
Rome. To suppose the contrary is most unreal, and 
violates all on
's notions of moral probabilities. All aber- 
rations are founded on, and have their life in, some truth 
or other-and Protestantism, so widely spread and so 
long enduring, must have in it, and must be witness for. 
a great truth, 01' much truth. That I am an advocate for 
Protestantism, you cannot suppose-but I am forced into 
a Via Media, short of Rome, as it is at present. 
3. May 5, 1841. While I most sincerely hold that 
there is, in the Roman Church, a traditionary system which 
is not necessar ily connected with hel' essential formularies, 
yet, were I evel' so much to ('hange my mind on this 
point, this would not tend to bring me from my present 
position, providentially appointed in the EnglÜ,h Church. 
That :your communion was unl1ssailable, would not prove 
that mine was indefensible. Nor would it at all af1<,ct 
the sense in which I receive our Articles; they would still 
speak against certain definite errors, though you had 
reformed them, 
I say this lest a ny I urking suspicion should be left in 
thf' mind of your friends, that persons who think with 
me are likely, by the gr'owth of their preseut views, to 
Ünd it imperative on them to pass over to YO\11' com- 
munion. Allow me to state strongly, that if you have 
any such thoughts, and proceed to act upon them, your 
f1'iends will be committlllg a fatal mistake. 'Ve have 
(I trust) thl' principle and temper of olJedience too in- 
timately wI'ought into us to allow of our sl'parating our- 
selves from our ecclesiastical superiors, because in many 
points we may sympathize with others. We have too 
great a horror of the principle of private judgment to 



t it in so immense a mattel' as that of changing from 
one communion to another. 'Ve may be cast out of our 
communion, or it may decree heresy to be truth-you 
shall say whether such contingencies are likely; but 1 
do not see other conceivable causes of our leaving the 
Church in which we were baptized. 
For myself, persons must be well acquainted with what 
I have written, before they venture to say whether I 
much changed my main opinions and cardinal views in 
the course of the last eight years. That my sympathies 
have grown towards the religion of Rome I do not deny; 
that my reúsons for shunning her communion have les- 
sened or altered, it would be difficult perhaps to prove. 
And I wish to go by reason, not by feeling. 
4. June 18. 1841. You urge persons whose views 
agree with mine to commence a movement in behalf of 
a union between the Churches. Now in the letters I have 
written, I have uniformly said that I did not expect that 
union in our time, and have discouraged the nütion of 
all sudden proceedings with a view to it. I must ask 
your leave to repeat on this occasion most distinctly, 
that I cannot be party to any agitation, but mean to 
remain quiet in my own place, and to do all I can to 

ake others take the same course. This I conceive to 
be my simple duty; but, over and above this, I will not 
set my teeth on edge with sonr grapes. I know it is 
quite within the range of possibilities, that one or another 
of our people should go over to your communion; how- 
ever, it would be a greater misfortune to you than gripf 
to us. If your friends wi8h to put a gulf between them- 
selves and us, let them make convert
, but not else. 
80me months ago, I ventured to say that I felt it a 
painful duty to keep aloof from all Roman Catholics 
who came with the intention of opening negotiations fOl' 
the union of the Churches: when you now urge us t,o 
petition our bishops for a union, this, I conceive, is very 
like an act of negotiation. 
5. I have the first sketch, or draft, of a Jetter 
which I ,vrote to a zealous Catholic layman; 
it runs as follows, as I have preserved it: 
September 12, 1841. It would rejoice aU Catholic minds 
among us, more than words ca.n say, if you could persuade 
members of the Church of Rome to take the line in 
politics which you so earnestly advocate. Suspicion and 

1 R H TO J 8 1-,) 


liisf rust. arc lhe main causes at present of the sC'paratioll 
between us, and the nC'arcst approaches in doctrine will 
but increase the hostility, which, alas! our people feel 
towards )"ours, while these causes continue. Depend 
upon it, you must not rely upon our Cath(,lic tenùencies 
tIll they are removed. I am not speaking of myselt, OL' 
of any friends of mine; but of our Church generally. 
Whatever Oltl' personal feelings may be, we shall but tcnd 
to raise and spread a .,'ival Clnu'ch to yours in the four 
quaders of the world, unles
 you do what none but )"ou 
can do. 
ympathies, which would flow ovcr to tho 
Church of Rome, as a matter of course, did she admit 
them, will but be developed in the consolidntion of our 
our own system, if she continues to be the object of om' 
suspicions and [earR. I wish, of course I do, that our 
own Church may be built up and extended, but srill, not 
at the cost of the Church of Rome, not in oppositlOll to 
it. 1 am sure, that while you suffer', we suffer too, from 
the separation; but we cannot remove the obstacles,. it is 
with :you to do so, You do not fear us; we feal' you. 
Till we cease to fear you, we cannot love you. 
While you aro in 
-our present position, tho friends of 
Catholic unity in our Church are but fulfilling the predic- 
tion of those of your body who are averse to them, vi::. 
that they will be merely strengthcning a rival communion 
to your
. Many of you say that we are your greatesL 
cnemies; w(' have said so ourselves: so we are, so we 
shall be. as things stand at present. 'Ve are keeping 
peopl(' from you by supplying their wants in our own 
Church. We are keeping persons from you: do you wish 
us to keep them from you for' a time, or for p,.er'? It 
rests with 
.ou to determine. I do not fear that yon will 
su('ceed among us; :you will noL supplant ollr Church in 
the ilftection
 of the English nation; only through Lho 
gngli:;;h Church can you act upon the English natioll. 
1 wish of course our Church shouhl he consolidated, 
with, and through, and in yom' comnmllioll, for its sake, 
aUlI your sake, and tor the sake of unity. 
Are )'OU aware that the more 8(>rious thinkers among 
us are used, as far I\S they ùare form an opinion, to 
regard the spirit of Liheralism ns the characteristic of 
the destined .Antichrist? In vain does anyone clear the 
Church of !tome from the badges of Antichdst, in which 
Protestants would invest her, if she deliberately takes 
up her position in the ver'y quarter, whither we have 
st them, when we took them off from her. Antichrist 



is de
cril)ed as the tXIIOf.L.OC;, as exalting himself aho-r-e tho 
yoke of religion and law. The spirit of lawlessness came 
in with the Reformation, and Liberalism is its offspring. 
And now I fear I am going to pain you by telling 

-ou, that you consider the approaches in doctrine on 
our part towards you closer than they really are. I 
cannot help repeating what I have many times said in 
print, that yom' services and devotions to 8t lrlary in 
mattel' of fact ùo most deeply pain me. I am only 
6tating it as a fact. 
Again, I have nowhero said tha.t I can accept the 
ùecrees of Trent throughout, nor implied it, The doctrino 
of TransubstantiatIOn is a great difficulty with me, as 
being, as I think, not primitive. Nor have I said that 
our Articles in all respects admit of a Roman inter- 
pret.ation; the very word' Transubstantiation' is disowned 
in them, 
r.rhus, yon see, it is not merely on grounds of ex- 
pedience that we do not join you. Ther e are positive 
difficulties in the way of it. And, even jf there were not.. 
we shall have no divine warrant for doing so, while we 
think that the Church of England is a branch of tlw 
true Church, and that intercommunion with the rest of 
Christendom is necessary, not for t.he life of a. particular 
Church, but for its health only. I have never disguised 
that there are actual circumstances in the Church of 
Home which pain me much; of the removal of these I 

oe no chance while we join you one by one; but if om' 
Church were prepared for a union, she might make her 
terms; she might gain the Cup; she might protest against 
the extreme honours paid to 8t ::\Iar'y; she might make 
!ìome explanation of the doctdne of r.rransubstantiation. 
I am not prepared to say that a reform in other hranch('s 
of the Homan (,hurch would be necessary for our uniting 
with them, howevel' desirable in itself
 so that we wel'e 
allowed to make a reform in our own country. 'Ve do 
not look towards Rome as believing that it::! communiun 
 infallible, but that union is a duty. 
The following letter wa5 occasioned by the 
present of a book froln the friend to whom it 
is written; 1110re will be said on the subject of 
it presently: 
Nov. 22, 1842. I only wish that your Church were 
wore known among us bJT such writings. You will not 

1841 To 184,1 


interest us in her, till we see her, not in politics, but in 
her true functions of exhorting, teaching, and guiding. 
I wish there were a chance of making the leading men 
among you understand, what I believe is no novel thought 
to YOUl'self. It is not by learned discussions, or acnte 
arguments, or reports of miracles, that the heart of 
England can be gained. It is by men I appl'oving them- 
selves', like the Apostle, 'ministers of Christ'. 
As to your question, whether the volume you have 
sent is not calculated to remove my apprehensions that 
another gospel is substituted for the true one in your 
practical instructions, before I can answer it in any way, 
I ought to know how far the sermons which it comprises 
are selected fmm a number, or whether they are the 
whole. or such as the whole, which have been published, 
of the author's. I assure you, or at least I trust, that, 
if is ever clearly brought home to me that I have been 
wrong in what I have said on this subject, my public 
avowal of that conviction will only be a questIon of time 
with me. 
If, however, you saw our Church as we see it, you 
would easily understand that such a change of feeling, 
did it take place, would have no necessar'y tendency, 
which :you seem to expect, to draw a person from thp 
Chur('h of Engìand to that of Rome. There is a divine 
life among us, clearly manifested, in spite of all our 
disorders, which is as great a Note of the Chul'Ch, as any 
can be. 'Vhy should we seek our Lor'd's presence else- 
where, when He vouchsafes it to us where we are? 'Vhat 
roll have we to change our communion? 
Homan Catholics will find this to be the state of things 
in time to come, whatever promise they may fancy there 
is of a large secession to their Church. This man or that 
may leave us, but there will be no general movement. 
'1'here is, indeed, an incipient movement of our Chul'cJl 
towu.l'ds yours, and this your leading men are doing all 
they can to frustrate by their unwearied efforts at all 
ks to cal'l"
. oft' individuals. 'Vhen will they know thpi,' 
position, and pmbrace a larger and wisel' policy? 




the iast lettei', which I have inserted, is ad
dressed to my dear friend, })r Russell, the present 
President of lVlaynooth. He had, perhaps, Blore 
to do with my conversion than anyone else. 
I Ie called upon Ine, in passing through ()xforcl, 
in the SUllllner of 1841, and I think I took him 
over sonle of the buildings of the University. 
lIe called again another Slllnmer, on his way 
fi.oln Dublin to London. I do not recollect that 
he said a word on the subject of religion on 
either occasion. He sent me at different tiules 
sevel'al letters; he was always gentle, l1lild, un- 
obb'usive, uncontroversial. He let me alone. I-Ie 
also gave llie one or two books, Veron's llule 
q{ Faith and SOUle Tl'eati
'e.\' of the \Yallenburghs 
was one; a V01Ul1le of St Alfonso Liguori's Ser- 
1JWllS was another; and to that the letter which 
I have last inserted relates. 
No,v it must be observed, that the writings 
of St Alfonso, as I knew thenl by the extracts 
comlnonly Inade frolll thein, prejudiced IHe as 
Inuch against the Homan Church as any thing 
else, on account of what was caned their 
, Mariolatry , ; but there was nothing of the 
kind in this book. I wrote to ask Dr Russell 
whether anything had been left out in the 
translation; he answered that thel'e certainly 
was an olnission of one passage about the Blessed 
Virgin. This omission, in the case of a book 
intended for Catholics, at least showed that 
such passages as are found in the works of 
I taliall authors were not aceeptable to every 

] 8....1 TO 184.3 

2] 1 

part of the Catholic world. Such devotional 
Iuanifestations in honour of Our Lady had been 
Iny great erU.I' a
 regards CatholicisIll; 1 say 
fi'aukly, 1 do not fully enter into them 110'V; 
I trust I do not love her the less, because I 
cannot enter into theln. They 111ay be fulJy 
explained and defended; hut sentÏIllent and taste 
do not run ,,-ith logic; they are suitable for 
Italy, but they are not suitable for England. 
But, over and above .England, my own case was 
special; fron1 a boy I had been led to consider 
that 111Y 
faker and I, His creature, were the 
two being
, certainly such, ill rerU1/l Uall(l"lÎ. I 
will not here speculate, however, about my own 
. ()llly this I know full well no"., and. 
did not know then, that the Catholic Church 
allows no Ïlllage of any sort, 111aterial or ÏIll- 
llmterial, no dogulalic sYlubol, no rite, no sacra- 
luent, no Saint, not even the Blessed Virgin 
herself, to come between the soul and its Creator. 
It is face to face, 'solus CUlll solo', in all matters 
between man and his God. He alone creates; 
I Ie alone has redeemed; he fore His awful eyes 
we go in death; in the vision of Hhll is our 
etf'rnal beatitude. 'Sol us CUIll solo' - I recolJect 
but indistinctly the effect produced upon Hie 
by this volume, but it n1ust have been consider- 
able. At all events, I had got a key to a difficulty; 
in these sel'lnons, (or rather heads of sermons, as 
they seem to be, taken down by a hearer,) there 
i" IllllCh of what would be c
tlled legendary illus- 
tration; but the substance of thenl is plain, 
practical, awful preaching upon the truths 
of salvation. \\ hat I can speak of with greater 
('ollfidence i"i the effect upon Ille a little latel" 
of the E.t'e,.c;.\'C's of St Ignatiu
. IJerf' again, ill 




a pure lnatter of the most direct religion, in 
the intercourse between God and the soul, during 
a season of recollection, of repentance, of good 
resolution, of inquiry into vocation, the soul was 
'sola cum solo'; there was no cloud interposed 
between the creature and the Object of his faith 
and love. The cOlnlnand practically enforced was 
'l\Iy son, give l\tle thy heart.' The de\Totions, then, 
to angels and saints, as little interfered with tht" 
incOlnmunicable glory of the Eternal, as the love 
which ,\ye bear our friends and relations, our 
tender hUlnan sympathies, are inconsistent with 
that snprenle hOlllage of the heart to the Unseen, 
which really does but sanctify and exalt what 
is of earth. At a later date, Dr Russell sent me 
a large bundle of penny or half-penny books of 
devotion, of all sorts, as they are found in the 
ellers' "hops at ROlne; and, on looking theul 
over, I was quite astonished to find how different 
they were from what I had fancied, how little 
there was in theln to which I could really object. 
I have given an account of them in lny ESS(
OIl tlie Develupment qf' Ductrine. Dr Russell sent 
Ine 8t Alfonso's book at the end of 1842; how- 
ever, it was still a long thne before I got over 
lny difficulty on the score of the devotions paid 
to the Saints; perhaps, as I judge, from a letter' 
I have turned up, it wa
 some way into 184-1<, 
before I could be said to have got over it. 
I aln not sure that another consideration did 
not also weigh with lne then. The idea of the 
Blessed Virgin was, as it were, magnified hi the 
Church of Hon1e, as thne went on-but so w'ere 
all the Christian ideas; as that of the Blessed 
Eucharist. The whole scene of pale, faint, distant 
Apostolic Christianity is seen in Rome, a

.H TO I 81.,5 

 1 ,<

a lelesC.'ope or lllag'uificr. The harnlony uf the 
whole, however, is of course what it was. It is 
unfair then to take one Ronuln idea, that of 
the Ble
sed Virgin, out of what lllay be called 
its context. 
Tlnl!,; I an1 brought to the principle of develop- 
ment of doctrine in the Christian Church, to which 
I gave IllY lllind at the end of 1842. I had spoken 
of it in the passage, which I quoted IHany pages 
back, in 110111(' Thollgltt.\' 
lbroad, published in 
1 R:;6; but it had been a favourite subject with 
me all along. And it is certainly recognized 
in that celebrated l'realis(' of Vincent of Lerins, 
which ha
 su often been taken as the basis of 
the Anglican theory. In 1 H
:> I began to 'con- 
sider it steadily; and the general view to which 
I cmne is stated thus in a letter to a friend., 
of the date of July 14, 1841<; it will be ohserved 
that, now as before, my i.vsllc is still Faith 
"('/"SII,\' Church: 

The kind of considerations which weigh with me al'o 
such as the following: (1) I am far more certain (accord- 
ing to the Fathers, that we are in a state of culpable 
separation. than that developments do not exist under the 
Gospel, and that the Roman developments are not the 
tnH' ones. (2) I am far more certain, that our (modern) 
doct.rines aro wl'Ong, than that the Roman (modern) ùoc- 
tr1nes are wron
. (3) Granting' that the Uoman (I;pecia/) 
doctrines rue not found dmwn out in the early Church, 
:yot I think th('re i!i sufficient trace of them 1n it, to 
recommend and prove them. on the hypothesis of the 
Church having a divine guidance, though not suflicient 
to prove them by itself. So that the quel;tion simply 
turns Oil the nature of the promise of the Spirit, made 
to the Chnch. (4) The proof of the TIoman (modern) 
doctrine is as strong (or stronger) in Antiquity, as thnt 
of certain doctrines which both we and Itomans hold: 
e. [I. there is more of evidence in Antiquity for the 
nec('ssity of Unity, than for the ApostoIical 8m'cession; 
for the Supremacy of the Seo of Rome, than for t,ho 

 J .. 

'I y HI
LI(ilOVI' OPI;\;loN:" 

rr('sence in t.he Eucharist: for the of Invocation, 
t.han for eCI tain books in the present Canon of 
CI ipLurc, 
etc. etc. (5) The analogy of the 01<.1 Testament. and also 
of the New, leads to the acknowledgment of doctrinal 

And thus I was led on to a further considera- 
tion. 1 saw that the principle of developnlent 
not only accounted for certain facts, but ,va
in itself a ren1arkable philosophical phenonlenon, 
 a character to the whole course of Christian 
thought. It was discernible from the first years 
of the Catholic teaching up to the present day, 
and gave to that teaching a unity and individuality. 
I t served as a sort of test, which the Anglican 
could not exhibit, that lllodern HOllle was in 
truth ancient Antioch, Alexandria, and Constan- 
tinople, just as a 111athelllatical curve has its 
own law and expression. 
.And thus, again, I was led un to exmnine 
lllore attentively what I doubt not was in lIlY 
thoughts long before, "i::. the concatenation of 
arglunent by which the lnind ascends from its 
first to its final religious idea; and I came to 
the conclusion, that there was no lnedium, in 
true philosophy, between A theisIll and Catho1i- 
eity, and that a perfectly consistent Blind, under 
those circlunstances in which it finds itself here 
below. Inust embrace either the one or the other. 
And I hold this stiU: I am a Catholic by virtue 
of IHY believing in a God; and if I 
llll asked 
,,,'hy I believe in a God, I answer that it is 
because I believe in Inyself, for I feel it hnposs- 
ible to believe in lny own existence (and of that 
fact I aln quite sure) without believing also in 
the existence of Him, who lives as a Personal, 
AU-seeing, ..\II-judging Being in IllY conscience, 

] 8 -t 1 TO 1 R t,,) 


ow, I dare say, I have not cxpre!-lsed Hly!;elf 
with philosophical correctness, because I have 
Hot given nlyself to the study of what others 
h:l\'e said on the subject; but I think I have a 
strong true 111eaning in what I say ,vhich will 
<;tand exmnination. 
:\Ioreover, I carne to the conclusion which I 
have been stating, on reasoning of the sanle 
nature as that which I had adopted on the 
subject of development of doctrine. 'I'he fact 
of the operation irOlll first to last of that prin- 
ciple of development is an argument in favour 
of the identity of Roman and PrÏInitive Chri
tianity; hut, as there is a law which acts upon 
the subject-lnatter of dogmatic theology, so is 
there a law in the nlatter of religious faith. In 
the third part of this narrative I spoke of cert- 
itude as the consequenct', divinely intended 
and enjoined upon us, of the accunllilative force 
of certain given reasons which, taken one by 
one, were only probabilities. Let it be recol1ect- 
ed that I aln historically relating lny state of 
lnilld at the period of Iny life which I ;un 
surveying. I:un not speaking theologicaUy, nor 
have I any intention of going into controversy, 
or of defending- nlyself; but speaking historically 
of what I held in 18 t.:J-,j., [ say, that I believed 
in a God on a ground of probability, that I 
hcJie\'cd in Christianity on a probability, and 
that I believed in CatholicisIIl on a probability, 
and that an three were about the same kind of 
probability, a cumulative, a transcendent prob- 
ability, but still probability; inasnluch as tIe 
who l1ladc us has so willed that in mathematics, 
indeed, we arrive at certitude by rigid delnon- 

tration, but in religious inquiry we arrive at 



)(Y HELlGIOl':..; OPIl\'luNS 

certitude by accumulated probabilities- inasmuch 
as He who ha'3 willed that we should so act, cu- 
operates with us in our acting, and thereby bestows 
on us a certitude which rises higher than the 
logical force of our conclusions. And thus I 
came to see dearly, and to have a satisfaction 
in seeing, that, in being led on into the Church 
of Rome, I was proceeding, not by any second- 
ary grounds of reason, or by controversial points 
in detail, but was protected and justified, even 
in the use of those secondary argulllents, by a 
great and broad principle. But, let it be observed, 
that I alll stating a matter of fact, not defendin
it; and if any Catholic says in consequence, that 
I have been converted in a wrong way, I cannot 
help that now. 
And now I have carried on the history of 
Iny opinions to their last point before I becanlc 
a Catholic. I find great difficulty in fixing 
dates precisely; but it lllust have been some 
way into 1844 before I thought, not only that 
the Anglican Church was certainly wrong, hut 
that Rome was right. Then I had nothing 
lllOl'e to learn on the subject, How' SalTIaria ' 
faded away frOlll nlY hllagination I cannot tell, 
hut it was gone. K o,v to go back to the time 
when this last stage of my inquiry wa.s in its 
cOllllllencement, ,vhich, if I dare assign dates, 
was toward
 the end of 184

In 1843, I took two very Ï1nportant and signifi- 
cant steps: (1) In February, I made a forma] 
retractation of all the hard things which I had said 
against the Church of Home. (2) In September, 
I resigned the living of St Mary's, Littlemore 
inclusive, I will speak of these two acts separately. 

 t I TO I 


(1) The words in which I lnade Iny retracta- 
tion have given rise to lnuch criticism. After 
quoting a lunnber of passages fr0111 lny writings 
against the Church of Rome, which I withdrew 
I ended thus: 'If you ask me how an individual 
could ventln-e, not silnply to hold, but to pub- 
lish such views of a C0111nlunion so ancient, 
so wide-spreading, so fruitful in saints, I answel' 
that I said to Iuyself "I am not speaking nl}" 
own words, I am but following ahnost a COIlSCIl- 
.\'US of the divines of my own {,hurch. They 
have ever used the strongest language against 
Home, even the most able and learned of theul. 
I wish to throw lnyself into their systenl. 
'''hile I say what they say, I am safe. Such 
views, too, are necessary for our position." Yet 
I have reason to fear still, that such language 
is to be ascribed in no slllall lneasure to an 
hnpetuous tempel', a hope of approving nlyself 
to persons I respect, and a wish to repel the 
.charge of ROlnanisln.' 
These words have been, and are, cited again 
and again against Dle, as if a confession that, 
when in the AngHcan Church, I said things 
against Rome which I did not really beHevc. 
For myself, I cannot understand how any 
Ïtnpartial 111al1 ('all so take theln; and I have 
explained thelu in print several thnes. I trust 
that by this tÏ1ne they have been suff1eiently 
explained by what I have said in former por- 
tion,; of this narrative; still I have a word or 
two to <:jay about thern which I have not said 
before. I apologhr,ed in the Jilles ill question 
f()r saying- out ('harges against the Church of 
HOlDe which I fully believed to be true. \Vhat 
jc;; wonderful in such an apology? 




There are nlauy thin
s a luau 11lay hold, 
which at the S
lllle ti1ue he 1nay feel that he 
has no right to say publicly. The law recognizes 
this principle. In our own thne, luen have 
been Ïluprisoned and fined for saying true things 
of a bad king. The nlaxÏlu has been held, that 
'The greater the truth, the greater is the libel.' 
And so, as to the judgluent of society, a just 
indignation would be felt against a writer who 
brought forward wantonly the weaknesses of a 
g'rcat man, though the whole ,vorld knew that 
they existed. No one is at liberty to speak ill 
of another without a justifiable reason, even 
though he knows he is "peaking truth, and the 
public knows it too. Therefore I could not speak 
ill against the Church of ROlue, though I believed 
what I said, without a good reason. I did believe 
what I said; but had I a good reason for sayinA' 
it? I thought I had; I,i.::. I said what I believed 
i1nply necessary in the controversy, in order 
to defend ourselves; I considered that the Angli- 
can position could not be defended without 
bringing charges against the Church of Honle. 
Is not this alnlost a truiSlU? Is it not what 
everyone says who speaks U11 the subject at 
all? I)oes any serious man abuse the Church of 
HUlne f(})" the sake of abusing her, or hecause 
it justifies his own religious position? "Vhat is 
the lueaning of the very word 'Protestantisnl', 
but that there is a call to speak out? This, then, 
is what I said: 'I know I spoke strongly against 
the Church of ROlue; but it was no luere abuse, 
for I had a serious reason for doing so.' 
But, not only did I think such language necess- 
ary for lUY Church's religious position, but all 
the great Anglican divines had thought so before 

1 R .,1 TO 1:-\ ..,) 

21 !) 

me. They had lhoug-ht so, and they had acled 
ly. ABd therefore [ said, with lnul'h 
propriety, that 1 had not done it sÍI11ply out of 
Iny own head, but that 1 was following the 
track, or rather reproducing the teaching, of 
those who had preceded Ine. 
1 was pleading- guilty; hut pleading also that 
there were extenuating circulllstances in the casl'. 
\Ve all know the story of the convict, who, on the 
seaffold, hit off his mother's ear. By doing so, he 
did not deny the fact of his own crÏlne, for which 
he wa
 to hang; but 11<'> said that his ITIother's 
indulgence, when he was a boy, had a good deal 
to do with it, In like Inanner I had nlade a 
charge, and I had Inade it ex {[/limo; but I accused 
others of havin
 led Ine into believing it and 
puhlishing it. 
But there was 1110rt=" than this Ineant in the 
 which I used: first, I will freely confess, 
illdeed I 
aid it sonle pages back, that I was 
anp;ry with the Anglican divine
. I thought they 
had taken IDe in; 1 had read the Fathers with 
their eyes; I had S01netÏ1nes trusted their quot- 
ations or their rea"ionings; and frOlH relianee 
un theln. I had u"ied words, or 1I1ade statements, 
which properly I ought rigidly to have eXalllined 
IHyself: I had exercised 1110re f:lith than eritieislTI 
in the Blatter. This did not Ï1nply any hroad 
luisstatenlcnts on lIlY part, arising- from I'elianl'l' 
on their authority, but it Í1Hplied carelessness 
in lIlatters of detail. And this of course was 
a f..1.ult. 
But there was :1 f:lI' deepel" rea"on for Iny 
saying what I said in this m:ttter, on whi('h I 
ha\'e not hitherto touehed ; and it was this: The 
lllost oppressive thought, in the wholc process 


l\n nELIGlOl'

of Iny change of opinion, was the clear :tHlidp- 
ation, verified by the event, that it would issue 
in the triUl1lph of Liberalisln. Against the Anti- 
doglnatic principle I had thrown lny whole Blind; 
yet now I was doing nlore than anyone else 
could do, to promote it. I was one of those 
who had kept it at bay in Oxford for so nlêlny 
years; and thus Iny very retirenlent was its 
tritllnph. The BIen who had driven lne fronl 
Oxford were distinctly the Liberals; it was they 
who had opened the attack upon Tract 90, and 
it was they who would gain a second benefit, 
if I went on to retire from the Anglican Church. 
Rut this was not all. As I have already said, 
there are but two alternatives, the way to HOlne, 
and the way to Atheisln: Anglicanism is the 
halfway house on the one side, and Liberalism 
is the halfway house on the other. Ho-w 111any 
Inen were there, as I knew full well, who would 
not fQIIow me now in my advance fi'Oln _\llgli- 
canism to Rome, but would at once leave Angli- 
canism and Ble for the Liberal canlp. It is not 
at all easy (humanly speaking) to wind up an 
Englislllnan to a dogInatic level. I had done 
so in a good 111easure, in the case both of young; 
Inen and of laYlllan, the Anglican ria .11Iedia being 
the rcpresentative of dogma. The dogInatic and 
the ..\nglican principle were onc, as I had taught 
them; but I was breaking the ria ltledia to 
pieces, and would not doglnatic faith al together 
be broken up, in the minds of a great number, 
by the delnolition of the ria 11Irdia? Oh! how 
unhappy this Blade Ine! I heard once frolll an 
eye-witness the account of a poor sailor whose 
legs were shattered by a ball, in the action 
off. Algiers in 1816, and who '\'
tS takel. below 

1 S'
 1 TO 1 R t.> 


f(n O an oper'ation. The surgeon and the chaplain 
persuaded hinl to hayc a leg off; it was done 
and the tourniquet applied to the ,,"ound. Then, 
they broke it to hÏ1n that he nlust have the other 
off' too. The poor feHow said 'You should have 
told Ine that, gentlelnen', and deliberatelv un- 
screwed the instrument, and bled to death. \Y ould 
not that be the case with Inany friends of my 
own? How could I ever hope to Inake thenl 
helieve in a secoud theology, when I had cheated 
lheln in the first? with what face could I publish 
a new edition of a doglnatic creed, and ask thenl 
to receive it as gospel? \Vould it not be plain 
to them that no certainty was to be found any 
where? \Vell, in nlY defence I could but 111ake 
a hllne apology; howe\'er, it wa
 the true one, I,i:::. 
that I had not read the Fathers critically enough; 
that in such nice points, as those which deterlnine 
the angle of divergence between the two Churches, 
I had Illade considerable Inisealculations ; and how 
CaIne this about? \\Thy the fact was, unpleas:tut 
as it was to avow, that I had leaned too lnuch 
upon the assertion
 of Ussher, Jerelny Taylor, 
or Barro", and had been deceived by theln. 
'Valeat quantunl' ,-it was all that could be said. 
This, then, was a chief reason of that wording of 
the retractation which has given so luuch offence, 
and the following letter will illustrate it: 

April 3, 1844. I wish to remark on W.'s chief distress, 
that my changing my opinion seemed to unsettle one'
C'onfidence in truth and falsehood as external things, and 
led one to be suspicious of the new opinion as one he>- 
('a me distrustful of the old. Now, in what I shall say, I 
am not going to speak in favour of my second thonghb 
in comparison of my first, Lut against such scepti('i
and unsettlement about truth and fnlsehood generally, 
the idea of "hich is vcry painful. 



:\IY nRLJnIOl'

The case with me, then, was this, and not surely an 
unnatural one: as a matter of feeling and of duty I threw 
myself into the system which I found myself in. I saw 
that the English Churcll had :t theological idea or theory 
as such, and I took it up. I read Laud on Tradition, 
and thought it (as I still think it) very masterly. '.rhe 
Anglican Theory was very distinctive. I admired it, and 
took it on faith. It did not (1 think) occur to me to 
doubt it; I saw that it was able, and supported by learning, 
and I felt it was a duty to maintain it. Further, on look- 
ing into Antiquity and reading the Fathers, I saw snch 
portions of it as I examined, fully confirmed (e. g. the 
supremacy of Scripture). There was only one question 
about which I had a doubt, viz. whether it would u:orl.;, 
for it has never been more than a paper s
.stem. . . . 
So far from my change of opinion having any fair 
tendency to unsettle persons as to truth and falsehood, 
viewed as objective realities, it should be considered 
whether such change is not necessary, if truth be a real 
objective thing, and be made to confront a person who 
has been brought up in a system ."h01.t of truth. Surely 
the continuance of a person who wishes to go right in a 
wrong system, and not his givin,fJ it up, would be that 
which militated against the objectiveness of Truth, leading, 
as it would, to the suspicion, that one thing and another 
were equally pleasing to our Maker, where men were 
Nor surely is it a thing I need be sorry for, that I 
defended the system in which I found myself, and thus 
have had to unsay my words. For is it not one.s duty, 
instead of beginning with criticism, to throw oneself 
generously into that form of religion which is providen- 
tially put before one? Is is right, or is it wrong, to 
begin with private judgment? May we not, on the other 
hand, look for a blessing through obedience even to an 
erroneous system, and a guidance even by means of it 
out of it? Were those who were strict and conscientious 
in their Judai
m, or those who were lukewarm and scep- 
tical, more likely to be led into Christianity, when Christ 
came? Yet in proportion to their previous zeal would 
be their appearance of inconsistency. Certainly, 1 havt:J 
always contended that obedience even to an euing con- 
bcience was the way to gain light, and that it mattered 
not where a man began, so that he began on what came 
to hand, and in faith; and that anything might become 
a divine method of Truth; that to the pure an things 

1 k i 1 To 18-t..j 


are pure, and have a self-correcting virtue anù a power 
of germinating. And, though I have no right at all to 
assume that this mercy is granted to me, yet the fact, 
that a person in my situation may have it granted to 
him, seems to me to remove the Ierplexity which my 
change of opinion may occasiou. 
It may be said-I bave said it to myself-' 'Vhy, how- 
ever, diù 
'ou publish? Had you waited quietly, you would 
have changed your opinion without any of the misery, 
which now is involved in the change, of disappointing 
and distressing people.' I answer, that things are so 
lHHlnd up together as to form a whole, and one cannot 
tell what is or is not a condition of what. I do not 
see how possibly I could have published the Tracts, or 
othel" works profes
ing to defend onr Church, without 
accompanying them with a strong protest or argument 
against Rome. The one obvious objection against the 
whole Anglican line is, that it is Roman; so that I 
really think there was no alternati\"e between silence 
altogether, and forming a theory and attacking the 
Homan system. 

(2) And now, secondly, as to rny resignation 
of St :\lary's, which was the second of the steps 
which I took in ] 81<3. The ostensible, direct, 
and sufficient cause of IllY doing so was the 
persf'vering atta{'k of the bishops on Tract 90. 
I al1uded to it in the letter which I have inserted 
above, addressed to one of the nlost influential 
among theill. A series of their e
r: catltedra judg- 
Inents, lasting through three years, and including 
a notice of no little severity in a charge of my 
own bishop, came as near to a condenlllation of 
IllY tra{"t, and, so far, to a repudiation of the 
ancient Catholic doctrine, which was the scope 
of the tract, as was possible in the Church of 
England. I t wa
 in order to shield tht" 1'rarf 
frOlll such a condemnation, that I had, at the 
tinle of its pubHcation, so "Ïlnpl y put lnyself at 
the disposal of the higher powers in London. 
.. \t that thnc, all that waf) distinctly conteulplated 



in the way of censure, was the message which 
111Y bishop sent 111e, that it was' objectionable '. 
That I thought was the end of the 111atter. I 
had refused to suppress it, and they had yielded 
that point. Since I wrote the fOrll1er portions 
of this narrative, I have found what I wrote to 
Dr Pusey on March 2-1<, while the matter was 
in progress. 'The 1110re I think of it', I said, 
'the more reluctant I an1 to suppress 1 rad 90, 
though qf course I will do it if the bishop wishes 
it; I cannot, however, deny that I shall feel it 
a severe act.' According to the notes which J 
took of the letters or n1essages which I sent to 
hill1 in the course of that day, I went on to say: 
, 1\1 Y first feeling was to obey without a word; 
I will obey still; but 111Y judg-ll1ent has steadily 
risen against it ever since.' Then, in the post- 
script, 'If I have done any good to the Church, 
I do ;lsk the bishop this favour, as 111Y reward 
for it, that he would not insist on a 111easure 
frol11 which 1 think good will not come, lIow- 
ever, I will sulJll1it to hinI.' Afterwards, I get 
stronger still: 'I have ah110st COll1e to the 
resolution, if the bishop publicly intimates that 
1 l11ust suppress the Tracl, or speaks strongly 
in his charge against it, to su'ppress it indeed, 
but to resign my living also. I could not in 
conscience act otherwise. Yon 111ay show this 
ill any quarter you please.' 
All n1)" then hopes, aI] IUY satisfaction at the 
:lpparent fulfihl1ent of those hopes, were at an 
end in 1843. It is not wonderful then, that in 
1'1ay of that year I addressed a Jetter on the 
subject of St .:\lary's to the same friend whom 
I had consulted about retiring from it in 1840. 
But I did 1110re now; I told hill1 lny great 

.J,1 TO 184-'> 

00 '" 

unsettlement of lTIind on the question of the 
Churches. I will insert portions of two of nlY 

May 4-, 1843. . . At present I fear, as far as I can 
analyze my own convictions, I consider the Roman Catholic 
Communion to be the Church of the Apostles, and that 
what grace is among us (which, through God's mercy, is 
not little) is extraordinary, and from the overflowings of 
His dispensation. I nm veI'y far more sure that England 
is in schism, than that the Roman additions to the 
Primitive creed may not be developments, arising out 
of a keen and vivid realizing of the Divine Depositum 
of Faith. 
You will now underst.and what giv-cs edge to the 
bishops' Charges without any undue scnsitivencss on my 
part. They distress me in two ways: first, as hcing in 
some scnse protests and witnesses to my conscience 
:lgainst my own unfaithfulness to tho English Church, 
and next., as being samples of her teaching. anù tokens 
how very far she is from even aspiring to Catholicity. 
Of course my being unfaithful to a trust is my great 
subject ef dread, as it has long been, as you know. 
'Yhen he wrote to lTIake natura] ohjections 
to lny purpose, such as the apprehension thal 
the removal of clerical obligations lTIighl have 
the indirect effect of propelling nle towards 
HOlIlC, I answered: 
May 18, 1843. . . :My office or charge at St Mary's is 
not a mere state, hut a continual encrgy. People assume 
and a'5sc>rt certain things of me in consequcnce. With 
what sort of sinccrity can I ohey the hishop? how am 
I to act in the frequent cases in which, one way or 
another, the Church of Home comes into consideration? 
I haye to the utmost of my power tried to keep persons 
from nome, and with some success; but e\gen a year and 
a half since, my arguments, though more efficadous with 
the persons I aimed at than any others could be, were 
of a nature to infuse great suspicion of me into the minds 
of lookers-on. 
By retaining St. Mary's I am an offence and a stum- 
bling-block. Persons arc keen-sighted enough to make 
ont what I think on certain points, and then they 



infer that snch opinions are compatible with holding 
situations of trust in our Church. A number of younger 
men tako the validity of their interpretation of the 
Articles, etc., from me on fai/h. Is not my present position 
a cruelty, as well as a treachery towards the Church? 
I do not see how I can either preach or publish again, 
while I bold St Mary's; but consider again the folJowing 
difficulty in such a resolution, which I must state at 
some length. 
Last Long Vacation the idea suggested itself to me of 
publishing the Lives of the English Saints; and I had a 
conversation with (a publisher) upon it. I thought it 
would be useful, as employing the minds of men who 
were in danger of running wild, bringing them from 
doctrine to history, and from speculation to fact; again, 
as giving them an interest in the English soil, and the 
English Church, and keeping them from seeking sympathy 
in Rome, as she is; and further, as seeking to promote 
the spread of right views. 
But, within, the last month, it has come upon me, that, 
if the scheme goes on, it will be a practical carrying out 
of No. 90,- from the character of the usages and opinions 
of ante-reformation times. 
It is easy to say "Vhy will you do an.ything? 'Vhy 
won't you keep quiet? 'Vhat business had you to think 
of any such plan at all?' But I cannot leave a number 
of poor fellows in the lurch. I am bound to do my best 
for a great number of people, both in Oxford and el
where, If I did not act, others would find rueans to 
do so. 
\Ve11, the plan has been taken up with great eagerness 
and interest. ltlany men are setting to work. I set down 
the names of men, most of them engaged, the rest balf 
engaged and probable, some actually writing. 
About thirty names foI1ow, SOlne of them at 
that tinle of the school of 1)1' Arnold, others 
of 1)1' Pusey's, SOl1le my personal friends and 
of my own standing, others whOln I hardly 
knew, while of course the Inajority were of the 
party of the new :\Iovelnent. I continue: 
The plan has gone so far, that it would create surprise 
anù talk were it now suddenly given over. Yet how is it 

ompatible with my holding St Mary's, being what I am? 

1841 TO 184.-) 


Such ,,-as the object and the orIgul of the 
projected series of the English Saints
' and, as 
the publication was connected, as has been seen, 
with IllY resignation of 8t 
Iary's, I Inay be 
aHowed to conclude what I have to say on the 
subject here, though it will read like a digression. 
1\.s soon then as the first of the series got into 
print, the whole project broke down. I had 
already anticipated that SOlne portions of the 
series would be written in a style inconsistent 
with th(' professions of a beneficed clergYlnan, 
and therefore I had given up my living; but 
Inen of great \veight ,vent further, when they 
saw the Life (!f St S/rphcll [larding, and decided 
that it was of such a character as to be incon- 
sistent even with its being given to the world 
by an Anglican publisher: and so the schellle 
was given up at once. After the two first parts, 
I retired frOlu the editorship, and those Lil'r...' 
only were published in addition, which were 
then already finished, or in advanced preparation. 
The following pa
:-,ages from what I or others 
wrote at the time will illustrate what I have 
been saying. 
In Noveulber, 18.f.-t, I wrote thus to one of 
the authors of thClll: 

I am not editor, I have no direct control over the 
series. It is '1\'s work; he may admit what he pleases; 
and exclnde what he pleases. I was to have been 
editor. I did edit the two first nnmbers. I was respons- 
ible for them, in the way in which an editor is respons- 
ible. Had I continned editor, I shonld have e
a control over all. I laid down in the preface that 
doctrinal snbjects were, if possible, to be exclnded. But, 
even then, I also set down that no writer was to be held 
answerable for any of the Lives but his own. When I 
gave np the editorship, I had varions engagements with 
friends for separate Lives remaining on my hands. I 




should have liked to have ùroken from them an, but 
there were some from which I could nót break, and I let 
them take thûir course. Some have come to nothing; 
others, like yours, have gone on. I have seen such, either 
in MS. or proof. As time goes on, I shall have less and 
less to do with the series. I think the engagement be- 
tween you and me should come to an end. I have any- 
how abundant responsibility on me, and too much. I 
shall write to T, that if he wants the advantage of your 
assistance, he mnst write to you direct. 
In aècordance with this letter, I had already 
êldvertised, in January IR4.j., ten months before 
it, that 'other Lil'(-'s', after SI Slr}Jbrll llardil1g, 
',vill be published by their respective authors on 
their own responsibility.' This notice is repeated 
in February in the advertiscnlcnt to the second 
vohulle, entitled TIlC F'([11li(lj qt kÇ,'l Ridwnl, though 
to this voluille also, for some reason, I also put 
my initials. In the Lite ql SI Auguslillc, the 
author, a man of nearly Iny own age, says in 
like Inanner: 'No one but lnyself is responsible 
for the way in which these 111:lterials have been 
used/ I have in 1\18. another advertisclnent to 
the same effect, but I cannot tell "Thether it 
was ever put into print. 
I wiII add, since the authors have been con- 
sidered hot-headed boys, WhOlll 1 was in charge 
of, and Wh0111 I suffered to do intclnperate 
things, that, while the writer of SI Augmilillc 
was of the nlature age which I have stated, 
Iuost of the others ,vere on one side or other 
of thirty. Three were under twenty-five. .:\lore- 
O\Ter, of these writers, S0111e becan1e Catholics, 
SOine remained Anglicans, and others have profess- 
ed what are called free or liberal opinions. 
The inunediate cause of the resignation of 
nlY living is stated in the following letter, 
which I wrote to lny bishop: 

41 TO 1845 


August 29, 1843. It is with much concern that I inform 
your Lordship, that A. E., who has been for the last 
year an inmate of my house here, has just conformed to 
the Church of Rome. As I have ever been desirous, not 
only of faithfully discharging the trust, which is involved 
in holding a living in your Lordship's diocese, but of 
approving myself to your Lordship, I will for your in- 
formation state one or two circumstances connected with 
this unfortunate event. . . I received him on condition of 
his promising me, which he distinctly did, that he would 
remain quietly in our Church for three years. A )Tear 
has passed since that time, and, though I saw nothing in 
him which promised that he would eventually be contented 
with his present position, yet for the time his mind be- 
came as settled as one could wish, and he frequentJy 
expressed his satisfaction at being under the promise 
which I had exacted of him. 

I felt it ÏIllpossible to renJain any longer in 
the service of the Anglican Church, when such 
a breach of trust, however little I had to do 
with it, would be laid at IllY door, I wrote in 
a few days to a friend: 

September 7, 1843. I this day ask the bishop's leavo to 
resign St Mary's. ]\fen whom you little think, or at h
whom I little thought, are in almost a hopeless way. 
Really we may expect anything'. I am going to publish 
a yolume of sermons, including those four against 

I resigned Iny living on Septen1her 18th. I 
had not the meanc; of doing it legally at Ox- 
ford. The late 
Ir Goldsluid aided IIlC in rcsi
iug- it in London. I found no f:lult with the 
Liberals; they had beaten llle in a fair field. 
As to lhe act of the bishops, I thought, as 
\\Talter Seott has applied the text, that they 
had 'seethed the kid in his 1l10lhcl.'S Illi1k.' 
I said Lo a friend: 

Victrix cansa diis placuit, seil \ icta. Catoni. 



And now I have brought ahnost to an end, 
as far as this sketch has to treat of theIn, the 
history both of Iny opinions, and of the public 
acts which they involved. I had only one more 
advance of mind to make; and that was to be 
certain of 'what I had hitherto anticipated, con- 
cluded, and believed; and this was close upon 
Iny sulnni'3sion to the Catholic Church. And I 
had only one lllore act to perforln, and that 
was the act of submission itself. But two years 
yet intervened before the date of these final 
events; during which 1 was in lay COlnUlunion 
in the Church of England, attending its services 
as usual, and abstaining altogether fi'onl inter- 
course with CathoHcs, from their pl:tces of worship, 
and from those religious rites and usages, such as 
the Invocation of Saints, which are characteristics 
of their creed. I did all this on principle; for I 
never could undel'stand how a Inan could be of 
two religions at once. 
\Vhat, then, I now have to add is of a private 
nature, being my preparation for the great event, 
for which I was waiting, in the interval between 
the autuillns of 1843 and 184.5. 
And I shall almost confine what I have to 
say to this one point, the difficulty I was in as 
to the best lllode of revealing the state of IHY 
lnind to IllY friends and others, and how J 
111anaged to do it. 
Up to January, 1
4.2, I had not disclosed IllY 
state of unsettieinent to lllore than three persons, 
as has bel'n mentioned above, and is repeated 
in the letters which I 3tU now about to give 
to the reader. To two of theIn, intiIuate and 
faIlliliar cOinpanions, in the A utuinn of 1839; 
to the third, an old friend too, when, I suppose, 

41 TO U')1.S 


I was in grcat distress of 111ind upon the affair 
of thc Jerusalem Bishopric. In 1\1 ay, 18--t:
, I 
mentioned it to the friend, by whose advice 
I wished, as far as possible, to be guided. To 
11lelltion it on set purpose to anyone, unless 
indeed I was askin
 advice, I should have felt 
to be a crÏlne. If there is any thing that was, 
and is, abhorrent to me, it is the scattcring 
douùts, and unsettling consciences without ne- 
cessity. A strong prescntÍ1nent that IllY existing' 
opinions would ultimately give way, and that 
the grounds of thcn1 were unsound, was not a 
sufficient warrant for disclosing the state of lny 
IHind. I had no guarantee yet, that that prcsenti- 
1uent would be realized. Supposing I were crossing 
ice, which eanle right in lny way, which I had good 
reasons for considering sound, and which I saw 
nUlllbers before me crossing in safety, and suppo- 
 a stranger fro 11 1 the bank, in a voice of 
authority, and in an earnest tone, warned nlc 
that it was dangerous, and then was silent, I 
think I should be startled, and should look about 
lne anxiously, but I also should go on, till I 
had better grounds for doubt; and such was Iny 
state, I believe, till the end of 1 H t
. Then, again, 
when IllY dissatisf;1Ction becan1e gn-'ater, it was 
hard at first to deterillinc the point of lilHe, 
when it was too stron
 to suppress with propriety. 
Certitude of cour
e is a point, but doubt is a pro- 
gress; I was not near ecrtitude yet. Ccrtitude is a 
reAt'x action; it i" to know that one knows. I 
helieve I had not that, till close upon IllY l'ect'}>- 
tion into the Catholic Church. Again, a practkal, 
('frccti\ e doubt is a point loo, but who can easily 
:tseertaill it tt))" hiulst.'lf? \\110 can dcll"J"lllillt." 
whell it is, that lhl' seales in the halallee of 



opnnon begin to turn, and what 'was a greater 
probability in behalf of a belief becOllles a 
positive doubt against it? 
In considering this question in its bearing 
upon my conduct in 18-1<3, my own simple answer 
to IllY great difficulty was: ' Do what your present 
state of opinion requires, and let that doiJlg 
tell: speak by acts'. This 1 did; nIY first act 
of the year was in February, 18-1<3. After three 
IllOl1Ìh's deliberation, I pubHshed Iny retractation 
of the violent charges which I had nlade against 
HOlne: I could not be wrong in doing so Inueh 
as this; but I did no Illore: 1 did not retract 
nlY Anglican teaching. }ly second act was in 
Septelnber; after Illuch sorrowful lingering and 
hesitation, I resigned IllY living. 1 tried, indeed, 
to keep Littleillore for nlyselt
 even though it 
was still to rCIllain an integral part of St )lary's. 
I had lllade it a Parish, and 1 Joved it; but I 
did not succeed in my attenlpt. I could, indeed, 
bear 'to become the curate at wi}] of another,' 
hut I hoped still that I Illig-ht have been nlY 
own Blaster there. I had hoped an exception 
Blight have been Blade in IllY favour, under the 
circuIllstances; but I did not gain IllY request. 
Indeed, I "Tas asking what was inlpracticable, 
and it is well for Ille that it was so. 
e were 111Y two acts of the yem', and I 
said: 'I cannot be wrong in Illaking thenl; let 
that follow which Illust follow in the thoughts 
of the world about HIe, when they see what I 
do.' They fully :lllswered lIlY purpose. \Vhat 
I felt as a simple duty to do, did create a 
general suspicion about lue, without suc'h re- 
sponsibiHty as would be involved in nlY taldng" 
the initiative in creating it. Then, when friends 

1841 To 1845 


wrote lne on the subject, I either did not deny 
or I confessed it, according to the character 
and need of their letters. SOlnetimes, in the 
case of intimate friends, whOln I seenled to 
leave in ignorance of what others knew about 
Ine, I invited the question. 
And here COlnes in another point for ex- 
planation. \rhiIe I was fighting for the Angli- 
can Church in ()xford, then, indeed, I wa"i very 
glad to Blake converts, and, though 1 nf'ver 
broke away fì"Olll that rule of Iny 11lind (as I 
nmy call it) of which I have already spoken, 
of finding disciples rather than 
eeking thenl, 
yet, that I nmde advances to others in a special 
way, I have no doubt; this CaIne to an end, 
ho\\ ever, as soon as [ fell into nlisgivillgs as to 
the true ground to be taken in the controversy. 
Then, when I gaxe up 11lY place in the 
Inent, I ceased frOlll any such proceeding: and 
IllY Ubllost endeavour was to tranquillize such 
persons, especially those who belonged to the 
new sehool, as were unsettled in their relig- 
ious views, and, as I judged, hasty in their 
conclusions. This went on till 1 H j.:
; but, at 
that date, as soon as I turned IllY f
l('e HOllle- 
ward, [ g;l\Te up altogetlH'r, and in any shape, 
as far as e\Ter was possible, the thought of 
acting upon others. Then I Inysclf was 
simply my own concern. f-Iow could I in any 
Sense direct others, who had to be guided in 
so Illonu'ntous a Inatter nlyself? Ilow eould I 
be C'onsidered in a position even to say a word 
to thenl one way or the other? llow could I 
prt'sllIlle to unsettle theIn, as I wa:-, unsettled, 
whell I had no Illean
 of bringing thelll out of 
sueh un-;eUlell)eul? And, if they were lIu'-iellled 




already, how could I point out to thenl a place 
of refuge, which I was not sure that 1 should 
choose for lnyself? 1\1y only line, Iny only duty, 
was to keep sÜnply to my own case. I recollected 
Pascal's words' Je lTIourrai seu!.' I deliberately 
put out of Iny thoughts all other works and 
claÜns, and said nothing to anyone, unless I 
was obliged. 
But this brought upon Ine a great trouble. 
In the newspapers there were continual reports 
about lny intentions; I did not answer thenl. 
Presently strangers or friends wrote, begging to 
be allowed to answer theln; and, if I still kept 
to IllY resolution, and said nothing-, then I was 
thought to be lnysterious, and a prejudice was 
excited against l1le. But, what was f
u' worse, 
there were a nUlllber of tender, eager hearts, 
of Wh0111 I kne,v nothing at all, who were 
watching nlC, wishing to think as I thought, 
and ,to do as I did, if they could but find it 
out; who in consequence were distressed, that, 
in so solenln a nlatter, they could not see what 
was cOIning, and who heard reports about nlC 
this way or that, on a first day and on a second; 
and felt the weariness of waiting, and the sickness 
of delayed hope, and did not understand that I 
was as perplexed as thenlsel ves, and, being of 
lnore sensitive c0111plexion of lnind than myself, 
were l1lade ill by the suspense. And they, too, 
of course for the tÜne, thought lne mysterious 
and inexplicable. I ask their pardon as fiu' as 
I was really unkind to thenl. There was a gifted 
and deeply earnest lady, who, in a parabolical 
aceount of that titHe, has described both nlY 
conduct ns she fe1 t it, and that of such as herself: 
In a singular]y graphic, mnusing vio;ion of piJg-rilns, 

IStl TO 1845 


who were making their way across a bleak COllln1011 
in great disco111fort, and who were ever warned 
against, yet continually nearing, 'the king's 
highway' on the right, she says 'AU my fears 
and disquiets were speedily renewed by seeing 
the most daring of our leaders (the SaIne who 
had first forced his way through the palisade, 
and ill whose courage and sagacity we aU put 
ilnp1icit trust) suddenly stop short, and declare 
that he would go on no further. He did nut, 
however, take the leap at once, hut quietly 
sat duwn on the top of the fen('e with his feet 
hanging' towards the road, as if he Incant to 
take his tÍlne about it, and let hilnself down 
easily.' I do not wonder at all that I thus 
sef'lued so unkind to a lady, who at that time 
11ad never seen nle. ""e were both in trial in 
our different ways. I aln far frOlll denying- 
that I was acting selfishly both towards thelll 
and towards others; but it 'was a religious 
selfishness. Certainly, to lnyself, lllY own duty 

eellied clear. They that are \\ hole can heal 
others; but in lUY case it was 'Physician, heal 
thyself:' 'Jy own soul was lUY fil"st concern, 
and it seclned an absurdity to nlY reason to be 
converted in partnership. I wished to go to 
nlY Lord by IllYSe1f, and in IllY own way, or 
rathcr I lis way. I had neither wish, nor, I 
may say, thonght of taking a nUlnber with 
HIe. But nothing of thi" could be known to 
The following" three letters are written Lo a 
friend who had every ('Jail}} upon Jllt' to he 
f,'ank with him: it will he seen that I disclo"ic 
Iny real state or Juilld Lo hinl, ill proportion as 
he presses Inc. 




1. October 14, 1843. I would tell you in a few words 
why I have resigned St ]\[ary's, as you seem to wish, 
were it possible to do so. But it is most difficult to bring 
out in brief, or even in extenso, any just view of my 
feelings and reasons. 
The nearest approach I can give to a general account 
of them is to say, that it has been caused by the general 
repudiation of the view contained in No. 90, on the part 
of the Church. I could not stand against such an un- 
animous expression of opinion from the bishops, supported, 
as it has been, by the concurrence, or at least silence, 
of all classes in the Church, lay and clerical. If there 
ever was a case in which an individual teacher has been 
put aside, and virtually put away, by a community, mine 
IS one. No decency has been observed in the attacks 
upon me from authority; no protests have been offered 
against them. It is felt-I am far from denying, justJy 
felt-that I am a foreign material, and cannot assimilate 
with the Church of England. 
Even my own bishop has said that my mode of inter- 
preting the Articles makes them mean anythin,rJ 01' 
nothing. 'Vhen I heard this delivered, I did not believe 
my ears. I denied to others that it was said. . . . Out 
came the charge, and the words could not be mistaken. 
This astonished me the more, because I published that 
letter to him, (how unwillingly you know), on the under- 
standing that 1 was to deliver his judgment on No. 90 
instead of him. A year elapses, and a second and heavier 
judgment came forth. I did not bargain for this-nor 
did he, but the tide was too strong for him. 
I fear that I must confess, that, in proportion as I 
think the English Church is showing herself intrinsicalJy 
and radically alien from Catholic principles, so do I feel 
the difficulties of defending her claims to be a branch of 
the Catholic Church. It seems a dream to call a com- 
munion Catholic, when one can neither appeal to any 
clear statement of Catholic doctrine in its formularies, nor 
interpret ambiguous formularies by the received and 
living Catholic sense, whether past or present. l\Ien of 
Catholic views are too truly but a party in our Church. 
I cannot deny that many other independent circumstances, 
which it is not worth while entering into, have led me to 
the same conclusion. 
I do not say all this to every body, as you may sup- 
pose; hut I do not like to make a secret of it to you. 
2. Oct. 25, 1843. You have engaged in a dangerous 

] R J.1 To 184.> 


correspondence; I am decply sorry for the pain I shaH 
give you. 
I must teU you then frankly (bot I combat nrgumcnts 
which to me, alas! are shadows) that it is not from dis- 
appointment, irritation, or impaticnce, that I have, whether 
rightly or wrongly. res;igned St Mary's; but because I 
think the Church of Rome the Catholic Church, and ours 
not part of the Catholic Church, because not in com- 
munion with Home; and becauso I feel that I could not 
honestly be a teacher in it any longer. 
This thought came to me last summer four years. . . 
I mentioned it to two friends in the automn. .. It arose 
in the first instance from the Monophysite and DonatÍst 
controversies, the former of which I was engaged with 
in the course of theological study to which I had given 
myself. This was at a time when no hishop, I believe. 
had deelared against us, and when aU was progress and 
hope. I do not think I have cver felt disappointment or 
impatience, certainly not then; for I never looked forward 
to the future. nor do I realize it now. 
My first effort was to write that a,ticle on the Cathol- 
icity of the English Church; for two years it quieted me. 
Since the summer of 183D, I have written little or nothing- 
on modern controversy. .. You know how unwillingly I 
wrote my letter to the bishop in whi('h I committed my- 
self ngain, as the safest course onder circumstanees. 
article I speak of quieted me till the end of 1841, over 
the affair of No, 90, when that wretched J crusalem 
TIishopric (no personal matter) revived all my alarms. 
They have increased op to this moment. At that time I 
told my secret to another person in addition. 
You see, then, that tho various ecclesiastical anù <]uasi- 
tjcal acts, which have taken place in the course 
of the Inst two years and a half, are not the cause of my 
state of opinion, but are I
ecn stimulants and weighty 
confirmations of a conviction forced upon me, while engaged 
in the course of duly, v-iz. that theological reading to which 
I had given myself. And this last-mentioned circumstance 
is a fact, which has never, I think, come before me tiJI 
now that I write to you. 
It is three years since, on account of my state of opinion, 
I urged the Provost in vain to let 8t l\Lary's be separated 
from Littlemore; thinhing I might wilh a safo conscienco 
serve the latter, though I could not comfortably continuo 
in so puhlic a place as a Univorsity. This was beforo 
No. 90. 



Finally, I have acted under advice, and that not of my 
own choosing, but what came to me in the way of duty, 
nor the advice of those only who agree "ith me, but of 
near friends who differ from me. 
I have nothin
 to reproach myself with. as far as I see, 
in the matter of impatience: i. e. practically or in conduct. 
And I trust that He who has kept me in the slow course 
of change hitherto will keep me still from hasty acts, or 
resolves with a doubtful conscience. 
This I am sure of, that such interposition as yours, 
kind as it is, only does what you would. consider harm. 
It makes me realize my own views to myself; it makes 
me see their consistency; it assures me of m)Y own delib- 
erateness; it suggests to me the traces of a Providentia.l 
Hand; it takes away the pain of disclosures; it relieves 
me of a heavy secret. 
You may make what use of my letters you think right. 
1\1 y correspondent wrote to me once lTIOre, 
and I replied thus: 

October 31, 1843. Your letter has made my heart ache 
more, and caused me more and deeper sighs than any I 
have had a long while, though I assure you there is 
much on all sides of me to cause sighing and heart-ache. 
On all sides I am quite haunted by the one dreadful 
whisper repeated from so many quarters, and causing the 
keenest distress to friends. You know but a part of my 
present trial, in knowing that I am unsettled myself. 
Since the beginning of this year, I have been obliged to 
tell the state of my mind to some others; but never, I 
think, without being in a way obliged, as from friends 
writing to me as you did, or guessing how matters stood. 
No one in Oxford knows it, or hpre (Littlemore), but one 
friend whom I felt I could not help telling the other day. 
But, I suppose, very many suspect it. 
On receiving these letters, nlY correspondent, 
if I recollect rightly, at once cOlnmunicated the 
matter of them to Dr Pusey, and this ,viII 
enable me to state as nearly as I can the way 
in ,vhich my changed state of opinion ,vas made 
known to hinl. 
I had frOlTI the first a great difficulty in 

I R+I TO I S+.-J 


Inaking Dr Pusey understand snch differences 
of opinion as existed bet.wecll hiInself and Hie. 
\ Yhen there was a proposa], about the end of 
1 R3R, for a subscription for a Crmuner l\Ienlorial, 
he wished us both to subscribe tog-ether to it. 
I could not, of course, and wished hinl to sub- 
scribe by hhnself. That he would not do; he 
could not bear the thought of our appearing 
to the world in separate positions, in a Illatter 
of Î1nportance. And, as tilne went on, he would 
not take any hints, which I gave hiIn, on the 
subject of my growing' inclination to Hmne. 
\rhen I found hinl so deterlnined, 1 often had not 
the heart to go on. .And then I knew, that, 
froni affection to me, he so often took up and 
threw hinlself into what I said, that I felt the 
great responsibility I should incur, if I put thing-s 
before hilu just as I nlight view thenl. And, 
not knowing' hiIl1 so well as I did afterwards, 
I feared lest I should unsettle hÜn. And more- 
over, I recollected w'ell ho,v prostrated he had 
been with illness in I R32, and I used always 
to think that the start of the \Io\'eillent h;d 
g-ivf'n hÜn a frcsh life. I f:ulCied that his physical 
energies even depended on the presence of a 
vig-orous hope and bright prospects for his ÎInagin- 
ation to feed upon; so Hluch so, that when he 
".as so unworthily treated by the authorities of 
the placc ill I R 
.1, I recollected writing to the 
late 1\Ir Dodsworth to state H1Y anxiety, lest, if 
his Inind becalne dejeeted in consequence, his 
health would suffer seriously also. Thesc were 
difficulties in IllY way; 
lnd then, again, another 
difficulty was, that, as we were not tOA"ether 
under the s:nne roof, we only saw each other 
at set tÎlnes; others, indeed, who were cOIning 




in or out of 111Y 1'00n15 freely, nnd as there 
n1ight be need at the Inon1cnt, knew all lny 
thoughts easily; but for hÏ1n to know theln 
well, forInal efforts ,vere necessary. A COlnmon 
friend of ours broke it nIl to hiln in 1811, as 
far as lnatters had gone at that tÏ1ne, and showed 
hhn clearly the logical conclusions which n1u
lie in propositions to which I had cOlumittcd 
lnyselî; but somehow or other, in a little while, 
his 11lind fen back into its forn1er happy state, 
and he could not bring hilnself to believe that 
he and I should not go on pleasantly together 
to the end. But that affectionate dream needs 
must have been broken at last; and two years 
afterwards, that friend to WhOlll I wrote the 
letters which I have just now inserted, set 
himself, as I have said, to break it. U pOll that, 
I too begged Dr Pusey to tell in private to 
anyone he would, that I thought, in the event, 
I should leave the Church of England. IIowever, 
he would not do so; and, at the end of I R.t t, 
had ahnost relapsed into his forn1er thoughts 
about me, if I lnay judge froln a letter of his 
which I have found. Nay, at the COlnmen10ration 
of 18.t5, a fe,\y lnonths before I left the Anglican 
Church, I think he said about 11le to a friend, 
'I trust after all we shall keep hiln.' 
In that autulnn of 1843, at the tin1e thai I 
spoke to })r Pusey, I asked another friend al,,;o 
to communicate to others, in confidence, the 
prospect which lay before lne. 
To another friend I gave the opportunity of 
knowing it, ifhe,would, in the following postscript 
to a letter: 
Whilo I write, I win add a word abont myself. Yon 
may come near a person or two, who, owing to circnm- 

1S41 TO 1845 


stances, know more exactly my state of feeling than yon 
do, thongh they wonld not tell yon. Now I do not like 
that yon shonld not be aware of this, thongh I see no 
reason why yon shonld know what they happen to know. 
Yonr wishing it otherwise wonld be a reason, 
I had a dear and old friend, near his death; 
I never told hinl IllY state of Inind. \Yhy should I 
ettle that s,veet calnl tranquility, when I had 
nothing to offer him instead? I could not say, 
'Go to ROlne'; else I should have shown hÜn 
the ,yay. Yet I offered myself for examination. 
One day he led the way to Iny speaking out; 
hut, rightly or wrongly, I could not respond. 

l y reason was 'I have no certainty on the 
n1atter myself. To say "I think" is to tea
and to distress, HOt to persuade.' 
I wrote to hiln on :\Iichaelnla"j Day, 18 
3 : 
As you may snppose, I have nothing to write to yon 
abont, pleasant. I could tell you some very painful 
things; but it is best not to anticipate trouble, which 
after all C.\ll bnt happen, and, for what one knows, may 
be averted. You are always so kind, that sometimes, 
when I part with YOll, I am nearly moved to tears, and 
it wonld be a relief to be so, at your kindness and at 
my hardness. I think no one ever had such kind friends 
as I have. 
The next year, January 22, I ,,'rote to hiul: 
Pusey has quite enough on him, and generonsly takes 
on himself more than enough, for me to add bnrdens 
when I am not obliged; particularly too. when I am very 
conscious, that there are bur'dens, which I am, or shall 
he, obliged to lay npon him some timo or other, whether 
I will or no. 
And on February 21: Half-past ten. I am just up, 
having a bad culd; the like hILS not happened to mo 
(except twice in January) in my memory. You may think 
you have been in my thoughtH, long before my rising. 
Of course you are 
o continnally, as you well know. I 
('ould not come to see you; I am not \\ orthy of friends. 
\Vith my opinions. to the fnll of which I ùare not 
I feol like a guilty persoll with others, though I tl'Ust I 



am not so. People kindly think that I have much to 
bear exterllaIJy, disappointment, slander, etc. No, I have 
nothing to bear, but the anxiety which I feel for my 
friends' anxiety for me, and their perplexity. This 
(letter) is a better Ash- \Vednesday than birthday present (his 
birthday was the same day as mine; it was Ash-\Vednesday 
that year); but I cannot help writing about what is up- 
pm'most. And now all kindest and best wishes to )'OU, 
my oldest friend, whom I must not speak more about, 
and with reference to myself, lest you should be angry. 
It was not in his nature to have doubts: he 
used to look at lTIe with anxiety, and wonder 
what }Iad COlne over nle, 
On Easter 
All that is good and gracious descend upon you and 
)'ours from the influünces of this Blessed Season; and it 
will be so, (so be it!) for what is the lite of you all, as 
day passes after day, but a simple endeavour to serve 
Him, from whom all blessing comes? Though we are 
separated in place, yet this we Lave in common, that 
you are living a calm and cheerful time, andl am enjoy- 
ing the thought of you. It is your blessing to have a 
clear heaven, and peace around, according to the blüssing 
pronounced on Benjamin. So it is, and so may it ever be. 
lIe was in sin1ple good faith. He died in 
Septen1ber that year. I had expected that his 
last illness would ha\'e brought light to Iny 
Iuind, as to what I ought to do. It brought 
BOlle. I ll1ade a note, which rUllS thus: 'I sobbed 
bitterly over his co1fin, to think that he lcft nle 
still dark as to what the ,vay of truth was, and 
what I ought to do in order to please God and 
fulfil His will.' I think I wrote to Charles .:\Iarriott 
to say, that at that l1l0n1ent, with the thoug-ht of 
Iny fi'iend before nIe, nlY strong view in favour 
of HOlTIe reluained just what it was. On the other 
hand, IllY firln belief that grace was to be found 
in the Anglican Church reulaillcd too. I wrote 
to a fHend upon his death: 

1 TO lR


Sept. IG, lR4L I am fnll of wrong and miserable feel- 
ings, which it is t1seless to detail, so grndging and snllen, 
when I should be thankful. Of course. when one sees 
so blessed an end. and that the termination of so blame- 
less a life, of one who really fed on onr ordinances and 
got strength from them, and sees the same continned in 
a whole family, the little children finding quito a solace 
of their in the Daily Prayer, it is impossible not to 
feel more at ease in onr Church, as at least a sort of 
Zoar, a place of refuge and temporary rest, hecanse of 
the steepness of the way. Only, may we be kept from 
unlawful secnrity, lest we have 1Iloab and Ammon for 
our progeny, the enemies of Israel. 

I could not continue in this state, either in 
the li
ht of duty or of reason. :\Iy difficulty 
was this: I had been deceived greatly oncc; 
how could I be ,;ure that I was not deceived 
a second titne? I then thought Inyself right; 
ho,v was I to be certain that I was rig-ht now? 
How InallY years had I thought myself sure of 
what I now rejectcd? how could I ever again 
have confidence in myself? As in 181.0 I listened 
to the rising doubt in favour of HOlnc, now I 
listened to the waning doubt in f;tvour of the 
lish Church. To be certain is to know that 
one knows; what test had I, that I should not 
change again, after that I had becOlllc a Catholic? 
I had still apprehellsion of this, though 1 thotl
a tilHe would COlne, whcll it would depart. Ilow- 
evcr, SOl1le lilnit ought to be put to these vaguc 
luisgivings; I must do my bcst, and thcn leave it 
to a highcr powcr to prosper it. So, I deterluincd 
to write an cssay on Doetrilla] Dcvelopnlent ; and 
thcn, if, at the end of it, lIlY convictions in favour 
of the HOillan Church were not weaker, to nlake up 
IllY lllind to seck adlnission into her fold. I acted 
uI;on this resolution in thc beginning of I H.t.,), 
and workcd at Iny Rss(I!J stcadily into thc auttuUll. 



I told ITIY resolution to various friends at the 
beginning of the year; indeed, it was at that 
time known generally. I wrote to a friend thus: 
My intention is, if nothing comes upon me, which I 
cannot foresee, to remain quietly in statu quo for a con- 
siderable time, trusting that my friends will kindly re- 
member me and my trial in their prayers. And I should 
give up my fellowship some time before any thing fur- 
ther took place. 
One very dear friend, now no lTIOre, Charles 
:\farriott, sent HIe a letter at the beginning of 
the next year, fr01TI which, fr0111 love of him, 
I quote SOine sentences: 
January 15, 1845. Yon know me well enough to he 
aware, that I never see through anything at first. Your 
letter to ß. casts a gloom over the future, which yon 
call understand, if you have understood me, 8S I belieyc 
you have. But I may speak out at once, of what I see 
and feel at once, and doubt not that I shall ever feel: 
that your whole conduct towards the Church of England 
and towards us, who have striven, and are still striving, 
to seek after God for ourselves, and to revive true religion 
among others, under her authority and guidance, has 
heen generons and considerate, and, were that word ap- 
propriate. dutiful, to a degree that I could scarcely have 
conceived possible, more unsparing of self than I should 
have thought nature could sustain. I have felt with 
pain every ]ink that you have severed, and I have asked 
no questions, because I felt that you ought to measnre 
the disclosure of your thoughts according to the occasion, 
and the capacity of those to whom you spoke. I writc 
in haste, in the midst of engagements engrossing in them- 
selves, hut partly made tasteless, partly embittered by 
what I have heard; but I am willing to trust even you, 
whom I love best on earth, in God's Hand, in the earnest 
prayer that yon may be so employed as is best for the 
Holy Catholic Church. 
There was a lady who was very anxious on the 
subject, and I wrote to her the following letters: 
1. Octoher,1844. 'Vhat can I say more to yonr pnrpose? 
If you will ask me any specific questions, I will answer 
them, as far as I am aLlc, 

41 TO IS 15 


2. Novemb('r 7, 1814. I am still where I was; I am 
not moving. Two things. however. seem plain, that every 
one is prepared for such an event, next, that everyone 
expects it of me. Few indeed, who do not think it suit- 
able, fewer still, who do not think it Jikely. However, 
I do not think it either 
uitable or likely. I have very 
little reason to doubt about the issue of things, but the 
when and the how are known to Him, from whom, I 
trust, both the COllrse of things and the issue corne. The 
expression of opinion, and the latent and habitual feeJing 
abOl:t mo, which is on every side and among all parties, 
ha.s great force. I insist upon it, because I have a great 
dread of going by my own feelings, lest they should mis- 
lead me. By one's sense of duty ono must go; but ex- 
ternal facts support one in doing so. 
3. January 8, 1845. My full belief is, in accordance 
with your letter, that. if there is a move in our Church, 
very few porsons indeed will be partners to it. I douht 
whether' one or two at tho most among residents at 
Oxford. And I don't know whether I can wish it. The 
state of the Roman Catholics is at present so unsatisfac- 
tm'y. This I am sure of, that nothing but a simple, 
direct can of duty is a warrant fnr anyone leaving onr 
Church: no preference of another Church, no delight in 
its services, no hope of greater religious advancement in 
it, no indignation, no disgust, at the persons and things, 
among which we may find ourseh
es in the Church of 
England. rIhe simple question is, Can 1 (it is personal. 
not whether another, hut can 1) be saved in the English 
Church? Am I in safety, were I to die to-night? Is it 
a Rin in me, not joining another communion? 
P.S. I hardly see my way to concur in attenllance, though 
occasional, in the Homan Catholic chapel, unless a man 
has made up his mind pretty well to join it eventually. 
Invocations are not 1'(?{JuÍ1'ed in the Church of Rome; 
somehow, I do not like using- them, except under the 
sanction of the Church, and this makes me unwilling to 
admit them in members of our Church. 
larch 30. Now I will tell yon more than Rny ono 
knows except two friends. My own convictions Rre as 
strong as I suppose they can become: only it is so 
difficult to know "hether it is a call of 'reason or of con- 
science. I cannot make out, if I am impelled by wbat 
seems clear, or by a senso of du'.,/. You can understand 
how painful this doubt is; so I have waÏtf\(I. hoping for 
light, and U
illg the ,\onll:i of tho r:salmist 'Dhow 80mo 



token npon me'. nut I suppose I have no right to wait 
for ever for this. Then I am waiting because friends 
are most considerately bearing me in mind, and asking 
guidance for me; and, I trust, I should attend to any 
new feelings which came upon me, should that be the effeC't 
of their kindness. And then this waiting subserves the 
purpose of preparing men's minds. I dread shocking, un- 
settling people. Anyhow, I can't avoid giving incal- 
culable pain. So, if I had my will, I should like to wait 
till the summer of 1846, which would be a fall seven 

Tears from the time that my convictions first began to 
fall on me. :gut I don't think I shall last so long. 
1\1y present intention is to give up my Fellowship in 
October, and to puhlish some work or treatise between 
that and. Christmas. I wish people to know why I 
am acting, as well as what I am doing; it takes off 
that vague and distressing surprise. 'What can have 
made him?' 
5. June 1. What you tell me of yourself makes it 
plain that it is your duty to remain quietly and patiently, 
till yon see more clearly where you are; else you are 
leaping in the dark. 

In the early part of this year, if not befort", 
there, was an idea afloat that 111Y retireIllcnt 
from the Anglican Church ,vas owing to the 
feeling that I had so been thrust aside, without 
anyone's taking my part. Various 11leasures 
'were, I believe, talked of in consequence of this 
surillise. Coincidently with it was an exceed- 
ingly kind article about HIe in a quarterly, in 
its April nUlnber. The writcr praised me in 
feeling and beautiful language, far ahove Iny 
deserts. In the course of his remarks, he said, 
speaking of IDe as vicar of St 
lary's: 'He had 
the future race of clergy hearing him. Did he 
value and feel tender about, and cling to his 
position? . . Kot at all. . . No sacrifice to hhn 
perhaps, he did not care about such things.' 
This ,vas the occasion of Iny writing to a very 
intÍlllate fricnd the following letter: 

1841 TO 18-1<j 


April 3, 1845... Accept this apology, my dear C., 
and forgive me. As I say tiO, tears come into my eyes- 
that arises from the accident of this time, when I am 
giving up so much I love. Just now I have been overset 
by A. B.'s article in the C. D.; yet really, my deal' C., I 
have never for all instant had even the temptation of 
repenting my leaving Oxford. The feeling of repentance 
has not even come into my mind. How could it? How 
could I remain at 8t Mary's a hypocrite? How could I be 
answerable for souls (and life so uncertain), with the 
convictions, or at least persuasions, which I had upon me? 
It is iudeed a responsibility to act as I am doing; and I 
feel His hand heavy on me without intermission, who is 
all 'Visùom and Love, so that my heart and mind are 
tiJ'ed out, just as the lImbs might be from a load 011 
one's baek. That sort of dull aching pain is mine; but 
my responsibility really is nothing to what it would be, 
to be answerable for souls, for confiding loving souls, in 
the English Church, with my convictions. :r.Iy love to 
Marriott, and save me the pain of sending him a lino. 

In July, a bishop thought it worth while to 
give out to the world, that 'the adherents of 
.ðlr Newlnan are fe,v in lllunber. A. short tÏ1ne 
will now probably suffice to prove this fact. It 
is well known that he is preparing for secession; 
aud, when that event takes place, it will be 
seen how few will go with hhn.' 
All this time I ,vas hard at lny E..........{
1J OIL ])oc- 
Irinal Del'clu}JJIIl'IlI. As I advanced, IllY view so 
cleared that, instead of speakin
 any Ulore of 
'the HOln:ln Catholi('s', I boldly callcd theHl 
. Before I got to the cnd, I .resolvccl 
to be recci vcd, and the'" book rCluains in the 
state in which it was then, unfinished. 
On ()clobcr Hth, I wrote to a nUluber of 
 the following letter: 
Littlemorc, Oct01)(\r 8, lR45. I am this night expecting- 
Father Dominic, the l)assionist. who, frum his youth. has 
hecn leù to distinct awl dircct thoug-ht
, tin
t of tho 
countries of the Nurth, thou of Ellgtwd. .After thirty 



years' (almost) waiting, he was, without his own act, sent 
here. But he has had little to do with conversions. 
I saw him here for a few minutes on 8t John Baptist's 
day last year, He does not know of my intention; but 
I mean to ask of him ac,lmission into the one Fold of 
Christ. . . . 
I have so many letters to write, that this must do for 
aU who choose to ask about me. With my best love to 
dear Charles l\'larriott, who is over your head, etc., etc. 
P.S. This will not go till all is over. Of course it 
requires 110 answer. 
For a ,vhile after lTIY reception, I proposed 
to betake 111yself to SOlne secular calling. I 
wrote thu<; in answer to a very gracious letter 
of congratulation: 
Nov. 25, 1845. I hope you win have al1ticipated, before 
I express it, the great gratification which I received from 
your Eminence's letter. That gratification, however, was 
tempered by the apprehension, that kind and anxious 
well-wishers at a distance attach more importance to my 
step than really belongs to it. To me, indeed, personally 
it is of course an inestimable gaill; but persons and 
things look great at a distance, which are not so when seen 
close; and, did your Eminence know me, you would see 
that I was one, about whom there has been far more 
talk for good and bad than he deserves, and about whose 
movements far more expectation has been raised than the 
event will justify. 
As I never, I do trust, aimed at any thing else than 
obedience to my own sense of right, and have been 
magnified into the leader of a party without my wishing 
it or acting as snch, so now, much as I may wish to the 
contrary, and earnestly as I may labour (as is my duty) 
to minister in a hnmble way to the Catholic Church, ;yet 
my powers will, I fear, disappoint the expectations of 
both my own friends, and of those who pray for the 
peace of Jerusalem. 
If I might ask of your Eminence a favour, it is that 
you would kindly moderate those anticipations. 'VouId 
it were in my power to ùo, what I do not aspire to do! 
At present, certainly, I cannot look forward to the future, 
and, though it would be a good work if I couI<.l persuade 
others to ùo as I have done, yet it seems as if I hall 
quite enongh to do in thinking of myself. 

1841 TO 1


Soon, Dr 'Viseman, in whose Vicariate Oxford 
lay, called Ine to Oscott; and I wcnt there 
with others; afterwards he sent lne to ROlne, 
and finally placed llle in 13irlninghaul. 
I wrote to a friend: 
January 20, 184G. You may think how lonely I am. 
'Obli\"iscere populum tuum et domum patris tui' has been 
in my ears for the last twelve honrs. I realize more, that we 
are leaving Littlemore, and it is like going on the open sea. 
I left Oxford for good on 110nday, February 
, 18 t6. On the Saturday and Sunday before, 
I was in IllY house at Littlemore, sÏlnply by 
l1lyself, as I had been for the first day or two 
when I had original1y taken po
session of it, 
I slcpt on Sunday night at IllY dear friend's, 
.l\fr .Tohn"ion's, at the Observatory. Various 
fJ'iellds CaIne to see the last of Hle; 
Ir Copeland, 
1\1 r Church, :\11' Buckle, 
I l' Pattison, and :\1 r 
Lewis. Dr Pusey, too, caIne up to take lca,'e 
of HIe; and I called on Dr Ogle, one of 11lY 
very oldest friends, for he was IllY private tutor, 
when I was an undergraduate. In hiIu I took 
leav(' of IllY first College, Trinity, whieh was 
so deal' to me, and which held on its foundation 
so lllany who have been kind to me, both when 
I wa
 a boy, and all through illY Oxford lift'. 
Trinity had never bcen unkind to Hie, There used 
to be much snapdragon growing on the walls 
opposite lilY freshm:1I1'S roOlUS there, and I had 
fur years takcn it as the elnblcm of Iny own perpct- 
ual residence, e\ en unto death, in l1IY University. 
On the morning of the' 2:
rd, I left the Observ- 
atory. I havc never seen Oxford since, except- 
ing its spiJ'es, as they are seen fì'Olll the railway,