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I. BiTUALiNH AXD THB EcctESiASTiCAL Law. By Benjamin Shaw, M.A. . 1 
II. The Philosophy op ths Coxditiomkd : Sir Williah Hahiltom axd Joh.i 

Stcaht Miu. ........ 31 

III. 9I0DEEX Gbeecb. By E. H. Bunburj-, U.A. . . . .SO 

IV. Ancilla DouiKt : Thoughts ox Cuhutiait Akt. By the Rer. K. St. John 

Tyrwhitt, M.A 64 

V. Edicatiox axd School . . . . . . .80 

VI. Dh. I*tSBT ox Danisl THB PuoPiCBT. By the Ror. J. J. Stewart Perowne, 

B.D 96 

VII. Inuiax QuKSTioxa ........ 123 

VIII. SvxDAT. By the Eev. E. H. Plumptre, M.A. . . .142 

IX. Notices or Books ........ 169 


I. Tub Philosophy of the Conditiokxd : Sib William Hamiltox axi> John 

Stuakt Mill ........ 185 

II. FuEDKuicK William Boukbtso:.-. By tliu Rev. W. F. Stereiuoa . . 22i> 

III. CowocATiox ......... 250 

IV. Bbckbt LiTKBATDBK. By the Rev. Canon RobertBon . . . 270 

V. Fbbmcu ^erawttcB. By Edward Dowden ..... 279 

VI. Chubch GovEiufMEXT IK THE CoLoxiEs. By tlio Bev. W. H. Fremantle, 

M.A. 311 

VII. XuncBH OF Books ........ 34;t 

I. B.VTI0XAL1BSI. By tho Rev. Principal Tulloth . .361 

II. MoDEBX Pohtbait By Lowes Dickinsoa . . . 385 

HI. Tub Euccatiok of 'Wohb!!. By the Bev. Thomas Morkby, M.A. . . 396 
IV. Theoiw&x Parkbb and Ambbican Umtahiahish. By the Rev. Professor 

Cheetham ......... 41^ 

V. Chubch Hyun-Books ....... 434 

VI. Thb Freest Church iw CHBUtraKDOM. By a ClGr^man of that Church . 450 
VII. MoDBRX Theories coxcbbniko the Lipb of j£.-sus. By J. A, Donter, 
D.D., Berlin 


X. KoTicBS or Books 


vi Contents. 




Eeichel, D.D. ........ 618 

II. Dh. rvBEY's Eirenicon. By the Dean of Weattninatcr . . . 631 

III. Cbete. By E. H. BunLurj-, M.A. . . . . ,661 

IV. Pabtooal Wobk. By the It«v. W. G. Humphry, M.A. . . .668 
V. The CossciENCE CuirsE. By theEeT, E. H. Plumptre, M.A. . , 677 

VI. Obioiseb Evakoelicf,. ....... 604 

VII. Deax Stanley ok the Hebrew Einob axd PaoPHETti. By J. S. HowBon, 

D.D 616 


Levis M. Hogg, U.A. . . . . . .642 

Title am> Ixdsx. 



Th^ Dirfctoritim Aii(lUeanum ; brtnff a Manual nf DireeHont /or 
the Rifikt Ctldrralion of tke Ilotf Communion, far the Sa/rtt^ of 
Mallm and Eittuon//. and for the Frrformanrt of othrr Rilet and 
Cerrmoniet <tf iht Church, aeconUng to the Ancient Ute of the Church 
of England. tf'Uh plan of Chancel, and iUuetmtlon* of "ccA 
Omammie t^ the Church, aiid of the Minitten thereof, at all Hmet 
of their Mlnittratton, [lu] * thalt be retained, and be In tui. Of vtre in 
Ihli Church of England, by the authority of Parliament, in the tecond 
near 0/ the reiffn of Kfn^ Edieard VI." Second Edition, reriwd. Kdit«<l 
bj the RsT. Pekdirick GcoitOB Lbb, D.C.L., ttc. London, 1B65. 

Cathoiie Ritual in Iht Church of England, Scriptural, RtaionabU, 
Lmr/ul. B7 BiCHARD Frkduuck Littlkdalb, M.A., LIiJ>., 
Priett of the Engliih Cliarch. Becond Edition. London, 1860, 

The Cam of tt'etlcrlon againtt Itddell [clerh) and Home and otSeri, 
St. PauCt, Kni/lhtibHdffti and Btal agaimt LldOell (clerk] and Parlie 
and Emm, St. Bamal>ae, Plmlicoi at heard and determined bf the Con- 
rlilorr Court of LoTulon, the Archri Court of Canlcrburf, and Iht 
Judicial Commillfe oj Uer Majett^t Mott Uonourabit Privf Council. 
B7 Edmund F. Moobb, Emi., M.A-, Bwriiter«t-Law. London, 1S5T. 

^^HANKS to popular writers on the Constitution, from De Lobne 
J- to Mr. Allmny" Foublanque, most of us can give some answer 
to the question, " How are we governed ?" But to the ordinary 
everj'-day Englishman a mist still hangs over one department. 
Kcclesiastical law is to him a sort of Cahala — a thing to be revered 
or scoffed at, according to the turn of his mind and his politics, 
Wt in any case a thing incomprehensible. This is the more to be 
regretted, because controversies as to Church rites and ceremonies 
have for some years been prevalent, and have excited much 

• Sie. 
VOL. I. B 

2 TJie Contemporary Review. 

We venture to think, therefore, that we shall do some service to 
many worthy persons if we seek to tlirow some light upon this 
subject, to indicate the rules and authorities by which such controver- 
sies are decided, and afterwards to apply them to a specific instance 
by way of illustration. 

But we must premise a few words as to the way in whicJi the 
disputes now so rife on such subjects have, as we conceive, 

It is well known to most persons of the present genei-ation that 
after the great political changes thirty years ago, when it seemed 
likely that the connection between Church and State would be less 
intimate than in former days, the minds both of clergy and laity were 
naturally driven back upon the Divine origin and commission of the 
Church. In proportion as Government patronage was l&ssened or 
withdraivn, the clei-gy especially sought to recall the gi'eat I'act that 
the Church existed independently of, and anterior to, its alliance with 
the State. For this purjiose they set themselves to trace out afresh 
its historical continuity, tlu'ough all the changes of secxdar events, 
from patristic times down to the uineteentli century. 

Now it is obvious that the continuous existence of a visible and 
corporate body is usually to be established by tracing those outwaitl 
signs and acta wliich are, so to speak, the tokens of its life. Accord- 
ingly, much stress came to he laid, not only on the sacraments, and 
on the succession of the episcopate, but on many minute jwints of 
ritual, by means of which a legitimate ecclesiastical descent from the 
earlier ages was thought to be established. But in the conduct of 
the argimient, when pressed to this extreme, a difficulty arosa The 
English ritual, as understood and practised thirty years ago, was by no 
means in complete accordance with that which careful inquiries showed 
to have prevailed in certain previous ages. For this diflficidty, however, 
a solution was at once proposed. The Church of England was a 
branch of the Catholic Church; her reverence for antiquity, and 
her adherence to all that was deemed catholic, distinguished her from 
the Protestant boilies by whom she was surrounded. Hence, to prove 
that any rite was generally practised in ancient times was, per sc, 
to establish its claim to be sanctioned and revived. 

In many cases the rites in question witnessed to doctrines ; this 
was, in fact, their highest meaning and value. Hence by degrees the 
doctrines in question came into favour likewise, and witli many minds 
formed a powei-ful reason for contending more strenuously for the 
rites themselves. 

It was early foreseen by many that questions of so much import- 
ance, and which threatened to change so materially the outward face 
of the Church, must soon demand an authoritative decision. And for 

Ritualism and the Ecclesiastical Law» 3 

many of them, tlie only way to obtain such a decision was to subaiit 

them to the judgment of the Ecclesiastical Courts. 

Of those Courts society in general, some years ago, knew and 

thought even less than now. The opponents of the movement of 

which we have been speaking had little love for them. Perhaps 

their notions on the subject could not be better expressed than in 

the langu^e of their favourite poet, Gowper, who, after speaking of 

the heavy rod laid upon our forefathers by Eome, concludes with the 

words, — 

" And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind. 
Some twigs of the old scourge ore left behind ;" 

" which," he adds in a quiet note, " may be found at Doctors' 

The promoters of the movement, on their part, would probably, in 
the first instance, have preferred to leave the decision to the bishops 
personally. But some prelates hesitated to express an opinion ; 
others, though sufficiently decided, were not unanimous. On the 
other hand, the most recent cause cdW^re in the Court of Arches had 
taken a turn which seemed to bode well for the movement party. 
The decision in Breaks v. Woolfrey was popularly said to have 
legalized prayers for the dead. Much might be hoped for from such 
a tribunal. 

Breeks v. "Woolfrey was followed after a few years by Mastin v. 
Escott, and though in that case a clergj-raan was censured for 
refusing to bury a child baptized by a Wesleyan minister, still the 
decision mainly asserted the validity of lay baptism, — a doctrine which 
the Church of Eome herself did not deny ; while the weight attached 
by the Court to ancient precedents and authorities was in unison vni\\ 
the feelings of the ritualist divines. 

Before long the two great schools or parties in the Church came to 
a direct issue before the Courts of Law in the famous stone altar case 
(Faulkner v. Litchfield). In that case IVIr. Faulkner, the vicar of the 
l)ari3h of St Sepulchre, in Cambridge (whose church was then under- 
going restoration), opposed the grant of a faculty, or licence, which 
was applied for by the churchwardens, to authoiize a stone altar and 
credence table. The cause was heard, in the first instance, before the 
Chancellor of the Diocese of Ely, assisted by an ecclesiastical advocate 
as bis assessor. Those who have the curiosity to refer to the report 
contained in the British Magazine for August, 1844, will be struck by 
the summary manner in which the question appears to have been 
decided Judging from the account there given, it would seem that 
the ailment on behalf of the vicar met with but little attention, and 
that his opposition was treated by the Comt almost as if it were the 
result of ignorance or prejudice. And this was nothing more than 

4 The Contemporary Rtuiew. 

very commnnly took place at tbat pericHl. Stronjif in the knowleflge 
of Uie Fathers, to which their oppom^ats, generally qieakiug, cotiIiI 
make little claim, the ritualists were apt to treat all gaiiisiiyers as 
ill-informed, nfiiTow-minJed pprgnns. Anil to some lixtt.'nt tliny had 
indueed society in getipral tn adopt the same view. Bat a chi).ii;^'B was 
at band. The yicar appealed to tlie Court of Arehea, and after a very 
leanied ai^imeut, judgment wa.s pronounced ou the 31st January, 
1845. By that elabumtt! judgment, which occupies nolesia than eighty 
pages of Dr. Eoburtaou's Eccleaiastical Reports, the decree of tha 
Court heluw was revei^eii, and the ratification of the altar and 
credence table I'el'useii.* From this decision no appeal was made. 
An opinion of counsel waa indeed published at the time, to the elfect 
thjit, if made, it must be auccessfiU, but this opinion was not acted 
upon, and subseipient events have shown it to he erroneous, at least 
in respect to the altar, as wu shall see hereafter. 

The result of tliis great case was. very marked. It showed with tha 
utmost clearness that whatever theologians might do in the study, 
a jud;^e in a Court of Law could not ignore the great fact of the 

The Dean of the Arches declared that "it woidd not have satisfied 
the puiiiose for which the alteration was made (t. c, in the time of 
Edwanl VI.)^ merely to change the name of altar into tabk. The old 
Buperstitinus notions would have adhered to the minds of the simple 
people, and woidd have continued so long as they saw tlie altar, on 
wliicli they hail been used to consider a nul sacrifice was nflered. Fur 
these i-easons I consider a substantial altcmtiou of the structure was 
made." (1 Rolieiisonj p. 225.) 

AVlien a judge thus dealt not only with the fact of a change, hut 
wth the reasons of it, and gave effect tn those reasons as .^tdl in force, 
and as proper to influence bis judicial conduct, it was obvious that 
ecclesiastical rites were not to Ijo justified by a simple regard to their 
nntiriuitj', or witliout refei^nce tn their relation both to the letter and 
spirit of what Look place at the lieformation. 

jigaiji, the following passage occurs in the jndginont: — "As I 
understand the question, it is one sin^ply of the construction of the 
rubric (ffid Book of Common Prayer, wldch are incoqjorsted into the 

• The flbKrvfttinn has HOnietimesbcen madp. ihivC thmigh the Court refuMdloniLify the 
ullrir U did not Htvci ita reiunvol. No strew Is Co bu laid «n tlue point. The fumt of t^B 
ilotrrcu vna detenniiieil by the ahape in whwh tlie niRtte? was lirought belbre tbu Court. 
This ii* oiplainud by Sir JoLa DodKon, in Weslurlon v. Liddpll. Hw says, BpctOting of Mi 
jiri-docoaaur, who decided. l-'milkniBr i'. Litehflold, — " It waa not comiietcint, uiidtT the pir» 
otimstnnccs of tlif) Ajijieal, to pi furtli^f ; but ihote CO-D bo na doubt, if the suit l>eforo him 
Itai been for the reniarnJ of tKe altar, bfl muat have diji;rted it. Tliu whole tenor .of liia 
jnnlffuicnt puts iliat out of all poaaibilitT of d&ubt." (Mooif's ReiK)rt of Weaieiloa c. 
Uddi-U. p. no.) 

Ritualism and t/ie Ecclesiastical Law. 5 

Statute of Uniformity passed in the 13 & 14 Charles II., and of 
the canons which were passed in 1603, and of that number, the 82nd, 
which more particularly applies to the subject. In proceeding to con- 
sider this statute, the Court must proceed precisely in the same manner 
as it would in construing other Acts of Parliament." (1 Bob., p. 198.) 

This indicates that the enactments and authorities of the sixteenth 
and seventeenth centuries usually have a far more direct bearing on 
disputed questions of English ritual, than citations from ecclesiastical 
historians or patristic writers. 

It goes further ; it shows that such authorities will be constraed 
according to the received rules of legal exposition — rules which are 
the product of great acuteness, and of wide experience in the business 
of interpretation, but with the nature and effect of which non-pro- 
fessional minds seldom have an exact acquaintance. 

For some years no question of a similar kind came before the Courts. 
The case of Mr. Oakley, and the Gorham case, as pertaining to 
doctrine, not to ritual, do not f^l within the limits of this paper. 

But in 1855, disputes having for some time prevailed respecting 
certain articles of church furniture in the churches of St. Paul, 
Knightsbridge, and St. Barnabas, Piinlico, two suits were brought 
in the Consistory Court of the Diocese of London in relation thereto.* 

The one was brought by Mr. "Westerton, one of the churchwardens 
of St. Paul's, against Mr. LiddeU the incumbent, and Mr. Home 
the other churchwarden, and had for its object the removal of the 
alUir or liigh altar, with the cross elevated thereon and attached 
thereto, as also tlie removal of the gUded candlesticks and the candles 
thepein (which were alleged to be placed one on each side of the 
cross upon the altar), the credentia or credence table, and also of the 
several divers coloured altar coverings. 

The other suit was brought by Mr. BeaJ, an inhabitant of the 
district chapeliy of St. Barnabas, against Mr.' LiddeU, the incumbent 
and perpetual curate, and Messrs. Parke and Evans, the chapel- 

In tliis suit, the altar (which in this case was fixed, and of stone) 
and other articles, as at St. Paul's, were objected to ; and moreover, 
exception was taken to a wooden screen separating the chancel from 
tlie body of the church, having a laige cross fixed thereon, and brazen 
gates with locks ; and to a linen altar cloth, ornamented with lace and 
embroidery. Tlie Court was also asked to direct that the Ten Com- 
mandments should be put up at the east end of the church. 

Both suits were argued together, and in December, 1855, Dr. 
Lushington pronounced judgment at great length. He considered 

* Our aathority thronghout is the elaborate Report of !ifr. Moore. Longmans, 1867> 

6 The Coniemporary Review. 

that as wliftt was stylui:! tliG altfir in St. Paul's Clmrch Traa in fact 
of wood, and capable of being iiioved, tliough massive and liighly 
cai-vieH, it was not necessaiy to pronounce it to be contraiy to Inw. 
He nJso peniiitteJ tho camllesticka to renifiin. 

But lie diiected the trass and credence table to "be removed, togetber 
with the ■varions cb)ths for covering the communion tultle, and ordered 
the substitution of one only covering of silk or other decent atnft" 
Coming to the caae of St Bamabjis, the decree ordered the removal of 
the strnctiu'G of stone used as a commnniou table^ whicli was to Ijc 
replaced by a moveable table of wood. The cross upon it, as well 
03 tliat upon the chancel screen, were to be taken away. As regards 
the cloths aud coverings, and the credence table, a similar order 
was made to that with regard to .St. Paul's ; aud it was fuiiher directed 
that the Ten Commandments were to be set up at the east end of the 
chureh. As regarded the chancel screen (ind gate-s, the learned Judge 
stated that he was not satisfied, under all the circimistauces, that they 
were contrary to law, at the same time declaring tliat iu his opinion 
such SGpamtiuua between the chaneul and nave WL're objeetiunable, 
and that he would not advise a bishop to consecrate a clnu-ch fitted up 
according to that example. But he said it wjw a different thing lo 
pi.ill down. They were therefore allowed to stand. 

Sf]-. Westerton did not appcul against this decree in respect of T\'hat 
it suffered to reiuain, but Mr. LiddeU did so forthwith in resiject 
of what it disallowed. 

The CoTirt of Arches sustained the judgment of the Consistory 
Court in all reSpects, tho^igh on somewhat different gronuds. There- 
upon a further appeal took place to the Judicial Committee of the 
rFi\'y Council. 

Tliis Court modified in some particulars the decision of the Courts 
below. In res'].>cct to cresses, thi?ir Lordships were of ojiinion that 
crosses, "wheaaiaed as mere emblems of the Christian faitb, and not 
as ohjectfl of suijcrstitious revcTencc, might still lawftdly be erected 
as architectural decorations of churches," and as tlicy held the wooden 
cross nn the chancel screen to be of this natim.^ they rtiversed the 
decree for its removal.* But they confirraed the order fur the remo-\TiI 
of the stone altar, and of the cross theren[ion, considering that the 
existence of a eruaa attached to thn table was consistent neither 
with the spirit nor the letter of the regidations in force as to 
communion tables. 

Credence tables had been disallowed by the other Coui'ts in con- 

• The propriety of the acrccn ite*If was not licfore them. Dr, Luahinpton had doclinod 
to onler Jta removal, nud liia judf^mpnt wa* not Hppedli'd a^nel. Hence the queBtion haa 
iiut b^Q uniler the cooaidcratloii of iLay hig'hEr trlliuaal than lh« Conaistary Court gf 

Ritttalism and the Ecclesiastical Law. 7 

fonnity with the previous case of Faulkner n. Litchfield. It had been 
deemed that they were unauthorized, and were connected with the 
notion of an altar. Their Lordships thought otherwise, and explained 
and sanctioned their use in these words : — 

"What ia a credence tabled It is simply a small side table, on which 
the bread and wine are placed before the consecration, having no connection 
with any superstitious usage of the Chiurch of Eoma Their removal has 
been ordered, on the ground that they are adjuncts to an altar : their Lord- 
ships cannot but think that they are more pro])erly to be regarded as 
adjuncts to a communion table. The rubric directs that at a certain 
point in the course of the Communion Service (for this is, no doubt, tho 
true meaning of the rubric) the minister shall place the bread and wino 
on the communion table ; but where they are to bo placed previously is 
nowhere stated. In practice they are usually placed on the communion 
table before the commencement of the service, but this certainly is not 
according to the order prescribed. Nothing seems to be less objectionable 
than a small side table, from which they may bo conveniently reached by 
the officiating minister, and at the proper time transferred to the conunnnion 
table. As to the credence tables, their Lordships, therefore, must advise a 
reversal of the sentence complained of." • 

In respect to the embroidered cloths, the sentence was also reversed, 
on the ground that the covering used need not be always the same, 
and that whether the cloths so used were suitable or not was a matter 
to be left to the discretion of the ordinary. Howe\'er, as r^arded 
the embroidered linen and lace used at the time of communion at 
St. Barnabas, their Lordships did not dissent from the decision that 
they were inconsistent with the rubric. In tliis particular, therefore, 
the decree was af&rmed. 

Thus ended this great case. Like Paulkner v. Litchfield, it was not 
favourable to extreme ritualism, especially when such ritualism is 
r^arded as the expression of a special system of doctrine. Tliere is 
a studied tone of moderation about the judgment of the Judicial 
Committee. Yet the result was to condemn stone altars ; to sanction 
the cross merely as an ornament or decoration of a church (disallowing 
it when fixed on tlie communion table) ; to leave the general question 
of cloths and coverings in the hands of the ordinary (tliereby autlior- 
izing him to interfere if he saw cause) ; to insist that the " fair white 
hnen cloth " used at the communion should be of a plain and sini[de 
character ; and whUe sanctioning the credence table, to lay it down 
with unmistakeable explicitness, tliat it was only sanctioned because 
capable of a use and meaning having no connection with any super- 
stitious usage of the Churcli of Itome, and to be deemed an adjunct, 
not to an altar, but to a communion table. 

It ought to be mentioned, that three years later an application was 
made by Mr. Beal to the Judicial Committee, on the ground that 

* Moore's Report of Westeitou v. Liddell, p. 187. 


The Contemporary Review. 

their sentence biul not been 6xAy obeyed as legarded St. Baniabfts.* 
It Tvag alleged that the cross which waa formerly attached to the 
aiiper-altar on the stone altar had indctsd been removed thence, but 
was still TCtaiaed on the sill of tlii; ^Teat Cfi^tcm winduw. And 
fiirtherf that the talile which had been substituted for the stone altar 
waa not a flut table, but had an devation or structiire placed thereon, 
so as t*) resemble what is known as a suj^njr-altar in liuinaii Catholic 
churchea. There was also an objection as to the place in which 
thtr Cominamhnents hiid been set up. The words of the sentence, it 
must Ije obstiiTed, were " to remove the structure of st-one used as a 
couimunion table, tot,'ether with the crass on or near to the same, and 
to proindu inBtead thereof a flat moveable table of wood." 

The Court considered lliat these dii'ectious had been substantially 
complied with ; they said : — 

"The stuni.' tablci hna liwii iiUogcthi?r removed, lUid %Fith it the cro33 ; hut 
the cross has Iwcn ]ilnt."(.'d iii uuoUiier part of tlie church ur chapel, not in 
aiiy seiLSL' ujion tlje table wliich has been substituted tor the stuDU taMe, 
nor ill any st-nsti in cunmniuicatiuii, or contact, or connection with it^f It 
reniains in tlie church as an ornaineut of the clmrchj and their Lordships 
think (if tho woid nmy Ti.^sj»ect fully be apphed to such a subject), not Utt 
"UUUBUal or impniiHjr ornauieut; in no seiiss remainitig tliere so as to dis- 
obey or conflict with tlie ordw containeti in this mouitiyji," 

Their Lordships, dcsciibed the other matter compkinetl of as "a 
moveable ledge of wood, for the purpose of holding candlesticks and 
vessels ;^at least that is the purpose for which it is used. It is not," 
the judf;nient cuntinuGd, "fixed tn the tabic. If remaining there when 
the cloth is to be placed npou the table for the puipose of the adiui- 
mstration of the Lortl's Supjier, as it would int^ifere v.dth that, it is 
accortlingly removed, and the dotli is placed upon the table, and then 
tliB ledj,'e re}jlaced. It ia not slwrni. and then' Lordships tldidc it 
ouffht not to be inferred, tiiat there is auythino; superstitions (if the 
term may be iised) or anytliing improper in the addition of that ledge. 
But, even if there were, their I^iordsbips are not satisfied that it is 
within the terms of this monitiou, or that the monition in any sense 
or respect exttjnds t<j it. But in whatever w«y that matter be taken, 
their Lfirdship,!? think that neither disobedience nor oUUnce is eatalj- 
lishcd with ifyard to tliat liiovORble ledge," It wrts also held that the 
manner in which the Comm&ndLueuts were set up was sufficient. 


• Mr. Beat u^cJ Ida ok-h ease. It ii to be regjettcd thai (to Court itd not tic 
uiistance of tho argTimciita ol' couubi^I. Tlio taso is reported in U Itooro* P. C. Heports, 
p. 1. 

t These voTd«i it mity be uotieed in poeaiiig, abow \vs different a kqh tho' Court puta 
un ita foimtT judpnieiit /rDm tlst which Is lUBigncd tu it in CKc " Direttoritim Angli- 
cnniiui." The nulhor oF that »-ort aasf^rts Ihnt 'Cast judgment "permitteJ the altar cross, 
toillje not/jfrf/' ("Direct.," p. 2(9, 2nd Edition.) 

Ritualism and the EccUsiastkal Law. 9 

It must be borne in mind tbat the Judicial Committee, not having 
crigiiud jurisdiction, but being merely a Court of Appeal, and the appeal 
having been exhausted by the prior sentence, the only question legally 
before them on this application, was whether the sentence in question 
had been carried out. Hence the only points open to them were. What 
were the terms of the monition ; and had they been obeyed ? It would 
seem difficult for any one to contend that they had not, at least in their 
literal sense. Any irregularity not expressly complained of in the 
suit (if such there were) must have been made the subject of a new 
proceedings commencing in the Court below* Meanwliile, it is te be 
gathered that their Lordships upheld the distinction in principle 
between the cross as a mere decoration of a church, and as standing 
in any connection with the rites of Divine service. As regards the 
qjther matter, Mr. Liddell had expressly pleaded that " the elevation or 
structure alleged " was " simply a moveable ledge of wood, placed, in 
order that two candlesticks might stand thereon, at the back of the 
table." + "We now proceed to say something as to that system of 
ecclesiastical law which guided the decisions above mentioned, and 
which they inteipreted and enforced. 

Previously to the Keformation, the Church had two principal codes. 
One of these was the Canon Law of Rome, at least so far as accepted 
and adopted in this country. For it is laid down by our great 
lawyers, that it never bound in this realm by its own power, but only 
in respect of such acceptance and adoption.]: 

The other code was composed of the legatine and provincial con- 
stitutions and canons, made, from time to time, by legates or arch- 
bishops in synods over which they presided in Englaud.§ Thes^ 
together with a certain unwritten and customary jurisdiction, formed 
the bulk of the ecclesiastical law in respect to all questions of rites 
and ceremonies. 

Now by the Act 25 Hen. VIIL, c. 19, it was enacted that the King 
shoidd have power to nominate a mixed commission of clergy and 
laity, to consist of thirty-two persons, to revise these provincial con- 
stitutions aad canons, and to abolish such as they should not approve. 

* There is some reason, therefore, for doubtmg whether 007 exprcfls and binding deci- 
tton u to the " ledge" has ever been given. 

t liddell r. Beat : 14 Moore's P. C. Beports, p. 1. 

J " The civil and canon laws, eonaidercd with respect to any intrinBic obligation, 
have DO force or authority in this kingdom ; they are no more binding in England than 
(tor laws are binding at Rome. But ba far as these foreign laws, on account of some 
pecoliar propriety, have, in some partLculai cases, and in some particular Courts, been 
introdaccd and allowed by our laws, so &r they oblige, and no farther, their authority 
bring wholly founded upon that permission and adoption." — (1 filackat. Comm., p. 14 ; 
and see p#r Tindal, C. J., who cites Colce and Halo Xa the lihe efiect; ^g. r. Uillis, 
10 CI. and Finn., 634.) 

{ There wei« also certain laws of the Anglo-Saxon monarchs touching Church matters. 


The Contemporary Review. 

And by a proviso nt the end of the Act it was " provided that such 
oaDOUS, CDUBtitutions, ordiuatices, and Bjnodals pioviucul, being 
already made, wliicli be not contrariant or repugnant to the la'ws, 
statutes, and customs of this realm, nor to the dania^e or hurt of the 
King's premj^tive-royal, shall now still be used and executed aa they 
were afore tho making of this Act, till such time as they V viewed, 
Bearchetl, or otherwise ordered and determined by the said two- 
and-thii"ty persons, or the more part of them, according to the tenor, 
form, and effect of this present Act." 

No commission having been issued, a later Act (27 Hen. XTII., 
c. 15) continues the power to the King, but limita the sittings of the 
commiasionera to a t«nn of three yenrs next after tlie dissolution of 
the then Parliament. A still later Act (^5 Hen. VIII., c. l(i) renews 
the power, and cotdera it gn the King for lil'e. And by the second 
section it is enacteil, "tliaii, till such time as the Kind's jrajeaty and 
the said thirty-t\rn persons have accuniplislied and executed the 
effects and, contents afore rehearsed and mentioned, such canons, 
constitutions, oixlinances synodal or provincial, or otiier ecclesiastical 
laws or jurisdiction spiritual, iis be yet aceustoiued and used here in 
the Church of Englauil, which, necessarily and convenieutly, are 
requisite to he put in use and execution for the time, not l>eing 
repugnant, contriirisint, or (lemgstOiry to the laws or statute.^ of tho 
realm, nor to the prerogatives of the Eoyal Crown of the same, or 
any of thcim, shall he occupietl, exercised, and put in use for the time 
witkin this or any other tlie King's Majesty's dominions ; and that tlie 
ndnist&rs and due executors of them siiall not incur any damage or 
danyer for the due exercising of the aforesaid laws, so ihat, hy no 
colour or pretence of them, or any of thein, the miiuster put in use 
anj-thing prejudicial or in contrary of the regal power or law3 of the 
r*'abn, anything whatsoever to the eontraiy of this present Act 
notwith atjanding." 

These words art) larger than tliose in the first Act. Tliey perhaps 
extend to the unwritten usages of ecclcsiasticid cum-ts, and to the 
Roman canon law, ao far as received in England, wliich the 25 
Hen. VIIL, c. 19, did not. 

Commhisioners were appomted under this Act, lint nothing was 
brought to completion before the death oi' tlie King ; and the poM-era 
of the Act having expired with his life, it was found needfid to pass 
a similar one in tlio reign of Ids successoi. Under tins Act (^ & 4 
Edw. VI., c. 11) a commission was ap[>ointed, which prepai-ed a revised 
code of ecclesiastical law, known hy the name of the " KefoiTnatio 
Leguiii EcclesiasLicaruuu" But as this work never received a fonnal 
ratification, it is of no legal validity; and after the trouljles of Mary's 
reign had passed away, the Legislature, instead of sanctionLng this 

Ritualism and the Ecclesiastical Law. 1 1 

code, simply revived the Act 25 Hen. VIII., c. 19, and enacted that 
it should be deemed to extend to Elizabeth, and her heirs and suc- 
cessors, as fully as to Henry VIII. 

Upon the whole, therefore, it is to be taken that the power to direct 
a revision of the ancient provincial constitutions and canons exista 
in the sovereigns of the present day, though not exercised. And the 
proviso which sanctions their use until such revision be made, being 
also revived, they are maintained thereby, at this day, in a certain 
degree of force, subject to the qualifications which the Act lays down, 
and subject also to the eflfect of subsequent Acts in an milling or 
superseding them in any particular points. 

In the reign of Elizabeth, various sets of canons were framed by 
Convocation. Some of these, however, never received the Royal 
assent so as to be binding at the present day ; and those which 
obtained it are, generally speaking, less important and less frequently 
cit«d than those of which we are next to speak, — the canons of the 
reign of King James, 

These were passed in the Convocation of Canterbury in 1603,* 
and were afterwards received by that of York. They were formally 
sanctioned by JamKJ I., and have therefore a legal validity. It has, in- 
deed, been solemnly decided that they do not bind the laity, inasmuch 
as the laity are not represented in Convocation ;-f- but they bind the 
clergy, as has been admitted frequently, even by the temporal Courts. J 

Yet their validity is only of a qualified kind ; for, even in eccle- 
siastical matters, they are of no force as against an Act of Parliament, 
or if contrary to the common law of England.§ 

In 1606 certain other canons were drawn up, but these were never 
approved by the sovereign. 

In 1640, during the troublous reign of Charles I., a code of canons 
was passed by Convocation and received the Eoyal assent. As to 
these, the case stands in a singular way. Not only was a violent 
opposition made to them by the Parliamentary party at the time, but 

* " Sometimefl called 1603, and Bometunes 1604, whiclt is oving to the style ; the date, 
if I recollect, being January." (Lord firougliaiii, in tke cose of Escott f. Mastin, in the 
Piiyy Council.) 

t See the great case of Middleton t'. Crofta, Stronge's IlepOTts, 1056. 

X Lord Uardwicko, in Middleton r. Crofts, when denj-ing their aathority over the 
laity, nya, " It is agreed that ecclcBiaeticol ordinances in epiritual matters, confirmed by 
the King, bind the clergy, being made b}' their rcprescntatirca in Convocation." 

f Thufl, in the recent case of Finder v. Barr (4 Ell. and Black., 105), the Queen's Bench 
recognised and acted on the canon which gtToa the nomination of the pariah clerk to the 
minister. There was nothing in the cose to indicate any other mode of appointment in 
the parish in question. But almost immediately after the canons were made, it was 
decided, and has ever since been held, that where there is on immemorial custom for the 
pariahionen to choose the clerk, such custom has the force of law, and must prevail 
against the canon. (See Jetmyn's cose, Cro. Jae., 670 ; and 13 Rep., 70.) 


The Couicmporary Review. 

even at tKe Bestoratioii it Wfis felt that they could not safdy "be put 
ill force. The 13 Car. II., c. 12, ■which estalilisliecl the ecclesiastical 
jurisilictifjn " acconlinj,' to tlie Kind's IMajesty'a ecclesiastical laws 
used and practised in tliis realm," coutaiuod a prui-iso at the end 
that it should not estend "to confirm the canons made in the year 
1640, nor any of them, nor any eecleaiasticfil laws or canoiis not 
fuimecly coufirined, allowed, or enacted by Parliameut, or hy the estab- 
lished laws of the land, as they stood in the year of our Lord 1639." 

It lias, indeed, been ai^ed upon this clause that it does not 
extend to dastioy t!ie proper force of the cunous. iu question, but only 
to refuse tliem statutory autliority. But the point is hardly woith 
examining, because, &.& the leami-d Ayhlfe states in Ids "Paitir^on Juris 
Canuuici Ani^licaiii " (Iiitiwd., p. xxxv.)> "as these canoua were then 
censured, and seem tij have in theiix several matters contrary to tlie 
rights of the people and the laws of the realm, they have never beeu 
in use sLace, tbuuyh they contain some wholusome doctiines and 
institutions in souie of thera." Tliere is no instance in which any 
Comt hag proceeded upon the canons of IG-tO, and they are certainly 
regarded by lawy^^rs as a dead letter. 

These brief notices may suffice for that portion of the law of the 
Eeele'?ia.stical Com+4 which consLsts of carious. There are, besides, 
certain injuuctioua and proclamations set forth by Itoyal authority 
during the times when the suprenmcy was exercised in a moi-e direct 
form than haa been the case since the Eevolution. Their precise fnree 
is perhaps a matter which would aihiiit of much argument, but it ia 
seldom of grent iin]Kirt.ance to define it -n-itli exactness. Some of them, 
if it could be s.ho\vn that they were issued (as is aometimes supposed) 
under statutes enabling the sovereigns in that behalf, would stuiiil, of 
course, on strong' g]'ouud. But the evidence of this is rather obscure 
and uuccrtaiu. However, be their constitutional autliority wliat it 
may> ttiey have been fretitieutly referred to liy the Courts of Law, as 
ahowiufr historically what was taking place, and thus indicating the 
way iu which the then advisera of the Crown understood the changes 
tliat had recently been made under statutory authority. 

The mention of statutory authority l.iriugs us to tlie En{;hest and 
most hnportant fonn of ecclesiastical law, the Acts ot Ujiiformity and 
other legislative enactmeuts. The operative one at present is of 
CoiUT5e the List. 13 h 14 Car II., e, 4, But this Act to a certain 
extent incorporates some of the promions iu previous ones. Audit is 
to be obaen'etl, that as this Act establishes our present Prayer-buttk, 
and the Act 13 EIi2., c, 12, confirms the Articles, the result ia tliat 
these have the com^detc force of law,* 

• The Decrees of certolq Geaerol CoundlB BfQ reodgaiaeil as a test of heresy by 
1 Eliz., c. 1 : lut bi;roa; is not our prescat eul-jeot. 

Ritualism and t/te Ecclesiastical Law. 13 

"We have already alluded to the usages which make up what may 
be called the Ecclesiastical Common Law. Like the secular common 
law, this is founded on immemorial custom, and prevails for the 
purj-iose of regulating the jurisdiction in matters for which no express 
enactment exists. 

Tlius far, then, we have traced the course of legal decisions on con- 
troverted points of ritual, and have endeavoiu^d to present a sketch of 
the system of law on which those decisions were founded. 

We shall now take a leading feature of modem ritualism, and 
examine it in detail. By this means we shall hope to present a 
connected specimen of a legal argument, and also to throw some 
light on questions that have not yet received a judicial solution, but 
which excite much attention at the present moment. 

For this purpose, the point to be examined must be one to which 
importance is attached, and the legality of which has been strongly 
maintained by the ritualist school. And it must also be a representa- 
tive case ; or, in other words, one in the decision of which principles 
are necessarily discussed and established, that by implication rule 
many other cases of like kind. 

Such an instance is that of Altar Lights. 

The " Directoriura Anglicanum,"* which is the elaborate text-book 
of high ritualism, speaks thus on the subject : — 

" The Altar Lights.— Thestj should bo lighted immediately before the 
Communion Service by the clerk in cassock, or in cassock and surplice. 
He should make a reverence before ascending to light them, and commence 
on the Epistle side. 

" It should be obser^-ed that these two eacharistic lights should never be 
used as mere candles for lighting the sanctuary. Other brackets for candles, 
or the eoronte and standard lights, are sufficient for that purpoaa The two 
lights are symbols, and in honorem sacramenti, and muat be cteea IrnninOy 
save when celebration is intended. The judgment in the Knightebridge 
ease decided their strict legality." — (P. 34.) 

Tliis example, then, seems to satisfy the first of our requirements ; 
and before we have done we shall see that it also fulfils the second. 

We must begin by asking, Is it true that the case of Westerton v. 
Liddell decided the legality of altar lights ? 

It is true that candlesticks on the communion table were objected 
to, and that it was decided by Dr. Lushington that they might be 
allowed to remain. And it is further true that this judgment was 
acq\uesced in without appeal. Uut in order not to be misled, we 
must look at the question more closely. In that case, the proceedings 
were brought in the Consistory Court of London, and it was prayed 
that the candlesticks might be ordered to be removed. Dr. Lxishing- 
ton expressly said that he held " all lighted candles on the com- 
* Second Edition, London, L865. 

mimion table . . . coiitraiy to la"ff, except ■wlien they ai^ Hghted 
for tlie purpose of giving neceasaTy light ;" but " as to the candlesticks 
ami ciulUm nnlighted on av near to tlie communion table," he says, " I 
ackuowledge 1 have much more duubL ... If tliej' are to be 
consideretJ as ornaraenta merely, I shoidd hold their use not to be 
i'efM>nciIeRlile witli law. But I cannot deny that it is lawM to have 
sut'h articles nii the cuiiimunion taljle or uear it i'uv necessar}" purjwsea ; 
and therefore I cannot say, though I believe that such necessity ariaea 
very aelduni indeed, that it in cunlrary to law to liave them so placed 
ready for use should occasion require."* 

The view of the learned Judge was Uierefore arlvyrse to altar hghts, 
but as the suit sought for thii removal of the caniillesticks themsehes, 
he did ni»t I'tjel at lil>erty to grant what was asked. Had the <^[uestiiju 
ansen in a proceeding a^ a clergyman under the Church Dia- 
cijiUne Act, for using altar lights as being an unauthorized rite, it is 
sufficiently indicatet.1 what his judgment would have been; but such 
a proceeding would l>e wholly tUf!l"ereat from .well a suit Jia Westerton 
i). Liddell, and must have been conunenced by t'otmalities of a distinct 
kind, atid in Another Coiu't. 

"We have thus, we hopei sho^ii that there is no ground for alleging 
that there hiis been a decision in favour of the lights, and we shall go 
on to examine into the general natiu-e of the aipunenta bixmght 
fonvard in their favour.t 

The great point at Issue is as to the true construction of the mbric 
at the commencement of the R-ayer-book, which aays, "And here is 
Ui be noted, that such ornaments of the Churcli, and of the minist-ers 
thereot^ at all times of their ministration, shall be retained, and be in 
use, £is were in tins Church, by the authority of Parliament, in the 
second year of the i"eign of King Edward the Sixth." 

For Dr. Lusbuigton says t!iat candlesticks, if Lighted without neces- 

* It must not be forgotten tliat Mr. Lidd-cU bad made afflddivit tbat tlie ligbU were used 
only when an nitiflcid light wns neMtuoiy. (See Mooro'a Ki^ort, pp. 1 7 oiid 70.) 

t The stalPnicnts in the " Dircctorium An(flic(miini," as to this hw of the Church of 
Engluid, arc aticn euvh. as to raaks it almubt ImpuGBible (o trcAt them &3 miittur of Bt^riuus 
arpunent at rU. TtUiV (he fgUowing aa an inBtonc^ uf ih.B etyle pf the author's- mind, 
lhoii(jh on a dJiTisreut subject. There is a ritbrif; which Bnj's; — "If tburti lie not above 
twenty pcrwrna in the pmiiah wf discretion to rct'eivo tho comniunioii ; yet there »hall be no 
(aitmmdbQ, eicepit fotu- (m- three at the leiial) ((untuuniMtL- with the pritati" On this 
the author aays, "A aiifflcient number of thp fnithful ougiht nlways to he (int'ountgMl 
to Blay at nil limes, wbeiter they at'tuiilly tumiuuiucntc or not, whith will not bo dia- 
covere4 till afterwards, »o as to make a quorum in the sense of iho mhric ; — evun il' thoy 
go ont after the prayer of Ibo oLlritioti or the eihortatioa, it will he too lul-o for tho 
priest to Btop. Absent nek persooa, who ccniiinimlcata spiritTiBlIy, ought also to be counted 
in.. Thua iherfc ran bo bo great difflimlly in offeiing the Holy Sacrifice daiiy according to 
tho mind of the Church," &c,— ["'Direi'lotiuni.,'* Pttfip, xx,, nolt:.) A wotli htt this, tuny 
he on^ of leamei! antiquarian rcecareh, hut it can bardly Ire a tnistvorlhj' ^uidc ae to the 
laws of tbo Bofonncd Chitfcb of England. 

Ritualism and the Ecclesiastical Law. 1 5 

sity, must "fall under the l^al denomination of ornaments, and not 
necessaries, and indeed as ornaments they have been defended at the 
bar. If tliis be so, the law in the rubric, so often quoted, must be 
applicable to them." And so much is imderatood to be geneiuUy 
conceded on all sides. 

Now the Judicial Committee, in Westerton v. LiddeU, had occasion 
to put a construction on this rubric for another purpose, and their 
decision is as follows : — 

"Their Lordships, after much conaideration, are satisfied that the con- 
struction of this rubric which they suggested at the hearing of the case is 
its true meaning, and that the word * ornaments' applies, and in this rubric 
is confined, to those articles the use of which in the ser^'ices and ministra- 
tions of the Church ia prescribed by the Prayer-book of Edward VI. The 
term 'ornaments' in ecclesiastical law is not confined, as by modem us^e, 
to articles of decoration or embellishment, but it is used in the larger sense 
ot the word * omanientum^ which, according to the interpretation of For- 
cellini's Dictionary, \& used ' pro quocumque apparatu, aeu instrumento.' All 
the several articles used in the performance of the services and rites of the 
Church are ' ornaments.' Vestments, books, cloths, chalices, and patens aro 
amongst church oniamentfl j a long list of them will be found extracted 
from Lyndwood in Dr. Phillimore's edition of Bum's 'Ecclesiastical Law' 
(voL L, pp. 375-6-7). In modem times, organs and bells are held to &I1 
under tlm denomination When reference is had to the first Prayer-book 
of Edward the Sixth, with this explanation of the term 'ornaments,' no 
difficulty will be found in discovering, amongst the articles of which the 
use is there enjoined, ornaments of the Church as well as ornaments of the 
ministers. Besides the vestments differing in the diScrent services, the 
rubric provides for the use of an English Bible, the new Prayer-hook, a poor 
man's box, a chalice, a corporas, a paten, a bell, and some other things." * 

The highest Ecclesiastical Court has thus given its judgment that 
the words of the rubric apply, and are confined to such ornaments as 
are authorized in the first Prayer-book of Edward VI., which was 
sanctioned and enforced by the first Act of Uniformity of that 
monarch ; and the Court, at the same time, takes occasion to ob^date 
the difficulty sometimes raised that in fact there are no ornaments of 
the Church mentioned in the book in question, by citing from its 
pages the names of various things that come under that description. 

This being so, the matter seems to resolve itself into the simple 

question. Does the first Prayer-book of Edward say anything about 

dtar lights ? It is not even pretended that this is the case ; and 

, hence, by a necessary inference from the judgment, they seem to be 

quite unauthorized. 

But a writer who does not hesitate to chaige the Judicial Committee 
with ha\'ing made a complete mistake, brings a chronolc^cal argu- 
ment to show that a rubric which speaks of the second year of Edward 
cannot possibly refer to the l*rayer-book in question. 

* Uoore'a Beport, p. 168. 

?^ Contemporary Review, 

He pnts it tlnis ; — " Edward VT. begFin tn reipi on .Taimarj' 28tli, 
1547. His second year was over on Janumy 28th, 1549. His fii-st 
Pni-yur-bocik did not cnme into itse by law imtU AVIdt-Sumliiy, 1549, 
■\vull on iji liis third year, and till tliuu thtj Latiu Sliasal and Breviary 
■were, the only lawful serviue-booka in Eii;^land."* 

The full explanation of this olijection, which at first si.yht lonka 
rather foruddaWe, is as follows. The first PrayGr-book of Edwaid, 
VI. was put forth and sunctioned by the Act 2 & 3 Edw. VI,, c. 1, 
and this statute enacts that ah ministcra, ht,, "shall, /row and nfict 
of Pentecost next cominf/, be bounden to say and use the 
J,, and all their common and open prayer, in s«ch order and 
montioJii;d in the situiu bonk, find nrme other or otberwiae." 
As the session of I'flrliamtnt iri which this statnte was passed did not 
begin till November in the second year of the Kiii^', the feast of Pente- 
cost next coming would Tie in the third year. Hence Dr. Litth'dale 
arguea that tliei Prayer-book cuidd not be in force till, tlie third year, 
instead of the second. 

Rut he ajipeara to have overlooked a later elan.^ie in the sonje Act, 
Avhich provides that the hotiks should be got by the <liflercnt pariahp3 
"liyl'nre the feast of pL-ntecost npxt followinj,', or hrfm'e; and that 
nU. such parishes, fie., where the said books shall be attained and 
•fotten he/m'c the said feast of Pentecost, shidl, -ivilhrn three ivtrj:s next 
after the said hooka so attained and gotten, iiae the said service, and 
put the same in lu-e according to this Act." 

Hence the new service, in contemplation of liiw, would he in nae 
almost at once after tlie passin;:,^ of the Act,f and the rjuestion is 
narrowed to the date to be assigned to the Act itself. 

Dr. littledale does not seem to have noticed that some argument 
took place on this very point in Westtiitgn v. Liddell, and the Judicial 
Committee say v — 

"It was urged at the bar that the present mbric, wticli refers to the 
e^cond ye-ar of Edward \'T., caanot lueaii ornamenis melitioneil in the first 
Prayor-hook, Ivecaiise, as it ia said, tliat Act i\'aa pnjlialjly not jiasaeJ, and 
tliB Prayer-book iv;i9 certainly not in use, till iiftji>r tho expiration of thu 
SL'cjonil year of Eihviird VI., aiid thalt, therefons, the wcinta ' by autliority of 
Parliament' mnst mean by virtue of canons or ro>"a.l jnj cinetinnB having the 
authority of Parlianient, niadt* nt an earlier period. There si-enis uo riin^ou 
to do'Libt tlut the Act in quogtiou received the Koyal assent in the second 
year of Edward VI. It concerncl a umtter of ga'at urgency, which had 
beL'a long uud«r t'^onsidoratieii, and wii-s the first Act of the session ; it ' 
passed through one IIouso of Par] i-ament on January the 15th, 1549, N.S., 
and tho other on th« 2l8t of the esm« month ; and the second year of thci 
reign of Edward VL did not expire till Januniy the 28tb. In the. Act of 

• IJtneilale'a " Catholic RitntJ," p. 11. 

t TUe meauiny of the Act clearly is that it was detiraik lo use thfl new Liturgy oa aoaa. 
&& posiible, and it was ^enei not to use it after Pentecost ot latest. 

Riiualisfn and the Ecclesiastical Law. 




the 5th an J Gth Etlward VL, c ], § 5, it ia expressly referred to as t>n) 
Act 'niitde in the secoiiil year of the Kinij's Majesty's reigu.' Upou t-hi* 
p-isitit, therefore, do flilfieulty coin arise. It is very trii^ that thp Ji«w 
Ptnyer-book could not couku into uae until after the exjiirstign of that 
year, because time must he aUoired fur printing and ilistributitig tho 
boots ; hut ita ii-se, nnd the injunrtions contnined in it, wore established by 
authority of Porliamtnt La tho aecoati year of Edward VI.„ aud this ia the 
plain lucauiay of the rubric," • 

The fact here meiitiuned, that in 5 & 6 Edw. AT, c. 1, the 
Act 2 & 3 Kdw, VI., c. \, is unquestionably cited as made in 
th« second year of Ids reign, uught surely l« settle the f|ut;stioii 
as to thtiif bL'ing nu impossibility that it shoiild be intended by 
the like words in the rubric. 

If any futiher aiyunient be needed, it may be added that the time 
at whicb the Bnyal assent was ^ven to the Act is perhaps alter 
' all not very mntpHal. 

At the present day an Act takes effect only froin the time At which 
it rccei\'e3 the P^yal assent; hut this is comparatively a recent syatem, 
havijig been broufiht about by the Act 33 Gen. 111.^ c. 13. 

IVjAnoiLgly to the ]ias3infr of that Act, the rule TS'aa, "that wlien the 
comraent-ement of an Act was nnt directetl to he from any particular 
time, it took effect from tlie tirst day of the session in which the Act 
was passed." ■{■ 

Now seeinj^ Ihat the 2 & S Etlw. VI., c. 1, in fact dirocted 
liooks to lie yot as soon as possible fas we have shown), and 
that the Act iteelf would, in contemplation of law at the time 
the rubric ivas fmnieil, bo deemed to have passed on tho first day 
of the se.gaion, \.f.., on the 4fch, or, at latest, on the 24th of November, 
154(i!,j there seems no room left tu d<jubt that in the legal phrase- 
obgy of the day, the usaj^'cs which it introduced woidd Ihj spoken of 
as lueinj^ in the Chm*cli in the seeond year nf King Edward. 

iJr. Littlisdale's chi-onological objection thei-efore fails, and we fall 
bflX'k with more confideucts on the view of the Judiciid Committee 
that the rubric really refeis Uj Edwanl's lirat Prayer-book, flliich, we 
repeat, does not direct the use of liglits on the altar. 

But it may still Ije well to look at the alternative proposed to ns by 
those who dissent from this view. 

• Moore'i Bepart of Wi'slerton v, LiddoU, p. 160. It is wortli drft-wiiig attention to llio 
fut diat thn rubric does oot run, " audi oininnoTita ahall be retnined na were in iiac in fhii 
Cbnnti, &!■:., hf AuEhoHty of Pnrliiimpnt," &i-., but " mich omameuts alioll bo rctuinud and 
be in use. m, \rero in this Cbun^h, &t., by autlaurity of Parliflment," 4c. 

\ Dwarris on StututcB, 2Qd Edition, p. 513, lu Ujp •■oso of Lotlesa v. nolmem (4 Tprm 
Report, flflO), the C'Hirt Tefusc-d tu lako nntico of tliis hIbIb of the Roynl anBotit to the Act 
on irhirh thni casi! depf'iulcd. Baying^ " Wo t-an only know by n ref«reni?c to tho fitntutc- 
Ruak -irbva thi? Al-C paisseiE - and liy ttiBt it a|iptMm to Ii&ve passed im tli« SUt of October, 
tho flret day of th>; HCssioh." 

; Tbe rarl. Roll has tho -tth ; thu Juumals uf tLc IlauiQ oay the Silh. 

VOL. I. ^ 

"^ ' 

1 8 Tlie Contemporary Review. 

"What other interpretation of the rubric is offered ? It has been 
su^ested that it means such ornaments " as were in use in the second 
year of King Edward's reign by the authoritj" of any statute then 
in force, tliough previously enacted." * Accordingly rehance is placed 
on a constitution of Archbishop Eej-nolds, made in the year 1322, 
which directs the use of altar lights at the senice of the Mas3."f" 
This constitution, it is contended, was in force at the passing of the 
Act 25 Hen. VIII., c. 19, and was, therefore, confirmed by the proviso 
in that Act, and by the 35 Hen. VTII., c. 16 (cited su,pTa, p. 10, &c.). 
And hence it had the authority of Parliament in the second year 
of Edward VI., and comes within the terms of the rubric. 

The matter turns, as will be seen at once, on the clauses given 
gupra, p. 10 et scq., from the Acts of Henry VIIL, which purport to 
sanction the canons and constitutions then existing, until revised by 
the commissioners. It will be recollected that the authority to take 
steps for such region was personal to the King, and ceased at his , 
death, and that no such revision was in fact completed before he died. 

Hence a very grave doubt has been raised, as to whether the Acts 
did not wholly expire with the life of the King, including the clauses 
which give an interim sanction to the canons. Mr. Stephens con- 
tended before the Judicial Committee, " that the true meaning of the 
statutes relating to that subject, passed in the reign of Henry VIIL, 
is that they provide for the review of the existing canons by 
commissioners appointed by the King, and give authority to these 
canons only in the meantime, i. c, during the continuance of the 
commissions; that the commissioners never made any report; J that 
the commissions determined by the death of King Henry VIII. ; 
and that the parliamentary sanction given to the canons ended at the 
same time." 

If so, obviously they had not the authority of Parliament in the 
second year of Edward VI. The above smnmary of the argument is 
given by their Lordships in the judgment in Westerton v. Liddell, and 
they go on to say ; — " If it were necessaiy to determine this goint, 
their Lonlships tliink this argument might deserve serious considera- 
tion, although it is contrary to the general impression which has 
prevailed on the subject." 

" These Tordfl are taken from an opinion by Mr, Badelcy on the legality of altar lighta, 
bearing date I'cbruorj- 12, 1851 ; and what followB is an attempt to state briefly the main 
point of hid argument. It may be gathered that Dr. Littledalc's view is not very 

t " Tempore quo Mifsarum solenmia peraguntur, accendantur duie candeke vel ad 
minus una.'' (L}-ud. I'rovinc. 236, JohnBOn, eub anno 1322.) 

J Cardwt'll saya (Docum. Annals, vol. i., p. 100), that they did draw up a report, but 
that it oc'vcr received the King's contirmation. The difference is immaterial for the 
prcuint purprse. 

Ritualism and iJie Ecclesiastical Law. 


They did not find it neoessaiy to decide the question, because on 

other gi-oimds tLey were satisfied tliat the nibric related to the first 

Pni}L*r-book of E^lwai-d VI. It may be obseired that this point had 

already been raised some years pi'eviously in a tract* published on 

fej^e subject, which puts the argument thns :— 

** It is subniitted tliat the event contemplated [the TCTieion of the caiions] 
having beL-oiiiG inijiossibl© [by tke death of Henry], the clauses, which were 
limited to opernte oidy aidil that eveut, Iwcaitic a dead letter. It is cleiif 
in the law of real property, that ' if au estate be Hmiteil to a man and his 
heire, miiil A eliidl attain the ege of twenty-ona, the testate "will deterniLne 
jf A should die untluT that age' — (Pi-eetnn cm Estattis, j>. 55.) And tha like 
seems to be the proper interpretation beru. . . , Any other interpre- 
tation wriidd read thu words, 'till auch tiJiie as they Hhall be viewed,' as if 
they had been, 'in default of Guch review.' The latter phrase, which baa a 
definite legal sense, would have been quite appropriato to convey the aiean- 
ing for which ilr. Baduley contenJa, hut as the Legislature has not used it, 
there seem? ground to think sui-li an itibjution wa^ not preG<;nt to their 
tuinds. Bo&i<Ii?.f<, it ia Hurely nioBt inccngruuus to maintain that Furluunent, 
while cemplainitiK that the itfinona were 'oTt-rinuch oueroue ■to His Higliuess 
and his subjects, 't should at one and thci siinio moment miikti thtir reviaion 
dtpundcnt on ihu King's life latiting until the conclusion uf a long investi- 
gation, and yet bestow oji them a uiiw and authoritative eaneti<in, whinh 
WBB to Ix.' perpetiml in the event tif any accident to the King. It should be 
observed that by 1 Eliz., c. 1, everj-tliitii;; in the slatuti; 25 Heu. VUL, c. 19 
(iiiclurliaj: therefiirp the power to reviae the canuuti), ia lexlended to the 
yiieen ujiti hf^r /rnri-j'intnr/t. And this exptaiua ho^v the confirmiittiry proviso 
has bc^n tri'atcd as in force at the present day by legal writwrs^ without 
tmptigmng the abovi- ar;:;miient as to the state of things at the nponing of 
thM poign of Edward VI.'' 

But again, let us grant for the salce of argument that the grave 
doubt thus raised ia unfoimdetl. 

Th(! question, theu, Is as to the true intent and meaning of certain 
words of reference used in the rubric, and we are now cnnaideiing 
a proposed interjiretation, which makes them relate to the ancient 
amons and constilutioue collect ivtily. One nietliud of testmg this w. 
by inquirinfj into the consefpiences which would ensue from adoptinn; 

Imcli a Miistniction. If these are anomalous and incouvL-nient, it is a 
Itgitimatc iafereiice that tha intfutloii of the fraiuera of the rubrio 
tannot have been as alleged.}: 
Now tliere are three very explicit constitutions regarding church 
• " Some Einininatioa of & recently putilished Opinion of E. Badeloy, Esq., in fnvour gf 
JJHrljgbta." Bj- a Layirjnn, late Fi'llow of Trinitj- College, Cftmbridge. London, 1B61, 
t Se* 20 n.t«. VIIL, t. 19. 

X Tbis bicdiixl uf Ttasama^ is of frequent use in lav. Mr. Bmom, in hie abl^ work en 

Muinis, iiai the fslbwing commuit on tlie minm, " Argumc^tuia ab iiLconvrnientt 

unionnL rolot in logo." Uv uyi, '* Arguments of mcoaveoicn'.'Q arc soitivtiuten ol'grent 

upou tlid i^uvaticni of inLentitm. If there be in niiy deed or icilmiuinf ecjuiTOCol 

ns, and glcat iiH-onveiuciUi'e must nLtoesiiriljr follow from one construe tiun, It it 

la *how tLal <ucb. conatructiaii ii not acixndiii^ to Lhc \raa iutcntian.'" 


The Contemporaiy Review, 

ornainenta to be fonnil in L^iiJwood's and Johnson's collectiona of 
uinons. One of them was made in 1250, under Arclibishop Gray; 
another at a later jiuriod, under Art'liltishoii Peckhnm; and the third 
in 1305, under Ai-cLbishoii Winclielsey. These enjuin that there l»e 
in churches, amongst other things, a vessel lor the holy water, a cross 
fot precessions, an oscalntor}',* a censer, a tteceul jiyx for the body of 
C'iirist, hannera for the Rogation daysj the chrismatory,'!' a veil for 
Lent,* the images in the churches, the principal linage in the chancel 
of that aaint to ■wliicli the cliurch is dedicated, and so on. 

All these matters, therefore, rest on precisely the same foundation as 
the constitirtion of Archbishop Keynolda touching altar lighta, If the 
latter t>e now in force, so are these. In other "Wijrds, oiii- clnuT;h- 
tviirdenS ate Ijoimd to fmnish thtir chuw-hes ■ftith idl the abo\-e 
articles. The osculatoiy is ag much authorized to be nsed in the 
Holy Communion as the lighted candles; a veil must l-e hung across 
the church in Ijcnt ; the holy water must stand at the door; and. 
above all, the consecrated Host njust be reserved in the p}Tc, or sacred 
box employed for that purpose, aud the pyx placed in a tabernacle 
over the altar. "We charge," says Arehhi.'ihop Peckbam, in a con- 
stitution of I279f " that for the future the moat worthy sacmment of 
the Kiiehftrist be so kept, that a tabemacle be made in everj' church, 
with a decent enclosure, accttiding to the gi-eatness of the cure and 
the valne of the church, in which the Lord's Body may he laid, not 
in Q purse or bng, but in a fair pyx. lined with the whitest linen, 
so tliat it may be \>x\.\, in and taken out without any hazani of 
hi-eaktng it" 

It is sometimes urged that the altar itself was a recognised oma- 
uifut in the second yeai' of Edwaitl (inasmucli ti^ s.teiw were not taken 
Ici alwlifih altars till a year or two Int^r), and that both altar and 
altar h'ghts are therefore now legal. Rnt independcTitly of the view 
taken by iijr H. J. Fuat in Fitulkner i'. IJtchf^(:^UI, that the altar is 
not deserihed with technical coiTectnesa by the term "omniment^"§ 

• Tho OBCuIalory ■wna a tab]r>t or bonrd, with iho picture of Cfariet Jesus, tic Virgin or 
tlic like, wlilch tho prieat kissed hiniBelf, and gn*'*' *" 'lio l>eoplo for Ito anmp purjiOMi aftct 
the coiiBpci'Qtion was ptrfornitd, inati^ail of the ani-iont Icias of chftrity." (Johiiaoii'a nolo 
oa Uie Canon of Wiiichclsoy.) 

t Thu; ririimatory, lliu BiniB cominentatar IpIIb us, wns ft nereasary part flf tho furm- 
ture of every church, and waa the small teasel in wliitb tliu thrism, or holj- ointmiju.t for 
nnotnting pereona in baptisia, wli^ <?oiit!£i!^. 

% Thii wna "a rurtnin ilmwn belwoen tho altnr and the peopli? during muM, whoroby 
tho J)iCO£>]o were pruUibitcd from setting atiTlbing tLut uros dont-," (Johnson.) 

\ He aays, " It vm conteadcd that, ns st-nno altars were then \s\f.,y in "Can eccond jwox 
of Edward] in iisp, they, being oratiiniiiliii are low to 'be retninM. T.> bo euti.', wvtk tbia 
argiicncnt valid, not ou3y ii^ this atone altar or table projUT. but no other apeties of tnblo 
ought fu bo orettcd, DunmdiLfl was cited to *how that the* altar ts to l)« considered on 
oiiiauteitt : but it a«pin8 to m* that that writer is an nutlmrily iho other way. In lil>. t-, 
cap. 3, of his 'Rationale Dii-inonun Offloionua,' Tonice Edit., I068, he aay*, 'Poiro onA- 

Ritualism and i/ie Ecclesiastical Law. 2 1 

this argument, if iised at all, must be pressed to its full extent. It is 
not merely a structure of stone with lights upon it, such as is some- 
times seen in churches where strong ritualist opinions prevail, that 
would have to be restored, but the altar with tlie pyx and the re- 
served Host upon or over it, and dressed in all points as in the days 
when (as Dr. Littledale says) " the Latin Missal and Breviary were 
the only lawful service-books." 

But the reservation of the sacrament is directly contrary to the 
twenty-e^hth Article ; and it is a rule of law, no less than of common 
sense, that no construction can be valid which introduces repugnancy 
and contradiction. 

So, again, as to the images. The old canons distinctly require 
them, yet they are as distinctly forbidden by the homily against 
"Peril of Idolatry;* and the doctrine of the homilies is confirmed 
by the thirty-fifth Article. 

And subscription to the Articles was enjoined by the same Act of 
Unifonnity which sanctioned the rubric, the interpretation of which is 
now under consideration. 

We might cmry our inquiries farther as to the ancient canons, with 
a like result ; but it is presumed that enough liaa been said to show 
the strange results which would flow from holding that our present 
rubric It^alizes, as a class, all ornaments prescribed in them. 

Perhaps it may be replied that such ornaments are sanctioned, 
except so far as set aside by more recent laws. But this is to destroy 
the whole force and simplicity of the argument, which owes its 
virtue to a strict and literal reading of the words " such as were in 
this Church of England, by authority of Parliament, in the second 
year of the reign of King Edward the Sixth." Mr. Badeley, and 
those who share his \'iew, contend that whatever falls within these 
terms — whatever ornaments had authority under any Act of Parlia- 
ment, at a time when, "the Latin Missal and Breviaiy were the only 
kwful service-books" — must be allowed to be enjoined by the rubric. 
To engraft on this any exception not found in it is fatal to the 
scheme. If one article be disallowed, why not another ? 

menu in tribos coiuiatunt, t. «., in omatu eccleaiat, chori, et altarie. . . . Altaris vero 
ornatus conaistit in capaia, in palliis, in phylacteriia, in candelabris, in crucibus, in aufrisio 
[surifrigio'r], in Teiillia, in codicibua, in velaminibus, et in cortinia.' The altar is no- 
Thtre, that I can find, enumerated amongst the ornaments of the church or choir." — 
FauOMr T. Litchfield, I Robertson, p. 254. 

• The whole spirit and tenor of tho homily aro against them ; but one sentence may 
te dted merely aa a sample : — " The images of God, our Sariour Chriat, the blessed Yirgiu 
Utry, the apoatlca, martyra, and others of notable holiness, are, of all other images, most 
dangerons for the peril of idolatry, and therefore greatest heed to be taken that none of 
them be Buffered to etand publicly in churches and temples." (See third part of tha 


The Contemporary Review. 

AiiJ then, wliat is disallownnce ? The wliok' dispute ia at once let 
in aa to whether tliinj^s not mentioueil are tlieryliy forbidden, or 
whfithcr thiir'e niiist he any, auJ it' so, what, exjiress words nt" piMhi- 
bitioii. For iustauce, in reference to the matter before us, the Msisa 
is swept away; in the year 1652, when the rubriu at" our present 
Pmyer-hdok was finally fiftnctionwl and set Ibrth, and fur loiij; after- 
wards, it was fiimishable with fine and imprisonment, by 23 YXxz., 
cap. 1, to say Masa. And by 3 Janies I^ cap. 5, pyses and missals 
fouuLl ill the possession of Popish re-cusanta wwre to he destroyed. 

It" these statutes forbid the " Mhsio-fum sokinnia," who is to say, 
with confidence, that the " dute candclfe" enjoined by the canon of 
Hejntulds as a part uf that ritf , are nut abolished also ? 

Or wili it l>e said that the " omaraents" un^ to be kept, but not the 
8fen*ice ? If 80, are the tabernacly and the pyx to be set up, but with 
no Host within ? the oscuktory restored, but never used ? If so, the 
aiialo;^y woidd appear to Ije that the candlesticks, though alluweil to 
remain, should not be lighted. 

There is yet one more argument in support of altar li^'lits which 
AT must exainiue, because gi-eat I'eUance has been placed upon it by 
some WTiters. 

In the year liidT, being the first year of Eilward W., certain royal 
itijiint'tiona were set forth, one of M'hich mn — 'That all deaiis, arch- 
deacons, parson."?, vicars, and otlier ecclesiastical persons .... 
shall suffer henceforth no torches or ciuKlka, tapers, or iniafjea of 
wax, to be set liffore any image or picture. But only two lights 
upon the liigh altar, before tlie sacrament, which, for tiie signifiration 
that Christ is the very true light of the world, they shall suffer to 
remaiu still." 

Now this injunction, per sc, is not, of course, etpiivalent to autho- 
rity of Purliament,* but it Inus teen allegeil by many thut it was in 
fact issueil by the ('rown under the jwwers of tlie Act ^1 Hen. VIIL, 
c. 8, and 34 lien. VIII., c. 23, which gave royal pruclamationa put 
forth uuder their provisions the effect of Acts of I'arlianicut. Much 
dispute has taken place as to whether these injunctions were or wiira 
not iirisued with the fonnalities requisite to bring them within tlie 
scope of the Acts of Henrj' VII 1., but the point seems to be of veiy 
subonlinati.' mciment, for th-e following reason. 

* Yet, Htn^arlj enniij^ it hsa somelimeB baen bo treatcHl. Thus Dean Hook, in liu 
Chiirfh Diet., Hub, " Lights on tho AJtar," ttftpr i;iting the ntbrii; wltli which wi' nro now 
60 faiiiilmr, Bays, " So that, if it oppear tliat in the second year ol King Echvnrtl VI. 
lifjllta veiv Uj4«] OS in Ihia mhric ia mention'pd, no aulboritv short of a Cunvocniion tor iLc 
*^h«rcli, and for lie H!nto an A<;t of rurliflincnt, tan Teveiae llii:! auihoirity on uhkh 
li^Ma aro Bti|] iised iijjrjri the iiltar ;" and then ho iimply prodiii-ea iLo injtiiirtion, withtiut 
any ntdcnpt to nhou- tJmt ii had thp oulLoritj- of tlic Legialaturo, anil appean to he under 
till' imiiiTsaiin that !io liu pTOved hia point. 

Ritualism aiid the Ecclesiastical Law. 




Tlte mjunctioris were put forth m the summer of 1547, ami m the 
ensiiipg winter wn3 passed the statute 1 Edw, VI., c. 12, which 
repealed the Act* in questiou, tleclariiig that thw Act "made in the 
I'arliamont bolilen at Westminster jn the thirty -firet year of the reigQ 
ftf the latG Kmg Hmiry VIIl.j that pioclamations made by the Kiny's 
Highnp-S3f hy thi? advice of his Hcitiaimibli! Cotiiicil, shciidd he ohuyed 
iiiid ktpt as though they were made Ijy authority of rArliaiiieiit, 
find also one other Act, made hi the Parliament holden in the tlmty- 
fourth year of thtt reign nf the said late Kiiig Henry VIIL, fof the due 
execution of t.he sard pro^lamationsj ajid also aU. imd every branch, 
article, and mattc-ra in the same statutes, and in every of them, 
mentinned or declared, shall from henceforth he repeated^ and utterly 
made void and oj' no effect." No\v it is a wiuU-setth^d principle of law 
that any obliyutiun flowing from a statutcj either immfdiakhj or 
mediaitlif (i. t:, from some rale or onier made in pnrauauee of povvera 
grantcil hy a statute), becomes null and void as aoon as thu statute is 

It is on this ground that when it ia mtended to keep alive what 
has been ju-eviously done luider the powers of a repealed Act, a 
saving clause is always inserted to tliia effect in the Act which. 
repeaJa it. 

To take a recent instance, the Acts in relation to Kiiendly Societies 
gave tliose hodiea power to make rules for their own government, and 
lieclared that when iluly made and ceTtificd by a hamster appointed 
for that pni-pose, they should be biudiny on the members of sueh 
societies. By 13 & 14 Vict., c. 115, the law concerning Friendly 
Societies wns modihed, and the previous Acts rel:^ealed. But in order 
t<i prevent rules ah-eady made under those Acts from becoming void, 
which woultl necessarily have ensued, and M'ould have been inconve- 
uient, the Act contained an express clause, " that such repeal shall 
aot invalidtite or atleot anything which has been done Ijefore the 
pasaiDg q1' tills Act, in pursuance of any of the said Acta," The 
iujuncti<^n. therefore!, cannot be cousidei'^d as having any pEirliaiueu- 
tary authnrity in the aecoud year of Kiny EdwarnL Conseq^ueutly, 
it cannot be referred to under these terms in the rubric, and its 

' See tlie csMB of Surteep v- Elliaop, fl Btirti. miJ Crcsa,, 752 ; Kny v. Goodwin, 6 
Bbj.. 576; Keg. T. Mawgan, & AJ. and EIL, 49(5 ^ Harrow v. Amaad, S Q. 15., 596. 
Mr. Badeley cipreasij- ndniil*. this in his opinioa, to wliifli we liave before refc-rroil. Uo 
ttyi, " I caimol rogartl Ihtm [the injuiictioiis] na faaviug iLe force of Inw in the second 
ycar-fif Edward \L, iiiaannich as Oib atjvtut« 31 Hen. Ylll., i:. 8, whifh gave tlio effect 
of ui Act of I'arliamE'Ut to She Kiu^'»]iro(:Iaiimtion, vuanipeai&dby Oicetalutu 1 Edw. VI-, 
c. 12, 1. 4 ; Olid ai no ecscrvatioa vat- mnde in ttis latter statuto in fnvour of ika proda- 
nulkiui iMU«ii imdtjr tbc proviaioiiB of Ibe fonner, it ie plain tliat. what those injunctioatf 
ic^nired r.9iini>t bo deemed to haA'a 1]0(!n iu uac by autlioritj' of I'u-linment in tlio 3«M:0]id 
Tear of Ed>nud'«rpiEn." For this reaaou Sir. Uadclej- pri'fera to rely on tlie aigumcDt 
(mn Uie ofioiont <-imoa5, with wMch ve buvc cadcaToiuvd Co deal already. 


The Contemporary Review. 

hearing on tlie matter is thns disposed of. Huwever, it may not lie 
amiss to mention in passui^', that by another Eoyal I'roclamation put 
tVirtli only two yenre later — viz,, in 154'9 — the clause in question was 
Avlnilly aiiitulled, and it was ordered — 

" nmt all parsoDG, vicara, and cumtea omit, in the reading of the iiyunc- 

tionSf all SHc'h. tta niuke mention flf tha Popish Mnsa, of chanlries, of candles 
upon the altar, or any other aurh like thing. 

" Item for a uniformity : That no miniaU^r tin counterfeit the Popiiih 
Masa, BO afl to ikiss the Lord's tahlo ; woBhing hia fingors at evorj' time la. 
thii communion ; "blessing hia eyH?s ivitli tlie pattti or au(](iry ; or crofleingj 
his head with thff pjiton j Bhifting of the hook Ironi one place to another ; 
laying down and licking the chalice of the eommtmion ; holding np his 
fingers, hiirnls, or thujiilis, joined towards his temples ; Lreatliiug upon tho^ 
bread or chalice; showing the sacrament openly before the distribution of 
thiL- coltimunion ; ringing of sacrj'iiig hells; or setting any light upon the 
Lotd's hoard at any time; and finally to use no other ccrenionicK than ate 
[i]>pointed in tlie King's Book of Common PtayeTj or kneeling otherwise 
tlian is in the said book." • 

U]inn tbe whole, then, the conclusion to which we are led is, that 
there ia no gi-omid to impugn the decision of tlie Judicial Committee, 
■\vliieh states the effect of the rubric to he "that the same dress and 
the same utensils or articles whitfh were used imder the first Prayer- 
book of Edward VI. may still be used." 

But there is yet a final question. la the nibrie exclusive ? Does 
it mean that tho.5e nn(l twne other are to be retained ? 

I>r. Lnshington thought that "that which the Church has pre- 
scribed is a Wrtnal prohiliition of everv'thing else rjiistifim^ gnirris"'f 
Sir Jolm Dodson appear to have cloubted.| Tbe Judicial Committee 
held tliiit " the word ' onianients. ' applies, and in tbia rubric is eouHued, 
to those artid&s the use of which in the services and niinistrations of 
the Church la proscribeil I>y the Prayer-liook of Etlward VI,"§ 

This appears on all aceounta to be the only satisfactory \iew ; a rule 
which penoits of indefinite additions is for pmctical purposes little 
better than no rule at all. 

That the franiern of the fii'st Prayer-book of Edwanl YT. uitcuded 
that uutliinfi else should be used except what was therein mentioned 
is sufHciently e'\ident; for in the IVeface it is said, "Furthermore, 
by this- oi-der the citrates pliall need none other books for theii public 
service but this botjk suid the Bible." 

This is. a plain proof that notliing more iwed be used. And almost 
tbe next stmtence (whieh still stantU in our present I'rayei-book) 
shows that there was to be no such thing as a voluntary use liei-e and 

• CanlwcU'* Doc. AnniJs, toI. i., p. 'i. The Act of Unilbrmity, establislung Iho n?ir 
rmyct-book, had paased in the int«iTal hetwt«n the fomuir iajunctioiu ojul thine. 
t Moons's R<i>f on «f WefitMton v. Liildcll, p. 60. 
JJ^irf., p. 9i, §JStf., p. 156. 

Ritualism and the Ecclesiastical Law. 25 

there of more than was enjoined : — " "Whereas heretofore there hath 
been great diversity in saying and singing in churches within this 
realm ; . . . now from henceforth all the whole realm shall have 
but one use." And by the Act of Uniformity (2 & 3 Edw. VI., 
c. 1), all ministers are to say the mattins, evensong, celebration 
of the Lord's Supper, commonly called the Mass, and administration of 
each of the sacraments, and all their common and open prayer, in 
such order and form as is mentioned in the said book, and none other 
or otherwise." And "if any manner of parson, &c., . . . shall 
use, wilfully and obstinately standing in the same, any other rite, 
ceremony, order, form, or manner of Mass openly or privily, or mattins, 
evensong, administration of the sacraments, or other open prayer than 
is mentioned and set forth in the said book," he is to suffer the 
penalties of the Act. 

And by 1 Eliz., c. 2, s. 27, it is enacted "that all laws, statutes, 
and ordinances wherein or whereby any other service, administration 
of sacraments, or common prayer, is limited, established, or set forth to 
be used within this realm, or any other the Queen's dominions or 
countries, shall from henceforth be utterly void and of none effect." 

And all these clauses are brought over Mid made to apply to the 
enforcing of our present Prayer-book by 13 & 14 Car. II,, c. 4; and 
it is tliereby enacted that all ministera are to use the various services 
" in such order and form as is mentioned in the said hook," and this 
" to the intent that every person within this realm may certainly 
know the rule to which he is to conform in public worship and admi- 
nistration of saci-aments, and other rites and ceremonies of the Church 
of England." How would this intent be effected if altar lights were 
to be lighted at particular times, and other ceremonies performed of 
which there is no mention in the rubric, and for which guidance 
must be sought in the ancient service-books? And in speaking of 
these books it must not be forgotten that, at the time at which our 
present Prayer-book was set forth in its latest form, viz., the reign of 
Charles II., they were not only not books in every one's hands, but 
were absolutely prohibited, ITie 3 & 4 Edw. VI., c. 10, was then in 
force (being reWved by 1 Jac. I., c. 25, s. 48), and speaking of 
the ancient service-books, this Act says, " Which for that they be not 
calletl in, but permitted to remain imdefaced, do not only give occa- 
sion to such perverse persons as do impugn tlie order and godly 
meaning of the King's said Book of Common l*rayer, to continue in 
their old accustomed superstitious service, bvit also minister great 
wciision to diversity of opinions, rites, ceremonies, and services ;" and 
it enacts " that all books called antiphoners, missals, grails, proces- 
sionals, manuals, legends, pica, portuasses, jjrimers in Latin or English, 
coHchers, journals, ordinals, or other books or writings whatsoever. 


The Contemporary Review. 

heretofore uaetl for sen^iccs of tlie C'lniit'b, written or printed in the 
English OP Latin tonjrne, other than such as are or shall Iw set forth hy 
the King's Majesty, shall lie hy authority of this prt-sent Act cleanly 
and utterly abolished, extinf^uisltcd^ and forbidden for ever to be used 
or kept in tliia realm, or elsewhere witliin any the King's dominions." 

And hy 3 Jac. 1, c. r», s- 2fi, it is eiificteil that no person shall " bring 
from beyond the seas, nor shall print, sell, or buy any I'opish primers, 
missals, breWaries, &c." 

The case then aeems to stand thus :— ^Ul directions as to certain 
ancient ceremonies^ and as to the use of tertain ancient orn.iments, 
are "left out"* of the rubrics of oiir present Book, while at the same 
time the Acts nie allowed to remain in ibvce that render ille^I 
the possession of the books from which the appropriate directions 
might be obtained, Wlrnt stronger indication cotthl be given that siich 
ceremonies and ornaments were not to Iw nsed? 

Lastly, that the public authorities, in the reign of EdTcaiti VI., con- 
sidered the intention of the Legislating to be that no other ceremonies 
should be used than those mentioned in the PrayeT-hook then issue*!, 
may fairly be leathered from the Itoyal ProL'lamatioii or injunctions of 
lo49, as cited above (p. 24). These expressly enjoin upon the clergj'" 
" to use no other ceremonies tlifui are appointed in the Kinf,''s Book of 
Common Prayer," and there secmis no reason to doubt that they were 
put ferth with a hcniA JUic purpose of carrying out the new enactment 
aa it was then understood. *f 

" tt is hoKlly poftsiblo to rciid tln> Preface w iho Prayer-book without fpoling flat flie 
n'orila "left out,'' in iha paragmphs conreraing the service of the Churth, ars iiacd u 
cijuiviliiit l-a '* ahcliehed " in tlic pnrapraphs " of oerctiionieB." 

t The ri'spegt wtith is due tfl the pusitjutt of llie RtL'order of Saliebiiry, Mr. Joho D- 
Chambera, induces us to give, in a note, an opinian by ln'm on (lie siLl)JL>ct of vltar lighli, 
vhile nt the same liuii; irc aEiall luld, a9 briclljr ns puagiblo (to ivuid rcpc'liltun), isuch 
ohaoFVfltioDB aa ii]ii>«ir to ua Ut dispose of tbo ai^untouta which he uses. It is cxn-ftclt-d 
from n {vnpcr by him on the offoct of the judgQii::t]it in Wftst^rtoa t. Li.idell. whirh is given 
at Iwgth ia the Appendix to tho '■^ Dir^torium ^Vnglic-anum " (2nd Edit., Loudon, t803}. 
AfWr liiioiKsing odior ijobts he aaji,- — 

" Ijistly, "^"ith rt'giird to light*. Aa to these, there ^oiild he no dlffltullj-, Imt that the 
rrivyCoiiQi:!! hflru most tulpably re(\]Be(l toiluuido the point oe to the purliamentaryflutho- 
Fily of Ihc anciunt ecrlcsiastifol conatituliona, canona, nnd conimau law, which expressly 
roquirad ' cundles to bo lijjhtoJ while tho sulenmicies of the JIasa wefi) hiiing performed.' " 

It is Biilimilttd [hat the point, so far na this (jneation ia (one'erntJ, waa, in fact, 4ccidfd. 
Tboir Loiiiutips any, "Tbo word •onmmflnls' upplies, nnd in this rubric is conflncd, to 
thoH nrticles the usti uf whiuh, in the iw^rriiies nnd id Ink) rations gf the Cburch,, ta prii- 
Bcribed by the Prayer-book of Edwoi-d VI. ;" and agaiii, "■ Their Lordships entirelj- agre« 
• . . that, in the Iii;rJi)rmaiil;<: of Ibo iCMi'iei'-.i, rituj!, uid crremonirs ordei'eil by tlid 
Pxayei-Book, tho directions coQUin<.4 in it must he ftrittly obMn-cd ; that no oiuiasion 
anil no a<ldition enji bo penuiLtcd.'"^Jfofli-fl'f JHepert, pp. 1-56 and 187. 

Mr. Chumhers proeceds, — 

" Omitting, hu-B-cTPr, nil refereneg to this iiwpstion, 1 think it pluiii that lijihts nt the 
Celebration of Holy Commimion nro lnwliil, though nut obligator!', for, amongst many 
othon, the foUowiag retaoas: — 1. The Croaa w^a retained ia a decoration by the Pi-ivy 




RUnalism and the EccUsiastual Law. 27 

At leuj2th Itpn ^^'C liave arrived at a landing-place. We have lieou 
leiJ to it liy a lung, smJ to luiiiiy, we tbar, a wearisoiiie pt'ocoss, but it 
ia well worth gaininj,'. 

Citimcil, bccauso ' an cmWein of tlie Chriatiiui faith ' Iit'W in preot rcpnty and used by the 
«4r1y CbriattaaB." [He thfii ptocL'^da ti> alloge curtab iLni'ient aulboritk's ibr tha line of 
lights, and then DoncliidL's : — ] "Ht-nco, Xhvsc ligbu we?^ like tlie Crcoe primitive, uid hsA 
no relaliun lo Hup«rBlitioiiB, and ary used as ' embluius of the Chriitian faith/ " 

The shoit nnstrer appears to bo that Ihp Cros» was sanetioBcd as n " decoratioa"' oulj", 
whercfl.'a ultif lights, in tho setisi* in whirL wo ate now ooncerted with thuin, are of i 
rilufc] or ceremoijiil charatter; and ihut there is tht-refiiro nn analogj-. The pnaango cited 
Bt p- 13 from the " Direct oriiiia" surely catabliahus this puint beyond disimte. 
His scfuud niguineiit is,-— 

" 2. Became candlesticks appear as part of tbe Aimiture of very numoronA chtirdies, in 
the ioTeutorieB, up l-o tht t-nti of Edward the Svitli'H reign," 

So do many churthes poasesa c-andlcaticks now ; but it dow not foUow that they arc fof 
this particular lae. Seiidfa, there is no reflson to doubt that articIcB may hoTO remainod 
uniDug th« ^ooda of tlie church loQg oftor their uao m-us diarontiiLUDd. 

"3. SecaiiH the parlinmcnlary auLhority of the iajimctfons of £dv^'aId VL, re<quijiDg 
tlieiT light* 'to remain still,' was recognised by hglh the lupi^rior Courts as in farce in the 
leCDnd year of Edward VI., and has never bc-un repealed.'" 

"Wc tttihttiit Ihnt wo hare alruady ahowTi thai, £f these iiijunetiona ever had }iarlin>»eitfttfy 
a.tLlhoriiy, they lost it by the repeal of the Act undn-f wlui-h they wero issued, and that 
tpvol woJi in tbe Jinl year ai Edward. ^Vo bod nothing in iho jud^enl of the 
Cvmnuttfii hostilti to lUa view, or ivhieh niakca thi.^ra ui any way n coueuirvat 
,iy with the ruhrie na to thjngfl used in the wTviees. 
" 4. The expre«a Btalement of Cualn, that, iy virtue a/ cAm rubric aird thru ittJuHftittfit, 
lighia werp in sery geDeml use during the reigM of EUKs-belJi und JcitnGe I- and the 
itatemKnt of Fuller to (ho same effect, is itrong hiitorical cridence." 

tMiiat-lbibg' more than loose Atat^meiDts of itBngo is required to OTcrtiirR a dir^tinet 
legal argiui]i;nt. CiJcss the evideute be perrt'ttly dislLtn-t, and the omga I* ahown to 
}UTB been vitfa the approbation of the cbnBtitutionaJ authoTiticd, a lawyer li^e Mr. 
Qiuiilets would, on (jaueidtiution, probably feel that no great reliance ton be placed 
upon ft. 

"5. Becauie the 'lights' are ''quite consiitent with th-Q pr^aent aerrice,' like the 
uredniee, ood with the idea of a feast and a table," 

Th* lights are by way of " addition" in tho "performance of tho getrices otdcied hy 
the I'layiT-boob," and tberffoTO connoL bo pL-rmittcid, A credent:* table was KmolJoncd 
biTBUse it was an " article " nut niortly "cunaistcnt with," but " jsubsidiary to the sor- 
•icv," and In fiict re<]uiriid in order to comply with ihs diroctloua of Uie ruhrie, (Sw 
Mcoro'* ItjTXvrt, p. IS") 
" d. Bei-nuBL* other Pr-ite-staut bo<liet use them, aa tho Lutherans do, and Luther did." 
This Liu a doctrinal nither thoii a Icjgal hearing, and drH?a nut fall within our subjcet. 
"7- lifcnuM-, even repirding the 'iiigb nliur' ftaabohahcd, the iila«Q w/rft-e they arolo 
I* put ia iminatariBl ; they arc adJnnctJ of ' tho sacFament,' ont of the altar," 

TbLs propoaition seems to reQuire more proof. At must, it oidy goca to one of the 
objoctioB* ai;ainfrt altar lifhta, Tlit otlicrv are uJisU'L''^Ctd by it- And it may ^^ sddL'd 
that ihc Jiidici[il CoDiRiittei! appeurn to havo eonsidered altar lighta aa euential adjuncts 
it an alliLT. [See Mowre's Report, p, 179.) 

" 8. Bernuse tfac dndsxation of the Coiul:, that croaaea are to he excluded from the ficr- 

riM tKfflUM> not Btiintinncd in E^ti'nt-d'd IJrat Ijook, i^nciot apply to ' lights,' whii^h ar« ia 

bnc by vinoe of another and iciilependent authority of ParliiLaient, ca-exifltiuj; ui tbat 

Kond year, and not repc.iled by that book." 

Vo traat we htno flhoi<''n that snth in not the cue, nnd tbat t^ Fniyer-bock wch sub- 


The Coniemporary Review. 

We have foiuid that the lej^nl effect cif the jiiiljirnicDt of the Judicial 
Coiumitttfe (which in an hmiible way we have endeavoured to explain 
and vindicate agiiiust mi'ia])])yeheiision and olijection) is to put a very 
dulinity and distinct inteiiiretation upon the rubric at the commence- 
ment of our present Book of Common Prayer. That nibrio, when it 
speakft qf " the authority of I'arlioiiient in the second yeai' of the reijj;n 
tif King Etlwartl W," is to be deemed to refer to the iirst Prayer-book 
of that nionai-cli. 

The ornaments reengnised by our rubric, and by it invusted vritTi n 
le^ sanction, are "tlitt sDvytaJ articles used iu the petfo^mflllc^? of the 
services and rites of the Church" wliich are mentioned in that Prayer- 

The Church does not raean to sanction -whatever articles were in use 
in Divine servica at any time dining the second year of King EdwanJ 
— a matter to be detemiiued (if at all) only by a seavcli into inedijeval 
canons, missals, and breviaries. On the contrary, we are referred at 
once to the rise of the Reformation, and to the first I^yer-book in the 
English tongue. 

It may be eaidj jhcrhaps, tliat the application of tliia test gives us 
one or two vestments for the cle-n^jy which are not now commonly in 
xiae. If tliis be so, and if it be thought right to revive them, they 
will be revi^'ed, not because foimd in niudijeval missals, but because 
thouglit worthy to he retained by our early reformers. On tlie other 
hand, the negative resulLs of the rule will be found to be important 
and decisi-s-e. They may be briefly illustrated by one more <iuutatiun 
from ritualist sources. 

It is well known that a claim has been put forward by the ritualist 

rtitotoii for, aud dldtKit merely co-exiat with, prcviouB laws; but jbrtlic proof of thii* 0>e 
render omat tjif irfernHl to ourpiBBoiu pagcsj whici ciuuiot n&w be rcpentc^- 

"H. That 'L'glita" nre ' 4MwrntioiV8,' not ' ornamcivts,' ss interpreted by Om PriYjf 
Couucil, and are not foTbitild«a to be u»g<1 bI any time or any ploe*." 

The jiidgioent soys, " All the BCVtraJ artitlLS used in the porfonnaneo of tbo Mmces 
and rites i>f the Church are omamcuta " (Moorc'a Report, p. 1S6) ; and thoM oiv dj*tin- 
fiuishDd froin " articlca not uwd in th« ei^t'TieM, hul set up in chiirthcB as -(iraameDU, in 
thti Hcnse of dacorntraiia " (p. loQ). Now the *' Dix-eMorium Angliduium " tella us tliut 
Iho oltar lights ''should bo lighted immediately bcfoiv the Cowiuiunion iS«rvice by the 
■clerk in caasock, gr in cnsEOL-k. and eurpILt'e'. He should niaki; a reverento bt'torc ascend- 
ing to light them, nod conimento on. the EpiatlB side," 

It may probnbly be safely lofli to the reader to eay nmder which cIms thcM lights, BO \o 
bo used and lighted, m»Bt iiatiinilly fall. And it way be added that Dr. llttLedalft 
expn.'ealy (tonti^nda fjr thuci as ornamrnts. 

" lo. For raa^oiu formerly given, ninl to avoid roising Home of theao questioiia, I should 
reconimtud these 'lights," which mny iBBue from cnndlus or l« cf gn*, ehould he placed 
on thrt IiidgD or auper-nltBr, now to he raised behind the tahle, and be huoiq distatkeo shotifi 
it, or bw in the shape of standard* beftire the tatilu." 

This certainly luoks like a want of confidence in the injtmetioiis, whiLh speak of " Iwft 
Ughls upon the high altar,"' and has altogether the air of a coinpriiiiii6c, iJuL it duns not 
oifect the mnin krguiuciit, and we Lhecoforo forbear to remark uptm it. 

Ritualism and the Ecclesiastical Law. 29 

school on behalf of the use of incense m the service. The "Dircc- 
torium Anglicanum " has the following on the subject of incense : — 

" Directions for the Use of Incense at Hlfjh Celebration of the Uohj 


" A quarter of an hour before the celebration, the thurifer should present 
himself at the sacristy, put on the cassock and cotta, and, in deiault of the 
acolytes, assist the sacred ministers to vest. 

" The pri^t, deacon, and sub-deacon being vested, the blessing of tho 
incense to be used in the procession takes place, immediately before leaving 
the sacristy. The celebrant receives the spoon from the deacon, who says, 
' Be pleased, reverend father, to give a blessing ; ' he then takes incense 
from the navicula or incense boat (held by the deacon, who receives it from 
the thurifer), and puts it on the charcoal in three several portions, each time 
sprinkling it in the form of a cross. Then, in accordance with the deacon's 
pniyer, he blesses the incense with his right hand, saying, * Be thou blessed 
by Him in whoso honour thou art to be burned.' The thurible ia held by 
tbe thurifer whilst the iucenae is put in. The procession then moves into 
the aisle in the following order : — 

" 1, Thimfer, with thurible smoking, preceded by the cross-bearer. 
" 2. Acolytes.* 

" 3. Clergy, two and two in reverse order ; the post nearest the celebrant 
being the place of honour. 
" 4. Procession of celebrant : 
" a. Sub-deacon and deacon. 
"/3. Tho celebrant 
*'iV.S. — If a bishop bo present, he precedes the celebrant This supposes 
him not to act pontificalhj.-\ 

" The celebrant, standing before the midst of the altar, turns round by 
his light, and then, with his side to the altar, puts incense into the thurible, 
the deacon ministering tho spoon and holding the boat as before. The 
priest then blesses (nccreto) the incense with the words already mentioned. 
He then receives the thurible from the deacon and incenses the midst of 
the altar and the two comers. The celebrant himself is tlien incensed by 
the deacon. After the Introit the i)rie3t again incenses the altar. Tho 
next incensing takes place before the Gospel, — the midst of the altar is 
alone incensed by tlie deacon, — the lectern from which the Gospel is read 
is tiever incensed. 

" When the oblations are placed upon the altar, they are incensed by the 
celebrant, who is afterwards incensed by the deacon. -An acolyte then 
incenses the choir. The next ond last incensing takes place (in the West) 
after the consecration. When the consecration and adoration of the Sacred 
Body are over, the deacon rises and removes the pall from tho chalice ; and 
after the consecration and adoration of the Precious Blood, he replace.? it, 
the chief assistant having incensed the Body and Blood of our LonL" J 

Now let us compare this pompous vision with the law of the sober 
and reformed Church of England, 
A very few words will be sufficient. 

• "In the West alighted torch is carried in the outside hand." (Xotc in "nircctoriuni.") 
■f " When a bishop acts pontificollj', ho goes laat in the procts^ion, «'itb an attendant 
pricit on either side." — Ibidem. 
X " Direct. Anglic," p. 73. 

30 The Contcmpordiy Review. 

The thiirible, the incense, tlie cross, tLe torch, are omiimcnta not found 
in the first Pmyer-l>ook of Edwaiil VI. Accoitlmg', therefore, to the 
jn'inciple to which we have tDdtiavonred to call attfiitJon, they anj 
iiCiLuthorized by our pi-esent rubric^ the directirma contiiiueJ in which 
(we are told by autliority) "must be strictly observed," and "nu 
oniissioTL and no addition can be pennitted."* 

Althoiij-h altars (not l>eiiig ornaments) do not fidl within the terms 
of the nibric which we have lately been more especially cousidering, 
they came very prouiinently before the Judicial Committee; and we 
cannot conclude without contrasting the laiiguay;e of the extract 
■which we have just y:iven on that subject with the following senteuces 
from their Lordships' jud^Tuent : — 

" When the snme thing 13 signified, it may not be of much iEiportance by 
wliat nami? it is called ; but the distiaction Itetwe'en an altar and a com- 
muninn table i» in itscK essL'ntial, and deeply fi^undt^ in the most important 
difTL^rGQce in umtb?rs of fiilth between Protestants and Eomanists, namely, in 
the dilTvrent notions of the nature of the Lord'a Supper which prevailed in 
the Roman Ciath<ilic Church at the time of the Kefonuation, and those 
whieh were introduced by the Eefonneta. By the former it was con^ideteil 
as a sacriiiee of the body and blooil of the Saviour. The altar was the pkca 
on which the sacritice was to be made ; the elements were to be consecratfld, 
and beitig; so consecrated, wflre treated as the actual body aad blood of the 
victim. The Keformers, on the othcir hand, tonBidcred the Holy Cominunitin 
not as a aacr[ii;;e, but as n fcaat to be celehmte-d at the Lord's tabic, though, 
as to the conaecratioa of tlw elements, ami th« i-flect of this consecration, 
and several other points, they difl'c-rcd greatly amongst themselves. "f 

Accordingly, a monition was directeti to the churchwardena " to 
iBmove the structure of Btone used as a communion table in the 
church or chapel of St. Banialias, together with the cros3 on or near the 
same, and to provide instead thereof a fliit moveable table of wood." 

Benjamin Shaw. 

• See ju<3Enn?nt of Jwdiuiiil Committee in "WeHterton r: liddgU.— CMuoro, p, 187.) In 
fact. Dr. LitUeduJo j^Biifies the hbo of inoeuse situply on the grflund gf its, usa pifvivM to 
the fimt Prttjer-book flf Edward VT-, t. e., on the mitliority of the mediitTiU. i^aooas and 
«ervic(!-buok» ; and it a from the Itciman, Sorum, cmd York Missals tbat the passage in 
the " Direttorium" is compiled- The lutler, hoicover, ftlaO Telic* dn aOtnft old JidlWiiiiil 
accounta Gnawing ihe iiae of inrerse. There is nothing to ahow thiit thia vib employed in 
Divino BtTvite, or fur any oticr purpose tlian ihi> allowable one gf purif jing tho aii of thn 
ifhurulL. In sum? of tLcao mAlaiitus it aceoiN W liavv been for suiulary purpoBU. Tlius,^ 

"All HidlowB Steyning, I.undon, — 
" 1,503. In the time of Bii'kncsjt, item, for juniper for ihp flurrh, 2rf. 

" 16123. The ticiifi uf God's viaitutiott, item, ]iaid fut- 10 Ibi. ut' fnuiklxicCtiMj at 3<f. f«t- lb., 
2*. firf." 

Again — " Jesua Chiipel, Cnmliridgt.-, — 
" 15B8. Junipiir Lo air (he chapel OH &t, Mnik'e. dny." — " Direct.," p. 12, mtt. 

To alli-go auth iuslajujes in support of a liluigital use of iuci-cw! ig only naolhcr 
infllnnco of the reinarkahlo kind of wnsoiiing irith ivhicli ihc " DircutcriuJii''' ttbouads, and 
which we 1:1070 Ltforis had occasicn to ngtici;. 

t Mooro'a Uejmrt, f . IjG. 



JU JbuaiaoluM i>f Site WUliam SaatiUn'i Pkita$apltf, and </ lit 
princifnl f\Uatopiutal QiitttUMt dii:iut»d i» kit Wriiin^: Bj 
Jour SruxBi Hill. Londoa, ises, 

THE reader of Plato's Eepublic will readily recall to mind that 
wonderful passage at the end of the sixth book, in which the 
philosopher, under the image of geometrical lines, exhibits the various 
relations of the intelligible to the sensible world ; especially his lofty 
aspirations with regard to " that second s^ment of the intelligible 
world, which reason of itself grasps by the power of dialectic, 
employing hypotheses, not as principles, but as veritable hypotheses, 
that is to say, as steps and starting-points, in order that it may ascend 
as/ar as the unconditioned (jiixpi rou ativiroOhov), to the first principle 
of the universe, and having grasped this, may then lay hold of the 
principles next adjacent to it, and so go down to the end, using no 
sensible aids whatever, but employing abstract forms throughout, and 
terminating in forms." 

This quotation is important for our present purpose in two way?. 
In the first place, it may serve, at the outset of our remarks, to 
propitiate those plain-spoken English critics who look upon new 
terms in philosophy mth tlie same suspicion with which Jack Cade 
regarded "a noun and a verb, and such abominable words as no 
(Christian ear can endure to hear," by showing that the head and 
front of our offending, " the Unconditioned," is no modern invention 
of Teutonic barbarism, but sanctioned even by tlie Attic elegance of 
a Plato. And in the second place, it contains almost a history in 


The Contemporary Review, 

miniatiire of the liighcst specdations of pliilosophy, both in earlier and 
in later times, and points outj with a clearness and. precision tbe more 
viLlnable l)ecaiise imiiifluenced by re.uent controversies, tlie exact field 
on wl;ich tlie pliilosopliiea of the Condilioued and the UnLunditiontd 
come into collision, and the nature of the problem which they both 
approacli from opposite sides. 

^Ylmt is the nieaning t>f this problem, the solution of -wlucb Plato 
proposes as the highest aim of philosophy — "to ftScefid to th.e ^mcoll- 
ditioned, and thence to deduce the universe of conditioned e.tisbence " ? 
The prnhlem has assumed different forn*s at different times: at 
present we must content ourselves with stating it in that in ■which it 
will most natnrfllly suggest itself to a modem tldnker, and in which 
it has the moat direct bearing on the subject of the present article. 

AH consciouanesa must in the first instance present itaelf as a relation 
between two constituent parts, the ]>eraon who is conscious, and the 
tliinj,', whatever it may be, of whiuli he is conscious. This contrast 
has been indicated, directly or indirectly, by various names — mind ami 
matter ; pcrstm and thing ; siitijcct and object ; or, lastly, in the distinc- 
tion, moat convenient I'or pbilosophyj however uncouth in sound, 
between self and not self— the ega and the iiwi-ego. In order to 
be conacions at all, I must be conscious of somethiii<j : eonaciousnesa 
thus preaynts itself as the product of two factors, / and something. 
The problem of the unconditioned is, briefly stated, to reduce these 
two factors to ane. 

For it is manifest thatj so long as they remain two, we have no 
miconditioaed, but a pair of conditioned existences. If the somethiiuj 
of which I am conscious is a sepiirtite reality, ha^nug qualities and 
moiles of action ol' its own^ and thereby determining, or contributiug to 
determine, the form which ray consciousness of it shall takcj ray con- 
stioiisuGss is thereby conditioned, or partly dependent ou something 
beyond itsell". It is no matter, in this respect, whether the influence is 
dii-ect or indirect — whether, fur instance, I see a material ti-ee, or only 
the mental image of a tree. If the nature of the thing in any degiree 
determines the character of the iiiiay;c — if the visible form, of a tree is 
dillui'ent from that of a house because the ti"ee itself is diflerent frcai 
the house, my couscioiisuesa is, however i-emotely, inllueD-ced by some- 
thinp diflbrent fi'om itself, the t-jo by the nuv^ego. Aiid ou the other 
hand, if I, who am conscious, um a real being;, distinct from the things 
of which I am conscious — if the conseious mind has a coa-ititutioii 
and laws of ita own hy which it acts, ami if the mode of its conscious- 
ness ifl in nay degree determined by laws, the non-cijft is so fur 
conditioued by the w/i ; the thinc^ which I see is not seen absolutely 
and ptT* sc, but in a foiui partly deiieiident upon the laws of my vision. 

The first step tiwanls the reduction of these two factors to one may 


The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 33 

obviously be made in three different ways. Either the ego may be 
represented as a mode of the non-ego, or the jion-ego of the ego, or both 
of a tcrtium quid, distinct from either. In other words : it may be main- 
tained, Jirst, that matter is the only real existence ; mind and all the 
phenomena of consciousness being really the result solely of material 
laws ; the brain, for example, secreting thought as the liver secretes 
bile ; and the distinct personal existence of which I am apparently 
conscious being only the result of some such secretion. This is 
Materialism, which has then to address itself to the further problem, 
to reduce the various phenomena of matter to some one absolutely 
first principle on which everything else depends. Or it may be main- 
tained, secondly, that mind is the only real existence ; the intercourse 
which we apparently have with a material world being really the 
result solely of the laws of our mental constitution. This is Idealism, 
which again has next to attempt to reduce the various phenomena 
to some one immaterial principle. Or it may be maintained, thirdly, 
that real existence is to be sought neither in mind as mind nor in 
matter as matter ; that both classes of phenomena are but qualities or 
modes of operation of something distinct from both, and on which both 
alike are dependent. Hence arises a third form of philosophy, which, 
for want of a better name, we will call Indifferentism, as being a 
system in which the characteristic differences of mind and matter bxq 
supposed to disappear, being merged in something higher than both. 
In usiog the two former of these terms, we are not speaking of 
Materialism and Idealism as they have always actually manifested 
themselves, but only of the distinguishing principle of these systems 
when pushed to its extreme result. It is quite possible to be a 
materialist or an idealist with respect to the immediate phenomena of 
consciousness, without attempting a philosophy of the Unconditioned 
at all But it is also possible, and in itself natural, when such a 
philosophy is attempted, to attempt it by means of the same method 
which has approved itself in relation to subordinate inquiries; to 
make the relation between the human mind and its objects the type 
and image of that between the universe and its first principle. And 
such attempts have actually been made, both on the side of Mate- 
rialism and on that of Idealism ; and probably would be made ofbener, 
did not counteracting influences frequently hinder the logical develop- 
ment of speculative principles. 

In modern times, and under Christian influences, these several 
systems are almost necessarily identified with inquiries concerning 
the existence and nature of God. The influence of Christianity has 
been indirectly felt, even in speculations prosecuted in apparent inde- 
pendence of it ; and the admission of an absolute first principle of all 
things distinct from God, or the acknowledgment of a God separate 

VOL. I. D 


The Contemporary Review. 

fram or deiived from the firat principle of all thinps. is an absiuility 
whicli, since the prevalence of Cliristianit)', has bi^ctnue almost iin- 
jjossible, even to antii'liristitin systems "f thouyht. In earlier times, 
indeed, this miion of jiliilosojihy ivith theology was by no means ay 
imperative. A pliiJus^phy like that of Gi^ece, wbicli inl]eriteil its 
speciilfltioiis from a poetiual tbeognny, would see no dilfiuulty in attri- 
buting t-o the gfid or gods of its reliijidiis belief a secondary and derivett 
existence, dependent un some higher and more original principle, and 
in sepaniciiig that princijde itself from all immediate connection with 
reli^'ion. It was possible tn assume, \rifh the Ionian, a mnterial 
substance, or, inlh the Elcjitic, an indifferent abstraction, as the first 
principle of things, ivithtuit holding,' tliat principle to be (iod, or, us 
the only alternative, denying the existence of a God ; and thus, as 
Aristotle has ubserved, theuloifians endeavoured to evade the cunse- 
quenees of their abatnict jiriuciples, by attributing to the chief good a 
later and derived esisten[.'e, aa the ]»oeta supposed the supreme GoJ to 
be of younger biith than night and chaos and sea and sky.* But to 
a Christian pliihwrphy, r>r to a pliilosophy in any way inHtienced by 
Christianity^ this method of evasion is no longer possible. If nit con- 
ditioned existence is dependent on some one hrst Lind unconditioned 
priucijile, either that principle must be identihed with God, or our 
pbdosophical speculations must full into c-iieu and avowed atheism. 

But at this point the pliilosophical inqinvy comjes in contact with 
another line of thiaiglit, suggested by h ditferent cliiss of the facts of 
consciousness. As a reliij;ious and moral being, niaji is conscious of a 
relation of a personal character, distinct from any sn^ested by the 
phenomena of the material world, — a relation to a sttpteme Personid 
Being, the object of his i-eligioos worship, and the source and judge of 
his moral obligations and tjorKhict.. To adopt the name of God in an 
abatract speculation merely as a conventional denomiinition for the 
highest link in the chain of thought, and ti> believe in Him for the 
practical purposes of woTsliip and obedience, are two very different 
things ; and for tlie latlrcr, though not for the f<.iniier, the conception 
of God as a Person is indispensable. Were man a being of pure 
intellect, the problem of the Unconditiiined would be divested of 
its chief diflieulty ; but he ia also a beinf; of religions and moral 
facidtiea, and these also have a claim to be satisfied by any valid 
solution of the jirohlem. Hence the question assumes another and 
a more complex form, llow is the one absolute existence, to 
■which philoanpliy aspires, to be identified with the personal God 
demanded by our religious feelings ? 

Shall we lioldly nssunie that the pi-oMem is already solvetl, and 
that the persona! Uod is the very Unconditioned of which we were in 

> Ue^apli., xiv. 4. • 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 35 

search ? This is to beg the question, not to answer it Our concep- 
tion of a personal being, derived as it is from the immediate con- 
sciousness of our own personality, seems, on examination, to involve 
conditions incompatible with the desired assumption. Personal 
i^ncy, similar to our own, seems to point to something very different 
from an absolutely first link in a chain of phenomena. Our actions, 
if not determined, are at least influenced by motives ; and the motive 
is a prior link in the chain, and a condition of the action. Our 
actions, moreover, take place in time ; and time, as we conceive it, 
cannot be regarded as an absolute blank, but as a condition in which 
phenomena take place as past, present, and future. Kvery act taking 
place in time implies something antecedent to itself; and this some- 
thing, be it what it may, hinders us from regarding the subsequent 
act as absolute and unconditioned. Nay, even time itself, apart from 
the phenomena which it implies, has the same character. If an act 
cannot take place except in time, time is the condition of its taking 
place. To conceive the unconditioned, as the first link in a chain of 
conditioned consequences, it seems necessary that we should conceive 
something out of time, yet followed by time ; standing at the begin- 
ning of all duration and succession, having no antecedent, but followed 
by a series of consequents. 

Philosophical theologians have been conscious of this difliculty, 
almost from the "earliest date at which philosophy and Christian 
theology came in contact with each other. From a number of testi- 
monies of similar import, we select one or two of the most striking. 
Of the Divine Nature, Gregory Nyssen says : " It is neither in place 
nor in time, but before these and above these in an unspeakable 
manner, contemplated itself by itself, through faith alone; neither 
measured by ages, nor moving along laith times."* " In the changes 
of things," says Augustine, " you wiU find a past and a future ; in 
God you will find a present where past and future cannot be."*(" 
"Eternity," says Aquinas, "has no succession, hut exists all together." J 
Among divines of the Church of England, we quote two names only, 
but those of the highest : — " The duration of eternity," says Bishop 
Pearson, " is completely indivisible and all at once ; so that it is ever 
present, and excludes the other differences of time, past and future." § 
And Barrow enumerates among natural modes of being and operation, 
far above our reach, " God's eternity without succession," coupling it 
with " His prescience without necessitation of events." Ij But it is 
needless to multiply authorities for a doctrine so familiar to every 
student of theology. 

• C. Eimom., \., p. M, Ed. Gretaer. f In Joann. Evang., tract. xxzTii. 10. 

{ Bumma, pan i., qn. x., art. I. ^ Minor Theol. Works, vol. i., p. 10a. 

\ Sermon on the Unsearchablenefla of Qod's Judgments. 

36 The Contemporary Review. 

Thus, tlipn, OUT tTi'o Hues of thought have led us to conclusintis 
whicii, at first sight, ajipear tf> he contradictory nf each other. To he 
conceived as imeoiKlitiimed, God must he conceived as exempt frnm 
action in time : to he cfnicciveil ag a person, if His personality 
resembles ours, He must he conceived aa acting in time. Can these 
two conclusimis be reconcilud with each other; and if not, -wMch nf 
them is to be almiidoiied ? Ttie true -.iiiawer to this question is, we 
believti, to Ije found in a distinction "which some recent critic-s regartl 
with very little favour, — the distinction between Reason and Faith; 
between the jjower of s-cncchinQ iiml that of hclieoin^/. AVe cannot^, in 
our present state nf knowledge, reconcde these two conclusions; yet 
■we are not required to aliflnclon either. We cannot conceive the 
manner In which the unconditioned and tlie pereonal are united iu 
the I'ivLue Nature; yet we may believe that, in some mnmier uii- 
liiiown to ua, they are so uuit-ed. To conceive the union of two 
attributes in one oliject of thoiiy;ht, I must be able to conceive them 
ds united in some particular manner: when this canunt be done, I 
may nevetthekgs believe that the nnioti is possible, though I am 
unable to conceive hoiv it i.? possible. The problem is thus repre- 
sented as one of those Divine mysteries, the character of which is 
clearly and well described in the language »f Leibnitz :—" 11 en est 
dem.Pme des autres myst^res, oi les osprits modi^rds trouveront toujours 
une explication fsufRgaute potir cmiie, et jamais autant qn'il en faut 
pour comprendte. 11 nous sufKt d'un certain ct que c'est (tI tari) mais 
le eomvu'fft firfi'f) nons passe, et ne nous est point nt^cessaire."* 

But this di-stinction involves a further consequence. If the mysteries 

■ "rhAjdice-e, DiscouTs de la. ConformW de Ift Foi avec la Raisor,"' ^ 5S. Lpibnil^, it 
trill be ■ob»«?j-viHl, uhcs the eipraviiaii pmir rmiprendre, fofwhith, ih tlio precediag Temarks, 
fre liBTe' enbstituted to eenetit'e. The chojige hu lieen meulc LntetitioimlI;ri on accoimt of 
an amhigtiiiy in the fnrnier vav^. Pumclimes it ia used, as LL-ibniU Loro usee it, to denotu 
911 npprelienfiiou of the nnHnncr in whicli ccrUiiu ottriljutcs mm cwxiat in an objwt. Bttt 
Bometimea (to say nothing of other s<mses) itia luod to ugnif)' n, compete knowltilgc uf an 
abject in all ita pnjperties uid thitix ronacqucntf^H, sui:b as it may bo i]^ui»tioii<;d wb^lher 
sFo haye of aiij object whatever. This wabiguity, which has hetn tho Bourpc of much 
confuai&n and much cftp^tioua criticiflm, is wdll pointed otit by Nonis in his "Eeoaoii anil 
Faitl" {written in reply ta Toland), p, 113, Ed. 1687 : " When ws sqj- that tilmt rpn^on ia 
when wo do not coniprt'Ucnd or perceive tho truth of n Uung, tliia muBt not b« meuit of 
nut C'omprehGudlng^ the tl^tb in its whoblititudG end e^itemt, £u that as nianj truths Hhoulii 
be aaid ia bo above reanon na we rnnnot thus thoroughly compruhcnd anil purauo throngh-- 
ouCall their CO nsequfnc-es and relalions to other trutha (for then nlmost, everything ■would bo 
above feason), but otdy of not eompfclieiiding tho tmion or connei'tion of those immedinle 
idtM of whith the propMition «iippo6fd to be above reason. cumsi.'iU."' Cmnprihtimmt, tfi 
thus oxpliuBed, answera exactly to ihc ordinan,' logical «bc of the term fonrrp/inu, io dcnoto 
thf! gpnibination of two or more »ttribiit«e in an unity gfrepreseatat ion. In thessnie atnsi", 
M.Peisse, in theprcfanG to hia ■tmnsln.tion of Hnmilton's " Fmgments," p. HB, says,— "Com- 
prenilrc, c'pst voir im tfimieon mpport avcc uu autre ; c'listToirconiinc nn ce i^ui est Jonn^ 
r«mine multiple." This is exactly the ionae in nrhich lliuailtoa hlmMlf Uiea the word 
eeactpficitt. (See RoLd'a Workft, p. 3(7.) 

The Philosophy of tJie Conditioned. 3 7 

of the Di\Tiie Nature are not apprehended by reason as existing in a 
particular manner (in which case they would be mysteries no longer), 
but arc accepted by faith as existing in some manner unknown to us, 
it follows that we do not know God as He is in His absolute nature, but 
only as He is imperfectly represented by those qualities in His crea- 
tures which are analogous to, but not identical with, His own. If, for 
example, we had a knowledge of the Divine Personality as it is in 
itself, we should know it as existing in a certain manner compatible 
with unconditioned action ; and tliis knowledge of the manner would 
at once transform our conviction from an act of faith to a conception 
of reason. If, on the other hand, the ordy personality of which we 
liave a positive knowledge is our own, and if our own personality can 
only be conceived as conditioned in time, it follows tliat the Divine 
Personality, in so far as it is exempt from conditions, does not 
resemble the only personality which we directly know, and is not 
adequately represented by it. Tliis necessitates a confession, which, 
like the distinction which gives rise to it, has been vehemently con- 
demned by modern critics, but which has been concurred in with 
singular unanimity by earlier divines of various ages and countries, — 
the confession that the knowledge which man in this life can have of 
God is not a knowledge of the Divine Nature as it is in itself, but 
only of that nature as imperfectly represented through analogous 
qualities in the creature. "Were it not that this doctrine has been 
frequently denounced of late as an heretical novelty, we should hardly 
lia^-e thought it necessary to cite authorities in proof of its antiquity 
and catholicity. As it is, we will venture to produce a few only out 
of many, selecting not always the most important, but those wliich 
can be best exhibited rerhatim in a short extract. 

Chrtsostom. — "De Incompr. Dei Natura," Horn, i 3: "Tluit God is 
everywhere, I kiiow ; and thai He ia wholly everywhere, I know ; but the 
how, I know not : tluit He is without beginning, ungenerated and eternal, 
I know ; but the how, I know not," 

Basil. — Ep. ccxxxiv, : "Tliat God is, I know ; but what is His essence 
1 hold to be above reason. How then am I saved % By faith ; and faith is 
competent to know that God ia, not what He is." 

Cyril of Jerusalem. — Catech. vl 2 : "We declare not what God is, 
but candidly confess that we know not accurately concerning Him. For 
in those things which concern God, it is great knowledge to confess our 

Augustine. — Enarr. in Fsalm. Ixxxv. 8 : " God is ineffable ; we more 
easily say what He is not tiian what He ia." Scrm. cccxlL : "I call God 
just, bef^use in human words I find nothing bettor ; for He is beyond 
justice. . . . "Wliat then ia worthily said of God 1 Some one, perhaps, 
may reply and say, that He Ujust But another, with better understanding, 
may say that even this wonl is surpassed by His excellence, and that even 
this is said of Hira unworthdy, though it be said fittingly according to 
human capacity." 


Th^ Contemporary Review, 

C'yRiL OF Aleiakdbia. — "In Joonn. Evung,," I. u., c 5 ; "For lliose 
tliijiga wliicL art! spokvn concercing it [the Divine Kature] elto not spoken 
as llipy ai-u in very tnith, but na th« tongue of man can iiitcqirut, and as 
man tuiii lieiir ; for lip who Bees in an euiguut also speaks in an i?nigina." 

lUMAacENUB.^ — "Ue Fide OrLlnKl," i 4: " Tluit trod. ie^ is raantlfeat ; but 
'^liat Hi: is hi IIiM ossbuco and nature ia utterly iiicom|)relieusible and. 

AquiNAs. — "SuniHiB," para i., qu, siii., art. 1 ; "Wo pajinot bo name Gffd 
that the name which denote;! Ilim ehall express the Divine Eaeence hs it is, 
in the Bamo Trfty a,H tlio name man. expresses in its Bigiiilicfltioii tha efisen^-e 
of man as it is." Ihkh., art. 5 ; " Wheji the name idM' ia said d a man, it 
in ft milliner deacrthea end comprebcnJs Elie tbiiig signiii-ed : not so, how- 
over, wliim it IS said of (iod ; htit it leaves the tiling sigiiiticd as uucDmpre- 
hendcdanii excoipding tlio signification of tho name. \Vlienco it ia evident lliat 
this name wiV ia not fiaid in the same manner of Llod aiul of mnn. Tlie same 
ia the Ciise with other names ; whenne no name tan lio pi'edicfltcd univorasUy 
of God nnd of creatures; yet they atu not predk-attfii nierf.Oy et^iii vocally. 
. . . "VVe must snij, then, that each bamcs arts said of Ood and of crea- 
tures accordiiiR to aonlogy, that is, projiortion." 

nwjKER.^'" lice. ToL," I., ii. 2. — " Dangerous it wt'rc for the feeble hrain 
of man to wade fet into thn doings of the Moat High ; whom although to 
know l)e life, anil joy to make luwntion of Hia nauic-, yet our soundf^at know- 
ledge is to know that we know Hiui not as indtied He is, muithei- can know 

"UsHElL— "Body of Divinity," fi- *5, Ed, 1645 ; "N'either is it [the 
visdom of God] tonimuiiicHted to any creJtturo, neither tun he ; for it ia 
uncouceivubk, aa tl.w very essencu of t>od Himself is nnconteivahle, «nil 
uiispeakahlis aa it ia," 

Leiohton.— TheoL Ltict XXI., "Worka, voL iv., p. 327, Ed. 1830 : "Though 
in the si-'hools they diatinguiyh the Divine attrihutt's or exLclk'nces, and 
that hy no means iiupro]>c:riy, into cominnuieable and ineoiumunicalilo ; jtst 
wo ought ao to guard this distinction, aa always to remember that those 
which lire cjillod communicable, when apjhlied to Gi>d, are not only to be 
unJerstotid in a manner in«omniunicable and quite peculiar to Himself^ but 
aleoj that in Him they ai-e in reality infinitely diifereut [in the original, 
iilind omiihin^ iiiuifnuurn {i}iilcT\ from those vii'tues, or rather, in a matter 
where the disparity of the suhjects ia bo very great, thoae shadows of virtues 
that go imiier the anino name, cithi;r in mon or angeU." 

pEARSos.— Minor TheuL Works, vol. i., p. I3 : " God in Himself is an 
fthsc«ltitc Iwing, without any r<-Iation to erentnres, for He wiw from eternity 
without any ereatnrti, and raidd, had Ho willed, W to eternity without crea- 
ture, lint LJod eanliot naturally be known liy u9 otherwise than by tolation 
'to creaf ures, as, for examjjle, uudi^r the aspect of dominion, or of cause, or in 
Bonie other relation."* 

LRVEniDOE. — "Oil the Tliiily-iiini.'- Articles," p. Ifl, FaL lS4fi : "Cutsinnng 
the jirojiertiea of God d(i not so much denote what God is, as what wn 
appPehBnd Him to be in Himself; when this ppoptrtiea of Godai'e predicated 
one of another, one thiny iu Gni.l is not pradieiittd yf tinother, hut our a]i- 
pWihensions of the snine thing aru prtdicatfd one of another," 

• Bishop rcaraoffl's loiigTiaffe is yet moi* explicit Jo unother pUMge of the sainft *rork, 
wluch Me ^va in Iho ongiiinl Laliu:^"Noii daatar fro hoe etntu nottiiim quns Deun 
eiguiQvaut (jiiidditalive. Tatet; qui& ni>mins aunt caiLueptuum. Koa LUt^iti duilur . 
Ii«; stittu cvDce^tuB (|uidditativi de Deo." — (P. 196.) 


The Philosophy of tJie Conditioned. 39 

Leslie.— " Method with the Deists," p. 63, Ed. 1745 : " ■\\'hat we call 
faculties in the soul, we call Persons in the Godhead ; because there are per- 
sonal actions attributed to each of them. . . . And we have no other 
word whereby to express it ; we speak it after the manner of men ; nor could 
we understand if we heard any of those unspeakable words which express 
the Divine ^Nature in its proper essence ; therefore we must make allowances, 
and great ones, when we apply words of our nature to the Iniinite and 
Eternal Being." Ibid., p. 64 : " By the word Person, when applied to God 
(for want of a proper word whereby to express it), we must mean something 
infinitely different from personality among men" 

The system of theology represented by these extracts may, we 
believe, be fairly summed up as foUowa ; — ^We believe that God in 
Hia own nature is absolute and unconditioned ; but we can only 
positively conceive Him by means of relations and conditions sug- 
gested by created things. We believe that His own nature is simple 
and uniform, admitting of no distinction between various attributes, 
nor between any attribute and its subject ; but we can conceive Him 
only by means of various attributes, distinct from the subject and 
from each other.* We believe that in His own nature He is exempt 
from all relations of time ; but we can conceive Him only by means 
of ideas and terms which imply temporal relations, a past, a present, 
and a future.-f- Our thought, then, must not be taken as the measure 
and limit of oiu* belief : we think by means of relations and conditions 
derived from created things; we believe in an Absolute Being, in 
whose nature these conditions and relations, in some manner unknown 
to us, disappear in a simple and indivisible unity. 

The most important feature of this philosophical theology, and 
the one "which exhibits most clearly the practical difference between 
reason and faith, is that, in dealing with theoretical difficulties, it does 
not appeal to our knowledge, but to our ignorance : it does not pro- 
fess to oflFer a definite solution ; it only tells us tiiat we might find one 
if we knew alL It does not profess, for example, to solve the apparent 
contradiction between God's foreknowledge and man's free will ; it 
does not say, " This is the way in which God foreknows, and in this 

• This w31 be fonnd most disdnctly stated in the context of the extract from Beveridge, 
and in the citations from St. Augustine given in his notei ; to which moy be added the fol- 
lowing from " De Trinitate," vi. 7 : — " Dcus vero multipliciter quidcm dicitur maginus, 
bonns, sapiens, beatus, Terns, et quidquid oliud non indigne dici videtur ; sed eadem magm- 
tado ejus est quie sapiontia, non enim mole magnus est, eed virtute ; et eadcm bonitas qum 
Eapientia ct magnitudo, et eadem Veritas qum ilia omnia : ct non est ibi aliud beatum esse et 
aiiud magnum, aut sapientem, aut verum, aut bonum esse, aut omnino ipaum esse." 

t Compare the remarkable vrorde of Bishop Bevcridgc, i. c, " And therefore, though I 
cannot apprehend Hia mercy to Abel in the beginning of the world, and His mercy to ma 
nov, bat as two distinct eiprcsstona of His mercy, yet as they aro in God, they are but 
one and the same act, — as thoy are in God, I say, who is not measured by time, as our 
apprebenaions of Him are, but ia Himself etfimity ; a centre without a circumference, 
eternity without time." 


The Conicmporary Review. 

way His foreknowledge is reconcileuble with human freedom;" it only 
says, "The contntdiction is apparent, but need not be real Freedom is 
incompatible with GtuVa foreknowledge, only on the suppositinn that 
(ifxl's foreknowledge is like man's: if we knew exactly how the one 
(lifiers from the other, we might be able to see that what is incom- 
patible with the fine is not sn with the other. "^V^e cannot solve the 
difficulty, but we can believe that there ia a solution." 

It ia this open acknowledgment of our ignorance of the highest 
things which inakes this system of philosophy distasteful toi many 
Tuinda : it m the absence of any siuular acknowledgment which fomis 
the attraction and the seductiveness of Pantheism in one way^ and of 
Positivism in anotlicr. The jiantlieist i-9 not troubled with the dilli- 
culty of reconciling the philoaophy of tlie absolute witli belief in a 
personal God; for Mief in a jiersonal Gud ia no part of his creed. 
Like the Christian, he may profess to acknowledge a iirst principle, 
one, and simple, and indivisible, and unciomlitioned ; but he has no 
need to give to this principle the name of God, or to invest it with 
such attributes as are necessary- to satisfy man's religions wants. His 
God (so far as he iickuowledges one Ht all) is not the first principle 
and caiwe of all things, but the a^reg«te of the whole — & univerafil 
substance underlying the world of phenomena, or a universal process, 
carried on in and by the changes of things. Hence, as Aristotle said 
of the Eleatics, that, by asserting all things to be one, they anni- 
hilated causation, which is the production rif one thing from another, 
ao it may be said of the vanou? schools of Pantheism, that, by main- 
taining all things to be Grid, thoy evade rather than solve the great 
problem of philosophy, that of the relation between God and His 
creaturoa. The positivist, on the other hand, escapes the difficulty 
by an opposite course. He declines all inqiur^' into reality and 
causation, and maintains that the oidy oflictj of philosophy is t-o 
obsc'iTe and register the invariable relations of auccesaion and simili- 
tude in plienoniena. He does not necessarily deny the existence of 
God ; but his personal belief, be it what it may, ia a matter of utter 
indifference to his system. Religion and phUosophy may perhaps go 
on aide by side ; but their provinces are wholly distinct, anil there- 
fore there is no need to atteiupt a reconciliation between them. God, 
as a first cause, lives like an E]iit;urean deity in iindisturbed ease, 
apart, fj-oui the worid of phenomena, of whicli alone philosophy can 
take cognisance: philosophy, as the science of phenomena, contents 
itself with obscr^dng tlie actual state of things, without troubling 
itself to intjuire how that state of things came into eNistenee. Hence, 
neither Pantheism nor Positivism is troubled to explam the relation 
of the Oae to the Many, for the foi-mer acknowledges only the One, 
and the latter acknowled^jfes only the Many. 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 



It ia "between these two systems, both seiluctive i'rtim tbcii- apparent 
simplicity, and both simple only by rautilatiun, that the Phtlttsophy 
of tlie Conditioned, of whicli Sir \Villiam Hamilton 13 the represejit- 
iitive, endeavours to s-teer a middle course, at the risk of Bbariiig the 
fate of most mediators in a quan-el,— being repudiiited and denomiced 
l)y bolli conil-atant?, l>ecause it declares theiu to be lioth in tlie nTon;,'. 
Against Pantheism, which is the natural development of the principle 
of Indifferentisra. it enters a solemji protest, by asaertinit; that tlie 
Absolute must be accepted in pliilosophy, not as a problera to lie 
AOlved by reason, bat as a reality Ui be buUeved in, though above 
reason; and that the pseudo-absolute, wbicli Pantheism professes to 
exhibit in a positive conception, is shown, by the very fact of its 
l«inn; so conwivcd, tiot to be the true Absolute. Against Positivism, 
which is virtually Materiidisni, it protests do less strongly, maintain- 
ing that the philosophy T\-hich professes to explain the whole of 
narure by the aid of material laws alone, proceeds upon an assump- 
tion which docs not merely dispense with God as a scientific b)'^o- 
thcsis^ but !oj»ically involvtjs consequences which lead to a denial of 
His very existence. Between both extremes it holds au intermediate 
posiUou, neither aspiring, with Fantlieisui, to solve the problems of 
tlie absolute, nor neglecting them, with I'oaitiWsm, as altiigetlier 
lemotct fiMjiu the held of phdosophical inquiry ; but maintaining that 
ETich problems must necessarily arise, and must necessarily be taken 
into account in every adei|nate sur\-ey of human nature and human 
thotijjlit, EUid that jdiilosopliy, if it cannot solve tlieni, ia bound to 
Ehow why they are insoluble. 

Let lis heJiT Hamilt^in's own words in relation to both the eysteuia 
■ffhich he opposes. Against Pantheism, and the Fliilasophy of the 
Uncunditiunuil in general, he says ; — 

"The ComUlioned is the mean between two exlreiaea,^ — two incondi- 
tiooates, pxclueivo of each other, ni'if/ier of which he comeived as /kw- 
n'Wr,* but of which, on the priiitiplea of contrndiction and excluded niiddlu, 
mwt If ailmitl'ni ivn tipeesaarij. On thia opinion, therefure, our fatuities 
shown to 1j« weakf but not deceitful Thi; mind ia not reprpsentud ns 
ciMi(*i.viiig twn jiropuaitions, aubveraive of each other, as efpially poasiblu ; 
Imt (tuly Ji3 unable to muIiTstfind aa jKiusihle either of tlic two estpemcH ; 
onr iif whirli, however, on the grnndd nt' tbi^ir mutual repugnaiico, it ia 
rompollfd tfj ri'cognise as true. Wc tirp thus taiiglit the aalutory leasou, 
tluil tlvf> rapacity of thought ia not to be constituted iuto tho measure of 
nistcuce ; and are wamei! from recognising tb-B domain of our bnowlledge 
at neceasaniy co-extensive with tho horizon of our feitli. And by a won- 

• 11 must T>e nTnttnbered tlmt, to conceive a tting; as poaailjlo, we miist conrMvy thn 
BUuiDr LD vrliii-h it a poMiblii, Ijiit tliat wc mny faiilleve in tlie fnct without bi^iii^ 
tble to caa^TB tlic biacnizr. nod n.nmilton dintinctiy exprf^Kd ihb, Lt; luiglil have 
■nided eocQA rcry graundlcss «riti(-ianu, with Rhicli he has tM«ii asoiuled lor inaia- 
Uiiuog a distinction between tliF prorinccii of (.'ORCpptios and belief. 



Tlu ConUmporaty Review. 

derfuL rcTelalion, we are tbue, in the voiy conscioasneBs of our iualjility to 
conceiTe aught a.bove the relativo and tiiiitc, iaspirod with a beli«f in Ihe 
Bxistence of something un[:uuditinnod Iwyund the sphere of aU comprehen- 
8ibl« reality." — -Digciu^nctm, p. 15. 

Against Materialism, and virtually against Positivism in general, 
he says : — 

" if ia man, intpUigence be a free power, — m so far aa its liberty extends, 
Lutclligenco mqgt bf. independent of necessity and matter ; and a power 
indwpendent of matter uec&ssarily impli«ii tho existence yf an immaterial 
subjeL't — that i?, a spirit. If, then, tho origmal indv^pendcnce of intelUgenc*) 
on matter in the human cunstitution — in other words, if the spirituality of 
mind in man. bo supposed a datum of obaervation, in this datum is also 
giren both the condition and the proof of a God, For we hare only to 
infer, what analogy entitles iia to do, tliat iutelligencu holds the same 
rdative nuprcmacy in. tho univerao which it holds in na, and the first 
positive coiidLtion of a Deity is cjttalihahod, in the ustabLisliinent of the 
absolute priority of a free creative iuttUigcnut On the oihtiT hand, let ub 
suppoBQ thii result of out study of man to be, that iut*lligenco is only a 
product of matter, only a w flex of organisation, such a doctrine would not 
only atlbrd uo basia on which to rest any argument for a God, but, oo the 
contrary, would positively warrant the athbjst in denying Hia existence. 
For ii', as the materialist inaintwiuB, the ordy intelligence of ^uhich we ha.v6 
any experience bp a conaequent of matter, — on this hypothesis, he not oidj 
cannot aaanme this order to bo rEveraad in the relations of an intelligence 
be-ynnd his ohaervation, hut, if lie arguo logically, he must positively con- 
clude that, 03 in. man^ so In the univerac, the phenomena of intelligence or 
desiga aiti only in tllcir last analysis the ]irodueta of a brute ntcessity. 
Pfiychological Materialism, if carried out fully and fairly to its coiirlusions, 
thua inevitably results in theological Atheism ; as it has been well 
expreas-cd by Dr. Henry More, NttHu^ in tnifi'oatsmi) spirHiiHf n't/liis in 
nt(H^rocos»io D'^its. I do not, of course, mean to assert that all malcriftliats 
deny or actually disbelieve a I 'i»d. For in very manj'" cases, this Would Iw at 
oaco an unmerited complitnent to their reasoning, and an nnnierited reproach 
to their faith." — Lectures, vol. i., p. 31,* 

" Thi» part of Hamilton'a l«acbiiig ii altogeCli<?r repudiated by a recent writer, who, 
(Iningelj- enoi;igli,'profeBBCH to ho tis diBciple, -wtilo rejecting n]] that i» renUy charncter- 
isCic of Ill's pliiloiophy. Jlr. Hcrliert SpcDccr, iu hia work on. " First PiinciplM," 
endenvDura lo pKsa Sir "ff. Ilnrailten into tho Berrice of Pfintlieism and Poa-itivisni la^ethor, 
by adopting the nDgative porliou only of bia philosopty— in wliieh, in commoa with uiaiLy 
otber BTilpra, he ^declaroB- the ftbeolute [o te iuwrnceiTalile liy tho iulto intellect, — and 
rcjerling thu posilivo portiona, in whith ho miiat emphatically mnintiing thftt -tho 
belief in'o personu] God is impRraliively liematideJ hy tliu facta of -our moral and emotidbftl 
tOd.BcJoiisti'eBS. Mr. Sptni'cr regarda religioii aa nnthiug niOtb than fl. consfJOTlsneia of 
natural facts na being b their ultimate genesis imaproun table — a theory which is aiinplj & 
cumbinntion of the poeiliviat J(K>triae, that wq know only the ruktiuiu of phememenvi, 
with tie pnnlheijil assuaiption of the nnnic of G-od to denoic the ^iibBliineo or power which 
lips beyowd phenomtina. No Ihfory can bo more oppos-sd to the jihiloaophy cf the con- 
ditioned thEin this. Sir W. Uaniilton'B fimdamental priotiple is, thnt cnnaciouBntsS mtiit 
bo acri^t'^^d cntiro, nnd thatt the inoroJ ond rdigiou* feelings, whii^h nTe tha primary source 
of our belief in a ijersoBa! God, are in no way invalidated by the merely negative in fereneea 
which have deluded men into the oa&iunpdun of an impersonal absolute ; iho latter not 
bein^ IcgilimBte duductioua frou coaaciouBQcea tightly interpreted. Mr. Spciacer, on the 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 43 

la the few places in which Hamilton speaks directly as a theolo- 
gian, his language is in agreement with the general voice of Catholic 
theology down to the end of the seventeenth centiuy, some specimens 
of which have been given on a previous page. Thus he says 
("Discussions," p. 15) : " True, therefore, are the declarations of a pious 
j>hilosophy, — ' A God understood would be no God at all ;' ' To think 
that God is, aa we can think Him to be, is blasphemy.' The Divinity, 
ia a certain sense, is revealed ; in a certain sense is concealed : He 
is at once known and unkuo\^'n. But the last and highest consecra- 
tion of all true religion must be an altar 'Ayv(i(jj-(i> 0«(ji — ' To (hi 
unkTimon and unhiowablc God.' " A little later (p. 20) he says : 
" We should not recoil to the opposite extreme ; and though man 
be not identical with the Deity, still is he ' created in the image of 
God.' It is, indeed, only through an analogy of the human with the 
Divine nature, that we are percipient and recipient of Divinity." In 
the first of these passages we have an echo of the language of Basil, 
the two Cyrils, and John Damascene, and of our own Hooker and 
Usher ; while in the second we find the counter truth, intimated by 
Augustine and other Fathers,* and clearly stated by Aquinas, and 
which in the last century was elaborately expounded in the " Divine 
Analogy " of Bishop Browne, — namely, that though we know not God 
in His own nature, yet are we not wholly ignorant of Him, but may 
attain to an imperfect knowledge of Him through the analogj- 
hetween human things and Divine. 

As T^ards theological restdts, therefore, there is nothing novel or 
peculiar in Hamilton's teaching; nor was he one who would have 
r^arded novelty in theology as a recommendation. The peculiarity 
of his system, by which his reputation as a pliilosopher must ulti- 
mately stand or fall, is the manner in which he endeavoured to con- 

other band, takes these negative inferences as the onlj^ basis of religion, and abondona 
Huniltoa's great principle of the distinction between knowledge and belief, by quietly 
droppiiig oat of his system the facts of consciousness which make such a distinction neces- 
arj. His whole system is, in iact, a pertinent illustration of Hamilton's remark, that 
"the pbenomeoa of matter" [and of mind, he might add, treated by muteiialistic methods] 
"taken by tbemselTes (you will obserre the qualification, taken by themselyes), so far 
&om warranting any inference to the existence of a God, would, on the contrary, ground 
eren an argument to His negation." Mr. Spencer, like Mr. Mill, denies the freedom of tho 
*iU ; and this, according to Hamilton, lends by logical consequence to Atheism. 

• As e.ff., byTertullian {"Adv. Marc," 1. ii., c. 16) : "Ethane ergo imago ceasenda est 
Dei in homine, quod eoedem motus ct sensus habcat humanus animus quos et Deus, licet 
non tales quoles Deus : pro substantia cnim, et status eorum et esitus distant." And 
by Gregory Nazianzen, Orat. ixxvii. : Uvoiidaainv yap i>c i)fiiv i^ucrliv U riav fituripuf 
tA tou Bioa. And by Hilary, "De Trin.," i. 19: " Comparatio enim terrenorum ad 
Deom nulla est ; sed infirmitaa nostra) intclligcntio) cogit species qunsdam ex inferio- 
ribos, tanquam superionun indices quicrere ; ut rerum familiarium consuetudinc admo- 
TCBle, ex aensus nostri conscientla ad insoliti sensua opioionem educeremur," 

44 The Contemporary Review. 

nect these tIieol(;gical conclusions with psychological principles ; and 
thus to vindicate on philosophical grounds the position which Catholic 
divines had heen compelled to take in the interests of dogmatic truth. 
That the absolute nature of God, as a supertemporal and yet personal 
Being, must be believed in as a fact, though inaccessible to reason as 
regards the manner of its possibility, is a position admitted, almost 
without exception, by di^-ines who acknowledge the mystery of a per- 
sonal Absolute — still more by those who acknowledge the yet deeper 
mystery of a Trinity in Unity. "We believe and know," says Bishop 
)Sanderson of the mysteries of the Christian faith, "and that witli 
fulness of assurance, that all these things are so as they are revealed 
in the Holy Scriptures, because the mouth of God, who is Truth itself, 
and cannot lie, hath spoken them ; and our own reason upon tliis 
ground teacheth us to submit ourselves and it to iht, obedience of faith, 
for the TO oTi, that so it is. But then, for the to wwg, Nicodemus his 
question. How can these things be? it is no more possible for our 
weak understandings to comprehend that, than it is for the eyes of 
bats or owls to look steadfastly upon the body of the sun, when he 
shineth forth in his greatest strength." • This distinction Hamilton 
endeavoured to extend from the domain of Clu-istian theology to that of 
philosophical speculation in general ; to show that the unconditioned, 
as it is suggested in philosophy, no less than as it connects itself with 
revealed religion, is an object of belief, not of positive conception; 
and, consequently, that men cannot escape from mystery by rejecting 
revelation. " Above all," he says, " I am confirmed in my belief by 
the hannony between the doctrines of this philosophy, and those of 
revealed truth. . . , For this philosophy is professedly a scientific 
demonstration of the impossibility of that 'wisdom in high matters' 
which the Apostle prohibits us even to attempt ; and it proposes, from 
the limitation of the human powers, from our impotence to compre- 
hend what, however, we must admit, to show articulately why the 
'secret things of God' cannot but be to man 'past finding out.'"+ 
Faith in the inconceivable must thus become the ultimate refuge, even 
of the pantheist and the atheist, no less than of the Christian ; the 
difference being, that while the last takes his stand on a faith which 
is in agreement alike with the authority of Scripture and the needs of 
huiaan nature, the two former are driven to one which is e{[uaUy 
ojiposcd to both, as well as to the pretensions of their own philosophy. 
Deny the Trinity; deny the Pei-sonality of God: there yet remains 
that which no man can deny as the law of his own consciousness — 
Time. Conditioned existence is existence in time ; to attain to a 
])hilosopliy of the unconditioned, we must rise to the conception of 
existence out of time. The attempt may be made in two ways, and 
• Worku, vol. i., p. 233. t " DiBcusmons," p. 625. 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 45 

in two only. Either we may endeavour to conceive an absolutely fii-st 
moment of time, beyond which is au existence having no duration 
and no succession ; or we may endeavour to conceive time as an un- 
limited duration, containing an infinite series of successive antecedents 
and consequents, each conditioned in itself, but forming altogether an 
unconditioned whole. In other words, we may endeavour, with the 
Heatics, to conceive pure existence apart and distinct from all pheno- 
menal change ; or we may endeavour, with Heraclitua, to conceive the 
universe as a system of incessant changes, immutable only in the law 
of its o'WTi mutability ; for these two systems may be regarded as the 
type of all subsequent attempts. Both, however, alike aim at an 
object which is beyond positive conception, and which can be accepted 
only as something to be believed in spite of its inconceivability. To 
conceive an existence beyond the first moment of time, and to connect 
that existence as cause with the subsequent temporal succession of 
effects, we must conceive time itself as non-existent and then com- 
mencing to exist. But when we make the effort to conceive time as 
noD-existent, we find it impossible to do so. Time, as the universal 
condition of human consciousness, clings round the very conception 
which strives to destroy it, clings round the language in which we 
speak of an existence hefort time. Nor are we more successful when 
we attempt to conceive an infinite regress of time, and an infinite 
series of dependent existences in time. To say nothing of the direct 
contradiction involved in the notion of an unconditioned whole, — a 
something completed, — composed of infinite parts — of parts never com- 
pleted, — even if we abandon the Whole, and with it the Unconditioned, 
and attempt merely to conceive an infinite succession of conditioned 
existences — conditioned, absurdly enough, by notliing beyond them- 
selves, — we find, that in order to do so, we must add moment to 
moment for ever — a process which would require an eternity for its 
accomplishment.* Moreover, the chain of dependent Existences in 

• See " DiBCussions," p. 29. Of course by this b not meant that no duration can be 
conceived except in a duration equally long — that a thousand years, e. g., can only be con- 
ceived in a thousand years. A thousand years may be conceived as one unit : infinity 
cannot ; for a unit is something complete, and therefore limited. "What is meant is, that 
any period of time, however long, ia conceived as capable of further increase, and there- 
fore as not infinite. An infinite duration can have no time before or after it; and thus 
cannot resemble any portion of finite time, however great. When we dream of conceiving 
an infinite regress of time, says Sir W. Hamilton, " we only deceive ourselves by substi- 
tuting the indefinite for the infinite, than which no two notions can be more opposed." 
This caution has not been attended to by some later critics. Thus, Dr. Whewell (" Phi- 
losophy of Discovery," p. 32i) says: " The definition of an infinite number is not that it 
contains all possible unities; but this — that the progress of numeration, being beg:uii 
according to a certain law, goes on without limit." This ia precisely Descartes' definition, 
not of the infinite, but of the inde/imte. " Principia," i. 26 : " Nos autem ilia omnia, in 
quibus sub aliqua conaideratione nullum finem poterimua invenire, uon ^uidem offinna- 

46 The Contemporary Review. 

this infinite succession is not, like a mathematical series, composed of 
abstract and homogeneous imits ; it is made up of divers phenomena, 
of a regressive line of causes, each distinct from the other. Wherever, 
therefore, I stop in my addition, I do not positively conceive the terms 
which lie beyond. I apprehend them only as a series of unknown 
somethtTtgs, of which I may believe that they are, but am unable to say 
what they are. 

The cardinal point, then, of Sir W. Hamilton's philosophy, expressly 
announced as such by himself, is the absolute necessity, imder any 
system of philosophy whatever, of acknowledging the existence of a 
sphere of belief beyond the limits of the sphere of thought. " The 
main scope of my specxJation," he says, " is to show articulately that 
we must believe, as actual, much that we are unable (positively) 
to conceive aa even possible."* It is, of course, beyond the range of 
such a specidation, by itself, to enter on an examination of the 
positive evidences in support of one form of belief rather than another. 
So far as it aims only at exhibiting a universal law of the human 
mind, it is of course compatible with all special forms of belief which 
do not contradict that law; and none, whatever' their pretensions, can 
really contradict it. Hence the service which such a philosophy can 
render to the Christian religion must necessarily, from the nature of 
the case, be of an indirect and negative character. It prepares the 
way for a fair examination of the proper evidences of Christianity, by 
showing that there is no ground for any d priori prejudice against 
revelation, as appealing, for the acceptance of its highest truths, to 
faith rather than to reason; for that this appeal is common to all 
religions and to all phUosophies, and cannot therefore be m^d against 
one more than another. So far as certain difficulties are inherent in 
the constitution of the human mind itself, they must necessarily 
occupy the same position with respect to all religions alike. To 
exhibit the nature of these difficulties is a service to true rehgion ; but 
it is the service of the pioneer, not of the builder ; it does not prove 
the reUgion to be true ; it only clears the groimd for the production of 
the special evidences. 

Where those evidences are to be found, Sir W. Hamilton has not 
failed to tell us. If mere intellectual speculations on the nature and 
origin of the material universe form a common ground in which the 
theist, the pantheist, and even the atheist, may alike expatiate, the 
moral and religious feelings .of man — those facts of consciousness 
which have their direct source in the sense of personality and free 

bimus esse infinita, aed ut indefinita spectabimus." An iadefinito time is that which is 
capable of perpetual addition : an infinite time ib one bo great a^ to admit of no addition. 
Surely "no two notions can bo more opposed." 

• Letter to Mr. Calderwood. See "Lectures," toI. ii., p. 634. 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 47 

will — plead with overwhelming evidence in behdf of a personal God, 
and of man's relation to Him, as a person to a person. We have seen, 
in a previous quotation, Hamilton's emphatic declaration that " psy- 
chological materialism, if carried out fully and fairly to its conclu- 
sions, inevitably results in theological atheism." In the same spirit 
he tells us that " it is only as man is a free intelligence, a moral 
power, that he is created after the image of Qod;"* that "with the 
proof of the moral nature of man, stands or falls the proof of the 
existence of a Deity;" that "the possibility of morality depends on 
the possibility of liberty ;" that " if man be not a free agent, he is not 
the author of his actions, and haa therefore no responsibility, no 
moral personality at all ;"+ and, finally, " that he who disbelieves the 
moral agency of man, must, in consistency with that opinion, dis- 
believe Christianity." J We have thus, in the positive and negative 
sides of this philosophy, both a reasonable ground of belief and a 
warning against presumption. By our immediate consciousness of a 
moral and personal nature, we are led to the belief in a moral and 
personal (rod : by our ignorance of the unconditioned, we are led to 
the further beliei^ that behind that moral and personal manifestation of 
God there lies concealed a mystery — the mystery of the Absolute and 
tiie Infinite ; that our intellectual and moral qualities, though indicating 
tiie nearest approach to the Divine Perfections which we are capable 
of conceiving, yet indicate them as analogous, not as identical ; that 
we may naturally expect to find points where this analogy will fell 
us, where the function of the Infinite Moral Governor will be distinct 
from that of the finite moral servant; and where, consequently, we 
shall be liable to error in judging by human rules of the ways of Grod, 
whether manifested in nature or in revelation. Such is the true 
lesson to be learnt from a philosophy which teUs us of a God who 
is " in a certain sense revealed, in a certain sense concealed — at once 
knoAvn and unknown." 

It is not surprising that this philosophy, when compared with that of 
a critic like Mr. Mill, should stand out in clear and sharp antagonism. 
Mr. Mill is one of the most distinguished representatives of that 
school of Materialism which Sir W. Hamilton denounces as virtual 
Atheism. We do not mean that he consciously adopts the grosser 
tenets of the materialists. We are not aware that he has ever posi- 
tively denied the existence of a soul distinct from the body, or main- 
tained that the brain secretes thought as the liver secretes bile. But 
he is the advocate of a philosophical method which makes the 
belief in the existence of an immaterial principle superfluous and 
incongruous ; he acknowledges no such distinction between the phe- 
nomena of mind and those of matter as to reqxiire the hypothesis of a 

• " Lectnret," vol. i., p. 30. t Ihii., p. 33. J Ibid., p. 42. 

48 TIu Contemporary Review. 

second principle to account for it ; be regards the ascertained laws of 
Cfjexistence and succession in material phenomena as the t^'pe and 
rule according to which all phenomena whatever — those of internal 
conscioasness no less than those of external obser\-ation — are to be 
tested ; alxive all, he expressly denies the existence of that free will 
which Sir "W. Hamilton regards as the indispensable condition of all 
morality and all religion. Thus, instead of recognising in the facts of 
intelligence, " an order of existence diametrically in contrast to that 
displayed to us in the facta of the material universe,"* he r^ards both 
classes of facta as of the same kind, and explicable by the same laws ; he 
abolishes the primary contrast of consciousness between the ego and 
the non-ego — the i)erson and the thing ; he reduces man to a thing, 
instead of a person, — to one among the many phenomena of the 
universe, determined by the same laws of invariable antecedence and 
consequence, included under the same formulae of empirical general- 
ization. He thus makes man the slave and not the master of nature ; 
passively carried along in the current of successive phenomena; 
unable, by any act of free will, to arrest a single wave in its course, 
or to divert it from its ordained direction. 

This diametrical antagonism between the two philosophers is not 
limited to their first principles, but extends, as might naturally be 
expected, to every subordinate science of whicli the immediate object is 
mental, and not material. Logic, instead of being, as Sir W. Hamilton 
regards it, an a priori science of the necessary laws of thought, is with 
Mr. Mill a science of observation, investigating those operations of tlie 
understanding which are subservient to the estimation of evidence.-f 
Tlie axioms of Mathematics, which the former philosopher regards, 
with Kant, as necessary thoughts, based on the d priori intuitions of 
space and time, the latter declares to be " experimental truths ; gene- 
ralizations from observation." J Psychologj', which with Hamilton is 
especially the philosophy of man as a free and personal agent, is with 
Mill the science of " the uniformities of succession ; the laws, whether 
ultimate or derivative, according to which one mental state succeeds 
another."§ And finally, in the place of Ethics, as the science of the 
A priori laws of man's moral obligations, we are presented, in Mr. 
Mill's system, with Ethology, the " science which determines the kind 
of character produced, in conformity to the general laws of mind, by 
any set of circumstances, physical and moral" || 

The contrast between the two philosophers being thus thoroi^h- 
going, it was natural to expect beforehand tliat an " Examination of 
Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy," by Mr. Mill, would contain a 
sharp and vigorous assault on the principal doctrines of that philo- 

• Hamilton, "Lectures," vol i., p. 29. t Mill's "Logic:" Introduction, j 7. 

X Ibid., book ii. 6, H- § -^^'('■, book n. i, { 3. |j Ibid., book vi. 6, } 1- 

Tlie Philosophy of the Conditioned. 49 

sophy. And this expectation has been amply fulfilled. But there 
was also reason to expect, from the ability and critical power displayed 
in Mr. Mill's previous writings, that his assault, whether successful or 
not in overthrowing hia enemy, would at least be guided by a clear 
knowledge of that enemy's position and purposes ; that his dissent 
would be accompanied by an intelligent apprehension, and au accurate 
statement, of the doctrines dissented from. In this expectation, we 
r^ret to say, we have been disappointed. Not only is Mr. Mill's 
attack on Hamilton's philosophy, with the exception of some minor 
details, unsuccessful ; but we are compelled to add, that with regard 
to the three fundamental doctrines of that philosophy — ^the Relativity 
of Knowledge, the incognisability of the Absolute and Infinite, and 
the distinction between Eeason and Faith — Mr. Mill has, throughout 
his criticism, altogether missed the meaning of the theories he is 
attempting to assail. 

This is a serious charge to bring against a writer of such eminence 
as Mr. Mill, and one which should not be advanced without ample 
proof. Want of apace alone prevents us from proceeding with the 
proof immediately ; but we promise that it shall be forthcoming in 
the next portion of our article. 



An Sj-eurHm In W* Pdoiwhuwiu. !■ tie ymr 19M. By Dia Uta 
mCbC Hod. Sir TuuHAJi WyhK, K.C.B., HH. Emoy Eitewirdi- 

u? uid Mjnisttr t'lpiji|ii.>l^iitiiU7 tX Al-hcna rnun 1^49 to \M2. 
Kdltud byliii Nibm, WiMrnKtiR M. 'Wisi. Two Tok, a»t>. Loadoa: 
Dny and Sod, ISOS. 

FpHERE is no want of books ot travels in Greece. Soon after the 
J. beginning of tbe present century, before the modem mce of 
tourisia had extended their rambles iHjyoml tlie slinres cil' Italy, and 
when a voyage to the Levant was still a tediijns and uncertain aflair, 
tbe clagsicjJ regions of Greece were explored hy Dodwell, Sir W. Gcll, 
and, above all, by Colonel Leake, witli a zeal and diligence that con- 
trast strikingly with the indolent^ dlkUante mode of travelling so 
general in these days of atemulioats an<l raib-oads. Since the estab- 
lishment of tbe independent kingdom of Greece, almost every comer 
nf the land has been ransacked with the most praiseworthy energy by 
niimerous German scholars, some of them residents in the couatn,'. 
others only pajang it a temporary visit, but even these generally 
devoting themselves to the examination of its topognipliy and anti- 
quities with that minute and careful dibgencc so characteristic of 
their countrymen. Tlie labours of Eoss, of Uliichs, of Forchhammer, 
and of Ciirtiita, bave contiibuted much to onr inforaiatiou, even after 
the fiingnlarly complet-e and elaboi'ate investigations of Colonel Leake ; 
and there are now hut few parts of the classic soil of Hellas where 
the antiquarian traveller can hope to find anj'thing that has escaped 
the notice of his predecessoTs. Much, very much, undoubtedly re- 
mains bo be discovered ; but the task ig one beyond the means of the 
unassisted traveller, and we must wait for systematic cscavatiuna to 
bring to light the treasures of art which in all probability still he hid 

Modern Greece. 51 

beneath the surface, as well as to determine many doubtful questions 
by laying bare the foundations of temples and monuments of which 
no trace is now visible. 

But while the requirements of the classical scholar and archaeologist 
have thus been in great measure provided for, those of the general 
reader have been comparatively neglected. A good book of tmvels in 
Greece is still, in one sense, a dtsideratum, — there is none to which 
we could refer our readers for a lively and at the same time trustworthy 
account of the present state of the coimtry and the people. Most 
travellers in this classic land have been so absorbed in the reminis- 
cences of the past, that they have told us but little about the present. 
Colonel Mure's " Tour in Greece" is, indeed, in some degree an excep- 
tion, and contains much interesting information concerning the country 
as it then was ; but more than twenty-five years have elapsed since 
the date of his journey, a period during which the little kingdom of 
Greece may be said to have been going through a term of probation ; 
and it is surely not without interest to learn the result. Yet, sii^ularly 
enough, among the almost innumerable popular books of travels that 
load the shelves of our publishers, hardly one is devoted to the de- 
scription of continental Greece ; and of the swarms of Englisli travellers 
who now annually visit the Nile, the Holy Land, and Constantinople, 
very few bestow more time upon Greece than suffices for a hasty 
glance at Athens and its vicinity. 

Under these circumstances nothing can be more opportune than 
the appearance of the present volumes ; for no one certainly could be 
better qtialified than Sir Tliomas Wyse to supply the deficiency thus 
indicated. During the long period of his residence as British minister 
at the Court of Athens, while he entered with enthusiastic interest 
into all the classical pursuits and associations which coidd add to the 
enjoyment of such a residence, his attention was at the same time 
steadily turned to the political and social condition of the people 
among whom he was living, and no exertion was wanting on his part 
to promote or encourage every tendency to progress and impi-ovement. 
His name will long live in the grateful memory of the Greeks, who, 
whatever their faults, are not unmindful of those who show disinte- 
rested zeal in their cause, and who have never forgotten the services 
rendered them during the War of Independence by Byron, by Hamil- 
ton, and by Hastings. 

The particular tour recorded in the present pages was undertaken, 
as we are informed by Miss Wyse in the Preface, with the special 
object of collecting information for the " Financial Commission to 
inquire into the Kesources of Greece," which was appointed immedi- 
ately after the Crimean War, and of which Sir Thomas Wyse was 
president. The statistical and other materials collected by that Com- 

52 The Contemporary Review. 

mission — forming " a large mass of valuable papers, which at the time 
was called a mine of knowledge and instructiou" — have never been pub- 
lished : they still slumber in the archives of the Foreign Office. But 
even had they been given to the world, there are probably few of our 
readers who would have cared to wade through the pages of a pon- 
derous blue-book, in search of the infonnation which is now conveyed 
to them in a more attractive form. The journal kept by Sir Thomaa 
Wyse was not originally designed for publication; and thongh he 
took it up again after a considerable inter\'al with a ■view to prepare 
it for the press, his project was cut short abrupUy by the hand of 
death. The care of its pubhcation consequently devolved upon his 
accomplished niece, who had for many years presided over his house 
at Athens, had accompanied Iiim ujwn the tour in question, was 
acquainted with all his \-iews, and fully shared in his s>nnpathy with 
the aspirations and endeavours of the people among whom they had 
both so long resided. In giving to the world the journal ttius con- 
fided to her charge. Miss Wyse has not only discharged a debt of 
private gratitude to her uncle's memory, but has conferred a real obli- 
gation upon the public, both in England and Greece, by affording the 
people of this country the means of forming a soimd and well- 
grounded judgment upon the condition and prospects of the rising 

It is, indeed, somewhat to be regretted that so laige & portion of the 
work before us should be devoted to antiquarian details and archjeo- 
logical discussions, which can add but little to our knowledge, while 
the length to which they extend may have the effect of deterring 
some readers, who woidd gladly follow Sir Thomas Wyse through bis 
animated descriptions of Greek scenery and Greek life, as he found it 
in the more secluded districts of the Peloponnese. In the following 
pages we propose to confine ourselves almost exclusively to those por- 
tions of the book which throw light upon the circumstances and 
condition of modem Greece. Neither the mode in which Sir Thomas 
Wyse travelled, nor the time at his disposal, admitted of Lis carrying 
on any such continuous researches as can alone, at the present day, 
add to our knowledge of the ancient Hellenic world. 

lu one respect, iadeed, the tour made by Sir Thomas Wyse differed 
ftt>m those of any of his predecessors. He was accompanied on the 
excursion in question by two ladies, — his niece, to whom we are 
indebted for the publication of the present volmues, and a friend of 
hers. Both of them had heard much before lea^-ing Athens of the 
discomforts and difficulties to which they were about to subject them- 
selves ; but, " imdismayed by these reports, they were eager to put to 
personal test, for their own satisfaction and the benefit of future lady 
travellers, the justice of these discouragements." The result was 

Modern Greece. 53 

highly satisfactory, and may be taken as an assurance that there 
are no difficulties in a tour in Greece which need repel the more 
adventurous of the fair sex, while they may certainly look forward to 
a rich harvest of enjoyment. The conditions of travelling in Greece 
are indeed peculiar : it is in a state of transition from the Oriental 
system, where khans and convents supplied the only accommodation 
for travellers, to the European system of regular inns and liotelp. 
But it must be admitted that it lias as yet made but little progress in 
this direction. " Khans and convents," observes Sir Thomas "Wyse, 
" are going out, but inns have not come in." Tlie traveller has still 
to depend, in great measure, upon the casual lodging in any house in 
the village where he takes up his quarters, the inhabitants of which 
are willing to receive him " for a consideration ;" and he must carry 
with him his own food and the means of cooking it. But the couriers, 
or professional travelling ser\'ant3 at Athens, are now so well ac- 
quainted with all the routes which are usually taken by travellers, 
and the places where they are likely to halt, that they almost always 
secure them the best accommodation that the village can afford, and 
the tourist may traverse most parts of Greece without having to put 
up with such quarters as were frequently encountered by lieake or 
Colonel Mure. No doubt the first aspect of some of these sleeping- 
places is discouraging enough. The following description by Sir 
Thomas Wyse may serve as an example : — 

" Dimitri stopped before a wretclial liouae, informing ua that this was to 
he OTir hotel for the niglit. The dismay of our party was amusing ; was 
tbere no other house in the villiige, loss dilapiilatwl, and more habitablut 
With many grpoffcvvfj/jarn, AgoyiaUis, villagers — in iini;, every one — ileclared 
it was the l)est, only -lat^dy built, not yet tinisheil, exempt from all the usual 
concomitants, and a wonder and envy to the inhabit^uits of Bogas, all whicli 
Dimitri confirmed. Reluctantly submitting, with nuuiy a shako of the head, 
as the day had waned, we clamlwred up a (lisjoijited heaji of stones, the sub- 
stitute for steps. The house itself ])rovetl better tlian its exterior ck-ueted, 
and later we had on several occasions to look back with respect and regret 
to this our first acquaintance with true Hellenic lixlgings at Biigiis." — 
{P. 313.) 

This was the first night after leaving Jlessene, but the next at 
PatxUtza, on the site of the ancient Phigaleia, was still more unpro- 
mising : — 

" After passing througli a nigged ravuic, amongst rambling torrent-lxuls 
rather than footways,— streets of course there were iinne, — our horses' heads 
were turned aside into what was announced as the best habitiition of the 
village. It stood among old olive-roots and broken walls,— where a scowl- 
ing group of men and women, in spite of Leonidiiw, mir gemlarme, kept 
storuig at us with evident suspicion as iiitnulers. J)n'nched with wet, no 
alternative was left, but, sighing for the luxiirj- of ISogiw, to resign ourselves 
to tlie hovel before us. In the midst of our annoyitnce, Dimitri declared 
that their Majesties had more than once passed a night in the same dwell- 


The Co7itemporary Review. 

ing. I cannot say that we needed such indticwment to accept its hospitalitj ,,: 
>mt it fumiflhed a striking proof (if tho tmppjvidetl state &f the interior pari. 
of the cdtmtrj-, that the srivtwiftn ronUl fiiul no fitter resttng-pkce. Had I 
hicen an inTiliniir^* tmvellRT, 1 might hnve disfireditwl such a dtatisnicnt ; but 
I hod every reason to believe in ita truth. On nearer approach, the hut was 
even more forhiiUUnp. A doi'^r and a few loopholes gave it light, and it 
WAS hardly proteetod from the min \\y tlu? wretched roof, tlirough which the 
giuokc piiirced with fitill less difficulty. 'Ilio roof waa corapa^ of hronchca 
of tree^ covered -with loos* flat stones in tnie primeval Arkadian fashion. 
Hgto, nevertheless, we pai&aed^llianka, perhaps, to the cold^a tolerable 
iiiglit. Our baggage arriving early, had. fcirtunately escaped the rain, and 
tliu^i, wittt a hlfuing fire aiiJ \\ ditim'r speedily ptepared and eaten, we forgot 
the labours of the dny. Tlie servants iitnl Agoyiate^s were cjuartered in other 
lints. Leotiiiliishad taken cai-e tn see all aitperfluous furnituifl removed from 
orir abode, aiid iJimitti ilistiiigHishHl hinisflf as fl.n architect iu treiting and 
arranging Tonnis fur (ilil- reBpeetivo qiiartera. lliUs all were eatly asleep, 
despite cries of evciy sort from oatives, Agoytatts, servanta, dogS, ftheep, ami 
aasea- around na/' — (P. 18.) 

But if the traveller will sometimea have to encounter the discomfort 
of rough qtiartera and a sleepless ui«,'lit, he will be am^ply compensat-ed 
Ijy the enjoyment of the moriiiiij^'d ride that follows in tbo clear 
bracing air, and Ijy tlio jnid-dny Imit beside some mountain streamlet, 
or where a ibuntain, gushing forth beneath a spreading plane tree, 
recitlla tu bis iniud the siiiuUir scene already deswllied by Homer, — 

cdXif iin-fj TtKaravloTif, liQif pity kyXaay vSiMt. 

It lias often been remarkeJ, thiit among tlie most pleasing reminia- 
ceuuea whiuh the tmveller biiuga back from a tour iu the Alps are the 
mid-ilay halts for refreahnieiit at the edge of the glacier, or in same 
spot cUoscn as comiULiuiUn^ a mountain view of aurjiassiu^ magnifi- 
cence; but we aixi conlident that the lounst iu Greece will look hack 
w^itli no less eujuyment to the mxiutide hours lie has spent aniidat 
scenery of a verj' diflei-cut character, but of which tlic charm gradu- 
ally steals over the mind, and tli'.mgh felt less strongly at first, ends 
with leaving an impresaion never to be effaced. 

Unfortunately, in one respect, travelling in Greece has chaoged 
materially (or the worse since Sir Thomas "^Vyse'a tour was made, At 
that time, and for some years afterwards, there was no fear of robbers 
in any part of the Morea, and when the party landed at GytMum, 
their courier, Dimitri, assured tbetu that the race of brigands was 
extinct, and miglit be classed with t.!ie mj-ths uf the heroic ages. But 
since then, the revolution, of 1802, and the period of anarchy by which 
it was followed, have once more diaorgauizetl the country, ami 
8ome yeai's may probably elapse before the interiar of Greece ia 
restored to the same state of security wliich it enjoyed aa lately 
aa ISiil. 

The first point at which Sir Thomas Wyse touched is one nirely 


Modern Greece. 




visited by travellers, — indeeJ, we do uot remember to have seen any 
otlier description of it than that of Colonel Leake, — the island fortress 
Monemvasia, called by tbe Venetianu Napoli di Molvaaia, on the 
Tisteni coast of Lmcoiiia; a bold insular rock, rising almost close to tlie 
shore, mth which it eeema to have been joined in ancient times by a 
low neck of sand, thnu^L now separated by a shallow strait, which is 
crossed by a bridge. The fortress, which is aaid somewhat to resemble 
(iibraltar on a very small scale, was of some importance in the 
Venetian times, but fell into utter decay in the Lands of the Turks, 
and is now a mere ruin. The to;vn heluw it, tliongh still nQminally 
the seat of a bisbop, and boastijig of a curious old Byzantine church, 
is little leas ruinous. Hall" the houses we saw (says Sii- T, Wyae) 
were nninhabiled^ a larye number faUing rapidly " into min, and many 
windowlesfi and roofleaa. There is no manufacture, trade, or indiigtry 
in the place ; the open rnadstead to the south, as much exposed as 
that on the north, showed only two small fishing smacks as represent- 
atives of their commerce." Yet the place lias still a certain shadow 
of its former consequence ; it 13 tbe seat of a tribunal, and of an 
EiMirchy, a district of some e^itent, whicli returns two deputies to the 
Chambers. On Sir Thomas Wyae's landing from an KugUah war 
steamer, the first that had toucihed there for many years, the authuri- 
liea all hastened to meet hira; the Epardi, a "silent jejune man, in 
iakind trousers ; the Demarcli, in a creditably clean fustanella ; and the 
iloctor, in Trank dress, presenting a good epitome of the transition 
through whicli manners and costuniea are hastening in (Ireece." The 
tTowd that soon gathered round them was not less varied in character, 
comprising " all sorts of fuatanellaSj island trousers, and one or two 
'young Greece' pale and travelled faces, in Frank dress and white 
neckcloths (I waa thankful there were no 'gants glacijs'), leading the 
way," Such are the anomalies and contrasts that meet the traveller's 
eye at every step in the Greece of the present day. 

Yet even in such a poor and decaying place as Monemvaaia, the 
sjrmptoms of intellectual movement are suiierior to what might have 
been expected from tbe aspect of its material condition. " They have 
two Demotic or primary schools, and one Hellenic. The second of 
these primary schools, for girls, counted, they $aid, about thirty pupils, 
who were verj' regular in their attendance. A large proportion of 
the people read and write. We found many newspapers, and n good 
deal of inquiry on all manner of public afi'oirs; for, like most Glreck 
towns, JMnnemvosia boasts of a cof4, which is also a reading-room, and 
has a billiard-table for loungers. A few spoke French and Italian." 

It is strange to renicmber that the name of tliis now obscure and 
aecludcd fortress on a rock was, in the MidtUe Ages, celebrated through- 
out Europe from its hanng given name to tbe famous " Malvoisie " or 


Th4 Contemporary Review. 

" Malmsey " wine, wldch then enjoyed the hir^liest repute^ aud was the 
faviiurite beverage of one of our English princes. Notlung of the kind 
is iKiw laade in the neighbourhood, aud the Ijarren and sun-parched 
rocks of this part of the coasts of Lacotiia would seem to hold out 
little proapect of its ever being revived. But u latj^ portion of the 
wine iJiat passed under the name, even in the Sliddle Agea, appears 
to have come irotu Crete, the "wiues of which then bore so high a 
reputation; tliat in 1421, when Prince Henry of Portugal was abont to 
establish a colony in Madeira, then recently discovered, he sent to 
Cret« for vines of the choicest quality, with which to stock the island. 
Thus the Madeira of the present day — if, indeed, its day has not 
already departed — raay be said to trace its lineal descent from the 
barren rocks of Mfllvasia. 

From Monemvftsia Sir T. Wyse proceeded by sea to Marathonisi, a 
smidl town on tlie coast of Laconia, ■which lias now resumed the 
ancient name of Gythium, familiar to the scholar as the seaport of 
Sparta. Its position, indeed, marks it out as the natural plaoe of 
export for the productions of the rich plains of Sparta and the 
"golden" vale of the Eurotas; aud anch it continues to be even at the 
present day, Yet ita aspect, as seen from the sea, was only a ehade 
less niisentble than that of Monemvaaia. " It looked a wretched 
eonipheatian of house upon house, on the sides of the naked hill, 
dotted here and there by a few churches, one of which, dedicated 
to St. Demetrius, rejoice=i. in a belfry." Nor was the prospect on 
enteruig much better : — 

" The iiEpeet of this placo la wrotched. The lanes are narrow, irregular, 
and unwhi.»legonie ; and the bouses squeezed together, by the nittiare of the 
m\\ and insensibility to Biich inponvenieuces on the part of the luhabitante. 
lli« town is Bijjgnkrly deticient in fresh wa.ttr und ]iure air ; but a ruslmig 
stream, unfortunate J j hmckish, finding its way as it can through the bmkea 
pavement to the sea, givBS the means, hitherto umised^ of keeping it in a 
paK:(ahle stjitc of elpnidinesa. jUI, however, looka disconsolate, mgged, and 
ruiiious, aa if the jilace had only yeatenlay eeirapLHl from the cannonade of 
the Turks, and aa though, during' their twenty-liv& years of independence, 
tile whole jiopulation had been fuat iialecip. There ia aotliinp in ita exte.mat 
nppeanincti wiiich could show tliat it had piisatsd under Chriatian nde, aiid 
were it not for the ceremonial of the authorities, and the ' pniancipated ' look 
of this younger portion of the populatirm, who arc joyous and active enough, 
one might s-uppose they yet felt the tuen'iitinf^ infiuenees of their late 
iiuiBtcM. In thia particular, they made a iriuch lesa favourabla inijireasiciin 
than Muneuivasia ; though, aa to divellings aud streotS) there is little to 
decide between them."— (Pp. 43,50.) 

Yet Marathonisi is not without a certain amount of trade, ari.ging 
from its positiiin as the natural o«tlet of the fertile plains and valleys 
of Laconia. But no eflbrtrS have been made to turn these opportunities 
to account. Nothing has been done to improve the port, which is 

Modern Greece. 57 

little more than an open roadstead, or to give increased facilities of 
access to the interior. A carriage road from thence to Spai-ta had 
heen indeed " decreed " by the Government at Athens, but its execu- 
tion had never even been commenced, though the country presents no 
natural difficulties. 

** Despite all these drawbacks, it must not be euppoeed that Maratbonisi, 
possessing so considerable a stimulus behind it as the plain of Sparta, has not 
improved. Even the neighbourhood of this town shows encouraging symp- 
toms of salutary influences in the increasing culture of com, vine, and mul- 
berry. Ihe hills around are rich with the most luxuriant productions. 
The com crops especially are magnificent ; and walking through field after 
field well drained and well hedged, we imagined oureelves in Belgium or 
England. Nor was it easy to reconcile such elements of substantial wealth, 
in so healthy a state of activity, with the miserable decay of the town, which 
ought, in some measure, to have been the reflection of so much prosperity." 
-(P. 52.) 

Beyond Marathonisi on the west extends the rugged and moun- 
tainous district of Maina, formed by the continuation of the great 
chain of Taygetus, stretching down to the celebrated promontory of 
Cape Matapan, the ancient TBenarus. Sir T. Wyse was prevented by 
bad weather from landing at any of the porta along this wild and 
stormy coast ; but the chief interest attached to a visit to this peculiar 
district has now passed away. The numerous towers visible from the 
sea scattered over every part of the district, whether isolated or 
attached to houses in the towns or villages, still bear witness to the 
recent existence of the state of things described by Colonel Leake, 
when every man's hand was against his neighbour; and it was not 
imcommon for a Maniote cJiief to spend years together without ever 
quitting the protection of his Pyi^ or tower. But, as Sir T. Wyse 
informs us, even this wild district has gradually subsided into the 
ordinary manners of the rest of Greece, and tlie Pyrgos of Maina 
will soon be as much the relics of a bygone state of society as the 
robber castles on the Rhine. 

Striking inland from Gythium to Sparta, Sir T. Wyse bears the 
same emphatic testimony as all other travellers have done to the 
beautiful situation of that celebrated city, and the noble 'scenery by 
which it is surroimded. The actual site of Sparta is indeed much 
less clearly marked out by its natural features than those of most 
other Greek cities : it had no Acropolis in the proper sense of the 
term ; no commanding height which was the natural defence of the 
city beneath : antiquarians are not even agreed as to wluch of several 
low hills was the Acropolis of Sparta, and hence the to]X)graphy of the 
ancient city remains very obscure. Nor are there any ruins of a strik- 
ing or prominent character : tlie theatre alone remains in tolerable pre- 
servation. But the view from that theatre is one not easily surpassed. 


The Coniemporary Review. 

" It 13 difficult to aee more JiTjundimce witli lias imiformLty. M\ kiiida t>f 
luxuriance in full produce,— tlie sluir|> green mulberry, the t*!sdoe line, tlie 
valonea in stUBly mo&sc^ oRmjjea, mid lemons, — eniboaoiiLmg liriglit liled 
Iiousea, cam like a very &ta. below «a, and tinitigU tlio whole, clunipa of 
cj-pretees, marking two realms dcpartuil for ever — old tJreecc and aged 
Turkey — aii<l breaking up the inonot^my, both pictoriii! ami historic. Sparta 
the new, lu tbf,! miilst of this, was liardly J isi;ovt'nibk', exicjit as a atriny of 
pleasant places, Mnth here and theiti n twinkling of tte Euiotas, to indicate 
the soui-cea of profusion. Life and work and reward are eean now in all 
this ; but it is a faint reflection of it^ ancient renown, or a]icient proprietors. 
Here is found whatever the most iiiilustrious or thp miist luxurious. cuuM 
desire. And to comyilete the picture, Tiiygetus. rises beyond, tlie great 
mountain guanlian of all, its upright wall rising irom. tlia ]dain, its ridgy 
dfchk'S, its outstanding spurs, eaeh a base tor a cita<lel, glnniny, grand, 
nnciiangiiig ; all this has another inHuenee, iind, coiuprising the adjoining 
sceneiy of llenelaionj stretching gfT to I'lirnon, in its stern Tzakunian cha- 
racter, brings hack the tamper to « more Doric mood, and hrafos up to 
manly thought what wouid else disaolve under gentler mflueiices. " — (Pp. 
95, 90.) 

Sir Thomas had already idsited the plain of Sparta, many years 
hefore, when it was far more solitary, and had in consequence a cha- 
racter leaa rich and lusuriimt than it now presents. Our readers will 
probably recollect that tlie site had become completely ahandouetl 
during the Middle Ages, so that the earlier travellers in Oreece were 
actually ignorant where this far-tiimed city had stood. The popidation 
had withdrawn to IMiatra, a toftni founded on one of the lower slopes 
of Taygetns by Giiilliiume de Villehardouin in 1250, and which con- 
tinued under the Turkish rule to be the capital of the sun'ouuding 
district. But when the new" kinydon: of Greece was eatahlisbed, it 
was determined to restore the seat of local government to the ancient 
site, and to found a new Sparta amid the ruins of the old city. The 
result has certainly not been aatkfactory. Mlstra lias heen indeed 
abandoned, and now presents nothing more than a picturesque heap of 
ruins, partly mediaeval, partly Turkish, clustering round the steep sides 
of a hill crowned by the mouldering remtiiiifi of the Frank castle above. 
The scene was rendered all the more striking to Wir Thomas "^'yae 
becauae he had himself seen it in tlie days of its Turkish prosperity. 

"We rode np under a hot sun, through rocky narrow streets, between 
high enrlosing coiut walla, over wlii^h a burst of veninre would occasionally 
peejj. It still was ;i Turkish town in all its featujvs, csctpt tlie inliabitanta 
— as if left there in its silence iind desolation as \x warning and a Kumesis. 
Not iL sound wius lieard but that of our own citvalca(ie^ uutil we rea<;hed the 
dfljk Bazaar ; no stir nor sound of life, beyont! li nod or n won! from some 
unoccupied individual seated on a step or leaning on a window m we 
scrambled along. \\Tien last I troil these streL'tti, though attended by a 
Turkish Janissary, 1 could hardly get tluuugh the crowd, and had more 
than onco to hasten my stops, in onier to escape fium the atones of urcliinti 
and the shoqts of ' Giaour Kelh' which accomi»Rnied them." — (F. 156.) 


Modern Greece. 59 

No contrast can well be more striking than that presented by the 
new town of Sparta with tlie scene thus described. It has been laid 
out according to the Bavarian taste (unfortunately introduced by that 
dynasty), with broad streets running at right angles'to each other, with 
houses almost all traced upon a given plan, and that essentiiJly a 
German model, in utter oblivion of the exigencies of the climate ; with 
no protection against the burning sxm of Greece, no provision for 
shade, or cooling sparkling fountains, such as would have been found 
in every comer of a Turkish town of similar pretensions. But foun- 
tains, observes Sir T. Wyse, " seem to have gone out everywhere, with 
baths and . storks, as well as mosques." Meanwhile the plan of the 
projected city, like most projects in Greece, has been laid out on a 
scale " a world teo wide " for its scanty population, and the streets 
are as yet but dusty roads "studded here and there with houses, 
leaving yawning distances, dead garden walls, and stray watercourses 
between." The place has something the air of a str^gling German 
watering-place, without its neatness or look of prosperity. It must 
be admitted that these defects are in part incident to every new town, 
and will gradually disappear as the population increases, which it 
must necessarily do, as the resources of the rich valley of the Eurotaa 
are more developed, and rendered accessible from the sea by the loi^- 
projected road to Gythium. But at present the impression produced 
on the mind of the traveller by the aspect of New Sparta is that of 
stagnation, not of progress. 

From Sparta to Kalamata in Messenia, Sir Thomas Wyse crossed 
the rugged range of Taygetus, by a moimtain pass of the wildest 
character, over which it is difficult to believe that there ever was a 
road practicable for carriages of any description, though we are told 
by Homer that Telemaclms and his friend Pisistratus drove their 
chariot in a day from Pheras, on tlie same site as the modern Kala- 
mata, to the palace of Menelaus at Sparta. We doubt very much 
whether the same journey has ever been performed since that time. 
At the present day, not only is the route practicable for mules only, 
but it taxes the powers of even the most active and sure-footed mules 
to the utmost ; and Sir Thomas Wyse and the ladies by whom he was 
accompanied were constantly compelled to dismount, and to walk 
over passages which they thought even mules could not surmount. 

There is indeed another pass over the chain of Taygetus, lower and 
somewhat easier, which was that crossed by Mr. Clark and Professor 
Thompson, in consequence of the higher summits being still (near the 
end of April) too much encumbered with snow ; but even this pre- 
sents difficulties of no ordinary kind. There can be little doubt that 
tlie habitual intercourse between Sparta and Messenia must always 
have been carried on by the circuiteus route ascending the valley of 


The Contemporary Review. 

the Etirotfts, and turning the fl&Qk of the lofty ridges of Taygetus, liy 
the pass of Makriplngi, neftr the modem towu of Leondari. Tlie 
moiijitfiin bairier of Tnygetnu, ptTolonged as it is to the sooth ia ono 
imhroken range, till it ends in Cape Matapan, Diust always bave 
formed a natural boundaiy between Laconia and ITessenia not less 
marked and scarcely less formidable than that of the Pyrenees Ije- 
tween France and Spain; and the cu-cuinatanee meutioned by Pausa- 
nias, that wild goats were in his day still found in numbers upon the 
higher eimimita. prnves — -if any proof were wanted to those who have 
gazed upon their ja^'ged and precipitous peaks — that tiiese were then 
as wild and inaccessible as they are now, 

IJut we know that this barrier was passed^ and that at an early 
}>eriod iu the history of Spiirt,i, Tiie tmveller who deacends into the 
ricli plains of Messenia will cease to wonder at this. Imperfectly 
cultivated as it now is, it is impossible not to be struck with the 
marvellons fertility of tliis niai^iificent plain; and the portion of it 
adjoining Kalflmata, the only one where the cuJtivntion is at present 
cBri-ied on with any reasociable care, gives unflicient evidence of the 
reault. After leaving Knlarnnta, says Sir T. Wyse, " the first part of 
our way run Iwtween those high hedges of Indian fig or cactus for 
which Messenia is famon-s; then through open ur well-he<.lg9d olive 
an<i mulberry plantations, broken now and again by vines, pouie- 
grauates, and oranges, and divemified by nllages. The culture all 
along this line — the flat land formed by the waters of the I'amisus 
and other streams — was in acconl with the extreme riclineas of the 
aoiL Ko one coiild have imagine^l that the hoof of the horse of Attila 
had been there, or that the Llistrict had so lately emerged from a war, 
not of devastation only, but of extermination." Tliis careful cultiva- 
tion gradually disappeared as they advanced farther into the plain, 
though the country continned of much the sfttne dfescrijition : hut, 
taken as a whgle, Messenia is at the present day one of the moat flour- 
ishing distiicts of Greece. The exports of KakmatHft, wliich_ serves as 
the port of the whole district, and must probably continue to do so, 
notwithstanding many disadvantages, have been increasing for some 
time past, and the town itself presents signs of progress wlioUy unlike 
anything to he seen at Gythiiun. or ISronenivasin, though the tihl 
streets, clambering up the sides of a steep, rocky hill, are still ,"inex- 
presaihly trookt^d, cramped, and filtliy," and the bazaar "exhibiteil 
the usual dislocated, ragged, unpainted, provisional look obstuiately 
retained by all Greek a,? well as Turkish bazaars." The a|^-icultnre of 
the ]jlain lias also visibly improved; greater ciire is tal^eu, though 
scarcely any new processes are introduced, and thungli " no solicitude 
has been shown by any of the successive ministers to eucovimge pi-o- 
gress in this tlirection." The tiuprovenient that has taken pluce is 

Modern Greece. 0i 

owing almost entirely, in Sir T. Wyse's opinion, to the spontaneous 
efforts of the population ; and he speaks iu high terms of the industry 
and frugality of the Messenian peasantry. Meantime, the govern- 
ment authorities, whether central or local, do little more than thiow 
obstacles in the way of all attempts at progress. 

The first and moat glaring d^ect, here as everywhere else in Greece, 
is the want of roads to carry the agricultural produce to market, or 
to the neighbouring seaport. And in Messenia at least there ia not 
the excuse that may undoubtedly be uiged in many parts of the 
country, of the great natural difficulties that stand in the way. A 
road over Taygetus, as Mr. Clark observes, " would be a work that 
might chaUei^e comparison with that over the Simplon;" and the 
mountain passes that connect Sparta with Arcadia are long, rugged, 
and difficult : but there would be no difficulty worth speaking of in 
making roads to connect every part of Messenia with the, sea either at 
Kalamata or Navarino. Even through the plain itself there are 
nothing but "natural roads," which are tolerable in summer, but 
all but impassable in winter or bad weather. Nor is it an uncommon 
thing in any part of Greece, when a road has been laid out, that ia to 
say, its course marked out through the plain, cleared of obstructions, 
and levelled, — " metalling" is a subsequent process that may be indefi- 
nitely postponed, — for the nearest proprietor to carry a drain directly 
across it, or divert the course of the next torrent from his own land 
on to the public highway. There is little harm done, he may not 
unreasonably argue ; for the torrent would soon find its own way, if 
he did not conduct it there. There is no one to prevent, no one to 
repair the mischief; and the traveller is left to find his way out of the 
difficulty as best he can. In one instance, on their way to the temple 
at -Bassie, Sir T. Wyse found the road (a mere horse-track) which had 
been in existence the year before, quietly ploughed up, and fenced 
across by the occupiers of the neighbouring lands. 

In the midst of the Messenian plain, towering over the neighbour- 
ing heights, and commanding the whole district like a national citadel, 
rises the mountain fortress of Ithome, which has been not unaptly 
compared to an inland Gibraltar. It is, indeed, aa Sir T. Wyse 
remarks, " as prominent in the scenery as in the history of this re- 
markable plain." The whole history of the first Messenian war is 
seen at a glance when the traveller beholds this grand natural strong- 
hold, which presents itself with an equally imposing character 
whether approached from Kalamata and the foot of Taygetus, or seen 
from the mountains on the borders of Arcadia. There is much about 
it that reminds one of the Acrocorinthus, but its more isolated posi- 
tion, as well as its greater actual elevation, give it a still grander 
aspect. It is needless to remark that the view from its summit com- 


The Cotttemporaiy Review. 

mands one of the noHest prospects in Greece. A little ■way below it, 
on the shoulder of the mountain, is situated tiie convent of Moiit* 
Vurltano, picturesquely associated with a grove of cypresses, in a 
manner much leas common in Greece thtin in Italy. The convent 
affords, at the present day, comfortable quartars to the traveller, an ad- 
vantage for wliich he ia, iu great meogure, indebted to the exeTtiona of 
Sir Thomas Wyse, who was so struck with the ■wretchal accommotla^ 
tion for the monks and the dilapidated condition of the huildin^, at 
the time when he visited the convent, that, on hia return to Athena, 
he made representations on the suliject to the Greek miniati-y, which 
led to the outlay of a cousiderahle sum iu additions and improve- 
ments. Nor was tliia aU. "Sir Thomas Wyse himself frequently 
witnessed the good effect of the particular auggeatiou he had thus 
qnietly urged, and often profit-etl by it afterwards. Kotliing official 
reached hira; but travelling in other directions the ensuing year, he 
always found one or two rooms in each convent freshly painted and 
brushed up for travellers, ' according to a general order from Athens,' 
as the monks invariably stated, though apparently ignorant ot ita 

In proceeding northwards towards the celebrated temple of Phiga- 
leia. Sir T. Wyse turned aside to visit the site of a ruined city in tho 
midst of the wild forest-clad mountains on the south bank of the 

Neda, which he identifies as that of iLira, the celebrated stronghold of 
the Messeniang. which played as important a pait iu the second Mes- 
senian wnr as Ithoiue did in the first. Unfortunately, In this case 
the locality is by no means equaDy well characterized, and the attri- 
bution of the site in question is far from certain. Sir Thomas Wyse 
argues warmly in favour of its identification with the famous city, the 
stronghold of Arlstomenes ; a couclnsion for wldch, be admits, " the 
imagination pleads not less warmly." "A more fitting scene," lie 
adds, " conld not be de\'ised for the enactment of that final drama." 
But we Tiiust remember that the history, as we posscas it, is esscu- 
liidly poetical. Aristomenes, the hero of the war, may not unaptly he 
compared with the Cid as he appears in the traditionary history of 
Spain, It would he as unreasonable a stretch of scepticism to doubt 
the personal existence of the one as of the otfier, or that he actually 
bore a prominent and leading part- in t!ie aventa of the war ; but we 
can as little, accept aa historical the dramatic detada of the contest 
preserved to us by I'ansauias from the poetical epic of Ehianus, as we 
can receive the exploits of the " Campeador de Bivar" from the anony- 
mous author of that noblest of all ballad-s, the " Toenia del Cid." On 
the other hand it appears that the site of Eira was alieady a subjec^t 
<jf dispute in the tune of Strabo :* no mention of it is found durmg 
* strabo, lib. Tiii., p, 360. 

Modern Greece. 63 

the historical period of Greece ; and Fausanias himself, in whose pages 
it plays so important a part, makes no mention of the city or its ruins 
as existing in his time. Under these circumstances it may well he 
doubted whether any ceiiainty can ever be attained upon the subject. 
But Sir T. Wyse has done good service by examining and describing 
the remains, which are little known, and have been rarely visited. 

The coimtry north of the valley of the Neda presents some of the 
moat beautiful scenery in Greece, and it is here, at a height of 3,800 
feet above the sea, surrounded by a scattered forest of oak trees, that 
stands the beautiful temple of Bassse. It is a piece of singular good 
fortune that has preserved to us, out of the many hundred temples 
that adorned the ancient Peloponnese, that one, which Pausanias, who 
saw them all in their entirety, designates as surpassing all others, 
eicept that of Athena Alea at Tegea, in the beauty of material and 
the perfection of its workmanship. Its remarkable preservation is 
doubtless owing to its secluded and lofty situation. Sir Thomas 
Wyse's remarks on the sculptures that adorned the Meze of the 
temple — now in the British Museum — are well worthy of attention ; 
hut we cannot find place for them here, and must hasten to follow 
him down the valley of the Alpheus towards the site of the far-famed 
Olympia. The whole of this route hes through a beautiful country, 
in which the traveller is perpetually meeting with scenes of a truly 
Arcadian character. It is a very common remark with tourists who 
have visited only Athens, and perhaps one or two other points on the 
eastern coast of the Morea, that "there are no trees in Greece;" and 
those who have seen only Tripolitza, and the upland plains that sur- 
roimd it, remark, naturally enough, ou the entire dissimilarity of this 
portion of Arcadia from all that we are accustomed to associate with 
the name. But the whole of Western Arcadia and the adjoining dis- 
trict of Tripliylia abounds in woodland scenery of the most charming 
description. Already, in descending from the temple at Bassae, Sir T. 
Wyse and his party came upon a scene that he describes as "the ideal 
of an Arcadian landscape :" — 

"A series of gentle eminences, sweeping into soft secluded valleys, 
wooded in the richest manner, with every variety of southern shrub- — 
arbutus, lentisk, agnus castus, bay, and myrtle, — timbered with luxuriant 
masses of oak and plane, and now and then broken by dark-green clumpe of 
fir and pine, fine pasturage intermingling below, the grand framework of the 
great Peloponnesian ranges around and above : these formed the elements, of 
which every step presented a new variety. The red soil, recalling the fertile 
recesses of South Devon, and the close-foliaged pathways, reveUing in all 
their freshness, from the rain, and exhaling their scented odours as we 
brushed through them, completed this inland woodland picture." — (P. 41.) 

A little farther on he remarks, " All this portion of Arcadia 
possesses a character midway between the dell, glade, and woody 


Tfte Contemporary Review. 

upland of early ft^ociations, ttud the rough, bleak Scotch mouutain 
districts o£ the interior — the familiflJ type of Arcadia with the 
ancients." Equally attractiTe is the "park-like" character of the 
sceuery in tlie neighboui-hooJ of Olympia itself; — 

" The Alpiicus to our left formed the mam charactcriiStie, whilst on either 
Bitle ;Bt.retch*d an RTt>Tiy tkicltly woodeJ alliiviiil jilain, shiit in by a r»tige nf 
mountains, sol'tt^niiig in hillocks down to the jilain. Tlie whole extwiit Liy 
cove]"<3d, sometiiiie.-i thickly, sometimes scantily, with interchanging brush- 
wolmI, shrub, and timhiT. At every step the landscape hecomcsi mor? mild 
and i-hoprfnl Tht- Alpheus, despite the accession of thr? Ladon a-nd En.Tii«ii- 
thus, sprcwifi itsplf out, unconscious; of its irapoTtance, with ft laay trun- 
quiliity, as though unwiiiinj; too soon to leave tbe delightfid regiou, or 
desirous to preserve a dignited sohriety in the ueighhourhood of Zeus 
^itkly^mt. It is nuarly 180 fatt broiid, hut hardly tver more tliau five 
feet deep. Its many meanderings, now lowering, now raising its Lanlis to 
the perpi'ndicultir, leave large patches of white sand, which ^dually grow 
into staid ieknds. The small eminences over which wt- pjtased, developed 
hy depices into lulls, covered with a vigorous growth of all kimlfl of treea 
and shnihs — pliuie, oak, arbutus, aad rhodudeiidion, with an riccaaionaJ 
broad out-spreading vjilonoa. Pushing broolis faurrierl across (lur path on 
their way to the Alpheus, interseaitied with red tallowB or quiet slopes 
of meadow-land. A noble park it was on the gnmdeat scale, hut without 
the trac« of a proprietor. Mo i-ilhigt; La seen, aud very rarely even a single 
house. No boundary, nor sign of puasesaiou, is viaible. The B(fil, of tha 
richest iiuality, looks half-worked, and as if doubtful whether tlie cultivation 
will ever l>a completed." — (P. 82.) 

Sir Tliomas Wyse has enlarged at consldemble, ijideetl at some- 
what needless length upou the questions connectetl with the ancient 
topography of Olyrapia, as w'ell as that of Sparta, though in both 
cases the scantinesa of existing rt^iuains, and the imperfectly marked 
character of the locolities^ rendei's it impossible to arrive at any satis- 
factory conclusion. The only point that we can be said to know 
with certainty in the case of Olyinpia— the position of the celebratfid 
temple of Zeua — was determined by the excavations of tJie French 
Commission, and it ia to the same process alone that we caii look for 
any liuiher discoveries. Jleanwhile it is a mere waste of time to 
tliacuas the localititia as described by Pausanias, or to speculate on the 
site of biuldiiigs of wbieh the very foundatious are buried under tlie 
aJluvial soil, or have been swept away by the floods of the Alpheus. 

Between Olympia and the convent of Megas-pilion, the traveller 
passes through one of the wildest districts of Greece ; at firat through 
the extensive forests that clothe the flanks of Mount Pholoti and 
Erymanthus, then over a rugged mountain tract, by a road almost as 
bfid as that over Taygetua, descending wpon the town of KalavTj'ta, 
situated in a drearj' upland valley, which, notwithstanding its eleva- 
tion, is marshy and imhealtliy. 

The ancient town of Cynastba, which occupied the same valley, was 

Modern Greece. 65 

noted, according to Polyliius,* for the rudeness and barbarism of its 
inhabitants, — a circumstance which he attributes to the defects of 
their education in not learning music and geometry (!) : — a modem 
traveller would be more apt to ascribe it to the secluded position of 
the valley, and the wild and rugged character of the surrounding 
country. Still higher up among the mountains is the celebrated 
waterfall of the Styx, which Sir T. Wyse unfortunately did not visit, 
being deterred not merely by the difficulties of the road, but by the 
assurance that the Styx at that season contained but little water. 
We have thus lost the description by his graphic pen of one of the 
most striking scenes in Greece. The waterfall in itself is undoubtedly 
very trifling — a mere thread of water ; but the surrounding scenery ia 
of the grandest and wildest description ; the precipices, as remarked 
by Pau3ama8,-f- are the most lofty he ever saw, — ^indeed, one must go to 
the Alps or the Pyrenees to find anything to equal them ; and there 
is altogether a "weird" and gloomy character about the whole scene 
that seems to explain why this little falling thread of black water — 
the Mavronero, as it is called at the present day — was identified by 
the Greeks of ancient times with the "down-dropping water of Styx" 
that was mentioned by Homer as the dread oath of the gods. It 
seems, observes Pausanias, as if Homer had himself seen the water 
of Styx dripping down from the lofty precipice. 

His visit to tlie celebrated convent of Megaspilion left as unfavour- 
able an impression upon Sir Thomaa Wyse as it has done upon most 
other travellers. Indeed, the monastic institutions throughout Greece 
Me in a state of the lowest degradation ; they are wholly devoid of 
that love of art and love of letters which once cast a halo of light 
around the monasteries of Western Europe ; while, so far as external 
appearances can be trusted, they are almost equally destitute of any 
deep feeling of religious devotion. The monks, as well as the secular 
clei^ and bishops, took a prominent part in the war of independence, 
and have thereby earned a permanent debt of gratitude from the 
Greek people. But the number of monastic institutions still subsisting 
in the country is a grievous burden upon the resources of the infant 
kingdom. Tliere are at present — or were in the year that Sir Thomas 
Wyse travelled — no less than a hundred and fifty-two convents in 
Greece, of which one hundred and forty-eight are of men, and only 
four of women. Even tliis is an immense reduction ; at the close of 
the revolutionary war the new Government found a population of 
about 600,000 souls, with forty-eight bishops and five hundred and 
ninety-three monasteries ! Fortunately, many of the latter were 
tenanted only by a single monk, or were in a state of ruinous decay, 
so that their suppression offered little difficulty. But the efforts of 
• Polyt)., lib. iv., c. 20. t Pau«an., lib. viii., c. 17, 68. 

VOL. I. P 


The Contemporary Reuiew. 

the State to introduce any reforms iitto the existing monasteries have 
been hitherto ineffeiitual ; and so long aa the bishops coutiuue to !>&'] 
taken, as is the nile of the Greek Churcli, exclusively from the 
intinastic orders, tltere does not ajipeaT auy prospect of improvement. 

The ignorance, as well as the indolence, of the Greek monastic ■ 
orders prevents them from taking any active part in the cJtication of 
the people. But in this res[>ect, foitunately, their interference ia not 
required. The educational institutions of Greece axe far ahead of 
its progress in any other respect. An extensive system of eduea-^ 
tion was organized hy the liaviiriau Government, under tlie superin-W 
tfindence of the StatCj and has l)een carried nut with zeal and eneivy 
by the ])eopIei themselves. Every village h;»s its school, often the 
must conspicuous huildiiig in the place; and eveiy place that calls 
itself a tOTATi has, in addition to these primary or " Demotic " school^ ■ 
one uf a higher chiaa, culled an " Hellenic " school, the master of wliieh 
hiia in most instauoes been trained in the seminary for teachers at 
Athens. A\Tjerever Sir Thomas "Wyse went, he made a point of 
visiting the schools, and the i-eault w*a8 generally satisfactory. The 
Greek cliildren show a quickness of apprehension and focibty ia 
learning worthy of the Athenians of old, and their teachers appears 
to correspond to them in activity. Government inspection is want- 
ing; hut there is an inherent vitality in the whole thing, which 
cannot fail of attaining' its main end, wliatever deficiencies and 
shortcomings there may Ihj for a while. The principal defect in 
the higher schools is fuimd in regard to physical science, for which 
the modem Greeks evcr>'^wharo display a want of aptitude that con- 
trasts aingidarly with their qiuckness and cleverness in other de- 
partments of study. 

It is impossible for us to follow Sir T. Wyse in detail throiigh th« 
remainder of his tour. At Vostitza^ on the Corinthian Gidf, he fount 
a striking instance of prosperity and activity, giving token of increas-j 
iug wealth and increasing industry. Tliis prosperity, which estenda] 
to Patras and to the intcrmediute country, arises from the rapid'l 
development of the cnlture of the currant vine, the production 
which was at one time confined abnost entirely to the Ionian Islanc 
but has of late years been largely extended on the mainland also, Oi 
the other hand, Corinth pi'esented a painful contrast to thisllourisliinj 
piutua'e. The far-famed fortress of the Acrocorinthus, wliieh, ii 
Turkish and Venetian times, sheltered a considerable populatioi 
within its unassailable walls, is now desolate, and contains not 
but a heap of ruins, gUiH-ded by half a dozen decrepit veterans; the 
so-called town of Corinth at its foot, which occupies the ancient site 
is in a state of utter dilapidation and decay, having snfleted so severeli 
from an earthquake, or rather succession of earthquakes, in the spt 

Modern Greece. 67 

of 1858, that it was not deemed worth while to attempt its restora- 
tion. The inhabitants, for the most part, have removed to a spot close 
to the sea-shore, on the western side of the Isthmus, where a new 
town has grown up since the period of Sir T. Wyse's visit, which has 
become the recognised head of the district. New Corinth is now the 
residence of the Government officials, and contains, it is said, three 
or four hundred good houses. The constant passage of the steamers, 
and the transfer of their passengers by this "overland route," give it 
some degree of activity; and it is not impossible that it may be 
destined to a future career of prosperity. But its present aspect is 
far from encouraging. 

We cannot take leave of Sir Thomas Wyse's agreeable and instruc- 
tive volumes without expressing a hope that their publication may 
once more direct the attention of British travellers to the beautiful 
shores of Greece. As the facilities of travelling by steamboat and 
railroad increase, there is found also an increasing number of tourists 
who are desirous to emancipate themselves from those prosaic and 
unsatisfactory modes of conveyance — who long for the fresh air of the 
mountain, and the feeling of independence which belongs to the 
traveller on foot or on horseback, and who are desirous to see a people, 
as well as a country, more unsophisticated than those to be found on 
the Rhine or in the Oberland To all such we are confident that a 
tour in Greece would be found productive of the highest enjoyment ; 
and that they would return to Athens with the same satisfaction 
which is expressed by Sir Thomas Wyse at the close of " one of the 
most interesting, and, despite all its difficulties, one of the most enjoy- 
able tours that it is possible to conceive." 




IT is not easy to begin an essay about Art witliout a few tentative 
definitions. And it seems right enough for any author to give 
them at the beginning of his work, if he either argues up to them and 
proves them as he goes on, or fairly says that lie begins by assum- 
ing their truth. Giving a formal definition at first amounts to 
saying that he will prove it in the end : and many men seem quite 
unconsciously to beg all the questions of their work in their first 
chapter ; laying down principles to ai^ie from which it is the pur- 
pose of their treatise to argue up to. It is sadly easy in matters of 
art to reason in a circle of subjective impressions — from one's own 
feelings to one's own feelings ; and it will, perhaps, be best to say 
here that we are speaking as much as possible from a painter's point 
of view ; and that our feeling about painting may, for our immediate 
convenience, be called that of the English Realist or Naturalist School* 
The somewhat fanciful title of this paper expresses our idea of the 
office of Christian Art. In using the word "school" we mean only 
that there are now among us many painters of greater or less power, 
who mutually affect each others' minds and works, and as it were 
exchange impressions. We ought also to say what meaning we 
attach to the other terms already used. 

* The term " school " properly implies a number of men working together for the sake of 
exdmnging and accumulating secrets of techoical skill. 

Thoughts on Christian Art. 6g 

By Art we mean the production of ideas of truth (actual truth or 
imaginative) in a form which is both beautiful to the eye and eleva- 
ting to the soul. We cannot define the term " beauty : " but we can 
say that any picture which su^ests to a man higher, better, deeper 
(or clearer?) thoughts than he had before, ox could have obtained 
mthout it, is a work of true Art. 

The question follows, what is Christian or Religious Art ? And in 
answering it, it will be convenient to take the old technical, meaning 
of the word " religious," and to mention a distinction which we think 
will be foimd to hold throughout. Christian Art seems to be definable 
as " art produced by Christian men, who work with a purpose 
worthy of their faith." Religious Art, strictly speaking, will take 
in a narrower field of subject, and be impressed with a rel^ous, or 
conventual, or ascetic character, dealing almost exclusively with 
" religious " subject, scriptural or traditional. The names of Holman 
Hunt, Madox Brown, and Millais, are those of representatives of the 
Christian art of our time and coimtry. Mr. Herbert is, perhaps, our 
leading painter of religious subject. All that we imply, in asserting 
this distinction, is that Christian art is not contained within the same 
limits as religious art, but that great hberty in choice of subject is 
to be allowed to the believing painter, and that he is to be looked 
upon as a Christian man, using a powerful means of instruction for 
the benefit of hia fellow-Christians, and not as a mere purveyor of 
amusement or sentiment. No doubt, many pictures are no better than 
sensation novels : but there are some which tell truths and suggest 
thoughts which scientific treatises may faQ to convey. 

We shall call attention not only to tlie well-known fact, that pic- 
torial teaching was used in Christian churches from the earliest times ; 
but that in those earliest times there was great liberty of teaching by 
pictures : in fact, that the Christian painter of the time, unskilful as 
Ills hand may have been, was encouraged to work in the catholic 
spirit of the true artist. He might paint all he could, of all he saw — 
with the eye of mind or body. The art of the Catacombs stands before 
the art of the convents, in time at least. We are fortunate in having 
such works as that of M. Raoul Rochette, and Monsignore Rossi, to 
iissure us of its universality and freedom in choice of subject. It is 
C3 if the faith of workman and spectator made all subjects sacred : in 
those days all things might be painted in the name of Christ, and for 
the instruction of man. And if it can be shown that this is the prin- 
ciple of the earliest art, and that modern Realist Art coincides with 
it in frank and wide choice of subject, in play of fancy and in other 
vital points ; then we can connect our Realists with their earliest 
predecessors, and show not only that there is a Sacred Art, but that 
all true and hish art has been in a measure held sacred from the 

70 The ConUmporary Review. 

first, Thia distinction between Religious or Conventual Art, with its 
lijiiited range of subjecti and Cliiistiau Art iu general, may lead us 
to an explanation of what we understand by the term Kealist or 
Natumlist, As applied to paintings or scidfiture, theae words mean 
the same thing, and arti opposed to the words PurLst or Idealiat.* 

Almost all men of biyh or worttiy purpose in aii seem to be so 
giiided by charaetec and circiunstance, as to fall into one or the ot!ier 
of these .classes. Of men of low or impure purpose, even, of those 
whose nobler powers wei-e thwarted by teuiptiitiou or baser instinct, 
nothing need be said now. That wuulii be a long treatise, and nut a 
very edifying one, "wluch should give a full idea of their glory and 
tlieir shame. But setting aside all the Sensualists, higher or Inwer — 
veiliui,^ the image of liulHitis, and if It must be so, those of Titian and 
CoiTe^io as well, there still remain two classes of men who have 
painted with high and pure purpose, and have hoped and felt that 
they also iu their work were Christian teachers of Cliristiau men. 
These hnve either confined themselves to religious subject, rejecting 
secular subject for its coai-aenesa or painfidneaa — in wldch case we 
call tlnem Itoligious, CoGveutual, or Purist painters; or they havti 
made no snch rejection, and so fall under the names of Healist or 
Xatiualist. The repr&'iCQtative man, perhaps to all time, of the first 
class, is Fra Angelieo of Fiesole: the second is headed by Tintoret 
and Michael Angelo. They, or theii- like, wdl often give thetr utmost 
strength to detinitely "religious" aubjeet. But it is in their nature, 
and iu all men's who are touched with the SJiuiii spirit, to be essen- 
tially men of their own generation, sharing in its aspirations, and 
struggles, and diffitinlties. And so in our own time our strongest 
painters seem tn feel that tliey must needs take their full part with 
the eager, pensive, dubious, and neuralgic life lived by thoughlful 
people in the uineteeiith ceutuiy. They cannot and do not desire to 
separate themselves from the strange humauity all rouml them; and 
they see its sorrowful, and evil, and unaccountalde sides. They are 
OS they are, and can be no other. Many of them will look witli 
affection anil envy at the kbours of the higher Puiists, lait they eoji- 
not dwell apoii. with Angelieo or Francia ; they cannot ignore the 
evil that is in the world, nor indeed separate it from the good. Again, 
fur g(H)d or evil, such men's characters are dee^dy marked, and 
whether they will or no, their personality is stamped on all Ihey pro- 
duce. Tliey see the woild vividly, and cau but paint what they see. 

• AH tio (orma ara □dnnLrsljly and aubtly dJBtingTiLslied and (irrmigoil ty tlie niitlior of 
" Moilom I'ttiutera," to!, iil. But his brilliant. ToliumeH huve Iml-h but ti«nil<?s8]y, if 
Iklmost uiiivcraallj-, rcod ■ aad £10 himsj]!? justly complained, "ttat people daehed at liis 
dc!Bcir)ittin&a, and i>&id no attentiuu to Ms mAtkr;" eo thai n sLart rcpradiictiaii or ndapta- 
(don of hifl -work tieenis not uuproiMir here. 

Thoughts on Christian Art, 71 

They have their times of aspiration and adoration, but must miud 
earthly things ; they cannot help being double-minded and unstable, 
sharing in the doubts and inconsistencies of their times, and feeling 
them more acutely than others feel them. Their art raises them 
above many things, but drives them through many others ; and these 
men often echo sadly enough the words of their great leader, 
"E &ticoso la pittura, e sempre si fa il mare ma^iore."* 

Now the fact is, that it is on men of this character, Eealists or 
Naturalists as we must call them, that the hopes of modern art really 
depend. Painters of our day, who from time to time produce the 
noblest works of direct illustration of Holy Scripture, are unable to 
confine themselves to religious subject Their minds are full of many- 
coloured images of things " craving to be painted ;" and their choice of 
subject will be determined by the vividness of those images, directly 
or indirectly " religious " in their character. And if Sacred Art is to 
be art at all, their work should be accepted, and they themselves 
encouraged to hold themselves as teachers responsible to God and 
man ; not as mere craftsmen on the one hand, or as uncomprehended 
geniuses on the other. Being Christian men, and speaking as such, 
let them know that they will be attended to, and neither suspected 
nor scorned. It will not do to exorcise originality, or to say that 
thoughtful men shall find no way of making Art the handmaid of the 
Faith, except by painting what are called sacred pictures. Nor is it 
desirable that the devU, who has already possessed himself of all the 
good Fsalm tunes, said Wesley, should have all the good paintings 
also. One thing, which is far more needed just now than a supply of 
good painters, is a large number of well-read and thoughtful specta^ 
tors: just as good listeners are rarer than good talkers. And hardly 
enough attention is paid to the thoughts of the painter to encourage 
him to work them out on canvas. Ueep calls to deep, and thought 
appeals to the thoi^htful : and we should have more and better sacred 
pictures, if we could only see the sacredness of those we have. 

We all know that from the earhest date, sculpture and painting 

* Tintoret. One of the happiest creations of Mr. Brovning'a genius perhaps is his 
Fre Lippo Lippi: the inconigiblo monk-reoliiit ; sinner in life, but not sensualist in 

"Tou'Te seen the ■world, 
The beauty, and the wonder, and the power : 
The shapes of things, their colours, lights and shadee. 
Changes, surprises — and God made it all, 
For what P Bo you feel thankful, ay or no. 
For this fair town's face, yonder river's line f 

T^ty not paint these 
Just as they are, careless what comes of it ? 
God's vorks — paint any one, and count it crime 
To let a truth slip." ... 


The Contemporary Review. 

were used as nieEina of instructiou in tlie faith. Sculpture, it is e\'i- 
deut, takes the place of painting in the first days uf art^ J'rom the 
greater ease of its eitrly stjiges. And our ]Jurpose ^tU he "well 
ans"n*ered if we can call due attention to the fmuk realism and natu- 
ralism, and free use of all attainable means of Art teaching, in. aud 
fixim the very Iwgiiinings of Christian work. Two such beginnings 
there ait, wliose relics are partly presen'ed for us : one, the ai-t of the 
Catacombs and early Christian sepulchres ; the other, the first produc- 
tions of Gothic or Korthern Art in the Lombard churches. Let us lake 
the earlier works the first. We may just Jiotice at starting bow 
obvious ate the reasons why Christian Ait should have assnined an 
ascetic or conventual foi-m in the course of the third and fourth cen- 
turies, or earlier. Tiie whole Church took an a.scetic form, under 
stress of corruptions within and persecution from without. And with 
the conventual spirit rose that conventual art which is popularly 
euppueed to iuclude all early Christiaii art. On the tliaappenrance of 
the arts in Italy, it was preserved in Byzantine cloisters, tu be restored 
to her when the conquests of Eelisarius partly i-ecovered her for the 
Eastern Empire. It has influenced Ciraabue, and AngelicOj and Fran- 
cia, and Perugino, and the early mind of llafaeL It ia pi-actised in 
its quaint x>urity frniu Athos to Sinai at this day, changing no more 
than the Mede or the leopard. We have seen the same t'eatares of the 
Madonna (described once and fur ever in the " Stones of Venice," il 2) 
in the mosaics of Toi-cello and Jlurano, elsewhere in Italy, at Mount 
Siuai, and at ilar Saba near the iJead Sea,' Thus it was that frLim 
the ashes of the Empire sprung the fiist taint " Renaissance " of paint- 
ing in the Western world, preceded by thatt architecture which, once 
reinforced witli tlie Teutonic energy, sprung into its chief glory at 
Pisa, in the bauds of Buschetto. The fragments of its fair decay iu 
Vetiice have been wortliily described by the author of "Modern 
raint^rs-" All know and feel tlie chief chamcteristics of Byzantine 
art: its rigidity and delicacy; its solemnity and the severe giuce of 
its conventionalism. It gives signs of n stricter rule than even con- 
ventual painters couM endure in the West : for it is the work not 

• Sec Curzon's "MonastcrioB of the LoTBnli" also a paper in "Toratinii Touriat*," 
by the Bcv, ¥. ToKur, ExotOT College, Gxfanl. The dL'scHptlcm in tbs " Shmes of 
Venice" must bt r^ad at leogtli : ijidwd it boa ht^a rend nlmust utuv^rBiillf, if it ie not 
for^Uen in UieBU crowded times. There eu« not moay «J(ytuhM like it iu the English pr 
oil J- other language. 

t B« the MfiTiiiiin of LotMam'* " Italian History and Art in tho Bliddlc Ap!B," th, L i— 
" Jm oTi-hilpctuic was tht) art Trtiich Inst rGtaLiii?d its ntolity, ao tC wu tho tiret to riAe to 
a new Ufe. Aa early oi the ninth and tenth centunGa, the forms of Kume and Byzantium, 
fu»ed together and touched ^itL iht! fipirit of the Gorman nalioiis, gave lisy 1o b me^r style. 
. . . Alwut j.D, 1060, the PiMin fleiot took I'nlonno. . , . With their spoil lliey 
rt^eoKed to liuUd a cathedral worthy of Cho Slate and the occasioD. Buschetto "nai their 
OKhitect, &nd hia vork atanda ;«C uocbangciL," &c., £d. 

Thoughts on Christian Art. 73 

only of ascetics, but of Eastern ascetics. It is in the great mosaics of 
JIurano, and Eavenna, and Mount Sinai — most of all, perhaps, in the 
" Last Judgment" in the apse of Torcello, that such men's power is seen. 
"Dreadful earnestness" is its chief character : there is little technical 
skill ; the inspiration of genius, and physical beauty, are not found ; 
there is no trace of the Gothic energy, or irony, or wild play of 
fancy. But there is the power of fixed faith and unchangeable con- 
viction. And for all expression of calm abstraction and sadness in 
saintly or angelic features, Byzantine art remained unrivalled till 
Angelico and Francia arose, and is not without its lessons for us 

We must for the time set aside the question of whether and how 
far the heads of the early Church may have been inclined to forbid or 
discourage pictorial ornament in churches, either for instruction or to 
stimulate religious sentiment. What we have to notice first is that 
such use was undoubtedly made of art in the earliest days, and that it 
was made with a freedom of choice in subject which reminds us of 
the all-representing and all-imagining sculptures of the Komanesque 
church-fronts of Verona. The work of the Catacombs has the realism 
of simphcity : its authors may not have been well able to express 
themselves in art, yet they had in them that which art alone could 
express. They seem to have painted like little children, aa-well as 
they could, rejecting nothing. Such at least is the testimony of Kaoul 
Rochette, and of the new and most valuable publications of De Rossi. 
One of the chief characteristies of the earliest work, as they describe 
it, seems to have been its spirit of symboHsm : the ready facQity with 
which, so to speak, it saw God in all things, and discovered in earthly 
things analogies of things heavenly. It may be a kind of shock to 
some of M. Rochette's readers to find what unceremonious and un- 
flinching use was made even of pagan emblems in aid of Christian 
symbolism.* There is no cause for such alarm. Men's minds were 
preoccupied by the old myths, and their new-foxmd faith and hope 
coidd not at once sponge out the recollections of their childhood, how- 
ever it might rule their wills. 

Jor aught we know, men like St. Paul may have seen, in a few of 
the heroic legends, a kind of witness to the heathen of God's care for 
them. But that Christian paintera copied, or used, remembrances of 
pagan figures for Christian purposes, tliere can be no doubt. M. 
Rochette instances a figure of the Madonna, fi-om a very eafly sarco- 
phagus, much superior as a work of art to Christian paintings of the 
same date. It is so nearly analogous to ancient figures of Penelope, 
as to seem almost taken from them. In fact, as we have imphed, the 
earliest Christian art was still the art of men determined on progress, 

♦ See note, p. 77, infra. 


The Contemporary Review. 

who not only dedicated their labour, but sought to make it worthier 
of dedication. They were not content thnt their pictures of the 
objects of their faith on which their minds dwelt, as cm ^dvid realities, 
should be, as M. liocliette says, " mie suite de ibrmules coEsacreea, de 
8ignes comentionneiB, oti Tart i^tait plutut une sorte d'^criturs figiira^ 
tive qu'uu vtVitiihle moyen imitatif." Wietlier Christian artists 
lotjked ou tiie tales of Deuetdion and Hercidea as foi-esiiadu wings of 
the truth in heathen minds or not, they made use of them. The pic- 
tures of Noah in the Cataeamhs present au exact analoj^ ivith medals 
of Septimiua Kevenis, stamped with the deluye of Deucahoii. The 
history of Jonah is perhaps the most frequently chosen subject of alL 
No doubt our Lord's reference to it^ as a tj^pe of His own resurrec- 
tion, Lud much to do with this. But the history and its representa- 
tions are stiungely connected with those of Hercules, Jason, Hesioue, 
and Aiidroiuetia. The Last fable, in particular, bad for its scene the 
C0ii5t or the city of Joppa, and was thiis on cotwmou gt-omid with 
Jonah's histoiy. And it seems t* have caused no painful feeling of 
irreverence iii the miads of secret woraliippera prepared to die the 
maitjT's death, to recoj^nise in the pictures of the deeds of aainfca and 
prophets, adaptations of the idenb of well-taught Pagfliuam. They 
spoiled the s^ioiler: the tempter had no special right to beauty, or to 
skill iu repreaeuting it 

No duubt they hail their own symbolism, with aU its pathetic 
power and beauty : but that was a beauty of thought and feeling, nut 
dependent on Art at idl — or at least very slightly. Tlie fish, taken aa 
a 6]niibol of the Lord, was simply an acrostic, or peculiar montjgram : 
no more a matter of art-representation than the labarum, or a simple 
figure of the cross. So with the vine — even in those daya it would 
have seemed an irreverence to dwell over-slulfully ou Imratiny clusters 
and twining tendrils, in that wliich was to call men's thoughta to the 
Vine of souls. Any rude hierogly|)hit: might stand for a shij), or ark, 
and suffice to lead the waiulerin"^ soul away to the apostobc bark antl 
its Captaim The laiub, the dove, and the pbomix never needed 
elaborate realization of wool or plumage. It may be said, in fact, that 
symbols, though productive of high and noble thoughts, and most 
iraimitant as means oC instruction, are indypeudeiit of Art: they are 
conventional, or restrained by conventional rules, and ore simply and 
in fact " plntot une sorte d'licriture figurative <[u'im veritable raoyen 
imitatif" Power of symbolism is often to be preferred to artistic 
beauty ; for a symbol may be powerfiJ by sheer force of thought, Men 
may differ, and they do, in theii- estimates of the beauty of the Duomo 
of Toreello ; but few Cbrlatians, ouce seeing its meaning, would endure 
to lose the rounded apse of that "goodly temple-ship,"* where the 
• " stones of Vemice," Tol. ii. I. 

Thoughts on Christian Art. 75 

Bishop's throne is set in the steersman's place, as if he verily " over- 
saw " and guided the ark of the Church in storm and sunshine. 

De Eossi appears to consider the good shepherd to he the earliest 
Christian aymhoL In the crypt of Lucina (now joined to the cata- 
comb of St. Sehastiano) it is repeated alternately with a woman's 
figure round the ceiling ; and strongly resembles a Herculaneum 
picture, supposed to have been copied from the celebrated statue of 
Calamis. This female figure is common in the Catacombs : there are 
various opinions as to its exact import, which seem to centre in its 
being either the Blessed Virgin or an ideal of the Church. The veiy 
ancient similitude of the fish, too, is not only an anagram of the initial 
letters of the Lord's name and title ; it represents the believer as well 
as the object of belief. The thought of men as fishes of the Church's 
net, and various ideas of passing through troubled waters in safety — 
of continued danger and preservation, — seem all to have been brought 
before men's minds by this emblem. The subject of Christian Sym- 
bolism, however, is too wide for us here, and has been ably dealt with 
already in the works of Mrs. Jameson and Lady Eastlaka 

Before proceeding with De Rossi's book, it is time to notice the two 
recorded prohibitions of the use of images and pictures in Christian 
churches. Both seem to have been limited. All paintii^ of sacred 
figures on church walls were forbidden in the time of Diocletian. 
The Boman Catholic explanation of this — not an altogether satisfactory 
one — is that they were discontinued for fear of their desecration, or 
simply as a matter of prudence. It would seem that portable pictures 
were still allowed, or perhaps substituted for mural ones ; indeed the 
use of the folding diptych or triptych is supposed to date from about 
this time. St. Clement of Alexandria's list of peimitted symbols of 
course imphes a prohibition of some kinds of images or pictures ; but 
this is more likely to refer to Gnostic emblems than to the use of 
pictures for instruction, or to the effort after beauty and accurate 
representation in such works. Both were sought for in a i-ude and 
simple way, by the earliest artists. They symbolized the perfect 
holiness of their subjects by giving their features all the beauty they 
could depict ; doubtless feeling their want of skill. " En RSprtJseutant 
le Christ et la Vierge," says Kaoul Rochette, " le seul effort d'atteindre ^ 
I'image de la Divinity accablait I'impuissance de leur talent." We 
ahoidd think it did : and others beside theirs. Entwined with 
idolatry as the arts were in pagan days, it is no wonder if men well 
skilled in them were late in casting in their lot with the disciples. 
The heathen painter's case was exactly that of Demetrius of Ephesus, 
whose tumultuous concourse no doubt contained many " artists of the 
period." For a time, the sensual Pt^an Art refused to serve the 
Faith : but that does not prove that the teachers of the Faith would 


Tlie Contemporary Review. 

not call a bumWer and pujcr Art to their aid. It is no wonder if 
lieatlieti sculptors and paintcra, the helota of sensual beauty, turned 
away from Christian cliurchea. There 13 atill less cause for siirprise 
if the teachers of the new fiuth suspected an art which, for them, 
was full of associations of idolatry and persecution. Men were not 
likely to npjireciate tlie suljlimity of the graven image of Jupiter 
wliich had frowned in raarVde on their tortured hrethren ; fiad 
many a Christian must have aeen Iiia kindred slain, not accepting 
deliverance, liefuro some Apollo wliose liow-shajiej lips curled for 
ever in immortal scorn of the mockings and the scou^jings men laid 
on tlie Nazarene. 

But it was not, probably, till a lai^'e part of the pagan world had 
been taken within the pale of the Church, and had, as a natural con- 
sequence, brought gj'eat corruption into the Church, that Christian Art 
took its more Conventual fonu, as earnest Cliristian life t(jok that 
form also. And e\"er since that time, through Byzantine art, througli 
Augelico, and Frniicisj and Perugino, all Purist art lias borne the 
impress of the cloister. Yet there has been, and is, an art whith is 
not 1)}" the clyiJitei', but which tries to serve God in the world ; and 
there is an analogy between that art in the earliest times and the 
labours of our latter days. 

Times have changed. Simple and unskilful men painted of old to 
impress t!ie facts of the new faith, or to set hefore men's eyes beloved 
imagtis (iictual or idenl) of its founders. They did their liest. calling 
all means to their aid, often nsbig pagan emblems and ideals as frctdy ^ 
as tbey would use pagan paiut and brushes. Now we ba\'e educated^H 
men of many thoughts, mostly feeling with a fixed paiii the deficiencies^ 
of other raeu's fiiith and of their own. Their turn of mind ia pensive ; 
reserve and ii*ony ave mingled witli their teaching. They cannot 
divest themselvea of the strange English taste for melancholy hiunoura, 
and looking on the seamy side of things. But they have, in common 
with theb brethren of the Calacomhs, the purpose of devotiug tlieir 
art to Clirist's service, by making it appeal to the thought and fijeling 
of their hretliren in Him. 

But there is a passisge in De Rossi's invaluable volume which 
caiTies us a step fartlier. It supplies a missing link in Cbristiim art^ 
and enables us to coaaect the hearty naturalism of Lombard and 
Norman sculptors with the earliest practice of Ohriatian workmen. 
All know how fiijely secular crafts and ordinary pursuits are repre- 
sented iiL Gothic cbui'clies ; and De Hossi connects this practicB with 
the art of the Calaconil>3 : — -" E uuo fatto che ho coustantementc notato 
nei sotteranei cumeteri, avero i Criatiani nei primi seuuli assai ad- 
operato sarcofagi omati di scultori, che niun segtjo portauo di Criatiau- 
ismo, h semhrano ugciti delle of&cine de genttli . . . imagine del 


Thoughts on Christian Art. 77 

cielo cosmico, scene di pastorizia, di agricoltura, di cacce, di giuochi. 
. . . Obvio e notissimo h il senso parabolico dato dei Cristiani alle 
scene pastoral! h d'agricoltura, alle peraificazione delle stagioni, ai 
delfini e monatri maxim nuotante nelle onde."* 

This at once connects the various subject of the Veronese and 
Lucchese church-fix>nta with the earliest days, and gives the art of the 
North, which we inherit, the sanction of the art of martyred men. 
Connect the free treatment of secular subjects with Christian hope 
and teaching from the first, and you connect modem Eealist Art with 
Christian teaching from the first It is in such churches as San 
Zenone and San Fenno at Verona, or in S. Ambrozio at Milan, or San 
JVfichele at Lucca, that the true origin of modem art is to be seen. 
The first Christian art had to expire with the ancient civilization, 
which even the Faith could not keep alive : its faint relics remained 
in Byzantine temples. But as Christianity took possession of young 
and mighty races, they soon learned to dedicate all their early ski ll, 
and to illustrate all their lives and thoughts by the carvings of their 
churches. They wrote there their version of the history and the hope 
of all men, — ^yet not their spiritual thoughts only, but all their ways 
and crafts, and battles and himtings. And there is little doubt but 
that a symbolic meaning may have hovered in their minds over 
their representations and fancies, as in the Veronese Griffins and the 
Chase of Theodoric,*f where the Fiend stands waiting behind the suc- 

* "Egli § evidente che i fcdcli quando non pat«rono avere arclic sepolcrali con scultore 
di sacro u^mento . . . poaero molto atudia in iaccgliere quelle, cIiG non oficndevano 
direttamente la log Fede, non rappresentanza di rid idolotrici di imagini della falsa 
dirinito, o di acena troppo manifestamente proprie della pagana tergonio." 

Here is a curious iaatanco of pagjn legend adopted with deep meaning, — it is a caning 
on a sarcophagus : — " Da un lato Ulissc legato all' alhcro della nave, che oscotta il canto 
delle Sirene non udito dai auoi compagni, le cui oreccha egU aveva turato con cera. Dall' 
■Itro un giovane palliato cou volume io mane e sedcnte certatnente ascolta lo lezioni 
d'una Muaa o d'uuo filoaofo," Ho obsen'cs on it: — "Egli nefla nave di tnisaevedela 
chieso, e nell' olbero la croce, dolla quali il Signore crucifiaso inaegna ai fcdeli turare le 
orecchi alle seduzioui di aensi." (From De Rossi, on the Chriatian adaptations of Pagan 

t " Carvings of Lombard Churches." Appendix to vol, i. of the " Stones of Venice," 
p. 361. Some remarks comparing the Lombard work of Verona with the Byzantine work 
of St. Mark's come first. The Veronese work is voally superior in energy and spirit, and 
also in neatness and power of architecture. The Venetian is far more beautiful in line 
and regular in ornamental effect, with greater sense of beauty. Some of the Veronese and 
other subjects follow. 

" Two cocks, carrying on their ahouldcrs a long staff, to which a fox (f) is tied by the 
legs : the strut of the foremost cock, lifting one leg at right angles to the other, is delicious. 
A Blag-hunt : several others with dogs : fruit-trees between and birds in them : snails and 
&oga filling up the intervals, as if suspended in the air, with some saucy puppiea on their 
hind legs ; two or three nondescript beasts ; and finally, on the centre of one of the arches 
on the south side, on elephant and castle." 

" But these sculptures are tame compared with those of St. l>[ichele of Pavia (earlier, — 
of the seventh century at latest). One capital is covered with a moss of grinning heads ' 

78 Tlie Contemporary Review, 

cessfiil hunter. The personifications of months and seasons and 
labours of men in St. Mark's and the ducal palace at Venice are 
probably still better known. And the passage we have quoted fixnn 
De Rossi connects them with the very first efforts of Christian art, by 
their principle of seeing sacred meaning in daily things. 

This brings us once more to the brink of the history of C3hrisfcian 
Symbolism, and that, in after times, cannot be separated from the 
subject of the Grotesque. Both, or either, would require a long trea- 
tise. Few are likely to underrate the importance of such symbolisms 
as Albert Durer's " Knight and Death," or " Melancholia ;" and it will 
not do to dismiss with scanty praise or brief analysis the engravings 
of the great Blake, once " Pictor Ignotus." "What has been said goes 
no further than to show that the naturalism, the irony, the various 
and wide-ranging subject of modem Realist painters, have precedent 
enough in early Christian art, and in the first Gothic-Cluistian art ; — 
that then in fact all art was dedicated and held sacred. There is a 
distinction between Christian art and Conventual or Ecclesiastical art 
The latter will always have its high value, and its calls to the better 
hope of man : the former will appeal to his mixed nature, to his his- 
tory and sufferings, to his painful and even sinful experience. There 
are secular clergy as well as regulars ; there are sermons on the man's 
life as well as on the monk's life. If we can get painters to preach us 
such sermons, let us take them and be thankful 

It is by looking at such pictures as Hunt's "Scapegoat" or Jlillais' 
" Evil Sower" that some idea may be formed of the difficulty of really 
devoting consummate art to religious teaching in modem times. 
Though one illustrates a parable and the other a symbolic fact, they 
are both of them Realist work in the fullest sense. In both there is 
the greatest exactness of painting from actual nature; both are of 
painful and distressing subject, bearing witness to evil ; both are full 
of elaborate detail and incident. Both are as different in their inspi- 
ration from Overbeck, or Ary Scheffer, as they are from any of the 
Sensualists. There is strong religious feeling in all four paintera ; but 
in the Continentals it is rooted in the purity of asceticism, and formed 
on conventual thoughts of life and of man. In the Englishmen there 
is confusion of thought ; doubt, sadness, inequality, suppressed violence 
of feeling, many evidences of the Northern mood : but withal there is 
a tremendous sense of the truth of Holy Scripture, and the intense 
reality of the thing painted. Look back from these to the days when 

other lieads gror out of two bodies, or out of and under feet : — oil are fighting, or devour- 
ing, or struggling, . . . like a feTerish dream." 

Just such dreuna were those of Blake in the last generation, when his mind wbb ex- 
hausted with definite subject, yet could not rest. (See Gilchrist's Life.} 

Tfwugkts on Christian Art. 79 

so little still had been attained by any man, that no man had much 
to learn ; when all that was possible was easy, and the painter's life 
might pass in catacomb or convent, not without sense of progress and 
enjoyment of increased skill in using the simple forms and colours he 
knew. It is like men gliding down a small and pleasant river into 
the sea that wearied out the soul of Tintoret. Art; now-a-days de- 
mands and stimulates all the thoughts and efforts of severely educated 
men.* Indeed the pictures of a true painter are often a kind of net 
result or index of his whole mind and character at the time. Not every 
day, but only as God gives him grace, can the thought of a work 
which shall be of worth for Christian teaching come to a man's soul. 
And according to other gifts, and his use of them from the first, will 
be the tenacity, patience, forethought, and insight into detail, with 
which he will get his thought worked out on canvas. The difficulty 
of Art is the difficulty of Life : men cannot now paint like little 
children as^ of old, because they cannot literally be as little children. 
Yet that man is not wise who foi^ets the command to remember the 
childlike virtues ; and he will hardly paint as a Christian man whose 
thoughts have no reverence for the quaint hieroglyphics of the early 

E. St. John Tyrwhitt. 

* The TJniTcratiefl seem to pK>duc« their ihare of pAinters. The names of Bums Jones, 
Spencer, Stanhope, and Alfred Hunt (all Oxford men), are sniSciently veil known for 
originality and power ; and there are many more. 










Education and BchooL By the BeT. Edwasd Thrino, M.A., Head Maater 
of UppiDgliam School, late Fellow of £!ng'< Collece, Cambridge. 

Cambridgo and London, 1904. 

" T^HE proof of the pudding is in the eating." So says the good old 
J- homely proverb ; and it is generally equally true that the best 
test of a man's theory is the plain and simple one, " Does it work ?" 
If we apply this test to Mr. Thring's theory, as embodied in his book 
which heads our article, it must undoubtedly yield an affirmative 
reply. Any one who knows who Mr. Thring is, and the work he hag 
done and is doing, will at once acknowledge this. Uppingham Gram- 
mar School was until recently an ordinary school, of respectable status 
among provincial grammar schools, but nothing more. Its rival used 
to be the neighbouring school of Oakham, founded about the same 
period ; and as a little county like Rutlandsliire was over-weighted \vitli 
two good grammar schools, it followed that as one flourished the other 
pined. Such was the condition of Uppingham on Sir. Thring's ap- 
pointment to succeed an able schoolmaster, Ur. Holden ; who, however, 
was so little satisfied with the position and prospects of Uppingham, 
that from it he sought and obtained the head-mastership of the 
Cathedral School of Durham. In Mr. Tliring's hands, however, a 
notable change has come over Uppingham. Just as Harrow and 
Kugby rose, under wise and able management, from being mere pro- 
vincial grammar schools, to the proud position they now occupy in 
the very forefront of the education of English lads ; so Uppingham in a 
comparatively few years has i^isen from respectable grammar school 

Education and School. 8 1 

mediocrity to a position of fair rivalry with tlie long-established seats 
of public school training. This was not the work of a day, nor of 
mere ordinary sedulity and zeal in its government. Mr. Thring had 
a theory ; he was a person of strong convictions ; he was also a man 
of enteiprise, — of enterprise wliich many persons will say was little 
short of rashness. He got round him a_8taff of masters whom he ino- 
culated with his own couvictions, and with something of his own zeaL 
He induced these colleagues to build houses, adapted, according to his 
theory, for a great and well-governed school Each house was to be, 
so far as its boy-arrangements were concerned, the fac-simile of the 
other ; their system was to be uniform, their numbers never beyond a 
fixed maximum ; a condition which Mr. Thring imposed upon himself, 
magnanimously discarding the temptation to a lucrative monopoly 
which he might fairly have kept in his own hands. And the bold 
step thus taken proved a success. Had it failed, he would, perhaps 
justly, have been condemned as a reckless enthusiast : as he has suc- 
ceeded, he has earned the thanks of all who wish well to our old 
grammar schools, and would gladly see them doing their full work in 
the education of the middle classes in this country. Prima facif, then, 
the rough test, "Does it work ?" must in this case be deemed satis- 
fectory. But though a good rough test, and perhaps in nine cases out 
of ten likely to be sound, it must be merely taken for what it is worth, 
viz., a good rough test, yielding a good prima fade conclusion. The 
test is not absolute and conclusive. In the present case, for example, 
success may have arisen either wholly or partially from other causes be- 
sides the soundness of the theory. It is impossible to say tliat novelty 
may not have been one element in the resiilt. For this is eminently 
a novelty-loving age. We have lived in such a whirl of invention and 
discovery, tliat a new idea, a new plan, a new theory, commends itself 
to us on the first blush, because it is new. We have learned so much 
to distrust what is old and established, simply because what is old and 
established betrays weaknesses and flaws as time goes on and circum- 
stances alter, that we surrender ourselves in willing bondage to what 
is novel, provided it also be plausible. Let any one who doubts this 
look around at the manifold systems of education propounded and 
eagerly supported through the length and breadth of the land. Not 
that we would insult Mr. Thring by pretending for one moment that 
his matured, if over-sanguine, and not wholly infallible views on 
school education are to be compared with the nostnims which are so 
greedily sought after by educational theorists or Ijy iU-judging parents, 
with a zeal for their children's welfare not according to knowledge. 
But it is just possible that the charm of novelty may be an ingredient 
in his, as in their success. But besidas. it may be here, as in other 
cases, that the man himself is the school. It is by no means rare fur 
VOL. I. G 


The Contemporary Review, 

ftn individual t/i l>e so mucli the soul of a system tihat it coUjipses 
■when he ceases to l>e its soul. Pytliaguieauism fell with I'ythagoras: 
Alexander's Asiatie empire not only actually broke up, but exliihited 
the seeds of ultimate decay in its disjointed iiiemlK^rSj as soon as 
Alexander's spiiit ceased tu auimatie it. To LJescend to the huiuUer 
sphere tpf schouls : this \s, true of the greater ones to some extent. 
Even there a liead-master 'vvho is Tiot Imm to liis wnrk, and who 
labours ino'iUt Minerva, can reduce his school both in numbers and 
condition -n-ith frightful rapidity; whily^ on the uther hanil, an Anjold 
uv a Vaughan ^an create, or at least recreate, and infuse a life of their 
uwu into the school they aie sent to mle over. This dependence ou 
the ability and character of the head-master is of course les$ visible in 
what are commonly called the "grent schonls" than in the grammar 
schools, for the obWous reason that they Ciin thitiw into the opposite 
scale, 30 as to outweigh a head-master's shortoomutgs, the pTtMiije 
<lerived fram the past, the vitality of old institutions aixd traditions — 
hi a word, the system as contrasted with the man,- — even the unreason- 
iii;j; ttiujicit.y with M'hich peo]ile cleave tu a ;^eat name after its glory 
has departed. The great st-hoola, therefore, hallasted by these atlvau- 
tages, can tide over an interrej,'Tiuni ol' incompeteuey on the part of 
their heiul. Not sfi, however, tlie grammar schools- T!ie breath of 
life breathed into them by an able master is in its nature too often 
fleeting, and the toilsumely reared eilifieu which the able man liiis 
constructed, yea^ "aud tliouyht that his house shall endure," uullapses 
with a run through the unskili'ulness nr unwisdom of his successor. 
And it is no diaparayemeiit to Mr. Thring to say that -ne believe this 
is, to a certain extent, the case with what he has done at UppLughani. 
He liiniaell' is a veiy appmciahle element in t!ie success he has 
achieved there. He has caiTied iutu efl'ect his theorj-, because, right 
or WToug, he lielieves in it with idl the faith of an enthusiast. He is 
eiimeat himself, and has managed to infuse somewhat both of hia 
earnestness and faith into those about hitn. He not only btdieves iu 
his theory, but (in the nght and proper sense of the woi-d) lielicve.s in 
hini-self as the prophet of his system ; ho works it thomughly cow 
aniAjrc. To borrow our Fi'PiK'h neij^hbovu's' i'lLVomite expression, he is 
conscious of a mission. Nor is this all ; for evci] these are not ull the 
points essential to make a great, or even a successful schoolmaster ; he 
must have that also which will commend him to boys. And this no 
one who reads Mr. Thring's book, even if he be personally a stranger 
to Mm, can doubt that he possesses, -viz,, vigour aud vivacity, liijih 
anirnal spirits, an indomitable sense of riui. In fai:t, be ha.s e^ddently 
carried a large slice of the boy with Idin into luidtUe life. 

But whatever other elements in Mr. Thring's success we may thtuk 
we recognise Ijcsidea the somiduess of his theoty, there is the success 

Education and School. 83 

a/ai/ accompli; and the very fact of success justly claims a respectful 
hearing. And the more so, as Mr. Thring has shown experimentally 
what can be done with an old-faahioned grammar school, at a time 
when grammar school education is on its triaL The substance of his 
reply to the question, " How shall we make our grammar schools effi- 
cient ? " is, " turn as many of them as will bear so transforming into 
public schools, avoiding the faults which are inherent in, or accidental 
to, the old public schools." And there is no doubt tliat the middle 
or professional class in England has either anticipated or is now 
endorsing his theory. To prove this we have merely to point to the 
unprecedented — almost mushroom growth, of the great modem public 
schools of Rosaall, Marlborough, Wellington College, and Haileybury. 
These, with others, have one and all shot up into full growth almost 
immediately they were founded or even projected. They professed to 
bring the public school system within the reach of the more limited 
means of the professional classes ; and they have been beset with 
such crowds of applicants, that the wonder is' where so lai^e a raw 
material of boy to be educated can be manufactured. The truth is, 
they have drained the grammar schools, and thereby have unmistak- 
ably proved the manifest preference of this class in society for the 
public school idea, as distinct from the mere grammar school idea. 
But the case is even stronger than this. St. Nicholas' College,. 
Shoreham, with its affiliated middle and lower class schools, even ia 
the teeth of an adverse theological prejudice; has filled to overflowing, 
and has thus proved that the notion of public school education and 
its advantages has penetrated to still lower sti-ata in society. We are 
at the present time still bound to suspend our judgment, and await 
with defereuce the result of the labours of the Scliools Inquiry 
Commission, which will doubtless make important recommendations 
on the subject of grammar school education. Whatever be their 
verdict however, we cannot doubt that the country has virtually 
expressed itself in favour of the public school system generally, and 
in particular of the old traditional channels of mental training which 
prevail in those institutions, modified, it may be, according to the 
exigencies of the present time. 

And now for the book in which Mr. Thring embodies his views of 
what school, and school education, should be. It is, we think, to be 
regretted that the first chapter is, from its style and mode of treatment, 
somewhat calculated to repel the general reader. The book is not a 
concio ad clcmm. It rather, we apprehend, addresses itself to the 
ordinary paterfamilias, who is glad enough to heai- what the successful 
schoolmaster has to tell him as to the secrets of his success, and who 
wants practical advice about his boys' education. To such an one the 
jiwsi- philosophical character of the chapter in which the subject opem 


The Confcmporayy Review. 

is likely to have a purely uiystifj-iag effect; wliile the positiona estalj- 
lislied in it are almoat axioiiifitic, or arii at least afice]ited as such by 
those who have reflected on the auliject at all. To tliem, therefore, 
the ehiliorate deruoustmtion of these is needless; to the otlier, tedious. 
Ilis ohjeijt ia to show that education j^ves the mastery over time, and 
iiiast-eiy over time is t.hy societ of the su|iL^rioTity of class over class in 
the social Btale. That is to say, {liveit a class in society that kbu alibnl 
to spend ten years in the acquisitLon of skill and kTiowled;,'e, ami 
another which can only aflbrd to spend half that time; the former 
will have just so much stait of the other in the mvn of life, and, 
mdess it re-enact the fahle of the hare and tortoise, it cannot be eau^ht 
up and distanced by it, J.tut this acquisition of a stock <:if knowledge 
is not all that ia required. Mere hard iatelluctual eminence, as the 
experience uf the pnat has shown, is not able to rdi&e or keep from 
falling either iutlividual men or natious. 

" jVltliuugh Iwth bodily streiij(th and inttillectua] i9tPon]a;th art needed f^vr 
Work, and, ttiihied Ui wurk, lire the instrunieufca ^^y wdiiuli t\w class mnk n{ 
individuals fljid liatioiis is attainwl, they drt iii:>L ultimiLlt-lv du'riili; tht> late tif 
their posse-ssora. TbcJ' at* nothing More than iiistrunietits, capable of abuaeoa 
well aa of use, lUid the fitart gained l.iy them only continues U* profit so lon}r 
as tile true governing power, man's, tilio self, that powpr by which lovo ami 
hate exist, irrespectivo of stteiigtli and knowledge?, directs tlipae inatmmenU 
ami tins stH.rt to a right L-nd." — {!*, 13.) 

The mere production, therefore, of skilled kbourers, — in other wokU, 
mei'9 intellectual tmintng, — is not ail, or even half of what is wanted, 
if anything really great or good is to be productjd. To accomplish 
this, the perverted life-powers require replanting. " Man's nature 
wants to cast mit false feeling, and to feel rightly, to love and hate 
truly, from its own inward e.?sence;" 'and to a certain extent the.'se, 
the really guiding powers of life, can be trained, as well as the 
instrumental ones, i.e., the intellectual faculties. This training is 

" True cdn<Mi.tiAn ia nothing loas than bringing everythinf;( that men havn 
Iramt from God or from pxpet-icnrt.' to hasir litat upon the mond and spiritual 
being by means of a Wpll-KriverntHl siKiet;^' and lieiiltliy diai.'iplilia, sn that it 
shoulil lovo and h.ito ari>;ht ; rinti throuj^di tin*, secondly, making the body 
Hiid intellect jwrfect, aa inatnunwiita ncecesmy for ciirni'iri^ on tfao work of 
healthy progress ; tmining tlie character, tlie intellect, the budy, eiuib 
through tliG means adapted to Hjach." — fP. 17-) 

Thcise years of training, then, create the difference iu the long run 
between man and man. They do not guarantee perfection, for they 
may be niiserably misused. And just as the excellence of the indi- 
vidual choi-acter is affected for better or worse Iiy this training or its 
abgence, so the position of eadi nation m the scale of real worth tunis 
upon the exceUenee or deficiency of the traininn; it gives its youtlu 


Education and School. 85 

For a great scliool is indeed a heart, propellinji life-blood throuj,'li the 
IxMly politic. If the heart be diseased, so will be its blood. These 
years of training, then, are the all-imi)ortant years of life, never to be 
repeated, never to be caught up if thrown away. " As is the boy, so 
is the man ; and education is nothing less than the presiding power 
that determines the fate of both. Education is, training true life." — 
(P. 19.) 

The training of life during the years allotted to education depends 
on the conditions under which life is passed. That is to say, it is not 
only the course of instruction, or the discipline, or the amount of 
masters' vigilance which makes up each boy's education ; but e^'cry- 
thing with which he comes in contact, however ajiparently trivial and 
unimportant. Indeed, these apparent trivialities, and, so to speak, 
ancillary featiires in the training, are perhaps as important in their 
general influence as any; for tlie formation of character is not the 
result of direct teaching. Neither men nor boys can be taught virtue ; 
they must be habituated to it, and grow up insensibly into it. If, 
then, we would have our boys grow up to l)e true men (and truth 
carries most of the other virtues of the personal character in its train), 
we must surround them with an atmosphere of truth. This axiom 
Air. Thring embodies in the following canons, whicli almost form the 
key-note of the whole work : — 

"No falseness in the government, no falseness in the working plnn, in or 
oat of school, can make boys true. Whatever is professed must be done. 

" If a Bcliool professes to teach, then every boy must have hie share of 
teaching; there must be no kjiowledge-scranible, or the untruth will make 
iteelf felt. 

" If a school professes to train, then every boy raust be really known, his 
wants supplied, his character consulted, or the untnith will make itself felL 

" If a school professes to board Ixjys, then every boy must find proper food 
and proper lotlging, and no meanness, or the untruth will make itself felt. 

" A sufBcient number of masters, variety of occupation, a feeling of being 
known and cared for, a spot free from intnision, however small, are neces- 
sities in a good school ; and the want of these, or of any of the other 
requirements for training and teaching i)roj)erly, is a sort of acted falsehood, 
for that which is professed is not done." — (P. 22.) 

This is plain speaking, and without jdedging ourselves to all the 
details of the last paragraph as necessarj' symbol izations of truth, we 
heartily accept the principle. Nay, more ; we believe that the prin- 
ciple really and honestly can-ied out in every school, as far as its 
light and its capacities extend, would lie i)roductive of a very much 
higher tone in the education of the youth of the middle class in_this 
country. But we are not prepared to rise with Mr. Thring " upon a 
wind of prophecy," and to assert that where this is the case, — this 
adoption of truth as the leaven of the entire institution, — 

The Contemporary Review. 


" Thenthehoy'dnllegiancD Iwcoraea diift to the commnTi stani1aT(l,Tiotto the 
trajtoT who betrays it ; is due to the ^ciml caiisL', utit to the menu cowarfl 
who (leaerta it ; is due to thi^ tnie friends imd tt-ue tneri who wotk -with him^ 
tiol, Uj the tap-tucilii hcCoRa wliuse ideal is a tapatei'. Tlieii the hoj-S atnoUgst 
theniseivi.-a M'ill tiphold llieii" laws, jilst its EnylislUncu will iipliold theirs, and 
think it no shame to mako thieves and traitors know their jiliice." — (P. 28.) 

Are we here to empheiaize the word "is due"? If bo, "we gladly con- 
cede that, ti priori, "we sliould believe that truth ought to eapendtir 
truth, that confidence should be reciprocfited by tiuatworthiriesa, 
tfiaguaiiiiiiity, irnd unselfishness by loyalty. But huw abunt the reJil I 
Can it be that Mr. Thring's experience bears out to the full this 
chartning ideal ? for that he has dcnie his part in the Imrgain is certain. 
If zeal iintl truth and strajj^httorw&rdness and disiiitefestedness "will 
elicit tlie corresponding' qualities univ^sttUy from the boys in whose 
behalf these are exercised, Uppingham should he the paradise of 
schoiDls, Perlmpa it is. But we fear the experience of other school- 
mastera, equally hirrh-minded with Mr. Thring, will not wholly bear 
this out. With the better portion nf the schotd it will; that ia, Tiith 
iL siiiiiU minority (jihi-q ! how small in proportion !) — thoroughly and 
fully: to some extent — for it is curious to obaeiwe how halt-virtuous 
hoys can lie without apparently feeling the utter incuusistency of sudi 
a coui'sej— -to some extent, it will benr it out witli the majority. But 
is there not a large residuum in every school who are incapable o!' 
any such reci]irocity of nobleness ? Is there no such thing aa " the 
natural though corrupt love of the lie itself"^ la tlie innate way- 
wardness of boyhood no disturbing cause to this Utopia of schoolboy 
pei-fectiou ? 

With this proWso, then, we accept Mr. Thring's canons of truth, 
and proceed with him to npply them to the practical working of the 
school. In training, whether it be atldetes, race-horses, or boys, the 
tniiner is, perhaps, the nii>st important peraonage. To apply the test 
of truth, then, to this training staffj Mi'. Thring lays down the doctrine 
thnt in a great school there will be a permanent staff of masters, "with 
their iucomes ilepeiidiug upon their work. Teaching is not a mere 
pouring of knowledge into receptive minds. Were this the cjvse, it 
might fairly be reganled as a plestsing and useful mode of filling up 
the vacant tijjio between the takiijg tlie degree and the entrance upon 
the liie-]jrofes8ion, which is the li-jlit in which many youtiy Uieu 
bearing their academic honours thick upon them do regtu-d it. But 
this is not teaching. 

"Teaching is « life-long learning how to deal Ttnth human minds. As 
infinite at the human mind is in it.s variety so imght tht resources of the 
tftfwhera to be. Tlie more stupid the pupils^ tlie mwv skill is rwiuirwi to make 
tlu'iii learn. And thus it Luines to pitss that, wlidat the mere possession of 
knowledge is enough to ti'ach advnuced L'hiasi.'a {if it ia riglit to profiinu thu 



Education and School. 87 

word by calling pouring knowledge into troughs teaching), the teaching little 
boys and stupid boya and low classes well, is a thing of wonderful skilL" 
—(P. 110.) 

This knowledge and skill does not, as a rule, come by intuition. 
There are, indeed, instances wliere a man seems to possess the secret 
instinctively ; but ordinarily it is an experience purchased, like every 
other experience, by time and practice and failure and perseverance. 
A schoolmaster, then, ought not to be a bird of passage. If he is, 
besides the crudeness of his novice-attempts at teaching, and the 
harm, or at least the little good, that such efforts produce on his pupils, 
be cannot all at once so place himself en. rapport with his pupils as to 
establish that sympathy between him and them which is essential to 
leal teaching : for, as Mr. Thring truly observes, " the way even to the 
head is through the heart." 

But how are we to secure this permanence ? The great public 
schools can do it, for they can hold out adequate remuneration to all 
their working staff. But even the universities are unable to retain the 
services of competent tutors and lecturers. Oxford at this moment 
presents the spectacle of colleges officered from outside of their own 
list of Fellows, and the cry is still, " More residents !" The truth is 
that this is an age of restless activity. "Every man for himself" is 
the order of the day. Among young men especially, a mercenary 
spirit, or, if this be too harsh a term, a keen sense of the market 
value of their services, and a righteous determination to do nothing 
which does not pay them well, is widely spread. How are good 
assistant masters to be secured ? Mr. Thring replies, by making their 
remuneration depend directly on their work — that is to say, by making 
them all house masters. He is against stipendiary masters; their 
tendency is to become mere hirelings. It may not be a high motive, 
but to feel that one's zeal and success directly affect one's prospects 
for the better, is after all an appeal to human nature as it is. " At 
least it gives men an interest in their work and its success, and makes 
toil sweeter when toil brings its visible reward." — (P. 106.) 

The next point as regards masters is, that they shall not have more 
boys to deal with than each can attend to individually. Proof of so 
obvious a proposition is, one would think, needless; and yet how 
entirely has this clear principle been overlooked in our greatest public 
schools ! No master, however herculean in working power, can get 
through more than a certain amount of work in a given time. So, on 
the other hand, it is of the nature of the boy to shirk that which, though 
legally due, will, according to the doctrine of chances, in all probability 
not be required of him. As to any individual knowledge of the boys of 
liis class, or any attempt to adapt his teaching accordingly, a master 
with an ovei^own class is simply powerless. "VVliether twenty-five 


The Contemporary Review. 

is tlie ma^iuuiii iiuiiit>er that can I>e taught classica by one man at a 
time, is a comparatively immaterial point, and may fairly be qiiestioued. 
The principle, liuyever, is iiTefrayiible. A master wlia is to tench 
must ha^'e an individual knowledge of the mental cundition of uach 
boy in his class. lie must know his capacity, and be able to deter- 
miue with pToxinmte acciimcy whether hi.? shottcominys ai'e the 
result of (lulness, or lethargy of mind or mamier, or of ii.tleuess, or 
inattention. Individutil knowledge of hta boya is the stine gva rum of 
the good class master, just as iiidi\iduftl knoTi'ledge of the cbaTac-ter of 
each boy in the school is the sine qua fum of the good head-master. 
And we would venture to go a step further than Mr. Tliring, and say, 
as a clasa must he limited by the capacitj' of its master to houdle it 
indi'^idually, so must a school be litoitcwl to auch a number of Imys 
as ita head-master can know individually; and every school wliioh 
exceeds such linn't has lost its element of truth, and is an imposture. 

Thus mncli for the trainers ; now for the maddnery of training. On 
this point Mr. ThrSug's first tlictimi ia perhaps the ]irominent feature 
in his theory of bcIiooI, at least so far as ita outward and visible form 
is cunceraeJ. It is this : — " The buys nhall not be forced to henl 
together in large rooms, but each have a sanctuui tif hia own." 
— (V. 109.) 

To establitdi ld8 position, Mr, Thrhig Ijoldly discards all ai-gument 
derived from facis or exiierience. Facts can be made to tell any atoiy 
the advticflte iilesises. When human lieings are the Bubjects, princi- 
jilca must l>c looked U> and tlieir natuml rtisidts. Starting, then, on 
this purely d, /wwrt ground, be proceeda to argue that .as boys are 
sent to school to bo trained for the duties of after life, no hoy can be 
expected to work or livo under conditions wlu«h then would lie 
■wholly inadmissible, For example, they are to be tmined how to 
study. This of itself is a siiffieiently strange and uncongenial task for 
the young lad IVeph fiimi home. He ia not likely to do it successfully 
under less favourable circumstances than trained men, with all this 
repugnance to study m-erconic, require, in order to perfonn iutel- 
lectual work. Timy reiiuire qiiiet, a ]dace ol seclusiou, and freedom 
from mental distniction. This, then, is a thousau(.lfold more neces- 
sary fa-v the jKior boy who has everytbiug to learn, and who does not 
yet know even how t'l "vvoi'k. Thi^ difficmlty, however, may be got 
over by the presence of a master durittg hours of preparation and 
work, so as to oufoire order aiul requini attention. Btit in a free 
system of school ailminLHtratinn a master cannot always be present in 
the boyg.' common mom ; and here the chief mischief is done to tlie 
boy's jinvate or inner life. Hei'e a large part of his leianre must he 
spent, and here he ha.s no escape from hearing or seeing whatever the 
worst boy there dare.9 say or dn, or from the tyranny ol' the most 

Education and School. 89 

inveterate bully in the place. But this is no trfeiniug for manhood. 
These are not the customs of life in manhood. No man is obliged 
always to herd with men whom he abhors or fears. But besides, one 
of the great duties of life is to — 

" Ponder our ways, to withdraw from the press of busy life, and in our 
hearts weigh well what is true and what is not true in the hurry and ghtter 
of the world. And school sometimes trains boys for this, by never allowing 
them a moment to carry out this great duty. Yet how needful it is for the 
little exile from home, with strange new life among strangers round about 
him for the first time, to have a spot, however small, which shall be liis 
own, where he shall he safe with his hooks and his letters, where he can 
think, and weep if need be, or rejoice unmolested, and escape for a season 
out of the press of life about him, and the strange hardness of a new 
existence, into a Uttle world of his own, a <juasi-'hoiaa, to find breathing 
space, and gather strength before he comee out again. Nowhere on earth is 
six or eight feet square more valuable than at school, the little bit wliich is a 
boy's own, the rock which the waves do not cover. "^ — (P. 140.) 

With much of this we cordially agree. We believe that this seclu- 
sion, or partial seclusion, of each boy as regards the dormitory arrange- 
ments is, if not a necessity, as Mr. Thring would have us believe, a 
most desirable featiae in a great school. The partitioning off of the 
large room into little compartments or cells of six feet square, firstly, 
subserves the purposes of health by providing a free oxirrent of air, 
which absolutely separate small bedrooms could not secure ; secondly, 
of sufficient publicity for a reasonably healthy public opinion to repress 
vice, as well as for the free play of monitors' or prefects' authority and 
infiuence in its repression ; and, thirdly, of sufficient privacy for the 
self-respect and protection of the timid and helpless. But after all, 
such protection and such privacy cannot be absolutely secured by 
this arrangement. Of this Mr. Thring must be fully aware. For no 
punishments, however severe or liowever certain as the consequence 
of detection, will deter boys from lireaking a rule if there is a single 
chance of escape ; and even the most Argus-eyed masters and the most 
conscientious monitors cannot^ from the nature of the case, exercise 
unremitting vigilance, and preser\'e the sanctity of each retreat abso- 
lutely inviolate and free from intrusion. 

But we entirely dissent from the separate study theorj', not only 
because it is a needless feature in the economy of a school, but 
iiecause we believe it to be theoretically unsound. We join issue 
with Mr. Tliring on his main argument. We do not admit that 
Ijecause school is a training of life, — in other words, a fitting of the 
young boy to discharge the duties he wUI lie called on as a man to 
perform, — therefore the conditions of training should be identical with, 
and in no respect more irksome or trying than the conditions tmder 
which the man-duties will be performed. A great deal of the disci- 


The Contempomry Review. 

pliiie of boy-life is different in hind frum the linhits or states of uiind 
in the grown rnftn, to tlie devdoiJiuent of whicli, iievei'tlielesg. that 
dissimilat tHscipliue may in a htgli degree conduce. We will iiupreas 
Mr. Thriurt liirusolf into oiir ser\-ice to combat his own atsmneuts. 
He, brave man ! (we say it in atl sincerity) hag the courage to defy 
the anathemas of sentimentalists, educational theorists, and tender 
parents, and to avow himself a believer in the rod ; and that not, as 
19 sometimes reluctantly conceded, a3 the penalty for grave moral 
delinfj^nencies, but as tlie natural and ^vllo^esome medicine for the 
pettj', oft-repeated oil'euces which foiiB the bulk of school indisci- 
pline. But how is this discipline repi-oduced in after-life ? Simply 
nut at all. The system of liii'ect rewards aud puniehraents ceases when 
the age of childhood closei?. It is a tramiag doU'erent in kind — fitted 
for the boy, irapoEisible for the man, liecause the two are almost ilif- 
ferent animals, with dill'erent ideas, difPereut sensibilities. Mr. Thriug 
justly ridieul&s the notion that corporal j.mnishment is degratUiig to 
the boy, because the man's ijistincts of seU'-re-^pect recoil from per- 
sonal outiTige; but he practically falls into the same fallacy when he 
argues that because privacy and seclusion at will are necessities with 
the grown man, they are therefore indispensable conditions of the 
training of young Ijoys. Hence we dissent, in toto, fix)m liis parados: 
ttiat it is the Little boys who WMit separate studie-s more than the 
older ones. We dissent from it, because we hold that as the ordinary 
discipline and coercion of little boys must cease, or become consi- 
derably relaxed, in the case of older ones, because the older ones are 
passing into tlie conditions of umnhood ; so the study is, if not & 
necessity, at least a lawfid luxury for these latter, because they have, or 
ought to have, attained to the habit of mind which, m in the giiywn 
man, craves for occasional seclusion, and is abb to profit by it. Aud 
this, btljigs us to a second argumeut against the indiscriminate allot- 
ment of atutUes to all l>oye, old and young alike. Little boys are, of 
all others, by nature gregarious, and never ao much so, or perhaps 
with so much advantage, a? over the. preparation of their lessons. 
Indeed, a little boy, if left to himself, and removed from the assistance 
of his immediate companions and classimatcs during the preparation 
of lessons, usually sulves the difficulty by not preparing them at all. 
Tlie truth is, he does not know how to set about it, or if he does, he 
is staggered anil dispirited by the first difficulty that crosses his path ; 
and more than that, be is the very worst judge himself of whether, 
and when, ho knows a lesson. Any schoolmaster who has in hia 
achonl a siilliciently large proportion of day-boys or home-1 ward era 
will at once appreciate the truth of this remark. He will acknow- 
ledge that they, as a rule, spend three times as much time over 
preparation and in spite of all the supposed advantages of privacy. 

Education and School, 91 

and such assistance as judicious parents offer to smooth the path for 
them, they come considerably worse prepared than the boarders of the 
same t^ and form, simply because they, by working together, help 
one another, and so in no trifling degree teach one another. This 
ad'vantage, then, is absislutely foregone by the separate study system ; 
for to say that under it boys can still study together in the common 
room of their boarding-house is to condemn the study as a tiseless 
luxury ; if a study is not made to study in, it belies its name, and is 
obviously a superfluity. We admit that in an ill-governed boarding- 
house there will — perhaps must be, considerable noise going on around 
them to distract attention from work ; but we very much doubt 
whetherthe distraction is anything like as dangerous to progress as 
the opportunities for idleness and desultoriness which the very inde- 
pendence of a study engenders in the little boy, who is naturally over- 
mastered by the passing temptation to be idle, and who is not old 
enough to realize that the claims of work are imperative and must 
first be satisfied. 

A more plausible argument in favour of the separate study for each 
boy, great and small, is the harm which the little boy will receive 
morally from unavoidable contact with the mauvais sujets of the 
common room, and the necessity of a place of retreat from some 
bullying tormentor. Now this is, beyond a doubt, a most important 
consideration ; but while we at once admit that such cases must from 
time to time arise in all schools, and while we deplore them as dread- 
ful evils where they do occur, we cannot regard them as a normal or 
necessary state of tilings, or the public school theory has broken, doim. 
Let us fairly face this conclusion, from which there is no escape. 
The essence of the pubhc school theorj' is government by means of a 
healthy public opinion. And the instrument by which this theory 
is worked is the monitor or prefect system. If, therefore, these are 
powerless, — we will not say altogether to repress and eradicate tliese 
evils, but to minify them and at least hold them in decent check ; if 
public opinion is not healthy enough to frown down the overt display 
of the vices of the worst members of the community ; if the monitors, 
aided by public opinion, cannot hold out reasonable protection to the 
young and feeble from the bully and the tyrant ; above all, if the 
oppressed boy cannot, witli fair prospect of redress, appeal to these 
his natural guardians in tlip event of insupportable ill-usage, — then, 
ffe repeat, the public school theory lias broken down, and we must 
strike our flag, and make our submission to the amiable but weak 
poet of Olney on the great question of boy-education. 

Indeed the "study for all" theory is, whether consciously or un- 
consciously, a surrender of public education. It is a transference 
of home to school But cui bono such a transference? Public edu- 

92 The Contemporary Review. 

cation, if it means anything, means boys educating each other ; edu- 
cating each other by their virtues and their vices, by their roughnesses 
and their gentlenesses. If a boy is to be taken out of this as much as 
is possible, or as much as he likes — and what poor chUd would not 
gladly shun the ordeal, at least in his early days at school ? — ^why 
send him to school at all ? He can probably associate with com- 
panions wlien he wishes it, as well at home as at school ; while, as to 
the intellectual training, it is not so sucessful, in by far the majority 
of boys who are sulyected to it, as to make it an important element 
in the question. 

We would rather lielieve that what Jlr. Thring calls " the barrack " 
theor)', witli a good master, capable of impressing somewhat of his 
own spirit upon his boys, good monitors, and a decently sound public 
opinion, is after all the best. It may be a somewhat rough and Spar- 
tan training of the character; but it forces a boy to divest himself 
promptly of his peculiarities ; it makes him rub off the angularitiea 
of his character — and what boy comes straight from home to school 
without more or less of these ? It teaches him to adapt himself to 
circnmstances ; it knocks the conceit out of liim ; in a word, it engen- 
ders that avTapKtSa, that self-completeness and adaptability to diverse 
circumstances, which so completely marks off the public scliool man 
from the man wlio has either been brought up at home, or at the 
private tutor's, Jiowever excellent, amiable, and gentlemanly he may 
be. It is, we rejieat, a Spartan kind of training, and it has often gone 
to our heart to see the poor little new-boy, forlorn, frightened, miser- 
able, amid the nnsympathizing throng in the school-hall. If, hoT- 
ever, lie has any stuff in him (and if he has not, school is not the place 
for him as a boy, nor the wide world as a man), it is surprising bow 
soon he rises superior to his difficidties. And after liis first term, he 
returns with the home-delicacy of sentiment indeed rubbed off, never 
to revive till manhond reawakens it ; but not, as we earnestly hope 
and believe, necessarily with a seared conscience, or a vindictive sense 
of cruel wTong sustainetl ; rather with the glad consciousness of bug- 
bears fought and vanfiuishcd, of difficulties surmounted, and moral 
sinew developed. 

We cannot but feel that the unsound point in Mr. Thring's school 
theorj' is an exaggerated individualism. This is not only a fault on 
the right side, but one into which a conscientious man is especially 
likely to lie driven by the vicious multitudinism of the great public 
schools. Their numbers, combined vdth their frequently very inade- 
quate officering as regards masters, have a direct tendency to deal with 
boys in masses, and to lose sight altogether of anything like individual 
character and individual training, llie corrective to this defect in 
their case is the tutorial as contrasted with the magisterial element 

Education and School. 93 

The tutor (also a master), under ■whom each hoy is necessarily placed, 
supplies to some extent the personal tie wliich sliould exist between 
master and pupil, if the hoy is to he really influenced for good by the 
master, as well as con-ects the deficient intellectual training wliich 
overgrown classes must produce. To the non-public school mind, 
however, this seems hut a clumsy mode of introducing the element of 
individual care and individual training into a school We are not at 
all surprised that Mr. Thring should have at once felt this deficiency 
in the old public school idea, and, having felt it, that he should have 
resolved on providing an antidote. We think, however, that he has 
carried this into the opposite extreme. We go with him entirely 
when he speaks of the necessity of restricting the numbers in each 
class to the capacity of one man to teach them adequately ; we recc^- 
nise that in the over-grown class — 

"The lectarer must insist on a certain quantum of visible work being pro- 
duced by all, and take no excuse if it is not forthcoming. For he 'has no 
time to judge whether everybody can or cannot do this quantity always. 
Everything would go to pieces if he began making distinctions between the 
1)03:8, and he would lay himself open to unlimited imposition." 

On the other hand, when the master has a form of manageable 
numbers, — 

"He ia able to make himself acquainted with the powers and attainments of 
eyeiy boy under him, and as for aa lus judgment goes, to apportion fairly 
their tasks to each, to help them when needfid, to deal with them singly, 
■weighing each case; and though his judgment may err in some instances, 
eiTOTS of judgment are very different things from arbitrary routine," — 
(P. 131.) 

The same principle, no doubt, is also true in its degree as applied 
to punishments. In the adjudication of these a wise master will 
eiereise discrimination, forming his judgment according to his indi- 
\idual knowledge of the culprit's character. Though here we at once 
step on very delicate ground, as no animal is so keeidy alive to, and 
at the same time tolerant of strict impartial justice, even if it amount 
to severity, as the sclioolboy. Nevertheless, this very sense of justice 
in them recognises the differences in different cases, and endorses a 
master's distinctions in dealing with them diffei'ently, provided they 
are made with wisdom and sound discrimination, and, above all things, 
with a corresponding sense of justice on his part. Individualism too 
may, to a certain extent, be carried safely into the playgi-ound. Boys' 
tastes undoubtedly widely differ, and it is right that in the relaxation 
hours the boy should be permitted to indidge his taste. Hence we 
admit that where possible, among the more impoitant buildings of a 
school, — 

" Provision should be made for a school library-, museum, workaliop, gym- 
nasium, sAvinmiing bath, fives courts, 01 imy othur pursuits that conduce to 

94 The Contemporary Review. 

a healthy life. The welfiire of the majority greatly depends on sometliing 
being prorided to interest every kind of disposition and taste. Plenty of 
occupation is the one Beciet of a good and healthy moral life." — (P. 1 79.) 

But along with this freedom of action to each individual to foUow 
Ills oivTi bent, we unhesitatingly hold the wisdom and justice of com- 
pulsory participation on the part of all during a fraction of the leisure 
time in the recognised games of tlie community ; first, because the 
community has a right to the services and sympathy of its individual 
members. That is to say, if cricket, for example, is recc^ised as the 
one great game of the school, every boy, in right of his allegiance to 
the republic to which he belongs, ought, in all fairness, to support 
and advance tliis object by liis own personal services. But we hold 
this chieily in the interests of the individual boys themselves. Few 
boys like the rudiments of auj'tliiug, whether it be the Greek alphabet 
or fielding out at cricket. It is therefore well for them that they 
should be required by a superior poAver to apply themselves to these 
disagreeables. Eventually they reap tlie fruit of their distasteful 
labour ; in the one case in intellectual culture — in increased manli- 
ness in the other. But chiefly it is good for the indi\'idual boy, bow- 
ever young, to learn the duty of making his self-good bow to the good 
of the commonwetilth to which he belongs. It is a first lesson in self- 
denial ; and it is none the worse that this sliould be exercised on 
behalf of the community, instead of some other individual like him- 
self : but this self-denial is the foundation of true cspnV de corps. Tliig 
tribute, however, should not encroach unduly upon each boy's fund 
of leisure, if other pursuits have gi-eater channs for him. He iriU 
enter on these pursuits with all the greater zest for having thus paid 
his due of homage to the interests of the body ; provided the homage 
is not over bm-densome, aud does not degenerate into bondage But 
a schoolboy ought never to foi^et that he is but a unit of a great 
whole, — that he is a member of a body ; and hence it is that we dis- 
sent, in toto, from any plan which tends to detach a boy, daring the 
hours he has to himself, fmm the community and its duties and inte- 
rests, aud to encourage him, however indirectly, to isolation from hia 
fellows. Tliis we believe to be exa^erated incUvidualiam, and though 
it may practically work well fur the present, and will undoubtedly 
find great acceptance with tlie indulgent tenderness of parents, we 
believe that it is a cutting olf of a valuable, though often unpalatable, 
ingredient in school education ; and we venture to predict that in tie 
long run it will not produce as sterling an article as the harder 
discipline of training from the earliest years to accommodate oneaelf 
to circumstances, liowcAcr unpromising, and to adapt oneself to the 
ways of those, however uncoiigeniid, among whom one's lot in life 
is ca-st. 

Education and School. 95 

But while we thus frankly differ from Mr. Thring ou one important 
point of detail, we thank him for his book. We have forborne com- 
ment on many of its important features, because to handle the subject 
at all worthily exceeds the limits of a brief review. We have forborne 
to follow him through hia masterly defence of the classical languages 
as the basis of school education ; or through his manful and fearless 
grappling with the difficult question of school punishments. Suffice 
it to say that in most of what he says on either head we heartily con- 
cur. Nor have we attempted to criticise the hints he has thro^vn out 
elsewhere for the rehabilitation of old foundations, and for breathing 
into them life and activity. But ilr. Thring not only deserves our 
thanks for a piece of very pleasant and suggestive reading upon a 
subject in which all profess interest. He deserves the thanks of all 
who heheve that there is enormous power for education scattered up 
and do"wn the country, in the shape of the old endowed schools, 
waiting to he utilized. Mr. Thring has shown in act, as well as in 
word, how this may be done ; if not m all, at least in many of our 
provincial grammar schools. In the conflicting clamour for public 
school education and modem education, the poor old grammar schools 
and their capabilities for good have been forgotten. It is refreshing 
to find some one who believes in them still, and who can give a reason 
of the faith that is in him. Mr. Thring deser\'e3 the famous resolu- 
tion of thanks accorded by the Eoman Senate to Tereutius Varro after 
Cannae, " because he had not despaired of the republic." It is pleasant 
to see a man derive strength and encouragement iu his work from the 
associations of the past, for they are indeed a mighty engine for good 
to those who know how to use them. 

" Kot in the least on this account are the old foundations a saving power 
in the land. They are strong in the fact that their origin dates from the libe- 
rahty of the dead. Tlieir roots are in the hallowed past ; and out of the 
grave of great and good men — great and good at all events eo far as they 
grudged not money in a good cause — grows the shelter under which the 
Yfork of education is carried on. Tliose who heheve in education, behcve 
also in this, and feel a deeper, truer sense of life and work from carrying on 
a good man's purpose ; are freer from not being beholden to living task- 
masters ; are chastened into more patient endurance by the memory of the 
trust they have received. It gladdens and cheera them that they are links 
in a chain of life and light, — ' VUai lamjiada traduni,' — and not merely 
Bitting in the temple as money-cliangers." — (P. 119.) 

"WTio knows if, after all, the old grammar schools, reformed and 
reinspired, are not to be the Dctis ex tnachina of upper middle-class 
education ? Eeform they most, if not all, need— perhaps on a veiy 
extensive scale. But reform does not necessarily mean revolution ; 
and there is no reason why at least a large number of them shoiild not 
be worked on the principles advocated in this book, and have a grand 
career of usefulness opened out before them. 



panrtl riK Pre}>Mi Jiiitt Ifdnr^ tfrt(c«r*rl *i (V Dlvlnlrn Sehinil nf Jlu 
Vniv^miif ')f O-rfmrH, IfilS C^pisni ^igla. By tho tiet, E. Tfi. f-vtxt, 

Ji D , ICvglus. PrnfiiHur uf Hi>hrEW, axri Ciuon uf CiLTLtC Cbuivli- 
J. H. & J. I^aTkcr, Llilonl ; KivingloiM, LnnrluD. IsM. 

ADEQUATELY anil truly \o critieise a work likii LMb withiu tUi; 
eampasa usually allowed to criticism in a Review is almost out 
of tte question. We shall not attempt to do more than notice some 
of its most salient arguments, and the general piin(.'ii.iles of raiticism 
and int*;rprelatioii uu whicli it proceeds. 

Dr. Pusey teUa us iii his Preface that these Lectures were planned 
as his " contribution against the tide of acepticiam which the publicatiuii 
of the ' Essays and Keviewa ' let loose npou the young and instructed." 
But whilst "others," he says, " wlio ^Tofce in defence of the faith, en^ij^ed 
in larger subjects, I took for my province one more couHned and dctinite 
iBSue. I selected the Book of Daniel, because imlHjlieviug ci'itics 
considered their attacks npnn it to he one of their greatcFit triumplia." 
But tho^lJ,'h he has so far appjirently nan-owed the range of his 
argument as to confine it to a single one of the pohits at issue in that 
contTOversy^ he has Ijrought to bear upon this pttint a perfect ent'vclo- 
piedia of leamin*^. He has cast into his volume tbe labour of a life- 
time. It is by far the mast complete work wliich has yet appeared. 
uo Continental ivTiter haying han<lled the subject with anything like 
the same fulness or breadth of treatment. In England we need 
scarcely say it is unrivalled. Eew mea amongst us could have pro- 
duced such a book. It is a moounient of learned industry, whicli 
reminds ua rather of ancient folios than of modern octavos. I3ut ttiis 

Dr. Puscy on Daniel the Prophet. 97 

exliaustire method of treatment, it must be confessed, has its draw- 
backs. It is exhausting as well as exhaustive. The reader must 
labour as well as the author, and his patieuce is severely tried. 
He is not charmed to foi^et the ruggedness of the path either by 
lucidity of arrangement, or by graces of style. The ailment is often 
embarrassed by the accumulation of matter, the style is cramped and 
Lea\7-, and a lai^e portion of the criticism is uninviting, and, to the 
majority of readers, even unintelligible. Still, in spite of tliese 
drawbacks, the great value of the hook cannot be questioned. 
^Miether we agree with Dr. Pusey's conclusions or not, we must be 
glad to find thus collected for us in one volume all that has been 
wTitten, all that can by possibility be brought to bear upon the 
authorship and age of a book, presenting, on any hypothesis as to its 
origin, so many remarkable features as the Book of Daniel. Every 
day widens and deepens the interest felt on such subjects amongst 
educated men. And numbers, we cannot doubt, have already turned 
eagerly to this volume, attracted to it not only by the name and repu- 
tation of the author, but also by the importance of the subject, and 
the keen desire to ascertain what can- really be said as to the date and 
genuineness of one of the most remarkable books of Scripture. 

We wish we could speak as favourably of the general tone and 
temper of Dr. Pusey's volume as we can of its learning and com- 
pleteness. But unhappily, its greatest defect is the bitterness of its 
language, — the indiscriminate censure with which all are assailed 
who have ventured to entertain any doubts as to the time when the 
Book of Daniel was written. The chaise of wilful blindness, so 
repeatedly brought against those whose misfortmie it is to be Dr. 
Pusey's opponents, is rather apt to enlist sympathy on their side than 
to con^nnce us that their assailant is right. Instinctively we feel 
that such charges betray a weakness somewhere. Truth, we say to 
ourselves, is calm, majestic, unruffled, not impatient, because fearless 
of consequence. Is it wise, we ask, to be angry with the storm 
vhich shakes our dwellings ? Is it not better to examine whether the 
foundation is secure, and the walls so built as to keep out the blast ? 

We lament these defects the more, because we have not forgotten 
that Dr. Pusey could once write in a verj' different strain. Thirty- 
seven years ago there appeared a work from his pen, entitled " An 
Historical Enquiry into the probable Causes of the Nationalist 
Character lately predominant in the Tiieology of Germany." Let any 
one, after reading the " Lectures on Daniel," turn to the earlier work, 
and he will be painfully struck by the contrast. Dr. Pusey could 
then speak with candour and generosity of men from whom he 
differed. He could do homage then to the genius and the piety of 
Schleiermacher. He could speak of him as "that great man who, 



The Contemporary Review. 

whatever "be tlie eirors uf his systaiit, liad dune more tbaji (6i>me 
very i'ew perliajia exce]Jtecl) any other lor the restflmtian of reli^oiis 
lielicf ill Germaiiy." Would lie now describe the " Kurze Danitellung 
ili?s Theoloyisdien StiitUums " as "a-wm-k whidi, with u. lew great 
ileftjctfi, is full of iniportiiQt princiijlea aud comprehensive vieuvs, and 
wliich will fiirm a new era iu therjlogy. whenever the pritidples which 
it furnishes i'oi* the cuItivatioTi of the seveitil tbeoh)gicil sciences shall 
be attwl uiioii ?"• The whole ft-lm of the Elfins I'rofessora lil'e, and 
the whole tenJency of his M-ritiiii^'S for maiiy years, have uiiques- 
tionalily beeu directly opposed to the principles of ivhieli, iu the 
piissnije just quoted, he declares his adinimition. That party of 
wliieh Dr. Pusey has loTig been one of the fu^knowte(l**ed lenders,- — - 
that, system, ri*;id in its dogmatic; statements, medioi-Vitl in iLs ritualism, 
TiitTairi-esaive in ita priHci[>lea, with 'wbich liia uam^ Ls identified, — have 
iindonbtedly been the gjentest nbgtnde t^i the fonnntion of " a. new 
em ill theology." To them it is owiut; that the tide baa been checked, 
and its waters hurled Wnlently backward, ^Ve are not, however, 
tauntuig Dr. Pusoy with nicniisiBteucy. We dti not rnejin to insinu- 
at« tliat ho ever was a disctplo of Schleifnuacher's, or adopted to any 
cstent the principles of that great jdiilosophical theologian. Bat 
we do lament that one who cuuld onoe speak in terms of so innch 
candour and moderation, not oidy of that iUsLin^'uished man but of 
others, like Leasing anil Iferder, whose theology has api)enred 
more than doubtful to cautious divines, should in later life have 
unlearned the obarity wbich "believetli all tluuys, bopeth all tliiuw8," 
—that one who once hailed the dawn of a better theology m. cou- 
nection witji the naine of .Schleiermaclier, should now stigmatize 
as "unl>elievers" and "rationalists" all who venture to doubt the 
genuineness of Daniel. Great and good men, lika Ai'nold of 
liugljy, ilo not deseive to have this re]]roach cast upon them, nor 
indued can it huit them. Every line of such a man's writings relates 
the calimmy. His wholy Ufe is a noble witness to the depth, tho 
purity, the power of his faith. To call such a man an unbeliever is 
to travesty wonls — to make a mockery of laujjuage. Nor is it true 
of many others who have Ijeen staggered by the evidence adducetl in 
favour of the later date, that " their i-eal central grounds of objection" 
are "the fact that thts Hook of Diuiiel does contain namistakable 
prophecies." Charges of this kind tite unworthy of the wtitijr. But 
controversy hardeua. The bitath of party spirit nips the bud nf 
generosity. Charity camiot grow in that jioiaouous and stifling vapouj". 

• "Huitorical F.Tsquirj-," &e., p. IIJS, Kot*. See also tte opinion crprfHsi'd of I-esaDg 
juid Herfpr and BrctsnlmeiilLir, p. loS. Even lyard HejlxMt is said, noIwithHlnniling his 
citOFS, to b* " eintttitd to a high degree of regpect, from tho cnmeitnesa of hi* wligious as 
■well ns (Vom hia intellecliwil characHr."— (P. 126, Note 1. ) 

Dr, Pusey on Daniel the Prophet. 99 

It withers, and dies, and falls away. Dr. Piisey lias unhappily given 
but too much eWdence in this volume that he lias lonj^ breatlied not 
'the keen atmosphere of wholesome severities,' but the pestilential 
miasma wliich exhales from the field of theological strife. 

The contest about the Book of Daniel, sm incidental notice of 
which in the "Essays and Keviews" was the text of these lectures, ia 
an old struggle revived. Porphyry, towards the close of the third 
century, was the first assailant of its genuineness. Of his fifteen 
discourses against Cliristians (Xo-yoi Kork Xptartavww), the twelfth 
was devoted to Daniel, and we learn, from Jerome's account, the 
grounds on which he disputed its genuineness. The minutely 
historical character of the prophecies, and especially the details in 
chap. XL, appeared to him inexplicable except on the theory that 
they were predictions after the event. The prophecies, he argued, 
were a faithful description of Antiochus Epiphanes and his times; 
and their very accuracy proves that they are not true predictions, but 
history cast into the form of prediction. The point of his ailment 
is thus given by Jerome in his preface to Daniel : " Quicquid usque ad 
Antiochum dixerit, veram historiam continere; si quid autem ultra 
opinatus sit, quia futura nescierit esse mentituni." PorphjTy was 
answered by Methoilius, Apollinaris, Eusebius of Cresarea, and 
others. And from that time till the end of the last century, no 
further doubts were raised as to the prophetic chai-acter and genuine- 
ness of Daniel. But, the spirit of critical investigation once awakened 
and applied to the Scriptures, it was not possible that a book so 
remarkable should remain unchallenged. l*orphj'Tj'*s objecti(jns were 
revived and sharpened anew ; others were suggested ; till at last a 
complete case was made out; and during the present century, the 
great majority of German critics have accepted it as proved that the 
Book of Daniel belongs to the age of the JIaccabees. Hitzig fixes 
the date between 170 and 164 B.c. And this has been pronounced 
"a certain result of historical criticism." (Liicke.) 

The chief grounds on which it has been alleged that the book is 
Dot a genuine production of the time of the exile are these : — 

"The character of the two languages in which the book is uTitten ; 
the use of Greek words ; the fact that the range even of the predic- 
tion, whilst it clefu-ly pointed to Antiochus Epiphanes and his times, 
does not go beyond them ; the marvellous and unhistorical character 
of the narrative ; the marked difference between the stylo of the book 
and that of the writings of the Cajiti^-ity ; the apocal}iitic turn of the 
visions ; the place of the book in the Hebrew Canon ; the omission of 
Daniel from the panegyric in Ecclus. xlix." 

All these objections have been combated at length — some of them, 
we think, successfully combated — by Dr. Pusey. We cannot attempt 

lOO The Contemporary Review, 

to travel over the same ground. A mere outline of his arguments 
wrnild occupy considerable space; and the "Lectures" themselves 
iinist l»e stuiliefl hy tliose who would know what they are. AVe 
piiriio^e only to draw attention to certain j)oints on which we believe 
tilt main ai^iment to turn, and which, we think, admit of a different 
and a fairer exposition than that given in the Ee^us Professor's 
hjctures. Tliese are — (1) Tlie position of the hook in the Hebrew 
(.'anon, and, as connected with this, the question as to the probable 
clo.sin^' of the Canon. For if it can be shown that the Canon received 
its final completion under Kehemiah, the discussion as to the age of 
iJanitl is at an end. (2) The use of Greek words, and the general 
character of IJaniel's Clialdee. Qi) The nature of the apocalj-jitic 
vijfions, and their ndation to Antioclius Epiphanes and liis times. 
AVe shall then e.xamine briefly some of the criticisms on various 
jwints of tlie Hebrew Scriptures into which Dr. Piisey has diverged 
in tJie prosecution of bis argiunent. 

I. The ni-fpiment drawn from the place of Daniel in the Jewish 
Canon, though the most has been made of it, strikes us as really of 
very little worth. Tlie book stands there, not in the roll of the 
Prophets, but Ijetween Esther and Ezra, among the Hagiographa or 
Ketbutjliim. Its i)lace is lield to be evidence both of the "lateness of 
its composition, and of the secondary estimation in which it was held 
in the Jewish Church."* In reality it is neither. At the most it 
would only pi-ove a lateness of rec€2^Uon into (he Canon, not lateness 
of authorship. It is no proof that a book is late because it stands 
among the Hagiographa. Job and Kuth, whatever question there 
may be as to their exact date, were botli of theui written long before 
the exile. Tlie Lamentations were written by Jeremiah, probably 
about the time when Jerusalem was taken by Nebuchadnezzar.f^ 
It is a sufficient reason why Daniel should not appear among the 
Prophets, that his work was unlike that of the other i)rophet8, 
tbat lie was not sent to Israel or Judah, but played a special and 
exceptional |)art at the court of a heathen monarch, and in a foreign 
land. Ilesidcs, if we are to lay stress upon the position of the 
Umk in the Jewish Canon at all, we ought in all fairness to take 
not a part, but the whole of the e\'idencc thus furnished. Daniel 
stands there l)efore Ezra and Kebemiah ; therefore, in the judgment of 
the Jewish Church, was earlier than these. But again, it may be fairly 
asked, AAHiat is the date of the present Jewish Canon ? or what value 
is to Iks attached to the judgment of those who framed it ? Tlie 
earliest enumeration of the books of the Canon is that given by 

• Deq>re7, " Daniel, or the Apocalypse of the Old Testament." 

t Of the Psalms wc toy nothing, because, although many of them are early, yet rataxj 
are post-exilc, and some maj possibly be as late as the time of the Maccabees. 

Dr. Pusey on Daniel the Prophet. loi 

Josephus, and he evidently is not acquainted with the existing 
arrangement. He mentions twenty-two hooks, of w*hich he says five 
were written hy Moses, and tliirteen after iloses, embracing the period 
from his death to tlie reign of Artaxerxee, the king of Persia (wliicli 
are usually thus distributed: — 1, Joshua; 2, Judges and Euth; 3, 
Samuel ; 4, Kings ; 5, Chronicles ; 6, Ezra and Neheuiiah ; 7, Esther ; 
3, Isaiah; 9, Jeremiah and Lamentations; 10, Ezekiel; 11, Daniel; 
12, the ilinor Prophets ; 13, Job). The four remaining books, he says, 
contain hymns to God and rules of life, "by which are, beyond a 
doubt, meant the Psalms and tlie three Books of Solomon (i.e., Pro- 
verbs, Ecclesiastes, and Canticles)." * When, therefore, Mr. Desprez, 
ia his recently published work, says, "The question to be decided 
by eWdence is, Did the Jews withdraw the hook from a place which 
it once occupied in the prophetic roll, or did the Christians elevate 
it from its original position in the Hagiograplia, and install it iji 
a place to which it had no proper title ?""t" we answer, the evidence 
i3 in favour of the former alternative unquestionably. In like manner, 
both Ruth and Lamentations seem to have been transferred from the 
(dace which they at one time occupied, the one after Judges, the other 
after Jeremiah, to their present position in our Hebrew Bibles.J 
Jerome mentions that they were reckoned sometimes with the Pro- 
phets, though the Talmud places thera among the Ha^iographa. 

But there is another question of considerable interest closely con- 
nected with the one just stated, — When was the Canon of the Old 
Testament closed ? Dr. Pusey replies, in the time of Nehemiah, and 
thus rebuts the attempt to prove the lateness of Daniel from his place 
ia the Canon. No book, no part of a book, he maintains, coidd have 
been received into the Canon so late as the time of tlie ilaecabees. It 
is worth while to examine this question more dispassionately than Dr. 
Posey has done. He dismisses, in the first place, briefly and contemptu- 
ously the theory of Maccabajan Psalms. " The last book, Nehemiah, 
was finished," he says, " about B.C. 410. The theory of ilaccabee 
Psalms lived too long, but is now nimibered with the dead. Only one 
or two here and there, who believe little besides, believe in this phantom 
of a past century." This is a specimen, only one we are sorry to say 
out of many, in which hard words are substituted for a fair investi- 
gation of what is confessedly a difficult problem. " The theoiy ot 
Maccabee I'salms," whatever else it may be, is not " a phantom of a 
past century." Calvin says of the 44th Psalm, that it is clear as the 
ilay (liquido constat) that it was composed by any one rather than by 
David, and that the complaints in it fall in best \vith the times of 

• Bleek, " Einleitung," p. 680. 

t " Daniel, or the Apocnlypgc of the Old Tcslament," p. 14. 

X ISlcek, " Einleitung," p. 602. 

Th^ Contempomry Rcvkw. 


iUitiochus ("pToprm conveiiiuiit in nuserum illud et calamitoaui 
tempHS t[Uo ^Tasaata eat sEevissima tyraunis Antiuulii ")f Ihough Ii 
allows it miiiht lie ret'erreit to any diite atler the exile. Writing on 
the 74th Vsaliii, Lu leaves it an upuu question wlietlier the laiueiita- 
tioD of the poet is o^'er tlie deatruction of the city and temple by 
Neliiichiidnezzar, or the profunittinii nt' tliB temiilo hy Antioehua 
He indiues to the latter date, suggesting that where the lauguage seei 
too strong i'oi' the cireiimstancea, it may have Tieen coloured by tW 
recollection of the C'hiddiL'iiii inA'usion. And he iiai-ticuliirly notice 
the coniplaiut — "There is nu prophet luiy morej uiiitlier is there oji'fl 
amdng ua who kiiowuth how long," as far more explicable on tl 
Maccabieaii hvpothesiH, than on thiit "which ■\voidd rel'ur the Psiibn to" 
the Bfibylonish oxile f ita conjectura erifc magis prohRbilis ad t^mpiis 
Antioclii spectaire lias quermioniaa, quia tunc prophetis caruit Dei 
Ecdesia"). Similarly he think* that the 7ath rgalm may have b^en 
occasioned by either of the above-mentioniod calamities, ("fitl utrrnnque 
tempus arguaetitum optime quadrat"). But we can r;o farther back 
than Calvin, and to authorities which Dr. Pusey will be inore likely 
to ti-eat with respect. Theophylact, though holding as a matter of 
course to the Davidic authorship of the 44th Psalm, still felt so 
strongly tlint the intomal t^viiience pointed tn the times of the Maiicji- 
hees, that he say."^ in lii:? preface t<j the Fsalnt, that *'7)avid uttered it 
in the person of Mattathiaa tmd his sons." Similarly he holds that 
Psalrn 79 predicts "the cruelty of Antiochns Epiphanes towards the 
r7ew3." In like manner Cnsaiodoru9 says of it: "])eplomt veto 
Antiochj pei-secutionem tempore Uaf?cftba:'omm factAm. tunc fntnrain, 
seilicet in epiritu pnijihetieo quasi piveteritam propter certilmlinem 
eventus," It would he easy to multiply teati monies. Critically of 
course they prove nothing: bnt they are of importance as showing 
how overwhelming the e\'idence ia in favour of the MaccJihieau times, 
when even interpreters who suppose a Psalm to be WTitteu by Da^■id 
or Asaph are eonati-ained to regartl it as a projihecy of Antioehua 
Epiphanes, And yet Dr. Pusey writes of auch Psahns as the 74ih 
and TSthi " No one coulj find in these Maccabee I'saltiis, who did not 
■wish to find tliem." We say nothin;^ of the temper di8}dayed in such 
a Tcnmi-k. We only observe tluit one of the most devout and orthodox 
of modern tJenuan commentators, who luus investigated this question. 
Comes to the same conclusion as Calvin, that the e^ddence as to date is 
very nearly balanced. Put Delitzsch does not suflei liimsell' to be 
fettered by any d j^nori theoriesj nor by any unproved statements as 
to the closing of the Canon. 

11' indeed it could he shnwn that tliB Septunfriut Version of the 
Paulnis was already completed about the end of the third ceoturx" 
l)efore Christ, as Ewnld assert.?, or if it were certain that the tjuolaiiou 


Dr, Pus£y on Daniel the Prophet. 






fii>m tLii 79th Psulni in the First Book of Maccabees is. [I'om tliat 
Version, the arrciinieiit thus nr-jed wouUl be veiy strong. But the 
quotation is t'ni' from beinj;; iii voi-hal acconlance witli tbe text of the 
LXX- ; and we really do not know with certainty "wheii tlicj Greek 
Vereion of the I'sahns was completed, evsQ if we concede, which ia 
itself very douljti'ul, that the |ihnise Kara tw Ao'-you ot typa^i intro- 
duces R quotiitiou from ScriiJtUi'e. The yii'st Hoi\k of Msicaiheca 
[iroliably dates fruni about 110 B,c. ; why may not the author have 
Unrited as Scriptm-e a Psalm ^^Titten durinij; the sfcru<i:f;le with Auti- 
uchus Kpiphaues, aouie acity years before ? The stroii;^e9t ar;^rae]ila 
ia rft\'oiir of the eai-her clusinj,' of the CanoD ai'e dnmni fruni th« l^roluguo 
to the Wisdom yf the Sun of Sirauh, and rmm a jiassai-'e in tlie Secund 
Book of ilaccabees. The Pnjloj^ wiis probably WTitten about I'JO 
B.C. In it the wiiter, who translated his gmuclfnther's work, msiitioua 
a threefold division of the Scriptures. He says that his jrraudhither 
J«dU8 " had ^veii Imiisull: to the ivadinj^ nf the Law and the Pri3])hutn, 
Aud the other hooks of our fathere" {rbtv aXAtov warpiiav /3i/3Xiwi'). 
Hence abnut ISO j!,c,, the ktest pi-obable date of the urigiiml work, a. 
tlirecf'dd JivtsicHi ijf the Uauou whs already recr»yTiieed. JSut niuro than 
Ihia: the graiiiUou, »ixjlo^Ljun« fur tmiislatiiiii hie grandfather's wc^rjc 
from Hebrew into Greek, and pomtuifr out that the force of the ori^final 
must thus often lie lost, refers to the fact that this diflerence is felt in 
Uie (Greek) translatioo, of the Scriptures, "where a^TiLn he euiunerates 
"tlie Lttw and the Pn-Nphets and the rest of the hooks," 11" tliis last 
expression Jeootes the Kethubliini, then, at th^ date^ 18U B-C, not 
only WB3 there the same threefold tUvision of the Canon which afc 
I'fvseiit ejiiits, but all the Books had already been tnuialated inti» 
(ireek. Straii;;e to say, it is yu this pasaayci that K\\iild aud others 
hflve built, one of their strongest argumeuts against t]ie tlieoiy of Mqu- 
cabmia Psalms, whilst at the sniue time they liold that a n\unbLT of 
oilier books were added to the (.'anon in the time nl' the Maoudjeea* 
Bnt if the words of this Prologue are a proof tliat no ]Maccaba;an. 
Hsaltns are i^^ !« found in tbe Canon, they are equally n proof that the 
Book (>( Daniel is not Maccaha'an. Dr. I*uaey is so far, at liiast, quite 
oonaistent For be will have not only no Macn-abiean Psalius, hut uo 
additions at oil to tlie Canon after tlie death of Muhemiab. Ewald i» 
tlioruughly inconsistent wIil-u be deides MaccabMui Paaluis on tlie 
fnnDiid of this I'lologue, and allows other books to have been iucor- 
pomtetl ducing the Mnccabajan struggle. 

liut whatever may be thu inference from tliia passage, th&re is no 
proof that the Canon was finally dosed by Neiiemiab, The account 
ffxvu of the fonantiou of a library hy Nehenuah, in 2 Maccabees 

• EkthM ^tifii^s rrwverbi, thu Song oF Songs, EeclEsioates, Job, DfljUfl, Eattier, lh« 


Tlie Conianporary Review, 


ii. 13, of conr^ does not prove it. We fire there merely mformetl tli* 
Nehemiah, "foimdijig a Ulmiry, colleL-tetl tho (works) concernrng tlie 
kinj^a aiiJ prophets, unJ the (works) of David, ami letters of kings 
concenihig Votive otferiugs." Br. Pusey himself says: "What docu- 
ment the writers of the Epiatle [from which this infurmation i^B 
horpowed] had befi:trr> them, -we have no cine. Nor do the words con- 
tnin [iiiything as to the tbrniatinn nr cdosing of tjie Canon, or any act 
whatever in regard to it." And yet he adds : " But the passage provofl^B 
thus much, that a writinc; was in existence a century before uur D»rd,^^ 
under the namci of Nehenilah, pre^supposing the existence of ^^i 
Canon in the time of Nehemiah, in that he gathered together into |^| 
librarj' the books of whieli it was cniuposed." We are quite nimble 
to see tlie proof. Even il' " the letters of the kings " mean tlie letters 
in Ezm, and only canonical booka are intended, still this is 
evidence that th-e. Cunon wiis already in existence. 

The stTOngest evidence in i'itvoiir of Dr. I'usey's view is to be foi 
iu the language of Josephna, and in a well-known passage of 
Babylonian Talmud. The historian, in hi-i treatise againat Apion, ' 
already referred to, states that no works, from the time of Artaxei-xes 
down to Ids own time, had been accounted wortliy of the same cret 
as those before them, "?>«■«((«<' Ou amd xuca'-mori a/ jtrnphets ansfe 
iiQ longer." This seems to intimate that he supposed the Canon 
have been finally closed mider Nehemiah ; but his language is nismu 
festly not accurate, as Dr. Pusey hiniself admits, inasmuch as Malachi, 
the last of the prophets^ probably iluurished under Darius Notlius, the 
son iind successor of Artaxerxes. | 

Tiiere remains then only the celebrated passage in the Talmud, 
acconiing Ui which the Canon was finally closed by the luen of tlie 
Great Synagogue, under the superintendence of Ezra and Nehemiah. 
Tins looks like a formal and delibernte act, But we nniat not fo[^et, 
in estimating the vdue of this tradition, that we first meet with it 
five hundred years after the l>egihniiig of the Clmstian era. Josephus 
does not mention it, though be acknowledges that books later than 
the time of Nehemiah were not xegarded as canonical. Tlie Tal- 
mudical story may be taken as a later embellishment of tlie 
earlier and stnijder account, that Nehemiah collected and revised i 
the Iwoks which up to his time had been received as autborU 
tative. It docs not prove that none were auliaequently acknowleclget 
liut the truth Is, that the anxiety sti often felt on this subject is altf 
gether mispIacEtd. Writings do not depend for their canonical authc 
rity on the. fact that they have beca pi'onnunccd eannnical by some 
inspired person, but on their reception by the Church. There is 
proof that the New Testament Canon was closed in the time of th* 
last surviving apostle, St. John; much less can it be mtdutatned the 

Dr. Piisey on Daniel i/te Prophet, 105 

he sanctioned oiir existing Canon. The Muratorian fragment, a.d. 
170, omits the Epistle of James, the Epistle to the Hebrews, and 2 
Peter, and notices the partial reception of the Eevelation of Peter. 
Even in the fourth century there was no one catalogue universally 
recognised both in the East and West. The formation of the Canon, 
both Jewish and Christian, was manifestly a very gradual work. In 
both eases books were suspected, questioned, slowly admitted or rejected. 
In the second century after Christ, the Jews themselves questioned 
the canonicity of the Song of Solomon; and two centuries later still 
the Wisdom of the Son of Sirach is quoted by them as Scripture. 
Both the CAadence therefore and the analogy of the New Testament 
are against the view that the Jewish Canon was finally and authorita- 
tively closed by the hands of Nehemiah. 

II. We turn next to the linguistic argument. Here there appears 
at first sight some prospect of a definite and tangible issue. Lan- 
guages fluctuate, but they do so according to known laws. They have 
their youth, their growth, their maturity, their decline ; and the several 
stipes are foi; the most part clearly discernible. They follow, likewise, 
the same law which we discover in ourselves. In their childhood and 
youth they are simple and forcible ; in their manhood ripe and ample, 
strong with a matured strength, and copious with gathered treasures : 
in their old age they begin to totter, and recur — and here the parallel 
is striking — to the words and expressions of infancy. The several 
8t^;e8 are not, however, always defined with equal clearness : and this 
is peculiarly the case with regard to the language of the Old Testa- 
ment. " The unchanging East " is almost as unchanging in its lan- 
guage as in its manners. Hence it is far more difficult to trace any 
dearly marked period of development or change in Hebrew than 
it is in the Western languages. And this accounts for the otlierwise 
remarkable fact that so many eminent critics differ entirely as to the 
estimate which they form of the relative antiquity of certain books 
of the Canon. It might have been thought that books presenting so 
many distinctive features in their language as Job and Ecclesiastes 
would have contained in themselves some evidence of their age. Yet 
the ablest scholars are not agreed by centuries as to the time of their 
composition. Deuteronomy is held by some of our most learned 
Hebraists to be Mosaic ; while others no less learned contend that it 
was written seven or eight centuries later. Again, it can hardly be 
doubted that, in the many revisions which the Sacred Books must have 
undergone, some archaic forms which might otherwise have served for 
landmarks have been obliterated. And further, the monuments of 
the ancient Hebrew are all comprised in the single volume of the 
Old Testament, so that we have lar less opportunity of comparison, 
and therefore of induction, than in the case of most langus^s whose 


The Contemporary Review. 



litoratiire has come down to lis. Yet, notwithstaading all 
careful iuvesti>;»tioa and a cnreful coDi]:>ai'i50Q may do much : and in 
some iiiataiiues results have been obtfiined iaUilig verj' little short of 
cert-tiinty. Jlore will yet be achieved iu this direction when tht* mist's 
of prejudice shall lie dispersed, and we shall not be afraid honestly 
ack)iov,-ledy;e facts, 

lu the Boyk of Daniel the problem presented is tivofohU In tl 
first place Greek words and Jmnifm woi-da occur in it wliich occt 
nowhere else iii the Old Testament ; ami noither Greek nor Pei-sian, it' 
13 aaid, was spoken in Bahyloti at the time when Daniel is coiflniotJy 
supposed to have ifvritten his book. And in the next place, that 
portion of the work wbicli is composed in Chaldee differs, it is alleged, 
niateriaUy from the Chaklee of Ezm (the only other Ammaic wluch 
affords mi opportunity of compai-ison in the Old Teslaunent), oud 
incluies to the later Aramaic of the Targums. 

1. Dr. I'usey examines first of all the chai^^'s that Daniel Graecizes. 
Some two or three Greek wonls there are beyond a question ; but it 
is Eui important and noticeable fact tliat these are ex^plusively the 
names of muBictd inatruments. MiiskrukiUui- has been derived fi'nui 
fTvpiy%, hut perhaps both had better be refeiTed to a common Sanskrit 
root. Sfthkn is certainly not derived fixnu aa^^vKi^, hut on the con- 
trary, the Greek won! was itself formed froui the SjTiac by the inser- 
tion of the m ; just as the Zabiaus turned the Syriac aboobo, "i-eed, 
pipe," into iniihouh, " an insertion familiar to us in Horace's 
iimhuhnia, female tiute -player" (]\ 25). Kithdi'os (or Kfithros, 
Ker.) is no doubt Kfflapic, " guitai'." AVhy Dr. Williams should 
connect it with the j;;euitive wflapof we cannot understand : for 
the termination os in SjTJae is the familiar representative of the 
Greek teiTnination is. FmnieH-n is not "a Macedonian word," ]f^| 
dialectic Tnriation, i/iavrifpdov for ipaXri'iptov. No such form aa^^ 
^avrfipiov over occurs, aud if it did, it must be Doric, not Mace- 
donian. There is no proof that the Macedonians ever sulretituted 
the n for Uie /. On tlic other hand, the Greek word, in passing 
into -Semitic, might very well have undergone thi.s change, in accord- 
iiBce witli the acknowledged principles of an interchange of these 
liquids in oU languages. iJeaides these, there is only the woitl siim~ 
2Jvn!/c, which certainly looks very like the Gi-eek avuipuiviii. A for- 
midnble dilhcultj', however, intervenes when "we try to bring t]]e two 
together. The Aramaic "word is tised of a single instrument; the 
("Jreek. of a concert of music. A passage hii5 indeed been cit'Cd from 
I'olyhius^ in wldeh lie mentions that Antiochus danced to the s>/m- 
jihoTiTf: and by tins Geseuins thonglit that some one inatniment must 
have been intendeil. Dr. Williams take;! the same view (Introduction 
to Desprez'a "Daniel,'' P- xix.). Dr. I*usey, on the other hand, insists 

Dr. Pusey on Daniel the Propfiet. • 107 

that in that passage, as elsewhere, siimphonia can only mean " a txincerrt 
of instruments." Hence lie, witli Hiivernick and Furst, seeks for a 
Semitic derivation. This is barely not impossible. Words more 
widely apart in their signification, and distinct in their origin, may 
chance to appear in the same form, as witness tlie two meanings and 
derivations of the word " cope " in Englisli. On the otiier hand, is it 
not also possible that a word signifying in Greek " a concert of many 
instruments," might on its way to Babylon have come to be restricted 
to a single instrument ? Would there not be in this some analogy 
with the fate of the word " tobacco ;" which was tlie name originally 
not of the plant, but of the vessel in which it was smoked 1 Be this as 
it may, one thing is clear, that only two or three words in Daniel, all 
of them denoting musical instruments, can be certainly shown to be of 
Greek derivation. And why should not Greek musical instruments 
have found their way to Babylon in the time of Nebuchadnezzar ? 
Not only had there been before this, as Pr. Pusey shows, a long-estab- 
lished and extensive commerce between Greece and Assyria ; not only 
was Babylon emphatically "a city of merchants" (Ezek. xvii. 4), but 
Nebuchadnezzar himself, greater even in the arts of peace than in war, 
had given a fresh impulse to its trade and commerce. At enormous 
expense, he had constructed a gigantic navigable canal connecting 
Babylon with the Persian Gulf. Two great lines of commerce diverg- 
ing from Tyre, one by way of Egypt and the other by way of Tadmor 
and Thapsaciis, poured their treasures into that vast emporium. It was 
the centre of the world's wealth and luxury, as it was the centre of the 
wodd's power. The Babylonians were a music-loving people. From 
their Jewish captives, we read, they would fain hear the songs of Zion. 
A traffic, therefore, in foreign instruments of music need not sur^irise us. 
But if the Greek instrument found its way to Babylon, why not also 
the Greek name ? " The name travelled with tlie thing," says I)r. 
Pusey, very justly, " is an acknowledged principle of philology." 

" When we speak of tea, sugar, coffee, chocolate, cocoa, cassia, cinnamon, 
tobacco, myrrh, citrons, rice, potatoes, cotton, chintz, shawls, we do not stop 
to think that we are usijig Chinese, Malay, Ambic, Mexican, Hebrew, 
Malabar, South American, Bengalee, Persian words. Anil we shall continue 
to uae them, even though they were originally niisapiilied. Ami we know 
that the word tobacco was the name, not of the plant, but of the vessel out 
ot which the natives smoked it. When Solomon's 8hi]> brought him tho 
peacocks, apes, ivory, almug or algum wood, they brouglit with them also 
Ihe Sanskrit and Malabar names of the ape (wliieh piissed thence into Greek 
and our European languages) and of the algiim w^ood, the Tamul name of 
the peacock, and the Sanskrit of the elephant. There is nothing stranger in 
our hnding Greek instruments of music in Nebuchadnezzar's tiiue at Babylon 
than in the Indian names of Indian animals, and of an Indian tree liaviiig 
reached Jerusalem under Solomon." — (Pp. 26, 27.) 

" It needed not that a single Greek should have been at Babylon. Tjrian 


The Coniemporary Review. 

nicirL'hflnts to.ik willi thciii the names of the war«s wbich Ihej* sqIiI, just 
one KnglisU mcTi-'liaiitfi tnmsmitkil the nanif* ff wir East Imliaa imports 
with thtui intu G«rmany, ul' thv S[>ii.iiiaiii!* hroimht ua Imck the American 
niuat^s of the pruduuts of th*j Xew World, or at lliia ilny, I am toicj, aoniu i)f 
(nir iranch^stcr goods are known Iiy the name of their emiuent nmiiufactur^ia 
in TarUiTV, whrra tlie fiii;e of an Eiiglishuina has posailjly Lt'en startelv 
seen."— (P. 31.) 

An attempt has recently lieian niatle by Dr, Williams to wcnkeu the 
force of these uimsiderations. He says : — 

" ILrt' the tiUL'Ption ia not ivhether a etniy (Sreuk term might flout J'riiui 
Iniiia ti< Tiiibylon, hut how ramo othLT luioke iif tho ]{ilile,(;vnn thns« writU'U 
Ht Bfd>ylnn, to cjiJl ft liiirp by its Huhrew name hinwrr, and only the one 
which L'xtemal evidenco phictss iit'ttr Alt'xandfcr'a conriuest, to ubc the Greek 
word kitliura (in what wu» proliably [Ij'ita gtnitive form, tlioiigh punc- 
tiuibal f(U)thfm)X Ezekicl, mptivcby Chehar's atreatu^ wrot-e 'hinnrrrayfhf 
tliy hiu'pj' those tJaiiyhU'ra of Zion who reiiiemberfil their piiat teare ut 
Babylon had Imug, t!iey auid, ' kliinornthf.yint, oiir ha.r])s,' upon the trees 
that w■e^^^ there. In I'aiiiel tlie Hebrc-w word hua vjuiishtd ; a Greek sub- 
stitute ai^jwars." 

But Dr. Williams has entirely overlookyJ the fact that Ez<?kiel and 
the I'salmiat were WTiting Hebrew, whereas Daniel -was wntiitg 
C'haldee. In the languaj^'e of ItabyloQ tlie CJreek terms had become 
naturalized; they were not so in the langiiage of Judeo. It is only 
in the Childtv of Daniel that the word KiUutros oociira. 

That Dr. Williams should coEttnd for Ank'tphm as a Greek word is 
no less surjirising. He conuects it with tro'^oc- " No Semitit; warnuit 
for it," he ohsyn'vs, "' approaches witlmi ages the time required for a 
precedent, unlosg any one chooses t^ make it a dialectic vtiriatiou of 
the Hebrew Citshftph. A more probable clue is ftimished by thy 
frequent recurrence of nutpa^ in tlie LXX." But a6<pa^ i.s nowhere the 
equivalent iii the LXX. of Ashoph. Once they use ^(XuVu^op (i. 20), 
twice fiayo^ (ii 7, 10), and twice t^apfiaKo^ (ii. 17, v. 7). AnJ the 
ifiot is a genuine Semitic root. It is not only common in Syriac, but 
it is found in tho purest HebreM', if Siinonis ia rij^ht, as we Jire per^ 
snaded he is, in connecting jis/iyjfr/i. *'a quiver," with Asit^ph. The 
primary si^nifitiatinn is that of " hiding." The arrows are hiiMm m 
the quiver; tlie magicians are the men of hidtkii wisdom, or of secret 
arts. AVe believe it, then, to be proved that the flreek words in 
Daniel are not more than three or four, and are solely and exclusively 
the names of musical instruments. And it is e\ndent, and indeed ia 
not denied, that Eueh names might have boon hiwught by merchants 
to Babylon, together with the instniments which tiiey impoi-tcd. 

2. Other foreign wonls occvirritig in Daniel are no less satisfactorily 
accounted for. Such, for instance, are certain Ai^an words, technical 
names found in the narrative, and denoting foreign oftices. dress, fo«.l, 
and the like. A person living m Babylon, in the habit of hearing and 

Dr. Pusey on Daniel the Prophet. 109 

using such terms every day, would naturally employ them in his 
\vTiting, just as we ourselves use the words Sultan, Caliph, Vizier, 
&c., without attempting to find for them English equivalents. These 
Arv-an words, it had already been noticed hy Delitzsch, fall in exactly 
with the position of Daniel at the Court of Nebuchadnezzar. But 
that they should be found in an author who, according to the theorj- 
of the ilaccabseau origin of the book of Daniel, lived in Palestine 
about 160 B.C., is totally inexplicable. How should he be acquainted 
"with Aryan words which related to offices which had long ceased to 
exist, or to dress which no one wore, words which were mostly obli- 
terated from Aramaic, which (as far as they sur^-ived) were inherited 
only from Daniel's text ? " This appears to us, we confess, a decisive 
argument. If the later composition of the book is to be maintained, 
then it must be shown, either that such words had become current in 
the language and familiar to the Jews, just as the foreign words, 
Pacha, Vizier, &c., have become current among ourselves ; in which 
case we should expect to find later traces of them, whereas many of 
these words were uninteUigible even to the Greek translators ; or else 
that a -writer in the time of the Maccabees was likely to be so accu- 
rate an archseologist as to employ with perfect con-ectness terms 
long since obsolete, in composing his historical romance. 

An objection, however, has been urged on the other side of the 
(juestion, which must not be left unnoticed. 

** We are not dealing," it has been said, " with Ezra, who lived 
under Artaxerxes, but with an author supposed to represent the Syro- 
Chaldean age of Babylon. The Babylonians of that age were uu- 
qoestionably a Semitic, not an Aryan race ; and Persian would have 
been as strange te Nebuchadnezzar as Greek. No chronology brings 
Cyrus to Babylon before 540. Suppose him there in 536. Daniel 
would be at least eighty, approacliing ninety years of age (i. 3). If be 
equalled the highest historical instances of longevity, it woidd be a 
strange employment for one on the brink of the grave, first to learn 
Persian, then to translate into it portions of his former work, and the 
edicts of Nebuchadnezzar. Wouldjsuch a procedure be even con- 
sistent with inspiration ? " 

This, of course, is not a fair way of stating the question. It is 
needless to say that there are no portions of the Book of Daniel 
"translated into Persian." If here and there Iranian words occur, 
they are of that special technical kind which we have already 
described. And is it quite impossible that Iranian names should have 
been used in Babylon in the time of Nebuchadnezzar ? WTiat has 
history to tell us ? When Nineveh was taken by the Median leader 
Cpixares, his forces were joined by the F.abylonian3 under Nabopo- 
hssar, the father of Nebuchadnezzar, who had revolted from Assyria. 


The Contemporary Review. 

NalKiiiolaaaar, it would seem, eveu consent-eil to Iwcome the vassal 
of Cynxarea, in a sense lilie that in wliicli the I'acha of E^^rpt ackuow- 
lei'l|,'es the auveifi^Tity af the Sultan, iiml tliii alliiuice was further 
ceineiitud by a uiarria^'e betweeu Ne-buchailnezzai', tho sou cf XuI>g- 
pihlaasur, and tht dKiij^liter of Cyaxarea.* And subsmiueiitly, when 
Cyoxares, afttr hia coiif[uest nf Assyria, marched against Lydia, 
Ilia fureea weru juiued by those of ISabylon, Lxiiiiinnnded in all piu- 
bability by Nebuuhadiiezzar iu person. K the Babylonian dj-nasty, 
therefore, was Weriiitic, yet the political connettioii; between tlie Mcdes 
flml Babylouiiui^. and tiie marrifige of Nebiichailiiezzar with a iludiiin 
priucoas. would be quite &ufficient to account fur the use of Aryan 
words by a writer in tlie position of Daniul. There was no need for 
liiiu to luani IVrstau at the age of ninety. 

3. But the evidence furnished by the general character of Daniel's- 
Uhaldee is also in favour of the earlier date, It does not difler mate- 
rially from that of Ezra. It diflers only so far as the style of any one 
mau may ditler from that of another writing with ii-eedoni and inde- 
pendence the same language at the SRuje time, but under dissimilar 
circumstances. This it ia wiiich Dr. Pus-ey mulertakes to prove ; and 
he does so by comparing the Chaldee of Danit^l and Exra, first with 
one another, and then with tlie Tar<,nmi8. The discussion here is of 
consideraljle interest, ]Dai1Iy because it traverses a field always in itself 
full of interest — the than^'es in the structure of a languaije. and partly 
for other i-easons, which will appear further on. Jloreijver, "tlie 
Essayist" has thought it worth wlule to re-state his argiuuenl on this 
point ; and it eiiiries with it a certain aii' of plausibiUty, and denmnds 
an answer. Uis nrgiinieTit may briefly be stated thus ; — Ezra hai gonje 
forms cf>mmon to Daniel with himself; Daniel has some furms that Ezra 
has not, but wliidi are mctM-ith in the Tai-giinis of Jonathan and Onkelos, 
Therefore Daniel atauils at a puint between the two, exhibiting in his 
lanpmgethe transition period, whtn old forms were alreiidy dying out, 
or dead, and new ones coming in — a point nearer to the new langiiage 
than the old. The following instaiieea are those alk'ged in proof; — 

(1.) The temuiiatiion of the plural pronotm of the thiixl ijersnn. 
which in the earlie-st Chaldee verse in the Bible, Jer. x. 11, is in M, 
in Ezra is both in M. and N, but in Daniel only in N. And this last 
is the form wlJeh normally, if not always, appears in the Tai"gnnis, 
The same holds of the pronoun of the second person, Usually in 
Ezra — in the proportion of five times to one — it is in M, in Daniel 
and the Taigunis always in N. 

(2.) The pronoun " this" iu Ezra is represented \iy DtCH, DaCH, 
and D'NdH. In Daniel only the last of these three is fonnd. together 
with a fonn DA. In the Targiinis the form is Di:yN. Hence it Is 

• See M, T. J" iebuLr, " Gcschict? Asaur'a uod Babel's," p, 97. 

Dr. Ptesey on Daniel tlie Prophet. 1 1 1 

aigued, Daniel has left Ezra far behind him, and is already more tlian 
halfway in the direction of Onkelos. 

(3.) The pronoun "these" is in Jer. x. and Ezra v. 15, ELeH. 
Elsewhere Ezra uses ILLeCU, whereas in Daniel we find ILLcN 
(vL 7), and its still later equivalent/iieyiV (ii. 44 ; vi. 3 ; vii. 17), this 
last being the form which occui's in the Targums. But the inference 
in the two latter cases ia overthrown by observing (1) that Ezra 
and Daniel alike use B'NaH, wliich does not occur in the Targums ; 
and (2) that if Daniel has the form ILLeYN in common with the 
Taigunis, he has ILLcCH in common with Ezra, this last being 
obsolete in the times of Onkelos and Jonathan. This form, moreover, 
■which occurs four times in Ezra, is employed ten times by Daniel, 
whereas he uses ILLcYN only five times. Dr. Pusey, therefore, at 
least holds the balance even, when, meeting instance by instance, 
he casta Ezra and Daniel into one scale against Daniel and tlie Tar- 
gams in the other. But he greatly makes the balance preponderate 
on his side when, availing himself of Mr. M'Gill's careful comparison 
between the Biblical Aramaic and that of the Tai^ms, lie shows in 
how many and how characteristic features the last dilfers from the 
first This latter comparison settles the question. Daijiel and Ezra, 
whatever their differences may be, are far nearer to each other than 
either of them is to the Aramaic of Onkelos. 

So fiir we go entirely with Dr. I'usey. So far lie is walking 
on snre ground. His next step is on a quaking morass. Granting 
that there is this resemblance between the Clialdee of Daniel and 
of Ezra, does it follow that Chaldee hke that of Daniel could not 
have been written in the time of the ilaccabees ? Dr. Pusey 
boldly answers that it could not, and for this reason : — The Tar- 
gnms qS Onkelos and Jonathan were written by Palestinian Jews, 
some twenty years before the birth of our Lord, that is, nearly 
a century and a half after the death of Antioclius Epiphanes. 
Bnt then, as these paraphrases only emlrotlied in writing traditional 
interpretations, which had long l>een orally repeated, " the Chaldee 
which they represent was anterior, probably long anterior, to them- 
•dves." It would be such Chaldee as might have l)een spoken 
in Palestine in the time of the Maccabees. If, then, an author living 
in Palestine wrote the Book of Daniel after the death of Antiochus, 
say about 160 B.C., what stage of the language shoidd we expect to 
iind reflected in his writings ? "Would his dialect be Palestinian or 
Babylonian ? Would he approach tlie Tiu'gums or Eziu ? There can 
be no doubt as to the answer. He ought to resemble the Targums ; 
he does resemble Ezra. But unfortiuiatcly this argument breaks 
down ; though, as it happens, without gi\ing any ad\'antage to 
" opponents." For, in the firat place, the Targimis were WTitten not in 

I 12 

The Conic f up orary Review. 

Palestiiie, but in Baljylun ; aud in the uextj that which yoiis. but 
wrongly, by the name of Oukeloa, was not committed to wTitiny, 
takijig the very earliest possiMe date, till the end of tlie second 
CKntuiy, after Christ. Indeed, all the evidunce recently aeciuuulatt:(l 
on this subject bj scholars the most competent to jud^e, leads to th« 
conulusifjii thut thece wh9 do Ruthorized text uf this Tar^oim Wfure 
the end of the tJaird or the beginaing of the fouith century A.D. Tin: 
Tai-jium of Jonathan was probably a little later,* What becomes, 
then, of an nryiiment based on the specific chnracter of Daniel's 
Chaldee ? Gi-anting the later date of the bonk, it would not follow 
that bis Clialdee ought to resemble that of Onkelos or Jonathan. For 
un no hypothesis dofs Daniel approach the Targiiras. On the bypu- 
thesis that liis book was imtten 1(jOb.c.^ — thehyjiothesis, as Dr. I'usey 
is pleased to call it, of "the scliool of Porphyry," — Daniel, aecordinf; 
to the corrected dates, stands midway between the two extremes. Ht- 
looks back 37D years to Kzni; he looks forward 370 years to Onkelo.^ 
Or rather, to put the ease more acuurately, he is a humlred years farther 
removed from the hitter than from the former. He naes the diak-et <if 
one province, the Taryiun that iif aiiollier^ For theso are the facts 
which WB are now obliged to accept. What becoinea then of any 
resemblance, cmild it be established, between the structure of Daniel's 
Chahlee and that of the Targnms i It certainly d(>es not yo one step 
to prove that the book waa ^vritten by a PalestJiiian Jew in the age 
of the Maccabees. On the other hanti, l)r. Pusey's defence receives 
some damsi^c, for the dincmnecs which be notes between the twn kinds 
of Aiamaic are anch as might have grown in a lapse of 470 years, 
which is now the period that must be allowed. But he may fttUJ idaim 
a noyutive udvaiitage, The style uf Daniel's Aramaic is no proof that 
the book was nwi written by a cont.emporary of Ezra in Babylon. And 
this we i'esir is, aft^r all, the coindusion to be drawn from a considera- 
tion of the lintjuistic alignment iis a whole, Tho usu of the Aryan 
wonls chiefly turns the sc-ale on the side of the earlier date. 

III. To one otlier point we have still Ui address oni'selvea. It is 
that on which Porphyiy's objuctions turned, and from which, says Dr. 
Fusey, all the objections of "the school of Porphyry" at the present 

• In proof of ttcBO itatements wi< refpT Ut Mr. DeiitatVB vpry Icarm^d p.tii1 intcreatinif 
orticlt} on the TARorJi, Jn Dr. Smitli's " Dictionnry of tlie Bible," vui. iii., p. 1.6'H. Up Iin# 
there shown llint liie Targiini wna not writton hy Ojikelos, [hat it was Qcror nltributed. tu 
liini tiJI the ciirth tv.'iitiiry ; that, not hegun to Iw wiittt-ji lill tJie i^ml of the seconii contuiy 
A.i»., it ilid nnt even then Hiipprsnde tte oral Targ'iiui (on tlic rontriiiy, it waa "atritlty 
ftirbUdfln [o read it in piililic"'), irnd that thun" was no uniformity in iho vcraion. In 
jiroaf ul' ila Bubyl-nn-iaii tirijjin, htf Toi'iiCiyns ttiat il8 Inn^iiogt' liiu mora af&oity with, thv 
Jtalij-luoian thim ^•r'\(\\ Ihu 1'n.lcHtmia.n Otfirmnt; that it slwuys ivndtinf Lh^ word MoAar. 
" river," lij' Eujihratra ; Ihat il itt alwnys quoted in tlio TalimiJ and Miiiroaijint of Babyliin 
u '* aw TaFgtim," or n-ith the fommlo, " na i« translate," Sec. The whole article, Tliii^b. 
is full of lenmiii^ and research, u well vrotth rending. 

Dr. Pusey on Daniel tlie Prophet. i T3 

time really procMd. Both as matter of evidence ajid as matter of 
interjiretation, the visions of Daniel claim notica Those visions ai-e 
no douhti peculiar. The apocalypse of Daniel stamls aa completely 
alone in the Old Testament as the apocalypse of St. John does in the 
New. Even if Ezekiel and Zechariah, who were nearly his contem- 
poraries, have this in common with Daniel, that to them too the word 
of the Lord comes in visions, yet there the resemblance ceases. 
Daniel ia a prophet, not to Israel, but to the world. Living nearly all 
his life in Babylon, and holding there high offices of state, what more 
natural than that the revelation made to him shoidd deal chiefly with 
the destinies of that mighty empire, and of those which were imme- 
diately to succeed it ? Why BhoulJ not he take a wider range than 
the sorrows of the exile or tlie hopes kindled by the return ? Un- 
less we are to deny all miracle and all prediction together, it is 
hard to say why, on the score of these \'i8ions, the book is to be 
rejected. Standing at the very centre of the world's power and glory 
as there displayed, standing there a captive and an exile, with nothing 
biU his trust in his God to sustain him, he of all men seems most 
fitted to be the vehicle and otgan of revelations which, tmcing the 
course of worldly power in its various developments, ponrtray also its 
final and utter overthrow, that the kingdom of God and His Christ 
may be set up. 

Unless it can be shown that a ^vriter, merely because he is contem- 
poraneous with other writers, is bound to adopt their lai^uage, or to 
look at the world and nations from their point of view ; or unless it 
can be shown that revelation follows only one course, or that the 
visions of Daniel are such as do not fall in with his position at the 
Court of Nebuchadnezzar first, and of Darius afterwards, there is no 
reason, so far aa these visions are concerned, for questioning the genur 
inenese of the book. It is to the last degree arbitrary to say that 
Daniel must write like Ezekiel because he liappened to be contempo- 
rary with EzekieL One objection, and only one, is there, derived from 
the character of Daniel's prophecies, which possesses a real force in 
the controversy. It is that based on the minute and circumstantial 
detail with which the history of Antiochus Epiphanes is given. If 
this be a prophecy uttered by Daniel in exile, it differs, it is said, from 
all other prophecy. It is the acknowledged characteristic of, the Old 
Testament prophets, that they describe the nearer future with preci- 
sion and clearness, whUst the more distant future is lost, as it were, in 
the haze : whereas here the converse holds ; for the earlier visions, 
which describe the fate of the Babylonian and Sledo- Persian empires, 
are meagre compared with the latter, which exhibit in so much detail 
and with so much accuracy events and persons removed by centuries 
from the prophet's ken. 

VOL. L 1 


The Contemporary Review. 

That there is liere a departure from the gBneml analt^ of projdieey 
earmot "be deiiieJ. The jirophut does fur tlie luost part busy himself first 
anil chietly ^"ith the events gathering on his own horizon, ^liy, then, 
should Daniel form itu lisreption ? ^\1iy slionld he, living in Uabylou, 
predict the persecntioH of Autiochns Epiplianes in colours so forcible as 
to destroy the perspective, and make it aecm nigh at Jiantl ? Wc 
answer, lirst> that the entirely changed condition of the Jewisli peo]ilc 
may have made such predictions necessary. Restored in God's gtxKi 
providence, through the iDslruinentalit>' of a ruler of one of the gteat 
empires of the world, to their nivtive land, it might be needful for 
them to be reminded that through those very worhl-powers would 
their eliastening come, A sahitary puii^osc of diS'Ci]>line might be 
answered by thus placing the picture of the great ojipresaor and per- 
Becutor before their eyes. In the next place, we do not admit that 
true even in its details as this picture is of Antiochus Epiphanes, 
it is and can be true only of him, "We belEcAT that by " tlie little 
horn" of chaps, vii. and viil, Antiochus is primarily meant. We 
believe thab in chap. xi. his portmit is dmwn at leiig^tli.* "NVe 
see no reason for T)r. Pusey'a distinction, according to which only 
in chap. viii. did Daniel pourtray Antiochus, whereas in chap. 
vii., and the latter part of chap, xi., is Ibretold an antichrist 
who has not yet apjicared- Tlici-e is no change of subject. The 
historical fnregroTmd is the same in all Still Jerome long ago 
pointed out, in reyily to Porphyry, that there are lines in the pic- 
ture in chap. x\. which do not correspond witli anytliing we know 
of Antiochus. And it is very probable that all the traits have never 
yet been found in any one person. This la indeed the very charae- 
teristic of all prophecy. It is ty|jieally predictive, It applies not to 
one only, but to many. We altogether repudiate the canon that the 
worrl of God's prophets must be limited by one single reference. Our 
Lord himself hade His disciples look for " the aboniination of desola- 
tion sfjoken of by Daniel the jirophet" in the caiiture of Jerusalem 
by Titus, though it wa.s spoken^ in the first instance, of the profana- 
tions of Aiitioclius Epi])bane8. Our Lord's own ])rediction.s of the 
taking of Jerusalem pass off into those in wliich He foretells His 
second coming. The one event seems to be a t)'pe of the other. The 
same law holds here, we have been forcibly reiiunded.t which we see 
m the world around u.s, There "repetitioa of a tyjie is the rule, and 
originality the exception, if indeed the exception can be found at all. 

" Liitber was inclined to regnpi the first l>oot of Mmcabees na worth;- of Ticing plnctd 
among tho books of liolj- Scrijiturc, amd partlj- on tbe ground tlml it givM US SO luuih hel[i 
in Undetstandiog Ihia cbnptn uf BaniciL 

t Bcrmon of Ibe Arciibiiliop dI" Vork beforfi the Society for Promoling Cbmtiuut 
a'stoiig die iTcwa. 

Dr. Pusey on Daniel the Prophet, 115 

Through the mineral and vegetable and animal kingdom the types of 
crystal and plant and animal are copied, varied, heightened, degraded; 
and, to use a common mode of speech, nature delights to repeat her- 
self "What mean we by nature ? He who made the world made the 
men and nations on it. . . , If the same great Artificer fashions 
the world, and also the actions of man, we should expect to trace 
the type through the one as we do through the other." Again : 
— "If it had been said that where words apply distinctly to one 
event, their second application to another must be decided on 
with caution and judgment, there would have been little to object to ; 
for it would only express a limitation on our powers of criticism, and 
not on the Divine power. But before God all things are double one 
against another. To His eye the lives and errors of nations repeat 
themselves. Nations conform to their type as does the growing oak 
or the nestling bird." The same remark holds of individual men.- 
" Human nature," in the individual as well as in the mass, " repeats 
itself." And hence there have been many antichrists, not one. And 
hence the great outlines by which we recognise one may mark 
another, whUst there may be lights and shadows in the picture which 
may make it seem at different times more applicable to one than to 
another. The antichrist of St. Paul and the antichrist of St. John 
have traits in common with the antichrist of Daniel. It is evident, 
therefore, that Daniel's prediction was not exhausted in Antiochus. 
But as he was then the foremost and the nearest ty[)e, the language 
employed, where it does not suit him exclusively, suits him better 
than any other. This uncertainty, then, mingling with the certainty, 
]ttrtially meets the objection based on minuteness of detail, as showing 
that the range of vision of the prophet is wider than the supposed 
case. And, lastly, this very exactness of prediction, where the object 
is in the far distant future, may be paralleled by the Messianic pre- 
diction in the fifty-third cliapter of Isaiah. Even if we admitted, 
with many expositors, a primary reference there to the Jewish people 
or the prophet, it is nevertheless a prediction of the suffering Christ, 
so clear, so express, that only a per\'erted ingenuity can deny or 
explain it away. 

Dr. Pusey, as might be anticipated, adopts and defends with pas- 
sionate earnestness the traditional interpretation of Daniel's prophe- 
cies. The four kingdoms, represented first by the gold, the silver, the 
brass, and the iron of the im^^e seen by Nebuchadnezzar, and then by 
the four beasts of Daniel's vision, are, accoi-ding to liim, the IJaby- 
lonian, the Medo-Persian, the Greek, the Itoman. But when he 
attempts to carry out liis interpretation consistently he is to the 
full as embarrassed as the interpreters whom he condemns. " Within 
the period of the fourth empire," he saj's, " there were these distinct 


The Contemporai-y Rcz'iew. 


Iieriods, (1) the time until It is ilivided into the ten portions, symbol- 
ized by tlie ten horns, as liefore it was represented as etiding in the 
ten toes." It is not clear how tin image representing a Imman fonn 
cuuld end iii anythiug but the t<)es. It seems, therefi^ie, absmd tu 
press this ciix^umstauue as signtticant iNor iii nny entphAsis laid, in 
the vision. np^Jii the kn Uj<^, vts upon the ten horns in the utlier, — they 
are not said to be ten; not t-o mention that the ioiugling of the ir*? 
and clay is to our appieheusitjii fer more naturally embletiiatic 
Alt'xander's successorg than of the Roman Em]iLre. Dr. Pojwy'sl 
second period is, "(1) th« period of those ten bonis." Of tliis lie 
Ltffera no e^cplauation. Tlie third is " (3) that in which the ele\'enth, 
diverse finin the restj held its sway." But whereas Daniel says dis- 
tinctly that " the ten boms out of this kingdom are ten kings that 
shall arise," Dr. Pusey aaya these cannot mean kings but kingdoms. 
If so, in idl cfJTisisteiicy the eleventh must idso be a kingdom, not a 
king, and then how are we to exijlain the manifestly pereonal cha- 
racter ^vea to it ?— " And he shall spenk great words against the 
Most High, and shall wear out the saints of the Most High, and 
think to change tunes and laws; and thtty shall be given into hia 
hand until a time, and times, and the dividing of time" (^^i. 25). 
The fourth period Dr. Pusey describes as "(4) the period after the 
destruction uf that power [the little horn, before whom three of the i 
first homs were plucked up], and of the whole fourth kingdom, which. -H 
is to perish with Idui. indicated by the words. And Ihc rest vf (h* 
hernia, the other kuigdonia. Tht-tr tlo-minwa wvfs Inkrn. innit/, yH tJu-ir 
Uvea loerc, prolonged ff/i to a aeaaon and time, i.e., on to the time appoin 
by God." This sentence* he thinks* relates to aomething to take placo 
after the defitructioii of the Iburth empire, and to l>e ret future. But, 
as the fom-th beast has been destroyed, we ought to be able to point 
out the ton boms aud the little horn before whom three oi' the first 
were plucked up, and we ouglit to Ins able also tu show that the other 
three empires are still existing, though with tlnjir doroiniou taken 
away. The truth is, as ilr. "Weatcott* remarks, that this view of the 
li'jmau Empire being the foiirth " origiuated at a time wlien the 
trimnj-fhant advent of Messiah was the object of imuiedtate e.\pecta- 
tion, aud the Itomara Empii-e appeared to be tlie last in the series of 
earthly kingiionig.. The long interval of conlbct which has followed 
the first advent found no place in the nnticip»tions of the first 
ChrJatians ; and in succeeding ages the liomao period has been un- 
naturally prolonged to meet the requirements of a tlieory which took 
itB rise in a state of thouglit which experience has pnwed false." He 
reminds us that it is a still more fatal objection to this view that " it 

° In hifl Mticle oa tho Biwk ot CiinLC;!, in Dr. Siaith'a " Dictionaiy df tlift Bilile," toI. l, 
p. 304. 

Dr. Pusey on Daniel the Prophet. 1 1 7 

destroys the great idea of a cyclic development of history which lies 
at the basis of all prophecy;" he points out that the four empires 
precede the coming of Messiah, and pass away before Him, and that 
the Eoman Empire was at its height before Christ came, and that 
accordingly it was not that but the Egyptian kingdom — the last relic 
of Alexander's empire — wliich must have been prefigured by the toes of 
the image which were smitten " by the stone cut without hands." At 
the same time he admits a repetition of these kingdoms in later 
history. Those powers, all of which placed their centre at Babylon, 
" appear to have exhibited on one stage the great types of national 
life." It is on this principle alone, accordhig to which tlie nearer 
future is seen to reflect the more distant, acconling to whicli the 
earlier fulfilment expects a later, that the prophecies of the Bible can 
ever be fairly and adequately interiireted. Except on this principle, 
they are shadows without a substance. It is because he misses this 
principle tliat we think Dr. Pnsey goes astray. He and Mr. Desprez, 
though arri\'ing, it need scarcely be said, at most o]»posite conclusions, 
yet are both too eager to find some definite fulfilment wliich shall 
exhaust the symbol or the prediction. Partial fulfilments, for the 
most part, are all we can hope to ti-ace. Even the first coming of our 
I*nl is a type of His second : much that seems a prediction of the 
one is a prediction of the other. And perJiaps we never shall be able 
to fiod with unhesitating certainty, in many portions even of jiaat 
history, the fulfilment of prophecy, until we are able hereafter to read 
the whole. " Now we know in part, and prophesy (interpret) in part ; 
but when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part 
shall be done away." 

We have left oiirselves but little space to notice some of Dr. 
Posey's criticisms and interpretations of tlie sacred text. It is gene- 
rally in these that we feel constrained most entirely to differ from 
him. Nothing can be more forced and unnatural than many of the 
interpretations are; nothing more unsound than the grammatical 
canons hj which he attempts to defend them. Tlie l*reface fumislies 
us with some remarkable instances in point. He there attempts to 
determine the interpretation of the early verses of Genesis. He 
asserts that Genesis and geology have no concern \vith each other ; 
that they cannot clash, because all the ages which geology requires are 
provided for between the first and second verses of the Bible. " The 
claims of geology do not even touch upon theology. Tlie belief that 
creation at least dated backward for countless ages was current in the 
Church some fourteen liundred years before geology." And then he 
quotes Jerome and another — to prove what ? Tliat angels and spiritual 
beings existed ages before this world ! "Wliat has this to do with the 
only question which geology raises — the duration of this our globe ? 


The Contanpofary Rcvietv. 

FiDding tliat Holy Scriptui-e "speaks nf the stellar system as existmij' 
liefore our eaith," be obsen-i^ that tliia "ayrees witli the remurkable^ 
jiarenthetic mention tif the stars iii (letiesis." But where is the pninf j 
that it is jmrenthetie, or who. not eiuharrassed by a theoiy, would 
ever have put auuli u cunstiuction miLiii it ? Tho really|)enihl« 
difficulties* uttachiiijr to this theory, which makes Moses ouly give 
VIS, iu Ills naiTRtive, the preparalion of the einth to be the abode of 1 
man subseipieutly to the geological periods. Dr. I'usey piisses overf 
without remark. But he attenipta to estii-blish the theory wliich is 
that of Dt. Bueklaiid, aud which has l>een mlojjted by many wlio 
were anxious " to save the credit of the recoi'd," by a gi-ammatieal 
aualysis of tiie text. He ohsenes that, at the beginiiijig of ver. 2, there 
is a peculiar coUocatiou of word?, First stands the crouj auction witU 
the subject qK the aentem^re, then the verb substantive expressed, theu^ 
the jiredicate; "And the earth ivfts (or) humme, emptiness and vastuess." 
*&c. Now this mode of speech implies, he ai'gues, a vast gap — ages, 
it may l)e, of duration — between thy tjrat ver.'se wnd the second. For 
(1) the substantive ve-rb is not used iu Hebrew as a mere copula; 
iiud(2) the insertion of the post verb (flrtl'TJIij^r) has no force at al^ 
unless it lie used to express what was the condition of the earth in a< 
l^Mist time. pre\"ious to the rest of the narrative, but in no connectiou'| 
at all with what preceded. 

It rerpdres no profound research to disprove both flaaeitions. (1.) lal 
Oen. xxis. 17, the substantive verb is used simply as the copuln.-^ 
The lirst clause nf that verse runs: "And the eyes of Leah (were) 
tender." Here the verb auhstantive is not exiiressed. The second 
clause runs: "but Rachel twrs henutif'ul in form and beautiful iu 

* Dr. Piiaer BCfnii quite unalil^ (o hi^g llio real diflii'uItLGR' wLIch be Las to me 
Speaking sliortlj' alU-rivarda of Ihu Flo(»d, ho sayR, " Tlie asaumptiun of u portiiii duliij:^' 
in. any at-mSL' wLicli wtiulJ not tjuntiriilict ScHpIiine, would m*#t na difticulty of tticn 
A flixnl vh.irh would rovDr Mmint .VraraC woiilil torer ihy gItilKi."" Of noune ; l>ut tho 
iacrvd t«xt iiowhtre U^Ma iia timl: Muuiil Ararat n'm uuvert-d. A|^n : '* Tliu iliJIivul>ty us 
tg thfl nniitials I'miMl eiv^li Jn ihfir wveral Jiiibitats, iu AuBtmliu, Sew Zunliipd, &i-,, is 
properly no iririitijir diflifiilly. It lies on tl<e surfate. But i1 piesujipoioa that the ' rt«l ' 
of God gpolipn. uf in Gi-nesla inipliL-a tlint 11b created nothing aflenrards," &c. Sin;h a 
Prtnark direelly (-ontradicta tto Bat-red mtrrtttSYc, ictotding lo which two and two of aJl 
kinds of animdti were to he taken into ihu ark, in order that thus nil ntCL'ABity of a ne«, 
creation tnighc bo aiijieracdeJ. ] 

t Dr. 1'iiai.y repeat* his oefterlioE ba to the t-opida ia a not* olsowliere ; " nn- prwenf 
relation La i^x|iTeHt4 by tto lame of th? turma, '1 tbe tiud of .^lirahom.' The sinip!? 
copiila ia not mid camicit (le cjipreaaeil in Hobru-«- ; hut the past or future wotild Lave been 
cXpreaBL-d." This ia uot Iho i-aae. The suuplo copula, as we have Been, may he tipreascd ; 
it may Iw oniitI*d evi:n where the jhwI ia spolten of. Comp. Pan. Issvii. 20 (Eng,. 10), 
"Thy way (wiib) in the flea;" Jei. i-il. 12, " (io -now to tiiy touje which (was) in 
Shiloh," Wb regret that want of npiito does uot allow us to unfuld whiil ve b-jlievf lif iv 
the roaj furi'i; of oiu [^r4's aj'gunicnt us hcw^ un thtw words, "1 aia the God of Ahraiiani,'' 
&c. Dut Dr, l'u»oj'* o^Ti espoHilioUj vhit;h is better than his grammar, may be consulti^d 
with adviuitagu. — {V. 4pj3.J 


Dr. Pusey on Daniel i/ie Prophet. 119 

appearance." Here tlie substantive verb is expressed. But it would 
be absurd to say that this introduces any difference wliatever into tlie 
relation between the subject and predicate in the second clause as 
compared with the first. The two sentences are exactly equivalent. 
(2.) So, again, as to the other assertion, that if the \*Titer liad intended 
to speak of past time in immediate connection with what precedes, he 
would have used a different idiom, YaTHi ff a AEeTS~~" amd the 
earth was or became," — it is equally groundless. Turn a single leaf of 
the Hebrew Bible, and you find a sentence of this kind (Gen. iv. 2), 
" And she again brought forth his brother Abel ; and Abel was 
iVayffi) a shepherd, aiid Cain was {V'QaYiN HaYaH) a tiller of 
the ground." The first of these clauses, according to the canon so 
arbitrarily laid down, stands in immediate connection with what goes 
before ; the second merely states a past fact, without any connec- 
tion at all with what precedes. It is obvious, at a glance, that the 
diflerent modes of employment of the substantive verb mark no 
difference whatever in the relation of the two clauses to the previous 
narrative. And yet Dr. Pusey informs us that " Moses was directed 
to choose just that idiom which expresses a past time anterior to what 
follows, but in no connection of time whatever with what precedes." 
After this, surely his own words may without asperity be applied to 
himself, — " Human will can persuade itself of anytliing." 

The same want of accuracy — the same disposition to strain the 
meaning of texts — pervades his volume. Take, for instance, his ren- 
dering of Psa. xlviii. 14, " This God is our God for ever and ever : He 
himself wiU be our guide over death." The peculiar difficulty attach- 
ing to the last words is familiar to all students of the Hebrew text. 
Dr. Pusey tries to maintain his rendering by an appeal to tlie use of 
the preposition: "It is not %ip to {1J!)> tut over (7^)." The distinc- 
tion is utterly worthless. The latter preposition never occurs in the 
sense here claimed for it. It means over in the literal local sense of 
being above a thing, but it does not mean over in the sense of beyond. 
'Al hat/am, for instance, is not " beyond the sea," but " by (lit., ujmi) 
the sea." It may unquestionably be rendered here " up to death," for 
the same signification is found elsewhere. So in Psa. xix. 7 (Eng., G), 
we read, " His going forth is from (one) end of the heaven, and his 
circuit unto (al) the other ends of it;" and in Job xxxvii. 3, "His 
lightning (He directeth) uiUo the ends of the earth." In both 
passages, it is needless to remark, the preposition can only bear the 
meaning up to, as far as, not over or beyond. It would be easy to 
multiply instances of a very similar kind. Even Hengstenberg's 
criticism is very superior to Dr. Pusey's. He takes the preposition 
in the sense of vAtk, a sense into wluch it passes from that of ujmn, 
and renders, " He guides us in dying," i. e., if it comes to dying. He 

The Coutctnporar)! Review. 

1 20 

Temnrka : " Tlie discourse here is not of a blessed iinniortality, but onl; 
of (leUverance from the dangers of death — circiimstancea thiijat 
the people of ttod with destruction." Hie choice lies only twtw-een 
this and thu renderijig ti-e liave suggested nlxjve- — "unto de&th." 

Ciitieism of the same rn'sh, pmcarious, untenalile kind is iiidulj^ed 
in cm Tsa, Ixxiii. T)r. Pusey argues, that as the Psoliiilst k^amt in thjt 
Starwhimnj that Oud's righteous judn;inents do suddenly overtake the 
ungodly, lie must hft^'e seen also that this end of an e^^l life is an 
earnest of evil hereafter. The reraarkahle thing ^&, if this were the 
case, thnt the language employed should tutiLlly fail Ui suggest it. 
Not nne word is said of the punishment of tlie ■wicked after death. 
In order to introduct this doctrine, Dr. Pusey mistranslates one of 
the verses (ver. 20) : " As a dream when one awaketli, O Lord, m Oit 
nir(i?.rm'ti{f Thou shalt despise their image." There is no pretence for 
sucli a rendering. The verb is in a causative conjugation (HtphilJ 
it is true, hut ail is the verb in the pi-evious chiiise. It ivoidd be jvist 
fl3 reasonable to translate the first clause, "As a dream after t/ir 
auwlxMnff" i c, the cimsing otliei's to a\\"aii.e. This conjugation is, 
of eovirse, used here intnuisittvely, as it uftuu is iii other vi;rbs, and 
always in this verb. The same two verlis which stand iii this paasage 
aiB fiiund tflgellier in Psa. xsxv. 23, where Dr. Pusey himself 
would not venture tfl dispute their meaning. Thu-re we must render, 
"Stir up thyself, and awake to my judgment;" and here, retaining 
the saaiB equivalents in English, "Aa a dream when one awaketh, 
(so.) Liird, when Thou atirivst up Tiiysell', doat Thou despise their 
image." Similar remarks may he made on the interpretation of tha 
last verse of Fsa, x^^ii. (p. 490). It is not that wo question that there 
does shine forth in these Psahus the In-ight hope of e\'erlastiiig lii'ej — in 
some of them even the hope of resun-ection, — -hut we feel the strongpat 
repugnance to that kind of criticism which twists woitls and phraaes 
from their obvious meaning into harmony wIUl a preconceived theory. 
Nothing can be more prejudicial to the truth than this. We t 
it very probable that,, in the seventeenth Psalm, tliere is a i-eference to 
the waking from the sleep of death. Thei'e seems to lie a ciontraat 
betwee:i the satisfaction of the worldly in this life with the satisfac- 
tion of the Psalmist in Clod's presence in another. But it is idle to 
argiie that the expi-ession, "to behdd God's face," can mean only a 
seeing of Ood in another hie, with sncli paaea^^s as Psa. id. 7; 
sxi. 6 [7], plainly proA'ing the contrary. Even the expression, 
"when I nwfike" — or. as Dr. Pusey will have it, "in the awaki.'uing," 
— was interpreted by Calvin of an awaking frum the night of sorro' 
nuil sufl'cring (" ut tantimdcm valeat ac resjiii-are a ttistitia"). 

But ive find the clue to all Dr. Posey's misrepresentations of tlifl 
Old Testament when we read (p. 533), — "David's words expi-ess our 

Dr. Pusey on Daniel t/ie Propliet. 1 2 1 

Chiistian hopes. We whose hopes they express cannot think that 
they meant less to David, whose hope they first fed." • What but 
hopdess confusion can spring from such a canon of interpretation as 
this ? Such a canon cuts at the root of all inspiration in the highest 
sense, for it does not allow that the writers of the Psalms and pro- 
phecies were carried beyond themselves in the power of the Holy 
Ghost Such a canon is directly at variance with the express testi- 
mony of St. Peter. " Unto whom it was revealed," says that Apostle, 
speaking of the prophets of old, " that not unto themselves, but unto 
US, they did minister the things which are now reported unto you, by 
them that have preached the Gospel unto you," &c. Or how can we 
reconcile such a view with St. Paul's declaration that Christ " shed 
light upon ((^(iriotv) life and immortality"? To expositors like Dr. 
l^tsey, such a passage must be meaningless. 

To every candid and thoughtfid student of the Bible nothing surely 
can be clearer than this, that the words of the Old Testament saints 
are often higher tlian themselves. This is an evidence, one of the 
most powerful, of their inspiration. We, it is true, read the Old 
Testament now with our Christian illumination ; we read it, therefore, 
ia a Christian sense ; we cannot help doing so. But we should also 
remember that that sense is not the sense which it once possessed, 
but one which has susperseded, or softened, or transfigured the other. 
We must not attribute to them of old time a knowledge and an 
insight which they did not possess, even whilst we thankfuUy use 
their words as the best expression of our own Christian faith, and 
hope, and love. 

We take leave of Dr. Pusey's volume with very nungled feel- 
inga It is impossible to read such a work without, the profoundest 
admiration for the depth and varied extent of tlie author's learn- 
ing; but it is impossible not also to lament that the gloiy of this 
leeming has been so grievously tarnished. We do not blame Dr. 
Pnaey for ranging it all on the side of what he believes to be the 
trath ; we do full justice to the sincerity of liis convictions ; we honour 
his piety ; we even admit the force of his arguments so far as to think 
tiiat he has shown, and shown far more convincingly than any one 
Tho has yet made the attempt, that the Book of Daniel is not a late 
prodaction of the Maccabaean age, but belongs rightfully to the age to 

* Of all the stnngo ptoob that the Old Testament aoints liclicved in a future life, the 
ttmigeat ii thst dnwn fraiu Bathsheba's longuogo at, DaWd'e deathbed, " I.«t my lord 
bug David live for ever." " Batbshebo," eays Dr. Pusey, " did not, like the Persian, greet 
tbe king, 'Moyestthon reign for ever" (vElian., Y.II. i, 32). I cannot think that, ^-ith the 
kDOwIedge of the life to come which David had, the words ' live for ever' were an un- 
nening, beartlew fbrmnla, a mockery to a dying man." It is a little curious that Dr. 
Pnaey should have gone to -Silian rather than to Uoly Scripture to ascertain how the 
Pmaut were wont to Mlut« their monarch. Daniel tells us (vi. 7) that they greeted the 
king, " King Darioi, live for evur," Is thia evidence that they believed in an eternal life P 


The Contemporary Review. 

\vliioli it was fur c<5uturie3 ccjuimouly assigued. Eut we c^in expitiss 
iiotljing but ilisapproliatiou both of llie temper in whicli the book is 
written, and of tbti etitire petTersion of till critical priii(;ip]ea by wbicb. 
in oiir juJgmeiit, it is marked. We rugret, with, a f;irue of reyret 
which we cannot put into w^urds, that une hcjldin^' the chair of Hebrew 
ill ;ine of ijiir great imivei-sLties should have lent the weij^Ut and 
authority uf his name to critieisms and interpret^iitioiis wliich are as 
miscliievous iis they aJ"e untenable. That such critlcisuis shuiild. pass 
muster and be accepted, onJy shows at wliat a deplorably low ebb the 
study of Ileljrew is in Eagland. That study can never rise to it* 
proper di|^mity so long as it is stilled iu cur uuivei'sities ; and it is 
stifled wheu tlie most certain result-s gf modem iiLveatigatiun are tlmist 
aside unless they happen to favour some preconceived tlieoiy, when 
imagiiig-tion is aul>atitated foi grauuuar, rabbinical fancies valuetl moi-e 
than Sober canons of exegesis, and the wildest licence of iiiterpretatiuu 
or of tritic-igrn indulged in to save a text or to support a doctrine. 

Our age has happily seen raauy indiciitions of a bcuiltbier tone, 
a broader theohjgj', tliau 13 to be fotmd in tho Reyius Professor's 
" Lectures.'" There is a far truer conception of what Revelation is, a 
more correct estimate of its manifold and composite and gi-adual 
character. Men have learnt to value it in proportion as tiiey have 
felt that it ia not an image dropped down out of heaven, but as it is in 
truth, God's name uttered to man through many centuries, "in inajiy 
portions and in many ways." It was in the time of the Reformation, 
first since the days of the Apostles, that the Old Tcstjiment at least 
received a I'eal interpretation. It ig thy glory of two of the great 
mastef'Spirits of that era of awaking thought and power and liberty 
to have laid broad and deep the principles of a true exegesis. It is as 
strange as it is humiliating, that wc are only beginning to 
the value of their method. But it ia impossible to shut our eyes to the 
fact that whilst one party in the Church, which professes to revere the 
names of Luther and Calvin, has altogether let slip the very piiuci]d&s 
ivhich they advocated bi the interpretation of 8cri[>ture, another pstrty 
lias set itself firmly and perseveringly to lead ns back to patristic 
glosses and mediitval conceits. Such an eflbrt, e^sj^jecially when sanc- 
tioned by the names of men of learning and piety, may retard tlie 
progress of more rational views. It cannot finally destroy them. 
The whole cinreut of thought is setting in one direction, and that in 
the main a right direction. And we have no fear as to the rtiault. 
The true worth of Holy Scripture wUl Ijc more deeply felt, its true 
majesty more fully recogiuaed. This is a reaidt that we confideuLly 
anticij»ate, but it is not a result which a work like Dr. Pusey's can 
help to bring about. Tliat it tends to retani such a result i.9 perhaps 
its sttcmgest coudcmi^tioii. J, J. 8Tl£\VA.B'r I'EfcOWSE. 



THE iailUTiirence to Imlrau affairs whiclj is so fmiueiitly com- 
I'lained of ia not cuiifined to queatiuus of politics. Those who 
live iu IiiiUa louk In raiit at hoiue for anything lil:e a full discussion 
-ot the grave questions which concern the progress of Christuioity 
thai, ^.-yuntry. Tlie reports of religiQiis ewietles furnish but one 
jead of mforiiiatiou, and tliiit limited, anil when thej pass the con- 
venvioual line, they only repeat the iveU-lcuon'ii opiuiuua of the 
jommiitee that issues them. The agi-eemeut of single ^Titers on 
«; opinions contributes to the huiinony of the society and tlie 
:i{>eration of its lufcuihtii-s, but takoa uway much from tlie inde- 
jmicnce of the information, and does not (iiicouniga disca'saiuu. 
Icnce the uusatisfactoi'ineas of these rtiporLs, mid tlie little iuterest 
rhicli they awalion even in those who sire k^nly seuaible of the vast 
lims of India ii|>oii the atteutiou of every Christian man. 
The Cliurch at home no lesa tlian in India sulTei'a from this indifCer- 
Isolation is furei-jn to the siiicit of Chri-stianity, and is" equally 
iful to the cliurch wliich ■\vithholJ.Sj and tlie churcli which is 
»priveil tif sympathy. The cnei'giya so much needed for preparing 
the %vay of the Gtjspel. for deepeniny th« foundations and budding Tip 
edifice of th(j bmly uf Christ, are misilirecteJ to objects of far less 
at, and too often spund them&elviis upon the forius and rLuestions 
>r imrty strife. The action that nujjlit have gone to found or wvive n 

m Qyestmis. 


Dre in December and January, 1862-3, 

It occasion to refer, valuable as em- 

lesa representative) of missionaries of 

lifect in the direction of missionaiy work 

3f the most attached friends of missions, 

spent among tho natives of India in 

I whii:li have brought him into close contact 

j)]e, at various times, under circumstances 

Cter, tlieir feelings, and their principles of 

think it well to urge is this, that we neglect 

>get our native brethren ; and hast of all, 

the tmigt poicerful infiunnce over their minds: 

ii^Diul rule the missionary rather holds aloof 

jlitire Btriking instances have occurred of our 

cunvorsion, a position as men of Oriental 

itionwl), '/ coiufider thia to be in spite of the 

vif nithf'/ t/ian in eaneeqaence of it. ' 

I that there is a want of charity, as weU as of 

by our secular educationists generally, of 

talii/fn rtisa, ignoring all tlie learning of the 

liii^ (■[! a wholly new foundation, the structure 

ill ndnpted for amalgamation, in any shape, 

lich ate indigenous to the land. The conse- 

3, as a Ijody, have cordially reciprocated our 

do nut understand us. ... It is an 

scs), and (gainst this error I desire to want 

caa remftrked by Behari Lai Singh at the 

jiatked tnily, that if we coztltl otdy secure tint 

should geeiire the hearts of almost the entire 

iitivi; chiefly desired to urge in respect to 

althoiigti the possessors of it are, in some 

rtaiit of all classes, they appear to me to havo 

., owiut; probably, in some degree, to an int- 

,' aeeesaible — an impression which I believe 

ure approached tlirough the medium of their 

1 low standard of E\iropean missionary 

'age moat be excepted not a few highly 

cotch, and German missionaries — is tlie 

'f the native teachers. That a native 

le instructors of the native Church, 

ill be the real agent for evangelizing 

tore evident. The gulf which divides 

bought and ways of life, can never be 

or love of the foreigner, at least not 

Christiiin teaching, aball have passed 

D. F. McLeod, Esq., C.B. Pp. 128—138. 

1 24 Tlie Contemporary Review, 

cburcli, from the contraction of its sphere becomes the movement of 
a sect. It might seem tliat those who meet the difficulties, and to 
whom they are practical, were on that account the best able to 
solve them. Doubtless it woidd be so, were the requisite thought 
and ability combined in due proportion with power of work. But 
not every one is skilful alike with the weapon of war and the work- 
man's tool ; those on the watch-tower contribute no less than the 
buildere to the completion of the edifice, by the advice which is 
foimded on a wider vision. There are at present questions of deep 
concern to the Church in India which ought to be entertained by the 
Church at home, and any want of practical acquaintance with them 
would be more than siq>plied by the pnidence and caution of men 
learned in the Scriptures and in the knowledge of Church history. 
Over against the treatment of a too free criticism, or the expediency 
of changes of rubric, may be set, — as of more paramoimt interest to 
the cause of Christianity, and therefore of more binding obligation 
ujjon the Church, — the questions how far and how best the truths of 
the Gospel may be tauglit to the children of heathen parents attending 
Christian schools ; — by what means Hindoos and Mussulmans may be 
drawn to inquiry and beHef ; — the best means of educating a learned 
ministry fi-om among the native converts, and of dealing with those 
many social problems which spring out of the relation of converts to 
their families. 

But no review of tlie state and prospects of the Church in India 
should start with the proceedings of religious societies, nor even with 
the wants of a native church. The religious thought and habits of 
our own countrymen first claim attention. It is plain that the place 
where an English regiment or battery, or native regiment officered by 
Englishmen, is stationed, must be a witness either for or against 
Christianity t« every class of natives, especially to the more thoughtful 
Every sucli place is a missionary outpost, not because a missionary, 
\vith school, catechists, and teachers, is found there, but because the 
religion professed by the " sahib log " is the Christian, and because from 
the lives and conversations of the residents, their just or xmjust dealing 
in their intercourse with the natives, as masters with servants, me- 
diants with traders, the natives receive the undeniable witness of coii- 
duct for or against the Gospel. The necessity of the direct instruction 
wliich the missionary imparts in school, or offers in the Bazar, and the 
avakenod uiquiry which often follows, cannot be over-estimated ; but 
nevertheless the full force of the too much neglected fact must ever 
be kept in mind, that it is the whole body of P^uglislmien resident in 
Iiulia who represent Christianity to the natives, and from whom they 
judge of it. The woi-ds of Dr. Arnold need to be recalled : — " If you 
do go to India," he wrote to a friend desirous of becoming a mis- 

eionary, " still remember that tlie o^reat worfc to be done is to otgauizv 
nnd purify Christian clmrchea of Tvhites ami half-castes. . . . 
There tntist he the niiflciis which mdivi<!iial3 from the natives will 
t'outimiaUy join, more and more a,^ those hecome mort uumerniis nmi 
more re9|>ectahle. 'H.henvLge the cast© Bj'stem is nn insuperable diUi- 
tuHy : you citll on iLmiin t<( lenvt* all his old C(iniiet"t,i(in3.nmi tnbecomi?- 
itifumuTis iji their eves, iiiij yeb have nu livljijj chmrh to offer him, 
where ' he shall receive I'lithera and mothers, and brethren and aiatora, 
4c,, a blind i-edfold.' Iiidiviilual prem.^liiiij* amoiifj iJie Hijiduos, 
without liiivin^ a church to wfiicb to invite them, seems to me tho 
wildest of follies. Kemember bow in every place Paid made tlie 
ii»iTE(iE7c the fouiidatioa of his ehnreh, and then the idolatrous 
beatlifii ynthered muiid these in more or less numbers." — Life a-iul 
Gerretpontifncc, p. 512. 

Eveu those whose attention is altoirether fixed upon the work of 
Biieeious must lii'st take aocount of the tone nf thow^dit and action 
which prevails among oiu" coimtiyiiien. Otherwise they may come to 
faid their own, eObrts to evaugetize paralyzed, Tt is an migi-ateful 
iSflk to ex])ti5e soimj cau^^es of apiireheosiuii which that fcotie at pi'&seut 
seems to su<!^9t. But tlio truth sboidd be sjjoken, for the sake of 
ibe whole Church, whether the iti-rhft fnmU be smooth or not. 

The generatirm of Indians who proverbially left their relij^ion at 
Hw Cape may be said tfl have passed away. Many of tlie olfler Jiieu 
rf their &ucceaaors hold dee]) and eartwfit, if one-sided, eo.ovictiotis of 
rdigious truth. They are the mun furomog^t in sebemes of benevoleut 
and missionary enterprise, ready for every suclt good work, and 
vehement complainers of the neutrality of CJovemment. Now a 
^\i gulf seems to part them ofl', lici'e aa elsewliere, fruim sympathy 
m'tL minds formed in nuother aehool tlian tlieir owni, and especially 
fwm yonotjer men trahied in the last culture of the century. Vet it 
ij to the thouf^ht aod action of these younger men that the future 
l»long8 ; it is they who will influence the character of the next page 
of Christiau liiatory. 

There ore increasing signa of the ^'rowiiij;, silent alienation of these 
men fri^m Christian worshi]) and coniniunion. It nmy be explained 
aft A passiuy fasldon, or a.s the result of a certaia phMe of opuiion; 
bnt it is a fact. And its gravity Is heightened by the cirtnunstaiice 
I tlwt wp meet it iu men whose livefj are pure, wlio exhibit least of the 
Worldly self-seeking spirit, who are nmonjj; tho most thonglitfiil and 
cultivated, llic conventional furmula', of the indifference of the 
•ximipt heart, or of the love of earthly things, ore wholly uisufftpjent 
to eijdaiu the fact referred to, than whieh none is fmugbt witli 
lireaterj danger to the spread of Christianity in India. The general 
iii'i:tt.leiuent of i-eligious belief, which \a the real cause, has grown 

1 26 The Contemporary Review. 

from "within ; the outcome of it is a scepticism reluctant indeed rather 
than a^reasive, which in some of the best men is rapidly passing the 
border of intellectual hesitation. But it is to within the Church 
itself that the root of the e\'il is to be traced. The destructive results 
at whicli some recent criticism aims would have little power to shake 
the faith which saw through the veil Him who is invisible. Such 
publications are the expression, not the cause, of the doubt and uncer- 
tainty hanging over us. The secret of their success lies in this, that they 
speak to men already "perplext in faith, but pure in deeds;" who re- 
ceived, with their first instruction in Christianity, statements of doctrine 
which in the time of mature reflection appear to contradict the Divine 
instincts of justice, mercy, and truth — the image of God's own eternity 
in the heart of man. Theories and representations of doctrine were 
taught them as necessary inferences from, or identical with, the facts of 
Christianity — were acquiesced in as the creed of Christendom; and 
in no few cases a rude repulsion has followed the attempt to read 
and understand them by the light of reason and conscience. Our 
object is not to explain but to indicate actual phenomena. Many 
causes tend to develop such a tone of thought as we are referring to 
in India, The narrower range of subjects to which the mind for 
the most part turns, from the want of a present political interest; 
the dependence upon their own resources to which men are driven, 
owing to their isolation, and to a forced bodily rest during the heat 
of long summer days, concentrate the mind upon the subject of its 
choice. When that subject is a religious one, the doctrine of pro- 
]tortion and sobemiindedness is forgotten. Hence the strange vagaries 
of opinion into which old Indians are seen to fall, c. g., upon imful- 
filled prophecy ; and hence, too, the tenacity with wliich they hold the 
opinions they have once formed. It may be doubted whether any 
clas.s of our counti^-men make tlieir convictions more their own, 
or hold them more resolutely. AU the graver is it, when men thus 
circumstanced are slowly laying aside the creed of the Church, or are 
f()und wanting in hearty co-operation with the spread of it. In every 
society it is the thoughtful, earnest few who will ultimately lead 
opinion : it is of these, and not of the many who affect the tone of 
unbelief, and learn its language, because it is a little the fashion, that 
we now write. 

Each age and country has its own jieculiar need. There can 
hardly be a doubt that the need of the Church in India at the present 
time is for the ministry of men who shall be competent to form 
an opinion upon the many theological questions in dispute, which 
are brought into discussion by every newspaper; above all, of men 
who are able to sjnnpathize with and understand the thou'dits and 
difficulties of their fellows. It is not zeal, nor discretion, nor devotion 

Indian Questions. 127 

to Clirist only, which is now needed. There need be learning and 
capacity as well ; a firmly rooted faith in Him who died and rose 
again, no less rational than sincere ; and the judgment to distinguish 
in teaching between what is essential and what is accidental, what 
is for all time and what is growing old and ready to vanish away, in 
the forms of Christian belief, such as only a lai^e and liberal culture 
can impart. 

Nor is this the need only of the various European churches in India ; 
the ablest missionaries are most conscious that it is theirs also. Unhap- 
pily, the present system of selecting and educating missionaries does 
not tend to meet it. It is unreasonable that the most trying task 
which a man can take on himself, be he ever so much gifted with 
Christian graces, — that, namely, of winning unbelievers to inquiry, and 
of persuading them that the Gospel is true, should be committed to men 
who have been subjected to a brief, unlaborious training. A short time 
spent in a Missionary College, an almost exclusively theological course 
of study, and that confined to some few works of English theologj', can 
liardly be expected to qualify the candidate for a work which demands 
intellectual conviction of the truth, no less than devotion and benevo- 
lence. Without doubt, a personal interest in the Gospel to be preached 
is more persuasive than the subtlest power of disputation. But there 
is no reason for supposing such an interest to be necessarily joined to 
limited knowledge or mental deficiency. Bather, much faith and a 
thorough devotion to the work of evangelization might be supposed to 
liave its best witness in the most diligent preparation beforehand. 
The excellent gift with which, of all men, the missionarj'' most needs 
to be endued, is the bond of other virtues, and is found to inspire a 
sober-minded piety, not less profound because it is rational anp 
reverent. The lower standard of missionary qualification than that 
required for ministerial duties at home (except in those cases, becoming 
unhappily so common, where the University degree is dispensed with), 
acts injuriously to the cause of missions, especially in India. Without 
previous mastery of Oriental literature, the teaching of the missionary 
is necessarily confined to the less instructed, the poor and degraded of 
the native population.* The Gospel, indeed, should be preached to 

* Too much importance is Attached to the commonly received statement of the porerty 
ntd ignorance of the early Christians. That statement may be fairly challenged. It rests 
(1) upon the undoubted poverty of the Church of Jerusatem ; and (2) upon the one 
(juMtion of St. Paul in 1 Cor. i. 26, 27. But (1) the many eibortBtions to liberality in 
ilmsgiving preclude the supposition that the poor estate of the Cbiuvb at Jerusalem was 
Jured by other churches ; and (2) with reference to 1 Cor. i. 26, 27, it may be doubted 
Thether the slaves and artisans of a Oreek city, which as a Roman .colony was rapidly 
ncovering its former position of dcp6t for East and West trade, and "the eye of all Greece," 
iwdd be men of low intellectual culture. Certainly not because they were slaves, for 
UDODg these were the writers and librarians, the physicians and teachers of the Roman 
world ; nor necessarily because they were ignoble by birth. In the fifth century B.C., wo 

128 The Contemporary Review. 

those, but not on that account should it be preached less to the other 
classes. At present, it may be doubted whether the work is not 
begun at the wrong end. In tlie valuable report of the Punjab Mis- 

know of a cortain Atheoian leather-dreaser, "at that time by far the moat penu«iT« 
Bpoalcer in the cyoi of the people;" and his frieada the rope- eeller, the Bheep-aeUer, and tho 
lampmakor, however imscnipulous os politicians, were mCn of no mean parts, although they 
would certainly have been designated oii voUoi hvvarai, oh voXXct ihytvuc. 

A more thorough study of the Nov Testament, and deeper search into Christian anti- 
qtiiticB, tend to modify the too general assertion of Olshausen, quoted in Alford, iL 481 : — 
" Tho ancient Christians wcro for the most part slaves and men of low station. Tba 
whole history of the expansion of the Church is in reality a progrosaiTe -victory of dia 
ignorant over the learned, the lowly over the lofty, until the Emperor hinuelf laid down 
his cro«*n before the cross of Christ." 

Un the other hand there is Mr. Uerivale's opinion (" Converuon of the Roman EmpiiSt" 
p. S3), which is most interesting for its bearing upon the present state of things in India: — 

" St. Paul, himself a man of no mean social rank, and of high intellectual culture, spoke, 
I cannot doubt, directly to the intellect as well as to the heart of men of refinement like 
bis own. Ilia converts were among the wise and prudent, as well as among the impuMre 
and devout. I reject, then, the notion, too hastily assumed, too readily accepted, from a 
mistaken conception of the real dignity of the Gospel, that the first preaching of the Gospel 
was addressed to the lowest and meanest and least intelligent, the outcasts and pttdetaire* 
of society. Many reasons, I am convinced, might be alleged for concluding that it was 
much the reverse. Ab regards the Christian Church at Rome at least, the ^rect state- 
ments of the Apostle himself— the evidence of existing monuments of antiquity — inCetencea 
of no little strength from the records of secular history, and inference, not lightly to be 
rejected, fh>m the language and sentiments of contemporary heathens — all tend to nssuie 
us that it embraced some devoted members, and attracted many ansious inquirers amidst 
the palaces of the noblos, and ovea in Ciesar's household. If such be the case — if bi^- 
bom men and women — if well-trained reasoners and thinkers — if patricians and i>atrona 
and counsellors in law, with their freedmen, their pupils, and their clients, did read and 
appreciate the Apostle's letters — did visit him in his bonds aitd listen to his teaching*— did 
accept gospel truth from his lipe, and ask for baptism at bis bands," . . . 

Sw also note R., p 208. 

The opinion of Mr. Merivale is confirmed by the researches of U. de Rossi in the Cata- 
combs at Rome, of which an interesting memoir will be found in the Jteetu dtt Jma 
.VonA-* for Septtanbcr 1, 1865, We extract the following as bearing directly Dpoa Un 
subject : — 

" Vingt ans de fuuillee et d'e'tudrs dans les Catacombcs ont modifi^ pour lui lee id^ 
qu'on se fait d'ordinaire sur la prrtpagation du Christianisme k Rome. M. de Rossi cr«t 
que la rvUgion nouwUe a p6)^trc plus tAt qu'co ne le pease dans les hatitea classes de U 
soriAt^ ct quo le grande monde est venu i clle presque aussi vite que lee ' pauvres gesia.' Ce 
n'est done pas, comme on le repute, une doctrine qui pendant longtemps a fait son cbemin hu 
bruit dans lea crgostiilw d'eeclaree ou les ecboppes d'ouvriers. EUe eat entree d^ I'origine 
dans lea palais du Uuirinal ou les ricbea maisons du Forum, elle n'a pas tard£ meme i 
s'insinuer jusque sur le Palatia. . . . D n'en est pas moias probable que cea gens 
riche*. que c«s persannages importans, dont on parle si pen ont dii venir sottvent au aeeoaia 
de la coromunaute en {vril, I'aider de leur fortune, ou de l<^ur credit, et quand on n'eet pas 
ditpow il ne voir qu'une s^rie de uiraclea dans I'ftablissemmt du Christiattisne od ect <ai 
dr«it de soupaiNumer que leur argent ou leur influence ne fut pas inutile i aea aacon. 
J'aw'ueqttec^n'eit pas que Ton se £ut d'ordinaire des premiers temps ife Teniae ; onne 
o> la ficure que mit^rsblo et proscrite, . . . je connais des gens qui sauront mamais 
gT\> ik M. de RdSM de I'intioduire si rite dans le palaia des grand*. Mais Timaginatkin a'a 
que faitv iri ; le rule do notiv epoque est de nHopra ea toutea chases avec le raaaa pour 
tvvx-nir ^ la nWitf,"' 

Indian Questions. 129 

ebnary Conference held at LaJiore in December and January, 1862-3, 
to wliich we shall have frequent occasion to refer, valuable as em- 
bodying the opinions (more or less representative) of missionaries of 
different denominations, this defect in the direction of missionary work 
is plainly pointed out by one of the most attached friends of missions, 
vho speaks from 

" An experience of thirty-four years spent among tlio natives of India in 
the perfoimance of official duties which have brought him into close contact 
vith almost all classes of the people, at various times, under circumstancttn 
tiiat render a study of their character, their feelings, and their principles of 
action, to some extent unavoidable.* 

" A further principle which I think it well to urge is this, that wo neglect 
or overlook no class from amongst our native brethren ; and l&ast of all, 
those classes who have at present tiie must powerful inflii^icp. over their minds: 
for as yet I believe, that as a general nile the missionary ratlier holds aloof 
from Uie learned classes ; and whore striking instances luivo occurred of our 
converts maintaining, after their conversion, a position as men of Oriental 
learning (three examples are mentioned), ' / consider this to he in spite of thn 
tyttem we have generally adopted, ratlier than in eonsequeiiee of if. ' 

" It has long appeared to me that there is a want of charity, as well as of 
wisdom, in the course pursued by our secular educationists generally, of 
legarding the native mind as a tahulit rimi, ignoring all the learning of the 
Eut as viJneleflB, and commencing on a wholly new foundation, the structure 
niged upon which is exceedingly ill adapted for amalgamation, in any Bha})o, 
vith the systems of learning which are indigenous to tlie land. The conse- 
qoQice is that the learned classes, as a body, liave cordially reciprocated our 
contemptuous alienation — they do not understand us. . . . It is aii 
oiOT to disregard them (these classes), and against this error I desire to warti 
oiir misaionary brethren. It was remarked by Itehari Lai Singh at the 
lirerpool Conference, and remarked truly, that if wft could only 8P.c.ure thtt 
hearts of the learned classes, we should secure the hearts of a/most the entire 
population. . . . What I have chiefly deisired to ui^c in respect to 
Onental learning is this, that although the possessors of it sire, in somo 
Tapecta, perhaps the most important of all classes, they appear to me to liavo 
been, as a class, neglected by us, owing probably, in some degree, to an im- 
p/ession that they are not easily accessible — an impression which 1 believe 
to be anfonnded, provided they are approached tlirough the medium of their 
Own learning."— (P. 154.) 

Another evil of tlie avenge low standard of European missionary 
attainments — from which average must be excepted not a few liighly 
respected names of English, Scotch, and German missionaries — is the 
still lower standard of that of the native teachers. That a nati^■e 
dergy must ultimately be the instructors of the native Church, 
that the native missionaij will be the real agent for evangelizing 
India, is becoming more and more evident. The gulf wliich divides 
Eastern and Westam modes of thought and ways of life, can never be 
completely bridged by the zeal or love of the foreigner, at least not 
tin some generations, leavened by Christian teaching, sliall have passed 

• " On a Kative Portonte." E»ay by D. F. McLcod, Esq., C.C. Pp. 128—138, 
VOL. I. K 


The Contemporary Review, 

away. This is the witness of cine who, of all Europeans, possesses the 
greatest a]>t]tutie for becomiu^ an Oriental to Oiieutals, Speaking of 
the hif,^hei d&;xrfE of prosperity and civilization enJLiyeil by North 
Anibia wlien Christianity was widely difTused, and l»eibre Midiomet- 
aniam took riaCj and of the practical conclusion drawn from the fact 
hy intelligent Arabians, that Christianity is connected with national 
"well-being, he adds:* — 

"Were it (this concJnaion) one day or other to find such execution, I for 
oni* should not be eurprisuiJ, after what 1 have heanl and seen iit spveml 
loimJities, thougli indeed a siuiilar event could uidy, it would settni, Iw 
br{iiig]it nliout by inilij^criouB luitkm tm native i^Toiuid. For l>ptween Aaiutics 
Bnd ICuropeiina in geiiL^ml, there is hut littlii sjTiipathy, and less iium];^ma- 
tion ; a truth of which, to ovcrskp lor a niLunent the native fmntipr, a 
marked esampk may he too clearly read in the blood -atainoil oimals of the 
late Inrlioj] rcbtdHon. Bt?8idea, so little ia tlie East and ita inhabitants 
nnderatnod by the Wcst^ so few in the latter have of the formor even tlmt 
degree of kiiowledgi! whi*"]! is the firat necessary etep to inflnencej that I do 
not see much probability of si'rimis moml or reli^ous change heing brought 
about in Arabia, dp in any Aatalic counti-y clsewhfre, by Euroiwan agenty, 
unkes indeed for \\\o. worse." 

The question then, how best to train and educate the native clergy, 
ia of great moment. The views tif the missionaries elicited at the 
conference showed a wider dift'erence of n]iinion as to the reiinisito 
qualifications than the subject failed for. There was a general 
acknowledgment that "spirituality" is not the only reqtiisite, but 
most of the speakc^rs seem to have agreed that learning and edu- 
cation were only subsidiary, not essential to the efficiency of a native 
clergjTnan's ministry. One thought that " in the case of ikastflrs lliere 
could he no partic-ubn- need of Oriental learning ;" and that "' even in 
respect to evangelists, the Lmportance of such learning ought not 
to be exaggerated." Another, a native clergyman of the American 
Presbyterian Mission, thouglit it hardly neceasarv* to " say that pastors 
must fjhimltd men." ..." the more educated they are. the 
more able will tbey be to edify their hearers." He added the humili- 
ating statement, " Our uneducated catechista can siiy a gi-eat deal 
Against Hinduoism and Jlahoiaetaiiism ; but in preachiiij,' to a Chris- 
tian congregation, they cftn hardly keep the attention of their hear«^ 
for more than five minutes. Their Stock of Biblical knowled*^ is 
very- soon ejchausted." — (r. 157.) 

There seenis to be an error in the poiof of view from which this 
question of niissicmary qualification is usually discussed, as though 
the choice lay between ability on the one side, and devotion on thii 
other. Now sincerity and devotion are rightly estimated above ^^Efts 
and attainments which are merely intellectual. Bnt it is forgotten 

• W, 0, Pttlgravc'fl "Narrativu of u Tciir'i Joiiniey tlirougli Central and Eastern 
Arabia," 18C2-63, v«l. L, p, 88. 

Indian QucsHons. 



tliat it is beyond fl.ny man's power to judge tiie sincerity of another, 
wbjcb can ouly Iw inferred fi'om the evidence, the one uuerring test 
i-r <luty done. Tlifit the tjurest evidence of the sincerity of the cHn- 
Jidate wouhl ho found in his hearty pi^paTation of him&Glf for the 
office to wliich he aspires, and that his ignorance — in other words, his 
idleness — is a preaiimptive proof of insincerity, can hartllylie douhted. 

The kind of inatruction which the native clei^ shoidd receive 
occupied the attention of the Conference, and it is a suhject which 
desen'es carefiU discussion. 

The clanger is, lest one metliod of stndy be adopted to the exclusion 
of others, and in every case. Perhaps the recognition of a few nimple 
Ekcts of history would correct some present mistfLkea. or at least invite 
a reconsideration of the method wliich appears geucrally followed. 
Chri&tianity is not a religion tbrei^'n to the mind or character of the 
Eastern. Considered aa the coinnmiiion of a ni\'ine life, it is of no 
one time or place. "The life was the light of men." "Thou canst 
not tell whence it cometh, nor whither it goeth." Viewed in the 
a^jject of a system of ninrality and scheme of doctrine 'which is uf 
univerBal application, Christianity is of Eastern origin and growth. 
Tlie bcxiks which couto-in it were written prohahly without exception 
by Easterns. The very hmguaife belonj^ed as much to the East as the 
We«U lu Deau Jlihiiau's wurds," "Greek was the commercisd Ifin- 
guagc, ill which the Jews . , . carried on their intercourse." 

Now it is an immense advantaj-e to the instructed Hindoo convert. 
that tlie one sacred language of Christendom has most athuitics with 
the aacred. lauyini^'e of Ida own country ; and further, that the non- 
Cbristiaii literature of that lanjifiiage has stUl nearer relationship with 
the icgeudar)' ^vorsliip to which he lias been accustomed, to his own 
previous conteinplation of tlie ntiiverse. Witness the light thrown hy 
Mr. Grote npon legendary Oreece fn^m the studies of Hindoo life and 
thought conbitued in Colonel Sleemau's " Ramlilea imd ItecoUections." 

The study, then, of the Greek language and literature would be no. 
study to the convert., would open to him the tveii-iures of Christian 

jwletige, and if guided hy men imbned with the generous spirit of 
Enrojieau linguistic science, could not fail to enlarge tlie mind, and 
ipve of itself sufficient tTaining, without the stain of denationidization. 

It is a fair ij^uestioUf \Vliy should the tiiuuhijig of the Gospel not 
allowed free course, and, unfettered by later interiiretations, utter 

I own message in its own tongue to the native convert ? Why should 

tlie ciiaunels be forceil in a Western dii'ectiou when the waters might 

through thera stmight from the primal source ? Tlie Clmstian 

cieties of ludiii might be allowed to stand in the same pHJsitioii 
towards the sacrul liLeraLiu'e of onr faith, as did the first fonued 

• " Latin Chriatianity,'" Xntrodnction, p, i. 


Tii€ Contemporary Revkw. 

cliurt^hea of Enst and West. The rise of a lliniloo Christianity, 
out^rrnwth of the native mind and trhamuter, wuuld then at least lie 
possible ; the plant, not trans planted from afar, iiii;;;ht take deeper 
root in ita own soil Hut if it eeein ^ood to withhold from uo 
newly formed society of Cliristiana the large experience onri widened 
thoughts (jf centuriea of Christian culture, tliGu it heonmes a grave 
question which development of Christianity Bholl be tauyht as most 
faithful to the type, and its most iucomijit exponent. 

The main divisions of East and West, with their many subdivi- 
sious, aecoiHling ^l the special eharacter of their owii laws, customs, 
ways of thou|^ht, developed each one ite. owii form of Christiajiity. If 
the Hindoo convert is tu learn from the controversii^s, speculations, 
dogmas of Chriatlauity — Gi-eek, Latin, Teutonic — from which ahall 
he learn ? The reasonahle answer would be, from that of which the 
j^enius ■wR.s least foreigu to his o^ii- "■ Ajngtiij th^i t«reeks had betin 
for centuries aj^itated all those ]irimajy (lueattuns which lie at the 
hottom of all reli*,dons — the formation of the worlds the exiatunce and 
nature of the Deity, the origin and cause of evil- — though this seein? 
to have been studied even with stronger preililectinn in the trang- 
Euphratic I^t. Hence Greek Christianity wag insatiably inquisitive, 
specidative. Confident in the inexhaustible copiousness and fine pre- 
ciaion of ita language, it endured no limitation to its cufiou3 iuve-sti- 
gations." • . Let those deeply reatl in Oriental learning witness how 
far this is descriptive of the early Hindoo mind and literature. Thu 
Oriental Christian need not want an Oriental Chiistiiin literature. 
He jioaaesseB it, and may tlaim it as his own inheritance, in the 
noble works of the Greek Fatlu>rs of the first four centuries. And 
until Hindoo Christianity shall have produeed a lileratnrti of its 
own, Justin^ St. Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Athanasins, St. .lohn 
ChryBostom, the (IregoriGS, and l^asil the Great, might well ho studied 
aa the cla.ssics of the native 'C'hnrcli. These men spoke indeed to 
the Church of all time, aiid their MTitiiigs as a whole are still un- 
rivalled; but, Easterns or half-Easterns themselves, most of all ilid 
they speak to the chnrt'licis of tlm East ; and it may be doubted 
■whether tlie newly formed chm-ches of the East could find at tliis 
day any other literature so ivell aflnpted to their wants. 

The coiu'se of reading which is set the native candidate for the 
ministry ia of a tliiferent kind. Peayson, IJutfer, PaJey, or Wliately's 
Eyideuces, are his class-books, just a-s if he wert; preitariug for ordina- 
tion at home. Indeetl, the reason given by one missionary at the 
Conferenty why they, the native dergj-, should know English was, 
"that they may be able to read Enj^lish liooks, and derive from them 
the requisite information on theological aubjiicta, wliich they have to 
* Uilmoo's " Lntia CtuiBtiatiitj^," Introduction, ii. 

Indian Questions, 133 

communicate to their less informed flocks," as though information on 
theolt^cal subjects were confined to English books, and imobtainable 
elsewhere. Few Knglish Churchmen but take pride in the past glories 
of English theological literature; few educated Englishmen but honour 
the names of Hooker, Taylor, and Butler. But the ■writings of those 
great men are set to a purpose for which they are singularly ill-fitted, 
when they are converted into theological class-books for Orientals. 
It is not too much to say that, with perhaps the exception of Butler's 
ethical writings, no literature is less fit for the purpose than our own, 
and that for the reason that no Uterature is so thoroughly imbued 
with the national spirit of its own day, and more thoroughly contro- 
versial. Why import into India, together with tJie Divine message, 
and the words of inspired writers thereupon, sixteenth and seventeenth 
century disputes between Catholic and Protestant, Anglican and 
Paritan, concerning doctrines, rites, and ceremonies, which are wholly 
alien to the Eaatem mind ? Why stifle any creative thought which 
the Divine message awakens in the convert by the deadening weight 
of traditions and interpretations received from omt Fathers ? There is 
the dawn of a doubt whether such a training is the best for English 
cleigymen at home, and whether we do the most reverence to our 
divines by labelling their deepest thoughts as tests of right or wrong 
theological opinion. Surely there can hardly be a question that such 
a training ia most ill advised in the case of Hindoo candidates for the 
ministry of the Church. And yet, in a careful paper, read by a much 
esteemed missionary, after the statement of the fact, of no little interest 
in itself, that " the most popular works among the Christians them- 
selves" are found, in the writer's own experience, to be " the mission- 
ary and apol(^tic works of the early Fathers," he goes on gravely 
to Tecommend the study of Hooker, Butler, Pearson, Hartwell Home, 
Preaideut Edwards's "History of Kedemption," and his Prophetical 
Coutse, £31iott'8 " Hone ApocaJypticte," Chamock and Goodwin, Birks 
and Ellicott. 

If such a course of instruction is generally followed out in the 
Tarious Mission Colleges — and there is reason to think it is, — no 
Tonder that the denationalization of the students is complained of ; 
no wonder that weapons foiled in such armouries are still pow^erless 
against instructed Hindoo and Mussulman belief; no wonder that 
native Christianity has yet developed no type or character of its own, 
and that not one single native Christian has risen, of pre-eminence 
enough to influence, ia any appreciable degree, the future of India. 

These remarks are made in no spirit of unfriendly animadversion, 
bat in order to provoke discussion, and direct it to subjects which suffer 
grievously from n^lect. But whatever difl'erence of opinion there 
maybe as to the most effectual means of training an efficient ministry 


Tfie Contemporary Review. 

— and it ia an open question, — 'thei'e can or ou^ht to be but one 
opinion as to tlitt neeJ of a learned and competent miuistry, botli for 
Eiiropean and native fhurche^. The c.haract43r of the many questions 
wMuli contierii tlie pro^Tess of C'liristiaaity in India, makes tlie need 
nioi'e felt in both communities. Those questions are no less theoreti- 
riil than practifSiK ami rfquire j^ifts nf judj;n"i5Ut and (liaurimination. 
to|j;ether with much kuox^led^^t; of the past history and literature of the 
Church. If the unhappy silence of the Church at home continues, 
and they are left for settlement here, clearly they should be handled 
by competent men. 

One such question is that whicli, at. the iustancG of Government, in 
under discussion by the Indian dergj', iucludiu^ tlie Tninisters of all 
denominatiiina of Chriatisms, concerning the reniamage of native 
converts. A bill to give that liberty was laid before the Council of 
the Governor Genei'al of India at the beginning of laat year (IStio) 
by Mr. Maine, and its further progress is only postponed uiitLl the 
general opinion of its merits has been ascertained. Some of our 
readers will be interested in a rdsmn^ of the bdlj the causes of it, the 
ai"gunient3 wliich nre urged for and against it. But in pa,ssing, we 
would again siak, ^\niy is the discussion iif this f|uestiou couhned to 
India ? Why should a mle affecting the good order and discipline of 
native Christian cluirches. with which Knglislimen must lie nuiro 
or less connected wliile England governs India, be established or 
rejected without appeal to, or advice of, the Church at home ? 

The case is this. The married convert to Christitinity, in a vast 
numlier of cases, finds himself sejiarated from his wife, on and because 
of his conversion. According to Mahometan aaithorities, his niTfe is 
free from previous obligation, and he \% virtually divorced : according 
to the Hindoos, he in as one dead. He may euileavour to persuade 
his wife to live with him ; unless lie can also persuade her to be of 
one mind with himself, he has the faintest chance of success ; if of 
high caste, he h4is no chance at all, 

Again, his marriage may have been contracted in infancy, and be 
unconsunimated at the time of conversion. In either case the law, 
as it now st^inds, affuiils him no relief. He is bound to the woman 
who disowns liim. for her husband, or whose husband he Las never 
been in more than name. In Mr. Maine's wordSj — 

"Tlifc great mujwity o.f Hindnos were married liefoi-c th<'y re.^hftd the 
Qge of itaiHoJi. Cnuverts lo t 'liyistiaiiily weW, howevt-r, liroiij^ht Luer by the 
o])erfitio]i (if twisfiii, and the cfjntUtio]i of native sotiwty was auc-ii, that reason 
lifld ifcC'cp.Hsarily Uiu>.-li greati't inlluttnce over one sax than the othiT. Hence 
the tendency of the law in its pn<»t«ut atate waa to produce a celibate class. 


Indian Questions. 135 

Now Mr. Maine would lay down, even of European countries, that a law 
which tj its direct incidence assisted in creating a class condemned to 
celibacy, was immoral and bad. And if that was true of Europe, how did 
fflfttters stand in India? The subject was one which could only be touched 
upon lightly, but it was certain that all the essential differences between 
Oriental and Western society tended to augment the immorality of the law 
in India. . . . To an Oriental trained in the Zenkn^, the very conception 
of such a life (of prolonged celibacy) was probably unintelligible, monstrous, 
and against nature." 

Two separate bills had been previously drawn up to meet an evil 
which grew with the spread of Christianity, which placed the convert 
in a position that, considering the associations and surroundings of 
his life, can only be called intolerable, and which bore hard upon tlie 
missionary, who must either consent to the illegal remarriage of the 
convert, or acquiesce in his concubinage, or leave him to a trial 
beyond ordinary strength. The reasons of the difference cannot be 
entered into : but our readers must keep in mind Mr. Maine's words 
concerning the fact that there is the widest possible difference between 
voluntary or compulfloiy celibacy in Europe, and for Europeans, and 
compulsory celibacy in India. 

Mr. Maine, perhaps the most learned and acute of modem legists, 
proposes to permit the remarriage of converts whose wives or hus- 
bands desert and repudiate them, under stringent conditions which 
render abuse of the permission almost impossible. Remarriage will 
be ^owed, but not before more than a year has passed from the date 
of conversion, after repeated judicial examination of tlie parties, and 
the refusal of the one to live with the other on the sole ground of 
conversion. Then, and not before, is the convert allowed to remarry. 
The bill proposed is simply permissive. The convert, whose first 
desire would be the conversion of his wife, and whose sincerity would 
be tested by unwearied efforts to win her back to his home, wiU 
remain unmarried as long as he has the least hope of persuading his 
wifa Only when all hope is gone, the bill allows him to use the 
liberty of the Apostle (ol> dcdouXwrai u aSfX^oc ^ y\ aSsX^q \v rote 
Twovrotc)- This is the permission which the law proposes to concede; 
bat no church or religious society is bound therefore to concede it. Tlie 
missionary may or may not, according to the discipline of the society 
to which the convert belongs, withhold permission. This is an im- 
portant point, because it appears that the opinions of the missionaries, 
as a body, are most strongly divided. The subject was discussed at 
the Punjab Conference, where the opinion inclined against remarriage. 
The discussion itself, though assisted by Sir Herbert B. Edwardes, 
was confined to narrow ground. The plain maxims of right and equity 
^iy which such a subject should be weighed, were left out of view : 
the appeal lay, as indeed was fitting, to the autliority of the Scrip- 

136 The Contemporary Review. 

tares, but those Scriptures were interpreted without reference to 
history and the past experience of the Church. "All the speakers," 
says Mr. Maine, " appeared to have been ignorant, or to have deaign- 
cdly omitted all mention, of the fact that the question of the 
remarriage of Christian converts had an ancient as well as a modem 
histor}', and it had only lost its interest through the conversion of the 
entire Western world to Christianity, and the consequent cessation of 
marriages between Christians and heathens." Mr. Maine affirmed, 
that the preponderant weight of authority in the early. Church was 
in favour of divorce, where heathenism, considered to be spiritual 
ftiiultery, was persisted in. The earUest theological opinion and 
Itractice of tlie Clmrcli were in harmony with the bill. 

The cliief objections from Scripture which are brought against it 
are these : — 

1. " Our Lord's words on S. Matt. xix. 9, and St. Paul's in Rom. 
vii. 2 ; 1 Cor. vii. 39, make the marriage bond inviolable wndcr wtry 
eonccii-ahh case except fornication." 

2. In 1 Cor. \-ii. 15, "the language is too general and mild for so 
solemn a sanction as that to remarriage, and the permission is simply 
to a separation, not to divorce a. vinculo ■matrimonii." 

To whicli it may be answered, (1) that it is more than doubtful 
liow far our Lord's words (S. Matt xix. 9) are applicable to the 
present case, how fer indeed* "they bear upon the question of a 
l>ersou divorced by judicial authority;" and (2), supposing that they 
apply to "every coucei\'able case" of married disciplca, it seems 
certain, from St. Paid's own distinction in 1 Cor. vii 12, " But to 
the rest speak I, not the Lord," that they do not apply to the case 
of mixed marriages pf- "that was a question with which He did not 
deal in His recorded discourses." That the question must soon have 
risen in the Church is certain ; that it was submitted to the judgment 
of the Apostle, and that in this first letter to the Corintliians he gives 
his own opinion thereon, is almost equally certain. 

In answer t-o objection 2, that the words, " if the unbelieving depart 
let him de|mrt ; a brother or sister is not under bondage in such cases : 
but iJod hath calleii us to peace," are too infonual aud general to 
justify divorce, — Mr. Maine speaks not as a tlieologian, and therefore 
liable to theologicid predilections, but with the more authority "as 
iiaving some acquaintance with legal antiquities." "It was said 
by s<.tmo opjKments of tiie measure, that the text justified at most a 
tUvorco a Mt-»Ai d thoro — a judicial separation. That \-iew involved 
;ai anachivnisui. The only divorce known in the world when the 
wonls werv written was an al>solute divorce — (i I'iacnlo matrimonii." 

• Anititc "XlaTTMg*," in Smith's "Pictitmarr of ih* BiWc," vhetv the nihjert is ablf 
:;va;eJ. f Ali'onl ii. hfo. 

Indian Questions. 137 

It was said that the words were not sufficiently strong to warrant 
the conclusion drawn from them. " Mr. Maine, stiU speaking as a 
lawyer, asserted that stronger language could not have been used. 
The words employed were the technical words of Koman law implying 
ahsolute divorce. . , . The ordinary formula of divorce was abi, 
discede, or as the phrase would run when turned into the third person, 
ki him depart."* 

It was urged in the debate, that St. Paul was not likely to use the 
technical language of the Roman forum, himself a native of Tarsus, in 
Asia, and writing to his disciples at Corinth, in Greece. The objec- 
tion overlooked the fact of which Mr. Merivale has made such good 
use in his Boyle Lectures, that St. Paul was a Roman citizen, well 
skilled in the Roman law of persons, and therefore not at all unlikely 
to employ the language of it when establishing a most important rule ; 
and fiirther, that Corinth was a Roman civitas, where such language 
would be understood. 

These are the main objections brought against the bill from the 
ScriptureB, and they are, on examination, more than sufficiently dis- 
posed of. They are deduced from the letter of the text. But ought 
not the ^irit of Christ's teachiug to be taken into account ? Some- 
thing is said concerning binding burdens " too heavy to be borne," 
which we ourselves do not "touch," not inapplicable to this case. 
And where choice has to be made between two meanings, one lenient, 
Ae other severe, neither of which has been so decidedly expressed 
as to foreclose doubt of the possibility' of the other, would not the 
mind of Christ persuade us to legislate, at least for others, in the 
spirit of the lenient rather than the severe ? 

The non-scripting objections to the bill, on the ground (1) that 
the liberty conceded is uncalled for except in few cases ; (2) inexpe- 
dient, because most often the wife is persuaded to rejoin her husband ; 
snd (3) unjust to the wife as the imoffcnding party, because she does 
no wrong in refusing to live with a Christian husband, would, if well 
proved, be most valid. But each statement is doubtful, or denied. 
(1) In the experience of many missionnries a large number of con- 
verts do require the permission to remarry ; (2) if the ■wife returns, 
it is only likely, according to the objectors' own sliowing, on her 
conversion after many years of separation, and there is the obvious 
rejoinder, " What sort of life has the convert been living in the 
interval ?" and (3) the law which allows the wife to remarry, and 
protects her personal and proprietary riglits, is far juster and more 
merciful to her than if, according to the principles of all law, civilized 

* The Debate is the Council of the Governor General of India on the " Remarriage of 
Caareils Bill," Calcutta, 186d. I'p. 4, 5. 

138 Tlie Contemporary Review. 

01- barbarous, it compelled her to live with a husband whom, in most 
cases, " she loatlies with a loathing unknown to Europe." 

It would be prematui-e yet to say, until more complete statistics 
have been ascertained, to which side expediency inclines. But such 
are the main reasons advanced for and against the biU on the grounds 
of Scripture, reason, and equity, and upon them discussion at home 
may be fairly invited. 


The briefest review of the condition and prospect of the Church in 
India should contain a notice of its schools. These are of two classes, 
one for the education of the children of European parents and of half- 
castes, and the other for that of natives. The neglect of the former 
has long been a reproach ; in consequence of it, European and half- 
caste children have grown up Indianized in the worst sense of the 
word, that is, in>bued with the vices of both peoples. The rolling 
away of that reproach is tlie endeavour of the excellent Bishop of 
Calcutta, and of others who have been awakened to the duty by his 
example. Schools are being established, or are established, in most of 
the larger stations, as well as in the Presidencies. The question con- 
cerning them is one of detail rather than of principle, and calls for no 
particular discussion. The difficulties centre in the want of well-quali- 
fied instructors, of whom at present there is a most inadequate supply. 

When we come to schools for the education of natives, the case is 
different : the subject is a large one, and re((uire3 reconsideration. 
The iirst tiling to be said is, that there is a great demand for such 
schools. Whatever hindrances the missionary meets in other parts of 
his work, here at least his course is free. The Hindoos are as ready 
to receive as he is to impart instruction. In some respects they are 
more ready. Nor is Government less zealous for the education of tlie 
people, nor less liberal in aiding it. Hence the school belongs to 
nearly ever}' missionary station, and where many Europeans reside, 
is well supported. Tlie natives often prefer it to the Government 
school, avowedly proselytizing^ as it is, because it is an English school, 
and " English is rupees." In many cases it may be lioped that a 
higher motive exists, and that there is a curiosity felt, and desire of 
knowledge, independent of the hope of gain. 

The point of view of most of the missionaries, as expressed at the 
Punjab Conference, is this : — The school is essential to our work, be- 
cause it is tlic readiest means of Christianizing the young generation, 
and only hecause it is such. Hence the teaching of the Bible is con- 
sidered to be " the primary end of mission schools, while instruction 
in secular subjects is given simply with a view to that end," and, as 
one of the sp&kers at the Conference confessed, " because the mission- 

Indian Questions, 139 

aries could obtain no pupils willing to enter for the sake of receiving 
instraction in the Bible only." The case should be fairly stated from 
the side of the majority of the missionaries. As a body, and leaving 
out the opinion of the very few of whom no account need be taken, 
they would gladly see the natives highly instructed. They have no 
mean jealousy of the advance of knowledge. But they think that 
the schoolmaster's task is not theirs, or theirs only by an unavoidable 
necessity. Setting before them the one object of Christianizing India, 
and believing that such Christianization of the new generation of 
natives is to be effected by teaching the truths of the Bible only, they 
keep school for that object. If they could, they would teach the 
Bible only; but because they cannot get children together on such 
terms, they will teach other subjects as well, grudgingly and of neces- 
sity. Kay, further, such resolute faith have many missionaries in 
teaching the letter of the Scriptures, that where native Cliristians are 
not to be had as teachers, they will employ Hindoos or Mussulmans 
to give instruction in the Scriptures. It is true that few missionaries 
at the Conference defended such a proceeding, but as a matter of fact, 
because the books of the Vernacular Society, which are in general use, 
are full of as much Biblical instruction as it is possible on every subject 
bat arithmetic to throw into them, instruction more or less of a Biblical 
cast isJih to the duty of the teachers, whether Christian or heathen. 

"We have reason to believe that there are many dissentients, among 
the more thoughtful and educated missionaries, from tliis view and 
course of action; but the readers of the proceedings of the Punjab 
Conference will see that it is the prevalent one, and that we have 
fairly stated it. It is unquestionably open to grave doubts, if it is not 
altf^ether wrong. For it may be asked, What difference is there 
between the principle which should govern the school for heathen 
children and that for Christian ? If education be in itseK, and quite 
independent of the amount of Biblical knowledge conveyed, a truly 
religious work in the case of the Christian chikl, why not also in the 
case of the heathen ? If it is not good for the mind of the Christian 
child to be dwarfed and stunted, is it good for tlie heathen ? If the 
spirit which withheld from the children of National Schools at liome 
all other instruction but that of the Catechism, Scripture history, 
leading, writing, and the four first rules of arithmetic, is a spirit of 
which we are ashamed, why should it sun'ive to Iw acted on in India ? 
Again, it is more than doubtful whether the ol)ject of evangelizing 
the young generation of natives can be reached by means of instruc- 
tion in the truths of the Bible only. Texts which the teachers sui>- 
pose to embody the whole scheme of salvation are quickly learned, 
and the knowledge of Jewish history and antiquities, not to say the 
discourses, parables, and miracles of our Lord, are soon got by rote 


The. Contemporary Revitw. 

tincl r^pcfited at examinatioas; but does such knowledge, learnt as a 
les9un, "bring the learner near to that conversion of heart and life 
which i.s the ciiie en<l ol the Tnissionary's lahour ? Is it not thia class 
which furnishes the acofiers as woll as the hardened imbelievere ? 
Can a greater wrong be done to sacred literature, than for the Scrip- 
tures to be convert*;d into a readini,' ami olaas-book ? 

To leave the grnimd of mere Biipitositiou, what is the actual faot? 
In the atftteraent of*'reaann3 lor siloing the clerical petition against 
thti Itemarria^'-e of Cnnverts Bill, by the llev. A. M. Uanerjeii, aecoud 
prafesBor ut' BishojVa College;, Calciittii," we (iiid the following : — " The 
dtipartment of Auglu-^'ernaoular schools . . . ia one which has, 
comparatively, been barren of resnUs* and led to hut few instances of 
liaptisiu, hearing tJ^) the wlmh; boily of nutive Christians a proportion 
of not more thao two or three in a thi>usand."-f 

The experience of most readers will hear us out in saying, that the 
deepest religious iiupressions whiuh they received in youth were not 
those which they learned from a hook, but from the li\-iug voice. 
tone, manner of hira who taught it as a Divina message, and by liia 
own quiet euraestuess riveted attention, untl imparted the spiritual 
giit It is bibliolatry of the worst kind to expect from the letter that 
wliicli the spirit Edoue can give. If this be thought an unjust sus- 
picion of the proceeding of so many devoted raissioaaries, it must 
lie asked, What else is the reason why they place the letter to be 
taught to the cliildi'en of their schoolis in the hands of heathens and 
unbelievers ? 

There is j broader view of the question, which need only be hinted 
at. English science, language, and literature will not do the niission- 
ary's work, nor aceomplish the conversion of India. But the conviction 
is more and more gaining ground, and that too we believe aniong the 
ablest missioniuies, tliat these are divinely intended to prepare the 
way for it. 

The positive knowledge of the outward world \vhic.U science gives i^ 
the massive hammer to shiver in pieces the whule fabric of Hindoo 
idolatry. The large inquiry, the patient waiting for results, whicli is 
the very* spirit of science, surely unilemnnes the dogmatism of the 
Mussidman, and insjiirea doubt of the suiliciency of the fonuida, " It is 
■WTitteu." English literatm-e does more. It ia the product of geniu^ 

• Tke Italice tire not ouri. 

t Mi. lifljifjicft adds in a aoto,— "I nm not (ioptwiatiBg the Tftlui* of such nol 
iiMtituCJuns us tho9G oftlic Free Chiirvh, thp (rDiuml Ansembiy, nnd tho IrfitLdim MisBiana 
Sofigty, or our own Cattedml Mis^it>ti College. They lire diiing a. groat preparatory ivo 
in unbu-iiig the njinda of tlnff rUin-g generotiun of CabuCta- Bui I uu ualng hore tc 
which I hnvo hii>iLrd missioDiiriL'a tlieniBelveB eniplcy, anJ I u-ni only itating whnt tie tun- 
dllttora of tUow inatitulions have neTCr denied, that aa rpptrds the yrespul. nunttricat 
■trcngth of the uative Chufdi, those semiiilLrifs have not jret contributed much to it." 

Indian Questions. 141 

trained in schools of ancient philosophy and Christian learning. It is 
the nohlest fruit of Christian civilization. It will not he supposed 
that this literature can he studied and appreciated — and the highest 
Hindoo mind shows no little aptitude for the study, and much power 
of appreciation, — without that essence of Christian lioliness, which 
more or less pervades it — goodness, justice, mercy and truth, — sinking 
deep down and taking root. If there is faintness of heart and dis- 
couragement because of the seeming slowness of the conversion of 
India, it is because men look for the story of that converaion in the 
numerical result of single instances rather than in the progress of the 
preliminary stages. The Brahma Samaj alone is a convincing proof 
what high and noble moral aims European education in secular sub- 
jects, as they are somewhat slightingly called, is capable of inspiring.* 
That culture may be intended to fill the same place in the preparation 
of Hindoos as, in the judgment of the most honoured of Christian 
Fathers, Greek philosophy filled to the Greeks, Hebrew law and 
prophecy to Hebrews. So too may English law, with its maxims of 
justice and equity, be the schoolmaster to lead the men of this land 
to Christ. 

Such seems the not extravagant conclusion from any faith in Divine 
Providence, — which has not left the world to perish in darkness — 
which works out its own ends no less by English rule and government 
in India, than by the weak and divided, though noble and strenuous 
efforts of some few missionaries. 

If this conclusion be a reasonable one, then doubt is thrown on 
the wisdom of those missionaries who consider education in itself a 
secular work rather than a Divine instrument, equally with preaching, 
for the conversion of India, or who confine their instnictions, as far as 
they can, to lessons on the Bible. It is only from such schools, in 
which education itself is considered a sacred duty, that the spirit shall 
arise to speak with no " stammering lips and other tongue " of the 
foreigner to the hearts of Hindoos, to reawaken in the millions of the 
land the prayer for " the adorable light of the Divine Ruler ; may it 
guide our intellects."f 

* This BOfietj (the word lamaj means an association, erehna) was founded in 1830 by 
Bijth Eammohan K07, for the purpose of muataining and diffusing the pare ethical 
Inching and the devout Theism which had been the fruit of his contac^t with Christian 
Irath. It has had considerftble influence among the educated class of natives, and has 
held regular meetings, in Calcutta and elsewhere, for worship and instruction. Kecently, I 
uninformed, there has been a division in the body, ono section adhering to their founder's 
pnndple of leaving cute, as a national institution, untouched ; the othsr, with more 
nrnestness in their protest against old abuses, feeling bound to wage war against it, as 
ilw against idolatrous usages. 

t The quotation is from the hymn known as the Goyatri in the Rig* Veda, which is 
recited morning and erening by devout Brahmins. 


IT will be within the knowledge of most readers that a controversy 
has sprung up on this subject in a very unexpected quarter, and 
threatens to assume very formidable dimeneions. As often happens, 
the starting-point was an occasion of comparatively small importance. 
The North British Eailway Company, having come into possession of 
tlie line between Edinbui^h and Glasgow, signalized its new pro- 
jirietorship by running Sunday tmins where none had run before. 
The clerg}', and many of the laity, of Glasgow were alarmed at what 
seemed to them to threaten a revolutionary' change in the national 
oltser\-ance of the Sabbath. A meeting of the Presbytery of the 
1-jstablished Church was convened, and it was agreed to issue a 
jiastoral address on the subject. The language of the address 
was temperate, that of the speakers far from violent. Their 
case was rested, however, on the assumption that the Fourth. Com- 
mandment was at once the ground and the rule of the observance 
of the Lonl's day, anil an amendment, with a \-iew to the omission of 
the clause affirming this, was moved by Pr. Norman ilacleod, of the 
IJarony Church, Glasgow, the well-known editor of Good Words. At 
tui adjourned meeting on November ItUh, he supported the amendment 
in a siM?och which took three hours in deliver\-, and which has since 
Ihm'h publishetl, but was defeated by a majority of twenty-three to four. 
It is pleasant to Ite able to acknowledge, as Dr. Madeod himself 

Sunday. 143 

1ms done, the Christian courtesy, candour, and gentlemanly bearing 
which characterized the discussion of the Presbyteiy. There was little 
or nothing of the bitterness which has so often disgraced contro- 
versies on this subject — a total absence of the extravagance which 
led the Presbytery of Strathbogie, ia 1658, to condemn an offender 
accused of sabbath-breaking for saving the life of a sheep ;* and 
which, in 1863, prompted the Free Church Presbytery of the same 
district (as though their teeth were still set on edge with the 
sour grapes which their fathers had eaten) to present Good Words 
to the General Assembly of the Free Church because it had 
admitted a paper by Mr. Thorold, the excellent rector of St. Giles', 
London, advocating, among other things, the practice of allowing boys 
at school to write letters to their parents on the leisure hours of 
Sunday. The speeches of Dr. Macduff, Mr. Charteris, and others, — ^we 
may add also, the paper on this subject by Dr. Hanna (the son-in- 
law and biographer of Thomas Chalmers), in the Sunday Magazine for 
December last, — present a refreshing contrast to this unintelligent 
narrowness. Concessions were made which would have startled those 
who, in the General Assembly of 1834, declared a Sunday walk 
("wandering in the fields" — grouped together with "riot, drunkenness, 
and other immoralities") to be a breach of the commandment. Dr. 
Macduff spoke with approval of the opening of the parks of Glasgow 
" when the sabbath services are over." It was allowed by Mr. Char- 
teris that some cabs and omnibuses might legitimately ply on the 
Lord's day ; that one morning and one evening train might, if there 
was fair eWdence of their being wanted, legitimately run. In prac- 
tical suggestions for the observance of the day, Dr. Macleod and his 
opponents were, for the most part, of one mind. What startled and 
alarmed them was that lie threw overboard the principle on which 
they laid stress — that the Lord's day rests upon the Fourth Com- 
mandment ; that he went on, with a Lutber-like boldness, to declare 
that the Decalogue itself, qud Decalogue, was no longer binding on 
those who had accepted the law of their Master, Christ ; that the 
moral elements of it are of perpetual force, not because they are there, 
but because they are moral, part of the eternal will of God, incor-. 
porated with the teaching of our Lord.f To them the former position 

• Hesfley's "Btunpton Lectiires," p. 291. 

t Nothing, of course, is easier for those who simply want a "cry to go to tlie country 
with " Uian to repeat incessantly that Dr. Macleod sets aside the authority of all the Ten 
Commandmenta. Those who io not Bhrink from low jesting on the gravest questions will 
add to that cry that, if his teaching gains ground, they must lock np their spoons and look 
after their wivea. Men who wish to deal with facts as they are, will recognise that what 
he maintains ia einiply this, that every couimandmcat but the fourth was binding before 
the law was given on Sinai, would have Icen binding now, even if that law had never been 
given, and ia actually binding on the consciences of Christian men, not because it waa then 

144 ^'^^ Contemporary Review. 

seemed to undermine the only ground on which the holiness of the- 
Lord's day could be maintained, the latter to let in an unbridled 
Antinomianiam. It is to their honour that, in spite of their fears, 
they continued to use the language of courtesy and calmness. The 
vehemence of popular religious feeling, however, has gone far beyond 
the moderation of the Presbytery, and Dr. Macleod is probably, at 
present, one of the best abused men in Great Britain. Journal after 
journal declaims against him, as Enghsh religious newspapers have 
declaimed (with more reason, it must be owned) against the Bishop of 
Natal and the writers of " Essays and Reviews." Even the hannony 
of a Scottish benevolent dinner, at which he presided, was not secure 
from an unseemly interruption by his opponents. In the points 
which affect him personally he is well able to defend himself and 
the heartiness and benignity of his character are a pledge that he at 
least will not answer " railing for railing." His speech deserves to 
be studied as a vigorous and remarkable protest against the dominant 
feeling of his countrymen, and yet more of the cleigy of hia Churck 
In most parts of his case his position is a strong one. Even where it 
seems weakest, — the difficulty of reconciling liis teaching with that of 
the documentary standards which constitute, as it were, the daposiiwrn 
fidei of both the Established and the Free Churches, — it may be legi- 
timately contended that the Westminster Confession (sxL 8) leaves 
some room for discussion what are " works of necessity and mercy," 
that the Laiger Catechism leaves a like opening when it speaks, as 
forbidden, of " unnecessary acts, words, or thouglits concerning worldly 
business or recreation," and leaves the same licence, in the same terms, 
for " works of necessity and mercy." If it be urged that this leaves 
Dr. Macleod's statement as to the groimd of the duty still at variance 
with that of liis formularies, the answer may be put in to which 
Principal Tulloch has already given prominence, that confessions of 
faith, such as those in question, cannot rightfully be held to stereo- 
type all the opinions of their compilers on all questions touclied upon 
— historical, ethical, dogmatical, — and impose them upon the minds of 
men for ever ; and that, so long as they continue, the assent given to 
them is (as it has been now formulated by Parliament, with the 
hearty concurrence of the Church of England, so far as that concur- 
rence can be expressed) general, and not special, — to the nmin tone 
and current of teaching, not to each individual detail. 

vritten on the tables of stone, but because it is written on the " fleshy t&blea of the 
heart," and has been confinned and eipanilcd by the teaching of oui Saviour, Chrirt. To 
represent the moral laws of God as depending upon the thunders of Sinai for their validi^, 
and all laws bo given as equally binding, must lead either to Judaism, if we believe the 
Sinaitic law, as such, to continue, or to Antinomianiam, if we believe it, u auch, to have 
passed away. 

Sunday. 145 

It is not without some reluctance tliat I venture to take any pai-t 
in a controversy, the literature of which is already so volumiuous, and 
ffliich exposes those who meddle with it to such formidable attacks. 
If I have heen led to overcome that reluctance, it is partly in tlie 
hope that, writing at a distance from the passions which it lias 
Toased, yet having many points of contact with those who are com- 
batants on either side, and a profound respect for the feelings of both 
parties, I may be able to gain a hearing, and partly liecause I 
believe there are some facts, likely enough to be overlooked in the 
tieat of debate, which are yet of some importance in tlieir bearing 
on the points at issue. 

1. State of the Uiiestion. 
It is well that we should begin by noticing how the matter at 
present stands, how far both parties are agreed, and where tlie 
divergence begins. It is admitted then, I imagine, on both sides, 
that there is an incalculable gain to the well-being of mankind, 
physical, social, moral, in thus recognising one day, recurring at fixed 
anil sliort intervals of time, as a day of general rest; that the rest 
ought not to be a mere animal cessation from manual or mental 
labour, but a time for strengthening and refreshing the spiritual life 
with whicli that laliour tends to interfere ; that for this end, it Ls well 
tliat the day of general rest should be also a day of general worship. 
It is agreed on both sides, fmther, that there is an indefinitely strong 
prescription in favom- of a fixed order giving one day in seven as the 
day of rest; that that prescription applies equally whether men reckon 
the day so kept as the first or hist of the seven ; that for the whole 
Christian Church that prescription is now, and has been for eighteen 
centuries, in favour of keeping the first, and not the seventh; that, 
on the grounds of its tendency to promote the well-being of the 
people, it is the right, and may be the duty, of the State to interpose, 
by positive enactment, and therefore by penalties, to protect those 
vhom the rest woidd benefit against the selfishness tliat would deprive 
them of it It would be conceded, probably, that the State ought to 
refrain from this interference if thei-e were the probability of its doing 
more harm than good, and that something must be left to the judgment 
and conscience of individual men. It might seem as if Jiliis agree- 
ment were enough to insure common concert. Men niight mget to 
cuDsider how far a given regulation would make the day of rest so 
set apart a reality, and lead to the right use of it, how far it could 
he put in force without the risk of greater evils. 

Here, however, the difiereuce begbis. " We admit all this," it is 
Mid on one side, "but we claim much more. We cannot rest the 
obligation of the Sabbath on reasons of general expediency. To do so 

1^6 The Contemporary Review. 

is to descend fi-om a high and secure position, and fight the battle ou 
a ground chosen by the enemy. We cannot rest any moral command- 
ment on tliat ground. M'e cannot begin the discussion from that 
fttarting-point. This law rests, as other moral lava rest, on the 
i-evealed will of God. We cannot mutilate and modify that law 
because there is, or seems to be, a balance of gain in doing so. We 
point to the law given on Sinai as binding still. We see in it traces 
of a yet more primitive, more universal law. We see in the teaching 
of our Master, Christ, a sanction, direct or implied, not only of the 
principle of the law, but of the law itself We see in the observance 
of one day in seven ))y the Christian Cbui-ch a recognition of the 
binding character of the law. AVe look ujton the transfer of the 
observance from the seventh day to the first as a point immaterial. 
Perhaps it was but a return to the true motle of reckoning, a reform 
of some error in the Jewish calendar ; perhaps it was solemnly sanc- 
tioned by the apostles, acting under the guidance of the Spirit, in 
order to unite with the weekly rest the commemoration of the resur- 
rection of Christ, the expression of the tnith that in our rest from 
labour we too are to rise to newness of life. But, whatever may have 
been the motive of the change, the obligation has been transferred. 
We must maintain that tlte law binds us as strictly as it bound 
tlie Jews. We must ask the State to help us in mahitaining it ; we 
must protest against any relaxation of existing rigour." 

Tliere is much in this feeling with which I profoundly symj>athize. 
I am at one with tliose who feel that it is a poor thing to rest any 
duty on mere ex])ediency, and that tliere is no safe standai-d but that 
of conformity to the Divine will. If men maintain this conviction in 
the face of much seoni, obloquy, and ridicule, they are, so far, worthy 
of all honour. I cannot set much store on the argument that the 
Fourth Commandment is ipso farfo set aside by the mere transfer of the 
immerical position of the day, seeing that that transfer leaves its com- 
memorative, moral, and even symbolical cliaracter unaflfected, except 
in the way of expansion and development But the iwsition thus 
taken up suggests two inquiries : (1) "What are the logical consequences 
which flow from it ? (2) What are the grounds on which it rests ? I 
deal with these questions in their order. 

(1.) It is, I think, clear that if the Fourth Commandment be, as such, 
and in its letter, binding on all Christians, there should be no tamper- 
ing with it. The question is reduced simply to the issue, what is 
" work" ? and then, when this has been defined by casuists and lawj-ers, 
all acts are to be tried by the definition, and forbidden or permitted 
accordingly. In interpreting the statute we could have no better 
guide than the contemporaneous enactments of the same lawgiver; 
and these, in this instance, forbade the amount of exertion implied in 

Sunday. 147 

withering maima from the ground (Exod. xv. 2C), in li<,'Iiting a fire 
(Exo<i. XXXV. 3), in picking up sticks for fuel (Numb. xv. 32). It 
might I)e questioned how far later, merely human, logislatiou woidd be 
justified ill lowering the sanction of tlie law by mitigating the penalty, 
and the law prescribed no lighter penalty than ileatli (Exod. xxxi 15 ; 
Kumb. XV. 36). It would seem tliat if human lawgivers might not 
take away, neither might they add. The law commands the Sabbath 
to be " kept holy," but it defines the holiness as consisting in the 
absence of work (Exod. xxxi. 15), and contains no enactment for 
religious ordinances, no prohibition of recreation and refreshment. 
Lof^cally, then, all work — household, commercial, official, nn'Iitary, 
naval — ought to cease absolutely, and without excei'tlon, under the 
severest penalty. Tlie lighting of a fire, the lioiling of water, the 
supply of milk, is as the nuining of a railway train. The gnat and 
llie camel stand on the same footing. Those who shrink from these 
consequences may full liack upon two methods of escape ;• — (a) They 
may say that circumstances are changed, that the rigour and the 
penalty were needed for the education of the Jews, but are not needed 
for as ; that we must look to the ends which the law contemplated, 
Mid be true, not to its letter, but to its spirit. But this is to shift the 
*hole ground. The moment you talk of " circumstances," and 
"temporary necessities," and "looking to tlie spirit," you cease to be 
interpreting a statute. You treat the law as obsolete or repealed, and 
issnme that you have some knowledge of the intentions of the law- 
girer, and are able to approximate to what he meant in a law which 
is no longer applicable. It may be that yon have ; but then tlie 
qnestion is, as I said, altered. You cannot press on others the very 
kter which you have set aside. You must look to otiier evidence 
than the commandment itself of what is the mind and will of God. 
You must have recourse either to general principles of ethics, or to 
tome special, and, if it may be, Divine authority. {U) It may be 
contended that that authority is not far to seek. " The teaching 
of Christ," it is said, " at once sanctions and juodifies, treats the 
Sabbath as of binding obligation, ' made for man,' but leaves it ojten 
to 'do good' on the*Sabbath day, to save the life of man or beast, 
to heal the sick by supernatural power, and, by parity of reasoning, 
to attempt to heal by ordinary skill. He manifests Himself as the 
lord of the Sabbath, and, with a dispensing power, at once interi)rets 
and confirms." I need not say that I look uixm our I^ord's teaching, 

* The Pnritiuis of the seventeenth century did noi shrink from foncliiBions such as 
Aw. Sharing, walking in a garden, cooking victuals, it mother's kissing her child, wuro 
pf»crf by the Pilgrim Fathers of New Eagland under the same anathema. (Hcssey, 
"Bunploo Lectures," p. 46fi.) Men were found to maintain that a man might oa well 
(Shis child's throat u play howls on a Sunday. '\Vho was to say that one Divine com- 
IUikI was more binding tlun tnothcr ? (Collier, "Church History," vii. 1S2.) 



The Contemporary Review, 

liy word and act, in relabiou tu the Sablwitli as of infinite impciTtHiii-t'. 

I shall return to it hy-and-bye. ^\^lat I wish to note here is, that 
while there is an iiiimen&e imveiliiig and dis-cuveiy of tUe truth in 
it, if we take His words as sTibstitutin;^ in this, as in othyr tiling's, 
a princiihle for a preceyjt, — the starting-pijint of Ofw applicationa of a 
law wliich does not depend upon the "written statute, — they go but 
a liMto way if we treat tbeiu simply os coinnieuts- w riders to b 
statute "W'tiieh continues in full, unabate<l force. They do not» in 
their letter, take away the jienalty or the strictness except in the 
epecitied. iiistiuices. They sanctLau works whioh are directly connecteil 
with worship, or with the relief of jiaiu, or with the preservation of 
life. They leave the lighting; the lire, or the yatheriiig of sticks, still 
under the old condemnation, 

(3.) It cwnains then to ask, are the grounds on wlnoL the 
supposed obligation re^ts; and this lemia \*i nu historical iuiiuirj-. 

2. The SBblath of thu PalriAKihs. 

I am reluctant to enter upon the vexed question of the eKistence 
of a Sfthbath, with or witlmnt a definite law, prior to the Exo<1tis. 
Wlierc the facts ni¥ Rn few, we need be on our guard against losiu;^ our 
way in the cloudlainl of conjectures. The i^hlef points seem tliese:^ 
(1.) There is no trace of such a law in the paradise state of Gen. 11 
smd iii. The one eonitnand which conatitntes the triiil nf Ailani i? 
that whieli forbids liiui tn eat i>f the fruit of "'the tree nf knowledge 
of good and evil." It is hardly conceivable, if sueh a command had 
been j|:iven, that it should have romained without a lecord. It does 
not enter into the hi.story of the Fall. Theie is notliing to show 
even that the Divine Sabbath was revealed to the new-erented njan, 
(2.) There is a like nej^Mtive aii^ument in the hbtory of Noah. Law 
bc!comc9 wilier, takes in more aina, and therefore more duties ; but 
thia is not among them, and was never reekon&l by the Jews aa among 
the precepts given to him (Gen. ix. 1 — T). The bow in tbe cloud, not 
the Sabbath, wjis the sign of Ihe covenant then. So in like niamier; 
circumcision, not the Sabbath, was given to Abraham as the sign of 
the covenant with him (Oen. xvii. !J). Tliere are. on the other hand, 
it may be allowed, traces of a special sacitidni'SS in the niunher seven 
(Gun. vii. 3 ; xxix. IS), tmces of au hehdotnadal clivisiim of time 
(Gen. vii. 4, 10; viii. 12; xxJs. 27), which imply ]irobahly some 
observance of one day in sevun; and it i& possible (I'ut Me cannot say 
uiore than this) that the observance consisted in eume kind of rost, 
with or without sacrifice.* (3.) At the time of the Exodus, and hnfort 

• The Dumler gevea wua lliroug'hoiit, in ilia sj-TuboliBii) both of lamel and many other 
Bscieiit iiati-Lim, the rBrruwritutive of the tLniuit belu'fi-en Gud tind man, llio lijuriuonj ol 
ihe Crtotor aad the creature, and lie Sabballi b Lul one yf a whale smoa of eepicBary 



llie detiverj* of tlie law, the name appeals for the first time, liut tlio 
iiiwle Id which it is brought in suggests tliat the hehdomadal division 
III' time Was alrently kudwii, and tlmt the seventh day was already in 
some sort oliscrvtil, though not. with the strictness which vras tliyn 
enjoined (ExcvL xvi. 4), At first no reason is given. The command 
U simply positive. It is illustrated and enforced "liy tlie cessation of 
tJie manua. It vras binditi^ as a positive Ijiw ujiou tlie Israelites 
then, but there is so far nothin;^ to sliow that it had been Ijiiiding upon 
thi'iii jirevionsly, still less to show that i6 whs binding upon luankind 
itt IftT^e, 

3, Tlie Sabbatti of the Law. 

The pTocLiuiation of the law from Sinai ]jlaced it on a new footing. 
It took its place, not amon^^ ritual and ceremonial laws, but side hy 
(iide with others wliich all men recngnise as essentially moral, and 
ttid'ef'Te universal. It may legitimately l>e iiiferred from this that it 
WftS a3 uecessftiy for them as the moral laws themselves. But it does 
hd fullow that it Was as universally binding as the laws wliich the 
conscience of all mtin rucognises. The distLuctioa between moral, and 
pcsitive OT cei'emonial law is that of a later age and higher ethicid 
rnlture. Tlie Israelitiis conld not and <lid not draw it at the time 
i)f the Exodus. For them all duties were s-o far alike^ all resting on 
distinct conunands, and sanctioned by distinct penalties. We I'-annot 
go further than the probability, from its position, that it would he 
setn one day either to be altogether moral, or to have in it. a moral 
dement. The reasons assigned for the Sabbath are various. (1.) It 
conunem orates the I')i\ine rest, sUfl thut re^t is h«ld furtli as an 
Bwlietype or patteru wliich jnen ought tfi rijproiluee, the implied prin- 
'iple being that human life should be in conformity with the life and 
teing of t'lod (Exod. xx. II). (2.) It apijeals to their experience of 
suffering and theh' sense f>f sympathy. They have kno^ni the bitter- 
niHs of ceaseless toil when they were slaves in a strange land, and are 
lliCTpiiire not oidy to rest theniselve.'!, but to concede rest Ui their 
slsTes.aml the strangers that dwelt with them (Exod, xxiii. 12 ; Deut. 
V. 15). (3.) ft ia a sign of God's covenant with them (Ezuk. \x. 12), 
u eirciimcisiiiu was of His covenant with Abmham, a token of their 
lieiiig a ppiiuliar and separate people. Of these i-esiftons it is clear 
tliat the first is the only one wliirh had any character of nniversality. 
The last aetiially excludes it The only pennauent obligation 

lomlunnlioni with ihia significaucp. (Scq JJShr'i " SymlititiJii" >■ 187, Bud ii. £77-} 
Fisid righlly rejecU, wilt goiiit^ scorn, the theory of Daur and Von Bohlen, ttftt the 
Jpriih Salibuth ruse out of the worsliip of the plauct Sutiini, to nhocu llic dilj WCU Aiiii- 
itW (" Jltt-nhuftiWi" p. 106} ; but stiuU a tLw)!^' of his own, that the primorj' idea of 
ilta iay wiu thut of a tarr^fiei, u Ten unci atinii of lh(> pmClla of kbuur. 



The Contemporary Rcvino. 

mvolved in the seenntl is that of extending;, tr) the ponreat nnd most 
alien, some share uf whatever bleasiugs we enjoy ourselres. The 
principle of the first is sepanihle, mni has, hy a later unicle of 0«il, 
Iwei] actnally separatoii. from the letter. "{.lod rests; therefore man 
should Test." I3ut as thcni is a Divine lictivity wliiuh dciea not break 
in npan the rest of the eternal Sabbath (John v. 17), en there may Ihj 
a human !u;tivit^% human work, cumpatilile with the priociple uf 'a 
weekly Salihath, and the question is ouce more removed iroin the mere 
casiiiatiy wliidi iletin&s "work" aa a wonl oecurmig in a 3tittute, to 
the wider issue of wliiit ia so corujiatible. 

+. TLe Subbath of the PropheU. 

Tlie liistoi-y of the period lietweeii the Exodus and the mooarcliy 
presents, ft3 mifjht be expected, little trace of sabbatical obsenanci;. 
No provision hud been made l>y tlie law for connecting it with feli- 
gioua acts \ and thongh it ii probable enough that it was TCi^ftgnised 
OS a day of rest, the frequent aubju|>ation of Israel, their as frequent 
apostasy, their adnption of the cu5tom.s of their neighbours, must have 
been incompatible with any ri^roroua obeitience, even in that aspect 
of the law. With tlie prophtts from 8amnL'l onwards a new aod 
better onler of things cumnicnced. They, in theii' schools, coUeges, 
nionasteriM (the latter word, perhaps, conveys a better notion of their 
life than any other), saw that the Sabbath rest never could be all that 
it nuj^ld to be unless it were mure than rest. They seized on tliis 
and ou tlie iiew-nioon festival aa instninients for the religious educa- 
tion of the jroojjle. They journeyed through the countrv, stoppin«^ 
at fixed resting-places, and gathered men and women round them 
(2 Kings iv. 23). In this we may find the firs.t starting-point of 
what was ufterwai-ds developed into tlie system of the sj*napfj<,tt&^, 
and the remote souree therefore of the woiyliip of Christian churche*. 
which was based upon that system. They bronglit new powers of 
song, and new skill in ninaie.;, sis bel[i3 to its ^d1^^?^^'auce. Special 
psalms were written for use on both the days (Fsa. Ixxxt. ; xcii.)- fl- 
was welcomed liy the poor, and by many, at least, of the rieh. It 
bL*CQme "a deli^^ht, holy to the Ijird, honourable." As such the pi-o- 
phcts btjcauie ita zealous guardians and prot«etora. It was port of 
their work, as a.'^seitora of the lighta of the poor, to vindicatG their 
claim to it aj^ the luxury and tyranny of tlie rieli. Thejjreatest 
of the prophets, the most earnest in all ilenancintions of mere 
ritnalism, m pnx:lfliming that "even new moaus and ^ubbatlis" 
(laa. i. 13) may become an abomination, laaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, felt 
that they could nut .'spare the helji which the Sabbath gave them (laa. 
Ivi 2—6 ; Iviii. l;^, 14; Jer. xvii. 19—27; Ezek. xjl 12, 13). It was 
for the poor and needy, the stronger and the slave, in relatiou to their 

Sutiday, 1 5 1 

time, what the right of gleaning was in relation to the land. It bore 
witness that the wealthier and dominant class was to leave them some- 
thing that they might call their own. The Sabbath became an "abomi- 
nation," because those wlio affected to keep it spoiled the poor and 
wronged the fatherless and the widow. The tendency of the later 
yeara of the monarchy was to substitute fasts for Sabbaths, days of 
penance for days of rejoicing, and Isaiah bore his witness against this, 
partly because men fasted " for strife and debate," partly because while 
they, the ostentatiously devout, were "bowing their head as a bul- 
rash," they "exacted all their labours," and called this "an acceptable 
(lay to the Lord" (Isa. Iviii. 1 — 7, 13, 14). What was needed was to 
restore the regularity and joy of the Sabbath to its old prominence, 
instead of introducing new, uncommanded fast-days, which were a 
burden and an hypocrisy. Those, it may be noticed, whom Jeremiah 
charges with the guilt of Sabbatli-breaking are the noble and the rich 
{Jer. iviL 12). Among those who were most zealous for its honour 
were the eunuchs and the sons of the stranger, the foreign proselytes 
of the king's court (Isa. Ivi. 3 — 5). 

5. The Sabbath of the Scribes. 

After the return from the captivity the old conflict was resumed. 
On the one side there was the trading, wealthy class, with ite old 
impatience of anything that checked tlie perpetual accumulation 
of their riches. On the other, as in the history of Neheniiah, the 
zeal of the truest reformers and best friends of the people leil 
them to maintain the holiness of the Sabbath against the "nobles 
of Judah," who were violating it (Neb. xiii. 15 — 12). This was 
done partly, we c«umot doubt, from the same motives which led 
Kehemiah to protest against tlie usury and exaction of the same class 
(v. 1 — 13); pMtly, also, from the feeling that the Sabbath was a 
sign of the covenant (Ezek. xx. 12, 20), needed to keep up the dis- 
tinctness of the Jews as a separate people. But the evil which after- 
wards reached so terrible a height was already beginning to show itself, 
Hough not bearing directly upon the Sabbath, the words of Zechariah 
and Malachi bear their testimony gainst the tendency to substitute 
£wt8, festivals, days of penance, for days of refreshing. Tlie former 
looks forward, with a delight in the spontaneous joy of youth which 
religious teachers have so often lacked, to tlie time when " boys and 
girls ahoiUd be playing in the streets of Jenisalem," and the fast^days 
should become " cheerful feasts" (Zech. ix. 4). The latter complains 
that the priests of his time were rendering their worship offensive, botli 
tomanandGod, by losing the element of joy, and "covering the altar of 
the Lord with tears, with weeping, and with crying out" (Mai. ii. 13), 
These protests were, however, in vaiu. The age" of proi)hets passed 

152 Tlte Contemporary Review. 

away, and the age of scribes succeeded, and with it came the molti- 
plied comments, the subtle casuistry, the traditions of the elders, which 
have made the name of scribe a proverb and a reproach. This was, 
perhaps, due in part to the political position of the people. Eeduced 
to the position of a Persian province, governed by a Persian satrap, 
with no country they could call their o\vn to fight for and defend, their 
intellect turned in upon itself with a diseased activity, and became 
fruitful in evil. It was natural at such a time that they should lay 
stress on what gave them a distinctive badge of nationality, and the 
Sabbath served this end so well that it rose into greater and greater 
prominence. "WTien the people were called, imder the Maccabees, tO' 
their contest with the idolatry of Syria, they began with a strictness 
which had been unknown during their whole previous histoiy, from 
their departure from Egypt to the destruction of Jerusalem, and 
refused to defend themselves against their enemies on the sabbath day 
(1 Mace. ii. 38). The experience of a single campaign was of course 
enough to break down a superstition which would have left them 
naked to their enemies, to be massacred without resistance (1 Mace. 
ii. 40, 41), and the casuists noted this as an exception. They could 
hardly refuse to extend it to other cases where life was endangered, 
and so far they recognised the principle (to put it in their own words) 
that " the Sabbath was delivered into the hand of man, and not man 
into the hand of the Sabbath." They were compelled, by a like 
necessity, to look on the work of the priests and Levites and Nethinim 
in the temple as another exception, for " the temple knew no Sab- 
bath."* But with these reser\'ed cases, which, of course, did not touch 
the great mass of the labouring poor, they went on, as they thought, 
" setting a fence round the law," hedging it up, in reality, with thorns 
and briars, setting snares and nets for men's consciences. They drew 
out their multitudinous lists of prohibited employments, which, b^in- 
ning witli jtloughing, reaping, baking, descended to tying or untying a 
knot, writing or erasing two letters of the alphabet, even holding the 
ink while a publican made out liis account, tossing nuts and almonds 
in play, or climbing up a tree.*f But as is usual with casuists of this 
class, while they laid heavy burdens, and grievous to be borne, on 
other men's shoidders, they left their own free. They put on whit© 
garments and took warm baths on Priday, made the Sabbath a day of 
feasting, and invited their friends and neighbours to crowded dinners, 
which became proverbial for tlieir luxury. J Tlieir meals could be 

" Comp. Schoettgen, "Hor. Hebr.," and Kork, " Habbinische Parallclen," on Mfttt, 
xii. 1—13. t Ibid. 

X It ie remarkable, as throwing ligbt either on the religious customs of the Israelites in the 
time of Amos, or on those of the later Jews, that the Septuagint translation of that prophet 
aeesin the picture of selfiah sloth and luxury, in vi. 3 — 6, the keeping of a "false Sabbath." 

Sunday. 1 53 

cooked, their charcoal fires lighted (if the time of the year required 
them), before the Sabbath began. All their censure, their excommuni- 
cation, their penalties, fell on the poor man who on that day kneaded 
his cake of meal, or lit his scanty fire, or plucked fruit or ears of com 
to satisfy his hunger. Even before the teaching of our Lord there had 
lieen a protest against this tyranny. While the school of Shammai, not 
content with their thirty-nine specified prohibitions, and all the cases 
that might come under them, went on to add (1) every act which, 
beginning before the Sabbath, might continue in operation during it; 
and (2) such acts as distributing alms in the synagogue, instructing 
children, or visiting the sick and afflicted; that of HUlel maintained 
that these were true sabbatic acts ; that it was lawful to heal the sick, 
even though life was not in danger, and all that the patient had to 
endure through delay would have been a prolongation of his pain, 

6. The Sabbatli of Clirist. 

Such was the state of feeling, such the received practices of the 
Jews, when our Lord began His ministry. We have, as constituting 
the most essential element of the whole question, to note both His 
action and His teaching respecting them. (1.) It appears plain that 
He accepted the religious order of the day ; attended the synagogue 
services; read, when called upon, the appointed lessons; taught the 
people as a Rabbi But it is not less clear that He accepted also 
its social aspect. He entered into the house of one of the chief 
Pharisees (probably one of the HiUel school, who looked on our 
Lord's teaching with a certain measure of approval) to eat bread 
on the Sabbath day (Luke xiv. 1), though the banquet-room was 
crowded with guests struggling for precedence. He led his disciples 
through cornfields, and did not forbid their pluijking the ears of corn, 
and rubbing them in their hands (Matt. xii. 1 ; Mark ii. 23 ; Luke vi. 
1), though the casiustry of the Scribes would have forbidden the latter 
acta as tantamoimt to reaping and threshing ; and the former could 
hardly faU to involve a longer walk than the Sabbath-day's journey, 
which the Scribes defined as the limit of permissible exercise. By 
repeated acts of supernatural power He affirmed the truth for which 
the school of Hillel concluded — that it was lawful to do good on the 
Sabbath day. The hypocrisy of the school of Shammai was the one 
thing that stirred His righteous anger. He looked round with indig- 
nant sorrow, being grieved at the hardness of their hearts (Mark 
iii 8). Everywhere, — in the sjTiagogues, confronting local prejudices ; 
in the temple at Jerusalem, facijig the power of the Sanhedrim, — He 
eiposed Himself to the chaige of being a Sabbath-breaker (John v. 
10, 16 ; vil 23). (2.) But His teaching must have been even more 



The Contemporary Reznew. 


startling tlian His acts. Ha was iiitt content tu rest on any tmJitic 
of the acliools, even though it might make in His favour, Imt wer 
back tu the ginmiid and print'i|)lG of the law, — "The Sahljath was" 
made foi' man, find nut man for the Sahbatli" (Mark ii. 27). It wius 
a raeana, aud nut an end: woilli nothing unless it conduced to the eni], 
— mirn's welfare, man's refrei^hment, in body, mind^ and spirit. " Tliere-j 
fore the Sou of man is Lord also of the Sabbath " (Mark il 26). He 
cause Ho was the Son of man, the representativu and brother of 
men, knowing their wants a]:d infirmities, He was eupremii over the*' 
groBt conimiuidnient itself, und jiroolaijned the truth that man's 
welfare was of liigher and more ptirmimeTit Importanca than aiijjfl 
positive enactment. The case of the Salibath came iindei' the wid^^ 
range of words which few ScribuS would hnve dreiunt of cunuecting 
with it — " I will have mercy and not sacrifice" (Matt, xii 7). Tlie 
temple of man's natiue, with which H« Imd clothed Hitoaelf, had a 
higher sanctity than that whicli was thu glory of Jerusalem (Matt. 
xii. 7)- It foUow^id, us Soon as men learned to tliink of thoir Itodies a^ 
the temples of X\\<i living God, that that which ministered to it as snchj 
was as little a YH'ofanatioii of the Sahlmtli aa the services of the priest 
and Levites in the temple (Matt. xii. fi). By laying stress ou tl 
letter, and interpreting it rigorously for othera, wliile they were leniea^ 
to themselvTs, they entangled tliemsclves in endless coutradlctior 
They led their ox and ass to water (Luke xiii. 15). lliey puUiid thtjir 
cattle out of pits (Matt xii. 11). They cireumcised a man oii th 
Sabbath clay (John vji 22). They !aid stress on Sabbath-break in, 
not because they themselves kept the Sabbath ■with a literal exactneg 
but bGcau.9e it waj^ a c:onveiiieiit chaise to fling aganistr a teachE 
whom they hated (Luke xiil 15). ^o the character of the commai: 
for all the disciples of the New Teacher was altered with a chaun;e 
which, to the Scribes and doctors, must tiave seemed little shoit of^ 
revolutionnry. The true stamp of the Sabbath was to be rest, refresiiJj 
ment, joy. 'NMiatever tended to these emis, without involvmg tl 
enforced labour of others, or givhig to the joy the stamp of sensuoi 
evil, was permissible and right. (3.) Hai-dly less significant than 
the positive was the negative side of His teaching. There is uo 
mention of the Sabbath in either St. Mattliuw's or St. Luke's i-epor^_ 
of the Sermon on the Mount. He never mentions it. as mai^H 
a Scribe woitld have done, wlien He is asked wliich were the »^at 
commandments of the Ijiw (Mark xii. 29, 3(J). In Hia answer,- 
to tlie ipiestion of the younjj; nder, whom He had told to keep tlU 
connnandinenb?, and who asked Him which, He mentions all duties 
towarils man, but not this of keeping the Sablmth holy (JIark s. 1!)}.^ 
"Without formally repeating, whUe in act recognising, the moral ela^| 
ment, and, as it were^ idea of the law, He t.acitly allowa the latter to 

\ a^ 




Sunday. 155 

slip into the background of duties. It ah-eady takes its place in Hia 
teaching among the things that " are decaying, and waxing old, and 
are ready to vanish away." 

7. The Sabbath of the Apostles. 

The disciples followed naturally in the steps of their Master. 
They were Jews, and the framework of Judaism still stood, and they 
observed the seventh day as they did the temple hours of prayer, 
and the two weekly fasts, and the cycle of annual festivals. But 
they observed it, we must believe, as their Master had taught them 
to do, freely, and without bondage ; distributing to the poor, visit- 
ing the sick, holding their common meals, their Agapa;, or feasts 
of charity, upon it. The special command which they had received 
from their Master connected itself naturally enough with a standing 
custom of the s3T3agogues of Palestine. There, as the Sabbath sun 
was setting, at the commencement therefore, of the first day, it was 
customary, both in the synagogues and pri\'ate houses, for bread 
and wine to be passed round, as a farewell to the Sabbath, the 
grace-cup of the departing king ; and over both was uttered a 
ipecial fonnida of benediction.* When the members of the new 
society were compelled, as persecution must soon have compelled them, 
to withdraw from Hebrew and Hellenistic synagogues, and to have 
meetings of their own, they carried with them this custom, and met 
on the first day of the week, the evening of the Sabbath, for what was 
at once their chief meal of the day, and the " Supper of the Lord." 
Round it were gathered acts of mercy, hymns and prayers, teaching 
and exhortation. Such was the life of the Chui-cli of the circumcision; 
— Jewish, and not yet authorized to fling aside any Jewish custom. 
But from first to last there is not the slightest trace of any extension 
of the law of the Sabbatli to the Gentile converts. It would obviously 
have been a greater stumbling-block than circumcision itself — expos- 
ing every Christian slave or artisan to scourging or fines — every Chris- 
tian soldier to imprisonment or death. Had it been imposed, it 
would, from the very first, have been the great point of accusation in 
the hands of all opponents of the Gospel. An attempt was made to 
ttroHt circumcision on the Gentiles, and to compel them to keep the 
law of Moses, including, of course, the Sabbatli (Acts xv. 5), and it was 
firmly and successfully resisted. In the great charter of the heathen 
Church, other conditions, most of them ceremonial, named with a view, 
fiot to ethical principles, but to the avoidance of offence, were specified ; 
but this found no place in it (Acts xv. 20). It is quite inconceivable that 
it should have been omitted at tliat critical emergency, if the apostles 
had held that what was a sign of God's covenant with Israel was to 
• See Joat, " Gewbichte des J u dent bums," i., p. IBO. 


The CoiUemporary Review. 

l>e extended, in its rigrnir, to nifrnkiad — that the Ffmrtli C'oinmandment, 
as aucli, was Ijindiug upon the whole Chiirch. Soon we find tlic con- 
miction that it was no lon<ier binding on the Jew. SL Paul, as heiug- 
a Jew to the Jews, would douhtless keep it (keep, i'. t., tlie seventh 
dajr's reHt), when he was staying in the house of a sou of Abraham; 
but as being a Greek to the flreeka, ■without, law to tliose that were 
witlimiit hiw (1 Cor. ix. 21), we can luirdly tliink of him, if atiyiufj 
with a (!eiitile family, as obsenang a rigorous Sabliath, either on the 
seventh or first, ilay, wliiJst they were workings nr going on with the 
Tisual order of their lives. ^Mnen he heard that the Oalatian ton'\'erta 
were "observing days" in consequence of their aubjugatirju to Urn ■ 
Judaiziug tendiers (Gal. iv. 10), he is afraid that they have fallen 
from grace, ^\^len he WTitea to the Colossiaus, it is to warn them 
to allow no man to ait in judgment, and pass .sentence on theu, ■ 
"in respect tif a new moon or Sabbath" (Col. ii. IG). More signifi- 
cant still is the absence of miy single exhortation bearing upon 
tills point in the whole series of liia epistles. Collections for the 
poor are to be made on the first day of the week (1 Cor. x\i. 2) ; 
but there I* no precept to obseiTe either tliat or the seventh with 
a Sabbath rigour. Among tlie manifold In-eguIaTities of the churchcsM 
of Corinth sud Thessalonica, that of iiegletting Sabbaths finds no" 
place, and yet it is Lndefinitely probuble that most of the coo- 
verts were, from, their social position, unable even had they Ijeen 
willing to keep it, unwilling even if they had Ih^cu able. At Romej 
w-here there were many cnnvei'ts of a wealthiyr class, and where 
.Tewish influence was strong, there were some who reganled it, ox^k 
Bomc! other dny, with a special reverence (Eom. xiv. 0), others who" 
disregarded it, without, as it wo;ild seem, substituting any other in _ 
its place. IIow does the Ajiogtle deal with them ? Doea he as; 
the binding fotfe of the ordinance — imprtiss the commandment oq 
them? No; far otherwiae. He deals witli it as lie does with th* 
question of clean and unclean meats, with that of total abstinence fronii| 
wine or flesh. The acrnpulous arc not to condwmi the strong ; th. 
Btwing are not to des]iise the weak. His own ccnnictiuns are clearl 
^vith the stronger, but his sympathy and ti'ndurucsa go out towanU 
those who are more sesisitive than himself. The •Sabbath-keeping' 
which "reinatns for the people of (3od" (Heb. iv. y) is not the recur 
R'licc of a weekly festival, but the resting from our own vain an 
uiKiuiet worksj and passing into the tranquillity of the llivme lilt 
" My Father worketh hithertoj and I also work/' wag to find it« aui 
logue in the life of the disciples.* 



■ My prf-siMit limits do not allow mc to enter into any history oP tliD f se)5esia of the 
faKsageii I hsYu \vit^ referred t<a. Rturlcftts Hill knu^ tlint there is, to aay ihe ItBol, &bi]ile 
iiutbority for evenr inlerprclafion given. 

Sunday. 1 5 7 

8. The Lord's Day, 
The hj^wtheses that the apostles, acting with a Diviae coniiiiis- 
sion, either transferred the obligation of the Fourth Coniniandmeut 
from the seventh day to the first, or solenmly appointed the latter 
as the great Christian weekly feast-day,* and assigned it a special 
though not identical honour, have, naturally enough, found many 
advocates. Of any such decree, however, Scripture makes no men- 
tion. There is no trustworthy evidence of its existence in early 
ecclesiastical wiiters, and we have no warrant for imaginuig a ficti- 
tious cause, and that one which, if it were real, would be of such 
unspeakable importance, where a simple and natural explanation 
lies close at hand. The early believers met, as we ha^e seen, on 
the evening of Saturday, for the Lord's Supi)er. To a Jew (and 
Jews, or Gentiles who had become jjroselytes to Judaism, and 
were iamiliar with Jewish modes of reckoning, formed the nucleus 
of nearly every church), a meeting on the evcninrj of Sunday would 
have been on the second day of the week, not the first. Gradually 
the disorders which crept in at Corinth and elsewhere made a 
change necessary. Jfen were to take their meal at home, so as 
not to come with the voracity of hunger. So, step by stej), pass- 
ing, as at Troas, through a midnight service (Acts xx. 7), the Supper 
of the Lord crept on from what we should call the evening of the 
seventh day to the early morning of the first,*}* and so ceased to be 
a supper in reality. And then it is that we find the special adjective 
ffhich St. Paul seems to have coined to describe it {KvpiaKoq, 1 Cor. 
iL 20) transferred to the day, probably by St. John in the Apocalyj)se 
(L 10), certainly in the language of very early Cliristiau writers.J 
By a singular train of consequences; that which had started as, in 
part at least, receiving its holiness from one day, now imparted 
a consecrated character to another. Tlienceforth the Loni's day was 
recognised through all the churches of the East and West as a day for 
joy, — for rest also, where rest was possible, — for works of kindness, 
and Divine service, and, above all, for sharing in the great act of wor- 
ship which gave the day its nanie.§ Here tlie Chureh, with a wonder- 
fid consent — far more impressive, it seems to me, and far more 
authoritative, than any formal decree of the apostles coidd have been, 
found what met hei wants, — the moral element of the Sabbath, and 
its power to edify or tranquillize, without its rigour — the joy without 

• The flrat of theae positions is that commonly maintained by teachers who rest the 
observance of the Lord's day on the Fourth Commandment ; the second is that advo- 
cated by Dr. Hessey. 
+ So in P lin y, Ep. 96, " They were wont to meet on a given day before dawn." 
i See the interesting collection of passages in Suicer'a " Thesaurus." 
I "DiemSoIi»h»titiieinduIgemu8"(TcrtulI., "Apol.,"c. 16); "jejuniumnefasducimus" 
("DeCor.," c. 3); " difforentca etiam ncgotia ' (" Dc Drat.," c. 13). 


The Contemporary Rumij. 

tlie Hotcs ia MiittLevv's Bible, ■wliieli Cmnnicr sanctioned, 
taineJ that tlit^re iiiiglit be occuswtig " turning men's rest into occupa- 
tion and liilKJur."' Tj'iulal, the jiatriurcli of English Ecformers, tlie 
fijBt in tlie line of Kngliali translatoia of the rsible of the sixteenth 
centiu-y, wiis even bolder, and aaseited that u Cliriatiiin Church or 
Stnte intj^lit even appoint, one day in live or ten, and that with just 
such a measure of uLsen-anct! as iniyht be deemed extiedieut f»ir ihe 
ejiiritual instruction of the pwople.f If the Enj^lish Kel'onut?^, in 
tbeir panic dread of Antiuouiianisui. ivtre led tu take tliu uupaiiilleled 
step of hoyinuinj,' their C'ummunion Service ^I'ith tht: iJtitidoj^uo, and 
80 to sanction a]ipiuei]tly a dill'ereiit doctrine, they yet, on the other 
hand, carefully abstained in their Catechism from layin;j; any stra^^s un 
the oljservaiiee nf tlie Kalfbatli as such, not even meutiuuiuy it in the 
duty of man tow^ards Liod ; proclaimed that Christian nit?u were 
Ixiuud only by "the Couiiiiandments that were called montl;" and did settle where the bouudaiy line was to be dioA^-n when moral and 
positive elements were iutemiiiiyltd hi the same law.!t It was not till 
the Second Hook of Homilies ("Of tlu^ time and phiee uf pmyer"), 
when the cryiuff abusea of licence and prufti^fKcy on the day 
had bronyht ^caudal on the Knylish Cluii-ch, that any distinct con- 
nection between it and the SabbatU law was abseiled, ^^ 
One is ]ed naturally to ask how it was that thy Int-ei- Kefnrmei^H 
the Pimtaus in Enylaud and the Covenanters in Scothmd, csiue to 
maintain a priuciplv diametrically opposed to that uf iboae wham 
they professed to follow, and to assert, as in the Westminster Con- 
fession L)f Faith, and the Liii'ger and Shorter Cateclrisms,^ that the 
ubligation of the Lord's day rests on the Fomtb Commandment. 
Tlie answer, I think, ia not far to 3eek, mid it is found in tiie shauie- 
Igss licence of KnjrlLsh society under Elizalioth,|| lunl the nieasurea 
taken by the Euylisb Couil. utidei' James and Charles, by the advice 
of, or ■without leraoiiatnmcre fi-om, the liishops. Whi-ii the flfteriioon 
of Sundfiy was given up to the bear-baitings of a hmtal papubice. 
or the licentious luasr^ues and yet more licentious plays of a higher 
liufc not lesa profligate class, ami tliis under the direct piitrouaLfe of thu 
ffovereign;ir when the " Book of Sports" was tyrimnically thrust, with- 

• Cumm. oTi Jet. svii. f Warka, iii,, p. !>7 (Eil, I'affcer Soc.) 

X Art, ^ii, It is 'wiMlhy of nntice Chat ibe language of H'F.irly b11 the Artides and Injubc- 
tiom uBued under I^li^tabelh iiractically pU<:Es Sundays anil holiduya ou tliL> iiiinu fouling. 

§ It i« ihim tliis idi-nddcalign, iiiip&ivutly, tLut X'ok ptniitico baa gri;n-u -uji. all but 
uttt'rlv unknown thniiigh tte pri,'^iiili* SCTPHtpen f-pntnrisa iif Christ en dim, of ^p^lung uf 
tie I.ord'i Jny, not only iis Tiaring a BaT-ibnli*! charm.ter, Ijul ns lieing itiolf " the Subbalfa." 
It IB M spolieti ul', lioH-evLT, in Ih* Ilouiil}' aircady n-'rerred to. 

II "SciEoiid bonk cjf It<>niiilit.'A," aa above. 

f Sub for liCTi'-bailinp, llowii.i'a '• Sketoliw nf ibe Rrfornmtion," p. 135; luiA tot- 
theutrc^, Prynne's '* Uktriu-MiLBtis," pp. 363, 437, 441, 470. During gront part of th* 
Tetgn of Eluabctt, il; wn; the ofie day on -wkich mnay Uieatrea vei? Hceaacd Xq bs opoacd. 


Sunday. 1 6 1 

out even a conscience clause, upon clergy and laity, many of whom 
looked upon all recreation as unlawful : it was no wonder that the 
Puritan party should seize on what seemed to them the most effective 
weapon, and con\'ince themselves that they were fighting not only for 
truth, and purity, and order, as indeed tliey were, but f(n' a distinct, 
unchangeable, Divine law* I cannot but honour them for the protest 
they thus bore against evils which the Laudian divines never did 
e!ieck,f and apparently never tried to check, as I honour them for 
their protest against the dramatic literature of the time, foul as it was 
with the foulness of Ariatophanea, and vile with the vileness of a 
brothel But for the Puritan element in England, the whole life of 
the country woidd have been tainted irrecoverably. It was the sup- 
pression of a lite element in France, first by the Massacre of St. 
Bartholomew, and then by the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, that 
brought about the comiptiou which ended in the fire-baptism of the 
Revolution — a baptism, one is compelled to add, as yet without a 
regeneration. I am far from thinkiug that even the Jewish form 
which the Sabbath observance of the Lord's day assumed in Scotland 
ba3 been without a great preponderance of good ; and, in spite of its 
theoretical defectiveness, it was perhaps the condition without wliich 
the good could not have l)een obtained. It has done in the education 
of Scotchmen what it did in the education of Israelites — has preserved 
theh distinctness, their nationality, their sense of reverence for home 
life and home worsliip. Any attempt to revolutionize its observance 
in Scotland would be a fatal breach of the liistorical contumity of the 
national life, and a wilful abandonment of what has proved itself a 
blessing. But it can scarcely be denied tliat it has also reproiluced, 
in part at least, the evils of Judaism ; that it has been allowed to 
overshadow the weightier matters of the law — has been turned too 
crften into an occasion for harsh judgments of other men and other 

(Gosson, " School of Abuse," 1579). It was tht day on uhich the prostitutes of London 
Sucked to them in largeet numbers, as being surest of custom. An attempt waa made under 
Bizabeth (a.s. IfiSO) to check "heathenish plays" in the city; but they took refuge on'thc 
Bnikside of the river in Southvark. Even the itinerant prcatheia sent out by Archbishop 
I'aricer were conspicuous for going, after their sermons were over, " to tabling, carding, 
■hooting, and bowling" (Haweis'a " Sketches," p. 101). 

• The new Judaic theory, however, was not allowed to pass without a protest, — -oa the 
one haad, from Heylyn, wha had been Laud's chaplain, in his " History of the Sabbath^" 
and on the other, from one who had passed beyond Laudiauism and Puritanism into a 
higher region. The casa against the view that the Jewish law of the Sabbath is still 
bmiUBif can hardly be found better stated than by John Milton {" Christian Doctrine," 
e. TiL). B««Deak> strongly, however, against the "licenKous remiesnesB" of Charles L s 
"Sunday theatre" [" fUcoDucloot," c. 2). 

t Bramhall's somewhat supercilious approval of village dances for " that undir sort of 
people" (/.e.} could hardly have been compatible with any strong protest against t)ic {lancing 
and gaoling of the upper aoit of people in kings' palace; . 

1 62 The Contemporary Review. 

nations — has been made more oppressive to tlie poor than to the rich 
— lias been separated from the idea of refreshment and rejoicing — ^has 
been made a weariness and a burden by the endeavour to enforce 
an impracticable ideal. 

10. The Simda}- League. 

A few words yet remain to be said on what is at present the 
special English question connected with this controversy. For 
some years past there has been, it is well known, an association 
assxuning the title of the National Sunday League. How far that 
title is justified by the magnitude of its operations (the total number 
of subscribers to the funds for 1865 was 139, and the total amount 
subscribed £188 16s. 6d., while the sale of its pamphlets had pro- 
duced the great total of 2s. 4d.), and how far the meeting lately held 
at St. Martin's Hall may be taken as a repudiation of its claim to 
represent them, on the part of a large section of the London operatives, 
are questions on which I shall not now enter. I confinp myself to 
what it has already done, and what it contemplates in the future. It 
aijns, then, generally, at enlarging the range of Sunday relaxation. 
It has achieved one victory in the establishment of Sunday bands in 
the London parks, with the sanction of the Chief Commissioner of 
"Woods and Forests. It is now struggling hard to obtain another 
by pressing Government and Parliament to authorize the opening of 
public museums, picture galleries, and libraries on Sunday aftemoona 
The memorial which it presented to the Queen with this prayer, in 
1860, was signed by not less than 943 persons more or less eminent 
in art, science, and Uterature, including Sir John Herschel, Richard 
Owen, Thomas Hughes, now M. V. for Lambeth, Charles Dickens, 
l*rofessor Nicholl of Glasgow, Sir Charles Lyell, Professor Jowet^ 
nearly the whole body of Royal Academicians, and many well-known 
"men of letters." I have no wish to shirk the responsibility of 
stating distinctly what position I occupy in relation to this move- 
ment. (1.) I look on the opening of our public parks and gardens as 
a great gain, and cannot object (if the employers of the labour required 
for locomotion make arrangements to secure partial or alternate rest 
for those whom they employ) to the omnibus, or steamboat, or rail- 
way traffic, without which the boon would be, as regards the majority 
of the London poor, a mere nullity, I cannot, on the principle which 
I have here maintained, look on such acts as <Sa&&aiA-breaking, viola- 
tions of the letter of a commandment which I regard as, in the let*«sr, 
no longer binding. And it is, I believe, an evil that tbnso rt'ho thus 
employ a portion of their Sunday should be rebuked and condemned, 
as they often are, as reckless and godless Sabbath-breakers. The sure 
result of the undisceming zeal which multiplies these ficta peccata is 
that they lead to real ones. Being told that what they do is incom- 

Sunday. 163 

patMe with any claim to a religious chai-acter, men make no effort to 
prove the compatibility. The evening walk becomes, not the comple- 
ment of worship, but the substitute for it. Men and women go on to 
intemperance, or loose talking, or worse evil, with the sense that^ 
being " in for a penny," they may as well be " in for a pound." 
Something of this may be traced in the statement, so often occurring, 
so often appealed to, in the confessions of criminals, that they can 
trace their first downward step in the path of guilt to the neglect of 
the Sabbath. Paiily, it may be, they say this, because they find, with 
the pecidiar acuteness of convicts, that it is wliat the prison chaplain 
expects them to say, aud welcomes as the first sign of their amend- 
ment. Partly there may be something of the feeling which leads the 
(inuitard to ascribe his momrug headache to any cause rather than to 
the wine of the last night's debauch. With a subtle self-deceit, the 
convict turns from the act of dishonesty or lust, for which his con- 
science does accuse him, to the breacli of a mere conventional law, 
where he does not feel it sting, and makes that the scapegoat. But 
partly also, it can hardly be doubted, the rapid fall was due to the 
harsh judgments of the few religious i^eople he knew on what might 
have been blameless and legitimate. He was a " Sabbath-breaker," 
and so was left to consort with others like himself, worse than himself, 
with no purer influence to make the rest restful, and the recreation 
re-creative ; and thus the one day which might have helped to raise 
him only plunged him deeper in the mire and clay, 

(2.) I look with far less satisfaction on the Simday bands. Ad- 
mitting all that has been said as to the order and decorum of the 
crowds that flock to them ; admitting also that, for many who attend, 
tliere may be a change for the better from what might have been their 
employment of their Sunday leisure, I am compelled to add that their 
effect, as a whole, seems to me evil rather than good. Precisely be- 
cause I estimate highly the power of music as an instrument for moral 
and spiritual culture, and beheve that its character has a real and 
lasting influence on that of nations and individual men, 1 must deplore 
the short-sighted kindness wliich, on the day that Christendom holds 
aacred with a holy joy, offers to the million music of the most 
secolax and sensuous character, divorced from all high thoughts and 
noble words, ministering simply to amusement. I never see the 
crowds that are thus gathered witliout mourning over the great 
opportunity wasted ; and there floats before me the vision of what 
might be, if Christendom should put forth its power of speech and 
flong and music, and there, under the shadow of the trees and beneath 
the evening sky, call on men to rejoice and give thanks. Far off as 
the folflmeut of that dream may be, it would but be the application 
to the disorders of our own time of the methods by which Chiysostom 
met the fiilsehood ami heresy of his. When the Arians drew multi- 

164 The Contemporary Review. 

tudes after them witli stately processions and cliants that caught the 
people's ear, he countemcted them with processions yet more stately, 
and hyums yet more popular. In the meantime we may at least 
strive (as has been done hi our Metropohtan Abbey and Cathedral, 
and in many a parish church) to revive sometliing of the beauty and 
power of Christian music, and so to make that great gift of God not 
only the utterance of souls already devout, but an instrument, in the 
Church's missionary work, for attracting and evangelizing the masses. 
As it is, seeing that the practice lias been officially sanctioned for some 
years, and may plead a long-standing precedent elsewliere, it is wiser, 
I tliink, to trust to these counteracting influences, than to agitate with 
a view of putting a pressure from without on Government, and so 
suppressing them. Such a pressure, if it were to fail, would leave 
matters worse than they are ; and if it were to succeed, would be the 
starting-point of a new and perilous phase of the controversy. We 
should purchase an out\vard Sabbath decorum at the price of an intense 
bitterness and iiTitation in the class which we ought most to endeavour 
to conciliate, and win over to the truth. 

(3.) The openmg of museums, galleries, public libraries on Sundays 
is, for England at least, still future, and it is the right and the duty of 
every man who acknowledges the importance of the change to weigh 
well its probable consequences, and not to slirink from declaring his 
conviction. Not without some reluctance, not without some pain at 
differiug from so many of the foremost men of our time, I am con- 
strained t« say, that so far as my voice can have weight with any one, 
it must be given against the change. I admit the plausible case that 
may be made on the score of the humanizing effect of art and science, 
of the possibility of even higher than humanizing effects from the 
higher forms of each. I admit also that, as in the case of the Sunday 
bands, it might be for many the least of two evils. If the concession 
were to be made, though I should oppose it up to the last moment, I 
should not think it right to bring a railing accusation against our 
rulers as guilty of a national desecration, nor fling the charge of 
Sabbath-breaking and profaneness at those who availed themselves of 
it. But not the less should I regard it as a step downward and not 
upwards. (1.) It tends directly to a substitution of sesthetic for moral 
culture, and all experience shows that it never can be so substituted 
without a fatal deterioration, l^ractically, the morning's rest, and the 
dinner, and the museum, and the park, woidd swallow up the whole 
day, and leave no time, I will not say for the two religious serviooB 
which the prescription of many centmries has recognised aa a general 
standard, but even for one. Tlie day so kept may still be a Dus Svlis, 
but it will cease to be a Dies Dominiais. (2.) If there is the risk of 
cant on one side, the other is not free from it ; and of all forms of cant 
and platitude, probably the most unreal and platitudinarian is that 

Sunday. 165 

which speaks of visits to museums and galleries as leading men 

directly to "reverence and love of the Deity."* Idle curiosity, vague 

gazing at new wonders, reference to catalogues to find out the name of 

an object or an artist — with the more intelligent, some eagerness to 

add to their stock of knowledge, these are there, and show themselves 

fthnndantly ; hut I desire more evidence than I have yet seen, as to 

there being any direct religious influence for good coming from such 

places. It must be added that, as a matter of fact, all art galleries 

contain, and, to be historically complete, must contain, samples of all 

schools of art, of what is sensuous and meretricious as well as that 

which is pure imd refined. The Venus and the Madonna, the Satyr 

and the Saint, stand side by side together ; and there is at least the 

risk that many among those who go there with coarse and prurient 

tastes may fasten on the former rather than the latter. Tlie danger 

exists, it is true, at other times, but it is surely worse when it turns 

the day which might help to purify into a temptation to impurity of 

thought. (3.) I am not usually disposed to attach much weight to 

the " thin end of the wedge " ai^Timent, so often used by the opponents 

of any change in Church or State. But it is legitimate, in this instance, 

to ask where the principle on which it is proposed to act can consist- 

mtly stop. Whatever may be said of the moral, humanizing effects 

of art and science, may be said, d fortiori almost, of music and poetry. 

If galleries are open, why not sanction concerts and public readings ? 

At first, perhaps, they would be suggested with sacred music and 

serious poetry; but the history of all such movements (to say nothing 

rf the recent experience of park music) shows that the limit is soon 

passed, and before long we should have promenade concerts, with 

nothing but waltzes and polkas, and Mr. liellew might be engaged to 

read " Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures," and " Bob Sawyer's Supper 

Party," on Sundays, as he now does on weekdays. If the prin- 

cjpie, tiiat whatever is a legitimate and improving relaxation on 

weekdays is legitimate also on the Lord's day, be recognised, those 

who"clflim that chwacter for our theatres might make out a very 

fusible case for opening them also. If actors were willing to perform, 

ind people willing to go, why should Government restrain their liberty 

in these self-r^arding actions? Our greater softness of manners might 

•tc^us from the atrocities of bull-baiting and cock-fighting, till we 

reach the stage where extremes meet, and effeminacy requires the 

stimulus of cruelty to rouse it as much as did the dulness of savageiy; 

kutjin all other respecta we should fall back into the licence of the 

Sniidaya of the Tudors and the Stuarts, of the half-pagan society of 

ttie'Lower Empire, such as called out the penal edicts of Theodosius 

tud Justinian, And then, if the disease were not fatal, the remedy 

tonld, in all likeUhood, take the old shape. Tliere would be once 

' Sunday League's Petition to the Queen. 

1 66 The Contemporary Revievj. 

again a fierce, zealous, Sabbatarian reaction — zealous with a true zeal 
for God, though not according to knowledge, and therefore in its turn 
tending once again to a violent oscillation to the extreme of licence. 
(4.) On these grounds, then, I venture to think that those who have 
any influence on public opinion would do well to oppose instead of 
furthering the projected change, and that statesmen, so far as they 
profess to act on their own convictions, should weigh well the conse- 
quences, remote as well as near, of a step which may seem to promise 
a temporary good, and will certaiidy gain them a temporary popularity. 
If, as often happens, they profess to be only the exponents of public 
opinion, ready to sacrifice private feelings on this side or that, then I 
think they would do well to wait till that opinion presents itself in a 
much more aiithoritative and unmistakeable shape than it has yet 

11. Present Duties. 
What then is our duty, in Scotland and in England, in small 
things and great, in principle and practice, at the present moment ? 
How ought we to speak and act? Disclaiming, as involving the 
very evil into which the Scribes and I'harisees fell, all attempt 
at a minute casuistry, I submit the following suggestions as iioint- 
ing to what is now incumbent on us. (1.) Enough has been 
said, I think, to show the unprofitableness of a prolonged and 
fierce controversy on the abstract question. The case of those 
who rest the obligation of Sunday on the Sabbath law may seem 
to them strong, but it is at any lute debateable, and it is ill done to 
divide on that question those who would otherwise be able to act 
together in securing Ibr the Lord's day the observance which nearly 
all Christians recognise as legitimate and necessary. (2.) We new! 
to apply the rule which St. Paul laid down in reference to precisely 
the same controversy. Tlie weak should not condemn the strong; 
the strong shoidd not despise the weak. Mutual forbearance, 
respect, coui-tesy, the absence of wliispers and scandals and insinua- 
tions, abstinence from the arts which have made theological contro- 
versies a by-word, these are conditions of any successful issue of this 
or any other discussion. I, for one, find much to admire in the 
courage of those who maintain what they hold to be a Divine law, in 
the face of an advancing tide of popular opinion ; even more perhaps 
in that of one who risks the loss of position, influence, tranquillity, 
popularity, in the face of a great majority of his own order, and the 
opinion of thousands whom he esteems. I should shrink, whatever 
my convictions might be, from bandying to and fro the words " sabba- 
tarianLsm" and " Sabbath-breaking." (3.) The rule for personal conduct 
must be that given of old, " Let every one be fully persuaded in his 
own mind ; " " Let him judge himself, and not another." Those who 
recognise any religious duty at all in the matter must look to the end 

Sunday. 167 

for which the day exists, and, in their obsen'ance or nou-obser\'ance of 
it, act as St. Paul has counselled. To make tlie former an instrument 
of restraint, suffering, weariness, to impose our special rules upon others 
who do not admit their authority, is so to observe the day as not to 
otseiTe it " unto the Lord." To make freedom a cloak for licence, to 
crave only for more opportunities for the amusement of one class at the 
cost of another, or- worse still, for more opportunities for mere money- 
makiiig that benefits no clags and injures many, is a non-observance 
Ktf "unto the Lord."* Each man for himself is bound to strive 
to use the day for rest, refreshment, acts of kindness, renewal of the 
ties of friendship and household life, and in this to infringe, as little as 
maj- be, on the enjoyment by others of what he claims for himself. 
Each man is bound also to remember that the name which Christen- 
dom has given to the day implies a consecration, which makes it, not 
the substitute for the dedication of the life, but its representative and 
type. The rest must not be sloth, nor the refreshment merely sen- 
fflioua, nor the self-culture merely intellectual and sesthetic. Acts of 
worship ; communion with the Church, which represents the higher 
life, as well as fellowship with the mi.xed forms of social intercourse, 
which may so easily pass into the lower ; growth in spiritual know- 
ledge — these must be recognised as essential elements of the tru* 
character of the day. And what each man should do for himself 
that those who have wider influence should do for others. Em- 
ployers of labour on a large scale are bound, at least to minimiz* 
tiie work, wherever it cannot be stopped altogether without the risk 
of an evil greater than the gain. The total prohibition of traffic bj 
cabs, omnibuses, railways, cannot, I believe, be attempted without 
luch a risk ; and, being there, it is for the individual conscience to 
decide when there is a sufficient reason for making use of them. I 
will not condemn one neiglibour for the act of so using; I will not 
condemn another because he permits his children to write letters to 
flieir relations, or the boys of his parish to refresh themselves with 
oatdoor exercise or games. I wiH not revive the old Jewish fig- 
ment of a Sabbath-day's journey, and aay that a walk of two miles is 
pramissible, but one of ten or twenty sinful. I can say to aU that a 
Sunday in which there has been no joy, rest, peace, kindness, prayer, is 
a day wasted and misused ; that to indulge ourselves in pleasure at 
the cost of making the whole day one of weary labour for others is a 
an, not against the Fourth Commandment, but against the law of 
ChrisL (4.) The question of legislative interference, or Government 
action without legislation, is one of far greater difliculty. The right of , 
controlling imlimited freedom of action for tlie sake of public good is, 
of course, conceded ; but the public good must be clear and demon- 

* The phiMe ia taken from an admirable letter by the late ATr. Bobertson of Brighton 
CIdfe and Letters," iL, p. 114). 

i68 Tlie Contemporary Review. 

stmble, the legislation must con-espond to tlie feeling of the great bidk 
of the people, or it will be fruitless. It must not be the triumph rf 
the dogmatism or the recklessness of a mere majority. There is the 
risk, in all police regulations on religious matters, of producing hypo- 
crisy, secret licence worse than that which shows itself openly, a 
fltrong repugnance to what is so enforced, turning the blessing into a 
curse. The wisest course in such a case for those who think, as I 
do, that the Sundays of most of our large towns in England are a 
scandal and a repraach, is to be conteut with the existing laws, 
to welcome any Goveniment action which really relieves labour and 
improves the condition of the labouring poor ; to take a\\Tiy the false 
rigour which makes the Lord's day wearisome and unattractive ; to 
abstain from imputing a fictitious crimuiality to acts which are them- 
selves indifferent; to adapt our worship and our preaching, more than 
we have done, to the wants of our own time. A mere police restraint 
on Simday traffic or Sunday trading, however necessary it may lie to 
the ends for which a Christian State is justified in imposing it, leads but 
to a poor result ; but public opinion may well be brought to bear upon 
companies and lai^ger proprietors, that they may give the workers whom 
they control their shai-e of rest. In the name of the Lord of the Lord's 
day, we may protest against the tjTanny of one class over anotlier, of 
the clnas who can pay for pleasure over the class that must work for 
bread ; and so the day may yet become, as the Sabbath was meant 
to be, "a delight, holy to the Ix>rd, honourable."* 

• It vould be wrong to close this paper without Bpeaking of the masterly and elaboratt 
treatment of the subject by Dr. Hessoy, in hia" Bampton T^ecturcB" for 1860. Accidental 
circumBtanceB have hindered my referring to that Tolomc till the last moment, as theaa 
iheets are posaing through the press ; but I am conBcioua that I ove much, and probably 
unconariously I owe more, to that full etorehouse of facte and arguments. It vill be seen, 
however, that I differ from Br. Heasey in not being able to accept the validity of the n^ 
Boning by which he claims a Divine and perpetual' authority for the observance of th« 
Lord's day. His Byllogism, if I do not misrepresent it, stands thus, — 

^^atcver was ordained by the apostles (obviously temporary enactments 
eicepted) is of Divine and perpetual obligation. 

The Lord's day was so ordained : 

Therefore, It is of Divine and perpetual obligation. 
Of this syllogism, it may be questioned how far the major premiss has tho character of a 
theological axiom; and the cvidenco of the minor is confessedly probable only and uncer- 
tain. That which I would substitute for it is as follows : — 

What the Christian society has accepted CTorywhere, and in oU agea 
(obviously eccentric departures from the nile excepted), may legitimately 
be regarded as essential to the Christian life. 

The religious observance of tiie Lord's day has been so recognised : 

Therefore, The religious observance of the Lord's day may legitimately bs 
essential to tho Christian life. 
We_agree in finding the measure of that observance in the lessons of experience, in the 
teaching of Christ and of St Paul, in a mae expediency, in adapting it to the " diver- 
nties of countries, times, and men's manners," in a wide sympathy fur those whose know- 
ledge, habiti, feelingt, are imlike our own. 

E. H. Plumftre. 


Work and ProsjiectK : A Charge, to the Ckrtjij of the. Dh'ZfMi of York. 
Delivered at liis Priiniirj- Visitation in October, ISGS, by the Most 
Rev, William Lord Archbishop op York, &c. Lomloii : •Jolin 

THIS is a genuiiip, liearty effusion of n. chief paator, anxious for the 
welfare of his flock, and exceedingly well able to promote it. The 
statiatics and wants of the diocese are carefully summed up ; the principal 
infiaences ■which counteract the work of the Church are teni]ierately, but at 
the same time boldly indicated ; and the public topics which are at the 
present time of moment to the Church are dealt with in a liberal and dis- 
eriininating spirit. 

We hasten to point out the salient matters of interest on which the Arch- 
bishop touches. These subdivide themselves, according to the division of 
the charge itself, into diocesan and general. 

Of the former class, to mention only cursorily the great subject in every 
diocese, the overtaking of the work to l)e done by the means ()f douig it, — 
towards which end we are glad to see that the Common Fund of the Eccle- 
aartical Commissioners has in York very lai^ly contributed, — we will 
mention first one matter to which public attention has been lately csdled by 
the proceedings at the Social Science Congress : the state of the youi^ 
people in the manufacturing and agricultural districts of our largest county. 
That in one of our great centres of industry and intelligence, " lads of seven- 
teen or eighteen do not know the name of CJhrist, the Bible, or the Queen," 
IB startling enough to hear : as is it also to learn that youths employed in 
the glass-works at Castleford are " almost wholly unalucatcd." The Arch- 
birfiop may well say that " there are spots of licathen ilarknesa upon the 
hr^ht face of this country ; and souls as dear to Christ as yours or mine, 
whom no man has awakened to know their great inheritance, their right to 
1 life for God, and immortality with Him," Tlie system of farmhouse 
senitade seems to be still as bad in Yorkshire as in the darkest times 
of ignorance and irreligion. The Archbishop " tnists the time will come 
vheu people will hear with incredulity that farmers used to take into 

1 70 TIic Contemporary Review. 

their homes, where their wives ami chiltlren dwell, young sen'ants of 
hoth sexes without the sliglitest iniiuiry into their character : that they 
BO arraiigwl tlio work of the Suinlay, that it should be impossible to 
some of their dependents to enter a place of worship from the beginning of 
the contnit-t to the end of it : that they did not attempt to exercise any 
influence over tlieir cliaracter or general behaviour." This miserable system, 
" gatlieriug pericHlically its scattered tires of disorder into one flame at the 
Statute Hiring, when hundreds of young men and women, with no efficient 
restraint, spend a day at some to^TO, in the streets or in tlie public-houses," 
the Archbishop seems to tliink so firmly established as to render thorough 
amelioration hopeless. He concludes this part of hia chaise by saying 
that " every one who lias the iiifliience owes it as a solemn duty to GJod, to 
endeavour to remove tliose features of the system which at present render 
difficult or ahriost impossible, 1 do not say a high religious tone of mind, 
but even tlie outward deci-ney which belongs to every civilized society." 

The Archbislujp speaks of the Jiill wliicli he uitroduced last session to 
enable jiublic conii>anie8 to vote money for religious or educational purposes 
by a majority of tlirce-fourtlis of their sliareholdcrs : about which Bill the 
iQcctric Telegi".i]i]i Company spread the absurd report, that its intention was 
to compel all Riilway comjianies to tench their people the Church Catechism. 
"We are gliid to see that it is His (irace'a intention to reintroduce the Bill, 
which, having passed the Lonls, was not introduced in the Commons owing 
to the lateness of tlie session. 

The ArchViishop touelies sligiitly on what is called the free Church move- 
ment. We are suiTy to see that he gives even the least encouragement to 
one featui-e of tliat plan as now propounded : the opening nf our churches 
without any ap])ropriation at all. We conceive tliat were this to become 
the practice, just m tliat [jrojiortion would the rights of parishionera in their 
parish church be set at nought, and those whose nee<l is most pressing be 
excludetl from public worsliip, Nothing can be farther from the true 
Christian view of the matter, than that i)ut forth in the publications of the 
" Free Scramble" Society. The poor man ought tti have his seat as well aa 
the rich man : and till he lias, we shall never bring the poor to church. 
The (jld, the weak, the timid, will never come, uncertain where they are to 
be ])Iaced, or whether they can he placed at ail : and non-rfppropriation has 
been univcrsiilly found to give place in a very short time tn the very worst 
kind of appropriation, the tjTiinny of the sti-oug and proud over the feeble 
and modest. 'Hie Archbishoji states, in favour of the non-appropriation plan, 
that "it is simjiie and equal." This is just the temptatiou which has drawn 
so many jiersons into advocating the adoption of it. It sliirka the real diffi- 
culty of the question. How to get our poor to church? and instead of solving 
it, proposes a sliowy and specious evasion of it. We are glad to find Uiat 
some (iistingiiislied persons are making a ]iianful stand against the arrogant 
pretensions of the Society ; and must rei)eat our sorrow at seeing so truly 
able a man as Dr. ITjompson even ajiparcntly giving countenance to them. 

Our readers will not be surprised that the Archbishop, in urging the duty 
of family prayer, should lament the deliciencies of all our existing books of 
domestic devotion. " Some," he says, " arc an agglomerate of phrases from 
our collects, or of portions of texts of Holy Scri]>ture ; otliers aim at 
teacliing, rather than asking : they are expositions of doctrine in the second 
person instead of the thiitl. Otliers, compih^d from divines of another 
generation, speak of wants and difficulties that are not ours, or speak of oiirs 
in a language that wc are beginning to forget. Prayers should be scriptural, 
hut not made up of fragments of Scriptui-e forced out of their context, and 

Notices of Books. 1 7 r 

so mixed with phiusea of hrniiau invention as to gloss and alter them." 
Ilus is a true testimony, as we hope to show before lony in an article 
devoted to the subject : and such bold words from such a (inarter cannot 
kt tend to remove the evil, at least by discoim^iy the use of our common 
irniiii'^ of femily prayer. 

The charge concludes with the consideration of a few matters of public 
bterest Of the late wideimig of the terms of clerical subscription, the 
Archbishop speaks with much hope, but at the same time guardedly ; and 
acbiovledges that in the new form there is an element of ambiguity which 
TOB not found in the old : viz., the expression " Dm dtKtr'um therein (in the 
Iwok of Common Prayer) contained." But he believes that iu the new form 
we have sufficient security, inasmuch as we have " a promise to use the hook 
asA. no other, and to use it because of an assent to it : and the assent is not 
merely n^ative, but founded on a belief that the boily of doctrine whicli 
underlies this hook of devotion is scriptural, and therefore tnie." 

As to the Articles ^ain, the Archbishop thinks that " it cannot be denied 
that " a small opening is left," in the new Declaration, " for doubt to creep 
in;" inasmuch as, whereas the former Declaration extended to " all and 
every" of the Articles, " the new one acknowle<lge.s the lUicfriiic of tJie 
Chmvh contained in the Articles to be agreeable to the Wonl of God." 

He touches slightly and cautiously on the difficult question of the func- 
liima of Convocation, which he naturally reganls from the jiosition of Pre- 
lident of the Synod of the Northern Provinces. 

The Archbisiiop lastly passes under review the various propositions which 
have been nuule for motlifyuig the present court of final ap]ieal in ecclesias- 
tieal cases : and wliile himself decidedly in favour of retaining the present 
mixed character of the tribunal, thinks that an imiirovement might he 
effected, i^ while the whole Committee joined iu a report to the Crown, each 
member of it pronounced his judgment separately, so that the reasons of the 
minority might be declared as well aa those of the majority : and if a stand- 
ing Sub-Committee of the Judicial Committee were carefully selected, who 
ahoold be always summoned to sit on ecclesiastical causes. 

We have gone at greater length into the contents of this charge than will 
be our geneml practice. Tlie primary expression of opinion of a bishop hke 
Dr. Thompson must he of interest to all Ciiurchmen ; and the interest is in 
this case increased by the time at which, and the manner in wliich, that 
expieadon of opinion is given. It is no httle to the credit of the present 
Archbishop of York, that the unexampled rapidity of his promotion has not 
betrayed hini into any of the temptations of a novice : that he has set about 
his work, and about the exposition of it, in an able, judicious, business-like 
■{nrit. And it will not discommend the sound a4lvice and [}ractical argu- 
nenta of this his primary charge, that they are relieved anil carried home to 
Ub heart hy fervent expressions of affection and zeal. 

A Charge delivered to tJie Glergy and Church tcurdi'tm of th« Diocese of Ely, 
at his Primary Visitation in October and November, 1 8G5. By Edward 
Habold Lord Bishop of Ely. London : Longmans. 

Every one who knows the BLiliop of Ely will liave exiwcted fi-om him a 
piinury charge showing both acqiiaintance with the actually existent re- 
qoirementa of the Church, and kindly sjinpatliy with modem thought. 
oat none can have supposed that either of these would move him from the 
fan foundation of the faitli dehvercd once for all, or dispose him to sacri- 
fice any point of defence for doctrine or discipUne. 

172 The Co7ttemporary Review, 

llie cliai'ge before ua is n clear and bold exposition of the mental cha- 
racter above indicJiUd. Passinf^ over the merely diocesan matters on which 
it t(»nelie9, we will make a few remarks on its treatment of the mora 
inijxirtiuit subjects which now occupy public attentiom 

AVe j,nither from the Bishop's remarks on the snpi>ly of clergy, that he 
refits tlie diminution of the number of attractive prizes in the Church aa a 
jirofession. In this feeling we confess we do not share. We think that the 
Church of I]n|^Ianil lias qnito enough of these left for all her legitimate 
wiint«, if any provision could bo made for their being properly b^towed. 
Tlie mischief is, and will remain as long as the present system lasts, that the 
nnmlwr of ('hurch prizes really open to the deserving is not one-half of 
tlioso which tigure in the "C'lergy List," and that the nityority of them ftie 
still conferred hy favour, or as the consequence of birtk Besides, we very 
mucli doubt whether denneriea, and canonries, and rich Crown livings, eitha 
ought to, or do in matter of fact, enter into the minds of young candidatee 
for orders as a motive in the choice of their profession : an hypothesis which 
has far too often been allowed to pass unchallenged. If every small living 
were so raiseil as that none should leave its ineimihent without a comfoit- 
able conijietency, the Cliurch woidd l^e, as it is now not far from being, the 
host providetl of all the professions. In its case, comparisons with otiier profes- 
sions are always falhicious. In them, skill and success are bound together; 
whereas the Ixwt clei^ymen are often those who are least Hkely, not seldom 
those who an: least anxious, to move upwards, or to move at all. The 
aWnce of ambition from medical men or lawyers would be a detriment to 
the meiliciU and legal professions : whereas it would be a positive advant^e 
to the Church if there were no ambitious clergymen. 

"We are glad to see that the Bishop lends a helping word to the excellent 
metlxHls now Ix'ing adopt^Nl for better parochial organization, — the employ- 
ment of mission women, and, tinder due reguktions, the ministiy of ladies 
acting together as deaconesses. He remarks : — 

" Such, to be efficient, must probably live and TOrk as a body : but it is needleao, and 
inconsiatt>nt with the spirit of our own refonned Church, that they should be bound 
together by a tow. That ladies who feel railed to such labours should devote thcmaelvca 
to tending the sick and vi^ting the afflicted, is surely a thing to be cherished, not to be 
rejected. -Ul we need is to guard against offence, and to direct with wisdom," 

Tliat such ministrations should have been partially discouraged among w^ 
and all their fresh vigour and energy thrown wholly into one section <rf 
Church opiiUon, is one among many signs how completely the once zealous 
Evangelical party lias hist its first love, and become cold and secularized. 
Ve art* glad also to si'e that one at least of our bishojis Kis the cour^p to 
avow what they all, in oomnion with clergy and laity, must feel, that in the 
matter of missions, ** the system of annual sermons and annual meetings in 
givat towns is insufficient, and hsis l>egim to fail" "We shoidd be disposed 
to go fiirthiT, and to hold that the anniuU senuon ;uid meeting, effete and 
spiritless as Itoth have nniversallr become, are causes of much mischief 
among ns, by ]>ri'ventuig warmth of Christian feeling and lively interest from 
springing «p towanls om- missions. How to supplant these worn-out agen- 
cies is a most difficult unestion, with which we may hope ere long to 
i'ndt\->vour to grajiple, 

llie Bishop is s;\nguinc with reganl to dissent : — 

'• I have a very tiim pereuason that, if the whole system of the Church and >]I ill 
blessed teaching can be broucht truly to bear upon themj dissenters may be w(m, and wm 
in gmt number! to our &ith. I sav, can he wtm : I am sure they cannot be conqura^ 
It is useless to censure them, and not very hopeful to aigne with ihem. In most things. 

JVoiiccs of Books. 


iJieptttBligns wnd mwi to spct inpport fur llwir prejilditei, not to find coDvittion of UlPir 
errun. But M tc con siiaw lu inquiring nunils and IjurdenGd bocKLienccs and iLOxioiu 
)iKut« that tliere in in tie Churri's sj'stem, nnd iii her storehouse of truliia, that -whidi 
cnii End it* way n ilJiin, whiih tiiui prvibc the wuunda and yd aootht tit- Butfe-ringa, nnd at 
Icugiii h>MiJ the distemper and tariafi" tile heart: men. ifiU auivly wittiuBs of ui (liat God 
i»in uj Ufa tnith, and i[]ainy,^thu]mv'ehitberk< atood aloof from us, nill seokeiar cotupany 
aa f^llow-trarellcn travellLag to on ftemiLl home. If whun they oak bread vire gnit) thi'm. 
but the etoaif of lifcltaa eeremouy — if *hcTi Ihey nak an egg they find the 8i:orpiDn of 
r«lioOftlirt phiJosojjhj — they will tluiik of thoij" Saviour's ■warning, 'Go ye not ailer thom.' 
Cut if. hoth by life und doj^trine, hy lllu solumn reverence Of Cnureh ordinances, by thl" 
lively ti^achiiLt' of the OoBjjel, and bv the iritDL'flB of b toniiatent Chrintiau course, you can 
9& forth and bring homo to Ihem (ihrist, and God in Christ, yon wlJ n-in thom to your 
ffUotnhip hero am to a tetter IttlJawsiiip hereafter. And luiTer, I repeat, hnvo we had 
s betba Tnntagu ground for aouh a work than now." 

The Bishop's remarks on tlie proajwctfl of our cflinmon itiithj in thti midat 
of lite mdilt>m Rtir of thought, iire deeply interesting. He will pardon ua 
if weclmrat'tprizc thi'ni as ijomg pervaded with a tiniiility, which wa 3iit>|K)a6 
of netri«ity lM»lJtig3 to men whoan judgment is chiwteiiftd hy the coii.'iiiioitH- 
EcM tliflt they arc plucc-d for the guidunce of otliers, and for thn oh^eTvatioii 
tf tlie wiirld at large. Thnt ttk may iihnw our rcJidnre wlint wi! mean wi<. 
"■ill tilt.- his words -.— 

" Btti if Wdlonk again at'oiirprospetis. wadat a different side of our hotwoOiWC sbxiU se« 
fiat all is not bright — thnt clouds ctsu of unuftuol diitk«iP3s arn riaing up nnd Ihrpateriiug 
111 We netfl nut tit; disheartened, for it ia the Church'M place in the world to Ihi militonr, 
■at tmucphant ; and tn -every age it has new dAUgcra and dqw cutUlicLB. The age in 
t^h God hns eajt our lot is an a^o likely to be romt^rahL-red in all fiitun; history ofi one of 
Etpid tiaasitiaii and <fu.iek change of thought.. I'mbntly, einCO ths Rafonuatioii, ui> period 
Us be«D io Eiarkfd in tlii.i res|>opt as the last half cpnlLLry. Tiiere are mniiy roosoM for 
llo*- That very grciirlh of the population,, on whiih wu nJI dweU eo frpijucntly, hai 
Ulunlly afttctpd it. "WTien a people insreaaoa rapidly, that intreaae is by an unuauid 
iddition of young inttuti'ifl to its body; and ao, in such a period, the jiroiioriiioa of tho 
TiHiag to il'ie old l>t:euiiii-s vast]}" grenler Lhnn in a mure stationjuy condition of mankind. 
Tbcu again, that disproportion of ngeti givvs Bii imiietus to rapid thought and niiitd change, 
lU) i^reoiling eails of youth b«^ing imperfectly steudic-d by the heavy hatioat of old o^e uid 
ciperiencK. And this in the presrnt fentiury has bt'cn tueViJ witb the opening up of 
lull fields in natural aciencf, in ethnolngy, in i:riLi[iani, in uouipariitivis philolo^cy. Men. 
t^iehud 10 unlcKm many da old les^u to take up new ataiKl-points ; and eu liiith hiia 
Icta ihakra not imly iiv one but in all old eonvictlona and beliefs, Tlit! ambitinii ti> aoem 
ihow Tuljfn- L-rwlidity, the pride of flitting loose to prejudieea and pojmlaT opinioas, of 
btiDgralni and void whf re othera arc xcatons and fanaticnJ, is a. daitger eonimon to all ag<ifl, 
tin D)0*t b<^«<tT)ng a prriod of rapid enU)jbti.-nment and teeming youth. And beaides, new 
ix\i» havo really optntd un us; wurliiH have bect-nie known ca us in thp diAlonl aoas, 
vivld« of pact times have inii;>rin1(;d Lhtiir bi»turii;(i beneath our feet. With ail have toina 
brab proMcnu— hislorital problems nut without tht^ir ditEieulty, and moral pnoblcnia of far 
fnstR perplezitv. It hm been aidced, for instanie, llow Ih-t; □I4;rciful Gtid raTtialcd to us 
in the Scriptun^ can have b^en the Creator of all thoiie Mintiont tieinga, which seeui mj>da 
udIt bi prey on ouo another.^ And in the uppjuite diruuCiu'a., it bus bouu ar^od that the 
I'M whose mercy i» over all His works can never will the final puniiiluncnt Mi the wieked, 
>f (njiiirc the laciifiee of the innocent, in plnte of that EhliI punisbmcut ni(;ritL-d liy tbo 
goilty. We might lean* *ur;h questions to couottrai-t aitd extinguish taeh other ; but w« 
UEUlol bv liliud lo the fad that these and kindred difiii guides are leading muny to tho v^rgq 
<rf I'tnihtiaru, and monv more lo difiiculty, dia]uietude. and doubt. We must not judgu 
loo itctfilt of Bomt of tfcein. There is nothing more deeply intcreating than a thoiighlhil 
aiitii awtking truth, unable to find it, and alitioat in its own desjutc wondering in the 
ouLwa of stcplita] unecrlaintv. To reeove-r auuh to faitli and h-npe and pi'ate would be well 
*i:4lh our Vivax aniioun Hilu-itudo, our mtnt earncfit <:<il\>i1--'. But lu ^^mx pToyortion to 
"UT Intejvst in su<h a ntind is our natural indication with those who wantonly or M'ilfidly 
Mw hf\iad('iut the seeds of infiJclity, carelfseol nil the inieffv they produocintoia worlds or 
of Um poin that umy be comiiii; in a world of wbich llicy cannot, even to tfaenuv-lvoSr dia- 
pmr tV eertuiaty. Our indignation rises th^ liigh'er wben tho dtxlurlwra of our pfRiro 
u^ thoM- who, by eTery solemn obligation, are boutid to def«ud, not to auoil, the faith. 
\jA us DMke all the lulowauce which tan pnllinte auth a courav. It ia t'osy to imaginu 
Di'n of candid but orcr-bold ipirita thinking thtv niiy tunko tbe cilaidi'l of truth the saf»!r 
b> tuttinu off from it all outwork* which Beeni indofenaiblo. We may give all cri'Jit fui' 
•"iohiBK-otiaiiB; hat there ia q limit to iho pnweBs. A Chriatiamty with no prepamlwy 



The Contsinporaty Review. 

twiligbt of JudiuBin, "n'ttbout propheciy, untlioiit mintcles', witbout on infullilile r«wid of 
infipired inith, nithoiit a preMnt PruTidencft, wilhocil atonement, wilii a doutt ihrown 
0^-011 on tile personality ol its God, may bo eajNible of dffcnfie, but -should not be worth 
defendtTig. And we mnit reinenjlier tlat this prineiplo of aurrcndcring to dcTi'iid hoi 
been pul forwiu"d, at cill tiDil't". by itosc whusc nets imve been all fur Bum'ndpr and nuae 
for defence. Even Stnuu, the most diutnii-tiye of modem infldeU, plgad^ tliat he wua 
only placing n-ligion ou a eiuer baflu, when he had Btri-ren to mit airar from it all 
luLaiB in history ov in tiuth." 

SvLwly if the di?ma)jiJi for » cWritalile jiwlgmt-nt m\ <itli«r»j bo w«U put for- 
ward ill thi) Jiiiddle of this pas«ig*', be a j-ust one,then tbf sw^i^L-jjing jud^pneiit 
ou the dis&eijiijiatioii of their trfm coiisciojittwuH views, whicli ucjuciiidEs the 
passage, cjui hardly be a just one too. llie Biuhrvp rejuily tbHik that 
the eitade] (.ij" truth is th<r K'tttT for having ami miiii]taiiun>^ iiidelViwibIc 
outwt>rks 1 t^iiirely ]ie Li(X« not. And if not, it caiiiiut l>e open to him, 
mfiuly I'Y putting in ms & eiilvoi, " tht-re is a limit to the procfss,'' to appear 
to the iiiisiiBpcietinfj i'ciiJlt, iimi lo immr tht risk uf U'lng 4iiot(.'d, a& if he 
L'ondeiuiK'd the itMi.'!': pvoee*s of deaicilitioQ of iiidvfuQsible outworts, which 
IB to our !ige its nppfJinted method ul" proving jdi thinyt;, and holding fast 
thiit which ifl gflod. Fur ninrc' nohly, IipgausL' luurc boldly and faithfully, 
d(H!S hf! fijieak wheti lie aiya, s^Kuikiiig of the undtsimbknesB of briuguig 
reli{;!iouB (Lii^ciutfiiniiis into n, court iif iippenl : — ^m 

" The Ian' will naturnlly, und pL'rbnpi rightly, ttive as much Lititado ne poasiblo to ^^1 
^om of thought, and V^'^a irevAam of spepch. It n-ill, then, always Xie ditiioult to get p 
couviclion ; and acquilUd ia a yictorj' not tai tho writer W^Xj, lut fur Lis wridnga and 
nentimenta- Conviction woiild be Btnrcclj' lesa dieaatroiis, if it (unlisted in thtir feTonr 
public sjnijinlhy as for n persecuted cause. But I see a, greater danger etili. I itpokc 
iuat nov of aiixioua but hnncit miiida, for which the Cltriatian h^nrt c^iuot but fi^l 
lundnew utd eympalhy, Now, it may b>! that tu ihvm iiotluiii^- n'ouM be bo daageroui m 
that, Thile lurking ou vitli interest at the cunteat between ffiith and ec«|)ti<uain, uudmu 
lliat faith i^lioitld triiiin])h, )-et M>'it\y nhnken in tJti^tt cotLlidcn>i:£ that it would trimsph, 
tley fhonlj ew, or tliiuk tlty saw, ft^e inquiry stifii'd, frwdixn pf thought «t(t[Qp«d out, 
anil tlie pciiDltii-H of tbc law 8ubiti[iiti>d fur the reasoning of the apoli>gist. I wuiild (W 
their «iJte»— aud how many such there orol — laUicT p£o Ihu I'aging of the bMlIc-fidd 
than the sUonte of mi enforced peace. And I suy this, too, because f have the full-eal, 
deenost truiit in t1iL< truth. I would, uot cib'cglc ittie pruKTtss of ^cient^e nor t!ie inquiries of 
crJUciun, vsit \ fi;iu).-d that luHt»r}' or iivutloci ehould b«>ar n-itiici'e iigiuu'»t the Qod of tbs 
nationa or thf Creator of the luiiverefi. In th(W> v<?ry contixivi.'meB, wlut;h are not j*t 
st.lllLd. anciiig ufl, I thijik wo conKee ultT.luly that Christ inn truth bus really gniued a. firmer 
hold iiver lionest th'inglitful minds and conscienoes, froni the Twy fact that, ■ when tht rain 
dpBcondcd and ilip HhoeIs ^.'onle, and thp winds bkw und bi-Bt upoo that bou**, it feU not, 
for it was founded on a Ruck.' (Us-tt. riii. 2^,]" 

The Eishopis for learuig iia it is the constitution of the court of final 
ftpjN."ai (for eiioh n t;oiii-l ht- conct'dos there must Iw), w"itli t!if addition Xa 
it of some able «ccleiiiaatii:id lawyers : if iuilcod, us wna reuiniked Inat year 
in CtmviKiation, such a deacri[itiou of animal Iw ^xist'^iit il" the i\vx% 
gBUcfation, And tliis sc-^uis t4j be the view gsiniug ground among 
uiddernte ani] priu'ticjil men, 

Tlif EUhop 'li'ids, in the close of iiis chaise, witli tho two correlative 
iuitogonistiv niovc-nn'nts, ritualistic de-v^loprnout, and the reviaiun of 
the Liturgj'. jViid we aru glad to ap-ee with him in his remarks on 
IkiLIi theBt*. The bnsy looking up of niediteval milhiitry which ia now, 
with W.I many of our clergj'', usurping the plate of the eares and studies 
to ivhich tla^y have devottd themfielves, miglit be trtiitted as mere chiLdish 
niiiisvriKi', wiTL' it not that it 'originates in, and proceeds upon, hidden 
disUiyalty to tlii- Chnnih of Knglnnd, and trejichtiry to her principloa. 
Tlie l'.'giliniate ncopo of iill stiflh rituiilieui ia, the Etehop iimintaiDs., iho 
recognition of the material sacrifice of tho Maes : in it, in its gloriiicjitiim 
and adoration, they all culminate, and from it tlitiy cuunot lie loj^ac^ally dis- 


Notices of Books. 175 

joined. Many of those who have been drawn into the present movement 
ape weak men, unable to apprehend the consequences of tlieir actions ; but 
the prime movers of it are too learned and too able, not to know very well 
irliat they are about, and whither it is all tending, Wlien we hear it 
boasted that there are " bo many " churches in London where the consecrated 
elements are " reserved for adoration," we are in no way surprised, however 
we may be saddened, at learning that logical conseijuences are working 
tbemselres out, in spite of vehement diwivowal from the novices of the 
party. It is all the more lamentable, that a journal liitherto deemed 
tbomughly loyal to the Church of !Eliigland, and largely read by the families 
of Churchmen of all opinions, should have inclined, editorially, to their 
wretched movements, or opened its corresiwndence columns to the rais- 
duerous discussion of lights and vestments. 

On the revision of the Liturgy, the Bishop of Ely speaks plainly and 
semibly : — 

"Te need, no doubt, what may be called a Bupplement to the Prayer-book. We want 
lurreit praven and missioa pmyerg and prayers against murrain, shorter formB for special 
octuioni, ijiOTt earnest services for daily use, and many like forms, which may ho supplied 
vilhout loaching what we have already. So, spiritual cravings might bo satisfied and 
qnitnal waata supplied. I would not even cut olf all discussion, if it were contended that 
nne slight change of phrase or modification of thought might conciliate many to ua with- 
mt ucnfioe of doctrine <a of principle. Still less would I contend against a revision of the 
XtttionaiT, or, if needful, a review of rubrical injunctions. But even here I would rather 
(^lain tniui modify. It is very hard to tell what may follow from the beginning of 
dimge. Former eobrts for reTision have ended as their promoters never contcmplatod. 
Wft cannot foresee what new efforts may draw after thorn. ' The beginning of change ' is 
like the letting out of water.' 

"The aerrice specially singled out for review is, of course, the Burial 3er\'ice. It is 
vmeoeasary to apwafy the objections to it, which are well known and obvious ; but the 
fificuldes of change are scarcely less apparent. No one would, perhaps, wish to cut away 
A* vwda of hope, where those words are suitable ; and how to judge when thoy are not 
isitable, and who the judge should be, is a question easy to ask but very hard to answer. 
TWe is a grmt princi^e running through our I'rayor-book, and seen in oU our formularies, 
wldch very signally devoiopcs itself in our Burial Service. It is the earnest, trusting 
btli«f of those who translated and revised our service-books, in the iulness and irceness of 
Cod*! lore in Christ. The undoubting earnest belief expressed in the Baptismal Service 
Ibat God would favourably receive the infant then brought to Him — the answer of tho 
dild, when catechized, that God the Son had redeemed him, and the Holy Spirit was 
■aetifying him — the prayer in Confirmation to God as to One who had given to the candi- 
tidatn fo^venesaofalltiieirsins — the personal appropriation to every worshipper of Ood's 
■erdiea and loringkindneas — oU sprang, not from that recently invented theory of a charit- 
iUe intttpretation, but from a thorough and confident assurance that God was in Christ, 
noonciUng the world unto Himself; thAt God in Christ had forgiven us ; that God would 
We all men to be saved ; and that Hin arms of mercy wore wide open to rei^^ivo them all. 
This was the signal excellence of Luther's theology, and it was caught u^ and echoed by 
thoae who had the restoring of our own Church from corruption to punty. And when 
ftcy had to expunge from our Burial Service those prayers for the departed, which hod 
ken turned to evil, hut which were naturally comforting to the bereaved and sorrowing. 
Act nbatitutAd for them, not prayer, but ttumlugiving, grounded upon the love of God 
WA the redemption of mankind by Christ. And there surely is great reason why we, in 
this time of greater coldness and weaker love, should Iw caroful how wo remove from our 
Mrrioea words which testify of so bright a faith, so blessed a hope." 

Our only fear in the prospect of additional services is, lest we should, by 
oor own cold heartless style, and lumbering periods, be congealii^ and 
confiiaing the feelings of our people, instead of adding to them fervency, 
and directing them to Heaven. 

We have noticed this charge of Bishop Hai-oM Browne's at some length, 
as heing the production of as good a man as now lives among us, a man at 
the same time of high purpose and sober judgment. We hail it on the 
whole 38 an omen for good : only hoping that the amiable writer may not, as 

1 76 The Contemporary Review. 

time goes 011, fuid the dcadeiiiiig influences of mature Episcopate iucompatible 
with this heartiness of religious life and (for the most part) fearless expression 
of fi-csh and unreserved opinion. 

Sestiw ami LiluK. Two Leetiu-es — I, Of King's Treasuries ; II. Of Queens' 
Gardens. By Joii:f Ruskin, M.A. Second Edition, with Preface. 
London : Smitli, Eider, & Co. 

Mr. Ruskis's enemies have, generally speaking, little enough cause to 
rejoice when he writes a book, provided it he one of those larger works 
which liave set his name so high in modem literature. Nor are hia op- 
ponents likely to derive much satisfaction from his lectures as lectures : that 
is to say, a-s speeches addressed to a fit audience. But many of hia friends, 
including onrseI\es, must regret that lie will turn the spoken word into the 
word wiitten, mthout careful mitigations. His mind is, at the same time, in- 
tensely sensitive and logical, and he is not so much possessed of, as possessed 
hy, an unparalleled gift of rapid illustrative ideas and words. The conse- 
quence is that, i>artly in the hope of reacliing men's hearts by sheer force of 
stylo thi-ough all their natural mail, and partly iii the combative excitement 
of standing up to a dubious or insensitive audience, half hostile and wholly 
critical, he says a great deid which had bettor not he said, still leas printed. 
Wliat except just and angry defiance is ever likely to come of the statement 
that "our national religion is only the perfonuanc<! of Church ceremonies, 
and preaching of soporific truths or untmths, to keep the mob «juietly at 
work while we amuac ourselves)" Does Mr, Ruskin really think no clergymaa 
or Liy t'hurehnian ever goes into a poor man's house, or pays for poor child- 
ren's schooling, or that there are no such things as missions, or refuges, or 
spread of Holy ycripture all over the world 1 Why, the hest means yet 
discovered of Inliouring for the crowded poor of London are Church brother- 
hoo<ls and colleges. A man should know his friends better. Besides, there 
is a ditfereuce between speaking and writing ; paradoxes and appeals an 
allowable in a 3]>ecch, which ought not to appear in print. Litera sertpta 
nuinet, and spoken woi-ds are not canvassed in the same way as writuigs. 

Tliose wlio know the ability, kindness, and moderation of Mr. Ruskin's 
lectures to working men, ivill understand that these two addresses to an 
educjited audience, though violent, are not inflammatory or offensive, 
except i)erhaps tfi clergy, who are generally considered fair game. But we 
complain of them because they are calciilated to give so mucli paiu to his 
own side, — to all who already know men's distresses, and are even now 
labouring for the jKJOr. These will sufter, wliile unfeeling people will take 
easy refuge in anger at his violent language. We do not complain particu- 
larly of his strictures on tlie Episcopal bench and clergy in general, because 
every able Avriter of the jiresent day seems to find it necessary to avow his 
entire detestation of all clerical persons. But Mr, Ruskin might consider how 
many parish clergy not wholly fools, and how many women, tender, active, and 
intelhgent, will be lashed into energetic renmiciation of himself and all his 
works, because he will address to them eij^ually that full bitterness of feeling 
which the misery of London and the defacement of Lancashire have awak- 
ened in lum. Why pour out all his vials on those who virtually work 
with him ? Ho makes no exception for anyboily. It really is a question 
for all who preach — and his lectures are really brilliant lay sermons run wild 
— how far it is right to make those who do listen to you suffer as whipping- 
boys for the neglect of those who will not. It is common enough to do so; 
and in many cases the severities administered become extremely amusing from 

Noiiccs of Books. 


Uifir mapplicabilety. ilow oft-en we luivo heard rpgiilar chiireh -goers ful- 
iiiinnted at for sabbftth-breakuij;, nml seen "wouieit of tender couscieuce sitting 
im-tieTitly under ileuuncititioiis iiddreEsed to profane swearers! 

We miist not fnlliTW this plwisiug tlninie, but ent«r on " Seeame and 
Lilies" tJiroiigti its I'refaet'. wliicU is simiply cliannxng fmm end t« end. It 
Dwiua Ui liavt; l"'fii writtjcu hisl, lik« nui'st jirefiiues : it 13 pcrisivis rather 
tl]au vfln-nieHt : in s)it'rt, it is writlvii I'lfr thijuttlitful iJi^opk' who will mind 
Mr. Ruakiii, nitht'i than i'T enerjtctit nianufaKturtrra wlio will iKit or canntit. 
Tlim' ap" 81'nliTu'i's ill it like fn"-"!! |i*-'d atrttues, ivhvR- evt-ry word is a shiii'p 
itnikc, nml the wlitile idwi sUtndtt mit at t]j« liist blow, complL-ti! iind (!iim[>Li- 
ralwl, (Jno in jinrticaliir, JitKiut a pi^e and a iinart^r hjnp, and ]ierl'(?rtly 
rksr from beginning Ui end, n fers to tliK tnnnel of tUten and the valloy of 
Clianiouni ; ami the schoolbnys' lulniiring destnittion of the lied of Alpine 
tiwfs is beyond coninieut. However, ''nho ^qAa was anjjry and wearj' of 
pmi?(',"* luid it K-A\y would Beem, liy tli*' beginning of Iiia tirat letturt, 11& if 
iEr. Kualcin lind liml iiiiit* enougb of it bimsolit and u-anted to ^yml the tftstc 
I'f it fnr otlitTs who canni't help tliinltin^ of it 113 Dr. .I«ibnsnn tlinnfi'ht uHout 
wnll-fniit, — thnt, nt (ill events, thfry never yet gnt na much nf it as they 
would like. 

Xnw -we 9rty, ibnt tho \'!\'^'-s about trivfj rif praise are wronp as th^ey nre 
rtnWl, and wronf* i\a they am- applied. As a rule, even liialnipft of ttie 
pfwnt lime wiint more thiin to lie chilled My L'.ihI ; tSiey want idsu to di a 
4irrhiy'« work cVtTy diiy in considi^mtion of tliat title. The popiiliu- com- 
jJiiinl is, not that mej] wljn an* made hishofis do not desirti in dcselTC thisir 
poaitim us hx-U aa Vt bold it, but that wrong men (irc scimetimea made, 
cthy wnng means. And tliia example apphes tti thu whole auLject. No' 
nuui ivui fndiire praise unless he deserves iL^ iu [lart nt least. 

There is in fa<.^t no conneetinn between the varioiia parts of the iirat lec- 

ta«, except this feelinj:; in tlio ftntlifir's niiiid^ — tlmt books are better than 

Dipo, becnnsf" they iire the voivc of the di'iul, nnd the dead are better than 

tbe living. And so the living geiienition ie flogged iinnierL-ifnlly for the 

mt of the lertiirt'. ^^'e may notice, that the preliminary advice about 

wcarary in reiuling. ehoice of booka, nnd the like, ia np to tJLe atandnnl by 

wliiph wi< havo It right to .judye Mr. Kuekiji ; and that what he Buys about 

•fc'rivHti'ilia imd etjTtiido^des i.s. erpinily (];ood, thonyb h(3 Jiimself, as well dfi 

Duin Trench und Professor Kinysley, liave apoken well on the subject 

I K-fon-. And as for hU aecuHatinna against im all, lljey all centre in one. 

We have despis*d nrl, liremtnre, natiiri', and coniiiaaaion, all for i^m. Wu 

will not niak*' juiy answer, Iwcaus':' it iloes not become the men of a geneni- 

l_tion l« 6ct forth what gooii tliey are. tryiuR to do : and tiur censor's style is 

one to rail out either tendemesa ur repentance, or to make men espreaB 

prnlirins they rpally i\>f\. Mo:it of what he ftaya ia ([nite tnie^ but liG 

hiinUy to care for his owtt case, or t<i Bee that liia wildiiesB and 

■wiuf iif statement expose his works to sliurp sayings wluch reoUy may 

prevent their being prfipt-rly attended to. A largo iKmk can bide its time, — 

a Miniill one may buIFlt severely fi-om immediate critieisdn. Somebody said 

*• SeeanuB and LUieB" was " Avritten in n sci-eauL" Kvcr> body felt what tho 

laying mcftnt, and it reaDy told a^ainflt the book. But we rerai^^mber the 

_nittiark of an old Oxonian on the critic, "II' that party hfld ever Wn out 

iitnlin}r, lift woidd know that men generally do scroEmi when they mean ta 

brtinl iu a erowd." 

itut aA t>j the fonr accTiaations, In literature there is yet in this rountry 

jfttl n'mliiij;, an<l eareful writing, and proper resoarcb in anthoritie,*. 

«?rc U livini; and growing Art, siieli as is poesible in a manufiicturiug 

■ Swrnbome, ".^.taJMita in Calydon." 
TOL. I, S 

J 78 The Contemporary Review. 

country ; and we liavo not yet sceu what art schools, and galleries open in 
tho evcninga, and excursion trains, may do to develop the natural instinct 
for Ijeauty. Pre-Rafaelitism, and its acceptance by tho people, shows that 
nature is not altogether despised; and there is enough feeling for and 
attempt at charity in the land, to make Mr. Kuskin's red-printed pages very 
hitter worda indeed, lioth text and comment. Pitiful people will be made 
more aatl by tliem, whom God lias not made sad ; ordinary people will he 
simply irritated and puzzled. But, anyliow, a most important practical 
question is pointed to in them, — the proper regulation of our workhonsea 
All metropolitan mt^strates will bear witness to the mercil&ss way in which 
certain boartls of guardians act at present ; and if Mr. Kuskin would accept 
the testimony of parish clergy, they would hear him out here at all events. 
The second lecture we tliink of considerable value just at thia time, in 
OS far as it hoId.s up something like a high standard of nobleness and purity 
to women's thoughts, and suggests to young ladies a fact which seems to he 
a good deal overlooked in these days, that they were bom to honour rather 
than to dishonour, and that it is better on the whole to be one honest man's 
" revered Isabel," tlian a juosi-Pel^ia with countless admirers, despised and 
despising. "What is said too about women's being taught some one 
branch of learning thoroughly and fully, is a rule for all education: — 
and the appeal to happy women at the last, to learn and act for tho 
distress of others, is one which has oilcn been made, but seldom more 
forcibly or delicately. 

All Mr. Ruskin's works are well worth reading : all his lectures are well 
worth hearing : hut we think his reputation suffers with almost the whole 
reading public when ho prints lectures as books. To lose temper or betray 
over-excitement is of all things tho most fatal to him who would influence 
Englishmen : they have a strange, cruel way of turning from the earnest man's 
matter to analyse him and his earnestness. There is much that we regret in 
these lectures ; but for all that, they ought to bo read, and read with patience. 

A CommenUirij on the New TestamerU. By Johs Trapp, M.A- ; reprinted 
from the Author's last Edition. Edited by tho Rev. W. Webstkb, 
M.A, late Follow of Queen's College, Cambridge; Joint "Editor of 
AVebster and Wilkinson's Greek Testament. (Pp. 851.) London: 
Dickinson, Farringdon Street. 

It will hardly be believed that this reprint of a Puritan Commentary has 
been edite<i in these days without so much as one word of notice rf the 
author, and that those who do nut happen to know much about him an 
driven to Biographical Dictionaries for information.* Still, this does not 

• To each, the knowledge may not be imwelcome, that Joba. Trapp was born in 1801 ; 
■WM a King's scholar in the free-school at Worcester ; went up to Christ Church ia 1618; 
•^aa master of a free-school at Stratf<ird-on-Avon in 1624, and then Vicar of Wo«Ion-on- 
Avon, abont two miles from his school : both which offices ho retained for nearly 50 yean- 
On tho broakinfc out of the rebellion he sided with the Presbyterians, took the Covmuuit, 
"and," savB Wood in the " Athente Oxonienses," "in his preachioKs and diacoiuaw 
became riolcnt against the King, his cause and adherents, yet lost nothinf{ by so doing, 
but was a gainer bv it, as ho was, by tho publication of these books following, token into 
the hands and admired by tho Brethren, but by others not." Uo died in 1669. The mora 
Tolumtuoua author. Dr. Trapp, known chieliy by the epigram " On Glover'a ' Leonidu* 
being said to be equal to Virgil," — 

" Equal to Virgil P 'T may, perhaps : 
But then, by JoTO, 'tis Dr. Trapp's,"— 

^ns gnindwn to our Commentator. 

Nolices of Books. 


ilftract Fhmi the vsln^ of the book itself. In tli« Ancient tit]*-page, it ia 
ileaignateJ as " a commcntiiry or exposition upon all tlie books of the Kew 
Tcetaiaent, wherein the t*;xt is explaijiuiJ, souiu LimtruvLTsii's uru tlisf^nssi^Ll, 
diretB wpUEonjilitces are liaiiili'ucl, jumI iiiaiiy ruimij'kiibk' ijintti-Tii Ibintf.'i], 
Ihitt |ja«l by fnmier inteqireters lwi*n jirct^^nnittoil, Uesjdes, div+^ra other 
toll* of Scripture, ivlijch occasionally occw, aw fully ci])en«(l, aiiil the whole 
w uiti;rmLSi>d with [Kirtint-ot histom-a, as ^■<r\\l jiold hoth pkasiiro aiiil proHt 
Id till' Judicious rtader." AnsX the vikluc of the book reidly lies in thtise 
last " f»ertineut histurit'S." The Cumiiif utary is n sturehouBo of imecdol-es : 
ttti niiiny of thn-'iu Ijelcmii to the etirrmg times when the Ijook was written. 
Of Uiese, and of the <LUaint sayinys with which the notea nboiinJ, we will 
give It few apecimt^DS. 

"8ena.nJi»uj (EjiiHt, ml Jliu'eniin) («Uetti of n plain countiymBn at Frilaurf!; in Germniij, 
lliit ijing OD his deuihlx^'j, the devil came in hiin. lu llia iilinpu of n txili ti'mUle mdm, uicl 
riwned }m soul, eayiiig, 'Thou ktat b«cn a. Qulorioiia sinnur, and I om rume ta scl down 
At nni :' and thi'7i.'wi!}i he dmw {iiit papor and ink, nnd Eat Aovra at a tabk that slooil 
ij, liul b^Mtt \<t write. The aick mtia OiiEwered, ' My soul ia tiud's, and bJI Diy xinH an; 
BuM b) iLe ert«a of C'hriHt, But if thou di^siro to w( down my aini, write thus, "AH 
oni richleoTisn^gaes are as n (Uliy nvg, Slc." ' The JcatJ BCt dciWB that, Pijdl tiid hiiii. sivy 
uu. He did : ' But Thou Lord h^at ^iviiuBcd, fur thine own sake, tu blot out our iiiiqiii- 
tirt, Mid to TDftkfl oui acarkt *ifvfl u-hita -a* sdow.' The devil paflwd by thoac words, juid 
*u onuMt iritbi him tn go on uHtli hin furmer arfpimciit. The niek maa uiiil, with ^vai 
thioAifatna, ''The Son of (j>yA appeared to doatroy thu works of the doril.' A^'ith thac tha 
deril vaoi^ed, and (he itck mnn d<^|>nrU-d."— Ou Matt, iv. 6. 

"As the lapiduTy bri^htciK'th hi^ Liird dlnmond 'with The duttt plantt! from ItAclf, js 
BImI ■re clear hard scripturi's by othi^ra thut anj luoi-e plain and Ii4rspi[:liou8."'^3tl 
M*tt. iv. 7. 

K Tbe following might tcauh n h«aoii to Boino in our own tinit^ : — 

^L "Muiy or tho Romiih (>m.i|P'ttiit«, thnt nni tJiither for prur<3n»ent, what little respert 

HWe they ofteatimes, aad m tittle totitcnt in thi'ir rlmiigu ! RoHscnaLH [qu. ItofTmala !'] 

j^fW a CUuinal'a bat tent him, biit bin heitd vd» cut olf lj«fgro it came. Allin bad a ani- 

i; diBil'a lut, but with lo thin lining (uicanA, 1 memi, to support bis etste) tbat be was 

nsaioaly called 'the marving Conlijipl," Staiilft^m wtw made profeesor of » petty 

MCTwa&r. Bcarce «o ^gnM, ts ono of our ffUB-stlioolH in Gaglivni!. Saunders wu ataned, 

WiIHbib Kunbolda vtoA nontinftti-d to n poor vkAt-ik^-c itndt:!' vnliii^. Oa IlQi-ding His 

HnlninOT beetowed a prchcnd of Uiiiinl, i>r, to spunk lu'irt' prop«rly, ft gaunt prebend. 

Usny otheni |i;ot nut D-QVlhiiiig, m tbat they wish themselves at. hiMnc again : and sume< 

tLAWfvtvni in the Biuau difrC'ciQiUint in wbLcb tbcy went.''^On Mutt, iv, 8, 9. 

"Tlhiere were ri^ghty opininna among hBathena nhoiit man's blpaaedneaa. Theso did htlt 
bt4t the hash : -Gfi h:ilh pven ua thi; bird in this gijlikn sermon.'' — (Jn Matt, y. 3. 

" II ia observud of Archbishop Cranuier, that ho iii-v*r niged so far with any of his 
boowbold Mmnta, Monw to tiill tb? Djoimeat of lb«m vwrlt'l. or kna^'u in dnger, much 

^)n to T^nreve & itTai)^ with any ri-prtttithful wurd : kaet ol' nil did ht dt-al bluws o-mnng 
Dvnt. Hi Biiihap Bonner: who in his vtsitatLon, tx^csufie the bells t-ung not at hie i-fuuiD^ 
ntar Usilhaiii, nor the chureb was dressed itp as it should, railed Ur. Biirltel Imsvu iknd 
kntic : uid thcTPwJthnl, whi>tlier thnistiug or striking ot him, so it was, ths,t be (jsve Sir 
Ibomu Jow^lin, ECnight (wbo then stood aQsX to thu llishup), s. ^^ood pltwvt upon tbe 
ipprr part of ilvf nefik, even undcf hw xrax: whereat he wiis wimtwhAt D3tiinii.-d at the 
nldMUu-fi iii till* quarrel for that time. At Iml hi: spnko and eniil, ' What nii'tiuctL your 
Msbip ■■ Hare you btHtn trained up in Witl Homrnersftacboal, to striki' him who atandflh 
BKt yo« f Tbc Bishop, "till in n rage, either b^'uret not, or would not hear. When Mr. 
P^kuik would have cxeiwHl him by his lonj,' impnaiinment in tbe MurBbulaco, wbervby 
I *i «» grown testy, kc, he replied merrily. ' So it seems, Mr, Feokmnn : for now that be 
! bMew fortii of the Mv^iUaea he is ready to fjo to Bedlam.' " — On Matt, v. 2^. 

"Within"tbe 'memorr of man, Feb. H, L67j5, Ann Averiea fDrswor* liarseif nt s 
4wp in Woo^l Street, Loudon, and prayiu)^ Gg<l Hha might bisk whu-Tti »be atooJ if 
^ and not pnid for the wares sho t<K)k, ifiU don'a siieechless, and with a horribln Blink 
4isd Men aftrr. "~Un Matt. V. 33. 

"SfasU the urest Uoose-kecTMjr of the world water bis flowers, pmne bis plante, fodder 
ii>i<«ttl(, and n't}! feed his cbildreu P Xever think it." — On Miitt. vi. 2'i. 

"The 2i»d c«ntnrii>n wns no-t a batter man tlitin master, Ha wns that rtnowncd Sir 
TIlitnnM I-Hfy. if Chnrlecott, in Warwickshire, to whosp singular commendation it was \a 
«ifl» hcmup jinracbeJ at his funeral, and is iinw sinL-e publislied, by my muidi Imnoiired 
(ripnd Mr. iC4)t>«a Ubini?, titat [mmong mimy DtUci'j thnl would dcinrly miu LIiu} a buuac- 

The Contemporary Reiiew. 

I So 

fnl of serviuitB bod lost not ft raostrr but a. pbysicun, wli6 ^skA% tbeir Aicktiesa liii, Uiil 

lii« c'>staijii pbyaiG ihiiLrB." — On Matt. viii. 6. 

" Wlien the Duke of Buiir'boo''a eapluliia hail shut up Pope Clement VIII, [Vo .■ liul it 
wnB Clonifiil Vir.] in tha Cofllte St. Angels, CjrdinoJ "Wolaey being shortly after aeut 
HtniiTiMHilor bryond iwag ti make Tnenns for his ruleaae, as he came throiigli Canterbiuy 
towurJ Dover, he oommanileil thu monttt luiii the rhuir to Hing (be I.ititny after thla sort, 
* f^inKit JlarM, era pro Fifia tuvtro Cieii'mU-,' UimBcIf also, beiug preiMut, vas &peu tu 
wcej) teaiJerly for the I'oiiL-'a culiunit)-."— Dn Matt. ii. 16. 

^umetiinoa we liaVLi a. sliix-wd Llioiiylit : luiil not uiifrequently a Htninge 
iVDFilj unknown ti) uur English tlictiuuiirjes : — 

" Yt repfnfed net afUrtcardt. — No, ncrt nfter hie death, though ye sa-w Me lUfpcnturinled* 
to him, Olid pri'iirluiig nuii pT«sing the pamp ihtiigs iiiwii you ihitt Juhn did. Aa hypo- 
crite comes hnnlliiir tit fauown lliaii u vxa^i tsinniL-r, and linlh far more nbata^lcs. A^ hi? 
thnt miut be stripped ia nut bu mioh iloihcd ns hc ihut ii naked, iLQd M ho cliiabs not a tree 
MiKxiii th»t niu^t lirat cunie davm from the top of another ti'ee where he ia perched, M ll it 
here."^ — iia Matt, iii 3i 

'' £f'Gry man hnth a dcioiealieiLl chaplfllu within hia own bosom, tLnt preucfaiL'th over tbfl 
sermon to him Acain, and coiucs over him with 'Thou itrt tho man.' " — On Matrt. %xi. ii. 

"Jcmnueit de I'eiuporibus, who iw aaid to have lived ia Franc* above thret hundred 
xearii, died at length: bo did the old, old, the very old man, a.d, 1635."t— On Malt, 
iiii. 27. 

" Judf^e Morgan, who Kove the senteucQ of that pccrlcM I.jiily Janc'H death, prce^utly 
iVU mod : aad in ail hb dJiitracti^d fitH, tricA uut HOtitinuaUy, ' ToJie away the Lady Jftoo^ 
Idlie owaT tlio Lndv Jniio fi-om dip."*^Uii Matt. ixvi. 24. 

" A young schotnr rending publicly tho fifth of the first of Coriathiiins fur probation 
wto, HI the CoUego of Bamberg:, wht-n he emnetothatpasange. '£.rjjj(r(fftrrprfw/cjT»imWflf,' 
&c, ' ti'mt etfia uzymi,' he nut iindcrslaDdin^ the word tisi/Mi, lead, 'fii'M' Mti* Mini.' 
The wiscT sort of prebtniiarics llierc jiresent Mid among then iBt Ives, ' L'lim a nipitntiorilmt 
iiuluiiiiia hiijinmodi audirt, a putru aiidirt tvgiinui:' Children, and fooU uaunlty tdl tho 
iruih."— ^^r) Mntt, Tmiii. 18. 

" Huilolpltua (iiialther beinR in OsfnnJ. and tcholdinift Chria.1 Churuh College, wid, 
' E^rtffiiim afi'H ! Ca'tlhialii isle innlituil caik^iiim, rl <i!>»o!ii[ jKijiiriaiti' A pretty busiiuaaj 
A rollej^e U:||pin, and a kitchen fuuiidcd." — Uu Luku xix. 'IS. 

" H'n* itrif aCirtclirt lo fiiar Aim. — Gr., hanged on ]Iiiii, as the bee (SoTh on the floirer, 
Ihe babe on the hrtaijt, the little bird on the bill of her dnin. Chriat drcvi' the lA'opt? nCler 
Him, as it were^ hy the golden n-hoiii cfhis h*-aTen!T tkqueDee."— On Like iLx. 48. 

" Every eioreist must not think to do na I'aul did, nor every preacher aa LHtiuii-T did. 
' He hud HIT fiddlv and my sti'ck,' said h? of WQ that proiu.'licd hu sermons, ' but be wnatod 
my ream." —On Acta lix, 16. 

Kufh arti n few sjietimena of tlie stores of an«<;i-!olt'S anil original remarks 
to be fimnd in. ihls curious Commcntftrj. Ae an vTipUmitiun of JScriiptuw, it 
is of little YftlwEj. It Uikt'n no account of coottxt, und very little of tlio 
relative iniportaace of tlio sayiii^s 011 which tho uot(i« are hung. The wfJter 
soE^ins tti seek rather opportunity fur mttkin^ b point in rhetoric, tlian f^r 
fetaWishing a point in tlieDkigy, antl carPS more to dis]<lay his varied 
ttiading, than to Ihcilltiitv the reiLiliug of ^cripturu. Ills fiivouiite poiiret) of 
ant-ctlote is Foxg's "Ants iiiiij Mrtuiuiienta." He is modemtuly well vereed 
in the elassiL's and in tin- Ltdin Fathui^ : tind of the Gi'ui^li, seems chiefly to 
hiive studied ChryBOstom. We vvin Mr. Wuhstei' our thaiiks for having 
made a rarB bwok, of .sr> rauph intt^rcet, acct'S^ible to lis; tut those Lh^nka 
W'cuild hiLvu heen niorr hi'tirtily given, had ho taken n little ]iaius to collect 
ittfoimation about tlie niitliur. 

• To *r(f<rnfiin'i\{e \a \tnnthttitiite far anoifirr. The furcetitiiriali -Kere men kejit in Ttamrrb 
fir the purpoao of suppJjing tho place of ihoae soldiers, in tho rpnturia vho happciiied t)j 
foil in hiitlli-, 01 (liv othemisv, Wv havs noted fieveral ethi^r pondurons Ijitiniams ; pltr- 
sttimvt, p. 167: txmvis, p. 463; a^.'ucnnimrto/>, p. 4tU : borboralaij^, p. ojV. Ia |i. £9 
wc read, "All was jolly ijuict at Kphesus bEforr; St. I'aul came thithtl-;" a form of BpeecJi 
which we hai-dlj- upccted to find in ihu ujventeenth cenliin^. 

+ Kespti'tinR Rno of the tiro very aged meii. hert mtnliuned, .JoiiiinMi do Temporiblif, wfl 
read iu t|ie '' Fn«'itu]u9 Tempunim '" of lioIc-wun:k, printt-d lu the awond voluma of tlia 
*' Creniinnici Striplorea," undor the yp*r IIM, " Joaimfc*dc Toniporihua niijritu)*, qui vijicnt 
iTcUi. annifl. Fuit enim onuiger Caroli, et usquo ad hoc temporo. d-araiTt" fke othcc 
WBJ old ?arT. 

Noikes of Books. 


Lctttrs. Tratislak-il by Lady Walla*^ 2 vuls, Lomlun : Longmans. 
To open tlnsic VLiUiniea is like i>j>c-nmg a painterl touib. "VV© are Jiur- 
iiiimde*! by peoplu luny dead, — we rtaitl thw oiicu ianiiliur iiiLiiiea for^jotteii 
HfiW, — We look curiously «t the busy yvery-dsj llii* of a ceutiiry ago, — we 
almost catcli t!ie riii5;iii}{ l.iiigb and the !!!Ounil of voices, — tbR colpiira are all 
frwJi, tbe ligurea are all liistinct, — let ue select ont ^rtiup. Thtre is Leopold 
Mi)iart, tlie father, ivitli bia oM thieadbare cmt, and oaken stick, a God- 
fi'iring, sensible, but eoiHuwIiiit iitiirow-mmdpd man ; Lis wile — -the very 
mwiel of a thrifty lioiisewife. Tiiere ia pretty little Naiierl, now about 
filfcen, who •' looks like an luigt-l in lit^r new elutlits," and pliiya the clavier 
111 tbi: «8tiiiush.iiifnt »f lifrr V'Uii Sl51k, tliu titiipid loviT, and the other 
(flurt oiusieiiins who fHii|_nt!nt the worthy Ciipfdlnn-'ister's* house iit Kalsi^burg. 
Tlww 18 Bimberl thu Uop, who gets &o many kL'^wjH, and tlui catuiry that 
lings ill {if; ftitil lost there is the gloriuuH boy Wollgauj; Aniiiik'na 
Moart, now about thirteen, Lii hta little puce-hruwn c^oat, velvet huae, 
W'tltMl shoes, and long Hovi'ing tnrly hair, tierl liehiiid after the I'aahioii 
yf till! duy. lie has already vieited Fam^ Ijondou, and Kitme, and is no 
ittu £imouB for upronrious merriment than for music. At the age of four 
k wrote tuneSf at twolve he cituhl not find his equal on tlie harpaiiihoid, 
and the pmfi'38orfl of Eiirutie etood agJiast at one who inipro^'ised fuyin* 
M B given thoniu and tlien touk a ride nofk-ii-horse ou his tather'a eticlL 

The fiist two Bt«ti"na of I^'tterB, which caiT)' ua np to his twenty-second 

ymr, reanh from llfttf to 177fi, and are fiat*;d variously from Vc^rona, Mikn, 

Rome, Bologna, and Venice. "VVe have also an account of a profesaional tour 

in (leruiany with his mother, in the frultlesii ACiirch flft«r some settled 

RinpIcij-TnaimL He seems to havt met with luAby friendfl, much praise, some 

jiAiciuay, but so little money that he charged only four ilutata for twelve 

IflMons, and c-oulil Wl-ito to Martini, the old Italian Xestor of luOiiic, ""We 

in a country "where inu^ic has very little eu^eeBB." Meanwhile, ha 

eicelleut spirits, and langha at I'verything and everybody — at the 

tic friar, who ate ho enomiouely — fit NnneFl's loror, poor Herr vou 

il^iik, whimpering behind hie pocket-handkerchiiif— at the liolin profeseor, 

who waa always saying, *' I beg your pardon, but I am out again," and was 

■Iwsjit gomoted by Moaart's invariable reply, "It doesn't in the k>ast 

Bignify ;" — at the Itahan ainger who had " iivu nnjijcd voce e earita semjtre 

about a qoartj-r of a nnt« U^o/urr^ii n iro/^po u huim nnt /" Contnisted with 

thcK lighter monda, it i.^ striking to olwervo a deep uuderhme of seriousness, 

u wWn he asBuria Iiih father i>f his n.'t(ularity at ConfessioUj and exclaims, 

** I have idwnys luid l!"ii liefni'e my eyeis. Friends who have no religion 

cannot long Iw my fricndu ;" '■ 1 have sueh a aense of religion that I ahidl 

never do anything that I wmihl mit dn lycforo the whole world :" and we 

_ recp(?oifle the loving, nnajjuiled heart of a boy in the young man'w worda, 

iB^ncxt to Gsxl tomes pajin." 'Iliis period was mark*Hi by the eompoaition of 

'the greater iiumlxT of hia ludsses, laost of which were written boforu hia 

twenty-third year. 

Little of hiamiLsic between the years 1778^81 ig now extant. Theyeara 

778 and 1779, which he^pent in Paria, were pfnbably the most uncongennd 

hia life. He found the people cohtsc and intriguing, the muBidansBtnjiid 

d intnicCable, the nobles poor and stiiigj-, tho woinftU unconversuhle and 

Tlie whole tone of tho Fi«ucli mind disjiieased hun. "The nn- 

ih-vilkiit Voltairo has died hke a dog," he ^vrites. But upon the 

I miiaie hi: potii-s all the vials of bis wmth. '^llte French are, and 

lUways will \te, downright doiiki-j's.*' "They cannot sing, they acream." 

•^ The devil liimself invented t-beir lanj^itage," Ju 1779, he came back to 

I iiimumy, resolved to abwuion tor ever both thy Frenth and Italian styles, 

TJie Contemporary Retnnv. 

and devote himself to the cultivation of a real Cwnnna opera BckooL Hiq 
"IdomoRfD" ^^"t^s tlie ftcstlruits, It was proda[:ed at Muniuh. for the car- 
nival of 1780 — a diite for ever meraomble ia th'C aniuils of musi<; oa the 
diLWii of tliia groat ickssical jKiriod '\a Moeart's liiatory. From 1781 to 
1782, all his k'tters are Jatod fpoai Vienna, where he iinallj' settled d<>wu. 
Money ia RtiU Boarce. '*I have only one email room," he wiitts: "it is 
quil-e craiiimf-Hl with a piano, a table, a hed, auii a cheat of drawers;" hut, 
coniViiiKxl with hie idiuost auat«re poverty, we notice the same ^eguL^ritT 
in his religious duties, the same purity in his pnvatt! life — of thia, such letteis 
Ba Vol. U., No. ISO — 182, atfonl the strnngcHt tircuinstantial eWdence. In 
1781 his Kaaons for marrj'iug, thoiigh quaintly put, are quite imanawemhle 
— viz., hecauai? he had no one to take aire of his lint'ii — -Ijecaiiae ht' 
could not Uve like the dissolute young men around hiru ; and kstly, hecauee 
he was in love with <".'onBt(inr,e VVt^tier. Thu marriage tonic plate in 1782, 
Mozart being tlifu S'fi, and his htide tS. Tliic same year wituosfled ihe pro- 
duetion of " II Seraglio," and shortly afterwards wc find him dining pU-iUBUitly 
with the Tet*rau composer OlUi?k, who, although of quite anotlu-T schoril, aud 
in si^imo eenee a rivi^l, was always cordial in his praises of Momrt. So 
thoroughly indetd had tha spirit of the now niu»ic begun to revolutioniee the 
public mind, that popular Italian eom]>osets cuyayed Muzart U) write aiioa fac- , 
tliem, in Order to bisure the siicteSft of thisir operas. , (|^H 

The nwt of Moiait's life can be compared to nothing but a torch huming"' 
<nit rapidly tn the winrL Unwearied alike as a eomjiotwr and an artist, he 
kept ]ii.>uri]ig forth symphonies, Bonatiis, ami njteras, whilst diaejise could not 
shake his nervw as an e.Yfciitsuil, and the tJBUd of denth found him unwilling 
to reUpquLih the [n;n of thy rwuly writer, In April, 1783, wo find him 
playing at no kisa than twMiity concert*'. 'n»; year 1785 is iiiaTke<l by the 
six (lehibrated tiuartetts (h^dioitLiJ to Haydn. " I decLuo to yow," excJoimed 
the old mini, upon hearing them, to Mozart'a father, "hel'ore GtHi and on tho 
faith of an honest man, that your son is the greatest t^omposer who ever Uviah" 
In 1786 " Figaro" waa produeoil j and in 1787 *' Don (Jiovanni "" M'os written 
for his favouj'itc puldii; atPmgite. It will hawlly bt believed that idl this time 
MoKurt waa lu thegToateHl want of money, Hiaworka weremiaeriLbly paid for. 
He viaiteil Berlin, Dresden, and Leipaie to recruit his fortunea : the nnhlea 
gave him watehea and snull'-boxes, hut very Uttln coin, and in 1790 wo 
find Sloaiit, at the zenith of hia fiime and popularity, standing diniierka* 
and "in a sUtc of destitution," at the door of hie old friend Puchljci^, 
It ifl tUtBcuIt to account fur thiis, as he certainly made more money than 
many muRiciana. His piirso, indeeil, was nlwaya open to his friemls ; he 
WB.^ oliligLrd to mix on equal terms with his superiors in rank ;: he had an 
invalid wife, for whom ho procumd every comfort. Thero must indeed Isavn 
been bad management, hut we can ewircoly i-cud his lettew and accuse htm of 
wanton extravagance. 

In 1791 he entered upon hia thirty-sixth and ItLst year. Into it, 
amongat other works, were crowiled " I.^ Clemenia di Tito," " II ykut« 
Magico," and the KtqiiieuL His frienda looked upon hia wondfous 
Career, as we liave since looked upon filendcdasohna, with a certain aad and 
bewildering ostonislimeut. That prod.iyious cliildhood— — that spring melloW 
with all the fniits of aLilouin — that atartling hasti^ "as the rapid of lifu 
shotitis to the lall" — wu understand it nov^^ "The world had waited ^ight 
centuries for him, and Jie was only to reiiuun fw a moment" ( Oiilihi<:hi-ff). In 
the Uctob*!r of 17111 he ctosij^ ft letter to his wifB with the wor>!s from 
" Zauberflote," "The hour strikCiS. Farewell! \ we shall meet again !" These 
a.i'e tile last wTitt^u words of Mozart extant. 

His wife Tutiimed Ixom Latlun somewhat invigorated hy the waters, but 

Noiices of Books. 



noticed witii alurm a prJIor raoro fatal than her own iijion hiir huaTjamr.-i 
His passionate love for her neTBr wnnod, but lie hail grown Bilont ami 
meholy. Ho would constantly Tenuim writing at tlie R{><^iiiera lony 
nfler his dinner-hour. Neither fuligue nor hmiger uteaied to roiiee bini 
his profound conlemplatiou. At night he woiilA sit hpoodltig over the 
until he Hot iinfrequc-'titly SWOoHed aWay in hid <;hmr. The luysLcriciiis 
'•jtpiiritinn of the stmnii^er in black, who riiJmcj tn Miwiirt iilitl gaVo the (tr'3<!t 
t'ftr the Roquipm, htis bepii resolved into the valet nf a nobleman wlio wished 
U> prr"s»<rve hia iwro'jiiito, hut it douhtI>*a3 ailded to the sum br& melancholy 
"f a mind already sinking and over-wronght. Onu mild autumn iiioniiny 
his wife dro^'w him out in an open iiarriagt to some ntdghbourijig woods. As 
li* lirwitht'd tlie soft air, scented with the yeUow leaves that lay thickly 
MwMTt iiroimd, he discovered to her the secret of the Roriuten). " I am 
writing it," ho saitl, "for myaelf." A few days of flftttoring hope followed, 
anil tliea Mci£3rt was carried to thi3 bed IJ^oiu wlueh he was never destined 
to nji& Vieunu wofi at that time ringing with the fume of lii^ last opera. 
They brought him the rich ap^Kiintiuent of organist to the (.'athcdtul of St. 
Stephen, f-irwhirli ho had bu'vn longing all hia life. Miinagwra bi'sieged his 
Jofii with handful-i "i yidd, ^itutmoning hiai to conipoae something for them 
— Iwj late I He lay wiUi swiilleii limljn ami humrn^ Iieiid awaiting aiiuther 
Riiainons. On the nighl uf DwemlKT 5, 1V91, his wifis, hijr siat^r, Hophiu 
Wvlier, and his friend Susmeyur were \r3ti1 Idrn. The scurtt of the Kefptiem 
lay open upuu his Iwd, As the last fiLintn-Esa atctlo ovur luin, he turned U> 
HiitanfytT — hin lips moved feebly — hd waa trjdng to iniUcato a pecuhw 
effect of kftth'-drunis in the stortt. It was the laat act of expiring thought ; 
hia b^ad sank gently hfick ; he seemed to Ml into a dc«p and tranquil alwp. 
Id anoUier hour he had ceased to breathe. 

On a stormy December moraing, through the dcscited sttcets of Vifcrma, 
woidst anoW and hail, and unaccompanied by a single frienii, the hoily of 
Muatt Woa haatdy borne, with fifteen others, to the common burial-ground 
o(th« poor. In 1808, wime foreiyners, piL^fng throitgh tlie town, wished 
to visit the grave ; but they were told that the a^hi-M uf the poor were 
lr«(Uently exhumed to make room for otiiers, niiil no atonu then ii^maiiiMd 
lo Biaflt the spirt where omce had restfd thrj boily of Jeam OurysohtoME 
WolPoanO Ahadeds Mozart. 

TliMe lettera in gi-e;(t meiisure supply the want of matorial notieealtls 
inevi-ry biography of Mozart between the ycara 1785-&f), and are further 
Tiltiabl« aa correcting eeveral hasty and Ui-iidvised statcnientu in the other- 
Ti»e learned and elaborate narruttve uf Jr. Oiilihichell', aaeh a-s, that Mozart 
W a paseion. for tr8\'elling, when he dtudan'fl that hu euiild never sleup in 
biarvniage^ and hated being from home — or that hn waa fond of wine and 
'miwn, when through out his life he wiis scoffed at for being chaste and 
«ber — or that he was extravagant, when he continually aont large sums to 
Ml lather, wore the coarsest linon, and devoted oveiythiug elao to the toui- 
foitof nu invalid wifu^or that his talents were not recogniecH.! at Vienna, 
ThfiB many of Ids most aucee.'wfui eoneerta wi-re given — or that " Figaro " 
*■;!• received coldly then?, when he writiw, "Then.* wiire seven entiores," &c. 
"f the l-ranslatiun we have little to ^\.j ; it ia not superior lo that of 
jJ-'udidssolLn's Lett^^rs hy the same hand, and voiy inferior to some real 
tnufUtioDS from Schumann which hav« lately appeared in the Shillin'j 
il'tytjiifir. When will translatom ham to hold thi3 balaneo lietween 
punpliiaae and litemlbm ! We arc willing, however, to forgive itiuoh to 
tlie lonng labour of one who hue opcnod to the English public thesu 
OKniorials of the gi^ut^t compoaer that the last, or perhapa any century 
has yet prodncecL 

1 84 

The Conicniporary Review. 

Jr-gtt6 T'ltipUd in ihe Wildpnum : Th: C^mihat — Tfin Wmpoae — The_ 
Vietorij. By Adolphe Monoi>. (Pp. 121.) Lomloti : Nlabet. 

Those "who know the valm raliLmce, the holy fervour, the afTisL-tionat^ 
yeariimg, ot the Uuncnted Admlphe Moiiod'n religious works, ivill iicd lie siir- 
]irifli!d at our very hrartily n^iMsnuiH-mling this littk; vuhiiiiG. Its ':(>uU';iiti 
were first delivered as lectures at Moulaiilniu, iu the cluiiiel of the Faculte, 
ami then iia aeniiwna lit Paris. The coniinentary on <itu- LtessfMl Lonl'a 
tPTUjitation brings out, iiutl dwells on, the points comiimniy itkaiflle*! on, hut 
witli A siinpk', liitherly gentleness ivliiili wiuti the hearty and with much 
aptnrsB nf iUuatratinn, eharact^urized liy that niiifomi I'onectneas of taate 
whieli distin^ishes nil the writinga of the author. We cannot forbear 
giving n Siinifde or two, to iuiUice our readers to eujoy the whole, 

ffc/y f^eripturt us a Wfopott Bgarmt TemptnSfim. — "For tie word of God to liave tbewne 

fiwcr in otir hand that it had in that of J'Bbus, it muKt bo for lie all tbat it yta& for Him. 
luiow notlin^ in nil tiie history of humanity, nor m the ticld of Divini' revi^lnLJon, that 
BpeBJu more cloarty than my tt'Xt in favour of ilio inepinitiou of the Scriplurps. Wh«t ? 
The Sou of 0<jil, '3m that » iii tb.e Ikiepcu of tliu FaihiT, luid who i^outil bu cuil^ fitiil 
eutfif L(!UC etrou^ in ntm«<.'lf, nreffra bonowini; it from n booh that lie liruls in our hntnls. 
and dravra hit, httx-Uif'h from tho flaint> SOul-i'e tLnt [from which Y] a Jo^hiiQ, a Snmiii'l. n 
David dri'w tlDcira I What:- Jeiiis Chriat, the. Kinp of heaven and eorth, call!" (o hia HJd 
in this solemn nioniotit Ptoses tig eervant ; and Ui^ that Epeqketl) itwi hcnvcn stTcngt bpiia 
Himself against ihn IcmptntioiiBi of bdl by the word of him that speakcCh of tlie i^rlh! 
And ho-w con wo uxplniii thia wandcrfu,! myalury, — shall I call it '! — or this sfMnije «ubTer- 
sion, if the wnrd of Moses Wpn.- not for Jtssii the word of frod, and not ns Iha wurd of 
men, nnd if He wore not fulh" ppraniidmi that holy lueii of old itpake ru tlifv wer* moveJ 
by thp Ilid^' (Jhcat f I am not imrniiniilUt. mv ycmng fri'i;nds (I nm 6ppiikiii« specially l« 
young: mtnutt^ra of the word]— I am not imiuindful of \'htt nbjGL^CionG (o wliii^h the inspim- 
tioa of the Scri-iitiires hjis giTt'ti ri»e, nor of Iho real obscurity that surrounds if; if it 
«naaiisnei triiiible» your brcnat, if hns ai»o tiijubli'd mine. Siit at such times I have otAj 
had to coet a looli at Jt^sue glorifying tho tS'cHpIurca in the wildcmesa, and I havi^ fnmid 
that, for thusu who will suiipLr ri'coiro hie testimony, the nio^t Fuibamii^iiig of probletiu 
is thente formed into n pnljiftblo hiati-iricnl fatt, perlBctly BTident."' 

f'mirltuling Arliicr (o CnudiiiiittJi Jnr ih' Mi'iitlii/. — " And you, nij'fiitiiro fellow -Inboiirer*, 
I will not i|>i)t this subjei.-: wilbout giving you n ajicciol cKhgrtnlion that I i^^ommiend to 
your mast VBrious atl<Miti«ii. Tht templaUon of JeflUB ia pbur«l lietw-cen the end of hii 
|Kil»oual pf(<piirAtlOii and the eoinmOncttneilt of his public life. Then? ia for you a ■imilU' 
time; tho intcr\'al botwtwn the end of your atiidit's and the beginning of your mioistry. 
Tilke care of thia inttTval ; it ma}' intliienpe the reiaailid'^r of J'oiif minis It'rjal ctmvr. 
Cevotc it to 0. Epiritual retrcnt ; ipcnd it with Jesus, ngmlatiiig in bis aolitude ; and whon 
yo«eiit*r the Chnirh, lot it be a* a man roming out fT urn iht wihlPinfst — fuiui theirOder- 
□ess, nnd not from the world : if you nro full of recoUct lions of the world, if you haTB 
been inhaling the corrupt atuosphere of iU ^iinltieH and pleaautee, you am not fit for tha 
service of JcauB Christ. From Iho iv-ildemcea, and not mjm NiuKnlh: if you are mid^ 
tbo dominion of family nffcctions, if yoii pl&co on tb« first line in the choice of a place » 
father or a mother, a wife oi- a child, you ure not £1 for tbc aenrice of JeauB Christ. From 
the wildemi'M, and not from, the iwadt-my : if you aio still coTrn?d with the dual of deep 
^udy, if your fuith and your knowledj^o com@ merolv from books, you are not G-t for th9 
serncQ of Jueiis CLdst, Jcaua Christ miint hiive atiwanits weaned u-om the world, bve of 
creoture engagcmcnto, nourished by the tcachjne of the Holy tjhost. Bo men of tha 
wildemMa, Or be not tntQ of the Chiilch. Amen,' 

We are sorry to note blemishes^ but some have crept in either through 
fitult of the tranalator, or through cflrelessneeB of the printer. In p. 23, 
tho words, "My eon, if thon cnnn^ to serve tho Lord, prepare thy hwiTt 
for tj?iDptahion," ate ipioted as l'ri)ni " the Ix^ginning of the swond cliaiitwr of 
Errk'sinsleB (tic), one "f thu apocryphal hook* ;" Eceh^aiastiVjJs of Mlirse 
hftiuig tneiiiit^ And in a not*5, p. 79, a qtiotittiun (Vuni IltHigel is given ns 
from " a letter from BengaL" There are ti:io, occasional trips in. Englidi 
gmiumar,.one example nf which is noted in the lirst passdjfe which we have ex- 
tpacteiL In a second edition, we hoi»ii that these blemishes may disappear. 



An ExamiaalioH tff Sir William HamUbM't mietaphg, and >tf tk- 
prineipal Philoiopkicat Quntioiu dUnuieJ i» hit JVriliitgi. Bj 
JoBJf Stuabt Mill. Loodon, isec. 

'PHE former part of our remarks on Mr. Mill's " Examination of Sir 
J- William Hamilton's Philosophy " concluded with the statement 
tUt, with r^ard to the three fundamental doctrines of Hamilton's 
philosophy — the Relativity of Knowledge, the incognisabUity of the 
Absolute and Infinite, and the distinctiou between Keason and faith — 
Mr. Mill had, throughout his criticism, altogether missed the meaning 
of the theories he was attempting to assaii Tliis statement we must 
now proceed to prove, witli reference to each of the above doctrines in 
succession. First, then, of the relativity of knowledge. 

The assertion that all our knowledge is relative, — in other words, 
tiiat we know things only under such conditions as the laws of our 
cognitive faculties impose upon us, — is a statement which looks at 
first s^ht lite a truism, but which really contains an answer to a 
very important question. — Have we reason to believe that the law.s 
of our cognitive faculties impose any conditions at all ? — that the 
mind in any way reacts on the objects affecting it, so as to produce a 
result different from that which would be produced were it merely a 
passive recipient ? " The mind of man," says Bacon, " ia far from 
the nature of a clear and equal glass, wherein the beams of things 
shall reflect according to their true incidence ; nay, it ia rather like 


1 86 The Contemporary Review. 

ill! enchanted glass, full of superstition and impostuze, if it be not 
delivered and reduced." Can ^\-hat Bacon says of t^e fallacies of the 
mind be also said of its proper cognitions ? Does the mind, by its 
own action, in any way distoit the appearance of the things presented 
to it ; and if so, how far does the distortion extend, and in what 
manner is it to be rectified ? To trace the course of this inqnby 
from the day when Plato compareil the objects perceived by the 
senses to the shadows thrown by fire on the wall of a cave, to tiie 
day when Kant declared that we know only phenomena, not things 
in themselves, would be to write the history of philosophy. We can 
only at present call attention to one movement in that history, which 
was, in effect, a revolution in philosophy. The older philoaophera in 
general distinguished between the senses and the intellect, regardlDg 
the former as deceptive and concerned witli phenomena alone, the lattei 
as trustworthy and conversant with the realities of things. Hence 
arose the distinction between the sensible and the intelligible world — 
l>etween things as perceived by sense and things as apprehended bj 
intellect — between Phenomenology and Ontology. Kant rejected 
this distinction, holding that the intellect, as well as the sense 
imposes its own forms on the things presented to it, and is there- 
fore cognisant only of phenomena, not of things in themselves. Tht 
Ic^cal result of this position would be the abolition of ontology as a 
science of thii^ in themselves, and, d fortiori, of that highest brand) 
of ontology which aims at a knowledge of the Absolute* icaT* t^o^^K 
of the tinconditioiied first principle of all things. If the mind, in 
every act of thought, imposes its own forms on its objects, to think 
is to condition, and the unconditioned is the imthinkable. Sacb 
was the logical result of Kant's principles, but not the actual result 
For Kant, by distinguishing between the Understanding and tlie 
Reason, anil giving to the latter an indirect yet positive cognition ol 
the Unconditioned as a regulative principle of thought, prepared tiie 
way for the systems of Schelling and Hegel, in which this indirect 
cognition is converted into a tlirect one, by investing the reason, thna 
distinguished as the special faculty of the unconditioned, with a 
power of intuition emancipated from the conditions of space and time, 
and even of subject and object, or a power of thought emancipated 
from the laws of identity and contradiction. 

The theory of Hamilton is a modification of that of Kant, intended 
to oljviate these consequences, and to relieve the Kantian doctrine 

* Tfaetemi«iMitif«, uithewnBeof/rM/idnir«b/(OM, may be u«ed in two <ipplio>tion» ;— 
lat, to denote the nature of a thing u it is in itself^ a« distinguished IVom ita ^tpewia 
to UB. Hera it is used only in a subordinate acnse, as meaning out of relation to hnmai 
Imowlcdge. Sndly, To denote the nature of a thing as independent of all other tluoga, b 
Imving no relation to any other thing as the condition of its existence. Here it ia used h 
its highest sense, as meaning out of relation to anything else. 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 187 

itself from the inconsistency which gave rise to them. So long as the 
reason is regarded as a separate faculty from the understanding, and 
things in themselves as ideas of the reason, so long the apparent 
contradictions, which encmnher the attempt to conceive the uncon- 
ditioned, must be regarded as inherent in the constitution of the 
reason itself, and as tlie result of its legitimate exercise on its proper 
objects. This sceptical conclusion Hamilton endeavoured to avoid by 
rejecting the distinction between the understanding and the reason as 
separate faculties, regardiiig the one as the legitimate and positive, 
flie other as the illegitimate and negative, exercise of one and tlie 
same facxJty. He thus announces, in opposition to Kant, the funda- 
mental doctrine of the Conditioned, as " the distinction lietween 
intelligence itritkin its legitimate sphere of operation, impeccable, and 
intelligence heymid that sphere, affording (by abuse) the occasions of 
error."* Hamilton, like Kant, maintained that all our cognitions are. 
compounded of two elements, one contributed by the object known, 
and the other by the mind knowing. But the very conception of a 
relation implies the existence of things to be related ; and the know- 
ledge of an object, as in relation to our mind, necessarily implies its 
existence out of that relation. But as so existing, it is unknown : we 
Iwlieve that it is ; we know not what it is. How far it resembles, or 
iww far it does not resemble, the object apprehended by us, we cannot 
«y, for we have no means of comparing the two together. Instead, 
Uierefore, of saying with Kant, that reason is subject to an ine^'itable 
delosion, by which it mistakes the regidative principles of its own 
thoughts for the representations of real things, Hamilton would say 
that the reason, while compelled to believe in the existence of these 
real things, is not legitimately entitled to make any positive repre- 
MJtation of them as of such or such a nature ; and that the contm- 
dictions into which it falls when attempting to do so are due to an 
illegitimate attempt to transcend the proper boundaries of positive 

TMs theory does not, in itself, contain any .statement of the mode in 
which we perceive the material world, whether directly by presenta- 
tiwi, or indirectly by representative images ; and jierliaps it mighty 
withoat any great violence, l>e a^lapted to more than one of the 
cnircnt hypotheses on this point. But that to which it most easily 
tdjoBts itself is that maintained by Hamilton himself under the name 
of Natural Realism. To speak of perception as a trlnfion between 
Blind and matter, naturally implies the pi-esence of lioth correlatives ; 
tboo^ each may be modified by its contact with the other. Tlie 
Kid may act on the alkali, and the alkali on the acid, in forming the 
MBtral salt; but each of the ingredients is as tndy pjesent as the 
• " DwcoadoM," p. 633. 

1 88 The Contempormy Review. 

other, though each enters into the compound in a modified form. And 
this is equally tlie case in perception, even if we suppose various media 
to inteirene between the ultimate object and the perceiviug inind, — 
such, c. g., as the raj's of light and the sensitive organism in vision, — 
so long as tliese media are material, like the ultimate object itself. 
"Wliether the object, properly so called, in vision, be the rays of light 
in contact with the organ, or the body emitting or reflecting those rays, 
is indifferent to the present question, so long as a material object ol 
8()me kind or other is supposed to be perceived, and not merely an 
immaterial representation of such an object. To speak of our percep- 
tions as mere modifications of mind produced by an unknown cause, 
would be like maintaining that the acid is modified by the influence 
of the alkali without entering into combination with it. Such a view 
might perhaps be tolerated, in connection with the theory of relativity, 
by an indulgent interpretation of language, but it is certainly not that 
which the language of the theory most naturally suggests. 

All this Mr. Mill entirely misapprehends. He quotes a passage 
from Hamilton's Lectures, in which the above theoiy of Relativity is 
clearly stated as the mean between the extremes of Idealism and 
Materialism, and then proceeds to comment as follows : — 

*' Tlie proposition, that our cognitions of objects are only in part depend- 
ent on the objects themselves, and in part on elements superadded by our 
Cleans or our miuds, is not identical, nor prima facie absurd. It cannot, 
however, warrant the assertion that all our knowledge, but only that the 
imrt so added, is relative. If oiu* author had gone as &r as Kant, and 
Lad ftaid that all which constitutes knowledge is put in by the mind itself 
he would have really hold, in onu of its forms, the doctrine of the relativity 
of our knowledge, lint what he does say, far from implying that the whole 
of our knowledge is relative, distinctly import* that all of it which is real 
and authentic is the reverse. If any part of what we fancy that we perceive in 
the objects themselves, originates in the perceiving oigans or in the cognising 
mind, thus much is purely relative ; but since, by supposition, it does not all 
80 originate, the part that does not is as uiucli absolute as if it were not 
liable to be mixed up with tliesc delusive subjective imprcssiona" — (P. 30.) 

Mr. Mill, theivfore, supjiuscs that wholhj relative must mean wholly 
mental ; in other words, that to .say that a thing is wholly due to a 
relation between mind and matter is equivalent to saying that it is 
wholly due to mind alone. On the contrary, we maintain that Sir 
W. Hamilton's language is far more accurate than Mr. Mill's, and that 
the above theory can with perfect correctness be described aa one ot 
total relativity ; and this from two points of view, first, as opposed 
to the theory of partial relativity generally held by the pre-Kantian 
philosophers, accorduig to which oxu- sensitive cognitions ai-e relative 
our intellectual ones absolute. Secondly, as asserting that the object 
of perception, though composed of elements partly material, partli 
mental, yet exhibits both alike in a form modified by their relation tc 

Ttu Philosophy of tlie Conditioned. 1 89 

each other. The composition is not a mere mechanical juxtaposition, 
in which each part, though acting on the otlier, retains its own 
characteristics unchanged. It may be rather likened to a chemical 
fusion, in which both elements are present, but each of tliem is 
affected by the composition. The material part, therefore, is not " as 
much absolute as if it were not liable to be mixed up with subjective 
But we must hear the continuation of Mr. Mill's criticism : — 

"The admixture of the relative element not only does not take away tlia 
absolute character of the remainder, but does not even (if our author is 
right) prevent as from recognising it. The confusion, according to him, is 
not inextricable. It is for us to ' analyse and distinguiah what elements ' in 
in ' act of knowledge ' are contributed by the object, and wliat by our organs, 
or hy the mind. We may neglect to do this, and as far as the mind's share 
is concerned, we can only do it by the helj) of jilulosophy ; but it is a task to 
which, in liis opinion, philosophy is equaL By thus stripping ofiF such of 
the elements in our apparent cognitions of things as am but cognitions of 
something in ua, and consequently relative, we may succeed in imcovering 
the pure nucleus, the direct intuitions of things in themstilves ; as we correct 
tb observed positions of the heavenly bodies hy allowing for the error duo 
to the refracting influence of the atmospheric medium, an influence which 
does not alter the facts, but only our perception of them." *^ 

Surely Mr. Mill here demands much more of philosophy than Sir 
W. Hamilton deems it capable of accomplishing. AVhy may not 
Hamilton, like Kant, distinguish between the pennanent and neces- 
SM}-, and the variable and contingent — in other words, between the 
nibjective and the objective elements of consciousness, without there- 
lore obtaining a " direct iutuition of things in themselves " ? Why 
may he not distinguish between space and time as tlie forms of our 
sensitive cognitions, and the things perceived in space and time, 
which constitute the matter of the same cognitions, without thereby 
having an intuition, on the one hand, of pure space and time with 
iKrthing in them, or on the other, of things in themselves out of space 
and time ? If certain elements are always present in perception, 
while certain others change with every act, I may surely infer that 
the one is due to the pennanent subject, the other to the variable 
object, without thereby knowing what each would be if it could be 
(iiscemed apart from the other. " A direct intuition of things in them- 
sdves," according to Kant and Hamilton, is an intuition of things 
Mt of space aqd time. Does Mr. Mill suppose that any natural 
Sealist professes to have such an intuition ? 

The same error of supposing that a doctrine of relativity is neces- 
sarily a doctrine of idealism, that " matter known only in relation to 
ns" can mean nothing more than "matter known only through the 
mental impressions of which it is the unknown cause,"* runs through 
* The MnuDptlon that thew two ezpressionB are or ought to be aynBiiyniouB is tacitly 

I go The Conkmporaiy Review. 

tlie whole ul" Mr. Mill's argument against this jwrtion of Sir W. 
Hamilton's teacliiiig. Tliat argument, though repeated in various 
fonns, may be briefly summed up in one thesis ; namely, that the 
doctrine tliat our knowledge of matter is wholly relative is incom- 
patible with the distinction, which Hamilt<)n expressly makes, 
between the pnmary and secondary qualities of body. 

Tlie most curious circumstance about this criticism is, that, if not 
lirectly borrowed from, it lias at least been carefully anticijmted by, 
lamilton himself. Of tJie distinction between primary and secondary 
qualities, as acknowledged by Descaites aud Locke, whose theorj- of 
external perception is identical with that which Mr. Mill would force 
ou Hamilton himself, Hamilton says: "On the general doctrine, 
however, of these philosophei's, both classes of iiualities, as known, ai-e 
confessedly only states of our own minds ; and while we have no 
right from a subjective aff'ection to infer the existence, far less the 
oori-espondiug character of the existence, of any objective reality, it is 
evident that their doctrine, if fairly evoh'ed, would result in a dog- 
matic or in a .sceptical negation of tlie primary no less than of the 
secondary qualities of body, as more than appearances in and for us."* 
It is astonisliing that Mr. Mill, wlio pounces eagerly on every imagin- 
able Instance of Hamilton's inconsistency, should have neglected to 
notice this, which, if his critirisin be true, is the most glaring incon- 
sistency of all. 

But Hamilton continues : " It is thei-efui-e manifest that the funda- 
mental position of a consistent theory of dvialistic i-ealism is — that 
our cognitions of filxtension and its modes are not wholly ideal — that 
altlioiigh Space be a native, necessary, k priori form of imagination, 
and so far, therel'orc, a mere subjective state, that there is, at the same 
time, competent tn ns, in an ivinifdiatc perception of extenial things, 
the eoTisdvimicHx of a really existent, of a really objective, extended- 
world." Here we have enunciated in one breath, first the subjectivity 
of space, which is the logical basis of the relative theory of perception ; 
and secondly, the objectivity of tlie extended world, which is tlie 

made by ^Ir. Mill at the opening of this chapter. IIg oi>eaB it with a pusag? from the 
" Discussions," ia which Uamiltoti says that the existence of t/iiiiff» in themtelm is onlf 
tndirt'ctly rovealed to us "through certain qualities related to our faeuUiet of knowledge ;" 
and thon proceeds to shew that the author did not hold the doetrine which these phrues 
" seem to convey in the only suhstantial meaning capable of being attached to them ; " 
namely, " that we know nothing of objcett except their existence, and the impreasioiu 
produced hy them upon the human mind." Ilaviug thus quietly assumed that " things 
in themBclveB " are identical with "objects," and " relations " with " impresaions on the 
homan mind," Mr. MiJl bases his whole criticism on this tacit pelitio principU. He is not 
aware that though Eeid sometimes uses the tenn relative in this inaccurate sense, Hamilton 
expressly points out the inaccuracy and explains the proper sense. — (See Keid's Works, 
pp. 313, 322.) • Eeids Works, p. 840. 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned, 1 9 1 

logical basis of the distinction between primary and secondary 
qualities. It is mantfest, therefore, that Hamilton had uot, as Mr. Mill 
supposes, ceased to hold the cue theory when he adopted the other.* 

The key to all this is not difficult to find. It is simply that objective 
uiiitnce does not mean existence per sc ; and that a pketunneium does 
not mean a mere mode of mind. Objective existence is existence as 
an ^ed, in perception, and therefore in relation ; and a phenomenon 
may be material, as well as mental. The thing per se may be only the 
unknown cause of what we directly know; but what we directly 
know is something more than our own sensations. In other words, 
the phenomenal effect is material as well as the cause, and is, indeed, 
that from which our primary conceptions of matter are derived. 
Matter does not cease to be matter when modified by its contact with 
mind, as iron does not cease to be iron when smelted and forged. A 
horaeshoe is something very different from a piece of iron ore ; and a 
man may be acquainted with the former without ever having seen 
the latter, or knowing what it is like. But woidd Mr. Mill therefore 
say that the horseshoe is merely a subjective affection of the skill of 
the smith — that it is not iron modified by the workman, but tlie 
workman or his art impressed by iron ? 

If, indeed, Hamilton had said witli I.x>cke, that the primary qualities 
are in the bodies themselves, whether we perceive them or no,^ he 
Tould have laid himself open to Mr. Mill's criticism. But he 
expressly rejects this statement, and contrasts it with tlie more 
eantious language of Descai-tes, "ut sunt, vel saltern esse possxmt."* 
The secondary qualities are mere affections of consciousness, wlucli 
cannot be conceived as existing except in a conscious subject. Tlie 
primary qualities are qualities of body, as perceived in relation to 
the percipient mind, i. e., of the phenomenal body perceived as iu 
space. How far they exist in the real body out of relation to us, 
Hamilton does not attempt to deeide.§ They are inseparable from 

• See " Ezuuiiution," p. 28. f Eaaaj ii. 8, $ 23. 

X Beid'a Works, p. 839. 

i yfo hftve been conteit to argne this questioii, as Mr. Kill himBelf argues it, on the 
wtfuiition tlutt Sir W. Hamilton held that we are directly percipient of primary qualities 
m eitenul bodies. Strictly speaking, however, Hamilton held that the primary qualities 
■R immediately porceiTed only in our organism as extended, and inferred to exist in extra- 
erganic bodies. The exteraol world is immpdiately apprehended only in its secundo-primarj' 
dancter, as resisting our locomotive energy. But as the organism, in this theor}', is a 
■■teiial mon-ego equally with the rest of matter, and ag to press this distinction would only 
■fcrt flte verbal accuracy, not tlie substantial j ustice, of Ur. Mill's criticisms, we have pre- 
feried to meet him on the ground he has himself chosen. The same error, of supposing 
Aat " preaeotationism " is identical with " noumeualism," and "phenomenalism" with 
"lepresentationinn," nma Uirough the whole of Mr. Stirling's recent criticism of Hamilton's 
tkeoiy of perception. It is curious, however, that the very passage ("Lectures," i., p. Ii6) 
vhich Mr. Mill cites as proving that Hamilton, in spite of bis professed phenomenalism, 
ns in imcooscious noumenalist, is employed by Mr. Stirling to prove that, in spite of hia 

192 The Contemporary Review. 

our conception of botly, which is derived exclusively from the 
phenomenon ; they may or may not be separable from the thing as it 
is in itself. 

Under this explanation, it is manifest that the doctrine, that matter 
as a subject or substratum of attributes is xmknown and unknowable, 
is totally different from that of cosraothetic idealism, with which 
Mr. Mill confounds it;* and that a philosopher may without incon- 
sistency accept the former and reject the latter. The former, while it 
holds the material substance to be unknown, does not deny that some 
of the attributes of matter are [jerceived immediately as material, 
though, it may be, modifled by contact with mind. The latter main- 
tains that the attributes, as well as the substance, are not perceived 
immediately as material, but mediately tlirough the intervention of 
immaterial representatives. It is also manifest that, in answer to 
Mr. Mill's question, which of Hamilton's two " cardinal doctrines," 
Kelativity or Natural Itealism, " is to be taken iu a non-natural 
sense, "-f- we must say, neither. The two doctrines are quite compatible 
with each other, and neither requires a non-natural interpretation to 
reconcile it to its coiiipanion. 

The doctrine of relativity derives its cliief pmctical value from its 
connection with the next great doctrine of Hamilton's philosophy, the 
incognisabdity of the Absolute and the Infinite. For this doctrine 
brings Ontology into contact with Theology; and it is only in relation 
to theology tliat ontology acquires a practical importance. With 
respect to the other two " ideas of the pnre reason," as Kant caUs 
them, the human .«oul and the world, the question, whether we 
know them as realities or as plienomenii, may assist us iu dealing with 
certain metaphysical difficulties, but nee(l not affect our practical 
conduct. For we have an inmiediate intuition of the attributes of 
mind and matter, at least iis phenomenal objects, and by these in- 
tuitions may be tested the accuracy of the conceptions derived from 
them, sufficiently for all practical pnrpfises. A man will equally 
avoid walking over a precipice, and is logically as consistent in avoid- 
ing it, whether he regard the precipice as a reak thing, or as a mere 
phenomenon. But in the province of theology this is not the case. 
We have no immediate intuition of the Divine attributes, even as 
phenomena ; we only infer their existence and nature from certain 
similar attributes of which we are immediately conscious in ourselves. 
And hence arises the question, How far does the similarity extend, and 
to what extent is the accuracy of our conceptions guaranteed by the 

professed precentadonism, he was on unconscious ropreoentationist The two criticB tik 
at Hamilton from opposite quarters: he has only to stand aside and let them run agaiut 
each other. 

* "Examination," p. 23. t "Examination," p. 20. 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 1 93 

intuition, not of the object to be conceived, but of somethiug more or 
less nearly resembling it ? But this is not alL Our knowledge of 
God, originally derived from personal consciouaneaa, receives accession 
from two other sources, — from the external world, as His work ; and 
from revelation, as His word; and the conclusions derived from 
each have to be compared together. Should any discrepancy arise 
between them, are we at once warranted in rejecting one chiss of con- 
dnaions in favour of the other two, or two in favour of the third ? or 
are we at liberty to say that our knowledge in i-espect of all alike is 
of such an imperfect and indirect character that we are warranted in 
believing that some reconciliation may exist, though our ignorance 
prevents ua from discovering what it is ? Here at least is a practical 
question of the very highest importance. In the early part of nur 
previous remarks, we have endeavoured to shew how this question has 
been answered by orthodox theologians of various ages, and how Sir 
W. Hamilton's philosophy suppoits that answer. We have now to 
cwisider Mr. Mill's chapter of criticisms. 

It is always unfortunate to make a stumble on the threshold ; and 

Mr. Mill's opening paragraph makes two. " The name of God," he 

says, "is veiled imder two extremely abstract phrases, 'the Infinite 

and the Absolute.' . . , But it is one of the most unquestionable 

of all logical maxims, that tlie meaning of the abstract must be sought 

in the concrete, and not conversely."* — Now, in the first place, "the 

bfinjte" and " the Ab.iolute," even in the sense in which they are both 

predicable of God, are no more names of Gotl than "the creature" 

and "the finite" are names of man. They are the names of certain 

atbibutes, which further inquiry may, perhaps, shew to belong to ( i(Ml 

and to no other being, but which do not in their signification express 

this, and do not constitute our primary idea of God, which is that of a 

Pereon. Men may believe in an absolute and infinite, without in any 

proper sense believing in God ; and thousands upon thousands of pious 

Ben have prayed to a personal God, who have never heard of tlie aljso- 

hite and the infinite, and who would not understand the expressions if 

they heard thenL But, in the second place, "the absolute" and "the 

infinite," in Sir W. Hamilton's sense of the terms, cannot Ixtth l>e 

names of God, for the simple reason that tliey are contradictory of 

e«h other, and are proposed as alternatives which cannot both be 

accepted as predicates of the same subject. For Hamilton, whatever 

Mi. Mill may do, did not fall into the absurdity of maintaining that 

God in some of his attributes is absolute without being infinite, 

and in others is infinite without being absolute.f 

But we have not yet done with this single paragraph. After thus 
making two errors in his exposition of his opponent's doctrine, Mr, 
• •• ExunioatMin," p. 32. t S«e " Ex&miiutioii," p. 36. 

194 ^'''^ Contemporary Rcvieio. 

Mill immediately pi-oceeds to a tliii-d, in his. criticism of it. By 
following his "most unquestionable of all logicsal maxims," and sub- 
stituting the name of God in the place of " the Infinite " and " the 
Absolute," he exactly reverses Sir AV. Hamilton's argument, and makes 
his own attempted refutation of it a glaring ignoratio elenehi. 

One of the purposes of Hamilton's argument is to shew that we 
have no j)ositive conception of an Infinite Being; that when we 
attempt to form such a conception, we do but produce a distorted 
representation of the finite ; and hence, that our so-called conception 
of the infinite is not the true infinite. Hence it is not to be wondered 
at — nay, it is a uatural consequence of this doctrine, — that our positive 
concei)tion of (iod as a Person cannot be included under this pseudo- 
concept of the Infinite. Whereas Mr. Mill, by laying down the maxim 
that the meaning of the abstract must be sought in the concrete, 
quietly assumes that this pseudo-infinite is a proper predicate of God, 
to Ikj teateil by its applicability to the subject, and that what Hamilton 
says of this infinite cannot be true unless it is also true of God. Of 
this refutation, Hamilton, were he living, might tndy say, as he said 
of a former criticism on another part of his writmgs, — " This elaborate 
pamde of argument is literally answered in two words — Quis duhi- 

But if the substitutifni of Gml for the Infinite be thus a perversion 
of Hamilton's argument, what shall we say to a suuilar substitution in 
the case of the Abaolutt^ ^ Hamilton distinctly tells us that there 
in one nanati of the term ahsoliUe in which it is contratlictory of the 
infinite, and thei-efore is not predicable of God at all. Mr. Mill 
achnits that Hamilton, throughout the greater part of his ai^uments, 
eni])loys the term in this sense ; and he then actually proceeds to " test " urguments " by substitutuig the concrete, God, for the abstract. 
Absolute;" i.e., by .substituting Cod for sometliing which Hamilton 
defines as contradictory to the nature of God. Can tlie forc« of con- 
fusion go further? Is it possible for per\'erse criticism more utterly, 
we ilo not say to misrepresent. I>ut litcr.illy to invert an author's 
meaning ? 

The source of all these emu's, and of a great many more, is simply 
this. Mr. Mill is aware, fmm Hamilton's express assertion, that the 
wonl abiiolnte may be use<l in two distinct and even contradictor^' 
senses ; but he is wholly iniable to see what those senses are, or 
when Hamilton is using the term in the one sense, and when in 
the other. Let us endeavour to clear up some of this confusion. 

Hamilton's article on the Philosophy of the Unconditioned is a 
criticism, partly of Schclling, jiartly of Coushi ; and Schelling and 
Cousin only attempted in a new form, under the influence of the 
Kantian plulosopliy, to solve the prolilem with which philosophy 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 195 

in all ages lias attempted to grapple, — tlie problem of the Uncon- 

"The unconditioned" is a tenn which, while retaining the same 
general meaning, admits of various applications, particular or uni- 
versal. It may be the unconditioned as regards some special relation, 
or the unconditioned as regards all relations wliatever. Thus there 
may l>e the unconditioned in Psycholi^ — the Imman soul considered as 
a substance ; the unconditioned in Cosmolog)- — the world considered 
as a single whole ; the unconditioned in Theology — God in His owii 
natiue, as distinguished from His manifestations to us ; or, finally, the 
unconditioned -par excellence — the imconditioned in Ontol'og}' — the 
being on which all other being depends. It is of course ])0S8ib!e 
to identify any one of the three iirst with the last. It is possible 
to adopt a system of li^goism, and to nmintain that all phenomena are 
modes of my mind, and that the substance of my mind is the only 
real existence. It is iwssible to adopt a system of Materialism, and to 
maintain that all phenomena are modes of matter, and that the 
niaterial substance of the woi'hl is the only real existence. Or it is 
possible to adopt a system of Pantheism, and to maintain that all 
jienomena are modes of the Divine existence, and that God is the 
only reality. But the several notions are in themselves distinct, 
though one may ultimately l>e predicated of another. 

The general notion of the Unconditioned is the same in all these 
eases, and all must finally cidminate in the last, the Unconditioned 
par excellence. Tlie general notion is that of the One as distinguished 
from the Many, the substance fixim its accidents, the permanent 
lodity from its variable mridifications. Thouglit, will, sensation, are 
modes of my existence. AVhat is the / that is one and the same 
in all ? Extension, figui-e, I'esistance, are attributes of matter. Wlvat 
V the one substance to which these attributes Ijelung ? But the 
generalisation camiot stop hei-e. If matter dift'ers from mind, the non- 
igo frum the cgo,aa one thing fi-om another, there mustl>e some special 
point of difference, which is the condition of the existence of each in 
tiiis or that partictdar manner. Unconditioned existence, therefore, 
in the highest sense of the term, cannot he the existence of thi.-< 
as distinguished from that; it mast he existence ^j/-/- -sc, the ground 
sod principle of all conditioned or special existence. This is the Un- 
conditioned, properly so called : the unconditioned in Schelling's sense, 
as the indifference of subject and object : and it is against this that 
Hamilton's arguments are directed. 

The question is this. Is this Unconditioned a mere abstraction, the 
product of our own minds ; or can it be conceived as having a real 
existence per sc, and, as such, can it be identified with God as the 
loarcc of all existence ? Hamilton maintains that it is a mere 

196 The Contemporary Revieiv. 

abstraction, and cannot be so identified ; tbat far from being " a name 
of God," it is a name of nothing at all. " By abstraction," he says, 
"we annihilate the object, and by abstraction we annihilate the 
subject of consciousness. But what remains ? Nothing." When we 
attempt to conceive it as a reality, we "hypostatise the zero."* 

In order to conceive the Unconditioned existing as a thing, we must 
conceive it as existing out of relation to everything else. For if 
nothing lieyond itself is necessary as a condition of its existence, 
it can exist separate from everytliing else; and its pure existence as 
the unconditioned is so separate. It must therefore be conceivable as 
the si>le existence, having no plurality beyond itself; and as simple, 
having no ])lurality within itself. For if we caimot conceive it as 
existing apait from other thingii, we cannot conceive it as independent 
of them ; and if we conceive it as a compomid of parts, we have further 
to ask as liefore, what is the prinoiiile of unity which binds these parts 
into one whole ? If there is such a i)rinciple, this is the true uncon- 
ditioned; if there is no such principle, there is no imconditioned; for 
that which cannot exist except as a coinj>oiuid is dependent for its 
existence on that of its several constituents. The unconditioned must 
therefore be conceived as one, as simple, and as universal. 

Is such fi conception possible, whether in mdinary consciousness, as 
Cousin says, or in an extra onlinarj- intuition, as Schelling aays? 
Let us try the former. (Consciousness is subject to the law of Time. 
A phenomenon is jtresented \n us in time, as dependent on some pre- 
vious phenomenon or thing. I wish to pursue the chain in thought 
till I arrive at something uideiiendent. If I could reach in thought 
a beginning of time, and discover some first fact with nothing pre- 
ceding it, I should conceive time as alisolute — as completed, — and the 
unconditioned as the fii'st thing in time, and therefore as completed 
al.S(i, for it. may be considered by itself, apait from what depends upon 
it. Or if time be considered as having no beginning, thought would 
still be able to represent to itself that infinity, coidd it follow out the 
series of antecedents for ever. But is either of these alternatives 
possible to thought ? If not, we must confess that the unconditioned 
is inconceivable by ordinary consciousness ; and we must found philo- 
sophy, with Sclielling, on the annihilation of consciousness. 

But though Hamilton himself distinguishes between the uneoor 
ditioned and the absolute, using the former term generally, for that 
wluch is out of aU relation, and the latter specially, for that which 
is out of all relation as complete imd finished, his opponent Cousin 
uses the latter term in a wider sense, as synonymous with the former, 
and the infinite as coextensive with both. This, however, does not 
affect the validity of Hamilton's argument For if it can be shown 

• " DiscuBsioiu," p. 21. 

Tlie Philosophy of the Conditiomd. 197 

that ttie absolute and the infinite (in Hamilton's aense) are both 
inconceivable, the unconditioned (or absolute in Cousin's sense), which 
must be conceived as one or the other, is inconceivable also. Or, con- 
Tersely, if it can be shown that the unconditioned, the unrelated in 
general, is inconceivable, it follows that the absolute and tlie infinite, 
as both involving the unrelated, are inconceivable 'also. 
We may now proceed with Mr. Mill's criticism. He says : — 

" Absolute, in the sense in which it stands related to Infinite, means 
(eonfonnably to its etymology) that which is finiahed or completed. There 
Bie some things of which the utmost ideal amount is a limited quantity, 
Qiongh a quantity never actually reached. . . . We may speak of ahso- 
htelj, hut not of infinitely, pure water. The purity of water is not a fact 
of which, whatever degree we auppose attained, there remains a greater 
Iwyond It has an absolute limit ; it is capable of being finished or com- 
plete, in thought, if not in reality."— (P. 34.) 

This criticism is either incorrect or nQiil ad rem. If meant as a 
statement of Hamilton's use of the term, it is incori'ect ; absolute, in 
Hamilton's philosophy, does not mean simply " completed," but " out 
of relation as completed ; " i. c, self-existent in its completeness, and 
not implying the existence of anything else. If meaut in any other 
sense than Hamilton's, it is irrelevant. Can Mr. Mill really have 
believed that Schelling thought it necessary to invent an intellectual 
intuition out of time and out of consciousness, in order to contemplate 
"la ideal limited quantity," such as the complete purity of water ? 

Mr. Mill continues ; — 

" Though the idea of Absolute is tlius contrasted with that of Infinite, the 
one is equally fitted with the other to be predicated of God ; but not in 
iwpect of the same attributes. There is no incorrectness of speocli in the 
^aaae Infinite Power : because the notion it expresses is that of a Being who 
bia the pon^T of doing all things which we know or can conceive, and more. 
Kit in speaking of knowledge. Absolute is the proper word, and not Infinite, 
"Oie highest d^ree of knowledge that can be spoken of with a meaning, 
mly Bmoimts to knowiug all that there-is to be kno\vn : when that point is 
nehed, knowledge has attained its utmost limit. So of goodness or justice : 
tbsj cannot be more than perfect. There are not infinite d^recs of right. 
The will is either entirely right, or vrrong in different degrees." — (P. 35.) 

Surely, whatever Divine power can do. Divine knowledge can know 

«8 possible to be done. The one, therefore, must be as infinite as the 

other. And what of Divine goodness ? An angel or a glorified saint is 

ihaolutely good in Mr. Mill's sense of the term. His " will is entirely 

jight" Does Mr. Mill mean to say that there is no difference, even in 

degree, between the goodness of God and that of one of His creatures ? 

Bnt, even supposing his statenient to be true, how is it relevant to the 

matter under discussion ? Can Mr. Mill possibly be ignorant that aU 

ftese attributes are relations ; that the Absolute in Hamilton's sense, 

* the unconditionally limited," is not predicable of God at all ; and that 

198 The Contemporary Reznew. 

when cUvines and philosophers speak of the ahsolute nature of God, 
they mean a nature in which there is no distinction of attributes 
lit aU ? 

Mr. Mill then proceeds to give a suniinar)' of Hamilton's arguments 
ngainst Cousin, preparatory' to refuting them. In the course of this 
summary he says :— 

" I^t me ask, en passant, where is the necessity for supposing that, if 
the Ahsolute, or, to speak plainly, if (Jod, is only known to us In the 
character of a cause, he must therefore ' exist merely as a cause,' and be 
merely 'a mean towards an end'^ It is surely ]>ossib1e to maintain that the 
Deity is known to ua only as he who feeds the ravens, without supposing 
that the Divine Intelligence exists solely in order that the ravens may be 
fed. "•_(?. 42.) 

On this we would remark, rw pasmtif, that this is precisely 
Hamilton's own doctrine, that the sphere of our belief is more ex- 
tensive than that of our knowledge. The purport of Hamilton's 
argument is to shew that the Absolute, as conceived by Cousin, is not 
a true Absolute {Injinito-Ahsolute), and therefore does not represent 
the real nature of God. His argument is this : " Cousin's Absolute 
exists merely aa a cavise : Goil does not exist merely as a cause : 
therefore Cousin's Absolute is not God." Sir. Mill actually mistakes 
the position which Hamilton is opjwsiug for that which he is main- 
taining. Such an eiTor does not lead 11s to expect mtich from his 
subsequent refutation. 

His first criticism is a curious specimen of his reading in philo- 
sophy. He says : — 

" Wlien the. True or the. IJeautiftd are spoken of, the phrase is -meant to 
include all things whatever that are true, or all things whatever that ore 
beautiful If this rule is good for other abstractions, it is good for tiie 
Absolute. The word is devoid of me^uiing unless in reference to predioat« 
of some sort. . . . If we are told, therefore, that there is some Being 
M-ho is, or which is, the Absolute, — not something ahsohite, but the 
Absolute itself, — ^the proposition can be understood in no other sense tlun 
that the supposed Being possesses in absolute comjtlcteneps nU predicates ; 

* In a note to this passage, Mr. Mill makes some sarcastJc comments on an argomoiit 
of Hamilton's against Cousin's tieory that God is necessarily determined to create. " On 
this hypothesis," says Hamilton, " God, as necessarily determined to pass from abac^Dte 
essence to relative manifestation, is determined to pass cither from the better to the ■wonb^ 
or from the worse to the better." Mr. Mill calls this argument "a curiosity of dim- 
luctice," and answers, " Perfect wisdom would have begun to will the new state at the 
precise moment when it began to be better than the old." Hamilton is not spealdng of 
states of things, but of states of the Divine nature, as creative or not creative; mil Ur. 
Hill's argument, to refute Hamilton, must suppose a time when the new nature of God 
begins to be better than tlie old ! Hr. Mill would perhaps have spoken of Hamilttm'a 
argument with more respect had he known that it is taken trom llato. 

The Philosophy of the Cofiditioned. 1 99 

is absolutely good and absolutely bad ; absolutely wise and abaohitely 
stupid; and so forth."*— (P. 43.) 

Plato expressly distinguishes between "the beautiful" and "things 
that are beautiful," ns the One in contrast to the Many — the Keal in 
contrast to the Apparent.-f- It is, of course, quite possible that Plato 
may be wrong, and Mr. Mill right ; but the mere fact of their anta- 
gonism is sufficient to shew that the meaning of "the phrase" need 
not be what Mr. Mill supposes it must be. In fact, " the Absolute" in 
philosophy always has meant the One as distinguished from the 
Many, not the One as including the Many. But> as applied to Sir W. 
Hamilton, Mr. Mill's remarks on " the Absolute," and his subsequent 
remarks on " the Infinite," not only misrepresent Hamilton's position, 
bntexactly reverse it. Hamilton maintains that the terms "absolute" 
and "infinite" are perfectly intelligible as abstractions, as much so as 
"relative" and "finite;" for "correlatives suggest each other," and the 
" knowledge of contradictories is one ;" but he denies that a concrete 
thing or object can be conceived as absolute or infinite. Mr. Mill 
represents him as only proving tliat the " unmeaning abstractions are 
unknowable," — abstractions which Hamilton does not assert to be 
unmeaning, and which he r^ards as knowable in the only sense in 
^ch such abstractions can be known, viz., by understanding the 
meaning of their names.| 

"Something infinite," says Mr. Mill, " is a conception which, like most of 
out complex ideas, contains a negative element, but which contains positive 
dements also. Infinite space, Jor instaace ; is there nothing positive in 
thatl The n^ative part of this conception is the absence of bounds. The 
positive are, the idea of space, and of space greater than any finite spaca" 
-{P. 45.) 

* In cappcot of thia poution, Hr. Hill cites Hegel — " What kind of an absolute Being 
ii tint which does not contain in itself all that is actual, even evil included F ' ' We are not 
ccneetned to defend Hegel's position ; but he vas not quit« so absurd aa to mean what 
Hr. HiD (uppoaes him to have meant. Does not Mr. Hill knoT that it was one of Ht^gol's 
hnditnental positions, that the Divine nature cannot be expressed by a plurality of predi- 
«ihB? t " Republic," book v., p. 479. 

} This confusion between conceiving a concrete thing and knowing the meaning ol 
■hibBct tenna is at old as Toland's " Christianity not Mysterious," and, indeed, has its 
gam, though not its development, in the teaching of his assumed master, Locke. Locke 
taught that all our knowledge is founded on simple ideas, and that a complex idea is 
aardy an accnmulatioa of simple ones. Hence Toland maintained that no object could 
k myatcriooa or inconceivable if the terms in which its several attributes are expressed 
have ideas corresponding to them. But, in point of fact, no single idea can be conceived 
■S an object by itself, though the word by which it is signified has a perfectly intelligible 
BMning. I cannot, t.g., conceiye' whiteness by itself, though I can conceive a white 
vaU, !.(., whiteness in combination with other attributes in a concrete object. To con- 
Mn« attributes as coexisting, however, we must conceive them as coexisting in a 
attain manner ; for an object of conception is not a mere heap of ideas, but an organized 
vholc^ whose conatitaent ideas exist in a particular combination with and relation to 
SMh other. To canceiTe, therefore, we must not only be able to apprehend each idea 
asparately in the abstract, but also the manner in which they may possibly exist in com- 
Dns&OQ with each other. 

200 The Contemporary Review. 

This definition of infinite ^pace is exactly that which DeBcartes 
gives us of indefinite extetmon, — "Ita quia non poasumus imaginari 
extensiouem taui niagnam, qiiin intelligamus adhuc majorem esse 
posse, (licemus inagnitudinem rerum possibilium esse indefinitam." • 
So, too, Cudwortlj, — " There appeareth no sufficient ground for this 
positive inlinity of space ; we being certain of no more than this, that 
be the world or any figurative body never so great, it is not impossible 
but that it might be still greater and greater without end. Which 
indefinite increasableness of body and space seems to be mistaken for 
a positive infinity thereof." "f" And Locke, a philosopher for whom Mr. 
Mill will probably have more respect than for Descartes or Cudworth, 
writes more plainly : " To have actually in the mind the idea of a 
.space uitinite, is to suppose the mind already passed over, and actually 
to have a view of all those repeated ideas of space, which an endless 
repetition can never totally represent to it, — which carries in it a plain 
contradiction."! Mr. Mill tiius unwittingly illustrates, in Ms own 
I>erson, tlie truth of Hamilton's remark, " If we dream of effecting 
this [conceiving the infinite in time or space], we only deceive our- 
selves by substituting the indefinite for the infinite, than which no 
two notions can be more opposed." In fact, Mr. Mill does not 
seem to be aware that what the mathematician calls infinite, tie 
metaphysician calls indefinite, and that arguments drawn from the 
niatheiuiitical use of the term infinite are wholly irrelevant to the 
metaphysicul. How, indeed, could it be otherwise ? Can any man 
suppose that, when the Divine attributes are spokeu of as infinite, it 
is meant tliat they are indefinitely increasable ? § 

In fact, it is the "concrete reality," the "something infinite," and 
not tiie mere abstraction of infinity, which is only conceivable as a 
negation. Every "somethmg" that has ever been intuitively present 
to my consciousness is a something finite. When, tlierefore, I siteak 

• " Principia," i. 26. f " Intellectual System," cd. Harrison, vol. iii., p. 131. 

i Essayii, 17, 7. 

\ One of the ablest mathematiciaas, and the most persevering Homiltono-mastix of the 
day, mointaina the applicability of the metaphysical notion of infinity to mathematical 
moguitudeB ; but with on assumption which unintentionally vindicates Ilamilton's poaition 
more fully than could have been done by a professed disciple. " I shall assume," saya Pro- 
fessor De Morgan, in a paper recently printed among the " Transactions of the Cambridge 
I'hilosophical Society," " the notion of infinity and of its reciprocal infinitesimal : that a 
line can be conceived infinite, and therefore having points at an infinite distance. Image 
apart, which we cannot have, it seems to mu clear that a line of infinite length, without 
points at an infinite distance, is a contradiction." Now it is easy to shew, by mere 
reasoning, without nuy image, that this assumption is equally a contradiction. For if 
space is finite, every line in space must be finite also ; and if space is infinite, every point 
in space must have infinite space beyond it in every direction, and therefore cannot be at 
the greatest possible distance from another point. Or thus : Any two points in space are 
the extremities of the line connecting them; but an infinite line has no extremities; 
therefore no two points in space can be connected together by an infinite line. 

Tlu Philosophy of the Conditioiud, 201 

of a "something infinite," I mean a somet'iing existinj^ in a different 
manner from all the " somethings " of which I have had experience in 
intuition. Thus it is apprehended, not positively, but negatively — 
Lot directly by what it is, but indirectly by what it is not. A negative 
idea is not negative because it is expressed by a negative term, but 
because it has never been realised in intuition. If infinity, as applied 
to space, means the same thing as being greater tlian any finite space, 
both conceptions are equally positive or equally negative. If it does 
not mean the same thing, then, in conceiving a sjiace greater than 
any finite space, we do not conceive an infinite space. 

Mr. MUl's three next criticisms may be very briefly dismissed. 
First, Hamilton does not, as Mr. Mill asserts, say that " the Uncondi- 
tioned is inconceivable, because it includes both the Infinite and the 
Absolute, and these are contradictory of one another." His argument is 
a common disjunctive syllogism. The unconditioned, if conceivable 
at all, must be conceived either as the absolute or as the infinite ; 
neither of these is possible ; therefore the uncouditioued is not con- 
cei\-able at all. Nor, secondly, is Sir W. Hamilton guilty of the 
"strange confusion of ideas" wliich Mr. Mill ascribes to liim, when 
he says that the Absolute, as being absolutely One, cannot be known 
under the conditions of plurality and difference. The absolute, as 
such, must be out of all relation, and consequently cannot be con- 
ceived in the relation of plurality. " The jdurality reciuired," says 
Mr. Mill, " is not within the thing itself, but is made up between 
itself and other things." It is, in fact, both ; but even gi-anting Mr. 
MiU's assumption, what is a "plurality between a thing and other 
things " but a relation between them ? There is undoubtedly a 
"staange confusion of ideas" in this paragraph ; but the confusion is 
not on the part of Sir W. Hamilton. " Again," continues Mr. Mill, 
"even if we concede that a thing cannot be known at all unless 
known as plural, does it follow that it cannot be known as plural 
because it is also One ? Since when have the One and tlie Many 
beenincompatible things, insteadof different aspects of the same thing ? 
... If there is any meaning in the words, must not Absolute Unity 
be Absolute Plurality likewise?" Mr, Mill's "since when?" may 
be anSTvered in the words of Plato : — " OiStv f/iot7£ aron-ov S«Kft tivat 
cl %v h-navra aTTOfofvct Tif rt^ yxriyjiiv t-qu tuoc Kit Taiira ravTn ttoXXo 
n^ wA^aovf av \u.Tk-^iv' aXA' (i d Xotiv iv, avrh tovto TroXXd aTrootlK^tf 
ml a{> TO iroXAo 8q iv, touto ^Srj Oav/iaaofiat." * Here we are 
expressly told that "absolute unity" cannot be " absolute plurality." 
Mr. Mill may say that Plato is wrong ; but he will hardly go so far as 
to say that there is no meaning in his words. And, thirdly,' when 
Mr. Mill accuses Sir W. Hamilton of departing from his own meaning 

• " Pnrmenidps," p. 123. 
VOL. I. P 

202 The Contemporary Review. 

of the tenn absobite, in uiaintainiug that the Absolute cannot be a 
Cause, he oiily shows tliat he does not himself know what Hamilton's 
meaning is. " If Absolute," he says, " means tinishetl, perfected, com- 
pleted, may there not be a finished, perfected, and completed Cause ?" 
Hamilton's Al>3olute is that which is " ont of relation, as finished, 
perfect, complete ;" and a Cause, as such, is both in relation and 
incomplete. It is in relation to its eft'ect ; and it is incomplete 
without its effect. Finally, when Mr. Mill charges Sir W. Hamilton 
with maintaining "tliat extension and figure are of the essence of 
matter, and [)erceived as such by intuitiou," we must bri^y reply 
that Hamilton does no such thing. He is not speaking of the essraice 
of matter ^)fr se, but only of matter as apprehended in relation 
to us. 

Mr. ifill concludes this chapter with an attempt to discover the 
nieanmg of Hamilton's assertion, " to think is to condition." We have 
already explained what HamQton niea.nt by this expression ; and we 
recur to the subject now, only to shew the easy manner in which Mr. 
Mill manages to miss the point of an argument with the clue lying 
straight before him. " Did any," he says (of those who say that the 
Absolute is thinkable), "profess to think it in any other manner than 
by distinguishing it from other things?" Now this is the very thing 
which, according to Hamilton, Schelling actually did. Mr. Mill does 
not attemi)t to shew that Hamilton is wrong in his interpretation of 
Schelling, nor, if he is right, what were the reasons which led Schelling 
to so 1 paradoxical ajiosition: he simply assumes that no man could 
hold 8chelling's view, and there is an end of it.* Hamilton's purpose 
is to reassert in substance the doctrine which Kant maintained, and 
which Schelling denied; and the natural way to ascertain his meaning 
would be by reference to tliese two philosopliers. But this is not the 
method of Mr. Mill, here or elsewhere. He generally endeavours to 
ascertain Hamilton's meaning by ranging the wide field of possi- 
bilities. He tells us what a phrase means in certain authors of whom 
Hamilton is not thinking, or in reference to certain matters which 
Hamilton is not discussing; but he hardly ever attempts to trace the 
histoiy of HamQton's own view, or the train of thought by which it 

* Mr. Itrill does not expressly- name Schelling in thip sentence ; but he does bo aboMj 
nftcrwarUf ; nnd liis reninrk ib of the same character with the prerioua one. "Ereo 
Schellini^," he sayi, *' was not bo gratuitously absurd as to deny that the AbBolute must bs 
knon'a according to the capacities of that which knows it — though ho was forced to inTmt 
a special capacity for the purpose." But if this capacity is an " invention" of ScheHing's, 
and if he was "forced" to invent it, Hamilton's point is proved. To think according to 
all the real operations of thought which conwiouBnesa makes known to ua, il to eonditiaiL 
And the faculty of the unconditioned is an invention of Schelling' b, not known to co<i- 
sciousness. In other words : all our real faculties bear witness to the truth of Hamiltoa'a 
statement ; and the only way of coutroverling it is to invent on imaginary faculty for th6 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 203 

suggested itself to his mind. And the result of this is, that Mr. Mill's 
iuterpretations are generally in the potential mood. He wastes a good 
deal of conjecture in discoverin<,' what Hamilton inight have meant, 
when a little attention in tlie right iiuaiter would have shown what 
he did mean. 

The tliird feature of Hamilton's philosophy whicli we charged Mr. 

Mill with misunderstanding, is the distinction lietween Knowledge and 

Belief. la the early part oi this article, we endeavoured to explain 

the trae nature of this distinction ; we have now only a very limited 

space to notice Mr. Mill's criticisms on it. Hamilton, he says, admitted 

"a second source of intellectual conviction called Belief." Now 

Ifelief is not a " source " of any conviction, but the conviction itself. 

Xoiuan would say that he is convinced of the truth of a proposition 

J«BMi* he believes it; his belief in its truth is the same thing as 

his conviction of its truth. IJelief, then, is not a source of conviction, 

l)nt a conviction having sources of its owni. The question is, have 

n"e Intimate sources of conviction, distinct from tliose which con- 

i^ute Knowledge proi)erly so called ? Now here it should l>e 

remembered that the distinction is not one invented by Hamilton to 

meet the exigencies of his own system. He enumerates as many 

as twenty-two authora, of the most various schools of philosophy, who 

all acknowledged it before liim. Such a concuiTence is no slight 

aigmnent in favour of tlie reality of the distinction. We do ]iot say 

that Uiese writers, or Hamilton himself, have always expressed this 

di^iDction in the best language, or applied it in the best manner; 

imt we say that it is a true distinction, and that it is valid for the 

principal pnrjxjse to which Hamilton applied it. 

We do not agi-ee with all the details of Hamilton's application. 
"We do not agree with him, tliough he is sui>portcd by very eminent 
anthcnities, in classifying our conviction of axiomatic ]irinciples as 
hdief, and not as knowledffc* But tliis question docs not directly 
Lear on Mr. Mill's criticism. Tlie i)oint of that criticism i.s, that 
Hamilton, by admitting a helirf in the intinite and unrelated, nullities 

• IJ a m Otoa'i dutmction u in principle the samo ns that wliich vn have ftivon in tha 
ftrmer part of this article. He aays. " A comfiction is incompreliensiblo when there is 
aerdy given to ai in conBciousneBS— JTAn' it« object u (on tart), ami when we are unablo 
to eomprebend through a higher notion or belief Itlntor Ifow it i> {iinrt lOTi)." — (Reid's 
T^oAs, p. 7fi4.) We Toold diatingiiiiih between tc/ii/ and Aoic, between tiin and jtwc- 
"We cam giTe no Teaacm tcAy two straight lines cannot enclose a spare; but wu can com- 
githatd hote they cannot. We have only to fomi the correspondinf; image, to see the 
Kkimerm vhich the two attributes coexist in one object. liut when I say that I believe in 
tW cxutenoe of a epiiitnal being who sees wilbout eyes, I cannot conceive the tnantier in 
vliiclk aeeing coexists *tth the absence of the bodily organ of sight. We believe that the 
fana d i j tinc faon between knowledge and belief may ultimately he referred to the presence 
ar absBnoe of the corresponding intuition ; but to shew this in the various instances would 
Kquire a longer dissertation than our present hinits w ill alloir. 

204 '^^^^ Contemporary Review. 

lii» own doctrine, tliat all knovAcdgc Ls of the finite and relative. 
\jit lis see. 

We may believe thnt a thing is, -without being able to conceive 
how it is. I believe that God is a i>erson, and also that He is infinite; 
llmuyli I cannot conceive havj the attributes of personality and infinity 
exist t(;gether. All my knowledge of personality is derived from 
my consciousness of my own finite iwrsonality. I therefore believe 
in the coexistence of attributes in God, in some manner different from 
that in whicii they coexist in me as limiting each other: and thus 
I believe in the fact, though 1 am unable to concei\'e the manner. So, 
aj,'ain, Kant brings certain counter arguments, to prove, on the one 
side, tliat the world has a beginning in time, and, on the other side, 
tlint it has not a beginning. Kow supiwsc I am unable to refute 
either of these courses of argument, am I therefore compelled to have 
no belief at all ? May I not say, 1 believe, in spite of Kant, that the 
wnrhl hits a beginning in time, though 1 am unable to conceive hokciS, 
cim have sn begun? "What is this, again, but a belief in an absolute 
reality beyond the .sphere of my relative knowledge ? 

" I am not now considering," says Mr. Mill, "what it is that, in our 
inithor's opinion, m'c uro bound to believe concemmg the unknowabla" 
\Vliy, this wius the very thing he ought to have considered, before 
pronouncing Ihc position to be untenable, or to be irreconcilable with 
sometliing else. Meanwhile, it is instructive to observe that Mr. Mill 
himself believes, or i-equires his readers to believe, something concern- 
ing the unknown, ile does not know, or at any rate he does not tell 
hirt readers, what Hamilton requires them to believe concerning the 
unknowable ; but lie himself believes, and requires them to believe, 
that tins unknown something is incumi)atible witli the doctrine thid 
knowledge is relative. We cannot regaitl this as a veiy satisfactory 
nifHle of refuting Hamilton's thesis.* 

liUt if Mr Mill is unjust towai-ds the distinction between Know- 

* In ft lubsrqupnt chajrtcr (p. 120), ilr. Mill endeavours to overthrow thia dutinction 
liotwwn Knowledge nnd Ktlicf, by means of llamUloa's own theory of Conscioumtsi. 
lliimilton maintaina tlitit we rannot bo eonseioiis of a mental operation without being oi»- 
n-ioun of its object. On this Mr. Mill rftorta that if, as Ilaniilton admits, we are conecion 
iif a belief in the Infinite nnd the Absolute, wc must bo conscious of tbe Intinito ftnd tlw 
Abmluto thenidt'lves ; nnd sueh eonaei-nisncsa ia Knowledge. Tho fallacy of this retort ik 
tntnspari'nt, Th<^ innnedinto object of Ittlief is o proposition whiei I hold to be true, no^ 
u H/ini/ nppn'hcnded in an act of coni-cption. I believe in an infinite God; i.e., I believ^H 
Ifiat Ood is iiitinite : I believe thnt the attributes which I aseribe to God eiirt in Him i^n 
un intinite dej.Tee. Now, to believe this proposition, I must, of course, he conscioua of i^H 
iiicnniiig ; but 1 nin not thtn'fore conscious of the Intiiiite God ns an object of coneeptiocr» 
for ibis would i ciiuirc further un apprehension of the manner in which these infinite itt^^ 
butcs coexist w) as lo form one ^^llje.■t. The vhole argument of this eighth chapter 
confuted, owing to Mr. Mill not having distinguished between those passages in wlk:£«: 
Sir \V. ll.imilton is merely iising im ariiriiitiitiim ad l.omiiiim in relation to_Reid, 
those in whiih he is reas'^iiin : f:''>n) petieml principles. 

The Philosophy of i/ie Conditioned. 205 

ledge and Balicf, as held by Sir W. Hamilton, lie makes ample amends 
to the injured theory in the next chapter, by extending the province 
of credibility far beyond any bounds which Hamilton woidd ha\'ts 
dreamed of claiming for it. Conceivability or inconceivability, lie 
tells us, are usually dependent on association ; and it is quite possible 
that, under other associations, we might be able to conceive, and 
therefore to believe, anything short of the direct contradiction tliat 
the same thing is and is not It is not in itself incredible that a 
square may at the same time be round, that two straiglit lines 
may enclose a space, or even that two and two may make five. • But 
whatever concessions Mr. Mill may make on this point, he is at least 
fully determined that Sir W. Hamilton sliall derive no benefit fi-om 
them ; for he fortliwith proceeds to charge Sir William with confusing 
three distinct senses of the term conception — a confusion which exists 
solely ill his o\v\\ imagination, "f" — and to assert that the Philosophy of 
the Conditioned is entirely founded on a mistake, inasmuch as infi- 
nite space on the one hand, and, on the other, both an absolute mini- 
mum and an infinite divisibility of space, are perfectly conceivable. 
"With regard to the former of these two assertions, Mr. Mill's whole 
arguinent is vitiated, as we have already shown, by his confusion be- 
tween infinite and indefinite ; but it is worth wliile to quote one of his 
special instances in this chapter, as a specimen of the kind of 
reasoning which an eminent writer on logic can sometimes 
employ. In reference to Sir "W. Hamilton's assertion, that 
infinite space would require infinite time to conceive it, he says, 

' Inrerercnce to thii last paradox, 5£r. Mill ciuotes from " Esaays by a Barrister:" 
''There U a. world in which, whenoTL-r two paLra of things arc either plnccii in proximity 
or are coiit«inpIated together, a fiflh thing is immcdintely created and brought within 
the contemplnti-jn of the mind engaged in putting two and two together. ... In 
<uch a world Burely two and two would make live. 'J'hat id, the result to the nilnd of 
contemplating two twoa would be to count five," The answer to this reasoning has been 
*Jra»dy given by Archdeacon Li'c in hia Essay on Miiaeles. Tho " live " in this case 
'* not the sum of two and two, but of two and two p/iu the new creature, i. e., of two and 
f Wo plui one. 

+ The soo^e in which Sir W. Hamilton himwlf uses tho word eoiireption is explained in 

< aata to Keid'a Works, p. 377— namely, tlie combination of two or more attributes in a 

"nitg of npretentation. The second sense which Mr. Mill imagines is simply amistakoof 

Ilia own. When Hamilton speaks of being " unable to conceive aa possible," he does not 

neon, as Mr. Mill supposes, physically possible under the law of gravitation or some other 

la^v of matter, but ment&lly possible as a representation or image ; and thus the supposed 

*e«soad sense is identical with the first. The third sense may also be reduced to the first ; 

for to conceive two attributes as combined in one representation is to form a notion subor- 

dltuUe to those of each attribute separately. Wo do not say that Sir W. Hamilton has 

been uniformly accurate in hia application of the teat of conceivability ; but we say that 

liisiMCcuracies, such as they are, do nut alfcct the thcorj' of the conditioned, and that in 

all llio long extracts which Mr. Mill quotes, with footnotes, indicating "first sense," 

*' secood tense," " third sense," the author's meaning may he more accurately explained in 

the &.ni tense only. 

2o6 The Contemporary Review. 

" Let us try the doctrine upon a complex wliole, short of infiiute, 
such as the miniber 695,788. >Sir "W. Hamilton would not, I suppose, 
have maintained that this number is inconceivable. How long did 
lie tliiiik it would take to >^o over every separate unit of this whole, 
so as to obtain a periect kuowledge of the exact sum, as different 
from all other sums, either greater or less ?" 

It is marvellous that it shoukl not have occurred to Mr, Mill, while he 
was writing this passage, " How conies this large number to be a ' whole ' 
at all ; and how comes it that ' this whole,' with aU its imita, can be 
written dovni by meau.s of six digits ?" Simply because of a conven- 
tional ammgement, by wliich a single digit, according to its positiOTi, 
can express, by one mark, tens, Iiundreds, thousands, &c., of iinits; 
and thus can exliaust the sum by dealing with its items in large 
masses. But how can such a process exhaust the infinite? We 
should like to know how long Mr. Mill thinks it would take to work 
out the followuig pi-oblem : — " If two figures can represent ten, three a 
hundred, four a thousand, five ten thousand, &c., find the number of 
figures required to represent infinity." * 

Infinite divisibility stands or fall.s with infinite extension. In both 
cases Mr. Mill confounds infinity with indefiniteneas. But with 
regani to an absolute minimum of space, Mr. Mill's ai^iment requires 
a separate notice. 

" It is not denied," he says, " that thurc is a ])oi-tiou of extension which 
to tlie nakeil eye appears an indivisible point ; it Ilis been called by philo- 
sophers the viiHt'imnH risible. This minimum we can indefinitely magnify 
by means of optical instruments, making visible the still smaller parts which 
compose it. In each successive experiment theii; \? still a tuiiiiuium nlsiblr, 
anything less tlian which, cannot be diBcuvercd with that instrument, but 
can with one of a highi-r power. Suppose, now, that as we increase the 
magnifying power of our instruments, and before we have reached the limit 
of possible increase, we amve at a stage at which that which seemed the 
smallest visible apace under a given microscope, does not u]>pear larger 
under one wliicli, by its mechauiail coiistnictioii, is adapted to magnify more, 
but still remains apparently indivisible. I say, that if this liappened, we 
should believe in a minimum of extension ; or if some A priori metaphysical 
prejudice prevented us from believing it, wo should at least be enabled to 
conceive it,"— (P. 84.) 

The natnml conclusion of most men under such circumstances 
would be, that there was some faidt in the microscope. But even if 
this conclusion were rejected, we presume Sir, Mill would allow that^ 

* PreciBcly the samo misronception of Hamilton's position occurs in Professor De 
Morgan's paper in the "Cambridge Transactions," to which ue havo previously referred. 
He speols (jf. 13) of the *' notion, which nins through many writers, from Descartes to 
Hamilton, that the mind must be big enough to hold (dl it can conceive." This notion is 
certainly not maintained by Hamilton, nor yet by Descartes in the paragraph quoted by 
Mr. De Morgan ; nor, as far as we are aware, in any other part of his works. 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned. 207 

nniJer the supposed circiunstances, the exact magnitude of tlie mini- 
mum of extension would be calculabla We have only to measure the 
BuimKwi visible, and know what is the magnifying ixiwer of our 
microscope, to detennine the exact dimensions. Suppose, then, tliat 
we assign to it some definite magnitude — say the ten billionth pait of 
an inch, — should we then conclude that it is impossible to conceive the 
twenty billionth part of an inch ? — in other words, that we have arrived 
at a definite magnitude which has no conceivable half? .Surely this 
is a somewhat rash concession to be made by a writer who has just 
told ya that nxmibera may be conceived up to infinity; and therefore, 
of coarse, down to iufinitesimality. 

J[r. Mill concludes this chapter with an assertion which, even by 

Mi, i» sufficient to shew how very little he has attended to or 

nndewtood the philosophy which he is attempting to criticise. " The 

kv of Excluded Middle," he says, " as well as that of Contradiction, is 

common to all phenomena. But it is a doctrine of our author that 

these laws are true, and cannot but be known to be true, of Nonmena 

likewise. It is not merely Space as cognisable by our senses, but 

^lace as it is in itself, which he affirms must be either of unlimited or 

of hmited extent" (p. 86). At this sentence we fairly stand aghast. 

"Space 83 it is in itself"! the Noumenon Space ! Has Mr. Mill been 

ill this while "examining" Sir William Hamilton's philosophy, in 

Dtter ignorance that the object of that philosophy is the " Conditioned 

in Time and 5^ac«;" that he accepts Kant's analysis of time and space 

as formal necessities of thought, but pronounces no opinion whatever 

« to whether time and space can exist as Noimiena or not ? It is the 

]rfienomenal sj>ace, " space as cognisable by our senses," which Sir W. 

&miIton says must be either limited or unlimited; coucemiug the 

Koamenon Space, he does not hazard an opinion whether such a 

thii^ exists or not. He says, indeed (and this is probably what has 

nrialed Mr. Mill), that the laws of Identity, Contradiction, and Excluded 

Kiddle, are law^s of things as well as laws of thought;* but he says 

nothing about these laws, as predicating infinite or finite extension. 

On the contrary, he expressly classifies Space under tlie law of Rela- 

tirity, the violation of whicli indicates what may exist, but what we 

ae unable to conceive as existing. Briefly, the law of Excludetl 

Middle (to take this instance alone) is a law of things only in its 

tbitract form, "Everything must be A or not A" (ej;ten<{<'J, if you 

jJease, or not extended) ; but in its subordinate form, " Everything 

extended most be extended infinitely or finitely," it is oidy applicable, 

and only intended by Hamilton to be applied, to those phoiomoia 

which are already given as extended in some degree. 

We have now examined the first six chapters of Mr, Mill's book, 

• " DiBCOBsionB," p. 603. 


The Contemporary Review. 

coDtaiiiing lufj temarks on thftfc poi-tion of Sir 'W. H«miltou'a pliily- 

sophy which lie justly regaitls as uompiising the most iin}K>rtaBt of 

the doctrine.^ which epecinlly bi^Iong to UiiniHtou liimself. The nest 

chapter is aii epsaude, in which Mr. Mill turns asiile hmu Sir W, 

Haniiltou to criticise Mr. Mansel'a " Biunpton Lectures." As oiir limits 

c!o not permit us tn cfiiTy on the aTi^iiineut at present throu|»li the 

remainrler of Mr. Mill's reiimrka on Ilttiniltiui himself, wo shall 

conclmle our notice with ft few worIs on this chapter, as clusJug 

the properly metnphysicfil portion of Mr, Mill's himk,, niiiil aa 

afFoitlirig aniplu iirouf tlnxt, in tills clepai'tmeut of pliilosophy nt least. 

Mr. Mill's powers of itiisappreheusion ilo nut cease when Sir W. 

Hnrniltoii ia no hmger their [*hject. ^^ 

Mr. MLU'fi mctlioil of criticism makes it i;;euerjiily mjceasary to coi^^^ 

mence with a stsitcmeut of the criticised theory as it really ia, before 

proceeding to his exposition of it as it is not. Tlie present instauci- 

otiers m.} exccplion to this rule. Mr .MausL-l's aryTimuut may he briefly 

stated as follows. The primaiy anil essBiitial conception of God, 

imperatively ilemauiieii hy our uioktI ami rKli^nuus conscinusue^, | 

is that of a ^«tw/». Ihit personality miplies iiitellect.iiiil ami ukm-jI 

attributes; ami the only direct and ijnniedinite knowleilf;re which we 

haveof siu;h ut tributes is derived from the testimony of aelf-conscious- 

ness, beariii;* witue,'^a to thi^ir existence in a certain niaimiir in 

ourselves, But when we widea^our to transfer tho conception of 

personality, thus obtained, to the domain of theoloyy, wu ineet with 

certain dilhcultiir's, wjiich, while they are not siilHcient to Itinder us 

from bclirtinff in tlic Divine I'ersonality as a fact, yet himier us t'lwm 

cmucivifif/ the niiniiier of its existenci'. and prevent us fnjm wxhiljitiiig 

our belief aa a pliilosiphical conclusion,, proved by iiTcfniytd>le reasoning 

and secm-ed all objections. Thu3e difficulties are occasiunml, 

on the one haiul, by the so-called Fliilosophy of the Uncomlitioned, 

which in all a^'cs has shown n tendency towards rantheijini. u-nd 

which, in one of its latest and most hmshud nuLniftstations, aiuionncea 

itself as the exlnbiiion of Uod as IIu is in His etenml nature ]>efory 

creation; ami, on the other hand, by t!ie limitations and conditions 

to wliich PUT ijwo pei-sonaliEy i* subject, and which, as we have 

pointed out in tlie lomier part of this article, have ft-om the very 

bi^miing of Cli list inn theoloyy. prevented theologians from accepting 

the Ihnited personality of man as an exact image and couriterpart 

of the unlimited pw'sonaUty of tiod. The,9e ditiicidties Mr. Mansel 

endeavours to meet in two ways. On the one aide, he maintains, 

in coinninn with Sir \V. Hamillon, that the rhilosopliy of thL> Uccoii- 

ditioued, by reason of it-g own iiicongruitie.^i and self- contra dictions, has 

no claim to be accepted as a competent witness in the matter; and o« 

the other aide^ he niamtains, ui ci>mniou with nmny theologians before 

The Philosophy of tlie Conditioned. 209 

him, that hninan iiei-aouality cannot be assumed aa an exact copy of 
the Divine, but only as that which is most nearly analogous to it 
among finite things. But these two positions, if admitted, involve a 
conespomting practical conclusion as regartls the criterion of religious 
truth or. falsehood. AVere we capable, either, on the one hand, of a 
clear conception of the Unconditioned, or, on the other, of a direct 
intuition of the Divine Attributes aa objects of consciousness, we might 
be able to construct, deductively or inductively, an exact science of 
Theoli^. As it is, we are compelled to reason by analogy; and 
analogy furnishes only probabilities, varying, it may be, from slight 
presumptions up to moral certainties, but whose weight, in any given 
case, can only be detennined by comparison with other evidences. 
There are three distinct sources froia which we may obtain a know- 
ledge of the ways of God — first, fr*jm our own moral and intellectual 
consciousness, by which we judge d, priori of what God ought to do in 
a given case, by determining what wg should think it wise or right for 
ourselves to do in a similar case ; secondly, from tlie constitution and 
coarse of nature, from which we may know by experience what God's 
providence in certain cases actually is ; and thirdly, from revelation, 
attested by its proper evidences. Where these three agree in their 
testimony (as in the great majority of cases they do) we have the 
moral certainty which residts from the harmony of all accessible 
evidences: where they appear to differ, we have no right at once 
to conclude that the second or the third must give way to the first, 
and not vicA versd; because we have no right to assume that the 
first alone is infallible. In the author's own words : " The lesson to be 
learnt from an examination of the Limits of Religious Tliought is not 
that man's judgments are vjorthlcss in relation to Divine things, but that 
they are fallible : and the probability of error ia any particular cas« 
can never be fairly estimated without giving their full weight to 
all collateral considerations. We are iiuleed bound to believe that 
a fievelation given by God can never contain anything that is really 
unwise or unrighteous ; but we are not always capable of estimating 
eiactly the wisdom or righteousness of particular doctrines or precepts. 
And we are bound to bear in mind that exactly in p}-opoi-tion to the 
ttrtngth of the remainiiuj evidence for tlu Divine origin of a religion, is 
tkt prdbahUity that we may he mistaken in supposing this m' that 
portion of its contents to he umvorthy of God. Taken in conjunction, the 
two arguments may confirm or coiTeet each other : taken singly and 
aheoiutely, each nuiy vitiate the result which should follow from their 
joint application." • 

In criticising the first part of this ar^iuent — that which is directed 
against the deductive philosophy of the Unconditioned — Mr. Mill mani- 
• " fituupton Lectures," p. 156, 4th edition. 


Tlte Contemporary Review. 

I'eets tbe same Tvant of acquaintance with its meautDg, nnd witli the 
previous history of the r[uestion, wiiich he had before exliibited in his 
ii.tiflck on Hir "W. Haniiltrm. He Legins by fiuiling fanlt nnth the 
definition Lif the Abanlute, which ifr. Mansel (hecehi d^jjartitig. and 
jmrpnstily departing, from 8ir W. Hamdton'a iise of the term) defines 
Ita "that which exists in and hy itself, having' Tir> necessarj' relation to 
any nther lleing." On tins, Mr. Mill remarks: "The firat wortls of 
his definition wuuld serve for the description of a Noumenon ; hut Mr. 
MRnsel's Ahsolnte is unly meant to ilenote nns "Beine^, identitied with 
Gud, ami (Jrx! is not the only Nonnienoii." The description of a Nou- 
menon ! This is idmnst equal to the discovery of a Noumenon Space. 
Doos Mr. Mill re^illy suppose that all nniimena am aelf-existent? A 
iutwiwiuiii (in tlie sense in wliidi we suppose Mr, Mill to understand 
tho term, for it lias different meaning's in diftei-ent pliUoaopliies) 
iiiipliiis an existence ont of relation to the hunmn mind.* But is thia 
tijo same as heing ont of all relation ■whatever, aa existing "in aud hy 
itself " ? Doea Mr. Mill mean to say that a creature, whether jierccived 
by us or not. btis no relation to its C'n^tor? Dut Mr. JEJH, as ire 
have seen bei'on.\ is not much at honiu when he j-ets nuiong 
" nouniena," We must proceed to his criticism of the second port of 
the deJiliition. — "ImV'iuy no uece&sary relation to any otlier Iwiiig." 
Of these wortla liy gays, that "they admit of two ructions. The 
word.^ in their natural sense only nimn, mpahh ofcd^tinj tfut ofrda- 
iion ill anythiii'j else. The arj^iment requires that tliey should mean, 
ifu-ii]fab/r v/ t-risttn;/ in nhitlvn v-ith imtfthing tf-si:" And why ia tliia 
non-natural sense to he forced upon '\'ery plain words i Because, says 
Mr, Mill,— 

" Tn what monnor im a ppBsiUci existfiiep iittt of nil rektion, incftnipatiblo 
with the notion of a cause I Hiive not cinusea a possibla pxistenco apart 
Iroia their effects ? Would the suu, for esiimjde, not exist if there were no 
earth or pliinLMs fop it to illuminate j Mr. Mansel seems to think tliiit TrhuC 
is i:apcibIo of exiating out of relation, canniit puasilily lie conceived or knotm 
ill relation, Hut this is not so. . . . FfKed frowi this coufusion of iilcaa, Mr, 
ManseVs argutHcnt rtsolves itaulf into this, — The same Being eanuot 


* Strittly spcuLiug, llm term tioufHenni, ne moBnicig that vhitb coa be apprcheoded < 
by the inlellpctT. impIieB » relation to the intellect npiirelliJIiiliiiig it; and in (his 
■76 vtiaififvav ii op^JOiei! "by Pinto to r& I'lp^fifvof — llio olijt'Ct of intellect to tbe objwC 
of «ight. IJul ae llio mleillEct van supposed to take cogni&nnoe of tbinf;? ob thgj 
lii^, in uppOsitioa lo 1ti£ sensiliyc pert'eii^Jon Of tliiogs as they appi'Ur. tlli: tciTil nouiMIMfl 
boc^oinc ^ynoujinoitA with tiiiiii/ in ttttlf {t& 3i' tsaW avto). And ttis mvoniDg' ia retained, 
in ttie Kanliun philoaopliy, ia whirh the naiimtnon is ideiiticai n'itli ihe Div^ i>n WfJS. But 
a* Kant denJcd to the human int«lkct nay iniiueiUiitit intiulJoii ai iLings aa tiw^ sra 
(thtiugb Kiicb an inCuJtioQ inay bp possilile to a &u]ii!rhiminn itit.cllect), hem'e the tenni 
iioii;fif»(iii in till; Kimtjiui plu1c«ophy is op]iosed tn all of whicb tbe humaJi iDtt:U(:i?t 
ijuL take poaitivti rognisnnifi?. Ilamilloin, in this rmpnct, agrees icilb Ktint, But nc-ithtr 
Rant nor Hainiltoii. in Oppositig \he thing in itseif to tho phmomttiBti, meant to imj 
the fonncr is necesiarily self-ciistent, and therefore uncreated. 

The Philosophy of the Conditioned, 2 r i 

thought by «3 Iwth 03 Cause and as Absolute, because a Caiise as mdi is not 
Absolute, aad Absolute, as such, is not a Cause ; wliicli is cxatttly as if hu 
hail said that Xewton cannot bo thought by us both as an Englislmian and 
ag a mathematician, because an f'nglishman, as such, is not a mathematician, 
uor a mathematician, as such, an Englishman." — (P. 92.) 

The "confusion of ideas" is entirely of ilr. Mill's own making, 
and is owing to his haWng mutilated tlie argument before criticising 
it. The argument in its original form consists of two parts ; the first 
intended to shew that the Absolute is not conceived as such in being 
conceived as a Cause ; the second to shew that the Absolute cannot be 
wnceived under different aspects at different times — first as Absolute, 
and then as Cause. It was tlie impossibility of this latter alternative 
whii'li drove Cousin to tlie liyjjothesis of a necessary causation from all 
eternity, ilr. ilill entii-ely omits tlie latter part of the argument, and 
treats the fonner part as if it were the whole. The part criticised by 
Mr. Mill is intended to prove exactly what it does prove, and no more ; 
namely, that a cause as S2(i:h is not the absolute, and that to know a 
cause as siicit is not ttj know the absolute. We presume Mr. Mill 
himself will admit that to know Xewton as a mathematician is not to 
know him as an Englishman. Whether he can be known separately 
as both, and whether the Absolute in tliis respect is a parallel case, 
depends on another consideration, which Mr. Mill has not noticed, 
tlie continuation of Mr. Mill's criticism is equally confused He 
saj-s : — 

"The whole of Ifr. SEansel's argument for the inconceivability of the 
Infinite and of the Absolute is one long iijHoniflo iii:it:'hi It lias been 
pointed out in a former chapter that the words Absolute and Infinite have no 
real meaning, unless we understand by them that which is alisolute or infinite 
in some given attribute ; as si>aco is called infinite, meaning that it is infi- 
nite in extension ; and as God is termed infinite, in the sense of possessing 
infinite power, and absolute in the sense of absolute goodness or knowledgi'. 
It has also been shown tliat Sir "W. Hamilton's argmneuts for the unknow- 
aUenesB of the Unconditioned do not prove that we cannot know an object 
which is absolute or infinite in some specific attribute, but only that wo 
cannot know an abstraction called ' The Absolute ' or ' The Infinite,' which 
iimpposed to have all attributes at once," — (P. 93.) 

The fallacy of this criticism, as reganls Sii* W. llaniilton, has been 
already pointed out : as reganls Mr. Manael, it is still more glaring, 
inasmuch as that writer expressly declares that lie uses tlie term 
flmtute in a different sense from that which Mr. Mill attributefl to Sir 
W. Hamilton. AVhen Mr. ilill charges Mr. Mansel with " undertak- 
ing to pnjve the impossibility" of conceiving "a Being absoliiteli/ jxist 
ft aheoluteltf wise"* (i.c., a^ he supposes, ^^cr/cc^ty just or wise), he 
actually forgets tliat he has just been criticising Mr. Mansel's definition 
of the Absolute, as something having a possible existence " out of all 

• " Eswninntion," p. 9-5. 

212 The Coiiteniporary Review. 

i-olfition." "WilljMr. Mill Lave tlie kindness to tell 113 what be 
means by goodness and knowledge " out of all relation ;" i. c, a good- 
ness and knowledge related to no object on which they can be exer- 
cised; a goodness which is good to nothing, a knowledge which knows 
nothing ? Jlr. Mdl bad better be cautious m talking about ignoratio 

I'roni tlie Absolute, Mr. Mill proceeds to the Infinite ; and here he 
commits the same mistake as before, treating a portion of an argument 
as if it were the whole, and citing a portion intended to prove one 
point as if it were intended to prove another. He cites a passage 
from Mr. jVfansel, in whicli it is said that " the Infinite, if it is to be 
conceived at all, must be conceived as potentially everything and 
actually nothing; for if there is anything in general wliicli it cannot 
become, it is thereby limited ; and if there is anything in particular 
which it actually is, it is thereby excluded from being any otlier thing. 
But, again, it must also be conceived as actually everything and poten- 
tially nothing; for an unrealised ixttentiality is likewise a limitation. 
If the Infinite can be that which it is not, it is by that very possibility 
marked out as incomplete, and capable of a higlier perfection. If it is 
actually everj-thing, it possesses no cliaracteristic feature by "which it 
can be distinguished from anything else, and discerned as an object of 
consciousness." On this passage Mr. Mill remarks, " Can a writer be 
serious who bids us conjure up a conception of sometliing which pos- 
sesses infinitely all conflicting attributes, and because we cannot do 
this without contradiction, would have xis believe that there is a con- 
tradiction in the idea of infinite goodness or infinite wisdom ?" The 
answer to this criticism is very simple. The ai'gumunt is not emiiloyed 
for the purpose which Mr. Mill supposes. It is eaijiloyed to shew 
that the metaphysical notion of the absolute-infinite, as the sum, 
potential or actual, of all possible existence, is inconceivable under the 
laws of human consciousness ; and thus that tlie absolutely first 
cxi.stence, related to nothing and limited by nothing, the ciis rcalissi- 
muM of the older philosophers, the jnire heituf of the Hegelians, cannot 
be attained as a starting-point from which to deduce all relative and 
derived existence. How far the empirical conception of certain 
mental attributes, such as goodness or wisdom, derived in the first 
instance from our own personal consciousness, can be positively con- 
ceived as extended to infinity, is considered in a separate argument, 
which Mr. Mill does not notice. 

Mr. Mill continues, "Instead of 'the Infinite,' substitute 'an infi- 
nitely good Being' [i.e., substitute what is not intended], and Mr. 
Mansel's argument reads thus : — ' If there is anything which an 
infinitely good Being cannot become — if he cannot become bad — that 
is a limitation, and the goodness cannot be infinite. If there is any- 

The Philosophy of t/te Conditioned. 2 13 

thing which an infinitely good Being actually is (namely, gooJ), he is 

«^xcluded from being any other thing, as being wise or powerful'" To 

tlie first part of this objection we reply by simply asking, "Is becom- 

iug bad a ' higher perfection' ?" To the second part we reply by Mr. 

;3Mill's favourite mode of reasoning — a parallel case. A ^vriter asserts 

■tliat a creature which is a horse is thereby excluded from being a dog ; 

fjnd that, in so far as it has the nature of a horse, it has not the nature 

of a dog. "What!" exclaims Mr. Mill, "is it not the nature of a dog 

to have four legs ? and does the man mean to say that a horse has not 

I'our legs?" We venture respectfully to ask Mr. Mill wliether he 

supposes that being wise is being " a thing," and being good is being 

another "thing"? 

But, seriously, it is much to be wished that when a writer like Mr. 
iliU undertakes to discuss philosopliical questions, he should acquire 
some slight acquaintance with the history of the questions discussed. 
Had this been done by our critic in the present case, it might 
possibly have occurred to him to doubt whether a doctrine supported 
by philosophers of such different schools of thought as Spinoza, Male- 
biancbe. Wolf, Kant, Schelling, could be (piite such a piece of trans- 
parent nonsense as he supposes it to be. All these writers are cited 
in Mr. Mansel's note, as maintaining the theorj' that the Absolute is the 
mrmfissimum, or sum of all existence; and their names might have 
saved Mr. Mill from the absurdity of supposing that by this expression 
was meant something " absolutely good and absolutely bad ; abso- 
lutelywise and absolutely stupid; and so forth." The real meaning 
of the expression has been already explained in the former part 
of this article. The problem of the Philosophy of the Uncon- 
ditioned, as sketched by Plato and generally adopted by subse- 
qnent philosophers, is, as we have seen, to ascend up to the first 
principle of all things, and thence to deduce, as from their cause, 
all dependent and derived existences. The Unconditioned, as the 
one first principle, must necessarily contain in itself, potentially or 
actually, all that is derived from it, and thus must comprehend, in 
embryo or in development, the sum of all existence. To reconcile this 
conclusion with the phenomenal existence of evil and imperfection, 
is the difficulty with which philosophy has had to struggle ever since 
philosophy began. The Manichean, by referring evil to an inde- 
pendent cause, denies the existence of an absolute first principle at 
all; the Leibnitzian, with his hypothesis of the best possible world, 
rirtually sets bounds to the Divine omnipotence ; the Pantheist 
identifies God with' all actual existence, and^ either denies the real 
existence of evil at all, or merges the distinction between evil and 
good in some higher indifference. All these conclusions may be 
ali'ce untenable, but all alike testify to the existence nf the problem, 

214 "^^^ Contemporary Review, 

and to the vast though iinsuccessfiil efforts -which man's reason has 
juade to solve it. 

The reader may now, perhaps, understand the reason of aji assertion 
wliieli Jlr. Mill r^^ards as supremely absurd, — namely, that we must 
believe in tlie existence of an absolute and infinite Being, though 
unable tf) conceive the nature of such a Beir^. To believe in such a 
IJeing, is simply to believe that God made the world : to declare the 
nature of such a IJeing inconceivable, is simply to say that we do not 
know how the world was made. If we believe that God made the 
world, \\n must believe that tliere was a time when the world was 
not, and when God alone existed, out of relation to any other being. 
But the mode of that sole existence we are unable to conceive, nor in 
what manner the firet act took place by which the absolute and self- 
existL-nt gave existence to the relative and dependent, " The contra- 
dictions," siiya llr. MUl, " wliicli !Mr. Mansel asserts* to be involved in 
the notions, do not follow from an imperfect mode of apprehending the 
Infinite and Absohite, but lie in the definitions of them, in the mean- 
ing of the wonla themseh'cs." They do no such thing : the meaning 
of the words is perfectly intelligible, and is exactly what is expressed 
by their definitions : tlie contradictions arise from the attempt to 
combine the attributes expressed by the words in one representation 
with others, so as to fonu a positive object of consciousness. Where 
is the incongruity of saying, " I believe that a being exists possess- 
ing certain attributes, though I am unable in my present state of 
knowledge to conceive the manner of that existence" ? Mr. Mill, at 
all eventti, is the last man in the world who has any right to complain 
of such a distinction — Mr. Mill, who considers it not incredible that 
in some part of the univerae two straight lines may enclose a si>ace, or 
two and two make five ; though lie is compelled to allow that under 
our pi-esent laws of thought, or, if he pleases, of association, we are 
unable to conceive how these things can ba 

It is wearisome work to wade thnmgh this mass of misconceptions ; 
yet we must entreat the reader's patience a little longer, while we say 
a few words in conclusion on perhaps the greatest misconception of 
all — though that is bold language to use with i-egard to Mr. 
Mill's metaphysics, — at any rate, the one which he expresses in the 
most vehement language. Mr. Mansel, as we have said, asserts, as 
many othei-s have asserted before him, that the i-elation between the 
conmumicable attributes of God and the corresponding attributes of 
man is one not of identity, but of analog}- ; that is to say, that the 
Divine attributes have the same relation to the Divine nature that 
the hunuiii attributes have to human nature. Thus, for example, 
there is a Divine justice and there is a Inmian justice ; but God 
is just as the Creator and Clovemor of the world, having unlimited 

The Philosophy of t/ie Conditioned. 2 1 5 

authority over all His creatures and unlimited jurisdiction over all 
fteir acts; and man is just in certain special relations, as havinj^ 
authority over some persons and some acts only, so far as is required 
for the needs of himian society. So, again, there is a Divine mercy 
and there is a human mercy ; but God is merciful in such a manner 
as is fittii^ compatibly with the righteous government of the 
universe ; and man is merciful in a certain limited range, the 
exercise of the attribute being guided by considerations affecting 
the welfare of society or of individuals. Or to take a more general 
case : Man has in himself a rule of right and wrong, implying sub- 
jection to the authority of a superior (for conscience has authority 
only AS reflecting the law of God) ; while God has in Himself a rule 
of right and wrong, implying no higher authority, and determined 
absolutely h^ His own nature. The case is the same when we look 
at moral attributes, not externally, in their active manifestatiojis, but 
internally, in their psychological constitution. If we do not attribute 
ta God the same complex mental constitution of reason, passion, and 
Trill,the same relation to motives and inducements, the same delibera- 
tion and choice of alternatives, the same temporal succession of facts 
in consciousness, which we ascribe to man, — it will follow that those 
psycholc^cal relations between reason, Avill, and desire, which are 
implied in the conception of human action, cannot represent the 
Krine excellences in themselves, but can only illustrate them by 
auricles from finite things. And if man is liable to error in judging 
t^tibe conduct of his feUow-men, in proportion as he is unable to place 
himself in their position, or to realise to himself their modes of thought 
and principles of action — -if the chUd, for instance, is liable to error in 
jw^ing the actions of the man, or the savage of the civilised man, — 
sorely there is far more room for error in men's judgment of the 
TOJB of God, in proportion as the difference between God and man 
i* greater than the difference between a man and a child. 

This doctrine elicits from Mr. Mill the following extraorduiary 
oiiburst of rhetoric : — 

" I^ instead of the glad tidings that there exists a Being in whom all the 
ezcelleiices which the highest human mind can conceive, exist in a degree 
uieoneeiTable to tu, I am informed that the world is ruled by a being whoso 
«Kribates are infinite, but what they are we cannot learn, nor what are the 
ponciples of hia govemmeni^ except that 'the highest human morality 
which we are capable of conceiving ' does not aanctiou them ; convince mo 
of it, and I will bear my fate as I may. But when I am told that I must 
helieve this, and at the same time call this being by the names whicli 
eipreu and affirm the highest human morality, I say in plain terms that 1 
will not Whatever power such a being may have over me, there is one 
thing which he shall not do : he shall not compel me to worship him. I 
will call no being good, who is not what I mean when I apply that epithet 
to my fellow-creatures; and if such a being can sentence me to hell for 
not eo calling him, to hell I will go." — (P. 103.) 

2 1 6 The Contemporary Review. 

We will not pause to coinnieiit on the temi>er and taste of this 
declamation ; we will simply ask wlietber Mr. Mill really supposes t]» 
word good to lose all community of meaning, when it is applied, aa it 
constantly is, to different persons among our " fellow-creatures," witi 
espi-ess reference to their different duties and difierent qualifications 
for performing theni ? The duties of a father are not the same as 
those of a son ; is the ■woi'd therefore wholly eciuivocal when we speak 
of one jierson as a good father, and another as a good soil ? Xay, 
when we s])eak generally of a man as good, has not the epithet a tacit 
reference to human nature and human duties? and yet is there no 
community of meaning when the same epithet is applied to other 
creatures ? 'H aperj) ttquc to toyov to oiKEiof, — the goodness of any 
being whatever has relation to the nature and office of that being. 
We may therefore test Mr. Mill's declamation by a parallel case. A 
wise and experienced father addresses a young and inexperienced 
sou : " My son," lie says, " there may be some of my actions which do 
not seem to you to be wise or good, or such as you would do in my 
place. Iteniembcr, however, that your duties are different from mine; 
that your knowledge of my duties is very imperfect ; and that there 
may be tilings which you cannot now see to be wise and good, but which 
yon may hereafter discover to be so." " Father," says the son, " your 
principles of action are not the same as mine ; the highest morality 
which I can conceive at present does not sanction them ; and as for 
believing that you are good in anything of which I do not plainly see the 
goodness," — We will not re-jjeat Sir. Mill's alternative ; we will only 
jisk whethei" it is not just possible that there may be as much difference 
between man and God as tliere is between a child and his father? 

This declamation is followed by a sneer, which is worth quoting, not 
on its own account, but as an evidence of the generosity with which 
Mr. Mill deals with the supposed motives of liis ant^onists, and of the 
accuracy of liis acquaintance witli the subject discussed He says :— 

" It is worthy of rcniiirk, that tbe clovibt whether words applied to God 
have thc^ir human signification, is only felt when the words relate to his 
nioral attributes ; it is never hcai-d of with regard to his power. "We are never 
told that God's omnipotence must not be supposed to mean an infinite 
degree of the power we know in man and nature, and that perhaps it does not 
mea i iliat he is able to kill ns, or consign us to eternal flames. The Divine 
Pow! is always interpnited in a cumpletcly human signification; hut the 
Divine Goo<iness and Justice must be understood to be such only in an 
uniiiti'Ui Mc sense. Is it unfair to surntise that this is because those vho 
speak w the name of God, have need of the human conception of his power, 
since an idea whi(;h can overawe autl enforce obedience must address itself 
to real feelings ; but are content that his goodness should he conceived only 
as sometliing inconceivable, l»ecausc they are so often required to teach 
doctrines respecting him which contlict irreconcilably with all goodness that 
we can conceive r' — (P. 101.) 

On the latter part of this pai-agraph we will not attempt to 

The Phihsophy of the Condiiioned. 2 1 7 

comment. But aa regards the former part, we meet Mr. Mill's con- 
fident assertion with a direct denial, and take the opportunity of 
informing him that the conception of infinite Power has suggested 
the same difficulties, and has been discussed by philosophers and 
theologians in the same manner, as those of infinite Wisdom and 
infinite Goodness. Has Mr. Mill never heard of such questions as, 
Whether Omnipotence can reverse the past ? — ^\Vhether God can do 
that which He does not will to do ? — ^Whether God's perfect fore- 
knowledge is compatible with his own perfect liberty ? — Whether God 
conld have made a better world than the existing one ? Nay, has not 
OM critic, in this very chapter, been arguing against Mr. Mansel on 
the question, whether the Absolute can be conceived as a Cause acting 
in time : and what is tliis but a form of tlie question, whether power 
Then predicated of God is exactly the same thing as power when pre- 
dicated of man ? Or why has it been said that creation ex nihilo — au 
absolutely first act of causation — is inconceivable by us, but from the 
impossibility of finding in human power an exact type of Divine power ? 
To attribute discreditable motives to an opponent, even to account for 
unquestionable facta, is usually considered as au abuse of criticism. 
What shall we say when the facts are fictitious as well as the motives ? 
Mr. Mill concludes this chapter with another instance of that 
igioratio clenehi which has been so abundantly manifested throughout 
his previous criticisms. His opponent, he allows, " would and does 
idmit+hat the qualities as conceived by us bear some likeness to the 
justice and goodness which belong to God, since man was made in 
God's image." But he considers that this "semi-concession" " destroys 
the whole fabric " of Mr. Mansel's argument. " The Divine goodness," 
he says, " which is said to be a different thing from human goodness, 
but of which the human conception of goodness is some imperfect 
Kfleiion or resemblance, does it agree with what men call goodness 
iathe esseTtce of the quality — in what c&nstituks it goodness ? If it 
floea, the ' Kationalista ' are right ; it is not illicit to reason from the 
toe to the other. If not, the divine attribute, whatever else it may be, 
is aot goodness, and ought not to be called by the name." Now the 
question really at issue is not whether the " Rationalist " argument is 
licit or illicit, but whether, in its lawful use, it is to be regarded as 
uMible or fallible. We have already quoted a jwrtion of Mr. 
lUnael's language on this point ; we will now quote two more 
pwaages, which, without any comment, M'ill sufficiently shew how 
itteriy Mr. Mill has mistaken the purport of the argument which he 
)u3 undertaken to examine. 

'We do not certainly know the exact nature and operation of tho moral 
•ttnbnteB of God : we can but infer and conjecture from what we know 
1^ the moral attributes of man: and the analogy between the Finite and tho 


2i8 The Contemporary Review. 

Infinite can never bo so perfect as to preclude all possibility of erroi in the 
process. But the possibility becomes almost a certainty, when ai\y one 
human faculty ia elevated by itself into an authoritative criterion of religious 
truth, without regard to those collateral evidences by which its decisions 
may he modified and corrected."* . . . "Beyond question, every donbt 
which OUT reason may suggest in matters of religion is entitled to ita due 
place in the examination of the evidences of religion ; if we will treat .it as a 
part only, and not the whole ; if we will not insist on a positive solution of 
that which, it may be, is given us for another purpose than to bo solved. It 
is reasonable to believe that, in matters of belief as well as of practice, God 
has not thought ht to anniliilate the free will of man, but has permitted 
speculative dillicultics to exist as the trial and the discipline of sharp and 
subtle intellects, as He has jjeniiitted moral temptations to form the trial 
and the discipline of strong and eager passions. , . . Wo do not doubt 
that the conditions of otir moral trial tend towards good, and not towards 
evil ; that human nature, even in its fallen state, bears traces of the image of 
ita Maker, and is fttted to be an instrunient in His moral government And we 
believe this, notwithstanding the existence of passions and appetites which, 
isolated and uiirout rolled, appear to lead in an opposite direction. Is it then 
more reasonable to deny that a system of revealed religion, whose unquestion- 
able tendency as a whole is to promote the glory of God and the welfare of 
mankind, can havo proceeded fruni the same Author, merely because we 
may be unable to detect the same character in some of its minuter features, 
viewed apart from the system to which they belong l"t 

"We have now considered in detail all that part of Mr. Mill's book 
which is devoted to the examination of Sir. W. Hamilton's chief 
and most characteristic doctrines — those which constitute the Philo- 
sophy of the Contliticmed. The remainder of the work, which deals 
chiefly with subordinate questions of psychology and logic, contains 
much from which we widely dissent, hut wliich we cannot at present 
submit to a special examination. !Nor is it necessary, so far as Sir W. 
Hamilton's reputation is concerned, that we should do so. If the 
Philosophy of tlie Conditioned is really nothing better than the mass 
of crudities and bhmders whicli ilr. Mill supposes it to be, the 
warmest admirers of Hamilton will do little in his belialf, even should 
they succeed in vindicating some of the minor details of liis teaching, 
li" on the other hand, it can be shown, as we have attempted to shew, 
that Mr. Mill is utterly incapable of dealing with Hamilton's philo- 
sophy in its higher branches, his readers may be left to judge for 
themselves whether he is implicitly to be trusted as regards the 
lower. In point of fact, they will do Mr, Mill no injustice, if they 
regard the above sjicciniens as samples of his entire criticism. We 
gladly except, as of a far higlier order, those chapters in which he is 
content witli stating his own views; but in the perpetual baiting of 
Sir W. Hamilton which occupies the greater part of the volume, wo 
recognise, in general, the same captiousness and the same incompe- 
tence which we have so often had occasion to point out in the course 
of our previous remarks. 

" Eampton Lccturee," p. 167, Fourth Edition. t I^^^-, P- IGfl. 

Th£ Philosophy of the Conditioned. 219 

It 18, we confess, an unpleasant and an invidious task, to pick tir 
pieces, bit by bit, the work of an author of high reputation. But 
Ife Mill haa chosen to put the question on this issue, and he has loft 
'those who dissent from him no alternative but to follow his exajiiple. 
He haa tasked all the resources of minute criticism to destroy piece- 
meal the reputation of one who has hitherto borne an honoured name 
in philosophy : he has no right to complain if the same measure is 
meted to himself: — 

" Xcque enim lex &?quior ulla 
Quam nccis artifices arte pcrire Etih." 

But it is not so much the justice as the necessity of the case which 
¥6 would plead as our excuse. Mr. Mill's method of criticism has 
reduced the question to a very narrow compass. Either Sir W. 
Hamiltoni instead of being a great philosopher, is the veriest blunderer 
that ever put pen to paper, or the blunders are !Mr. Mill's own. To 
those who accept the fii-st of tliese alternatives it must always remain a 
marvel how Sir W. Hamilton could ever have acquired his reputation ; 
how he could have been designated by his illustrious opixment, Cousin, 
M the " greatest critic of our age," or described by the learned Brandis 
as "almost unparalleled in the profound knowledge of ancient and mo- 
(lem philosophy." The marvel may jwrhaps disappear, should it be the 
case, as we believe it to be, that the second alternative is the tme one. 

But even in this case, it should be borne in mind that the blow 
will by no means fall on Mr. Mill with the samu weight with which 
he draigned it to fall on the object of his criticism. Sir W. Hamilton 
had devoted his whole life to the study of metaphysics ; he was pro- 
baUymore deeply read in that study than any of his contemporaiies ; 
Mid if all his reading could produce nothing more than the confusion 
find self-contradiction which Mr. Mill imputes to him, the result 
would be pitiable indeed. Mr. MiU, on the other hand, we strongly 
suspect^ despises metaphysics too much to be at the pains of studying 
than at all, and seems to think that a critic is duly equipped for his 
task with that amount of knowledge which, like Dogberrj-'s reading 
snd writing, " comes by nature." His work has a superficial clever- 
ness which, tt^ether with the author's previous reputation, will" insure 
it a certain kind of popularity ; but we venture to predict that its 
wtiination by its readers will be in the inverse ratio to their know- 
ledge of the subject But Mr. Mill's general reputation rests on 
gJDtmds quite distinct from his perfonnances in metapliysics ; and 
ttoi^ we could hardly name one of his writings from whose main 
principles we do not dissent, there is hardly one which is not better 
fitted to sustain his character as a thinker than this last, in which 
tie fatal charms of the goddess Necessity seem to have betrayed her 
champion into an unusual excess of polemical zeal, coupled, it must 
be added, with an unusual deficiency of philosophical knowledge. 


Hff aail uneri af Frtderirk W, SnUfrltou. 3t.A . fKfinalait «f 

1M« CbnpULa tj Iht EmboM}- at. Berlin, la !>« Vtlotam, wiO, 

StroivM. Bj tliB lat* Rrif F""P"I«'.'K W. RoBJSCTOfi, M-A 

bent of Trlnitf Chuprl, ErlghtUD. yint Sttjvs (13th £<ldtl<ni|. 

iotiei [lltli Edltimi], Thirct Seiin (llth Edltiiiu;, F'ourtb Sdiih (2u<I 

KipntUorit Lcffur/j on Ikf EpirfltJ to ttw ryriMhiarr- Bj t-he ]■'[« 

Bav. Fkeueuci-e W. Ruhekison, ILA. Third EdilUin. 
IfWurw n>iJ .lif'(r,v*i'i I'n Liirrary oiuf SkcUiI Tiipici. Bj the U 

Ul'V. FltEtJEnitK W. UoBERTtioK, M.A . Nuw EHiUnn. 
An Aiialjirii o/ Mr Triutiftoti't " In Mrmfriiim." hf l]in late He», Pit, 



'T^HIRTEEN yenra ago tli^e derg}Tiiau of a projnietar)' cbappl at 
X Brighton died^ and was buried with unraistakeable dismonstra- 
J;ion3 of sorruTv. A ministiy of slk yeais had endrared him to liis 
people, mid he had itikun sntticietit part iu public and local questions 
to be recognised beyond tlie boitiids uf his cougregation. Cut he had 
ouly published one sermon, and so many tlergjijien had lectured at 
Mechanics' Institutes, nnd spoken on Ecclesiastical Titles Eilla and 
early closing of shops, 1hat not much heed Was taken of one clergjj^ 
man more. As for any lagtijig iatfuence, his life seemed to hftf^H 
ended at the gtuve abruptly, imniat.ui'ely, for he died young. As for 
any mark ty \«i traced by Idiu ki the reliyious tliouglit of EuglanJ, 
EnjjUuid liad never heard of him. In a j-ear or two a volume of hia 
sermons was jmblished, wit!i the driiwliaeka inseparable from all 
posthumous publications. He had not ^mtteu them before they -wore 
preached, but after they were preached he had condensed them for 
■ Slime absent friend? — a task whieli he liad imposed on himself with 
^xucedinr^f dislike, and executed witU great siviftness and brevity,^^ 
J.lther volumea followed, more imperfect, less authoritative, less likely t^H 
repreaeut liiui nt hla best, to I'ulfll his req^uirementa of what a sermon 

Frederick William Robertso ft, 221 

ought to be, — too closely packed and merely su^estive, if not skeleton- 
like, to be popular. Yet their circulation spread with extraordinary 
rapidity; they ran even with the last novel ; they became a staple of 
the circulating library ; Tauchnitz published them, at Leipsic, in his 
collection of British authors ; in America and at home their popu- 
larity was unprecedented; and a thirteenth edition, last autumn, 
proves that it is steadily maintained. Mr. Robertson of Brighton 
was soon as prominent a name as the Church could point to. People 
were so ready to catch at almost anything he had said, that there 
was danger of publishing too much, of letting tlie world look on 
his most private and crude thoughts, of trusting to the uncertainty 
of casual reports by those who had heard liim, of being driven by his 
very fame to be ungenerous to it. There was an eager looking for 
some particulars of his life, as of a man who had strangely dropped 
away unknown, though surely among the 'best worth knowing of his 
time ; and all the while there was a steady growth and penetration of 
his influence, preparing men to receive his " Life and Letters " with 
an interest, curiosity, and welcome accorded only to a few. 

Some rare and singidar power must have dwelt in this modest 
working clergyman, to account for the story of a fame so unique in 
our pulpit literature ; and whatever may be the secret of his influence, 
we are not likely to have further means of judging than these now 
before us in his Life and AVorks. 

Frederick Itobertson was born in London in 181G, and passed his 
childhood in Leith Fort, where his earliest recollections were of " my 
pony, and my cricket, and my rabbits, and my father's pouiters, 
and the days when I proudly carried his game-bag, and my ride 
home with the old gamekeeper by moonhght in the frosty evenings, 
and the boom of the cannon, and myfatiier's orderly, the artilleryman 
who used to walk with me hand in hand." He spent a happy, bright 
life between Leith, Beverley, and Tours, and at sixteen entered the 
Edinburgh Academy. He had an iron constitution, and excelled in all 
athletic games, and he was at the same time studious, quiet, sensitive, 
imaginative. His love of truth was intense and passionate, only 
equalled by his noble scorn for meanness, his purity and courage. 
After winning distinctions at the Academy, he attended the Edinburgh 
University for a session, and at eighteen was articled to a sohcitor 
at Bury St. Edmunds. A year of this work was enough to test its 
uncongeniality and prevent its becoming his profession. His father 
was anxious he should enter the Church: he. thought it would be 
natural to the deep religious feeling of his son's character ; but at last 
the army was settled, to Eobertson's delight. "I was rocked and 
cradled," he said afterwards, "to the roar of artillery, and the very 
name of such things sounds to me like home j a review, suggesting the 


Tlte Cmilemporary Review. 

coiicHptiun of a real batLk-, impresses me to tears." His naine ws 
placed oil tlie list of a cavalry ragimeut for India, aiid he threw hiniself 
■with liis usual eriei^' and passion into the needJ'ul jiitparfttioii, stmlifil 
Iiidian politics and people*, Indian cainpBigns. aud Indliui Christianity. 
Tie had jKisitively declined the Churth, saying. " AnylUing hut that ; 
I oDi Bot fit ibr it." T(i his father's iirjfiiig he had returned the final 
niply, " No, iifVtir/' But ivhile liia t-oinniission was dylayed. accident 
threw him iu the way of the present Bishop of Cashel, who tried 
ihasuiule liitti from the anny. " If 1 had not met a c&ttaiii person,^ 
lie WTot« afterwards, " 1 should uot have ehauged my profossioi] ; if 
had not known a certain lutly I alioulJ uot pruhahly have met tldl 
peraon : it" tlmt laily had not liad a deliuate dauyihter who was dig 
turlied hy the harkiuy of my dog ; if my dog had not harked the 
night, I should now hiivc Ijeeii in the Dragoons, or fi^rtilizing the sc 
nf IndtEL Who ean siiy that these thiuya ^Yu^e not nnlered?" H< 
left the decision to his father; was malriculiited at Oxford; and 
fortnight afterwards he received the otter of a cavah'y coniinissioi 
CharactcristiiJtdly, he never tlinehcd fiijiu his new life. He would nf 
have chosen it; but he would not go back from it. "He waa the 
most inllexihlo jierson, with all his almost uiorbid delicacy of feeling 
— an iron will, iiuposaihle to move when it was fixed hy jiriiiciple." 

It must have cost him singular pain : not because he was not a Clii 
tian, fur hLs ambition had been to confess Christ and do gocul in the 
army; but I>ecft«3e Ids whole life was stnmy to the citllingof a soldier 
Untd he died the soldier spirit would assert itself. He aug^'eated to 
his father that he luij^lit take a mihtary chajilidncy. He continnally 
borrowed Ida illustrate pus from the Ijanack and the laimp, and WfU^ 
afritid " they are too military." He longed " fur a suldiei's spirit in thJH 
Chui-ch." " I wish," lie wi-ute, idter Chilliau wallah, " I had l»i;eu with 
my own wundLvus gallant regiment in tliat campaign." Walkina^ 
home one evening, at Bri<<htuu, in his di-agoon's cloak, he tlioii^ht 1>^| 
" ought to he lying in it. at res.t. at Moodkee. whwe the Thiid fuught 
so gallantly." " Ufteu with must uuclerital emphasis did he espit 
his wish to die sword in hand a^inat a French invader/' For soi 
time be could scarcely pass a soldier in the atreet without obsen'i 
— " \^'eIl, so I am to have uotliing to do witli them ; " or, " I'oc 
fellowg ! Few care for then- soula 1 " To the last he " coidd not s( 
a regiment maureuvi-e nor ortilleiy in motiou without a choking sen-' 
satiun," and would rather ■' lead a forloru hope tlian mount the pid}>itu 
stairs." 1 

It was with a soldier's aelf-siicrilice to duty tliat ho went to Oxford : 
it was the spirit of a soldier that he earried lliere into Ids life, con- 
feaaing Chi'iat with a bold and manly fervoiu'. His I'^ideuco 
ISrasttnose pas.ged simply away. But fur his scrupulous modesty 



Frederick William Robertson. 223 

xvigbt have taken honours : but for his sensitive reticence he might 
Jiave made many friends. He read carefully, attended lectures 
sixteen hours in the week, varied theology with Bucklaud's geolo- 
gical class, mastered Plato, Aristotle, and liutler, spoke often, though 
Tiot effectively, at the " Union," noted the drift of the prevailing currents 
of thought, and recoiled from what he thought the donnishness of 
"University life. The minute detail and technical knowledge asked by 
the schools seemed to him a waste of time and mental power, yet 
liis Greek compositions evince exquisite taste and grammatical accu- 
racy. If he chafed against the system, it was rather against what he 
conceived to be its spirit than its requirements. Moral tone and 
large and comprehensive ideas were what he valued first, and the 
men he sought were the thoughtful and devout. He felt afterwards 
that he might have done more. Without yielding his conviction that 
the prestige of Univeraity honours " is foi^otten or slightly looked upon 
by the Ifu^ woi'ld," he advised others that tlie mental liabits they 
demand " are incapable of being replaced by anything." To choose 
hia own course of reading he felt was " utterly, mournfully, irrepar- 
ably wrong. The excitement of theological controversy, questions 
of the day, politics, gleams and flashes of new paths of learning, 
led me at full speed for three years, modifying my plans perpetually. 
jVw I would give £200 a year to have read, on a bad plan, chosen for 
me, but steadily." 

His first curacy was at Winchester, where " liis way of life was 

most regular and simple. Study all the morning ; in the afternoon, 

hard fagging at visitation of the poor, in the closest and dirtiest 

streets ; his evenings were spent alone, but very often with his rector." 

He devoted himself to the Sunday schools, and trained tlie teachers 

Mmself. In his study he applied liimself to Hebrew and Biblical 

criticism, and thought afterwards he had developed his mind with more 

iiiieUty at Winchester than anywhere. But he says, "I begin to 

think and tremble as I never did before, and I cmiiwt live to Christ. 

My heart is detached indeed from earth, but it is not given to Him. 

All I do is a cross, and not a pleasure." His morbid self-analysis 

tonnented him with bitter thoughts, for his impulses still sprang 

more from duty than from love, and his service was measured by 

law. After a year of this eager, energetic, but unsatisfied life, 

lie was seized mth the impression that the consumptive malady 

of his family was upon him. It Klled him with a depressing 

"lethargy of body and apatliy of mind," from which Ids rector 

advised him to escape by relaxation from work and change of scene ; 

and having sorrowfidly passed his examination for priest's orders, he 

turned his steps to Geneva. There, after a short stay, he married j 

and on returning to England, accepted the curacy of Christ Church 

224 ^'''^ Contemporary Rcvieiv. 

at Chelteuhain, where he remaiiietl for almost five years, feeling it 
"far less satisfactoiy than Winchester, partly from the superficial 
nature of the place, partly from the effect of the temptations, and 
frittering away of tinie," but bound to it by the most devoted attach- 
ment to his rector, Mr. Boyd. Here also his gifts as a preacher came 
to be recognised, though in no way adequate to their largeness and 
brilliance. And here the half-morbid sadness of his character 
burdened his heart with the fear that, — ■ 

" As it is, I live and die unheard, 
'\^''itIl a most voiceless thought, sheathing it like a sword." 

He believed his sermons to be uuiutelligible. He fancied " duties 
left undone whicli others might deem only too well performed." 
In his diary " there are long lists of poor and sick whom he visited, 
and accounts of sums paid out of a small income to clear off the debts 
of struggling workmen ;" and in the same diary he ^^Tites, " Low and 
dispirited. I mouni, not that I cannot be happy, but that I know not 
what to do nor liow to do it." He accuses himself of neglect of the 
poor, and yet a friend of that time recollects "his calling on me just 
before liis going abroad, as late as ten o'clock at liiglit, and taking me 
with him a distance of three miles, througli such a storm as Lear 
was out in, to visit a poor disconsolate old man who seemed to have 
simt himself out from human sympathies, and therefore all the more 
enlisted his." But the conviction of fadure pressed too heavily to be 
shaken off. If men talked to him of the seed he was sowing, he would 
point to the pavement, and ask "if he might reap a harvest there!" 
His health suffered ; and at last he \m\s, compelled t*} trj' again the 
healing and rest of foreign travel. After ■walking for six weeks 
through the Tyrol, lie lingered for nine at Heidelberg, where he took 
duty for tiie English chaplain. Fi-om Schaffliausen he wrote to his 
wife — " More and more I feel that 1 am not a minister and never 
can be one." But the resumption of active work ami the intei-est of 
the congregation restored his mind to a liealtliier tone. Socinians and 
Swedenborgians and people who had long been absent from church 
listened to his teaching, yielded, and besought him to remain. He 
liad resigned his curacy at Clieltenhani, and was free to choose, but 
he recognised that his true work was iu England, and, rejecting the 
pleadings at Heidelberg, he begged his fatlier to look out some 
country parish, where he coidd deal witli the poor only, and have the 
work to himself, — " My mind has gone througli a complete revolntion 
in many things ; I am resolved now to act and feel and tliink alone." 

Not long after his return, he wrote to the Bisho]) of Oxford, whom 
he Imd known at AVincliester, asking him for employment. He wjia 
at once oifered the cluirch of St. Elibe's, Oxford ; and, differhig a-s he 

Frederick William Robertson. 225 

Jid so widely from the bishop's views, with characteristic manliuess, 
Tie waited on him, and " frankly told him that he did not hold, and 
therefore could not preach, the doctrine of baptismal regeneration. 
The bishop replied, ' I give my clergy a large circle to work in, and if 
you do not step beyond that I do not interfere. I shall be glad, how- 
ever, to hear your views on the subject.' An hour's conversation 
followed, and at the close his lordship said, ' Well, Mr. Eobertson, you 
have well maintained your position, and I renew my offer.' " During 
the three months he served St. Ebbe's, " the rough, poor people of the 
parish made themselves over to him at once;" though the church was 
in one of the worst parts of the town, " the uudei^raduates rushed to 
Iiear liim in crowds, and hiing breathlessly on every word he uttered ;" 
and the depression with which he revisited Oxford, with "its cold, 
formal, forbidding conventionalisms," yielded a little to these unexpected 
j>roofs of influence. He had scarcely begun to feel the brightness 
stealing over the shadows of his life, when Trinity Chapel, Brighton, 
■was offered to him by the trustees, and out of a chivalrous sense of 
duty to his bishop distinctly refused. On the offer being renewed, he 
jiut aside the treble emolument, the importance of the position, the 
possible congeniality of the work, and difficulties that had arisen 
about St. Ebbe's, and left himself entirely in the bishop's hands. " He 
replied that he thought it my duty to accept Trinity ; so I go, reluc- 
tantly. . . . Tlie half-way house is behind ; and if Brigliton be 
another form of Cheltenham, home cannot be very far off." The 
incidents of tliis brief curacy are alike honourable to bishop and 
curate ; refreshing in days when public characters are so hidden by 
the dust of party strife ; yet no more than might be expected from 
naen in whom the feeling of a Christian gentleman is stronger than 
tlie narrowness of an ecclesiastic. It is by his work at Brighton that 
Mr. Kobertsoiv A^-iU be remembered; it was there that his too brief 
ministry ripened, his powers were develoi^ed, his teaching was enun- 
ciated in ite fullest form. He entered on it sadly, " with small 
hope," he says, "and much misgiving:" lie iivrites of "great misgiv- 
ings as to that kind of success which a proprietary chapel needs :" 
he felt that he had " only a few years to live." It was a contrast 
to the enthusiastic and almost fierce enei^ with which he flung him- 
self into the work at Winchester. His life and mind had each gone 
tlirough a complete revolution in many things. 

All the influences that his early religious life acknowledged were 

from the Evangelical school of thought. It was the aspect of Christian 

doctrine and life with which he was familiar, which imconsciously 

worked itself into his mind and stemped iteelf upon his conduct, the 

most earnest and the fairest side of the Church to wliich he could look 

in his boyish days. The manifold activities, and benevolent and 


Tfi£ Conte7np07'ary Review, 

chivalrous euterprises. aad waiin iiii]>cilHi;s, and the generol plnj- ^md 
etir of lite in the kingdom of God in the England of the iiitiet<?enth 
(■■eiitmyj «"ere a^aociatod witli the EvaugcUtial pailyi Its leaders hud 
been iX'iil find almost heroic rnen, of viycirous, true, and healthy natures, 
tharoughly possessed with the ideaa they wrought out, thoraughly 
Rinipk^ find lUrect in their relation to God, honeet and loyal and 
surpassinj^ly earnest in their relations to men. Their inlluence liad 
]Missed into the age, and, through it, afiected the generation beyond 
them, Newmau and Arnold it affected directly. each in his omi way; 
Itobertson indirectly ; nay, it would he hard to find any gre4it thinkei 
and leader nf opinion among us in these last forty years that it haa 
not alfected, and wiio, from whatever point to wluch recoil hiis forced 
him, ^VDidd not ai^knowledgu ita help as jJi'atel'ulIy yierhaps as New- 
man. Two elements of it made a deep impression ou liohertsou — ^its 
imworldhness aud spirituality. He learned from it hia revei-euce for 
tlie Bihle, hia hahit of Biide study, hia conviction of the rwxlity of 
prayer. When dressing, he was accustomed to commit to memory a 
certain numherof verses of the New Testament, and "said afterwards to 
a frieiid, that no stumer was any Christian doctrine or duty mentioned 
in convei-sation than all the passages Waiiag on the point seemed 
tu array themselves in order before him." He liked tu mark the 
iucideiit^ of his life, and connect them with the persomil wutidiiiig 
aud bve of God. He thought Brainerd's Life stood (done as a speci- 
men of biography, and read in it and Henry Martyu daily. Ho 
lingered over hooks of devotithu. He would often retire for [jrayer, 
and WTote, " I can always see, in uncertainty, the leading of OikI's 
liaiid after pitiyer, when everyfclnng seems to be made jdain before the 
eyes," He set apart certain subjaets to be pmyed over ou each day 
of the week, He held the pre-udllcnmal reign of Clirist, and inlo- 
I'ested hin].self;in Jewish niissiona. As he Ibund this EvangeliuiU 
systtrn in hooks, as he saw it in his friends, as he lueasured it by its 
great eervices, he yielded to it without resistance, Mith the f\ill per- 
suasion of its nobility and worth. He must have felt its intensity 
of spirilLial life, its directnea*, its syiupathy witli human ^iimt and 
sorrow, the man!y, bixmd, sinewy individuality of its leaders. Jlut 
when he went tr,' Oxford, it was the traditional aud not tlie primitive 
Evangiilieal school that he found, a ]mrtv whose life waa ftlitjuly ent«?r- 
ing on decay. Tlie older, and l^^raver. and m-tnlier men had passed 
away, in whom defects were obscured by groat services and 8elf-tt.)n- 
secration. In the lesser men the weaknesses and deticieneies weiv 
exaggf^iiited and palpable. Wiat had once been a transitory jar !i.iiil 
dialocjition of fiieling was now a [lerpetual irritjmt. The Evangelical 
body was confesaedly, and already becondng boastfully^ naiTOw. 
It had originated a movement of spiritual and moral earnestness, 

Frederick William Robertson. 227 

not of intellectual life. Starting from unhesitating and comfortable 
certainty, certainty that could be grasped in fixed and clearly cut pro- 
positions, it had little sympathy with the doubts that ■weigh heavily 
on many souls. It would have all things stereotyped and settled as 
its leaders had left them ; it would aUow of no advance, no develop- 
ment, no variation. It looked suspiciously on science; was apt to 
be intolerant, to arrogate to itself the exclusive possession and 
interpretation of the truth. The sameness of type in it grew to be 
monotonous : whatever was weak and petty came up to the surface. 
It was already, as parties will, ringing the changes on phrases of which 
^ full meaning had been lost, that became now party Shibboleths. 
It had risen up to protest against mere duU orthodoxy and the 
polished worldliness and heartless Christianity and fashionable Socin- 
lanism of the last century. As a movement, it had spent at least much 
rf its force. It was being checked on its way through the Church by 
Mction with coarser and more worldly minds, the less ardent and less 
holy. A new movement had already risen against it. Keble's Hymns 
were supplanting Newton's : St. Mary's, at Cambridge, was no longer 
packed with gownsmen to hear Simeon: but at Oxford, the best 
intellects of the University were drawn to St Marj^'s by Newman. 
Mr. liobertson encountered the two movements in conflict. He 
curied to Oxford his instinctive love and passionate desire for 
tiuth, a reckless courage in pursuit of it over any new and even 
poilous ground of inquiry, a mind of great activity and keenness, 
ud a high and chivalrous ideaL Even then he held the truth 
to be sometMng infinitely higher than systems; and commg in 
contact with both the religious parties at the University, he com- 
mitted himself at first to neither. He found good and evil iu both ; 
lie saw that each was asserting truths that tiie other was obscuring ; 
lie longed to see these truths in unison. Yet he seems to have turned 
ahnoflt fiercely against the "Tracts for the Times:" his copies of 
"Tract XC." and Dr. Pusey's " Letter to the Bishop of Oxford" are 
laigely annotated by his answers ; he formed a society of seven to 
connteract the tendency of the Tracts by prayer and conversation over 
the Bible ; he called the movement " accursed," because he believed 
"the curse of God would fall upon it." There was some reason for 
his strong speaking. Mr. Newman's sermons had exercised their com- 
mon fascination on his intellect ; many sympathies and tastes instinct- 
ively led him to the Tractarian party ; he was thrown into " a long 
trance," " a season of utter and inexpressible darkness." He felt the 
need of a strong recoiL He had calmly examined the Tracts by 
the help of the Acts of the Apostles ; he had convinced himself that 
thdr theory of the Church was wrong ; it was a conviction for life ; 
»od as long as he lived, "the Oxford delusion heresy," as he styled it, 

2 28 The Contemporary Review. 

had no more determined oppoueut — when it came in his way. He 
wrote some severe and impetuous words; but he joined in no crj 
against the men whose \'iews lie loudly condemned, he spoke cordiaUj 
of tlieir manliness and devoutness. Tliey were in error ; but he 
called them no names, met them without abuse, strove in this, as In 
all else, to discern and acknowledge the truth that gave consistency 
and hold to the falsehoods. With the teaching of the Tracts as a 
system he had no sympathy. In his sennons he opposed Sacrament- 
alism, Apostolical Succession, and the fixed authority of the early 
Church ; and he speaks of Tractarianism as out of date, as the 
reproduction of a hfe in death. And the system he had held by 
seemed to have little sympathy with him. Over a mind so subtle and 
quick and eager, a nature so sensitive to doubt, it woidd have but a 
feeble intellectual hold at the best. It seemed to repress and not to 
meet such restlessness and ■\'ague seeking of human souls. And when 
this nature was met by the drifting impulses of thought at the 
University, act-ed on by the new forces that were moving in the 
Church, the hold of the system would be feebler still. 

At Winchester there was little change. In a prayer written at 
coUege there are the touching words, " fatlier, I am like a child, 
blown about by every wind of doctrine ;" but he soon writes, " Even 
the Tractarian heresy has vanished from my mind amid the stemei 
conflict with worldly passions and pure atheism." It was at Chel- 
tenham that the change seems to have been wrought gradually out, 
and by such severe pangs and agony of mental conflict as to leave a 
deep mark upon his life. He was repelled by the superficial nature ol 
the place, and hurt by the sharpness and narrowness of religious party 
feeling ; ho found himself " coming into collision with conventional 
phraseology and several received views." The ideal he had formed oi 
the Evangelical school was rudely shocked ; and lie says, half bitterly, 
of some of their newspajKirs and extreme partisans, " They tell lies in 
tlie name of God, others tell them in the name of the devil — that is 
the only difl'erence." He thinks the state of the Evangelical clergy 
lamentable. " I see sentiment instead of principle, and a miserably 
mawkish rcHgion superseding a state which once was healthy. Theii 
adherents I love less tlian themselves, for they are but the copies ol 
their faults in a larger edition." On the other hand, he thinks Dr. 
Pusey's doctrine on the Eucharist "just as dangerous, but much more 
incredible than transubstantiation." " With the Tractarians," he says 
again, " it is bdlum inierncdnum." He quite agrees with a corre- 
si>ondent that " we ought to pi-each tlie Calvinistic doctrines in the 
proportion in which they are found in Scripture, connected always witli 
election unto holiness ;" but he becomes more possessed of the idea ol 
Christ as, in His life and aspect to humanity, the sum of the doctrine 

Frederick William Robertson, 229 

of God. With the progressive development of thought, niid a lai^r 
readily questions meet him, some of tliem no more tliun new aspocts 
of old and apparently settled questions ; and he can find no sohition, 
^d is too honest, inquisitive, and loyal to the truth to be satisfied 
with what may pretend to be solution, and will fare any ililliculty, 
pain, or be\*'ilderment, so that truth may be won. Carlyle and Cler- 
mm metaphjTsics come into his reading, detaching him still nmre 
from the past and driving him forward. " It is an awful moment," 
he said afterwards, " when the soul begins to find that the jirops 
on which it has blindly rested so long are, many of them, rotten, 
and be^;iDS to suspect them all; when it begins to feel the nothing- 
oesa of many of the traditionary opinions which have been i-eccived 
Kith implicit confidence, and in that horrible insecurity begins to 
doubt whether there be anything to believe at all." Clinging to sym- 
pathy like a woman, shrinking sensitively like a woman from uieutal 
pain and alienation, lie found himself Incoming a theological Islimael. 
His party did not understand him, frowned upon his misgivings, and 
"profanely bade him stifle doubt;" his teachers terrified him, his 
friends melted from him ; and, hard as it was to break witli the piMt and 
struggle through the dark with doubt, it was made harder by loneli- 
ness, suspicion, and misunderstanding, by the wrenching of affections 
Uiat bad grown into his soul. He seemed to himself insincere ; bis 
ministry a vast failure ; perpetually bewildering jwople, and " saying 
U« thing I do not mean — teaching and preaching when my own 
heart is dark, and lacks the light I endeavour to imjiart." "The 
eiamination of particular forms of belief involved him in the examina- 
tion of a great deal more. "When the rains descended, and tlie fliKids 
came, and the wind burst upon his house, he must needs go d(;wn and 
loci at its foundation." Life and work at Cheltenham were no lon''er 
possible ; for the body craved rest as much as the jaded mind. Wlieii 
atmad, it seemed at first little better; "restless," he writes, "whether 
I sleep or waka . . . Take one single night as a specimen — the 
n^t before last. I dreamed that some one was telling me that all 
ffly friends were mourning over the deterioration of my sermons, &c., 
their onintelligibility and emptiness. I woke, went asleep again, and 
then was arraigned for duties left tuidone — sick unvisited, schools 
ntai^t, &C., with a minuteness of detail — names I never heard of, 
ic^ all of which it would be childish to^lieve." He anxiously insisted 
that his difficulties sprang up from witliin, that they were suggested 
by his own reading and thought, and the freer spirit of inquiry. Xo 
UBD could be unaware of them who Itad read theohigical and philr^O' 
^lical controversy, who, "at tUfierent times, has lived in the atmf>- 
^•here of thought in which Jonathan E>lwanls, Plato, Lucretius, 
^h«Du Browne, Cariyle, Emerson, and Fichte live<i, — who haa steepen 1 

230 Tft£ Contemporary Review. 

his aoTil and memory in Byron's strong feelings — ^who has walked with 
Newman years ago to the hrink of an awful precipice, and chosen 
ratlier to look upon it calmly, and know the worst of the secret of the 
darkness, than recoil with Newman, in fear and tenderness, back to the 
infallibility of Itomanism." 

That there was a morbid and imdue sensitiveness at the bottom of 
much that he felt about Clieltenham and the ministry no one can 
doubt. The habit of introspection, natural to a spirit like his, was as 
fatal to his peace as the shattering of his previous system of thought ; 
and it was not till lie fell into work at Heidelberg that his letters 
recovered calmness and justness of tone. Nor woidd that have been 
possible, even then, had not his intellectual and spiritual ferment been 
subsiding. He Iiad — 

" fought his doubts and gathered strength ; 

He would not make his judgment blind ; 
lie faced the spectres of thu mind. 
And laid them." 

Tlie light was breaking more rapidly than he had hoped, and 
when he entered on his I'eal life-sen-ice at Brighton, the old order 
had already changed — giving place to the new. It was {Mitly 
tlie change from passivity to activity of thought He had held 
the system he had been taught, but it had never become part of him- 
self. It was ready to his hand, and he had not rejected it ; but it was 
in no way worked up in his own mind. So long as his mind was not 
deeply stirred, and the problems he hatl to face had no visible root in 
his own existence, it seemed to answer, as well at least as he fancied 
any system could answer. But when his mind was roused and he was 
driven to grasp the truth dh-ectly, and for himself, the system as snch 
gave way. He lias sketched the struggle in his sermon on " The 
Loneliness of Clmst : " — " Tlierc is a moment in every tnie life^ — to 
some it comes very early — when tlie old routine of duty is not large 
enough ; when the parental roof seems too low, because the Infinite 
above is arcMng over the soid ; when the old formulas in creeds, 
catechisms, and articles seem to be narrow, and they must either 
be thrown aside, or else transformed into living and breathing 
realities." Many a young man is passing through a milder form of 
the same revolution; comes to a crisis when his thoughts elnde 
the control and ordering of the old dogmatic propositions ; finds 
liimself drifting rudderless into tlio dark ; if he bares his heart is 
shunned or scolded or branded, and is left to seek his own way, or 
patiently drift somehow into light. Well for tliose who find some 
worthier aspect of the Church, whom it does not treat with dogmatic 
and unphilosophic rebuke, in whom it recognises the effects of a dis- 
turbed and inquisitive age, and in its own strength of certainty holds 

Frederick William Robertson. 23 1 

out to them the help of sympathy. Their doubt and temporary be- 
wildennent may not be the fault of the system. They have accepted 
it as traditionally right, but they have not proved it, are not masters 
of it, find it to tlieni no better than a cumbrous Goliath's sword that 
has been hung up unused in the priestly sanctuary. The fault lies 
in their apprehension of the system, which had never yet been con- 
nected in a living way with the strivingg and results of their own 
thoughts. It may be the very system that they will finally embrace ; 
but necessity is laid upon them of finding that out, necessity of active 
and developed powers, which by tlie very life that is in them yield 

Such development of thought is natural, and to higher minds 
essential But circumstances may greatly stimulate it, and to Mr. 
Eobertson the circumstances were not wanting. If the change showed 
the growth of his powers, and how men " rise on stepping-stones of 
their dead selves, to higher things," it was also witness to a change 
in the religions thought of the country. The fixity, and earnestness, 
snd untroubled faith of Evangelicalism had been a welcome rest, 
and there were many whom, in its naiTowest aspect., it continued to 
satisfy. But it could not stay tlie rapid advance of thought and 
adaitific culture, nor prevent fresh ideas from entering tlie domain of 
theolt^. Mr. Robertson's mind was one of the likeliest to catch 
these new impulses ; his party in the Church was one of the last to 
acknowledge them. An insensible alienation sprang up — a feeling of 
iadation, and afterwards of bitterness. He recognised the need of a 
wider view of Ufe, a profounder view of revelation, than was familiar 
to those about him. Starting from tlie human, he passionately longed 
to Bee it, at every point, in harmony with the Bivine. The specula- 
tions of philosophy, the residts of science, the deeper thoughts of 
human souls, could not belong to a world outside of tlie Bible, i^ath 
which it had no concern. They coidd not be merely a worldly element 
«id obfitmction to the truth. If the Bible could find no room for them, 
the thought and science of the time would march on independent of 
the Bible, secretly hostile to it. No exconmiuuication and protest of 
the Church would forest them. Could the Church be right to exclude 
them? Was there not something Divine in thought itself— in the 
efibrt to arrange and comprehend all outward phenomena, to penetrate 
through them up to the laws whereby God impressed His "ivill upon 
the universe ? Could all these be set down as merely secular, and 
was there no clue and place for them in the kingdom of God ? " That 
Christianity is true, that Christ's character is high, that to do good is 
better than to do wrong, I suppose are axioms. Such points never 
seemed imcertain to me, except in moments of very bad dyspepsia. 
■ . , But suppose a man puts the question, ir/w was Christ? 

232 The Contemporary Review. 

\\liat are miracles 1 What do you mean by inspiration ? Is the resur- 
i-ection a fact or a mytli ? "What saves a man — his own character 01 
that of another ? Is the next life individual consciousness, or con- 
tinuation of the consciousness of the universe ? " These were somt 
of the questions which the time was continually forcing upon th( 
heed of the Church, which, to minds like Mr. Eobertson's, de- 
manded a wiser answer and on broader grounds than Church parties 
were disposed to give. The answer, he conceived, was clear to him 
now. It had come to him through much darkness, and a lonj 
conflict that wore down his spirit. The shock he felt at finding 
his old system break up had loosened for the time his hold 
on everything, and left him with only the prayer of Ajax on his 
lips. "NVhen he came to Brighton he felt that his prayer had been 
answered, tliat his faith rested on absolutely sure foundations, thai 
the worst of the puzzle was solved, that the revelation of God waf 
hostile to sin alone, that it furnished the true principles for the final 
development of humanity. His preaching from that time assumed itf 
distinctive features and force ; like his own picture of St. Paul, " he 
had a heart, a brain, and a soul of fire;"* and if ever there was a man 
wliose bearing and character added weight to his teaching, it was he. 
His personal qualities were more like those of ideal knighthood 
than for a busy world in a busy century. His loyalty to truth and 
honour, and his friends ; his absolute, ready, yet often torturing, aelf- 
sacrifioc ; liis chastity of heart, from w^hich all impurity seemed tc 
slink away discarded and rebuked ; his dauntless courage, his thought- 
ful and delicate courtesy at whatever cost to himself, his passionate 
reverent worship, were features essentially chivalrous. Exquisitelj 
sensitive, he was also widely sympathetic, and those who came in nc 
nearer contact with him than the pulpit felt that he underatood theii 
secret, that they could trust and confide in him. HJs position as fl 
teacher filled him with an awe that passed into his teaching, and 
made him shrink from anything frivolous and unworthy. His con- 
versation was brilliant, yet intensely modest. "I have seen him,' 
said a friend, " take a flower, and rivet tlie attention of his listeners 
with a glittering stream of eloquent and glowing words, which ht 
poured forth without premeditation and almost in a soliloquy." Bui 
he never spoke for display; and if he was expected to shine, would 
shrink into the most icy reser\'e. His features and bearing were 
marked by exceeding refinement and delicacy. In the pulpit, he 
was " free from trick and affectation in maimer, voice, and gesture. 
He remained long in prayer during the hymn which preceded the 
sermon, and then stood up with eyes so closed that they seemed 
sunk into his head." Mr. Brooke must describe what followed : — 

• " Ij;ttiirCB on the Episllea to the Corintliiaiifi," p. CDP, 



Frederick Wiiiiam Robertson. 233 

'^ If the iiiOKt toiuiuunng i'lni]Li(!iJCo IVir tin.' !:]j]g]iwh pcupk- fjc that of tlu' 

niiiii wlio is uU Tiut luneti'ivd by bis ^xc-ittinu'iit, but wku, tit the very point 

pf beiny mtistcii'd, iLiiat*!i-s liitnsiilf — appiirently cool vliik: \w. is at a. wlutelipBt, 

Ri as in iiijiki! tliD ainJienue ginw witb tbu tiif, aiii! at tlie Htune time r(3a|ie*t 

■elf'-pas9(3aeive p<nver of tbL' omtor, this nmn iK^ing alwiiys fiilt as grmtor 

\\w ihiui'h fediiiga, — if that be the oloqiii.>iicr which mi.>Bt tells ujicm the 

n^ish nation, h^' liad that p]o(|uettCL'. H<? BpolvLi iiuihT tnuHPiidous exciti'- 

iiiciit. but it was excitj?nient reiiiwd in by will. Hi' liiilil in his huml, when lie 

Vi:;iui hia sernion, a Bmall slij) tif papi:?r, with ii few notes upon it. He 

K.'ffiTt-il to it now ami then, but l>eft»rt ten miiiHtes hiul gone by it was 

.Bht^l to uBelu^i^ne^ iii liis gmpp ; fui' he kjiit bi.-i tingera toj^ntliBr 

orei- it ais be knit bia wonla over hi.* thought. His ^entiiie waa enbdued : 

eiiinetinjes a slow mfition nf hiR han<l iijnviLrds ; smnetimea bcmling fnrward, 

his \xaA ilrooping over the pul]Ht ; sionictimes erecting himsolf to his full 

bKight with 11 sucKb.-ii motion, oa if upraisoLi by the power nl" tlie thought he 

»poke. His vuicf — It musical, low, ele^ir, pi-nttmUvi; voiiie^aebioin roae ; 

fluit wbwi it (lid, it Won in n deep volume of sound, wbith wns not loml, but 

trtiird liise a great IwU. It tbnllcd also, but that w:Ls not so much triim 

fi*liu>; H8 fn.Mii tbi^ rrpWssion of feeliny. Towards the end of his Ininistty 

lie wiw w«.iiit to Htaud almost motionh'ssly en<Lt in th^ pulpit, ivith bis bandn 

luifwly lyiuj- by bis sides or jjiasping bis yuwn ; bis pale, thin IVt-, and tall, 

i^uinciiitvd fonu sftiiiinj,', as b»' sjxike, tt> Ije f^lmnuE* its alabiisLrT glow« whi^u 

lit up by ;m inward fLn?. And, iadi^ed, Jn'art and hr.tin wero on firu, \\v- 

w»s bfliny self-iunBiimed. Kvefy HCTnion in those latl«r days burnt up h 

l">rtioin of his vitid powtr/' 

Id tliia Briglitou piJpil he preitched thus at a wliite Iieat* fnr iiearly 
sis years to a crowd of timti^'litlul ami e^irnpst racii and women, of 
Ik lowest cliias iiinl llie htyhi-st, a cungix'j'atiou in whicii each itidi- 
vidim! woa attracted to himself, where aonie came from infidelity and 
laany from doubt that lind ucit yet I^ecome rlisbelief, aiul i-acli fflt thy 
uiysteriniis attraction ui' 11 nature that Rynijmthized witb them in their 
Jttting«st and weakest mood?, and that penetTated with friendliness 
irjto secrets of tlieir heart they scarcely venlui'ed to breathe tu thcia- 
selves. It was a life of little oiitft-ard interest. OatsiJy the pul^jit, 
it* chief incidents were; ft lecture or tl^'o at the Athena;nm and a lec- 
ture or two to the working men. Snl^u^in;5^ the tortare of a sensitive 
lieart constantly and i:iKlely wruu^r_ intenae mentaE eJfoi-l. c|inckly con- 

• "la Dccwfiber ^1850) nloUiC he preaclicd lisLecR tifuea — mostly oil tht Advent of 
Chrut. He dc!iv*ri!il lo crowi^o-d congTega'ionB on Friday niominga four Advent lecturti 
ot. Chrirtimuty in contaci «'iih the Greek, thif Itumnn, Ibu Karboriur, and thfi Jpw, wluiL 
*«re ill tlieii way unique- Ho jii^i'^t'^^'i ^^ Sunday moriiing^ enuh iwnnoijs d» ' Tha 
Uoins of ReuliKiiiK Tho Suiiond Advml,' ' The Prini-ijilc of Uio SpiTituol Ilnrvcst,' nud 
'Tip IxHie-iiiirs* of Chriat.' In tKy nftemtxins lie finietii'd liis k-cturM un tLe Auts of the 
Apcritles, irilli whiLh he hud begun the year. Towards the end of th-e moalli lie prcaf-hiid 
-TO the day of public inoamiug for the tiucun Dowiif:i.'r — ihn fjaljr mteuoii pwlliaht'd 
iminp his lifirtiiur — ' The larneSite'B Gmvft in n Foreign Laud/ " It is rt-natnibercd 
Hal iLese fiiTTuuti* wore \\x*: purest ^old fi-!>i[i tlio uiLnt of his brain; that die ^Advent 
i"-turTO weiro of thrmsclTcs suifluiunt to create <i bnllinnt reputiLtioii ; and, " to tonipletu 
Ihi* U'l'i'iunt of ouo rnonlfi's iiitpIlflL'timl work, that nliHost evpry dny tiu wns enpaged in 
Jrrpatiiig the |iiipil« uf liic Tminiiig S<;hcKil for L'lanii nation, it i» oalojiialiiiig Uiat hu WU 
1* awre morbid in fwlitie ftttd outworn iu bud;-." — Lijt tttiil Letfirt, L 228-4). 

VOL. r. It 


The Cont^nporary Reiikw. 

Sliming the eiiep^' of body and Ijraui, brought it to a pTematiiTO end- 
He was iu tlie lmt>it of " buruinn; liia own suioke,'' a dangerous on« 
for a man of liis tenipertimeut. \ melkuieholy crept over iiim tlmt 
sometimes sunk into gloom ; partly the mehinulioly of iirofonnder 
thought^ of H more intense sympathy with men ; partly of the sliadow 
of disease. " It is cjiiite heart-aching tu hear yuu preaob." an old 
acquaintance said to hira; " it is no longer the Imght, bappy Mr. 
Koitertson." And, h« says, "she was right; that the shadows of life 
had settled down/' " Yon mistook me," lie writes, " in thinking 1 did 
not syinpa.tlii2:e. A Jew yuars ago, when I felt less, you would liave 
"been more satisfied, ... I no longer wear my heart upon my 
sleeve ' for daws to peek at." But there is not a conversation, there is 
not a Ijook ] read, there is not a visit I pay, that does not cut deep 
traces iu the 'Calais' of my heart." The Vicar of JSrigliton, on grounds 
intelligible only to himself, refused to noiuinate a curate whom the 
c-ougi'egatiuu hai[ pressed thtdr minister to select, iuid rather than 
suffer an luiwarrantable imputation to rest upon his friend, Mr. 
EnlKrt.soii performed the ditty himself For six moiithe he endured 
the most exquisite torture. The flisease wjis in tbe brain, and he 
felt liow it ^vould end : " The causes are irremediable, jwid they must 
go on worVinrr to their consummation."* Tlie manuscript of 
one of 1)18 last lectures Ls hlnttcd with a aolitfiry tear. He hsid 
" acarcely manhood enough to hold a pen," " Life," he writes to 
another, " jnw been for a month nne long pain and Wi^ior. At 
night sleepless pain, by day cliangc* of pniwerlcssncsa fi'om two chairs 
to the sofa, and from the Sofa to the gi-ound," " But worse to him 
than the pnin was the prostration of all mental foire, tbe obliteration 
of large spae&i from the itieinoTy, and the loss nf itll power of atten- 
tion. He retained, however, to the last his deep deliylit iu the beauty 
of God's world. He got up once when scarcely able to move, at 
four (;'do(.'kj and crept to the window, ' tm see the Iteautiful morning,* 
. . . A night OF two before he died he dreamt that Ms two sisters 
earae to cniisTi him." At last, on a Sunday iii August — it was. 1853 
— his old rector at the Kdinliurgh Academy, who was taking his place 
at Trinity Chapel, jumouneed to the congregation that their minister 
was dmwing near to death. "That night the pain retunied with bitter 
violence, Feebly crjiiig at intenala, ' My ilod, ujy Father — iny God, 
my Father !' lie lived for two houra in a moital agony, during wliich he 
never loet clear consciousness. Hi.? mother, w^fc, and one frienil, with 
his physician, watched over him with devoted euru. At last they 
Bought to relieve him by changing his position. But he could not 
euflui-e a touch. ' I c-onnijt bear it," he !jaid ; * let me rest. I must 
die. Let Clod do his work." Tliese were bis la.<jt w-oixls. Immediately 

• "Letter," ii. 2ie. 

Frederick William Robertson. 235 

after, at a few minutes pEist midnight, all was over." He Tvas buried 
" in a hollow of the Downs he loved so well," where " a careful hand 
keeps, even in winter, flowers always blooming on his grave."* 

There will be no division among men about the rare beauty of 
his character. Kvery one who read his Sermons felt the man 
that spoke in them ; and this Life has only lifted the veil to 
let us see that man a little closer. He will take at once his 
rightful place in the gallery of English worthies. His extreme 
sensitiveness may have often weakened and did certainly pain 
him; it cro^vTied his best efibrts with thonis, haunted him with 
magnified views of his failings, and led him more than once into 
a morbid despondency ; but it was only one side of that exquisite 
purity and delicate feeling which made him shrink with an instinctive 
recoil from what would scarcely liave been tliought coarse or mean in 
another, by which he entered more than other men into the purity of 
Christ, by wliicli he set forth that feminine side of His character 
that, as perfect Man, he conceived Him to poases.s, and apprehended 
those delicate shades of meaning in His words that make thom so 
vivid and so marvellously touching, Tlie courage with which ho 
forced his horse once to a daring leap, and again, preached ■with a fixed 
directness to a congregation of Vanity Fair, because something whis- 
pered him — "Kobertson, you are a craven ; you dare not speak here 
"what you believe !" may have bordered on rashness or defiance, but it 
was the spirit of a fearless nature, and a moral bravery that dared 
everything for the right, that prevented him flinching one jot from his 
convictions, that ner\'ed him, patiently fighting, at tremendous odds, 
the battle of his life, and when that life was tortured unto death, 
made him " lie on the rug alone in his room, his head resting on the 
bar of a chair, clenching his teeth to pre^■ent the groans which the 
ravaging pain could never draw from his manliness." "When he took 
part with the working men before such sjTupatliy was common; 
pleaded in 1848 for the true brotherhood and equality of man ; spoke 
to the Chartists against the biiUot, and to the infidels against infidel 
books ; and at a time of great class asperity, declared what he con- 
ceived to be the mission of a minister of the Cliurch of England ;"f" or 

• In the grey dawn of the morning nfipr the funera], a. group wob ecen weeping ovor tho 
new grave. It was a mechanic, with his wife and children, dressed in auch mourning as 
they could purchase. The man and his wife had been rank iafidcU wheii Mr. Robertaoa 
came to Brighton ; but chancing one day to drop into Trinity Chapel to hear tho now 
preacher, they had been arrested, became regular worshippers, and brought many more. 
Making allowance for the natural exaggeration of funeral sermons, there must be much 
truth in Mr. .Anderson's statement, — " I cannot count tip conquests in any place, or by any 
man, so numerous and vast — conquests achieved in so shurt a period, and in many instances 
orer the hearts and consciences of those whom, from their age or purstiits, it is always 
difficult to reach." — (Funeral Sermon, by tho Rev. James Anderson, then l*reacher of 
Lincoln's Inn.) t "Lectures and .Addresses,'' pp. 2, 3. 

236 The Contemporary Review. 

when he defended Shelley from the charge of atheism, rebuked the 
frenzy that followed the Durham letter, and took up the man who, for 
the time, was down, it was the assertion of a personal daring and 
dash which he complained the Church of Kngland would not endure,* 
the relief of that chivalrous desire to protect the weak and avenge the 
MTonged which had attracted him to the army. The spirit of Christ 
deepened the courtesy of his nature; he would leave those he liked 
best to converse with, and sit by the side of the most neglected; 
his consideration for the comfort of servants was so great that they 
adored liim. In the same spirit his sense of wrong and baseness 
would sometimes break out with a strength that was terrible. " I 
have seen him," writes one of his frieuds, " grind his teeth and clench 
his fist when passing a man who he knew was bent on destroying an 
innocent girl." He recalls, liimself, how " once in my life I felt a 
teiTible might; I knew, and rejoiced to know, that I was inflicting 
the sentence of a cowai'd's and a liar's hell." 

His nature quivered with force and energ}', but he respected the 
dullest intellect ; and, setting himself to the lowest and smallest work, 
he was as patient and earnest, and as eagerly heard, in a Sunday 
school class as in liis pulpit. His earnestness and enthusiasm were 
intense ; he suiTeudured his heart to a tnie man and a true thought at 
once. If he was isolated, lonely, and dwelt apart, it was because Ids 
heart had been crushed back upon itself. "Sympathy," he wi"ote to 
his wife, " is too exquisitely dear to me to resist the temptation of 
expecting it ; and then I could bite my tongue with vexation for 
liaviug babbled out trutlis too sincere and childlike to be intelligible. 
But as soou as tlie fit of luisauthrojiy is passed, that absurd human 
hejirt with which I live, trusts and confides again ; and so I go on — 
alternately rich and banknipt in fueling." 

For mere jiopidarity he had an imincible contempt. " "What is 
ministerial success?" he asks — "crowded churches, full aisles, atten- 
tive congregations, tlie a])proval of the religious world, much impres- 
sion produced ? Klijah thought so, and when lie found out his mis- 
take, and that the applause in Carmel subsided into hideous stillness, 

• " The Church of England will enduro no chivalry, no dash, no effcrveBcing enthu- 
siapm. She cannot turn it to account as Rome turns that of her Loyolas and Xariere. 
We bear nothing but sober prosaic roiitiiic ; oud the moment anj- one with heart and norre 
lit to be a leader of a forlorn hope appears, we call him a dangeroua man, and exaspentte 
him by cold, un sympathising reproofs, till he becomes a dissenter and a demagogue. . . . 
Well, I BuppoBo God will punish us, if iu no other way, by banishing from us all noble 
spirits like Xcwman and Planning in one dircctiou, and men like Kingsley iu auothcr, 
leaving us to flounder in the mud of commonplace, unable to rise above the dead level.'' — 
J.rltlTS, ii. 14. 

" I hold," he uTote once, "to heart, to manhood, to nobleness, not correct cxprcssioo. I 
try to judge words and actions by the man, not the man by his words and actions." Not 
u .fry tnistworthy principle, but the cxpivsaiga of a generous nature. 

Frederick William Robertson. 237 

Iiis heart well-nigh broke with Jisinipohitmeiit. Jliiiisterial success 
lies in altered lives, and obedient, humble hearts — unseen work, 
recognised in the judgment day."* "If you knew," he says, 
■' how humiliated and degraded to the dust I have felt in per- 
ceiving myself quietly taken by gods and men for the poi)ular 
preacher of a fashionable watering-place ; how slight tlie power seems 
to me to be given by it of winning souls, and how sternly I have kept 
my tongue from saying a syllable or a sentence, in pulpit or on plat- 
form, because it would be popular !" " Would to God," he says again, 
" I were not a mere pepper-cruet to give relish to the palate of the 
Brightonians." And when a subscription list for a testimonial was 
opened in the Athenicum, he secretly carried off the elaborately bound 
book and committed it to the flames. His sense and reverence of truth 
were too deep to be moved by display ; but the day after his ordina- 
tion he looked as if he had l)een through an illness. Through life his 
soul yielded up a most awful homage to the Eight ; and when he 
found it, he clung to it with a grasp tliat never faltered. The glimpses 
of him that we get in letters from his friends have all the same interest 
and unity. His heart was wrung by slander and misrepresentation, 
but "no acrimonious expression," says one, " ever escaped hia lips." 
" I never met with any one," says another, " so deferential and gentle 
in argument." " My friendship with him was directly a clerical friend- 
ship : though he was not faultless any moi-e than otlier human beings, 
he was, without exception, the most faultless clergyman I have ever 
known." His care for parochial work, his minute and self-sacrificing 
ilischarge of all its duties, were only the expression of his loyalty to 
his calling, and the Bishop of Winchester held the account of hia 
diaconate so valuable that he was in the habit of giving it to his 
deacons to study. It was a fidelity that lay in his nature, that the 
love he bore to his Master had dedicated to Him. " I remember the 
<iuiet words of remonstrance when one of the persons staying in the 
house said that he should ' stay at home, because the preacher was not 
worth hearing,' and the gentle determination with which he carried 
his point." And speaking of another side of liia character, its manly 
freshness, and his delight in nature, the same friend says, " If a ray of 
sunlight came slanting tlirough the trees on tiic grass — if a bough hung 
over the green path with reniarkable beauty — if an orange fungus made 
a bright spot of colour in the way, he was sure to remark them. It 
was wonderful how he made us see. ... I shall not easily foiget 
hia delight when the woodcocks came, nor the way in which he 
absolutely ran over witli stories of their life. He seemed to 
me to know all the poetrj- which refen-ed to animals, and quoted 
Words\^'orth till I wondered at his memoiy." So richly dowered, 

• " Sermon?," Second Scries, p. 94, 


23S 77/i' Contemporary Review. 

so soQsItivLi and sym]>iLtlwjl.k% su ri^'litemis, Li-Jivo, aud teiuiar, 
lUddest, piire, iliitffHl, niul conrteoua, sn many-sided yet ki loyal- 
lipiirtefl, so utterly \\ Christiim man, his (.'liiiracter stands out rlistinct 
iiml iKmiitiliil auiniij,' the bij^'liest types df mtidem English life. ^_ 

Aljout his teacliiiig tlici*e. will l>e, &a tlierti has been, iiiucli tliiTerendl^B 
nl' (ipiiiioii. His way of seeking tviitli niul Iiis ■way fit" liiimUiuy it were 
his own, His stntement of [,nH?SLt trallia was souielimes at wide and 
bitt«r variance \nth the comuion stAtement. He calls the poijular 
system iil' thi- Atonement I-inihminioal. " It has heeu rcju'esentcd 
as il tlio majesty ol' Livw demanded a victim, and so as it j^lutted its 
insatiate thirst, ono victim woidd do as well as another — the 
inarer anil the ninre innocent the letter. It has lieen exhibited 
as it' Kternal Love resolved, in I'm-)", to strike, and so as Ilu had his 
hlgw, it mattered not whether it fell od the whole vvijrld or oa the 
jireeioiis head of Hi^ nim diosen Sun."* He a]>eaks of "a kii 
ot" awjiiieseence in the Atonement wldtdi is jmrely selSish. 
Christ has suffered, and 1 am Safe. He bore the agony ; I take the 
rewftitl. I iimy Uvct ncm- with impunity /'f "Let no mnn snv that 
Christ bora the wmth of God: C!od could nut Ih^ ftiiyiy witli sell^^^ 
SHcrificing Iui'\'p. He could not, without denjHng his omti DRtud^| 
annex hell — -thnt is, an evil eonstdence aiid remorse — to iieriect gnml- 
uess.":!: "AVi^ are sometimea tuld nf a itiysteriims anguish whieli 
Christ eudured, the consequecee ol" Divine wrath — tbe aufieiiitris of a 
heart laden with tlic? crinscieuee ul" the wiMd'* tmnsgressious. , - . 
Do not go to tlmt. abaiml iiousangi^ fit mjst^irioHs sulVeriHg that caiuint 
lie comprehended, a mystery and so forth of which the liible sa\-s 
nothing. Slyaterious enough they were, as the siift'iirinjrs nf the 
deepest liearta must ever be, Itut mysterious only in this sense. All 
that is nnintelligible is the degree nf ugony-''§ " He bore tlie penalty 
of others' sin. He was punished. Christ eanie into collision with 
llie worhl's evil, and He Ijuit; the penalty of that daring: not lueivly 
the penalty of his own daring — He bore the penalty of our trans- 
gressions. . . . Christ endured the iienalty of imputed sin. tlie 
sins of others. But imputed sin is not autual sin, though constantlj 
we see it bear the penalty of such, that is, Ije pnniahed as such. . , 
Ilia death was sacrifiee, not merely martyrdom." In one nsi>ect"il 
was a Siieritice for sin ;" in Another " it was not a saeriiice fur a ^Hew 
or a truth, hut for tkt:, TrutlL" "We say tliat God needed a recon- 
ciliation, On tlie other hand, the Tnttarian view is.] that Goil 
reqnii-es nothing t^ reconcile Him to \is ; that He is reconciled ah-eady ; 
that the only thing requisittj is to i-econcile man to God. It ulso 


■' SenmniB," Firit Suriea, p. 155. 
t " Sorinon*," First Scries, p, 161. 
f -'SennoaV" First Seriei, p. 161, 

t fiirf., p, 157. 
" I-ett«rs," i., p, 307, 
" Leltara," i., p. 'J«8. 

Frederick William Robertson. 239 

declares that there is no ^vTath in God towards sinners, for punish- 
ment does not manifest indignation. Nothing can be moi-e false, un- 
philosophical, and unscriptural."* "The difference between my views 
and those of the party she expounds (the Evangelical) docs not lie ia 
the question of the Atonement, — we agree in this, — but in tlie ques- 
tion. What in that Atonement satisfied God ? They say pain ; I say, 
becaiise I think the Scriptures say so, the surrender of self-will. . . . 
Indeed this is the whole argument of the Epistle to the Hebrews, and 
a glorious one it is. ' He bore my sins,' I am willing to say, and in 
deep humiliation, in a deeper sense than many mean. . . . It is 
often said, 'My sins nailed Him to the Tree.' There is a sense in 
which this contains a deep and extensive tintli. Every time I am a 
sharer in the spirit to whicli He fell a victim. . . . Does the sacri- 
fice of Christ save me fi-om the consequences of my sin ? Does it 
break the connection between my sin and its natural result — pain, &c. ? 
No. Does it save me from that which is worse than all pain, the 
feeling of God's wrath, the sense of banishment from the presence of 
his beauty and his love ? It does. You are redeemed by love from 
remorse, from the disposition to repeat wrong, from the sense of God's 
displeasure ; and the pain you beai' is not taken away but transmuted. 
The spirit in which you bear it makes all the difference ; it changes it 
from penal fire into wise, loving, corrective discipline." -f" Baptism, he 
held, "is the grand, special revelation to an individual by name. A, 
B, or 0, of the great truth Christ revealed for the race, that all, Greeks 
and barbarians, are the children of God." Starting from this, that 
Christ died fur the sin of the world — came to redeem the world — he 
declared that "man is God's child, ani the sin of tlie man consists in 
living as if it were false. It is the sin of the heathen, and what is 
your mission to liim but to tell him tliat he is God's child, and not 
living up to bis privilege ? It is the sin of the baptized Christian, 
waiting for feelings for a claim upon God. . . . Baptism is a 
mible witness to the world of that which the world is for ever for- 
getting. ... It does not create a child of God. It authoritatively 
declares him." J He held that all the knowledge that we have "is 
properly inspiration, but immensely differing in value and degree, from 
a glimmering glimpse to infallibility. If it be replied that this 
degrades inspiration by classing it with things so common, the answer 
is plain. A sponge and a man are both animals, but the degrees 
between them are almost incalculable." § He believed the Bible "to 

• "Lectures on Epitttlca to CorinthionB," p. 410. 

t "Sermons," First Series, p. 162. "Letters," i., pp. 307-8. "Sermons," First. 
Series, p. 160. " Letters," ii., p. 139 ; i., pp. 204-5, 305. 
I "LetteiB," i., p. 333. " Bermons," Second Suriea, pp. 62-3. 
\ " Lettere," i., p. 276. 


The C&niemporitry Review. 

Ite inapirefl, not dictated. It is the Wonl of God — tlie words of man ; 
as the fonueT jjerfect, as the latter inipeifoct. (Jod tUe Spirit, as a 
SanttifieT, dnej5 not produce absulute peri'eiitiun i>[' hutimii chanieter; 
God the Spirit, jis an Ins]iii"er, does not produce alhsolute perlection lil" 
Imniuii kuQwliidj^e."" " Inspiration is the deepest ij^uesLioiiof ourday." | 
ho said ; " tine gi-and qui^stion whicli is given to this age to solve." "f" He 
thought of ■vvritiitg a bonk on it, and translated as a pioneer Lessicg's 
tmct on "The Kducation of the Human Race;" but in the only ser- 
mon that bears distinctly upon it he says, "There are many viewis, 
some uf thc]n false, aoiue sui>erstitiou9; but it is not our biLsiiieB.s 
now to deal with these. Our way is rather to tench positively than 
negatively. AVe itill try to set aiji the truth, and error nniy lal^H 
beCure it."J ^^ 

These statements, giijiiped together from liis own words, aiHy set 
forward tleariy eno\iylL his divergence from conuiioii \iews, and whnt 
he Conceived popular theology. § His conception of Evangf^lical 
doctrine was sgmetinies a caricature. Then; may be ail occft.gional 
Mrs. Jellaliy ; bnt it is a UbeJ tn sjiy that the most nisrrow- 
minded j^Christian woman is like htir. There ai'i* repi-esentatioiis 
of the Atonement in Mr, Kijbcrt son's sermons whtth no party 
in the Cluirch would acknowledge for its own. Tliere are saj-ings 
about " the Evanf;elical3 " in his letters tliat read like bursts of 
pas-^ioD. lie connected thcMu iusepamljly with condnsions that he 
fastened on Ihyjj- teaching, that to biiu seemed inevitable ; Im saddled 
exaggemtiuM uii their- school of docti'ine — on, take it aa a whole, 
the most earnest ami productWe Ji^irty that had sprung up within 
the Church i he ignored its fertibty of works in dwelling upon ii3 
sterility t of th( right; be came in contact with a painful and evil 
side of it ; nntl i:onstnieted something which he called Evangeli- 

• "LettpiVii,, p. 148. 

t " ScniMus," Foiiitb Serira, p. 340. J IhiA., p. 341. 

\ Div-iTpeniM! far enough aoil ii urea bobq bio- enough, and aiig^Rting thought* of cici 
iogpaln. Je is not cn^y to unite rstnod tliia t-onfuai^d, i^lutiiay, Ulugical theory af tlie Aiv: 
meat, if indceil yi,\- Uobortson bad a theory at ull. But it U iiii]JWieiljio to en'uw lii« 
represpnlfttioii tif liic Eraiigellijal dgijtrini;, — iiainful to think iJbat llie hnsodth, insight, 
and ftijmpsa *(j tiiarlinl in 'jj conduct and opiiiionB -Kor^ violalud au cBBeutially hi-rt>. I[ ia 
not the 111 j eel nJ'lhJs pa[H'i- to- onalyso Mr. Robertson's opinions, but toesLimftli; his relaCitm 
to onr mmlcm religious lil'e, to help in aomc way to actoimt for his iriilo and enduring 
iDfiuenf^e. Thu M'nv in which the Atory of hla lifn ia tuld, Itaviw the impression tlint his 
i[Ltlui>iii.e waj iut'o-mpatible M'ith. the Evangelical syBttroi,^ — t^at Evangelical doclrinD la 
nM-esgariiy narrow -minded. It is scarcely needfijl to 4ny that ibaf is a wrong impreeaitm ; 
that his infliipnr-^ did nrit spring Iroin Bysiem, or the ivant of it; thai, niou may and ought 
tt) wipld it within tho limits of the suundesl orlhodoiy. The IheologiuiiE pnrtisnji might 
BbL'ti"h Mr. Robi-rtfton's opinions darkly enough, might also easily refuto theto ; thcV art 
often mi]siilaivp]y nnd iitrci-ly statwl, therefore one-sided and contRtdi<-tory. Sui."h rvfiila- 
tioti Oii thai will be nbunihintly done, nnd for many porBons it will he abundantly nccesmy. 
It ia suri-ly uct tLi' loBd important to seporatQ tb-e evotet of hii inf!ii«ii<:e from (he errom of 
his Ivathing. 

Frederick William Robertson. 241 

calism, which "he abhorred in proportion as he adored Christ." 
But after making allowance for the strength of his expressions, 
his divei^nce is still wide. Yet he reached practical conclusions 
that were not verj' different from those of the schools that he 
opposed. AVhile persuaded that " the Jewish Sabbath is a shadow 
of things to come," he felt " by experience its eternal obligation 
because of its eternal necessity. The so\d withers without it ; 
it thrives in proportion to the fidelity of its obserx'anee." While 
the law for the spiritual man was the mind of Christ, " it ia at 
his peril that the worldly man departs from the ndt of the 
day of rest" Those who know his ^vritings will find it impossible 
to hold that he did not believe in Christ the eternal Son of God 
and the Saviour of men, though they may give up in despair recon- 
ciling his faith with his speculations on the Atonement. Had lie 
been thrown among the more liberal and, no doubt, larger section of 
Evangelicalj Churchmen, the sundering of his later from liis earlier 
convictions might not have been so complete : his teaching might 
have preserved more system, and lost its occasional contradiction of 
statement. There are narrow-minded disciples of every school, who 
conceive nothing but evil beyond their own scanty horizon ; and it 
would be a shame to say that the spirit which repelled Mr. Eobertson 
when living, and reviled him when dead, is the spirit of the great 
Evangelical party. From the best of them he woidd have fouiid 
reeognition and sympathy. But society at Cheltenham and Brighton 
seems to have bristled with the religious polemics of the day. " To 
speak ceriain phrases, and feel certain feelings, was counted equiva- 
lent to a Christian life," and the loudest voice in party clamour was 
taken as index of the soundest heart. He was shocked by this bigotry 
and shallowness, and he shocked them in turn. While partisans 
assailed each other with hard names, he sought the truth for which 
they fought. While they were content with their bundle of opinions, 
he sought to trace up every branch of tliought to its issue from the 
Uving Vine : while tliey regarded every step out of the beaten road of 
phrases with suspicion, he coined the phrases for his own ideas, and 
taught ,with a freedom that had no formalism or restraint but the 
absolute truth in Christ. While such relations subsisted, it was natural 
that he should " be badgered with old maids of both sexes ;" that he 
shoiUd' be irritated and repelled by their remonstrance ; that his 
indignation would be kinilled by their ignonmce and bigotry. They 
laid down the books he should read and avoid : he quietly persisted 
in reading his own way. " I don't care," be said at last. " But do 
you know what ' don't care' came to ?" " Yes, madam, he was 
crucified on Calvary." " God's truth must be boundless," lie wrote. 
" Tractarians and Evangelicals suppose that it is a pond which 


The CoiUemporary J?eviciv. 

you can walk rriimJ, and aay, — 'I liold the truth !' 'What! all?" 
'Yes; all- Here it is, eirciimacritied, defined, proved; and you are 
an infidel if ymi do not tliink this pond of imiie, that the great 
Mr. Scott and Mr. Ne-wtou and Mr. Cecil diig, fjuite lai^o enough 
to he tlie iinmeasiirahle Gosiiel of the Lord of the universe.'"* He 
felt tilmt the true Cinsfitil was lai^T than the party — that the nar- 
niwfcv and more minute a creed, it -was tlie more likely to liuiit soiue 
Imths and exdade nthei-s ; he was even prepared to let men Inok 
at (.'hrist tlirnuj^di difterent systeuis, sure that tin; luoro they hioked at 
Hiui the lesfi likely they wem to fall iuto duy;ijjatiejtl enioit)- with one 
iuiotlier. He made it plain that he held tliiii tolerance not from 
iDdillerence. hut loyally Lu tnith; iKJcaiise lie ci>neeivat the surest 
way t<i dogmatical ngi-eenient was to realize the person of the Son of 
Goil and man. Men of thw profoundest faith have felt and said like- 
"wise. He miyht have Ijeen met at this point; and instead, he was 
n]i|X)seil. He was sensitively tolerant ; respectfiU tu his neitihUjur's 
conscience, and considerate of a good man's prejudice. No man 
coiild he more t'^^tle, cuarteous, and careful in stating convictions 
that were opiMsed to cauTent teaching'. J I' 3ie spoke hardly of one 
Bchoul of thoiig^Ut. he was partly yofwled to it. H« read Oertiian, and 
people shook their heads ovor his Neologj'. " Unilarianigin ig false,'' 
lie htrld; " Trinitarianism is trae:" hut a lady eaiue to r^moustiiit? 
with him for readiuj,' Channin^'s Lile, and called liim a Sociuitm, 
He prottrsted ayaiuat iulidelity with aU hL* might, and I'ought it out 

Bingle-lmnded aniouy 
whispered lie was an 

the working men of Brighton ; but it iraa 


infidel, I'antheisiii he looked on as " sen 
jnental trash;" hut betJiuse he was "not afmid of any truth in it^' 
he was act down as a Pantheist. He preached once in the same 
church with Mr. Maurice ; and though he diifered widely from Iiim, 
was set doAvn as his disciple. He toiled against the socialism of 
young France; hut he lectured on the obligations of capital, and was 
niade out a Socialist. He was laholled Itevolutionist and Tory, and y\jistocrat, liomiin Catholic and Sceptic : and tliei-e ia 
scarcely a bad word to he found in theology that has not been tbro^vn 
at hi,s luemory.-f- His hriUiant intellect and genina dtiserve a more 

• "Lellere." 

t It vtie HOI- vitLout i>enDU&l cxporicacf tLat be said, " InAikHty b on«n uiLong the 
uixmwining accusaiioEB lirought by timid personB, half-<'oaa*ioiia of the instaliility of thuir 
own beliel', and furious Bgainat evcrj' oiw whosa wonta miiku them treicblia ut ittir own 
utwtuHty- It U sometiincf the cry vf notrownoES against aji old truth, (UKltir a n«w and 
moTG EpLriluul form. SoiiiiftiDi«B it is. tbe cbiLrgc eaug:iit up at ei.>t god -bond, oiui rr'pvnt^d as 
n land of religious bue a.uil Kxy, in profouiiduatigiicjrauce of Uig opintonH thai art' bo cturac- 
tetized. !<Otking la mOic melimcho'ly ihoD. Lo listen to tbe irild, indiscriminnl^tbiur^s of 
Bcepticifloi, inyaiicism, pontlici&m, rationalifai, atheiHtn, whivh are trjido by aoine of the 
ireak^-Ht cf maniind, who scurcoly know tho diiferento IwtM-ecn niefiniiriirn and niyBticiuu. 
X hold it e (.'briBtiim duly to abstain Irgia this foulieh snd wiuked Hysleia of labulliu^ ama. 


Frederick Williavi Robertson. 243 

patient and generous treatment, not so much in his interest as 
in our own. For as a man who has left his mark Ijroad and 
deep on our English religious thought, it is of more concern to know 
how far he was wrong, and at what point he left the right, tlian that 
he was wrong — an inquiry quite beyond the limits of this paper, hut 
in which these elements must be taken into account : his intense 
realization of the human side of theology, the humanity of Christ, 
and the message of Christianity to human life ; liis desire to see into 
the precise meanings of words and ci-eeds, and to ascertain exactly the 
value of their thoughts, as one who felt that " true religion is really 
comprehensible, its dogmas consistent with plain reasoning, its teaching 
in harmony with our consciousness of truth, justice, generosity;"* 
liis large-hearted and philosophic conviction that there is a truth 
below every form of error, that the strength of tlie error lies there, 
that it is the province of Christian thought to seek out the truth and 
set it in its right place ;t and that he lived during a time of change, 
always a restless and unsettled time, a change in the complexion of 
religious life, in the development of religious ideas, and in the cha- 
racter of religious teaching. 

Whatever conclusion men may come to about his theology, his 
influence is still to be accounted for, as the greatest of any preacher 
in this generation, or, indeed, except Chalmers, iu tliia century. It 
must be traced to many sources, — for one, to the force and reality of his 
wnvictions. His sermons were the reflection of his own mind, the 
fmit of his own thought. Tiiere was nothing in them taken for 
granted ; but from the foundation up, the truth he preached had been 
examined, and jealously, almost morbidly tested by himself. At 
Winchester he preached what he liad been taught, and did not disbe- 
lieve : at Brighton he preached what he had learnt by experience, held 
even through infinite struggle with the powers of darkness, and trusted 
and felt with all the force of his soul. At Winchester he was simply 
the exponent of the doctrinal system that had come to him, with a 
large charity indeed, and an absolute freedom from the cant of 
phrasesj — a ground no higher than the pulpit is often content to 
occupy ; theologically safe if the system is theologically sound, but 
from w^hich there can be won no hold over the thoughtful and eager 

vith names ; to siand aloof from every mob, religiouB or irreligioua in name, wMch 
resembles that mob at Ephcsus, vho shouted for two hours, the mare part knowing not 
Therefore they were come together." — LtHttrtt and Addrttats, pp. 6, 8, 9. 

• " Letters," i., p. 143. 

t " I have almost done with divinity — dogmatic divinity that is — except to lovingly 
endcavoor to mako out the truth which lies beneath this or that poor dogma." — Letttrs, 
i., p. 181. 

X What he said to the artieans of Brighton was applicable to his whole pulpit life : " Let 
ihc men of this Association rest assured that they shall hear no cant from me." 


The Contemporary RcvicL). 

minds of tlie ftge, nor command of more tlian a decent and comminn- 
phice reapect. Until the truth he preaches has pasae«l into the veiy 
beinci; of the preachetj men will hesir hini ivith an mdiiiiin' Similny's 
reaiiectJid inLlifference. His dearucsa, I'acility ol" illusti-atiou, ]H>wtT 
of defence, eloquence of appeal, are effective : Imt he stoiis short uf 
the liii,^hest effect. lie is describing what lie has not yet explored; 
aaserting pruhltsins that,, uiiconsiainisly tu him, arts vexing' the miud^ 
of men; applying; a ^aufje to truth, which in his hands is trying a 
fl[Hritnal furee by a 'iiiccbaiiical test t'oulil Mr. Ilobcrlsiai have 
reniiiiued stiitionary where he started ; had it been pussihlu fur hiui t*j 
accept with a stnuoth aeipiiescence whatever he received, or to reaist 
and qtieiich tliose ycandn^'S after hijiher things that hbjtot in him tliu 
begiiiuiugs of doubt; or had he been less lionust to truth and to hiui- 
self, and refused to follow where his questions led him, detevred l>y 
the riek and difficulty of the way, he Wuuld have been perlifl]i-« 
popular, M'ould have escaped much miseiy and party slander. luiyht 
Iiave lived longer, and wouhl cettftinlj hftve been fo^^ot^en. But 
Iiefoi'e hig Settlement at Itri^hton he had learned thorouyhly to think 
lor hiiiisell'. and what be did preach there wag his own, as inseparahle 
from hia life as liis mind or aonl. Another source of his power 
lay in Ms mode of preparation. The true speaker -will always 
spettk before Christ; ■vnlt c-ast himself on Him as the Eternal 
Word and Truth ; wiH feel the awfnln«ss of standiuj,' as inteiin-eter 
Iwitween Him and rjion. Mr. liobcrtsim felt this nith an intensin- 
that consnined his streuj^th ; but be felt also tlint bi.s message was for 
not only dyin;,' men, but Hvin;,' men, in a life beset with problems and 
duties— a life to ■which, in its endlessly viiried relations, tins niea.^iy(.- 
was sent. When he lectured on Samuel, he had recourse to Niebulir'3 
" Home," Guizot's "Civilization," and books on political economy ; when 
lie lectured on Genesis, he studied &uch hnoks as IVtchartl'a " Physical 
Hiatorj' of Jlan," and AA'ilkinson's " Ei,'yptian8."' " I read Sbakspea\ 
Wordsworth, Tennyson, {.■oleriil;:,''L', Philip van Artevehlc," he saya, 
" for views of man to meditate uiion, and I go out into tho country lu 
ftel (lod, dabble in chemistry to feel awe of Him, raid the life of 
Christ to iimlci'staud, love, and adoi-e Him, and my experience is 
closing into this, that I turn with disgust from everything to Christ."' 
His seimons reach the common human heart Ijecauee they bring 
the Bilde into contact with common human life. Everything^ — ^from 
a jar in the houseliold to a political struyyle, tbu sluall duties and 
casuistry of daily life and the profouudeat questions of the ]»ast and 
present — was brought to the Bible to liave light flung directly upon 
it there. 

There bad been a great change in his thought, but there ran 
through it a cleai" unity. His first address as a minister was to 

Frederick William Robertson. 245 

a dozen rough boys in a Sunday school, whom he urged to live as 
Christians, concluding, " Believe me, there is nothing else worth 
living for." In liis last address he might have said the same. 
Christ, and living Christ, was the starting-point and sum and 
impulse of his teaching. Itound the one he clustered his teaching of 
doctrine, as the sun that pierced it on every side by his rays ; round 
the other he grouped his teaching of practice. He apprehended 
Christianity as above all a life. Peculiarly a man of thought, he 
demanded of it action ; and his veiy thoughts became liWng tilings 
" with hands and feet." Christ was to him the solution for all 
problems ; and as each puzzled him, it was to Christ lie carried it, 
to Christ lie led others. Christ by his incarnation had connected 
Himself with all humanity ; and he recognised therefore that every- 
thing human must concern Ilim. He saw and felt Him everj'where, 
not as a force that had been set in motion, but as a living One among 
men — Lord and Inter^jreter of men's intellects, and aim and fulfil- 
ment of all geuuine, pure, and lofty aspirations. Christian life could 
never isolate itself from human life, nor Christian thought from 
human thought. Art, speculation, poetry, politics, tastes, and sensi- 
biKties of men — Christian life touched upon tliem all. Tlie aspect 
of Christ to men, as lumian beings living in a present world, and 
working out in it infinite good and evil to one another, made a deeper 
impression on him than His aspect to so many souls to be saved. 
Yet if it was tlie humanity of Christ that most impressed him, — to 
the Gospel and to Christ's love that he oftenest turned, — he insisted on 
the Divinity of Christ as the true explanation of His humanity, and 
amously set out the logical proof of it in tlie Scriptures — "Divine 
character, that was given in Christ to worship ; " Jesus was " the 
Human Heart of God." This sympathy — if it may be called — with the 
humanity of Christ, made itself felt in many directions. A natural gift, 
it was developed by his struggles, and quickened and purified by his 
fellowship with God. " ily misfortune or happiness," he says, " is power 
of sympathy. I can feel mth the Brahmin, the Pantheist, the Stoic, the 
Platonist, the Transcendentalist, perhaps the Epicurean. At least I 
feel the side of Utilitarianism which seems like truth, though I have 
more antipathy to it than anything else. I can suffer with the Trac- 
tarian, tenderly shrinking from the gulf blackening before liim, as a 
frightened child runs back to its mother from the dark, afraid to be 
alone in tlie fearful loneliness ; and I can also agonize with the infidels, 
recoihng from the cowardice and false rest of superstition." A power 
of entering into other minds like that, gave him a sensitive and pene- 
trating knowledge of men. " He seemed to feel character, as if by a 
sixth sense." No other preacher threw liimself so thoroughly into the 
characters of the Bible. Jacob, Joseph, David, ZacclxKus, Thomas, 


The Contemporary Review. 

Pfiul, e^'en Nabfll atitl Abigail, live before us as they never did before. 
Men to wlioTii the Bible was ouly a book felt it to 1» a life. If he 
was nnintcni;jible to those wlioso hearts were hatden^^l by coustaiit 
trallii: of ryliyujus words, lyv tiiLrro"wed in and bijjotod by party, or wlw 
hjLcl felt no doubt, save about the respective orthodoxy of their 
teachets, iiitri of the highest thought were nttnicted to his tninistn-, 
Euid the pixir mllied round him. It must hnve been this sytrpathy 
with men that, during one of his vacations at Cheltenhani, filled a 
niml chuKh vith country people, breathless in attention, ond that 
drew so many of the siiiiple.'?t to kim. Hii dealt with doubts nriil 
(j^uestifinings iis one ■ndio had felt them himself, who Icbpw their 
pfiin, and that it must \\q> met and not stifled. He treated them iw 
marks of disease, to hu as pitifidly dealt with as blindness rr palsy. 
His aemioua speak of "mental doubt, that most acute of human ail- 
iiieuts," and "thy achinj; of a liollow hwurt, the worst (if human 
malfidiea." Tenderly he took up the bruised mind, axiA with a finn 
compassion probed the wounds aud set furth Clirist the healer. He 
complains of the way in whifh religious men treat doubt ; he conlra8t.s 
it witli the trtiatment am! syui])athy of Christ. Tu tliu-su uuihiulit^d 
sources of his influence, two must he added — his ^t of teaching imd 
his j^ft of speech. His sermons ans teacher's work. The ajitness and 
profusion of the illustratious, tlie etoiineuee and poetry, arc 3ul>oidi- 
Eflteil to his exegesis of truth. He enfui-ces it ^vithout exhortation, 
end rarely ^itb appeal, hut by uiakiny men see tljat it is tme, Fm- 
tliis he had tJie mrest power. And yet over ami abuve hia lucitl 
logical arrangement and exfpiisite analysis, the languaj^ makes itself 
felt by its tnmaiiaryncy, fitnusa, and beauty, lie ofteTi utters a snccee- 
sion of nervous llioujj;bts, each of which is act to its word like an 
arrow quivering on the tightened stj-uiy. Open at randon\ any of 
liis lectures, or of tliese letters, and you are aiTested, pnssarje at^*r 
passage, by such words m " the di-ssonaiit, hea^y, eiulless vUaig of the 
sea;" " the Tcckkmmciss with wliich the air .'ieems autiuati-d," or " caaes 
of persons at Cheltenham, that luvvu come, like the vdottr of nnnly 
tm-ned enrlk, upon uiy heart." 

Such quahties sf> c(.»mbined belong to few ; but the best of them muy 
lie ha<l by any : hi.i reveivuce for truth, his depth of eonidction, his 
tearless honesty, Ids sympathy with men, Ins haudlLag of tho JJiWe 
as what it is — the word of Gorl to tho wajits of men. It is by them 
that Tiieu have felt his intiuence ; and they indicate, clearly enough, 
the source of power which the Church in these days is saying, with 
feeble and credidous lament, 1ms (led from the pidpit. The humanity 
of Christ nuist be di^velnped witlinnt suiTcnclering t!ie authority and 
stringency oi' His Divinity ; and the humanity of tho AVord of God, 
and the humanity uf the pulpit, and tke religious thought and life of 

Frederiik William Robertson. 



the Bible, shown tui eucompase and ponetrale like an atmosphere all 
men iimy thiiik and say and Teel and do. 

Mr Bmciku hna edited these ^'oliimes with grant ability, yet by 
no means faidtlessly. TJie tone of the biography is pitched Lou liigh, 
and produces an overatraineid effect. There is a vein of quiet sus- 
inal pftuefjyric, a more than occasional hero- worship, thoruiighly 
inconsistent with Mr. Robertson's humility, and not justitied by his 
poeitdoo. A life so simple did not need so elaborate a setting. An 
impression is sometime? protluced not very conaist-ent with tlie facts. 
He was not a clerical Ciicbt'Oli ; nor need we believe that bu had 
mastered all his theologj'^, nor that parishes yielded to him in a few 
Sundays. Tbnmghimt, too, tlii?m is the lunnifest taking of a side, 
r. Brooke's iintipiitliy to the Eviiiigelical party, and his synipntliies 
itli extremely free theology, have the effect of making Mr, Kobert- 
seem much greater than they were. He is inclined to pit him 
.t "the Evangelicals," and "the Evangelicals" against bim ; to 
mftke the most of thetr perscf-^utiou of him ; to see in their system of 
(himght only defect, bigoLry, and what must pass away. The Evan- 
gelical party may have (IwimUed into a Narrow Church jiarty of late 
yenrs, bankrupt of scholarship, of high intellectual endowments^ and 
of that higher power wlntih imprcsfles itself u])on the time; but its 
Joctriual aad ecclesiastical opinions, its earnestoesa and philanthropy, 
ire shared by an ever-inci-easing body, who have no sympathy with 
its present form, who cordially dislike its bitterness, who are not to 
So identified with it3 bigotry, nud who nmat yet pass by its name. It 
is neither quite accurate nor fair to apply the hard censures of this 
Violc to n iMidy at present so vaiioualy composed and so loosely tield 
together They may apply to a body of this body ; they are exag- 
gerated and onesided even then. It ia easy to fasten on it.? failings, 
to rail at its narrowneas, to expose its gossip and scandal, its seifiah 
and elVeminate policy; but Englishmen nwe "the Evangelical suu- 
ceesion " too much to speak tightly of its services ; and if its leaders 
Imve not been replaced, and as a party it baa decayed, its iiupulses 
m a movement of reUgioua earnestness and truth are atill reaching 
wide, and bleasbig where they reach. It woidd have been well to 
remembered words that have lieen fitly applied to another, 
which express the temper in which Mr. Koliertsoii tauylit ; t!iat 
"he felt himself called to bear a continual witness against those who 
couibiuid the cnisliiug of opponents with tlie assertion of principles ; 
he lielieved thut every party triumph is an injiLiy bj the wholti 
C'liorch. and an especial injury to the party which wius the triumph,"* 

Fr^fiice to .\rL'lii1?[wgn Hiu-q's " CliargM," p. Ixi. There ia a hin't In one uf the last 
. Mr- UolwrUoa u'ii>to that miglit linve gavcd his bioginjihcr frum his QuatiLke. ''' In 
nadiiag lire*, the iiUiSftion lix- often is, n-hethcr it be odci -n-hic-'h ib all re9|ke(its iiaswcrd 
«ar^idctJ of a life; M-hereus the iiiKvtiotL uuglit to he, whether it hnHelrojiglfe.ttuhiteJ 
•on* Oil« or other of out manifold anil man^-sidcd life."— Zf/ffrf, ii. 221. 

246 The Conkmforary Revkw. 

Moreover, it is pi-ovoking to be reiiiiiided at eveiy other page that 
Sir. Robertson was abuaed by those who did not agiiie with him; 
that he wjis the victim of old luaida iir both sexes at rrifibtuii ; that 
liis lite was a tmjiody. llu Wita soiDsitively organized, aud lelt pam 
keenly— the iiain of Inneltiiess, suspicion, and slander in<jflt of alL 
Iiut thcne wa.s nothinij siirjirisin-^ if those whom he struck at. struck 
back, nr if ueither Kvanyelienl nor Tractarian lent hiuk sympathy. 
His peui^li,' were sincerely attached to him ; he had loyal t'rieuda wlio 
could apjirecinU! his wortli; he huil the power nf pressing his con- 
victions ou an iiudience that believed him. He kindled opposition : 
he could have expected nothing less. " It seems to me," he says, " a 
pitit'td thing for auy man to nsjiire to be trne and to spe-ak truth, aad 
then to couiplaiii, m astonishinGnt. that truth lias not cruwus U* give, 
but thorns." He gave as well as took, and hotly and rashly enough ; 
in isolation a theological Ishmael, but not without hig hand being 
against every man, when he conceived the tnitli was at stalic, It 15 a to jiteseut him as a pitifnl snfl'erer. desolate, forsaken, victim- 
ized to dentil. He had far too healthy and manly a nstuTe lor that 
Vet, in jiidyiri<4 jMt. Brooke, gomethinj,' must Ik; set down to the difficult}' 
of hi3 tnak, and he has always written in the spirit of a frank, honour- 
able, luL^'hinimled geutleuian. Ho had to write a life with little incident, 
and that ^vas already "\\Titten in the pulpit ; if he sometimes snys too 
much, he siiys it so well that lie Jiiay almost ho forgiven. From tbe 
Brighton Sermons the world h£i,d learned the stor\' of the preattlier — hie 
solitude, his struf^fjles, his conflict with tbe relii;!ions world, his doubts 
and certaintii!3, his charity, his passionate love of nature aud aniinal 
life, his estimate of public events and pubUe men;— nay, they reveal 
the Ijooka he read, and who were his favom'ste poets ; his instincts 
iiud testes, and the complexion of bi.s daily intercourse. For what he 
said, was said out of himselC; and when be had apprehended a truth, 
he was not satisfied till it was tried in the circumstances about him. 
Thid intense and affluent jiersonsilicy only made ifr. Brooke's task 
the harder. And another difliculty met him. The Letters m-e the mo&t 
interesting to Englighmen since Dr. Arnold's ; packed with most sug- 
<,'estive ami various thour^ht; chie£ly ethical aud theological, but not 
without vivid sketches of .scenery, and tliLsbes of genial and siditle 
criticism. Few critics brought such liapjiy itisight to ttieir work, or j^^'e 
Buch piiiraise of e.xcellence. It is enough to mention his defence ami 
aualysis of " In Memoriam," his untini^hcd essay on Wordsworth, hia 
remarks on Timon of Athens and Sliakspere's use of superstition, his 
interjiretation of single lines from Tennyson and Keble, aud the brief 
notes on books that lie scattered tbruugh his corresiMjndence.* Itut 

• "LMtiirt* nnd Adilre*fM," pp. 155— IS!), 2I1P— 5SS, !ftC-7, 167-9. "Lftter?," i„ 
rp- 20lf, 2Gi(, 2TP. i?, 79—-!. 

I'rederick William Robertson. 249 

the Letters and the Sermons are of quite different characters. The 
thinker, with his unresolved questions, and pain of doubt, and weari- 
ness, and varying moods, appears in the one as characteristically as the 
teacher in the other. It is some time before we can feel at home witli 
two such various aspects of the same man. The way in which the 
letters have been selected and printed adds to our perplexity. State- 
ments in a letter are not as dogmatically exact as statements from the 
pulpit, nor as dogmatically exhaustive. Half their meaning must be 
gathered from our knowledge of wlien and to wliom they were written. 
Slany of these letters seem to liave been written in time of mental 
and physical torture ; many of them to Unitariaus and sceptics. It 
would have been well if these had been more minutely specified ; for 
the former are naturally morbid, and the latter are naturally deficient 
ia comprehensive statements of truth, and botli may be easily mis- 
apprehended. By unexplained and unbalanced passages from his let- 
ters, it would be possible for meu of negative creeds to claim him with 
triumph ; to class him with theologians with whom he had scarcely 
icommon principle ; to set him down as querulous, and accuse him of 
much that he condemned. It is questionable whetlier Sir. Brooke has 
not been over-considerate, even one-sided, iu what he has excluded. 
There must have been brighter and cheerfuller words than any in 
these volumes. There must have been the play of warm, natural 
affections relieving the sombre history of mental struggle. There are 
truer, manlier, and happier features of character brought out in the 
sermons for which the letters, as they stand, afford little counterpart. 
Yet there are some who will hold it unfair to judge hbn by expres- 
sions wrung out by suffering from a weary brain, who will tiy rather 
to anderstand than to condemn him, who, if they wish that lie were 
more, will be thankful for what he is. They wdl find variance from 
received and ancient doctrines, sometimes of the widest and, I think, 
saddest sort ; they will also find that it is ofteu more in the way of 
patting truth than in the truth itself. They may differ from him 
widely, but the more thoughtful they are they will find the more 
points of contact with his writings, the more help from the spirit ui 
which he taught. Archer Butler wUl always rank far above him for 
eloquence, and Newman for metaphysical and dialectic power; but 
BQch as he was, his time has accepted Robertson with a favour not 
accorded to any other preacher. For indeed he was more a representa- 
tive than a creative man ; in whom the character of the time at 
\\& best is plainly seen, and the movement of theology ; and who, 
if very dear to those whom he blessed, may yet be to all as a sign 
of a changed religious thought and the necessity of reconstructing a 
great religioxis party. 

W. F. Stevenson. 

VOL. I. s 


ANEW Pailiaiueiit is always accompanied by the issue of fi-eah 
M'rita to the Archbishops of Canterburj' and York, requiring 
them to summon a new Convocation of tlie clergy of tlieii" resi)ective 
provinces. As to the usefulness of this ancient assembly, a great 
difference of opinion has been manifested since the revival of its 
activity in the year 1852, after a suspension of nearly a eenturj- and 
a half. But there is reason to believe that the last Convocation has 
succeeded both in attracting to itself far more of the attention of the 
public thiui its predecessor did, and, on the wliole, in obtaining a 
firmer footing. Tlic leading daily journal, indeed, es^jecially during 
tlie last year, assailed it in several articles, embodying those feelings 
■of antipathy which most Englishmen entertain for whatever they look 
■upon, rightly or M'rongly, as indicating the pretensions of a clerical 
caste. But the effect of those ai'ticlcs was more that of an advertise- 
ment than anything else. It was difficult to believe that so much 
pains should be taken t<) neutralize the eifect of debates which were 
all the while utterly futile, and must, in their nature, remain barren of 
all results ; wbUe at the same time, indiscriminate attacks upon the 
-active members of Convocation, — men in many instances eminent for 
ability, and well known both within and without the limits of their 
])rofessi on,— caused some reaction in favour of the assembly to which 
they belonged. IJut above everything else, the deepest questions con- 

Convocation. 25 1 

nected with theology have undoubtedly acquired a predominant 
interest with the educated public during the last five years ; and with 
these Convocation has attempted in a certain way to deal. AVhcther 
the attempt was a wise cue may be doubted; but of the interest 
which' it excited among the clergy generally, and a large number of 
the educated laity, there can be no question. It has so thorouglily 
roused attention to the point of what the legitimate functions of Cou- 
Tocation are, that of all issues the one least likely seems to bo that it 
should again fall into the state of suspended animation from which it 
was so lately recalled. Whether for good or for evil, the sessions in 
the Jerusalem Chamber are likely to be resumed, and probably to 
grow in length and importance, during the interval that may elapse 
before the next dissolution of Parliament. 

The public in general is so ignorant of tlie legal fitatus of Convoca- 
tion, that a short sketch of its position since the passing of the Act of 
Submission* (which may be regarded as the commencement of the 
actual constitution of Church and State) is necessary to enable them 
to form a judgment as to the limits of future synodical action. Tlie 
first step towards its assemblage is for the Crown to issue a writ to 
the Archbishop commanding him to summon the bishops, deans, 
Mchdeacons, chaptei's, and clergy of his province. Unfortified by this 
writ, the Archbishop cannot now move without incurring the pains 
and penalties of prmmunirc. Anciently there was no occasion for 
him to wait for it, and he coidd summon a synod of the bishops and 
cleigy of his province whenever he thought it necessary. This right 
is, in fact, traceable in the next part of the proceeding. Tlie Arch- 
bishop does not (like the Lord Chancellor in the parallel case of 
Parliament) act ministerially, issuing such and so many writs as may 
be particularized, but authoHlativeli/, by a mandate, in his own uame 
and under his own seal, to the Bishop of London, who is the Dean of 
the province of Canterbury, and who, acting ministerially, transmits 
the same to the other bishops for execution. The returns to these writs 
are deposited in the register of tJie see of Canterbury, just as the 
returns to the parliamentary writs are deposited in the Court of 
Cbanceiy. And although the Royal writ is recited by the Archbishop 
before his own mandate, this is merely to show that the latter may 
he obeyed without danger by the parties to whom it is addressed, the 
ecclesiastical forms themselves remaining exactly the same as before 
the passing of the statute. 

On Wednesday the 1st of June, 1850, tbe late Convocation met, in 
accordance with the regular mandate, in St. I'auI's Cathedral; and, 
except that the Archbishop came in his carriage, and not in his barge 
from Lambeth to Paul's Wharf, the proceedings were precisely in the 

* 26 Uen. VIII., c. 19. 

252 Tlie Contemporary Review. 

same fomi as that described by Archbishop Parker in the time <rf 
Elizabeth. The Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's received the Primate, 
accompanied by his chaplains and preceded by the Apparitor-General, 
at the western entrance of the Cathedral, and, conducting him up the 
central aisle, placed him in the Dean's stall. The bishops took their 
places on either side in the stalls, and the procession was closed by 
clerjjy of the province following after. Then came the Litany in 
Latin ; the anthem, " Oh, pray i'or the ]ieace of Jerusalem;" and a Latin 
sermon by Dr. Waldegrave, now Bishop of Carlisle. The " Gloria in 
Excelsis " was then sung, and the Archbishop woimd up the service 
by pronouncing the benediction in Latin. 

After tlie conclusion of tlie religious ceremonies, the Archbishop, 
attended l)y the bisliops and clerg)', proceeded to the Chapter-house, 
where the prelates took their seats and the rest of the clergy stood 
around. The Itegistrar then read the Queen's writ ordering the sum- 
mons of a Convocation, and the Bishop of London returned the Arch- 
bishop's mandate, Avith his own certificate that it had been duly 
executed. The Registrar then called over (prceamizcd) the names of 
the other bishops, and the Archbishop handed over the certificates 
transmitted by them to his Vicar-General, Dr. Travers Twiss. All 
members of Convocation who do not appear in person, or send a 
suflicient excuse, are pronounced contumacious, and to have incurred 
tlie penalty of contumacy; but at the same time the enforcement of 
the penalty is suspended, and the suspension continued from day to 
day imtil the end of the business of Convocation. The "Schedule of 
Contumacy," after being read on this occasion by the Registrar, was 
signed by the .(\rchbishop publicly, after which he admonished the 
clergy below the episcopal dignity to withdraw, under tlie direction of 
the Dean of St. I*aul's, to a chapel at the north-west end of the 
Cathedral, to choose a prolocutor, and to present him, for approval 
and confirmation, in the Jerusalem Chamber on Wednesday the 22nd 
of June. 

When the ArchbLshop anived at the Jerusalem Chamber on the 
day named, he was met by a written protest, on the part of the Dean 
and Chapter, agamst any infringement of their liberties, presented on 
this occasion by Canon SVordsworth. It was in the accustomed form, 
and was answered, as on all foimer occasions, by a written reply, read 
by the Registrar and formally signed by the Archbishop. The junior 
Bisliop (LlandafT) then read the Convocation Litany in Latin, alter 
which, the Archbishop sitting on the "Ti-ibunal," with the Bishops of 
Liclifield, Llandaff, and Oxford on either side, and the deans, arch- 
deacons, and inferior clergy standing, Dr. Elliott, Dean of Bristol, 
the I'rolocutor chosen by the Lower House, was presented to and 
approved by him. The new Prolocutor thanked the Archbishop, and 

Convocation, 253 

the latter, after admonishing the clergy of the Lower House to remain 
with the Prolocutor in the Jerusalem Chamher and commence their 
proper business, prorogued Convocation to an upper room in tlie 
Bounty Office, which is the regular place of assemblage for the so- 
called Upper House. This prorogation also takes place in virtue of a 
written document, publicly read by the Registrar and signed by the 

The above forms, the antiquity of which is very great, are all con- 
ducted in the Latin language, and they show veiy plainly the relation 
in which what are now in common parlance termed the Upper iii,.l 
Lower Houses of Convocation stand to one another and likewise to 
their president. The whole of the members of Convocation do in fact 
constitute only one House, the elements of which are, however, 
regarded as of very different dignity. The paramount su;^)eriority of 
the President is especially manifest. He siunmous the clergy of his 
jffovince (when his hands are once untied by the Royal writ) to attend 
him at the time and place he may select. He judges, in tlie event of 
their not appearing, of tlie validity of the excuses offered ; and where 
these do not seem to him satisfactory he pronounces the offenders 
contumacious, and reserves to hunself the power of inflicting an 
adequate penalty upon them, wliatever their rank in the Church. 
And this penalty was no light one in some cases. It sometimes tn*/c 
the form of sequestration of the income of their beneKces, sometiuies 
that of interdiction from the participation in religious services. In 
1416, Archbishop Chichely sequestrated the benefices of a veij- lai^e 
number of dehnqnents ; for no less than nineteen of them were fonoaUy 
absolved, not, however, without first making submission, and each 
taking an oath for better behaviour in the time to con>e. The mem- 
bers of Convocation, on the otlier hand, wlio are below the episcopal 
Bmk, occupy an altogether inferior position. Not only do they stand 
when in the presence of the Upper House, but, except on i-are occa- 
sions, they are not allowed to be present at all. The Pi-olocutor is the 
organ of communication between them and the President. Through 

* The public sig;naturc by tbe Arcbbiabop, and in presence! of the whole Convocation, is 
DMeaBary to giTo the synodito] character to any formal act. It is just as indispensable aa 
the Royal assent to an Act of Parliament, and the necessity for it is an additional sofi'guard 
Bgunst the danger of Convocation, under the inllucnce of a temporary oxcitomcnt, giving 
uthoritative sanction to erroneous positions, Un the 20th of June, 1861, after the now 
canon (relative to the permission of parents to become sponsotH) had been framed in iitursu- 
mc« of licence from the Cromi, a formal proposal of the intended signature was sent to the 
Lover House, which immediately suspended au animated debate to adopt the proposal. 
At the appointed hour (2 p.m.) die President, accompanied by the Bishops of Oxford, St. 
Asaph, and Lincoln, appeared in the Jti'usaleDi Chamber, llis Grace then proceeded, lon- 
jointly with the Prolocutor, to bold the copy of thi; new canon, and read the some iiloud to 
the ftBacmblcd sj'nod. It was then signed by all members of both Houses pre^'ut. The 
■ame formalities were observed in a more important matter — the nc-n~ canons on subsciip- 
tion — on June 29, 1865, the last day of the session. 

254 ^'^^ Contemporary Review, 

him all messages (after he is once appointed) come down from the 
Upper House to them ; and lie is the channel through which they are 
bound to nialte their wishes (as a House) known to him. At one time 
the l*resident even nominated the Prolocutor ; lie now always approves 
him before he is allowed to act, and, should he be temporarily dis- 
abled, his deputy in like manner. In a word, the whole Convocation, 
in the idea, depends upon the Archbishop; it is convened (save for 
the Act of Submission) at his will ; it deliberates (subject to the same 
limitation) upon such subjects as he may think proper to bring before 
it ; it conducts its discussion of those subjects according to tlie order 
he may indicate ; it continues sitting so long only as he may judge 
expedient ; and finally, no conclusion at which it may arrive has any 
validity, as a synodical act, until reduced to wTiting by the proper 
official, and formally signed by himself in the presence of both HouscB 
united in one. Tlie bishops, admitted to the presence of the I*rJmate 
as confratrcs, have the privilege of tendering their advice as to any 
particular course of action, — a privilege which may occasionally make 
a kindly and unsuspicious nature the tool of a coarser and more 
astute one ; but in the long nm it is scarcely possible for an injudi- 
cious conclusion to be formally acquiesced in, Mdiere proper time has 
been given for liuly ventilating the subject, and considering it in all its 
bearings, unless on the supposition of the high places in the Churoh 
Ijeing filled up more reckles.sly than has yet been done, even by the 
most reckless of ministers. 

The separation of the two Houses, however, brings about a state of 
things which much obscures the old idea of Convocation. The stiff 
forms and the Latin are thrown aside together as soon as this opera- 
tion has been effected, and the Jerusalem Chamber is left to the sole 
occupation of the lower prelates (as the deans and archdeacons are 
sometimes called) and the representatives of the chapters and the 
parochial clergy. Its full numbera are thus made up : — 

Deans .... 




Proctors for Chapters . 


Proctors for Dioceses . 


Total . .140 

The chapters each send one repre-sentative, and the dioceses two; but 
the mode of electing these last varies considerably. In most cases the 
two are elected, like members of Parliament, by the direct choice of the 
whole of the clergy of the diocese. In some, each archdeaconry elects 
a couple, and the bishop selects two from the number thus submitted 
to him. In the diocese of Lichfield, where there are three arch- 
deaconries, the six, elected in i)air8 by the three bodies, themselves 

Convocation. 255 

select two of their own number to serve as pi-octors for the whole. 
There are other anomalies, to none of which there is any occasion 
here to refer ; but it may be mentioned, that in the province'^of York 
each archdeaconry returns two proctors, all of whom sit. 

It is only the beneficed clergy who vote for the parochial proctors. 
In most chapters the canons alone elect their representative :, in some 
the prebendaries who are not residentiaries join in the election ; but 
in none do the honorary canons (a class of titular dignitarie3_,wliich 
have recently been created) have any share in the privilege. This 
anomaly adroits of an easy explanation. Convocation was in early 
times summoned, at the instance of the Crown, for the same purposes 
that Parliament was — viz., to obtain a subsidy ; and as only tliose 
who possessed taxable property were called upon to contribute, no . 
others were considered to have any interest in the matter. The power 
of self-taxation remained witli the clergy mitil (juito modern times. 
Down to the year 1664 they had always taxed tlieiiiselves in Convo- 
cation, their proceedings being afterwards confirnmd by I*arliameut. 
But at that time an arrangement was made between Archbishop Shel- 
don and the Lord Chancellor (Clarendon), by which the clergy silently 
waved their privilege, and submitted to be included in the money 
bills of the House of Commons. "Whatever opinion may be enter- 
tained of the expediency of this change, there can be no doubt it was 
the most important, in a constitutional point of view, that could pos- 
sibly take place. The Crown from that moment lost all interest in the 
regular assembling of Convocation ; and Convocation at the same time 
lost the power — which not many years ago would have been a most 
valuable one — of su^esting a fresh distribution of the revenues of the 
Church, which might perhaps have produced whatever good has been 
done by the Ecclesiastical Commission, without the evils that, in the 
estimation of most thinking men, have accompanied the changes 
eifected by a too hasty legislation. 

However glaring the anomalies in the representation of the clergy 
in the Lower House may be, now that a numerous body — that of 
stipendiary curates — has sprung into existence, without any direct 
power of sending representatives of its interests to Convocation, it 
may be doubted whether any practical grievance exists which would 
not be removed by the synod as at present constituted, were its 
removal possible without the aid of Parliament, liut a decided con- 
viction seems to prevail among the members who possess the greatest 
influence, and form the most powerful party in the assembly, that the 
invoking this aid is a policy which must be shunned at all cost. On 
the other hand, a deeply rooted jealousy of the spirit of ecclesiastical 
domination has operated upon others — perhaps the majority — and 
induced them to absent themselves from the meetings of Convocation, 

256 Tlie Contemporary Review. 

as a sort of protest against the high-flowii theories of its functions 
which they liear pro^wunded. The result haa been that the benches 
of the Lower House have been mainly, and till of late almost exclu- 
sively, occupied by the advocates of one class of views, as unpopular 
us they are decided. But this party, although well organised, and 
led by an ecclesiastical champion whose abilities and courage are 
admitted even by those who most deprecate the policy they are 
employed in furthering, is an extremely small one. Thar attendanca 
on Ctinvocation is most diligent ; and yet, during the last six yean, 
the numbers present in the Lower House probably never equalled 
one-thirtl of its members, \mtil the excitement caused by the publica- 
tion of the noted " Essays and Keviews." And when that excitement 
was at its climax, in consequence of an unexpected opposition suddenly 
showing itself to tlie rash, and (in the opinion of many) altogether 
irregular proceedings whicli issued in the condemnation of the book, 
the number present at the decisive division rose only to fifty-eight! 
Tlie remaining eiglity-eiglit, from whatever cause, took no part in the 
matter, although the assertion of a claim to a censorship cannot be 
regarded as a thing of small importance to Knglishmen, whether 
clerks or lapnen ; and the magnitude of the religious questions which 
supplied a pretext for such a claim can hardly be exa^erated. 

AVe are no ardent admirei-s of Convocation as it is ; nor have 
the doubts of the expediency of its revival, which were su^ested at 
the time when its resuscitation took place, been removed by what 
has since occurred. But of one thing we feel sure, that it lias 
secured for itself such an amount of rec<jgnition. that it becomes a 
dereliction of duty, on tlie part of those who are elected to it, to ignore 
its ^cxistonce, and refuse to contribute their share of wisdom and 
discretion to restrain its powera from mischief, and develop, so far as 
may be, its capacities for good. It sliould not be forgotten, that even 
the opponents of the tiulmlcut Attcrbuiy and bis party, owing to whose 
proceedings the regular meeting nf Convocation wiis disused, were by 
no menus willing to purehase peace at such a price. Wake and 
Gibson thought no less of the necessity of synods than did their 
adversaries, with whom their sole issue was as to the manner of con- 
ducting thein. And whetlier tins opinion of their necessity be well 
or] ill-fomided, it is clearly impossible to abolish a constitutional 
right, which cannot be gainsaid, so long as men are found to take 
advantage of it. if the number of such increases, — if high legal 
functionaries oi>euly justify their pretensions, — if in fact there is no 
argument against the constitutional right, except that iu tlie opinion 
of the greater i)art of the world it is a pity it should exist, the time 
for a policy of inaction is certainly past for all wlio wish to exert their 
due influence on the fortunes of the Church. 

Convocation. 257 

It is only justice, too, to the leaders of the Lower House of Con- 
vocation, to declare that they have addressed themselves to the con- 
sideration of matters seriously affecting the interests of both clergy 
and laity, and which cannot be looked upon in the light of party 
questions ; — such are, the ways and means of extending the operations 
(rf ■Uie Church, by an increase in the number of bishoprics both at 
home and abroad ; by missions to the heathen ; by lay co-operation at 
home ; by the preparation of new services adapted to special occasions. 
The question of religious sisterhoods, too, and that of the training of 
the deigy, have been handled ; and on these and cognate matters 
reports have been drawn up, containing a great deal of information, 
and valuable, if for no other reason, at any rate for embodying the 
views of men well acquainted with the subject. The defects of the 
existing Law of Dilapidations, the burden of the maintenance of 
chancels, and the difficulties attendant on the enforcement of Chxirch 
Bates, have likewise not escaped attention ; neither has the abuse of 
excessive Consecration charges, and the hardship of insufficient en- 
dowment of parishes. However inadequate an assembly Convocation 
may be to settle such questions as these authoritatively, nothing but 
good can result from their full discussion, especially if all parties in 
the Church that have its interests sincerely at heart would freely put 
their opinions forward, and not keep away from the Jerusalem Cham- 
ber from a dread of finding themselves in a minority. 

The mode of conducting business in Convocation, ill adapted as it is 
to a l^islative body, is very far from being unsuited to that function 
to which it is to be hoped the synod will ultimately confine itself, — 
the function of a standing committee of inquiry on church matters. 
After prayers have been read, and the names of members prwconized, 
the next thing is the presentation of petitions. If these take the 
form of the statement of a grievance and a prayer for its redress, they 
are called by the teclmical name of gravamina. If they proceed from 
any member or members of the Lower House, the Prolocutor is bound 
to take them to the President, to whom and the other bishops they are 
all addressed. But they are still nothing mora than petitions of the 
individuals from whom they emanate, unless the Lower House chooses 
to'adopt them, from the importance of the matters to which they refer, 
and to desire the Prolocutor to take them up in the name of the House. 
A gravamen, so adopted, becomes an articulus den. But when several 
petitions ase brought before the notice of the Lower House, all bearing 
upon the same grievance, it is not imusual to refer the whole of them 
(with the consent of the petitioners) to a committee called the Com- 
mittee of Gravamina, to be reduced to some general form embodying 
the whole, which itself is then submitted as an articulus cleri, and 
goes up^to the President in Heu of the gravamina on which it is 


The Contemporary Review, 

fonn(ia(I. It is plain, that by this proceeding, if lionestly followetl 
uut, a {p-eat deal of trauble is saved tfl tlie Ujiper House, who get the 
siiliject-matter which tliey have to handle in a highly conceutrated 
fonii, and complete in all its hearings. Hut to refer a tjrammcn to 
such 11 comntittoe ^vitEiuut the cunstiit of its frtimer, is manifestly 
uncoustitiitioual. as it amounts tu intLTcupting access to the Upper 
House by way of petition, which is the conuuon law riglit of every 
clergyman, if not even of every hiy member of the Church. It hua 
only once been done, luid will scarcely be repeated.' 

"When any matter has been bronyht, either by petition or otherwise, 

* This H so iaportivit b raattn, tLnt ve mslce do apology fm the foUo'n^g extnicta 
from ihe C/iraiiie/e n/ (hnvncntieri : — 

(i.) On Ihi! IQth nf Juno, 185S, flhe I'ralocntor (Dr. Elliott, Dean of BnBlfll) Mud, " I 
haru been i-cniteslwl by sevcnil imeniborsof Ihe^Lower House — not by the EaiiM itwlf — tc 
pbce their bcvokJ ^i-niumnHd before roiir Gruce. The tTiIe whi'h th<^ Ijjwer llouae aeetna 
inclined to maintain la this, ihat when a grnrainen ie laid lifftirw llie LowiT Home, which 
clnliuB the attenttQn or inU-rfiTein'e r1' Convocation, it caimiac be prtaenlti ta your Grace by 
t!ie J'njlinjiitor, 04 ri-pTcstating ihe l/jw^r Uoust?^ \iithi>m iU ipti-ial pMit. Thm whtn liie 
House rcfusM its snncliDO in this nianiiLir to grnrnuthta, or rannot iVom any othtr reason 
entertain thi?ir eon side rati on, \h» indiTidunl ini?iikl>ers of Ihs Lower Uousq are fntitlcil 
to (^ UpCn thD Prolocutor tn cffiivey lliem lo the lianids of ihe rn^aident. For my 
part, 1 helieva thai any por*)!! whattvci-, lay or cIbHd (and at coui-so memhers of the 
Lower Howsc), rnny aildreu eilht^r petition, ffrafamtji, or re/ormaniium to your Grare aa 
pmiileiit, oitbcT direelly or through tliv intcn'cntion of a biiUcip, bL>ing member of the 
nppur UoUBP, and that ai'j^grdingly the jilten't'lltion of the ProIocuUr U not neuQiaaiy. I 
barG lo repeat that tlio grevomiui' wliicli I now f reseat are tboaeof tlte individuaii aigniup 
theiu, nad not ofiii? Lo«-er IIpube. 

"The Pkasikent (Archbishop Sumner). — So doubt clergymen, ishether mcmbera ot 
the Lower Hoiiso or not, are at liberty to presant petitioiiH to this Uoiise ; but what I 
receive through the Fiulorutor makca it a measuTc of the I«wer Houae. It woulii I*; 
contrary to usage to Tecciv<? their reprtflenloliona in aay ntJitr woVf or petitions which an 
act lietitiriLs of the Lower l[ou#(% through him. 

"C.*>ON WniU'^woKTM (ono of the rrtilocutor'a assessorB). — Uavu wo the riglit W 
express oicr persiumon as tg the law and piartiee- of ConrovRtiou t 

"Tub Pkesiuest.— Only throuKh tliu i'lulotulor. The rresiJent knows nothing of 1 
other Udusc but through Ibe I'rolotutor. 

"Tile Biemor df OxrokD, — .Will your Grace allow me to consider the point? 

" 'I'liE fuEsiDHiT. — I think the quention i* decided. " 

Tbo Proloculvr and his ajwiK^O'rs having retin^d, 11 thart diseusuoQ took placr, in vbi^ 
i--oiar*e of whieh Gihson's detiniiioas of g-raranmm tin<l Trfurmaiida were reftrrcii to and 
C0D(itIen>d. At the elosc of thu con versa tion the I'rgloculor was sent for, and the rnJESi- 
DBNT said : " It has b«cn represented to me by a menibcr of the U[ipeT Uoiise that the 
ichedulcs otTered to me contaia refer maridir. As such I am ready lo recelTe Ihfiin through 
the biindB of th« l'rolo*!titor." 

(11.) A apoit ni a, ComtmttRe of Oravammn, presented to Con^ocatinn on the :!Olh 
*st July, 1^34, and adapted by the Lower Houbo the next acEiioD, containa the follcwlng 
pBTBgrapli : — " WTieii whednieB of i/rarairf'ia out 1 tfminan^a ur* prcwntcd to tho Jlousa, 
they may be refurrtd, up^m a nintian duly made anil carried, to tk «>ammittae of gracamimu 
tC rrfurmainla, by which they may be r<?coiniiiMid«l as proper subjects to be mode arlifi'U 
flerit to be presented as such to the Upper Tlouae thrungh tbti Prolucutor ■ but Other 
ffiartmhia or yrfortnamiit, more fArtimJurly if tiiey be of a lotul and spedal rather than of 
a gcaenil character, may be trani-mitti'd to the Upper, Houae tliruugh the I'roliwutor, in 
ib^ name sf the meiubcr who pretcnta them." 


Convocation. 259 

under the cognizance of the Upper House, it is the common practice 
for them to appoint a committee to report on the matter. Sometimes 
tliis committee consists of bishops oiily ; sometimes of members of 
both Houses; and sometimes a message is sent to the Lower House 
desiring them to appoint members of their own body to constitute a 
committee. This the Lower House cannot refuse in direct terms ; as 
neither can they any command of the Archbisliop's, the theory being 
that every member is at the President's disposal, to be made use of in 
assisting him in any matter that may occur affecting the interests of 
the Church. In the disputes between the two Houses, which occurred 
in the few years immediately preceding the suspension of Convoca- 
tion, the Lower House made strong efforts to escape from this respon- 
sibility, but without effect. An indirect consequence of the right is, 
that any discussion which is going on in the Lower House in a 
manner unpalatable to the Upper, may be suddenly interrupted by a 
message to take some other subject into consideration forthwith. But 
if the Lower House feel strongly on the matter, they usually reply to 
such a message by a humble request for more time to finish what 
they are about, or by some similar piece of deprecation. Sometimes 
the Lower House appoint committees of tlieir own body for purposes 
connected with their own proceedings, and these arc in some cases 
permanent, as the " Committee of Gravamiim " above-mentioned ; tlie 
" Committee of Privileges," who investigate all matters connected 
with the rights of the House ; and the " Committee of Expenses," 
whose duty is the unpleasant one of regulating the disbursement of 
fimds whicli have only a very shadowy existence. When the atten- 
tion of the House was attracted to the publication of the Bishop of 
Natal, a committee was formed for the purpose of examining the pre- 
cedents for censuring heretical publications ; but its investigations 
were of too tedious a character for the impatience of the majority, 
and its report was not presented until after the censors had committed 
themselves to a mode of proceeding for which it turned out that no 
sufficient precedents could be found. But however much in parti- 
cular instances passion or partisanship may work temporary mischief, 
the method of proceeding by committees is one calculated to insure 
the fullest consideration of any subject, as well as the most lucid 
exposition of its various bearings. 

When a committee has presented its report, this must wait its turn 
for discussion, unless its importance is so great that the House deems 
it desirable to suspend the standing orders in order to take it into 
consideration at once. No debate can take place on tlie motion to 
suspend the standing orders. The mover states the reason which 
influences him, and the House at once decides Aye or No. Standing 
orders may in the same way be suspended to allow a motion to come 

26o The Contemporary Review. 

on at once. Tlie practice in the conduct of debates is to allow every 
member to speak once on eacli amendment, and also on the original 
motion. He cannot speak twice except by way of explanation, unless 
with the permission of the House ; but thLs is very often given, or at 
least assumed. There is perhaps no part of its proceedings iu which 
the Lower House appears to less advantage than in the way iu which 
it handles amendments, which sometimes bear scarcely any assignable 
relation to the original motion, and yet are allowed to be put ; while 
occasionally those which have a totally different bearing from one 
another are regarded as identical, because they are equally prejudicial 
to the first motion. The cause probably is the very circumstance 
which renders Convocation, as we liave remarked above, well adapted 
for a commission of inquiry, — the habit in each member of looking at 
all questions from one special point of view, In the belief that it is 
the only possible one, and that no compromise is conceivable without 
sacrifice of tlie truth. This is the characteristic — some may call it 
virtue, some vice — of the clerical mind. The more elaborate speeches 
which are delivered are simply essays, developing the thoughts of the 
speaker on the thesis before him, but rarely evincing an ability to 
enter uito the views of an opponent. It is only on rare occasions 
that there is a real debate in tlie proper sense of tlie word, — a grap- 
pling with arguments as they arise in the course of the discuMion, — 
a distinct issue joined, and a definite advantage gained. There are, 
however, some conspicuous exceptions to the prevalent incapacity for 
practical agonisties, who would do honoui" t« any deliberati\^ 
as.sembly ; and for courtesy and good temper the Lower House 
certainly need not fear comparison with Parliament. 

As was to l»e expected, by far the most animated debates which 
took place in the late Convocation were those which amse out of the 
attempt to constitute it a tribunal for the censure of heretical books, 
and (in the sequel of this) the attack upon the constitution of the 
Court of Final Appeal in doctrinal cases. The principal promoters of 
the former movement were, as might have been expected fi-om their 
known ecclesiastical tendencies, Archdeacim Denison in tlie Lower, 
and the Bishtip of Oxford in the Upper House. On February 20th, 
1861, when the matter was first introduced into Convocation, the 
X/)wer House, whih; expressing almost imiversaUy a disaiJiirobntion of 
the noted " Essays and Eeviews," was content, under the influence of 
Ciiiion AVurdswortli, to recoi-d its feelings iu the following temperate 
re.solution : — 

"That the clei^y uf thn Lower House of ('onvocsition of the province of 
Cnuterbiiry, having regjiRl to tlio c:cusure which bns already been pronouDced 
and published by tlie Aichbidhop and Jiishops of the [novinces of Canter- 
bury and York, on certiiin opinions contained in a Ijook entitled 'Es-^iya 

Convocation. 261 

and Keviews,' entertain an earnest hope that, under the Divine blessing, the 
fiiithful zeal of the Christian Church in this land may be enabled to counter- 
act the pernicious influence of the erroneous opinions contained in the said 

This resolution passed by a large majority; but the next day, on a 
motion being made for communicatiug it to the Upper House, a 
member got up to say that he had reason to believe that such a i)ro- 
ceeding would give no satisfaction. An explanation of this change of 
purpose soon appeared. The Bishop of Oxford and Dr. Jelf, in their 
respective Houses, presented petitions from the English Church Union, 
praying that synodical action might be talien against the obnoxious 
(loctrinea, and on.tbe 2nd of March, Archdeacon Denison, although he 
had himself been the seconder of Dr. "Wordsworth's resolution, gave 
notice that at the next meeting of tlie House — then about to adjourn 
for nearly a fortnight — he would move the susjjension of standing 
orders, in order to address the Upper House witli a request to appoint 
a committee to examine the book and report upon it. AVlien the 
14th of March arrived, an appropriate gravamen, with twenty names 
attached to it, was handed to the Prolocutor, and in order to avoid the 
necessity for suspending standing orders, whicli would perhaps not 
have been carried, it was proposed that this gravamen should be made 
the gravamen of the whole House. But it being urged that this was 
only an indirect method of making it an articidics clcri, it was taken 
up to the President simply as the gravamen of twenty individuals. 
Yet, momentous as this first step to the establishment of a censorship 
was, so little were any but the movers of the business aware of the 
principles at issue, that the twenty signatories were, in the belief of 
the Prolocutor, the majority of the memliers present in the Lower 
House.* The Bishop of Oxford was of course ready to receive it on 
its arrival in the Upper House, and moved that the Arclibisliop be 

" Requested to direct the Lower House to appoint a committee to examine 
' Essays and Reviews,' and report to the Lower House thereon ; in onler 
that it may communicate to this House its opinion whether there are sufti- 
cient grounds for proceeding to a synodical judgment upon this hook." 

After an animated debate, remarkable for a very curious passage of 
arms between the Bishop of Oxford and Dr. Baring, then Bishop of 
Gloucester, and now of Durham,-f the motion was carried by a majority 
of eight to four, and the next day the committee was appointed, with 

" Chroniete of Convoeation, p. 651. It turned out that there were forty members preatnt. 

t Dr. Baring eipreseed, in more contemptuous phraseology thaa it is usual for dignified 
clergymen to employ, his opinion that CouTocation waa not to be regarded aa the represent- 
ative of tho Church ; whereupon hia brother prelate informed him that he had eubjecti'd 
himself to the penalty of excommunication. He replied that on tho authority of the Bishop 
of Oxford himself, such excommunication did not operato till <:atled into action by the 
dioceean, and that it was not his intontion to exercise this power against himself. 

262 The Contemporary Review. 

ArchilL'acou Denison as its pernmueut chairman. On the 18tli of 
June their report was presented to the Lower House, and was taken 
into consideration on the 20th and 21st, in a most lively and ably con- 
ducted discussion, which, after repeated amendments, all tending in 
one way or other to moderate proceedings, had been moved by the 
Dean of Ely, Drs. Sel^\7n and Jeremie, two theological professore 
of the University of Cambridge, and Canon Wordsworth, at last issued 
in the adoption of Archdeacon Denison's resolution, that in the 
opinion of the Lower House there were sufficient grounds for pro- 
ceeding to a syiiodical judgment upon the book. This resolution was 
sent up to tlie Upper House on July 9th, tlie day to whicli Convoca- 
tion had been prorogued, but in the meantime the Bishop of Salisbury 
commenced proceedings against one of the writers of the volume, Br. 
Williams ; and in >iew of the possibility that some of the bishops 
might have to sit in judgment upon him in the event of an appeal to 
the Privy Council (as really turned out), it was resolved to answer the 
Lower House that it was expedient to adjourn the further prosecution 
of the matter pending the suit. The resolution to this effect was 
moved and seconded by the Bishops of Chichester and St. Asaph, two 
of the prelates who had voted in the majority on the 14th of March. 
Whether in the interval the danger of the course they were entering 
upon had been brought home to the Upper House, it is impossible to 
say ; but the resolution was passed without debate or division, although 
both the Bishops of Oxfoi-d and Salisbury were present. Two years 
afterwards, the latter complained bitterly of the course which was 
taken, in terms which sufficiently explain the anxiety which he at 
least felt for synodical action : — 

" Of course, if this Synod liad expressed a deliberate judgment with 
regard to the book, v\ij hnmls iroidd have been strengthened vrith regard to 
the prosecution I had instituted ugninjit one of the writers, and mij course 
would have henn a jnueh more easy one." 

Fortunately for the cliaracter of the English bench, the notion of 
utilizing " the Church of England by representation," to prejudice the 
position of the defendant in a criminal suit, did not commend itself to 
them, nor even, as it would seem, to the one among them whom the 
Bishoj) of Salisbury made the confidant of his " painful feelings " at 
tlie time.* 

Convocation did not meet after this for business till February 11th, 
1862, when the Bishop of Oxford and the Archdeacon again appeared 
at their posts. The former threw off in the L^pper House with a peti- 
tion from fom- churchwardens of the diocese of London, urgently 
calling for " the resumption of synodal action throughout the Queen's 
dominions ; " while the latter placed a protest against the conduct of 

• C/iro»iile 0/ Chnrocalion, p. UGH. 

Convocation. 263 

the Upper House, under the form of a Qravaim^i, iii the hand of the 
Prolocutor. After reciting the circumstances above-mentioned, he — 

" Begs respectfully to state, tliat it appears to him tliat the mispension of 
synodical proceedings in this ca^e is greatly to be regretted for the reasons 
following ; — because, 1 . Tlic grounds assigned for such suspension do not appear 
to him to be valid or sufficient. 2. IJy resting such suspension on the grounds 
assigned, two tilings appear to him to have been mixed up togetlier, which 
should carefully be kept ajwirt, namely, proceedings in synod, and proceed- 
ings in court. 3. Not only do proceedings in synod and proceedings in 
court appear to him to liave bi'en tlms mixed up together, but the former 
appear to him to have been sul>ordinated to the latter. 4. Such subordina- 
tion would be, for solemn rujiaons upon which the undersigned does not here 
enter, unfitting in itself, and, in its effects, injiuious to the authority of the 
Church to guide and warn in controversies of faith." 

This gravamen, was left for signature by any other members who might 
choose ; but it does not appear to have been taken up to the President. 
It would be diflBcult to fi-amc any document more at variance with the 
fundamental relations of the members to their President, or one more 
audaciously defiant in its tone; and possibly some consciousness of 
this fact may have dawned over its framer in liis cooler moments. At 
all events, the gravamen did not reach tlie Upper House, or, if it did, 
escaped all notice ; and the prosecution of the obnoxious volume in 
synod was suspended for two years. In the meanwhile, the publication 
of the Bishop of Natal on the Pentateuch was brought under the 
notice of Convocation, and a censure passed upon it. The suits of the 
Bishop of Salisbury against Dr. Williams, and of Dr. Feudall against 
ilr. Wilson, bad not ajjed. The decision of the Court of Arches, 
though in some points unfavourable to the defendants, was regarded 
as little less than a victory for them by the laity at large ; and when 
the judgment of the Lower Court was reversed on those points by the 
Court of Pinal Appeal, a certain amount of panic as to tlie preser^'a- 
tion of the CImrch's doctrine not unnaturally prevailed among the 
clergy. Here, then, was an occasion, such as even cool and clear- 
headed men might judge it expedient to make use of, for some calm 
and lucid exposition of the orthodox doctrine, which had been endan- 
gered by the loose and rash handling^of controversialists on both sides. 
Such an exposition came forth from the pen of the most learned 
prelate on tlie bench. The charge of the Bishop of St. David's, deli- 
vered at his eighth Visitation in 1863, is unsurpassed by any one 
theological treatise in existence for its depth and subtlety of discrimi- 
nation, as well as for the candour and impartiality with which it 
surveys the whole range of the prevailing controversies. But it was 
not enough for the zealots of the day that eiTor should be refuted on 
grounds of reason. Nothing would content them but a c:)ndemiiation 
hi/ authm'ity. The synod of the Church must be put in action, to 

264 The Contemporary Review. 

show that the Church had 110 complicity with the alleged heretics ! 
Tlie people must be " warned " that a voluiae of which many thousand 
copies had been sold, was in the ()i)inion of the Convocation of the 
Province of Canterbury " daugeroiis," and " containing erroneous doc- 
trine!" Accordingly, on the 1 9th of April, 1864, the Bishop of Oxford 
resiiscitatetl the subject by presenting a petition from the diocese of 
Norwich, praying for tlic revival of the suspended proceedings, and 
the next day tlie discussion recommenced, and continued through the 
whole day. It was resumed on the 21st, the Bishops of London, St. 
David's, Ely, Lichfield, and Lincoln opposing further proceedings, and 
those of Salisbury, Bangor, Gloucester, Llandaft", and Oxford urging 
them. Tlie numbers were equally divided, wlien the Arclibishop gave 
his casting vote in favour of going on. But while the debate was pro- 
ceeding, a circumstance otcun-ed which put the inexpediency of the 
course resolved on in the strongest light. Dr. Williams, whose victor)' 
over the Bishop of Salisbury had beeu ascribed to the necessitj' of 
treating theological subjects from a legal point of view, petitioned the 
Lower House of Convocation to be allowed, in the event of synodical 
judgment being attemjjted, to appear and reply to the objections 
against any writings for which he himself was responsible, offering to 
meet his opponents, not only on the technical issues of a law court, 
but as scholars and tlieologians. Here was a challenge which could 
not be accepted consistently with the practice of Convocation, nor 
refused without the most manifest injustice ; for Dr. Williams had 
proposed to carry on the discussion precisely in the way which the 
law courts had been censured for their inability to adopt. But the 
passion for " synodical action " closed tlie eyes of the dominant party 
to the utterly un-English step of denying a prisoner the pri\'ilege of 
defending himself. It occuiTcd to some one, tlxat a censure might be 
passed upon a book, wliich of coimte coul<l not explain itself, consi- 
dered abstractedly from its author ; and that therefore there was no 
injustice in refusing to hear the latter, if the injury to him was limited 
to the odimn arising out of the process of censiuing hisj'ook. It^was 
also a safer course from another point of view. Mr. Bolt andJSir 
Hugh Cairns had been consulted, and gave it as tlieir opinion that 
Convocation was — 

" Not estopped by tlic 25th Henij' VIII., c. 19, or by any other statute, from 
expressing by nisolution, or otherAvisc', tlioir condemnation or disapprobation 
of a Ijook, although no special Jioyal licence is giveu for the purpose." 

Fortified by this view, the Upper House, on the 2l8t of June, passed 
a vote, inviting the Lower House to concur \vith them in the foUowing 
judgment: — 

" That this Synod, liaving appointed committcos of the Upper and Lower 

Convocation. 265 

HooBes to examine and report upon the volume entitled 'Essays and 
fieviews,' and the said committees having severally reported thereon, doth 
hereby tynodicalhj condemn the said volume, as containing teaching con- 
trary to the doctrine received by the United Church of Englimd and Ireland, 
in common with the whole CathoUc Church of Christ" 

It can scfffcely be doubted that the important part of this resolution, 
in the eyes of those who had laboured with extraordinary perseverance 
for several years to bring it about, resided in the words which we 
have italicized. The power authoritatively to declare the doctrine of 
the Church on doubtful points was repeatedly asserted by them to 
reside in Convocation, nay, to be its primary function. But to exert 
this power explicitly without Royal licence would obviously, in effect, 
be making a new canon, and would expose all concerned to the severest 
penalties of the laAv. This peril was averted by the general fonn of 
the judgment, which avoided specifying what the doctrines werfe 
which it authoritatively condemned. It is true that when Bishop 
Burnett's book on the Articles was proposed as a subject for a similar 
(insure by the Lower House in 1700, the Upper House rejected the 
application, among other reasons, on the ground — 

" That the Lower House of Convocation's censuring the hook of the Bishop 
of Sanun in general terms, without mentioning the particular passages on 
which the censure is grounded, is defamatory and scandalous." 

And in the course of the late debates, it was urged by Archdeacon 
Hale — probably the highest living authority on the subject — 

"That the Church of England, ia the days of her full power of declaring 
what her opinions were, did not condumn books, but condemned 2JT"P'>nitioiui" 

But both the risk of prmmunirc and that of an action for libel were 
precluded by the circumstance that the obnoxious volume was the 
aggregate work of seven writers, who disclaimed all connection with 
one another; and although the reports to the Upper and Lower 
Houses had contained lai^e extracts to which exception bad been 
t^en by the respective committees, these reports were not regarded 
as in themselves possessing any synodical authority. Wlien the " Judg- 
ment " was sent down to the Lower House, it was obviously exjwcted 
that a concurrence in it would follow as a matter of course. A debate 
was going on at the time upon a question of considerable practical 
importance, — the possibility of making some modifications in the 
language of the Burial Service, with a view of avoiding the scandal 
■wliich sometimes arises from the hopeful words of that solemn ritual 
being applied to persons of a flagrantly wicked life. The House was 
required to break off and to enter immefHatcli/ uiton tlie "matter of 
the sjTiodical judgment." It was urged that the matter on which the 
House was engaged had been sent down from the Upper House, ami 
that it was only reasonable that the first subject submitted to it should 

VOL. I. T 

266 The Contemporary Review. 

be disposed of before the entrance upon a neiv one was peremptorily 
demanded. Tlie Prolocutor replied that tliere w"as no alternative but 
to procet;d at once with the business which had just come down, and 
Archdeacon PenLson got up witli tlie appropriate resolution, — 

"Tliat this Houso i'cs]njctfii]ly and heartily tenders its thanks to His 
Gnicc the President and the Iiishoj)S of the Upper House for their care in 
the defence of the faith, aa manifested in tlie report upon the hook entitled 
* Essays and Reviews,' now read to this House ; and that this House does 
tliaidifully accept and concur in the condcnmntion of the hook by the Upper 
House, which has K-en based upon the said report." 

But the dissatisi'action that had been created by the whole course of 
proceeding pi-oduced an opposition of the most formidable cliaracter, 
whicli, althougli ultimately overcome, exhibited itself in a debate 
extending over three days — the 21st, 22nd, and 24th of June. The 
course it took will be best given in the words of a protest (under the 
form of a 'jrnvameti), signed by five deans, six archdeacons, four 
canons, and five proctors of the parochial clergy, whicli was subse- 
quently presented. After reciting the "judgment," this document 
sets forth, — 

" 'J'hat tlie undcrsigiiod feel grave doubts as to the legal powers of Convo- 
cation to censure any book whatever, witliout licence i)reviou8ly obtained 
from the Crown for tliat sj)eciiil puq^one ; and that divera of them were on 
tliat account desirous, l>efore entering on the consideration of the 'judg- 
ment,' concurrence in which was inviteil, to await a report of the Committ«ie 
of Privileges of the Lower House ; which committee had already (viz., on 
tlic 13tli of Fel)niary, 18G3) been instructeil to examine the precedents for 
the cen.sure of books by Convocation, and to rf'itort tliereon ; and that divers 
of the niidersigiK'd did, on the 21,st of June, I8f)4, move the I^ower House 
to await such n^iort, but that the majority of the Lower House refused to 
agi-ee to the proposal. 

"'Iliat one of the reports referred to, although not embodied in the 
■*judgiiR'nt ' sent down to the Lower House, was laid iK^fore the Lower 
House at the same time with the 'judgment' itself, and not before; and 
that this report extended to such a length, and embraced so many and such 
important topics, as to demand much time for its due consideration : and 
that divera of the undersigned did therefore move the Lower House to 
rotjuost His Grace the President ' to allow them full time to consider the 
very important subject anhinitted to them;' but that tiie majority of the 
Lower House refuf^i.'d to accede to this pro]>osal. 

" That one of the writers in the volume on which synodical judgment was 
invited on the said 21st of June had i>reviously- — viz., on the 12tli day of 
April i>receding — in the expectation of such a contingency, respectfully 
petitioned the Lmver House tliat belbi-e judgment ahould i)aes on any book 
or pMii)Osition for "which he waa rcsi)onsil)lc, he might be allowed a hearing 
in answer to the oTijections urged against the same ; and that divera of the 
undersigned, in accordance (as they believe) with precedents, as well as with 
the acknowledged maxims of justice, ^vere desirous that the petitioner's 
recinest should lie complied with if possible ; and did move the Lower House 
respectfully to request His Grace the President to advise them what course 
they ought, under the circumstances, to pursue ; but that the majority of 

Convocation, 267 

ihe Lower House norertheless refused to agree to such application to His 

" That if in any case Convocation may be properly called upon to exercise 
a jadiciol function, it must be essential to the efKcient discharge of such duty 
that all it£ members should have timely notice of the question intended to 
be brought before them, so that they must be assured of the opportunity of 
being present; whereas in the case to which this gravamen refers, no notice 
wbatever was given to the Ix)wer House, but the consideration of the judg- 
ment was pressed upon them, even before it was printed for their use ; and 
except for the delay arising from some of the undersigned moving the House 
(as above recited) to adopt a more seemly manner of proceeding, the greater 
part of its members would have learnt the fact of the judgment having been 
adopted before they were aware of the intention to propose a concurrence in it. 

" That the undersigned, considering the proceedings above recited, even if 
not directly illegal (which, however, they regard as highly questionable), yet 
to be manifestly opposed to the orderly course of Convocation, as well as to 
the general principles of English law, and the plain dictates of equity, do 
earnestly protest against their being reganled as a precedent to guide the 
practice of Convocation for the future ; and do humbly request His Grace 
the President to take such action as may neutralize the evil they apprehend 
in the present case, and tend to bring the practice of Convocation into 
closer harmony with tliat of those deliberative and judicial bodies which 
command the general confidence and respect of the English nation." 

Immediately after the concurrence of the Lower House in the 
eynodical jadgmeut, Convocation was prorogued, the President and 
liahops having, in fact, been waiting for some hours in expectation of 
4he decision of the other House. It did not meet again for business 
till the 14th of February in the next year, on which day the protesting 
^avamen was presented. There had been no intention to move its 
adoption by the whole House, and accordingly the natural course 
"Would have been for the Prolocutor at once to take it up as the grava- 
■men of the individuals who bad signed it. But the circumstance of 
four or five of the names having been signed by proxy (although 
•under formal written instructions) furnished an argument for referring 
the document to the Committee of Gravamina. The same defect 
could not be imputed to another gravamen presented at the same time 
and which met with the same fate. This proceeded from Dr. Elliott, 
Dean of Bristol, late Prolocutor of the Lower House, and set forth 
that, although a resolution of Convocation did not become a " synodi- 
cal act " until the Cro'wn had ratified it and permitted its promidga- 
tion, yet that, by assuming to pass a synodical judgment without the 
assent of the Crown, its members had become subject to the penalties 
prescribed by the Act of Submission. There being every reason to 
sappose that the committee to which these (p'avamina were referred 
would not report upon them for some time, a copy of both was forth- 
with forwarded to the President of the Upper House by the Dean of 
Westminster. Few persons will do\ibt that His Grace exercised a 
wise discretion in silently acting upon the course suggested in the 


The Contemporary Review. 

fonnerof the two; and that, in finally pTorcigiimgCnnvocation-witlinut 
first publicly aflixiug his signature to the "synodical judginent," he 
complied with the prciyer "to take such action as might ueutralize 
till? fcvil appreheudetl in the present £.'ase," in an efPectual although 
iinosteiitutioua manner.* As regards the future, nil that seetns requi- 
site is that tlie President should, nt the l;iej,'innLn^' of each series of 
sessions, mark out the subjects on which it may be His Grace's -wisli 
to obtain tlio opinion of the bishops and eleryj', and not allow the 
eflectuu.] diseussion of them to be intemipted by the manceu\'Tes uf 
jigitfltora in either House. 

Tiie questitin of the deairabLLity of an endeavour to ohtaiu an altera- 
tion in the constitution of the Final Court of Appeal was iutroduced 
hy a speech of the Bishop of Oxford in the ITppev House ou the 17th 
of February, 18G5. An elaborate reiwrt bad beea laid before the Lower 
House on the 21 at of June in the previous year. Archdeacon Ueuisoii 
opened the cpiestion in the Lower House at the same time with the 
Bishop in the Upper, and the <;reat moderation of his t-one evinced 
the advantage of delay befoie finally deciding on matters which have 
evoked a passionate interest. The committee "which pnjduced the 
report was originally constituted on the 19th of April, 18&4, just 
when tliti irritation arising from the issue of the suits against I)r. 
Williatus end Mr, \\*ilsnn was at its height, TUu ten months -whioh 
had elapsed ^viien their lalxHus came on for discussion had brought 
with them the natmid effects of rellection on an extremely compli- 
cated subject. M^jrecjver, the general ignorance viiiich had prevailed 
among the clergy on the subject of the Idatory of the Court of Appeal had 
been dis^iclled by the publication, under the able editorship cif il«ssrs. 
Brndrick and Fremantle, of the volume containing all account of the 
cftse.s decided in it. Above all, the debates in Convocation ou the 
" synodical judgment " had shown that there were in the Lower House 
men who were determined not \j!i yield eithor to the cicitnn anhr 
2n-eti'a juhcntium or to the terrorism of a party which arrogated t<i 
itself a special ^eal for the orthodoxy of the Church. It was quite 
plain that the time for outrageous pretensions on the part of the 
clergy to decide doctrinal disputes was at an end ; and tlie sole 
elfoit of Archdeacon Dcnison was tu induce the Hfiusc to adopt 
a scheme excluding all ecclesiastics from tbe Judicial Committee in 
appeals affecting doetrine, and providing, as a aulwtitute for their 
presence, a Knanl of Eeference, to eon^i^t exclusively of spiritual per- 
sons, wlio ahcjidd be con.'^idted by tbe Judicial Committee as theo- 
logians, and thus indirectly guide the lay judges to their decision. 
Put even this plan — moilerate aa it might be regarded in com|Mirisou 
with the claims put forward some time before by the ultra psirty — was 
• Sec fflots on page 258, antt. 

Convocation. 269 

not adopted Convocation was prorogued from the 17tli of February to 
the 16th of May, when the adjourned debate was resumed, and continued 
with great spirit for a couple of days. By able tactics, a great tem- 
porary advantage was gained. Archdeacon Denison was allowed to 
separate the resolution which he wished to carry into two parts, the 
first being only the vague affirmation — 

" lliat, in the opinion of this House, the constitution of the present Court 
of Appeal in ecclesiastical causes is open to grave objections, and that its 
trorlang is unsatis&ctory." 

It was justly observed that those who entertained the most trivial 
objections to the Court, and those who wished wholly to revolutionize 
it, woidd unite in this resolution, and, by carrying it, altogether mis- 
lead the public as to the opinion of Convocation. The objectors, who 
on these grounds moved "the previous question," were indeed out- 
voted, but Archdeacon Denison's second resolution, recommending the 
Board of Reference, was lost by 22 votes to 21. Several amendmenta 
had been previously proposed and rejected — one by Mr. Fendall, 
which contained the strongest assertion of ecclesiastical claims, by 
no leas than 33 votes to 5. 

We repeat our opinion that the last two years have done much to 
strengthen the position of Convocation in the countiy; and if the 
attendance of the ultra>ecclesiastical party in the Lower House were 
imitated by the many temperate and judicious members who have 
MUierto held aloof, we believe that a great deal of light might bo 
tiirowu upon the special difficulties which sxuroxmd the task of bring- 
ing op the agencies of the Church to a level with the requirements of 
Ijie population. When all religious parties are fairly represented and 
show themselves in tjieir real force within the walls of die Jerusalem 
Chamber, there may cease to be that jealousy of ecclesiastical domina- 
tion which has hitherto been excited among the laity by propositions 
emanating from that quarter. The constitution of the Lower House 
may possibly, under such circumstances, be remodelled, and adapted 
to the present exigencies of the clergy, not only with the general 
acquiescence of. every order in the Church, but with the sanction of 
the Crown itself. There will then be no more attempts to try heretics 
OT censure bad books, but numberless practical questions bearing upon 
the spiritual amelioration of the people wiU receive the attention of 
practical men, well acquainted, through their own experience, with the 
evils to be remedied and with the necessary conditions for successfully 
grappling with them. But the essential preliminary to such a con- 
summation is, that the duty of attendance on Convocation should be 
recognised by those who are now elected to it, and that the preserva- 
tion of order and regularity and of perfect fairness and candour in the 
conduct of business should be the first thought of every one. 


SptcUeniim HbtrUtnum, Dismit cl iccnunit Fkuicuoub lavMMiMK. 

Folio. Floreaiia^ ISilS. 
Btttriptice falalegiu qf Malarialt rOattiig to Uie BUtam tf tlrt^ 

firUdfn and Ireland. By Thomas Dumis E*U>t. VoL XL 

London, 18?!>. 

WE do not intend to review either of tliese books as a whole, but 
only to notice those parts of them which relate to a common 
subject, — ^the history of Archbishop Thomas Becket. 

ilonsignore Liverani may probably be known to many of our readers 
as the author of some pamphlets against the temporal sovereignty of 
the Pojje, and as an exile from the lioman States ou account of the 
opinions set forth in those pamphlets, although his orthodoxy as to 
religious doctrines is of the very latest Roman fashion. Before his 
flight from Rome, he had published five volumes of " Opere," including 
a Life of I'ope John X., wliom he labours to clear from Luitprand'* 
charges of disreputable connection with the notorious Theodora and 
ilarozia; and he had collected the materials of the " Spicilegium" now 
before us, which takes its name from the " Liberian BasiUca," — ^the 
patriarchal church of St. Mary Major, of wliicli he was (and still 
maintains himself to be) a canon. It appears from his preface that 
the announcement of this book as about to appear at ilorence has 
drawn on him much violent abuse from the Civiltd, Caftolica and 
other papal organs; which might, perhaps, ha^'e spared their fury if 
the writers liad been aware that the *' Spicilegium," instead of betray- 
ing any scandalous or damaging secrets of St, Mary's or the Vatican, 
was to be merely a collection of innocuous writings, the very latest of 
which are six hundred years old. 

Becket Literature. 271 

The editor of audi a collection is rather to be regarded as putting 
forth his gleanings to find their own value witli readers, than as 
irarraating tliem, to be very precious. If, therefore, we are compelled 
to think that the world will not gain very much by this addition to 
the already long series of " Spicilegia," " Thesauri," and the like, we 
yet feel ourselves greatly indebted to Mgr. Ii\'erani for having enabled 
us to judge of his materials by casting our eyes over a handsomely 
printed foUo, which comes home to our own firesides. Tlie volume is 
divided into three parts, — the first containing pieces of date earlier 
tlian A.D. 1000; the second entirely taken up with a different version 
from that hitherto published of certain homilies of Haymo, bishop of 
Halberstadt, who flourished in the middle of the ninth century ; wliile 
the third consists of pieces dating between the years 1000 and 1300. 
It is with this last part only, or rather with so much of it as belongs 
to the time of Becket, that we now intend to concern ourselves. 

We had looked with some eagerness for the appearance of the 
" Spicilegium," in consequence of announcements in the Dublin Re- 
view, and in the editor's own pamplJets, that he liad discovered, and 
waa about to publish, more than a hundred letters relating to the 
iiistory of St. Thomas of Canterbury; but our expectations have 
been considerably disappointed. There is not amon^ the new letters 
one by Becket himself ; and those of his contemporaries, wliile they 
fit in perfectly with the letters already published by Lupus and Dr. 
Giles, contain very little that is really new. 

The arrangement of this part of the volume is unsatisfactory and 
perplexing, inasmuch as it follows no more rational principle tlian 
that of placing the ^Titers according to the alphabetical order of their 
names. Tlius, from Gregory IX., wlio became Pope in 1227, we go 
back about sixty years to " Gulielmus Papiensis" — Cardinal William 
of Pavia, a contemporary of Becket ; and then a quarter of a century 
ferther back to William of Malmesbury, who is supposed to have 
died in 1143. We are next 'required to go forward again to three 
more of Becket's contemporaries, and after tliese follows a long leaj* 
backwards to Hildebert of Tours, who died in 1134. One odd result 
of this arrangement is that the canonization of Edward the Con- 
fessor, to which many of the epistles relate, comes in from time to 
time between all sorts of other matters, according as the names of 
those who wrote about it began with one letter or another. More- 
over, in arranging the epistles of the same person, no discoverable rule 
has been observed. We find, for instance, after having read a 
letter which belongs to the time after Becket's death, that the next 
letter of the same writer throws us back into the midst of the quarrels 
which the Archbishop carrie<l on in life. 

We must also remark that Mgr. Liverani is not so convers.\nt as 

272 The Contemporary Review. 

oould be wished with the history of Becket. Of the books which bear 
on it he seeins to know only Dr. Giles's " Sanctus Thomas," and to 
know it only through the reprint in Migne's " Patrologia." Nor has he 
made the best use even of his one book. At p. 543, for instance. Pope 
Alexander III. expresses to Becket an apprehension that the English 
king might ally himself, " prout oUra fecit, illi tyranno et fl^tioso 
iiiimico ecclesia," and the editor supposes that the words point at the 
antipope Victor ; whereas a better acquaintance with the story would 
have shown him (1) that Henry had never been a supporter of 
Victor ; (2) that Victor was dead at the date of the letter ; (3) that 
the description clearly relates to the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, 
and not to any anti^TOpe. 

Again, at p. 548, where Alexander mentions that the magistrates of 
tlie Lombard cities had interceded with him in behalf of Henry, the 
editor has nothing to say except that it is a matter "meduUitus 
investiganda;" whereas he might have found notices in John of Salis- 
bur}', Ep. 288, and in Becket, Ep. 47, of tlie means by which the 
King got the republicans of Lombardy into his interest. 

Again, at p. 610 is a letter from Meister David, of which the editor 
tells us that he was unable to fix tlie date, because he had not the 
necessary books at liand. But to any one moderately acquainted 
with the story, it must be clear, even without the aid of books, that 
the letter was wTitten in Lent, 1171, when the writer and others 
had been sent to propitiate the Pope after Becket's murder; and 
Mgr. liverani might at least have seen that it was not addressed (as 
he siipposes) to Odo, prior of Canterbury, but to one of the bishops 
whom Becket liad suspended — most probably Gilbert Foliot of 

Of Foliot himself there are eight letters. One of them (vi.), inform- 
ing Becket that he had appealed to the Pope by way of warding oft' 
any sentence tliat the Archbishop might pronounce, is remarkable as 
imiting an extreme profession of deference with an intimation of the 
most determined opposition ; and there is a letter in the same spirit, 
which bears the name of Joscelin, bishop of Salisbury, but may pro- 
bably be referred to Foliot's suggestion. 

Another prominent ecclesiastic of the time, Arnidf, bishop of 
Lisieux, appears largely, and in a very characteristic style. There is 
no mistaking the old intriguer, who feels that lie has outlived his 
influence, yet tries to keep up the idea tliat he still posses-ses it by 
affecting to mediate for all applicants with King Henry and otlier 
great personages. In one of the letters, however, telling Master David 
liow to put himself in tlie way of preferment, Arnulf confesses or 
complains that the King, although still glad to make use of him as 
a tool, lias of late ceased to attend to his suits (x.). Another of 

Becket Literature. 273 

AmulTs letters, — ^probably of earlier date, (i) — \a intended to antici- 
pate the representations which a certain abbot, " a dissolute and men- 
dacious man," bad set off to make gainst him at the Papal Court ; 
and it gives a very curious picture of monastic discipline For 
instance, we are told that when the abbot's monks, on a festival day, 
found the convent wine weaker than that which they had been 
accustomed to enjoy at a tavern, they took away the ropes from 
the bells, shut the chapel doors, and put a stop to Divine offices for 
some days, until the landlord of the tavern, in pity for the sufferings 
of his neighbours and customers, presented them with some drink 
more to their liking. 

There are several letters which have a peculiar value as having been 
written between Becket's return to England and bis murder, and as 
showing the dismay which, until all other feeling was overpowered by 
horror at the manner of his end, was excited by hia displays of 
violence where wisdom would have dictated a policy of concilia- 
tion- Two of these letters are from Amulf (xi., xx.) ; another, which 
is entitled to greater weight on accoimt of the writer's character and 
impariiial position, is from Itotrou, archbishop of Eouen (p. 758). In 
this last letter, as given by Mgr. Liverani, there is a misreading or 
ndsprint which entirely reverses the writer's meaning. In speaking of 
the coronation of Henry's son, the Archbishop is made to say, " neque 
de novis constitutionibus mutatio aUqua facta est," which would 
mean that an oath to observe the Constitutions of Clarendon in 
their entirenesa was exacted of the prince, as Becket's partisans indus- 
triously reported. But it is clear from the context, and from other 
letters of the same time,* that for niutalio we ought to read mentio ; 
that Rotrou really intended to contradic't the rumours wMch he is here 
made to confirm. 

Of all Becket's contemporaries, the one who figures most largely 
is Master David, to whom one of Foliot's letters in Dr. Giles's 
collection is addressed (vi. 18), and whose name, we believe, occurs 
elsewhere in that collection, although it would be useless to seek for 
it in such a pathless jungle. David was not, as we might rashly 
suppose, a Welshman, but a native of London. He was a canon of 
St. Paul's, and was employed in missions to the Papal Court both by 
Bishop Foliot and by the King. While there, he seems to have 
endeavoured to make interest for himself as well as for his em- 
ployers; and we have a host of testimonials, addressed to Henry 
and to the Bishop, all eulogizing his ability and his integrity as a 
negotiator, and, more or less directly, recommending him for preferment. 
One of these letters, from no less a person than Alexander III., is 
curious, as iUiLstrating the manner in which the Popes about that time 
* GHes, Ti. 211 ; iVrnulf, ap. LiTerani, pp. 584, 590. 

2 74 ^'^^ Contemporary Review. 

began to invade the patronage of bishops and chapters. Tlie Pope de- 
clares David to be desei-ving not only of a canonrj-, but of a bishopric, 
and in a very peremptory style he desires tlie dean and chapter of 
Lincoln, during a vacancy of the see, to bestow on him the first prebend 
that should fall vacant in their church (p. 546). It does not appear 
how the dean and chapter took thisj but when David attempted to 
get possession of something which was in the Bishop of London's 
gift by means of a papal recommendation, Foliot cried out very loudly 
of his base ingratitude for all tlie favours that had been heaped on 
him by liis old patron (p. G40). Master Da\ad, however, knew how 
to make friends with opposite parties; and we have a letter from 
Eoger, bishop of Worcester, who had always been a strenuous adherent 
of Becket, telling the Pope that Foliot and the Archdeacon of Middle 
sex had contrived between them to jockey poor David out of a pension 
of ten pounds which had been chaiged on the archdeaconry (p. 757). 
The editor feels that David's o^vn epistles, and such glimpses of his 
proceedings in search of preferment as we catch, do not very well 
bear out the lofty panegyrics pronounced on him by the Pope and 
other illustrious personages : — 

"Hujusviri i&wxsi melius profecto consoluissot oblivio; quoniam acripta 
ejus, quie nunc priinum evulgantur, fidem elevant laudibus et prseconiis a 
8U]iparibu9 et amicis et Jlecrenatibus iUi collatia. En enim procacem et 
garruhtm virum, magis quam eruditum et disertum exhibent; dexteritfttem 
et petulantiam assentatoria et legulaei vulgarissimi potius quam eximiam 
aliquam virtutis et scientias excellentiam commend^t. SennoniB fccili- 
tatem atqiie volubilitatem, magis quam elegantiam, concinnitatem, venosta- 
tem et leporeia aliquem, lu eo ofFendimus." — (P. 603.) 

But the picture of such a preferment-hunter in the twelfth century 
is very curious, and is perhaps as valuable as anytliiug in the volume. 

One more letter (p. 551) we may particularly notice. 
Liverani supposes it to have been WTitten by some unknown bishop, 
although we do not see wliy it should be ascribed to a bishop rather tlian 
to an ecclesiastic of lower degree. The object of it is to exasperate 
the Pope against Foliot, who, after the murder of Becket, was on his 
way to the cuHa for the puqiose of soliciting absolution from the 
sentence pronounced against him by the late primate. The writer 
argues, with a great appearance of enmity, that Foliot, although he 
had not assaulted the Archbishop witli his own hand, was yet, by his 
long and bitter opposition to him, in reality the chief cause of his 

We now pass to the second volume on our list ; and in so doing it 
is needless to express either our respect for Mr. Hardy's high and long- 
established reputation as an antiquary, or our sense of the very great 
value of his elaborate " Catalogue." In this Becket occupies eighty 

Becket Literature. 275 

pages, and Jlr. Hardy enumerates no less tlian 112 articles relating to 
him, to which Sfgr. Liverani's contributions may be added, as still 
further increasing the number. Yet tliis long and carefully com- 
piled list of manuscript materials adds hardly anythiug of importance 
to the documents wliich are already in print. Many of the articles 
are sermons, lessons to be read in church, hymns, and the like, for the 
most part written long after Becket's time, and of no historical value ; 
some are mere repetitions, abridgments, or abstracts of others — for 
instance, the Passion, by " Master Everard " (No. 428), whose name 
is a variation for that of Edward Grim ; others are composite Uves, 
made up of extracts from various biographers, and therefore having 
no independent value, except in cases where the originals are lost. 
The only pieces which, on looking through the catalogue, struck us as 
at once unknown to us and likely to be of any interest, were two 
which are contained in the Lansdowne MS. 398, and these we have 
lately examined. The first of them (No. 436), as Mr. Hardy points 
out, is not noticed in the Lansdowne Catalogue, being undistinguish- 
able in appearance from the MS. of the Life by Titzstephen with 
which the volume begins. But with folio 42 the text of Fitzstepben 
is broken off (far short of the end, as may be seen by a comparison 
with the published copies), and it is followed by another fragment, 
which,^ Mr. Hardy says, " appears to be a commemorative homily." 
Mr. Hwdy, however, has not observed that this in its turn breaks off 
with folio 53, and that the next two leaves, which relate chiefly to 
Becket's consecration, are part of another piece. There are some 
things worth preserving in both these fragments, the first of which 
is evidently contemporary, from the manner in which the schism in 
the Papacy is spoken of; but if they should be printed, it will be 
well to leave out so much of them as is merely declamatory twaddle.* 
The other piece in t!ie same volume (No. 435 in the list) is also of the 
homiletical kind, and the earlier part of it is marked off into twelve 
lessons, for use in the service of the Church. Dr. Giles, in order 
to fill some blank pages, has printed the beginning of this, with a 
polite intimation to the reader that, if he wish to know more, he may 
go to the MS. for himseltf But Dr. Giles does not seem to have been 
aware that the real value of the work is in tlie later part, which 
relates to the transactions after the murder; and this part it might 

• At folio 52 there are some words whicb, if thc^ Imd been known to Augustine Thierry, 
*ould have been eagerly seized on as confirming hia theory that Becket was the champion 
and Duutyr of the Anglo-Saxon race, — " Cognationem suom ngnatm Anglorum poatliabuit, 
nisi quein mcritonim qualitos commendaret," &C. But the reading ought almost certainly 
lo be cognati* aiiorum. 

t " Typographo me monente decsse materiom quce plagulam banc siippleat, adjicio hie 
prologom et initium Vibe. . . . Cntem siquis legere velit, in ipso codice requint." — 
OiUt, iL 316, 326. 


The Contemporary Review. 

lie well to print, altlioitgli the rest might be left ia MS. without any 
loss to mankind. 

Ill noticing the French metrical Life by Gamier of Pont Sta. 
3iaxence, Mr. Iliirdy says dip. 338-y) that his book, " for the greater 
l>art, almost appears to be Kdward Griui lyraifieLt." We shuiUd not 
object to this statement, if tlicre 'vrere not a still closer agreement 
between Garni&r and the writer "whoin Dr. Giles calls Iloger of 
I'ontigny. But ive think that Mr. llanly himself can hardly fail to 
see that, while there is raucJi likeness between Griui and Roger, and 
wLiilc GHnaier has much in coramou with both, he resembleia Iloger far 
more than Orim ; and that where the two prose biogniphera difier (as in 
the atoTj' of Racket's escape from dro^^-niug), Gai-nier holds to Roger. 

The whole subject of the connection l>etween the various Lives, and 
of the sources from wliich each biographer may be presume^-l to haTC 
dmwn his materials, deaei'ves tliorough investigation ; but as yet 
hardly anj-tluug has been done in this way. It is, however, a matter 
wliich requires more of detail than is consistent with tlie nature of a 
catalogue, so that we must not be understood aa blaming Mr. Hardy 
for havuig attempted but little towards the solution of such queations. 

Mr. Hiirdy lias anticipated na in much that we might have said as 
tij the composite Life ascribed by Dr. Giles to " Phdip uf Litge." He 
has seen tliiit the compiler indicates that his uanae was really ^bomas 
of Beverley, and lias riglitly iilentiiied liim with (jne Tliomas who was 
a nativQ of that place, and afterwards became a monk of Froidmont, 
in the diocese of Beanvais.* And we cannot but admire the diffidence 
with which, after ha^Tng ascertained so much, JSIr. Hardy tells us 
that there is "some doubt as to whether Phihp is the nama of the 
nutlioi'." The only ground assigned by Dr. Giles for supposing thut 
the compiler of the Life was named Philip ia the fact thiit he found 0. 
".sequence" in honour of Kecket ascribed t-o one Philip; and it appears 
I'roia the very uote on which Dr, Gdes relies, that this I'luHp, instead 
iif having been an otliurwise unknowu monk of Auue (aa lits editor 
supposes), was a person whose name often occurs in the lustoiy of the 
time, and who even hguiea in tiie life of Decket himself, as abbot of 
rAumone. Mr. Haniy's modest doubt, thereforeH might safely have 
been espresaed as au iibsolate certainty. 

No. 470 in. the " Catalogue" is the Pieuch meti-ical Life published 
by M. Michel with the Chronicle of tlie Dukes of Normandy by 
Benedict of Hte. 31aui-e.f TJie writer who put this Life into its pre- 
sent form addresses lils readei-s towards the end : — 

• " Hut. Litt. de la France," xv. 2B4, 29S. Tim aiticle, hoTevBr, haa aeveral inac- 

t Dr. PoLtbul, in Ma Tcry TiLluiiliIe but not uiunaQulat« " Siblinth^cji HisCoricft MeiUi 
£n" Cp. 909], wToi]gl3r idobtifiea tbls in«tricBl Lifa with that by (jamiiT. 

Becket Literature. 277 

" Si Tiu en pri, pur Deu amur 
Ee roquerei le bon Beignur 

Saint Tiiomas,. 
Ee il eit mere! par ea duzur 
De &ere Beneit le pecheur 

Od lea neir dru, 
Ee ceste vie nns ad miutr^ \ 
De IjUin en Bonumz translaU 

Far nui aider. 
e • • • 

JViu et loi en ceete vie 

Defeodo tuz jois de rilanie," &c. 

(P. 609, ed. Hichel.) 

Mr. Hardy supposes that the Benedict here mentioned (a different 
person from the chronicler of the Nonnan dukes) was himself the 
author of the French version. "Whether he was so, or whether 
his part consisted in making a prose translation, on which the 
versifier was to work, is a question which seems to depend on another, 
— ^whether we are, in some of the lines ahove quoted, to read " mus" 
with M. Michel, or "otis," which Mr. Hardy suggests as an alternative. 
It is, however, more important to inqiiire who was the author of the 
Latin ; and we venture to conjecture that this Life is a translation 
fiom the lost work of Robert of Dunstable (No. 330). The form is 
in favour of this supposition ; for Eobert's other writings are in latin 
Terse, and his Life of St Thomas may be presumed to have been so also, 
as the Life translated by Benedict " It Pichev/r" almost certainly was. 
Moreover, Robert was a monk of St. Alban's ; and the Life in question 
shows a connection between the author and that monastery. We do 
not wish to make too much of these slight circumstances, or to give 
our conjecture for more than it may be worth : perhaps a careful 
perusal of the Life might throw further light on the subject. 

There is one biographer of whom we are rather surprised to find 
Mr. Hardy saying that "no manuscript is now known" — ^William of 
Canterbury :• for the existence of a MS. of this writer, bequeathed 
by Williajn of "Wykeham to "Winchester CoUege, was announced by 
lir. Baigent of "Winchester, in the "Journal of the Archeeological 
Association" (x. 77), as long ^o as 1854, and has been since 
mentioned in the Dublin Review (Nov., 1860, p. 5), and in the 
Quarterly Beview (cxii. 103). The Life fills only about a fourth 
part of the volume, the remainder being taken up with a collection of 
"Miracles" in six books, compiled by William, and sent by the monks 
of Canterbury to Henry II. at the King's own request.-|- So much 

• Thia biographer waa probably the same with a monk of ChrUtchnrch, Canterbury, 
named William, who appears frequently in the correspondence as to the quarrel betveen 
\aa brotherhood and Archbishop Baldwin, lately publiehed by Mr. Stabbs. (" Uemoriala 
of Bichaid I.," yol. ii., in " Chronicles and Memorials of Groat Britain.") 

t We have no doubt that this, and not the book of miracles publi^ed by Dr. Giles 

27S Tiie Contemporary Review. 

of the Life as is important, and yet has not been included in the 
" Quadrilogiis," will probably have appeared in the " Archceologia 
Cantiana" before these pages see the light ; but if ever a new edition 
of the wTitings relating to Becket should be undertaken, it ia to be 
hoped that not only this biography in a complete form, but the 
" Miracula" by the same ^v^iter will be included.* 

How much a new edition is to be desired we need not say, as the 
character of Dr. Giles's books is only too well known to aU who take 
any interest in the history of Becket; besides that a great deal of 
valuable matter is not included in them, such as the Lives by William 
and Gamier, with that which we suppose to be a translation from 
Robert of Dunstable. But although we must earnestly wish for a 
more comprehensive and better edited collection, there is, in so far 
as appears from Mr. Hardy's extensive list, very little of new 
matter to be expected, or even desiderated. There is hardly any 
record of writings on the subject as ha^Tug existed, in addition 
to those which are now to be found ; '^ nor, with the exception 
of William of Canterbury's " Miracula," and of a few such short 
pieces as those in the Lansdowne MS. 398, is there reason to 
believe that any knowu materials of interest remain unprinted. 
Both for the life of Thomas of Canterbury, aud for the consequences 
of his death, the student may find almost all the information that 
he can need without the trouble of deciphering crabbed manuscripts, 
although it is to be gathered at an expense of time, and labour, 
and temper, whicli might have been I'ery greatly reduced if the 
copious stores of biogi'aphy and correspondence had been more 
fortunate in their editors. 


&9 the work of Benedict of Peterborough, is the " magnus codex conscriptus " mentiooed 
by Fitzstcphea, in a passage which Mr. Hardy refers to HL-nedict (p. 333). It may be worth, 
while to inquire whether the book of miracles, of which Mr. Hardy mentioas U3S- at 
Lambeth, Cambridgi', and Paris (No. 433), be the same with that in the Winchester MS. 
• The "Gestapoat Martyrium" (No. 426) arepartly taken from William of Cftnterbiuy. 
' t The loss of Benedict of Peterborough's book (although wo should be very glad to 
recover it) ia probably not of much importance; for it was not, as Mr. Hardy supposeB 
(p. 340), a complete Life, but merely an account of the "PasMon;" and of this so much 
b given in tho "Quadrilogus" that the remainder cannot have been verj- considerable. 


1. Du Vmt, du Brau, tt du Bira. Par H. V. Cocsia. Omitme EdiUon. 


2. Cowt ^E4lhdtique. Pu Tk^udosi Jouffkov. Deniiema Edition. 


3. J>e lAH tt du Beau. Par F. Lambk:( 1363. 

4. La Bfienrt du Bmu. Pur Chablu L^vkqui. lSlt2. 

G. Lt Sptrituatitme dant tArt. Par Chabliu Li'vmVK. 13U. 

5. PAUoiopMe dt tArt. Pu B. T&inm. 1S65. 

IN" a volume of poems published by Wordswortli in 1842, appeared 
a sonnet, which he was impelled to wTite " by the disgusting 
fr-eq^uency with which the word artistical, imported with other imper- 
fcinencies from the Germans, is employed by T\Titei-s of the present 
<^T-a.y." According to Wordsworth, it was used in an approving way of 
Sonne new and fashionable kind of poetry, produced by an artificial 
X>Toces3 which he compares to casting in a mould, instead of growing, 
lilte the wild flower or the forest tree, free to their very roots, by an 
iiilierent \'itality. But is such really the application of the word, or 
Inas there of late years been this reaction towards artificiality in 
Y»oetry ? Wlien we call Mr. Tennyson a gren,t artist, do we mean 
tiliat " Morte d'Arthur" and "In Memoriam" were manufactured in 
tlie same way as area railings or liall-door knockers ? Xo. "We have 
a fine distinction in our language : the late M. Soyer, and other men 
of mark in his profession, who turn out most agreeable compositions 
of their own kind, we name artistes; Mr. Tennyson, who does not 
make compositions, or who at least keeps secret his receipt for a lyric 
or an idyl, is called an artist* We are not yet tired of abusing the 

• "Composition," aaid Goetlie to Eckermann, " is a thoroughly contemptible word, for 
whlcli we hflTe to tb&nk the French, and of which wo should endeavour to rid ourselves 
&s soon u possible. Hov can one lay ^[ozatt has eompoatd (tomponirt) Don Juan! Com- 

280 The Contempotaiy Review. 

poor eighteenth centxuy, nor have we ceased to love certain " Poems 
of the Imagination" and " Poems of Sentiment and KeflectiMi," nor 
come to admire much certain " Ecclesiastical Sonnets." 

"What, then, has in truth called the word "artistieal" into frequent 
use ? Chiefly the exigencies of a new idea, — the idea of a common 
basis or substance of poetry and the other arts, a coromon centre at 
which they meet, a common function which they fulfil, and a common 
kind of creative power from which they proceed. This conception of 
the unity of art is of comparatively recent origin, yet so readily is it 
now accepted, that there is danger at the present day of making too 
little of the differences existing between the several forms of art, and 
demanding results from one mode of expression which can be obtained 
only by another. Much is talked of painting with words, and colour- 
ing in music, and we hear occasionally of the sculptural school of 
jjoetry and the literary school of painters. These are phrases which 
require to be challenged fo render an accurate account of themselves. 
Yet there is a measure of truth in theih ; they recognise the fact that 
words and soimds, and colouring and form, are only different lan- 
guages by which the same great ideas are uttered (with special powers 
and felicities of expression iu detail); they originate in the right con- 
ception of art. 

The want of this right conception, the want of perceiving the unity 
of art, contributed, with many other causes, to delay the "growth of 
the science of testhetics. A hundred years ago it was in its infanty, 
and had but just received its name.* It is still young, and capable 
of manifold development. It does not live, like some branches 
of psychology which treat exclusively of intellectual phenomena, 
estranged from the thoughts of the people. Its results, like those of 
every form of philosophy, become a national possession by depositing 
themselves in language. But besides this, there is for esthetics an 
active mediimi between the higher thought and the popular in the 
criticism of literature and art. Indeed, this criticism is now-a-days 
nmch more than a medium ; it is itself a source of many of the b^t 
ideas, and much of the work of aesthetics is done in this unsystematic 
way. This is especially the case amongst ourselves ; and the progress 
of aesthetics is marked by the growth of a new and better criticism, 
more disinterested, more sincere, more cultured, which will be fruitful 

poutiou ! Ab if it were a piece of calcc or biscuit which hod been stirred together out of 
eggs, flour, and augsr! It is a Bpirituol creation, in which the details, as well ss the 
irhole, are pervaded by one spirit and by the breath of one life ; eo that the producer did 
not make experiments, and patch together, and follow his own caprice, but was altogether 
in the power of the dccmonic spirit of his genius, and acted according to his orders." 
— Conreriatiotis of Goethe tcilh £ekermann, tranaleted by John Oxenford, voL ii., p. 403. 
* ".Ssthetica, Bcripsit Alexander Gottlieb Baomgarten. 17^0." 

French y£s£hetics. 281 

of good in the future. We cau perceive, from the early days of the 
Edivhurgk Sevicw, some advance in the insight of our criticism, in its 
ascertainment of principles, in its freedom from political and personal 
bias, in its urbanity, in its openness to new ideas. We are now 
endeavouring in some degree to see things as they are, and value less 
the writer who can only find out something smart, or telling, or bnital 
to say about them. We are growing, it is to be hoped, a little less 
wilful in matters intellectual, a little less capricious, and a little more 
reasonable and conscientious. 

At the same time we must confesa, that in its more philosophical 

form, although in Hutcheson Ei^land had the start of France and 

Germany, our nation has accomplished little in the science of 

testhetics. Set aside the somewhat irregular labours of Mr. Ruskin, 

winch can hardly be called philosophical, and we have no great work 

to show on this subject, no work that can be put in the first or even 

in the second rank. This is chiefly to be attributed to the empirical 

tendency of our national thought. We are not surprised that Mr. 

Mill has written no " Science of the Beautiful." Even Sir William 

Hamilton dismisses the subject with a few jjages at the end of his 

Lectures on Metaphysics, and Mr. Mansel approves the maxim, *' De 

giutibus Tion disputandum est," in its denial of objective beauty. 

If, then, there is anything to be learned, it is to French or Gennau 

teachers that we must resort. In Germany, since the time of Kant^ 

but especially in the hands of Schelling and Hegel, the science of the 

lieaiitiful, the princii>les of art, and the history of its development, . 

have been great affairs in the life of philosophy. It is some evidence 

of the fulness of the current of ideas on these matters in France, that 

since 1810 thirty docteitra dh leitrcs have chosen for the subjects of 

their theses questions in esthetics.* My jjurpose in this article is to 

give some account of the best tlioughts about beauty and art which 

are to be found amongst French thinkers of this eenturj'. Into the 

last century there is little to induce vis to look back. A treatise by 

Cronzas of very slight value ; an essay on the Beautiful by a disciple 

of ilalebranche's, the Jesuit Father Andre, who may be considered tlie 

fouader of French esthetics ; and some occasional writings of Diderot 

and Marmontel, comprise nearly all that the eighteenth century has, 

left us. From M. Cousin the recent development of the science starts,^ 

and with him let us begin. 

In the early years of the present century what was the position 
tif pliiiosophy in France? It was this. Sensualism had reached its 
farthest development as a speculative system, and was connecting 

* Thid fact is mentioned by M. T.evuquo, "La Science dn Ik'C!i,'' Fieface, p. ix. 


The Contemporary Review. 

itself, under tbe guidance chiefly of Calmnis and Destutt de Tracy, 
with a luoie scientific study of phyaiology. If, therefore, there was 
trt he any philosophy distinct from the ohservatioii and generalizing 
nf physical facts, if ]i3ychologj' and luettiphysiea were nut to he aban- 
doned aa futile, a developmtint of thought in some new direction was 
essential Miitcmlism. had siiid its Inst -word. To the "Syst^me de 
la Natiire" nothing could be added; the juSmnit^ne terrcstre was 
complete ; man was found to Ije Init a link in a great chain, of neces- 
sity ; those grey particles of matter tlie motions of whtth produce 
deceptive sensations of disinterestedness, freedom, love of God, and 
hope of a futm-e life, lingered only in the brains of peasant women 
wlio still went to their country tihurehes, or in tlioss of the Tlieophi- 
lantlmipists who worslupped around their symbolical baakets ol' 
Bowers, ai^d liBtened to the discourses of a Parisian liigh-priesl. 
Notliin^f more remained fur mnterialisui to accomplish. But phili*" 
sophj', tlie iiueationing spirit of humanity', exists oidy by the activity 
of mind. Its answers never contain the entire tr;tth, and if thuy 
stifleu into dogma this becomes at once apparent. A phUosopby tu 
live must leave itself room iur ['lugress, must he contiiiually recei"- 
tive, flexible, and in connection with consciousness. This had ceased 
ti.) lie the position of jnaterialisni as a speculative system; it bad 
[become dn-,'m:itiu, and the dugiuatism of ne^^ation is of all do^inalisuis 
tlie least living and aulf-sufiicing. 

Early in this centur>', then, materialism was nbont to fall A 
usual, an attempt was made to mediiitc between tlie decnpug system 
and that which was to take its place. In 1811, M. Cousin, then in 
bis twentieth year, was a listener to the lectm-es iu whicli Iji Boini- 
guiSre, the repretsentative oi' this neo-seiisualism, endeavoured to effect 
a compromise between the principles of Coudillac and Descartes. 
" C'litait un syst^mo honorable, spiJeieus, surtout bien r«dige, et I'on 
aiine tant les bonnes redactions en Fnince !"* Two years later, M. 
Cousin was listening to Hoyer-Collartl, who attacked tl;e sensualist 
philoi9.opby pot yet in full front, but by a successful ilank movement. 
Again two yt^aw, and M, Cousin himself, in noyer-CoUard's place, 
was sweeping away eveiywln^Tc the lines of the enemy, and planting 
the banner of the new philosophy on their abandouod heights. 

But what was this banner of M. Cousin's ? "NVliat was the watch- 
word of the movement of 181a- — 1820 ? Here there has been some 
misunderstanding. " Edfcfirism," cry a score of critical voices. But 
this is what M. Cousin Idmself denies. Indeed, it ought to l>e seen 
that to name a movement simply fckcfk is to give no hint as to it5 
real tendency. Edcdlet \vs; but in what way? Two eclectic? 
may be as mucli opposed as any two thinkers of opposite sclioola. 1 
• Saiate-Eeuve : " Portrail* deniicra," p. 45S. 


Frejuh yEsihetics. 283 

may go through life always looking at the bright aide of things, and 
you at the dark ; but since life includes both bright and dark, we are 
both eclectics. It is only by virtue of some tendencies or principles 
qf my own that it is possible for me to make a choice, to select some 
and reject other parts of a system of thought : without these I must 
accept the whole or reject it ; I cannot discriminate. Hear M. Cousin 
bimaelf, — " Eclecticism is one of the most important and most useful 
applications of the philosophy which we profess, but it is not its 
priucipla Our true doctrine, our true banner, is intellectualiam 
(fpiritualistm)."* To call M. Cousin simply an eclectic is to lose the 
Idea of his movement, and to obscure his relations both to the sen- 
sualist generation out of which he sprang, and the present intellec- 
taalist generation, of which he is the parent 

The most important part of 3l. Cousin's work, however, from 1815 
to 1820, was not constructive. The interests of philosophy recjuired 
before anything else that he should follow up the defeat of the sen- 
soalista, and M. Cousin's brilliant dialectical powers found in this, no 
doubt, a highly agreeable exercise. His lesthetical lectures, accord- 
ingly, b^in with a series of negative propositions. Beauty is not that 
which is pleasing to the senses : the taste of a peach is dehcious, it is 
not beautiful. " Dc gustihus non disputaridum est:" if any one asserts 
that he gets more pleasure from looking at the Venus of the Hotten- 
tots than the Venus of Milo, what right have I to say it shotUd not 
be 80 ? None ; unless this involves the judgment that the Hottentot 
Venus is the more beautiful, when I take a high tone and pronounce 
hini to be in error. Nor is beauty merely a form of agreeable emo- 
tion, — we have just seen that, apart from a judgment of the beautiful, 
we could not justly condenm any person for admiring anything. 
Could we make the feeling of the majority a test of what is right in 
matters of taste ? No ; we can often declare unhesitatingly that the 
feeling of the majority is wrong. How so ? What right have we ? If 
mea differ about beauty in various classes of society, various periods 
of time, various countries of the world, can we venture to maintain. 
that there is such a thing as real and invariable beauty 1 Yes ; tliat 
is what our consciousness affirms, and we have no more doubt of the 
reality of beauty, because men differ about it, than we have of the 
reality of right and wrong, because there is some divergence in men's 
moral judgments. 

For a positive theory, M. Cotisin falls back on the old doctrine that 
Iwaaty is composed of unity and variety. But this, a moment's con- 
sideration will show us, is quite inadequate. Unity and variety may 
be the conditions of the perception of beauty, but assuredly they do 
not constitute it. They are conditions of the perception of everything 
• " Da Vni, dn Be*a, et du Bien," ATant-propos, p. xl, 11"** Edit. 


Tfie Contemporary Review. 

tliat hiis substance and atti-ibutes. There are unity and variety la 
hog, au ape. a frog, in tlie same way as in a stag or hound ; yet these. 
are beautifid and Ihoae are ugly. Besides, these words, " unity " and 
" variety," have half-a-dozen meaningSf and M. Cousin does not tell us^ 
in wbick of these, or if in aU, they constitute beauty. There ate- 
unities and varieties of place, of time, of end, of cause, of substance- 
It is worth little to repeat an old phrase without exphining^ -what 
hei-o precisely means, or proving it in any meaning to be true. 

What is more novel in M. Cousin's, theory is the reduction of 
physical and intellectual to moral beauty. But in this wliat is new is 
not true, and has to be abandoned in substance, thougli the appearance 
of originality is retained. If the word " moml" be taken strictly it i.s 
ea-sy to prove that the theory ia false. ^Vbat is the moral character of 
a rose ? Is it more virtuous than a celandine or kingcup ? Surely it 
would not lie hard to show in a brilliant exposition, after the manner 
of some French thporizers, that the: celandine, struggling against the 
rains and frosts of February, possesses a far nobler character than the 
luxurious (yet, ah, how superbly beautiful!) queen-flowTr of mid- 
suininer. Here we have beauty apart from morality. Nor is it 
harder to find morality apart from beauty. It ia a moral duty for 
moat persons to get out of Ixjd each morning before eleven o'clock, 
yet the action of getting out of bed does not impress us as beautiful 
or sublime. It i-? just (and M. Cousin has analysed moml beauty 
into justiLc and charity) to pay one's tailor's bills ; dutiful ft certainly 
is, beautifid it certainly ia not. It is Just for a mother to send a dis- 
obeilient cldld to lier bedroom, but there ia nothing in this whicb 
excites onr admiration unless (a most suggestive " unless ") her love 
and pity are so great that it requires a strong effort of the principle of 
justice to pass the sentence and carry it into execution. M. Cousin, 
linwcver, anticipated these objectious, and makes an explanation which 
altera the entire character of his system. All kinds of beauty are 
i-educilile to moral ; hut by moral we are to understanil, besides what 
is properly so colled, aU spiritiml beauty. The theory becomes- much 
more flexible with this explanation, but the flexibility is gained at the- 
expense of aU in it that is originaL If there ia spiritna! beauty of 
any other kind tlian justice and charity, it is only eonfuaing names 
to call it moral. All current British coins may be called ludt- crowns,. 
— understanding by this, besides half-cromis proper, all sovereigns, 
shillings, pence, i&c. To say this ia perfectly legitimate, but it does 
not give us a clearer view of the currency. M. Cousin's theory, then. 
aiBounts merely to the denial of independent physical beauty; all 
that is Wsibly beautiful is so only by virtue of the in-visible. Tliis, 
liowever, is as old as Plato. Plotinus had uained the beautiful " the 
apleadour of the good;" and iu recent times Keid had taught that 


French Esthetics. 285 

physical beauty is not primitive but derived, a sign of the beauty 
which the eye cannot behold. 

It is not in his theorizing about beauty, but in his discussion of the 
principles of art, that M. Cousin's chief contributions to the science of 
aisthetica will be found. As before, he begins with negative doctrine. 
The end of art is not the literal imitation of nature. ^Nothing is more 
certain, understanding by Tuiture the appearances of things. ■ We do 
not find fault with the Apollo of the Belvidere, because the eyeballs 
are suppressed. We have not discovered what Beethoven imitated in 
his sonatas, nor is there any account left of Shakspere's models for 
Ariel and Caliban. Yet though no mere imitations, these are pro- 
foundly true to nature, — true to its laws thougli not to its circum- 
Btanees. Nor is the end of art illusion. A statue makes no attempt 
to deceive me : if it attempted this, it could uot succeed : if it were 
to succeed, the resthetical emotion would vanish ; I sliould think the 
Apollo a very remarkable young man, uot a work of art. I should 
«ipect motion, and other proofs of life, and feel disappointed when I 
waited for them in vain. It is a poor kind of art which attempts to 
deceive. Madame Tussaud's gallery in Baker Street is held by severe 
judges to contain works of art of a lower order than some of those in 
the British Museum ; yet country children may be obsen'ed nightly 
clutching their mother's gowns in presence of John Knox and Mr. 
Macready, or gazing with fascination into the eyes of Napoleon's 
favourite Mameluke. If the wigs could reacli even a higher point of 
realistic art, if the eyes were yet more lustrous blues and greys, and 
the complexions of a yet more delicate bloom, still the headless Fates, 
and the noseless and footless Theseus, immortal fragment ! would pro- 
<lace a sense of larger and more serious truth, and fill our hearts with 
a glow of nobler emotion. 

It is not easy to say in 1866 what in 1818 was M. Cousin's most 
important contribution to aesthetics. Two appear especially note- 
worthy : first, his vindication of the independence of art ; secondly, 
Iiis enoimcement of the principle that the end of art is to express the 

Art has an end of its own, enacts its laws freely with reference 
to this end, is a self-governing republic, aud is not a dependency of 
utility, or science, or history, or politics, or morality, or religion, — 
these were great truths to proclaim, and yet, in the mind of one who 
fails to apprehend them, the first idea of art has not yet emerged. 
Kant (although he makes the theory of taste, like religion, a corollary 
of morality) clearly saw the independence of art when be declared 
that it has its principle and end in the idea of beauty, j Goethe, by 
his practice and his theoretical teaching, had formed the true concep- 
tion of art in the mind of the Germans. " It is based," said he, " on 

286 Tlie Contemporary Review. 

a stroi^ sentiment of religion, on a profound and mighty earnestness : 
hence it is prone to co-operate with religion." The origin of art in 
eveiy nation confii-ms this : but is it therefore governed at its secret 
heart by any controlling intention with regard either to religious 
faith or religious emotion? Nob consciously — not as axt. Hear 
another sentence of Goethe's, a really wonderful sentence, in which 
the truth on this subject is cut out at a single stroke: — ^"Eeligion 
stands in the same relation to art as any other of the higher interests 
of life. It is a subject, and its rights are those of all other subjecta" 
Morality and religion are no more the direct ends of art than they mc 
the ends of chemistry or engineering. The supremacy of conscience 
does not mean that conscience enacts the laws of every form of human 
activity, but that it has the power of putting a veto upon any measure 
which is antagonistic to its own laws. The judgment, " This is beau- 
tiful," is (luite distinct from the judgment, " This is right." It is not 
of morality or even religion that the wild flowers first speak to a mind 
of perfect sanity ; but they are living, they are beautiful, and we bow 
over them with a joy, a yearning, and a tender dread. They do not 
teach us anything till they have made ns feel how beautiful they are. 

"And is there any moral shut 
Within the bosom of a rose?" 

asks IVIr. Tennyson. Beauty has its own largesse and blessing for the 
heart, quite other than that of moral teaching ; and if the rose, after 
the manner of roses in the fables, could tell us that " Virtue is its own 
reward," or that " Falsehood should not be practised," we might think 
it a very ethical little flower, and feel grateful to it for supplying us 
with lines for our children's copy-books ; but its beauty would still be 
something reaching our heart in its own w^y, quite apart from these 
moral reflections. The artist who is preoccupied with some moral or 
religious purpose, which is to enter into Iiis art, and determine the 
product, even wlien his work has more to do with life and character 
than with what we call physical beauty, wUl inevitably produce bad 
work. It is not life which he will represent or interpret in its depth 
and fulness, but his own particular little theory of life. He is not 
really labouring for art's sake, but using art to prove something, — 
something, perhaps, giving no larger an account of life than that a 
working man is the better for joining a total abstinence society, or 
that a parish is in an enviable condition when the curate's ^'iews are 
high-church or low-church. These things may be worth proving, but 
it is a poor kind of art which aims at this. Even as teaching, how 
meagre are the morals drawn from life (life being coi^idered as 
material for moralizing), compared with the fulness of teaching we 
receive from any true representation of life itself. Life teaches ua in 

French Esthetics. 287 

a thousand ways, and ia really inexhaustible. Life analysed in 
accordance with some theory teaches little, and that little badly ; for 
we have a sense of the inadequacy of the representation. What is 
the moral of "Lear" or " Hamlet"? If tliey were intended to teach 
some set principle, they wotdd have the characteristic of all didactic 
art, their meaning would be exhaustible ; but they are works of 
genuine art, and therefore we return to them again and again, and 
find them perpetually full of the mystery of human life, which will 
not be comprehended in a proposition. 

We are beginning now-a-days to acknowledge this. We are begin- 
ning to smile at the poetical justice without which, not long ago, it 
was considered improper to wind up a story. We believe that nobler 
and fuller teaching comes from representing life as indeed life is. 
Murder does not always out ; the rogues are not always whipped and 
put in the stocks ; they sometimes get oft' with parchment addresses 
and presentations of plate. Yes ; but no little piece of roguery, no 
little piece of dishonest work, was ever done without bringing an 
inevitable consequence — moral injury; and for external punishment in 
nearly every instance, the possihility of unforeseen calamity to oneself 
or others. If there is an underlying tendency in the nature of crime 
that it shoidd discover itself on earth, and this is liindered only by 
accidental circumstances, let the ai-tist make this tendency apparent ; 
only let him develop it in proportion, and, since his work is ideal, 
make not only this one but all the tendencies of things more apparent 
than they are in reality. But let liim fling away that paltry poetical 
justice of his, and regard as sufficient the terrible justice of God ; let 
him teach us something nobler than the huckstering virtues, of which 
the great result is called "success in life;" let his teaching be to 
show us, really or ideally, life itself, with its capricious and unsuc- 
cessful little laws of men's deWsuig, and its solemn laws of God's 
appointment, which are deep, universal, and never fnisti-ated, tliough 
their effects may be delayed ; and when his work closes, let it close 
leaving the sense of unity, — the sad or joyous story of a life on earth, 
one round of existence, — but not the sense of finality, as if the whole 
purpose of the life were told. Such art is high art indeed, in the 
great style, full of noble meaning for human souls. It is not in the 
service of religion or morality ; it has its own function to fulfil : but it 
co-operates with them, as everythii^ earnest and noble co-operates 
with all else that is earnest and noble in the soul. If it is not in the 
service of religion or morality, neither can it ever be in the service of 
irreligion or immorality. All tilings are not to be represented by art ; 
truth to the laws of our own nature, truth to its law of beauty, forbid 
that. Tliere is nothing in us which demands the representiition of 
what is u^ly for ugliness' sake. Tliere is nothing in us — except wliat 

288 Tlie Contemporary Review. 

we are tn'ing to expel from our oonstitution, and which is therefore no 
elenientan' part of it — wliicli deiuaiKla the representation of what ia 
merely sinful anil vicious. Both wliat is ugly ami what is wicked 
have their place in art, but only for the sake of what is nohle and 
Ijeautitul If we have Duessa we have Una; if we have Kcgan we 
have Cordelia ; if we liave lago we have I>esdenionB. 

Before speaking of the principle that the end of ait is to cxi>re33 
the invisihle, it will Imj necessary to explain what is meant by the 
somewhat vague term, "the invisible ;" and before doing this we take 
leave of M. Cousin. Here it in worth observing how this jtrinciiile 
and that of the indejiendence of art were adopted and popularized by 
the leaders of the Koniantic movement iu literature. First, I believe, 
fn)ni il. Cousin was heard a watchword of theirs now so well known, 
" L'art 2)oii>- Vari." And the principle that art should express the 
invi.sible may be connected, by a very easy pen-ersion, with their dis- 
dain of physical beauty, and their attempt to give increased prepoii- 
^lerance in art to spirit (jvur matter, soul over body, which Iiad long 
lo.'^t and never can recover their old classical equilibrium.* 


To introduce here some notice of the gresitest work on n;5thetica 
which France has yet produced, I cannot do better than give the 
rearler two quotations, — the first from Emile Saisset, the second from 
!^[. Sainte-Beuve. 

"Ill >[. Coiisin's audit'iicp," wrote Kniile Siii-t,>4(;t, "thtrc was a young 
man whom the l»reath of the new sjiirit bad tnucliecl. A nature n-Heotive, 
inward, niotUtitive. Xfitlicr pbilosojthioal controversy ii<ir eruJition at- 
tracted hinL That Condillac was dect-ivcd on the origin of ideas mattered 
little to him, anfl he cared not very mucli to know what Plato and Aristotle, 
Descartes ami lAsilmitz liad thmifjht on the iiatun; of tliiuKs ; but to lift a 
little, thoii},'Ii but a little it might l)e, the veil which hides the initial truths 
of philos(]]ihy, tliia it was which stmngly attracted his intellect, and he 
phinged with eaf,'('nieaR into psychological analysis, not to find a new system, 
to found a school, or to hear the cries around him of enthusiastic discipha 
and dcfiperate opiwineiits, and all the noise which is callei.1 gloi^-, but rather 
to enjoy within himself tlie perception of tnith, the happiness of cloar-sighted- 
nvR^ in his thouglits — nmre than all, to give srime solace to a sold profoumlly 
troubled by the problem of human destiny. Such were the secret tendencies 
of this student <if the iSorbonne, M-ith the mild and melancholy face, lately 
come fniiu the mouidains of the Jura to the Normal School, and which wero to 
render illustrious the name of .Touffroy. To the intellect and the soul of a 
thinker he united the imagination of a poet, and after his laboiira, and thw 
austere joys of i>hilosoi)hical reflection, he knew no relaxations sweeter than 

• On the rtl&tion of M. Cuu^iu's doctrines to the Itomantic moTcmcnt, »ce an instntctirs 
and vcrydiMgreesblebcokbj-A.Mi.hiels, "Uistoiredes Ideea Ut tenures en France," toL 
ii., p. 9. 

French Esthetics. 289 

the contemplation of nature and the exquisite cmotiona of art. Still at the 
age of a schoolboy, he wrote for hia Doctor's degree a thesis * On the Emo- 
tion of the Beautiful' The ideas which were then in the germ (in 1816),. 
developed by the fertilizing wonis of M. Cousin, were not slow to blossom. 
In 1822 the Normal School was suppressed M. Jouffroy, driven from his 
chair, conceived the idea of making another, lesa expoaed to the action of a 
violent and suspicious government, by gathering around him, in a student's 
modest chamber, a score of young people, his contemporaries and companions. 
This little chamber of the Hue du Four has a place in history. The 
unknown young people boro the names of Duchiitel, Vitet, l)amiron, 
Dubois, Sainte-lieuve. It was Tlie Globe in its cradle, growing in obscurity, 
and preparing by abstract meditation for tlie great struggles of public 

To this circle of friends it was that Jouffroy delivered liis " Coura 
d'Esth^tiijue." M. Sainte-Beuve's recollections of these gatherings of 
the Rue du Four are given with his usual delicacy of colouring and 
pureness of outline ; — 

" These private courses of lectiu^s were very select ; some spirits already 
mature, companions of the master, some physicians since celebrated, a 
studious and choice few from the salonn, several representatives of the young 
and futiuu peerage, composed the usual audience, which was far from numer- 
ous, as the room was small, and a more considerable gathering would readily 
have become an object of suspicion before 1828. To these discourses 011 
philosophy the listeners were invited only once a week : they came with 
Warmth and some degree of caution, as if to drink of a new and forbidden 
science, from which was expected some of the purer faith of the future. 
When the audience of fifteen or twenty liad slowly come togetlier, when the 
key had been removed from the outer door, and the last strokes of the little 
bell had ceased, the professor, standing leaning on the mantelpiece, began in 
n low voice, and after a long silence. The face, the figure even of M. Jouffroy 
is one of tlioso which most deeply impress one at first sight, by I know not 
"what of melancholy, of reserve, which makes one feel involuntarily tlie 
presence of a mysterious and noble stranger (' inconnu,' uiiknoifn). Then 
he began to speak : he spoke of the beautiful, or of moral good, or of the 
immortality of the soid : in those days his more delicate complexion, his 
cheeks slightly hollow, the deeper blue of his eyes, adilcd in the mind to 
the ideal reminiscences of the 'Phajdo.' The tone of his voice after the first 
half,, which was monotonous enough, rose and grew animated, while his 
irords followed quicker on one another. His eloquence, now imfolded, con- 
tinued after the hour was passed, and knew not how to come to an end. 
The declining day made the scene more solemnly impressive : full of faith, 
and deeply moved, the hsteners went out, congratulating themselves on the 
fruit-bearing seeds of thought they had receiveiL M. Jouffroy has justified 
"what was expected from him ; but for those who heard him in these private 
discourses, nothing has given back, nor will give back, the charm and 
influence of the time." t 

The " Cours d'Esth^tique " consists of forty lectures. It was pre- 
X>ared after JouflTroy'g death by his most intimate friend, M. Damiron, 

* " L'Ame et la Vie, suiri d'un Esaincn critique do I'Elstb^tique fTnii9!uae. Par- Emile 
Saiiset," pp. 98-100. 

t "Portraita litteraireB," vol. L, pp. 320-1. 

ago The Contemporary Review. 

from notes taken by M. Delorme, an attendant at the lecturea, 
and approved by Joufiroy himself. It is a faithful transcription of 
Jouffroy's thought, but the perfection of form and the charm of style 
■which its author would have given it are in some degree wanting. 
Hence no doubt in part, and in part from the circumstance of its 
posthumous publication, the book is less known than it deserves. M. 
Cousin's lectures on " The True, the Beautiful, and the Good " have 
reached an eleventh edition, and are translated into Englisii. The 
" Cours d'Esth^tique," a work of sincere thought, with none of the 
easy magnificence of M. Cousin's views, still remains in a second 
edition, and is scarcely ever referred to in the resthetical criticism of 
our journals. Yet perhaps one of the causes of its comparatively 
slight popularity in France is the very circumstance that it possesses 
so largely that spirit of patient research and that carelessness of 
attaining merely showy results, wliich we may, in no vainglorious 
spirit, claim as characteristics of our own great philosophical works. 
French writers, great and small, exhibit too often a tendency to leap 
to a striking synthesis before half their analysis is complete. Tliey 
long to tell you the iMa of the representative camel before they half 
know what a camel is. M. Cousin is subject to this weakness. He 
gives us wonderful views of his own, and applies them to something 
to which they are, in fairness, wholly inapplicable. He is too im- 
patient to wait tUl the object before him produces its true impression, 
but he has so great a genius for misconceiving it in a rapid and 
brilliant way, that he never disappoints any reader except one who is 
pedant enough to wish to see things as they are, not as they may be 
made to appear. Any one who has studied M-ith care his lectures on 
Locke's philosophy, comparing them \vith the "Essay concerning 
Human Understanding," will know tliat what has been said is strictly 
just. Not for a page is M. Cousin to be trusted in those lectures, and 
scarcely a single critical misdemeanour could be named of which he 
might not, out of them, be convicted. Joufiroy is in this respectthe 
exact opposite of M. Cousin. He does not come to a subjectjpreoccu- 
pied with its idea, whUe, on the other hand, he is wholly free'^from 
such nervous apprehension of a generalization as we meetTwith in 
Stewart He is sincere, patient, imtiring ; a man bom to follow^truth 
and find it, even though it must be sought tlirougli long and devious 
ways. His intellectiwl gifts, rare and vigorous as they are,*" never 
seduce him into betraying his intellectual conscience. He is not 
exceedingly anxious to cry Voild. h Vrai ! VoiJa Ic Beau .' j Voila k 
Bicn .' to an ecstjitic company of youths, the hope of the future, wlio 
in turn cry Voila ! He does not hurry to his syntheses ; his preced- 
ing analyses are profound, delicate, thorough, and (to use an admirably 
ai)propriate word of EinUe Saisset's) obstin^cs, stuljbornly persistent. 

French Esthetics. 291 

My readers will remember the Hampton Court maze, with the 
ladder whereon, some years ago at least, in the merry summer days, a 
man would stand to direct the puAled people who hegan to grow 
apprehensive lest they should have to spend the remaining term of 
their natural lives in wandering to and fro from one green impass- 
able alley to another. In the " Cours d'Esthetique " we enter sucli 
a maze. There in the centre is the idea of beauty ; tlie misfortune is, 
there is no man and no ladder visible here. But M. Jouffroy has 
been at the centre and volunteers to guide us ; only we must be in no 
hurry to get there. Up this path and down that he leads us, and will 
not have us take it on liis word that they end unsuccessfully. Even 
when we are Tvithin a hedge of the centre, and perceive uumistakeably 
the rest of our way, there are discovered still one or two wTong turns 
to investigato, till at last we are brought to the place our guide 
intended, while we liear without the Scotch phdosophers, and Burke, 
and Diderot, and Aristotle, and Kant, and Augustine, each in his own 
blind alley, hallooing that he has just hit upon tlie right path ; and the 
disappointed people, making the best of their way back, are heard declar- 
ing that after all there is nothing to find, no centre — evidently no centre. 

And is there a centre after all 1 Truly one comes at [times to 
doubt that it has ever been quite penetrated to, or indeed can be. I 
fear there is some subtile and mysterious element in beauty which all 
our analysis is insufficient to unveil, something which is too spiritual 
to be riveted in the bonds of a definition. Is the science of aesthetics 
consequently futile ? Yes, if it accomplishes nothing ; unless it gives 
us, in phrases of the understanding, a perfectly adequate account of 
what such language is too pure a work of thought to contain. But 
not futile in seeking to learn continually more and more about tlie 
conditions of beauty and its relations to the spirit of man. In criti- 
cism, too, we meet with an element which defies our analysis, which 
slips back from our definitions, and yet which is the source of what is 
best in literature and art, and we call this clement "genius." Is criti- 
cism therefore futile ? Has genius no laws, no conditions ^for_^ its 
development? Has literature no principles? Has its history no 
meaning ? Have its schools no characteristics ? And has criticism 
taught us nothing about all these ? has it only succeeded in enfeebling 
our sensibiUty, and left our intelligence as xmilluminated as that of 
our ancestors who listened, like three-years children, to the old 
ballads of the land ? Not so. Everyivhere, in geometry, in asti-o- 
nomy, in morality, in religion, in aesthetics, we find questions— -(■ques- 
tions in all but the positive sciences — not troubluig the philosopher 
alone, but sounding in the heart of every man, which the world has 
been trying, age after age, to answer, and which still remain]|urging us 
to renewed inquiry. Has the endeavour to find answers for these 


The Contemporary Review. 

questions Ijeen idle ? No. The hieroglyph ia not yet (perhajw 
nevei' will lie) unriddled, l»itt u word here and a "wonl there has founJ 
an interjireter, and these have "Heeii in tlieinsclvea a revislatioii. We 
should not he pnorer only in imagination, hut infinitely poorei' in 
reality, if Plato had not wiitten Ida "Banqnet," or Hpinoza hi^ 
"Ethics," or Fidite his "AVay tmvai'da the Blessed Life." The Utile 
thinpis. whicdi lie about our feet are perhaps very clear and distinct. 
lint (here are ^Teat things liefore and iiroimil its which lie in the 
shallow^ and, n'ith cppiiture-s like om'aelves, the value, the importance 
nf n thoujiht in the spiritual and intellectual life is measured by other 
considenttions in iulditinn to its certainty and its clearness for the 
understanding. This ■will ajiply to inetaphy-eica ; but descending to 
psycholof^', tljere are results to show in almost every branch of it, 
both well secured and numerous, and every year ia adding to their 
nund.'er and multiplying^ tlieir relntious. 

T!ie great q\ieation of the " Couj-s d'Eatluitique " is this. " \Miat do I 
mean when I say of .1 thing, It is iM^itutifvd V There .ire two parts 
in this tpiestkin — certain fact^, and the explanation of the fucts. lu 
every perception of the hcauttful there is an object which I perceive, 
and a meutnl phenomenon produced in nie by the object. Tlie questi'tu 
of fiicts, therefore, ia itself twofolil : — \Vhat are the cliaracteristica of 
the object which malce iiie call it Iteautiful ? and what ia the nature 
of the mental phenomenon which it produces? Tlie explanation of 
the facts, ctinsists in knowing why such an object, possessing aucjt— 
characteristics, produces such ft phenomenon. ^H 

What is it in ttie object which makes me cidl it Ijeautiful ? Tlie 
usual method adopted by French writers for finding an answer to this 
<iueatjnn was to compare a number of things differing in as many 
other respects na possible, but all of \i-hich were beautiful. If they 
could detect some one particular which all agreed in possessing, whil^ 
they differed in everything else, this evidently was the secret of their 
V»eauty. Such is what I niny call the nietapliysical method. JouflVoy 
ilecides t-o pursue another, vi^., the psychologicah According tn 
this, we firat examine the phenomena which the beautiful producea 
in tiumim ciinsciouRuess, then inquire why it pi-oduces thein, aud 
finally, with so mucli light already gained, try to discover wliat is the 
nature of the beautiful itself. fll 

Now place liefore yon some beautiful object, and observe the impres- 
sion which ensu&s. You are conscious of an emotion of pleasure. 
T17 another object, and another: atill the result is in this re&pect the 
same. Hence you are obliged to conclude that the beautiful, wlml- 
ever it maybe, cnntidns -within itself the nature or essence of that_ 
which causes pleasure. 

Tliis is vague lauguage, but it is so because we are taking nothing 

French ^Esthetics, 293 

for granted. Let us see if we can make it more definite by finding 
out the cause of pleasure. Well, then, consider two things which are 
in liie world, matter and force. Matter, inert and dead, is incapable 
of feeling— can in itself be the subject neither of pleasure nor pain, 
Force is living, and as force it is that I am conscious of myself. Now 
whatever opposes the development of this force pains me ; whatever 
assists it is a cause of pleasure. To have my life frustrated, marred, 
enfeebled, threatened in any way, — life physical, intellectual, moral, 
— ^that is painful. To be helped, to be given a sense of fuller power, 
to have Uie joy of living quickened and sustained, that ia alwaya 

Let us not push this theory, however, too far. Are there not objects 
which give us pleasure without producing any development or in- 
creased feeling of our life or force ? A rose, for instance, cannot be 
applied to furthering my life in any way, yet it is pleasant to look at. 
A strange phenomenon ! I am glad to see something which ia perfectly 
useless to me. How is this to be explained ? 

Another curious fact su^ests itself The more any object or being 
resembles man and partakes of his nature, the more latgely does it 
possess the gift of pleasing me. A human being is capable of giving 
me greater pleasure than a dog, a dog than a flower, a flower than a 
atone. But what is our own nature save force ? According, then, as 
anything exhibits force I am attracted by it. If I see force trium- 
phant in it, I rejoice ; if I see it failing or overcome, I too am depressed 
and suffer pain. Here, then, is a second kind of pleasure ; and as the 
first, the pleasure derived from what is useful, has its source in egoism, 
this, derived from beings of a nature similar to our own, but wliich 
neither assist nor hinder our development, has its source in sympathy. 

Now do beautiful things please us by being useful, or because they 
exhibit force and life similar to our own, and with which we sympathize, 
freely developing themselves ? One word out of much that m^ht be 
said will be sufficient. Many beautiful things are not useful ; many 
useful things are not beautiful But Jouffroy here seizes on a distinc- 
tion between the beautiful and the useful which is so full of fine 
si^estion that I cannot pass it by. If any object affects us agreeably, 
the emotion of pleasure produces, by a necessity as strict as fate, an 
emotion of love — a love by wliich we tend yearningly towards the 
object ; then arises desire. Although it may be incapable of serving 
us in any way, we wish to be near it, to bring it close to us, to imite 
ourselves with it. And when we are in possession of it we are quickly 
at a loss what further to do. " The rose which we see pleases us ; we 
love it, we desire to obtain it, and when obtained we are embaTrassed 
with it" So fares it with the beautiful. On the other hand, when 
oar desire is produced, not in this mysterious manner, but by an 

294 ^'^* Contemporary Review. 

object corresponding to some definite want of our condition here 
below, when the object becomes ours there follows no embarra^me^. 
So \vith the usefuL The emotion of the beautiful is essentially dis- 
interested. So distinct is it from that which utility produces, that we 
cannot fix our attention on the utility a beautiful object may happen 
to possess without instantly losing sight of its beauty. He who sees 
most beanty in the world is usually least possessed by the feeling of 
worldly wants and the desire of satisfying them. He who has the 
amplest sense of worldly wants, and gives himself up wholly to finding 
means for their satisfaction, sees the useful everywhere, and is almost 
unacquainted with beauty. The emotion of the beautiful is disinte- 
rested : hence its glory, and hence also its danger and its sorrow. For 
union with the beautiful-^real possession of the beautiful — ^yeam we 
never so longingly towards it, is not attainabla I pull the rose, but 
is it really mine ? No more than when it was on the stem. Thei^ 
in my hand, the beautiful thing seems as far away from me as ever, 
and my desire remains perpetually unsatisfied. Hence in those who 
devote themselves to the pursuit of beauty come strange revulsions of 
feeling, — faintness, weariness, despair, or that incurable melancholy (rf 
which the poet of our own who, of all others, was the most passionate 
lover'of beauty, and of none other, wrote with so profound a sense of 
its truth : — 

" She dvells \rith Beauty — Beauty that moat die. 

And Joy, whose hand ia ever at his lipa, 
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, 

Turning to poison while the bcc-mouth sips: 
Ay, in the very temple of Delight 

Veiled Melancholy has her aoTran ihrine, 
Though seen of none buto him whose streQuous tongue 

Caa burst Joy'a gntpe against his palate fine ; 
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might. 

And be among hor cloudy trophies hung." * 

From Keats let us return to Jouffroy. But now, having got thus 
far, and led us to beheve that we have discovered the mysterious 
secret of beauty in its expression of foree and the resulting sympathy, 
— having brought us thus far in our progi-ess through the maze, — 
several paths appear, which Jouffroy tells us look promising (though 
we have a sure presentiment all the time of what they lead to), and 
up these we are carried, and hack again we return. I shall not take 
the reader into these blind alleys, but can assure him that, ^vith 
Jouffroy discoursing by one's side, the longest does not seem weari- 

• The history of this " Odo on Holancholy " is noteworthy. Eeats's first conception of 
Melancholy was rather in the raw-bead-and-bloody-honea style. But his daemon (as 
Croethe would say) did not play him false, and he was compelled to abandon hia original 
design, and write the exquisite poem as now it stands. 

French Esthetics. 295 

some. That the pleasure derived from the beautiful does not arise 
from novelty or from custom (here are two paths going in opposite 
directions), or the perfection of an object in its kind, or the associa- 
tion of ideas, — all these statements the reader must refer to the " Cours 
il'Esth^tique " itself to establish. Of the theory which we found M. 
Cousin adopting, that unity and variety are the constituents of the 
beautiful, a few words must here be said. 

The beautiful pleases us ; therefore the conditions of pleasure must 
be conditions of the bcautifid. Are unity and variety necessary con- 
ditions of pleasure ? Does variety without unity displease us ? That 
is the first question. If we hear a number of varied sounds, for 
inatanoe, without discovering anything which connects them with one 
another, does not the intellect feel unsatisfied ? Yes ; it seeks some 
cause, or meaning, or end by which to group them into one. We are 
displeased by variety without unity. 

And now the second question. Are we displeased by unity without 
variety ? A single sound prolonged for ever, does this displease us ? 
Yes ; it tires us ; our sensibility suffers. But our intellect finds no 
want here ; it is not compelled to look for variety in unity as it was 
for unity in variety. Variety, then, satisfies the requirements of the 
sensibility, unity those of the intellect. 

These are therefore conditions of the beautiful — a diversity of phe- 
nomena, and some centralizing idea around which they are grouped. 
They are the means of making its feel the beautiful, but are they the 
elements which constitute it? No. There are objects possessing 
variety and a principle of unity which are ugly. There is unity of 
life with variety" of parts in a hog, an ape, a frog, yet these are not 
beautiful. Unity and variety are, indeed, attributes of almost every- 
thing which we perceive, and if these constituted beauty it would be 
difficult to find anything ugly in the world. 

Another common theory, rightly interpreted, brings us back to the 
centre of Jouffroy's system. According to several thinkers (amongst 
them Aristotle* and Augustine), the constituents of beauty are order 
and proportion. What do these words mean ? Order is an arrange- 
ment of parts : proportion, certain relations of those parts in extension 
or duration ; but what kind of arrangement, what ki7id of relations ? 
Rejecting the doctrine that there is a type of each species of things by 
which we judge of the degree of order and proportion each individual 
possesses, Jouffroy concludes that this degree is determined by the 
suitability of means to an end : whatever arrangement of parts 
enables a thing best to fulfil its end being the arrangement according 
to order. And now, understanding the terms, is the theory true that 

* In one passage Ariitotle names greatness as a conatituent of beauty, t6 yip ca\&v iv 
pi7i9(t Kai rd^ii lari, — PmUc, chap. rii. 


The Cotitcmporary Review. 

these two elements constitute beauty ? To answer this, we rtiproduce 
the hog, — au invaluable companion on mi resthetiwil tour, aud the 
beat of protectors against tlie pkilosopliet*. Nothing is mopu happily 
adapted for accomplishing its eartlily destiny. His waots ai'e liuiuble ; 
he does not require high intellectual powers or delicate sensibilities to 
fulfil Ids lot ; he is not swift to pursue or strong to ovei-cotne, but then 
he di>es not need great strength or swiftness; all his worldly desires 
are gratified Ity ];^ilibing8 in a pde of refuse. Yet he is not a gracefid 
creature. Wt; have even athiiitteil, aa a private opinion, that he is 
ugly. He does not in his unroast appearance, or apart frcim the 
association of " crackling/ excite an emotion of pleasure and the con- 
sequent yeaniiiig luve. We do not desire to unite ourselves with liim. 
The mass of hifi body, aud es^X-'uially that of the representative pig of 
public shows, seema to weigh down the force which animates hiin ; 
his niovenienta are he-a\y, his intelligence didl, his affections not 
highly developed, matter is clearly preiioiiderant in liiin. ( irder uud 
propoitiouj undCTstooJ as suitability of jiieana to the actual ends of 
things, assuredly do not constitute beiiuty. 

But is there no other end towards wliich things tend save the 
actual — no end save that of fultilling aome assigned part in the great 
economy of nature? Yes; wherever force exists it tends towards its 
own perfect evolution and develupmeiit. It is never coutent ; it 
acknowledges no limit ; it ia careless of preserving the eliartietcr- 
istics of any natural species. This is the absolute end of eveiy 
crejiture — its own liighest development. The uiJer aud prupurtion 
which enable it to piu-sue this end are absolute, are perfect, and of 
tliem is beauty constituted. 

Concerning force it is that all things in the universe, some only just 
articulately, some in the eloquence of golden words, in the md^jdy Q^^| 
perfect soug, are communing with us. I'roni the sun which strengthens^* 
the angels by Ids light, from thu stai-s which joove nightly through 
the heavens like an acmy u'ith banners, to tlie fincs^t needle of mos^^H 
nay. to the least dro[) of dew that lies within the moss's fair)' cups, alf^" 
things are telling r.f unseen energies and life. The least .spiritual- 
minded of men in every moment of every day acknowKaiges the 
presence around him of invisible powers. We are creature? "moving 
about in wci-lds not realized," This is a sim[>le statement cif fact. 
We look aruund and think we see uuilLer everywhere. !Nut at all 
we only hcUeve in matter,- — it is bodies that we see, every ciuatity 
which is an expression of force. Extension, what is that but an 
gation of atoms widch tells us that Ibrce is there at work ? .Suli(.lity, 
but the deelaratiun of the tendency of that forca as concentrative, 
binding the particles of matter close to one anotlier ? Form, but the 
explanation of the precise way in which the force is acting ? Colour, 

French yEstketics. 297 

taste, odour, not one of them belong to matter ; they are qualities of 
bodies, and owe their existence to force. In fact, to use Jonffro/a 
striking illustration, " the qualities of bodies are no more the qualities 
of matter than the characters printed on paper are qualities of the 
paper, though at the same time there coxild no more be bodies without 
matter, than printed characters without paper." Force then is what I 
have already spoken of as "the invisible," and the object of art is, by 
means of the qualities of bodies, to express this force in order and 
proportion, that is, tending by appropriate means to its absolute end* 
Now observe an important distinction. It is not in the ^vay of 
allegory that nature speaks to us of force ; and art, if it would produce 
jBSthetical emotion, must likewise employ not allegorical symbols but 
natural signs. The former are a language wliich represents things for 
the understanding, but which does not address itself to the feelings. 
A woman holding scales is Justice : I understand that perfectly ; and 
since the figure possesses some artistic merits, I receive a certain 
degree of pleasure. But let the face of Justice grow so full of grave 
and sweet determination that I can read her character inthout the 
symbolic scales, and forthwith it becomes a true work of art. 

To the invisible alone belongs Ijeauty in tlie proper sense of the 
word, but the invisible can affect us resthetically only in one way — 
tirough ita naturd signs. I am conscious in myself immediately of 
force, but this does not become a source of aesthetical emotion to me 
Tuitil I can look at myself as if I were another person : if I am ridi- 
culous, I do not smile till I have become estranged from my ridiculous 
self, till I have projected it, so to speak, outwards in imagination, when, 
seeing my own personality not directly, but through the medium of 
natural signs, the interested emotion gives place to one sympathetic or 
aesthetical. In like manner, no philosophical descriptions of the pas- 
sions — of love, for instance, or jealoiisy, or hate, or fear — can succeed 
in. touching ray sensibility ; but let me see before me Tiomeo, Othello, 
Sliylock, and my heart is quickly a-glow with sympathy or indigna- 
tion. Hence we may perceive the mistake of tliose artists who aun at 
tTuth instead of reality. It is not with truth but realized truth tliat 
art is concerned. The dramatist, for example, wliose characters 
describe their feeUngs instead of expressing them as they naturally 
find expression, has forgotten the conditions of art. This is Racine's 
manner, and the manner of our own novelist Eichardson. "I wail, I 
wail," cry the earth-spirits in Mrs. Browning's early poem, " A Drama 
of Exile," and Eve responds pathetically, " I wail." How frigid that 
is! "And yet the pity of it, lago! 0, lago, the pity of it, I^o!" 
How full of terrible pathos is that! more pathos, I think, tlian if 

• It need hardlj- be said, not vital force alone, but force of intellect^ emotionSj^ fc^n. 
«ienc«, will, also. 


VOL. 1. 

298 The Contemporary Review. 

Othello declared that he wailed, even ten or eleven times. But Mrs. 
Browning of the " Drama of Exile " was a very different artist from 
the great poet who wrote "Aurora Leigh."* 

We have here come almost unaware upon the gecrets of the schools 
of Bealism and Idealism in literature and art. The invisible is the 
source of beauty, — there is the starting-point of idealism ; the invisible 
must be expressed by natural signs, — there is the first principle of 
realism. It is some passion — love, let us suppose — which the idealist 
aims at bringing to light ; clearness of expression is above all things 
what he desires, and body, as he finds it in actual natm«, seems rather 
to conceal than to reveal the soul within. He sees also that with all 
its special varieties, the passion of love has great typical character- 
istics which never vary, and which constitute its essential nature : 
these, omitting all detaCs which may obscure them, he will endeavour 
to seize ; and in representing them, he ■H'ill simjilify as much as possible 
the natural signs. Surely a reasonable procedure enough. 

The realist, on the other hand, knows that the passion of love must 
l)e represented in an individual lover. But tlie lover must be male or 
female : and further, of a certain age, and of a certain rank in society, 
and of a certain century, and of a certain nation, and of a certain 
religion, and of a certain character, and of a certain appearance, and 
of a certain surrounding; and so on, tiU, as he will tell you, a living 
person stands before you, and no shadowj' abstraction or generalization. 
It is not clearness, but vagueness of expression which results from omit- 
ting these circumstances. It is not the act of a great mind, but of a 
" vulgar, incapable, and unthinking" mind, to see in all Imman beings 
only similar bundles of tendencies and habits : we must separate " to 
obtain a more perfect unity."f Surely tliere is reason also in this. 

Yes, there is reason both on the idealist's and the realist's side, but 
to the procedure of each there is a limit. When the idealist describes 
the invisible apart from its natural signs he falls into the false ideal, 
and becomes frigid and metaphysical. When the realist crowds his 
description with insignificant details, or when, in place of giving us the 
natural signs of emotion, he gives the conventional signs proper to some 
other age or country, which we hardly understand, and do not at all 
sympathize with, his realism, which should be called literalism, is false 
realism, — he has forgotten the conditions of art. But no artist who 
works with a spirit full of earnest feeling can ever be a mere literalist, 
for all earnest feeling idealizes more or less, making prominent accord- 
ing to its special character the sadness, the Ijeauty, the love, the 

• JouflVoy'B definition of beauty — " That with which mt; synijinthize in human nature, 
rxprt'sseJ by iinttirril symbols ivhicli strike the ntsps." Hia definition of art — "Tha 
esiiression of the invisible by the natural signs whiih mnnifeijt it." 

t Ruskin, " Modem Painters," i., IVeface, 2iid Kdit., p. 33. 

French Esthetics. 299 

joyoxisness of all that comes before it, or. if the power of feeling he 
universal, each of these ia turn. In Mr. Hunt's picture of " Christ in 
the Temple," it is not the faithful i-eproduction of the doctors' dresses 
which gives it its high lesthetical value : these have little signilicauce 
for the mind's eye, and might be read of in a book of antiquities. But 
the ignorance, the arrogance, the meanness, the sensuality of the men's 
feces ; the unconscious, trance-like fruition of Mary ; the tender 
rapture of her satisfied motherly desire, and the Divine Immauity of 
Jesua, — in these the artist appears, precisely where the antiquarian 
could render no assistance. These tell us what ilr. Hunt thought 
and felt about that circumstance in the Temple, and because he 
thought well, and felt delicately and profoundly, his picture is great. 
The antiquariauism is valuable too ; but it were a serious misfortune 
for the world if an artist, possessed of any affluence of thought and 
feeling, should spend his years in erudite researches about the embroi- 
dery and fringes of Jewish robes. If Raphael had painted one picture 
in five years he would have left us four very perfect works, but how 
Uttle in them could he have told us of all the visions of beauty and 
tenderness and grace which possessed his brain — how httle of what 
no other man in all the centuries could have told us save Eaphael 
himself ! Happily antiquarians are not so rare.* 

I have wandered somewhat away from Jouffroy, and have now no 
great cause to return. The leading ideas of the " (Jours d'Esthetique " 
are contained in what has been written, and though they i-eceive 
many further developments, the vital principles of the system — force, 
sympathy, order — are still the centralizing points. Jouffroy's dis- 
tinction between the agreeable and the beautiful, and his analysis of 
tlie sublime, wliich occupy some of the later lectures, are of less 
interest than the preceding portion of the book, and seem to me not 
quite so satisfactory. But to the end, even after his system has been 
elaborated piece by piece till it is almost complete, Jouffro}' retains 
in a remarkable degree his sincerity of investigation. His obser\'a- 
tions have a purity, and his analyses a richness of result, which one 
leams to set down at their right value when one has seen many an 
excellent writer, under the increasing tyranny of his own theory, grow 
more and more incapable of approaching any subject in tlie critical 
spirit, more and more insensible to the fulness of meaning which 
things possess. 

* "Alas !" exclaims M. MUsand, in writing of Mr. Himfs painting {Rervr. det Ikux 
^mA«, Aug. 15, 1861), "it is hard to satisfy every one. After having examined Ihe 
piiatiiig, a Jewish lady [who went to sec it when exhibiting in T.ondon] said gravely, 
' U ii very beautiful, oaly it ia clear the artist did not know the disiinctivu mark of the 
•We of Judah : he has given the doctors flat feet, which belong to tlio tribe of Reuben, 
while the men of Judah have the instep highly arched.' " WTio can think much of a pic- 
'on Tith so dcploiablc a departorc from truth in it as this ! 

300 The Contemporary Review. 


Since Jouffroy's " Lectures," nothiiis of iiiiich importance in 
aesthetics appeared l»t-tbre 51. Charles Lt'vwixie's tre-.itise, " Ia Science 
du Beau." Two years prior to the imlilication of tlie " Cours d'Esth^ 
tique," but several years after the deliver}' of the lecture?, lamermaia 
brought out some volumes of a work entitled, " Esqiiisse d'une Philo- 
so])hie," which contained chajiters of tlie hijrhest merit on Art and 
IJeauty. Tliese were last year pnbUshed in a detached form, and may 
be read without any feclinj,' of their fragnientarv' character. Let the 
reader, however, exjiect from Lamennaw no luminous theory of the 
beautiful ; the most admirable thinj; about the theoretical part of the 
volume is its sJiortness : it is altogether transcendental and uninteUi- 
gible, a kind of mystical t'hristianized Platonism, in which the 
Infinite Beauty, and its manifestation, the Word, are recurring 
phrases. !Nor is the general theor}- of art much more satisfactory: 
creation also is the manifestation of the Infinite Pteauty; art is the 
reprotluction of creation, an<l the order of its development is the 
same as tliat of the six days' works, beginning with the arrangement 
of inorganic matter in architecture, and finally ero\\Tied by the voice 
of man going uj) to God in song. It is not such spectdations as these 
wliich give the Iwok its value, but the interpretations, fidl of insight 
which it contains, of the meaning of the several hi.storical periods of 
the various arts. The sketches are slight, but they are from the hand 
of a master, who seizes the essential characteristics of things by a rare 
power of vision. " iEeyer," said (Joethe, laugliing, " always says, 'If 
thinking were not so hard !' And the worst is, that all the thinking 
in the world does not bring us to thought ; we must l)e right by 
nature, so that good thoughts may come before us like free children of 
God, and cry, ' Here we are !' " It is in this way, " hke free children 
of God," that good thoughts come to I^mennais : when he tells us 
what he sees, we trust the penetrating intuitions of genius, — we obtain 
always one important view at least of the truth : when he goes aboat 
to prove something, we cannot follow him ; his logic is neither " the 
incomi)Iete logic of good sense," nor the unfigured syllogisms of the 
emotions, but of a kind i-equiring an amount of pure reason wliich we 
empirical English have never had the good fortune t-o possess. 

In lS(i2 was published in two vohmies, containing about a thousand, 
pagas, "La Science du Beau," by M. Charles Ldv(!'que. The Academy 
of Moral and Political Sciences had proposed, a few years before, this 
subject for competition, and of five essays M. L*5v('que's was that which 
obtained the Academy's crown. " La Science du 1 >cau " is an enlarged, 
and in some material respects an altered copy of this essay. Its 
author came to the subject with the natural aptitude derived from a 

French ^Esthetics. 301 

passionate love of beauty and fine reflective powers, and with special 
culture obtained in the French school, founded in 1847 at Athens, of 
which he was one of the first members. 

Perhaps the most remarkable feature of the work is the complete- 
ness of its desijpi ; in this respect it is withont a rival in French or 
English philosophical literature, the lionour of wliicli is due to the 
members of the Aciideiiiy, who, in proposing the subject, traced briefly 
the line of investigation which should be pursued. The two (luestions 
which occupy the greater part of the " Cours d'Esthetique " arc here 
first discussed — What are tlie effects of tlie beautii'ul iu human con- 
sciousness ? and Wluit the nature of the IjeautifiU in itself? — the 
psychological and the nietiiphysiciil qucitioiis. And in the former of 
these M. Levcque has the merit of bi-eaking almost entirely new 
ground, when he investigates not only the phenomena ]n'oduced by 
beauty on the intellect and emotions, tjut on the aciivUies of man. 
Having arrived at the principles of the science, the author ne.xt pro- 
ceeds to confirm and illustrate them by a study of beiUity as it 
appears in man, in natiure, and iu God. Fiu-ther confirmations and 
illustrations are then sought in each of the fine arts. And, finally, 
the science of the beautifid is treated historically, in a series of 
chapters on the chief uisthetical theories of ancient and modern philo- 
sophy, — those of Plato, Aristotle, Plotinus, Augustine, Ilutcheson, the 
Father Andre, IJaumgai-ten, Iteid, Kaut, Schellinj^, and Hegel. This 
is a great design, and M. LevOque has shown much abilitj- and culture 
iu his attempt to fill it in. 

And yet the book is very unsatisfactory. In the essay as at first 
written, the metaphysical question was tresiteil before tlie psycho- 
logical, and thougli the order is now reversed, and the earlier part of 
the work entirely recast, the original faidt of metliod and its results 
cling to it still. Wherever M. Levcque is free from the pressure of 
his theor}', his psychology, as Emile Saisset remarked, is natmal and 
sincere i but too often wliat luis been said of the jmrity of Joufi'roy's 
observation, and the fulness of result iu his analyses, must be 
reversed to become applicable to M. Leveque, and chiefly because 
he approaches the psychological facts with a predetermiueil theory, 
to which they must be accommodated. 

In this theory of At. Leveque's there is no advance on Joufl'roy's, 
and in many respects it is less capable of defence. The author invites 
us to analyse the beauty of a lily with him, and satisfies himself that 
it is constituted of precisely eight elements, among them " the normal 
liveliness of colour," wliich is found (so terrible a master is one's own 
theory) not only iu the lily, but in a symphony of Beethoven, the life 
of Socrates, and the love of a child, — though what the exact colour of 
each of these may be, whether scarlet, or green, or yellow, M. Leveque 

302 The Contemporary Review. 

does not inform us. The blind man in Locke, who supposed red was 
like the sound of a trumpet, would probably be his best adviser on 
these questions. 

Heine amusiugly illustrates the effect of the empirical tendency of 
our national thouglit by the story of an English mechanician, who, 1^ 
an ingenious application of skill, succeeded in constructing a man: — 

*' The product of his handa could work and act like a man ; it bore in ita 
leathern bosom a kind of apparatus of human emotion, which did not mate- 
rially differ from the habitual emotions of the Englisli ; it could communicate 
its feelings in articulate sounds, and the internal noise of wheel-works, 
springs, and escapements, produced a genuine English pronunciation. In 
fme, this automaton was an accomplished gentleman, and to make him alto- 
gathei- a man, notliiug was wanting except a soul ; but this soul hia English 
creator was unable to give him, and the poor creature, come to a knowledge 
of his imperfection, tormented liis creator night and day, begging him to give 
him a souL" 

In reading M. L(5vC'que's books we feel lamentably this our defi- 
ciency. The cliaracteristics of beauty in each object (which are 
ultimately reduced to greatness and order in power and the expres- 
sion of power) are determined in the easiest way, by the author of 
" La Science du Beau," through d prwri conceptions of the pure 
reason, — which when we look for in our provincial consciousness, 
alas ! we have no soul. Tlius, a lily, to be beautiful, must be of a 
certain size and colour, corresponding to those of an ideal or typical 
lily, wliich iL Leveque, on seeing half a dozen common lilies, imme- 
diately perceives emerging, with extraordinary rapidity of growth, in 
the depth of his consciousness. Voild le lis ! In fact, he carries 
about in his pure reason quite an herbarium and Noah's ark of such 
tj-pes. The ide;d lily is, of course, of a dazzling whiteness. Emile 
Saisset was curious to know what is the colour of the ideal tulip. 

This theory of tyx>es, if it remained oidy a theory for philosophers, 
might lie l»niiie with as containing a genn of truth, and representing 
(though not in the happiest way) a decided tendency of the humaa 
mind. Uut whiui it is made the foundation principle of art and art- 
criticism it beco;'ies a serious evil. If the artist is not to record faith- 
fully liis impressions of things, but endeavour to exhibit their ideal 
types, Iiis work quickly loses its sincerity, and grows frigid and aca- 
demical. If he believes that he is presented with a typical man by 
liis pure reason as soon as he has seen half a dozen hmuan beings 
(which no artist was ever so theory-ridden as to believe), his figure- 
drawing will, it is to be feared, he of the same ideal description as the 
portraits of Uncle George and Aunt Jane wliich young gentlemen of 
five or six rapidly sketch from memory for their admiring parents. 
Of course, there is a common natiure which aU individuals of the same 
species possess ; of course it is a portion of the artist's duty to inter- 
pret and express this common nature ; but it is no less a truism that 

French j^sOietics. 303 

the universal can be expressed by art only through the individual, 
and that these general characteristics are insufficient to make up a 
real living being. " You now stand," said one of the greatest of 
critics, Goethe, "at that point where you must necessarily break 
through to the really high and difficult part of art — the apprehension 
of what is individual. You must do some degree of violence to your- 
self to get out of the Idea."* There is nothing high or difficult in 
apprehending witli the understanding the general character of a 
mountain, or a tree, or a man. There Ls nothing higli or difficult in 
noting down certain peculiarities in an individual, such as those 
which Mr. Diekens attaches to some of his dramatis personce to dis- 
tinguish them from one another, and make readers laugh who can 
bear the same joke several scores of times. These trifles are in truth 
the most unessential parts even of the individual. Mr. Jerry 
Cruncher's frequent use of the word "flop" no more helps to indivi- 
dualize him than if we were told very often that he had a wart on 
the first fuiger of his right hand. IJiit to represent the individual as 
indeed he is, remembering that the elements of character wliich he 
possesses in common with his species and liis class are the main con- 
stituents of his personality, and would be so if the species and class 
had never existed, remembering too that these common elements in 
themselves can make up no more than a shado^vy abstraction, this, as 
Goethe saitl, is the high, the difficult i>art of art. 

Passing over an admirable series of chapters, in whicli much of M. 
Levequo's sincere and natural psychology appears, entitled " Du Joli 
ou du Charmaut," " Uu Sublime," " Du Laid et du Hidicule,"+ let us 
see how he explains wliat may strike some one as an objection to the 
principle that expression is the law of art. Architecture, it may be 
said, has surely another end tlian expression ; its first, its chief object is 
a useful, not an iesthetical one ; its primary law must be that each build- 
ing be adapted to the practical purpose for which it is constructed. 
And this certainly is true of building ; but a Httle consideration will 
satisfy us that architecture is no exception to the great law of art. 

What, then, does arcliitecture express ? In the first place, the 
powers of inorganic matter, and tliese in unity, variety, harmony, 
order, proportion. AVe can hardly find a more meaningless erection 
than an obelisk ; yet is an obelisk devoid of expression ? Imagine it 
reversed, and fastened point downwards in the ground. Though the 
stone is the same, do you not feel that the meaning has been altered, 
and so much altered for the worse, that the monolith is no longer 
agreeable to look at ? Secondly, forms are the means of expressing 

• *' Conversations with Ecltermonn," vol. i., p. 82. 

t Briefly: "the pretty" ia force or powcrin order, but without greatness; the sublime, 
iti opposite, force inJcfioitcty grvnt, but in which order (though a£Brmed by the reason) 
is not perceptible to the seiu«s or imnginatiun ; "the ugly" is force in great djjorder]; 
"the riditukms" is force, grwt ov lit:!,', rV',jhthj in discrd-r. 

304 The Contemporary Review. 

force, not only physical, but spiritual. An arabesque tracery, for 
instance, may be imitative of nothing, yet by the mere design full of 
exquisitely fanciful expression. Thirdly, as Mr. Ruskin, with refer- 
ence to Gothic architecture, has so amply taught us, the buihling is 
an expression of tendencies in the builder's mind, and of dominant 
thouglits and feelings of the contemporary society. If the mytho- 
logies were all lost, we might still guess the great features of the 
religions of the world from the expression of their religious architec- 
ture. We could discover the pantheism of India " combined with a 
pi-ofound feeling of the energies of nature," the presiding sense of 
tleath in Egypt, the perfected anthropomorphism of Oreece.* But, 
liesides all these modes of architectural expression, every building, as 
M. L^viique finely obseiTes, has an occupant, and in its aspect we 
read something of his character and doings : — " A beautiful temple 
informs us, without inscriptions and without emblems, that it is the 
abode of a god ; a beautil'ul palace, that it is the dwelling of a power- 
ful and royal soul ; a beautiful cluiteau, that it is the residence of souls 
proud of their race ; a simple and charming villa, that it is the retreat 
of souls happy in their mediocrity ; a theatre, that it expects to receive 
upon its vast tiers of benches a multitude of souls eager for sights and 
shows; a cloister speaks to us of souls disenchanted, solitary, up- 
gathered in prayer and study ; a bridge tells us that it is there foi 
man in his activity, that be may rapidly clear the river, an obstacle 
in his way; a tomb, low, narrow, without opening, without air, with- 
out light, proclaims by its silence and its immobility that the body 
lies there, but that the soul is fled." It is precisely in so iar us it is 
expressive in these several ways tluit arcbitectuie is an art; precisely 
where it ceases to be expressive it ceases to affect us iestheticiilly, and 
had better Ije spoken of as budding. 

M. Leveque may be taken as the cliief exponent amongst recent 
writers of the Ecsthetical tendencies of the intellectualist school. M. 
Taine, in his two lectures entitled "Philosoplne de I'Art," represents 
suiiicicntly well the tendencies of Positivism. Tliesc lectures, intro- 
ductory to a series on the history of painting in Italy, treat of the 
nature and production of works of art. M. Taine always writes in a 
vigorous and thought-inspiring way : in so far as it is positive in th€ 
common acceptation of the word, this " Philosophie de I'Art" is full 
of instruction and valuable suggestion ; in so far as it is positive iu 
the peculiar sense which means negative, in so far as it denies tlie value 
of any sesthetic but one derived from the study of the history of fine 
arts, it is thoroughly unsound and misleading. We shall try to see this 

"The modem method," writes M. Taine, "which I endeavour tt 
follow, and which is beginning to be introduced into all the mora] 
sciences, consists in considering human works — and in particular. 

* See Lamcniuua'fl chapter on Architecture. 

French yEstfutics. 305 

works of art — as facts and products of which we must note the charac- 
teristics, and look for the causes ; nothing more." And elsewhere : — 
" It is a sort of botany, applied not to plants, but to the works of men.'' 
The intention is excellent, but unfortunately the positive method 
alone is incapable of making us underataud the nature of a single 
work of art, it is incapable of getting at tlie facts ; and then, secondly, 
it ia equally incapable of giving any satisfactory account of their 

At what result does M. Taine himself arrive by this external, his- 
torical, positive method 1 " The end of the work of art," he writes, 
" is to manifest some essential or salient characteristic, consequently 
some important idea, more clearly and more completely than real 
objects do. It attains this end by employing an e^isemble of connected 
.parts, the relations of which it systematically modifies. In the three 
arts of imitation, sculpture, painting, and poetry, these ensembles cor- 
respond to real objects." There is tlie result of M. Taine'a inquiry, 
and yet the most essential element of a work of art lies outside his 
definition. Its end, w^e are told, is to manifest, more clearly than 
real objects do, some important idea But if this be so, what has art 
to do with the emotions ? Simply notlung : a thing is none the less 
a work of art though it address itself purely to the understanding ; 
the distinction between art and science vanishes ; the first principle 
of art is denied. " No," M. Taine would probably reply ; " by adding 
that the means art employs for making the idea clear is an ensemble 
of connected parts with the relations modified, I indicate tliat it must 
operate through the senses or imagination." But this reply is nothing 
to the piurpose : to employ the senses for tlie ends of science does not 
make science one with art. Open a manual of what is called natural 
philosophy, and look at the diagrams of the electrifying machine, the 
steam-engine, the pump. To make the modes of their operation 
clearer, some parts of the diagram are exaggerated, — the real propor- 
tions are not exactly preserved. Here is fulfilled every condition of 
M. Taine's definition of a work of art : yet are these diagrams really 
not different in kind froin a poem or a piece of music ? Do they 
excite pleasure, or a trace of any festhetical emotion ? Are they 
■works of art ? Is their end the same as that, for instance, of the 
"Moonlight Sonata," or Shelley's "Ode to a Skylark"? Certainly 
not : the end of these diagrams is purely didactic ; they are simply 
a language employed by science which addresses the understanding 
through the eye. WTiat do they teach us ? AVhat can we learn from 
them ? These are the first and last questions they suggest. If they 
give pleasure, that is accidental; is it so with the poem or the 
sonata ? These diagrams might be produced by creatures who never 
felt a tliriU of nervous sensibility, never an emotion of joy or sorrow, 
of pleasure or of pain. No, they are not art, tliey are not the nppro- 

3o6 The Contemporary Review. 

priate objects of any human emotion. Tlie positive method has failed 
in attaining even the facts of wliich it speaks so much. 

And this failure was inevitable. Tlie nature of a work of art cai 
be only half, nay, can tvoi be half understood, if considered as a fad 
out of relation to the emotions to wliich it appeals. Tlie real fact ii 
not a material one ; observation supplies only one side of it, reflectioi 
must supply the other. Suppose the sense of humour suddenly 
annihilated in us, and that we go to see a representation of Shak' 
spare's " Twelfth Night." By observing the visible facts, by scruti- 
nizing the movements and expressions of MalvoUo and Sir Toby ant 
Maria, have we mastered the artistic facts ? Do we understand th( 
piece, or obtain materials for a philosophy of the humorous ? True 
we can note down with a grave countenance the strange succession o: 
antics that goes on before us, but do we understand their actua 
nature? We may institute a comparison between muacidar actior 
as it appears in tragedy and in comedy, but have we penetrated to th< 
meaning of the sprightly or the solenm movements of either piece 
Kg ; the external facts are but half the facts of art, and are intelligibh 
only through the internal. The common characteristics of groups o: 
external facts must be studied in connection with the commoi 
characteristics of groups of internal : if we would define comedy, w( 
must try to define humour; if we would understand art, we musi 
understand all the emotions to which it appeals, — a philosopliy of an 
apart from psychology is indeed futile and absurd. 

In its investigation of the causes of works of art and their pro- 
duction, the historical or positive method is again at fault. It cai 
lead us to discover the causes of those eliaracteristics which rfis- 
tingvki&k this and that period of art ; it can tell us what material lui 
age supplied to the artist to work upon, what special wants anc 
aptitudes and emotions the age developed; it can tell us wliy th( 
Grecian sculptor expressed the perfection of physical beauty, anc 
tlie perfect equilibrium of soid and body ; and whence came the mystic 
glories, the gi'otesqueness, the teeming naturalism of the Gothic arclii- 
tecture ; but of the Imman tendencies which are the ultimate causes 
of art, of those tendencies which seek for expression in this pecuUai 
way rather than in that of scientific pursuit, or practical action, o: 
social enjoyment, the historical method has no word to say. 

The strength of positivism in lesthctics lies in its successful study o 
the history of art. The work of the artist is considered not as ai 
isolated object of wonder and admiration, but in connection with tiu 
school to which he belonged, and the social condition by whiol 
he was surrounded. Even Shakspere was only the greatest of ( 
group of dramatists who all wrote much ui the same style am 
much in tlie same spirit. Even liubens was only the greatest o. 
a school of painters — Seghers, Van Oost, E'verdingen, Van Tlmlden 

French ^si/ietics. 307 

Jordaena, Vandyke — who, like him, rejoiced in the glory of colours, 
the splendour of drapery, and the opulence of a redundant phy- 
sical life. Comte, iu the notices of art contained in " The Positive 
Philosophy," dwells much on the necessity, for the production of effect- 
ive work, of harmony existing between the artist and those to whom 
he addresses himself* This idea is enlarged on and illustrated by M. 
Taine. To develop itself, a talent must be favoured by surroimding 
circumstances. Just as a northern or southern climate selects certain 
seeds, encouraging them to blosso:n and bear fmit, while it refuses to 
grant life to others, or at most allows them a stunted and feeble 
growth, 80 the moml temperature of each historical period makes a 
choice of talents, and determines the development of art. The general 
condition of society produces certain wants, aptitudes, and emotions. 
The group which these form when embodied in a remarkable degree 
in an individual, constitutes what M. Taine calls Hic reigning personage, 
" that is to say, the model which persons of the time surround with 
their admiration and sympathy : in Greece, the young man unclothed, 
and of a beautiful race, accomplished in all bodily exercises : in the 
middle ages, the ecstatic monk and the knightly lover : in the seven- 
teenth century, the perfect courtier : in our own day, Faust or Wer- 
ther, insatiable and sad." Kow it is this reiffniiig persojuige whom 
artists — the great artists who are in sympathy with their age — will 
represent for the public. 

The present reigning personage, according to M. Taine's description, 
is certainly not a person very magnanimous, or very manly, or even 
quite sane. Our milder manners have made him delicately sensitive 
to all the little pains and grievances of life, and a lover of all delicious 
sensations, excitable and nervous. He is imhappy, sceptical, ambi- 
tious, a dreamer, full of vague and never-satisfied desires. M. Taine 
traces, in a manner most suggestive of further developments, the in- 
flnenoe he has exercised on art and poetry. And indeed it is impos- 
sible to read much of French literature without becoming aware of his 
melancholy presence, — in the vague yearnings and aspirations of the 
"Mutations," hi the doubtful not«s of the "Chants du Crdpuscule," 
in_^the sad cries of alternate passion, exhaustion, ennui, and despair, of 
the weariest child of tlie century — Alfred de Musset ; yes, even when 
we drink the large air of the mountains or wander in the murmurous 
shadows of old oaks with De Laprade, or listen with Autran to the 
wash of Mediterranean waves upon their beds of sand. But the 
" reigning personage " is not so despotic over our own poets. They 
have not suffered so terribly from la maladie du sihcle. What a noble 
sanity, what a unity of nature, what a perfect co-operancy of the 
^notions, the conscience, the reason, and the imagination, existed in 
our greatest poet, Wordsworth ! Werther is not liis favourite clia- 

• Seo H. Uutineau's tntiulation, toI ii., pp. 392 — i05. 

3o8 The Contemporary Review. 

racter. If the Solitary is a somewhat sad figure standing beside Blea 
Tarn, or walking over the ridge to Little Langdale, had he not real 
sorrows and disappointments enough to hreak one's heart, and are 
there not the Wanderer, and the Pastor, besides another \vise speaker, 
to discourse him into a happy state of mind ? It is three against one. 
And then, as the reader knows, the Solitary was a miserable man who 
did not confine himself to wholesome English reading, but had once 
in his possession (it was well the " cottage children " who found it 
went only to a dame's school) — 

"A work 
In the Frencli tongue, a noTcl of Voltaire." 

But if the " KxcursioD " were itself a work in the Trench tongue 
(one of the hardest things possible to imagine), the Solitary would 
have been the chief figure, and have made his confessions in melan- 
choly Alexandrines to the stars and the mountains. It is unquestion- 
ably remarkable that the " reigning personage," if he be amongst us, 
has seldom yet ventured to be lyrical. In a few of Mr. Mathew 
Arnold's poems we hear the tones of his voice ; and it may be that, 
in the self- conflicting portion of Jlr. Clough's natm-e, he helped, by 
opposition, to excite those moods in which common work and plain 
duty were dwelt on as the springs of spiritual strength and solace. 
But ilr. Tennyson has to become altogether dramatic before he can 
do homage to the " reigning personage," and the imheroic heroes of 
" Locksley Hall " and " Maud " rather show Mr. Tennyson's fine 
power of sympatliy than any personal Wertherism or Byronism. 
Tlie speaker in " Maud " (for convenience of reference, critics ought to 
agree to call him by some appropriate simiame) has the emotive part 
of his nature and his sensibilities, from many sufficient causes, in ; he is saved by a sudden uprising of the wUl, and by action 
on behalf of a great cause. Keniarkably enough, Mr. Browning's 
nearest approach to a presentation of the " reigning personage" — Para- 
celsus — is ruined by will and saved by love; — 

" Featus, let my bond — 
This liand — lie in your own, luy own dear friend! 
Aprile ! Hand in liand with you, Aprile !" 

But it is impossible to conceive Robert Browning or Alfred Tenny- 
son wailing lyrically to the public in the language in which Milton 
wrote. Heaven preserve the manliness of our poetry, or grant tis long 
barren silence and a wholesome self-restraint. As yet we have had 
little of what Goethe called " lazaretto " literature. It is when we turn 
to French poetry that we hear the lyrical wail on every side ; eveu^on 
the mountains and by the sea-shore it comes to us like a long f sigh 
upon the wind ; but in Paris we find it sometimes hard to believe 
that we have not entered the second circle of the Inferno." 

* Notably let much of B Jnuiger be amongat the exccjitions to these criticumfl. 

French Esthetics. 309 

In other ways rather than by his visibly confronting us, do we in 
England feel the presence of the "reigning persont^" of M. Taine. 
Werther, and Rend, and Manfred have died, and their spirits have 
departed into the air. Ah ! that is the true account of it : there is 
some strange ingredient in the atmosphere, slight, but enough, if we 
are not robust, to trouble our blood and make ns restless and full of 
unresolved questionings. Hence, in part (and many other causes 
concur with this), the modem love of external nature. This vague 
scepticism, and restlessness, and delicate susceptibility to pleasure 
and pain, by the quantum of energy they abstract from the ^\'ill and 
the active powers, may increase the less determined forms of emo- 
tional life. To such a soul the flowers in spring, the blue abysses of 
the heavens in July noons, the mystery of ocean on stUl mornings, 
are like words of God, of which, if the meaning be but dimly seen, 
the music and the tone sink deep into the heart : for its weariness it 
finds some repose in all things that live quiet and dutiful lives 
beneath the son and rains; in its inunense regret and sense of 
personal nothingness, some self-transcending joy in presence of the 
inexhaustible life of nature — some passing sympathy in the moum- 
fulness of autimm evenings — some springs of hope (when hope must 
needs be vague) in the perfect promises of summer dawns. The blue 
sky at least bends over all — the speedwells blow happily on every 
bank — the stream still sings the song it sang a thousand, years ago 
— ^the earth is full of happy murmurs, and there is multitudinous 
laughter among the leaping waves of the sea. 

But in another way than the love of external nature the influence 

of the reigning personage appears yet more remarkably. Whatever 

lamentations may be pronounced over the decline of the fine arts, 

there is one art which is at the present day a passion with every 

nation of Europe. Sculpture may have little real and Wtal connection 

with our modem life ; our architecture may be grey, and grim, and 

deathful, or a sterile reproduction of forms which critics instmct us 

(o admire, or for truly modem work, a railway station and a Crystal 

Palace ; our painting may have fallen sadly away from " the grand 

style" and the glories of "high art:" but the hearts of men are 

vibrating everywhere to perfect music. And this, as M. Taine 

i^marks, is the genuine language of reverie, and vague emotion, and 

i>ndefined aspirations, and infinite regret. The last hundred years 

liave not given us a second Phidias, or liaphael, or Shakspere ; but 

"Vve have had Handel, and Mozart, and Beethoven. We look back to 

the Middle Ages ; and because we find a wonderful palace here, and 

a bell-tower or a cathedral there, we say they were great days of art. 

And so they were. But what will future centuries think of the period 

of art in which "Don Giovanni," "Fidelio," "Elijah" were created? 

WUl the paint s of the Renaissance who stood below Raphael and 

3IO The Contemporary Review. 

Michael Angelo, or the dramatists of the Elizabethan age wlio stood 
below Shakspere, appear a more illustrious group of artists than 
Eosaini, Donizetti, Bellini, Verdi, Weber, Aiiber, Meyerbeer, Berlioz, 
Gounod ? As unquestionably aa sculpture was the supreme art of 
Greece, architecture of the Middle Ages, and painting of the Renais- 
sance (poetry being common to all), is music the supreme art of the 
present day. It is that with whicli we are most in sympathy : it is 
also the most truly democratic* How much do nine persons out of 
ten really care for a tinted Venus or a sleeping faun ? "Wliat amount 
of pleasure do they receive from wandering through a picture gallery? 
A good deal of fine confused pleasure perhaps, of a kind which allows 
them to make remarks upon about two hundred paintings per hour. 
But to obtain any intense delight from painting, such delight as does 
not suffer one to make a remark, not a little special culture, except in 
rare instances, must have gone before. Music, if we set aside j>oetry, 
is the only art which can at present give delight of great intensity to 
persons who have received but slight artistic education, or that pre- 
paration for artistic enjoyment which comes from the study of nature 
and literature. The mere recollection of it is a delicious torture ; it 
is not the remembrance of an object perceived by the senses, but the 
attempt to revive a state into which our whole emotional nature 
was tlirown ; and though tliis state, while actually experienced, seems 
more entirely passive and trance-like than that produced by any of 
the other arts, music, more powerfully than all the rest, awakens the 
dormant artistic activities in every man, and, by some mysterious 
dealings with the soul, makes him involuntarily a reproducer. It 
may he a gain, or it may be a misfortune, that the master art of the 
present day should be one so purely sensitive and emotional, — one 
into which, for the listener, so slight an intellectual element enters. 
But of the fact tliere can be little question. "Wliat may come of this 
in the future it is not easy to conjecture; but this we know, that the 
source of a noble development of art is a noble national nature, and 
that if ever a period comes when clear thought, earnest faith in great 
things, and vigorous wUls, are united in men with a delicate sus- 
ceptibility, a finer power of sjTnpathy, and a higher culture, our 
countrj- cannot fail to obtain a freer and more healthful develoiiment 
of ait than has yet appeared.t 

Edwahd Dowden. 

" See " A Diolosue on the Influence of Slusic," by M. Emilo Monttigut, Serut da 
Jjtux Monde*, June 1, 1862 : and on the coniDion elements in the love of external Daturg 
and the love of muaic, the preface to V. tic Lapindc'a poems, " Lcs Symphonies." 

t M. Taiue declineB the psythological inquirj- in (esthetics : this is no necessary result 
from Poaitiviem in its idea, from I'ositivism at rest ; but there are instinuta as well oa 
ideas belonging to each great system of thought, and these commonly appear when it iaja 


JndgmtBt of iht Judielat CommitUs of Ote PHvf Cavnctt on the Petition 
of M« Lord BUhop of SaXait March, 1S35. 

^FHE Judgment which was pronounced ten months ago by the 

X highest Court of Justice in the Empire on the petitiou of the 

Bishop of Natal was received in some quarters with dismay, in others 

with exultation. Those who exulted did so on opposite grounds. 

Some few rejoiced that the Bishop of Natal was free to return to his 

diocese, and secure in his bishopric ; while many more were thankful 

that the colonial clergy were not delivered over to the will of bishops, 

whose proceedings might be as arbitrary as that of the Bishop of 

Capetown. On the other hand, a considerable number of Churchmen, 

Some of them worthy of the highest consideration, raised the cry, 

"The Colonial Chureh is free;" while ^ain the more violent, not 

Scrupling to attribute a hostile feeling against tlie Church to the grave 

Judges who gave their advice to the Sovereign, declared that their 

Subtlety had overreached itself, and that the principles which they 

l^ad laid down in enmity to the Church had, against their wishes, 

t-urned to her best interests. We hope to make clear, in the course 

of the present review, how far, and in what sense, the Chureh in the 

C^oloniea is free. 

But others view^ed the discovery of the true position of the colonial 
laishops with alarm. They had hoped that the Letters Patent were 
"valid, and that the bishoprics created by them were to liold as power- 
ful a position as those in England itself. And when it was foimd 

3 1 2 The Contemporary Review. 

that the powers to which they had trusted were really non-existent, 
it appeared as if the whole edifice of the Colonial Clmrch was over- 
thrown. They looked to the past regretfully, with bitter reproaches 
ayainst the Government and the lawyers who had betrayed them, and 
tfl the future with helpless dismay. We liope that we may be able 
to say something to reassure them. At least, since so much has 
to be done, let us leave lamenting for the irretrievable past, and for 
possibilities which no longer exist, and address ourselves to the con- 
sideration of what it lies in our power to accomplish. Tlie Church 
lives on. She is less affected than we are wont to think by questions 
of discipline; and it is not the first requisite that her internal or 
external relations sliould be of a faultless symmetry. 

The blow which has fallen is not a thunderstroke whiph no one 
could expect or guard against. It is rather comparable to the fall of 
an ill-built tower which has long been giving evidence of its minous 
state, or like the breaking of a reed on which you had long l^een 
warned not to bear too hard. There was enough, any time since 
1847, when the case of Tasmania was looked into, to have shown 
any man who was amenable to conviction, that the Letters Patent 
granted to bishops in colonies where the right of legislation had 
been surrendered by the Crown, could not confer coercive powers; 
and ^^'e cannot but think that, had it not been for an overweenin*' 
conception of the rights and dignity of the episcopal oflfice in itself, 
the Bishop of Capetown would ne"\er have been led to institute the 
two series of proceedings which liave resulted in so sad an exliibition 
of the invalidity of his claims. He would never have imagined that 
the Letters Patent in themselves could bear liim out in expelling n 
beneficed clergyman for refusing to assist in establishing a synod, of 
which the only thing not liable to question was its purely voluntary 
chamctt-r, or in deposing another bishop by a process, and on grounds, 
which the laws and mode of proceeding of tlie mother Church would 
not sanction. He had other grounds on which to rest his claim. He 
imagines that a clergyman, once placed in the position of a bishop or 
of a metropolitan, acquires certain rights which do not rest on grounds 
cognizable by the laws of England or her Colonies, but on certain tra- 
ditions of the second or third centurj', which his imagination invests 
with a kind of Divine authority. traditions are somewhat 
vague, and if accessible at all, are so only to those who are learned in 
church history; they belong to an age so different from our own that 
even customs and words were not the same then as now, and there is 
no known method of transferring them from that age to this; and the 
powers which they are supposed to confer are still more vague. AVere 
they once admitted, there woidd be no knowing where we stood ; we 
should Iw embarked on a sea of confusion, where there was no hohliug- 

Church Government in tlie Colonies. 313 

ground, and the strongest wind ■which happened to blow would carry 
us at its wilL We shall not attempt to complicate the present ques- 
tions, which are perplexed enough, by entering upon abstract rights 
of this kind. If they exist, it is certain that they cannot be put in 
force except by express laws or compacts, which have to be made 
by the parties concerned. There are only two grounds on which 
church government in the Colonies can rest, — the laws and customa 
of the English Church as it exists at the present day in the mother 
country, and the laws or compacts which have been or may be made 
in the Colonies. The notion of a tacit and assumed contract in this 
case is far weaker than the social contract on which ordinary society 
is sometimes said to be founded ; for the latter theory has this advan- 
tage, that it can never be tested, but the former has been brought to 
the test and has burst to pieces. 

Confining ourselves, then, to what is really feasible, according to 
the circumstances of the present day, we propose to point out, — 1st, 
The facts in which the present difficulties originated ; 2ndly, The present 
state of the different dioceses, in reference to church government, and 
Iiow they are affected by the present judgment ; 3rdly, The best means 
open to us for setting right tlie diflicidties which have arisen. 

I. The efforts to found bishoprics in the great American Colonies 
extended over the greater part of the last century. Tliere appears to 
have been a dread on the part of the Government and the colonists of 
the establishment of an ecclesiastical power, such as had grown up in 
England in the seventeenth century out of the ruins of the gigantic 
structure which had lain so heavily on all Europe before the Eeforma- 
tion. In vain did Archbishop Tenison, to whom no man could impute 
excessive hierarchical claims, leave a munificent bequest for the erec- 
tion of sees in America, and Bishop Gibson and Archbishop Seeker, and 
others of less distinction, throw their influence into the scale. We 
cannot say that, with the remembrance of the High Church mobs of the 
days of Queen Anne fresh in their recollection, and with the claims 
lo dominion over the laity in matters of moral discipline, put forth in 
such booka as Gibson's " Codex,"» before their eyes, there was nothing 
du the apprehensions which so long proved fatal to a well-meant 
endeavour. Evep when, in 1787, the war had shown that the Episco- 
jahana were the most well-affected of all religious bodies in America 
to the English Government, and it was thought desirable to strengthen 
a loyal communion, which numbered among its members so many 
Trho had bled for the royal cause, by consenting to the establishment 
cf a bishopric of Nova Scotia, it was expressly recommended by the 

* We have no complunt against tliis laborious and useful conipUatiuu itaolf ; but the 
■riers contained in tbe Introduction, which wore severely commented on at the time a« 
nriving claims to spiiitual dominion, and were exposed and refuted by Sir Michael Foster, 
aight well cost su-ipicion upon tha Prelate's clforts fo;- the crcctioa of new bishoptics. 
VOL. I. Y 

314 The Contemporary Review, 

Conrmittee of the Privy Council for Trade and the Colonies — the tiien 
Colonial Office, — to which the question was referred, that the new 
bishop should have no civil authority whatsoever, except what might 
be necessary for the discharge of ]iis duty in clerum, and that he 
should have no jurisdiction in cases of matrimony, or probate or 
ecclesiastical dues, nor any power of proceeding in salufcm anima in 
cases of incontinence, brawling, or defamation. Tliese impediments 
have happily been removed ; but we think the fact of their existence 
should he well laid to heart by those who are inclined to urge epis- 
copal authority beyond the modest limits of English law. They may 
be assured that every irregular, high-handed act, done in however 
good a cause, tends to rouse the old spirit of jealous opposition, and to 
retai-d the establishment of an organized episcopal system. 

It is not a little remarkable that the first colonial bishopric ever 
founded — that of Xova Scotia, in 1787 — was founded in a colony which 
bad for more than thirty years enjoyed representative government, 
and that the Letters Patent by which it was founded, and which 
purported to confer tlie fullest coercive jiu-isdiction, were drawn by 
the law oflicers of the Crown, on the recommendation of the then 
Colonial Depai-tment. The fatal precedent having been set, it is not 
to be wondered at that it was followed in other cases. In the founda- 
tion of the next bishopric, that of Quebec, the warrant appointing Dr. 
Mountain the first bishop was refen'cd to the law officers, one oi 
wliom was Sir J. Scott, afterwards Lord Eldon, and their opinion 
was that " the document was dni\vn in pi-oper form." It is, how- 
ever, to be noticed (as the Natal Judgment reminds us), that in tht 
establishment of the bishopric of Calcutta (which was effected in th( 
chaiicellorsliip of Lord Eldon), the authority of Parliament was invoked 
to give validity to the Letters Patent, wliich thus became a part of ar 
Imperial Statute; and further, that when, in 1824, under the sarot 
Chancellor, tlie bishoprics of Jamaica and Bai'badoes were established 
though the Letters Patent wei-e fii-st issued, an Act of Parliament was 
passed in the following year, recognising the fact^ and authorizing pay- 
ment from Imperial funds, and acts of the Colonial Legislature wert 
framed which enabled the bishop to exercise jurisdiction over the cleigy 
It woidd seem as if Lord Eldon felt the responsibility of having sanc- 
tioned tlie waiTant for the appointment of the first bishop of Quebec 
and that ho was desirous of obviating in other cases the dangen 
which he jjerceived to be inherent in the method of procedure adoptee 
in that case. There appears, on this head, to be a mistake in the 
supposition hazarded by the authors of tlie Natal Judgment, that thf 
phrases in the Letters Patent purporting to confer coercive jurisdic- 
tion were copied from those used in the case of India, in forgetfulnes; 
of the fact that Parliament, which had given its supreme authoritr; 

Church Government in t/ie Colonies. 3 1 5 

for the foundation of the Indian bishopric, had not been invoked in 
other caaea. It is possible that the form of the Patent may have 
been adapted from that of the Indian bishoprics, but the fact that the 
earliest precedents were without tlie sanction of Farliament would 
naturally check any strong demand for a scrutiny into the matter. 
The same remark may be a])plied to the form of the subsequent 
Letters Patent, which was used for all the bishoprics which owe their 
foundation to the movement of Bishop Blomiield in 1840. But the 
difficulties which Lord Eldon appears to have foreseen, soon after this 
date began to make themselves felt. The theory of coloidal govern- 
ment, which, at the time of the foundation of the earliest bishopric, 
was somewhat unsettled, has since been worked out by numerous and 
varied experiments. It might have seemed natural to men who had 
just emerged from the desperate attempt to enforce by arms the taxa- 
tion of the American colonists, to hold that the King could, by his 
prerogative, establish a bishopric in a loyal colony. But it is e<iually 
natural to ua — who are accustomed to look upon tlie Colonies almost 
as independent nations, and to forbear to urge the Imperial authority 
even in such a matter as the sending of convicts to a willing colony 
against the wishes of its distant neighbour, — to admit as an axiom that 
the Crown, having once parted with its legislative power, cannot, by 
its subsequent act, supersede the functions of the legislature which 
it has established 

The invalidity, in such cases, of the grant of coercive jurisdiction 
was first brought clearly to view in the case of the bishopric of 
Tasmania. Soon after the foundation of that bishopric, in 184;2, com- 
plaints were made of the powers bestowed by the Letters Patent, and 
especially of that part of them which authorized the bishop to sum- 
mon witnesses before the Ecclesiastical Comt. Tins power may he 
said to represent the exact point at whicli the colonists have usually 
recalcitrated against the request for a grant of powers of discipline to 
the Church. The case of the bishopric of Tasmania was referred to the 
law officers of the Crown in 1846, and they were of opinion tliat Her 
Majesty " had no authority, by letters Patent, to create tlie ecclesi- 
astical jurisdiction complained of;" and in accordance witlt this 
opinion new Letters Patent were given for Tasmania, and, on the 
creation of the other Australian sees, the power to summon .witnesses 
and examine them by oath was omitted, as also the express power to 
punish by suspension and deposition. In fact, the powers given^were 
those denoted by the word "visitation," not " jurisdictipn." 

With this experience^ jt can hardly be thought that when, ia 1853, 
ther Letters I'atent for the South African dioceses were gi<ven, they 
woxdd be taken by any maq 'who looked facts in the face to confer, of 
themselves, a coercive juriadiction ; and we can only weuder; at the 

3 1 6 T'le ConU-.iiporary Review. 

rashness and wilfulness which prompted the attempt to enforce, by 
virtue of these instruments, an episcopal autocracy to which nothing 
similar has been seen in England since the days of the Court" of High 
ComraiBsion, Those who have counselled these proceedings are them- 
selves alone responsible for the disastrous issue of their attempt. Nor 
can we consider that the issue has been otlier than disastrous. It is 
said, indeed, tliat it is best to know at once wliere we stand ; Init this 
was known suiiiciontly before. "NMiat has been elicited by these 
attempts is the unfortunate spectacle of a bishop of the Church of 
England asserting a despotic power for which he had no grounds ; 
appealing to the most solemn sanctions for his support in a manner 
wliich, to bystanders, could hardly appear other than ridiculous; 
scattering accusations of heresy and schism broadcast around bim, 
witliout the support of any church authority but his own opinion; 
and conducting the pTOceedinga in a manner which has made every 
man of any legal experience see here a fresh proof of the imfitness of 
aspiring ecclesiastics and heated theologians to exercise control in 
spiritual causes. These proceedings may also well make all thought- 
ful Churchmen feel that of all risks which the Colonial Church could 
run, the most desperate would bo that of being given over to the 
uncontrolled will of its priestly ndera. 

II. Let us look, then, at the state iu which the various dioceses 
find themselves on this revelation of tlie insufliciency of the Letters 

AVe may arrange the dioceses iu four categories — (1) Those iu 
which the Letters Patent are valid, as having been establishetl or 
directly confirmed by acts of the Imperial or local Legislature; 
(2) those in which the Letters I'atent are valid, the Crown ha\'iiig 
]jower of legislation ; (3) those whicli, having been constituted with- 
out proper authority, gain an authority wliich they had not on their 
first erection, by subsequent acts of the Imperial or Colonial Legisla- 
ture ; and (4) those which bear the full effects of the late juilgmeut. 

To the first class belong the East Indian bishopries — Calcutta, 
Madras, and Bombay ; and the "West Indian bishoprics — Jamaica, 
Barbadoes, Antigua, British Guiana, Nassau (Bahamas), and Kingstou 
(Jamaica). In these nine cases the church may be regarded as dis- 
tinctly established, and governed in matters of clergy discipline, by 
the ecclesiastical laws of England as though they were parts of the 
mother country. 

To the second class belong Gibraltar, Colombo, Victoria (Hong 
Kong), Sierra Leone, Mauritius, Labuan, Perth (Western Australia). 
British Columbia (excepting Vancouver's Island), and St. Helena. I" 
these nine cases the bishops are empowered to exercise spiritual and 
ecclesiastical jurisdiction according to tlie ecclesiastical laws now ^ 

Church Government in the Colonies. 3 1 7 

force in England, and an appeal is given from tlie bishop to the 
Archbishop of Canterbury. 

To the thinl class belong tlie North American bishojirics ; those ot" 
Australia (excepting Adelaide) ; Capetown and (Irahani's To\^'n in 
South Africa ; New Zealand and Christ Church (New Zeahmd). 
These seventeen bishoprics vary in their cu'ciinistancea and hi the 
mode and extent to which they have received recognition. Nova 
Scotia is recognised in 31 Geo. III., cap. 36, § 40 (the Act esttbliah- 
ing representative government in Canaila), which provides that ])re- 
sentations to benefices in Canada shall be " subject to the right of 
institution and other jurisdiction or authority lawfully granted by 
His Majesty's Letters Patent to the liisliop of No\a Scotia." It is 
also recognised by 59 Geo. III., cap. (50, ^ 3, which allows the persons 
ordained by the Bishop of Nova Scotia and (Quebec to hold prefer- 
ment in England under certain I'eservations — a provision hitlierto 
understood to extend to all colonial dioceses. Quebec is thus recog- 
nised by an Imperial Act, and it also, with the other Canadian 
liioceses (Toronto, Montreal, Huron, Ontario), falls under the pro- 
vision of the General Canadian Act of 1850, which gives power to the 
English Church in Canada to regulate its own affairs. Fredericstown 
is rpcognised by an Act of New IJruuswick, which |>rovide8 very 
minutely, and in a somewhat smuuiary way, for tlie discipline of the 
clergy by means of the civil magistrate. The Australian bishoprics 
wliicli have been formed out of New South "Wales receive a recognition 
and a certain power from colonial acts relatuig to the trusts under 
which chapels and paraonages may lie built, and to the grants given 
for the building of churches and the maintenance of ministers by the 
Colonial Govemmeut; while the Colonies of Tasmania and Mctoria 
have churcli acts of their own, giving I'uU powers of meeting in synod, 
and of exercising discipline (even to the extent, in the case of Ta