A
THE
CHRISTIAN
REMEMBRANCER
VOL. XV.
J A N U A R Y J U N E.
LONDON :
PUBLISHED BY J. & C. MOZLEY,
6, PATERNOSTER ROW;
AND D. APPLETON & CO. 200, BROADWAY, NEW YORK.
1848.
LONDON I
R. CLAY, I'KINTKH, BREAD BTREKT HILL.
:
CONTENTS
No. LIX.
PAGE
ART. I. Hints on Glass-Painting. By an Amateur 1
II. The Expedition to" Borneo of H.M.S. Dido, for the
Suppression of Piracy : with Extracts from the Journal
of James Brooke, Esq., of Sarawak, (now Her Majesty's
Commissioner and Consul-General to the Sultan and
independent Chiefs of Borneo.) By Captain the Hon.
Henry Keppel, R.N. Third Edition. With an addi-
tional Chapter, comprising recent Intelligence, by
Walter K. Kelly. In 2 vols 20
III. 1. The Constitution of the Church of the Future. A
practical Explanation of the Correspondence with the
Right Hon. W. Gladstone, on the German Church,
Episcopacy and Jerusalem, &c. By Christian Charles
Josias Bunsen, D.Pn. D.C.L.
2. Fragment on the Church. Second Edition. With
Appendices on the same subject. By Thomas
Arnold, D.D. late Head Master of Rugby School.
3. Principles of Church Reform. By the same 56
IV. 1. The Life of Luther, written by himself, collected and
arranged by M. Michelet, Member of the Institute,
Author of the History of France, &c. Translated by
William Hazlitt, Esq. of the Middle Temple, Barrister-
at-Law.
&c. &c 93
NO. LEX. N. 8.
ii CONTENTS.
MM
ART. V. 1. The British Chaplaincy in Madeira. By Viscount
Camp den.
2. A Brief Statement of Facts with regard to the
British Chaplaincy at Madeira.
3. Correspondence between the Lord Bishop of
London, the Chaplain, and the Congregation of
the British Church established in Madeira.
&c. &c 189
VI. 1. The University Censure on Dr. Hampden.
2. The Third Hampden Agitation.
3. A Letter to Lord John Russell, &c. on the bearing
which the Proposed Admission of Jews to Par-
liament, the Nomination of Dr. Hampden, &c.,
have on the Revival of Convocation, &c. By
the Rev. W. J. Trower.
4. Are not the Clergy arraying themselves against
Church and Queen ? A Question. By M. A.
5. Letter by the Rev. F. D. Maurice, on the attempt
to defeat the Nomination of Dr. Hampden.
6. A Few Words on the Hampden Controversy. By
the Hon. and Rev. Orlando Forester, M.A.
7. A Reply to Lord John Russell's Letter to the
Remonstrance of the Bishops against the Appoint-
ment of the Rev. Dr. Hampden to the See of
Hereford. By the Right Rev. Henry, Lord
Bishop of Exeter.
8. Remarks on the Protest of the Bishops against
Dr. Hampden's Appointment and Lord John
Russell's Reply.
9. A Letter to the Right Hon. Lord John Russell,
&c. By the Rev. R. D. Hampden, D.D., &c.
&c. &c. . 213
NOTICES OF BOOKS . 254
CONTENTS
No. LX.
PAGE
ART. L 1. H KAINH AIA9HKH, IK rije TraAamc h^Krje
cara roue eft^ofjirjKovra Ptepfjnqvevonivr). Novum
Testamentum Graecum, editio Hellenistica. Auc-
tore Edv. Gul. Grinfield.
2. Hints for an Improved Translation of the New
Testament. By the Rev. James Scholefield, A.M.,
Regius Professor of Greek in the University of
Cambridge.
&c. &c 259
II. 1. The Poets and Poetry of America. By Rufus
Willmot Griswold.
2. Poems. By William Cullen Bryant.
3. Poems. By N. Parker Willis.
4. Poems. By Ralph Waldo Emerson 300
III. 1. The Life of Jesus, critically examined : translated
from the German of Dr. David Frederick Strauss.
2. Geschichte der letzten Systeme der Philosophic in
in Deutschland, von Kant bis Hegel : von Dr. C.
L. Michelet.
3. Observations on the attempted Application of Pan-
theistic Principles to the Theory and Historic
Criticism of the Gospel : being the Christian
Advocate's Publications for 1840 1844. By
W. H. Mill, D.D. &c 353
IV. Jane Eyre : an Autobiography. By Currer Bell.. 396
NO. LX. N. s.
ii CONTENTS.
PAGE
ART. V. Undesigned Coincidences in the Writings both of
the Old and New Testament, an Argument of their
Veracity, &c. By the Rev. J. J. Blunt, B.D.,
Margaret Professor of Divinity, Cambridge 410
VI. The Agamemnon of JEschylus ; the Greek Text,
with a Translation into English Verse, and Notes
Critical and Explanatory. By John Coning-
ton, B.A., Fellow of University College, Oxford... 433
VII. 1. A Letter to the Very Rev. the Dean of Chichester,
on the Agitation excited by the Appointment of
Dr. Hampden to the See of Hereford. By Julius
Charles Hare, M.A., Archdeacon of Lewes.
2. Postscript to the Second Edition of Archdeacon
Hare's Letter to the Dean of Chichester on Lord
John Russell's Letter to the Clergy of Bedford, and
in Reply to Mr. Trower's Plain Remarks.
3. The Church and the Universities. By R.
Whately, D.D., Archbishop of Dublin, &c.
4. A Reply to Lord John Russell's Letter to the
Clergy of Bedford. By a Layman of the Church
of England.
5. Letter by F. D. Maurice, Professor of Theology
in King's College, London, on the Attempt to
defeat the Nomination of Dr. Hampden.
6. A Letter to Lord John Russell, on his recent
Conduct in Church Affairs. By a Clergyman.
7. A Letter to a Clergyman in London on the Theo-
logical Character of Dr. Hampden's Bampton
Lectures, and the Extent and Value of subsequent
Qualifications of their Meaning. By W. H.
Mill, D.D. &c.
&c. &c... 448
NOTICES OF BOOKS .500
THE
CHRISTIAN REMEMBRANCER.
JANUARY, 1848.
ART. I. Hints on Glass- Painting. By AN AMATEUR. Oxford:
John Henry Parker. 1847.
A WORK of such pretensions as the one whose title stands at
the head of this article, devoted entirely to the subject of glass-
painting, suggests at once more than one important reflection
independent of and previous to any judgment of the merits of
the work itself. In the first place it is an indication that the
spirit of revival in matters of ecclesiastical decoration is not
extinct nor waning; in fact, although in some cases eccentric and
extravagant efforts, resulting from the uncertainty necessarily
attending the first steps of a radical change, may have given an
uninviting aspect to the movement, there is enough of right
and solid principle in it to ensure it some stability. We say
it is an evidence of continued progress in ecclesiastical taste,
because, however general the application of stained glass to
ornamental purposes may be, there can be no doubt that the
actual demand for its use in churches, as well as the higher quality
of the work required, points out all secular employment of the
art as secondary and subordinate. As for the taste itself, it may
be stigmatized as visionary and unreal, or as dangerous and
seductive; all such assaults it will survive, and its strongest
symptoms of health and vitality consist in the daily extension of
its influence among persons too much opposed in views to have
adopted it as a party watchword. The charge of unreality rests
on the belief that acts of church-restoration and adornment have
only in view the indulgence of a taste or humour. Now if by
this is meant a purely selfish indulgence, we do not believe the
case is a common one where the sacrifice is liberal. If, however,
its opponents mean merely that the enjoyment of the result,
apart from a sense of duty, more than repays the devotion of a
church-restorer, we will only say that the weakness, if it be
one, is at least too amiable to be discouraged. If we knew any
man who thought it worth while to sell that he had and give to
NO. LXIX. N. S. B
Hints on Glass-Painting
the poor, we should hardly be disposed to depreciate his act on
the ground that he expected to increase rather than diminish
his temporal happiness by the sacrifice in short, that with him
alms-giving was only a hobby. And why should that which is
offered directly to God in church- decorations be the only kind
of charity which does not bless the giver ?
But another reflection somewhat less trite, and more imme-
diately connected with the subject in hand, arises from the fact
of an amateur attaching himself, so peculiarly as the author of
this work must have done, to a single and distinct branch of
medieval art. Now in this exclusive following out of one vein
in the mine of antiquity lies, we imagine, both the secret of all
high attainments in art, and the seed of all decay. Without it
no one branch will ever come near perfection, and yet in it
lurks the worm which attacks the fruit still short of maturity.
T'-ere may be, for instance, and there certainly are, men who
practise simultaneously, with success, several distinct branches
of church-decoration ; but it will be found that the natural gifts
proper to each, with the means of cultivating and supporting
all by acquired knowledge, are seldom combined in one person
in sufficient degree to rise very far above mediocrity. This is
not refa ced \.j instances such as those of Michael Angelo and
Leonardo da Vinci, men who in their own persons served as the
guides of the age in architecture, painting, sculpture, mechanics,
mathematics and anatomy, simultaneously. These were giants
whom no one looks for again, luminous bodies from which the
arts once radiated, never to be reunited. And even they, with
all their success in these arts severally, were examples of our
other position instances of that law of nature by which the arts,
once developed, cease to act in harmony. Of course, however,
this is less observable in such rare instances of concentration
than in the coalition of different arts practised by different
professors, each professor making the most of his own art, each
art struggling for the first place, with no subordination such as
is required to combine them in one symmetrical body. Thus it
was only while the assistant arts were undeveloped that archi-
tecture, the master art, could mould them to submission in its
service. Painting shook off its allegiance, renounced conven-
tionally, and all its obedience to what was not nature, though it
might be something more ; and though the immediate result was
seen in the productions of the ' divine ' Raffaelle, it was a
rebellious divinity : painting was no longer the handmaid of
architecture, nor, in a short time, of Religion. Sculpture, again,
while contented with retirement in a gothic niche, not seeking
to be prominent, exposed, and great, but purely supplementary
to architecture, served that art efficiently without raising iin>
Hints on Glass-Painting. 3
own professors to great eminence. But sculpture too climbed
to the position of an independent and perfected art, and then
ceased to aid the source which gave it birth. Hence it seems
as if each art demands an exclusive and unreserved devotion
to bring it to a degree of excellence, which, when attained,
breaks it from the parent stem like an overladen branch of
fruit, and that a well-proportioned system of the arts in their
highest state is not granted for the embellishment of the church
on earth.
Now there is a connexion between all these remarks and the
work we are discussing, though our readers may have sought it
hitherto in vain. We have stated them as an introduction to,
and, perhaps we may say, an apology for, certain positions of
the author, which may seem unsatisfactory to some who yet
must consider the opinions of one so deeply versed in his subject
as authoritative. We think that, though the author's views^ior
the whole, appear deliberate, well-grounded, and just, still an
amateur devoted peculiarly to one branch of art, and to whom,
as we may suppose, the interests of that one branch are para-
mount, cannot complain if his statements are taken cum grano
sails by those whose survey of art, though less minute, is more
general and comprehensive. At the same time, tJ car*, ally are
the opinions of this book supported by observation and reasoning,
that a hasty dissent is not unlikely to be reversed upon an ex-
amination of the facts and arguments adduced.
The work is divided into two principal divisions, viz. I.
Rules to point out the leading distinctions of the various styles
of glass-painting, and, II. Observations on the present state of
the art, and suggestions for its application to particular pur-
poses, and as to the best means for its advancement. At the
very outset, the author, (in the preface), gives some intimation
of the way in which he intends to limit the connexion between
the first and second divisions of his subject, when he asserts that
' it is an error to suppose that glass-painting cannot be properly
' exercised now without a strict recurrence, in all respects, to the
' practice of the middle ages.' The division of styles adopted
follows Mr. Blckman's Architectural Nomenclature for the most
part, commencing with the early English style, which includes
what little Norman glass exists, followed by the decorated and
perpendicular periods, with the addition of the Cinque Cento
style, (that of the 16th century), and what is here called the
Intermediate style that is, the period of unsuccessfully-
attempted revival of the older styles, which is the questionable
boast of our own times.
Now each of these periods had its own method of execution
on which its distinctive effect depended, and these methods
B 2
4 Hints on Glass-Painting.
resulted, not only from variety in the use made of the material,
but also from variety in the material itself. So that in the first
place we must avail ourselves, to a certain extent, of the author's
very practical and complete knowledge of the more mechanical
part of the art. And, as a fitting introduction to this part of
the subject, we will quote, with a very hearty assent, the adage
which is chosen as the motto of the work ' Proba est materia,
' si probum adhibeas artificem.' Let no one consider the brittle
material here treated of as even comparatively insignificant, or
unworthy of the strict and jealous regard which our author
claims for it.
Glass in its original manufactured state is either white or
coloured. Coloured glass is either what is called pot-metal, that
is, coloured throughout its entire substance, or coated glass,
which is white glass covered with a coat, more or less thick,
of pot-metal colour. The beautiful deep-red or ruby-glass,
brought to such perfection in the middle ages, and so un-
approachable in ours, is commonly of the latter sort, other
colours generally of the former. In some of the styles, how-
ever, coloured effects are produced by neither of these kinds,
but by painting or staining glass originally white. This is
done either by stains which are transparent and penetrating,
or by enamels which are opaque, and applied merely super-
ficially, like oil-colours, though they are afterwards fixed by
burning.
Such being the variety in the material itself, the methods of
employing it are equally various and distinct. There is the
mosaic method, in which fragments of uniformly-coloured glass
are cut to the forms required, and combined with the aid of lead
into a transcript of the artist's design, with little employment of
any colouring-matter besides. There is the enamel method, in
which glass originally white is employed, and the design painted
upon it and burnt in. Thirdly, there is a combination of
these two, called the mosaic-enamel method, in which the
broader and more positive masses of colour are formed by
inserted pieces of coloured glass, and the remainder executed
after the enamel method.
The character which the author gives of these several methods
is worth observing. The mosaic system, he says, is admirably
adapted to the nature of the material, but unsuited for mere
picturesque effect, the colouring being produced by broad
pieces of glass whose tints can scarcely be varied either in
the lights or shadows, which imparts to works executed in this
style the flat and hard, though brilliant character of an ancient
oil-painting. The prevalence of the enamel method he con-
siders to have arisen from the revival of art in the six-
Hints on Glass-Painting. 5
teenth century, and the efforts then achieved in oil-painting.
The glass-painters of that day ' strove to render their own
art more completely an imitation of nature, and to produce in
a transparent material the atmospheric and picturesque effects
exhibited by the reflective surfaces of oil and fresco-paintings.
The glass-paintings of this style lost in transparency what they
found in variety of tint ; and in proportion as their picturesque
qualities were increased by the substitution of enamel colour-
ing for coloured glass, their depth of colour sensibly diminished.'
Now without assigning that precise limitation of each of these
methods to its own period which may be found in the work
itself, or defining the proportions in which they were combined
at different times, it will be safe to say that the earliest speci-
mens are the most strictly mosaic, and that the increasing use
of enamels to give a greater finish to the paintings marks all the
later styles, though a purely enamel style was not introduced
before the latter half of the 16th century. The author, as
might be expected from any one whose tastes have been formed
from medieval models, professes a preference for the mosaic
above the other methods. With this preference, and after his
disparaging remarks upon the enfeebling refinements which
grew up with the increasing ambition to make windows inde-
pendent works of art, with a more perfect pictorial effect than
the early specimens, the reader would be disposed to fix the
period of the author's choice at least somewhere previous to
the 16th century. We shall find, however, such a conjecture
erroneous.
But before we can even form any judgment of the author's
principle of selection, we must make a cursory comparison of
the styles of glass-painting from which he had to choose,
according to the characteristics which he himself assigns them.
The general features of the early English style are these. The
windows consist of either coloured glass arranged in pictures, or
white glass in patterns, surrounded by a border in either case.
Coloured windows in this style are perfect mosaics, with a rich,
gem-like effect, and exclude light more than any others. The
design appears undefined at a distance, with something of the
characters of a Turkey-carpet pattern. The glass is commonly
arranged either in medallions, or in the form of single figures
under canopies. Pattern windows in what is called white glass,
are brilliant and silvery in appearance, and are composed of
either quarries, that is, diamond-shaped pieces, each bearing a
small pattern, or of foliage drawn on white glass and disposed
in various forms furnished with borders. The foliage itself is
conventional, and resembles the sculptured foliage of the same
style. Great mechanical skill and ingenuity is displayed by the
6 Hint* on Glass-Painting.
artists in several points. For instance, figures at a great
elevation are exaggerated in height to counteract the shortening
effect of perspective. This certainly seems to indicate some-
thing more than sheer ignorance of perspective as a motive for
the conventional drawing of early English times. The arrange-
ment of the lead-work and iron frames (in medallion windows)
affords further evidence of both artistic and mechanical dexterity.
The general merits of the style are thus summed up by the
author : * Notwithstanding their rudeness and defective drawing,
* the early English windows in general possess great merit.
' Simple and unaffected, they are often grandly conceived, though
' they may be imperfectly executed. A deep and lively feeling
' often pervades the entire figure, and its countenance, though
* exaggerated, exhibits expression and character. The early
* English artists were happy in their representations of deified
* and sainted personages.' And in allusion to the narrow
lancet windows of this style, he says, * The intensity of colours
* in windows diminished as the number and size of the windows
' themselves increased.' There is certainly a general approba-
tion in this account, which hardly prepares us for the deliberate
and unreserved rejection of the style, afterwards proclaimed.
Windows of the decorated period assumed a less mosaic and
more lively character, which is attributed partly to the intro-
duction of the yellow stain at the beginning of the 14th century,
which imparted a paler and more lemon-like tint than the pot-
metal yellow glass which had been in use before. Severe
drawing still characterized the figures, but of a more refined
nature than that of the preceding style, and dignified by
ample and flowing draperies. The foliage is natural, so as to
be easily recognised, and the dark outlines of the design
become less coarse and heavy than in the earlier specimens.
In the period which followed, that of the perpendicular style,
began that fatal diminution in the intensity of tints, which,
more and more encouraged as the artists' ambition of pictorial
effect increased, ended at last in the washy imbecility of the
purely enamel method. Still it was long before the subordina-
tion of glass to the architectural members of the building was
so entirely lost sight of as it was in days when mullions and
tracery were unsparingly swept away to make room for the
broad divisions of a feeble transparency. The glass-stainer did
what he could to force his art into prominence, without proceed-
ing to this violence ; his figures were expanded to nearly the
full width and height of the respective lights they occupied,
but the stone divisions of those lights circumscribed their growth,
and the consequence of this half acknowledgment of their
subordination was, a disproportion in the figures themselves,
Hints on Glass-Painting. 7
caused by their adaptation to the space allotted them, which
made them low and squat. They were distinguished, however,
by a repose, and freedom from forced or extravagant attitudes,
which had not accompanied the bold, severe, and spirited drawing
of the earlier styles. The grand characteristic of perpendicular
glass, says the author, is delicacy, sometimes bordering on
timidity, and general breadth of effect. And, he admits, the
windows of this period lost in power what they gained in
refinement. The foliage retrograded from the approach to
nature made in decorated times, without recovering the crisp
outline and bold effect of early English work. On the whole,
the author does not seem to have much to say in favour of the
perpendicular period; certainly not enough to support an
assertion of its superiority to what preceded it.
Concurrently with the close of the perpendicular period in
England, arose on the continent the Cinque Cento style, and
afterwards prevailed for a time in our own country. Of this
style it is as well to say at once, that the author of the work
we are examining considers it the golden age of glass-painting,
and still further limits this period of prosperity to the years
between 1525 and 1535, during which it flourished in greatest
perfection. So far as we discern, he gives it this preference
solely on the ground of its more refined and correct drawing.
In almost all other points it seems inferior to its predecessors.
Windows of this date, though chiefly constructed on the mosaic
system, have a less mosaic appearance than the earlier ones.
The positive colours are qualified by the introduction of tints of
less power and vivacity. An effect of distance and atmosphere
was attempted, and, pictorially considered, the attempt was
successful, but qualities much more valuable, as accessories to
the building, were sacrificed for it. With all the finish of this
style, there appears to have been a want of mechanical skill in
some respects when compared with that of earlier times. For
instance, the utmost pains were taken, we are told, to glaze the
paintings so as to conceal the leads. How much more artistic
was the employment of the leads in every intricate and grace-
ful form, as the outline of the design itself, with the iron frames
necessary to the stability of such a surface as a large early
English lancet presents, wrought into the beautiful medallion
forms into which the glass itself was composed ! Least of all
can the minor details of the style furnish the author's grounds
of preference. The ornaments consist of foliage &c. intermixed
with genii, Cupids, and angels, vases, candelabra, fruit, wreaths,
festoons, cords and tassels ! There would require at least some
selection to fit them for the purposes of church-decoration.
On the other hand, it is but fair to give, in the author's own
8 llinti on Glass- Painting.
warm terms of commendation, his opinion of the drawing and
colouring in use at this time. * In technical knowledge of the
' human figure,' he says, * the glass-painters of this period cer-
* tainly surpassed their predecessors, and their successors like-
' wise. Its form and proportions are in general well preserved
' in their work, and their pictures are often as well executed as
* designed, a matter of very rare occurrence in glass-painting.'
And in spite of the decrease in depth and brilliancy of colours,
which he acknowledges as a characteristic of the style, he says
elsewhere, that during the ten years mentioned above, ' Cinque
* Cento glass-paintings display in general the most gorgeous
* effects of colours, and the greatest contrasts of light and shade,
* that have hitherto been attained in painted glass without sacri-
' ficing the transparency of the material.' He traces * the
* superior pictorial qualities of the glass-paintings of the first
* half of the sixteenth century ' to the progress made at that
period in fresco and oil-painting. Finally, he concludes that
during this period glass-painting reached a degree of excellence
* which has not only never since been equalled, but also affords
* a satisfactory ground for the belief that if glass-painting
* cannot boast of possessing examples as full of artistic merit
' as the works of the great masters, this deficiency is attri-
* butable not to any inherent incapacity in this system of
* painting for a display of high art, but simply to the want
* of skill in those who have hitherto practised it.'
The so-called * Intermediate' style, which is in fact no dis-
tinct style at all, but only a period of attempted revival,
seems for that reason hardly to be numbered among the
progressive styles from which our author had to make his
choice. Still its characteristics do bear upon his views, because
they illustrate the result of imitating ancient examples at
all. At all events, this part of the work is worth notice
here, as pointing out and accounting for the errors into which
modern glass-painters have commonly fallen. The author does
not flatter the artists of his own day. ' Modern imitations of
' the ancient style are,' he says, ' distinguished by a display
* of the imperfect drawing of the ancient artists without any
' of their feeling or inspiration.' * The erroneous notion that
* nothing besides brilliancy of colour is required in a glass-
* painting has engendered the cultivation of a low species of
* art, and the servile imitation of the grotesque and extravagant
* drawing of the middle ages.' Against this truly Chinese
fidelity of imitation he justly protests, though he does not
appear to have a very clear apprehension of a more liberal
principle. The French are said to employ higher artistic
talents in the pursuit than ourselves, and consequently to
Hints on Glass- Painting. 9
/
be more successful in catching the spirit of their models.
But it is not want of taste or skill alone which makes our
rescripts of ancient models so unsuccessful. Physical causes are
leagued against us. For instance, the very rudeness and
defective working of the machinery employed in the manu-
facture of ancient glass was a source of beauty when it was
used for ornamental purposes. The flimsy, though unblemished
material of our own day is far less effective than the thick,
rugged, coarse, uneven, half-opaque substance which was the
vehicle of rich, deep colours in the middle ages. Still we
suppose there is an analytical process by which the progressive
improvements in the manufacture of glass may be made to
retrograde, till a voluntary rudeness is reached for this special
purpose, leaving the refinements of modern invention available
for ordinary use. We are not aware whether this has been
tried.
While on the subject of modern imitations, the author gives
his view of the causes which led to the decay of the art at the
close of his favourite style. ' Glass-painting,' he says, * dete-
* riorated not in consequence of any want of encouragement, for
* the causes of its decline were in full operation at the period of
' its greatest prosperity, [the Cinque Cento style, we presume,]
* but from confounding its principles with those of other systems
* of painting, from a disregard of its peculiar conditions and dis-
* tinctive character.' In short, its decline was the natural issue
of that principle of decay which, as we have intimated, all art
inherits, and which naturally shows itself just at the time when
any branch of it has put forth its full power of growth. Perhaps
it was hardly necessary to assure the public that ' the Reforma-
' tion did not corrupt the art, and that the mosaic system of
* glass-painting would equally have been forgotten had it never
' taken place.'
Having completed his survey of the styles, the author, or, in
place of a somewhat wearisome circumlocution, Mr. Winston,
(for it is hardly presumptuous, we believe, thus to interpret the
initials at the end of the preface) looks at them collectively in
order to make his selection, and pronounce, ex cathedra, (for
there is no English writer of equal pretensions on the subject)
what style church-builders and church-restorers shall adopt. We
can fancy that he must have done so with considerable embarrass-
ment, judging both from his manner of considering the subject
throughout, and from the conclusion to which he comes. He seems
persuaded that the earlier styles exhibit brilliancy and depth of
colour, with grandeur of conception and general solemnity of cha-
racter, all however inseparable from preposterous and outrage-
ously false drawing. On the other hand, in the latest of all genuine
10 Hints on Glass-
styles, he discerns correct drawing and unshackled pictorial
display, not unattended, certainly, with a deterioration in tints,
and (though he says, and appears to think, little of this point,)
with a disregard of the architectural members to which it should
be subordinate. Having attained this conviction, he next deter-
mines that edification and all the higher objects of the art re-
quire that good drawing should be the primary consideration,
and therefore that if any ancient style be reproduced, it ought
to be the Cinque Cento. But Mr. Winston (as might be ex-
pected) is only relatively satisfied with this (perhaps the genii
and Cupids, the festoons and tassels of the style are perplexing
to him), and he boldly resolves to cut the knot by recommending
no ancient style for general use, but clearing a path for one
entirely new. Accordingly, with many apologies for his origin-
ality, he proceeds to throw out suggestions for the formation of
a new style. And first he endeavours, as a preliminary step for
his own guidance, to investigate the principles which should be
kept in view by a painter on glass. His first proposition is
excellent. An artist, he says, ought to endeavour to develope
the resources of his particular branch of painting to the fullest
extent, but not to seek excellences which are incompatible with
its inherent properties. The translucency of glass-painting
enables it to display effects of light and colour beyond all other
modes, but the same quality involves certain defects, e. a. a
limited scale of colours and an inherent flatness for want of trans-
parent shadow. Another peculiarity, viz. its mechanical con-
struction with respect to lead-work and saddle-bars, excludes
several applications of design, for instance, landscapes (except in
back-grounds) long perspective views of interiors, fore-shortened
groups, &c. These peculiarities must be either evaded or
turned to account. The painter is bound to exhibit the trans-
lucency of glass, which is easily done in patterns, but far more
difficult in pictorial designs, but, at the same time with the trans-
lucency, he must display the effect of atmosphere and distance.
So, at least, says Mr. Winston, and proposes to accomplish it
by using clear lights, transparent (stippled) shadows, strong
contrasts of light and shade, and, lastly, narrow leads, which he
recommends even at the risk of sacrificing security from weather.
All these, however, may be recovered from the ancient styles,
and therefore the necessity of a new one must arise only from
the requirements of the design in outline.
After so grave an investigation of first principles, the
reader will be disposed to expect more originality in Mr.
Winston's professedly new style than he is likely to find. So
far as we can understand a somewhat indistinct course of sug-
gestions, his plan goes no further than the adoption of the exist-
Hints on Glass-Painting. 11
ing styles respectively, in all their leading features, according to
the date of the building in which they are to be embodied, with
such a transmutation as would result from rectified drawing,
and some few other emendations of less importance. Now
surely, even granting that an attention to these points would
create any considerable deviation from ancient precedents,
this is hardly to set up a new style, any more than if an archi-
tect should build a church, following in its outline models of
the twelfth or thirteenth century, but aided in its execution by
the newly-invented instruments and improved manual skill of our
own times. But the truth is, as we believe, that correct draw-
ing, &c. would not really effect any change in the true character
of ancient glass-painting at all. The author himself takes special
pains to impress upon us that incorrect drawing is no essential ele-
ment in the spirit of the ancient styles, but a mere accidental de-
ficiency. And we have the authority of one not less learned in the
subject than even Mr. Winston, and more practically acquainted
with it one whose attainments in the art have gained him the
highest patronage which France, his own country, can bestow
for saying that those who search for the very best examples,
such as are the real types of their respective styles, will find
the most excellent drawing in the early periods. M. Gerente,
in his recent visit to this country, has displayed a depth of
information which makes him no despicable ally to those who,
with him, are disposed to maintain the thirteenth century
as the true golden age of glass-painting, against Mr. Winston
with his devotion to the sixteenth. If, then, even accurate and
beautiful drawing is among the attributes of the early styles,
what becomes of Mr. Winston's cry for change on the plea of
inferiority in this respect ? Parturiunt monies : we cannot see
that his suggestions amount to anything like the sketch of
a new style.
If necessary, it is quite possible to take considerable liberties
with the ancient styles, and it may be advantageous to intro-
duce new forms and features as well as to refine upon the old.
Nay more, it would not be very difficult, as the last half cen-
tury has shown, to design windows entirely without regard to
any precedent whatever. And this method of proceeding
would certainly be new, so far as any reverence for antiquity
is concerned, though its ignorance and lawlessness are, we
imagine, prominent characteristics of the whole course of our
author's * Intermediate style.' But even if we had no results
of the system before us as warnings, it would be a bold and in-
congruous experiment, since we do not profess ^o abandon all
precedent in the composition of the structure itself which the
glass is designed to adorn. This method, however, it is fair
12 Hints on Glass-Painting.
to say, is very far from what the author proposes. He has a
vague idea of the growth of a new eclectic style of universal
application out of the several distinct styles of antiquity, com-
bining the merits and rejecting the faults of all, without being
classed under any one. Now we think this cannot well be.
Glass-painting must be subordinate, and cannot be independent.
The painter has not to design a picture, but to adorn a building,
and that building will either be an ancient one, or a new one
formed on the principles of the old. Hence there will not only
be associations in the general aspect of the place demanding
a chronological conformity in the glazing of the windows, but
the very construction of the fabric the hard, unbending
masonry, will limit or expand the design, according to the style,
in such a way as to make as strong- a line of demarcation
between periods in glass as in stone. At least, if the character
of the different architectural styles be at all observed in glazing,
we cannot ourselves realize such a consanguinity between the
design for an early lancet and a broad perpendicular seven-
light window, as can bring them together as examples of one
and the same style. There seems to be some confusion in the
author's mind between refinements upon an old style and the
origination of a new one. When an entirely new style in
architecture is started, it may be attended by an equally ori-
ginal movement in glass-painting ; but any such movement
would be premature if designed to introduce novelty into one
portion of a structure substantially unchanged.
Admitting, however, that defective drawing is not so in-
separable from early examples as to put them out of the
pale of imitation, and that M. Gerente's view of the period
of perfection in glass-painting is more just than Mr. Winston's,
backed, as the former is, by a triumphant appeal to our own
Cathedral of Canterbury, still there is scope enough for genius
and judgment in modern artists. Even if in design we closely
follow existing precedents, there is sufficient variety among
them to exercise at least the faculty of selection. For instance,
there is no one style, we suppose, from Norman to Cinque
Cento, which does not in some measure allow us the option (no
unimportant one) of employing either groups in action, or
single figures. Again, though the figures of the different
periods respectively have a peculiar and distinctive character, of
repose in one case, of more excited action in another, still this
is not so indispensable to the propriety of the style selected that
any deviation in obedience to individual taste amounts to an
innovation in .gtyle. Here, then, are two points, at any rate,
fairly open to discussion; points, too, of considerable interest
and importance, since they influence not only the mere pictorial
Hints on Glass- Painting. 13
effect of a window, but also the amount and character of the
edification which may result from the contemplation of it. Yet
these points, and all questions connected with the composition
of glass-painting, are omitted by our author on the ground that
they do not fall within the province of an amateur. (Preface, p. 5.)
This is a view which we cannot quite apprehend. For our own
part, we should have considered that such questions of taste and
propriety fell far more within the jurisdiction of an amateur
than the dry though important facts, and profusion of technical
details, which our author has collected with such incredible
patience and perseverance.
The two questions which have presented themselves to us,
out of many which might arise, are really less distinct than
they may appear at first sight to be. The alternative of groups
or single figures involves in a considerable degree that of repose
or action. A group must be actually historical, or, at least,
possess so much action as to connect the figures with one
smother. On the other hand, violent action in a single figure
is unintelligible, except by an extraordinary effort of the ima-
gination.
Reducing these, therefore, to one question, it is obvious that
historical groups or figures in action will operate upon the
spectator otherwise than single figures, and those in attitudes
of repose, or such conventional postures as do not require that
the imagination should supply other figures to join in the
action, and consider the scene as one directly historical. The
former would edify undoubtedly, for pictures are the poor man's
books, and they would impress upon the mind historical events
and even doctrinal facts of which he might otherwise be igno-
rant. Nor would this effect be confined to the unlettered. The
most refined and intellectual among us may with advantage
be made to realize what we have learnt, by seeing it thus
embodied, if the design is correctly conceived and faithfully
executed. It cannot, therefore, be desirable entirely to exclude
historical groups, such as the scenes of the Gospel, or of Church
history, from glass-painting. Still we conceive that this sort
of edification is not its highest function. A church is not,
except secondarily, a place of instruction : ' My house is the
* house of prayer.' Hence we consider that the proportion of
directly historical representations should not be greater than
that of catechetical instruction in our systems of devotion to
the portions designed for meditation and prayer. A solitary
figure offered to our contemplation, not acting its history, but
tranquilly indicating it by some conventional symbol; not seek-
ing to refresh our memory, but to stimulate our devotion and
provoke our zeal, harmonizes most with the solemn purpose of
14 Hints on Glass- Painting.
a consecrated building. We do not gain from representations
of even the noblest actions of the lives of saints an equally high
sense of the change which has taken place in those who have
gone before us as examples, with that which results from their
mysterious influence when drawn up, as it were, in inactive,
passionless rows, watching ceaselessly and unwearied the devo-
tions of those who are ever less ready to pray than God to hear.
These latter teach us more truly the relation between the
departed and ourselves.
' The Saints are there, the Living Dead,
The Mourners glad and strong ;
The sacred floor their quiet bed,
Their beams from every window shed
Their voice in every song.'
Lyra Innocentium (Church Windows),
The terrible details of a martyrdom, for instance, call our
thoughts indeed to the sufferer, and awaken a due admiration
of his fortitude, a due abhorrence of his persecutors' malice.
But the still effigy, divested of all action connected with the
events and conduct of life on earth, and shadowing, so far as is
lawful, the condition of life in heaven the face cleared from
all emotion and all sense of self the attitude of benediction or
warning concerning those who remain behind all these point
with peculiar precision and impressiveness to the preparation we
must enter upon for the things to come.
When we have made our determination respecting the adop-
tion of groups or single figures, when we have resolved on the
degree of historical action which our figures shall display, there
yet remain several questions to be considered either in borrow-
ing from ancient examples or in original design. There is the
great question, what the subject of the design shall be, what
must be excluded on principles of faith or taste, and what will
best serve the highest purposes of the art. We call it a great
question, because obviously upon a right decision must depend
the worth of the art itself, and its influences for good or evil.
At the same time, we believe that both the current feeling and
traditionary usage are sufficient to preclude the necessity of very
stringent directions on this head ; and therefore it is that we
could wish omitted from the work such passages as treat the
subject in a theological and controversial point of view. We
allude chiefly to the chapter * On the employment of painted
glass as a means of decoration,' in which our author seems to
display a less sense of the modesty becoming an amateur in
theological matters than he professes as an amateur in glass-
painting. His theology is, however, of a very negative charac-
ter, consisting chiefly of fine-drawn objections, nice distinctions,
Hints on Glass-Painting. 15
and strong protests against rather visionary evils. Protesting,
indeed, seems to be his special delight. A painted window, he
says, * in a Protestant church, should be of a Protestant charac-
* ter, and accordingly free from those legends and symbols for
* which Protestants have neither reverence nor belief.' If the
reverence and belief of a Protestant majority is exacted, the
glass-painter's catalogue of legends and symbols is likely to be a
limited one indeed. We shall soon obtain our author's limita-
tion of them in a more definite and tangible shape. He justifies
the use of portraits of the saints, on the ground that ' no one
* can suppose that either portraits of saints or other scriptural
* subjects are introduced into a church with any other view than
* for the purpose of ornament, or, possibly, of example and in-
* struction.' For our own part, we would not give much for an
art which professes to serve the church with mere ornament;
and that which Mr. Winston regards as a possible object, viz.,
food for meditation, and a source of example and instruction,
seems to us the sole, legitimate, and adequate end for which the
subject is worth cultivating, or, we had almost said, Mr. Win-
ston's book worth reading. But even this not very bold con-
cession to the claims of the saints to the services of Christian
art is diluted with a further protestation. * Against the repre-
' sentation of unscriptural subjects, there is in Protestant minds a
* general and well-founded objection.' At first we were disposed
to quarrel with this restriction, in the fear that it would exclude
such subjects as the proto-martyrdom of England from the
churches of St. Alban the dawn of Christianity upon our
Saxon ancestors from those of St. Augustine, &c. ; but upon
further reading we were satisfied that the author's interpretation
of a scriptural subject is a liberal one. He advocates a rule
which * gives free admission to the Protestant martyrs, and the
' Fathers of the Anglican Church ;' though at the same time he
prohibits (we presume as unscriptural) certain other ' objects,
* which, though not legendary, are hardly of a Protestant charac-
' ter.' These objects are ' the instruments of the Crucifixion,
'such as the nails, the hammer, the ladder, the scourge, the
* crown of thorns, &c.,' to which, he says, Protestants do not
allow sufficient importance to justify the affectation of it by
giving them a prominent place in our designs. We believe they
do not. In the same vein of satire upon his own times, the
author declares that his opinion is decidedly hostile to symbols,
because ' to some persons they are offensive, to most they are
* unintelligible, and in very few, perhaps, of those who do undev-
' stand their meaning, are they capable of awakening any senti-
' ments of piety or veneration ; ' because, * if any interest
* attaches to ancient symbols, it is an antiquarian interest,' and
16 Hints on Glass-Painting.
because ' we know that the modern copies are an unreal
* mockery, the production not of a congenial mind, but a mere
' mechanical hand.' Severe as this sarcasm is, (and surely we
cannot be wrong in regarding this language as no other than
a piece of delicate but cutting irony) it is a relief, after the dry
technical details which form the substance of this amateur
production.
But before we draw to a conclusion, there are some points
remaining which seem to deserve discussion, although there is
little to suggest them in the volumes before us, perhaps because
they seem to approach too nearly the question of composition
and design, which Mr. Winston considers that an amateur is
bound to relinquish. In the case of figures, for instance, the
disposition and character of the drapery are worth considering,
since on them will greatly depend the solemnity and propriety
of the painting. Now, while we agree with our author that we
are under no obligation to follow closely the drawing of ancient
glass-paintings, we must be careful to distinguish between pecu-
liarities founded on principle, and those which are the result of
accident or imperfect knowledge and manual skill ; and there-
fore we should be sorry to consider as an open question the pro-
portion which drapery should bear to the figure in extent. It
may be said, perhaps with truth, that the long flowing draperies
of saints are purely conventional, and such as were not and
could not be worn under the circumstances represented. But
like the unnaturally tall figures in very elevated early English
windows, this was no result of ignorance or want of skill. The
reverential spirit of ancient painters revolted from an arrogant
display of the limbs, from any unnecessary obtrusion of the
humanity of their subjects. The same, in almost the same degree,
is exhibited in the more devotional pictures of Raffaelle, and
who can charge him with ignorance or want of skill ? Majesti-
cally draped as many of his figures are, every limb was first
drawn naked in the painter's studio, nay, every muscle was
assigned to its place with consummate anatomical knowledge ;
and when the figure stood veiled before the vulgar eye, no de-
fective drawing was hidden, no negligence excused by that
reverential treatment of the subject. In our own times, the
painter who brings a smattering of anatomy to his aid, is uneasy
if all are not reminded of the accomplishment thus accessory
to his fame, and burns for naked subjects. There is a nauseous
profanity in certain painters who choose a saint as a field for the
play of a prurient imagination, and love to employ their pencil
on reiterated forms of the humbled Magdalene, because it
enables them to show their skill in imitating flesh. Those who
have frequented the exhibitions of late years will not be at a
Hints un Glt^-Pntiitin. 17
loss for an illustration of what we mean. But, setting aside the
claims of religious veneration, as a mere act of policy, the glass-
painter will clothe his figures in long and ample draperies, for he
will scarcely meet with any greater mechanical difficulty in his
art than the proper representation of flesh of large extent on
glass. We trust, therefore, that this conventionality will never
cease to be observed.
But the mere length of garments, though it may secure pro-
priety, will not produce dignity. And it is the modern artist's
province, by study and experiment, to attain to a majestic dis-
position of the folds of drapery. We cannot venture to suggest
any rule on this head. Of course, something of severity will
be acknowledged as required in an ecclesiastical painting ; but
this may be effected by the most opposite treatment. Let any
one, for instance, set side by side some of Albert Durer's wood-
engravings and the designs of Flaxman. In the former, (as in
the German and Italian painters who preceded A. Durer), the
folds are numerous, strongly marked, and angular. In Flaxman's
figures the drapery is defined by very few bold but undulating
strokes; yet in both of these there is a common element of
severity. The same fact is displayed by a comparison of early
ecclesiastical paintings with classical sculpture ; yet, the study of
the latter was greatly cultivated by the early painters, and their
choice of a different method to produce somewhat the same
effect is as difficult to be traced to a motive as it certainly
commends itself in the result. One point in which the ex-
perience of the artist will be brought to bear upon this question
will be, the distribution of light and shade. The sharp, small,
frequent folds of ancient drapery would tend to scattered and
unvaried light. How far this would be an evil in a transparent
material we are not prepared to say.
The demand for memorial windows (happily an increasing
one) suggests some difficulties which the glass-painter has to
overcome peculiarly in this case. He will be expected to
introduce at least some characteristic symbol of the person
commemorated ; and he ought to be well acquainted with all
the ancient methods of accomplishing this by monograms, rebuses,
merchants' marks, badges of trades and professions, patron saints,
&c. But it is not improbable that he will also have occasion to
pourtray the person of the deceased, and, perhaps, that of the
donor of the window. In this case an immediate difficulty
presents itself in the unsightliness of modern costume. It is
true that the difficulty is not peculiar to this branch of art. It
has evidently been the enigma of sculptors, painters, and artist.-
in general for centuries past, that is, ever since the revival of
pagan art in England. Hence it is that, whereas our statesmen
NO. LIX. N. s. c
18 Hints on Glass- Painting.
and generals have invariably argued or fought their way to
distinction in swallow-tailed coats and trousers, their friends
commonly consider them best commemorated in a bare neck,
flowing toga, and sandals. Half of our metropolitan public
statues, if they were gifted with a little more of the spirit and
accuracy of classical sculpture, would seem likely to delude future
generations into the belief that their originals were among the
adventurers who came over, not, like our old English gentry, with
William the Conqueror, but, somewhat earlier, with Julius Caesar.
And yet in the only case in which a conventional dress could be
adopted with full propriety, that of ecclesiastics, to whom
belongs of right an attire more solemn and picturesque than
they commonly assume, this method of solving the problem
seems never to have entered into the heads of artists. Chantrey,
for instance, who clothes Mr. Pitt and the Duke of Wellington,
so far as he clothes them at all, in a foreign and unmeaning
garb, makes exertions, not less obvious than unsuccessful, to
give dignity to the real costume of Bishop Heber and other
bishops whom he has transmitted to posterity, as types of what
a bishop is, externally at least, in our days. The mitre and
staff, and all those vestments whose symbolical propriety is as
inseparable from the episcopate now as when they were its
ordinary garb, seem never to have occurred to him as materials
ready to his hand for the due and decent representation of his
subject. In the case of secular persons, however, the painter
has still to grapple with the difficulties of modern costume.
We need hardly protest against the unreality of returning to a
more picturesque but inappropriate and exploded dress. On the
other hand the colourless and shapeless vestments in which our
limbs are commonly clad form no ornamental feature in a
painted window. Where royalty, nobility, any office of state,
or an academical position or degree, offers a peculiar and less
vulgar costume, the difficulty is comparatively small ; but very
often these facilities will be withheld. In this case the figure
should occupy a very subordinate position in the window, so as
not to challenge notice, and a devotional attitude will go far to
dignify any inevitable vulgarity.
Having noticed some unfavorable points in Mr. Winston's
book, we will not withhold the great praise to which some parts
of it are entitled. The care with which the illustrations have
been executed is very praiseworthy. Nearly all are copied from
actual tracings of the originals, either reduced or precise fac-
similes. The author has not commonly availed himself of the
labours of others, but examined, traced, and coloured, expressly
for the work in hand. Even the quality of the material is often
expressed in his illustrations, as, for instance, the streaky
Hints on Glass-Painting. 19
appearance of ancient ruby-glass. But even the pictorial part
of the volumes displays the same timid and low view of his task
which forbids his giving any theory of composition and design,
or anything beyond dry facts, with a few moral and theological
sentiments. The examples chosen are not such as display the
greatest beauty and purity, but those which best illustrate his
descriptions of distinctions in manner of execution or mechanical
peculiarities. After all, however, as we have before intimated,
there is no other English book which can serve the same purpose
as this is calculated to serve. And, so far as we have ascertained,
the same may be said of foreign works on the subject. There
are more splendid and more original publications, such as the yet
incomplete one of M. Lasteyrie, and there are several recent
French and German pamphlets upon stained glass, but this is the
first attempt at a manual.
c 2
20
ART. II. The Expedition to Borneo of H. M.S. Dido, for the Sup-
pression of Piracy : with Extracts from the Journal of JAMES
BROOKE, ESQ., of Sarawak, (now Her Majesty's Commissioner
and Consul-General to the Sultan and independent Chiefs of
Borneo.} By CAPTAIN THE HON. HENRY KEPPEL, R.N.
Third Edition. With an additional Chapter, comprising recent
Intelligence, by WALTER K. KELLY. In 2 vols. London :
Chapman & Hall. 1848.
THERE is a charm about the idea of a beautiful island which the
imagination lays hold of with avidity. An insular position,
either literally or metaphorically, gives intensity and vividness.
Be a thing good or bad, beautiful or deformed, full of pleasant,
happy thoughts, or fraught with terrors, it is the more so from
being alone, for the imagination loves solitude, and delights in
working out one idea undisturbed by a multiplicity of forces.
The stranger, the widow, and the orphan, apart from higher
motives, have ever been the subjects of poetic sympathy from
the loneliness of their condition. Distress is aggravated by
desolation ; deformity is most hideous when made the mark of
exclusion ; while superstitious alarms are more quickly excited
at the idea of one mighty, overwhelming creature of the fancy,
stalking all in solitude and darkness, than by the thought of
innumerable little imps, however troublesome and nasty they
may be. Again, if we would apply the same argument to our
notions of comfort and security* it is an obvious illustration to
appeal to the idea of a man's home being his castle. Bars and
bolts, forms and manners of society, and such exclusive influ-
ences add much to our domestic enjoyments. This is well
described by Leigh Hunt in his amusing, though in some
respects not very commendable work, ' Men, Women, and
Books,' with regard to the furthest retreat of all in private
life the centre keep of the domestic castle we have alluded
to. * Bed is the home of home ; the innermost part of the
content. It is sweet within sweet; a nut in the nut; within
the snuggest nest a snugger nest ; my retreat from the publicity
of my privacy ; my room within my room, walled (if I please)
with curtains ; a box, a separation, a snug corner, such as
children love when they play at " house ;" the place where I
draw a direct line between me and my cares ; where I enter
upon a new existence, free, yet well invested ; reposing, but
Borneo. 21
* full of power ; where the act of lying down, and pulling the
' clothes over one's head, seems to exclude matters that have
* to do with us when dressed and on our legs.' We ascend,
however, to more imaginary pictures to scenes which we know
more of from the indulgences of hope than from the gratifica-
tion of experience. What is most often the local habitation of
a child's poetic fancies ? What was the blissful retreat of
Homer's wandering hero? What is the Utopia of many specu-
lations and many plans, political, economical, philosophical?
What is the brightest dream to the weary of the world's cares
and troubles ? What is the passing fancy of many an enthusi-
astic moment ? Is it not to find a pleasant island encompassed
by the dark blue ocean to wander from shore to shore through
fertile plains, by the side of romantic sti-eams, or under the bold
outline of a mountain range : with or without company, how
many, or of what sort, depending on circumstances, we need not
discuss. But the question will next occur, Where should the
island be ? To the excitable inhabitants of Tipperary, perhaps
it might appear that, if cleansed of the cowardly Saxons, and
freed from the restraining obligations of rent, no colour would
contrast so well with the before-mentioned ocean blue, as the
bright Emerald Isle ; but to quote in this case the words of a
graver censure * in hac parte nullam ejus fiduciam habemus? we
like not the results which follow Tipperary excitement, and
therefore do not recommend any, but such as in a very literal
way are wearied with the busy world, to fix on Ireland as the
realization of their Utopian aspirations.
We have moreover a decided admiration for a certain great
luminary, which, in our humble judgment, exercises a powerful
influence in brightening up the dull elements of which this
earth is composed. Cheering as its inner strata may be to the
speculating eye of the geologist, we yet feel confident that the
particular part of it which is exposed to the light and heat of
the sun will ever be most popular and most generally admired.
If any one is inclined to be sceptical, let him descend the dark
regions of a coal-pit, or even let him wander through lime-
stone caverns with all their beauties of stalactites, stalacmites,
and the many varieties of glistening spars ; let him do this on a
fine sunny day, and on emerging from below, let him cast his
eyes around, and let him feel the warm beams of the sun. Then
he will perceive what a glorious influence the sun has on all that
meets its joyous face. In contrast with the dark, cold, and
damp regions he has quitted, all will appear like fairyland ; for
a few brief moments he will think of Paradise, where every
sense drinks in a spontaneous draught of most pleasing sensations.
But to jump to our conclusion without further delay, we
22 tturneo.
think that the sunny climes of the tropics have the best claim
to be the residence of such fairy-like islands as imagination
pictures. The geography of the world seems to sanction our
judgment. No part of the globe is so sprinkled with islands as
the torrid zone ; the slightest glance at a map will show almost
a girdle of Oceanides from the eastern shore of Africa to the
west of America ; and between these two continents there are
the West Indies, with many scattered isles from those of Cape
Verd to St. Helena. The propriety of this is obvious ; the
sun, though wonderful in its effects, yet, like all other mechar.i-
cal powers, requires something to work on, some material which
it is to use as its instrument, some fulcrum to move the world.
Its insatiable thirst demands oceans of water, if the land, which
dares to look him point blank in the face, is to profit by such
fiery contact. As in a steam-engine you must proportion the
elements of fire and water to produce power, or even to avoid
disastrous effects ; so you must have water if the sun is to pro-
duce fertility, and you must have it in proportion to the sun's
power. The vast and dreary deserts of central Africa are a
monument of the destructive powers of heat where its thirst is
unquenched. The temperate zones are undoubtedly the proper
places for large continents, as on land removed from the equator
the supply of Avater required is not so great, and also, it is
allowed to accumulate. The only continent indeed, besides
Africa, through which the equator runs, is South America, and
its course is there followed by the mighty Amazon, with its
thousand tributaries irrigating with no mean supply of water
the whole breadth of the continent, from the lofty table-lands of
the Cordilleras on the west, to the Atlantic on the eastern shore.
We know that in extolling a tropical climate, we are run-
ning counter to many dearly-bought opinions as to health and
home comforts, and that we are also offending the poetical
prejudices which linger round the succession of the seasons in
the temperate regions of the earth. We like the modest bud-
ding of spring, the permanent luxuriance of a moderately hot
summer, the richness of autumnal fruits, and the tints of depart-
ing verdure ; we even cling, from the wholesome power of
association, to the bitter frosts of winter ; we would not wil-
lingly give up the cheerful fireside evenings, made doubly
sweet by contrast with the external weather. Our religious
prejudices are enlisted in favour of the temperate zones; we
almost feel that we are morally tied to these regions so shock-
ing to the sensibilities would it be to sit down to the good fare
of Christinas-day under the full blaze of a sun which made it
requisite that all culinary operations, or even all the arrange-
ments of a social party, should be conducted after quite a
Borneo. 23
different system. Nor are we disposed rashly to find fault with
such views; they have much good feeling at the bottom of
them, and it is very unnecessary that they should be interfered
with where no practical object is in view. Yet we think it
must be admitted by the most strenuous admirer of our tem-
perate seasons, with all their agreeable associations, that many
days of the year, even in happy England, are not the brightest
which an imaginative mind could picture, if called on to describe
an earthly paradise, or to luxuriate in eloquent phrases of the
full beauty and fertility of nature. We have but to look up
from our paper to behold an horizon but dimly visible betwixt
earth and heaven, yet itself the only distinguishable outline to
separate the misty drizzle above from the same below. But a
small portion of the year does, in fact, realize the beauties we
attribute to it in idea. Yet we do not find fault with this our
climate ; it has done noble service, and we wish it well : but,
may not those who truly admire nature be excused if they
praise other climes where her powers are more strongly deve-
loped ? where her vital essence is more vigorous and quick in
its productive energies ? If there is a wonder in the small acorn
which becomes an oak ; if there is beauty in the humble gar-
land of flowers gathered from the hedge side ; if there is
luxuriance in the wooded hills that overhang some rippling
stream ; if there is splendour in a wide prospect of fertile lands,
rich valleys, and bold, undulating forests, as seen over the fore-
ground of a well preserved English country mansion ; if there
is beauty in all this, may not the more adventurous imagination
of the soul be excused if one wishes to see the same lovely dame,
who shows so fair a prospect fifty-three degrees north of the
equator, revelling in the enjoyment of her own energetic freedom,
under what may be called her high-pressure force ?
Again, as regards health : there is no doubt that hot climates
do not suit all European constitutions ; nor is it to our point
that they should, as we have no wish to encourage a general
migration forthwith, as a simple-minded Dyak of Borneo pro-
posed to Mr. Brooke ; on the contrary, if our counsel were
asked in a certain high quarter, we should decidedly recommend
that Her Majesty had better pause before she undertakes such
an expedition. Yet, we do not think that this objection is of
such an insuperable nature as some may imagine. The tropical
regions are not entirely composed of parched sandy deserts and
deadly swamps : these are only the exceptions, and can be easily
avoided in the countries we would at present call attention to.
The island of Borneo, so prominently under the notice of the
public just now, in consequence of Mr. Brooke's achievements, is,
in many respects, from the brilliant accounts we receive of it,
24 Borneo.
almost such an island as we have attributed to the dreams of
fancy ; we hear it called, the * Eden of the eastern wave.'
It is not, indeed, quite small enough to be the wished-for
retreat of a solitary misanthropist ; compared with such indivi-
dual romance, it is a vast continent ; but if we look on it as
likely to become an appendage to our own wide empire, it
maintains its character of being strictly an island, and may
claim all the poetic advantages which belong to that species of
land. The natural advantages of an insular position, it certainly
enjoys ; for, though being on the equator itself, which pierces
its very centre, it has no lack of water, both in the form of
rivers and refreshing rains ; these make the land fertile, almost
to the satisfying of human cupidity, and also so moderate and
regulate the heat of a tropical sun, as, from the idea which the
book before us conveys, to render it perfectly habitable, or even
in many situations a most delightful climate for European
residents.
The peculiar advantages which the island of Borneo enjoys,
we will enter into more fully as we proceed with our review of
Mr. Brooke's Journal. A few prefatory remarks of our own on
the subject of such islands generally, we have ventured to
make, in order to bring the particular case before us under the
notice of our readers in a manner to attract, rather than, as is
too often the case, to repel a poetical view of the subject.
Poetry, by which we understand high sentiment and true
nobleness of action, is the element of all real improvement and
all true civilization ; and it is the utter want of this the con-
sideration only of what a certain school of philosophy would
call the material in opposition to the spiritual which has been
the cause of the little progress which European colonization has
made in the improvement of the natives. Grasping avarice has
been proved by the Dutch, to be in the end most short-sighted
policy. After long possession of many islands in the Eastern
Archipelago, they have now but little hold over them, and have
derived but little profit from them. But take our own lament-
able treatment of islands and continents somewhat further south.
When parts of Australia and Van Dieman's Laud came into
our possession, how did we use them ? Did we estimate such
fair gifts as we ought? did we look on them as about to become,
through our government, the future scenes of noble and high
deeds, or did we strive to make them provinces for the spread
of Christ's Church, where all the blessings of time and eternity
might take root downwards and bear fruit upwards ? This we
should say would have been the view with which Christian
romance would instinctively have taught us to regard these
extensions of our empire. But instead of this, we filled them
Borneo. 25
with our refuse, as we throw dirt together in a heap in the
remotest part of our premises. We made them the sink of our
vices, and peopled distant lands with men, who having been,
from the nature of the case, violators of human and divine law
during their home life having been hardened and corrupted by
the exposure of a public conviction and association with their
brethren in crime, and having further been so located in those
countries as to banish, humanly speaking, all hope of repentance
become at last such demons of iniquity as to make our own
devices, that were meant for our good, to recoil on us to our
hurt. Here again was a selfish and short-sighted expediency,
in the treatment of distant lands placed by Providence under
our control, proved at last to be bad policy. More righteous
would it be in the beginning, and more politic would it be in
the end, if, taught by experience, we were to regard new
possessions with nobler sentiments than avarice or short-sighted
political selfishness can suggest, and to look on ourselves as
being entrusted with moral responsibilities. The first step in
this higher treatment of what is bestowed upon us, will consist
partly in higher views of the wonderful works of God in the
material world ; but chiefly the Christian principle of the
honour due to all men, be they wild and savage, deceitful, or
helpless or, more difficult than all, be they obstinate in their
hostility to our notions of improvement.
We now turn, however, from our own speculations and our
own conclusions, to the well-weighed opinions and practical
experience of Mr. Brooke. But first, we cannot forbear offer-
ing that gentleman our warmest testimony to the excellent
spirit in which all his undertakings have been carried through.
Mr. Brooke exemplifies the maxim that honesty is the best
policy : honesty in his case, consisting in a very exact apprecia-
tion of what was morally due to himself, to his country, and to
the native inhabitants with whom he had to deal, and that in
most varied and difficult circumstances. He was on many
occasions heroically brave ; on others he might have been
thought, if we knew not the result, almost apathetically patient ;
and throughout he was uniformly considerate, kind, and the
sincere friend of all around him, especially of the oppressed.
With the small means at his disposal but a few years ago, and
the extreme absence of all hurry throughout his proceedings,
he reminds us of the more praiseworthy of two characters de-
scribed by the son of Sirach : ' There is one that laboureth, and
* taketh pains, and maketh haste, and is so much the more
* behind. Again, there is another that is slow, and hath need
* of help, wanting ability and full of poverty ; yet the eye of
' the Lord looked upon him for good, and set him up from his
26 Borneo.
4 low estate.' He ever seems possessed with the true confidence
that patience and courage in a good cause can alone give.
Throughout his expedition, it is obvious that much of his
success arose from the fact, that he was responsible to no one
but himself, that he was entirely his own master. He was
engaged in his own private adventure, and had only himself to
look to ; and thus he enjoyed a great advantage over a com-
missioned officer with his work marked out beforehand, and the
feeling that he is accountable to higher powers for every step
he takes, and is liable to be recalled for any misconstruction
that may be put upon his actions. A man under such circum-
stances is always apt to be too anxious for active measures,
even when his own consciousness would tell him that the desired
end might be effected more surely, by letting things work out
their own course under the gentle but sure influence of the
moral power and resolute will well known to belong to his
cause. The only way to bring out the powers of a man, is to
place confidence in him to perform his appointed task. It is
the sign of a great statesman, or a great leader in any cause, to
show discrimination in his choice of agents, but having chosen
them, to give them free scope for their talents : it is an inferior
mind which prefers to have a band of humble instruments, over
whom he may exercise a constant and irritating supervision.
The latter system may often appear most business-like and
most politic, indeed it is the principle of modern times ; but the
former, as it requires a higher mind for its centre for we
estimate an acute knowledge of character far higher than the
most comprehensive powers of circumspection so it is the
policy of the more enlightened and disinterested exercise of
authority. The only difficulty is, when you have to deal with
an inferior race of men whom you really cannot trust. But
this applies not to Englishmen. All experience has taught us,
and Mr. Brooke has, in the quiet times of peace, given us noble
confirmation, that an English gentleman, of good education and
natural intelligence, possesses innate powers of a high order,
which only require their opportunity to come forth. With
such a class to choose from, we think that those in authority are
without excuse, if they prefer the inferior though sometimes
necessary principle of reposing very limited confidence in their
agents.
Those of our readers who are acquainted with Prescott's
' Conquest of Peru,' will find much in the character of Pedro
de la Gasca, as there drawn, which is applicable to our present
purpose. That distinguished ecclesiastic, in undertaking his
mission to pacify the turbulent condition of the newly con-
quered empire of Peru, in the first place required that absolute
Jtonieo. 27
power should be given him, even to blank papers impressed
only with the royal sign manual. Thus armed, he felt that he
could act as he thought best, without being harassed by con-
tinual instructions from the distant and excitable powers of his
own country. His very first policy was such as would never
have been acted on by one differently situated. He remained
for months absolutely passive, as though he had crossed the
Atlantic in vain ; but he knew that his quiet influence was all
the time preparing the way for a better state of things, more
effectually than would immediate hostilities : he preferred
patience to violence, and his reward was, that he most quickly
arrived at the triumphant completion of his embassy, and was
spared all the evils of a violent policy. Mr. Brooke was in so
far a similar situation, that he was able to bide his own time,
without fear of being recalled from any misconstruction of his
actions, or without the temptation to gain favour at home by
active measures and gallant exploits, ending only in self-display,
when a quieter line would in the end be most efficacious.
Prompt, resolute, and courageous when necessary, he yet
preferred showing to the natives the more peaceful aspect of
his national character : Would that, amid all the valiant achieve-
ments which have filled the annals of our country's foreign
policy, there had been a greater proportion of peaceful victories!
Many no doubt there have been, where our moral pre-eminence
has taken the place of sword and bayonet ; but those weapons of
blood have been but too active, and where they have been
used in any but the cause of just vengeance, we may boast
indeed of a conquest over the bodies of men, but not over their
hearts or souls.
For the benefit of those who may not be acquainted with
the circumstances of Mr. Brooke's expedition, we will now,
as much as possible in his own words, give an outline of that
career which has brought him into notice. This outline shall be
brief, for we hope afterwards to consider, as distinct topics, the
passages of the book before us which refer to the physical
nature of the island of Borneo, and also to the characters of its
native inhabitants, especially as that may affect their ultimate
conversion to Christianity.
In the year 1838, Mr. Brooke made a statement of his pro-
posed object, which forms a most interesting appendix to Captain
Keppel's book. The commencement of this we will extract
here :
' The voyage I made to China opened an entirely new scene, and showed
me what I had never seen before, savage life and savage nature. I inquired,
and I read, and I became more and more assured that there was a large
field of discovery and adventure open to any man daring enough to enter
28 Borneo.
upon it. Just take a map and trace a line over the Indian Archipelago,
with its thousand unknown islands and tribes. Cast your eye over the vast
island of Nexv Guinea, where the foot of European has scarcely, if ever,
trod. Look at the northern coast of Australia, with its mysterious Gulf of
Carpentaria ; a survey of which it is supposed would solve the great geo-
graphical question respecting the rivers of the mimic continent. Place
your finger on Japan, with its exclusive and civilised people ; it lies an
unknown lump on our earth, and an undefined line on our charts ! Think
of the northern coast of China, willing, as is reported, to open an intercourse
and trade with Europeans, spite of their arbitrary government. Stretch
your pencil over the Pacific Ocean, which Cook himself declares a field of
discovery for ages to come ! Proceed to the coast of South America, from
the region of gold-dust to the region of furs the land ravaged by the cruel
Spaniard, and the no less cruel buccanier the scene of the adventures of
Drake and the descriptions of Dampier. The places I have enumerated" are
mere names, with no specific ideas attached to them : lands and seas where
the boldest navigators gained a reputation, and where hundreds may yet do
so, if they have the same courage and the same perseverance. Imagina-
tion whispers to Ambition, that there are yet lands unknown which might be
discovered. Tell me, would not a man's life be well spent tell me, would
it not be well sacrificed, in an endeavour to explore these regions ? When
I think on dangers and death, I think on them only because they would
remove me from such a field of ambition, for energy, and for knowledge.
' Borneo, Celebes, Sooloo, the Moluccas, and the islands of the Straits of
Sunda and Banka, compose what is called the Malayan group ; and the
Malays located on the sea-shores of these and other islands may with cer-
tainty be classed as belonging to one people. It is well known, however,
that the interior of these countries is inhabited by various tribes, differing
from the Malays and each other, and presenting numerous gradations of
early civilisation ; the Dyaks of Borneo, the papuans of New Guinea, and
others, besides the black race scattered over the islands. Objects of traffic
here as elsewhere present interesting subjects of inquiry; and whilst our
acquaintance with every other portion of the globe, from the passage of the
Pole to the navigation of the Euphrates, has greatly extended, it is matter
of surprise that we know scarcely anything of these people beyond the
bare fact of their existence, and remain altogether ignorant of the geogra-
phical features of the countries they inhabit. Countries which present an
extended field for Christianity and commerce, which none surpass in fertility,
rich beyond the Americas in mineral productions, and unrivalled in natural
beauty, continue unexplored to the present day; and, in spite of the advan-
tages which would probably result, have failed to attract the attention they
so well deserve. The difficulty of the undertaking will scarcely account
for its non-performance, if we consider the voluntary sacrifices made on the '
shrine of African research, or the energy displayed and the sufferings
encountered by the explorers of the polar regions ; yet the necessity of
prosecuting the voyage in an armed vessel, the wildness of the interior
tribes, the lawless ferocity of the Malays, and other dangers, would prevent
most individuals from fixing on this field for exertion, and points it out as
one which could best and most fully be accomplished by Government or
some influential body.' Vol. i. pp. 367, &c.
The conclusion of the same document is also most interesting,
especially when we know of his final success.
' 1 cannot but express my regret, that from pecuniary considerations as
well as the small size of the vessel, and the limited quantity of provisions
she carries, I am unable to take a naturalist and draughtsman ; but I should
Borneo. 29
always hail with pleasure any scientific person who joined me abroad, or
who happened to be in the countries at the time ; and I may venture to
promise him every encouragement and facility in the prosecution of his
pursuits. I embark upon the expedition with great cheerfulness, with a
stout vessel, a good crew, and the ingredients of success as far as the limited
scale of the undertaking will permit ; and I cast myself upon the waters
like Mr. Southey's little book but whether the world will know me after
many days, is a question which, hoping the best, I cannot answer with any
positive degree of assurance.' Vol. i. p. 381.
Captain Keppel's sketch of Mr. Brooke's life previous to 1838
we also insert.
' But before illustrating these circumstances from his own journals, it may
be acceptable to say a few words respecting the individual himself, and his
extraordinary career. I am indebted to a mutual friend, acquainted with
him from early years, for the following brief but interesting outline of his
life ; and have only to premise, that Mr. Brooke is the lineal representative
of Sir Robert Vyner, Bart, and Lord Mayor of London in the reign of
Charles II. : Sir Robert had but one child, a son, Sir George Vyner, who died
childless, and his estate passed to his heir-at-law, Edith, his father's eldest
sister, whose lineal descendant is our friend. Sir Robert was renowned
for his loyalty to his sovereign, to whom he devoted his wealth, and to
whose memory he raised a monument.
' " Mr. Brooke was the second, and is now the only surviving son of the
late Thomas Brooke, Esq., of the civil service of the East India Company ;
was born on the 29th April, 1 803 ; went out to India as a cadet, where he
held advantageous situations, and distinguished himself by his gallantry in
the Burmese war. He was shot through the body in an action with the
Burmese, received the thanks of the government, and returned to England
for the recovery of his prostrated strength. He resumed his station, but
shortly afterwards relinquished the service, and in search of health and
amusement left Calcutta for China in 1830. In this voyage, while going up
the China seas, he saw for the first time the islands of the Asiatic Archi-
pelago islands of vast importance and unparalleled beauty lying neg-
lected and almost unknown. He inquired and read, and became convinced
that Borneo and the Eastern Isles afforded an open field for enterprise and
research. To carry to the Malay races, so long the terror of the European
merchant vessel, the blessings of civilization, to suppress piracy and extir-
pate the slave-trade, became his humane and generous objects ; and from
that hour the energies of his powerful mind were devoted to this one
pursuit. Often foiled, often disappointed, but animated with a perseverance
and enthusiasm which defied all obstacle, he was not until 1838 enabled to
set sail from England on his darling project. The intervening years had
been devoted to preparation and inquiry ; a year spent in the Meditteranean
had tested his vessel, the ' Royalist,' and his crew ; and so completely had
he studied his subject, and calculated on contingencies, that the least san-
guine of his friends felt as he left the shore, hazardous and unusual as the
enterprise appeared to be, that he had omitted nothing to insure a success-
ful issue. " I go," said lie, " to awake the spirit of slumbering philan-
thropy with regard to these islands ; to carry Sir Stamford Raffles' views
in Java over the whole Archipelago. Fortune and life I give freely; and
if I fail in the attempt, I shall not have lived wholly in vain."
' " In the admiration I feel for him I may farther be permitted to add,
that if any man ever possessed in himself the resources and means by
which such noble designs were to be achieved, that man was James Brooke!
Of the most enlarged views ; truthful and generous ; quick to acquire and
30 Borneo.
appreciate; excelling in every manly sport and exercise; elegant and
accomplished; ever accessible ; and above all, prompt and determined to
redress injury and relieve misfortune, he was of all others the best qualified
to impress the native mind with the highest opinion of the English character.
How he has succeeded, the influence he has acquired, and the benefits he
has conferred, his own uncoloured narrative, contained in the following
pages, best declares, and impresses on the world a lasting lesson of the
fiod that attends individual enterprise, when well-directed, of which every
nglishman may feel justly proud."
' Such is the sketch of Mr. Brooke by one well competent to judge of
that to which he bears witness. In pursuance of the mission thus
eloquently and truly described, that gentleman left his native shores in the
year 1838, in his yacht the ' Royalist' schooner, of 142 tons, belonging to the
Royal Yacht Squadron, with a crew of upwards of twenty men. His
general views were distinct and certain ; but the details into which they
shaped themselves have been so entirely guided by unforeseen occurrences,
that it is necessary to look to his first visit to Borneo for their explanation ;
and in order to do so, I must refer to his private journal, which he kindly
confided to me, after I had in vain tried to persuade him to take upon
himself the publication of its contents, so rich in new and interesting
intelligence.' Vol. i. pp. 2, Sic.
Mr. Brooke's own journal thus describes the preparation
necessary for his project.
' " I had for some years turned my mind to the geography of the Indian
Archipelago, and cherished an ardent desire to become better acquainted
with a country combining the richest natural productions w ith an unrivalled
degree of luxuriant beauty. Circumstances for a time prevented my entering
on this field for enterprise and research ; and when the barriers were re-
moved, I had many preparations to make and some difficulties to overcome.
' " In an expedition conducted by government, the line of discipline is
so distinctly understood, and its infringement so strictly punished, that
small hazard is incurred of any inconvenience arising from such a source.
With an individual, however, there is no such assurance, for he cannot
appeal to the articles of war ; and the ordinary legal enactments for the
protection of the mariner will not enable him to effect objects so far
removed beyond the scope of the laws. I was fully aware that many would
go, but that few might stay ; for whilst a voyage of discovery in prospeciu
possesses great attractions for the imagination, the hardship, danger, and
the thousand other rude realities, soon dissipate the illusion, and leave
the aspirant longing for that home he should never have quitted. In like
manner, seamen can be procured in abundance, but cannot be kept from
desertion whenever any matter goes wrong ; and the total previous igno-
rance of their characters and dispositions renders this more likely, as the
admission of one " black sheep" goes far to taint the entire crew.
' " These considerations fully convinced me that it was necessary to form
men to my purpose, and by a line of steady and kind conduct, to raise up
a personal regard for myself and attachment for the vessel, which could not
be expected in ordinary cases. In pursuance of this object, I was nearly
three years in preparing a crew to my mind, and gradually moulding them
to consider the hardest fate or misfortune under my command as better than
the ordinary service in a merchant-vessel. How far I have succeeded,
remains yet to be proved ; but I cannot help hoping that I have raised the
character of many, and have rendered all happy and contented since they
have been with me ; and certain am I that no men can do their duty more
cheerfully or willingly than the crew of the ' Royalist.'
Borneo. 3 1
' " I may pass over in silence, my motives for undertaking so long and
arduous a voyage ; and it will be sufficient to say, that I have been firmly
convinced of its beneficial tendency in adding to knowledge, increasing
trade, and spreading Christianity. The prospectus of the undertaking was
published in the Geographical Journal, vol. viii. part iii. of 1838, when my
preparations for sea were nearly complete. I had previously avoided
making any public mention of my intentions, for praise before performance
is disgusting; and I knew that I should be exposed to prying curiosity,
desirous of knowing what I did not know myself.' Vol. i. pp. 5, &c.
On the 16th of December, 18 38, the 'Royalist' finally quitted
England, and on the first of June in the following year, the
adventurous party reached Singapore, which port formed their
head-quarters for subsequent refittings, and for communication
with Europe. On the 1st of August they anchored off Borneo,
but this year they remained but a few months, during which
time Mr. Brooke made many interesting exploring expeditions,
and formed an acquaintance with Muda Hassim, the Rajah of
Sarawak, who is afterwards most prominent in the history. He
then returned to Singapore, and his next voyage was devoted to
the islands of the Celebes. That expedition, and also ill-health,
prevented his again visiting Sarawak till the end of August
1840. From this time began the extraordinary part of his
career. Instead of only exploring the country, he now became
immersed in its politics. Muda Hassim enlisted him on his side
against an army of rebels in the interior, and by a long course
of events, in all which the virtues we have ascribed to him
are most conspicuous, he at length received the appointment of
Rajah of Sarawak in September 1841, Muda Hassim giving up
his position having only undertaken it during the civil war
with the intention of returning to Borneo Proper, of which his
uncle was the sultan. Once in power, his influence increased
most rapidly ; he established courts of justice, in which he arbi-
trated between the oppressiveMalays and their Dyak dependents
in a manner that astonished the former, and made the latter look
on him as their friend. He then directed his attention to the
establishment of commercial intercourse between Borneo and
Europe, and as a first step, he waged desperate war with the
swarms of pirates that have for ages infested the whole coast.
This would appear to have been the occupation of whole tribes,
whose cruelties and depredations put an entire stop to all im-
provement in the general state of the island. For this purpose
he received assistance from several of H. M. Ships, and in com-
pany with Captain Keppel of the * Dido,' he had many a sharp
encounter, before the haunts where these lawless wretches pro-
tected themselves in most formidable array could be broken up.
In 1845 Mr. Brooke was appointed Her Majesty's agent in Bor-
neo, and sailed for Borneo Proper (the chief town of the island),
32 Borneo.
where, after strengthening his position with the local authorities,
a work of no little difficulty and patience, he examined the
island of Labuan with a view to its becoming a British station,
a design which was afterwards realized. He then went back
to Sarawak, and from thence, as our readers are aware, he has
returned to his native shores, not to repose in honours already
won, but to increase his means of future usefulness. May he
not be disappointed ! may the reception he has met with at home
enable him to establish his own position with honour and security,
as well as the commercial interests of both countries with mutual
profit ! and, more than all, may the Christian mission he has been
the means of sending be productive of a mighty revolution in
the whole condition of the native inhabitants !
It is time now that we discuss the natural features of the
island, but as the direct mention of these is brought in chiefly
with reference to commerce, it is only incidentally that we come
across descriptions of scenery. Mr. Brooke's journal differs
materially from the journal of a mere traveller, for his thoughts
were too much taken up with the business he was always engaged
in, to allow him very often to enlarge on mere objects of beauty,
though we have ample testimony throughout that such things
were fully appreciated by him. The following passage presents
an agreeable scene.
' We left our boats near its entrance, and walked to the small but steep
mountain, Tubbang. Its length may be about 400 feet. After mounting
by a winding path, about half-way up towards the top, we arrived at the
entrance of a cave, into which we descended through a hole. It is fifty or
sixty feet long, and the far end is supported on a colonnade of stalactites,
and opens on a sheer precipice of 100 or 150 feet. Hence the spectator can
overlook the distant scene ; the forest lies at his feet, and only a few trees
growing from the rock reach nearly to the level of the grotto. The effect
is striking and panoramic ; the grotto cheerful ; floored with fine sand ; the
roof groined like Gothic, whence the few clear drops which filter through,
form here and there the fantastic stalactites common to such localities. The
natives report the cave to be the residence of a fairy queen ; and they
show her bed, pillow, and other of her household furniture. Within the
cave we found a few remnants of human bones ; probably some poor Dyak
who had crawled there to die.' Vol. i. p. 202.
The province of Sarawak, which we may take as a sample of
the whole island, is thus described :
' It is bounded to the westward by the Sambas territorj r , to the south-
ward by a range of mountains which separate it from the Pontiana river, and
to the eastward by the Borneon territory of Sadong. Within this space
there are several rivers and islands, which it is needless here to describe at
length, as the account of the river of Sarawak will answer alike for the
rest. There are two navigable entrances to this river, and numerous
smaller branches for boats, both to the westward and eastward ; the two
principal entrances combine at about twelve miles from the sea, and the
river flows for twenty miles into the interior in a southerly and westerly
Borneo. 33
direction, when it again forms two branches one running to the right, the
other to the left hand, as far as the mountain range. Besides these
facilities for water communication, there exist three other branches from
the easternmost entrance, called Morotaba, one of which joins the Sama-
rahan river, and the two others flow from different points of the mountain
range already mentioned. The country is diversified by detached moun-
tains, aud the mountain range has an elevation of about 3,000 feet. The
aspect of the country may be generally described as low and woody at the
entrance of the rivers, except a few high mountains ; but in the interior,
undulating in parts, and part presenting fine level plains. The climate may
be pronounced healthy and cool, though in the six months from September
to March a great quantity of rain falls. During my three visits to this
place, which have been prolonged to eight months, and since residing here,
we have been clear of sickness, and during the entire period not one of
three deaths could be attributed to the effects of climate. The more serious
maladies of tropical climates are very infrequent ; from fever and dysentery
we have been quite free, and the only complaints have been rheumatism,
colds, and ague ; the latter, however, attacked us in the interior, and no
one has yet had it at Sarawak, which is situated about twenty-five miles
from the mouth of the river.
' The soil and productions of this country are of the richest description ;
and it is not too much to say, that, within the same given space, there are
not to be found the same mineral and vegetable riches in any land in the
world. I propose to give a brief detail of them, beginning with the soil
of the plains, which is moist and rich, and calculated for the growth of rice,
for which purpose it was formerly cleared and used, until the distractions
of the country commenced. From the known industry of the Dyaks, and
their partiality to rice-cultivation, there can be little doubt that it would
become an article of extensive export, provided security were given to the
cultivator, and a proper remuneration for his produce. The lower grounds,
besides rice, are well adapted for the growth of sago, and produce canes,
rattans, and forest timber of the finest description for ship-building and
other useful purposes. The Chinese export considerable quantities of
timber from Sambas and Pontiana, particularly of the kind called Balean
by the natives, or the lion wood of the Europeans ; and at this place it is
to be had in far greater quantity and nearer the place of sale. The undu-
lating ground differs in soil, some portions of it being a yellowish clay,
whilst the rest is a rich mould ; these grounds, generally speaking, as well
as the slopes of the higher mountains, are admirably calculated for the
growth of nutmegs, coflee, pepper, or any of the more valuable vegetable
productions of the tropics. Besides the above-mentioned articles, there
are birds'-nests, bees'-wax, and several kinds of scented wood, in demand at
Singapore, which are all collected by the Dyaks, and would be gathered in
far greater quantity provided the Dyak was allowed to sell them.
' Turning from the vegetable to the mineral riches of the country, we
have diamonds, gold, tin, iron, and antimony-ore certain ; I have lately
sent what I believe to be a specimen of lead-ore to Calcutta ; and copper is
reported. It must be remembered, in reading this list, that the country is
as yet unexplored by a scientific person, and that the inquiries of a geo-
logist and a mineralogist would throw further light on the minerals of the
mountains, and the spots where they are to be found in the greatest plenty.
The diamonds are stated to be found in considerable numbers, and of a good
water ; and I judge the statement to be correct from the fact that the diamond-
workers from Sandak come here and work secretly, and the people from
Banjarmasim, who are likewise clever at this trade, are most desirous to be
allowed to work for the precious stone. Gold of a good quality certainly
is to be found in large quantities. The eagerness and perseverance of the
NO. LIX. N. S. D
34 Borneo.
Chinese to establish themselves is a convincing proof of the fact ; and ten
years since a body of about 3000 of them had great success in procuring
gold by their ordinary mode of trenching the ground. Vol. ii. pp.188, &c.
In the island of Labuan, and on the mainland near Borneo
Proper, there is also abundance of excellent coal and ironstone,
which will be greater inducements to English commerce, and
English steam navigation, than even gold or diamonds. It
would be no slight assistance to our communication with China
to have a regular supply of coal constantly waiting half way
between India and Canton. The following extract will explain
this advantage.
' It will be seen by the map, that Borneo is, of all the great islands of the
western portion of the Archipelago, the nearest to China, and Labuan and
its neighbourhood the nearest point of this island. The distance of Hong
Kong is about 1000 miles, and that of the island of Hainan, a great place
for emigration, not above 800; distances which to the Chinese junks fast
sailers before the strong and favourable winds of the monsoon do not
make voyages exceeding four or five days. The coasts of the provinces of
Canton and Fokien have hitherto been the great hives from which Chinese
emigration has proceeded ; and even Fokien is not above 1400 miles from
Labuan, a voyage of seven or eight days. Chinese trade and immigration
will come together. The north-west coast of Borneo produces an unusual
supply of those raw articles for which there is always a demand in the
markets of China ; and Labuan, it may be reckoned upon with certainty,
will soon become the seat of a larger trade with China than the river of
Borneo ever possessed.
' I by no means anticipate the same amount of rapid advance in popula-
tion, commerce, or financial resources for Labuan, that has distinguished
Singapore, a far more centrical position for general commerce ; still I think
its prospect of success undoubted; while it will have some advantages
which Singapore cannot, from its nature, possess. Its coal-mines, and the
command of the coal-fields on the river of Borneo, are the most remarkable
of these; and its superiority as a post-office station necessarily follows.
Then it is far more convenient as a port of refuge ; and, as far as our present
knowledge will enable us to judge, infinitely more valuable for military
purposes, more especially for affording protection to the commerce which
passes through the Chinese Sea, amounting at present to probably not less
than 300,000 tons of shipping, carrying cargoes certainly not under the
value of 15,000,000/. sterling.' Vol. ii. pp. 222, &c.
We will extract a few remarks on this subject from an
appendix to our present work, entitled a * Sketch of Borneo,' by
J. Hunt, Esq., communicated to Sir Stamford Raffles in 1812.
' This country is by no means so warm as one would be led to imagine
by its proximity everywhere to the line : this arises from the perpetual
refreshing showers and the land and sea breezes, the former being wafted
over innumerable rivers. In the month of November, the thermometer
at Pontiana ranges from 78 to 82.
' During the wet season, the rivers swell and overflow the adjacent shores,
and run down with such continued rapidity, that the water may be tasted
fresh at sea at the distance of six or seven miles from the mouths : these
overflowings fertilise the banks and the adjacent country, and render the
Borneo. 35
shores of Borneo, like the plains of Egypt, luxuriantly rich. Susceptible
of the highest possible culture, particularly in wet grain, in the dry season,
the coasts, from these overflowings, present to the eye the richest enamelled
fields of full-grown grass for miles around. It is at this season that whole
herds of wild cattle range down from the mountains in the interior to fatten
oil the plains ; but during the wet season they ascend to their hills.
' The whole of the north, the north-west, and the centre of Borneo is
extremely mountainous. The greatest portion of the ancient kingdom of
Borneo Proper is extremely elevated. That of Kincy Baulu, or St. Peter's
Mount, in latitude 6 north, is perhaps one of the highest mountains
known. The country about Sambas, Pontiana, and Sukadana is occasion-
ally interspersed with a few ranges of hills, otherwise the land here might
be deemed low. But to the southward, and more particularly to the east,
in the Straits of Macassar, it is very low. The shore in these latter places
is extremely moist and swampy; but the interior is said to be dry.' Vol.
i. p. 394.
An unfortunate event accompanied the first taking possession
of Labuan, which did not augur well for its healthiness ; but
Mr. Brooke thus accounts for it :
' The gratification we feel in recording an event of such high promise in
the history of commerce and civilisation is impaired by one unhappy cir-
cumstance. The officers and crews of the two vessels suffered severely
from sickness at Labuan ; and Messrs. Gordon and Airey, the commander
of the Wolf and the master of the Iris, fell victims to the jungle-fever. The
former dying on the island, was buried there ; the latter expired a few days
after his return to Singapore. The sickness that prevailed among the
sailors has been ascribed to their imprudent indulgence in the wild fruits
of the island, to over-exertion, and needless exposure, &c. These things
may have done some hurt ; but the main cause of the sickness is too obvious
to be mistaken. The ceremony of hoisting the flag was performed on a
large space, cleared of jungle, and levelled expressly for that purpose. It
is very strange that the officers engaged in the service should not have
been aware of the infallible consequences of such a proceeding. In all
tropical climates, deadly miasmata continue for a long while to hang over
newly-made surfaces of earth, and malignant fevers surely await the white
men who are rash enough to take up their abode on such spots before they
have been sufficiently exposed to wind and sun.
' There is nothing, therefore, in the unfortunate incidents that have
marked our taking possession of Labuan which should warrant a belief in
the insalubrity of the island. Probably there is no spot within the tropics
where European life is exposed to fewer risks from natural causes. The
soil of the island is light and porous; it contains few or no morasses; and
its situation exposes it to the action of the prevailing winds, which sweep
perpetually up and down those seas. For nine months of the year it is
supplied abundantly with water; and if during the other three months this
article of primary necessity be less plentiful, it is still in no worse a predica-
ment than Singapore itself. On the north of the island there are several
small runnels which would appear to be supplied by perennial sources ; and
it will everywhere be easy to construct tanks and reservoirs.' Vol. ii. pp.
260, &c.
From the physical constitution of Borneo, we will now turn
to its inhabitants ; and on this point we have Mr. Brooke's
valuable opinion on various classes of his subjects before his
D2
36 Borneo*
prejudices were likely to be enlisted in their behalf in conse-
quence of the position of authority he now holds over them. It
is on this account, perhaps, almost ungenerous to bring his own
words against his territories, which were spoken under such
different circumstances as if our object were to put him out of
conceit with his newly acquired subjects. Mr. Brooke is not
now a mere traveller, free to say what he likes of the natives
around him, but the fatherly links of his rajahship no doubt
enchain his heart with a moiety of the obverse of that principle
that the king can do no wrong. However this may be, or
whatever are his present feelings towards the inhabitants of
Borneo, how far he identifies himself with them, and whether
in the act of holding a levee in his character of Rajah of Sara-
wak and the independent chiefs of Borneo, as he has done at
Oxford, he at all forgot that he was an Englishman, and had not
always been a component part of a state in the Eastern Archi-
pelago ; yet it is most certain that his dealings with the island,
and his peculiar talents for engaging the sympathies of all who
come in his way, have thrown very great light on characters,
and on conditions of life, about which little has hitherto been
known. It would be in vain to expect that any extracts from
his journal could in a reasonable space give much of the infor-
mation he has gathered together, or give our readers the benefit
of his reflections and sentiments. The whole compilation which
Captain Keppel has published is most interesting and useful.
The journal is well arranged, and the captain's own part is
straightforward and well written, though strongly tinctured
with the spirit of his profession. It is clear that the fighting
part was more to his taste than the silent conferences with
Malay authorities at which he had to be present. When on
shore, he does not appear so much absorbed in the interest of
native politics as his companion, and he has an inclination to
diverge towards the more congenial subject of the prospect
Borneo holds out to the future sportsman who may roam over
its hills. This, however, is but incidental, and throughout his
work it is impossible not to admire his high spirit, great good-
nature, and the hearty admiration he uniformly manifests
towards Mr. Brooke's character and intentions, as well as the
ready co-operation he at all times gave him.
The inhabitants of the island of Borneo consist of three
distinct races : the aborigines, commonly called Dyaks ; the
Malays, who are the conquerors of these people, and hold them
in oppressive subjection ; and lastly, the Chinese emigrants, of
whom there are vast numbers. The latter are a useful body in
all laborious pursuits, but as they do not enter much into the
political relations of the country, we have little to do with them.
Borneo. 37
The two former are the people with whom Mr. Brooke had to
deal.
The term Dyak properly applies to but one tribe of the origi-
nal inhabitants, but for convenience, sake it is used as a generic
term. Concerning their origin there is great doubt ; that there
was in time gone by a distinct Polynesian race appears certain ;
it is also most probable that this race was of different origin
from the Asiatic nations. Mr. Brooke in one place suggests the
idea that these islands were peopled originally by a tide of
emigration from east to west ; but after more investigation, he
is satisfied with calling them aborigines, leaving it rather to be
inferred that there was not that radical difference between
them and the Malays as had been supposed ; but that the latter
invaded these islands at a later period, and were therefore much
more civilized. We will not, however, enter into such a wide
discussion, but confine ourselves to the present state in which
they are found. This is peculiar : they are not exactly savage,
yet they are far from being civilized. In many respects they
have tolerable notions of the comforts and conveniences of life,
yet in others they are morally depraved to an extent, which ex-
cludes them from any right to the name of civilization many stage
of growth. But their character is not without hope, as is the
case with some barbarous people. Their savage practices are in
a great measure attributable to the fearful anarchy, misrule and
oppression under which they suffer. It is hopeless for them,
subject as they are to the grossest imposition and most constant
depredations nay, even habitual slaughter to improve their
condition. Mr. Brooke's sympathies have been most nobly
excited in their behalf; the protection of these unfortunate,
and, naturally, mild and gentle people, has ever been the chief
incentive in his arduous task. Under his kind and thoughtful
management we see no reason why they should not at once rise
into the state of a useful and profitable people. They are, in-
deed, more than usually wanting in any form of religion, and
this is one cause, no doubt, why they have not maintained them-
selves in greater independence ; but the deficiency, we hope,
will soon be changed into a very different aspect of affairs
through the labours of those who are now setting out on their
Christian mission.
The Malays are a different race ; they approach nearer to
our conceptions of the Asiatic character, and in their disposition
form a great contrast both with Europeans and with uncivilized
nations. They differ from the former not so much as being in
another stage of civilization for in many respects they are a
most highly sensitive and polite people but as being uncon-
scious of that idea of morals which constitutes our code of
38 Borneo.
honour and propriety. All their notions of good and evil
appear to find no parallel in our conceptions of truth. This
partly arises from their very blood, and partly from the religion
of Mahomet. Perhaps it is not too much to say that the religion
of Mahomet was a political device to satisfy the peculiar moral
deficiency which has ever existed in the Asiatic character, high-
bred and courteous as it is. Be this as it may, the want we
speak of is most apparent in the character of the Borneo
Malays. They have no conception of any restraint but absolute
and immediate fear. They have no honesty, no honour, no idea
of truth, and no principle by which they can keep their hands
from all manner of crime if they can do it with impunity. It
thus follows that those in power are extortionate and oppressive,
while those in subjection, being under the constant restraint of
''car, show indeed more of the virtues of their race, but only
I'rom the same principle which makes one cock in a farm-yard
look of an amiable disposition, whilst he is being continually
thrashed by a stronger power. Remove the bigger cock, and
the mildness of the other will soon vanish. The extraordinary
deceitfulness and cowardice of character we find so often men-
tioned in the Psalms and other parts of Scripture would appear
to have the Eastern stamp vividly marked ; not but that human
nature is the same in all ; but a certain aspect of the mind, or
a certain moral deficiency, may be peculiarly prominent in dis-
tinct races of the human family. Thus, there certainly is a
want of the virtue understood by the term generosity, in the
Eastern character. There is a disposition to exert power
according to ability, not according to right; to oppress others
whenever there is the opportunity ; in short, to act up to the
animal instinct which is observed in our former illustration from
a farm-yard. On this principle, the man who is able appro-
priates many wives, though conscious of the laws of nature
which divide the human race about equally into male and
female. Again, regal authority becomes personal despotism,
and every relation of life which places one in a position phy-
sically inferior to another is made the occasion of oppression and
cruelty. The whole Asiatic character is represented by the
i'atalist's wheel of fortune. As Heaven places one up on high
and another down below, they see no reason why its decrees
should be opposed ; they rather make it their religion to use
such exaltation with all its physical force, and flatter themselves
that when they are gratifying their own evil passions they are
but acting in accordance with the Divine will, which has given
them the opportunity of doing so. This earth appears to such
a mind as a paradise into which the tempter has not intruded :
for it is a place where every impulse it supposed to be good, and
Borneo. 39
no idea of an inward struggle between good and bad is taken into
account. Absolute and ferocious power is the consequence of
such a system of belief, and it is also the only preservative of
any human society under its influence. The relations which
subsist between sin or misfortune and the human race in its
present state, are not understood, and therefore their effects are
either rejected with unsympathizing and cruel severity, or, if
that cannot be done, are submitted to with the unprofitable
resignation of the fatalist.
We now proceed to lay before our readers a series of extracts
illustrative of the inhabitants of Borneo, and of Mr. Brooke's
manner of dealing with them. After what we have already
said, it will be unnecessary to make any but explanatory com-
ments on them.
We begin with Mr. Brooke's first introduction to Sarawak,
and his description of Muda Hassim.
' 15th. Anchored abreast of Sarawak at seven, and saluted the rajah
with twenty-one guns, which were returned with eighteen from his resi-
dence. The rajah's own brother, Pangeran Mahamraed, then saluted the
vessel with seven guns, which were returned. Having breakfasted, and
previously intimated our intention, we pulled ashore to visit the great man.
He received us in state, seated in his hall of audience, which outside is
nothing but a large shed erected on piles, but within decorated with taste.
Chairs were placed on each side of the ruler, who occupied the head seat.
Our party were placed on one hand ; on the other sat his brother
Mahammed, and Macota and some others of his principal chiefs ; whilst
immediately behind him his twelve younger brothers were seated.
' The dress of Muda Hassim was simple, but of rich material ; and most
of the principal men were well, and even superbly dressed. His counte-
nance is plain, but intelligent and highly pleasing, and his manners per-
fectly elegant and easy. His reception was kind, and, I am given to
understand, highly nattering. We sat, however, trammelled with the
formality of state, and our conversation did not extend beyond kind
inquiries and professions of friendship. We were presented with tobacco
rolled up in a leaf, each about a foot long, and tea was served by attendants
on their knees. A band played wild and not unmusical airs during the
interview, and the crowd of attendants who surrounded us were seated
in respectful silence. After a visit of half an hour, we rose and took our
leave.' Vol. i. pp. 28, &c.
The following extracts are descriptive of the Dyaks :
'September 1st. The river Lundu is of considerable breadth, about half
a mile at the mouth, and 150 or 200 yards off Tungong. Tungong stands
on the left hand (going up) close to the margin of the stream, and is
enclosed by a slight stockade. Within this defence there is one enormous
house for the whole population, and three or four small huts. The exterior
of the defence between it and the river is occupied by sheds for prahus,
and at each extremity are one or two houses belonging to Malay residents.
' The common habitation, as rude as it is enormous, measures 594 feet in
length, and the front room, or street, is the entire length of the building,
and twenty-one feet broad. The back part is divided by mat-partitions
into the private apartments of the various families, and of these there are
40 Borneo.
forty-five separate doors leading from the public apartment. The widowers
and young unmarried men occupy the public room, as only those with
wives are entitled to the advantage of separate rooms. The floor of this
edifice is raised twelve feet from the ground, and the means of ascent is by
the trunk of a tree with notches cut in it a most difficult, steep, and
auk ward ladder. In front is a terrace fifty feet broad, running partially
along the front of the building, formed, like the floors, of split bamboo.
This platform, as well as the front room, besides the regular inhabitants,
is the resort of pigs, dogs, birds, monkeys, and fowls, and presents a
glorious scene of confusion and bustle. Here the ordinary occupations of
domestic labour are carried on padi ground, mats made, &c. &c. There
were 200 men, women, and children counted in the room and in front
whilst we were there in the middle of the day ; and allowing for those
abroad and those in their own rooms, the whole community cannot be
reckoned at less than 400 souls. Overhead, about seven feet high, is a
second crazy story, on which they stow their stores of food and their im-
plements of labour and war. Along the large room are hung many cots,
four feet long, formed of the hollowed trunks of trees cut in half, which
;tn.s\ver the purpose of seats by day and beds by night. The Sibnowan
D} aks are a wild-looking but apparently quiet and inoffensive race. The
apartment of their chief, by name Sejugah, is situated nearly in the centre
of the building, and is larger than any other. In front of it nice mats were
spread on the occasion of our visit, whilst over our heads dangled about
thirty ghastly skulls, according to the custom of these people. The chief
was a man of middle age, with a mild and pleasing countenance and gentle
manners. He had around him several sons and relations, and one or two
of the leading men of his tribe ; but the rest seemed by no means to be
restrained by his presence, or to show him any particular marks of respect
certainly nothing of the servile obsequiousness observed by the Malays
before their prince. Their dress consists of a single strip of cloth round
the loins, with the ends hanging down before and behind, and a light
turban, composed of the bark of trees twined round the head, and so
arranged that the front is stuck up somewhat resembling a short plume of
feathers.
' Their figures are almost universally well-made, showing great activity
without great muscular development; but their stature is diminutive, as
will be seen by the following measurements, taken at random amongst
them, and confirmed by general observation.' Vol. i. pp. 51, &c.
' Like the rest of the Dyaks, the Sibnowans adorn their houses with the
heads of their enemies ; but with them this custom exists in a modified
form ; and I am led to hope, that the statements already made public of
their reckless search after human beings, merely for the purpose of obtain-
ing their heads, will be found to be exaggerated, if not untrue ; and that
the custom elsewhere, as here and at Lundu, will be found to be more
accordant with our knowledge of other wild tribes, and to be regarded
merely as a triumphant token of valour in the fight or ambush ; similar,
indeed, to the scalps of the North American Indian.
' Some thirty skulls were hanging from the roof of the apartment ; and I
was informed that they had many more in their possession ; all, however,
the heads of enemies, chiefly of the tribe of Sarebus. On inquiring, I was
told, that it is indispensably necessary a young man should procure a skull
before he gets married. When I urged on them, that the custom would be
more honoured in the breach than in the observance, they replied, that it
was established from time immemorial, and could not be dispensed with.
Subsequently, however, Sejugah allowed that heads were very difficult to
obtain now, and a young man might sometimes get married by giving
presents to his ladye-love's parents. At all times they warmly denied ever
Borneo. 4 1
obtaining any heads but those of their enemies ; adding, they were bad
people, and deserved to die.
' I asked a young unmarried man whether he would be obliged to get
a head before he could obtain a wife. He replied, " Yes." " When would
he et one?" "Soon." " Where would he go to get one?" "To the
Sarebus river." I mention these particulars in detail, as I think, had their
practice extended to taking the head of any defenceless traveller, or any
Malay surprised in his dwelling or boat, I should have wormed the secret
out of them.
'The men of this tribe marry but one wife, and that not until they have
attained the age of seventeen or eighteen. Their wedding-ceremony is
curious ; and, as related, is performed by the bride and bridegroom being
brought in procession along the large room, where a brace of fowls is
placed over the bridegroom's neck, which he whirls seven times round his
head. The fowls are then killed, and their blood sprinkled on the forehead
of the pair, which done they are cooked, and eaten by the new-married
couple alone, while the rest feast and drink during the whole night.
' Their dead are put in a coffin, and buried ; but Sejugah informed me
that the different tribes vary in this particular ; and it would appear they
differ from their near neighbours the Dyaks of Lundu.
' Like these neighbours, too, the Sibnowans seem to have little or no
idea of a God. They offer prayers to Biedum, the great Dyak chief of
former days. Priests and ceremonies they have none ; the thickest mist of
darkness is over them : but how much easier is it to dispel darkness with
light, than to overcome the false blaze with the rays of truth ! ' Vol. i.
pp. 55, &c.
' The laoour of the house, and all the drudgery, falls on the females.
They grind the rice, carry burdens, fetch water, fish, and work in the
fields ; but though on a par with other savages in this respect, they have
many advantages. They are not immured; they eat in company with the
males ; and, in most points, hold the same position towards their husbands
and children as European women. The children are entirely naked ; and
the only peculiarity I observed is filing their teeth to a sharp point like
those of a shark. The men marry but one wife, as I have before observed.
Concubinage is unknown ; and cases of seduction or adultery very seldom
arise. Even the Malays speak highly of the chastity of the Dyak women ;
yet they are by no means shy under the gaze of strangers, and used to
bathe before us in a state of nudity.
' That these Dyaks are in a low condition there is no doubt ; but com-
paratively theirs is an innocent state, and I consider them capable of being
easily raised in the scale of society. The absence of all prejudice regarding
diet, the simplicity of their characters, the purity of their morals, and their
present ignorance of all forms of worship and all idea of future responsi-
bility, render them open to conviction of truth and religious impression.
Yet when I say this, I mean, of course, only when their minds shall have
been raised by education ; for without previous culture, I reckon the
labours of the missionary as useless as endeavouring to read off a blank
paper. I doubt not but the Sibnowan Dyaks would readily receive
missionary families amongst them, provided the consent of the Rajah
Muda Hassim was previously obtained. That the rajah would consent, I
much doubt ; but if any person chose to reside at Tungong for the charita-
ble purpose of leading the tribe gradually, by means of education, to the
threshold of Christianity, it would be worth the asking, and I would exert
what influence I possess with him on the occasion. I feel sure a missionary
would be safe amongst them as long as he strictly confined himself to the
gentle precepts and practice of his faith ; he would live abundantly and
cheaply, and be exposed to no danger except from the incursion of hostile
42 Borneo.
tribes, which must always be looked for by a sojourner amid a Dyak
community.' Vol. i. pp. 59, &c.
' The musical instruments were the tomtom, or drum, and the Malayan
gong ; which were beat either slow or fast, according to the measure of
the dance. The dances are highly interesting, more especially from their
close resemblance, if not identity, with those of the South Sea Islanders.
Two swords were placed on the mat, and two men commenced slowly from
the opposite extremities, turning the body, extending the arms, and lifting
the legs, in grotesque but not ungraceful attitudes. Approaching thus
leisurely round and round about, they at length seize the swords, the
music plays a brisker measure, and the dancers pass and repass each other,
now cutting, now crossing swords, retiring and advancing ; one kneeling as
though to defend himself from the assaults of his adversary, at times
stealthily waiting for an advantage, and quickly availing himself of it. The
measure throughout was admirably kept, and the 'frequent turns were
simultaneously made by both dancers, accompanied by the same eccentric
gestures. The effect of all this far surpasses the impression to be made by
a meagre description. The room partially lighted by damar torches the
clang of the noisy instruments the crowd of wild spectators their screams
of encouragement to the performers the flowing hair and rapid evolutions
of the dancers, formed a scene I wish could have been reduced to painting
by such a master as Rembrandt or Caravaggio.' Vol. i. pp. 63, &c.
' The Dyaks, as is well known, are famous for the manufacture of iron.
The forge here is of the simplest construction, and formed by two hollow
trees, each about seven feet high, placed upright, side by side, in the
ground ; from the lower extremity of these, two pipes of bamboo are led
through a clay-bank, three inches thick, into a charcoal-fire ; a man is
perched at the top of the trees, and pumps with two pistons (the suckers
of which are made of cocks' feathers), which being raised and depressed
alternately, blow a regular stream of air into the fire. Drawings were
taken of these, and other utensils and instruments.' Vol. i. pp. 65, &c.
We now give a few warlike scenes at which Mr. Brooke was
present in assisting Muda Hassim against the rebels of the inte-
rior. We trust that, under his government, the f grand army '
of Sarawak will be more valiant than heretofore.
The Borneons, in fighting, wear a quilted jacket or spencer, which
reaches over the hips, and from its size has a most unservicelike ap-
pearance : the bare legs and arms sticking out from under this puffed-
out coat, like the sticks which support the garments of a scarecrow.
Such was our incongruous and most inefficient army ; yet with 300 men
who would fight, nothing would have been easier than to take the detached
defences of the enemy, none of which could contain above thirty or forty
men. But our allies seemed to have little idea of fighting except behind a
wall ; and my proposal to attack the adversary was immediately treated as
an extreme of rashness amounting to insanity. At a council of war it was
consequently decided that advances should be made from the hill behind
our fort to Balidah, by a chain of posts, the distance being a short mile, in
which space they would probably erect four or five forts ; and then would
come a bombardment, noisy but harmless.
' During the day we were not left quiet. The beating of gongs, shouts,
and an occasional shot, gave life to the scene. With my glass I could espy
our forces at the top of the hill, pleased no doubt to see us coming to their
support. At night loud shouts and firing from the rebels caused us to
prepare for an attack ; but it proved to be nothing but lights moving about
Borneo. 43
tlic bill-side, with what intent we were ignorant. The jungle on the left
bank having been cleared, we did not much expect any skirmishers ; but
some spies were heard near our boats. With this exception the night
passed away unbroken on our part, though the rebels kept up an incessant
beating of gongs, and from time to time fired a few stray shots, whether
against an enemy or not was doubtful.
' 2i)lh. The grand army was lazy, and did not take the field when they
possessed themselves of two eminences, and commenced forts on each.
About eleven A.M. we got intelligence that the enemy was collecting on the
right bank, as they had been heard by our scouts shouting one to another
to gather together in order to attack the stockades in the course of build-
ing. Even with a knowledge of their usual want of caution, I could not
believe this, but walked nevertheless to one of the forts, and had scarcely
reached it when a universal rebel shout, and a simultaneous beating of the
silver-tongued gongs, announced, as I thought, a general action. But
though the shouts continued loud and furious from both sides, and a gun
or two was discharged in air to refresh their courage, the enemy did not
attack, and a heavy shower damped the ardour of the approaching armies,
and reduced all to inaction. Like the heroes of old, however, the adverse
parties spoke to each other: "We are coming, we are coming," exclaimed
the rebels ; " lay aside your muskets, and fight us with swords." " Come
on," was the reply ; " we are building a stockade, and want to fight you."
And so the heroes ceased not to talk, but forgot to fight, except that the
rebels opened a fire from Balidah from swivels, all of which went over the
tops of the trees. Peace, or rather rest, being restored, our party suc-
ceeded in entrenching themselves, and thus gained a field which had been
obstinately assaulted by big words and loud cries. The distance of one
fort from Balidah was about 800 yards, and manned with sixty Malays ;
whilst a party of Chinese garrisoned the other. Evening fell upon this
innocent warfare. The Borneons, in this manner, contend with vociferous-
shouts ; and, preceding each shout, the leader of the party offers up a
prayer aloud to the Almighty, the chorus (or properly response) being the
acclamation of the soldiery. We, on our side, kept up a firing and hallooing
till midnight, to disguise the advance of a party who were to seize and
build a stockade within a shorter distance of Balidah. When they reached
the spot, however, the night being dark, the troops sleepy, and the leaders
of different opinions, they returned without effecting any thing.' Vol. i.
pp. 156, &c.
' 26/A I must here pause in my account of this extraordinary and novel
contest, briefly to describe the general appearance of the country.
' It is one delightful to look upon, combining all the requisites of the
picturesque, viz., wood, water, mountain, cliff, and a foreground gently
undulating, partially cultivated, and of the richest soil. The mountain of
Sarambo, about 3000 feet in height, is the principal feature in the scene,
situated at a short distance from the left bank of the river. The remainder
of the ground slopes gradually ; and the town of Siniawan, likewise on the
left bank, is close to the w r ater, and at the foot of the eminence called
Gunga Kumiel.
' The advance of the party last night was, as I have said, disguised by
firing-, drumming, and shouting from the fleet and forts ; and, in the deep
stillness of the fine night, the booming of the guns, the clamour of the
gongs, and the outcries raised from time to time, came on our ears like the
spirit of discord breaking loose on a fair and peaceful paradise. About one
o'clock the noises died away, and I enjoyed as quiet a slumber till daylight
as though pillowed on a bed of down in the heart of Old England. About
six I visited the three forts. The Chinese, Malays, and Dyaks were taking
their morning meal, consisting of half a cocoa-nut-shell full of boiled rice
44 Borneo.
with salt. The Dyaks were served in tribes ; for as many of them are at
war, it is necessary to keep them separate ; and though they will not fight
the enemy, they would have no objection to fall out with one another, and
the slightest cause might give rise to an instant renewal of hostilities.'
Vol. i. pp. 160, &c.
A most favourable opportunity at length occurred for a
spirited assault, but any dashing style of warfare never seems to
have been consistent with their notions of discretion.
' The enemy dared not show themselves for the fire of the grape and
canister, and nothing could have been easier ; but my proposition caused
a commotion which it is difficult to forget, and more difficult to describe.
The Chinese consented, and Macota, the commander-in-chief, was willing ;
but his inferiors were backward, and there arose a scene which showed
me the frill violence of the Malay passions, and their infuriated madness
when once roused. Pangeran Houseman urged with energy the advantage
of the proposal, and in the course of a speech lashed himself to a state
of fury ; he jumped to his feet, and with demoniac gestures stamped round
and round, dancing a war-dance after the most approved fashion ; his coun-
tenance grew livid, his eyes glared, his features inflamed ; and, for my
part, not being able to interpret the torrent of his oratory, I thought the
man possessed of a devil, or about to "run a-muck." But after a minute
or two of this dance, he resumed his seat, furious and panting, but silent.
In reply, Subtu urged some objections to my plan, which was warmly
supported by Illudeen, who apparently hurt Subtu's feelings; for the in-
dolent, the placid Subtu leapt from his seat, seized his spear, and rushed
to the entrance of the stockade, with his passions and his pride despe-
rately aroused. I never saw finer action than when, with spear in hand,
pointing to the enemy's fort, he challenged any one to rush on with him.
Houseman and Surradeen (the bravest of the brave) like madmen seized
their swords to inflame the courage of the rest it was a scene of fiends
but in vain ; for though they appeared ready enough to quarrel and fight
amongst themselves, there was no move to attack the enemy. All was
confusion ; the demon of discord and madness was amongst them, and I was
glad to see them cool down, when the dissentients to the assault proposed
making a round to-night and attacking to-morrow. In the mean time our
six-pounders were ready in battery, and it is certain the assailants might
walk nearly to the fort without any of the rebels daring to show themselves
in opposition to our fire.
' Nov. 1st. The guns were ready to open their fiery mouths, and their
masters ready to attend on them ; but both had to wait till mid-day, when
the chiefs of the grand army, having sufficiently slept, breakfasted, and
bathed, lounged up with their straggling followers. Shortly after daylight
the forts are nearly deserted of their garrisons, who go down at the time to
the water more like a flock of geese than warriors. The instant the main
division and head quarters of the army arrived at the battery, I renewed
my proposal for an assault, which was variously received. If the Malays
would go, the Chinese agreed ; but the Malays had grown colder and
colder. In order to encourage them, I opened a fire to show the effect of
our guns; and having got a good range, every ball, as well as grape and
canister, rattled against and through the wood. I then urged them again
and again, but in vain ; that coward Panglima Rajah displayed that dogged
resolution which is invincible an invincible resolution to do nothing ; and
the cold damp looks of the others at once told the amount of their bravery !
A council of war was called grave faces covered timid hearts and fainting
spirits. The Chinese contended, with justice, that in fairness they could not
Borneo. 45
be expected to assault unless the Malays did the same ; Abong Mia was not
brave enough. The Datu agreed, and Panglima delivered himself of a wise
harangue, to the effect that, " the last campaign, when they had a fort, how
had the enemy fired then ? stabbed them, speared them, &c. &c. ; and
without a fort, assaulting ! how could it be expected they should succeed ?
how unreasonable they should go at all ! " But even his stolid head
seemed to comprehend the sarcasm when I asked him how many men had
been killed during all this severe fighting? However, it was clear that
it was no battle. We were all very savage, and I intimated how useless
my being with them was, if they intended to play instead of fight. " What,"
I asked, "if you will not attack, are you going to do?" Oh, the wise
counsels of these wise heads ! Abong Mia proposed erecting a fort iu a tree,
and thence going " puff, puff," down into Balidah, accompanying the words
"puff, puff," with expressive gestures of firing; but it was objected, that
trees were scarce, and the enemy might cut down the tree, fort and all.'
Vol. i. p. 166, &c.
A striking feature in the state of the island has been said to
be the oppressive and cruel treatment of the Dyaks by the
Malays. A few extracts with reference to this subject will be
convincing of the truth of this charge. The first is the story of
Si Tundo.
' Si Tundo fell in love with a woman belonging to an adopted son of
Macota ; and the passion being mutual, the lady eloped from her master,
and went to her lover's house. This being discovered in a short time, he
was ordered to surrender her to Macota, which he reluctantly did, on an
understanding that he was to be allowed to marry her on giving a proper
dowry. Either not being able to procure the money, or the terms not
being kept, Si Tundo and a relation (who had left the pirate fleet and re-
sided with him) mounted to Macota's hill, and threatened to take the
woman and to burn the house. The village, however, being roused, they
were unable to effect their purpose, and retired to their own residence.
Here they remained for some days in a state of incessant watchfulness, and
when they moved, they each carrried their kempilan, and wore the krisses
ready to the hand. The Rajah Muda Hassim, being well aware of the state
of things, sent at this crisis to order Si Tundo and his friend to his presence ;
which order they obeyed forthwith, and entered the balei, or audience-hall,
which was full of their enemies. According to Muda Hassim's account, he
was anxious to save Si Tundo's life, and offered him another wife ; but his
affections being fixed on the girl of his own choice, he rejected the offer,
only praying he might have the woman he loved. On entering the presence
of the rajah, surrounded by foes, and dreading treachery (which most
probably was intended), these unfortunate men added to their previous
fault by one which, however slight in European estimation, is here of an
aggravated nature, they entered the presence with their kempilans in their
hands, and their sarongs clear of the kris-handle ; and instead of seating
themselves cross-legged, they only squatted on their hams, ready for self-
defence. From that hour their doom was resolved on : the crime of disre-
spect was deemed worthy of death, though their previous crime of
abduction and violence might have obtained pardon. It was no easy
matter, however, among an abject and timid population, to find execu-
tioners of the sentence against two brave and warlike men, well armed and
watchful, and who, it was well known, would sell their lives dearly ; and the
subsequent proceeding is, as already observed, curiously characteristic of
the people, and the deep disguise they can assume to attain their purposes.
46 Borneo.
It was intimated to Si Tundo, that if he could raise a certain sum of money,
the woman should be made over to him ; and to render this the more
probable, the affair was taken out of Macota's hands, and placed at the
decision of the Orang Kaya de Gadong, who was friendly to the offenders,
but who received his private orders how to act. Four men were appointed
to watch their opportunity, in order to seize the culprits. It is not to be
imagined, however, that a native would trust or believe the friendly
assurances held out to him ; nor was it so in the case of Si Tundo and his
companion ; they attended at the Orang Kaya de Gadong's house fre-
quently for weeks, with the same precautions, and it was found impossible
to overpower them; but the deceit of their enemies was equal to the occa-
sion, and delay brought no change of purpose. They were to die, and
opportunity alone was wanting to carry the sentence into effect. Time
passed over, suspicion was lulled ; and as suspicion was lulled, the pro-
fessions to serve them became more frequent. Poor Si Tundo brought all
his little property to make good the price required for the woman, and his
friend added his share ; but it was still far short of the required amount.
Hopes, however, were still held out; the Orang Kaya advanced a small
sum to assist, and other pretended friends slowly and reluctantly, at his re-
quest, lent a little money. The negotiation was nearly complete ; forty or
fifty reals only were wanting, and the opposite party were ready to deliver
the lady whenever the sum was made good. A final conference was
appointed for the conclusion of the bargain at the Oraug Kaya's, at which
numbers were present ; and the devoted victims, lulled into fatal security,
had ceased to bring their formidable kempilans. At the last interview the
forty reals being still deficient, the Orang Kaya proposed receiving their
gold-mounted krisses in pledge for the amount. The krisses were given up,
and the bargain was complete ; when the four executioners threw them-
selves on the unarmed men, and, assisted by others, overpowered and
secured them. Si Tundo, wounded in the scuffle, and bound, surrounded
by enemies nourishing their krisses, remarked, " You have taken me
by treachery ; openly you could not have seized me." He spoke no
more. They triumphed over and insulted him, as though some great feat
had been achieved ; and every kris was plunged into his body, which was
afterwards cast, without burial, into the river. Si Tundo's relation was
spared on pleading for mercy ; and after his whole property, even to his
clothes, was confiscated, he was allowed to retire to Sadung. Thus perished
poor Si Tundo, a Magindano pirate, with many, if not all, the vices of the
native character ; but with boldness, courage, and constancy, which re-
trieved his faults, and raised him in the estimation of brave men. In person
he was tall, elegantly made, with small and handsome features, and quiet
and graceful manners ; but towards the Malays even of rank, there was in
his bearing a suppressed contempt which they often felt, but could not well
resent. Alas, my gallant comrade ! I mourn your death, and could have
better spared a better man ; for as long as you lived, I had one faithful
follower of tried courage, amongst the natives. Peace be with you in the
world to come; and may the Great God pardon your sins and judge you
mercifully.' Vol. i. pp. 202, Src.
The following is an account of a robbery committed by
Macota's followers :
' They beat the old man, threw him into the water, and robbed him of a tael
of gold. The beating and attempt at drowning were certain ; for the Chinese
hadji was so ill for several days under my care, that he was in considerable
danger. He complained to me loudly of Macota ; and from other sources I
gained a pretty accurate account of that gentleman's proceedings. By threats,
Borneo. 47
by intrigue, by falsehood, and even by violence, he had prevented or driven
all persons from daring to visit or come near me whether abroad or ashore.
He was taxing the poor Uyaks, harassing the Siniawans, and leagued with
the Borneo pangerans to plunder and get all he possibly could. Every
Dyak community was watched by his followers, and a spear raised opposite
the chief's house, to intimate that no person was to trade or barter except
the pangeran. The mode of plunder is thus perpetrated. Rice, clothes,
gongs, and other articles are sent to a tribe at a fixed price, which the Dyaks
dare not refuse, for it is at the risk of losing their children ! The prices
thus demanded by Macota were as follows : one gantong of rice for thirty
birds'-nests. Twenty-four gantongs here is equal to a pecul of rice a pecul
of rice costs one dollar and a half, whereas thirty birds'-nests weigh one
catty, and are valued at two rupees ; so that the twenty-fourth part of one
and a half dollars is sold for two rupees ! Was it surprising that these peo-
ple were poor and wretched ? My astonishment was, that they continued
to labour, and indeed nothing but their being a surprisingly industrious
race can account for it ; and they are only enabled to live at all by secret-
ing a portion of their food. Yet war and bad government, or rather uo
government, have had the effect of driving more than half the Dyak tribes
beyond the limits of Sarawak.
' The rapacity of these Malays is as unbounded as it is short-sighted ;
for one would think that the slightest degree of common sense would in-
duce some of the chiefs to allow no one to plunder except themselves. But
this is so far from being the case, that when their demand has been enforced,
dozens of inferior wretches extort and plunder in turn, each according to his
ability ; and though the Dyak is not wanting in obstinacy, he can seldom
withstand these robberies; for each levy is made in the name of the rajah,
or some principal pangeran ; and the threat of bringing the powerful tribe
of Sakarrans or Sarebus to deprive them of their heads, and wives and
families, generally reduces them to obedience. Whilst on this subject, I
may as well mention a fact that came later to my knowledge, when several
of the Dyak chiefs, and one of particular intelligence, Si Meta by name,
assured me that each family paid direct revenue from thirty to fifty pasus
(tubs) of padi, besides all the other produces, which are extorted at merely
nominal prices.' Vol. i. pp. 245, &c.
Another most shameful mode of exaction and tyranny is also
practised.
' It consists in lending small sums of money to the natives (that is,
Sarawak people), and demanding interest at the rate of fifty per cent, per
month ; by this means a small sum is quickly converted into oue which is
quite out of the power of the poor man to pay ; and he, his w ife, and
children, are taken to the house of the creditor to work for him, whilst
the debt still accumulates, and the labour is endless. I intend to strike
at this slavery in disguise, but not just yet ; the suppression of robbery,
the criminal department of justice, being more immediately important.'
Vol. i. pp. 279, &c.
' The government of the Dyaks I have already detailed ; and though we
might hope that in a more settled state of things they would have been
more secure from foreign pillage, yet they were annually deprived of the
proceeds of their labour, debarred from trade, and deprived of every motive
to encourage industry. The character of their rulers for humanity alone
fixed the measure of their suffering, and bad was the best ; but it seems to
be a maxim amongst all classes of Malays, that force alone can keep the
Dyaks in proper subjection ; which is so far true, that force alone, and the
hopelessness of resistance, could induce a wild people to part \vith the
48 Borneo.
food on which they depend for subsistence. At a distance I have heard of
and pitied the sufferings of the negroes and the races of New Holland
yet it was the cold feeling dictated by reason and humanity ; but now, hav-
ing witnessed the miseries of a race superior to either, the feeling glows
with the fervour of personal commiseration : so true is it that visible misery
will raise us to exertion, which the picture, however powerfully delineated,
can never produce. The thousands daily knelled out of the world, who lie
in gorgeous sepulchres, or rot unburied on the surface of the earth, excite
no emotion compared to that conjured up by the meanest dead at our feet.
We read of tens of thousands killed and wounded in battle, and the glory
of their deeds, or the sense of their defeat, attracts our sympathy ; but if a
single mangled warrior, ghastly with wounds and writhing with pain,
solicited our aid, we should deplore his fate with tenfold emotion, and curse
the strife which led to such a result. Among the thousands starving for
want of food we trouble not ourselves to seek one ; but if the object is pre-
sented before our eyes, how certain a compassion is aroused ! To assist is
a duty ; but in the performance of this duty, to be gentle and feeling is
godlike, and probably, between individuals, there is no greater distinction
than in this tender sympathy towards distress. Poor, poor Dyaks ! exposed
to starvation, slavery, death ! you may well raise the warmest feelings of
compassion enthusiasm awakes at witnessing your sufferings ! To save
men from death has its merit ; but to alleviate suffering, to ameliorate all
the ills of slavery, to protect these tribes from pillage and yearly scarcity,
is far nobler ; and if, in the endeavour to do so, one poor life is sacrificed,
how little is it in the vast amount of human existence ! ' Vol. i. pp.
270, &c.
Mr. Brooke is anxious, in the later portions of his journal, to
give as favourable an idea as possible of the Malay character ;
and he states his opinion, that the prejudice against them is
founded more on the character of the rajahs and their depend-
ants than on the mass. We strongly suspect, however, that
whoever was rajah (of course excepting the present Rajah of
Sarawak) the result would be the same.
' 28th. How is it to be accounted for that the Malays have so bad a
character with the public, and yet that the few who have had opportunities
of knowing them well speak of them as a simple and not unamiable people?
With the vulgar, the idea of a Malay and by the Malay they mean the
entire Polynesian race, with the exception of the Javanese is that of a
treacherous, bloodthirsty villain ; and I believe the reason to be, that from
our first intercourse to the present time, it is the pangerans or rajahs of
the country, with their followers, who are made the standard of Malay
character. These rajahs, born in the purple, bred amid slaves and
fighting-cocks, inheriting an undisputed power over their subjects, and
under all circumstances, whether of riches or poverty, receiving the abject
submission of those around their persons, are naturally the slaves of their
passions haughty, rapacious, vindictive, weak, and tenacious unto death
of the paltry punctilio of their court The followers of such rajahs it is
needless to describe; they are the tools of the rajah's will, and more
readily disposed for evil than for good ; unscrupulous, cunning, intriguing,
they are prepared for any act of violence. We must next contrast these
with a burly, independent trader, eager after gain, probably not over-
scrupulous about the means of obtaining it, ignorant of native character,
and heedless of native customs and native etiquette. The result of such a
Borneo. 49
combination of ingredients causes an explosion on the slightest occasion.
The European is loud, contemptuous, and abusive ; the Malay cool and
vindictive. The regal dignity has been insulted ; the rajah has received
"shame" before his court; evil counsellors are at hand to whisper the
facility of revenge, and the advantages to be derived from it. The conse-
quence too frequently follows the captain and crew are krissed, and their
vessel seized and appropriated. The repeated tragedy shocks the European
mind ; and the Malay has received, and continues to this day to receive, a
character for treachery and bloodthirstiness. Even in these common cases
an allowance must be made for the insults received, which doubtless on
numerous occasions were very gross, and such flagrant violations of native
customs as to merit death in native eyes ; and we must bear in mind, that
we never hear but one side of the tale, or only judge upon a bloody fact.
It is from such samples of Malays that the general character is given by
those who have only the limited means of trade for forming a judgment ;
but those who have known the people of the interior and lived amongst
them, far removed from the influence of their rajahs, have given them a
very different character. Simple in their habits, they are neither treacherous
nor bloodthirsty ; cheerful, polite, hospitable, gentle in their manners, they
live in communities with fewer crimes and fewer punishments than most
other people of the globe. They are passionately fond of their children,
and indulgent even to a fault ; and the ties of family relationship and good
feeling continue in force for several generations. The feeling of the Malay,
fostered by education, is acute, and his passions are roused if shame be put
upon him ; indeed, this dread of shame amounts to a disease ; and the evil
is, that it has taken a wrong direction, being more the dread of exposure
or abuse, than shame or contrition for any offence.
' I have always found them good-tempered and obliging, wonderfully
amenable to authority, and quite as sensible of benefits conferred, and as
grateful, as other people of more favoured countries. Of course there is a
reverse to this picture. The worst featun^ of the Malay character is the
want of all candour or openness, and the restless spirit of cunning intrigue
which animates them, from the highest to the lowest. Like other Asiatics,
truth is a rare quality amongst them. They are superstitious, somewhat
inclined to deceit in the ordinary concerns of life, and they have neither
principle nor conscience when they have the means of oppressing an infidel,
and a Dyak who is their inferior in civilization and intellect.
' If this character of the Malay he summed up, it will be anything but a
bad one on the whole ; it will present a striking contrast to the conduct
and character of the rajahs and their followers, and I think will convince
any impartial inquirer, that it is easily susceptible of improvement. One
of the most fertile sources of confusion is, classing at one time all the
various nations of the Archipelago under the general name of Malay, and
at another restricting the same term to one people, not more ancient, not
the fountain-head of the others, who issued i'rom the centre of Sumatra,
and spread themselves in a lew parts of the Archipelago.' Vol. ii.
pp. 129, &c.
No small portion of our work is devoted to the subject of the
pirates who infest every river, and bring terror to every quiet
inhabitant of the island. These are composed chiefly of certain
tribes of Dyaks, deriving their name from the river where they
emerge on their pestilential errands. They differ very much in
their equipments, and in the field of their exertions. Some
keep close to shore, and commit depredations on the small craft
NO. LIX. N. S. E
50 Borneo.
of the coast, or on the villages adjoining ; others, better armed,
venture out far to sea, and attack ships laden with merchandise ;
while some are strangely in league with the Malay authorities,
who, in the tender care they exercise over those their subjects,
will sometimes admit these pirates up the rivers, on the condi-
tion of sharing the spoil. As this part of the population will,
however, soon meet with a serious check to their operations, if
they have not done so already, from the severe lessons which
have been taught some of their number, we hope that they will
remain only in history ; and as we are not inclined to invest
their memory with any cloak of romance, as is often the case
with celebrated robbers, we will content ourselves with giving
an extract or two descriptive of their signal discomfiture at the
hands of Captain Keppel and the gallant crew of the ' Dido.'
' June 1 Ith. We moved on immediately after the passing up of the bore,
the dangers of which appeared to have been greatly exaggerated. The
beating of gongs and discharge of cannon had been going on the whole of the
previous night.
' The scenery improved in beauty every yard that we advanced ; but our
attention was drawn from it by the increase of yelling as we approached
the scene of action. Although as yet we had only heard our enemies, our
rapid advance with a strong tide must have been seen by them from the
jungle on the various hills which now rose to our view.
'Being in my gig, somewhat ahead of the boats, I had the advantage of
observing all that occurred. The scene was the most exciting I ever
experienced. We had no time for delay or consideration : the tide was
sweeping us rapidly up ; and had we been inclined to retreat then, we
should have found it difficult. A sudden turn in the river brought U3
(Mr. Brooke was by my side) in front of a steep hill which rose from the
bank. It had been cleared of jungle, and long grass grew in its place. As
we hove in sight, several hundred savages rose up, and gave one of their
war-yells : it was the first I had heard. No report from musketry or
ordnance could ever make a man's heart feel so small as mine did at that
horrid yell : but I had no leisure to think. I had only time for a shot at
them with my double-barrel as they rushed down the steep, whilst I was
carried past. I soon after heard the report of our large boat's heavy gun,
which must have convinced them that we likewise were prepared.
' On the roof of a long building, on the summit of the hill, were several
warriors performing a war-dance, which it would be difficult to imitate on
such a stage. As these were not the forts we were in search of, we did
not delay longer than to exchange a few shots in sweeping along.
' Our next obstacle was more troublesome, being a strong barrier right
across the river, formed of two rows of trees placed firmly in the mud, with
their tops crossed and secured together by rattans ; and along the fork,
formed by the crossing of the tops of these stakes, were other trees firmly
secured. Rapidly approaching this barrier, I observed a small opening
that might probably admit of a canoe ; and gathering good way, and
putting my gig's head straight at it, I squeezed through. On passing it
the scene again changed, and I had before me three formidable-looking
forts, which lost not a moment in opening a discharge of cannon on my
unfortunate gig. Luckily their guns were properly elevated for the range
of the barrier ; and, with the exception of a few straggling grape-shot that
splashed the water round us, the whole went over our heads. For a
Borneo. 51
moment I found myself cut off from my companions, and drifting fast upon
the enemy. The banks of the river were covered with warriors, yelling
and rushing down to possess themselves of my boat and its crew. I had
some difficulty in getting my long gig round, and paddling up against the
stream ; but while my friend Brooke steered the boat, my coxswain and
myself kept up a fire, with tolerable aim, on the embrasures, to prevent, if
possible, their reloading before the pinnace, our leading boat, could bring
her twelve-pound carronade to bear. I was too late to prevent the pinnace
falling athwart the barrier, in which position she had three men wounded.
With the assistance of some of our native followers, the rattan-lashings
which secured the heads of the stakes were soon cut through ; and I was
not sorry when I found the 'Dido's' first cutter on the same side with myself.
The other boats soon followed ; and while the pinnace kept up a destructive
fire on the fort, Mr. D'Aeth, who was the first to land, jumped on shore,
with his crew, at the foot of the hill on the top of which the nearest fort
stood, and at once rushed for the summit. This mode of warfare this
dashing at once in the very face of their fort was so novel and incompre-
hensible to our enemies, that they fled, panic-struck, into the jungle ; and
it was with the greatest difficulty that our leading men could get even a
snap-shot at the rascals as they went.' Vol. ii. pp. 48, &c.
' To the left of our position, and about 200 yards up the river, large
trees were being felled during the night ; and by the torch-lights showing
the spot, the officer of the boat, Mr. Partridge, kept up a very fair ball-
practice with the pinnace's gun. Towards morning a shot fell apparently
just where they were at work ; and that being accompanied by what we
afterwards ascertained caused more horror and consternation among the
enemy than any thing else, a common signal sky-rocket, made them resign
the ground entirely to us. The last shot, too, that was fired from the pin-
nace had killed three men.' Vol. ii. p. 58.
A truce being at length declared, Mr. Brooke made the best
use of the influence which their victory had given him.
1 He fully explained that our invasion of their country, and destruction
of their forts and town, was not for the purpose of pillage or gain to our-
selves, but as a punishment for their repeated and aggravated acts of
piracy ; that they had been fully warned, for two years before, that the
British nation would no longer allow the native trade between the adjacent
islands and Singapore to be cut off and plundered, and the crews of the
vessels cruelly put to death, as they had been.
' They were very humble and submissive ; admitted that their lives were
forfeited ; and if we said they were to die, they were prepared, although,
they explained, they were equally willing to live. They promised to
refrain for ever from piracy, and offered hostages for their good behaviour.
'Mr. Brooke then explained how much more advantageous trade would
be than piracy, and invited them to a further conference at Sarawak, where
they might witness all the blessings resulting from the line of conduct he
had advised them to follow. If, on the other hand, we heard of a single
act of piracy being committed by them, their country should be again
invaded and occupied ; and their enemies, the whole tribe of Linga Dyaks,
let loose upon them, until they were rooted out and utterly destroyed.'
Vol. ii. pp. 60, &c.
The following attack on Patusen is of the same character:
' We now collected our boats, and made our arrangements as well as we
could, for attacking a place we had not yet seen. We had now a little more
difficulty in keeping our native force back, as many of those who had
E2
52 Borneo.
accompanied the expedition last year had gained so much confidence that
the desire of plunder exceeded the feeling of fear.
' After weighing at eleven, with a strong tide sweeping us up, we were
not many minutes in coming in sight of the fortifications of Patusen ;
and indeed they were not to be despised. There were five of them,
two not quite finished. Getting suddenly into six-feet water, we anchored
the steamer ; not so formidable a berth, although well within musket-
range, as we might have taken up had I been aware of the increasing
depth of water nearer the town ; but we approached so rapidly there was
no time to wait the interpretation of the pilot's information.
'The Dido' and 'Phlegethon's' boats were not long in forming alongside.
They were directed to pull in shore, and then attack the forts in succes-
sion ; but my gallant first-lieutenant, Wade, who had the command, was
the first to break the line, and pull directly in the face of the largest fort.
His example was followed by the others ; and dividing, each boat pulled
for that which appeared to the officer in command to be the one most
likely to make a good fight. The forts were the first to open fire on both
steamer and boats, which was quickly and smartly returned. It is im-
possible to imagine a prettier sight than it was from the top of the
' Phlegethon's' paddle-box. It was my intention to have fired on the enemy
from the steamer, so as to draw their attention off the boats ; but owing to
the defective state of the detonating priming-tubes, the guns from the
vessel did^not go off, and the boats had all the glory to themselves.
' They never once checked in their advance ; but the moment they
touched the shore the crews rushed up, entering the forts at the embra-
sures, while the pirates fled by the rear.
' In this sharp and short affair we had but one man killed, poor John
Ellis, a fine young man. and captain of the main-top in the 'Dido.' He was
cut in two by a cannon-shot while in the act of ramming home a cartridge
in the bow-gun of the 'Jolly Bachelor.' Standing close to poor Ellis at the
fatal moment was a fine promising young middy, Charles Johnson, a
nephew of Mr. Brooke's, who fortunately escaped unhurt. This, and two
others badly wounded, were the only accidents on our side.
' Our native allies were not long in following our men on shore. The
killed and wounded on the part of the pirates must have been considerable.
Our followers got several heads. There were no fewer than sixty-four
brass guns of different sizes, besides many iron, found in and about the
forts : the latter we spiked and threw into the river. The town was very
extensive ; and after being well looted, made a glorious blaze.' Vol. ii.
pp. 88, &c.
Considerable peril was incurred in these expeditions.
'As yet the banks of the river had been a continued garden, with sugar-
cane plantations and banana-trees in abundance. As we advanced, the
scenery assiimed a wilder and still more beautiful appearance, presenting
high steep points, with large overhanging trees, and occasionally forming
into pretty picturesque bays, with sloping banks. At other times we ap-
proached narrow gorges, looking so dark that, until past, you almost
doubted there being a passage through. We were in hopes that this morn-
ing we should have reached their capital, a place called Karangan, supposed
to be about ten miles further on. At nine o'clock Mr. Brooke, who was
with me in the gig, stopped to breakfast with young Jenkins in the second
cutter. Not expecting to meet with any opposition for some miles, I gave
permission to Patingi AH to advance cautiously with his light division, and
with positive instructions to fall back upon the first appearance of any
natives. As the stream was running down very strong, we held on to the
Borneo. 53
bank, waiting for the arrival of the second cutter. Our pinnace and second
gig having both passed up, we had remained about a quarter of an hour,
when the report of a few musket-shots told us that the pirates had been
fallen in with. We immediately pushed on ; and as we advanced, the in-
creased firing from our boats, and the war-yells of some thousand Dyaks,
let us know that an engagement had really commenced. It would be diffi-
cult to describe the scene as I found it. About twenty boats were jammed
together, forming one confused mass ; some bottom up ; the bows or sterns
of others only visible; mixed up, pell-mell, with huge rafts; and amongst
which were nearly all our advanced little division. Headless trunks, as
well as heads without bodies, were lying about in all directions; parties
were engaged hand to hand, spearing and krissing each other; others were
striving to swim for their lives ; entangled in the common mtlee were our
advanced boats ; while on both banks thousands of Dyaks were rushing
down to join in the slaughter, hurling their spears and stones on the boats
below. For a moment I was at a loss what steps to take for rescuing our
people from the embarrassed position in which they were, as the whole
mass (through which there was no passage) were floating down the stream,
and the addition of fresh boats arriving only increased the confusion.
Fortunately, at this critical moment one of the rafts, catching the stump
of a tree, broke this floating bridge, making a passage, through which
(my gig being being propelled by paddles instead of oars) I was enabled
to pass.
' It occurred to Mr. Brooke and myself simultaneously, that, by advanc-
ing in the gig, we should draw the attention of the pirates towards us, so
as to give time for the other boats to clear themselves. This had the
desired effect. The whole force on shore turned, as if to secure what they
rashly conceived to be their prize.
' We now advanced mid-channel : spears and stones assailed us from
both banks. My friend Brooke's gun would not go oft; so giving him the
yoke-lines, he steered the boat, while I kept up a rapid fire. Mr. Allen,
in the second gig, quickly coming up, opened upon them, from a congreve-
rocket tube, such a destructive fire as caused them to retire panic-struck
behind the temporary barriers where they had concealed themselves pre-
vious to the attack upon Patingi Ali, and from whence they continued, for
some twenty minutes, to hurl their spears and other missiles.' Vol. ii.
pp. 110, &c.
One more extract under this head will suffice.
' " The pirates on the coast of Borneo may be classed into those who make
long voyages in large heavy-armed prahus, such as the Illanuns, Balagnini,
&c. ; and the lighter Dyak fleets, which make short but destructive ex-
cursions in swift prahus, and seek to surprise rather than openly to attack
their prey. A third, and probably the worst class, are usually half-bred
Arab Seriffs, who possessing themselves of the territory of some Malay
state, form a nucleus for piracy, a rendezvous and market for all the roving
fleets ; and although occasionally sending out their own followers, they
more frequently seek profit by making advances, in food, arms, and
gunpowder, to all who will agree to repay them at an exorbitant rate in
slaves.
' " The Dyaks of Sarebus and Sakarran were under the influence of two
Arab Serifis, who employed them on piratical excursions, and shared in
equal parts of the plunder obtained. I had once the opportunity of count-
ing ninety-eight boats about to start on a cruise ; and reckoning the crew
of each boat at the moderate average of twenty-five men, it gives a body
of 2,450 men on a piratical excursion. The piracies of these Arab Serifls
54 Borneo.
and their Dyaks were so notorious, that it is needless to detail them here ;
hut one curious feature, which throws a light on the state of society, I
cannot forhear mentioning. On all occasions of a Dyak fleet being about
to make a piratical excursion, a gong was beat round the town ordering a
particular number of Malays to embark ; and in case any one failed to
obey, he was fined the sum of thirty rupees by the seriff of the place.
' " The blow struck by Captain Keppel, of her Majesty's ship 'Dido,' on
these two communities was so decisive as to have put an entire end to
their piracies ; the leaders, SeriiF Sahib and Seriff Muller, had fled; the
Malay population has been dispersed ; and the Dyaks so far humbled as
to sue for protection ; and in future, by substituting local Malay rulers of
irood character in lieu of the piratical Seriffs, a check will be placed on the
Dyaks, and they may be broken of their piratical habits, in as far as inter-
feres with the trade of the coast." ' Vol. ii. pp. 144, &c.
But it is time that we should now sura up with a glance
towards the future. We have followed Mr. Brooke from the
commencement of his expedition to his return home, and we
have seen the character he gives of the inhabitants of the island,
and his accuracy is amply borne witness to by the influence he
succeeded in gaining over them. Let us now consider what his
position will be on his return. He came to England to com-
plete his proposed arrangements, to be invested with authority,
and to take back helping hands. He has presented his country
with the fruits of his individual labours, and henceforth will,
therefore, act more directly as an emissary from the British
nation ; most essential, then, is it that his powers and his posi-
tion should be proportioned to the anticipated advantage of his
exertions. In secular affairs our government has not been neg-
lectful. Mr. Brooke will return with his own Rajahship of
Sarawak, and of the independent Chiefs of Borneo, acknow-
ledged by the home government ; he is also gazetted as Governor
and Commander-in Chief in and over the island of Labuan and
its dependencies. The following announcement also gives us
good assurance that physical force will not be wanting to carry
out his wishes. We take it from The Times, and its purport
must be most pleasing to Mr. Brooke.
' In addition to other marks of appreciation which will be conferred by
Her Majesty upon the enterprising Englishman who has done so much for
the interests of his country during his residence in Borneo, the ' Meander,'
of forty-four guns, commissioned at Chatham on Monday last by Lieu-
tenant Reed, late of the 'Asia,' and to be commanded by the Hon. Henry
Keppel, late of the 'Dido,' eighteen guns, recently returned from service in
the Chinese seas, will convey his Excellency, Governor James Brooke, to
Borneo, the scene of his former labours, in the early part of next year, and
remain at that station to assist him in protecting the interests of Great
Britain in that quarter of the world. Several of the parties who served in
the ' Dido ' have applied to the Admiralty for permission to serve in the
' Meander,' under their former gallant commander; and it is expected she
will be ready for sea and leave this country for Borneo early in February
next.'
Borneo. 55
Mr. Brooke, however, would not confine himself to secular
means or secular ends ; he wishes to do his duty generally to-
wards the people he is brought in contact with, and is aware
that that duty consists in giving them the opportunity of hear-
ing the truths of the Gospel, as well as of entering into com-
mercial relations with other lands. An appeal is thus made to
the English Church, and sad would it be if it were not properly
responded to. No further comment is necessary from us on
the subject ; we will simply reprint the following paper which
has been circulated relative to it, and are happy to add that
a considerable sum has been collected.
'Oxford, Nov. 25, 1847.
' As some expression of the feeling with which the visit of James Brooke,
Esq., Rajah of Sarawak, to the University of Oxford, has been received by
its members, it is proposed to raise a fund by contributions, however small,
in furtherance of that object without which a Christian mission cannot be
effectually or permanently established, the creation of an Episcopate in
Borneo.'
'Dec. 3, 1847.
' It is proposed, that the sum collected (with strict reservation for the
purpose of the donors) should be placed in the hands of the Borneo Mission
Committee in London.'
56
ART. III. 1. The Constitution of the Church of the Future.
A practical explanation of the correspondence with the Right
Hon. W. Gladstone, on the German Church, Episcopacy and
Jerusalem, fyc. By CHRISTIAN CHARLES JOSIAS BUNSEN,
D.PH. D.C.L. London : Longman & Co.
2. Fragment on the Church. 2d Edition: With Appendices
on the same subject. By THOMAS ARNOLD, D.D. Late Head-
master of Rugby School. London : Fellowes.
3. Principles of Church Reform. By the same. London:
Fellowes.
IT is by no means a capricious or accidental combination which
leads us to unite for connected consideration the three publica-
tions, the titles of which we have prefixed to this article. On
the contrary, although the different date of their publication,
and the different circumstances under which they were com-
posed might seem to disconnect them in some degree from one
another, yet they are as essentially parts of one and the same
whole, as if they merely formed separate chapters of the same
hook, or consecutive discussions, by the same author, of different
portions of the same subject.
They contain a theory of the Church of Christ, and its pro-
posed application. Mr. Bunsen's book, consisting of two parts,
states in the former part the theory, (rather, it is true, in a Ger-
manized form in point of method and expression,) and in the
latter its proposed application to the condition of his own
country. Dr. Arnold's fragment exhibits, in a more English
manner, the identical theory, whilst his pamphlet, published a
good many years since, and under widely different circumstances
from those in which the Church is now placed, offers suggestions
as to its practical application to the reform of the Church in
England.
We need not say how much respect is due to the two writers :
the one, by all confession, one of the most learned men of the
age, the worthy successor of Niebuhr, the hospitable enter-
tainer of every English scholar who visited Rome during the
time of his residence in that city, the confidential minister
and friend of the most earnest, according to his views, of
European sovereigns ; the other, the most true, simple, con-
scientious of mankind ; one who has impressed upon hundreds
of pupils by his instruction and example, and upon hundreds
of those who never saw his face, by his published correspond-
The Chtirch of the Future. 57
ence, the most vivid conception of energy, earnestness, good-
ness, and sincerity.
Nor need we say how closely and exactly these two writers
sympathize in view and feelings. Dr. Arnold, to select one
passage out of many, speaks thus in his correspondence (vol. ii.
p. 265,) of the Chevalier Bunsen, * I scarcely know one amongst
1 my dearest friends, except Bunsen, whom I do not believe to
* be in some point or other in gross error.'
M. Bunsen speaks not less strongly in the following words :
' It is a token full of comfort, that in our own age no one has conceived
and presented the truth of the universal priesthood of Christians with so
much life, and in such close connexion with the very marrow of Christian
doctrine, and has made it tell once more so powerfully, convincingly, and
extensively against the assumptions of the clergy church, as another clergy-
man of the Episcopal Church of England Arnold. That truth was the
centre point from which he started in all his thoughts and researches, and
the deep and immovable foundation of his spiritual convictions with regard
to the Church. The spirit of this revered apostle of the free Church of the
Future, departed before he had completed the great work of his life, his
book on the Church. He has been taken from amongst us before the stern
combat has begun in earnest on either side. But he has left to his own
people, whose love and veneration is his worthiest monument, and to us
all, a living and life-inspiring testimony, not only in his writings, but in his
whole life, the model of an enlightened, faithful, and disinterested inquirer
after Christian truth, and of a spirit of love and humility, not less than of
freedom and power.' Church of the Future, p. 221.
We have quoted these passages in order to show merely the
sympathy and close agreement of these two writers in views
and feelings. Let us add to them others, which express the
opinion they entertain of the present crisis in the history of the
Church, their judgment of past times, and their expectation of
the immediate future.
' Liberty of conscience,' says Mr. Bunsen, describing the present religious
state of Christendom, 'has been won, and civil liberty secured. Freedom
without religion will no longer satisfy the Romanic nations, nor religion
without freedom the Germanic. Among the leading nations of Europe,
science has been invested with its proper privileges, either by the free con-
sent of the .rulers and clergy, or as the necessary consequence of civil
liberty. Freedom of conscience has come to be considered as implied in
the very idea of liberty, even in countries where as yet but little sense of
personal moral responsibility is awakened : private judgment in spiritual
matters/ (that is, the application to them of reason and conscience,) recog-
nised on the one side as a right, and on the other declared to be a duty, is
exercised by many, is demanded by all .... The harmonious interchange of
power between heaven and earth is restored : the charm between the visible
and invisible is spanned : the barrier between the secular and the spiritual
is broken down .... Thus the world has entered upon one of those great
critical epochs, when nations either unfold new powers of life, or perish.
We believe they will do the former. Now or never is the time for govern-
ments and nations to come to a clear understanding with respect to Chris-
tianity, the import of the Church and her constitution.' Bunsen, p. 28.
58 The Church of the Future.
The Church, at the Reformation, ' first began to appear in the world in
that full reality of which its former existence was but a shadow.' P. 67.
' He (Luther) saw clearly the impossibility of making the husk of the
perishing part contain the fruit of the new life just commencing." P. 26.
4 It is undeniable that the old forms are perishing, and that men, con-
sciously or unconsciously, are striving on all sides to arrive at a new and
more perfect organization of the Church.' P. 48.
' We, for our part, betake ourselves in faith to the open sea of the free-
dom of the spirit.' P. 59.
4 We must get rid of the narrowness and confused terminology of the Clergy-
Churches, and endeavour, in faith and love, to draw forth our proposed
restoration, according to the true idea of the Church, from the inmost heart
of the present, not to construct it out of the dead bones of the past.' P. 84.
Dr. Arnold's language is not materially different from this:
4 So when the husk cracks, and would fain fall to pieces by the natural
swelling of the seed within, a foolish zeal labours to hold it together : they
who would deliver the seed are taxed with longing to destroy it ; they
who are smothering it, pretend that they are treading in the good old ways,
and that the husk was, is, and ever will be essential. And this happens
because men regard the form and not the substance ; because they think
that to echo the language of their forefathers, is to be the faithful imitators
of their spirit ; because they are blind to all the lessons which nature
teaches them, and would for ever keep the eggshell unbroken, and the
sheath of the leaf unburst, not seeing that the wisdom of winter is the folly
of spring.' Fragm. of the Church, p. 121.
We think, that if any person carefully considers these pas-
sages which we have quoted, he will agree that it is not unim-
portant to remark the very peculiar and strong expressions in
which these two writers describe each other. It is the deliberate
meaning of both, that we have reached a time in which the
past constitution of the Church is as a husk, about to break with
a seed full of new life, or as an egg about to open and develope
a new and hitherto unseen being. Each proposes a complete
restoration, or reformation, and one which will set at nought,
as corrupt and useless, all that the Church has held and thought
on the subject for eighteen hundred years. Each regards the
other as the one man who has adequately conceived and duly
represented the true idea of that which is to succeed to the
obsolete and decayed Church of the past. It is really not
venturing, then, at all beyond the exact and literal truth to
represent them both, as being, each in the other's judgment,
what Mr. Bunsen calls his lamented friend, * the Apostles of the
1 Church of the Future.'
The Apostles of the Church of the Future ! It is a startling
sound ; one, which may well startle those who thought they
already lived, and were happy and peaceful in thinking so, in a
Church of the past, the present, and the future, *" built upon
' the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ him-
' self being the head corner-stone.'
The Church of the Future. 59
Let us then, in all seriousness, set ourselves to examine the
grounds of this startling, and wonderful title : which, though
it may not have been assumed with the lofty meaning which we
have assigned to it, does really not exceed the vocation with
which these two writers appear to regard themselves as de-
signated to open the husk of the hitherto imperfect and unde-
veloped Church, and usher into destined life its new and more
perfect organization. Let us ask for the signs, the tokens, the
proofs from God. If these be not forthcoming, let us demand what
are the arguments which are exhibited, in order to induce us to
believe that the Church of God, corrupted in the first age, went
on deepening its guilt and evil till the sixteenth century after
Christ ; that then it began to appear in the world in that full
reality of which its former existence was but a shadow ; that a
dead and dreary period has elapsed since, during which all
Church polities rest either on the remains of the earlier period,
or on the mere negation of it ; that now both of those things,
the * ruins of the old Clergy-Church, as well as those modern
' systems which are built up upon the mere denial of what was
* false in it,' must be swept away, in order to make room for the
living restoration of the Church ?
The answer is simple. These two writers claim to have found
out, from the Scriptures, that the Episcopal Constitution of the
Church Universal as held for sixteen hundred years was not only
a corruption of the original divine institution, but a corruption
so gross that it is heresy 1 to esteem it necessary to Church
membership on the part of individuals ; a corruption so early
and universal, that * the germs of the mischief may be here and
there discernible ' 2 in the first Christian writers, that this ' false
' and superstitious notion of a Church the very mystery of
* iniquity began in the first century, and had no more to do
* with Rome in the outset, than with Alexandria, Antioch, or
' Carthage ;' 3 that ' the Church, early in the second century, was
* ready to slide into the doctrine of a priesthood, with all its
* accompanying corruptions of Christian truth ;' 4 a corruption
so total, that ' now, the true and grand idea of a Church, that
' is, a society for the purpose of making men like Christ, earth
' like heaven, the kingdoms of the world the kingdom of
* Christ, is all lost ;' 5 a corruption so shocking, that ' if,' says
Mr. Bunsen, ' an angel from heaven should manifest to me that,
* by introducing, or advocating, or merely favouring the intro-
* duction of such an episcopacy 1 (as should be esteemed, ' on
principle and catholically,' necessary to the due constitution of
1 Bunsen, p. 68. * Arnold, p. 58. 3 Arnold, Corrcsp. ii. 61.
* Arnold, p. 123. Arnold, Corrcsp. ii. 15.
60 The Church of the Future.
the Church, and so to the full membership of Christians,) ' into
any part of Germany, I should not only make the German
nation glorious and powerful above all the nations of the
world, but should successfully combat the unbelief, pantheism,
and atheism of the day I would not do it : so help me God.
Amen.' 1
They claim to have discovered, instead of this immemorial,
universal, episcopal constitution (episcopal, we mean, as a matter
of ' principle and catholically') another.
Of this newly discovered constitution, it does not matter
though there should be no traces either in the writers of the
early Church, or in the early Church institutions. Dr. Arnold
does, indeed, condescend to adduce the writers of the early Church
as witnesses to his hypothesis : but he takes good care that his
readers should understand how great a condescension he makes
in so doing.
' The chapter which I am now going to write,' he says, ' is, in truth,
superfluous. Nay, although its particular object were proved ever so fully,
yet this would be a less gain than loss, if any were by the nature of the
argument encouraged to believe that we are to seek for our knowledge of
Christianity any where else but in the Scriptures. What we find there is
a part of Christianity, whether recognised as such or no in after ages :
what we do not find there is no part of Christianity, however early or how-
ever general may have been the attempts to interpolate it.' Arnold, p. 47.
In this temper he begins his examination of early writers.
After adducing various passages from them, and applying to
them, we cannot but think, more forced and unnatural modes
of interpretation than any ordinary principles will justify, he
concludes by rejoicing that he is * spared the pain of believing
* that Christianity was grossly corrupted in the very next gene-
* ration after the Apostles by the men who professed themselves
* to be the Apostles' true followers.' 2 So that in the former
passage he shows how little he is disposed to esteem even the
universal voice of Christendom, unless it should coincide with
his own individual views of Scriptural interpretation, whilst in
the latter he almost proclaims how unhesitatingly he would
have rejected even the most primitive records of the Post-
Apostolic Church, if they had resisted his strong explanatory
wrestings. Indeed, we can hardly conceive language stronger
to this point than Dr. Arnold's in another place :
' Thus, then, as the Scriptures wholly disclaim these notions of a human
priesthood ; a* the perfection of knowledge to which they would have us aspire
consists in rejecting such notions wholly ; it is strictly, as I said, superfluous
to inquire into the opinions of early Christian writers, because, if these
uphold the doctrine of the priesthood ever so strongly, it would but show
1 Bunscn, Corresp. p. xlvii. a Arnold, p. 117.
The Church of the Future. 61
that the state of mind of which the Epistle to the Hebrews complains, was
afterwards more universal, and more remote from Christian perfection.'
Arnold, p. 57.
Is there not something marvellous, as a mere piece of natural
history, in the confidence with which this writer holds his own
personal interpretations of Holy Scripture ?
But we must allow writers of such powers to unfold their
Church theory for themselves. It is in a beautiful passage, of
which the following is an extract, that Mr. Bunsen begins the
statement of his view.
' All religions whatever have for their inward ground that feeling of need
which springs from the interruption of man's union with God by sin, and
for their final object that re-union for which, however dimly and uncer-
tainly, men were encouraged to hope. All their sacrifices were attempts
at this restoration, founded on this hope. But it was not possible that
such attempts should ever fully realise that to which they aspired ; and
this for two reasons : in the first place, because, if considered as mere sym-
bolical outward acts, they could of course effect nothing in a matter where
that which is essentially inward, namely, the moral disposition of the heart
towards God, is concerned : and in the second place, because it was not in
man's power really to consummate that inward act, which their outward
sacrifices expressed. Perfect thankfulness is only possible for the man
who feels himself perfectly at one with God ; and, therefore, that divided
feeling with respect to God, which, as we have said before, is the prominent
feature in man's religious sentiment, prevents the feeling of separation, of
sin, of alienation from God, from being ever permanently merged in thank-
fulness. And thus the soul, although thankful, and ready to offer itself in
thankfulness as a living sacrifice unto God, is necessarily driven to the
other pole. The desire of union awakens the sense of distance and of guilt ;
the sin-offering is felt to be needed. But on this side it is still more out of
man's power to consummate the sacrifice. For to this end the perfect
innocence and sinlessness of the sacrificer is, in the very first place, neces-
sary ; but how can any man lay claim to this? and, if not for himself, how
then for others, for the family, or the nation ? The consciousness of sin,
of imperfection, of alienation, accompanies the worshipper even to the
altar. He surrenders his most cherished possession, he invokes upon the
head of the victim which stands in his place all that vengeance of God with
which his conscience tells him his own head is threatened : he even, in his
madness, offers the head of his beloved child as a sacrifice to the offended
Deity. But still in the heart abides the feeling of God's anger : every mis-
fortune, every pain, every bereavement, is to him a witness of this wrath,
of this alienation The great atonement, or sin-offering, of mankind
was consummated by Christ, by means of his personal sacrifice : the great
th imk-offcring of mankind became possible through Christ by means of the
Spirit.' Bunsen, pp. 6 10.
From these premises Mr. Bunsen thus draws his conclu-
sion :
' There can henceforth be no more human, and therefore typical, medi-
ators between God and man ; for the Mediator, the High Priest, is himself
God : no more acts of mediation (sacrifices) can henceforth exist, as means
of producing inward peace and satisfaction in the conscience, for the true
sacrifice of atonement has once for all been offered, and the true sacrifice of
thanksgiving is continually being offered.' Bunsen, p. 11.
62 The Church of the Future.
Dr. Arnold must be allowed to strike this point still more
strongly, and for the purposes of the theory, more pertinently.
' Some there are who profess to join cordially in this doctrine, and ask
who disputes it. So little do they understand the very tenets which
they uphold ! For they themselves dispute and deny it, inasmuch as they
maintain that the sacraments are necessary to salvation, and that they can
only be effectually administered by a man appointed after a certain form.
And thus they set up again the human mediator, which is idolatry
This dogma, then, of a human priesthood in Christ's Church, appointed to
administer His sacraments, and thereby to mediate between God and man,
from no reasonable or moral necessity, is a thing quite distinct from any
exaggerated notions of the activity of government : it is not the excess of
a beneficent truth, but it is, from first to last, considering that it is addressed
to Christians, who have their Divine Priest and Mediator already, a mere
error : and an error not merely speculative, but fraught with all manner of
mischief, idolatrous and demoralizing, destructive of Christ's Church ; in-
jurious to Christ and to his Spirit ; the worst and earliest form of Anti-
christ.' Arnold, p. 19.
This is the first, great, palmary argument of both these
writers. The single, complete High Priesthood of our Lord
and Saviour Jesus Christ utterly abolishes and makes impossible
any other Priesthood ; and, inasmuch as Priesthood, in its full
and true signification defined by themselves, means any sort of
mediation whatever between God and man, every possible claim
of mediation, even the claim of certain persons having alone the
right of administering Sacraments necessary to salvation, falls
under the same condemnation, is corrupt, idolatrous, demora-
lizing and antichristian.
But secondly, the Priesthood of our Lord, admitting every
single Christian, of whatever rank or profession of life, directly
and immediately to the access and approach of God, involves
the Priesthood of every individual Christian.
' Christianity first gave to man's moral responsibility its true position,
first made it the central feeling of the individual, and caused it to be felt
as the inseparable appendage of the awful gift of personality. Thus far
then had every individual man become a priest of the Most High, because
morally responsible to Him alone. Man's whole life, in intercourse with
the world, as well as in the direct worship of God, was to be a continual
sacrifice, to form a portion of the great work of the Spirit of love, by whose
influences mankind is restored, and the kingdom of truth and righteousness
founded and advanced This is, according to our view, that
priesthood which the apostle St. Peter ascribes to the whole Christian
Church, a body of believers, under the designation of the true and elect
Israel, when he says, " Ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an
holy nation, a peculiar people : that ye should show forth the praises of Him
who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light.' (1 Pet. ii.
9.)Bunsen, p. 13.
Such is the entire Scriptural argument, as far as Scripture is
adduced for the affirmative proof, and establishment of their
theory, of these two great Apostles of the Church of the Future.
The Church of the Future. 63
Dr. Arnold does indeed in his 2d chapter allege eight or nine
passages of the Acts and Epistles ; but it is not in order to add
any weight to his direct argument, but to relieve it from the
pressure of the objections which those passages might seem to
bring against it. Mr. Bunsen does also make a cursory refer-
ence to a few more passages, (one of which references contains a
most adroit evasion of the force of an important place of the Old
Testament, Exod. xix. 6, to which we shall refer again,) but
the others are slight and unimportant, and not alleged in any
strict or argumentative way.
There can, of course, be no doubt, that this Theory is as
complete as it is simple. What can be plainer ? In the times
of old, before our Lord's coming, there might have been typical
mediators, whose various efforts of sacrifice indicated the diffi-
culty felt by man in becoming at peace with God ; but the
sacrifice once offered, all believers approach equally and with
equal authority and right to God. Henceforth believers, not
as a Church, not as one in Christ, not as a body, but separately
and singly, are in absolute possession of the entire Christian
estate. Each is, so to speak, a corporation sole, a Church.
Each is, in position, title, privilege, equal to all the rest. The
Holy Scriptures, on which alone everything is founded, belong
alike to all. None has a right to hold that his views of inter-
pretation are better or sounder than those of another. None
can be entitled to impart to others what those others may not
impart to him.
The theory is simple indeed, as a Theory of the Constitution
of the Church : so simple, that we cannot find out in what
points it differs from the broadest Independent ism.
Nor do w r e forget in saying this, that Mr. Bunsen expressly
protests against Independentism, and says of it that it * forgets
* time and hour, and looks even upon the present, the hard won
* inheritance of centuries, as having absolutely no real exist-
' cnce. In this despair, it is for beginning everything afresh,
' as if the past had yielded no experience, and formed no institu-
' tions, as if no Christian state existed led away in this by
* American orators, who, like many others before them, make
* a virtue of necessity.' Mr. Bunsen's is a sort of Conservative-
Independentisin. He would graft a pure independentism of
theory upon an existing condition of government and subordina-
tion. He would avail himself practically of the order and
organization which result from the theory which he condemns,
whilst he maintains a theory from which order and organization
could never possibly result.
So simple indeed is this theory, that we venture to assert,
and will undertake to prove, that, if it be admitted to be, as
64 The Church of the Future.
these writers claim, the entire constitutional Theory of the-
Church, there can be no Creed, there can be no Sacraments,
there can be no spiritual Gift sufficiently ascertainable to be
any ground of comfort to a believer, there can be no Unity,
there can be no Church.
Government itself, as far as relates to religious matters, would
seem, in spite of Dr. Arnold's elaborate argument on the subject,
to be simple tyranny ; and so, we conclude, must Mr. Bunsen
think when he says that ' a free constitution in the widest sense
' of the words, is the condition of the realization and effectual
* exercise of the true priesthood in the Church, and of the
* preservation of the Church herself.' l Indeed, we hardly
see why separate Christians are not kings, as well as priests,
so as to render it as great an usurpation in the King of
Prussia or the Queen of England to assume royal authority
over their subjects, as for the Archbishop of Canterbury, or the
Bishop of London, to claim the Priesthood (on principle and
catholically) over their Dioceses.
The following are the ' summa fastigid of Dr. Arnold's argu-
ment in favour of government in the Church of the Future.
' It is seen and generally acknowledged that men's physical welfare has
been greatly promoted by the co-operation of a number of persons endowed
with unlike powers and resources.'
' This co-operative principle was by Christianity to be applied to moral
purposes, as it had long been to physical.'
' The object of Christian society relating to the improvement of the whole
of our life, the natural and fit state of the Church is that it should be a
sovereign society or commonwealth.'
' So long as the sovereign society is not Christian, and the Church is not
sovereign, we have two powers alike designed to act upon the whole of our
being, but acting often in opposition to one another. Of these powers, the
one has wisdom, the other external force and influence.'
' The natural and true state of things then is, that this power and this
wisdom should be united.'
' This is the perfect notion of a Christian Church.' Arnold, pp. 6 10.
All this sounds very plausible and easy ; not less plausible
and easy than Cicero's famous notion of the origin of states,
when the ' noble savage' was won by the eloquence of orators to
relinquish barbarian life, to build cities, and submit to civiliza-
tion ; but how, we should like to ask, is the mass of Christians,
all of equal right and privilege, all of equal claim to possess and
interpret Scripture, all of equal right to hold, to think, to believe,
to worship according to their separate royalty and priesthood,
ever to be brought to this voluntary co-operation, in the force
and strength of which they will be willing to obey, or able to
1 Bunsen, p. 18.
The Church of the Future. 65
enforce their joint decrees? And how will such joint decrees
escape the charge of tyrannical interference with their said
separate royalties and priesthoods, if they claim to overrule the
free choice in point of belief, or worship, or anything that is
religious (which are the sole objects of the co-operation), of
those who have as good right and title as their governors ?
Also how comes this mass of separate kings and priests to
be able to be spoken of as ' the Church ?' We must, of course,
suppose all the present bonds of union loosened parishes,
dioceses, the whole of the higher spiritual doctrines of the
Sacraments abandoned, Christians assembled in separate Inde-
pendent congregations, or broken up into still minuter subdi-
visions, how, we ask, can it be imagined that we can call
such a loose, scattered, disjointed, infusible mass, as this would
be, the Church, and proceed to argue about it as if it were
capable of sovereign power ?
Again, if it were capable of power (which we deny), or being
capable of it were able to exercise it without tyranny (which
we deny again), or, being capable of exercising it justly, could
exercise it without falling to pieces again, and at once, at the
very first exercise of it (which we deny again), how, we ask,
could a democratic spiritual constitution like this combine in
one with any secular constitution which the world knows, ex-
cepting a democracy ? ' And how could it conceivably hold its
own, even with a democracy, while the secular and spiritual
objects would needs be so diverse, the leaders of the respective
powers so different, the struggles so tumultuous, and the powers
of coercion so small ? We know, indeed, that Dr. Arnold pro-
tests againt all distinction of things into secular and spiritual, and
tells us that such a distinction is ' utterly without foundation,
* for in one sense all things are secular, for they are done in
' time and on earth ; in another, all things are spiritual, for they
* affect us morally either for the better or the worse, and so
' tend to make our spirits fitter for the society of God, or of his
* enemies.' But we really must, with all respect for the lamented
writer, claim to regard this sort of writing as extravagant, and
indicative only of the zeal and heat of the author, and his intense
conviction of the soundness of his conclusions ; for can it be
denied that some things are more secular than others, and some
more spiritual? that though, no doubt, there is no absolute barrier
between the two subjects, as though the secular were not at
1 It is interesting and curious to observe, how while the high Roman monarchi-
cal theory of Church government is apparently incompatible with all polities
except such as are monarchical ; and the Independent with all except such as are
democratic ; the Federal-Episcopal, or Cyprianic seems capable of an application as
wide as that of Christianity itself.
NO. LIX. N. 8. F
66 The Church of the Future.
all spiritual, or the spiritual not at all secular, yet that going
to church and saying one's prayers verges more nearly to the
spiritual side than eating one's breakfast, and vice versa $
From Government let us pass to Doctrine. We hold it to be
equally impossible that this constitution of the Church of the
Future should admit of a Creed.
This impossibility seems to us to arise directly, and follow
necessarily, from the perfect independence of interpretation of
Holy Scripture belonging to every believer.
Nor let it be supposed that unity of theological opinion would
be as likely to be maintained as unity of political, or of scientific,
or other sorts of opinion, without the intervention of any sort
of authority, by the mere gravitation of the sentiments of the
majority towards some common principles, of which none but
paradoxical and exceptional minds could doubt. Such may well
be the case in subjects where opinions are either derived by
process of acknowledged reasoning from some acknowledged
principles, or are capable of being tested continually by their
application to the actual state of things. But the interpretation
of Holy Scripture is unlike either of these. No principles of
interpretation of these books can be laid down, or ever have
been laid down, on which all will agree. No dogmas ever have
been, or can be derived from those books, which multitudes
have not denied. No single truth, moral or divine, with the
exception of the mere being of God, can boast to have been
drawn from Holy Scripture with the unanimous consent of all
who have called themselves Christians of all who would have
a right to claim, not a vote only, but an equality of Tightness,
truth, and privilege, according to the Bunsenian Constitution of
the Future Church.
Accordingly we find in these writers a very consistent laxity
on the subject of creeds. Dr. Arnold's work, being a fragment,
does not reach any formal discussion of the subject of doctrine.
Yet we find him saying, in a tone which well indicates the
manner in which he would have treated that subject, if he had
dealt with it directly,
' A great point is gained Avlien we understand that the heresies con-
demned by the Apostles were not mere erroneous opinions on some theo-
retical truth, but absolute perversions of Christian holiness : that they
were not so much false as wicked. And further, where there was a false
opinion in the heresy, it was of so monstrous a character, and so directly
connected with profligacy of life, that it admits of no comparison with the
so-called heresies of later ages In the Arian controversy, and in all olltcrx
which have since arisen among Christians, the question has turned upon
the true interpretation of the Apostles' words ; but both parties have alike
acknowledged that what the Apostles taught was to be received as the un-
doubted rule of faith and of action. Not so, however, the real heretics of
the first century.' Arnold, p. 89.
The Church of the Future. 67
Is it possible to draw any other conclusion from this passage than
that, in the author's mind, there can be no heresy 1 in those who
acknowledge that what the Apostles taught is to be received as
the undoubted rule of faith and action ? i. e. that Scriptural
interpretation is an absolutely open field, in which as there can
be no heresy, so there can be no authoritative truth?
Mr. Bunsen has two methods of dealing with Christian doc-
trine. The one philosophical ; the norm of which may be
gathered from the following sentence :
' It can never be repeated too often, or expressed too emphatically, that
the Protestant Church, by regarding piety and morality as identical terms,
by assuming the religious and moral feelings of man to be inseparably
united in their deepest roots, has bound herself to discover and demonstrate
the ethical exponent of every objective expression respecting the relation of
man to God.' Bunsen, p. 33.
Does any reader desire a few specimens of the art of ethical
exposition of objective doctrines ? Here are a few with which
tliis volume casually furnishes us. The Church of Christ;
* Emancipated Humanity,' (p. 224). Catholicity ; * Believing
Humanity as one in its Divine Redeemer,' (p. 216). Catholic
and Apostolic Church of Christ ; * Humanity set free by the
Word and the Spirit,' (p. 192). Universal Priesthood of
Christians ; ' The general moral responsibility to God of every
individual,' (p. 32), or, aliter, f the postulate that faith in the
Holy Spirit is capable of being realized,' (p. 21). Episcopacy ;
* The personal Conscience,' (p. 69). The kingdom of God ;
* The moral order of the world,' (p. 35). The body of Christ;
' Humanity adopted into the Divine fellowship,' (217).
We should have thought that there would have been little
need of any further doctoring of doctrine than this philosophical
method would have furnished. Reduced to such a gaseous form,
sublimed and bubble-blown into next to nothing, expounded
1 How broadly and clearly Dr. Arnold held this opinion is plain from a
remarkable letter in his Correspondence (Letter cxxxvi.), in which he says,
' The differences between Christian and Christian are not moral differences, except
accidentally ; and that is what I meant in that passage in the Church Reform
Pamphlet which you, in common with many others, have taken in a sense which
I should wholly disclaim. An Unitarian, as such, is a Christian ; that is, if a man
follows Christ's law, and believes his words, according to his conscientious sense of
their meaning, he is a Christian; and though I may think he understands Christ's
words amiss, yet that is a question of interpretation, and no more : the purpose of
his heart and mind is to obey and be guided by Christ, and therefore he is a
Christian. But I believe if I e.rr as to the matter-of-fact, I shall greatly rejoice
that Unitarianism happens to contain many persons who are only Unitarians
negatively, as not being Trinitarians ; and I question whether these follow Christ
with enough of sincerity and obedience to entitle them to be called Christians.'
This last sentence appears to us to be extremely remarkable, whether it be con-
sidered in respect of logic, candour, or charity.
F 2
68 The Church of the Future.
thus ethically into nothing more nor less than our own separate
selves, with our own personal notions and moralities, doctrine is
rendered so completely harmless, that we cannot understand
why it is worth while, even if it be not inconsistent and unin-
telligible, to make a separate historical crusade against doctrine
as such.
But Mr. Bunsen is not satisfied. He complains that the
Protestant Churches, for the last three hundred years, have
taken up the same one-sided view as the Clergy of the earlier
Church for a thousand (fifteen hundred ?) years before ; the
* notion, that is, that Christianity is in the very first place a
* doctrine; and that unity of doctrine, that is, of a theological
' system, is the condition of the development of the Church in
* every other respect.' Bunsen, p. 1 9.
Thus, then, we might suppose, that what with philosophy,
what with anti-dogmatism, and what with the independent
right of kings and priests to interpret, Mr. Bunsen had swept
away all creeds whatsoever, and left the field as clear of doctrine
as we have seen it made of government. But no : we must
not do injustice. The very same paragraph from which we
have extracted the last sentence contains the very thing which
we had imagined to be annihilated to be impossible to have
become an absurdity ; the Symbolum Bunsenianum itself.
' The eternal, indestructible foundation and object of Christian faith is
formed by three acts of God himself: the act of creation, by which the
world was called into existence, and man made in the image of God ; the
act of redemption, through Christ the God-man ; and the act of the out-
pouring of the Holy Ghost to be the Guide of the mind of the Church, and
the supreme Witness for that which is testified to us by history'
(1 John v.) Bunsen, p. 18.
We trust that our readers will give us credit for the self-
command with which we waive all more particular notice of the
audacity and presumption with which this 'Apostle of the Church
of the Future' takes upon him to shear away from the glorious
and venerable creed of the true Apostles, every word (such as
' Father,' ' only-begotten Son,' * our Lord,' &c.) which contains
truth in contradistinction to act, so as to enable him, with the
least semblance of consistency to retain some shadow of an ob-
jective religion at the very time when his arguments have seemed
to sweep away all doctrines whatever from the Church. But we
really must ask, what right has Mr. Bunsen, after all his argu-
ments, to use in his creed the words God-man ? What possible
warrant can he have, in defiance of all Church history, to dis-
allow the existence of Arian, Unitarian, and Socinian opinions,
by introducing the doctrine of the Divinity of our Lord into
his miserable creed of Divine Acts ? Why has not the Arian,
The Church of the Future. 69
whom, as we have seen, Dr. Arnold will not allow to be called
a heretic, because he differs from the Church in interpretation
only, being a king and a priest, as good a right to his opinion,
and as good a right to be true in holding it, as Mr. Bunsen him-
self? To ourselves, the inconsistency involved in this intro-
duction of doctrine, properly so called, into the objective creed
of the Church of the Future, and the consequent exclusion of
Arians and Socinians from the fellowship of so comprehensive
a multitude, is perfectly incomprehensible, perfectly incompre-
hensible on every principle save one, and that one which we
doubt whether the writer will admit, namely, that he is a better
Christian than logician; that his instinctive reverence for
Christian truth shudders and recoils from the faithful appli-
cation of his own principle, and that he cannot bear his own
necessary and most miserable conclusion.
From Doctrine we must proceed to Ordinances. It appears to
us to be perfectly impossible that ' the Church of the Future '
can retain Sacraments, as rites, in any real manner conferring
supernatural gifts. It may, no doubt, have a thing which it
may call Baptism, which it may administer as the initiation of a
heathen into Independent Christianity ; and it may dignify
some religious meal with the sacred name of the Holy Com-
munion, but Sacraments, in the sense in which the Church has
always understood them, Sacraments in which outward and
visible signs are the means and the pledge of inward and spi-
ritual graces, it cannot have.
Nor do they claim them. In Dr. Arnold's book are various
scattered sayings about Baptism and the Lord's Supper, which
plainly show what sort of things they are in the mind of an
apostle of the free Church of the Future.
' The repentance and faith of the person baptized, through God's mercy
in Christ, saves him The whole importance of Baptism, in his
(S. Barnabas's) eyes, must have consisted in the real change of heart which
it implied, and the change of heart of which it was the beginning; and the
ceremony of baptizing with water was merely a symbol of the great and
important change which a man underwent in passing from a state of hea-
thenism to Christianity God's grace is conveyed to men ' (in
the so-called Sacraments), 'morally, because the joining of Christ's Church
in the first instance, and the constantly refreshing our communion with it
afterwards, are actions highly beneficial to our moral nature
Christians have been baptized with water, as an introduction into Christ's
service.' Pp. 53, 62, 63, 78.
The following are some of the expressions of the same writer
respecting the other Sacrament :
' \Yhen Christians met together and received the bread and wine of their
common living as the body and blood of Christ, such an act had a real ten-
dency to strengthen and confirm their souls, and the Holy Spirit made such
70 The Church of the Future.
a communion a constant means of grace to those who partook of it. . .
The bread and wine became the Sacrament of Christ's body and blood,
according to Christ's ordinance, by the assembled Church receiving them as
such ; by their converting an act of nature into an act of religion ; by their
agreeing to partake together as of their earthly food, so also of their spi-
ritual, and thus being joined to one another in Christ. The agreement, there-
fore, of thus communicating, their common faith and love constitute the
real consecration of the bread and w ine : it is this, which, through Christ's
Spirit, changes the Supper into the Sacrament He commanded
us to eat, as it were, his flesh. .... The communion was intended to
keep iu memory the death of our Lord, and through our memory to
strengthen our faith, and so to make us actually and personally partakers
in the benefits of his death.' Pp. 20, 21, 77, 97.
Now let us not be misunderstood. We readily acknowledge
that several of the expressions which we have quoted maybe inno-
cently and rightly used ; innocently and rightly used, that is,
by those who have elsewhere acknowledged the deeper and
truer doctrine of the Sacraments : but when they are given as
the doctrine, the whole, the contradistinguished doctrine, then
we say confidently that the scheme to which they belong con-
tains no Sacraments at all, no Sacraments in the sense of the
Catholic Church, no Sacraments in the sense of the Church of
England, no Sacraments in such sense as can give to individuals
in the Church any comfortable hope of their possessing any
Divine, spiritual, supernatural gift.
It is not our intention to enter into discussion of the Chris-
tian Sacraments with these writers. We desire to confine our-
selves to this single point, that such Sacraments as they teach,
being not the means whereby we receive spiritual grace, are, by
consequence, no pledge to assure us of our having received it.
These Catholic means being annulled, and none, that is, none
which are visible, being substituted in their place, there can
be no pledge at all, for the very essence of a pledge is to be
visible and ascertainable. Means, then, of grace, that is,
voluntary, practicable means, such as men may avail themselves
of, and such as God hath promised to accompany with his vital,
life giving grace, being annulled, and pledges, that is, visible
ascertainable proofs, guarantees of our having received what is
invisible and not ascertainable, being done away likewise, at
least, all assurance and comfort of supernatural gift is destroyed
also. For no man can, on this system, do battle against the
smallest real inward doubt which rises in his mind. As long,
indeed, as a man has no doubts, of course he may believe any-
thing, whether true or false, real or absurd, and so, he may
believe himself to be born again of the Holy Ghost, to be a
member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the king-
dom of heaven. But, when doubt comes; when sin comes,
engendering doubt ; or when gaim-ayers come ; how is he then
The Church of the Future. 71
to maintain, or to prove, or to comfort himself in the assurance
of these supernatural gifts ? How shall a man be naturally con-
vinced that he possesses that which is supernatural ?
Shall we be told that the blessing depends on faith, and that a
man can ascertain his own faith ? We reply that it is impossi-
ble : impossible, that is, in the times when the proof and
guarantee are most needed, the times of self-accusation, uneasi-
ness, and doubtfulness.
We do not add a hundred other considerations which crowd
into our mind, the miserable uncertainty as to the degree of un-
doubtingrtess requisite to win the blessing, the miserable
uncertainty as to whether a man is deceived or no, the
miserable uncertainty as to the purity of the motives under
which we are endeavouring to believe, the miserable uncer-
tainty as to the extent to which subsequent sin may have inter-
rupted, or prevented the supernatural influences, the miserable
mischief of making men's hopes and comforts, and with them
their cheerful daily duty and worship depend on a perpetual
self-dissection, a continual laying bare of the inward workings
of their own minds, a daily feeling of the pulse, as it were,
of the heart's faith, all hope and happiness being ready to despair
and die the instant that pulse should seem to fail under the
finger, while no love, nor faith, nor feeling can help dying under-
such melancholy and unnatural culture ; we do not enlarge on
all these and innumerable other such like considerations, but we
merely insist, that if the workings of our own minds, wherein
supernatural movements are not capable of being distinguished
from natural ones, are to be appealed to as the pledge of our
possessing supernatural gifts, that this is merely a round-about
way of dismissing supernatural gifts from this scheme of religion
altogether. Supernatural gifts, undistinguishable from natural,
are, to us, not other than natural. Supernatural gifts, not exhibit-
ing themselves in supernatural powers, and yet not divinely
attached to external ordinance as to a divine means and pledge
of their being imparted, are not distinguishable from natural.
Therefore, it appears to us demonstrable, that he who does
away with the Catholic character of the Sacraments, the cha-
racter whereby they are the sure means, and unfailing pledge
of Divine invisible grace, does necessarily demolish everything
that is supernatural in Christianity. He may talk of the Holy
Spirit, of the new birth, of all the high spiritual mysteries
belonging to Christian religion, but it can only be words,
opinions, fancies. A gift, determined to himself, capable of
being appealed to in times of trial, pledged, and real, a gift
capable of being a happiness and comfort in the days when the
heart feels no strength, and is ready, as far as its inner feelings
72 The Church of the Future.
go, to sink into the depths of despair, he cannot feel that he lias.
When faith or certainty is the only ground of comfort, uneasi-
ness and doubt must needs be despair and misery. It appears
to be demonstrable that in these distant ages and countries,
when supernatural gifts no longer manifest themselves in super-
natural powers, the belief in outward ordinances as the visible
means and pledge of supernatural grace, and in a succession of
men from the apostles authorized to administer such ordinances,
are absolutely essential to the belief in supernatural graces
themselves ; and by consequence that the Priesthood and Sacra-
ments are the only security against a system not always of
intentional, but always of pure and essential naturalism. 1
We are distressed to find a writer like Dr. Arnold urging
against the Catholic doctrine such (must we not call them?)
vulgar objections as that we cannot be saved by ' the outward
rite of immersion in water,' that 'it is not rationalism, but
reason resting on faith, which assures us of the utter incapability
of any outward bodily action to produce in us an inward spiritual
effect.' Against whom could he suppose that he was writing ?
Who ever dreamed of attributing to the outward rite of immer-
sion, or any outward bodily action, any proper power at all upon
the soul of man, or of doubting the justice of the poet's senti-
ment
' O ! faciles animi qui tristia crimina cacdis
Tolli fluminea posse putetis aqua ! '
But where is the impossibility of His attaching spiritual
blessings to outward ordinances Avho bade the blind man go and
wash in the pool of Siloam and return seeing, that is to say,
who by His divine power gave efficacy to means naturally most
inadequate, in the cure of bodily ailments ? Is it not mere
childishness (not to say more) to ask, as Dr. Arnold does against
Hooker in respect of this very instance, ' Is it in the slightest
degree a parallel case, that because a bodily application was
prescribed as a cure for a bodily disease (\), it should therefore cure
a disease of the soul ? ' Where is the unlikelihood of His
attaching spiritual blessings to outward ordinances, who desired
that His people should have peace in believing in every age ?
No doubt the washing in Siloam will not prove, of its own
proper logical force, the sacramental efficacy of Holy Baptism,
but, no doubt also, when that efficacy has its sufficient proof
elsewhere, this divine act may rationally, logically, and forcibly
1 From the correspondence (vol. ii. pp. 141. 169, 256), it appears that Dr. Arnold
and the Chevalier Bunsen were not entirely agreed about the Sacraments. The
points of difference are not made clear, but it would seem the views of Mr. Bunsen
were higher than tho* of his friend.
The Church of the Future. 73
be quoted in illustration and support of it, and in the over-
throw and silencing of its gainsayers.
But it is necessary to draw this portion of our remarks to a
close, and therefore we shall add no more in proof of our position
that the constitution of the Church of the Future, as laid down
by these two authors, admits not of government, or doctrine, or
ordinances, or supernatural gifts, or unity, or peace, or any
Church.
But before we conclude, it is necessary, in all candour, to deal
with the Theory in a more direct manner. Adding no more as
to its own inherent defects, we must in all propriety add a few
observations in reply to it, as an attack upon the Catholic
Theory.
No Catholic Christian would think of denying or doubting
the truth of the two great doctrines which, as we have explained
above, form the entire Church Theory of these writers: the
one, the Single Priesthood, and by consequence, the single
Sacrifice of our blessed Lord; the other, the consequent
Priesthood, so to call it, that is, the unimpeded access to God
of every believer.
We not only do not deny, nor doubt these truths, but we
vindicate and maintain them as truths of the most vital and
deep importance ; and also as truths which the Catholic Church
has always vindicated and maintained with the utmost vigilance
and care.
But these writers think that these two truths, of their own
simple force and power, do at once and of necessity destroy and
render impossible the Christian Priesthood and its offices.
With the whole Catholic Church of Christ, from the day of
the Resurrection, we utterly deny the inference. We hold the
two truths not less firmly than the apostles of the Church of the
Future ; we utterly repudiate, and will undertake to disprove
the force of the conclusion.
We must take them separately.
Does the single Priesthood of Christ make all priesthood of
men, that is, all special appointments of men to do acts necessary
to the souls of other men,impossible,antichristian,and idolatrous?
Surely, no. For in the first place, why should it? If the
claimed Priesthood of men be given in order to enable them to
do other things, different from those which the Single Priest has
done singly, and once for all, the supposed incompatibility of
the two Priesthoods seems to disappear at once. Granted, that
the Sacrifice of our blessed Lord is the single and only proper
meritorious sacrifice, and He the single and only Priest who
could make atonement to God for man, how docs this great
truth disprove the possibility of His entrusting to His apostles,
74 Tito Church of the Future.
and a succession of persons after them, the peculiar office of
administering the outward rites to which Regeneration and the
Communion of the Body and Blood of Christ may be, by the
covenanted mercy of God, attached ? We cannot see the elenckus.
We cannot find it. There is none, except it be drawn (as these
writers draw it) from an ingenious definition of Priesthood,
which, not confining it to the sense in which our Lord is the
single Priest, but making it comprehend all possible interven-
tion of means between man and God, then proceeds, easily
enough, to disprove a particular sort of intervention.
But not only does the fact of the Single Priesthood of Christ
fail to demonstrate from its own proper logical force and
cogency, the modified and subordinate Priesthood of men, but
also there are facts in the history of God's dealings with His
people which seem to show plainly that some interventions
between the soul of man and God have been possible and per-
missible without any such idolatrous and antichristian result.
In the first place (and for this argument we are indebted to
the vigorous pages of Mr. Barter 1 ) St. Paul did, on repeated
occasions, recognise the Jewish Priesthood and sacrifices, subse-
quently to his conversion, as the other Apostles did also by
their continual attendance at the Temple worship, and by their
conduct recorded in the Acts xxi. 24. Now we do not wish to
press this point too far, nor to enter into the various encumber-
ing considerations by which it is surrounded ; but thus much
seems to us to be clear and undeniable ; that it cannot be, ipso
facto, idolatrous and unchristian to think of such a thing as a
priest, or an intervening party between the worshipper and
God, subsequently to the Crucifixion, without involving
S. Paul, and the other Apostles, in such heinous guilt.
Will it be said that this Avas merely the dying out of old
types, the old prophetic ritual almost gone, and, although in
actual date it outlived the fulfilment, still rightly to be regarded
as typical and prophetic ( ex parte post" 1 ?
We doubt whether our opponents would gain anything,
whether they would not rather lose much by such a view. For
not only does the cogency of our last conclusion remain undi-
minished, but if a typical priesthood might last for a few years
after the Crucifixion without guilt, we cannot see why other
subordinate priesthoods might not continue throughout the
whole Church's history. Are not commemorations after an
event somewhat akin to types before it? May not a Priesthood
of Commemorations be analogous to a Priesthood of Types ?
Do our opponents acknowledge the true Priesthood of the
1 ' The Gainsaying of Core/ by the Kev. W. B Barter.
The Church of the Future. 75
Jewish Priests ? But how do they reconcile it with the doctrine
of Rev. xiii. 8, of * the Lamb slain from the foundation of the
world?' There never was, or could be, more than One real,
true Priest. This is He who hath an unchangeable Priest-
hood, who offered Himself before the foundation of the world,
in the faith of whom the ancient Patriarchs lived and died.
But if the Jewish Priesthood of Types be compatible 1 with this
Single Omni-temporal Priesthood, and if the continuance of this
Priesthood of Types for a few years even after this Priesthood
had become visible, had taken place and position in the chron-
ology and geography of the world, and had consummated the
Sacrifice upon the Hill of Calvary, be not incompatible with it
either, then we think that all ground of reason and show of
argument is cut away from those who presume to say that the
Single Priesthood of Christ renders idolatrous and antichristian
every possible intervention of appointed men in the intercourse
of other men's souls with God.
The question of priesthood, then, becomes a question, not of
reason, but of fact. Into that question we have not present
occasion to enter. We will only observe respecting it, that it
appears to us beyond measure surprising that, in investigating
an historical question of fact, such as this, two such able and
experienced historians should deliberately overlook the evidence
of institutions (such as Church polities and liturgies), of institu-
tions, so long maintained, so difficult to alter, so well supplying
the scanty and imperfect, and sometimes contradictory testi-
mony of books, and content themselves with a theory built on
a priori grounds, and, by means of many a painful and para-
doxical interpretation, exhibited as not contrary to the few and
scattered relics of the first age.
But it is also said, that the complete Priesthood of every
believer, that is, the full and free access to God, purchased for
every single Christian by the sacrifice of Christ, is equally
destructive of the claim of Priesthood on the part of any separate
class.
1. Surely, in the first place, there is no necessary reason what-
ever why, whilst general approach and access to God, as in con-
fession and prayer, may be freely and directly granted to all,
certain particular blessings may be imparted to them indirectly,
that is, through the agency of others. There is, as we say, not
only no necessary reason why it should not be so, but every
reason of analogy, both in the natural and earlier revealed doings
of God with man why it should.
1 Sacerdotium Lcviticum habebat imaginem, non veritatcm, futuri ciijusdaru
Sacerdotis. S. August. Eaarr. in Ps. xxxvi. '.'.
76 The Church of the Future.
2. Secondly, if there be, in Christian religion, ordinance,
conferring supernatural graces, it appears to us to be necessary
that there should be persons to administer them, and those,
inheritors by direct descent of those to whom the power was
originally imparted by the hand of the Apostles. If it were other-
wise, no persons could have adequate security of their possessing
the invisible graces, or be able to comfort themselves in the times
of uneasiness and doubt. We anticipate here the objection
which may be thought to rise from the difficult question of
' lay baptism.' But, in fact, there is no real weight in such an
objection, partly because the Church never held the full validity
of lay, or heretical baptism, without confirmation, and partly
because the question of lay baptism owed all its difficulty to the
fact that baptism, from its essential nature, does not admit of
repetition. So little ground does there seem to be for an off-
hand saying of Dr. Arnold, in his correspondence, ' Lay baptism
' was allowed by Hooker to be valid, and no distinction can be
'drawn between one Sacrament and the other. (Corresp. ii. 53.)
3. Thirdly, the example of the Jewish people bears directly
upon the case, and with a force, when all the points of it are
considered, which seems to us irresistible. In the third month,
' when the children of Israel were gone forth out of the land of
' Egypt, the same day came they into, the wilderness of Sinai, and
' there Israel camped before the mount. And Moses went up
' unto God, and the Lord called unto him, out of the mountain,
saying, ' Thus shalt thou say to the house of Jacob, and tell the
* children of Israel, Ye have seen what I did unto the Egyptians,
' and how I bore you on eagles' wings, and brought you unto
* myself. Now, therefore, if ye will obey my voice, indeed, and
* keep my covenant, then ye shall be a peculiar treasure unto me
'above all people, for all the earth is mine; and ye shall be
' unto me a kingdom of priests, and an holy nation. These are
' the words which thou shalt speak unto the children of Israel.'
Now here we have the very same thing said of the children of
Israel, which S. Peter, referring to this very passage, says
afterwards of Christians, which saying forms the Scriptural
groundwork of the constitution of the Church of the Future.
Mr. Bunsen, with great adroitness, slurs the difficulty over ;
for having quoted the place of S. Peter, he thus proceeds. ' In
' this was accomplished that promise which God made to the Jews
' by his servant Moses, to be to them a light along that dark
' path of law and legal ism which they were so long to pursue :
' And ye shall be to me a kingdom of priests, and an holy
nation.' (Exod. xix. 6.)
But what possible ground of reason can Mr. Bunsen adduce
for interpreting these words so exclusively' prophetically a,? to
The Church of the Future. 77
deny their obvious application, in the first place, to the children
of Israel themselves ? Granting that their full meaning did not
come out, until believers, by being made members of Christ in
Holy Baptism, became, in a new and full sense, ' a kingdom of
priests, and an holy nation ;' how can we grant, in defiance,
we believe, of all expositors, in defiance of the obvious sense of the
words spoken so solemnly, so publicly, so early, at the very
inauguration of the Jewish nation, in defiance of the plain in-
terpretation of the Jews themselves, that they do not apply to
the children of Israel, at least in a primary and inchoate manner,
before the days of the Messiah ?
Did not the children of Israel so interpret them ? "What then
was the meaning of Korah the Levite, and Dathan and Abiram,
' the Reubenites, when they rose up before Moses, with certain
' of the children of Israel, two hundred and fifty princes of the
' assembly, famous in the congregation, men of renown, and
* gathered themselves together against Moses and against Aaron,
' and said unto them, Ye take too much upon you, seeing all the
* congregation are holy, every one of them, and the Lord is among
' them, wherefore then lift ye up ypurselves above the congrega-
'tion of the Lord ?' (Numbers xvi.) They had recently heard
the solemn declaration made by God through Moses : they knew
the promise of God to make them a kingdom of priests and a
holy nation, and so they banded, Levites and Reubenites, with
men apparently of various tribes, to denounce what they es-
teemed an usurping priesthood, that presumed to come between
them and God ; who, by speaking to them as He had done, and
being among them, had given them the blessing of direct ap-
proach, and given them each his separate and royal priesthood.
Korah 1 , Dathan, and Abiram, were undoubtedly right in their
premise. The congregation was holy, and the Lord was among
them ; but they were wrong and rebellious in their inference.
The holiness and priesthood of the congregation did not, of their
own proper logical power and force, disprove the peculiar office
and priesthood of Aaron and his sons. And so we fear it may
be now. The apostles of the Church of the Future are right in
their premise. Christians are priests and kings, as members of
Christ. But is there no fear of their incurring the danger of
the gainsaying of Core, if they draw Core's inference ? No fear
of tempting Christ by dishonouring Him in His priests ?
For be it observed that S. Peter's warning against the gain-
saying of Core would be an idle and useless warning, if such sin
could not be committed in Christian days ; and it could not be
committed, if the universal priesthood did really put every
1 A strange use of the instance of Korah, the Levite, will be found made in VoL
ii. p. 104 of Dr. Arnold's Correspondence.
78 The Church of the Future.
member of the Christian Church into precisely the same position
of spiritual privilege and office.
The same observation may be extended to S. Paul's lesson
in the 10th Chapter of the 1st of Corinthians. The history of
the Jews in the wilderness was written for our example, on
whom the ends of the world are come. Every act of disobedi-
ence and lawlessness of theirs was recorded, because Christians
are tempted to the like ; they are all recorded to the intent that
we should, by their example, refrain from sin the five great sins
in the Christian Church ; luxury, idolatry, fornication, tempting
Christ, and murmuring which last, though it may not exclude
the continual murmurings of the people, as for water, does un-
doubtedly include, and that in a primary and especial manner,
the murmuring of the great Levites and Reubenites against
the Aaronic priesthood.
But are we to conclude that there is really no difficulty in the
Catholic theory in the points on which these writers appear to
us to have made so miserable wreck ? Is it obvious and clear
at the first sight, how the full and true Priesthood and Royalty
of single believers, is compatible with the claimed Priesthood
and power in the Church of the successors of the Apostles?
Unquestionably not: and we think that we should not ade-
quately conclude this hasty sketch of the argument whereby we
believe these gainsayers to be really answered, if we did not
freely acknowledge the difficulty, and offer what we believe to
be the Catholic solution of it.
The Apostles, in whom all the original powers and privileges
of the Church were vested, held, as is plain, two characters.
They are partly representatives of the Chm-ch, and partly its
rulers: that is, some of the things said to them were said to
them as to the Chm*ch at large, and so to all and every member
of the Church, and some more personally, as to those by whom
the Church, when it came to consist of more members, was to
be governed. The difficulty arises from the difficulty of dis-
criminating between these different sayings.
This very difficulty, we conceive to have been urged by the
apostle S. Peter to the Lord himself, when, after the parable of the
servants watching for their lord when he should return from
the wedding, he asks ' Lord, speakest thou this parable unto
' us, or even unto all?" In our Lord's answer he appears to
acknowledge plainly that the preceding parable was spoken with
an application to the Apostles as governors or stewards of the
Church. ' And the Lord said, who then is that faithful
' and wise steward whom his lord shall make ruler over his
1 S. Luke xii. 41.
The Church of the Future. 79
' household, to give them their portion of meat in due season ?
' Blessed is that servant, whom his lord when he cometh shall
* find so doing. Of a truth I say unto you that he will make
' him ruler over all that he hath.'
Here then we find not only that there are to be rulers and
stewards of God's Church during the time of the Lord's ab-
sence, and they, entrusted with power to judge of the seasons
in which spiritual meat should be apportioned to his people, but
what is still more remarkable, that this authority is not to cease
when the Lord returns to establish his triumphant kingdom.
The steward who has discharged his office well in the temporary
state, shall be ruler over all that his Lord hath in the eternal.
This promise of power as one of the characteristic blessings of
the state of the saints in heaven, is remarkably illustrated by
various other passages, such as S. Matthew xxiv. 47 ; xxv. 21,
23, 24 ; xix. 28 ; S. Luke xix. 17, 19 ; 1 Cor. vi. 2, 3 ; &c.
Now all that we wish to conclude from this passage is this ;
that although by the admission of individuals into the Body of
Christ, they do really become, each one of them, partakers of
all the glorious privileges which belong to that estate, and
among the rest of these privileges that of Royalty, as Christ
is Royal, and the only King (according to the teaching of S.
Peter, in the passage we have already often referred to, and
Rev. i. 6, and v. 10), yet that Royalty is entirely compatible
with the existence of authority of various kinds, and among
others, such as we specifically call royal authority among
them.
Nor compatible only : it actually requires (and that not tem-
porarily, and for mere cohesion's sake, for thus much of needful
authority, as a human necessity, Dr. Arnold grants) sub-
ordination and superiority, and with these, obedience, and
authoritativeness on the part of the individuals who hold this
lofty position.
For the individuals are kings, not as separately created,
independent potentates, but inasmuch, and so far forth, as they
are One in Christ the King. It is the One in Christ that is the
King. It is the unity that is royal. They are the separate atoms
which compose the unity. Kings, indeed, they are, as the
separate atoms of the royal unity. But the instant that they
try to dissever, and maintain apart their single royalties from
that of the unity in which alone they reign, they do, ipso facto,
break the unity, and breaking it lose the very claim they make.
As then the Body is one, and has many members, and all the
members of that one body, being many, are one body, so also is
Christ. Theirs is no voluntary association of independent
powers ; no alliance for mutual security, or advantage of sepa-
80 The Church of the Future.
rate or separable estates ; no natural or reasonable conjunction,
such as Dr. Arnold argues for, of ' corporations sole ' for pur-
poses of more extended good or benefit. On the contrary,
their individual powers depend absolutely on the collective
power, and exist only therein : without it they are rebels,
Dathans, Korahs ; within it, they are kings in the royal unity
which is Christ, and whereof Christ is the Head.
Now it does not in any degree interfere with this view to
believe that the Lord (when leaving the world in the flesh,
He began to be present with His Church in His Spirit), should
have left a succession of persons to exercise these authorities in
His Church until the end of the world. We do not say
(speaking for the present of the royalty alone,) that a succession
is, a priori, the only possible way by which the requisite autho-
rity might have been obtained, nor that it would have been
impossible (had such been the Divine will), for the Royal Body
to have evolved, in each generation, from itself the powers
requisite for its own government; nor, again, for the Royal
Body (supposing the Divine succession by any circumstance,
or accident, broken or interrupted,) to begin a fresh succession,
either absolutely, or in isolated portions of the world. AVe
do not say this ; but we say that there is nothing whatever
in the view of a perpetual succession of these powers within
the Church to add any new difficulty to the theory of the
united royalty of the Church, participated by every individual
Christian.
As the real royalty of many individual Christians forms no
argument against the real single royalty of the Church, One in
Christ ; and as the real single royalty of the Church, One in
Christ, involves the necessary consequence of authority exer-
cised over those who are truly kings ; so this authority may, for
any reason that can be adduced to the contrary, be determined
to a series or succession of persons within the Church, selected
each by their predecessor, and imested, according to the ordi-
nance of God, with the peculiar authorities requisite to enable
them to discharge their office.
What the nature of those peculiar authorities will be, it is,
perhaps, difficult to state, in the a priori manner in which we
are now arguing. But we may safely say that they will com-
prise at least the following particulars; authority of admission
and of expulsion ; i. e. authority of making, and deposing indi-
vidual royalties ; authority of correction and punishment,
these being the necessary forerunners and preparations of ex-
pulsion ; authority of guiding and teaching ; of defending,
strengthening, and supporting, in all ways in which they may
need it, the separate-and single royalties, by bringing to bear on
The Church of the Future. 81
them the discretion, strength, and weight of the collective
royalty acting in its chief officers.
We may appear to have been wasting effort and argument
here on an acknowledged point. * Quis dubitavit?' we can
readily suppose, may be asked by those who agree with Dr.
Arnold's views, and remember how carefully he maintains the
necessity of organization and government in every human
society, and by consequence in the Church.
We do not, indeed, think that our argument is quite iden-
tical with Dr. Arnold's, even as far as we have yet conducted
it ; for on his view, government is a natural need, voluntarily
submitted to by the separate independent regalities, for the
purpose of obtaining certain further advantages than they can
gain singly, in ours it is an essential, original, divine portion
of the Christian scheme, not destined to terminate with this
life, out of which, and because of which, there descends to
individuals all that separate character and privilege of royalty
of which the Apostle speaks.
But our main object in putting forward first the single
subject of the royalty of Christians is, that from it we may
proceed to the parallel and more controverted subject of their
priesthood. For in all the passages (Exod. xix. ; 1 S. Peter ii. ;
Rev. i. and v.) in which the royalty of Christians is spoken of,
their priesthood is spoken of too ; nor can we see anything in
the one subject which should render the views inapplicable to
it which are applicable to the other.
For, in the first place, Christians derive their priesthood as
they derive their royalty, solely from being one in Christ. He
is the true single priest : priest and victim : at once the lamb
slain from the foundation of the world, and the only omni-
temporal priest. There never was, nor could be, true victim
but he ; there never was, nor could be, true priest but he. But
his body, which is the Church, is endowed with all the same
glorious privileges as himself. One in him, she is the heir of
Abraham (Gal. iii. 16, 28), she is royal, and she is priestly.
Not independently of him, God forbid! but in him and by
him she may approach as a priest to God, with access un-
impeded, without need of further mediators, and God will hear
and recognise and receive her priestly acts.
And so there descends to the separate members of this
priestly body, because, and by force of their being members of
it, the same priestly character. Each single one among them
may now, in the great day of the Church, approach to God.
He may, in the retirement of his closet, bewail his secret pin?.
address God as * our Father which art in heaven,' cry Abba
Father with the confident hope of a beloved and accepted son,
NO. LIX. N. s. G
82 Tin- <'h tircli <>f the Future.
not doubting that the fullest access has been won tor him, and
that God loves, tends, blesses him with not less care than if no
other 'man nor angel lived in heaven or earth.' But his
priestly character would disappear, and not be, if he tried to be
a priest without the priestly unity ; to be a member without
the body, if he claimed that instead of sharing in a luminous
atmosphere, in which he with others might walk and see God,
there were determined to his single soul rays of separate and
independent sonship which made him a priest of God irre-
spectively of the great unity of which he is a portion.
Whereinsoever then the individual priest needs support,
instruction, guidance, assistance from the collective priesthood,
there, we cannot doubt that some mode is likely to be provided
by which he may be able to obtain it. And unspeakably
shallow and unreal would be the system in which it should be
maintained that there are no such needs, or that the single
Christian is absolutely complete in these respects in himself
alone. For not only must he derive in the first place, his
priestly estate from the collective priesthood by being received
in some manner, and at some specific time, into the Church, and
owe to it his instruction in the truth of God, and his oppor-
tunity of partaking in whatever means of divine grace may
belong to the common worship and devotion of Christians, in
distinction from the separate prayers of a single individual ; not
only must he be liable to be deprived of his personal priesthood
by the authority of that which is collective, and to be checked
and controlled in various portions of the exercise of it, (for
these are necessary parts of the power of deprivation,) but what
is more and more exactly to our present point, he will sometimes
need the aid and help of the collective priesthood even in such
points as are most strictly and peculiarly priestly.
We grant that he has full and free access, as a member of
Christ, to God in prayer. But what if he have sinned very
heavily, and having been led to see the enormity of his offences,
be led to despair of his retaining the access which he possessed
before ? The Church holds, as the Holy Scriptures teach, that
there is some amount, degree, or kind of sin which is irre-
missible. If there be, then there must be degrees of sin, more
and less easily remissible, leading up to this terrible consumma-
tion. There must be danger, before total loss : there must be
conditions of deepening peril, conditions of decaying spiritual
influence, conditions of diminishing facility of access, conditions
of dwindled and still dwindling grace, and blessing, before the
door of acceptance is finally closed, the day of grace done, and
the doom of death even in life inevitable. And so it may
possibly not be an unreasonable fear, which leads a sinner
The Church of the Future. 83
awakened to the keenest remorse for long-continued and heinous
sin, doubtful of his own repentance, doubtful of his own
faith, doubtful whether the bitterness which he feels be not
rather a foretaste of hell than any token of still surviving
acceptableness, to tremble in his inner soul, and shrink, and
despair of his retaining the priestliness of his original condi-
tion, and to feel most anxious dread lest the attempt of such as
he to approach God in prayer might not add sacrilege to other
sin, and only deepen his guilt and misery.
What then shall we do ? Shall we mock the dying patient
by reminding him that he is a physician himself? Shall we
insult the despairing penitent by telling him that he is himself
a priest ? Shall we tyrannically imprison him in his own single
faith, when the very disease under which he labours is despair ?
Shall we limit the mercy of Christ, who actually by his divine
breath did communicate the Holy Ghost to his priests for the
remission of sins, by our miserable logic., which, defining priest-
hood after a certain arbitrary manner, then proceeds to annul
the promise and gift of Christ to his priests, and so to his
penitents ?
Nor does there appear to be the least difficulty in believing
that the collective priesthood of the body of Christ may have
been, by Christ and his Apostles, determined to a succession of
men, holding by continually derived title of authority from
their predecessors, so as to trace their power directly up to the
Lord himself. We do not now argue that this is the only
method whereby such collective priesthood could be efficiently
or properly administered, or maintain that circumstances might
not be conceived under which the priestly body, well assured
that the sacred presence was within it (for that they were
indeed two or three duly gathered into the sacred name, and so
a Church), might evolve from itself its own collective priestly
powers, and delegate them to some of its members, or re-
commence a broken succession. We do not now argue so,
because it is not to our immediate point ; but we maintain that
if the body be collectively priestly, and if the collective priest-
liness of the body be capable of imparting priestly benefit to
those who are, confessedly, individual priests, and if such
benefits, being possible, are also likely and to be expected when
they are needed, and all these points we hope that we have
proved, then that there is no possible reason to be alleged why
the particular officers whose duty it is to be the channels of
these particular benefits may not be selected, appointed, and
guaranteed by means of a perpetual succession. There is no
incompatibility, no absurdity in reason, in supposing that the
Church may have its divine succession of priests tracing up to
G 2
84 The Church of the Future.
the Apostles, and so to the Lord himself, exercising the col-
lective priesthood, even while every member of the Church is
personally and truly a priest, when regarded by himself alone.
Let it not be thought that we are here arguing directly in
favour of the succession as a matter of fact. That argument is
to be maintained on different grounds, grounds which we may
confidently say are amply sufficient to support it against the
attacks of all gainsayers. Our humbler object is to clear the
historical argument from the rubbish of d priori objections,
to do away with the shallow notion that they who hold the
priesthood of individual Christians do thereby destroy and dis-
prove all priesthood of ordained priests within the Church of
God. We say then boldly, that if the collective priesthood be
granted, no argument can be alleged to render it incredible or
unlikely that the channels of that priestly power should be a
succession of persons, deriving by perpetual ordination, and the
gifts thereunto attached, from the Apostles and their Lord. If
any person can prove it incredible, let him do so : we cannot
undertake to remove difficulties which we have never heard, and
cannot conceive.
One topic further, and we have done. It is possible that
the theory of collective and individual priestliness, which we
have here put forward, may seem new and strange to some
readers ; and they may be disposed to ask, ' where is all this to be
* found ? ' ' who is the acknowledged church writer who has laid
* it all down in this manner, and whom you follow?'
Our answer is, that every part of our view will be found, as
is essential to every Catholic view of truth, maintained and
upheld by every writer of confessed authority, wherever that
particular portion of doctrine comes, in the order of his work,
to be presented to his mind. If the complete and balanced
theory be less easy to find, this deficiency is easily to be accounted
for, and easily to be supplied.
Indeed, we may confidently say, that, if there be any writer
of acknowledged weight and authority in the Church from
whose works passages have been, or can be, adduced which
apparently favour the Arnoldian hypothesis (passages, that is,
in which the individual priestliness is put forward so singly and
so strongly as to seem to carry any denial of the collective), there
will be found other passages, and probably in abundance, to
show that such a negative inference is entirely inadmissible,
and that the writer, in fact, held no other view than that which
we have been attempting to sketch. He may, in the course of
his argument, have had need to urge with separate force the
great truth of the individual priestliness, that great truth
which, in the history of the church, has been so often overlaid,
The Church of the Future. 85
forgotten, and usurped upon, he may have wished to vindicate
it from direct or indirect attacks to which it has been exposed ;
hut we will undertake to prove that there is no writer of ac-
knowledged catholic character who will be found so to have
urged and insisted on the individual priestliness, as not, in
the course of his doctrinal writings, to have acknowledged, and
probably insisted upon, with equal or greater force, the other
two truths of the connected theory, the collective priestliness,
and the succession.
Take, for example, a passage of Tertullian (who is catholic,
at least, on this point), which has been often used to favour the
Arnoldian views, (we quote from an edition which makes it
construe) * Nonne et laici sacerdotes sumus ? Scriptum est,
' regnum quoque nos, et sacerdotes Deo et patri suo fecit. Dif-
* ferentiam inter ordinem et plebem constituit ecclesiae auctoritas,
* et honor per ordinis consessum sanctificatus adeo, ubi eccle-
' siastici ordinis non est consessus, et offers, et tingis, et sacerdos
* es tibi solus. Sed ubi tres, ecclesia est, licet laici.' l When,
then, we find this same writer saying repeatedly such other things
as these : * Dandi quidem (baptismum) habet jus summus
' sacerdos, qui est episcopus, dehinc presbyteri et diaconi non
* tamen sine episcopi auctoritate, propter ecclesiae honorem, quo
' salvo, salva pax est. Alioquin etiam laicis jus est, quod enim
' ex asquo accipitur, ex aequo dari potest.' 2 ' Edant ergo (Haere-
* tici) origines ecclesiarum suarum. Evolvant ordinem episcopo-
' rum suorum, ita per successiones ab initio decurrentem, ut
* primus ille episcopus aliquem ex apostolis, vel apostolicis viris,
* qui tamen cum apostolis perseveraverit, habuerit auctorem et
* antecessorem. Hoc enim modo ecclesise apostolicae census
* suos deferunt.' 3 how can we interpret these passages so as to
make them compatible with each other without supposing that
the writer had in his mind, even though he had not put the
parts of it together in any single passage, the precise theory
which we have endeavoured to sketch ? the collective priest-
hood of the church the individual priesthood of single believers
the collective priesthood determined to a succession of priests
by divine appointment ?
Hooker, again, is expressly referred to by Mr. Bunsen as
offering, at least, negative support to his theory, by the admis-
sion of the possibility, under extreme circumstances, of ordina-
tion taking place without a bishop ; thereby, it is inferred, so
fully acknowledging the priestly power to inhere essentially in
individual Christians, as to warrant the denial of it to any
particular officers, or series of officers in the church.
1 De Exhort. Castitatis, c. vii. * De Bapt. c. xvii. 3 De Prses. liter,
86 The Church of the Future.
But how can this negative inference, which, be it observed,
is the only thing which brings Hooker within the scope of Mr.
Bunsen's argument, stand with the following passages of the
same writer? (we quote from Mr. Keble's preface, p. Ixxvi.):
' What angel in heaven could have said to man, as our Lord did
' unto Peter, Feed my sheep ; preach ; baptize ; do this in re-
* membrance of me ; whose sins ye retain, they are retained ;
' and their offences in heaven pardoned, whose faults ye shall
' on earth forgive ? What think ye ? Are these terrestrial
' sounds, or else are they voices uttered out of the clouds above?
* The power of the ministry of God translateth out of darkness
' into glory ; it raiseth men from the earth, and bringeth God
' himself down from heaven; by blessing visible elements, it maketh
' them invisible grace ; it giveth daily the Holy Ghost ; it hath
' to dispose of that flesh which was given for the life of the
* world, and that blood which was poured out to redeem souls ;
' when it poureth malediction upon the heads of the wicked,
' they perish ; when it revoketh the same, they revive. Oh
' wretched blindness if we admire not so great power ; more
* wretched if we consider it aright, and notwithstanding imagine
' that any but God can bestow it.' * * Let us not fear to be
' herein bold and peremptory, that if any thing in the church's
'government, surely the first institution of bishops was from
' heaven, was even of God: the Holy Ghost was the author
' of it,' 2
We have quoted these two writers because they are most apt
to be quoted upon the Arnoldian side in this controversy ; but
we confidently repeat that there is no writer of acknowledged
authority who, acknowledging the individual priestliness, does
not balance that acknowledgment in other parts of his writings
by acknowledging also the collective priestliness, and the suc-
cession ; which two points make up the connected theory which
we have ventured to sketch. We will not quote other writers,
who would be endless, but will content ourselves with one pas-
sage from Pope Leo, which seems to us to put the whole matter
in a very clear and just light. ' Nam licet universa ecclesia
' Dei distinctis ordinata sit gradibus, ut ex diversis membris
' sacrati corporis subsistat integritas ; omnes tamen, sicut ait
' apostolus, in Christo unum sumus : nee quisquam ab alterius
* ita divisus est officio, ut non ad connexionem pertineat capitis
* cujuslibet humilitas portionis. In unitate igitur fidei atque
' baptismatis, indiscreta nobis societas, dilectissimi, et generalis
* est dignitas, secundum illud beatissimi Petri Apostoli sacratis-
' sima voce dicentis ; et ipsi tanquam lapides vim supertedijicamini
1 Eccl. Pol. vii. 14. 11. * Eccl. Pol. v. 77. 1.
The Church of t/tc Future. 87
* in domos spiritales, sacerd^tiwn sanctum, offerentes spiritales
' hostias acceptabiles Deo per Jesum Christum. Et infra : Vos
' autem genus electum, regale sacerdotium, gens sancta, popular
f acquisitionis. Omnes enim in Christo regenerates crucis signum
' efficit Reges, sancti vero Spiritus unctio consecrat sacerdotes :
* ut praeter istam specialem nostri ministerii servitutem, universi
' spiritales et rationabiles Christian! agnoscant se regii generis, et
' sacerdotalis officii esse consortes. Quid enim tarn regium,
' quam subditum Deo animum corporis sui esse rectorem ? Et
' quid tarn sacerdotale quam vovere Domino conscientiam
' puram, et immaculatas pietatis hostias de altari cordis offerre ?
* Quod cum omnibus per Dei gratiam commune sit factum, reli-
* giosum tamen vobis atque laudabile est, de die provectionis
* nostrae quasi de proprio honore gaudere : ut unum celebretur
* in toto ecclesiae corpore pontificii sacramentum, quod effuso
' benedictionis unguento, copiosius quidem in superiora pro-
* fluxit, sed non parce etiam in inferiora descendit.' '
And here we might be content to leave these writers, and
their theory, satisfied that the Church of England is still suffi-
ciently sound at heart to reject teaching so utterly at variance
with the whole body of primitive doctrine and discipline,
but that the recent nomination of Dr. Hampden to the See of
Hereford places in a still stronger light the actual danger in
which the church is placed in this regard. It was fearful to
think that the Chevalier Bunsen, besides his high character,
learning, and station, had had influence enough with our
governors in Church and State to effect the left-handed marriage
of Anglicanism with Lutheranism which the church has seen
exhibited in the establishment of the Bishopric in Jerusalem.
It was fearful to think that Dr. Arnold's fresh, vivid style of
correspondence, and his manly, soundhearted views of his office
and duties as Master of Rugby School, had so won access for
his destructive church theories, as to make his ' Remains ' a
sort of text-book on the church for statesmen, imperfectly in-
formed upon the subject, and politically and liberally disinclined
to the clergy of the Church of England, and their teaching.
But the nomination by the Crown of Dr. Hampden for a
bishopric brings the actual battle. Not content with setting on
foot distant measures, or indicating a preference for heretical
teachers, Lord John Russell has now thought proper to select
the most notorious man in England, notorious by having pro-
mulgated the dangerous opinions in the most conspicuous man-
ner, notorious by having been once and again condemned by
1 Serrn. iv. in Annivers. Assumpt. suse.
88 The Church of the Future.
the vote of the University of Oxford, for the highest preferment
in the heart of our own country, and to insist upon carrying this
selection through, by the exercise of the royal prerogative,
under the most odious act of a tyrannical period, in defiance of
a very large body of the clergy and laity of the land headed by
their bishops, and in a manner directly destructive of the
spiritual rights of the church. Into the details of this appoint-
ment, and the correspondence and transactions to which it has
given rise, we forbear to enter here ; satisfying ourselves with
expressing the hope that so insulting and extraordinary a chal-
lenge, on the part of the State to the Church, to relinquish both
truth and freedom at its wanton bidding, can issue in nothing
else than in the vindication of both ; and that it is impossible for
the Erastian, tyrannical, indefensible act of 25 Hen. VIII. to
remain the law of a land, which, however little it may appre-
ciate the truth of God, still claims to venerate, and makes large
sacrifices to prove that it venerates, human liberality.
But we must add a few words, in order to show that the
teaching of this bishop designate (alas ! the day !) of Hereford,
is, in all essential points, identical with that which we have
been criticizing, of Messrs. Bunsen and Arnold, identical, we
say, in essential points ; and to this essential identity we beg to
call the particular attention of such of our readers as may have
been mystified by the publications of Dr. Hampden, subsequent
to the date of the censure of the University of Oxford. Since
that date the cautious Professor has simply held his tongue, upon
the philosophical and theoretical points involved in his former
more scientific discussions. He has republished those discus-
sions, indeed, referred to them, sold them, declined to withdraw
or retract them ; but his line in teaching, since that time, has
been to waive the whole subject, to talk of Christian doctrines as
if he had never cut off the very trunk by which they claim to be
joined to the root of Christian truth ; to throw out phrases, and
use modes of speaking, musical in the ears of a certain party in
the Church, in order, thereby, to turn to his own advantage the
prejudice which, since the time of his own condemnation, has
grown up against the High-Church Divines ; and this ingenious
method has had no inconsiderable success. Men of station and
reputation talk of his ' virtual retractation? of his having been
' sufficiently punished !' of the 'soundness of his present views, 1 of
the ' greater danger of Romanism? till they become, practically,
apologists of a system of teaching, really destructive of the
Creeds, the Sacraments, the Doctrines, the authority, and the
very being of the Church.
Like Mr. Bunsen and Dr. Arnold, Dr. Hampden totally
ir the authority of the Creeds. Indeed, his Bampton
The Church of the Future. 89
Lectures may be fairly understood to be an express attack upon
them.
He holds that the entire matter of revelation is simply and
solely fact : l The only ancient, only catholic truth, is the
s scriptural fact." ' Dogmas of theology, as such, are human
* authorities.' 2
Does he attempt, in the preface to the second edition of the
Lectures, to evade the force of his own words, and explain the
word 'fact,' in such a manner as, by including doctrines, to
nullify and stultify the whole discussion of the Bampton Lec-
tures at a blow ?
We will not characterize the candour and honesty of such a
proceeding ; but we will provide the due reply to it from his
own words : * I venture to say, there are no propositions con-
* cerning God in Scripture, detached from some event of Divine
' Providence to which they refer, and on which they are founded.
* Some, perhaps, will say, " An inspired writer has said thus, or
* thus, this, then, as asserted by him, is matter-of-fact ; and,
' accordingly, it is on matter-of-fact, in this sense, that the
* Christian revelation is said to be founded." The expression,
1 " matter-of-fact," will, no doubt, admit this sense; but, to inter-
' pret the Scripture revelation in this manner, is only to return
' to the assertion of its dogmatic character in another form. It
* brings us back to take the words, or propositions, written by
* the inspired writers, as the substance of the revelation, instead
' of looking to the authenticated dealings of God in the world.
* When I say, therefore, that the Christian revelation is matter-
* of-fact, I INTEND by it to express my conviction that the
' substance of the revelation is the DOINGS AND ACTIONS of God ;
' I have always before my view some EVENT in the HISTORY of
' God's PROVIDENCES to which I refer it.' 3
If Dr. Hampden's meaning is not ascertained, and his evasion
not annihilated by himself (both of which we hold to be very
satisfactorily accomplished), let us beg our readers to refer back
to page 68 of this Number, in which an extract is made from
Mr. Bunsen's 18th page.
Can any one doubt that the ACTS of Mr. Bunsen's Creed
illustrate the FACTS of Dr. Hampden's ?
Like Dr. Arnold, again, who cannot deny to the Unitarians the
name of Christian, because they differ only in interpretation
from the Church, Dr. Hampden, too, * when he looks at the
' reception by the Unitarians, both of the Old and New Testa-
* ment, cannot, for his part, strongly as he dislikes their theology,
1 Barapton Lectures, iii. p. 149. 3 Ibid., viii. p. 375.
3 It is a moral fact, of no slight significancy, that this self-convicting passage is
omitted in the second edition of the Observations on Rdvjious Dissent, p. 14.
90 The Church of the Future.
' deny to those, who acknowledge this basis of divine facts, the
' name of Christian.'
Dr. Hampden, indeed, in his crusade against Christian doc-
trine, outdoes even Dr. Arnold ; for the actual words of Holy
Writ itself are not safe from his miserable philosophy, claiming
to distinguish the revelation from the terms in which it is
conveyed, in order to deny all authority in the terms.
St. Peter's expression, for instance, 2. i. 4, Gt/ae KOIVOWH
puatwe, is pantheistic. 1 Dr. Hampden ' appeals from the chaff
* to the wheat ; from Paul philosophizing to Paul preaching, and
' entreating, and persuading.' 2 ' We must not take the words or
' propositions written by the inspired writers, as the substance
' of the revelation, but must look to the authenticated (?) deal-
* ings of God in the world.' 3 Even the sacred words of our Lord
himself fare no better than those of the apostle's with this
audacious speculator : ' In the instance of the woman thus sud-
* denly cured, he is described as having perceived that some one
* had touched him, by the fact that virtue had gone out of Him
' a mode of speaking characteristic of the prevalent idea con-
' cerning the operation of Divine influence, as of something
* passing from one body to another.' 4
So much for doctrines. In ordinances, too, Dr. Hampden's
teaching is hardly to be distinguished from Dr. Arnold's. Dr.
Hampden says, ' Theologians have not been content to rest on
* the simple fact of the Divine ordinance, appointing certain
' external rites as essential parts of Divine service on the part
' of man, available to the blessing of the receiver.' 5 Dr. Arnold:
' When Christians met together, and received the bread and
' wine of their common living, as the body and blood of Christ,
* such an act had a real tendency to strengthen and confirm
' their souls, and the Holy Spirit made such a communion a
' constant means of grace to those who partook of it.' 6 * God's
' grace is conveyed by the sacraments, morally, because the
* joining Christ's Church, in the first instance, and the constantly
* refreshing our communion with it afterwards, are actions
' highly beneficial to our moral nature.' 7 Dr. Hampden: 'The
* faith of the receiver is the true consecrating principle.' 8 Dr.
* Arnold : * The agreement of those communicating, their com-
* mon faith and love, constitute the real consecration of the
' bread and wine.' 9
In respect of the authority of the Church, in her primitive, or
universal teaching, Dr. Hampden holds, that ' it is only an
1 Bampton Lectures, p. 197. 2 Ibid., p. 375.
* Observations on Religious Dissent, p. 14. 4 Bampton Lectures, p. 316.
6 Ibid., p. 312. 6 On the Church, p. 20. r Ibid., p. 63.
8 Bampton Lectures, p. 323. " On the Church, p. 21.
The Church of the Future. 91
* assumption that universality and ubiquity are made the tests of
t religious doctrine Truth is rather the attribute of the
' few than of the many Who shall pronounce anything to be
' Divine truth, simply because it has the marks of having been
* generally, or universally, received among men ? ' ' 'To me it
' matters little what opinion has been prior, has been advocated
* by the shrewdest wit or deepest learning, has been most
' popular, most extensive in its reception.'' 2
Dr. Arnold, holding the language of St. Ignatius ' exagge-
rated,' and ' more vehement than wise,' and considering it to
have been * most palpably abused by Cyprian,' nevertheless feels
it * satisfactory to find that the Church, in the very first century,
* had not grossly corrupted Christian truth.' 3 * We are to seek
* for our knowledge of Christianity nowhere else but in the
' Scriptures; what we find there is a part of Christianity,
* whether recognised as such, or no, in after ages; what ice do
t not find there is no part of Christianity, however early, or
' however general, may have been the attempts to inter-
< polate it.' 4
Thus, in both these writers is the whole structure of doctrine
and sacraments, and the whole frame of Church authority in
teaching, and succession in administering, annulled, and done
away. Certain Divine facts, distinguishable from all words,
even those of our Holy Lord and his Apostles themselves, are
the entire matter of revelation ; these, all who call themselves
Christians may find, or not find, may understand, theorize about,
interpret, as they please. There are, also, two external rites,
which do men moral good when faithfully partaken in. Behold
the framework of the Christian teaching of those who are, it
appears, to be the model of our future Bishops the men to fix,
to all coming times, the character and doctrine of the English
Church, given over, henceforth, as far as a Whig Prime
Minister can give her, to Arnoldism, Bunsenism, and Hamp-
denism !
But, God be praised ! the vitality of the Church in England
rests not upon the propriety or impropriety of this or that
appointment ; nor, melancholy as is this recent attack upon her
truth and 'liberty, has it failed to be followed by such a large,
such a powerful and authoritative resistance and remonstrance,
as must show to all the world, that her heart is yet in the right
place, and that she still recognises and holds precious the
divine verities of the Gospel. If only her sons and daughters
are meek and faithful in their zeal ; if they are not tempted, in
1 Hampton Lectures, p. 356. 2 Ibid., p. 149.
3 Ibid., pp. 95, 100, 122. 4 Ibid., p. 47.
92 The Church of the Future.
f'rctfulness and impatience, to take some hasty and schismaticul
step, mistaking a trial of the faith, and soundness of the Church,
for a token of her being deserted of her Saviour ; if they avail
themselves, in all humility and devotion, of the means of Divine
grace, which she is the rich channel of imparting to them ; if
they hold fast by her primitive service books, and shut their
ears to this deluge of real infidelity, which is setting in from
Germany ; then we may hope that God will bring good out of
our evil, and even by the very means of this reckless, insulting,
and most lamentable appointment, pour out unexpected blessing
on our suffering Church.
93
ART. IV. 1. The Life of Luther, written by himself, collected and
arranged by M. MICHELET, Member of the Institute, Author of
the History of France, fyc. Translated by WILLIAM HAZLITT,
Esq. of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law. London : David
Bogue.
2. Histoire de la Vie, des Ecrits, et des Doctrines de Martin
Luther. Par M. AUDIN, Membre des Academies Royales de
Lyon, Turin, $c. Paris : L. Maison.
3. The Mission of the Comforter ; and other Sermons, with Notes.
By JULIUS CHARLES HARE, M. A. Archdeacon of Lewes,
Rector of Herstmonceux, and late Fellow of Trinity College.
London : J. W. Parker. Cambridge : Macmillan.
THE life and character of Luther have been brought rather
conspicuously before public attention of late years. The taste
for the striking and powerful forms of character, which has been
so general among us lately, pervading the most different schools
of sentiment and doctrine, has contributed to this. The move-
ment of opinion respecting the Reformation has also contributed.
The special mixture of character which Luther exhibits, has
kept alive the discussions about him, when once begun. He is
peculiarly a man whom persons both like to attack and like to
defend. To his advocates belongs the undoubted fact that he
was a great man ; to his opponents the very awkward question,
whether he was a saint. He was very amiable ; he was very
virulent. He was frank and simple ; he was crafty and double.
He was not vain; he was self-willed and over-bearing. He
liked power ; he was indifferent to station. He had an ardent
faith ; he showed germs of rationalism. Few characters have
exposed themselves more to the attacks of adversaries, or more
engaged the sympathies of friends. His admirers are, indeed,
fond of him, fonder, perhaps, for the very fact that he has left
himself so open to attack as he has. They think it an unfair-
ness in fate to Luther, or in Luther to himself, for which they
are bound in justice to compensate. Should he suffer for the
temper which always made him show himself off to the worst ?
And should the fault, which his own frankness and carelessness
about himself have put into our possession, not rather commend
him the more to the generous judge ?
Three biographies of Luther have appeared within the last
few years ; one by a friend, another by an enemy, and a third
by a neutral. D'Aubigne's biography for the first half of
his History of the Reformation may be so called has the
94 Martin Luther.
merit of a good deal of information, and a lively and pointed
style, but is the thorough-going work of a partizan. The writer
is always colouring, and will let nothing speak for itself. His
comments do not occupy particular positions, and collect them-
selves into main groups, but are constant and ever recurring.
The over quantity of detail in the narrative a fault on its own
account is a worse fault as being so prolific of comment ; for
the smallest detail seldom wants its appendage. If the historian
has no remark to make, the preacher has : and the reader,
harassed with an endless reiteration of small reflections and
officious instructions, retaliates, by regarding M. d'Aubigne as
a writer a good deal more copious than weighty. His omis-
sions in the line of fact are nearly as large, moreover, as his
additions in the way of comment. He leaves out whole por-
tions of Luther's character, or but faintly alludes to them.
His aim is to assimilate Luther's ethical and religious mould
as much as possible to that of an evangelical preacher of the
present day. Luther does not gain by his biographer's tender-
ness on this head; and the same process which cuts off the
irregularities, narrows the expanse, and tames the freedom of
character.
M. Audin has, as might be expected, inserted a good many of
the touches which M. d'Aubigne's pencil left out. Nor, though
highly relishing his task, has he performed it ill-temperedly.
His unfairness is not a malicious one ; he delights in the amiable
tasks of the favourist, and extols all his friends with innocent
audacity, the notorious Tetzel among the rest: but he is not
harsh and vituperative to opponents. He only gives, however,
the more active and fiery parts of the Reformer's character, and
not the whole of it; and describes Luther's external career
better than Luther himself.
M. Michelet's Life hardly professes to be more than a crude
and straggling performance: its composition having been the
amusement of the writer during an illness. It consists, princi-
pally, of passages strung together from the table-talk, and those
parts of Luther's writings where the Reformer speaks of him-
self. M. Michelet stands idly by, and gives the reader no assist-
ance. An admiration of Luther's greatness, sympathy with his
genial flow of spirits, and amusement at his faults and extra-
vagances, compose, as far as we can see, the feeling of the
impartial biographer toward his hero : and the sceptic seems to
gaze with quiet pleasure upon the medley which the religious
leader, saint, and prophet of so many millions of Christians
exhibits.
The mode in which Luther is introduced to our notice, in
the pages of national history, creates an impression of him as
Martin Luther. 95
primarily a practical, rather than a doctrinal reformer. He
comes before us suddenly as the opponent of some great prac-
tical abuses in the Church : we connect him, in the first instance,
with the resistance to indulgences. We thus picture a doc-
trinal movement, as arising, in process of time, out of a practical
one ; and Luther appears one of those rough, energetic minds
which, only alive at first to the palpable and tangible, gradually
advance to the department of opinion and belief. This is
undoubtedly true of the multitudes whom Luther moved. They
were moved, in the first instance, by the gross practical abuses
in the Church; and those supplied that groundwork to the
reforming movement, without which it could not have advanced
at all. But it is not true of Luther. If there are two classes
of influential men in the world, great practical men and men
who propagate ideas, Luther belonged, in the first instance, to
the latter. His mind was full of an idea, and he wished to pro-
pagate it. National history brings us across him for the first
time engaged in a particular practical movement ; but his bio-
graphy shows that the doctrinal was then already begun and in
progress.
The process by which leading ideas are arrived at is generally
that of doubt and perplexity. A particular class of minds feels
strongly the difficulties which surround the whole subject of
morality and religion. Some have one difficulty, and some
another. They dwell upon the obstacles to their internal peace
with an intensity natural, or morbid, as may be : and, after they
have brooded long enough, they hit on a solution. This solu-
tion is then the idea which occupies and fills their minds. They
have felt a want, and they have relieved it ; they have put their
question, and had their answer : they have been in suspense, and
now are settled. They prize the new conviction, because it
succeeds to so much indefiniteness and void. The search has
enhanced the discovery, the toil the reward ; and the offspring
of mental troubles is loved as an only child. The idea which
has destroyed a difficulty is a victorious champion on which the
mind reposes ever after, and to which it refers all of system,
adjustment, and completeness it has attained to.
Luther had a natural character, which made him strongly
alive to difficulties ; that is to say, a character which partook
largely of melancholy. Dante, Cromwell, Dr. Johnson, Cow-
per, Rousseau, Lord Byron, Shelley, are instances of men, who
in their different ways, high or low, religious or sceptical, un-
couth or refined, were melancholy men. Luther was one of this
class of men. He had a mind intently self-contemplative, and
profoundly unquiet, which, except the strongest active occupa-
tions diverted it, preyed upon itself; scrutinized its own faith,
96 Martin Luther.
feelings, fears and hopes ; pried into the mysteries of its own
nature; and provoked internal dissatisfactions and struggles.
Luther speaks of his great scenes of trial as being throughout
life internal. His agonies, his temptations, his colloquies with
himself or with Satan, the tcnderest controversy and the most
formidable disputant, were always within him. He had just
that disposition on which particular difficulties, and the ideas
which seem to solve them, lay remarkable hold.
The opening circumstances of Luther's life were not calculated
to discourage or tame such a disposition. The calm of a restless
spirit is activity; and quiet unsettles and agitates it. The
retirement and dulness of the Augustin monastery at Witten-
burgh, threw him the more upon himself and his own thoughts.
The particular circumstances of his entrance into monastic life
were also trying. A stroke of lightning which killed his bosom
friend by his side, according to some writers, though others make
the thunderstorm and the death of Alexis two different events,
inspired him with sudden terror. A lively, joyous temperament
was also most alive to calls ; and possessed a power of forming
sudden strong resolutions. He was able, in a moment, to
change the prospects of a life ; a vow uttered on the spot, dedi-
cated him to monasticism ; and the accomplished, philosophical,
literary academician, the favourite of fellow-students who en-
joyed his humour, and of scientific professors who predicted his
greatness, called his friends together, enjoyed an evening of
brilliant conversation and music, and the next morning knocked
at the gate of the Augustin monastery, which closed after him.
But the young devotee was not made a monk by the change.
The constant interruptions to formal prayer were irksome to
him : he did not stomach the household monastic tasks he was
set to ; tasks, indeed, needlessly humiliating and offensive,
and, if intended to correct the fastidiousness of his previous
education, arguing a blundering, however well-meaning disci-
pline, in the monastery. Luther felt himself, in addition to the
ordinary confinements and privations of a monastic life, to be
among inferior and unsympathizing minds, alone, suspected, and
ill-used.
There was another and more direct cause which led to reli-
gious melancholy and difficulties. Luther had ardent aspira-
tions after the perfect and saintly character. There is not the
smallest reason for doubting not only his sincerity, but his
strength of will, and readiness to endure the greatest self-denial
and mortification in pursuit of that character. But, impatient
of regular discipline and routine, the more simple and external
motive of obedience, for leading a holy life, was supplied in
his case by a motive of another stamp. He had, what has been
Martin Luther. 97
a frequent feature, though never a very sound one, in religionists,
an active, not to say fidgety, desire for a state of conscious and
palpable peace of mind. He was ambitious of inward satisfac-
tion, the sensation of spiritual completeness. His devotion was
based upon a direct aim at this result. He pursued it vehe-
mently by ascetic means. He fasted, prayed, watched long and
rigorously. ' Often on returning to his cell he knelt at the
* foot of the bed, and remained there until day -break.' His
asceticism, mingling with the internal fever and tumult of his
mind, gave him an unnatural strength ; and he relates that ' once
* for a whole fortnight, he neither ate, drank, or slept.' His
health gave way before such severities : from being fresh and
plump, he became pale and emaciated, and was brought almost
to death's door. One little fact shows the remarkable union of
great irregularity in religion, with a morbid aim at perfectness.
He would omit his daily breviary prayers for long periods :
then, when his conscience smote him, he would make good the
default with literal exactness, and scrupulously go through, in
one continuous act, the precise amount of devotions he had
omitted. That is to say, he was not satisfied with the feeling
of having done something to atone for his fault : he wanted the
feeling of having annihilated the fault itself, and put himself
exactly into his original state as he stood before it was com-
mitted. In this way Luther went on, seeking with all the
eagerness of direct effort an absolutely clear conscience. The
pursuit, of course, did not succeed. A clear conscience was
always farther off the farther he pursued it ; and at the close
of each stage of his devotional course, he was as discontented
with himself as when he began. * At the foot of the altar, his
* hands clasped, his eyes full of tears,' he prayed for peace, and
found none. ' One morning the door of his cell not being open
* as usual, the brethren became alarmed ; they knocked, and
* there was no reply. The door was burst in, and Fra Martin
* was found stretched on the ground, in a state of ecstasy, scarcely
* breathing, and well-nigh dead.' At the sight of the Holy Sa-
crament borne in a procession, * he perspired at every pore, and
' thought he should die of fear.' Vexed, wearied, harassed, and
faint, his mind fell a prey to a formidable difficulty to which its
labours and aspirations had introduced it.
There is one apparent grievance attaching to our moral
nature, which all who cultivate that nature with any degree of
strictness must in a degree experience. It is connected .with
the operations of conscience. However we might be led before-
hand, by considerations of the general nature of moral goodness,
to expect that goodness would produce internal satisfaction and
self-approval, we find that as a matter of experience, it fails to
NO. LIX. N. 8. H
98 Martin Luther.
produce this. Conscience does not allow of such sensations.
Good acts leave the soul as they found it, uneasy and discon-
tented with itself, and under a sense of sin, even as regards the
performance of those very acts themselves. Within the world of
experience good acts disappoint. They do not accomplish their
natural end, and fulfil their essential promise. Moral beings
yearn for self-approval : they feel the absence of it as a void
and a pain : they are told to act virtuously, and that they will
have it ; but they do act virtuously, and self-approval does not
come. Virtue seems to stand them in no stead, and do them
no service here : they might as well be vicious. The greatest
sinner, the greatest saint, are equidistant from the goal where
the mind rests in satisfaction with itself. All approach to that
point labours under some inherent contradiction : all pi'ogress is
a stand-still; all impetus and determination spend themselves
with the circles of a mathematical necessity: the eager will
shoots forward, but the laws of the moral world are firm, and
unseen impossibility makes its appearance in results. The
defect is not one resulting from the degree of their virtue : no
tendency in the universal quality to meet the craving for such
self-approval appears. The tendency is the other way, and
with the growth in goodness grows the sense of sin. One law
fulfilled, shows a thousand neglected ; and virtue, as it really
advances, recedes more and more, in our own contemplation of
it, into the position of one weak and poor particle, struggling
amid a mass of evil in the character. Moral advancement, as a
natural consequence, destroys the sense of merit, and produces
that of sin; and thus, as a natural consequence, it seems to
defeat itself.
This unkindly effect of goodness, moreover, if it is such, is
not kept out of sight in Scripture, but put prominently forward,
and suggested to us. For real goodness is in many passages
there actually and in the most marked way tested, by its
producing just the contradictory impression to that of goodness,
in the individual's own conscience. Indeed, so determinately
is this contradictory consequence attached to, and made the
natural consequence of, the state of goodness ; that by a strong
figure of speech the holy text sometimes puts the consequence of
the state for the state itself, and speaks of righteousness as if it
were sin ; just as it, on the other hand, speaks of sin as it were
righteousness. And a whole line of expression meets us from
which one would at first sight suppose, that sinners were actual
favourites of God as such; and that, on the contrary, the
righteous were not at all pleasing to Him. There is a coldness
in the remarks about the righteous, as if God were angry Avith
them because, persisting in their original integrity, they did not
Martin Luther. 99
give Him the opportunity of exercising his sovereign free grace
jind pity toward them : sinners, on the other hand, are dearly
loved, because they give Him this opportunity ; they have His
affections, on the principle which prevails in the sphere of ordi-
nary human feeling, that ' pity is akin to love ;' whereas those
who are independent of us, and ask nothing from us, we do not
care for. * They that are whole need not a physician, but they
' that are sick.' ' I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to
* repentance.' * There is joy in the presence of the angels of God,
* over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine
'just persons which need no repentance.' ' Her sins which are
* many are forgiven her, for she loveth much : but to whom little
' is forgiven the same loveth little.' Thus the parable of the lost
sheep ; the parable of the lost piece of money ; the parable of
the lost son. All these parables create at first sight the im-
pression of it being an actual advantage to be lost and to be a
sinner, something to be coveted and sought after with all our
might. The reader naturally immediately thinks that he had
much rather be the sheep that was lost than one of those that
had never gone astray ; and had much rather be the son who
had wandered, and was greeted on his return with such an over-
flow of affection, than the son who had never wandered, and
had no such greeting. Now it, of course, is absurd to suppose
that actual sin is pleasing to God, actual righteousness not
pleasing to him ; indeed, we know from the context that the
' righteous ' to whom Our Lord alludes, were actually the most
wicked of mankind, viz. the Pharisees who crucified Him, men
who could only be righteous in the sense of being righteous in
their own eyes. The feeling of being sinful and the feeling of
being righteous, then, are, under the expressions sin and righteous-
ness, the real things which God respectively praises and blames.
Still the language is very remarkable, as fixing in such a direct
and summary way this contradictory effect upon goodness. In
the Gospel self- approval appears as something signally unfit
for the creature; enormous, abominable, and contra Deum.
It appears as the mark of the beast, the sign, where it exists,
that the soul has departed from God, and relapsed into its own
vile, dead, and selfish nature. There is a happiness, indeed,
which belongs to conscious merit, soberly expecting its reward
in the course of nature, of which the whole-day's labourer
waiting for his wages is the exemplar ; and uninstructed reason
fixes on that as the happiness of the saint. But the Gospel, in
describing the joy of the rewarded saint, has recourse to a very
different type. It refers us to those indescribable emotions
which seize the mind upon any sudden rescue from evil, which
it has no right to expect. The jwables of the lost piece of
H2
100 Martin Luther.
money, and the lost sheep, and the lost son, all appeal to this
type of joy ; and intimate the great superiority of the pleasures
of this type to those of the former, as having, from the very
nature of the case, so much more liveliness and depth in them ;
the sensations of possession and safety necessarily having an
acme and intensity after loss and danger which they could not
have had before. For the reward of goodness, then, the Gospel
gives us a pleasure of this type ; that is to say, it gives not the
peace of self-approval but the joy of pardon : the most accepted
man has, by some mystery, most sins forgiven, and his happiness
lies in that forgiveness. Philosophy of old dreamed, indeed, of
the happiness of conscious virtue ; and the * memory of a well-
spent life' filled its disciples with serene thoughts, and bade
them look for the rewards of self-discipline in the act of self-
contemplation. The wise man looked within himself and was
satisfied ; the world without was wild, but he was tranquil,
balanced, and perfect. He had always a retrospect which con-
soled, and a conscience which supported him. He had done
well, and was recompensed; he had worked, and he had his
wages ; and he received his reward with the dignity and self-
possession which belongs to one who enjoys a right. Self-approval
was the prcemium virtutis of ancient philosophy. Most natural
ambition. But how roughly did Christianity break these
morning slumbers of the wise and good ! ' Awake, thou that
* sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee
' life.' The dream was dispelled, and man awoke to real life and
facts ; he was shown himself, and saw what he had never seen
before a feeble will, effort always short, struggle ending in
self-contempt, and virtue never got, but always to be attained.
The mystery of conscience was revealed; and he discovered
that he had done nothing, had secured no standing ground.
From the yawning pit he reached forth a hand as he was
sinking; it was caught, and he was saved. Then followed a
pleasure, in comparison with which all that his philosophy had
offered him was nothing the pleasure of rescue. The Gospel
destroyed one set of satisfactions, but replaced them with a
higher. For the calmness and repose of self-approval, there
was the intense, quick, miraculous delight of pardon; for
human satisfaction there was superhuman, and for the order
of nature the mystery of grace.
The inevitable tendency of human goodness, then, being to
produce the sense of sin, it is to be remarked next, that such
sense of sin is not the same with the common ordinary feeling
so called, that is, with remorse and a bad conscience. A good
action produces a sense of sin indeed, and a bad action does ;
but it would be absurd to say, that the feeling in the mind
Martin Luther. 101
after performing a good action, was exactly the same with
the feeling after performing a bad one. In the one case the
conscience is displeased with the action as simply bad ; in the
other case it is displeased with it because it falls short of
absolute good. That sense of sin which grows with advance in
goodness is less properly the sense of sin than the sense of
imperfection. The sense of imperfection is a feeling quite
strong enough for the occasion, quite sufficient, that is, to
explain and account for the class of painful and humiliating
sensations which have to be accounted for ; for imperfection is
quasi sin, and affects the mind in a way somewhat similar and
cognate to that in which actual sin does. The sense of it is
galling, painful, humiliating, just as the sense of sin is. Let
any one examine, by a reference to his own feelings and
experience, what the peculiar effect of imperfection upon the
mind is. Its effect is to spoil anything done as an object of
regard and contemplation. Nor is this the case in morals
only, but in art, science, literature. It is so much the consti-
tution of the human mind to seek finish and completeness, that
any falling short of that is a disappointment which it cannot get
over. The end is the test of true being ; and things only really
are, when they are finished, are perfect. The work which falls
short of that point is only an embryo of a work: and, the
vertex of perfection once conceived in the mind, all below is
confused, chaotic, formless. Take any artistic creation of our
minds a book, a drawing, a building, a mechanical contrivance
we were absolutely pleased with it so long as we thought it
perfect, that is to say, so long as we did not realize any definite
falling short in it. But let a definite falling short be once seen,
and let us once have in our mind a clear image of the work
more perfect than we have made it, and that complacency goes.
As an object of contemplation our work is marred, it offends
us, and we eject it from our thoughts, and think no more of it
than we can help. We betake ourselves to the future indeed,
and to that hope which happily no experience can ever defeat,
that the next thing we do will be satisfactory ; but the thing
done is defaced, the past is taken from us. Such is the law of
a nature which aspires to perfection. The point rises higher
and higher, throwing disaster and defeat upon all below it. It
is the same in morals : an action is in morals what a work of
art, or a composition, is in art and literature. Take any action,
or course of action, however conscientious, nay, heroic ; it ceases
to be an object of satisfactory contemplation as soon as ever the
mind realizes a definite better, which it could and ought to
have been. Thus, suppose an extraordinary act in one of the
religious departments of prayer, fasting, or charity. An ascetic
102 Martin Luther.
worshipper stays on his knees for hours ; he stays till his mind
is painfully wearied and exhausted. But free will is strong,
and could keep him there longer if he exerted it sufficiently.
Nevertheless the desire for relief prevails, and he rises, either
to recreate or to rest himself. Now certainly he has performed
a religious act of some difficulty, and might so far feel self-
approval ; but then arises the uncomfortable consciousness that
he has wilfully curtailed it. The act immediately loses its
wholeness, and the wilful stopping short is more annoying than
the advance up to that point is satisfactory. The sin of not
having done more, spoils the goodness of having done so much ;
indulged frailty and infirmity vex and occupy the conscience,
and the consequence is, that he has more of the feeling of sin
than if he had never done the act to begin with. It would be
the same in any other religious department. Imagine this sense
of imperfection deepening and enlarging, eating into the core of
every good act, and spoiling and defacing in proportion to the
extent of that material which virtuous effort supplies it to
deface ; and we have before us the progress of that peculiar
sense of sin which grows with the advance in goodness.
Imperfection, then, being the cause of that sense of sin which
accompanies good works, the view which we take of such good
works, in consequence of such sinfulness attaching to them,
depends on the view we take of imperfection. Now there is
one view of imperfection, which, fully recognising the faultiness
and defectiveness which must attach to every imperfect production
as such, and even allowing the rigid definition of true existence
to be perfection, still leaves an imperfect production a something,
and does not wholly annihilate it. With respect to the subject
before us, such a view refuses to pronounce of the goodness of
man's works, that, because it is imperfect, it is therefore no
goodness at all, and to deprive it of all cognizableness. Accord-
ing to it, there are in the constitution of things approaches and
tendencies as well as completions. These works are not nothing,
because they are not at all ; nor because they are infinitely dis-
tant from infinite goodness are they reduced to an equality with
absolute stationariness. Space is infinite, and yet there is a dif-
ference between a yard and a mile. Time is infinite, and yet
an hour is longer than a minute. On a line which travels from
a given goal into infinity one may proceed no way at all, another
a short way, another a longer way. The merest reaching for-
ward of the human soul toward goodness is a moral something ;
approaches are cognizable, measurable, appreciable things. In the
confessed absence of the absolute attribute, an inferior and subor-
dinate goodness is thus saved for human works, and something
of, or belonging to, the nature of goodness is left in them. And
Martin Luther. 103
this view of imperfection is the one which the conscience itself
takes. That displeasure at defect and shortcoming, however real
and however disturbing, which grows with advance in goodness,
is not after all unaccompanied with another and a pleasing kind
of consciousness. Though it is a part of truth to call conscience
insatiable and self-condemning, it is not the whole of it. If it
condemns on one side, it justifies on another. It censures and it
commends in one and the same act of reflection. The human soul
is such a marvellous, many-sided, and intricate creation, that no
one line of observation can do it justice or represent it fairly.
Peace and disappointment mingle, and tempered oppositions
compose the soul's, as they do the body's, health. Eising satis-
faction feels the drawback; and, on the other hand, even in
the lowest abasements and self-condemnations of a true saint,
there is a latent confidence arising out of his own works. If con-
science accuses too harshly, conscience itself is judged for doing
so, and a higher conscience steps in. ' If our heart condemn
* us, God is greater than our heart.' ' Yea, I judge not mine
* own self.' Though conscience will not let us feed on its
satisfactions, it gives us a taste of them, and allows something
which is, and is not, self-approval. Thus, it is absurd to
say that a good life is to produce no consolatory and joyful
reflections whatever in the retrospect. * I have fought a good
* fight,' says St. Paul; *I have kept the faith; henceforth there is
' laid up for me a crown of righteousness.' The same Scripture
which so sternly rebukes a proud self -approval, directs us,
nevertheless, to a certain state of mind which it calls a ' con-
science void of offence,' and allows the true-hearted and honest
soul, amid the reproach of an ungodly world, to vindicate itself,
and find consolation in the consciousness of its own truth and
integrity. * I have not dwelt with vain persons, neither have
I had fellowship with the deceitful.' * I have loved the habi-
tation of thine house.' ' I have had as great delight in the
way of thy testimonies as in all manner of riches.' * O turn
from me shame and rebuke, for I have kept thy testimonies.'
I have chosen the way of truth, and thy judgments have
I laid before me.' * Thy statutes have been my songs.' * I
am wiser than the aged, because I keep thy commandments.'
But Luther had thrown himself into a temper of mind which
was not favourable to taking such a via media in the estimation
of good works. A too ambitious and direct pursuit of spiritual
satisfaction, a too great longing for the palpable and the appre-
hensible in religion, had over-stimulated and unbalanced him.
A morbid eagerness for some extreme and perfect state of self-
approval and conscious elevation, and an irregular and head-
strong asceticism pursued for its attainment, presented him
104 Martin Luther.
unprepared for meeting disappointment ; and the result was,
that when that disappointment came, as it infallibly must corne
sooner or later, and when, after an excited pursuit, the impos-
sibility of the object at last broke upon him, and he found that
self-approval ever fled, and perfection never came, he felt the
vehement impulse immediately of a disappointed man to insist
on the very contrary extreme. To an impetuous nature the
favourite alternative is all or none : the work half done annoys,
and there is a pleasure in effacing it altogether. As Luther
could not find a wholly approving conscience, he would have a
simply condemning one ; and as good works could not be
perfect, he would not have them to be good works at all. A
rigid definition of goodness, as perfect goodness, annihilated at
one stroke all goodness below that point, because it was below
it; converting it, as if in revenge, into absolute evil. That
sense of sin which obedience created, and which increased in
proportion to obedience, was in Luther's retaliatory disgust
confounded with sin itself; and the law, in theological language,
made productive of sin only.
Such was the conclusion to which Luther came; its first
effect was to make him turn round with fierceness and hostility
upon the whole system of things which maintained such a
balk, to a degree that the character of the Deity himself
seemed at stake with him. * Ego ipse ojfendebarj are his words,
* tit optarem nunquam me esse creatum hominem? l I was
' indignant, and gave silent utterance to murmuring, if not
* altogether to blasphemy. I said to myself, Is it not, then,
' enough that wretched sinners, already damned for original sin,
' should be overwhelmed with so many miseries by the decrees
* of the Decalogue, but God must add further misery to misery
' by his Gospel, menacing us even there with his justice and
* anger ? ' He addressed God in the language of offended Job :
* Thou art my enemy without cause.' * Jerome, and other
* fathers, had trials those of the flesh ; Augustin and Ambrose
' had trials those of the persecuting sword ; but mine were far
' worse, they came from the angel of Satan, who strikes with
* the fist.' There is nothing vituperative or disparaging of
Luther, in saying that he had, in his intellectual nature, sup-
pressed, indeed, by a powerful though irregular faith, an element
of that sensitive and rebellious temperament which has made
men before now atheists. Lucretius saw a great difficulty in the
unsatisfying nature of religion, i.e. conscience, which he accused
of filling the mind with horror and self-condemnation, instead
of peace:
' Quae caput a cocli regionibus ostendebat
Horribili super aspectu mortalibus instans.'
Martin Luther. 105
He thought this must be wrong, and therefore denied the truth
of religion altogether. Shelley's atheism was connected with
difficulties in the same department : his whole nature rebelled
against what appeared to him to be the issue of the moral
process in the human soul:
' And who made terror, madness, crime, remorse,
Which from the links of the great chain of things,
To every thought within the mind of man
Sway and drag heavily, and each one reels
Under the load towards the pit of death ;
Abandoned hope, and love that turns to hate,
And self-contempt, bitterer to drink than blood,'
The more simple portion of mankind see difficulties only as
facts, and not as difficulties; every stoppage is only their natural
resting-place, their minds exactly fit in with facts, and feel no
pressure. But others cannot see a difficulty without seeing its
bearing; a subtle thread connects it immediately with their
central faith, the responsibility is thrown back upon the foun-
dation, and the whole system to which it attaches feels the
challenge. All the world sees the existence of evil, but there is
every shade of perception of it as a difficulty, from that temper
of mind which does not see it as a difficulty at all, to that with
whom it shakes the very throne of God Himself. Luther, who
now saw a difficulty of nature in the artificial and exaggerated
strength which a theory of his own had given it, felt the effect
of his own work ; and that state of absolute evil in man which
a gratuitously rigid definition of goodness had imposed, agitated
and puzzled him. He pictured miserable man vainly fighting
with a stern and inexorable impossibility, which excluded him
from ever attaining that chief good to the pursuit of which his
nature impelled him ; and the whole construction of the human
soul, which imposed toil and agony and rewarded with self-
contempt, was a scandal. The insatiableness of the law, the
law of conscience, was a grievance in the constitution of things :
' The more you try to fulfil it, the more you will transgress it.'
* You accumulate law upon law, and all issues but in miserable
* self-torture and pain. Una lex gignit alias decem one law
* begets ten more, till they mount up to infinity.' * The stone of
' Sisyphus ever rolls, the vessel of the Danaides never fills.'
With a Manichgean intensity he insisted upon the absolute evil
of all visible and perceptible nature. The sun was darkness, and
the moon refused to give her light, and the stars of heaven
* were extinguished. * Jn man and in the devil spiritual things
were extinct.' A fierce hatred of the world rose up, of this
whole visible system of things, as so much pure evil ' a world
' of dread and ruin, of sin, and anger, and judgment, where is
106 Martin Luther.
f nothing celestial, nothing divine ; which is nothing else but
' the kingdom of the devil, a flood of death, hell, sin, and all
* evils, oppressing quaking, miserable man.' * Do what thou
* wilt, tu es in hoc seculo nequam, thou art in this wicked world ;
' this world which is darkness, not is in darkness, but is dark-
' ness itself.' Luther's language, after he had arrived at his ex-
planation of this evil, shows how it must have worked upon him
before. Throughout his writings there come up continually traces
of a state of mind which had seen something really wrong, and
to be complained of, in the constitution of things ; and his forms
of expression edge with a venturesome nicety upon, without
actually touching, the justice of the Deity. In his book, De
Servo Arbitrio, a fatalist line of thought brings him into contact
with this awful subject, and he describes the Deity as ' though
' not making sin,' yet, as if it were the next thing to it, 'not
* ceasing to make and multiply natures vitiated by sin, natures
' from which He has withdrawn His Spirit.' 1 The expression
has the effect of bringing the Divine mind into some kind of
vicinity to the production of evil, and throwing a responsibility
upon it on that head: as if, though God did not create the
principle of evil in the first instance, he voluntarily concreted
it, and gave it that teeming and multitudinous life which it has
in the existence of innumerable individual evil beings. Nor does
Luther disguise the peculiar trial to his faith which this depart-
ment of speculation brings : * hie fidei summm gradus credere
justum qui sua voluntate nos necessario damnabiles facit?
Such passionate and semi-sceptical thoughts cleared away,
but only to leave Luther confronting, in their place, a most
grave difficulty of Christian doctrine ; for, upon the dogma of
the absolute evil of man's goodness, a great difficulty imme-
diately arises with respect to the doctrine of justification. How
was man ever to be justified, and become acceptable to God,
being, as he was, simply evil? The fundamental teaching of
natural religion is, that man must recommend himself to God
by some or other goodness, bond fide belonging to him : indeed,
such a truth is no more than a mode of stating what natural
religion is. The fundamental teaching of the Church Catholic
has been the same: that is to say, the Church has always
admitted good works into a regular place in the process of man's
justification. But the Church has been enabled to do this from
the circumstance that she has never annihilated the goodness
of human works on account of their imperfection. She has all
1 ' Licet enim Dcus peccatum non faciat, tamen naturam peccato, Btibtracto
Spiritu, vitiatam, non ceasat formare et multiplicare, tanquam si Faber ex ligno
corrupt o statuas faciat. Ita qualis e.st natura, talcs fiunt homines, Deo creante et
formante illos ex natnra tali.' De Serv. Arb., Op. vol. ii. p. 459.
Martin Luther. 107
along taken a practical, common-sense ground on this subject,
and has not allowed experimental disappointments of con-
science, or speculative difficulties respecting infinity and per-
fection, to depreciate good works in her eyes. She has never
been extreme and exigeant, or let her divines insist on some
impossible perfection, in order that they may reduce all actions
beneath it to a level. She has been ever moderate, gentle,
and discreet, making allowances, and admitting approximations.
The Church has therefore been enabled to maintain, with
respect to man's justification, all the teaching of natural religion,
and the whole language of reason ; such as, that all who do
their duty according to their light please God in their degree;
that the least effort, be it only sincere, is acceptable; that all
which, upon fair consideration, we pronounce to be good, or to
partake of goodness, or to have something or other to do with
goodness, in human conduct, all which is morally pleasing and
commendable, is in its measure pleasing to God, and tends to
make the doer pleasing to Him. But Luther annihilated all
goodness in the first instance because it was imperfect ; he
was, therefore, deprived of goodness as the means of justi-
fication ; and therefore he had the difficulty to solve, how man
could be justified at all.
Such was the climax of a long series of mental perplexities
and troubles. One great absorbing difficulty brought them to
a head a human soul which was absolutely evil, and which
could not, therefore, according to any existing method, be
justified.
His difficulty now in clear and definite shape before him,
Luther had to find a solution for it. He found one in the
doctrine of Imputation. To compensate for his total denial
of actual goodness in man, he threw himself upon the idea
of an imputed goodness; intensifying and pushing out the
imputed exactly to the amount which his denial of the actual
required. The act of imputation, considered in the abstract,
is of an extreme, simple, and arbitrary character, depending
wholly on the imputer, and not at all on the person imputed
to, and conferring the imputed thing or quality wholly irre-
spectively of conditions. As received and entertained, how-
ever, in the Church at large, this idea of imputation comes
before us qualified by the conditions which natural religion
imposes ; and as natural religion does not allow of the notion that
perfect righteousness can be imputed by God to men who
have done nothing whatever but evil, the imputation which the
Church teaches becomes necessarily a conditional act, dependent
on the character of the person to whom the imputation is made.
But Luther insisted on giving imputation the whole unqualified
108 Martin Luther.
force of the abstract idea; that is to say, he pushed it out to the
extent of its being absolute, and irrespective of the character of
the person the subject of it. The one idea of imputation thus
entirely met the difficulty which he had to meet ; for, whereas
his difficulty was that man had no goodness by means of which
to be justified, here was a method of justification which required
no goodness whatever in him. Here was the principle pro-
nounced and it was quite a new one in the Christian world
that the goodness of the person had nothing whatever to do
with his being accounted good by God. Here was the moral
quality or character in man altogether separated from his justi-
fication, declared to be alien and irrelevant, null and void with
reference to it. * The law was abolished, the whole law, moral
' as well as ceremonial,' and had no place or existence in the
scheme of reconciliation. Luther had answered his question,
how man was to be justified ; and the difficulty of absolute evil
on man's part had a complete and triumphant solution in the
doctrine of absolute imputation on God's.
We have stated the fundamental point in Luther's system ;
but, in order to have a fuller idea of it, it will be proper to go
a little farther, and see it in its working.
The righteousness of man, then, being a simply imputed one,
in contrast with an actual state of absolute sin, the next step in
the Lutheran system was to say that man individually appro-
priated that righteousness to himself, or was individually justified,
when the idea of that imputed righteousness wholly expelled and
effaced the sense of that actual sin. To achieve this transmutation
was the triumph of Christianity in Luther's view, and he dwells
and enlarges on it with untiring enthusiasm. On the one side
indeed, was the world actual and cognizable declared to be
wholly evil : human nature with its moral affections, tastes, and
power of will, was so much mere flesh, the flesh which the
Gnostic hated and anathematized; evil, rotten, and hostile
to God. The very construction of human nature was against
attaining goodness ; goodness being always the further off
the more it was pursued. Evil was evil, and issued such ; and
man ' was under the elements of this world,' and could not
escape from its bondage. Such was the world actual and
cognizable according to Luther. But his next step is, to tell
us that with that world we have nothing to do ; that all this
evil is absolutely irrelevant, and that the perfect righteousness
of Christ is, by imputation, our real state and condition all the
time. This righteousness was indeed wholly external to us,
wholly removed from our nature, conscience, life, and being ;
was in no sense an attribute of ourselves : we looked within
and did not see it; our spiritual perception itself did not see it:
Martin Luther. 109
it did not appear ; it was nowhere. Still it was ours : we had
it : we were perfectly righteous with the perfect righteousness
of Christ. Intra conscientiam Diabolus : extra conscientiam Deus.
Luther insists particularly on the fact of this total separation
between our life and consciousness and this righteousness, and
also upon the total irrelevancy of that fact. * Thou, brother,
* wishest to have visible righteousness ; that is, thou wishest to
' feel righteousness, as thou feelest sin : this cannot be. Thy
* justice must transcend the sense of sin : and make thee
' believe that thou art righteous in God's sight. Thy justice
* is not visible, is not sensible, but to be revealed in its own
* time. Thou must not judge, then, according to the sense
* of sin, which terrifies and disturbs thee ; but according to
' the promise of faith whereby Christ is promised to thee ; who
* is thy perfect and eternal righteousness.' ' Thou sayest, I
* do not perceive that I have righteousness ; thou must not
* perceive, but believe that thou hast righteousness.' With
tremendous energy he inculcates unceasingly this doctrine ;
that, as far as any moral existence, i. e. any moral evidences of
existence in our hearts and minds, are concerned, we are not to
think of them, with reference to this righteousness ; that it has
nothing to do with our moral nature, but that it does exist truly
and absolutely nevertheless, and is our own. This is the great
truth upon which we are to live. The believer has to think him-
self to be perfectly righteous, though he sees himself to be
perfectly wicked. And this explains a phraseology to which we
come in Luther's writings, and which at first considerably per-
plexes us. For after all this picture of the unmixed evil and sin
with which our conscience is ever upbraiding us, Luther is often,
and earnestly, impressing upon us this particular distinction
with respect to sin ; that, though it must be felt somehow and
by some part of us, the conscience must not feel it. Of all
our faculties, the conscience specially is restricted from feeling
sin. Now such a phraseology is incomprehensible at first ; for
it is something like telling us that objects must be seen, but
that of all the organs and senses of our nature, the eye must
not see them ; or that sounds must be heard, but that of all
our senses and perceptions, the ear must not hear them. Con-
science is that faculty of which the particular function is to
distinguish right and wrong, and convict us of sin if we have
committed sin ; and therefore if sin is felt at all, conscience must
be the part which feels it. Upon examination, however, we see
that this is only a strong form of speech for expressing the fact
that the consciousness of internal sin must be absorbed and ex-
tinguished in the higher conviction of external righteousness.
To express this, the conscience is described as itself becoming
changed into this higher conviction : its nature inverted, it
110 Martin Luther.
is imperatively required to be conscious of that of which
it is not conscious, and not conscious of that of which it is
conscious. Sin must not reign in the conscience, but be con-
tent with torturing the body ; that is to say, the body which
cannot feel it may feel it ; the conscience which can must not.
The language is equivalent to saying that sin may be perceived,
as a fact, but not as sin : it is the peculiar function of con-
science to perceive it as sin, therefore conscience must not be
allowed to entertain the perception of it at all : but a certain
lower perception in our nature can see it as a fact, without
being in the least troubled at it ; and within the sphere of such
perceptions it may be allowed to come. With the memento that
man's righteousness, as being sin, and the law as producing sin,
have the same unfitness with sin, to be objects of conscience ;
such appears to be the key to a large body of language we
encounter in Luther. * Conscience has nothing to do with the
* law, with works, or with human righteousness.' * The law
' must remain extra ccelum, i.e. extra cor et conscientiamS
' Suffer the law to reign over thy body, not over thy con-
* science.' ' The law hath dominion over the flesh ; but if it
* wishes to occupy the conscience,' &c. ' The flesh should be sub-
* ject to the law, remain in its sepulchre, and be vexed by the
* Egyptians ; but the conscience must be free.' ' In the state
* let the severest obedience to the law be exacted :' i. e. be-
cause the state does not recognise sin as sin, but only as
injurious to society, therefore the state may be alive to sin
but not the conscience. * Let the conscience sleep joyfully in
* Christ, without the least sense of the law of sin and death.'
' When thy conscience is terrified with the law, and struggles
* with the judgment of God, then consult neither the law nor
* reason, but depend on grace alone, and the word of consolation.
* Then conduct thyself altogether as though thou hadst never
' heard of the law of God : ascend into the darkness, where ie
' the light neither of law nor reason, but the enigma of faith
* only, which certainly decrees that thou art saved in Christ,
* beyond and outside of the law. Beyond and above the light
* of law and reason doth the Gospel take us, into the darkness
* of faith where the law and reason have no business.' ' Where
' there is fear and the sense of sin, death, wrath, and judgment ;
c there there is nothing celestial, nothing divine.' * But drown
* thy conscience in the wounds, blood, death, and resurrection
* of Christ.' * Let the pious remember that in conscience
' they are free before God, from the curse of the law, though
* they are slaves to the law in the body.' The Old Testament is
allegorized on this principle ; and the conscience ascends with
Isaac to the mount, the burden of the law remains with the
ass below: conscience ascends with Moses, the law descends with
Martin Luther. Ill
him to be dispensed to the people below. ' Moses on the mount,
* when he speaks face to face with God, hath not, makes not,
' administers not, the law. But, having come down from the
* mountain he is a legislator, and governs the people with
* the law. In like manner let thy conscience be free from the
* law, but let thy body be subject to the law.' * Let Moses
' remain on the earth, there let him be a doctor of the letter,
* an exacter of the law, a crucifier of sinners ; but for us,
* we have a new guest and a new house ; Christ has come, and
* Moses, the old occupier, must depart and migrate elsewhere.'
The meaning is under every form and turn of language, and
there is not much variety even in that, exactly the same. Our
conscience must be conscious alone of that which it does not see
in us righteousness ; totally unconscious of that which it alone
does see in us sin.
Such are the two Lutheran worlds, or natures, of utter evil
and absolute good ; a perceptible and actual state of evil, an
unperceived and imputed state of good ; whereof the latter
must wholly annihilate in idea and feeling the former, in order
for the individual to be justified. The * Law,' and ' Christ,'
for these are respectively their two names, are antagonist
principles opposed to each other with the intensity and fierce-
ness of the two principles in the Eastern Dualistic philosophies ;
' two contraries in irreconcilable war with each other;' and
the triumph is when the former is destroyed. The ' Law' is
horror, blackness, quaking, pallor, sadness, and despair ; a
' dungeon,' a * hell,' a ' sepulchre,' a ' torturer,' a ' butcher :'
' whoever saith he loves it, lies : that robber who loves his own
' dungeon, raves.' To this legislatorial principle * Christ' is the
antagonistic. ' Christus gigas potentissimus sustulit legem? Christ
does not legislate, but kills law. He says to the * Law,' Ego
ligabo te, I will bind thee : Captivity, I will lead thee captive ;
Satan, I am thy Satan ; I am the * Butcher of the butcher,'
and the ' Devil to the devil.'
And now we come to the power by which the believer was
enabled to attain this victory, and wholly supplant this sin by
this righteousness ; that is to say, to the medium in the process
of individual justification. Though all moral conditions were
rejected, some medium or other it was necessary to have by
which an evil nature was to lay hold of, and appropriate to
itself, a perfect righteousness ; as it could not be supposed that
an evil being would become absolutely good in God's sight,
without anything at all done on his side. The medium then
laid down for this purpose was Faith. But it was faith of
a particular character, which, in connexion with the system,
should be noticed.
112 Martin Luther.
Faith, then, before it was allowed to occupy its position in the
Lutheran process of justification, was carefully divested of all
moral characteristics. There is a faith, which is in its very
nature, akin to love or moral : but it was not this kind of
faith which Luther made the medium between man and God
in the act of justification. To have allowed any moral element
in this medium, would have been to allow human goodness a
place in the act of justification, which it was its first principle
to avoid: and, therefore, he jealously and accurately guarded
his faith from such admixture. He again and again inculcates
and presses the distinction, that the faith which he means is not
that faith which includes love ; that it is a faculty of apprehen-
sion simply. ' That faith which apprehends Christ, not that
* which includes love, justifies.' * Faith is not ineffectual till
' joined by charity.' He speaks of it as an insult to faith, and
* making it an empty quality in the soul,' to assert that it de-
pended on the companionship of charity for its effect : ' as if,'
he says, * it could do nothing without charity ; and when charity
* came, then was effectual, and then was justifying.' * The
' Apostle attributes the operation (in justification) to faith and
' not to love.' ' Perish the sophists with their accursed gloss,
' Fides formata charitate :' that ' impious gloss,' that * pestilent
* gloss.' * It is by faith sole, not by faith perfected in love, that
' we are justified.' * Faith may be concreted in works after we
' are justified, but it is faith abstract by which we are justified.'
The faith, then, which was the medium of justification in
Luther's system, was an extra-moral faith. It was, as far as we
can apprehend its nature, which it is not easy to do, the pure
abstract faculty of confidence, whereby the mind assures itself
of something of which it wants to be assured. As such, it is not
untypical of Luther's temper ; and the reader, who follows him
through his career, or listens to his table-talk, or watches those
symptoms of personal character which appear, as they often do,
in his theological works, will catch many a trait, and sentiment,
which may carry him back to his original dogma.
The great cardinal virtue in Luther's eyes was confidence.
He had a special admiration, an enthusiastic affection for that
particular faculty of mind, which makes a man inwardly strong
and self-supporting. In the description of Adam before the
Fall, in his Commentary on Genesis, he gives us his beau ideal
of a man, and strength and self-confidence enter remarkably into
it. Adam shows something of the Herculean model. Thus Luther
dwells with animation upon his dominion over the beasts. He
describes a character, bearing no slight resemblance to what in
modern language we call a master-mind ; one endowed with a
mysterious power, marvellous self-respect, and instinctive com-
Martin Li/f//n: 113
mand over others' wills and movements. Man in his primitive
state is the dominm terra;, lord of the earth, not by labour, art,
and cruelty, but by an innate power and will, to which the
whole creation unconsciously bows ; and he has this power,
because he is true to himself, and feels no distrust within. But
with the fall, this inward confidence goes, and all is altered :
he shakes like a leaf; is full of terror and alarm, and startles
even at the sound of God's approach. Then the beasts shake
off their yoke, the earth becomes stubborn and disorderly, and
cunning, toil, and misery, succeed to artless and majestic power.
The Lutheran Adam is a superior creation to the Calvinistic
Adam of Milton ; but it is impossible not to see in the character
the ruling taste in Luther's mind for the simple faculty of con-
fidence, as the source of strength and happiness. On the con-
trary, distrust as to our condition, and where we stand, and how
God regards us the least apprehension, fear, and doubt, are
simple misery and meanness with him. ' What is more mise-
' rable than uncertainty ?' he asks again and again, as if Nature
herself revolted from it : that monster of * uncertainty,' that
* pest of uncertainty,' ' which makes whatsoever thou thinkest,
* speakest, doest, sin.' How could a man be easy with such a
disease upon him ? How could he worship, how could he serve
God the least? And all those texts of Scripture, which
describe the confidence of the good and the fear of the
wicked, * The wicked flee when no man pursueth ; ' * the
* wicked are like a troubled sea ;' ' there is no peace for the
* wicked;' ' the righteous are bold as a lion :' * he that doth
* evil hateth the light ;' ' whatsoever is not of faith is sin ;'
* the just shall live by faith,' were interpreted in this particular
sense.
The faith which was the medium in Luther's process of
justification, was thus a pure and abstract faculty of confi-
dence, which was efficacious in and out of itself. Believe that
you are absolved, and you are absolved was his teaching as a
priest, before he broke from the Church never mind whether
you deserve absolution or no. He that believes is better than he
that deserves. Always be sure that you are pleasing to God : if
you are sure you are, you are. Feel yourself safe : if you feel
safe, you are safe. On the contrary, if you doubt about it, you
are condemned, because you are self -condemned. You are
not in the image of God then, but in the image of the devil.
Recollect yourself ; make an effort ; believe ; be ' certainly
' resolved that you are in favour with God.' You are then a
son of God and a saint ; strong, perfect, and triumphant ; you
go forth like the sun in the heaven, and rejoice like a giant
refreshed with wine. You have conquered the world, the flesh,
NO. LIX. N. s. i
114- Martin Luther.
and the devil, and have trodden hell and darkness under
foot.
But this confidence, whatever apparent strength it might
attain to, wanted, from the very hypothesis on which Luther's
system was built, that reality and basis which Catholic faith has.
All faith is, indeed, a sort of confidence ; but the confidence of
Catholic faith has this remarkable characteristic, that it appeals
to positive fact for its basis. Human nature is not, according
to Catholic theology, though brought by an incomprehensible
mystery under a condition or state of evil, in a totally evil
state. It still bears the stamp of its Divine original, has moral
tastes and preferences, and a real power of performing acts of
various degrees of moral goodness ; has memorials of past and
pledges of future perfection. Catholic faith, then, with respect
to the unseen world, rests upon the actual facts of the seen.
Proceeding upon data, it is a faith allied to reason, and not a
blind faith. Man has some good in him, therefore he may one
day be better, and an ultimate state of acceptableness in God's
sight is made credible to him by the fact, that he can make some
approaches to such acceptableness now. It is for the same
cause, a faith allied to hope. For it is the peculiar characteristic
of the faculty of hope to enlarge and advance upon fact as
distinct from doing tcithout fact altogether ; existing fact given,
hope can proceed upon it indefinitely ; but some ground of fact
it must have. The phrase, of ' hoping against hope,' does not
suppose the total absence of all such ground, but only the reduc-
tion of it to the smallest imaginable quantum. Sailors wrecked
in the middle of the sea hope for the sight of a sail, in propor-
tion as they know their situation to be in some general line of
navigation, know the traffic on that line to be considerable, know
the time of the year to be the customary one for that traffic,
and other like data : if they have no data at all for hope, they
cannot legitimately hope. So far as faith and hope can be
viewed as distinguished from each other, faith takes the nega-
tive, and hope the positive side : faith exerts her particular
powers in opposing those appearances which are hostile ; hope
hers in enlarging those appearances which are friendly. Catholic
faith, then, as it has existing fact to proceed upon, is a faith
allied to hope ; nay, so intimately allied, that hope practically
precedes faith in the act of belief; and we believe because we
hope, rather than hope because we believe : we see an actual
ground, however small; hope expands this, and not till then
we have faith.
Allied thus to hope and reason, Catholic faith is emphatically
a natural kind of faith. It is not violent or forced : it has only
to believe in the future expansion and perfection of that
Martin Luther. 115
which it now sees. The Christian sees tendencies, and he has
to believe in issues ; he sees approaches, and he has to believe
in fulfilments ; he sees a foundation, and he infers a superstruc-
ture : he rises by a reasonable ascent from earth to heaven ; the
visible world contains the elements of the invisible ; the king-
dom of nature opens by a gradual process into that of grace.
The very smallest act of our moral nature connects him by
anticipation, with the f glory which shall be revealed in him.'
Though he cannot say, * It is finished,' he can say, It is begun ;
and in that visible beginning has a solid substratum for the most
inspiring belief. Thus, when the great philosopher of our own
Church undertook the task of convincing an infidel age of the
truth of religion, the line he adopted was that of calling its atten-
tion to present visible facts. He told men that they were moral
beings, born with the love of virtue and hatred of vice, endowed
with generous affections, and with the power of doing virtuous
actions, a power, which could be indefinitely increased by habit
and self-discipline : and he proved, next, that this goodness was
more or less rewarded. There were then tendencies, he said,
which pointed of themselves to some ultimate completion. That
which religion taught us did exist to a certain extent now ; and,
therefore, might exist to a much greater extent hereafter. That
is to say, his was a philosophy of hope ; it saw in the midst of
the wildness and disorder of this present scene some facts which
bore in one direction, and hope took up those facts, and enlarged
them into a system.
But Luther had no present facts to appeal to according to
his system. He had no tendencies and no approaches. And,
therefore, though he recognized an unseen world of absolute
good, and, in distinction to making evil of the essence of hu-
manity, or irrevocably fixing and perpetuating it in us, pointed
to a time when we should be perfectly righteous ; and could say
Justitia tibi parata est in ccelo : * in a future life, thou shalt be
* cleansed from all sin, cleared of all concupisence, be pure as
' the sun, and have perfect love :' this unseen world was
deprived of all medium to connect it with the seen one, and,
therefore, deprived of that evidence which constitutes the legi-
timate claim to our faith. Of two worlds, of absolute evil and
absolute good diametrically opposed, he placed us in the one,
and told us to believe in the other. But the natural question
immediately arises, why should we ? No system of evidences,
either in the religious, or in any other department, can dispense
with that primary law of all argument how can we reason but
from what we know ? Let any basis of fact, however small, be
allowed us, and we can build indefinitely upon it ; but, if we
have no fact at all, we have nothing to build upon. The
i 2
116 Martin Luther.
faith of Lutheran theology was thus excluded, by the very
fundamental principles of that theology, from the reasonable
and natural type. The act of faith became rather one of
mental power, by which a person, from pure force of will, made
himself believe in what there was no ground to believe, thun
one of natural conviction. It was faith deprived of its member-
ship with the other portions of our spiritual nature ; faith
without hope, as it was faith without love. Excluded from a
reasonable and natural character, it was compelled to assume a
fanatical one : faith became assurance. The task of the Chris-
tian was to work himself up by strong effort to the belief that
he himself was personally saved, was a child of God, was in a
state of justification. If the believer asked why, or how, he
was to believe, he was told again, Believe ; make yourself
believe ; believe somehow or other. He was urged with argu-
ments enough, addressed to his mere will and sense of personal
advantage ; was threatened and promised ; was told he would be
intolerably wretched if he did not believe so, unutterably happy
if he did ; but ground of reason there was none. Assurance,
thus left to assure itself as it could, became an anxious, strug-
gling, and fluctuating gift. It rose and it fell with the state of
the spirits, and even state of the body. It was at any moment
liable to be upset, and when upset the will had to make another
effort to regain it. These struggles, or 'agonies,' occupy a
prominent place in the practical or devotional department of
Luther's theological system. They are appealed to as the tests
of the genuineness and reality of the Christian's belief. Has
he been tempted to doubt and despair of his salvation, and has
he had to make the most tremendous internal efforts to recover
his certainty of it? these are the tokens which a loving but
chastising Father sent him of good will and favour. They
were the trials to prove him, and stimulants to raise him
to a higher degree of assurance than ever. The same reason
which gave Luther's faith a fanatical, gave it a personal and
individual character too. Genuine faith, as it rests on a large
external ground, is wide and social in its object, looks forward
to the final issue of this whole system of things, the ultimate
triumph of virtue over vice, to the great Day of Judgment
and the Restitution of all things. But Luther's faith, as it
narrowed its basis, narrowed its object too. Withdrawing from
the wide ground of reason and nature, the unsupported faith of
mere will, choosing to believe because it wished to do so ; as it
derived all its strength from the individual, interested itself
about the individual only : and faith became, in its whole scope
and direction, personal.
Such is that whole system which, amongst ourselves, goes
Martin Lutiter. 1 L 7
under the name of Calvinism. It is, of course, wrong, histori-
cally speaking, to call Luther a Calvinist, because Luther
preceded Calvin, and was the original discoverer of that set of
ideas which Calvin only compacted and systematized. But,
amongst ourselves, in consequence of our acquaintance having
lain more with the Genevan than the German branch of the
Reformation, these ideas are associated with the name of Calvin,
and, therefore, amongst us, Luther's theology may be desig-
nated as Calvinism. No greater contrast, indeed, than that
between the personal characters of the German and the Gene-
van Reformer can be well imagined, and the types of character
they have handed down to their respective schools are widely
distinct, but their theology is essentially the same.
To return to the point at which we diverged. Luther had
now found the solution of his difficulty, and was satisfied. He
had encountered a tormenting puzzle, and had now the answer.
How could man fulfil the law, was the puzzle ; By simple impu-
tation, was the answer. The whole difficulties attending the
adherence of evil to our nature, were now explained to Luther.
The mystery of Conscience was solved. He had got his tvprjKa.
He dwelt upon it, now that he had got it, with deep and
untiring relish ; he handled it, and embraced it with perpetual
mental fondness. He felt like a person possessed of a great
secret, for which the whole world had been struggling from
its creation, and never yet attained. He felt as Newton
might feel when he had discovered the principle of gravitation ;
or as Harvey might feel when he had discovered the circulation
of the blood ; or as one of the elder sages might have felt had
he discovered the elixir vita?, or the principle of alchemical
transmutation. He felt as one of those great philosophers of
the ancient world might have felt when he discovered some great
moral principle which explained the phenomena of human life,
and disclosed the secret of human happiness, like Pythagoras,
when he discovered Number; or Zeno, when he discovered
Fate ; or Epicurus, when he discovered Chance. Every one
who has found out a riddle, or put a Chinese puzzle together,
or solved a problem in geometry, knows the peculiar satisfaction
which attends the climax of solution, a satisfaction which is,
of course, deeper in pi-oportion to the depth and interest of the
difficulty. Luther looked back with the feeling of a traveller
at rest upon his past struggles and searchings. ' Can you tell
* me how to fulfil the law ?' was the question he asked now, as
if the difficulty itself were pleasing, because he felt in possession
of the key to it. What is that impossible thing called righ-
teousness which has tortured the human mind from the founda-
tion of the world ? Square that circle if you can. Find that
H8 Martin Luther.
TTOV OTW. He saw the whole world wandering in a maze on this
subject,
' Errare atque viam palantes quaerere vitae,'
going round and round, and pursuing their own footsteps ;
arguing in a circle, and endeavouring to escape from sin by
' working righteousness,' which, when worked, only made them
feel greater sinners than before. He saw a fatal error, affecting
the very foundation of the Christian system, in undisturbed
hereditary possession of the whole Christian world ; and he saw
in himself the person destined to subvert it.
There has been no Indulgence fair at Wittemberg, then, as yet,
and no Tetzel, and yet Luther has started. As distinguished
from being a mere practical Reformer in the first instance, led
on incidentally to doctrine, he was primarily, as we said at the
beginning of this article, a doctrinal Reformer, the founder
of a new school, the propagator of an idea. He was one of
that corps of creative minds who, whether as philosophers
or as religionists, Pagan or Christian, have succeeded in per-
manently impressing their conceptions on large portions of
society, and leaving intellectual fraternities behind them. He
began with a course of dreaming and speculation. He brooded
with keenness and passion upon the great mystery of our moral
nature. One particular idea, the boldness of which suited the
impatience of his mind, seemed to solve it ; and he devoted
himself to the promulgation of that idea. A period of four
years, commencing with his first entrance into the Augustine
Monastery at Erfurt, in 1505, carried on and completed this
search and discovery of Luther. In 1509, on the recommen-
dation of Staupitz, the Vicar-General of the Dominican order,
upon whom Luther's trials and struggles, and the intellectual
and religious energy they exhibited, had made a great impres-
sion, Luther received from the Elector of Saxony the appoint-
ment of Professor of Philosophy in the University of Wittem-
berg, accompanied with a most urgent and complimentary letter
from that Prince. In a short time, he received from the Senate
of Wittemberg the appointment of City Preacher. He re-
garded the appointment as an important opening for the pro-
mulgation of his great dogma, and was besieged with nervous
alarm that he should not be able to turn it to the account he
ought to do ; but his success equalled his fondest hopes. He
preached, by turns, in the Monastery, in the Royal Chapel, and
in the Collegiate Church. * His voice was fine, sonorous, clear,
' striking ; his gesticulation emphatic and dignified.' He departed
wholly from the established type of sermon, quoting, instead of
the schoolmen, the Bible, especially St. Paul's Epistles. The
Martin LutJier. 119
degree of Bachelor in Theology enabled him to add to these
sermons University lectures on the sacred text ; and ' never,
* in any Saxon professional chair, was heard such luminous expla-
' nation.' He delighted in these lectures, and passed whole
nights in preparing for them. * Eminent doctors came to listen,
' and retired full of admiration. The venerable Pollich, known
' by the soubriquet of Lux Mundi, heard him, and struck with
* wonder, exclaimed, " This father hath profound insight,
* exceeding imagination ; he will trouble the doctors before he
' has done." ' In addition to his Academical posts, he was, by
the appointment of his patron, Staupitz, made visitor of the mo-
nasteries in that province. In a letter to a friend, he writes, * I
* had need of two secretaries to keep up my correspondence ;
* pity my unhappy fortune. I am conventual concionator, table-
' preacher, director of studies ; I am vicar, or, in words, eleven
* priors in one ; conservator of the ponds of Litzkau, pleader
* and assessor at Torgau, Paulinic reader, and collector of
' psalms ; add to all these, the assaults of the world, the flesh,
' and the devil.' His reputation extended, and he preached in
the castle at Dresden before Duke George. In 1516, he
commenced the publication of a series of theses, which, under
the cover of the disputative system of the day, attacked the
established doctrines on the point of justification, and put forth
those views of the exclusive necessity of faith, the inefficacy of
works, and the slavery of the will, which it was the aim of all
his future theological labours to establish. Five papers, ^tovavra
awiToiaiv, containing respectively, twelve, ninety-five, fifty,
forty, and a hundred propositions, alarmed the old, and awakened
the new intellect in the Church.
But the time now approached when Luther was to add the
department of practical to that of doctrinal Reformer, and,
taking his dogma along with him, to prepare the ground for its
reception by an attack on a whole existing practical system.
It is obvious that the teacher of a new doctrine cannot do his
work extensively and zealously without becoming a practical
man to do so. He is bound to attack what stands in his way,
and occupies the ground, and he thus necessarily finds himself
at war with a whole mass of existing interests and machinery ;
the doctrinal line necessarily leads into the practical. Such a
practical line was, moreover, not at all uncongenial to Luther's
character, even that internal and speculative part of it which is
the only one we have as yet had before us. We have seen
him a sort of dreamer, indeed, and a visionary ; intent upon the
difficulties of the spiritual and metaphysical world, and struggling
with the great mystery of evil ; but it is this visionary and
internal line of thought which often produces the most porten-
120 Martin Lut/iei:
tons energy in action. Thus, the general alliance which has
been observed between infidelity and radicalism, though the one
is theoretic, the other practical. The French Revolution itself,
with all its tremendous exhibition of practical power, issued
out of a philosophy which seemed concerned only with the
abstract universe, and to be discontented with the constitution of
things. As we examine deeper, we discern the most intense pas-
sion involved in such speculation. The sensitive and keen temper
moves in the department of philosophy, as if it were a dramatic
sphere perceives apparent defect and injustice in the system of
the world- is angry, as if it had received a visible wrong and
affront and rushes into atheism out of revenge. And the same
temper is, for the same reason, furious with respect to the
abuses and grievances of the social and practical world. Luther's
reveries upon the workings of the moral law, and the obstinacy
of the evil principle in nature, how it pursued us, and found us
out even in our best acts, fastened on us, and refused to be
shaken off; accused, condemned, and humiliated us ; that pas-
sionate and querimonious temper which felt the temptation
to rebel against the system of things, on account of evil
in the abstract, indicated just a mind most ready to break
out, when the opportunity arrived, against the evils of the
practical and concrete world, the abuses and grievances, the
frauds and cheats, the pride of the great, and the insolence
of the strong, which the established system of the day dis-
played.
If there ever was an age in which the external and working
system of the Church was calculated to provoke and excite such
a mind to action, it was the age in which Luther lived. It
exhibited that peculiar mixture, so poignantly irritating to a
keen temper, of the grossest abuses with the most placid and
easy self-complacency in those who maintained, and were
responsible for them. The Court of Rome allowed the lowest
fraud and imposture in the working system of the Church, and
suffered faith and reason to be shocked, itself all the while
reposing in a superciliously intellectual, and even rationalizing
philosophy. There is something in the honest belief in a system,
however erroneous itself, which tends to soften and disarm a
complainer ; but it was rather too much for the Court of Rome
to expect of a class of sensitive intellects, which were then
rising up in the Church, that they were calmly to embrace all
the lies of her practical system, while she herself did not believe
them, and was laughing in her sleeve. There was impatience
and self-will, doubtless, in the spirit in which the Continental
Reformers raised and carried on their opposition ; but Rome
itself had certainly no right to complain of it. If they were
Martin Luther. 121
guilty, she was not innocent, nor has she any right, on the field
of controversy, to assume that position which she does, of having
been sinned against without having sinned. The human mind
was entering, then, on a new and mysterious stage of its history ;
and that great intellectual movement which has been steadily
advancing ever since, and trying the world's faith in its pro-
gress, had begun. Rome herself partook largely of that revival.
Did she bear the test well, and set the example so much wanted
at the commencement of such a movement, of intellect not
really opposing faith ? or, dazzled herself, and carried away by
the revival, did she set the whole world the very contrary exam-
ple, of intellect undermining faith ? Did she, when she headed
that intellectual movement, teach the world how to bear it?
We have the answer to the question in the accounts transmitted
to us of a Papal Court which seemed, by some inebriation of
the intellect, to have dreamed itself out of Christianity into
paganism, ignored, by a sort of common consent, the Gospel
Revelation, and instituted again the Groves of Academus. An
elegant heathen Pope, who carried on Tusculan Disputations ;
Cardinals who adorned their walls with scenes from Ovid's
Metamorphoses, and devoted themselves to Ciceronian Latin;
and a whole scene of luxurious intellectuality in Rome, con-
trasted bitterly with the palpable superstitions and abuses of the
out-of-doors world ; and the centre of Christendom, putting
itself quietly and unconcernedly ab extra to a whole system for
which it was responsible, while it taught men to despise that
system, provoked at the same time disgust and rebellion against
its own hypocrisy. Nor did the intellectual movement of the
age show better fruits in the morals than in the faith of the
Roman Court. The morals of the Roman ecclesiastics were
scandalous, and it was only a question whether their vices
themselves, or the shamelessness with which they indulged
them, was the worse feature.
We shall not dwell upon a scene with which our readers are
already sufficiently familiar, that of the sale of Indulgences in
Germany in the year 1517, conducted by the Dominican monk
Tetzel. It is enough to say that it signally exhibited the im-
postures and abuses of that system. Coarse, bold, and brazen,
there is strong reason for adding, immoral, Tetzel carried out
the system with a swing, and, intent solely on performing his
office with practical efficiency, hawked his commodity, in the
perfect unconsciousness of vulgar zeal, in churches, public streets,
taverns, and alehouses, like a spirited man of business. At a
cross set up in the market-place, from which the Pope's arms
were suspended, the auctioneer extolled the merits of his article,
and announced that as soon as ever ' the money chinked ' in
122 Martin Lutfn r.
Tetzel's box, sin to that amount was forgiven ; the crowd stand-
ing about with a mixture of fun and business, as it does in a
fair. In the course of his rounds he came to Juterbock, four
miles from Wittemberg. Luther's indignation rose as he sur-
veyed the scene. He waited till the approach of All Saints'
day brought a crowd of pilgrims to Wittemberg, and on the
eve of that day fastened on the church doors ninety-five theses
against Indulgences, copies of which, accompanied with letters
of remonstrance, he sent to Albert, Archbishop of Magdeburg,
and Jerome, Bishop of Brandenburg, within whose jurisdiction
the traffic was going on, and to the former of whom half the
proceeds of it were farmed.
Luther now stood before the world as a Reformer; and, as such,
the authorities of the Roman Church met him with one aim and
policy. Some were for mild suppression ; others for fierce sup-
pression; but all were for simple suppression. It was a dis-
turbance, and it must be put down. Tetzel himself erected a
scaffold in one of the promenades of Frankfort ; walked in pro-
cession to it with his insignia as inquisitor of the faith ; preached
a sermon ; ordered the heretic to be brought forward for punish-
ment ; placed the theses on the scaffold, and burnt them. The
view of Prierias, the Pope's Censor, who answered Luther
from Rome, was, ' Dogs must be barking. O dear Luther,
' wert thou to receive from our lord the Pope a good Bishopric,
* thou wouldst sing smaller, and even preach up the Indulgence,
' which it is now thy pleasure to vilify.' * It is high treason,'
exclaimed Hochstraten, the Inquisitor of Cologne, ' against the
* Church to leave such a heretic alive another hour. Erect in-
' stantly the scaffold for him !' The general view of those in
power, less passionately expressed, was essentially the same.
Scultet, Bishop of Brandenburg, a man of mildness and finesse,
in a civil answer to Luther's letter, commended his zeal, and
admitted that there was occasion for it, but told him to be quiet.
Leo himself, ever easy and good-tempered, after once persuading
himself to take a serious view of the subject, and descending
from his lofty contempt for both sides in the contest, saw no
other line but the established and traditionary one of mere sup-
pression. Such was the policy; and the policy suggested its
own means. Luther must be possessed in person; the man
must be got hold of. The Court addressed itself with a mechan-
ical instinct to that one point. Form, gravity, decorum, kind-
ness, were observed in the means ; but Italian sagacity was clear
as to the end, and knew that the best way to treat with a foe
was to secure him first. Luther once in Rome, away from
friends, and removed from sympathy and aid ; ecclesiastical
justice would have a comparatively easy task ; and one of two
Martin Luther. 123
alternatives must follow, either that he should not leave it at all,
or leave it a vanquished and tamed man.
But Italian policy, however sagacious and clear, had in Luther
a difficult foe to deal with, and Rome was destined to find its
match. The only effect which the observation of this aim on
the part of Rome had on Luther, was to excite in him, in addi-
tion to his original grievance, a deep and inexpressible indig-
nation that it should be met in that way ; that the only answer
to a witness against wrong should be a move to incarcerate
him. * Was it not a shame that these people set so high a price
' upon him ?' He saw himself regarded as vermin, to be trodden
and stamped upon ; as something whose proper fate was simple
effacement ; and the bitterness of a double wrong now invigo-
rated and sharpened him for the contest. There mixed with
this indignation no slight disdain at the idea that such a line of
proceeding should be supposed at all probable to succeed with
him. Awake to those vast energies which were fast rising into
life within him, and full of conscious power, he resented, while
he despised, the audacity of men who could presume to imagine
that he was to be caught by such strategics. Did they think
him a simpleton, or what were they thinking of, to think that a
possible thing ? A mortal jealousy of Italian subtlety only put
him the more on his mettle, and inflamed him. Luther was
peculiarly of that temper which has a horror of being taken in,
and is haunted by the ' decipi turpe est.' The Italian was by
national character and careful cultivation a diplomatist. He
had that character, especially in Germany. The German felt
himself no match for him, and retaliated by dislike and sus-
picion. The dread of an Italian was proverbial ; an undefin-
able notion of his unlimited powers of deception pervaded the
mass, and one German warned another as he approached. He
was advancing now to the contest with his practised penetration,
his easy address, his whole art and science of management ; and
he promised himself an easy victory over the poor simple Ger-
man. Luther's gall rose at the idea. Would he find it so easy ?
and would he find him quite so poor simple a German ? Why
should not a German assume the Italian for once, and establish
some small pretension to tact and policy ? It seems to have
been in connexion with feelings like these that Luther gave
himself that carte-blanche for dissimulation which he used
throughout all the stages of his struggle with Rome in which
dissimulation was wanted. He certainly did meet the Italians
here with their own weapon. He stuck at no disguises, no pro-
fessions of humility, affection, reverence, and modesty, which sim-
ple language could supply, whenever his position called for them.
Passion indeed is the prominent feature in Luther's character,
124 Martin Lather.
and it does not appear at first sight as if passion and dissimu-
lation would well go together ; but they often do. Dissimula-
tion is, after all, only a tool for accomplishing an object ; and
passion, which is clear-sighted enough to see this, will make use
of that tool as it makes use of others. It will feel a relish in
the employment of it, just as it will in the directly martial and
openly hostile exercises of its calling, and even exult and triumph
in it, in proportion as it is alive to its peculiar efficacy. Indeed,
dissimulation will thus become a positive expression of passion ;
its success affords the most pungent gratification which there is
to scorn, and passion specially delights in scorn ; the deceiver
feels that in deceiving he humiliates and degrades. Luther was
as powerful a dissembler as he was an assailant. Formed just
on the most formidable model in the whole workshop of character,
with a degree of passion which would have driven any ordinary
mortal into madness, he combined a perfect mastery and control
of it, which converted it into a tool. An easy skill and a strong
hand turned it about at pleasure. He did what he liked with
it. He rode it as a skilful equestrian rides his high-mettled
horse. He played with it as a conjuror plays with his balls,
jerking and recalling them at will, and keeping them tossing in
the air about him, but still obedient to the centre of attraction
in himself. * I never write so well,' he said, ' as when I am
angry.' But the change from superciliousness to deference,
from rage to flattery, from hatred to affection, was ready at a
moment's notice, and the instrument always gave the proper
note at a touch.
With these general lines of policy prepared on both sides,
hostilities commenced. The first act was a citation from the
Pope to Luther to appear personally, within sixty days, at
Rome. The indictments were framed ; an ecclesiastical court
was appointed to try his case ; and the only thing wanted was
the presence of the offender. ' I saw,' says Luther, ' the thun-
* derbolt launched against me : I was the sheep that muddied
' the wolf's water. Tetzel escaped, and I was to let myself be
* eaten.' Thrown upon himself, and confronted with imminent
danger thus immediately in the contest, Luther met the emer-
gency with the utmost coolness and self-possession. There is
not a symptom of its ever having entered into his head to obey
the citation ; whatever happened, he had made up his mind that
he would never let himself be dragged to Rome. But the
resoluteness of the determination betrayed itself by no word of
violence or pride. A letter from the University of Wittemberg,
with many expressions of deep reverence for the Holy See, in-
terceded for its professor, who, * on account of the state of his
' health, and the dangers attending the journey, was not able to
Martin Luther. 125
* undertake what he would otherwise be most anxious to do ;'
adding, ' Most holy father, our brother is indeed worthy of
* credit : and as for his theses against Indulgences, they are
* merely disputatory. He has merely exercised his right of
' debating freely, and has asserted nothing.' An arrangement
entered into at the same time with the Elector Frederick, that
the latter should decline to give Luther a safe passport to
Rome, supplied him with a still more efficient and respectable
excuse.
The next attempt on the part of the Papal Court was con-
ducted by a Nuncio in person. Cardinal Cajetan was at this time
in Germany, returning from an unsuccessful mission on which
he had been sent for exciting a war against the Turks. He
was commissioned to undertake Luther's case, and received
summary instructions * to get hold of him, keep him safely, and
'bring him to Rome.' 1 An honest, vehement man, without the
ordinary tact of an Italian envoy, he was accompanied by an
attache who in some measure supplied his deficiency, Urban di
Serra Longa, an Italian courtier, whose long residence in a
diplomatic character in Germany had familiarized him with the
national character, and made him a peculiarly fit man for dealing
with a German. The Cardinal cited Luther to Augsburg ;
and Luther went, receiving warnings at every step to be on
his guard against the sly Italians. John Kestner, of Wittem-
berg, provisor of the Cordeliers, was full of apprehension for his
brother * Thou wilt find Italians at Augsburg, brother, who
' are learned folks, subtle antagonists, and will give thee a great
* deal of trouble. I fear thou wilt not be able to maintain thy
' cause against them ; they will throw thee in the fire, and con-
* sume thee in the flames.' Doctor Auerbach, of Leipsic, re-
peated the note of warning ' The Italians are not to be trusted.'
Prebend Adelmann, of Leipsic, repeated it after him. There
was small need for impressing it upon Luther. Arrived at
Augsburg, he was waited on by Serra Longa, who took the line
of advising him, as a sensible man, to submit himself to the Car-
dinal without reserve. * Come,' he concluded, ' the Cardinal is
' waiting for you. I will escort you to him myself. Fear
' nothing ; all will be over soon, and without difficulty.' Luther
heard him with respect, and expressed himself as perfectly ready
to meet the Cardinal ; but he wanted one thing before doing
so a safe conduct. ' A safe conduct ? Do not think of asking
( for one ; the legate is well disposed, and quite ready to end
' the affair amicably. If you ask for a safe conduct, you will
1 ' Bracchio cogas atque eonipellas, ut eo in potestate tua redacto eum 8ub fideli
custodid retineas, ut coram nobis sistatur.'
12f> Martin Luth&r.
( spoil your business.' The attaches assurance was confirmed
by the rest of the Cardinal's suite : ' The Cardinal assures you
' of his grace and favour ;' ' the Cardinal is a father, full of com-
' passion.' Luther expressed no distrust in him, but wanted a
safe conduct.
The safe conduct came, and Luther presented himself before
the Cardinal, secure and humble. Prostrating himself first, he
waited for one command to raise him to his knees, and another
to raise him to his legs. After a silence, in which the Cardinal
expected him to speak, but Luther humbly waited to be
addressed, the conference commenced. Cajetan was stern,
brief, and summary, and simply demanded retractation. Luther
required argument to prove that he was wrong. For several
successive interviews the same game went on, and Luther
suggested argument, and the Cardinal repelled it. As Luther,
however, remained cool, while the Cardinal became angry and
heated, the balance of the discussion at last inclined in the former's
favour, and he caught the Cardinal in a trap, one sufficiently
frivolous, indeed, but according to the technical laws of logic
acknowledged in that day, decisive argumentatively. One of
Luther's objectionable theses was, that ' the treasure of Indul-
' gences was not composed of the merits and sufferings of our
* Lord Jesus Christ.' The Cardinal asserted this to be flatly
contradictory to the extravagante of Pope Clement. Luther
challenged him to prove it, and the challenge was caught
eagerly. The extravagante was produced and read, till they
came to the words ' the Lord Jesus Christ has acquired the trea-
f sure by his sufferings.' * Pause there,' said Luther. * Most
' reverend father, be good enough carefully to consider and
' reflect on that phrase, " He has acquired" Christ has acquired
' a treasure by his merits ; the merits, therefore, are not the
* treasure ; for, to speak with philosophers, the cause is different
* from the things which flow from it.' Cajetan had committed a
mistake in being enticed into an argument, and did not regain
his position.
Luther, having puzzled the Cardinal, and done all he had to
do ; having noticed, too, symptoms of irascibility in his judge,
from whom he began to receive first offers and then threats of a
safe conduct to Rome, resolved to take his leave ; leaving with
his friends, first, a note to the Cardinal, explaining that the
smallness of his resources did not allow him to protract his stay
in Augsburg ; and, secondly, an appeal to the Pope, whereby
the Cardinal's hands were tied, and any retaliatory sentence to
which his offended dignity might incline him, stopped. Before
the morning light he mounted a horse, issued out of a small
gate in the city, which a town-councillor had directed to be
Martin Luther. 127
open for him, and left Augsburg at a gallop. His feelings on
his return to Wittemberg were those of bitter merriment, not
softened by the sight, which he then for the first time had, of
the written directions contained in the Pope's brief to the
Cardinal. ' The Cardinal would fain have had me in his hands,
* and sent me to Rome. He is vexed, I warrant, that I have
* escaped him. He fancied he was master of me in Augsburg;
* he thought he had me ; but he had got the eel by the
1 tail.'
The issue of the conference at Augsburg was a disappoint-
ment at Rome ; the fault was thrown upon Cajetan's stiffness
and asperity, and care was taken that the next Nuncio should be
a different man. Charles Von Miltitz, Chamberlain to the
Pope, was a German, in itself a recommendation ; he was also a
man of an open, frank exterior, and abundance of bonhomie.
He and Luther met at Altenburg, on the oth of January, 1519,
spent several convivial days together, and were mutually
charmed with each other's company, good-humour, and jocu-
larity. The tone of Miltitz was most grateful to a man in
Luther's position : * You are drawing all the world away from
' the Pope : as for taking you to Rome, an army of twenty
' thousand would not be able to do it ; you now are three to one
' against us.' He laughed over the incidents of his journey,
and told good stories. ' " What think you of the Roman seat
' [see] ?" I asked one of the hostesses on my road. " Seats,"
said she, " how should I know; are they wood or stone?"' The
time passed pleasantly away, and the two excellent friends
parted with embraces, and on Miltitz's side with tears. * I did
not,' said Luther, in writing to a friend, * let it be seen that
I thought the kiss Judas's kiss, and the tears crocodile's tears.
The impostor, the liar! He has in his pocket seventy apo-
stolical briefs, for leading me bound and captive to that mur-
derous Rome.' Miltitz retired from this and a subsequent
meeting with the notion that he had completely brought Luther
round, and made him consent to silencing conditions. But the
conditions were nugatory ones. Luther consented to declare
himself an obedient child of the Roman See ; and consented to
promise that he would invite the people to be as obedient as
himself; he consented to be silent if his opponents were silent,
and finally consented to the appointment of some Arch-
bishop as his judge. The three former conditions are on
their very surface trifles : with respect to the last one, he did
not care who judged him, so long as the judge came to Luther
in Germany, and Luther had not to go to him at Rome. The
Nuncio was as completely cheated as he wished to cheat ; and
Luther from his first reflection on the commencement of the
128 Martin Luther.
conference, ' I know the fox,' to the concluding one, ' The farce
is over,' snowed an expertness of dissimulation, for which, in an
untutored and inexperienced man, even the shrewdest diplo-
matist could be pardonably unprepared.
Meantime, as regards the reibrrning movement itself, the
greatest caution was exercised in the mode of conducting it. To
such a degree, indeed, did Luther carry his caution with respect
to his theses, the subject of all these conferences, that he would
not formally admit that they were expressions of his own
opinion at all. They were theses, subjects suggested for dis-
putation, and upon which theologians were invited to exercise
their argumentative power and skill. Some might take one
side, some another; he had never asserted which side he himself
took upon each of these ninety-five. That he had a general
objection to the present mode in which Indulgences were given
was indeed obvious, but he had asserted no doctrine. Thus
adroitly availing himself of existing machinery, he nurtured the
first tender seed of the Reformation underneath the shelter of
the old disputative system. Again, as he was not responsible
for the theses themselves, so neither was he for their publication.
He had stuck them on the doors of the church of All Saints at
Wittemberg, the usual process in announcing subjects for dis-
putation; but who copied them thence, or how it was they
were now circulating through all the towns of Germany, he had
no idea. He had not done it ; if others had, he could not help
that. ' Is all this noise made,' he writes in his first letter to the
Pope, after the publication of his theses, { because I have simply
* exerted my right as a master of theology, and disputed in the
' public schools ? Why, this is done in all universities, and
* these disputes take place on much more sacred subjects than
' indulgences. What fate brings my poor disputations into so
' much greater prominence than those of other masters in
' theology, and makes them circulate all the world over, is a
* miracle to me. I only published them for the sake of our
* people here ; and how the mass understand a set of questions,
* put enigmatically and obscurely, as disputative ones always are,
' is incomprehensible to me What can I do ? I am
* not able to recall them from circulation now, however their
* circulation may annoy me. I find myself brought reluctantly
' before the world, and exposed to every sort of criticism ; an
' unlearned, dull, ignorant man is scrutinized by an age of cul-
' tivation and science, which could drive Cicero himself into a
' corner. It is my fate to be the goose hissing among the
* swans All I can do is to prostrate myself at
' your feet vivified, occide ; voca, revoca ; approba, reproba, ut
' placuerit*
Martin Luther. 129
Again, ' I have nothing I can do : I cannot bear your
' anger, and how to rescue myself from it I know not. I am
' asked to recall my theses. If that would do any good I would
' do it immediately. But the truth is, that, owing to the
* opposition they have met with, they are circulating more
' widely than I ever dreamed of, and have taken such powerful
* hold of many minds, that they cannot be recalled. Nay, in
* this age of intellect and learning, it would be an injury to the
e Church of Rome herself to recall them, and that is the very last
' thing which, as a reverential son of the Roman Church, I could
' do.' The attitude which Luther assumed towards the Pope
was that of a person who found a great stir of opinion going on,
over which he had no control, and which he rather regretted
than not. His expressions as to himself, the most debasing which
language could produce, confirmed this attitude. ' Refuse of
* mankind, and dust of the earth, necessity alone is my excuse
' for presuming to address your Blessedness. Deign to lower
' the ear of your Blessedness to the bleatings of your lamb.
' The lowest and vilest of mankind, wretched and poor, I
' prostrate my unworthy self at your feet.'
We approach, in this latter specimen indeed, one whole class
of expressions, which specially arrests the eye of the reader of
Luther's life, and upon which some notice seems required.
Luther always described himself as having begun his reforming
career under an all but intolerable weight of dejection, the con-
sequence of his own low idea of himself, and exalted reverence
for the system and the men whom he found himself opposing.
'. I began in great fear and trembling,' he tells Erasmus. * Who
* was I then, poor, miserable, contemptible brother that I was,
* more like a corpse than a man ; who was I to set myself up
* against the majesty of the Pope, before whom trembled not
* only the kings of the earth, and the whole world, but also, if
' I may so say, heaven and hell ? No one can know what my
' heart suffered in those first two years, and into what depres-
' sion, I might say into what despair, I was plunged. ... I was
' not so joyous, so tranquil, so confident of success. There
' were, it is true, many pious Christians whom my propositions
f pleased much, but I could not consider them as mouth-pieces
' of the Holy Ghost : I looked only to the cardinals, the bishops,
' the theologians, the jurisconsults, the monks, the priests. ... It
' was thence I expected the Spirit to breathe upon me
* I did honour the Pope's Church from the bottom of my heart
' as the true Church Had I despised the Pope, I should
' have trembled to see the earth open and swallow me up alive,
' like Corah.' With such signs of deep humility and respect for
authorities did Luther conduct the Reformation through its
NO. LIX. N. 8. K
130 Martin Luther.
early stages, and the question which naturally occurs is, how
much of it was real, and how much of it not. The answer to
such a question is provided for us by that science of character,
which an increasing general experience of the various forms of
character, subtle as well as simple, has now made comparatively
easy and plain. It is quite safe to say, in the first place,
that Luther's mental abasement before the Pope and Cardinals
was partly real and partly unreal ; and it is equally safe to say,
in the second place, that where reality and unreality divide the
ground, the unreality almost necessarily predominates over the
reality. Luther had, to use a word of commmon parlance, a
strong element of ' Jesuitism' in his nature. Without saying
what at the time he did not think or feel, he could throw him-
self artificially into states of mind, out of which such thoughts
and feelings proceeded. To a mind midway between two
systems, an old one to which it had belonged, and a new one to
which it was just going to belong, the present ground did not
wholly extinguish the past one. Minds cannot absolutely
annihilate their former state ; and if there was a corner in which
the old feeling existed in Luther's mind, it is the characteristic of
such a mind to be able to summon it forth, and use and expand
it upon occasion. The insincerity of such a mind rather lies in
voluntarily, and with politic aim, exaggerating and inflating some
real particle of feeling, than in feigning one which simply does not
exist. Luther, in moulding his attitude to Rome, threw himself
into a state of mind in which he ' thought the Cardinals, theo-
* logians, jurisconsults of Rome, the mouth-pieces of the Holy
' Ghost ;' i. e. he allowed the imposing and magnificent cha-
racteristics of the Roman system to have their effect upon him,
and impress him for the time that such an impression was
wanted. An act of the will produced an attitude of feeling ;
and a species of humility arose, so subtle, mixed, and evasive,
that an observer can hardly catch it with sufficient distinctness
to pronounce accurately what it was. We notice the same
fine and intangible character in his apology for that part of his
conduct which showed apparent want of humility : the appear-
ance being admitted and thus explained: * Truth will gain
no more by my modesty than it will lose by my presumption.
..... Who does not know that nobody puts forward a new
idea without appearing to manifest some pride? The
Bishops begin to perceive that they ought to have done what
I am doing, and they arc ashamed. They call me proud and
audacious, and I do not deny that I am so. But they are not
men to know what God is and what we are.'
To this general rationale of Luther's reverence for the Pope,
Cardinals, and Roman Church, must be added the liberty which
Martin Luther. 131
the religious journeyer sometimes takes of expressing to the
full his adherence to the old system, till he has consummated
his transition to the new. Luther certainly expressed the
fullest loyalty in public for the Roman system, at a time when
it was impossible he should, and when, as a matter of fact, he
did not feel it. On the 3d of March, he wrote to the Pope :
* Before God and his whole creation I testify, that I have
( never wished, and do not wish now, to touch by any means or
' craftiness your power, or that of the Roman Church, but confess
c fully that that Church is supreme over all, and that nothing
' in heaven or earth, save our Lord Jesus Christ only, is to be
' preferred to it.' On the 12th of the same month he wrote
to his friend Spalatin: 'I know not whether the Pope is
* Anti-Christ in person or his apostle.' If asked, he would
probably have justified the opposition between these two pas-
sages, on the ground that the one was public and the other
private, and that they suited respectively the two sides of his
position.
Such was Luther's policy at the commencement of his career.
Let no one refer to the success of that career as an instance of
success attending simple boldness and impetuosity. Luther was
always the politician, and a resolutely cautious one. With a
boldness equal to facing the blindest hazard, he never moved
without a definite pledge of security. He obstinately insisted
on safe conducts. * Vivat Ckristus, moriatur MartinusJ he ex-
claimed on his journey to Augsburg ; but he took care to meet
Cajetan with a safe conduct in his hands. * I will go there,
* though I find as many devils as there are tiles on the house-
( top,' he said, before his journey to Worms : but he took care
that an imperial herald conducted him there. He proved the
saying, that fear mixes largely with true courage, and that the
better part of valour is discretion. Follow him step by step,
and you see him the shrewd diplomatist, parrying invitations,
rejecting offers, penetrating disguises. By this course of policy
he kept himself out of Rome and in Germany. He kept him-
self among sympathizing and admiring friends, preaching,
writing, and talking, and disseminating his ideas in every way.
He gained time for the formation of a party. His popular
winning character only required the congenial national sphere
to act in, to make itself felt ; and to be in Germany was to grow
and prosper. ' Martin,' says a contemporary, who is describing
him at this period of his life, * is of the middle height ; cares and
* studies have made him so thin, that one may count all the
* bones in his body ; yet he is in all the force and verdure of his
* age. His voice is clear and piercing : he is never at a loss,
' and has at his disposal a world of thoughts and word?. In his
K 2
132 Martin Luther.
conversation he is agreeable and easy, and there is nothing hard
or austere in his air. He permits himself to enjoy the plea-
sures of life. In society he is gay, jocund, and unembarrassed;
and possesses a perfect serenity of countenance despite of the
atrocious menaces of his enemies.' The sweetness and fasci-
nation which mingled with the power of his character sent
away the crowds, who came to Wittemberg from curiosity,
disciples and propagandists : their reports brought other crowds,
and Wittemberg became the sacred city of the new school. As
the young student of a distant province caught the first sight of
the spires of Wittemberg, he raised his hands to heaven and
praised God that He had made the light to shine on that city,
as He had before upon Sion. The disputative exhibitions of
the day aided him. They kept up excitement, and supplied
public and striking scenes in which Luther appeared to remark-
able advantage. All the talent and literature of the day crowded
to those disputations ; they were the amusement of the intel-
lectual world ; people came from the greatest distances ; there
was a general contact of minds, and the formation of a public
opinion was the result. It was at one of these scenes that
Melancthon was gained. The great disputation at Leipsic
brought together all the young theologians of Germany, and
Luther did immense execution. Pitted greatly to his advantage
against the sharpest, noisiest, most vain, impudent, and unscru-
pulous disputant of the age, he won at one morning many
of the subsequent lights of the Reformation. Thus serviceable
with respect to the mass, the same interval was equally service-
able in gaining over nobles and princes too. Luther moved in
an age in which not the many but the few governed; under the
surveillance of German Electors, Dukes and Landgraves, who
had no interest in his doctrines except a selfish one, and who
were bound to watch with some jealousy, however welcome he
might be as an opponent of the Pope, the career of a popular
leader and mover of masses. The moderation and caution of
Luther's opening policy was just the feature to recommend him
to them. Had he shown himself a mere agitator and addresser
of masses, he would have stood in an unfavourable attitude
towards the Courts. They would have distrusted and disliked
him. Summary suppression is the frequent fate of agitators :
it was the fate of John Huss and Jerome of Prague ; and the
German princes would probably have stood by with consider-
able indifference and seen Luther carried off by some Papal
Envoy, had he shown himself only an agitator as those early
Reformers had. But they saw in Luther the politician and
the diplomatist, and they respected him. He had sympathies
with Courts and Governments as well as with masses ; he had
Martin Luther. 133
obvious weight and solidity ; he had the stamp of practical
power upon him ; he had all the appearance of one who could
found, and fix, and not only preach a theology. The conse-
quence was that they took to him. The Elector Frederick, his
own sovereign, a timid and wavering man, who would have
been offended at any spectacle of simple vehemence and passion,
was his firm friend, and a considerable body of princes were
resolved to see fair play.
The time now came when the fruits of this policy appeared,
and when Luther, throwing off all disguise, and breaking fairly
with the Pope, was enabled to take his stand confidently on the
ground which he had made. In the April of 1521, Luther,
having already committed the overt act of rebellion, and burnt
the Pope's Bull publicly at Wittemberg, appeared to take his
trial before the Diet of Worms. No contrast can be imagined
greater than that between Luther's whole figure and position, as
it actually was now, and what it would have been had any pre-
cipitancy or carelessness handed him over prematurely to the
Roman power. Tried prematurely in his career, and tried at
Rome, he would have stood before his Roman judges a criminal
at the bar ; a disturber and breaker of the peace, little more
respectable than a common highwayman. As it was, he ap-
peared more as a conqueror than a criminal; the very scene
which was intended to suppress him was his greatest eleva-
tion, and his condemnation established him in the position of a
successful and recognised Reformer. With a safe conduct, in
the circumstances in which he was inviolable he presented
himself secure, erect, and self-possessed : he could not be
touched; he was a dignified spectator of the august cere-
monial ; the great man whom it really honoured ; he was
received in state, and treated almost like an independent
potentate, within the Imperial assembly. Between his position
and that of his ill-fated predecessor John Huss, there was all
the difference that there is between a prisoner and a visitor :
Huss went to the Diet at Prague to be tried ; Luther went to
Worms to pay his respects. His journey to Worms was a
triumphal march. Every step brought him across some flatter-
ing marks of sympathy and respect, public and private. As he
passed from town to town, burgomasters and councillors vied
in their hospitality, and crowds gazed at him with wonder. On
arriving at Worms, princes, nobles, and students flocked around
him. He entered the hall of trial and saw his friends on all
sides. The greatness of the occasion oppressed him indeed at
times, and in private he had moments of that dejection and
nervousness which nature itself feels when going to figure in
extraordinary scenes. Simple conspicuousness is oppressive;
134 Martin Luther.
and to sustain the full gaze of such an assembly, and go
through the ordeal of question and answer, in a way which
became Luther's position and pretensions, required all Luther's
courage and confidence. But his real position was already
made, and now he had only to act up to it : for a whole week he
was pressed by the assembled Diet to recant ; for a whole week
he repeated his refusal. An imperial edict then placed him
under the ban of the empire, and the ceremonial was over.
Nobody thought of obeying the edict, and the terrible sentence
which consigned him to imprisonment, and forbade anybody
harbouring and feeding him, passed off as a farce. Luther,
after a temporary residence in the Elector's castle at Wartburg,
returned to Wittemberg, preached, wrote, published, and superin-
tended the formation of his own Church. The next year's Diet
at Nuremberg exhibited the Papal ptiwer in a state of such de-
plorable feebleness, that it seemed to have enough to do to
fight for its own safety without aspiring to conquest. Cheregat,
the Papal legate, met the assembly with language such as Rome
had never before been known to use, of the most humble and
sad confession. He acknowledged that the Church wanted re-
form, and the see of S. Peter first and principally : Rome had
been guilty of profaneness, oppression, and all scandals, and
reform should therefore descend from the head to the members,
and purify the Church at large by purifying its centre. Ele-
vated by this language, the Diet drew up its centum gravamina.
against the Roman See, and with much bitterness of tone
demanded redress. A feeble call for an execution of the edict
of Worms was quashed at once by several of the princes,
and a prostrate Papacy gave Luther not only safety but
triumph.
In reviewing the external causes which fixed the Reformer in
such a strong position, we find an intellectual and a religious
one. The young and fresh intellect of the day was mainly with
Luther. Progress was the word ; it was the thing to go after
him ; Luther was all the fashion. A bold original mind, by the
side of the cut-and-dried cleverness, technicality, and hackneyed
disputativeness of the old theology, captivated especially the
young : it seemed as if people who held back from him owed
an apology to the intellectual world, and had to show cause why
they should not be set down as, however worthy and well-
meaning, a sadly dull, old-fashioned class. People see the
intellectual defects of an old familiar system, and not those of
a new and strange one, and rush into novelty in order that they
may enjoy the sensation of possessing truth, free from all
accompanying sensation of drawbacks. Moreover, the argu-
ment on the side of his opponents in support of the old system
Martin Luther. 135
was contemptibly feeble. On the great and fundamental
question, which the dispute instantly brought up, viz. who
was the judge of controversies of faith, Luther had a really
strong ground, and intellectual men saw it. It was a ground,
indeed, simply negative, and on that very account a much easier
one to maintain than that of his opponents ; but, as a negative
argument, it was irresistibly strong : he asked them to prove that
the Pope was this judge and that the Roman Catholic could
not prove. It was plain that the latter's ground was weak
here, and Luther had only to ask his question in order to mani-
fest and bring out that weakness. He retired from the dispu-
tation with the appearance of a person who knows he has
given a challenge which cannot be answered, and demanded a
proof which cannot be given. It added to the strength of this
negative position, that the other side were so wholly unprepared
for encountering it : the Papal monarchy was a first principle
with Luther's opponents ; they had never reasoned, or thought
it necessary to reason about it ; it stood on a par with Chris-
tianity itself ; the fact had grown up with their growth, and
was part of themselves ; their minds simply reflected an esta-
blished system, and could not put themselves ab extra to it,
as argument requires. When they had brought Luther to deny
the authority of the Pope, they went away pleased and tri-
umphant, as if they had gained a plain reductio ad absurdum.
But it was impossible that the excited intellect of a new school
of thinkers should not see the absence of real argument on such
a question. The abuses of private judgment have sometimes
naturally warped the intellect in favour of the Papal claims,
but the abuses of the Papacy then exposed it to the examina-
tion of a not only impartial, but unfriendly intellect. An un-
friendly intellect was a rigid one, and demanded argumentative
proof; and that proof not being forthcoming, an intellectual
triumph was on the side of him who gave the challenge, and an
intellectual defeat on theirs who had not answered it. The
puzzler, the questioner, was the victorious party ; and Luther
represented immediately the intellect of the day, the spirit of
inquiry and criticism, which, not content with existing facts,
required an explanation of them, and went back to first prin-
ciples. Of two parties who were combating, one examined,
the other simply asserted, and aimed at silencing its opponent
by that simple force of assertion : the sympathies of the intel-
lectual spirit were enlisted in favour of the inquirer, and
against his dogmatic silencer.
Again, a religious reason operated in fixing Luther in his
position. Whatever amount of religion there might be going
on within the Roman Church of that day, and whatever
136 Martin Luther.
aggregate of good and holy men there might be, actually and
numerically in her, this religion did not come to the top, and
take its proper leading place. The Church, acting as a whole,
and exhibiting herself, in her central government, through her
officials and mouthpieces, in her managing and ruling parties,
showed lamely, in a religious point of view, before the world.
The profligacy of the ecclesiastics of the Roman Court itself was
notorious : and the Bishops at large had managed to raise against
themselves a strong popular charge of pride and luxury, which
it is impossible for the fairest reader of history to overlook.
The particular men whom the Papal Court sent from time to
time to confront Luther showed the defect ; they were clever,
active, shrewd, and elegant men, who had mixed with courts,
and who had taken part in the literary revival of the age.
Cajetan was a serious, indeed, though an ordinary man ;
but Miltitz, a sly convivial courtier ; Eck, a vain and bustling
disputant; Aleandro, the nuncio at the Diet of Worms, a
literary star, whose life had passed in the thick of the attrac-
tions, the display, and the laurels of the Renaissance ; Campegio
the lawyer, and others, were men simply cut out on the model
of the world of their day. So were Prierias, Eraser, Murner,
and a whole class of second-rate controversialists. But Luther
was obviously not a man of this mould ; his was a powerfully
and strikingly religious mind. Whether his religion were a
true one or not, he had one ; he lived for its sake ; he was full
of it ; it inspired, strengthened, and stimulated him, and made
him what he was. He stood before men like a being from
another world ; possessed of an intensity of religious belief and
ardour to which ordinary men had nothing comparable; and
which the world gazed upon as it does upon any transcendental
phenomenon. Out of the whole ecclesiastical corps of the day,
not a man was to be found who could meet him on this ground.
Everybody knows the great weight and influence of * signs ' in
the religious department: people have always sought after
signs, and always will. By signs we mean prominent facts or
phenomena, which admit of being supposed to be tokens from
above, and suggest that supposition to anxious minds. Such
signs, though they depend wholly on supposition, more or less
natural, and not at all on argument, for their weight, have still
often far greater weight than any argument : they belong to the
present and the actual ; the immediate manifestation of God's
will by a sign is more attractive than that which takes place
through the ordinary mediums. And under the head of signs
come not only positively miraculous and unaccountable facts,
but all striking facts whatever, all appearances, postures of
affairs, which admit of having some or other particular signifi-
Martin Luther. 137
cance attached to them by the mind. In this sense" the absence
of religion at the head-quarters of the Church was a serious
* sign ' to a large class of religious minds in Luther's days.
Luther, on the other hand, was a striking phenomenon of the
religious class ; an instance of a man possessing, and communi-
cating, the most powerful religious convictions. The religious
reason thus came in, and Luther gained numbers on the ground
that he seemed to have earnestness on his side, while the
Church was worldly and secular. A marvellous combination of
the worldly politician and deep religious enthusiast, Luther was
confronted by the talent and tact of commonplace men, and he
rode over it easily and triumphantly. Legate after legate, and
diet after diet broke down before him ; they could do nothing ; he
had it all his own way. He succeeded, for the plain reason that
there was not in the whole of Christendom his match, and that
the greater man, like the greater momentum, naturally prevails.
What, indeed, must have been the prostration of the Church,
when in the person of Pope Adrian she humbly, and almost
on her knees, implored Erasmus for help against Luther ; and
the lukewarm indifferentist refused it with the remark, * I told
* you what was coming.'
The schism fairly consummated, Luther had now to be the
champion and conductor of a declared reformation ; to wage
war with the Roman Church, and to construct, superintend, and
provide for the wants of his own.
The war with Rome was the more easy department to him of
the two. The necessity of self-restraint over, and the policy which
had hitherto demanded more or less of disguise, now positively
directing the most full and broad exposure of the Papacy ;
such an exposure as would soil and defile the prestige of ages,
and accustom men to despise and trample on what they had
hitherto reverenced; he had only to give full swing to his feel-
ing, and let himself be carried away by the force of an at once
deliberate and wild impetuosity. The controversial turn of
Luther is known. It must be allowed even by his admirers
that he flooded the earth with his abuse. As a controversialist,
he was literally and wholly without decorum, conscience, taste,
or fear. He did not know what it was to hesitate, to waver,
upon an epithet or a gibe. There is no appearance in his style
of his ever having once in the whole of his controversial career
said to himself Shall I say this or not ? He said whatever he
liked. He consulted strength alone. If that was to be bought,
he refused no price. He was unscrupulously gross and foul-
mouthed in his more solid vituperation : in his lighter banter,
there was that extremity of insolence which we notice in the
derision of a sharp and low crowd at a hustings, choosing exactly,
138 Martin Luther.
in their battery upon an obnoxious candidate, the terms and the
style the most offensive to his self-respect. A royal and majes-
tic dignitary (Henry VIII. of England) engages in theological
controversy with Luther, and is thus answered : ' The Lord
' Henry, not by the grace of God, King of England, has written
* in Latin against my treatise. There are some who believe that
* this pamphlet of the king's did not emanate from the king's own
* pen ; but whether Henry wrote, or Hal, or the devil in hell,
* is nothing to the point. He who lies is a liar. My own
* notion about the matter is, that Henry gave out an ell or two
' of coarse cloth, and that then this pituitous Thomist, Lee, the
' follower of the Thomist herd, who in his presumption wrote
' against Erasmus, took scissors and made a cope of it. If a
* king of England spits his impudent lies in my face, I have
* a right in my turn to throw them back down his own throat.
' If he blasphemes my sacred doctrines, if he casts his filth at the
* throne of my Monarch, my Christ, he need not be astonished
* at my defiling in like manner his royal diadem, and proclaim-
* ing him, King of England though he be, a liar and a rascal. . . .
* He thought to himself, Luther is so hunted about, he will have
' no opportunity of replying to me ; I need not fear to throw
' any thing that comes first to hand in the poor monk's path.
* Ah ! ah ! my worthy Henry ! you've reckoned without your
' host in this matter : you've had your say, and I'll have mine.
* You shall have truths that won't amuse you at all. I'll make
* you smart for your tricks. This excellent Henry accuses me
* of having written against the Pope out of personal hatred and
* ill-will ; of being snarlish and quarrelsome, backbiting, proud,
' and so conceited, that I think myself the only man of sense in
' the world ! I ask you, worthy Hal, what has my being con--
* ceited, snappish, and cross-grained, supposing I am so, to do
* with the question ? Is the Papacy free from blame, because I
* am open to it ? Is the King of England a wise man because
' I suppose him to be a fool ? Answer me that. . . . What most
* surprises me is not the ignorance of this Hal of England, not that
' he understands less about faith and works than a log of wood,
* but that the devil should trouble himself to make use of this
* man against me. King Henry justifies the proverb, " Kings
' and princes are fools." I shall say very little more about him at
* present, for I have the Bible to translate, and other important
* matters to attend to: on some future occasion, God willing,
* when I shall be more at leisure, I will reply at greater length
' to this royal driveller of lies and poison. ... I imagine that he
' set about his book by way of penance, for his conscience is
* ever smiting him for having stolen the crown of England,
' having made way for himself by murdering the last scion of
Martin Luther. 139
* the royal line. . . . Hal and the Pope have exactly the same
* legitimacy : the Pope stole his tiara, as the king his crown, and
* therefore it is that they are as thick together as two mules in
' harness.' The rage of the great monarch on being addressed
with such unbounded freedom is evidently before the writer's
mind here, and acts as his amusement and his stimulus. It is
not difficult to see that the writer of such a passage as this was
capable of higher nights in the same department, of stronger,
deeper, more passionate, virulent abuse, when it was his humour.
Come on, pigs that you are, burn me if you dare ! I am here to
be seized upon,' he addresses the Thomists. ' My ashes shall
pursue you after my death, though you throw them to all the
winds, into all the seas. Pigs of Thomists ! do what you can.
Luther will be the bear in your path, the lion in your way.
He will pursue you wherever you go, he will present himself
incessantly before you, will leave you not a moment's peace or
truce, till he has broken your iron head and your brazen front.'
Luther always exerted the powers of a Comus towards his
adversaries.
' Their human countenance,
The express resemblance of the gods, is changed
Into some brutish form of wolf or bear,
Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat.'
A series of caricatures exhibited the Pope and his adherents
under complex forms of brutishness, in which ass, calf, hog, ox,
elephant, griffin, and fish all mingled. The * Pope-ass and the
Monk-calf,' and * the Papal Sow,' were accompanied with expla-
nations, that no part of the uncomplimentary symbolism might
be lost. Nor, while Luther searched earth, air, sea, and sky
for epithets, did he despise the commonest; he had even a pre-
vailing bias to them as being the strongest to one especially
above all others one invested, by universal consent, with a kind
of technical and legal precedence. Luther is unsparing in deck-
ing his opponents with long ears ; ' They've got their ears too
* long by half, with their hihau ! hihau !' (some critics had
reflected on his Bible translation). ' Tell them that Dr. Martin
* Luther abides by his translation, regarding a Papist and a
* jackass as one and the same thing.'
But his mere sallies, after all, do not give the true idea of
Luther as a vituperator ; it is the constant mingling of the vitu-
perative with the subject, whatever it be, in hand its incorpora-
tion with his style its unwearied and incessant flow, which
astonishes ; the rush is sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker ;
but the floodgates are always open, and invectives ever issuing
from Luther's mouth. He is perfectly conscious of his own
140 Martin Luther.
warmth, and, like a true clever man, has a rationale for it. ' I
* was born,' he says, ' to meet parties and demons hand to hand
' on the field of battle ; therefore my writings are full of war
' and tempest. 1 am the rough pioneer who has to prepare the
* ways and level the road. But the master of arts, Philip
* (Melancthon) advances calmly and gently ; he cultivates and he
* plants ; he sows and he waters joyfully according to the gifts
* which God has made him.' As he proceeds through the Epistle
to the Galatians, he sees a strong resemblance in himself to
S. Paul. The Apostle occasionally uses language of strong
rebuke : * Est et nostra castigatio dura et stylus vehemensj adds
Luther. The Apostle says, ' I would they were cut off that
* trouble you.' * Atrocia verba, horribilia fulmina? remarks
Luther: ' Paulus acerbissime perstringit, acerbe invehitur:' 'I, too,
' Martin Luther, contra Papam tolo et debeo sanctd superbia su-
* perbire." 1 He forgot that, in the first place, S. Paul uses very
different language from that of Martin Luther; and in the
second, that he uses that language much less frequently than
Martin Luther does his. The comparison overlooks entirely
what is an important feature in the case, the question of quan-
tity. S. Paul does not anathematize false prophets in every
verse of his Epistles; and an epithet of rebuke once in an
Epistle, is not a precedent for an epithet of abuse many times
over in a page.
The truth is though such an explanation is no excuse
faults of temper are the natural faults accompanying strong
powers of action. Luther could not have done what he did, if
he had not been constitutionally endowed with powers of action
in the most wonderful degree : and to possess these -powers was
to possess a never-failing stimulus to temper. Action of all
kinds is connected with, and depends more or less on, the element
of passion in the human mind. That necessary state of desire
in the mind which all action supposes, in order to account for
itself and explain its own origin, is of the nature of passion :
and therefore in literal truth no human being can act at all with-
out some passion in him to make him : he cannot walk or talk,
move hand or arm, bend joint or sinew without it ; he cannot
open the door or shut it, or step from one corner of the room
to the other but by means of this element in his nature : and
passion is the electric or magnetic power which sets every thing
within him in motion, and makes him the acting creature he is.
Thus the charms of active bodily exercises, and feats of
strength : they satisfy a certain passion of action, as we may
call it in our nature, and give it play and vent : the process of
climbing, leaping, running up-hill, gives a certain impetus and
eagerness in the mind, which would otherwise be in painful
Martin Luther. 141
restlessness in consequence of inaction, its proper action and
quietus. And on this principle, we see the commonest kind
of action accompanied with passionate excesses, or what we
call temper. Thus few people will remove any obstacle to their
motion, a chair, or stool, or table, with exactly the degree of
strength which is, and which they themselves know to be, suffi-
cient to remove it. Some will instantaneously inflict the most ex-
travagant superfluity of removal on the offending obstacle ; and
most persons will remove it more forcibly and farther off than is
necessary : not that it is of the smallest advantage to do so, but
simply because the material comes into collision with their
powers of action; and those powers are fundamentally con-
nected with a species of irascibility. And though such general
passion as lies at the bottom of all human action hardly deserves
the name, and is an animal rather than a distinctly human
impulse the blind substratum rather than the thing itself its
quality rises with the quality of the action with which it is
connected, till it becomes true human passion. Such passion, as
connected with power of action, appears remarkably in the cha-
racters of the world's great men. It comes out, indeed, often in
their case in forms so frightful and extreme that we cease to
connect it with such general powers, and regard it as a distinct
disease ; but it plainly is connected with these powers, and we
see that, but for that natural strength of passion of which
these horrible excesses were the corruptions and embrutements,
these men never could have been the great men they were.
The Sylla who decimated Athens because an Athenian wit had
passed a joke on his physiognomy, and who on his death-bed
saw Granius strangled before his eyes, was the Sylla of the
Mithridatic and Social Wars, and the reformer of the Republic.
He wrote his own epitaph correctly ' Here lies Sylla, who was
' never outdone in kindness by a friend, or revenge by an
* enemy :' that is to say, here lies a man of intense passions.
Who cannot see a connexion between the future Napoleon and
the boy who vomited with rage on hearing a reflection passed
upon his native Corsica ? The strong powers of command and
arrangement which such men must have, to be what they are,
and bend minds and circumstances as they do, require passion
to sustain them, as a tree requires sap. Even our thinking
powers require this support, in a way ; and the most purely intel-
lectual processes, as soon as ever they become deep and difficult,
cannot be carried on without a force of will, which latent pas-
sion supplies. All things within and without seem to be ever
trying to throw off the empire of mind over them : events get
but of control, ideas get out of control ; affairs will put them-
selves, as if from sheer malice, in the most inconvenient and
142 Martin Luther.
awkward posture, every thing happening when it ought not,
and clashing with every thing else ; thoughts fly off, disperse,
and refuse to be brought to any head ; and the mind has to
bring all into order by means of a certain natural force of will
or passion.
' Luctantes ventos tempestatesque sonoras
Imperio premit.'
Even passion itself must be subdued by passion ; and feelings,
as they swell into excess, be put down by a forcible antagonist
will, which comes from the heart and is in a sense passionate. All
strong energetic action having such an internal accompaniment,
the consequence is what was to be expected, viz., that from the
lowest up to the highest examples of energy, from the energetic
man who fells timber or mows grass to the energetic man who
rules a nation, as sure as we hear of energy, almost as surely
we hear of temper. Industrious and cross, idle and good-tem-
pered, is the housekeeper's experience of servants. Raise the
dignity of the epithets, and the same experience applies to
higher agents in the world's system. The energetic statesman,
ecclesiastic, artist, merchant, poet, is exceedingly apt to be a
man of temper. The wide prevalence of the combination is of
course no excuse for it ; for it only shows that the passionate
element in the human constitution tends to excess, and that
where there is a strong temptation in a particular direction,
the majority will yield to it. Christian principle suggests, that
where energy really interferes with Christian temper, the former
should give way to the latter. It is of more importance to a
man that his temper should be Christian, than that he should
govern a party, a nation, a church, or a world. And if he finds
himself embarked on a line which necessarily demands a too
great amount of energy for him, if the multitude of his occu-
pations, and the despatch with which he has to go through them,
and the interruptions which harass, and the intensity of thought
and action which excites him, are too severe a trial to his gentle-
ness and patience, and the result is that he becomes proud and
overbearing ; a charitable judge will make the proper allowance ;
but it must still be remembered, that he is responsible for the
issue of his situation upon himself; more especially since, in nine
cases out of ten, he put himself into it.
Luther had enormous activities, and had that strong passion
which goes along with them : and he was lifted j by himself, in
connexion with events, into a position which demanded the con-
stant support which the whole strength of his nature could give.
He had a whole cause to push, maintain, and support, a whole
world to oppose. His strength carried him through his work,
Martin Luther. 143
and he gave it in reward all the indulgence which it could pos-
sibly demand. The war in which he was engaged was con-
troversial, a war in which words and not swords carried
the day. The strength of his nature, consequently, was deve-
loped in the shape of words. His fertility and ready wit
gave him peculiar command over this field. Nature gives horns
to bulls, and hoofs to horses; to Luther she gave a tongue.
The word always came immediately as it was wanted, and im-
petus suffering no check went on till strength had become
coarseness, and coarseness indecency. Such a passionate tem-
perament, with such a ready weapon, hit everybody that came
within reach. There was quite enough for Luther in the simple
fact that a man was a theological antagonist, to provoke a strong
epithet. The disgust which high-mindedness feels instanta-
neously toward anything which stands in its way, as if
nothing visible or invisible, human or divine, had any right to
oppose it, inflicted its contumely by instinct almost before it
was aware of its own act: ' Why do you oppose me? take
that !' Frederic of Prussia carried a cane, with which he vented
a perpetual supply of abstract and causeless indignation upon
the backs of his officers. Luther, in addition to a temperament,
had also a motive; he was the leader of a cause. The storm of
nature drove on with the directness of intention, and knocked
down every obstacle in the one line of its own motion.
The internal conduct and direction of his own movement was
a more difficult and anxious task. It is easier to pull down
than to build up in religion ; to attack than to construct and
maintain. Luther had a completely new ground, both doctrinal
and ecclesiastical, to make ; he had a new doctrine, the Lutheran
dogma of justification by faith, to propagate and transmit to
posterity ; he had a new society to form, which was to be the
keeper and transmitter of it. It was absolutely necessary to
construct a whole new system, internal and external, doctrinal
and corporate that is to say, a new Church.
To enable himself to construct a new Church, a theory in
the first instance was necessary, and a new theory. And,
accordingly, a formal theory is laid in Luther's works for this
purpose the theory now so familiar to us, viz. that every bap-
tized person is a priest. As a priesthood makes sacraments,
and sacraments make a Church, this theory at once supplied
Luther with the power of making a Church. Baptism was all
he wanted ; and baptism he had. Every baptized person could,
as far as principle went, administer the sacraments, and perform
all the offices of a priest. What members of the baptized body
should perform such offices was, indeed, a grave question of
external order ; and the founder of a Church was obliged to
144 Martin Luther.
secure order. He could only secure order by authority, and
therefore he had to fix upon some authority. But the only
authority he wanted was one for this external purpose ; and
such an authority seemed ready made for him in the State. He
made the State this authority, and the whole question was
settled. This theory, however, seldom makes its appearance in
formal shape in Luther's works, and is more commonly implied
than expressed. It was practically the only kind of Church he
could found, if he was to found one at all. The question was
settled for him by circumstances, and he let circumstances settle
it for him : he had kings on his side, and he had no bishops.
The great doctrine he had to promulgate, in short, created its
own Church, and sanctioned its own priesthood and sacraments.
If it was true, there must be some way of preserving and trans-
mitting it ; and that way could be only the establishment of a
Church. A society is the natural keeper of ah idea, and Luther,
full of the truth of his own idea of justification, of which he
considered himself the all but inspired teacher, made a society
in what way he could. The established channels of Ordination,
the Episcopacy, the Apostolical Succession, a whole system of
external Church appointments, which was coeval with Chris-
tianity, went for nothing, in comparison with the necessities of
a new doctrine demanding some mode of establishing and trans-
mitting itself. If Luther had had an Episcopacy ready to hand,
and ready to go along with him, he would not have rejected it ;
but as he had not got it, he did without it. The new Lutheran
Church rose up because the Lutheran doctrine wanted it, and
appealed to no other sanction or right.
But Luther, in establishing his new society, with its form of
worship, prayers, ceremonial, and whole external system, pro-
ceeded with that caution and accommodating spirit which have
been already noticed in him. His great maxim was, that the doc-
trine would* create its own proper worship and its own externals.
He therefore gave himself no trouble to put down the actual
ceremonial forms themselves which were established, and used no
violence. Preach my doctrine, he said; that will do more than any
direct attack upon such things can do ; that must and will under-
mine all the established ceremonial and external system, if it only
continues to be preached ; that is worth all the force and battery
in the world. Thus the mass went on, the same vestments con-
tinued to be used, the images still stood, and the whole interior
of the church fabric remained as before. 'You ask me for a form
' of celebrating mass,' he writes to Spalatin. ' I entreat you to
' trouble me no more about these minutiae ; let the conscience
* be kept quite free on the subject. It is by no means a thing
* of such importance as that, on its account, we should chain
Martin Lntker. 145
' down the spirit of liberty with additional rules, regulations, and
* traditions. We have enough of them and to spare.' Later,
i.e. in 1526, he writes, ' The mass is celebrated with the accus-
' toraed rites and in the same costume as formerly, the only diffe-
' rence is that we sing some hymns in German, and that the
* words of consecration are in German. Indeed, I should not have
' abolished the Latin mass at all, or have substituted the verna-
* cular, had I not found myself compelled to do so.' * If you
* have not already abolished the Latin mass,' he writes to a minis-
ter, * do not abolish it, but merely introduce into it a few German
' hymns. If it be abolished, at all events retain the old order and
* costumes.' The adoration of saints lie would not forbid : * Let
' each follow his own interpretation of such matters. Truth and
'charity forbid men to dispute and also arbitrarily condemn
' one another, for faith and charity hate sects and schisms. I
* would resolve the question of the adoration of God in the saints
' by saying that it is a tiling entirely free and indifferent.' Ou
the subject of relics he would only say, ' I believe the whole
' collection of them has been already quite enough exhibited.'
Purgatory, he thought, ' was very uncertain.' Confession was 'a
good thing.' There was no harm in keeping festivals or going
pilgrimages. ' Ceremonies are not necessary to salvation,' he said,
* yet they produce an effect upon rude and uncultivated minds.'
' I condemn no ceremony which is not contrary to the Gospel.'
'You are about to organize the church at Koenisberg,' he writes
to a pastor, ' I entreat you, in the name of Christ, to make as few
' changes as possible. You have in your neighbourhood several
' Episcopal towns, and it is not desirable that the ceremonies of
' our new Church should vary in any marked degree from the old
' ritual.' Even with respect to monasteries and nunneries, for
which he had such deep aversion, he took and countenanced no
violent steps. Only voluntary desertion was encouraged, and
not that in all cases. ' I would not advise persons advanced in
' age to quit the cloister, because returning helpless to the world
* they would necessarily become a charge to other people, and
' would scarcely meet in these uncharitable days with the care
* and attention to which their age is entitled. In the interior of
' the monastery they are a burden to no one ; and, moreover, they
' are in a position to do a great deal in aid of the spiritual salva-
'tion of their neighbours, which, were they in the world, it
* would be difficult, nay, I will almost say, impossible for them
* to do.' Of another case, ' We should leave poor nuns like these
' to live on after their own fashion.' Such was the cautious and
dilatory Iiiv2 on which Luther had determined, and to which,
notwithstanding the perpetual siege upon it, he adhered. Letters
from pastors in all directions, indeed, pressed for immediate deci-
NO. LIX. N. S. L
146 Martin Luther.
sions on different points of faith and practice ; and innumerable
tender consciences revolted from this and that part of the esta-
blished system of worship and ceremonial; of which each
wanted an answer from him instantaneous, absolute, and on its
own side. One and another pastor was for immediately abolish-
ing either confession, or saint-worship, or images, or the recep-
tion of the sacrament in one kind, or pilgrimages, or festivals
and fasts. But Luther maintained his qualified position, and
adhered obstinately to ambiguities and negatives. He parried
the questions ; soothed and calmed the questioners ; advised
quietness and delay, and ended with reiterating the favourite
dictum, that all would be certain to come right if the doctrine
was preached. The magnanimous ease and repose of the great
leader of the movement stands. out strikingly amid the petty
scruples and small activities of the inferior agents ; and Luther
submits to all these questionings with that half-kind, half-scorn-
ful condescension with which dignified persons submit to any
bore which their position brings upon them. * The whole world
pestered him,' he said, 'Avith questions;' but as people would not
be satisfied if they had not answers of some kind, he sent them
answers : an amiable weakness deserved some indulgence. As
for himself, he wanted to put down nothing which his doctrine
would allow to stand ; and he would let the doctrine find out
what could stand with it and what could not. He had no desire
to interfere himself in the matter. An easy capacious liberalism
objected to the dogmatic enforcement of fasts and feasts, vest-
ments, images, and the like, but so long as they were left volun-
tary, saw no harm in them. Dogmatism in rejecting, and dog-
matism in enforcing, were both condemned ; and the spirit of
Luther's reformation was in some aspects a remarkable antici-
pation of that modern Germanism, which is associated amongst
ourselves with the name of Dr. Arnold. .
But Luther was compelled, like many other teachers, to see
a favourite line of policy broken in upon ; and, however mode-
rate and procrastinating his own views might be, a crowd of
troublesome followers were not to be wholly coerced. He had
the pain of seeing, one after another, various tendencies in the
Reformation prematurely brought out and exhibited in exagge-
rated shape, and with accompaniments of violence and horror,
before the world. Carlstadt and the image-breakers of Wittem-
berg, Munzer and the fanatic revolutionist peasants of Thu-
ringia, John of Leyden and the Anabaptists, diverted the
Reformation from its regular and orderly course, and disgraced
it by monstrous associations.
Luther was in the benevolent confinement of the castle of
Wartbnrjr. where his friend the Elector Frederick had placed
Martin Luther. 147
him after the Diet of Worms, when he heard of the iconoclast
excesses of Carlstadt and his party at Wittemberg. In addi-
tion to the evil itself of such excesses, the fact that a vain,
shallow, noisy man should be taking advantage of his absence to
assume a lead, and gratify his own envy for his superior for
that motive was deep in Carlstadt's mind provoked and
roused him. He first wrote letters to the Wittembergers:
' You have rushed into your present proceedings, eyes shut,
* head down like a bull. Reckon no longer on me ; I cast you
* off; I abjure you. You began without me ; finish how you may.'
His letters producing no effect, he determined to see what his
personal presence would do. The monastic gown laid aside,
and the steel cuirass, long heavy sword, plumed casque, and
spurs and boots of a man at arms assumed, he escaped from
Wartburg, and suddenly, amidst a crowd of valets and a cloud
of dust, as Lucas Cranach has painted him, made his appearance
in the streets of Wittemberg. His next step was to enter the
church, (which, strewed with the fragmentary blocks of the old
statuary, like a mason's shop, gave ocular witness to the late
excesses,) and ascend the pulpit. The Wittembergers now
en masse before him, he scolded them like boys : * Satan,' he
commenced, * has been busy in my absence, and sent you some
* of his prophets. He knows whom to send ; but you ought to
* know, too, that I am the only person you should listen to.
' Martin Luther is the first man of the Reformation : others
' come after him ; he, therefore, should command, and you
* should obey. It is your lot. I am the man to whom God
' has revealed His word. I know Satan, and am not afraid of
* him ; I have hit him a blow which he will feel a long time.'
Carlstadt was in church during this discourse, but hid himself
behind a pillar to avoid Luther's eye. He and his fellow-pro-
phets, Munzer, Stubner, and others, made their retreat, and left
Luther in possession of the field.
In another quarter, the Peasant Sedition gave Luther much
annoyance. The peasant population of Thuringia, of the Pala-
tinate, of the Dioceses of Mayence, Halberstadt, and Odenwald,
had long murmured under the weight of their servitude, and the
various exactions and oppressions, petty and great, of the nobles.
They took advantage now of the reforming movement to rise
in arms and assert their rights. Under the leadership of Goetz,
' with the Iron Hand,' and George Metzler, they assembled in the
Black Forest, got possession of Mergentheim, and compelled
several counts, barons, and knights to join them. The subjects
of the powerful Count of Hohenlohe were soon added ; the Count
himself being compelled to sign a treaty with the insurgents for
a hundred years. The town of Landau, and the environs of
L2
148 Martin Luther.
Heibroam rose. The body got reinforcements daily, and town
after town opened their gates to them. Agents from the main
army dispersed through the several districts, received oaths of
adhesion, and imposed tribute the clergy of Mayence paying
in a fortnight fifteen thousand gold florins. A mixture of reli-
gious and political fanaticism formed the basi.s of this revolu-
tionary movement. The insurgents marched under the banner
of a white cross, and to the music of the Marseillaise hymns of
the day. As soon as their body was compacted, and scheme
formed, a public statement, divided into the well-known Twelve
Articles, set forth their grievances and their rights. They de-
manded the free election of their pastors, relief from various
feudal exactions, and, last of all, release from slavery and
villanage ; and they appealed to Luther to sanction and support
their claims. Luther answered their appeal, and undertook the
task of mediation. He published an ' Exhortation to Peace,'
in which he divided himself nearly equally between the two
contending sides. He rebuked the nobles for their rapacity
and oppression, and the peasants for their insubordination and
licence. To the former he said: 'It is quite clear that you
' have no one upon earth to thank for all this disorder but you
* yourselves, princes and lords ; it is you and your crimes
* God is about to punish. If the peasants who are now attack -
* ing you are not the ministers of His will, others coming after
' them will be so. You may beat them, but you will be none the
' less vanquished ; you may crush them to the earth, but God
' will raise up others in their place: it is His pleasure to
' strike you, and He will strike you.' To the latter he said :
' Authority is unjust, but you are more in the wrong even
* than authority ; you who, not content with interdicting the
* Word of God, trample it under foot, and arrogate to your-
' selves the power reserved to God alone.' And he repelled, by
Scripture arguments, their claim to release from villanage :
' You wish to apply to the flesh the Christian liberty taught by
' the Gospel, but I would ask you, did not Abraham and the
' other patriarchs, as well as the prophets, keep bondmen ? S.
' Paul himself tells us, that the empire of this world cannot
' subsist without an inequality of persons.'
Thus far the position of the insurgents was a respectable one,
and Luther gave them a modified support. But a body of
insurgent peasants could not keep up its respectability long.
It fell soon into the fanatical leadership of Munzer, and plunged
into frightful atrocities. Under the watchword of * No quarter
to idle men,' they massacred all the nobles who fell into their
hands; in Franconia alone they pillaged and burned two hun-
dred and ninety -three monasteries; and their revolutionary
Martin Luther. 149
theory, grown monstrous, demanded the universal levelling of
social ranks. Luther saw immediately that he could not afford
to mix up his cause with such a cause as theirs now was, and
he threw them off with characteristic decision. 'Miserable
* spirits of confusion ! no mercy, no toleration is due to the
' peasants ; on them should fall the wrath of God and of man ;
' the peasants are under the ban of God and of the Emperor,
' and may be treated as mad dogs.' In the event, the peasants
were massacred wholesale, Luther actually hounding on the
nobles to the work.
It is not surprising that Luther's conduct in this matter should
have encountered criticism, and that the observation should be
made, that he favoured the peasants at first and bitterly denounced
them afterwards. While we see in his conduct here, however,
the natural vehemence of his character, and unscrupulous sum-
mariness of his policy, we cannot, with M. Audin, accuse him
of inconsistency. His favour to the peasants at first was favour
coupled with advice. If they neglected his advice, the favour
was not obliged to last. He told them to be moderate, and meet
their masters half way : they took to massacring and levelling.
As soon as he saw this, he had done with them. Had they put
themselves under his guidance, he would have made use of them,
and stood up for them. But as they chose to be their own
masters, and behave senselessly, he said : Miscreants, you are
injuring my cause, and I will rid myself of you as soon as pos-
sible. And, as Luther never did any thing by halves, his
form of throwing them off was, calling for their massacre. For
this form he is responsible, but we see no inconsistency in the
line of conduct. M. Audin regards Luther as a sympathizer
with political fanaticism in the first instance, and, when he saw
the results, then turning round upon the actors whom his sym-
pathies had encouraged. But this was not the case. Luther
never had any sympathy with levellers ; he gave no encourage-
ment to the peasants to become political fanatics. He had
strong sympathies with regular monarchical and aristocratic
power; and from the first he strongly advised the peasants,
while they claimed freedom from particular oppressions and ex-
actions, to submit quietly to remain in their established servile
state. M. Audin makes two separate addresses of Luther's to
the peasants, of which the popularly -toned one he dates before,
the aristocratically-toned one after, the excesses of the peasant
war ; and hence accuses Luther of changing sides with events ;
but these two were not separate addresses, but only two parts of
one and the same address, qualifying and balancing each other.
But Luther's bitterest vexations were the doctrinal develop-
ments which the Reformation now began to show in some
160 Martin Luther.
quarters. A hard sceptical materialist spirit, not content with
the freedom from the law of works which he had achieved,
began to empty and dry up the channels of grace. The
Anabaptists under Carlstadt, and still more fanatical prophets
than he, attacked the sacrament of Baptism ; the Swiss under
Zwinglius, the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. The former
denied infant-baptism, a denial involving a rationalistic theory
of that sacrament, and converting it into an imposing rite for
impressing the mature intellect. The latter directly rational-
ized away the mystery of the Eucharist, converting it into a
simple memorial and symbol. Luther denounced these mani-
festations, and whenever he could persecuted the movers.
Carlstadt, already driven from Wittemberg, was soon again
driven from Orlamund, whither he had retired next ; and then
soon driven from Jena, whither he had retired next. Luther
drove him from place to place, and, apparently forgetting that the
unfortunate man, if he lived at all, must live somewhere, barri-
caded one town against his entrance just as he fastened the
gates of another upon his departure. The issues of the prolific
presses of Jena were stopped at the shop-door by the
Elector's officers: * It was not to be endured,' said Luther,
' that Carlstadt and his people should be alone permitted to
* emancipate themselves from due submission to authorities.'
The author attempted to fix at Schweindorf, but Count
Henneberg instructed the town council not to admit him for an
hour. He was at last allowed the tether of two little villages
near \Vittemberg, where he and his wife lived by manual
labour, one digging, and the other crying cakes. One attempt
to reassume the black gown then banished him from Saxony
altogether, and he took refuge in Switzerland. * Fanatici
spiritus ' Celestial prophets,' were Luther's terms for all this
tribe of theologians : whatever the particular subject in hand
may be, at every turn in his controversial writings and commen-
taries, the ' fanatic spirits' get a rebuke. Disdain of the men
never subdued his sense of their mischievousness ; and irony
mixed with irritation in all his allusions to them. Seldom con-
descending to argue, he asked them at once for the miracles by
which they proved their new revelation, and not having this
demand answered, dismissed them. In the well-known inter-
view at which the two theologians defied each other,
Carlstadt, always aping Luther, cannot meet the swing of
Luther's careless contempt : he threatens, and Luther laughs.
' I will write against you,' says the former. ' Write away,'
says the latter, * here is a florin for you, if you do it well.'
Luther's disputation with the corporation of Orlamund is in the
same style. The burgomaster, accompanied by the magistrates,
Martin Luther. 151
received Luther at the gate with compliments ; Luther barely
saluted them with an inclination of the head. The burgomaster
commenced an address, and Luther told him he had no time to
hear him. They proceeded to the hall of conference, where all
the people of the town were assembled in a state of the utmost
excitement. A man out of the crowd began to shout. * A
* prophet,' says Luther, ' by his voice ; I know them all ; your
' eyes, my friend, are like two hot coals, but they will not burn
* me.' The first of the proposed arguments, of which the sub-
ject was the lawfulness of images, then began, which ended thus :
a cobbler of Orlamund loquitur : ' The text of Deuteronomy is
' clear; "Lest ye corrupt yourselves, and make you a graven
' image, the similitude of any figure, the likeness of male or
' female Luther, * Go on.' " And lest thou lift up thine
' eyes unto heaven, and when thou seest the sun, and the moon,
' and the stars, should be drawn to worship them." Luther, ' So,
* then, you would take the sun and the moon out of the cre-
* ation?' Cobbler, * The sun and moon were not made by us.'
Luther, ' "Well, then, you condemn me, do you ? ' Cobbler,
s Certainly: you, and all who do not preach God's word.'
Luther, mounting his carriage, 'Farewell, then.' All the corpo-
ration ' What! not one word with you on the Sacraments?'
Luther, * Read my books.'
But the rising rationalistic view of the Lord's Supper was
Luther's great trouble, as he surveyed the working of the
Reformation ; and Zwinglius was the great thorn in his side.
In him he saw an undeniably able rival ; stern, strong, and hard
as a flint ; who threatened to wrench the Reformation out of
his grasp, carry it in another direction from that in which it had
started, and infuse a different spirit into it to that which its
original author had given.
The strong faith and reverence which Luther always professed
with respect to the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, the perti-
nacity with which he clung to the idea of mystery and grace
in connexion with it, the awe in which he stood of the inspired
words of institution, and constant vindication of their obvious
and full meaning for them, form a remarkable, and at first sight
not very intelligible contrast with his perfectly free-and-easy
treatment of Scripture when he comes across it on another
great subject. On the subject of the Lord's Supper the sacred
text chained and overpowered him : he professed that he could
not get over the words, ' This is My body,' * This is My
blood,' and dare not trifle with them. They confronted
him on the page of Scripture, and he submitted to them.
He said he had tried to get over them, but found he could
not ; that they had stood in his way, and that he would have
152 Martin Luther.
been too glad to have explained them away, if he had not
on approaching them, found them too strong for him ; that the
tempter had especially assailed him on this point, and had not
moved him. * I confess,' he says, ' that if any had shown me
* five years ago, that, in the holy sacrament there is nothing
* but bread and wine, he would have rendered me a great
* service. I had at that time powerful temptations assailing
' me ; I turned and twisted about ; I struggled fiercely with
' my own thoughts; 1 should have been most joyful to have
* extricated myself from the doubts and difficulties which sur-
' rounded me. I saw well, that if I could have made up my
* mind on that point, I should inflict a most terrible blow
* on Papism. But, upon this matter, I am chained up in a
* prison I cannot quit : the text is too powerful ; nothing I have
* ever heard has lessened its effects upon my mind.' Such was
Luther's scrupulousness with respect to the text of Scripture
on this subject, his adherence to obvious signification, and
dislike of explanation. But it was very different when he had
to support his doctrine of justification by faith and the non-
necessity of works. There was no liberty then which he was
not ready to take with the sacred text. He found the New Testa-
ment in every page appealing to a law which he declared the
New Testament had abolished ; and he explained Scripture away
on as large and wholesale a scale as the extent of the obstacles
demanded. He laid down a distinction between being in the
Gospel, and being part of the Gospel The Gospel had precepts
in it which were not part of it, but only appendages to it.
' Quae praecepta in Evangelic inveniuntur,istanon sunt Evange-
' Hum, sed expositiones legis et appendices Evangelii.' The Gospel
contained precepts just as it contained miracles, not as essential
to its system, but only as an accidental accompaniment of its
institution. ' Non est proprium Christ! officium, propter quod
* praecipue venit in mundum, docere legem, sed accidentale. Cu-
* jusmodi erat et hoc quod sanabat infirmos, excitabat mortuos,
' benefaciebatindignoSjConsolabaturafflictos. Ea quidem gloriosa
' et divina opera et beneficia sunt, sed non propria Christi."
Luther, like an expert chemist, thus analyzed the rude material
of the Gospel, and discriminated between what was substantial
4 It will be observed that the argument here is not stated strongly enough for
Luther's conclusion : for it is not enough for proving that precepts are not a sub-
stantial part of the Gospel, to say that they are not propria, i.e. the peculiar and
exclusive characteristic of it. Nobody asserts that the law is the peculiar charac-
teristic of the new dispensation ; all that is maintained is, that the law goes on
under it, as well as under the old one, and is not done away with. Luther's non-
propna, then, must be strengthened into a stronger epithet, and be understood to
mean not essential to, as well as not peculiar to it, if the argument is to be
consistent,
Martin Luther. 153
in it, and what was not ; what was genuine Gospel, and what
was the old law, introduced, but not incorporated. When
pushed another step in the argument, and asked to account for
the introduction of the law, if it was not part of the system, he had
a further explanation ready. There was, he confessed, a whole
legal machinery in the Gospel ; good works being commanded,
and reward and punishment being made dependent on the per-
formance ; but this machinery was only a contrivance on the part
of the Gospel to expose ultimately, with so much greater force,
the emptiness of works. It was said, indeed, if you do the work,
you will have the reward ; but that * if' was not a promissory,
but a defying one : its meaning was, You will not do the work,
and you will not deserve the reward ; you will find that your
labour is vain, and your work nothing. * The what, and the
' how, of the reward,' says Luther, ' are not the question ; the
' question is whether you can do the thing for which the re-
* ward is offered.' ' Homo prcecepto imposzibili monetur, ut tideat
' suam impotentiam.' In this way the whole system of law and
precept which confronts us on the very surface of Scripture,
was reduced, by a method of esoteric interpretation, into a
mere husk and outside ; the external fabric of the deeper truth
that there was no law. The surface was for the natural man,
the truth was for the believer. The Gospel language was only
a pious fraud, and the issue showed the real meaning ; just as
when in some puzzle or piece of legerdemain the reality turns
out to be the very contrary of the phenomenon.
Having up to a certain point contented himself with explain-
ing away Scripture, Luther now advanced farther, and pro-
ceeded to disown Scripture. The Epistle of S. James, though
opposing no insurmountable difficulties to the free interpreter,
as what language does? was still a very difficult epistle to sur-
mount: it was questionable whether the violence which would
be necessary for its explanation would be greater than that of
rejecting the epistle altogether ; and Luther, hesitating a good
deal between the two methods of dealing with it, inclines on
the whole to the latter. He gives his view in his preface to the
Epistles of S. James and S. Jude :*
' 1. This Epistle of S. James, though it is rejected by the ancients, I
praise and hold to be good, because it advances not any human doctrine,
and urges strongly the law of God. But to give my own opinion of it,
without prejudice to any other man's, I consider it to be the production of
no apostle, and this is my judgment :
' 2. In the first place, because, directly contrary to St. Paul and to all
the rest of the Scripture, it ascribes righteousness to works, and says : Abra-
1 Luther's Works, ed. Walche, Halle, A.D. 1744, vol. xiv. p. 149 ; Preface to the
Epistles of S. James and S. Jude.
154 Martin Luther.
ham was justified by his works, when he had offered his son ; while S. Paul
(Rom. iv. 2, 3) teaches, on the contrary, that Abraham without works was
justified by his faith only, and proves from Moses (Gen. xv. 6,) that justi-
fication to have been before he had offered his son. Now, even though it
were possible to bolster up this Epistle, and find some gloss for such justi-
fication by works, still it cannot be defended in this, that in ch. ii. 23, it
quotes the aforesaid passage from Moses (Gen. xv. 6,) which speaks of
Abraham's faith only, and not of his works, and is so quoted by S. Paul
(Rom. iv. 3), as referring to works. Therefore this error is conclusive
that it is the work of no apostle.
' 3. In the second place, because, while he professes to be teaching Chris-
tian people, he never once thinks, in all the length of that his instruction,
of the Passion, the Resurrection, or the Spirit of Christ. He names Christ,
indeed, now and then ; but he teaches not about him, but speaks only of a
general faith in God. For the duty of a true apostle is to preach of the
Passion, and Resurrection, and Office of Christ, and to lay the foundation
of that same faith, as He Himself says, John xv. 27, Ye shall bear witness of
me. And herein all the holy books that are truly such do agree, that they
all with one accord preach and urge Christ. And this is the true touch-
stone wherewith to convict all books, the seeing whether they urge Christ
or no, since all the Scripture points to Christ (Rom. iii. 21,) and S. Paul
will know nothing but Christ (1 Cor. ii. 2). Whatsoever teaches not Christ,
that is not apostolical, even though S. Peter or S. Paul taught it. On
the other hand, whatever preaches Christ, that is apostolical, though it
were Judas, Ananias, Pilate, and Herod's work.
' 4. But this James does nothing more than insist on the law and its
works, and rings the changes upon them to such excess, that it gives me
the impression he must have been some good pious man, who had got hold
of some sentences from the disciples of the apostles, and so put them on
paper. Or it may have been perhaps written from his preaching by some
one else. He calls (ch. i. 25) the law a law of liberty, while S. Paul, on
the contrary, calls it a law of bondage, of wrath, of death, and of sin. (Gal.
iii. 23, 24; Rom. vii. 11, 23.)
' 5. Besides, he introduces texts from S. Peter (1 Pet. iv. 8), Charity
covereth a multitude of sins ; and (ch. v. 16), Humble yourselves under the hand
of God ; also (ch. iv. 5) a text from S. Paul (Gal. v. 17), The spirit lusteth
to envy. Moreover, its spuriousness appears plainly from this, that while
S. James in point of chronology was slain by Herod at Jerusalem before
Peter, this author must have lived long after S. Peter and S. Paul.
' 6. Upon the whole, he undertakes to put down all those who trusted
to faith without works, and he is unequal to his task : he seeks to effect
that by inculcation of the law which the apostles effect by incentives to
love. For these reasons I cannot place him among the genuine canonical
books ; still neither do I gainsay any man to place and value this book as
he may list : for otherwise there are in it many good sentences.'
This concluding paragraph runs in the edition of 1522
thus :
' Upon the whole, he undertakes to put down those who trusted to faith
only without works, and he is in spirit, understanding, and language,
unequal to his task. He wrests Scripture, and, what is more, contradicts
Paul and all the Scriptures, seeking to effect by inculcation of the law
that which the apostles effect by incentives to love. For these reasons I
will not have him in my Bible in the list of the true canonical books ; still
neither do I gainsay any man to place and value this book as he may list :
for otherwise there are in it many good sentences. One man by himself
Martin Luther, 155
is nobody in worldly matters ; how, then, shall this writer, who is but one
and alone, dare contradict Paul and all the other Scriptures?' '
The specimen of Luther's scrupulousness with respect to
Scripture, and the specimen of his unscrupulousness now before
us, suggest many obvious pieces of criticism : but we shall only
1 The Preface which we have given is the Preface to the particular Epistles of
S. James and S. Jude. This is a different and distinct preface from the Preface
to the New Testament in general, which comes first of all. In this latter-men-
tioned Preface occurs the opprobrious epithet of the 'epistle of straw,' by which
Luther designated the Epistle of S. James, and for which Archdeacon Hare gives
the following apology :' ' All sorts of persons complain that Luther called it an
' Epistle of straw ; and perhaps the loudest in this complaint are those to whom
' the whole Bible is little else than a book of straw. The expression, so far as I
' have been able to discover, occurs only in a part of the Preface to the German
' New Testament published in 1522, printed by Walch in vol. xiv. p. 105, and was
' omitted in the editions subsequent to 1 524. Luther, in pointing out, for the
' instruction of those who were unused to the reading of the Bible, which books in
' the New Testament are of the greatest importance, says, as many have said
' before and since, that the Gospel of S. John is to be valued far above the other
' three, and concludes thus : " S. John's Gospel, and his first Epistle, the Epistles
' of S. Paul, especially those to the Romans, Galatians, Ephesians, and S.
' Peter's first Epistle, these are the books which set Christ before you, and
' teach you every thing necessary and salutary for you to know, even though you
' were never to hear or see any other book or doctrine. Therefore the Epistle of
' S. James is quite an epistle of straw by the side of these ; for it has no true
' evangelical character." Now, doubtless, if these books were to be severed from
' the rest of Scripture, it would be much as if you were to cut away the roots and
' trunk of a tree, and to fancy that the upper branches would still continue hang-
' ing in the air, putting forth leaves, and bearing fruit. On the other hand it
' should be observed that the expression applied to the Epistle of S. James is not
' used positively, but relatively, in comparison with those books of the New Testa-
' ment in which the special doctrines of the Gospel are brought forward more fully
' and explicitly. It was probably suggested by what S. Paul says in 1 Cor. iii. 12;
' and, as I have often had occasion to remark, Luther's words are not to be weighed
' in a jeweller's scales. Besides we must take into account that, while he is quite
' right in denying the specially evangelical character of this Epistle, it had been
' turned by those who exaggerated and perverted its meaning, into the main prop
' of those very errors concerning faith and justification, which it was his peculiar
' mission to overthrow. Even in the quietest controversy we well know how difli-
' cult it is to measure all our thoughts and words, not to exaggerate what favours
' our own side, not to depreciate what supports our adversary. Who, then, will
' make a man an offender for a word, uttered in the stress of such a conflict, the
' most awful perhaps ever waged by man, inasmuch as it was not only against an
' external power which kept the hearts and minds of half Christendom in abject
' bondage, and answered an argument with a sentence of excommunication and an
' auto dafe, but also in the first instance against the force of his own inveterate
' habits and prepossessions, nay, of a faith which he had himself long held earnestly
' and submissively before he detected its fallacy. Nor should it be forgotten that
' Luther omitted the offensive expression in the Liter editions of his New Testa-
' ment.' Hare's Mission of the Comforter, pp. 814 816.
Of this apology of Archdeacon Hare's we have nothing to say, except that it is
perhaps as good a one as could be made. The truth is, no apology can be made
for such language. Impetuosity and provocation cannot justify the contemptuous
treatment of an inspired book of Scripture ; nor should Archdeacon Hare suppose
that by accounting for such an act, he goes any way to excuse it. Some or other
impulse or motive accounts for every wrong act ; but the act is not at all excused
in consequence. We will add, that whatever may have become of the offensive
epithet, 'epistle of straw,' in subsequent editions (and if Luther left it out, let the
156 Martin Luther.
ask here, why was he so scrupulous in one case, so unscrupulous
in another ? Luther's modes of proceeding seldom require very
nice criticism to explain. He was very scrupulous with respect
to Scripture when it interposed against another man's dogma ;
very unscrupulous with respect to it when it interfered with
his own. Justification without works was his own dogma; the
Sacramentarian view of the Lord's Supper was Zwinglius's.
Luther had his own great absorbing idea ; he was prepared to
push that out at all risk, and Scripture text and Scripture canon
gave way before it. But he cared marvellously little about
other men's new ideas, and thought it rather an impertinence
that they should have them at all. He was then magisterial,
and assumed the chair of the doctor ecclesice. He took the bold
originator severely to task, confronted him with the Scripture
omission be taken into account,) the Preface which we have quoted appears in
Walche's edition of Luther's works (1744,) without any sign whatever of abandon-
ment by its author, or any intimation of its belonging only to a prior edition of
Luther's works, as distinct from a later one. The Preface, therefore, we have
given represents Luther's permanent opinions with respect to the Epistle of S.
James.
Luther is generally defended from the sin of his attacks on the canon of Scrip-
ture on the ground that he modified his views afterward. But the modifications
were comparatively slight, and never amounted to retractations. There were four
Epistles of which he denied the inspiration : the Second Epistle of S. Peter, the
Epistles of S. James and S. Jude, and the Epistle to the Hebrews, to which must
be added the Book of Revelation. In the case of each of these, the reasons he
assigns are sometimes very frivolous, and always simple opinions of his own
upon the doctrine and style of the Epistle or Book he rejects. He sits in
criticism upon Scripture ; and if he thinks an Epistle evangelical, admits it ; if not,
rejects it. The text ch. x. ver. 26 of the Epistle to the Hebrews ' If we sin wilfully
' after that we have received the knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more
'sacrifice for sins' offended him, and influenced him in his rejection of the
Epistle. He also did not like to think that Esau ' found no place for repentance ; '
and that influenced him. The Revelation, again, was too full of visions in his
opinion it was ' through and through with figures :' he did not like this, and
thought an apostle would not prophesy in such a way. Again, the writer of the
Book of Revelations seemed to him to threaten too severely all those who ' shall add
unto,' or ' shall take away from the words of the book : ' ' whereas,' observes
Luther, with easy levity, ' nobody knows what is in this book.' ' Let each man,"
he says, ' judge of this book according to the light that is in him, and by his own
' particular perceptions. I do not desire to impose my opinion respecting it upon any
' one. I say simply that which I think of it myself. I look upon the Revelation
' of S. John to be neither apostolic nor prophetic.' Again of the same book,
' Many of the Fathers of the Church rejected this book ; consequently every man is
' at liberty to treat it according to the dictates of his own mind. For my part,
' one single reason has determined me in the judgment I have come to respecting
' it, which is, that Christ is neither adored in it, nor taught in it such as we know
' Him.' In all these cases Walche is anxious to bring out all he can to prove that
Luther changed his mind afterward ; but he does not profess to show more than
that his style is here and there subdued. Luther never altered the substance of
his view, or admitted any of these regularly into the canon again ; though, in the
case of the Book of Revelations, he cancelled the whole of his old preface, and
substituted a new one. He continued to reject all for himself, only saying that
he did not wish to interfere with any other person's acceptance of them.
Martin Luther. 157
letter, protested against all liberties, was angry, scandalized,
and shocked. It is but justice to add that Luther had,
independently of this consideration, small sympathies with such
a view as Zwinglius's. Luther hated formality in religion,
but he had no objection to mystery. His whole view against
works was antagonistic to form and rule, precision and posi-
tiveness in duties. But with mystery he had sympathies;
his love of the supernatural in the region of common life, his
ghost and fairy lore, the very grotesquenesses into which his
supernaturalism ran, showed a mind possessed of the sense of
mystery. The Swiss development of the Reformation, cold,
hard, dry, and materialistic, repelled and disgusted him; he
denounced its distinctive doctrine as a gratuitous and audacious
innovation ; and he proceeded to call Zwinglius names. ' What
' a fellow is this Zwinglius ! ignorant, as a block, of grammar,
' and logic, and every other science.' ' Zwinglius I regard as
* having drawn upon himself the just hatred of all good men
' by his daring and criminal manner of treating the word of
* God. 1 With Zwinglius, Bucer went along. * I know, too
* well, the wickedness of Bucer .... Christ guard thee, poor
* Luther, surrounded as thou art with these wild beasts, these
' vipers, lionesses, and panthers ; far more in danger than was
* Daniel in the lions 1 den.'
There was another subject on which the Reformation began
to show uncomfortable signs, and threaten dangerous develop-
ments : we allude to the subject of marriage. On this subject,
indeed, Luther had himself established large premisses for
license to appeal to.
Luther had a fundamental view with respect to marriage,
conceived, as many other of his views were, in the spirit of one-
sided and impatient contradiction to established ideas. That
the abuses of the monastic system were great, and that force
and tyranny in those ages drove numbers of both sexes into
monasteries and convents, who were not at all fitted for the life,
and who were deprived by such an incarceration of that deve-
lopment, moral and intellectual, of themselves which God had
intended for them, nobody can fairly doubt. The story of the
nun in the ' 1 Promessi Sposi ' is only a specimen of what went
on, on a large scale. There was a general wide-spread griev-
ance ; and it was a plain fact, that the Divine institution of
marriage was unlawfully interfered with by human systems.
To expose such a grievance, and obtain a remedy for it, was in
itself a legitimate task for any one to undertake. But Luther
undertook it in that extravagant and excessive spirit in which
he undertook every other work. He opposed a practical griev-
ance in one direction by an extreme theory in another, and set
158 Martin Luther.
up a code which was new to the Christian world. He seems to
have regarded himself as under a special prophetical commission
to revive the original matrimonial charter given to the human
race ; and he set about his work with the spirit with which a
political revolutionist goes back to his theory of the social com-
pact. He overlooked the qualifications, cautions, and excep-
tions with which to us, under the Christian dispensation, this
charter comes down accompanied ; and that whole department
of Christian precept, which, however much abused, was in itself
a Divine modification, interpreting the original law to us, just
as subsequent judgments interpret original statutes in civil courts,
was entirely thrown over to make way for a naked reassertion
of the original law itself. With his usual decision and point,
Luther threw himself upon the original command in the 28th
verse of the 1st chapter of Genesis : * Crescite et multiplica-
miniS In this sentence he saw the whole of the Divine law,
advice, and recommendation on the subject of marriage col-
lected. Here, he said, is a universal command or statute, under
the action of which the whole human race comes. It is quite
evident, therefore, that everybody is intended to marry, and
that everybody should marry. Nobody has a right to resist the
law of God, and oppose himself to the original act of creation.
To this universal law, indeed, Luther did admit nominally
exceptions ; he was obliged nominally to allow the force of the
text in the 19th chapter of S. Matthew: but he loaded the text
with such restrictions, and compelled everybody, who stood upon
it, to give such demonstrable reasons that he was of the parti-
cular class which the text singled out ; that practically his theory
amounted to a universal and essential obligation. In accord-
ance with this new speculative movement, society was, with
respect to the general rules and regulations of marriage, thrown
back upon the Old Testament code, as distinguished from the
subsequent legislation of the New. The temper of a sterner
and purer dispensation disregarded, the forbidden degrees were
largely thrown open. Luther countenanced even more flagrant
violations of the Christian code; and his Sermon d# Matri-
monio, delivered at Wittemberg in the year 1522, gives licences
from which the natural conscience of a heathen and a savage
would recoil. Without dwelling, however, on these special
extravagances, it is sufficient to remark, that the whole of the
matrimonial question was stirred up from its basis again, and
that, an established system of Christian growth removed, the
field was opened anew for the indefinite play of speculation and
practice. There was an open area ; a new code was invited, and
the original statute, ' Crescite et multiplicamini,' was the axiom
appealed to.
Martin Luther. 159
That such a theoretical movement on the subject of mar-
riage should produce some awkward practical fruits, was not
surprising. So fierce and naked an appeal to original rights
was likely to set men speculating very freely and largely as to
what their rights were. It was not surprising if, amid the
clearance of established ideas, a certain Elector Philip of Hesse
began to imagine that there would be no great harm in having
two wives. The appeal had been made to the old dispensation ;
and under the old dispensation a plurality of wives was allowed.
Philip described his case as a very strong one, and supplicated
earnestly.
Xow it is obvious that as soon as a demand like this was,
in an actual individual case, urged upon Luther, he had no
solid ground on which to oppose it. Luther could not, upon
his principles, say at once that it was wrong for a Christian
to marry a second wife ; nor did he ever. He was asked
the question more than once, and always pointedly refused
to say that such an act was absolutely wrong. Thus he
writes to an inquirer : * To your first question, whether a man
' may have more than one woman to wife, my answer is this.
' Unbelievers may do what they please ; but Christian freedom
* is to be regulated according to love, so that every thing should
' be determined with a view to our neighbour's good, where no
* necessity or sin against faith or conscience prevents us. Now
' however every one seeks that freedom, which will serve and
* profit himself, without regard to his neighbour's benefit or
' edification ; although S. Paul says, " All things are lawful to
' me, but all things are not expedient: Only use not your
* liberty for an occasion to the flesh." Again, though the
' ancients had many wives, Christians are not to act after such
* an example, because there is no necessity, nor edification, nor
* special word of God, commanding this ; and such great scandal
' and trouble might come from it. Therefore do not esteem the
* Christian as more free, unless there be some command of God
* with regard to such freedom.' In this answer he discourages
the liberty of taking more than one wife, as fraught with scan-
dal, and not serving to edification : he advises persons to do
with one wife, but he cannot absolutely command them. As the
Elector said : * Lutherus scribit, se bigamiam non sunder e? He
dissuades as a counsellor and friend, he cannot and wishes not
to do more. On the demand of the Landgrave then reaching
them, this was the line which Luther's and Melancthon's
answer adopted. They dissuaded him from the contemplated
step, and told him of the scandal which would arise from it if
known ; but admitted at the same time that if he insisted upon
it, they could not forbid it. The letter, which bears the names
160 Martin Luther.
of Luther, Melanchthon, Bucer, Mclander, Corvinus, Adam,
Leningus, Winteferte, from beginning to end alternates from
one to the other of these two points, and finally grants the per-
mission required. 1
1 ' With regard to the question, of which Master Bucer spoke with us, firstly,
this is our opinion. Your grace knows and understands this yourself, that it is a
very different thing to make a general law, and in a particular case to use a dis-
pensation, out of weighty reasons, and yet according to Divine permission ; for
against God no dispensation has force. Now we cannot advise that it be openly
introduced, and thus made a law, that each be allowed to have more than one
wife. But should any thing of this get into print, your grace may conceive that
this would be understood and adopted as a general law, whence much scandal and
trouble would ensue. Therefore this is by no means to be adopted ; and we pray
your grace to consider how grievous it would be, if it were charged upon any one
that he had introduced this law in the German nation, whence endless trouble in
all marriages might be feared. As to what may be said against this, that what is
right before God should be altogether allowed, this is true in a measure. If God
has commanded it, or it is a necessary thing, it is true ; but if it is not commanded
nor necessary, other circumstances should be taken into account. Thus with
regard to this question : God instituted marriage so that it was to be the union of
two pen-ons alone, and not of more
' In certain cases, however, a dispensation may be used, a* if a person taken
captive in a foreign land should marry there, and on gaining his freedom should
bring his wife with him, or if long-continued sickness should supply a cause, as
has been held at times with regard to lepers, if in such cases a man takes another
wife with the counsel of his pastor, not to introduce a law, but as a matter of
necessity, such a man we could not condemn. Since, then, it is one thing to
introduce a law, and another to use a dispensation, we humbly entreat your grace
to consider, first, that care should in every way be taken that this matter be not
brought publicly before the world as a law which everybody may follow. Xext,
since it is to be no law, but merely a dispensation, let your grace also consider the
scandal, namely, that the enemies of the gospel would cry out that we are like the
Anabaptists, who take several wives at once, and that the Evangelicals seek the
liberty of taking as many wives as they please, according to the practice in Turkey.
Again, what princes do, gets abroad much further than what is done by private
persons. Again, if private persons hear of such an example in their lortis, they
desire that the like should be allowed to them ; as we see how easily a practice
spreads
' Therefore let your grace, in consideration of all these causes, the offence, the
other cares and labours, and the weakness of body, weigh this matter well. Be
also pleased to consider that God has given your grace fair young princes and
princesses with this consort, and be content with her, as many others must have
patience under their marriage, to avoid offence. For that we should excite or
urge your grace to an offensive innovation, is far from our mind. For your coun-
try and others might reproach us on account thereof, which would be intolerable
to us, because we are commanded in God's word to regulate marriage and all
human matters according to their first divine institution, and, so far as possible,
to keep them therein, and to avert whatever may offend any one. Such, too, is
now the way of the world, that people like to throw all the blame upon the
preachers, if any thing unpleasant falls out ; and men's hearts, among high and
low, are ulisteady ; and all sorts of things are to be feared. But if your grace do
not quit your unchaste life, for that you write that this is not possible, we would
rather that your grace stood in better case before God, and lived with a good con-
science, for your grace's happiness and the good of your country and people. If,
however, your grace should at length resolve to take another wife, we think that
this should be kept secret, as was said above of the dispensation ; namely, that
your grace, and the lady, with some confidential persons, should know your grace's
mind and conscience through confession. From this no particular rumour or
scandal would arise ; for it is not unusual for princes to have concubines ; and
Martin Luther. 161
Now this act of Luther's does not appear one which we need
hesitate to judge. It is the act of deliberately permitting a
Christian to have two wives, and thus deliberately violating the
Christian code with respect to marriage. Marriage is by
original institution monogamy : departure from that institution
was allowed afterward, in condescension to man's weakness
and hardness of heart ; but Christianity reverted to it, and en-
forced it as an inviolable law ;* and of this law Luther deli-
berately sanctioned the transgression. Nevertheless, as Arch-
deacon Hare has attempted an apology for this act of Luther's,
it is clue to him to see what he has to say. Archdeacon Hare
then sums up his apology thus : * Such is the amount of
' Luther's sin, or rather error,-r-for sin I dare not call it,
' in this affair, in which the voice of the world, ever ready
' to believe evil of great and good men, has so severely con-
* demned him, without investigation of the facts, although
* the motives imputed to him are wholly repugnant to those
* which governed his conduct through life. He did not com-
' promise any professed principles, as the reviewer accuses
* him of doing : he did not inculcate polygamy, as the pam-
* phleteer charges him with doing. But inasmuch as he could
' not discover any direct, absolute prohibition of polygamy
* in the New Testament, while it was practised by the Patriarchs,
' and recognised in the law, he did not deem himself warranted
* in condemning it absolutely, when there appeared in special
* cases to be a strong necessity, either with a view to some great
' national object, or for the relief of a troubled conscience. Here
' it behoves us to bear in mind, on the one hand, what import-
' ance Luther attached, as all his writings witness, to this high
* ministerial office of relieving troubled consciences : and it may
* mitigate our condemnation of his error, which after all was
* an error on the right side, its purpose being to substitute a
* hallowed union for unhallowed license.' Pp. 857, 858.
Now this defence holds good against one particular inference
although all the people would not know what the circumstances were, the intelli-
gent would be able to guess them, and would be better pleased with such a quiet
way of life, than with adultery and other wild and licentious courses. Nor are we
to heed everything that people say, provided our consciences stand right. Thus
far, and this we deem right. For that which is permitted concerning marriage in
the law of Moses, is not forbidden in the Gospel.' Hare's Mission of the Com-
forter, pp. 831 - 834.
1 However the question of casuistry, with respect to the two wives of a heathen,
brought with him at his conversion into the Christian Church may be disposed
of, the decision will not at all affect the inviolability of the law of monogamy
with respect to Christians. The act of bigamy, there, is a heathen act, and,
therefore, however ex post facto dealt with, no precedent whatever for the act in a
Christian.
NO. LIX. N. S. M
162 Martin Luther.
which has been drawn from Luther's act. Sir AVilliam Hamil-
ton appears to us hard upon Luther in charging him with a
winh to promulgate polygamy, and in regarding this act as only
the sanction, in a particular instance, of a practice which he
desired at heart to establish generally. The whole language of
the answer to the Landgrave shows that the liberty allowed
him, was only allowed as a dispensation, and that the permit-
ting authority was reluctant even to grant that: it indicated
men feeling themselves under a difficulty : afraid of their own
reputation if they gave leave, afraid of the Landgrave if they
refused it; unable to reject polygamy as wrong in principle, and
yet shrinking from it when threatened with the fact. But
whatever becomes of Sir W. Hamilton's view, the act still
remains to be excused the act of allowing a particular person
to have two wives ; and what does the apologist say here ? The
substance of his apology is little more than a statement of the
offence: Luther, he says, could not prohibit polygamy in an
individual instance, because he did not think the Gospel abso-
lutely prohibited polygamy. But the fact that Luther did not
think so, is Luther's offence. Nobody could blame him for
acting upon a view, if he had a true view : the charge is against
his view to begin with : the view he held that polygamy was
consistent with Christianity. The subordinate defences, sug-
gested to take off from the edge of the offence, and * mitigate our
condemnation,' are hardly more fortunate. * Luther,' the apolo-
gist tells us, * attached great importance to the high ministerial
' office of relieving troubled consciences,' and in this particular
case acted on that motive. Now it is difficult to see how the
conscience of the Landgrave of Hesse can, except by a very
lax use of the term, be put under the class of what are called
' troubled consciences.' The Landgrave said, ' If you do not
* allow me to have another wife, I shall only take the same
' liberty under another shape ; and therefore you may as well
' allow me.' The matter of trouble to the Landgrave's con-
science was not a past sin of which he wanted to repent, but a
future sin which he intended to commit, if he had not a par-
ticular license given him. If to give such license for such
a cause be called ' giving relief to a troubled conscience,' we
see no reason why a license to break the whole of the ten com-
mandments may not be given to persons upon their certifying
beforehand that they intend to break them, whether they have
the license or no ; and why such general license should be refused
the title of a general relief to troubled consciences. The validity
of such an excuse entirely depends on the previous question,
whether an act of polygamy is absolutely Avrong or no in a
Christian? If not in itself wrong, however inexpedient the
Martin Luther. 1 63
general adoption might be, it is subject-matter of dispensation,
and a considerate spiritual guide may allow it in a particular
case, in order to preserve a person from committing what is
wrong. But it' an act of polygamy is absolutely wrong in a
Christian, to allow it in order to save him from doing what is
Avrong, is as bad reasoning as it is loose morality. A. man
who cannot submit to the law of monogamy, may or may not be
a tolerable heathen, but he is not a Christian, and has no right to
belong to the Church of Christ upon earth. And to accommo-
date Christian law to him, in order that it may be said that he
does not break Christian law, is to injure Christianity, and to
do him no good. Indeed, the reason why the permission was
given, which in Archdeacon Hare's opinion so mitigates the
offence of giving it, appears to us strongly to aggravate it.
For what was the ground of the permission ? Was it one of
those eccentric and unlooked-for reasons which occur once or
twice in the world in the course of a century? No: the
Landgrave urged no reason but what a thousand men in every
city of Christendom might urge the next day. His one and
sole reason was that his present wife was a disagreeable person,
and that he wanted another : he gave no grounds but that of
simple desire on his part, that the indulgence should be
allowed. Differing from Sir William Hamilton, in the view
that Luther wished to promote general polygamy, we must yet
say that the fact of the permission of a particular case of it, on
such a ground as this, was a precedent for the widest spread of
it; for what was there to stop the operation of a precedent
which admitted simple strong desire as a sufficient reason ?
Whatever Luther wished, his act was a generally unsettling
one, and capable of bearing the largest and most systematic
results in the way of innovation.
Nor can we admit, again, a comparison, which the apologist
institutes between the conduct of a divine who sanctions an act
of polygamy, and that of one who connives at licentiousness ; a
comparison which he decides in favour of the former. However
much to blame Luther was, says Archdeacon Hare, he was
not so much to blame as Bossuet ; for Bossuet connived at much
greater immorality in Louis XIV. than Luther sanctioned in
Philip of Hesse. But there is a fallacy in this reasoning ; for,
were it granted that Louis XIV.'s immorality was worse than
that of Philip of Hesse's, and that Bossuet connived at it, the
act of sanctioning is a different genus of offence altogether
from the act of connivance ; and to sanction a less crime is
much worse than to connive at a greater. If a person commits
a wrong act, and another does not rebuke him for it, the latter
is guilty of not asserting the truth ; but if he sanctions the same,
M 2
164 Martin Luthn:
or a much smaller offence in him, he asserts an untruth, and
calls that right which is not right. If Bossuet connived, he
acted wrong, but he only committed himself; Luther, in sanc-
tioning, committed Christianity. Still less do we see any
mitigation of Luther's act, in the confidence, spirit, and self-
possession with which he took the disclosure of it, when that
was made:
4 However severely,' says Archdeacon Hare, ' we may blame Luther for
these errors of judgment, for his allowing himself to be influenced in such
a matter by misericordia and humanissima facililas, still, when the secret is
disclosed, when the scandal gets wind, how does the heroic grandeur of his
character, the might of his invincible faith, rise out of the trial! The rain
descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon his
house : but it stood fast, because it was founded upon a Rock.'
*****
' In a beautiful letter, written in the following month of June, 1540, to
Melancthon, who was grievously oppressed by the scandal occasioned when
the Landgrave, in opposition to their counsel, let his second marriage be
known, Luther thus reminds him of the principles which had guided them
in their opinion. [We omit the quotation.] In this time of trouble Luther's
heroic faith shines forth still more brightly from its contrast with Melanc-
thon's weakness. The latter was quite crushed, and brought to the very
verge of death. Luther, on the other hand, feels strong as ever from his
unshaken trust in his Heavenly Supporter. " Quare frustra nos occidimus"
(he says in the letter, just quoted, to Melancthon), " aut tristitia impedimus
cognitionem victoris illius omnium mortium et tristitiarum ? Qui enim vicit
Diabolum, et judicavit priucipem hujus mundi, nonne et cum eo judicavit
et vicit hoc scandalum ? Nam si etiam hoc prsesens scandalum desinat,
dabit deinde alias, et forte majores turbas scandalorum, quas, si vivimus, in
eodem tamen victore vincemus, et ridebimus quoque. Nihil est malorum vel
inferni de quo ille non dixerit et voluerit sese intelligi, Ego rid mundnm,
confidite. Valeat Satan ; propter ipsum nee moereamus, nee tristemur : in
Christo autem Domino laetemur et exultemus : ipse deducet in nihilum
omnes inimicos nostros. Nondum sumus in Davidis exemplo, cujus causa
longe desperatior fuit, iiec tamen cecidit : nee ista causa cadet. Cur ergo te
maceras, cum finalis causa stet certe, id est, victoria Christi, etsi formalis et
media nonnihil deformetur isto scandalo ? Nos, qui te sincere ainamus,
diligenter et efficaciter orabimus. Vale in Christo, et noli timere nee
solicitari. Omnem solicitudinem in eum projicias, qui vult esse pro nobia
solicitus, idque credi jussit et exigit. Stabit illud: Ego vici mundum : et vos
vivetis guia Ego vivo. Iterum vale, et sis lactus et quietus, oro, sicut
petimus, imo sicut prsecipit Dominus." This is the man whom the
reviewer audaciously charges with a "skulking compromise of all pro-
fessed principle," and with violating the Gospel, " trembling only at dis-
covery."
' The reluctance to have the matter known, it is plain, was unmixed with
any personal consideration in Luther; though it .was otherwise with
Melancthon, whose utter abashment on this occasion shows how thoroughly
Luther understood his character, when he said to him years before, Pecca
fortiier. It was just after this last letter of Luther's, that Melancthon, as
he tells Camerarius in the w ords just cited, was at the very point of death,
and was restored to life in an almost miraculous manner, as it seemed, by
the intensely fervent prayers, and the energetic friendly comfort and friendly
rebukes of Luther. When Luther, who had been sent for on account of
Martin Luther. 165
Melancthon's dangerous illness, arrived, he found, the historian tells us,
" that his eyes were sunk, his senses gone, his speech stopped, his hearing
closed, his face fallen in and hollow, and, as Luther said, fades erat
J/ipporratica. He knew nobody, ate and drank nothing. When Luther
saw him thus disfigured, he was frightened above measure, and said to his
companions, ' God forfend! how has the devil defaced this Organon !' He
then turned forthwith to the window, and prayed fervently to God. ' Then,'
said Luther, ' Our Lord God could not but hear me ; for I threw my sack
before his door, and wearied his ears with all his promises of hearing
prayers, which I could repeat out of Holy Writ ; so that He could not but
hear me if I were ever to trust in his promises.' Hereupon he grasped
Philip by the hand: 'Bono ammo esto, Philippe; non morieris. Although
God has reason to slay, yet He willeth not the death of a sinner, but that
he should be converted and live. He has pleasure in life, not in death. If
God called and received the very greatest sinners that ever were upon
earth, Adam and Eve, again into favour, much less will He reject thee, my
Philip, or let thee perish in sin and despair. Therefore give no place to the
spirit of sorrow, and be not thine own murderer; but trust in the Lord,
who can slay and make alive again.' For Luther well knew the burthen of
his heart and conscience. Being thus taken hold of and addressed, Philip
began to draw breath again, but could not say anything for a good while.
Then he turned his face straight upon Luther, and began to beg him for
God's sake not to detain him any longer; that he was now on a good
journey; that he should let him go; that nothing better could befall him.
' By no means, Philip,' said Luther; ' thou must serve our Lord God yet
longer.' Thus Philip by degrees became more cheerful, and let Luther
order him something to eat; and Luther brought it himself to him, but
Philip refused it. Then Luther forced him with these threats, saying :
' Hark, Philip, thou must eat, or I excommunicate thee.' With these
words he was overpowered, so that he ate a very little; and thus by
degrees he gained strength again." See the account cited by Bretschneider
in his Edition of Melancthou, iv. p. xvii. 1 enter into these details of
Luther's conduct connected with this affair, because it has often been
represented as utterly disgraceful and destructive of his moral character ;
whereas on this, as on every other occasion, the best vindication of him is
the truth. The more one knows of him, the grander he becomes, the more,
too, he wins not merely reverence, but love.'
The power of mind which this passage discloses in Luther
is, we admit, very great, and it stands out, unquestionably, in
strong relief, by the side of the feebleness of Melancthon. But
it is a question whether, under such circumstances, Melanc-
thon's feebleness is not a more creditable state of mind than
Luther's power. The power which Luther shows is the
power of putting a good face upon a bad business, and braving
out an awkward step once taken. He says to himself, It cannot
be helped now, we must make the best of it ; and he does make
the best of it, and carries off the act with a swing. Such a
power shows a strong, forcible character ; but, before it is put
forward as a defence of that act which elicited it, it ought to be
carefully distinguished from that quality which, in common
parlance, bears an unfavourable name. Luther was a great
man ; but the assurance of a great man must no more be
{(>( Martin Luther.
admitted to atone for a wrong act, than that of a little
man.
In judging of this act of Luther's, it is indeed difficult to
distinguish how much of it belonged to speculative audacity,
mid how much to moral laxity. The subject of marriage, so
far as it suggested questions for the intellect to decide upon,
was an intellectual subject; and Luther approached it in that
independent and audacious spirit in which he approached other
matters of doctrine. He had a pleasure iu invading an occu-
pied ground ; in theorizing where all had been considered settled ;
in clearing away old ideas, and laying down new ones. So far
his impulse was a speculative one, and part of the charge of
moral laxity is drained off into that of intellectual presumption.
But with the speculative impulse there mingles, too evidently,
moral laxity also. The general tone of Luther with respect to
the particular department of morality here alluded to, where
not positively offensive, is free and easy, and unbecoming the
severity of a Christian. The excuses of a temper rudely frank,
of a ready tongue always saying what came uppermost, and of
an argumentative furor always pushing him to coarseness as a
form of strength, might be excuses for defective strictness and
delicacy on such a subject, were the defects those of language
only: but the defects in Luther's case are more than these. Ifc
is not that he uses that coarseness of language which might be
attributed to the age rather than to the individual ; but he dis-
closes mental levity and mental laxity on this subject. He
plainly wants those severe ideas in relation to it which as a
Christian he ought to have. With auch an unfavourable con-
text in Luther's general language to fall back upon, on the
subject of the act now before us, we cannot but express our deep
and sincere regret, that Archdeacon Hare should have under-
taken the defence of such an act. He has conceived an un-
bounded admiration for Luther, and, having conceived it, his
generosity impels him to defend Luther at all hazards. But
in such a ease, the maxim of being just before you are generous
is well worthy of attention ; and an apologist, however enthu-
siastic, should never defend his author beyond the point where
the defence does justice to himself.
Some social and some doctrinal consequences of Luther's
movement have now been exhibited ; and we see the great
author of the Reformation struggling, at every step, with dis-
agreeable and ominous developments of his own act : coercing,
recalling, denouncing, protesting ; assailed and assailing ; lament-
ing and persecuting ; harassed with awkward questions ; obliged
t<> ^o farther than he wanted to go; and put in the position of
a spectator of his own movement, anxiously and nervously
Martin Luther, 167
watching results which were now, in a great degree, out of his
hands. As events drove him more and more into this position,
and he had more and more the pain of seeing consequences
which he did not like, and yet could not help, taking place : as
he had more and more to bear disgusts and feel weakness, he
fell back considerably upon that melancholy in which he had
commenced his career. Never for an instant flinching from the
antagonistic or dogmatic side of his position ; hurling mortal
defiances on Home to the last, and full of his own great funda-
mental doctrine, he yet could not shake off the inward sadness
and vexation, which the ever rising facts of a general religious
unsettlement, appealing to his eyes and ears, caused. And the
melancholy of his character, so powerful as a stimulus at the
commencement of his career, was prolific of disgusts toward
the close.
Luther's melancholy is a feature in him, which there happens
to be an especial call to notice, on account of some extraordinary
and eccentric shapes which it at times assumed, and its connex-
ion with those grotesque scenes of supernaturalism which figure
so prominently in some parts of his life. Luther had then what
is called a natural and constitutional melancholy. There is a
kind of melancholy, which we call natural and constitutional,
which acts upon no discernible cause but simply because it
exists, and is an original disposition of the mind, in connexion
with the bodily constitution. Again, there is a rational melan-
choly, which refers itself consciously to causes more especially
that great fundamental one, the existence of evil in the world :
which is ever before it in the shape of one or other of its particu-
lar results, one or other painful, disgusting, or humiliating, event.
Both of these kinds of melancholy enter into the composition of
what is called a melancholy temperament ; and both of them are
in principle suitable and becoming to such a creature as man, in
such a world as the present one. Those partial obscurations of
nature, and ebbings of the animal spirits, which constitute natural
melancholy, so far from being in themselves mere awkwardnesses
and inappropriate interruptions, fall in harmoniously with a
perishable state: they are natural anticipations of the final
withdrawal of that gift of life which awaits all creatures here ;
fit tremblings of that which is one day to fall, and vanishings
of that which is one day to expire. Thus the Psalmist pictures
even the inferior creatures as sometimes feeling a cloud over their
spirits, and suffering obscurations of their animal life fore-
shadowing its final departure : 'When Thou hidest Thy face they
' are troubled : when Thou takest away their breath they die,
* and are turned again to their dust : ' and the picture elevates
and dignifies rather than lowers the inferior creatures in our
168 Martin Luther.
eyes. That melancholy, also, which is the offspring of thought
and perception, is becoming in its place; and the total want of
it argues an insensibility to certain obvious facts connected with
this visible system. Luther's melancholy, then, is not in itself
:in unpleasing feature; it rather appeals to our sympathies.
We see him, in spite of his uproarious hilarity, and overflowing
and successful energy of mind, not a happy man. Post equitem
sedet atra euro, : he drives the chariot of the Reformation with
fury, but he has a lingering gloom at heart. Even his fury is
partly a remedial one, indulged as a balance and quietus to a
strong natural counter sadness. And his immoderate mirth and
flow of spirits sit often but superficially upon him, covering and
relieving an inwardly vexed and troubled mind, rather than
representing a light one.
But it is evident that melancholy, like other mental passions
and affections, should be under the control of reason. The
passion of anger is in itself a noble and lofty one, and yet is
liable to run into coarseness and madness, unless it is checked
by a higher principle. The melancholic tendencies of the human
character, however deep and true a part of it, must in the same
way be kept in check by a higher principle. Christian reason,
i. e. faith, informs us that this whole system of things,
notwithstanding the disturbing appearances in it, will finally
issue in absolute good. Christian reason, therefore, forbids
vague, irregular, and licentious melancholy. From the ultimate
height of a certain issue it controls the commotions and depres-
sions, the darkness and troubles, of passionate and sensitive
nature. It brings the melancholy of the human character into
form and shape ; chastens, subdues, and refines it. Go over in
succession the portraits of those great religious men upon
Avhom the world has tried all its discouragements and disap-
pointments, and see if in any one of them there appears a
symptom of loose submission to the involuntary depressions of
nature. Melancholy, indeed, appears, but it is a melancholy of
perfect form and mould ; tranquil, grave, and self-possessed, as
if a sculptor had modelled it. You see this distinctive fact,
that in their case the mind was above its own melancholy,
looked down calmly upon it as an inferior part of itself; kept it
under, and reduced it to order and law. You see that, convers-
ing and living in heart with the One Eternal Substance of Good,
they were not liable to be unsettled and confounded at the
appearances of evil.
But Luther could not check or control his melancholic tem-
perament: and it consequently rose into morbid excesses, got
the upper hand, and became oppressive and overwhelming. He
describes himself as suffering often horrible fits of despair.
Martin Luther. 169
Nay, he even incorporated these loose and degrading prostra-
tions into his system, and tested the religious advancement of
the believer by them. Does he feel occasionally desperate, all
ground of faith gone, and the world, the flesh, and the devil
triumphant? if so, he is a child of God; if not, he is without
his proper Christian evidences an 
