British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World: Entrepreneurs and Evangelicals, 1756-1840 (Oxford Historical Monographs) 0198887191, 9780198887195

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British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World

OX F O R D H I S T O R IC A L M O N O G R A P H S The Oxford Historical Monographs series publishes some of the best Oxford University doctoral theses on historical topics, especially those likely to engage the interest of a broad academic readership. Editors P. BETTS F. DEVJI P. GAUCI K. LEBOW J. McDOUGALL D. PARROTT R. REID H. SKODA J. SMITH W. WHYTE

British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Entrepreneurs and Evangelicals, 1756–1840 R O SHA N A L L P R E S S

Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Roshan Allpress 2023 The moral rights of the author have been asserted All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2023935892 ISBN 978–0–19–888719–5 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198887195.001.0001 Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third party website referenced in this work.

Acknowledgements From first glimmer of questions to the final writing, this book has been a long germination, and it is impossible to adequately acknowledge the many debts—­ material, intellectual, and spiritual—­ that I have incurred over the years. I could not have pursued doctoral study without the support of a number of generous trusts and scholarships, including the Bryce research studentship and Beit scholarship from the Oxford History Faculty, the Hay Trust, Hope Trust, Possibilities Foundation, Mendip Hills, and Wilberforce Foundation. Travel and research grants from Christ Church supported travel to archives. Longview Trust, Wilberforce Foundation, and Laidlaw College generously supported a research sabbatical in 2021­­–2 to complete the manuscript. I am grateful for the assistance of librarians and archivists at the British Library, Cambridge University Library, Trinity College Cambridge, Ridley Hall Cambridge, Harris Manchester College Oxford, Worcester College Oxford, Regents Park College Oxford, Christ Church Oxford, Duke University Library, Harvard Baker Library, Birmingham University Library, Church Missionary Society Oxford, Hull History Centre, Lambeth Council Archives, National Archives, National Maritime Museum, Northampton Diocesan Archive, Royal Bank of Scotland Archives, and the Bodleian Library. I’m also grateful to Fr Antony Grant and Huw David for their permissions to view and cite family manuscripts. We have been privileged to do life with so many friends in Christchurch, Auckland, Oxford, and around the world. Those connected to the Compass Foundation, now Venn, encouraged me, helped set me on this course, and seeded questions about what friendship and collaboration over decades looks like. Colleagues at Laidlaw College continue to inspire and enrich, and I am particularly grateful to Jessica Palmer and the National Governing Council for making possible the research sabbatical during which this book was completed, and to Phil Newman and the rest of the Senior Leadership Team who ably covered my absence.

vi Acknowledgements Over the years, I have benefited greatly from the insight and generosity of too many colleagues and friends to name. Among those to whom particular thanks are due for their encouragement, as this project has gone from ­germination to completion are Cindy Aalders, Andrew Atherstone, David Bebbington, James Belich, Jonathan Brant, John Darwin, Lyndon Drake, Bronwen Everill, Peter Field, Greg Fleming, John Fox, Paul Henderson, Bruce Hindmarsh, John Hitchen, Joanna Innes, Maartje Janse, Zoë Laidlaw, Peter Lineham, Annette McHugh, Nathan McLellan, Peter McNee, Philippa Mein Smith, Ben Mountford, Rebecca Packer, Ruth Porter, Andrew Shamy, Mark Smith, Brian Stanley, Anne Stott, Mark Strom, Rod Thompson, John Walsh, Paul Williams, Sarah Williams, John Wolffe, and Brian Young. Conference and seminar audiences in Oxford, London, Edinburgh, Warwick, Princeton, Minneapolis, Leiden, Sydney, and Auckland have asked thoughtful questions and honed my thinking. In Oxford, first and deep thanks go to Jane Garnett, who has been unfailingly generous as a supervisor, and a source of much intellectual in­spir­ation. I would like to thank my two DPhil examiners, John Coffey and Perry Gauci, for their incisive reading, encouragement, and advice. I’m grateful also to the anonymous reader for their comments and suggestions. David Parrott, and the OHM delegates committee, Cathryn Steele, and the team at  OUP have been patient and gracious in shepherding this project to completion. My family are a constant source of support, and I am who I am today because of my parents and grandparents, and their love and prayers. Zoe, Esther, and Isaac have brought much joy and delight to life, but it is to Lottie that greatest thanks are due, and this book is dedicated with love to her for her faithful love, support, and partnership in life. Soli Deo gloria

Contents List of Illustrations Notes on the Text List of Abbreviations

ix xi xiii

Introduction: Between the King’s Arms and Exeter Hall I.1 Defining Philanthropy I.2 Approach and Structure

1 4 18

I .   T H E G R OW T H O F P H I L A N T H R O P Y 1. ‘How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do’: John Thornton and the Formation of Philanthropic Networks 1.1 Commercial, Religious, and Family Networks 1.2 The Philanthropic Entrepreneur 1.3 Forming Philanthropists

27 28 38 52

2. ‘The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us’: The Growth of Associational Philanthropy 57 2.1 The Philanthropic Nexus, c.1760 60 2.2 The Partial Integration of Banking, Religion, and Philanthropy, 1772–1783 76 2.3 The Philanthropic Nexus, c.1788 81 2.4 Banking Networks and the Auxiliary Revolution, c.1800–1815 86 I I .   T H E C L A P HA M SE C T 3. ‘The Society of the Excellent of the Earth’: Reframing the Clapham Sect 3.1 Between Battersea Rise and Holy Trinity 3.2 The Clapham Sect within the Philanthropic Nexus 3.3 Framing the Clapham Sect 3.4 The Clapham Sect in Operation 3.5 Self-­understandings 3.6 The Fading of the Clapham Sect

103 104 107 111 121 134 138

viii Contents

4. ‘The Cement of Society’: Trust and the Intellectual School of Clapham 142 4.1 Thomas Gisborne, Morality, and Interest 145 4.2 William Wilberforce, ‘Real Christianity’, and Public Leadership 149 4.3 Henry Thornton, Currency, and Trust 150 4.4 Trust as an Explanatory Idea in Philanthropy 159 4.5 Trust in Other Clapham Sect Writings 164 4.6 The Clapham School in Context 167 I I I .   T H E SP R E A D O F P H I L A N T H R O P Y 5. ‘Every Region of the Globe Its Representative’: The Development of Transnational Philanthropy 175 5.1 The Origins of Transnational Philanthropic Networks 177 5.2 Bengal, c.1780–1790 184 5.3 Sierra Leone, 1791–1807 191 5.4 New Zealand, 1808–c.1823 202 5.5 Transfers and Translations 207 5.6 Reconfigurations, 1813–1833 211 6. ‘Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts’: Philanthropy and the Reimagining of the World 217 6.1 The Christian Observer and the Cultivation of a Philanthropic Worldview 219 6.2 New Centres, New Fault Lines 233 6.3 New Career Paths 240 6.4 Philanthropy and History 247 Conclusion 254 Bibliography Index Index of Names

263 299 305

List of Illustrations Figures 1.1 Intergenerational Yorkshire families

32

2.1 The philanthropic nexus, c.176061 2.2 Number of London banks, 1759–1840

76

2.3 The philanthropic nexus, c.178882 2.4 The philanthropic nexus, c.180087 2.5 Dominant City banks in country banking, with number of country affiliates in 1806

89

2.6 Religious Tract Society income, 1800–1819

98

2.7 BFBS annual expenditure vs number of auxiliaries, 1805–1816

98

2.8 CMS annual income, 1802–1820

99

3.1 The Clapham Sect within the philanthropic nexus

107

5.1 Distribution of A Proposal for Establishing a Protestant Mission in Bengal and Behar189 6.1 The philanthropic nexus, c.1815237 6.2 The philanthropic nexus, c.1825238

Maps 1.1 John Thornton’s correspondents within the UK

41

2.1 Map of Down country banks showing those involved in establishing BFBS auxiliaries

94

6.1 Correspondents and informants of the Christian Observer, 1802–6

227

6.2 Correspondents and informants of the Christian Observer, 1807–11

228

6.3 Correspondents and informants of the Christian Observer, 1812–16

229

6.4 Correspondents and informants of the Christian Observer, 1817–21

230

6.5 Correspondents and informants of the Christian Observer, 1822–6

231

Notes on the Text The spelling, punctuation, and emphasis of quotations has been preserved where possible. All modifications or omissions are clearly marked with square brackets or ellipses. Throughout, the convention has been adopted that ‘Evangelical’ relates specifically to the Church of England, while ‘evangelical’ includes dissenters and members of foreign churches. Place of publication, unless otherwise specified, is London.

List of Abbreviations Abolition Society Anti-­Slavery Society

Society for Effecting the Abolition of the Slave Trade Society for the Mitigation and Gradual Abolition of Slavery Throughout the British Dominions Bettering Society Society for Bettering the Condition and Increasing the Comforts of the Poor BFBS British and Foreign Bible Society BL British Library Bodleian Bodleian Library Bodleian Wilberforce Papers Bodleian Library, MS Wilberforce Book Society Society for Promoting Religious Knowledge Among the Poor Climbing Boys Society Society for Superseding the Necessity of Climbing Boys by Encouraging a New Method of Sweeping Chimnies and for Improving the Condition of Children and others Employed by Chimney Sweepers CMS Church Missionary Society CUL Cambridge University Library CUL Thornton Papers Cambridge University Library, MS Add. 7674 EIC East India Company Hocken University of Otago, Hocken Library IOR India Office Records LCA Lambeth Council Archives Life of Wilberforce Robert Isaac and Samuel Wilberforce, The Life of William Wilberforce LMA London Metropolitan Archives LSPCJ London Society for Promoting Christianity among the Jews Mendicity Society Society for the Suppression of Mendicity MS Add./Add. MS additional manuscripts ODNB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography PBHS Prayer Book and Homily Society PRO Public Records Office RBS Royal Bank of Scotland RTS Religious Tract Society SLC Sierra Leone Company

xiv  List of Abbreviations Small Debts Society SPCK SPG Sunday School Society TNA Vice Society Wren

Society for the Discharge and Relief of Persons Imprisoned for Small Debts Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts Society for the Support and Encouragement of Sunday Schools throughout the British Dominions the National Archives Society for the Suppression of Vice Wren Library, Trinity College Cambridge, Babington Papers

  Introduction Between the King’s Arms and Exeter Hall

On Friday 25 June 1756, twenty-­two people met in the King’s Arms tavern in the City of London to establish a new organization. The Marine Society’s mission was to support destitute boys from London’s streets into stable employment as sailors, rescuing them from the ‘complicated miseries’ of their lives, while providing much needed recruits for Britain’s naval and merchant fleets.1 In their pamphlet explaining the motives of the Society, John Thornton and Jonas Hanway, two of its key progenitors, wrote that a ‘heart-­felt joy’ in seeing lives transformed revealed ‘the truest characteristic of humanity’.2 Over the coming years a new word came to be popularly applied to those who­—­like the committee members of the Marine Society—­ sought to do good and change the world out of a love for humanity. They became known as ‘philanthropists’. More than eighty years later on Wednesday 24 June 1840, an audience in the thousands gathered in Exeter Hall on the Strand for the closing meeting of the ‘General Anti-­Slavery Convention’, which had gathered delegates from around the world for two weeks of debate and declamation.3 Riding on the momentum of British abolition and emancipation, the Convention sought to advance the cause of freedom globally. For many in the audience, it was the culmination of weeks of annual meetings of philanthropic so­ci­ eties for a panoply of causes—­among them bibles, missions, indigenous peoples, poverty, health, animal welfare, and education. Combined, these societies oversaw a vast and influential enterprise. As one of the Convention speakers proclaimed:

1  Jonas Hanway, Three Letters on the Subject of the Marine Society (1758), p. 3. 2  Ibid., p. 4. 3  Douglas  H.  Maynard, ‘The World’s Anti-­Slavery Convention of 1840’, Mississippi Valley Historical Review, 47(3) (1960), pp. 452–71.

British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World: Entrepreneurs and Evangelicals, 1756–1840. Roshan Allpress, Oxford University Press. © Roshan Allpress 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198887195.003.0001

2  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Philanthropy has wings and it has learned to spread them . . . As phil­an­ thropy enlarges . . . as the human mind takes a larger, a nobler, a more ­elevated view of its moral and religious obligations, the size of our globe is felt to diminish.4

The story of how philanthropy grew from small gatherings in the 1750s to influential assemblages and global networks by 1840 is the theme of this book. Over this period, philanthropy developed from a domain of small clusters of patrons and entrepreneurs, meeting in inns, houses, offices, and vestries, and drawing support from pre-­existing mercantile, religious, and family networks. By 1840 it was a veritable industry, overseen by gathered crowds of subscribers and dignitaries in purpose-­built halls, supported by networks of auxiliary societies, and engaged in managing projects that extended beyond the reaches of the British world. Philanthropists led the development of new organizational forms, supported by shifting networks of committee members, activists, and supporters. For every headline achievement—­the Slavery Abolition Act, the profusion of Sunday schools, or the Select Committee on Aboriginal peoples—­there were many false starts and failures, as well as more diffuse accomplishments that shaped the cultural landscape of the English-­speaking world. Equally important was the emergence of a distinctive culture internal to philanthropic networks in  which philanthropists were formed and reimagined what it meant to ­participate in the globalizing world. Between the King’s Arms and Exeter Hall lie multiple chains of intergenerational transmission spanning three ­gen­er­ations or more—­from parents to children, mentors, and apprentices, patrons, and protégés. This story is therefore as much about how phil­an­ thropy became central to the identity and vocation of many whose lives intersected these networks. Across these decades, philanthropists reworked the institutional and cultural fabric around them. By the mid-­eighteenth century, many of the institutions of British society were being strained by the realities of ur­ban­ iza­tion and globalization in providing for social, economic, and spiritual needs. The institutions of the parish which had served small, local populations across distances of tens of miles, were now serving tens of thousands across equiva­lent geographies in cities, and spanning hundreds of miles or more in frontier contexts. Into this gap, philanthropists created new, ­specialist organizations, targeted at particular aspects of human need, and 4  John Burnet in Proceedings of the General Anti-­Slavery Convention (1841), p. 201.

Introduction  3 characterized by local experiments propagated through increasingly ­transnational networks. While no one parish could translate, print, and distribute bibles across oceans, by 1815 more than 200 auxiliary societies were contributing to the British and Foreign Bible Society, which mediated local participation in a global project. Innovations in supporter relations, giving, and activism established the model for the modern non-­profit organization. The Marine Society and Anti-­Slavery Society are therefore representative bookends of a process by which philanthropists renegotiated the relationship between the local and the global. To their supporters and immediate heirs, philanthropists were men and women who exercised extraordinary agency, with contemporary authors valorizing their actions and the institutions they created. This was the age of William Wilberforce, John Thornton, Hannah More, Henry Thornton, Sir James Stephen, and others whose lives and activism continue to provide inspiration to those wanting to ‘change the world’. In paring back the hagiography, many historians have constructed alternative teleological narratives, reducing philanthropy to a transitional step between earlier religiously motivated charity and secular social justice, or as an intermediate phase of voluntary initiative between parochial poor maintenance and state welfare provision.5 Others have understood philanthropic networks through different lenses—­whether the shifting concern of the upper and middle classes over lower-­class disaffection and disorder;6 interactions between commercial and associational culture;7 attempts by new religious movements to establish themselves in the public sphere;8 or anxieties caused by the series of imperial crises of Britain’s long eighteenth century.9 As a result, phil­an­ thropy has either been framed as a subsidiary phenomenon, or has been 5  Since the 1970s, numerous historians have sought to break away from these teleological accounts. See Gertrude Himmelfarb, ‘The Age of Philanthropy’, Wilson Quarterly, 21(2) (1997), p. 55; Martin Gorsky, Patterns of Philanthropy: Charity and Society in Nineteenth-­Century Bristol (Woodbridge, 1999), pp. 2–4; Hugh Cunningham, ‘Introduction’, in Hugh Cunningham and Joanna Innes (eds.), Charity, Philanthropy and Reform: From the 1690s to 1850 (Basingstoke, 1998), pp. 1–9. 6 Donna  T.  Andrew, Philanthropy and Police: London Charity in the Eighteenth Century (Princeton, 1989), p. 198. 7  See, for example, Paul Langford, A Polite and Commercial People: England, 1727–1783 (Oxford, 1992), p. 100; B. Kirkman Gray, A History of English Philanthropy from the Dissolution of the Monasteries to the Taking of the First Census (1905), pp. 79–80. 8 M.  J.  D.  Roberts, Making English Morals: Voluntary Association and Moral Reform in England, 1787–1886 (Cambridge, 2004), p. 97. Andrew, Philanthropy, p. 165. 9 Langford, Polite and Commercial People, pp. 532–64; Michael Duffy, ‘Contested Empires, 1756–1815’, in Paul Langford (ed.), The Eighteenth Century (Oxford, 2002), pp. 229–30; Roberts, Making English Morals, pp. 59–95.

4  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World explained as the result of overly generalized interactions between religion and commerce, or the emerging middle class and the globalizing world. Yet in this story there are a number of questions that only come sharply into focus when philanthropy is considered in its own right. Philanthropists sought to change their world on behalf of others, and in some respects succeeded. Their lives can shed light on what the persistent pursuit of social and cultural change can look like over long periods in the modern world. There are also specificities and particularities to explain. Why were some mercantile and religious networks significantly overrepresented in eighteenth-­ century philanthropic directorates? How did collaborative groups such as the Clapham Sect actually operate in context? How did phil­an­thropy become an intergenerational tradition in families and communities, and later a wider cultural movement? The historical development of philanthropy as a movement has implications for understandings of the relationship between religious and commercial impulses in British public life, and of the imagination and expansion of Britain’s Empire. It is in considering these specificities directly that we can better understand how religious, commercial, and other impulses informed the development of philanthropy, and what underwrote the growing influence of phil­an­throp­ists in Britain and beyond. For those who sat around the tables in the King’s Arms in June 1756, or those who attended the Convention in Exeter Hall eighty-­four years later, philanthropy was one aspect—­however important—­of their lives as businessmen, clergymen, parents, worshippers, friends, and more. A central concern of this study, therefore, is the reintegration—­in their commercial, religious, intellectual, cultural, and social aspects—­of the lives of those phil­ an­throp­ists at the nexus of philanthropic networks. How they understood themselves and their philanthropic work—­while living whole lives—­sheds light on how philanthropy developed, and on how social change can unfold in the modern world.

I.1  Defining Philanthropy The classic distinction between charity and philanthropy holds that charity is concerned with the relief of suffering and poverty, whereas philanthropy seeks to address the causes of these ills. Although charity and philanthropy have in common a desire to act on behalf of others, philanthropists developed a discourse that rested not only on relationships and duties between people in the present, but also on narratives of historical change. This may

Introduction  5 in part explain why histories of philanthropy have leaned so strongly towards teleological accounts, whether in the hagiographical narratives of Victorian writers or those of mid-­twentieth-­century historians seeking to explain the origins of the welfare state. This shift was accompanied by changes in the usage of the word ‘philanthropy’. Although ‘philanthropy’ was in use throughout the seventeenth century, this was more usually in reference to God’s disposition towards humanity, drawn literally from the Greek, and less commonly as characterizing a person possessing an unusual benevolence.10 By the early eighteenth century, however, ‘philanthropy’ had acquired the additional meaning of a mode of action in the world, with the first recorded use of ‘philanthropist’ in 1730.11 The use of the word ‘phil­an­ thropy’ by modern historians to describe phenomena in a variety of contexts prior to the eighteenth century12 should not obscure the novelty of mid-­eighteenth-­century usage, as the connotations of the word ‘phil­an­ thropy’ expanded beyond the possession of a benevolent disposition to include active interference in social conditions.13 Nor should philanthropy be understood in the later, more limited sense of the giving of wealth. In the twenty-­first century, we might better refer to eighteenth-­century phil­an­ throp­ists anachronistically as ‘social entrepreneurs’. This linguistic shift was accompanied by a growing clarity of articulation of the ways in which the distinction between charity and philanthropy could be delineated—­by attention to the moral condition of those in need of help, and a wariness at offering help to the undeserving; by innovating to fill gaps in existing institutional provision for sufferers; or by awareness of the ways in which wider economic pressures could unjustly bear on individuals.14 Historians have long noted a shift that began in the last decades 10  See, for example, John Locke, A Letter Concerning Toleration (1689), p. 197, describing feigned goodwill as ‘talk of Philanthropy’; or John Edwards, Theologia Reformata (1713), p. 348, ‘Christ’s Manifestation in the Flesh . . . was the greatest Instance of Divine Philanthropy’. 11  Nathan Bailey, Dictionarium Britannicum (1730), cited in ‘philanthropist, n.’. OED Online. (2015), accessed 21 June 2015, www.oed.com/view/Entry/142404. 12 See, for example, W.  K.  Jordan, Philanthropy in England, 1480–1660: A Study of the Changing Pattern of English Social Aspirations (1959); Jill Pellew, ‘New Philanthropists of the Tudor Period’, in David Cannadine and Jill Pellew (eds.), History and Philanthropy: Past, Present and Future (2008), pp. 3–17. 13  Philanthropy continued to carry both connotations into the nineteenth century: Henry Venn, commented on Charles Simeon preaching in Cambridge, ‘Full of philanthropy was his address: “I am come to enquire after your welfare. Are you happy?” ’ William Carus, Memoirs of the Life of the Rev. Charles Simeon (3rd edn, 1848), p. 27. 14  Despite this increasing clarity, there remained some interchangeability between the two terms, as in Cowper’s poem ‘Charity’, which largely describes what I am here calling phil­an­ thropy. Jonas Hanway also used ‘charity’ interchangeably with ‘philanthropy’ between the 1750s and 1770s, though both were describing efforts at social change.

6  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World of the seventeenth century and had become marked by the mid-­eighteenth century, away from charitable attempts to alleviate suffering towards self-­ consciously philanthropic efforts focused on finding per­man­ent solutions to social problems. Further, there was a growing sense during the eighteenth century that advances in the understanding of society, and efforts on behalf of the unfortunate, had inaugurated a new era of benevolence—­one in which social conditions might be progressively improved. This shift in the contemporary usage of ‘philanthropy’ aligned with important shifts in the aims and social positioning of those engaged in charitable or benevolent activism. By the 1750s, there was a small community of individuals in London who were self-­consciously engaging in phil­ an­thropy and had formed a collaborative discourse around their activities. Unlike earlier entrepreneurs such as Coram or Thomas Bray, these undertook philanthropic work in the middle of otherwise unrelated careers—­ neither in a state of semi-­retirement nor as a part of their work within the Church. Merchants who were managing trade while experimenting in phil­ an­thropy drew others from their networks into projects more readily than those who left their careers to take up philanthropy. In contrast to earlier decades, the 1750s represents the earliest point in the eighteenth century from which it is possible to trace intergenerational patterns of collaboration within the directorates of multiple organizations, beyond family traditions or partnerships, and therefore to mark the beginning of a continuing nexus of philanthropic directors. The context of the Evangelical revival was seminal, as the movement spread from its origins in the 1730s, to aristocratic and mercantile circles by the 1750s.15 An awakened sense of the Christian imperative on behalf of the suffering and poor, spurred by gratitude for God’s saving grace experienced at conversion, provided powerful motivations for philanthropy. Moreover, as a religious movement committed to the plausibility and vitality of Christianity in the modern age, Evangelicalism’s understanding of the self in society provided strong underpinnings for the early development of phil­an­ thropy.16 As Brent Sirota has discussed, in the decades following the Glorious Revolution an associational movement committed to ‘securing’ the English Reformation flourished, exemplified in the Reformation of Manners

15 Throughout, ‘evangelical’ in lower case is used to refer to the wider movement; ‘Evangelical’ refers specifically to Anglicans. 16  D. Bruce Hindmarsh, The Spirit of Early Evangelicalism: True Religion in a Modern World (Oxford, 2018), p. ix.

Introduction  7 societies or Thomas Bray’s work establishing the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge (SPCK) and the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (SPG).17 These understood themselves as augmenting and expanding existing institutions and their social and spiritual provisions. In contrast, by emphasizing the universal necessity of personal conversion regardless of national Church membership or social position, Evangelicalism provided a framework for the envisioning of widespread human needs unmet by existing institutions.18 Experimentation by philanthropic committees to improve the effectiveness of their collective efforts increasingly became the norm. This fuelled in­nov­ations in institutions and methods, heightened by a sense that just as the individual Christian stood directly before Christ, so they stood in relation to all humanity—­creating by their philanthropy new fields for the advancement of human flourishing. Philanthropy emerged as a distinct phenomenon as Britain’s global and economic position changed during the 1750s. Success in the Seven Years War secured Britain’s global trade, bringing ‘humanity’ within the ambition of Britain’s more imaginative philanthropists.19 During the decade there was a shift in London’s financial markets, as the increasing costs of war and the growing capital of merchant houses led to financiers developing denser and more expansive networks for the raising of capital, that would later be turned into philanthropic fundraising. Though not all philanthropists were merchants or bankers, philanthropy drew on the architecture of the financial revolution, and therefore—­as we will see in subsequent chapters—­many of those at the forefront of philanthropy bridged these worlds. While 1756 provides a useful hinge for exploring the emergence of phil­ an­thropy as a major cultural discourse, the sheer diversity of its subsequent expansion makes a definitive endpoint less clear. During the 1830s, however, philanthropy achieved a new plateau of prestige and influence as a field of activity, augmented by the landmark political and cultural victory in the abolition of slavery in the British Empire, and the launch of a major new campaign for the protection of indigenous peoples following the release of 17  Brent Sirota, The Christian Monitors: The Church of England and the Age of Benevolence, 1680–1730 (New Haven, 2014). 18  See Mark Smith’s discussion of attitudes towards the particular institution of the parish, ‘The Hanoverian Parish: Towards a New Agenda’, Past and Present, 216 (Aug. 2012), pp. 79–105. 19  This was part of a wider process of Britons finding ways to imagine their place in a global world. See Kathleen Wilson, ‘The Island Race: Captain Cook, Protestant Evangelicalism and the Construction of English National Identity, 1760–1800’, in Tony Claydon and Ian McBride (eds.), Protestantism and National Identity: Britain and Ireland, c.1650–c.1850 (Cambridge, 1998), pp. 270–2.

8  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World the Buxton report and the founding of the Aborigines’ Protection Society in 1837. Until at least 1839, philanthropists held out the hope that they might be able to restrain settler expansion and reshape the British Empire in their image. They developed new centres and new symbols of influence with the opening of Exeter Hall in 183120 and the public memorialization of leading philanthropists. Philanthropic societies had become key features of elite sociability, with significant economic and cultural clout, and their networks of local auxiliaries reached throughout the United Kingdom and the Empire. The label ‘philanthropist’, which during the late eighteenth century had been applied narrowly, and sometimes derogatively, to those within the philanthropic nexus, was now used more generously. The 1830s also marked a generational shift in philanthropic networks, with many of the generation born to the dynasties of philanthropists that formed in the second half of the eighteenth century passing away. While many of the structural and cultural changes that facilitated this growth, including those necessary for the raising of adequate funds and the rallying of large numbers of supporters, were in place by 1810, it was during the tenure of the subsequent generation that these came to fruition. The year 1840 thus provides an appropriate marker in the diffusion of philanthropic culture: the new decade brought with it significant new challenges to philanthropists and their humanitarian successors. Among historians, no singular definition of philanthropy has pre­dom­in­ ated. Writing in 1905, Kirkman Gray defined philanthropy loosely as ‘contributions of money, service, or thought, such as the recipient has no strict claim to demand, and the doer is not compelled to render’.21 Gray identified a number of the features of emergent philanthropy, including the collective nature of philanthropic action, and the observation that these activities were coordinated by a socially intertwined ‘inner circle’ of philanthropic committee members, and that by the last decades of the eighteenth century, it had become possible to choose to adopt philanthropy as one’s occupation: ‘while many were willing to subscribe guineas, some were prepared to co-­ operate in persistent work for the relief of distress’.22 David Owen, in the next major synoptic study of English philanthropy to appear (in 1965) attempted to narrow this ‘wide field’ of philanthropy to ‘pecuniary’ activity— ‘the benefactions of Englishmen . . . for the mitigation of poverty, disease, infirmity, and ignorance’. Philanthropy, according to Owen, had ‘little to do 20  See discussion in Chapter 6. 22  Ibid., pp. 80, 268, 278.

21 Gray, English Philanthropy, p. ix.

Introduction  9 with good works, personal service, or labors in the public interest, save as these were accompanied by substantial contributions of money from individuals and groups’.23 While some subsequent historians have followed this in arguing for an economic understanding of philanthropy centred on financial gift-­giving to address the ‘problem of poverty’, with changing ­contemporary assessments as to what should condition the gift relationship, the majority have preferred a broader definition.24 Frank Prochaska, for ex­ample, has written of philanthropy as ‘active benevolence’, embracing efforts to align personal sympathies and skills with socially transformative aims.25 Philanthropic action has and should be understood to include the use of time, professional skills, patronage, personal social networks, and relational influence, in addition to monetary giving. Notably, successive historians—­often separated by decades, and bringing different assumptions and approaches to their research—­have found it a subject with its own integrity. There is an important story here to tell. However, to account for philanthropy in the period 1756 to 1840, it is crucial to consider the importance of philanthropy to the identity of phil­an­ throp­ ists. Mid-­ twentieth-­ century historians tended to consider this in terms of class identity, particularly the elusive process of middle-­class formation. R. J. Morris argued that philanthropy was an example of how ‘those with material and ideological power were able to defend this power in an effective and dynamic manner’,26 and that ‘voluntary associations provided an expression of social power for those endowed with increasing social and economic authority, but excluded from the effective exercise of state power by religious restrictions, franchise limitation, and often by the lack of any appropriate state agency’.27 However, more recent assessments by Frank Prochaska, Martin Gorsky, and others have emphasized the degree to which philanthropy arose from ‘shared values’ that crossed class boundaries.28 23  David Owen, English Philanthropy, 1660–1960 (Cambridge, MA, 1965), p. 1. For criticism of the narrowness of Owen’s definition, see Brian Harrison, ‘Philanthropy and the Victorians’, Victorian Studies, 9(4) (1966), pp. 355–6. 24  Cunningham, ‘Introduction’, p. 2. See also M. J. D. Roberts, ‘Reshaping the Gift Relationship’, International Review of Social History, 36 (1991), pp. 201–31. 25 F.  K.  Prochaska, Women and Philanthropy in 19th Century England (Oxford, 1980), pp. 5–6. See also F. K. Prochaska, ‘Philanthropy’, in F. M. L. Thompson (ed.), The Cambridge Social History of Britain 1750–1950, 3 vols. (1990), iii, pp. 357–60. 26 R.  J.  Morris, ‘Voluntary Societies and British Urban Elites, 1780–1850: An Analysis’, Historical Journal, 26(1) (1983), pp. 95–118, p. 99. 27  Ibid., p. 113. 28  Frank Prochaska, The Voluntary Impulse: Philanthropy in Modern Britain (1988); Gorsky, Patterns of Philanthropy, pp. 6–11.

10  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Although there were instances where philanthropically motivated actions could reinforce class boundaries, and some critics found these an easy target to lampoon,29 most contemporary reflections commented on the degree to which philanthropy encouraged both mutual regard and active co­oper­ ation between those separated by social position.30 A more helpful framing of the relationship between philanthropy and identity is Patricia Comitini’s development of the idea of a ‘ “philanthropy” of spirit’, or ‘vocational philanthropy’, constructed as a ‘discursive’ and ‘moral’ orientation.31 This has contemporary resonance, for instance, in Thomas Scott’s funeral sermon on the death of John Thornton. Thornton’s mon­et­ ary giving was only part of the philanthropy of this ‘best friend of mankind’, for whom ‘doing good’ on behalf of his neighbours, com­pat­riots, and ‘mankind in distant regions of the earth’, ‘may more properly be said to have been his vocation’.32 Philanthropy offered to draw both giver and re­cipi­ent together in reciprocal transformation. As Jonas Hanway wrote in 1757, the aim of the Marine Society was ‘promoting the happiness, or preventing the miseries of mankind’, by the training of young men for the seagoing life, but that those considering supporting the society: ought to see these boys . . . polluted with filth, and covered with rags . . . then to review them cured of those maladies, rendered clean and purified, dressed in the most proper clothing, and made as new creatures; such a sight cannot but create that heart-­felt joy which dignifies our nature.33

This reciprocal transformation was such that the vocational philanthropist was at times understood as operating from two coequal impulses—­that

29  See, for example, Sydney Smith’s quip that the Vice Society should ‘denominate themselves a Society for suppressing the vices of persons whose income does not exceed 500l. per annum’. The Works of the Rev. Sydney Smith, 4 vols. (1840), iv, p. 98. 30  See discussion in section 4.4. 31 Patricia Comitini, ‘ “More than Half a Poet”: Vocational Philanthropy and Dorothy Wordsworth’s Grasmere Journals’, European Romantic Review, 14(3) (2003), pp. 308–9. However, the dichotomy established by Comitini between ‘vocational’ and ‘associated’ phil­an­thropy, while perhaps true for Dorothy Wordsworth, her proximate subject, is unhelpful, especially in ­considering those whose skills were in leading organized societies. There is a parallel to this conceptualization of philanthropy as vocational with David Turley’s approach to anti-­slavery culture (The Culture of English Antislavery (1991), pp. 4–7). 32  A Discourse on the Death of John Thornton, Esq: The Love of Christ the Source of Genuine Philanthropy (1791), pp. 7–9, 49. The sermon is usually attributed to Thomas Scott (1747–1821). 33  Jonas Hanway, Motives for the Establishment of the Marine Society (1757), pp. 1, 10–11.

Introduction  11 arising from the needs of others, and that arising from the philanthropist’s capacity and calling to action. In 1800 the Clapham Bettering Society wrote: The Members of this Society . . . aim chiefly at the real improvement and permanent happiness of the poor around them. They wish, indeed, to supply the poor in distress with the little comforts which the usual parish allowance will not afford; but their primary object is a more important one: to employ the leisure, wealth and talents with which Providence has blessed them, the knowledge they have gained from a superior education, the judgment which they have acquired from experience, the information they have derived from the reports of benevolent societies, the advantages they may obtain from mutual consultation . . . to the good of their poorer neighbours.34

The focus of this book is on those whose circumstances—­usually independent wealth or amenable employment—­allowed them to conceive of phil­an­ thropy as at the core of their vocation, and to construct an identity around this. These individuals increasingly took a lead within associational dir­ect­ or­ates, and applied their energies to improving the practices of philanthropic organization. By applying to philanthropy the ‘talents’ and ‘experience’ drawn from engagement in other spheres—­chiefly as merchants, bankers, and clergy—­they were instrumental in transforming the organizational models of philanthropy. Underpinning this conceptualization of philanthropic identity is a sense that philanthropy provided for those who made it their vocation an encompassing moral framework for the self in the world—­a conceptualization drawn from Evangelicalism.35 This was expressed both in major commitments, such as the devotion of substantial time and resource to philanthropic projects, and in an array of more mundane daily and weekly practices, habits, and attitudes. Full participation in philanthropic culture implied attendance at committee meetings and lectures, reading of society reports and periodicals, engagement in correspondence networks, participation in material culture, including ethical consumption and symbolic displays such as the wearing of tokens and particular fashions, and a whole 34  Rules and Regulations of the Society for Bettering the Condition of the Poor, at Clapham (1800), pp. 7–8. 35  The discussion here is informed by Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity (Cambridge, MA, 1989), especially pp. 3–52, 285–304.

12  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World host of other quasi-­liturgical observances.36 These practices functioned to draw philanthropists together socially, whether in London or in colonial contexts, with associational philanthropy in the observation of Kirkman Gray resembling a common faith, ‘the outward symbol of [which] is the customary subscription list’.37 Philanthropists embraced these practices both for their cumulative potential to improve the effectiveness of phil­an­ thropy itself, and for their effects on the self, especially the cultivation of moral feeling.38 This culture grew to the extent that by the 1830s, philanthropic societies operated around an annual calendar, with monthly and weekly cycles of meetings and publications—­the culmination of which was the May meetings in Exeter Hall. The formative effects of this way of life explain much of philanthropy’s intergenerational persistence and rapid cultural expansion.39 This interplay with other spheres challenges the long-­standing assertion by historians that philanthropy was an inherently secular concept. Ford Brown, for example, asserted that Evangelical activism should be properly excluded from philanthropy, as it was ‘religious in every part’.40 More recently, Hugh Cunningham argued that contemporaries ‘accorded to charity a religious inspiration and purpose and to philanthropy a more distinctly secular orientation’.41 Yet the contemporary distinction between charity and philanthropy hinged not on a distinction between religious and secular, but on the drive for a mutually informed social and moral reform—­which was unconditionally fired by religious impulses and modes.42 To accept a secular definition of philanthropy would be to anachronistically divide earthly and spiritual well-­being. Hanway’s vision of Marine Society boys, as quoted 36  Though the scope of this book does not permit a fuller engagement with his work, the writings of James  K.  A.  Smith have influenced my thought in this area. See Desiring the Kingdom: Worship, Worldview and Cultural Formation (Grand Rapids, 2009), especially pp. 39–74. 37 Gray, English Philanthropy, p. 265. 38 Taylor, Sources of the Self, pp. 291–302. 39  See, for example, Boyd Hilton, The Age of Atonement: The Influence of Evangelicalism on Social and Economic Thought, 1795–1865 (Oxford, 1986), p. 7. See also discussion of ‘cultural diffusion’ in David Bebbington, ‘Evangelicalism and Cultural Diffusion’, in Mark Smith (ed.), British Evangelical Identities Past and Present (Milton Keynes, 2008), pp. 18–19. 40  FFrdF. 1 University LIbrary,e Origin and Designs of the Society. f the Poor, at clasocieties, as administrative centralization ForFord  K.  Brown, Fathers of the Victorians: The Age of Wilberforce (1961), p. 372. 41  Cunningham, ‘Introduction’, p. 2. 42  See Joanna Innes on the persistence of religious connotations to the language of ‘reform’ until at least the late eighteenth century: Joanna Innes, ‘Politics and Morals: The Reformation of Manners Movement in Later Eighteenth-­Century England’, in Eckhart Hellmuth (ed.), The Transformation of Political Culture: England and Germany in the Late Eighteenth Century (Oxford, 1990), pp. 74–7, 82–3.

Introduction  13 above, ‘rendered clean and purified, dressed in the most proper clothing, and made as new creatures’, is expressed in language in which the religious resonance is inseparable from the socially transformative.43 In 1759, the governors of the London Lying-­In Hospital heard a sermon by Rev. Gregory Sharpe, in which he argued that the Hospital’s provision of medical services to women was fundamentally and intrinsically religious, tying the work of the hospital to Christian imperatives to promote human welfare: ‘To reform the world, and make men better as well as more knowing, is the intent and purpose of our holy religion’.44 Philanthropy of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, by analogy with charity, was an embodied Christian theological concept in which the ‘neighbour’ of the Good Samaritan was no longer simply an individual or closely linked by ties of social duty or even proximity, but was reimagined as a personal connection within a mosaic of global humanity. The assumption that philanthropy entailed secularity, or at least an emphasis on the rational and empirical, belies the evidence that even among those societies that were not explicitly religious in their objectives, it was common to assert that the religious impulse was integral to the philanthropic. Sharpe’s sermon made this point explicitly: ‘Philanthropy, or the love of men, is not enforced by reason alone, but the make or natural dis­ pos­ition of man, and a vast variety of peculiar motives in the gospel, render the obligation to this duty more extensive and of greater force.’45 Four decades later in 1803, the Christian Observer recorded its assurance that, ‘Philanthropy not rooted in a sense of duty to God, is like a statue removed from its pedestal, and placed upright on the ground . . . the first adverse blast produces overthrow’.46 Even more scathing was John Venn, comparing the work of Christian reformers with the pagan philosophers of ancient Greece in a sermon to the Church Missionary Society: Little regard was paid by [the philosophers] to the poor, the illiterate or the distressed part of the community. Affecting chiefly the company of the wealthy, and of men of science and reputation, what did they attempt to do for the benefit of the lower classes of mankind? Was a single hospital founded through their persuasion? Were schools provided through their suggestion for instruction of the inferior orders? Did they bear a 43  See Revelation vii. 9­–17. 44  A Sermon before the City of London Lying-­In Hospital (1759), p. 1. 46  Christian Observer (1803), p. 688.

45  Ibid., p. 4.

14  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World testimony against slavery? Or was the civil state of the poor at all meli­or­ ated by their labours?47

Neither the motivations nor the practices of philanthropy were therefore separable from religious impulses. As will be seen, the Evangelical project to ‘convert’ the nation48 existed in symbiosis with philanthropy—­sharing many of the same institutions, networks, and aims. Rather, for many, phil­ an­thropy became a means by which their faith could be expressed in secular contexts, and philanthropists became adept at speaking and acting in both religious and secular vernaculars. Counterbalancing the personal realities of vocational philanthropy is the complex of institutional relationships formed by philanthropists, as they expanded the scale of their activism within increasingly formalized structures. During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries this implied an associational model of organization—­borne out by Donna Andrew’s detailed assessment of changing organizational practices within eighteenth-­century philanthropy.49 As Peter Clark has shown, philanthropic societies participated in and learned from a wider British associational culture, in which joint action was normative.50 A common corollary to this is the suggestion that philanthropic action therefore needs to be located within an expanding Habermasian public sphere, with organizational patterns and associational practices developed in response to the growing potential audience. While helpful in assessing how philanthropists managed the changing constituency of those who needed to be persuaded for change to occur,51 this approach underplays the extent to which philanthropists pursued change by non-­political means, including the creation of new markets, the fostering of domestic and community piety, and above all, the cultivation of the vocational self. It also risks constraining philanthropic action within national political boundaries, ignoring the extent to which philanthropic networks operated transnationally. 47  John Venn, ‘CMS Anniversary Sermon preached at St Anne’s, Blackfriars, 5 June 1805’, Proceedings of the Church Missionary Society (1801–5), i, p. 402. 48 Gareth Atkins, Converting Britannia: Evangelicals and British Public Life, 1770­–1840 (Woodbridge, 2019). 49 Andrew, Philanthropy, especially pp. 3, 49, 127–8, 198. 50  Peter Clark, British Clubs and Societies 1580–1800: The Origins of an Associational World (Oxford, 2000). 51  Gareth Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux: The Worlds of Anglican Evangelicalism, c.1780–1830’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 2009); Ian C. Bradley, ‘The Politics of Godliness: Evangelicals in Parliament, 1784–1832’ (Unpublished DPhil. thesis, University of Oxford, 1974); Roberts, Making English Morals.

Introduction  15 This book further addresses the contention that for much of the eighteenth century, philanthropy was connected to broader societal concerns about social order—­the maintenance of ‘police’.52 While this argument certainly holds for some philanthropic entities, there are presumptive reasons not to accept too close a tie between the full spread of philanthropic motives and activities and the imperative to order and politeness. Those con­tem­por­ ar­ies most invested in the management of social order were typically those who placed high value on established institutional patterns—­in the insistence on parochial and episcopal discipline and in political suspicion of Dissent—­and they constituted the more vocal opponents to philanthropic projects. While philanthropists could defensively adopt a rhetoric of social order, this was in part because they continued to display a willingness to work outside these accepted institutional forms—­courting the common charge of social disruption. In contrast to accounts of philanthropy that see it as primarily engaged with the institutional state in the provision of a ‘mixed economy’ of welfare (whether teleologically inclined towards the welfare state or not), here the emphasis is on the complexities and disruptive dynamism of philanthropists’ engagement with different institutions—­ including Parliament, various government secretariats, the Admiralty, the Church of England (especially in parishes), the Bank of England, the East India Company, and the Russia Company, in addition to colonial governments and establishments. Philanthropists set up parallel and competing institutions, intending some of these to become adjuncts to the state and others to remain separate. They sought to reform, and made inroads into key institutions through patronage and careerism, co-­opting capabilities where possible. As argued in Chapter 4 in particular, many leading phil­an­ throp­ists saw Britain’s institutional arrangements as mutable, and conceived of more complex relationships between rich and poor, and between philanthropic organizations and the pursuit of peaceable social cohesion and welfare. This goal, while not subversive of social order, certainly posed challenges to understandings of it. Philanthropy’s engagement with public institutions remained contested and controversial between the 1750s and 1830s, and especially between the 1780s and 1810s, with contemporary critics arguing that the vaunted claim to moral high ground served to cloak destabilizing tendencies. One reviewer in the Gentleman’s Magazine expressed a common sentiment when writing

52 Andrew, Philanthropy, pp. 2–5.

16  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World that ‘Benevolence, humanity, philanthropy, are the cant of the present day’,53 and another critic wrote in 1804 that Wilberforce was seeking to ‘augment his odour of sanctity and philanthropy’.54 Especially following the French Revolution, the scope of philanthropic vision was portrayed in con­spira­tor­ ial terms. The Anti-­Jacobin Review called the members of the African Institution those ‘who, from the immense profits which accrue from their trade of philanthropy, may be enabled to purchase boroughs, and so to acquire a preponderance in the senate, that may restore the times of the usurpation!’.55 Defenders of Anglican orthodoxy in particular perceived (in part rightly) that intrinsic to philanthropy was a move away from the necessity of the Established Church in social provision, and that a willingness to reform major national institutions such as the East India Company could amount to an abandonment of the historical pillars of English life. As the Anti-­Jacobin Review wrote, ‘to attract attention there is the cant of liberality, the cant of Slave trade, the cant of Philanthropy, &c.’, which together constituted ‘an inclined plane to let with ease the orthodox down into the general mass of dissenters’.56 The very reforming nature of philanthropy, though not necessarily hostile to the Hanoverian establishment order, was at least willing to develop parallel arrangements where initiatives found no welcome from institutional gatekeepers.57 Further colouring philanthropy’s relationship to the national and im­per­ ial state, and qualifying nearly all studies of British philanthropy with their focus on domestic poverty and the changing sense of what constituted the ‘nation’s greatest need’,58 contemporaries never lost sight of philanthropy’s ultimate reference point in global humanity, and in doing so privileged the power of personal connection over more abstract ideas of nation. Philanthropists frequently included the cause of the nation in their appeals, but any national benefit was framed within the wider appeal to the cause of humanity. The Marine Society, for example, sought to emphasize the ‘agreement’ between its philanthropic agenda of ‘promoting the happiness, or preventing the miseries of mankind’, and the interests of the British state.59 53  ‘Review of George Dyer, Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Robert Robinson’, Gentleman’s Magazine 66(1) (1796), p. 415. 54  John Rickman to Robert Southey, 1804. Quoted in Brown, Fathers, p. 113. 55  ‘The African Institution and the Slave Trade’, Anti-­Jacobin Review, 50(218) (1816), p. 645. 56  Anti-­Jacobin Review, 51(200) (1816), p. 87. 57  Smith, ‘Hanoverian Parish’. 58 Andrew, Philanthropy, p. 4. 59 Hanway, Motives, p. 1. See James Stephen Taylor, ‘Philanthropy and Empire: Jonas Hanway and the Infant Poor of London’, Eighteenth-­Century Studies, 12(3) (1979), p. 287: ‘How could lives be saved and trained to the national good? No question in Hanway’s writings was more consistently raised or pursued than this.’

Introduction  17 Nearly half a century later the promoters of the Bible Society were proclaiming their work as an everlasting source of glory for Britain, but within the context of the universal human need for the Scriptures.60 This im­agin­ ation of global humanity has long been central to studies of missions and hu­mani­tar­ian­ism, but often without acknowledging the roots of this conceptualization in the philanthropic nexus of the mid-­eighteenth century. Efforts prior to the 1750s that have sometimes been called ‘philanthropic’, such as the SPG and the SPCK, differ in this respect from those that followed. As Rowan Strong and Brent Sirota have argued, these earlier programmes were inherently national, seeking to enlarge and integrate the English—­later British—nation, and to meet perceived national obligations.61 Susan Thorne, in highlighting the common motives that underpinned foreign missions and philanthropy in the late eighteenth century, wrote of ‘a spe­cif­ic­al­ly missionary philanthropy—that is to say, a mode of phil­an­ thropy primarily oriented to spiritual conversion’.62 Understood as concerned with societal transformation as well as personal redemption, it was this common drive that supported the parallel expansions of philanthropic and missionary societies. More recently Alison Twells’s account of the ‘civilizing mission’ has emphasized that the ‘long conversation’ of foreign missions encouraged metaphorical alignment between domestic and ­foreign ‘heathen’.63 Similarly, both contemporary accounts and recent historians have identified ‘colonial philanthropy’ as a precursor to the humanitarianism of the 1830s and beyond—­frequently characterized by attempts to use the legislative and administrative powers of Parliament and the Colonial Office respectively to constrain the actions of British and European agents outside formal imperial control.64 A fuller definition of philanthropy in this period therefore includes three elements. Philanthropy involved the orchestration of beneficial social 60  Reports of the British and Foreign Bible Society (1806), pp. 62–81. 61  Rowan Strong, Anglicanism and the British Empire, c.1700–1850 (Oxford, 2007), pp. 21–2. 62 Susan Thorne, ‘ “The Conversion of Englishmen and the Conversion of the World Inseparable”: Missionary Imperialism and the Language of Class in Early Industrial Britain’, in Frederick Cooper and Ann Laura Stoler (eds.), Tensions of Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World (Berkeley, 1997), p. 241. See also Craig Rose, ‘The Origins and Ideals of the SPCK, 1699–1716’, in John Walsh, Colin Haydon, and Stephen Taylor (eds.), The Church of England, c.1689–c.1833 (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 179–80. 63  Alison Twells, The Civilising Mission and the English Middle Class, 1792–1850: The ‘Heathen’ at Home and Overseas (Basingstoke, 2009). 64 See discussion in Rob Skinner and Alan Lester, ‘Humanitarianism and Empire: New Research Agendas’, Journal of Commonwealth and Imperial History, 40(5) (2012), pp. 730–1, regarding two kinds of humanitarianism—‘emergency’ and ‘developmental’—mirroring the relationship between charitable ‘relief of sufferings’ and philanthropic ‘reform’.

18  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World change on behalf of others.65 This imperative was primarily constructed with reference to an imagined global humanity, and although the mo­tiv­ ations derived from this could be intermingled with profit motives, national imperatives, and social considerations, it was this reference point that allowed philanthropists to construct distinctive identities. Third, phil­an­ thropy involved a creative tension between the personal transformation of the philanthropist and the effectiveness of their efforts at societal trans­ form­ation, especially as embodied by the changing structures and cap­abil­ ities of philanthropic organizations. Philanthropy was an orientation by which many people reimagined social relationships and engaged the global world, and deserves study as one of the influential cultural impulses of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

I.2  Approach and Structure The reintegration that follows of different aspects of philanthropic lives has required the reconstruction of individual biographies, prosopographies of the wider community of leaders of philanthropic societies and their social networks, and attention to the intellectual and cultural worlds in which phil­an­throp­ists operated. A commitment to vocational philanthropy influenced all facets of life—­from engagement with social circles to making time for the pursuit of private business interests; especially among Evangelicals whose beliefs and revivalist dynamic amplified philanthropy’s totalizing impulse. Conversely, the continuing involvement of philanthropists in other networks and activities allowed them to be conduits for the transfer of ideas, habits, methods, and resources between different spheres of life. In the life of a philanthropist like John Thornton’s son, Henry Thornton (1760–1815), for example, a typical day began with private study and prayer, breakfast devotion with family and friends, followed by a morning dedicated to his banking business and correspondence. The afternoon might include one or more committee meetings, after which Thornton would dine with friends, then perhaps attend a parliamentary debate or an evening lecture at a chapel or society. Late evening was usually devoted to conversation or writing on a wide range of topics. Individuals like John and Henry Thornton were 65  This could also be expressed in a variety of vocabularies, including ‘improvement’ or ‘reformation’, both of which have their own extensive historiographies. See Innes, ‘Politics and Morals’, p. 66; Roberts, Making English Morals, pp. 85–6.

Introduction  19 philanthropic entrepreneurs, drawing together disparate networks, and innovating between them.66 Their families formed philanthropic dynasties. Their networks drew on the patronage and influence of leaders within the British world. The focus of this study is largely on social, economic, and cultural elites—­those whose status or wealth allowed them a greater degree of freedom in making philanthropy a major aspect of their life, whose influence and experiences allowed them to innovate within philanthropic so­ci­ eties, and whose writings and publications make it possible to trace their self-­conceptions. While the ability to gather the widows’ mites was critical to funding the expansion of philanthropy, non-­elites were rarely involved in committee decision-­making nor did they possess other methods for influencing policy, and they thus played a lesser role in the innovations in organizational technique and in framing the intellectual assumptions that shaped philanthropy. This book takes a layered approach to telling these stories. The expansive associational world and transnational networks that did emerge between 1756 and 1840 need to be mapped in different ways to reveal connectivities and clusters. However, these are also deeply human stories, animated by the particularities of interactions between people with shared faith, ideas, loves, and habits. Philanthropy was as much a cultural identity as it was the sum of an activist movement. In groups like the Clapham Sect, the influence that they gained from their social networks, as revealed in their overlapping committee memberships, and only be fully understood by also looking at their inner lives—­the personalities and relationships revealed by diaries, correspondence, sermons, and recollections. Telling the story over the span of three generations also allows the globalizing structures and narratives of the nineteenth century to be seen in relation to the earlier local experiments and the stories told around board tables or over family dinners in which they had their roots. Among those overrepresented on society boards and as innovators of philanthropic practice in the second half of the eighteenth century were members of a small number of Yorkshire families, as well as merchants involved in the Russia Company’s trade in the Baltic, and members of religious minorities, including Evangelical Anglicans, Quakers, and Huguenots. Each of these groups made unique contributions to the development of phil­an­thropy, but it is only by considering their relationship to each other

66  See discussion in Roberts, Making English Morals, on ‘moral entrepreneurs’, p. 81.

20  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World that a fuller picture can be constructed. The skills and perspectives shaped by Henry Thornton’s various roles bled into each other. It is impossible to understand his decisions as Chairman of the Sierra Leone Company, for example, without considering his apprenticeship in trade through the Russia Company. His role as treasurer of numerous philanthropic societies was aided by his experience as a high-­profile London banker and his reflections on political economy. The Thornton family, and the Clapham Sect that they were instrumental in forming, play a prominent role in the story of philanthropy because of the ways in which they functioned as philanthropic middlemen, drawing together the separate networks of merchant and religious philanthropists, and synthesizing their practices. In this period, philanthropy expanded its geographical horizons, from what were essentially local initiatives in the 1750s, to the pursuit of multiple projects across all inhabited continents by the 1830s, facilitated by expansive transnational networks. The extended geographical and chronological scope of this book shows how earlier initiatives might influence projects conducted decades later and in different regions of the globe, as phil­an­ throp­ists sought to build up empirical understandings of how best to act. Here sparse transnational networks of philanthropic agents interacted with the dense nexus of metropolitan philanthropy, with common information networks and shared memories as the fragile threads that facilitated col­lab­ or­ation.67 While transnational networks incorporating philanthropy have been acknowledged before, the conceptualization of geographic systems has been based on factors external to philanthropy, including the transatlantic world, the European Enlightenment, and British colonial governance networks.68 The internal dynamics of philanthropic networks created unexpected geographies, linking together sites in West Africa and the South Pacific, or projects in suburban London and rural Bengal. Inversely, philanthropic geographies informed the emergence of wider geographical paradigms, including the administrative divisions of the Colonial Office. The influence of philanthropy on the cultural perceptions and administrative

67  See Ann Curthoys and Marilyn Lake, ‘Introduction’, in Ann Curthoys and Marilyn Lake (eds.), Connected Worlds: History in Transnational Perspective (Canberra, 2005), pp. 5–20, especially p. 6; Patricia Clavin, ‘Defining Transnationalism’, Contemporary European History, 14(4) (2005), pp. 421–43, especially p. 422: ‘transnationalism . . . is first and foremost about people’. 68 Cunningham and Innes, Charity, Philanthropy and Reform; Zoë Laidlaw, Colonial Connections 1815–45: Patronage, the Information Revolution and Colonial Government (Manchester, 2005); Thomas Adam, Buying Respectability: Philanthropy and Urban Society in Transnational Perspective, 1840s to 1930s (Bloomington, 2009).

Introduction  21 realities of empire was therefore multivalent, and transmitted intergenerationally through diverse channels. Philanthropy’s distinctiveness can further be seen in its emergence as an intergenerational cultural tradition. While understanding philanthropists’ motives, methods, and effectiveness is critical, equally important are the questions of how motivated individuals became part of philanthropic col­ lect­ives, and how long-­term participation in philanthropic societies changed the self-­perception of individuals, and those close to them. Pertinent here is the emergence of philanthropic dynasties and de facto apprenticeships in philanthropic society—­where a propensity to philanthropic engagement, and even in some cases specific offices in philanthropic societies, were inherited between generations. It was as the second generation of vocational philanthropists came of age in the late 1770s and 1780s, and began to understand themselves as building on the work of their parents and mentors, that they began consciously to reach for historical precedents and to borrow from other older traditions—­including that of the English reformers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries—­to frame their tasks.69 Aiming at efficiency and efficacy in their work, philanthropists encouraged a degree of critical reflection with their agendas, curating examples of success and debating the causes of failure. This peaked in the publications of such organizations as the Bettering Society, which had as one of its primary aims the sharing of case studies of philanthropic ideas in action—­written to encourage emulation.70 The generational transition that occurred within the philanthropic nexus between the mid-­1810s and mid-­1830s was similarly marked by reflection on the recent past of philanthropy. Framing phil­ an­thropy as a cultural tradition opens new ways to consider its diffusion beyond cultural elites. Just as organizational changes allowed larger numbers of donors of more modest means to contribute and therefore consider themselves philanthropists, so hymns, poems, novels, sermons, and other cultural products that expounded the values of philanthropy, were crucial in providing language by which greater numbers could identify themselves with vocational philanthropy. Framing philanthropy as a tradition also provides a new perspective on the propensity of philanthropists to col­lect­ ive action, explaining how those without strong ties to the metropolis 69  Innes, ‘Politics and Morals’, pp. 57–8, and especially regarding Wilberforce, pp. 73–4. See discussion of contemporary Evangelical historical conceptions in John Walsh, ‘Joseph Milner’s Evangelical Church History’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 10(2) (1959), pp. 174–87. 70  The Reports of the Society for Bettering the Condition and Increasing the Comforts of the Poor (1798), i, pp. ii–­xxii.

22  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World were nevertheless able to raise support for their projects, and how even un­acquaint­ed individuals at the far reaches of philanthropic networks could still find common ground for collaboration. The book is structured in three parts, each with two chapters that address these questions in complementary ways. Part I reframes the development of philanthropy between 1756 and 1815, showing the parallels between the development of the philanthropist as a public figure, through a focused case study of the life of John Thornton (1720–90), and the evolution of philanthropic organizations. The first chapter is built on the journals and cor­res­ pond­ence of Thornton—­arguably the most influential philanthropist of his generation. Thornton’s internalization of philanthropy as a vocation is placed in the context of his participation in mercantile, religious, and family networks. Mapping—­geographically and socially—­more than 300 of Thornton’s correspondents within the United Kingdom during the last two decades of his life, illustrates how the personal networks of a leading philanthropist facilitated the creation and dissemination of philanthropic m ­ ethods and culture. The second chapter overlays this account with a prosopographical picture of the ‘interlocking directorates’ of metropolitan philanthropy, built up by tracing the connections between more than 4,000 directors of philanthropic societies between 1760 and 1815, as drawn from the reports of twenty-­seven representative societies. The changing characteristics of philanthropy are shown by visualizing the philanthropic nexus of those directors who served on multiple boards at key junctures in 1760, 1788, 1800, and 1815, and relating this to shifts in mercantile, banking, and religious networks. In both chapters, attention is paid to how philanthropic networks influenced the changing nature of activism during the period, and philanthropy is repositioned in relation to the major cultural and economic shifts of war, revolution, and revival. Part II focuses on the fertile and contentious period between the 1780s and late 1810s in which Britain negotiated the transition from rebellion in North America to security in Europe and the high seas. Here the Clapham Sect of Evangelical philanthropists and reformers offers an intensive case study of how collective agency operated, and the implications of persistent and interdisciplinary intellectual and cultural collaboration. Although not entirely representative of philanthropy during this period, the Clapham Sect were both the joint heirs of the major philanthropic traditions of the mid-­eighteenth century—­including provincial traditions from Yorkshire, the merchant and financial nexus of London, and the religious networks of

Introduction  23 incipient Evangelicalism—­ and the acknowledged coordinating node of broader metropolitan philanthropy. Chapter 3 builds on the synopsis of the philanthropic nexus established in Chapter 2, and supplements this with an assessment of how the Clapham Sect operated within this milieu, drawn from their personal papers and from the reports and minute books of so­ci­ eties. Seeing themselves as engaged in a cultural transformation, as well as in social improvement, the Clapham Sect illustrates the dominant strand of intellectual engagement on how best philanthropy might proceed. Chapter 4 offers a re-­examination of their thought and its influence on the development of the priorities of philanthropists, reconstructed from a close reading of the published works of the group. Throughout, the language of ‘clusters’ is used to describe groupings of vocational philanthropists—­drawn together by familial, religious, commercial, or simply co-­vocational ties.71 Part II re-­ evaluates the inner workings and outer relationships of the most influential cluster of philanthropists in this period. The third and final part is concerned with the borderlessness of phil­an­ thropy, with Chapter  5 considering the role of transnational networks; demonstrating from correspondence, personal papers, and the minutes and publications of philanthropic societies how philanthropists were able to manage projects at distance, and how sequential projects informed an evolving common model of transnational philanthropy. In addition to phil­ an­ thropy in the United Kingdom, case studies of philanthropic engagement in Sierra Leone, Bengal, and Australasia directly challenge the limitations imposed by conventional historiographical boundaries—­ both geographical, and in terms of the  organizational categories of mission, chartered company, and colony. Building on this more expansive philanthropic vision, Chapter 6 reconsiders the means by which philanthropy influenced metropolitan culture in the 1820s and 1830s, returning to surveys of published materials, including the Christian Observer, the reports of leading societies and the emerging historiography of philanthropy to show how philanthropic traditions passed to another generation and how philanthropists sought to further disseminate and protect their common vision.

71  My usage here parallels, to a degree, theories of clustering in sociology and ideas of agglomeration, as well as the more specific definitions of clusters in business. See for a brief overview of the ‘social glue’ of clusters, Michael  E.  Porter, On Competition (Boston, 1998), pp. 197–245.

24  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World The poet William Cowper wrote in 1790 in a poetic eulogy to John Thornton, thou hadst an industry in doing good . . . by motives of religious force Impelled the more to that heroic course72

Cowper’s framing of Thornton as a philanthropic hero, intermingling religious and commercial language, set the tone for much of the culture of phil­an­thropy that developed. It was inspirational in its framing of the imperative to do good on behalf of humanity—­inviting readers to emulate Thornton the philanthropist. Yet—­as in so much of Cowper’s use of metonym in poetry—­if we focus on the poem’s subject as a heroic figure only, we miss the wider world of networks, associations, experimentation, and cultural formation that is implicit throughout the eulogy, and which contemporaries were well aware of. This book attempts to look beneath the ways that phil­an­thropy’s growth and contemporary celebration has served to hide its development, and to understand more fully how those living within these networks understood and sought to change the world around them.

72  In Memory of the Late John Thornton, Esq.

PART I

T HE GROW T H OF PHIL A N T HROP Y

1 ‘How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do’ John Thornton and the Formation of Philanthropic Networks

from the most enlarged and expanded philanthropy, he adopted, supported and patronized every undertaking, which was suited to supply the wants, to relieve the distresses, or to increase the comforts of any of the human species, in whatever climate, or of whatever description, provided they properly fell within his sphere of action. (The Love of Christ the Source of genuine Philanthropy: A Discourse . . . occasioned by the death of John Thornton, Esq. Late of Clapham Surry, p. 6) I desire to learn aright the sweet lesson of love, Lord increase that desire & if thou see fit continue unto me the power to express it to thy dear Children to all that partake of the same nature as myself. (John Thornton, ‘Journal’, Sunday 31 Jan. 1768)1 During the 1770s, John Newton, curate-­in-­charge at Olney in Bedfordshire, sent copies of hymns, co-­written with William Cowper, to his friend and patron John Thornton (1720–90). Conceived as an attempt to better pastor and educate Newton’s largely impoverished and illiterate parishioners, they inspired Thornton with their wider potential. He edited the manuscript in his evenings and published and distributed more than 3,000 copies via ­mercantile and clerical networks. Over the coming decades, the popularity

1 ‘Journal of John Thornton marked “Clapham Sunday 1768” ’, London Metropolitan Archives, ACC 2360/001, fo. 3. British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World: Entrepreneurs and Evangelicals, 1756–1840. Roshan Allpress, Oxford University Press. © Roshan Allpress 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198887195.003.0002

28  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World of these hymns—­the most famous of which is ‘Amazing Grace’—not only solidified Newton’s influence, but was one part of the cultural process by which disparate networks were knit together in common identity—­ in Evangelical faith and philanthropy. The influence of the Olney Hymns illustrates the interplay of mercantile, religious, and family connections, and the importance of cultural formation in the growth of networks of entrepreneurs who identified as ‘philanthropists’. Only a small portion of the journals and letters of John Thornton of Clapham have survived in the archival record. They detail the relational networks of a wealthy man connected by marriage and cousinage over several generations to intersecting extended families, and the commercial ties of a merchant and financier accustomed to managing business partnerships, agents, and sizeable investments. They reveal a pious Evangelical convert attempting to cultivate an inner life of right feeling, and the efforts of an influential religious patron within the Church of England seeking to support those who shared his religious sensibilities, despite widespread societal suspicion of their movement. Scattered throughout these papers, however, are revealing scraps of evidence of Thornton’s importance to the development of philanthropy within the British world. These evince the diversity of his giving—­ranging from small anonymous donations to individuals who had fallen on hard times, to large grants and annual contributions to major societies. Moreover, they indicate the extent to which Thornton was instrumental in drawing together separate networks involved in philanthropy, and in fostering the development of new philanthropic structures and techniques. Most importantly, they paint a picture of Thornton that exemplifies the rise of the philanthropist as a type of public figure, and point to his importance in fostering other philanthropists. Thornton was among the first to adopt philanthropy as his primary lifelong vocation, and his patronage cultivated the careers of important philanthropic figures, and a wider cultural tradition conducive to philanthropy. As an explanatory exemplar of eighteenth-­century philanthropy, Thornton stands out for the way he and his inner circle of friends and family drew religious and mercantile entrepreneurs together, creating contexts for new syntheses in philanthropic practices and cultural expressions, and forming a social nexus within philanthropy.

1.1  Commercial, Religious, and Family Networks Thornton’s networks shed light on a number of questions relating to the development of philanthropy. Evangelical religious networks in Britain,

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   29 which were from their inception distinctive for their commitment to activism, developed along a similar chronology to those of philanthropic activism. Many prominent Evangelicals were also leading philanthropists, and Evangelical communities, especially London’s ‘fashionable congregations’, provided crucial early support to philanthropic societies. As the most prolific Evangelical patron of his generation, Thornton’s relationships with pious clergy and other lay patrons, especially with Henry Venn and John Newton, and with the group of upper-­class patrons led by the Earl of Dartmouth, show how Evangelicalism and philanthropy interacted within elite circles. As a leading merchant, Thornton and his business partnerships provide a case study of how specific commercial activity expanded ­philanthropic networks and could be turned to philanthropic purposes. Reconstructing the different elements of John Thornton’s life thus helps to address more clearly the interactions of religious, commercial, and philanthropic impulses. The Thornton family also represents an unbroken lineage of involvement in philanthropy across several generations, and links regional traditions of civic involvement in Yorkshire with the developing metropolitan and later transnational nexus of societies. Vital to understanding philanthropy’s development between the 1750s and 1830s is the means by which a sense of philanthropic vocation was passed between generations—­within families and other structures of sociability. John Thornton’s four surviving children—­ Samuel, Jane, Robert, and Henry—­were inculcated into what had become a  family tradition, and participated in an extended family network that engaged and adapted from other traditions of philanthropy. Along with other protégés of their father, they were instrumental in the changes that occurred within philanthropic and reform circles between the 1780s and 1810s. Although the Thornton family were outliers in this process, they offer a focused exemplar of what was a broadening process of cultural formation by which philanthropy in its many forms became a fixture of British and global society. John Thornton was born in 1720 to a line of at least five generations of Yorkshire merchants and civic leaders.2 His family had long been associated with Kingston-­on-­Hull, and were linked by marriage or business partnerships with the town’s leading families—­many of them aldermen or pro­pri­ etors of the major merchant houses whose staiths lined the river port.3 His father Robert Thornton (1692–c.1748) was, like many Hull merchants, 2 Milton M. Klein, An Amazing Grace (New Orleans, 2004), pp. 14–19. 3  Gordon Jackson, Hull in the Eighteenth Century (Oxford, 1972), p. 110.

30  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World a freeman of the Russia Company, who had moved to London, settling in the village of Clapham.4 As a young man, John spent months at a time abroad as his father’s agent in Baltic ports, as was common practice for sons of Russia merchants.5 In 1743 he too was admitted to the freedom of the Russia Company, being appointed consul in 1746, becoming an assistant in 1752, and retaining office in the Company until his death, declining governorship at least once.6 After inheriting £100,000 and the estate in Clapham from his father in 1748, Thornton continued in active trade his whole life. His trading house on Angel Court, established with his wife’s cousin John Cornwall,7 was among the largest concerns among Britain’s Russia merchants, and his position was bolstered by further family partnerships in northern Europe, including Thornton & Power in Hamburg and later Thorntons & Bayley in St Petersburg.8 In 1753, he married Lucy Watson (1722–85), whose father Samuel was partner in a sugar refinery with three of John Thornton’s uncles—­Godfrey Thornton (1701–51), William Thornton (1705–82), and William Wilberforce (1690–1776).9 This eight-­ storey refinery, built in 1731, was the successor of an earlier failed family operation in the 1660s, and is an example of the intergenerationality of these partnerships. John Thornton became a partner with his uncles and father-­in-­law, buying or inheriting their shares, and by the early 1800s his two eldest sons were senior partners, having drawn in three others.10 His business interests were diverse—­including a soap partnership, Thornton, Pead & Company11 and a ribbon manufactory in Cawston12—but by the 1760s much of his income derived from shipping, insurance, and from his role as 4  Several leading merchant families migrated to London in the early eighteenth century, quickly rising in prominence in London’s commercial institutions, including Robert Thornton, his brother Godfrey Thornton (1701–51), a director of the Bank of England, his son-­in-­law William Wilberforce (1721–77). See Kent’s Directory for the Year 1740 (1740), p. 76 which lists the London partnerships of the Thornton family—­Robert Thornton is listed as Bank Director, Insurer, and in partnership with his brother Godfrey in Mark Lane. Thornton & Watson—­ possibly a partnership involving John Thornton’s future father-­in-­law were trading from Leadenhall Street. 5  See CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, fo. 1. 6 Klein, Amazing Grace, p. 22. CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, fo. 3. 7  Lambeth Council Archives (Thornton Papers) IV/104/2/8. 8 Mortimer, Universal Director (1763), p. 69. See Ernest Axon, The Family of Bayley of Manchester and Hope (Manchester, 1894), p. 20. 9  This William Wilberforce was the grandfather of William Wilberforce (1759–1833). See Jackson, Hull in the Eighteenth Century, p. 196. 10 Ibid. 11 Ibid., pp. 194–5. CUL Thornton Papers 1/A/57, Mary Pead to John Thornton, 21 Aug. 1778. 12  CUL Thornton Papers 1/A/3, John Thornton to John Newton, 6 Jan. 1774.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   31 a major government creditor. His correspondence and the reminiscences of family and friends portray a man who delighted in investing significant sums, sometimes at very short notice or at great risk, in order to make a profit. It is impossible to compile a complete picture of Thornton’s business empire from the scattered accounts that do survive; however, despite his expansive lifelong giving, his fortune at his death was reputed to be £600,000, and contemporaries believed him to be the wealthiest merchant in Britain.13 The nexus of Yorkshire families in which Thornton lived created a fertile context for the spread and nurturing of the patterns of belief and action that  underpinned both Evangelicalism and philanthropy. The Thornton, Wilberforce, Porter, Watson, Smith, Bird, Sykes, Godin, and Cornwall fam­ ilies sustained at least five generations from the middle of the seventeenth to the first quarter of the nineteenth century in which apprenticing, inter­ marry­ing, and partnering—­frequently in that order—­ensured that capital stayed within their circle and that those within these families shared common social networks. Figure 1.1 shows the tight meshing of business and family relationships across these generations. To describe just one example of this interconnectivity: William Wilberforce started in trade as an apprentice to John Thornton (1664–c.1731), and after establishing his own trading house, took on Abel Smith (1717–88) as an apprentice. Later Smith joined the firm as a partner, as did Wilberforce’s son Robert (1728–68), trading as Wilberforce & Smith. Robert Wilberforce and Abel Smith also became brothers-­in-­law when they married the sisters Elizabeth and Mary Bird, respectively. Further complicating the picture, the Birds’ brother John Bird (d.1804) married Robert Wilberforce’s sister Judith.14 The long tail of this pattern of connectivity and familial loyalty can be seen when Robert Wilberforce’s son William Wilberforce turned in 1825 to Abel Smith’s grandson John Smith (c.1765–1842), by then a wealthy banker, to ask for a credit bailout on behalf of the beleaguered Henry Sykes Thornton (1800–81), great-­great-­grandson of that John Thornton.15 13  See obituary, Gentleman’s Magazine, 60(2) (1790), p. 1056. For discussion of his wealth, see Klein, Amazing Grace, pp. 24–7. For a more general discussion of the attributes required for ‘making it’ as a London merchant in the period, see Perry Gauci, Emporium of the World: The Merchants of London 1660–1800 (2007), pp. 109–40. 14  They were the maternal grandparents of Charles Richard Sumner and John Bird Sumner. William Wilberforce married Sarah Thornton, the aunt of John Thornton, and their eldest son, also William Wilberforce married his cousin Hannah Thornton, becoming John Thornton’s brother-­in-­law. 15  J. A. S. L. Leighton-­Boyce, Smiths the Bankers, 1658–1958 (1958), p. 126.

1825 banking bailout

George Smith (1765–1838)

Cousins-in-law Brothers-in-law Joseph Sykes (c.1723–1803)

John Cornwall (1713–1800)

John Bird (d.1804)

Samuel Watson (d.1778)

Abel Smith (1748–79)

Abel Smith (1717–88)

William Thornton (1705–82)

Godfrey Thornton (1737–1805)

Brothers-in-law

John Sykes (1763–1814)

Samuel Smith (1754–1834)

William Thornton Astell (1733–1801) Robert Thornton (1735–1803)

Partners, and son-in-law (Thornton & Watson)

John Smith (1765–1842)

1800

Robert Smith (1752–1838)

Partners (Smith & Sons, Hull)

Godfrey Thornton (1701–51)

Partners (Wilberforce & Smith)

Claude George Thornton (1776–1866)

Partners (Wilberfoce & Smith; Sykes & Son)

Henry Thornton (1760–1815)

Partners (Wilberforce & Smith) Brothers-in-law

Tohn Thornton (1720–90)

Master–Apprentice

John Thornton (1699–1725)

Robert Thornton (1692–c.1748)

Partners (Wilberforce & Watson)

Rober Thornton (1759–1826)

1780

John Thornton (1666–c.1731)

1720

Samuel Thornton (1754–1838)

Robert Wilberforce (1728–68)

1740

William Wilberforce (1759–1833)

Apprentice–Master

Henry Sykes Thornton (1800–1881)

1840

William Wilberforce (1690–1776)

1760

William Wilberforce (1721–77)

1700

Abel Smith (1788–1859)

1820

Thomas Thompson (1754–1828)

32  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World 1660

1680

Brothers-in-law

Brothers-in-law

Partners (Thornton & Cornwall)

1860

Figure 1.1  Intergenerational Yorkshire families showing major partnerships, intermarriage, and other relationships. (Some family members, and apprenticeships and partnerships within families are not shown.)

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   33 Beyond economic interactions, these extended family networks were reinforced by genuine friendships that developed between brothers-­in-­law and sisters-­in-­law. Among John Thornton’s most frequent correspondents, for example, were his brothers-­in-­law William Wilberforce and Richard Conyers (c.1724–86), who had married his sisters Hannah and Jane, re­spect­ive­ly. Their letters, even when they were living in separate cities, were replete with advice, mutual support, and a kind of pastoral care for each other. They collaborated in philanthropy, with Wilberforce and Thornton joining together in a circle of well-­to-­do Evangelical patrons in London, and Thornton providing funds for Conyers to use to aid his parishioners in Helmsley.16 Older relatives frequently took on a mentoring role, which might include apprenticeship, but also included social and religious guidance. Thornton, for example, provided religious advice to Abel Smith in Nottingham,17 including recommending ministers as temporary family chaplains,18 and appears to have mentored his business partner and relative John Cornwall to Evangelical belief;19 and, famously, William Wilberforce was influenced in his religious views as a young man by his aunt Hannah Wilberforce (1724–88), John Thornton’s younger sister.20 Thornton’s in-­ laws, the Watson family, had been influenced by the Evangelical revival, and Lucy Watson’s religious meditations—­the earliest written in 1742 when she was 20 years old—­reveal a pious young woman with a deepening sense of religious feeling, already replete with many of the tropes of Evangelical spiritual writing, which continued to deepen after she and Thornton were married in 1753.21 No early papers exist that might shed light on John Thornton’s religious beliefs at the same time, though in 1746 he became a subscribing member of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge (SPCK),22 an unusual decision for a young man in his

16  See Richard Burnham, Pious memorials (3rd edn, 1820), pp. 375–7. 17  Leighton-­Boyce, Smiths the Bankers, pp. 186–9; Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, p. 133. 18  CUL Thornton Papers 1/A/30, fol. 1. John Thornton to John Newton, 8 July 1775. 19  ‘Will of John Cornwall of Hendon, Middlesex’, National Archives, Public Record Office, PROB 11/1336/219. 20  Robin Furneaux, William Wilberforce (1974), pp. 5–6; Anne Stott, Wilberforce: Family & Friends (Oxford, 2012), pp. 13–15. 21  ‘Religious meditations of Lucy Thornton’, CUL Thornton Papers 1/P fos. 1–15. 22  An Account of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge (1761), p. 29. Thornton’s membership of the SPCK pre-­dates that of many Evangelicals with whom he would become associated, including Sir John Barnard, the Earl of Dartmouth, Martin Madan, and a number of notable philanthropic bankers including John Martin, Robert Ladbroke, and Henry Hoare. All these joined during the early 1750s, as did Thornton’s stepmother Jane, leaving open the possibility that it was at his encouragement.

34  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World circumstances, and possibly indicative of some degree of uncommon conviction. A  religious turning point occurred for him in 1754: through the ministry of Henry Venn and the influence of his wife’s piety, John Thornton underwent a conversion experience, becoming a devout Evangelical and forming a lifelong friendship with Venn in the process. Henry Venn (1725–97) had been born to a long lineage of clergymen,23 but had begun to shift theologically from his father’s High-­Church position during his first curacy from 1750, and by his arrival as curate of Clapham in 1754 he had embraced Evangelicalism. Though a firm proponent of the Church of England, Venn was among the handful of Evangelical clergy who skirted the norms of parish discipline with itinerant ministry.24 This travel, combined with his involvement in key clerical societies, prolific correspondence, and several successful publications, gave him a national presence, and links with other Evangelical clergy around the country.25 Through Venn, Thornton was quickly introduced to circles of leading Evangelicals in London, including Lord Dartmouth, Lady Huntingdon, George Whitefield, and the Wesley brothers. Through the patronage of the Earl of Dartmouth and Thornton, Venn was appointed to the living of Huddersfield in Yorkshire in 1759, moving in 1771 to Yelling, Huntingdonshire. Although they therefore only lived in Clapham together for fewer than five years, the relationship between Thornton and Venn remained strong, sustained by letters, and by respective visits to Yorkshire and London—­a relationship that had critical implications for both Evangelical networks and philanthropy. Thornton’s Evangelicalism became a defining feature of his life, and the inseparability of his religious beliefs from his trade and his philanthropy distinguished him from contemporaries—­including other major Evangelical patrons. He formed stronger and more lasting business relationships with those with whom he shared a faith, and the trust thereby engendered may have been critical in allowing him to pursue so many distinct and geographically dispersed partnerships. The two non-­family partners in the Hull sugar-­ refining firm of Thornton, Watson & Co.—Joseph Rennard and Thomas Delavell—­were both financial contributors to Evangelical so­ci­eties.26

23  Venn’s father, Richard Venn (1691–1739) was a high churchman, and a staunch opponent of early evangelicals. 24  For discussion of irregularity among Evangelicals, see Andrew Atherstone, Evangelical Mission and Anglican Church Order (2009), pp. 10–21. 25  J.  D.  Walsh, ‘The Yorkshire Evangelicals in the Eighteenth Century’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 1956), p. 206. 26  Missionary Register (Oct. 1815), p. 574.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   35 Benjamin Pead, with whom Thornton established an oil mill and soap-­ works, as well as his wife Mary, were regular correspondents with Thornton on spiritual matters, sharing stories of conversion and ministry.27 Similarly, Henry Stokes, Thornton’s partner in a Cawston ribbon manufactory, was an early contributor to the Bible Society.28 Friends wrote to him asking him to recommend ‘serious’ merchants with whom they might place their sons, and he appears to have preferred employing Evangelicals as workers in at least one business.29 When invited to visit the Thorntons at home, Evangelicals were readily included in family life and worship, and three of Thornton’s four children married spouses from Evangelical fam­ilies.30 Thornton’s participation in merchant sociability was tempered by his Evangelical sensibilities. He refused the governorship of the Russia Company on more than one occasion, on the grounds that he would be expected to participate in excessive drinking and toasting at the regular dinners.31 He used what influence he did have to add pious sermons to commercial meetings, and later in life shied away from deepening business connections where the other party did not share the same faith or piety. Although Evangelicalism continued to grow from the 1730s, expansion was gradual,32 and Evangelicals were reaching for new structural frameworks for their movement to compensate for a widespread attitude of mistrust from the Hanoverian episcopate, and for new conceptual narratives of significance beyond personal conversion.33 Here, the parish system, for all the barriers it presented to Evangelical innovation, offered two crucial fillips. First, Evangelical clergy with livings had additional motivations to promote the well-­being of those in their parish or ‘sphere’, and possessed a context for philanthropic action far more legitimate and less contestable

27 Jackson, Hull in the Eighteenth Century, pp. 194–5. CUL Thornton Papers 1/A/57, Mary Pead to John Thornton, 21 Aug. 1778. 28  Ninth Report of the British and Foreign Bible Society (1813), p. 118. 29 CUL Thornton Papers A/30, 58. John Thornton to John Newton, 18 May 1775, 29 Sept. 1778. 30  The exception was Samuel Thornton who married Elizabeth Milnes, who was from a Presbyterian family. 31  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, fo. 3. 32  John Walsh, ‘ “Methodism and the Origins of English-­Speaking Evangelicalism’, in Mark Noll, David Bebbington, and George Rawlyk (eds.), Evangelicalism: Comparative Studies of Popular Protestantism in North America, the British Isles, and Beyond, 1700–1990 (Oxford, 1994), pp. 19–37, especially pp. 28, 33. Mark Hutchinson and John Wolffe, A Short History of Global Evangelicalism (Cambridge, 2012), p. 47. 33  Bruce Hindmarsh, The Evangelical Conversion Narrative (Oxford, 2005), p. 343; Smith, ‘Hanoverian Parish’, pp. 79–105, especially p. 104.

36  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World than that of lay converts.34 Second, because parishes were at least formally equivalent, it required little imaginative effort to transplant a proven ­concept, or minister, to a new locale. Evangelicalism’s focus on individual conversion—­with its requisite crisis of the soul—­may also have contributed to its particular relationship with philanthropic activism. For Evangelicals, the true church was the invisible community of the saved, not the visible congregations of the Established Church. Though a national church might be preferable to the alternatives, God’s salvific grace was for individuals, not nations, and therefore while Evangelicals felt ties of sentiment to the Church of England, and might continue to operate within its confines on the grounds of efficacy and duties arising from social custom, they could not demand this of others on the grounds of conscience. There was therefore no soteriologically necessary social unit between the individual and humanity as a whole—­only a range of institutions, including the family and church congregation, which might be turned to the purposes of salvation. Coupled with the psychological effects of conversion, which elevated the importance of subsequent individual agency—­regardless of whether the convert adhered to Arminian or Calvinist positions—­Evangelicals were therefore predisposed to think in terms of the capacious category of humanity. This had a ­profound effect on their philanthropy, as while societies such as the SPCK were limited by the geographical and ideological boundaries of the Church of England, and those such as the Marine Society by their framing of philanthropy in relation to the national polity, Evangelicals were less constrained conceptually. Structurally, mid-­ eighteenth-­ century Anglican Evangelical networks were built around small regional clerical networks, anchored by the parish of a key incumbent, and linked together by correspondence, and by itinerancy. Inspired by Samuel Walker’s Truro society, Henry Venn was instrumental in the establishment of a clerical society in 1767, convened in Elland by his former curate George Burnett, and was an occasional visitor at others in Bristol, Creaton, Rauceby, and at the Eclectic Society in London.35 Clerical members of these societies spent significant time discussing and refining forms of pastoral practice, commonly articulating their conclusions in written principles, which could then be circulated. For example, the

34 For the impact that ministers could have in their parish, see Walsh, ‘Yorkshire Evangelicals’, p. 205. 35  Ibid., p. 233.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   37 Eclectic Society debated how best to promote benevolent activism within their congregations, approving the encouragement of personal visiting by parishioners, especially the young, to schools, sickbeds, and the poor.36 As described by John Walsh, this process, while fostering a ‘clerical esprit de corps’ among ministers, also disseminated best practices, resulting in a degree of uniformity between Evangelical pastorates.37 Regular correspondence and travel communicated these refined principles to other clerical societies, and as a result, practices such as Thursday evening lectures became ‘typical Evangelical institutions’.38 Miles Atkinson, for example, a later member of the Elland Society, used these networks in an attempt to coordinate nationwide prayer meetings across different parishes at a set time on Friday evenings.39 This approach distinguished Anglican Evangelicals from other similar contemporary religious movements in that they had multiple contexts for local experimentation, linked by transnational networks. Unlike dissenters, Anglican Evangelicals could, through livings supported by clerical networks, develop stable local programmes that could be innovative but still have the imprimatur of the Establishment. Though not immune to accusations of social subversion, experiments in philanthropy could be conducted over an extended timeframe, crossing generations. Children who had benefited from local educational efforts, for example, including in Sunday Schools from the 1780s, frequently grew up to be established members of Evangelical congregations, and supporters of philanthropic societies. Similarly, the cultural identity of Evangelical networks was never disentangled from their surrounding communities by the experience of group migration, as had occurred for other intersecting religious and mercantile networks that played an important role in philanthropy—­ Huguenots, Quakers, and Moravians. While these other religious communities were dynamic supporters of philanthropy throughout the period, this was through relatively homogeneous association. Moravians tended to interact individually with other Moravians, and cooperated with other groups as a collective—­dampening the degree to which philanthropic cooperation could

36 Pratt, Evangelical Leaders, p. 406. 37  Ibid., p. 415: ‘Preserve the principle of Catholicism from the varied expression of it.’ 38  See Kenneth Hylson-­Smith’s comment about increasing correspondence later in the century, Evangelicals in the Church of England, 1734–1984 (Edinburgh, 1989), p. 33. Walsh, ‘Yorkshire Evangelicals’, pp. 199, 263. 39  William Carus, Memoirs of the Life of the Rev. Charles Simeon, MA (1847), pp. 106–7.

38  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World enhance wider integration, and reinforcing internal Moravian iden­tity.40 Similarly, Quaker support of philanthropic causes is usually separately listed in society reports—­reflecting the insularity of these networks and their relative impermeability to outsiders, even when cooperating closely in fundraising. These religious communities were strongly shaped by a sense of diasporic dislocation and a consequent felt need to underscore the particularity of their activism. Evangelicals, however, were caught in a more dynamic tension between specific identity and wider community engagement, including much clearer imperatives to disguise their activities—­especially as regards religious patronage—­lest the opprobrium of partisanship hinder their efforts.

1.2  The Philanthropic Entrepreneur Prior to the 1750s the ‘philanthropist’, though likely to be a member of elite circles, was typically marginal or isolated both within them and as a public figure. Thomas Bray (c.1658–1730), whose founding of the SPCK was largely in response to the lack of religious provision in the American col­ onies, and from a desire to expand the Church of England’s cultural and social provision, never rose higher in the Church than a London living, and remarked at the negative effects of his reputation as a ‘projector’, gained through his ongoing activism.41 Thomas Coram (c.1668–1751), a merchant with ties to New England, found himself socially isolated on his return to London. Lacking social position and graces, Coram’s efforts to establish the Foundling Hospital met with little success until taken up by a group of aristocratic ladies, whose influence led to a royal charter in 1739, with the hospital opening in 1741. However, barely a year later a dispute with the other governors effectively ended his active involvement.42 More socially successful was Henry Hoare (1677–1725), partner in the eponymous banking house, who was a prolific philanthropic donor, giving primarily to causes associated with the Church of England, including the SPCK, Corporation of 40  See Gisele Mettele, ‘Spiritual Kinship: The Moravians as an International Fellowship of Brothers and Sisters (1730s–1830s)’, in Christopher  H.  Johnson (ed.), Transregional and Transnational Families in Europe and beyond: Experiences since the Middle Ages (2011), pp. 155–74. 41  Leonard W. Cowie, ‘Bray, Thomas (bap. 1658, d. 1730)’, ODNB (online edn, Sept. 2012), accessed 6 June 2015, www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/3296. 42  James Stephen Taylor, ‘Coram, Thomas (c.1668–1751)’, ODNB (online edn, Oct 2006), accessed 7 June 2015, www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/6282.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   39 Clergymen’s Sons, Society for the Reformation of Manners, and Christ’s, St  Bartholomew’s, Bridewell, and Bethlem hospitals, in addition to establishing a bible fund. Hoare established a precedent of philanthropic involvement for generations of his family.43 However he remained a non-­juror—­his Tory partisanship excluding him from the political life he might have otherwise pursued—­and his philanthropy appears to have been motivated in equal measure by religious piety and his desire for public service, despite his political disadvantages.44 His philanthropy was also largely individual—­ while giving to and participating in societies, there is no evidence that he had any long-­term collaborators other than family members.45 Others occupied more stable positions of social respectability, although their philanthropic activism remained secondary to their other public roles. Several City Aldermen, including Sir Francis Gosling, Sir John Barnard, Sir Randolph Knipe,46 Sir Joseph Hankey, and Sir Samuel Fludyer, were also active as philanthropists, but their involvement appears to have been largely ancillary to their public and professional roles.47 Similarly, while the number of merchants involved in philanthropic societies increased steadily in the ­decades prior to 1750, their involvement as donors and directors did not usually stray far beyond the established patterns of mercantile associational culture, and those merchants who formed new societies tended to be those like Coram, or later Jonas Hanway, whose involvement in philanthropy marked a transition away from daily engagement in business. During the 1720s, Thomas Coram was horrified at the sight of dead and dying children abandoned on the sides of the roads that he travelled to and from the City. After years of advocacy, he succeeded by 1739 in gaining a royal charter for the Foundling Hospital, forming a general committee which raised funds and began taking in children in 1741. This founding narrative, like those of many of London’s charitable establishments in the early eighteenth century, mirrored the narrative structure of the biblical parable of the Good Samaritan—­ personal encounter led to charitable 43  His brother Benjamin Hoare (1693–1750) and later his son Henry Hoare (1705–85) were treasurers for the SPCK’s missions in the East Indies. An Account of the Origins and Designs of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge (1733), p. 12; (1761), p. 14. 44 Victoria Hutchings, Messrs Hoare Bankers: A History of the Hoare Banking Dynasty (2005), pp. 39–40. 45  Ibid., p. 40. 46 John Thornton’s sister Jane married Nathaniel Knipe (d.1756), son of Sir Randolph in 1737. 47  Alfred  P.  Beaven, ‘Notes on the Aldermen, 1701–1838’, in The Aldermen of the City of London Temp. Henry III–1912 (1908), pp. 195–211, accessed 7 June 2015, www.british-­history. ac.uk/no-­series/london-­aldermen/hen3-­1912/pp195-­211.

40  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World activism. In contrast, on the death in 1790 of John Thornton, the Marine Society’s founding treasurer, his philanthropy was described as expanding through his use of commercial networks to gain ‘knowledge of the wants, calamities, and deplorable condition of mankind in distant regions of the earth’.48 That is, philanthropic intent led him proactively to seek out much more extensive ways to do good for humanity. From the 1750s, philanthropic societies began to incorporate this shift into their founding narratives—­subtly but importantly changing the shape of the narrative such that encounter followed intent. John Thornton was therefore an influential anomaly. He continued in active business, and as a leader among London’s mercantile elite, yet increasingly regarded his philanthropy as at the heart of his vocation. His social and economic success fed into this philanthropic drive. William Cowper described him near the end of his life as ‘John Thornton the great, who together with his three sons, all three in Parliament, has I suppose a larger sweep in the city than any man.’49 Map 1.1 shows John Thornton’s networks as reconstructed from correspondence for the years 1772–90. Each dot on the map represents either the location of a correspondent, or of an individual mentioned by Thornton in his letters, with larger dots indicating a greater number at that location. While the archive is not a complete set, it includes letters to family members, business partners and their families, clergy, and others. Thornton’s casual intermingling of these categories, and the relaying of information to different correspondents in each of these groups suggests that, if not comprehensive, those identifiable are helpfully representative of Thornton’s networks during the last two decades of his life. Geographically, his correspondents in the United Kingdom were ­concentrated in three clusters—­those in Yorkshire, in London, and in the area between Birmingham and Cambridge that took in Coventry and Northampton. In each of these clusters, Thornton’s religious, commercial, family, and philanthropic activities overlapped. In Yorkshire, where Thornton wrote regularly to family members and to those managing farmland and businesses that he owned, he also corresponded with an extensive list of  clergymen—­those like William Richardson of York who were known to  Thornton through family networks, and those like Miles Atkinson in Leeds with whom he became acquainted through their membership of clerical associations. Here Thornton was an active supporter of the Elland 48  Love of Christ, pp. 8­–9. 49  CUL Thornton Papers 1/Z fo. 21: Cowper to Lady Hesketh, 15 Dec. 1785.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   41

Map 1.1  John Thornton’s correspondents within the UK

42  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Society, to which he had been introduced by Henry Venn, providing funds to be distributed among its members, contributing to its activities, and funding young men from the Society’s networks to train for the clergy. His letters convey an attention to the necessity of navigating church politics and an awareness of the local nuances of social interactions. In 1777, he wrote to Richardson, offering ways that he might cultivate the friendship of the Dean, and encouraging him to expand his regional networks, suggesting that, ‘Dear Mr Barrett is a truly valuable minister & a steady one I trust that your meeting together as in the West riding will be a means of strengthening one another & productive of good’.50 Evangelical ministers in Yorkshire were able to make use of Thornton’s national networks as well as his reputation with local civic leaders. In 1778, Rev. John King of St Mary’s, Hull, wrote to Thornton that: Mr Sykes51 the present Mayor . . . [and] the bench would agree to give twenty pounds a Year to the Church if I would suffer the Bishop to appoint an Afternoon Lecturer. I told him I could wish to have one was as in­offen­ sive as possible, but could by no means give my consent for a person that might hold different principles from myself . . . the Mayor & generality of the Town had no objection to my principles, that they would gladly attend my Ministry or any other of the same stamp with myself. But as they would make a handsome subscription they could like to have one who had an University Education. If you know any one of such an Education who you think would suit, I beg the favor of you to enquire as such an event may be a blessing to all sides.52

However, the density of Thornton’s networks could be double-­edged, and he took care lest the scale of his behind-­the-­scenes involvement be exposed. He wrote in 1774 that his brother-­in-­law Richard Conyers ‘has employed me to write into Yorkshire for an Assistant that is likely to be suitable if his present Rector will cheerfully part with him . . . I immediately wrote to Mr. Milner about Mr. Thomas Wilson . . . I thought it best not to let my

50  CUL Thornton Papers 1/C fo. 7: John Thornton to William Richardson, 22 Apr. 1777. 51  Joseph Sykes, father of Marianne Sykes who would later marry Henry Thornton. 52  CUL Thornton Papers 1/A/50, fo. 2: John King to John Thornton, 12 May 1778. King’s invitation to Thornton likely had a double cunning behind it—­Thornton was both pious and held in high esteem by the aldermen, making any recommendation by him doubly acceptable. For a summary of King’s ministry in Hull, see Walsh, ‘Yorkshire Evangelicals’, pp. 292–6.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   43 Name appear’.53 Similarly, in 1777, he asked William Richardson to tell John King that King’s recent letter had received no reply as Thornton had ‘drawn off some’, judging that he had no immediate advice to offer, and rather wanted King to grow in confidence in his ability to decide on his own, lest he become too closely tied by reputation to Thornton.54 Thornton’s engagement in Yorkshire illustrates two features of these interactions. While their positions were rarely uncontested, Evangelical incumbents were in a much stronger position to form working relationships with local civic leaders in smaller centres like Hull when compared with their peers in London. Until church extension in the nineteenth century, most of the religious life of Hull centred on the livings of Holy Trinity, in the gift of the Corporation, and St Mary’s, the living of which was bought by John Thornton—­the two churches each hosting a long lineage of Evangelical incumbents.55 With local associational philanthropy shaped by the inter­ actions between church and corporation, this near religious monopoly on one side coupled with the Thornton family’s influence with the town’s merchants created a virtuous circle. The Hull Charity Hall, for example, which provided poor relief, had its inadequate income from rates topped up by merchant donors, including John Thornton, and the clergy and congregation of Holy Trinity supplemented the social provision with daily prayers, regular church services, and education for children housed in the Hall.56 The Thornton family, their business partners, and the Evangelical clergy they supported appear frequently among lists of supporters of local charities. John Norman Crosse (c.1755–1827), who had entered into partnership with John Thornton in the 1770s, and later partnered with Thornton’s three sons in a soap-­making concern from 1804,57 was a leading local phil­an­throp­ist, his name appearing as a subscriber to ‘The Infirmary, Library, Schools, and almost every charitable and public Institution in Hull’.58 He was an active treasurer of the Hull subscription library, taking the lead in fundraising for a library building, and seems to have followed John Thornton’s lead in

53  CUL Thornton Papers 1/A/14, fo. 2: John Thornton to John Newton, 7 July 1774. 54  CUL Thornton Papers 1/C/fo. 7: John Thornton to William Richardson, 27 Jan. 1776. 55  K. J. Allison (ed.), A History of the County of York, East Riding, 9 vols. (1969), i, ‘Hull, 1700–1835’, pp. 212–13. 56  Ibid., p. 211. The name John Thornton appears on a list of major benefactors of the Hall published in 1792. While not definitive, as it was a common name, many of the other names listed nearby are of other contemporary leading Russia Company merchants and Evangelicals. See, John Tickell, History of the Town and County of Kingston upon Hull (1798), p. 776. 57  RBS Archive PT/1/31: ‘Partnership between Thorntons, Crosse & Escreet, 25 April 1804’. 58  Gentleman’s Magazine, 97(2) (1827), p. 189.

44  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World assisting in financing the building of churches and chapels.59 To an extent that would not be achieved in London until the grander societies of the early nineteenth century, Hull’s associational philanthropy was therefore dominated by one interrelated set of Evangelicals and merchants as early as the 1770s. To Thornton, these agglomerations of networks and influence constituted a ‘sphere’—a concept used by Evangelical clergy to describe a living, and containing the implication that these were opportunities from God to do good in the world.60 As a layman, Thornton extended the c­ oncept beyond religious livings, to any context in which he had some degree of controlling interest: at different times he used the phrase to describe his ribbon manufactory, his shipping interest, and towns like Hull where he enjoyed influence.61 A second feature was the extent to which local philanthropists—­even well-­connected Evangelicals like John King—­were reliant on individuals like Thornton to sustain national connections. Rev. John Berridge (1716–93) gleefully compared Thornton’s activities to the ministry of a bishop when he wrote that he had heard from a visitor that, ‘you have just returned from your episcopal visitation of the seaports’.62 By engaging in multiple ‘spheres’, Thornton developed unprecedented links between what would have otherwise been entirely separate communities of philanthropists. His ships sailing between Hull, London, and throughout the Baltic, regularly transported additional cargo, ranging from books to be donated to parish and charitable libraries, to tar water for the health of individual philanthropists.63 As important as his role as a patron to Evangelical clergy was his role as a middle­man recruiter, with clergy and others writing to him asking him for recommendations for suitable young men to be put forward for vacancies.64 Over time, Thornton invested further in this process of advancing the careers of pious clergy by purchasing livings, and by doing so further reinforced his role as a mediator of national networks of Evangelical clergy and a supporter of their parish-­scale philanthropy. While established clergy

59  John Crosse, An account of the rise and progress of the subscription library at Kingston-­ upon-­Hull (1810), pp. 9, 13, 24. RBS Archive PT/2/71. Crosse had an interest in a new chapel of ease in Bierley, and was responsible for maintaining the living of Halifax. 60 Wesley  D.  Balda, ‘ “Spheres of Influence”: Simeon’s Trust and Its Implications for Evangelical Patronage’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 1981). 61  See, for example, CUL Thornton Papers 1/A, fo. 2: John Thornton to John Newton, Feb. 1772; and fo. 14: 7 July 1774. 62  Richard Whittingham, The works of the Rev. John Berridge (1838), p. 422. 1 Oct. 1784. 63  CUL Thornton Papers 1/A, fo 1: John Thornton to John Newton, 4 Jan. 1772. 64  Ibid., fo. 14: 7 July 1774.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   45 had control of local appointments—­Venn, for example, controlled chapel appointments in his large parish of Huddersfield, creating a concentration of Gospel ministers—­only wealthy patrons with access to extant networks like Thornton could support more geographically extensive networks. The living of St Peter’s Colchester, offered to Robert Storry by Hannah Wilberforce in 1781, was far enough out of London to leave Storry relatively isolated, and therefore in need of special financial and social support from Thornton.65 In this way, Evangelical networks stabilized, diversified, and benefited from the complementary filtering of innovation by educated, pastorally-­oriented clergy and their clerical societies and by the practical concerns of merchant patrons. While lay patronage was important in establishing toeholds within the Church hierarchy, its less-­stated importance for  philanthropy and for the development of the Evangelical party within England was in this role of connecting disparate localities. The second cluster of Thornton’s correspondents on the map is that between Birmingham and Cambridge. Unlike in Yorkshire, Thornton had few family connections in this region, and his correspondents were primarily clergymen whose careers he had taken it upon himself to support. Thornton supplemented the income of clergy, providing stipends to those whose livings could not support their families, incentivizing them not to perpetuate the problem of absenteeism. However, his relationships with Evangelical clergy also extended to providing funds for them to engage in  local giving. His correspondence is replete with examples, with John Berridge writing in 1778, ‘I know your poor’s bag is a deep one; but how far exhausted at present, I know not; yet if a ten pound bill lies skulking in some corner of the bag, I do wish and pray you would drag him out, and send him to Oundle’.66 Ten years later, he thanked him for a similar gift, writing, ‘I am favoured with two letters, the former of which brought me ten pounds for the poor’.67 Thornton’s common practice was to give £10 or £20 to a new clerical acquaintance, and in cases where it was put to creative use, to recommend this use to his other clerical correspondents. In this way, such diverse practices as the hiring of stalls at fairgrounds to allow parishioners to meet informally with their priest, the donation of supplies to en­able impoverished women to make and sell craftwork, or different models for the provision of education to working children, were intentionally 65  Christian Observer (1814), pp. 540–4. 66 Whittingham, Berridge, p. 403. John Berridge to John Thornton, 24 Oct. 1778. 67  Ibid., p. 461. John Berridge to John Thornton, 30 Dec. 1788.

46  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World transplanted from one parish context to another—­encouraging further experimentation and promoting the most successful ideas. Where patronage relationships deepened, such as in the case of Thornton and John Newton (1725–1807), the result amounted to philanthropy by clerical proxy, with Thornton giving hundreds of pounds to Newton for the benefit of those in his parish and beyond, frequently using Newton and others as a go-­between to preserve his anonymity as a donor.68 Such matching of need to giving, facilitated through local knowledge, allowed philanthropists to target local problems at a distance. As with Yorkshire, where Thornton’s closer ties to a small number of clergy gave him access to wider clerical networks, so between Birmingham and Cambridge, deeper friendships and cooperation led to wider engagement with philanthropic activity across the region. Venn had described Thornton as his ‘beloved Gaius’,69 referencing (probably via Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress) the New Testament character known for friendship and hospitality. Thornton’s relationship with John Newton in particular developed beyond patronage to genuine cooperation—­the two men came to participate in each other’s worlds, with Newton befriending Thornton’s business associates in the region and Thornton extending his patronage to Newton’s clerical friends. Newton provided advice on Thornton’s business and philanthropic projects, including using his social networks to vet potential employees, and Thornton reciprocated by acting as investment adviser and agent for Newton. A further aspect of the wider significance that this relationship had to philanthropy is exemplified by their joint relationship with small-­scale non-­Anglican philanthropists in the town of Bedford. Both Newton and Thornton were supportive of the Moravian community, with Thornton recommending possible apprenticeships with merchants for at least two young Moravian men.70 Both were also in contact with Joshua Symonds, first a Congregationalist and later Baptist minister in the town, and Thornton was a patron of Symonds, sending him money to distribute to the poor, and from the other donors listed in Symonds’s pocket book, most

68  For example, CUL Thornton Papers 1/A fo. 19: John Thornton to John Newton, 21 Oct. 1774; and 1/C fo. 19: John Thornton to William Richardson, Oct. 1789. About one in five letters from Thornton to Newton mention money sent. 69  John Venn, The Life and Letters of Henry Venn (6th edn, 1839), p. 463. The biblical reference is to 3 John i. 70 J.  C.  S.  Mason, The Moravian Church and the Missionary Awakening in England, 1760–1800 (2001), pp. 54, 70.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   47 likely introducing him to other wealthy London religious patrons.71 Though not free from interdenominational tension, these relationships show the greater ease of interdenominational cooperation in smaller communities outside London.72 During the 1770s, Thornton and Newton spearheaded non-­Anglican local philanthropy from Bedfordshire, enabling it to connect with the wealthier and fast-­changing world of metropolitan philanthropy—­a phenomenon that was increasingly mirrored elsewhere in the United Kingdom, providing a foundation for the growth of genuinely national philanthropic efforts. Thornton was also a leader in a process of cultural patronage—­ exemplified by his relationship with Newton—­that was critical to the development of both Evangelicalism and philanthropy. Newton was, in the words of Bruce Hindmarsh, the ‘gentle casuist of the evangelical revival’, his letters and other writings making him ‘the great spiritual director of souls through the post’.73 In this process of Newton’s emergence as a cultural voice, Thornton deserves no small credit. Thornton funded Newton’s early literary output, giving the additional income to reduce his other commitments in order to write, and paying for the printing and distribution of Newton’s books. In 1771, Newton began collaborating with William Cowper, and when the project foundered later in the decade due to Cowper’s mental health, Thornton stepped in as editor, compiling and correcting the manuscript—­which would become Olney Hymns—­underwriting its commercial publication, and ensuring that Newton had sufficient copies to distribute gratis through his clerical networks—­expanding his readership to a national audience. To give just one example of how this haphazard but extremely successful distribution proceeded, in July 1775, Thornton sent a copy to John Berridge in Everton by the hand of his cousin William Thornton Astell, passing by on his way from London to Yorkshire.74 It was further thanks to Thornton’s patronage that Newton was able to move from 71  ‘Account book of Joshua Symonds’, in the private possession of Dr Huw David, to whom I am grateful for bringing it to my attention, and allowing me to consult it. Newton gave books on several occasions, including some for children, and copies of his sermons. 72  CUL Thornton 1/A/30, fo. 2. He was particularly ambivalent about tensions between Calvinists and Arminians, describing both as part of the Gospel ‘& with great violence insists on it that he has got the whole’ (1/C/15). 73 G. R. Balleine, A History of the Evangelical Party in the Church of England (1908), p. 84. D.  Bruce Hindmarsh, ‘Newton, John (1725–1807)’, ODNB (online edn, May 2010), accessed 7  July 2015, www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/20062. See also D.  Bruce Hindmarsh, John Newton and the English Evangelical Tradition: Between the Conversions of Wesley and Wilberforce (Oxford, 1996). 74 Whittingham, Berridge, p. 405, 27 July 1775.

48  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Olney to the higher-­profile living of St Mary Woolnoth in 1780, a position with a less demanding parish that freed Newton to mentor a younger generation of Gospel ministers within the city, and preach to larger and more influential congregations. As a result, Newton, and to an extent Cowper, emerged as leading cultural voices within Evangelicalism and within phil­ an­thropy– their books and sermons widely read, and generative of an audience with shared taste. While their writings were dominated by common Evangelical concerns with depravity, personal salvation and ongoing devotion, they also articulated the broader developing social agenda of philanthropic activism. The first letter on a ‘religious subject’ in the collection of Newton’s letters and sermons published in 1780 was on the necessity of benevolence to the poor.75 Similarly, Cowper’s greatest work, The Task, interspersed its meditations on the religious life with broadside attacks on the litany of social ills engaging the attention of contemporary phil­an­throp­ists, including anti-­slavery, debt laws, animal fighting, and clerical absenteeism.76 Thornton was a pioneer in creating and disseminating literature that emphasized the importance of doing good in the world, with a special focus on devotional literature for families. He engaged William Richardson to edit the German pietist hymn-­writer Carl Heinrich von Bogatzky’s Golden Treasury for the Children of God, which sought to ‘encourage and enable’ young readers, ‘to do good works’:77 I have been reviewing the Golden Treasury & if you will undertake to correct the press I will send it to be printed by Spence & Co with full power for you to make any alteration you judge expedient & I will take 2 or 3 thousand or as many as you deem expedient not exceeding that Q[uanti]ty.78

He imported texts from his extensive trading networks, translating and distributing them across Britain, Ireland, and America, and his commercial credibility allowed him to work easily with multiple printing houses, including Spence & Co, W & J Oliver, and later Hatchards. Thornton drew, by his

75  John Newton, Letters, Sermons and a Review of Ecclesiastical History, 3 vols. (1780), iii, pp. 107–12. 76  William Cowper, The task: a poem (1785); Johnston, ‘William Cowper’. 77  Carl Heinrich von Bogatzky, A Golden Treasury for the children of God (1754), ‘January 19’. See also Carl Heinrich von Bogatzky, The life of Charles Henry v. Bogatsky (1856), especially the preface in which the translator, Samuel Jackson, makes explicit comparison to Cowper. 78  CUL Thornton Papers 1/C/20: John Thornton to William Richardson, 18 Dec. 1789.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   49 correspondents’ recommendations and his own reading, on the English Puritans, British dissenting authors, and continental pietists—­a translation of resources from parallel communities.79 His favoured works, in addition to those by Newton and Cowper, included Matthew Henry’s Complete Commentary, Thomas Wilcox’s A choice drop of honey, Risdon Darracott’s Scripture marks of salvation, James Stillingfleet’s Explanation of the Church-­ Catechism, Bogatzky’s Golden Treasury, and works by Auguste Hermann Francke of Halle, including those that detailed the complex of institutions developed there. As late as 1787 he was still commissioning and freely distributing print runs of Evangelical literature into the thousands, taking advantage of the legal end of perpetual copyright after 1774 to republish older works.80 For example, he casually inserted a note into a letter ordering a print run of 1,000 of Stillingfleet’s Catechism ‘in a stiff cover’ as none of his usual wholesalers stocked that quantity.81 Thornton’s dissemination networks, like his funding of Evangelical ministers, were both extensive and intensely relational. On 5 June 1778, he wrote to William Richardson that ‘My Hymn Books, Alleines & Pilgrims are all gone, but I purpose sending you soon some Bibles, Common Prayer & Testaments, Songs for Children, Believing & Drop of Honey & Dr Sibbes’ Meditations . . . I have had such a demand for Books that I can’t keep pace with them’.82 A week later John Berridge wrote to thank Thornton for a delivery of books, writing, ‘I have received twelve dozen of small Bibles, nine dozen of small Testaments, and one thousand Hymns for children, which I will distribute as carefully as I can’.83 In studies of contemporary print culture, new associational models such as the Book Society or local library societies are usually understood as driving demand for publications. In Thornton’s case at least, it seems rather that his personal efforts to

79  While the admixture of seventeenth-­century English and German sources with contemporary dissent would seem to support W. R. Ward’s argument for continuity between earlier traditions and eighteenth-­century Evangelicalism, Thornton seems to have seen them as distinct traditions. Despite friendly relationships, he writes of ‘Moravian wildnesses’, of the problems of Francke’s system, and repeatedly of his disapproval of the methods of dissenters. See W. R. Ward, Early Evangelicalism: A Global Intellectual History, 1670–1789 (Cambridge, 2006). For a discussion of broader links to Puritanism, see John Coffey, ‘Puritanism, Evangelicalism and the Evangelical Protestant Tradition’, in Michael  A.  G.  Haykin and Kenneth  J.  Stewart (eds.), The Emergence of Evangelicalism (2008), pp. 252–77. 80  CUL Thornton Papers 1/A/30: John Thornton to John Newton, 18 May 1775. 1/A/56: Thornton to Newton, 8 Aug. 1778; 1/A/80: Newton to Thornton. 81  CUL Thornton Papers 1/C/16: John Thornton to William Richardson, 26 Feb. 1787. 82  CUL Thornton Papers 1/C/8: John Thornton to William Richardson, 5 June 1778. 83 Whittingham, Berridge, p. 401, 12 June 1778.

50  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World increase supply and to create national distribution channels sparked the ­formation of numerous local associations to curate and distribute his books. Newton, for example, was able to use books donated by Thornton to give small libraries to ministers in the vicinity of Olney, for the benefit of their congregations. Thornton’s own associational involvement in the distribution of literature appears to have grown out of his personal activism, and the publishing societies he participated in drew significantly on his personal networks. In the case of the Book Society, which Isabel Rivers has called the ‘first evangelical tract society’, Thornton joined at a point when his own personal distribution of texts was several times that of the Society.84 Similarly, although Thornton provided the seed funding for the establishment of what would become the Naval and Military Bible Society, the number of bibles annually distributed by him most likely exceeded those given by the Society over the same period.85 The expansion of print and educational phil­an­ thropy during the 1780s—­ largely driven by new associational patterns described in the next chapter—­was thus preceded by the expansive growth of the private philanthropy of those such as Thornton during the 1770s, which in turn created a demand for more books with religious and philanthropic themes. While these nationwide networks were important to the expansion of philanthropy, it was amidst the dense associational culture of London—­the largest cluster of Thornton’s correspondents—­that his influence as an entrepreneur was most acute. Thornton was assiduous in drawing others within his circles into philanthropic societies. In 1761, he first subscribed to the Book Society. Over the following fifteen years, his wife Lucy, four children, sister Hannah Wilberforce, and at least eight known business associates, all appear on the list of subscribers.86 He was, uniquely, both involved in founding societies, and invited to take senior office in established societies. In every society in which Thornton became either President or Treasurer, the subsequent years’ subscription lists show an influx of his business partners and other associates. He collaborated in some way with every major contemporary philanthropist, and in doing so was able to function as a middleman between different societies. The minutes of meetings record his 84 Isabel Rivers, ‘The First Evangelical Tract Society’, Historical Journal, 50(1) (2007), pp. 1–22. 85  CUL Thornton Papers 1/A fo. 10: John Thornton to John Newton, 28 Apr. 1774: ‘I have sent a large parcell of Welch Bibles to Chester for North Wales’. 86  An Account of the Society for Promoting Religious Knowledge Among the Poor (1779).

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   51 being asked to write to different societies and to the Courts of prominent companies, suggesting that his fellow-­committee members saw him as a crucial intermediary. He was further able to bridge his different worlds—­ inviting Evangelical preachers to give sermons at the annual meetings of society members, or investing surplus income in limited-­issue bonds that were usually only available to leading merchant and banking houses. Thornton regularly invited ‘chaplains’—Evangelical clergy from across England and beyond, usually those whose own ministry among the poor was financially supported by Thornton—­to lead services in his house, joking to a friend, ‘I have more Chaplains than King George [and] . . . muster 40 or more’.87 These ‘household’ services included his family and servants, but also invited friends, and could number up to sixty. Speakers invited before these audiences included overseas guests who were in London to promote philanthropic causes. Samson Occam, Nathaniel Whitaker, and Phillis Wheatley all stayed at Thornton’s house and were introduced to his influential circles in the hopes of generating support for their causes among in­di­ gen­ous Americans and enslaved Africans respectively. As a result, Thornton was instrumental in the creation of a philanthropic sociability that was neither linked to committees nor limited to any one pre-­existing social circle or prior pattern of interaction, such as the lavish dinners of the City. These cross-­fertilizing gatherings in Thornton’s house at Clapham flourished during the 1770s, and were an important context for the shaping of a new generation of philanthropists. Within London, Thornton none the less occupied a central position within established philanthropic networks. He was President of the Lying-­In Hospital, Treasurer of the Marine Society, Treasurer of the Committee in Behalf of Chimney-­Sweepers Young Apprentices, and a committee member of at least fifteen other societies and committees. It is rarer to find a philanthropic subscription list without his name on it than with, between the 1750s and 1780s. In contrast to many contemporaries, he was frequently in attendance at committee meetings, proposing resolutions, taking on duties, and recruiting his social networks as supporters. His projects were not contained by committee-­based activity, but he did not neglect to deploy this mechanism to help provide momentum for his larger philanthropic engine. 87 CUL Thornton Papers 1/C fo. 21: John Thornton to William Richardson, July 1790. CUlL,son ergywton, 17 Jan. 1775.

52  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World

1.3  Forming Philanthropists Sometime after his conversion, Thornton adopted his wife’s practice of ­writing a regular spiritual journal, usually weekly on a Sunday, as a way of reflecting on the events of the week, discerning the interventions and will of God in events, and aligning his inner life to his religious ideals.88 While only short and intermittent series of these journals survive, they show the extent to which Thornton saw his philanthropy as the outworking of the discipline of inner response to outward events, and the cultivation of daily habits. Written as a kind of extempore prayer, his journals are full of pleas that he might be able to do more good to those around him, motivated by a desire to commend his faith to others, and to avoid the temptation of working for human approbation. While not all philanthropists shared Thornton’s religious commitments, what makes his writings so striking in this regard is the manner in which his philanthropy relied on a synergy between the conscious shaping and reorienting of the self and the reforming of social conditions. His was not a charitable course driven by a dry sense of duty, nor one shaped by a desire to find a place of significance within society, but rather was the external outworking of what he understood to be a calling—­ intertwined with Evangelical conversion—­to cultivate a distinctive way of life. Thornton extended this cultivating process to those around him—­ most intensively to his children and protégés—­especially during the 1760s and 1770s as he raised his family, and before he began passing his business interests to the control of his sons in the 1780s. This particular spiritual cultivation of the self became central to the identity of philanthropists during the second half of the eighteenth century, and Thornton’s importance to the development of philanthropic networks was as much about his fostering of philanthropists, as it was related to his advancement of philanthropic initiatives. This process began at home, as each of Thornton’s four children was raised with a view to cultivating a philanthropic disposition. The dense practices that sustained the intergenerationality of merchant trading among the extended Yorkshire families combined with the semi-­liturgical structures of the Evangelical home to form philanthropists from a young age. Both merchant sociability and Evangelical culture operated with particular rhythms of time, with daily prayers and office hours, weekly meetings,

88  LMA, ACC 2360 1–3; CUL Thornton Papers 1/P fos. 1–15.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   53 lectures, and dinners, and annual seasons of risk and reward or repentance and gratitude. These reinforced the baseline social interactions that made associational philanthropy possible, but in their combination also underwrote the self-­perception of calculated, improving activism that was so critical to the dynamic outlook of philanthropists. Thornton’s children were encouraged to subscribe to philanthropic societies themselves from their early teens, and when Thornton gave money to his children and other young relatives, such as the young William Wilberforce, he frequently increased the sum from that which might be expected of a gift to a child, suggesting to them that they find a worthy cause to support. Family prayers and devotions included discussions of what constituted genuine philanthropy, and as the young men in particular grew into adulthood, they were encouraged to attend society meetings, with Thornton celebrating that his eldest son Samuel was choosing to spend his free time in evenings attending lectures on philanthropic themes.89 The children were also commonly included in philanthropic meetings at Thornton’s house. Phillis Wheatley wrote of the extended conversations that she had enjoyed with them, and these mem­or­ ies of meeting representatives of philanthropic projects continued to be treasured by the children into adulthood.90 The adult Henry Thornton approvingly recollected, as a guide to his own children, their grandfather’s ‘equal liberality’ in dispensing his time and money on behalf of ‘those who had no other claim on his purse than that of compassion’, and the discipline with which he ‘economized’ his resources to philanthropic ends.91 Henry Thornton also continued his father’s practice of leading family Bible studies, supplementing those such as Bogatzky’s Golden Treasury with his own written studies, later published at the request of other families of the Clapham Sect, and going through seven editions before 1840.92 In adulthood all four children continued in active philanthropic involvement, with Samuel, Robert and Henry Thornton active on numerous philanthropic committees from the 1780s. Jane, who married Alexander Leslie-­Melville (Lord Balgonie, later Earl of Leven), remained an active sponsor of philanthropic societies and culture, providing an important link to Scotland.93 The tradition-­forming 89  CUL Thornton Papers 1/A, fo. 23. 90  Ibid., 1/C fo. 3. 91  Ibid., 1/N, pp. 2–3. 92  Henry Thornton, Family prayers (7th edn, 1838). 93 Cowper composed some of his most forthright anti-­ slavery poetry, including ‘The Negro’s Complaint’ at Lady Balgonie’s request. John D. Baird and Charles Ryskamp The Poems of William Cowper, vol. 3 (Oxford, 1995), p. 283. On her role in the forming of the African School at Clapham, see Chapter 5, p. 199 in this volume. There is evidence in a letter fragment to John Thornton that Alexander Leslie-­Melville suffered from mental illness, and consequently the family lived for periods in retirement, explaining the intermittent nature of Lady

54  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World effects of this kind of vocational induction can be seen in the Marine Society, which claims a still unbroken line of descendants of John Thornton as treasurer into the twenty-­first century;94 the Thornton family becoming perhaps the first philanthropic dynasty. In addition to his children, Thornton spent considerable time mentoring younger men who themselves occupied the intersections of Yorkshire, mercantile, and Evangelical networks. The intergenerational effects of this can be seen in the life of William Wilson, a silk manufacturer and merchant with whom Thornton did business. Wilson’s brother Stephen married Ann Collett West, daughter of Daniel West, Thornton’s business partner, and their son Daniel was apprenticed in 1792 to his uncle William.95 Thornton had met the Wilson brothers through London’s Evangelical congregations, and encouraged them to become involved in philanthropic endeavours, with William Wilson serving as a founding member of the Church Missionary Society, while Daniel Wilson left trade altogether, becoming a leading Evangelical clergyman, and later Bishop of Calcutta. Similarly, Thornton took a significant interest in his sister’s nephew, William Wilberforce, who as a young man had imbibed Evangelicalism. On Wilberforce’s conversion in 1785, Thornton wrote: ‘You may easier conceive than I can express the satisfaction I had from a few minutes’ converse with Mr Newton yesterday afternoon’, and, knowing the social risks of conversion, continued, ‘I shall at any time be glad to see you here, and can quarter you, and let you be as retired as possible’.96 Within months, Wilberforce had his own room in Thornton’s house, and was fast forming a close friendship with Thornton’s three sons. Even among those with fewer ties to London, John Thornton attracted those with philanthropic intent, such as Charles Grant, with Henry Thornton later writing that ‘The religious character of my father drew towards him the respectable head of this numerous household on his arrival from India’.97 Throughout the 1770s and 1780s, Thornton sought to establish contexts in which young Evangelicals and phil­an­throp­ists could gather. His efforts to build a new church in Clapham in 1774 were motivated partly by a desire to meet the needs of a growing population, and partly by a Balgonie’s philanthropic involvement. See CUL Thornton Papers 1/D/6, unknown (possibly Jane Leslie-­Melville) to John Thornton, undated. 94  Richard Woodman, Of Daring Temper: A History of the Marine Society (2006), p. 118. 95  Daniel Wilson later married his cousin, William Wilson’s daughter, Ann. 96  Quoted in R.  I.  and S.  Wilberforce, The Life of William Wilberforce, 5 vols. (1838), i, pp. 103–4. John Thornton to William Wilberforce, 24 Dec. 1785. 97 CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, pp. 34–5: Recollections ‘Of several of my friends and acquaintances’.

‘ How Much a Man with the Blessing of God May Do ’   55 desire to create a pulpit and congregational space that could be a gathering point for philanthropic activity.98 These efforts were part of a wider trend during the 1770s by which phil­ an­thropy was emerging as a distinctive cultural discourse and phil­an­throp­ ists as an identifiable social set. Thornton’s correspondence describes small, frequent, informal social gatherings, including notable Evangelical patrons, but also merchants and professionals who may not have been pious, for the purposes of discussing philanthropy. He referred his correspondents to books that had been recommended to him on questions of efficacy in the relief of poverty, and social and moral theory. In addition to seeking patronage for Evangelical ministers, he sought to promote the career prospects of employees of philanthropic societies.99 Most importantly however, those involved in philanthropy were beginning publicly to share stories of philanthropic activities, helping to establish the philanthropist as an ideal type in the public mind. This typology can be seen in Venn’s short biography of Sir John Barnard, published in 1776.100 Barnard, who died in 1764, had been a friend and mentor to both Venn and Thornton, during their brief overlap in Clapham. Venn’s biography of this successful merchant and City politician was an attempt to portray piety and phil­an­thropy as consistent with, even requisite for, greatness in public life. Venn wrote of Barnard’s ‘ruling intention . . . to prove a permanent benefactor to society’,101 and was part of a wider push to position philanthropy and Evangelical faith as intrinsic, not merely additional, to professional and public success.102 By John Thornton’s death in 1790, this narrative of the philanthropist as an ideal of public engagement was both being taken up by the young men and women whom he had mentored, and being promoted by leading cultural voices, many of whom Thornton had sponsored and nurtured. William Cowper’s poem ‘Charity’ included James Cook103 and John Thornton as the two contemporary exemplars of philanthropy in the world: one the explorer who had increased the number of those who ‘Might feel themselves allied to

98  Ibid., 1/A fo. 22: John Thornton to John Newton, 15 Mar. 1774. 99  Ibid., 1/A fo. 31: Thornton sought a position for a Mr Nind as the collector for the London Dispensary. 100  Henry Venn, Memoirs of the late Sir John Barnard (1776). 101  Ibid., pp. 9, 12. 102  See section 6.3. See also discussion of the trope of the pious public man in Jeremy Gregory, ‘Homo Religiosus: Masculinity and Religion in the Long Eighteenth Century’, in  Tim Hitchcock and Michèle Cohen (eds.), English Masculinities, 1660–1800 (1999), pp. 85–110. 103  Wilson, ‘Island Race’, pp. 265–90.

56  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World all the race’ and had done so without enslaving peoples; the other who had united ‘Ingenious Art’ with ‘Commerce [that] . . . catches all improvements in his flight’, and had acted ‘for the supply of all’.104 Thomas Scott entitled his sermon eulogy to Thornton, The Love of Christ the Source of Genuine Philanthropy, writing in it: this friend of mankind, in the exercise of his beneficence, not only contributed his money, (which often is done to very little purpose,) but he devoted his time and thoughts very much to the same object; doing good was the great business of his life, and may more properly be said to have been his occupation, than even his mercantile engagements, which were uniformly considered as subservient to that nobler design.105

Among those who saw themselves as his direct philanthropic heirs, John Thornton provided a source of inspiration. As Sir James Stephen wrote a generation later, ‘they drew many of their canons of criticism from books and talk of their own parentage’,106 and Henry Thornton, in some of his most effusive penned lines wrote: My father is an instance of how much a man with the blessing of God may do who is without learning, without any strong judgement, without pol­it­ ical influence, without associates of his own rank in life to assist him in his labour, provided he has the interests of religion at his heart, is active in his disposition, bountiful in bestowing his wealth which Providence has given him, and unrestrained by the fear of his fellow creatures.107

This ‘rising generation’ of philanthropists were therefore in their own conception, the heirs to an emerging tradition, and sought to reshape their own public lives in response to this, as they came of age within an associational and organizational milieu that allowed for this expanded imagination to conceive new paths.

104 Cowper, Poems, pp. 182–93. 105  The Love of Christ the Source of genuine Philanthropy, p. 7. 106  ‘The Clapham Sect’, Edinburgh Review, 80 (1844), pp. 251–307, pp. 258–9. 107  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, pp. 3–4.

2 ‘The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us’ The Growth of Associational Philanthropy

In 1810 the devout and philanthropic lawyer Anthony Highmore published Pietas Londoninensis: The history, design and present state of the various public charities in and near London, which listed, in the manner of commercial directories, more than 450 charitable institutions and societies in London, many falling within the domain of philanthropy. The book repurposed the name of a book published nearly a century before, that had surveyed the churches of London, providing a handbook for the faithful to the liturgical schedules and preachers of the metropolis.1 Highmore’s Pietas, which provided a similar guidebook for participation in philanthropy, power­ful­ly represented how public piety now revolved around the various institutions and projects that had emerged in the second half of the intervening century. A generation later—­in 1849—Sir James Stephen was not overreaching in describing the unprecedented growth of a ‘vast machinery established amongst us for the propagation of Christian knowledge and for the relief of human wretchedness’.2 The story of this growth, when it has been told, has usually been related to Britain’s shifting national fortunes and associational mood, especially the changes to Britain’s global position in 1783 and 1815, with many accounts of philanthropy and reform beginning and ending near those dates. However, the spectacular periods of expansion in philanthropic and reform organization that occurred during the 1780s and 1810s were each preceded by periods of germination—­ in which experimental in­nov­ation, relational connectivity, and structural shifts in philanthropic so­ci­eties, created step changes in the capacity of philanthropic

1  James Paterson, Pietas Londoninensis: Or, the Present Ecclesiastical State of London Containing an Account of All the Churches, and Chapels of Ease, in and about the Cities of London and Westminster (1714). 2  Sir James Stephen, Essays in Ecclesiastical Biography (5th edn,1867), p. 499. British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World: Entrepreneurs and Evangelicals, 1756–1840. Roshan Allpress, Oxford University Press. © Roshan Allpress 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198887195.003.0003

58  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World networks, establishing and refining the models that underpinned rapid growth. These changes frequently occurred in parallel or interlinked commercial or religious contexts and were later translated into the repertoire of phil­an­throp­ists. Uniting the movement, an intergenerational network of philanthropists came together into a ‘nexus’ of ‘interlocking directorates’, centred on London, in which what constituted in various respects the modern non-­profit organizational model was developed. This chapter traces these evolving directorates in explaining how and why the organizational pattern of philanthropy changed to facilitate growth and reach, building on the previous chapter’s account of the growing distinctiveness of philanthropy as a personal and intergenerational vocation. It arises out of a number of dissatisfactions with existing historical accounts, not least of which is the common but overly broad assertion that eighteenth-­ century philanthropists adopted their associational model from that of the joint stock company.3 While undoubtedly true, this serves to obscure the diversity of both commercial and philanthropic organizational structures and practices, aspects of which intermittently generated public controversy, and the specificities of the borrowing that did occur.4 Related to this is the often-­mentioned, but never satisfactorily explained, correlation between membership in the Russia Company or the financial revolution, and active involvement in those subsets of metropolitan philanthropy that provided models for subsequent growth.5 Although never a majority among philanthropic directors, men who got their start as apprentices to Russia merchants or as heirs to family traditions of participation in the Baltic trade, or those involved in emergent banking and finance, remained disproportionately overrepresented on committees from at least the 1750s until as late as the 1810s, when the trade itself was past its peak. The lack of analysis of this phenomenon mirrors a wider scholarly neglect of the importance of Britain’s engagement with northern Europe, by way of the Baltic and North

3  For example, Andrew, Philanthropy, pp. 49, 198; Robert A. Gross, ‘Giving in America’, in Lawrence  J.  Friedman and Mark  D.  McGarvie (eds.), Charity, Philanthropy, and Civility in American History (Cambridge, 2003), p. 37. 4  See Christopher Bayly’s call for greater precision in identifying the ‘causal mechanisms which linked metropolitan cities generated by the finance of warfare, or the imperative of trade, with territorial acquisitions outside the metropolis’ (‘The British and Indigenous Peoples, 1760–1860: Power, Perception and Identity’, in Daunton and Halpern (eds.), Empire and Others, p. 22). 5 Andrew, Philanthropy, pp. 91–2; Roland  W.  W.  Pietsch, ‘Ships’ Boys and Charity in the Mid-­Eighteenth Century: The London Marine Society (1756–1772)’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Queen Mary University of London, 2003), pp. 74–5.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   59 Seas, in shaping the growth of Britain’s Empire during the second half of the eighteenth century. A similar dissatisfaction exists with respect to the manner in which ­historians have sought to explain the link to religious movements and networks, particularly those of Anglican Evangelicals, Huguenots, and Quakers. Scholars sensitive to the nuances of religious motivations, theological debate, and ecclesiological controversy have explored the means by which religious philanthropists sought to make their claims persuasive to those who did not share their beliefs or habits, and to the manner in which the acutely integrative tendencies of ‘heart’ religion might impel the volunteering of commercial skills as well as resources. Nevertheless, greater attention is needed to the contingent commercial contexts in which religious philanthropists flourished and innovated.6 Among Anglican Evangelicals in particular, merchants and bankers who became prominent innovators as philanthropists and reformers often came from relatively small subsets of these commercial communities, suggesting that their philanthropic entrepreneurship was strongly informed by highly specific experiences, practices, and networks. A more muted point can be made about Quaker and Huguenot businessmen who proved loyal supporters and effective pro­ moters and managers of philanthropic projects—­Quakers especially, with their access to widespread, dense networks—­ although Quakers and Huguenots contributed less to the development of new forms of philanthropic organization.7 Conversely, there is the tendency of many historians to reduce religious ties to their social function—­to go little further ana­lyt­ic­ al­ly than asserting that shared religion enhanced trust, cohesion, and identity.8 While new or revived emphases on aspects of doctrine and belief were important, contemporary debates also included questions of structure, practice, and appropriateness in context, with significant implications for philanthropy. Without diminishing the importance of doctrinal influences, this chapter therefore offers an alternative account of the chronology of late-­ eighteenth-­century religious activism. Religious philanthropy grew rapidly during the 1780s and 1810s because religious merchants were at the

6  See comment in David Jeremy, ‘Important Questions about Business and Religion in Modern Britain’, in David Jeremy (ed.), Business and Religion in Britain (Aldershot, 1988), pp. 5–6; Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, p. 115. 7  See discussion on the Quakers in this regard in Christopher Leslie Brown, Moral Capital: Foundations of British Abolitionism (Chapel Hill, 2006), pp. 406–7; Judith Jennings, The Business of Abolishing the British Slave Trade, 1783–1807 (1997), pp. 1–16. 8  For example, F. K. Prochaska, ‘Philanthropy’, p. 372. Clark, British Clubs, p. 96.

60  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World forefront in developing new practices of commercial organization during this period.

2.1  The Philanthropic Nexus, c.1760 The seedbed for the growth of philanthropy was the formation of a small nexus of philanthropic directors in London during the late 1750s and early 1760s, dominated by three groups: freemen of the Russia Company, emer­ ging City bankers, and merchants influenced by movements of religious piety. These gravitated to the boards of existing organizations, and established new philanthropic societies, including among them the Marine Society (1756), Lying-­In Hospital (1757), Magdalen Hospital (1758), the Committee for Cloathing French Prisoners of War (1758), and the Society for the Encouragement of British Troops in Germany and North America (1760). Comparing the committees of these five new entities with those of three representative, established organizations—­ the Foundling Hospital (1741), the Society for Propagating the Gospel (1701), and the Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge (1698)—shows 273 directors in all, but only 36 serving on more than one committee. Figure  2.1 shows this interconnectedness around the year 1760, with each set of connections ­representing a shared committee member or governor.9 These philanthropists can be broadly grouped into two subsets. The first mostly comprised Russia Company merchants, and practised a model of philanthropy characterized by responsive bursts of activity, giving rise to short-­lived committees and projects. Prominent among them were Andrew Thomson, Robert Nettleton, Edmund Boehm, Jonas Hanway, Stephen Peter Godin, John Cornwall, Charles Dingley, and James Mathias. All had strong mercantile and personal connections to the Baltic and North Sea trades, and they included the lead partner in each of four of the six largest trading partnerships in the Russia trade.10 They were particularly involved in the Marine Society, the Magdalen Hospital, and in the short-­ lived British Troops committee. The more active among them also served in rotation on the board of the Foundling Hospital, and, befitting the patriotic tendencies of this set of philanthropists, only a small number risked involvement in the controversial French Prisoners Committee, providing relief to enemy 9  Colours indicate the number of committees the individual was on. 10 Kahan, The Plow, p. 209.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   61

Figure 2.1  The philanthropic nexus, c.1760

captives.11 These merchant philanthropists managed their associations largely from their City offices, with Baltic trade partnerships listed as addresses for correspondence. Where permanent offices were established, both rooms and staff were drawn from merchant companies. The Marine Society, for example, rented space in the Merchant Seamen’s Office, which had been since 1748 a Russia Company office.12 Abraham Winterbottom, secretary to the Magdalen, was clerk to the Merchant Taylors’ Company.13 These societies had partially overlapping concerns and were conceived of as supplementary to each other, as well as to the more fixed institutions of 11 For aspects of the controversies surrounding the support for French Prisoners, see Proceedings of the Committee for Cloathing French Prisoners of War (1760); An Account of the Society for the Encouragement of British Troops in Germany and North America (1760), pp. 11–14. 12  Piestch, ‘Ships’ Boys’, p. 74. 13  ‘Winterbottom, Augustus (1847–1930)’, Plarr’s Lives of the Fellows Online, Royal College of Surgeons, accessed 2 Feb. 2015, http://livesonline.rcseng.ac.uk/biogs/E004808b.htm

62  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World state. Their activities were framed in their publications as an extension of established social goods. The Marine Society described itself as a large-­scale augmentation of existing provisions for poor children, and as adding to the national supply of mariners.14 The account of the British Troops committee framed its function as an augmentation ‘peculiar to [times of] war’ to the work of the Foundling and the Marine.15 Around these representative organizations of mercantile philanthropy were several smaller or less active societies, many of which represented an older tradition of charitable association, and were being supplanted or subsumed by new institutions. The Stepney Society, for example, dated from 1674, and supported the apprenticing of boys in ‘Marine trades’. By 1759, it was being managed out of the Marine Society’s offices.16 A second cluster can be seen in those religiously inclined individuals who represented what David Owen called the ‘philanthropy of piety’.17 Including, but not limited, to many members of the SPCK, and including all the ordained ministers on the list, these religious philanthropists had a strong presence on the committee of the Lying-­In Hospital, and provided more committee members to relieve French Prisoners than their mercantile counterparts. These philanthropists saw their societies as extending the work of the Established Church beyond those areas covered by parochial structures, and tended to found institutions with endowed property and a static operating model. It is telling that although both the SPCK and SPG attracted many supporters from the bench, no bishops appear on more than one list, and the highest-­ranking clergyman was George Berkeley, preb­end­ ary of Canterbury who was a member of the SPG, SPCK, and Lying-­In Hospital.18 While the religious aims of the SPCK and SPG are clear, and their organizational affinity to the Established Church indisputable, the Lying-­In Hospital and the French Prisoners Committee were also distinguishable from more mercantile philanthropic associations in their institutional religious rhetoric, and in their use of religious forms to foster support. The Committee for French Prisoners, rather than resorting to any argument for national interest, appealed to the biblical injunction to ‘do good to them that hate us’, and claimed that their actions would tend ‘to unite mankind in

14 Hanway, Motives, pp. 9–10. 15  An Account of the Society for . . . British Troops, pp. 8–10. 16  The Rules and Orders of the Stepney Society (1759), p. 10. 17 Owen, English Philanthropy, pp. 17–19. 18  Second son of George Berkeley (1685–1753), Bishop of Cloyne.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   63 fraternal affection’.19 Probably through the influence of John Thornton, in the only known instance that he served as an organization’s president, the Lying-­In Hospital also had a stronger evangelical tone than even hospitals devoted to the moral reform of admittees. Its annual sermons were less a public forum to defend the institution’s agenda and demonstrate the public effects of the piety inculcated by its activities as was the case for those preached to the Magdalen, but were rather broader statements of religious vision, infused with Evangelical emphasis on justification by faith, and calls ‘to reform the world’.20 Linking these two clusters are six names: Sir Joseph Hankey, Sir Robert Ladbroke, Sir Francis Gosling, and John Martin, all bankers; John Thornton, prominent merchant and heavily involved in war finance; and Sir John Barnard. Of these, Thornton was the youngest by nearly twenty years, and by 1770, all the others had passed away. All were independently wealthy, of high social standing in the City, and all had strong ties to religious networks: Huguenots, Quakers, and Evangelicals. Beyond their involvement in common projects, and in the City—­Ladbroke, Gosling, and Barnard were all Aldermen—­there are tantalizing hints of closer religious and social ties between them, though no correspondence appears to survive. Thornton, however, was the linchpin between religious philanthropy, banking, and that of the Russia Company, as well as by far the most prolific member, exceeding even Hanway in the number of societies against which his name appears. Thornton was also active behind the scenes in supporting as­so­ci­ ation­al philanthropy. In its inaugural year, for example, the Marine Society received exactly 100 guineas from bankers or banking houses, all with direct links to Thornton, the Society’s treasurer, and few apparent connections to other Marine directors. Subsequent to his membership of the SPCK from 1746 when he was in his mid-­twenties, his name appears on the list of subscribers for nearly every major London philanthropic society during the eighteenth century, and no one before William Wilberforce was instrumental in the founding of as many societies. John Thornton’s fortune, and his organizational capabilities were all drawn from his and his family’s membership of the Russia Company. The importance of the Russia Company to the development of phil­an­ thropy needs to be placed within the wider framework of the significance of northern European trade to Britain during the eighteenth century. In 1763, 19  French Prisoners, iv. 20  A Sermon before the City of London Lying-­In Hospital (1759), pp. 1–3.

64  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World only 30 of 1,369 London merchants (2.2 per cent) in Mortimer’s Universal Director were listed as Russia merchants,21 yet they were heavily overrepresented among donors to London’s associational philanthropy, as well as providing the impetus behind all major new philanthropic associations during this period, comprising more than half of the active committee members.22 Baltic and North Sea shipping, and northern Europe more generally, was third in size and strategic significance after the trans-­Atlantic and Eastern trades. By the late 1760s, imports from the Baltic had grown to nearly £800,000, comparable to estimates of imports from the East Indies, which range from £800,000 to £1.1m.23 The Baltic trade also remained strategically vital for the Royal Navy, accounting for more than half of Britain’s imports of flax, large masts, and tar and pitch, for the decades between 1770 and 1800,24 and providing the majority of Britain’s bar iron, with total imports rising from an annual average of around 30,000 tons in 1750 to nearly 50,000 tons in the early 1770s.25 Due to the weakness of the Russian domestic credit market, Russia Company merchants relied on providing financing to purchasers of their goods, with unusually long terms.26 Lines of credit lasting twelve months or more were not uncommon, and, while profitable, this practice required most merchants to maintain a complex network of finance in order to continue trading through fluctuations.27 As most British banking houses around 1760 were still essentially private deposit banks, borrowing for trade occurred within the merchant community. Participation in the wider markets of northern Europe brought British merchants of the Baltic trade into contact 21  See Mortimer, The Universal Director (1763), Part III, pp. 7–78. J. S. Taylor cites 29, Jonas Hanway: Founder of the Marine Society (1985), p. 58. A further 96 are listed as being in trades that likely involved them in the ‘multilateral’ Baltic world—­including Hamburg, Swedish, Danish, Dutch, and timber merchants. 22 Andrew, Philanthropy, pp. 98ff. 23  See the two estimates in K. N. Chaudhuri, The Trading World of Asia and the English East India Company, 1660–1760 (Cambridge, 1978), pp. 508ff.; Elizabeth  B.  Schumpeter, English Overseas Trade Statistics, 1697–1708 (Oxford, 1960), p. 18. 24  Arcadius Kahan, The Plow, the Hammer, and the Knout: An Economic History of Eighteenth-­ Century Russia (Chicago, 1985), pp. 207–9. 25 Herbert  H.  Kaplan, Russian Overseas Commerce with Great Britain during the Reign of Catherine II (Philadelphia, 1995), pp. 57–8. 26 Henry Thornton, Substance of Two Speeches on the Report of the Bullion Committee (1811), p. 23. 27 Kaplan, Russian Overseas Commerce, p. 155. See also discussion in Michael Wagner, ‘Misunderstood and Unappreciated: The Russia Company in the Eighteenth Century’, Russian History, 41 (2014), p. 406. See also discussion on wider credit rates in Jacob M. Price, ‘What Did Merchants Do? Reflections on British Overseas Trade, 1660–1790’, Journal of Economic History, 49(2) (1989), pp. 267–84, especially pp. 279–80.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   65 with larger and more developed credit markets than their counterparts in the North America and Asia, increasing the importance of trustworthy relationships with merchants in Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Hamburg, and Leipzig. During the Seven Years War, the Baltic’s importance as a source of imports was complemented by the role these merchant networks played in financing the war effort. Access to continental capital allowed Russia Company merchants to borrow money to invest in higher-­yield Navy bills, as well as serving as conduits for direct purchases of British bills by con­tin­ en­tal investors, especially the Dutch who likely accounted for 15 per cent of money raised during the war.28 These capital imports were a turning point in the capacity of Britain’s financial sector. Annual war costs exceeded £10m—­a level not exceeded again until the 1790s. For merchants engaged in the northern European trade, this was a double bonanza. Import demand for iron, masts, hemp, and other shipbuilding materials from the Baltic soared. Bolstered by capital inflows, the price of gold, and therefore the cost of these imports, did not rise significantly, and led to sizeable ­profits for London agents, who frequently reinvested in war bills, thereby increasing the stable pool of London capital not tied to company stocks or goods.29 The Baltic also differed from other spheres of British commercial and imperial activity in that there was no potential revenue base at stake to justify imperial expansion in the region. There were no settler colonies to tax, and no diwanni. Government revenue from the regional system depended on the size of the trade, and therefore aligned closely with the interests of British merchants. Unlike those in the trans-­Atlantic or Indian trades, these merchant networks were therefore largely able to negotiate the deployment of the powers of the fiscal–­military state to their own ends. Managed as a trading collective, but with relatively open access to British state institutions, the Russia Company was able to develop a unique working relationship with the British state, with its freemen leveraging personal relationships with political leaders in Westminster and Saint Petersburg to foster treaty frameworks in which the Company gained economic advantages, served as a two-­way cultural conduit, and maintained a consular role.30 The in­dis­pens­able 28  Larry Neal, ‘Interpreting Power and Profit in Economic History: A Case Study of the Seven Years War’, Journal of Economic History, 37(1) (Mar. 1977), pp. 34–5. 29  Neal, ‘Interpreting Power’, p. 34. See Wagner, ‘Misunderstood and Unappreciated’, p. 413, for a description of parliamentary concern about the effects currency fluctuations might have on naval imports. Price, ‘What Did Merchants Do?’, pp. 274–5. 30 Michael Wagner, ‘Managing to Compete: The Hudson’s Bay, Levant, and Russia Companies, 1714–1763’, Business and Economic History online 10 (2012), pp. 3–4. See also the Royal African Company and its successor. William  A.  Pettigrew, Freedom’s Debt: the Royal

66  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World role of the Company was to provide the conditions under which individual entrepreneurship could be fostered for the British common good in the northern European arena—­ a capacity that contemporaries argued was unique to the conditions of that trade.31 The Russia Company’s organizational structure and practices reflected these realities, and led to a dense internal culture that privileged col­lab­or­ ation, and was distinct from other British merchant communities at the time, having scale, profitability, and identity cohesion similar to the East India Company, but with no joint stock and no vast administrative ap­par­ atus of office-­holders and clerkships.32 Service to the community of merchants helped young men to establish reputations for trustworthiness and to attract goodwill33—critical in a trade that relied so heavily on credit and local or mobile agents. Its governing Court of Assistants comprised twenty-­ four members annually elected from the freemen of the Company. These were unremunerated, and—­unlike EIC directors—could expect to wield no patronage in Company or Government from their position, though they benefited from the hospitality of regular dinners, which through toasts and other forms of peer approbation facilitated relationships within the community. Surveying the papers of the Thornton family—­Assistants across three generations—­suggests that in a typical week an active Assistant might socialize two or three times with other Russia Company men in addition to family and business engagements.34 As the Company had ceased to trade with a joint stock, but retained many of the organizational features of a joint stock company, its business operations were usually delegated to individual Assistants, with day-­ to-­ day executive functions run personally by the

African Company and the Politics of the Atlantic Slave Trade, 1672–1752 (Chapel Hill, 2013), pp. 46–7. 31  See Charles Davenant, Some Objections against settling the Trade to Africa like the present Russia-­Company (c.1708). Davenant argued that the necessity of maintaining military forts, the need to enforce British unity against both African suppliers and European competitors, and the untrustworthiness of the character of those British agents who could be induced to settle in the unhealthy climate all militated against a regulated company constitution. The persistence of this controversy throughout the first half of the century suggests the envy with which many other merchants regarded the environment in which Russia merchants operated. 32  For further arguments as to the uniqueness of the Russia Company in relation to other chartered companies, see ‘Memorial from Russia Company to Board of Trade, August 1853’, House of Commons Papers, 69 (1856), p. 2. 33  The average age of first-­time elections (whose date of birth can be determined) to the Russia Company’s Court during the 1770s was 35, compared with 42 for EIC directors in the same period. 34  Based on names mentioned by John sr, Henry and John Thornton jr between 1772 and c.1820 (CUL Thornton Papers 1/A–­D, I, J, M, N; LMA ACC 2360 1–3; RBS PT/2).

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   67 gov­ern­or and up to four consuls.35 As Jonas Hanway described it, ‘The Russia Company is but nominally a body corporate, compared with the Levant traders’.36 This world of intersecting and competing families and partnerships, drawn together in regular negotiation and collaborative diplomacy has been aptly liked to an ‘Athenian democracy’.37 The Company maintained quasi-­independent factory communities in Riga and St Petersburg, each governed by similar associational structures, with the accepted career path for a young man usually requiring a year or more as an agent in one of these. Russia Company merchants were therefore habituated and rewarded for collaborative community service, and the overflow of this can be seen in the leading role that Russia Company merchants took in London’s wider merchant communities. In 1769, for example, the merchants’ petition to the king in the context of Wilkes’s election was co­ord­in­ated and communicated by Edmund Boehm, then a consul and later Governor of the Russia Company, Charles Dingley, Peter Muilman, and the Earl of Hertford. Russia Company men were integral to the formation of the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufacturers and Commerce.38 Similarly, a quarter of the directors of the Bank of England in the later eighteenth century were Russia Company men, compared with fewer than 10 per cent from the East India Company.39 These factors fed into the organization of philanthropy, as Russia Company men were formed for the kind of voluntary, long-­term col­lab­or­ ation that became the hallmark of philanthropic engagement. Beyond the basic practicalities of office location and the employment of merchant clerks, those led by Russia Company men unsurprisingly brought habits and expectations of associational practice into the philanthropic or­gan­iza­ tions that they governed. The minutes and similar records of representative philanthropic societies around 1760 show greater comparative similarities of style to the format of the Russia Company, than those of the EIC, Levant Company, or Bank of England.40 The basic structures of those philanthropic 35  Compare to the account of the operations of the EIC in H.  V.  Bowen, The Business of Empire: The East India Company and Imperial Britain, 1756–1833 (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 29–43. 36  Quoted in Wagner, ‘Misunderstood and Unappreciated’, p. 402. 37  Pietsch, ‘Ships’ Boys’, p. 112. 38  Sir Henry Trueman Wood, A History of the Royal Society of Arts (1913), pp. 6–16, 26–46. 39  Wagner, ‘Managing to Compete’, p. 4. 40 Regrettably, archival policies do not allow a comparison of photographs here. TNA, SP105/211, ‘Register of orders made by the General Court of the Levant Company, 1734–1818’; Bank of England Archive, G4–19, ‘Minutes of the Court of Directors, 1757–63’; British Library, IOR/B/256, East India Company ‘General Court Minutes, 1734–1766’; LMA­, Russia Company,

68  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World organizations most closely connected to the Russia Company in the 1760s were designed to facilitate both formal and activist membership, while ensuring accountability. Just as the Russia Company itself offered few opportunities for patronage, so the Marine Society, the charity most influenced by Russia trade practice and priorities, eschewed the conventional practice of patronage, even risking conflict with John Fielding, a supportive magistrate, over the necessity for selection processes to be standardized.41 Meetings of the governors were held quarterly, with a managing committee elected annually. The size of these committees varied depending on the size and complexity of the organization’s business, but among those surveyed ranged from thirteen governors for the Lying-­In Hospital, to nearly 100 for the Marine Society. However, attendance at these weekly meetings was often in single figures, with a better indication of the expected management requirements given by the quorum requirements: three for the Lying-­In Hospital, five for the Magdalen, and seven for the Foundling.42 In practice, this meant that one or a few active committee members had a disproportionate influence in the management of organizations, except in rare cases where particular controversies arose. There were notable exceptions to this pattern, especially where concerns about accountability and ongoing governance were muted. The Stepney Society, which met once a year for an annual fundraising dinner, had no committee management throughout the year, and its stewards’ primary role was collecting donations at the feast.43 This predilection for collaboration among a few individuals can be seen in the minutes of the weekly committee meetings of these various societies, which were rarely if ever attended by more than ten individuals, and usually numbered fewer than five. John Thornton’s descriptions of these meetings in correspondence suggest that each meeting usually centred around one individual—­reporting back on a task from a previous week—­and that where a quorum was not met, those who did attend spent the time socializing.44 CLC/B/195/MS11741/007 ‘Court minute book, 1756–1778’ and Foundling Hospital, A/FH/ A/03/001/002, ‘General Court rough minutes, 1752–1765’, A/FH/A/03/002/006, ‘General Committee rough minutes, 1758–1760’; National Maritime Museum, MSY/A/1, ‘Fair Minutes of the Committee of the Marine Society’. 41  Pietsch, ‘Ships’ Boys’, pp. 105–12. 42  The comparative complexity of the Foundling’s business, and its symbolic role as a leading chartered London philanthropic entity was further enhanced by mandated subcommittees, and constitutional rules requiring annual turnover of at least a third of the Committee every year. 43 This pattern was widespread among societies founded during the late seventeenth century. 44  CUL Thornton Papers 1/A fo. 23: John Thornton to John Newton, 17 Jan. 1775.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   69 Minutes of meetings served as much to authorize and validate individual initiative by committee members as they did to set matters of policy or rules for employees—­the latter were frequently outlined in public prospectuses, and only changed rarely. Though politically connected, the philanthropic directorates of the 1760s were not associations of political activists. There were no concerted efforts to lobby Parliament for the kind of reforming le­gis­la­tion that would come to dominate the early nineteenth century. Where Parliamentary finance was forthcoming, as in the case of the Foundling Hospital, or where Royal donations were successfully solicited, as they were by the Marine Society in 1757, these were granted through the personal advocacy of one or two directors.45 Fundraising also was primarily the work of a small number of in­di­vid­ uals. Although bankers were involved, their role appears to have been similar to that of merchants—­remitting money in a personal capacity.46 Thus, where societies advertised their ability to receive donations at banks, this was largely at those where the partners themselves were among the active core of society members.47 The Foundling Hospital advertised its ability in 1757 to receive money at Hoares, Drummonds, Hankey, and Martins banks, each with a partner active in supporting the Hospital.48 The Magdalen Hospital, which received more than half of its donations in 1760 from Russia Company sources, advertised eleven banks at which it could receive donations—­all but three of which had a partner who was either a life gov­ ern­or of the Magdalen or a freeman of the Company.49 The Society for the Reformation of Manners took donations at the bank of Williams and Bellamy, and then through four merchants.50 One-­third of the £4,139 collected for clothing French prisoners came from Quakers, while all but £170 of the remainder came in to four banks, each of which had an active partner 45  Pietsch, ‘Ships’ Boys’, p. 95. 46  Donation lists contain numerous examples of money ‘paid in by’, effectively anonymizing one or more donations. 47  A corollary to the importance of personal ties in the receiving of funds through banks is that those societies that included unusually prolific directors in common—­notably John Thornton and Jonas Hanway—­had significant overlap in lists of receiving banks. Compare, for example, the two lists of banks in The Rules of the Magdalen House (1759), p. 32, and A List of Subscribers to the Marine Society (1758), p. 10—of the eleven banks in each list, eight were in common, suggesting both the philanthropic propensities of at least one partner in each of those banks, and the relational networks either Hanway or Thornton, or both. 48  An Account of the Hospital for the Maintenance and Education of Exposed and Deserted Young Children (1757), p. xii. 49  The Rules of the Magdalen House for the Reception of Penitent Prostitutes (1760), p. 36. 50 John Wesley, A sermon preached before the Society for the Reformation of Manners (1763), p. 31.

70  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World on the committee: Biddulph & Cocks, represented by James Cocks; Drummond & Co., represented by Robert Drummond; Sir Joseph Hankey; and Vere, Glynn and Hallifax, represented by Thomas Hallifax.51 Those individual donors to the Society for Encouraging British Troops who can be identified as involved in either banking partnerships or the Russia trade account for more than half of all the donations over 10 guineas. Many of the donations were passed to the committee through individual intermediaries, and prominent among those remitting money was the same familiar set of names: Nettleton, Boehm, Hanway, and known banker-­philanthropists.52 Jonas Hanway, in addition to his own three-­guinea donation, brought in nearly forty further guineas on behalf of others, including Archbishop Secker. In instances where multiple communities acted together, their sep­ ar­ate support was clearly delineated—­usually by a line in the accounts, such as ‘By a Collection among the People called Quakers’—reflecting (and being concerned to identify) the separate networks that had collected funds.53 Though it is possible that some merchants joined philanthropic as­so­ci­ ations to gain access to mercantile inner circles, the dominant pattern around 1760 appears to have been for merchants to turn to philanthropy having achieved financial success. For example, of those nine members of the Marine Society’s first committee who at any point were Russia Company Assistants, seven were already on the Court at the Society’s inception in 1756. In instances where philanthropists did join the inner circles of chartered companies after philanthropic activity, they had largely retired from trade, raising the possibility that they sought elevation to better pursue phil­ an­thropy. One of the two exceptions to the Russia Company pattern above, for example, was Jonas Hanway, who published a patriotic pamphlet on the British war effort in March 1756, gave a substantial £50 donation to the Foundling Hospital in April, was elected a governor to the Hospital in May, called the meeting to establish the Marine Society in June, and was elected to the Court of Assistants of the Russia Company in July.54 In some cases, active philanthropy on behalf of national causes does appear to have also 51  Committee for Cloathing French Prisoners, ‘Appendix No. III. General Account’. 52  The copy of the report in The Making of the Modern World database includes a handwritten note from the banker Samuel Smith—­the likely author of the report—­to the Earl of Hertford, who does not appear among the supporters of the Society, suggesting that connections among metropolitan philanthropists were denser than the published and financial records reveal. 53  Committee for Cloathing French Prisoners, ‘Appendix No. III. General Account’. 54 Taylor, Jonas Hanway, pp. 59–63. In many ways Hanway’s career through to his death in 1786 delineates the outer boundaries of Russia mercantile philanthropy.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   71 been a way to obtain government patronage or contracts. George Aufrere, George Wombwell, and John Gwilt, members of the Committee for encouraging British Troops, were appointed Commissioners for the sale of French Prizes the following year.55 Donations and subscriptions by merchants and aristocrats from this circle followed a relatively formal pattern. Ten guineas constituted the standard minimum contribution for the gentry and for wealthy Russia merchants, with Members of Parliament, Aldermen, and Assistants usually giving a standard 20 guineas. It is impossible to trace the circumstances of most donations, but among those that gave the standard larger amounts, a strong social connection to a director of the particular philanthropic organization seems to have been the norm. As befitted the habits inculcated by negotiating a regulated company’s relationship with the national polity, these merchant philanthropists placed special importance on creating a single new national institution, because of the benefits of coordination, rather than working through existing local structures, with Jonas Hanway writing in 1759, ‘I can by no means acknowledge the Foundling Hospital to be a Local Charity, tho’ confined to the bills of mortality. London . . . like the sun . . . absorbs all lesser fires; but then it again emits its beams, and invigorates the whole’.56 Even when adopting the highly patriotic persona of the pamphlet published anonymously under the auspices of an ‘English Country Gentleman’, Hanway repeatedly subsumed the benefits of ‘acquisition of riches and strength to the nation’ to those attending to the ‘prior’ and higher ‘laws of humanity’.57 A characteristic example of mercantile philanthropy of the period can be seen in August 1764 when Gustav Anton Waschel, a German Lutheran minister in London, published a letter in the Daily Advertiser calling the attention of the public to the plight of a group of approximately 400 German Palatines, caught up in a failed colonization scheme, and abandoned in the fields outside London. As ‘multitudes of all ranks and denominations’ came forward to offer assistance, a committee of twenty-­one was gathered in the King’s Arms Tavern in Cornhill—­the first meeting place of many 55  Benjamin Martin, Miscellaneous Correspondence (1764), vi, p. 638. 56  Jonas Hanway, ‘The Genuine Sentiments of an English Country Gentleman, upon the present plan of the Foundling Hospital’, in A Candid Historical Account of the Hospital (1759), p. 24. At a local level were those organizations that sought to complement instituted parish structures, including local hospitals, orphanages, and asylums. These usually applied voluntary associational methods within a parish model, in many cases causing friction with parish officials. 57  Ibid., pp. 12, 38.

72  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World philanthropic societies to come—‘that the current of Public benevolence might however be properly directed’.58 The committee—­formed primarily of leading merchants—­included Robert Nettleton, Governor of the Russia Company, as its treasurer, and Robert Thornton, probably the cousin of John Thornton. They advertised for subscriptions, deriving nearly all their income from personal donations of 10 guineas or less, or from collections by individuals from the social networks of committee members.59 Having gained the necessary royal approval for the Palatines to resettle in South Carolina, their funds were then disbursed in travel arrangements, and providing for material and spiritual maintenance—­ expressed through clothes, food, tools, and religious education—­until their charges might become self-­sufficient. The Committee’s report outlines the importance of personal networks, with all transactions made by committee members, and contracts drawn up with those within their social networks. This Committee appointed for relieving the Poor Germans demonstrated the strengths of mid-­century mercantile philanthropy—­fast-­moving, cap­ able of eliciting the response of the London public, and most importantly, capable of rallying the support of merchant partnerships and incorporated companies. It was instigated and led by a small number of individuals acting on their own account, but whose status and reputations allowed them to speak representatively for this wider mercantile community. It was targeted and timely—­a subscription raised to meet a concrete need proximate to those who contributed. The Committee’s report also exposes its limitations. The support offered was largely restricted to this mercantile community, with very few clergymen or religious philanthropists contributing. While specific collections were gathered at five City churches and by the Quakers, this was very much a localized response—­three of the churches were within a mile of the fields where the Palatines had been living. Similarly, though attempts were made to broaden the geographical scope of contributions, it is clear that in the few cases where this succeeded, a personal connection had been instrumental. Importantly, none of those who bridged London’s multiple philanthropic sets were involved. In contrast to this mercantile philanthropy, the more religiously inclined subset of this early philanthropic nexus had a different set of organizational 58  Proceedings of the Committee Appointed for relieving the Poor Germans (1765), p. iii. 59  A significant proportion of donations were anonymous, a trend that had diminished by the end of the century.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   73 expectations. The long-­established Anglican societies such as the SPCK and the SPG, had governance structures that reflected their self-­assumed role supporting the ecclesiastical Establishment. Both gave ex officio membership to bishops and other high-­ranking clergy, and to some nobles and gentry, and required prospective members to apply at three successive general meetings, creating what Bob Tennant has described as a ‘bottleneck to expansion’.60 Donations were also small, around the minimum one guinea paid in by members, with only three donations and one bequest exceeding five guineas in the year ending Christmas 1760. This system also required individuals to ensure that new projects or innovations did not raise resistance from the ex officio governors. The SPCK did not elect a separate managing committee, but allowed any subscribing ‘resident member’ to contribute to the quorum of three members at weekly general meetings. Also included in this set of religious societies were the Sons of the Clergy, and the Book Society, the latter established by dissenters, both of which conducted most of their business through annually appointed stewards, with committees meeting infrequently for the sole purposes of receiving and dispersing funds—­a model continued from the seventeenth century.61 The result was that philanthropy that arose from religious association in the period tended to be characterized by a rapid burst of fundraising at its outset, providing endowment and usually buildings, and followed by steady state operations. In this context, a critical experiment in the management of philanthropy that prefigured the convergence of religious and mercantile forms was the establishment of a London-­based Trust for the support of Eleazar Wheelock’s Indian Charity School in New England. John Thornton was instrumental in the founding of this Trust, which became the charitable institution to which he committed the most time, and which he shaped most directly.62 The structure of the Trust represented a move to sys­tem­atize fundraising, and reduce reliance on any individual: an important transitional step to the growth of institutional financing for philanthropy. The minutes of the Trust

60  Bob Tennant, Corporate Holiness: Pulpit Preaching and the Church of England Missionary Societies, 1760–1870 (Oxford, 2013), p. 31. 61  See Clark, British Clubs, pp. 27, 61–70, 100–2, on the origins of this periodic associational model and its evolution in the eighteenth century. 62  Thornton’s negative experiences in supporting the School—­his single most persistent and costly effort at institution building—­may explain his apparent later avoidance of institutional involvement.

74  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World show the nine Trustees remaining unusually engaged throughout the course of the project. Of the nine, six were partners in banking concerns. The other three—­Samuel Savage, Dennis De Berdt, and Robert Keen—­were merchants, distinguished for their religious involvements. John Thornton as treasurer opened accounts in his own name at a further six banks with friendly partners, allowing the Trustees to publish an unprecedented list of twelve banks at which they could receive funds.63 Each of the twelve banks had partners who were business associates of John Thornton, and based on those religious views that can be established, it seems likely that the banks were selected for having pious partners. Samuel Roffey,64 for example, had strong family ties to dissenting evangelicals and was lead partner in the banking house of Roffey, Neale, James and Fordyce until 1768, when Alexander Fordyce became managing partner, and the bank took on Richard Down as junior partner.65 Remarkably, it is possible to trace a direct line of continuity from each of these banks that survived through to those active in receiving funds for philanthropic associations in the early nineteenth century.66 Even among those of the twelve banks that did not continue, there was ongoing family participation in Evangelical philanthropy, and the commonalities in these connections makes it reasonable to speculate that John Thornton had selected banks led by religiously serious men. While Josiah Robarts dissolved the banking partnership of Pewtress and Robarts in 1769, it was probably his son Nathaniel who continued as a merchant at Covent Garden, entering the book trade and becoming Thomas Scott’s publisher, as well as serving on the Committee of the Bible Society in 1832. Of the Gines brothers, George died in 1769, but his brother William continued in partnership with Ebenezer Atkinson until they declared bankruptcy in 1781. Nevertheless, William’s two daughters inherited significant wealth from their maternal grandfather, both married Evangelical men, and contributed to Evangelical causes. Susannah married John Barber, one of the founding committee members of the CMS, and was patron to Thomas Scott, while Rebekah 63  Eleazar Wheelock, A brief narrative of the Indian Charity-­School (1767), p. 63. 64 Samuel Roffey’s mother Mary left £5,000 and her house in her will to Caroline and Alexander Maitland, dissenting evangelicals, and parents of Samuel Roffey Maitland. 65  Down, who likely also shared some evangelical sympathies, married in 1772 the daughter of another partner, Henry Neale. 66  The money largely passed through family lines, suggesting a reluctance to bequest to philanthropic societies. See Andrew, Philanthropy, p. 77.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   75 married Rev. Stephen Langston, a protégé of Thomas Clarke, and friend of John Newton.67 George Welch was well connected in dissenting evan­gel­ ic­al circles, having been active in the founding of the Societas Evangelica to promote itinerant preaching in 1776, the Gosport Academy in 1789, and the Hoxton Academy in 1796. Welch, his banking partner Thomas Rogers, and Rogers’s son and successor in the bank Samuel, appear in the list of Book Society subscribers. William Fuller, lead partner in Fuller and Son of 24 Lombard Street, and a prominent dissenting philanthropist who had engaged in religious controversy with Samuel Pike, passed his fortune to his granddaughter Bethia Ellis, who married Ebenezer Maitland, the Evangelical MP, who changed his name upon the inheritance to Ebenezer Fuller Maitland.68 The use of banking networks to increase the scope of fundraising, beyond that which was possible through the efforts of a committee alone, provided a model by which philanthropy could, while growing beyond the reach of individual social connections. This innovation facilitated the raising of more than £10,000 for the School. The Trustees fell out with Wheelock over his management of the School and his preference for educating col­ on­ists rather than American Indians, and the intervention of war in 1775 closed off the possibility of a sustained connection. Though unsuccessful, the focus on creating a sustainable institutional form reflected the coming together of the religious and mercantile models of philanthropy—­hindered by its in­abil­ity to effectively sustain transnational reach. Nevertheless, the Trust established a precedent for an active managing committee, missional focus, and the creation of formal fundraising structures outside London. In gathering pious bankers, Thornton appears to have been instrumental in forming a new core of banker-­philanthropists, around which philanthropy of the following three decades would coalesce, especially as control in banking houses and wealth passed to the hands of the next generation.

67 Hole, Early History of the CMS, p. 622. Bodleian Library, MS Wilberforce c.49 fos. 7–8: John Newton to William Wilberforce, 5 May 1786. L.  Hickin, ‘Thomas Clarke of Chesham Bois’, The Churchman 84(2) (1970), pp. 130–3. 68  G. H. Rogers-­Harrison, A genealogical history of the Maitland Family (1869), p. 8. Their eldest surviving son was named William Fuller Maitland after his great-­grandfather. See also Bradley, ‘Politics of Godliness’, p. 284.

76  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World

2.2  The Partial Integration of Banking, Religion, and Philanthropy, 1772–1783 Though characterized by the slowing of the growth rate of philanthropic societies, the 1770s were a turning point in the structural development of philanthropy, shaped by the credit crisis of 1772–3,69 a generational change as almost all of the most prolific participants in the philanthropic nexus around 1760 passed away, and by new intersections between religious and commercial networks.70 The years following the end of the Seven Years War, and particularly 1769 to 1771 saw a boom in credit, with the number of London banks increasing from thirty-­four in 1768 to fifty-­two in 1774, and remaining relatively stable at that number until the end of the war in 1783. As Figure 2.2 shows, this represented the most rapid rate of increase in new 90 80

Number of London Banks

70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 1750

1760

1770

1780

1790

1800 Year

1810

1820

1830

1840

1850

Figure 2.2  Number of London banks, 1759–1840 69 For further discussions of the crisis, see Paul Kosmetatos, ‘Financial Contagion and Market Intervention in the 1772–3 Credit Crisis’, Cambridge Working Papers in Economic and Social History, 21 (2014); ‘The Winding-­up of the Ayr Bank, 1772–1827’, Financial History Review, 21(2) (2014), pp. 165–90; Price, Overseas Trade and Traders, pp. 100–4. 70  For the wider context of the financial revolution, see in particular, John Brewer, The Sinews of Power: War, Money and the English State 1688–1783 (1989); and Henry Roseveare, The Financial Revolution, 1660–1760 (1991).

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   77 houses in the 100 years prior to 1835.71 The increase in banks also reflected a turning point in the relationship between City finance and London’s merchant communities, especially with regard to European trade. London’s credit market was affected by lower government demand for debt. Merchant finance, always a complex of arrangements, increasingly included the raising of capital from bank loans in addition to lines of credit from others in trade, with many of the new banks established by merchants whose capital reserves had grown dramatically during the latter stages of the war. These new banks were different from the private deposit banks that clustered around the West End. Their capital was typically drawn from the merchant world, in some cases by an active merchant changing industries, or more usually by inheritance.72 The partners of these new banks appear to have had a greater tolerance for risk and a greater appetite for innovation than those private bankers that had weathered the crises of the earlier eighteenth century. They brought with them credit habits from the mercantile world, including a tolerance for discounted bills drawn at longer timeframes, and an openness to a wider range of credit instruments—­consonant with credit conditions in the Baltic. Intriguingly, at least half of the new partnerships that appear on lists of London banks in the five years following the crisis had at least one partner connected to one of the banks John Thornton had selected in 1769.73 The scale of banking houses began to change as well. With the Bank of England’s charter of 1708 guaranteeing it a monopoly on joint stock banking, each banking house was limited to a maximum of six partners. However, as D. M. Joslin has argued, by the 1770s, private banks were increasingly using interlocking directorates and the beginnings of country banking networks to get around this restriction.74 Beginning with the credit crisis of 1772–3, therefore, the relationship between London’s financial institutions and other philanthropic or­gan­iza­ tions began to shift, as philanthropists found new ways to raise money, and as the relationship between banking and religious networks changed. The bankers gathered by John Thornton to support the Indian Charity School continued to collaborate together in other ventures, and they and their family members were among the most active in the new wave of banking 71  This includes a small number of houses that had performed some banking functions previously, but formed new partnerships and began operating exclusively as banks in this period. 72 Gauci, Emporium, p. 162. 73  F. G. Hilton Price, Handbook of London Bankers (1876), pp. 164–9. 74 D.  M.  Joslin, ‘London Private Bankers, 1720–1785’, Economic History Review, 7(2) (1954), p. 171.

78  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World partnerships. Following the credit crisis, Richard Down joined a new partnership, quickly rising to become senior partner, and taking on John Thornton’s youngest son Henry in 1785 as partner in what became Down, Thornton and Free, trading at 1 Bartholomew Lane.75 Those that remained following the crisis deepened their collaboration, forming the core of those that began sending clerks to the new London Clearing House, formed in 1773 in a room of Martins bank, which facilitated faster reconciliation of paper and book credit between banks, and increased informal contact between bankers, and knowledge sharing about clients and financial markets.76 During the 1770s, new philanthropic organizations that arose out of the London milieu continued to be characterized by lightweight governance structures, and continued to rely on a small number of names in their public appeals. Whether due to the stabilization in the number of London’s banking houses, or to habit, increasing numbers of societies published lists of banks at which they could take donations, regardless of whether a partner was involved directly in the committee. While society collectors still operated, paid by commission, and directors continued to raise and receive money personally, banks provided a low cost, high trust means for funds to be remitted. Recurring names included Hoares, Drummonds, Hankey, Martins, Dorrien, Biddulph & Cocks, Asgill, Fullers and Down.77 The Committee in Behalf of Chimney-­ Sweepers Young Apprentices, which formed at John’s Coffee-­House in 1774 offers an example. Its committee of thirteen included seven Russia merchants and two bankers, and received most of its initial support from Russia Company freemen. However, it advertised its ability to receive funds through John Thornton, Jonas Hanway, Rev. John Burrows, the three leading committee members, and through Drummonds, Hoares, and Sir Charles Asgill and Co.78 Befitting the flexible

75  John Cornwall junior, son of John Thornton’s business partner, was also a partner in the bank from 1792 until his untimely death ten years later. 76  George Chandler, Four Centuries of Banking as Illustrated by the Bankers, Customers and Staff Associated with the Constituent Banks of Martins Bank Limited, 2 vols. (1964), ii, p. 152. Joslin, ‘London Private Bankers’, pp. 184–5. See also Henry Thornton, An enquiry into the nature and effects of the paper credit of Great Britain (1802), pp. 55–6. Note that some members of the Martin family were themselves active in philanthropic networks. 77  An additional story could be told of the handful of booksellers whose names also appear as receiving donations, though financial accounts suggest that total amounts received by booksellers were significantly smaller than those received by banks—­reflecting either a less wealthy category of donor, or merely fewer donations. 78  Jonas Hanway, The Defects of Police: The Cause of Immorality (1775), pp. 94, 98.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   79 and relational organization, the Committee’s stationer, George Richardson, also maintained the register of applicants in his shop.79 Accompanying this stabilization in the process of fundraising was further convergence between the groups of religious and merchant philanthropists. The Small Debts Society, founded in 1772 and led by commercial men, numbered among its committee several clergymen, including the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishops of London and Winchester. Its benefactions were similarly received by the same set of philanthropic bankers, and those with a direct involvement in the Society. Robert Herries of the London Exchange Banking Company appears alongside John Dorrien, Henry Hoare, James Cocks, and William Fuller, as both receiving bankers and subscribers. The Society took offices at Craven Street, Strand, so as to be near to the City offices of its supporters, and its committee had a quorum of five, from a list of ninety-­seven eligible subscribers by 1777.80 Its reports of the 1770s differ from those of societies a decade earlier in combining an appeal to the identity of the commercial community with direct references to Christian ideals of forgiveness, lest debt become ‘amongst the Christians of England . . . too black a die ever to be forgiven’.81 It described its work first in terms of ‘Manufacturers, Seamen, and Labourers, whose usefulness . . . is thus happily restored to the public. So that the charity in question claims attention not only from the humanity of its design, but also from the advantages which it derives to the community in general’,82 and later as an outworking of the Christian character of society, relieving the costs to parishes. An even more dynamic convergence is apparent in the Book Society. Formed in 1750 by a group of lay dissenting evangelicals, the Society initially aimed its efforts at funding the donation of books to supply dissenting ministers, but became increasingly interdenominational, drawing in the support of Anglican Evangelicals.83 Early support from outside dissenting circles came primarily from Evangelical clergy, with Henry Venn joining in 1753, Martin Madan in 1759, William Romaine in 1762 and John Newton in 1768. From the late 1760s, the society’s rate of growth increased markedly, with numbers joining annually averaging more than fifty for the decade 79 Jonas Hanway, The State of Chimney-­Sweepers Young Apprentices (1773), p. 48; Jonas Hanway, The State of Master Chimney-­Sweepers and Their Journeymen (1779); K. H. Strange, Climbing Boys: A Study of Sweeps’ Apprentices, 1773–1875 (1982), pp. 35–42. 80  An Account of the Society for the Discharge and Relief of Persons imprisoned for Small Debts (1777). 81  Ibid., p. 57. 82  Ibid., p. 59. 83 Isabel Rivers, ‘The First Evangelical Tract Society’, Historical Journal, 50(1) (2007), pp. 1–22.

80  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World following 1767—more than double the average rate in the preceding decade. This increase was in large part due to an influx of lay Anglicans—­primarily merchants already active in supporting metropolitan philanthropy—­and including many who can be confidently identified as Evangelicals, including in 1761 John Thornton, and over the following fifteen years his immediate family and many of his business associates.84 This influx coincided with a systemization of the operation of the society. Its constitution was modified during the late 1760s, subsidizing the costs of sending books to those outside London and thus encouraging an expansion of its membership, and standardizing the committee, accounting, and reporting practices of the society.85 It seems likely, given that these new rules bear strong similarities to the rules of the set of philanthropic societies managed largely by merchants, that they came about through the influence of new members familiar with these practices. As a result of this convergence, societies such as the Small Debts Society and the Book Society were increasingly diverse as regards the profession, social standing, and religious affiliations of their members and committees, and became sites for inter­actions between different models of philanthropic organization, leading to cross-­ fertilization between hitherto separate models. However, while these connections were strengthening during the 1770s, the incomes of philanthropic societies grew slowly if at all during the decade. The ‘Bible Society’, later the Naval and Military Bible Society, fits this pattern. Founded in 1779, after sluggish public support was stimulated when John Thornton ‘came forward and liberally assisted’, the Society did not sustain regular committee meetings until 1781.86 Continuing the earlier model of close affiliation between committee membership and fundraising, the Society received subscriptions at ‘Messrs Baynes, Wood, Griffiths and Co., Blackfriars Bridge’, a coal partnership including Spencer Wood and John Griffiths, two of the five initial committee members. The effects of this continued reliance on personal networks can be seen in the Benevolent Institution for the Sole Purpose of Delivering Poor Married Women at their own habitations. Established in 1779, the Institution advertised that it 84  The influx may relate to the increase in Evangelical patronage of cultural output described in chapter one. See An Account of the Society for Promoting Religious Knowledge Among the Poor (1779), and John Rippon, A Discourse on the Origin and Progress of the Society for Promoting Religious Knowledge Among the Poor (2nd edn, c.1804). 85  See the Accounts of the Society for the Promotion of Religious Knowledge among the Poor (1762) and (1769). 86  The account in ‘The First Bible Society’, The Sunday at Home (1874), pp. 772–5, quotes correspondence between John Davis, George Cussons, and John Thornton.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   81 would receive funds at nearly fourteen different addresses—­the offices of committee members and stewards. Included among these was Thomas Jefferys, a goldsmith, and probably the same who was a subscriber and steward of the Book Society, but no bankers or other representatives of City finance. In the fifteen years between 1780 and 1795, subscription lists for the Society show little increase in the number of subscribers, and annual donations remained between £500 and £600. The ubiquitous Thornton family supported the Institution from the beginning, with Lucy Thornton, her sons Samuel and Robert, and daughter-­in-­law Elizabeth appearing as life subscribers. However, John Thornton’s name was conspicuously absent, as were other members of the financial nexus. It was only when Henry Thornton joined as subscriber in the early 1790s, quickly becoming a vice president, that donations began to increase. By 1800, the number of women being assisted every year had grown from between 800 to 1,000, to more than 2,000.87 This pattern was mirrored in similar organizations, with the growth of incomes of those societies that did not seek to systematize their fundraising rising to a ceiling reflecting the limits of the social networks of their directors until at least the mid-­1780s.

2.3  The Philanthropic Nexus, c.1788 By the end of the 1780s, increasing reliance by philanthropic organizations on banks and bankers to facilitate fundraising had the effect of decreasing committees’ dependence on individual efforts. Increasing wealth across society, these broader mechanisms of fundraising, and the return of peace allowed the growth of a greater number of philanthropic societies during the 1780s. Figure 2.3 shows the interconnectivities between the directorates of nine representative societies around the year 1788: the SPCK and Magdalen Hospital representing the 1760s patterns of religious and mercantile organization respectively; the Book Society which, while founded in 1750, had by the 1780s expanded beyond its initial networks of London dissenters; the Small Debts Society, founded in 1772 and representative of the partial integration described earlier; and four new initiatives of the late 1780s with very different objectives—­ the Society for the Support and Encouragement of Sunday Schools (1785), the Society for Effecting the

87  An Account of the Benevolent Institution (1799).

82  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World

Figure 2.3  The philanthropic nexus, c.1788

Abolition of the Slave Trade (1787), the Society for Carrying into Effect His Majesty’s Proclamation for the Encouragement of Piety and Virtue (1787), and the Society for the Relief of Poor Pious Clergymen (1788). The diagram shows a greater number of directors involved in more than one society—­ eighty-­ five, compared with thirty-­ six in 1760—but also the continued importance of a small core of highly involved directors in connecting so­ci­ eties with diverse aims. Just seventeen directors were on three committees, and only six sat on four or more. Four of those six were John Thornton and his three sons, Samuel, Robert, and Henry. There are several features of the nexus exposed by this analysis that shed light on how philanthropy was developing in this decade. First, despite the overlap between the Anglican SPCK and the predominantly dissenting Book Society during the 1770s, largely through interdenominational

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   83 interactions within evangelical networks, members of the Book Society remained largely disconnected from subsets of mercantile philanthropy, including the supporters of the Magdalen Hospital. In contrast, eight members of the SPCK were also on the Committee of the Magdalen. Those new societies established during the 1780s were in most cases significantly less connected than more established institutions—­suggesting that new so­ci­ eties might be formed by outsiders and take time to attract the attention of other philanthropic circles. The Proclamation Society is the conspicuous exception, with thirty-­five of its members participating in at least one other society. As Joanna Innes and others have suggested, this suggests Wilberforce’s effectiveness at recruiting members across the spectra of elite society.88 What the diagram does not show are the layers of other—­ including informal—­connections that joined these directors. Among the Anglican Evangelicals, William Wilberforce appears on only three lists in this period—­pouring the bulk of his efforts into parliamentary action. Charles Middleton, representing the ‘Teston circle’, had also not yet joined the Abolition Society. Chapter 3 explores in much more detail the social and associational interactions within this newly forming nexus, and the emergence of the Clapham Sect as a coordinating grouping within as­so­ci­ ation­al philanthropy. The presence of these clusters shaped the flurry of philanthropic activity during the late 1780s, with new societies typically forming within a cluster or in the interactions between two or more clusters. The Lock Asylum—­ established in 1787 as an extension of the work of the Lock Hospital—­was managed by a committee largely comprising bankers and others involved in City finance. Similarly, the Philanthropic Society drew its early support largely from bankers and merchants with Russia Company connections. The Society for the Relief of Poor Pious Clergymen, founded in 1788, was led by a committee of Evangelical clergymen and pious merchants, with the banker Ambrose Martin as treasurer. Unlike earlier committees, where directors might be on multiple boards in common simply by reason of participation in the same social circles, by the late 1780s, patterns of clustering repeated across multiple boards as these groups acted in concert. The Evangelical clergymen Jarvis Abdy, Richard Cecil, Henry Foster, John Newton, William Romaine, appeared repeatedly together, as did the Thornton brothers and William Wilberforce. Each cluster had their own

88  Innes, ‘Politics and Morals’; Roberts, Making English Morals, pp. 17–8, 24–34.

84  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World preferred institutions through which money could be received. For clergymen church collections continued to be important, but the reshaping of London’s banking sector also fed into philanthropic fundraising, with clusters of banks appearing together on society reports. Where Russia Company connections were strong such as for the Philanthropic Society, banks listed included Dimsdale’s, Esdaile’s, Boldero’s and Dorrien, Mello & Martin.89 Societies with strong support from Evangelical Anglicans typically raised money through Down Thornton & Free, Mackworth’s, or Drummond’s.90 As developed in the next chapter, there were further ramifications of this clustering. During the late 1780s and 1790s however, its main effect was to create a social support base for new initiatives, and reinforce the difficulties of expanding beyond this base, limiting the scope of financial growth for these societies to those that could be remitted through their partner banks and congregations, and restricting the organizational repertoire to that available to be drawn from the experience and social rank of its supporters. By far the most significant transformation in philanthropy in this period was the tentative beginning of structures that supported systematic expansion outside London. Regional organizations had been a feature of eighteenth-­ century philanthropy: the Foundling Hospital was in cor­res­pond­ence by 1757 with a small number of country hospitals, and the Marine Society was informed in 1758 that a Dublin Marine Society had been formed.91 However, these were short-­lived and independent of London committees. Further experimentation had occurred during the 1780s, when the Abolition Society developed first a network of country correspondents in July 1787.92 These appear to have been partly inspired by the county association 89  The Philanthropic Society for the Prevention of Crimes, and the Reform of the Criminal Poor (1788), p. 7. 90  Plan of a Society for the Support and Encouragement of Sunday-­Schools (1788), p. 8. 91  Regulations for Managing the Hospital for the Maintenance and Education of Young Children (1757), pp. 51ff. Hanway’s attempts to set up further Marine Societies in Exeter, Plymouth, and Bristol were unsuccessful, though a subscription was raised in Exeter. See Hanway, Motives, p. 13, and discussion in Pietsch, ‘Ships’ Boys’, p. 82. Some societies maintained agents outside London specifically for the purposes of receiving funds, such as the Humane Society, which in 1797 had four ‘treasurers’ in addition to Dr Hawes in London, in Bath, Portsmouth, Rochester, and Southampton. Annual Report of the Humane Society (1797), p. 7. The Philanthropic Society began listing its members by location in 1791, hoping to encourage further giving from the regions. A List of the Members of the Philanthropic Society (1791). 92  BL, Add. MS. 21254, ‘Abolition Society Fair Minute Book’, fos. 9–12. At roughly the same time, in July and August 1787, the committee began corresponding with Benjamin Rush (1746–1813) in Pennsylvania, and appointed Brissot de Warville (1754–93) an ‘honorary Member and Correspondent’ with instructions to establish a French institution. See fos. 8 (17 July 1787) and 14 (27 August 1787).

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   85 movement of 1779–80, and relied heavily on the personal networks of directors. James Phillips (1745–99), a publisher, took on the largest share of this distributive correspondence, writing to 47 of 131 regional correspondents. By July 1788, Thomas Clarkson (1760–1846) had proposed a network of ‘country committees’;93 however Wilberforce urged caution in creating any unified national network of committees ‘to avoid giving any possible occasion of offence to the Legislature by forced or unnecessary Associations’.94 In reality, the dynamics of the relationship between those committees that did form and the London committee were variable. Seymour Drescher has described in detail the autonomous formation of a Manchester society, and its tensions with London,95 while most other regional committees were initiated directly by Clarkson during his travels.96 However, the beginnings of a more permanent infrastructure can be seen in both the Abolition Society, and in the other key society of the period with nationwide ambitions—­the Society for the Support and Encouragement of Sunday-­Schools. The two committees of these societies had the largest overlapping set of directors—­Samuel Hoare, John Maitland, James Martin, William Morton Pitt, Philip Sansom, and Joseph Smith—­characterized by banking and Evangelical connections.97 These banking connections provided a sustained bridge between regional clusters of philanthropy and the London nexus. In Bristol, for example, the Harford family of Miles & Co., were a key link over two generations between local and London abolitionists, and George Daubeny, one of the two Aldermen who initially supported the cause had strong links to Henry Thornton’s bank. Richard Huzzey has recently shown in a microhistory of Plymouth antislavery how bankers such as William Elford, who chaired the 1789 local abolition committee, 93  BL Add. MS. 21255, fo. 33: 1 July 1788. A week later on 8 July, the Society amended its constitution to include a president and vice presidents. 94  See BL Add. MS. 21255, fos. 36–55: July–­Aug.1788. Wilberforce was worried about the appearance of replicating the country association movement; 2,486 copies of the Society’s Reports were sent to thirty-­four correspondents to distribute in their localities. 95  Seymour Drescher, Capitalism and Antislavery: British Mobilization in a Comparative Perspective (New York, 1987), pp. 67–75. 96 J. R. Oldfield, Popular Politics and British Anti-­Slavery: The Mobilisation of Public Opinion against the Slave Trade, 1787–1807 (Manchester, 1995), pp. 89–102. Some committees sparked by Clarkson’s visit were semi-­formal gatherings of subscribers, while others, such as the Nottingham or Exeter committees, drew in local dignitaries. F.  E. Sanderson describes how Clarkson’s tactlessness in dealing with the ‘Roscoe Circle’ of local abolitionists left the visiting London delegation with ‘little to show for their pains’: ‘The Liverpool Abolitionists’, in Roger Anstey and P. E. H. Hair, Liverpool, the African Slave Trade, and Abolition: Essays to illustrate Current Knowledge and Research (Liverpool, 1976), pp. 198–211. 97  Martin was the son of John Martin, involved in the Marine Society and SPCK in 1760.

86  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World provided an essential ‘conduit between national and local affairs’, and their importance for the ‘scale and persistence’ of the local movement.98 Similarly the Heald family near Manchester combined evangelical connections and mercantile and banking links, with intergenerational involvement in the notable Stockport Sunday School.99 Commercial, religious, and philanthropic links reinforced each other and created sustained ties of collaboration. The failure of the early petitioning and Parliamentary campaign for Abolition also led to the formation of the Sierra Leone Company, which reveals how closely linked commerce and philanthropy were in the minds of philanthropists, and set important precedents for the organizational models that followed. Chaired by Henry Thornton, the SLC was from its inception intended as a ‘philanthropic’ company—­modelled closely on the Russia Company for the purposes of demonstrating that a free labour economy could flourish on the West African coast. The SLC’s enduring influence on transnational philanthropy is discussed at length in Chapter 5, but in the 1790s it was an abject lesson in the importance of institutional capacity. Thornton later lamented their failure to find trustworthy managers and administrators, and how he had been required to be ‘the channel of communication between the Company & the Government’100—a lesson that he and those close to him would not repeat as they ensured that later projects were led by key employees or paid trustees. Members of the philanthropic nexus increasingly divided their time between multiple projects. By the 1790s, the philanthropic nexus in London had drawn together an operating model, informed by experience in trade and finance, that was increasing in organizational capability, and importantly, poised to permanently expand its support base.

2.4  Banking Networks and the Auxiliary Revolution, c.1800–1815 The ‘age of societies’ that Thomas Babington Macaulay trumpeted in 1823 already had many precedents by 1800, but during the first decade of the 98 Richard Huzzey, ‘A Microhistory of British Anti-­Slavery Petitioning’, Social Science History, 43(3) (2019), pp. 599–623. 99 W.  I.  Wild, The History of the Stockport Sunday School (1891). David Hempton, Methodism and Politics in British Society 1750–1850 (2013), p. 182. 100  CUL Thornton Papers 7674/1/N, fo. 33.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   87 century, the fusion of religious and mercantile philanthropic motives and techniques was generating a further wave of new organizations, that together ‘left no field of social activity untouched’.101 Overseeing these so­ci­ eties were the ‘Fathers of the Victorians’, the interlocking directorates drawn from respectable society first mapped by Ford K. Brown in 1961. Remapping and visualizing these connections in greater detail offers new insights into how this world was organized. Figure 2.4 shows the governance-­level intersections between thirteen organizations, again chosen to be representative of the broad range of philanthropy at this time. In constructing the diagram, memberships have been chosen as close as possible to 1800, though liberty has been taken in the cases of the Vice Society and Bible Society, founded in 1802 and 1804 respectively. In both cases, these societies were the result of

Figure 2.4  The philanthropic nexus, c.1800 101 Brown, Fathers, p. 317.

88  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World extended conversations in the years prior to their founding, and they are too important to forming a proper picture of contemporary philanthropy to exclude. Wilberforce’s Proclamation Society, by this point drifting into in­activ­ity, about to be supplanted by a more activist Vice Society, remained by far the most interconnected board. Similarly, the Bettering Society, as a kind of umbrella association for metropolitan philanthropy, was highly connected. The existence of an inner circle of philanthropic directors can be clearly seen in those who were members of more than four societies. Striking patterns emerge when the same data is reconfigured to show commonalities between societies rather than the specificities of individual directors, and with connections stratified according to the degree of involvement by each director. If only those directors who were involved in two societies are shown, the Bettering and Proclamation Societies, followed by the Philanthropic Society and Foundling Hospital appear to be the best connected, while the Church Missionary Society and other religious so­ci­ eties are only sparsely linked. However, when highly connected directors—­ those who sat on three or four committees—­are added into the picture, the CMS, Climbing Boys Society, and Bible Society emerge as the most interconnected organizations. Partly, this shows the significance of Evangelical philanthropists to this milieu. As is explored in greater detail in Chapter 3, the clusters of religious and mercantile philanthropists that had converged during the 1770s were further reordered between 1788 and 1800, with the ‘Clapham Sect’ occupying a coordinating role between distinct sets of phil­ an­throp­ists. However, it also illustrates a divergence that was beginning to occur between those organizations that were capable of being managed by a single organizing committee—­primarily those organizations where activity was largely confined to London—­and those organizations whose expanding programmes led them to recruit from the growing pool of experienced, vocational philanthropic directors. These were increasingly specializing in their different functions on boards, many of which by now had de facto specialist editors, lawyers, political coordinators, and administrators, as well as the official positions of presidents, treasurers, and secretaries. From the mid-­1800s, philanthropic organizations developed formal auxiliary societies, on the back of the remittance structures pioneered in earlier decades, creating new geographic possibilities, and increasing the resources available to central committees by an order of magnitude by the mid-­1810s. Auxiliary societies were distinct from earlier local associations in being constitutionally bound to the central society and existing primarily to remit money back to London, possessing little of the freedom of independent

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   89 action of earlier regional associations, but rather certain rights from the parent society. The auxiliary revolution was largely built on the growth of country banking. After the peace of 1783, Britain’s banking system had undergone dramatic expansion in the number of country banks. It has been estimated that there were fewer than twelve banks outside London in 1750, and 386 in 1800, with nearly all the increase occurring in the years between 1783 and 1800.102 Joslin identified eight banks that by 1797 had come to dominate the country banking business: Down, Esdaile, Robarts, Forster, Masterman, Sanderson, and Barclays.103 By the first decade of the nineteenth century, the prosperity of these banks rested on the volume of trade with their country affiliates. In June 1805, for example, Henry Thornton’s bank Down, Thornton, Pole and Free held £220,206 in its country ledgers, which had increased to a peak of £787,701 by December 1809, before subsiding to £541,688 a year later as the financial contraction set in.104 Of these eight banks dominating the new market, Barclays was the longest established and drew on Quaker networks; the other seven were all either founded, or re-­formed as partnerships between the early 1770s and mid-­1780s. Notably absent from the list were most of the West End private deposit banks: Messrs Coutts, bankers to the King, as well as Hoares, Childs, and Drummonds. As shown in Figure  2.5, by 1806, Coutts had developed its own banking networks, Masterman had dropped down the list, and Sir James Sanderson had died, the bank becoming Harrisons and Co. Of these, all but the Quaker-­owned Barclays and Coutts and Co. were controlled by partners with Evangelical sympathies. Sir James Esdaile was a donor to the Book Society and later the Sunday School Society. Josiah Robarts was a trustee with John Thornton of Wheelock’s Indian Charity School. Sir James Sanderson of what would become Harrisons and Co. was

Figure 2.5  Dominant City banks in country banking, with number of country affiliates in 1806 (data drawn from T. Bailey, A Correct Alphabetical List Containing all the Country Bankers (6th edn, 1806))

Esdaile and Co.

37

Down and Co. Robarts and Co. Coutts and Co. Barclays and Co. Harrisons and Co. Forster and Co.

32 30 27 24 20 20

102 Price, Handbook of London Bankers, p. 19. See also, Henry Thornton, Enquiry, p. 154. 103  Joslin, ‘London Private Bankers’, pp. 183–4. Joslin makes a distinction between West End bankers and City bankers—­the latter driving the country banking boom. 104  RBS Archives, PT/2/3, ‘List of country ledgers balances, 1805–12’.

90  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World a governor of the Magdalen Hospital, president of Bridewell Hospital, and a committee member of the Vice Society. How expansion of auxiliary societies built upon established banking networks can be seen in the first society to pursue a national policy of auxiliary establishment, the British and Foreign Bible Society (BFBS). The BFBS was founded in March 1804, with its offices in Fleet Street.105 The Committee of the BFBS comprised thirty-­six laymen—­fifteen Anglicans, fifteen dissenters, and six foreigners—­of whom one-­quarter rotated out of office every year. At a committee and operational level, it drew heavily on mercantile experience. The Bible was a precious commodity—‘Never was a vessel so richly freighted, as that which brought the first Bible to the British shores’106—that was to be re-­exported wherever British ships could sail. This connection to trade was obvious to both the society’s supporters and its detractors, with an an­onym­ ous pamphleteer complaining that the Bible had ‘been made a common article of traffic’.107 However, it was the role of bankers, particularly Henry Thornton, that allowed the society to develop such widespread fundraising networks. From its inception the BFBS had ‘opened a correspondence with all parts of the United Kingdom’, with a view to making ‘the Institution of the Society extensively known; in the confidence, that the simplicity, purity, and im­port­ance of its design, would entitle it to general approbation and support; and that its means of becoming beneficial, would thus be proportionably increased’.108 For supporters, the BFBS epitomized the next step in the growth and development of philanthropy: providing for souls as well as bodies. As John Thornton, the younger (1783–1861) explained at the founding meeting of the City of London Bible Society Auxiliary in 1812: Already have the Citizens of London exhausted the stores of intervention in providing for the relief of every corporeal calamity. Every disease, every cause of misery, has been classified; for the sufferers of every age, sex, and description, an appropriate asylum has been prepared; but it remained for us to witness of this day the erection of a Grand Dispensary for remedying the sorrows of the mind.109

105  BFBS Reports (1810), i, p. i. 106  Report of the Proceedings on the Formation and Establishment of the North East Hants Auxiliary Bible Society (1813), p. 18. 107  Ibid., p. 79. 108  BFBS Reports (1810), i, p. 11; see also pp. 25–7. 109  Report of the Proceedings . . . City of London Auxiliary Bible Society (1812), p. 38.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   91 In July of 1805, a ‘London Association for contributing to the Fund of the . . . Society’ was formed. The first society formed for the sole purpose of raising funds for another society within the same city, it aimed to draw in less affluent donors, unusually setting an upper threshold on subscription donations.110 Membership started at an initial minimum donation of 2s, followed by minimum monthly contributions of 6d, and members were grouped into sets of eight, with the responsibility for collection rotating among those eight members.111 In April 1806, the London Association was followed by one in Birmingham, which ‘transmitted the whole of its funds to the Society in London’.112 To manage and remit the funds, the banking house of Messrs Taylors and Lloyds were appointed treasurers.113 Unlike the London Association, which effectively functioned as a socio-­ economic second tier to the BFBS, the Birmingham Association maintained the one guinea minimum donation for Committee membership. A further number of smaller associations also began to be formed, some of which sent donations to the London Committee. These transfers remained sporadic. The Greenock and Port Glasgow Bible Society, established in 1807, remitted money through the channel of William Muir, a merchant who had transferred £1,175 through his own accounts by mid-­1810.114 By 1807, other societies were beginning to take notice of the model. The London Missionary Society invited applications to form ‘Auxiliary Societies (in which the poor of the flock by the periodical contribution of small sums, may materially enlarge the funds, and be induced by regular information in their stated meetings to offer up their intercessions for the prosperity of this Institution)’.115 The first ‘regular’ auxiliary society was formed at Reading in 1809 for the  sole purpose of ‘contributing to [the parent Society’s] laudable 110  Exceeding the upper limit of a 7s initial donation, and 1s per month thereafter, would put a donor very close to the one guinea minimum for membership of the BFBS proper. See BFBS Reports (1806), p. 57. 111  Charles Stokes Dudley, An Analysis of the System of the Bible Society (1821), pp. 136ff. As befit the limited remit of the Society, the Committee numbered only thirteen, and was only required to meet monthly. 112  Report of the Proceedings of the Annual Meeting of the Association formed in Birmingham (1812), p. i. 113  Ibid., p. 58. 114  Cambridge University Library, Bible Society Archives, B1/4, ‘Minutes of the Committee, 1 May 1809–17 Dec. 1810’, pp. 83, 209. This Society admitted its limitations when it merged in 1813 to become the snappily titled Greenock and Port Glasgow West Renfrewshire Bible Society, writing that its aims would now ‘be carried forward on a scale greatly enlarged’ (Dudley, System, p. 138). 115  Quoted in Thorne, ‘The Conversion of Englishmen’, p. 251.

92  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World undertaking’.116 A further eleven local societies were founded in 1809–10, with varied constitutions and expectations. Some followed the central committee in requiring half the committee to be members of the Established Church, others appear to have expected to be able to draw on central funds for the purchasing of bibles.117 Initial correspondence between the London committee and the new associations was framed in the language of ‘cooperating’, with several chains of correspondence recorded in the minutes debating what this would entail.118 Mercantile connections continued to operate in this context, providing the largest international dimension to the cor­res­ pond­ence and ‘cooperation’ of the Committee. For example, John Paterson, later chaplain to the English Factory in St Petersburg, wrote asking for ­support for his subscriptions for Icelandic and Swedish bibles.119 Zachary Macaulay wrote from Sierra Leone that applications to the SPCK for bibles had been rejected, and was sent 100 volumes in English and 200 in French.120 On 5 March 1810, at the request of the Treasurer Henry Thornton, the parent committee began to restructure its collecting to take into account the growing importance of auxiliaries—­the collector no longer received a commission on income from auxiliaries, but received an increased salary to account for the extra administrative work.121 A subcommittee was also dele­gated to consider the financial basis by which bibles and other books would be supplied to auxiliary societies. The conclusion, which set the pattern for auxiliaries going forward was that those societies that remitted the whole of all subscriptions of one guinea and above were to continue to receive bibles at reduced prices, while those that remitted part of these subscriptions were to receive bibles at pro rata prices. Local members were to relate directly in all matters with their local auxiliary society.122 By late 1810, Richard Phillips had joined the committee, and by 1811 had taken the lead from Thornton in standardizing rules for new auxiliaries.123 116  Quoted in Dudley, System, p. 138. 117  Ibid., p. 140. 118  CUL BSA B1/4, p. 144: 2 Apr. 1810. 119  Ibid., pp. 148–9: 2 Apr. 1810. Paterson’s connections continued—­in 1817 he commissioned translations of Hannah More’s tracts into Russian, Finnish, and Swedish. Duke (Wilberforce Letters), 3/2: Hannah More to William Wilberforce, c.19 Nov. 1817. 120  CUL BSA B1/4, p. 219. 121  Ibid., p. 123. Personal remittances continued to be vitally important. For example, one large legacy was deposited personally in the names of Teignmouth, Thornton, Boddington, and Hoare. CUL BSA B1/4, p. 149. For examples of personal cheques being sent see, CUL BSA B1/4, p. 144. 122  CUL BSA B1/4, p. 153. The decision was a substantive restructure, and was put to vote at the subsequent annual meeting. CUL BSA B1/4, p. 162. 123 Dudley, System, pp. 141–3.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   93 While the full set of relationships between country banks and BFBS aux­il­iar­ies is too dense to represent, it can be illustrated by a survey of the country banks of Henry Thornton’s bank, and, inverting the perspective, by considering the development of the Suffolk Auxiliary Society, which published detailed annual reports from the year of its inception in 1812. Down, Thornton, Pole & Free were the London bankers for thirty-­two country banks in 1806. Of these, fifteen were instrumental in the formation of BFBS auxiliaries in their towns, with either a partner, or the partnership itself serving as treasurer. The correlation suggests the likelihood that Thornton systematically recruited his country banking affiliates to establish aux­il­iar­ ies. The recruitment of bankers reflected the aim of auxiliary expansion which was unashamedly expressed by the BFBS as being ‘to interest the higher and more wealthy classes of the community, and to procure their contributions: leaving it to Bible Associations to excite a similar feeling in the labouring classes’.124 Map 2.1 shows the country affiliates of Thornton’s bank, with those in which at least one partner was on the local BFBS auxiliary committee by 1825 shown in blue. Banks shown in red had partners who were instrumental in founding an auxiliary for another philanthropic society, usually either Anti-­Slavery or the CMS.125 The Suffolk Auxiliary provides an excellent example of how these religious and banking networks interacted at the local level.126 Founded in 1812, the Society was divided into eastern and western divisions. Its treasurer in the east was Dykes Alexander, partner in Messrs. Alexander and Co., Ipswich, and part of the network of Quaker bankers drawing on Samuel Hoare’s London house of Hoare, Hill and Co. The treasurer of the western division was James Oakes,127 lead partner in Oakes and Son, the Bury St Edmunds affiliate bank of Lees and Co. Chairing the meeting establishing the auxiliary was the Rev. Thomas Cobbold, doubly qualified as the most senior clergyman, and with strong family ties to the Russia Company, and banking and merchant philanthropy.128 Among the vice presidents, several had strong connections to mercantile philanthropy, notably: Sir William Dolben, inveterate campaigner for abolition, Sierra Leone proprietor, listed 124  ‘Rules recommended by the Parent Committee for Auxiliary Societies’, quoted in Dudley, pp. 145–6. 125  Drawn from Bailey, Country Bankers. 126  Philip Hills, ‘Division and Cohesion in the Nineteenth-­Century Middle Class: The Case of Ipswich, 1830–1870’, Urban History, 14 (May 1987), pp. 42–50. 127  See Jane Fiske, The Oakes Diaries: Business, Politics and the Family in Bury St Edmunds (Woodbridge, 1990). 128  His younger brother John married Elizabeth nee Knipe.

94  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World

Banking Co (Aberdeen)

Royal Bank of Scotland (Edinburgh) Mansfield and Co (Edinburgh)

Branch of Royal Bank of Scotland (Glasgow)

Shadforth and Co (Berwick (Tweed Bank)) Batson and Co (Morpeth (Northumberland Bank)) Batson and Co (Newcastle (upon Tyne))

Forster and Co (Carlisle)

G. & H. Hutchinson (Stockton (Tees Bank)) Woodall and Co (Scarborough)

Gregsons and Co (Liverpool)

Walkers and Co (Sheffield)

Arkwright and Co (Wirksworth) Bellairs and Co (Derby) J.B. Scott (Lichfield) Bellairs and Co (Leicester)

Peacock and Co (Sleaford) John Manners (Grantham) Bellaires and Co (Stamford) Brown and Co (Hinckley) Goodacre and Co (Lutterworth)

Wilkins and Co (Brecon) Sheppard and Co (Uley) R Crawhay (Cyfarthfa (Cardiff)) Ireland and Co (Bristol) Dickenson and Co (Tiverton)

S.& N. Wathen (Minchinhampton) Ames and Co (Bristol) W.H. & G Sheppard (Frome) Wallers and Co (Winchester) Hunt and Co (Southampton)

Wise and Co (Totness) Banfield and Co (Falmouth)

Blue indicates the involvement of a partner in founding a BFBS auxiliary Red indicates the involvement of a partner in another philanthropic auxiliary

Map 2.1  Down, Thornton, Pole & Free country banks

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   95 by Reynolds as evangelically sympathetic, and whose son was a leading society director in London;129 Joshua Vanneck, descended from a line of Russia merchants;130 and Sir John Coxe Hippisley, governor of the Levant Company.131 By 1821, as the Auxiliary Society was celebrating its ten-­year anniversary, ten branch societies were in operation. At least five of these owed their formation to country bankers.132 The Sudbury branch treasurer was Thomas Fenn, lead partner in Fenn and Co., country affiliates of Fuller and Co. In Halesworth, the bank of Gurneys and Turner took on the role of treasurer as a partnership, and in Beccles, G. W. Bohun, appears in Pigot’s commercial directory as ‘attorney and bankers agent’.133 The first treasurer of the Woodbridge branch was Cornelius Collett, partner in Alexanders and Co. In Thetford, Eagle Willett, partner in Willett and Sons, country affiliate of Langston and Co., was both president and treasurer. In Southwold, Charles Barclay, of the banking family, was president. These men were also members of their respective local corporations, bailiffs, and magistrates.134 They shared in most cases a direct or close family connection to those involved in the London intersections of religious and commercial philanthropy during the 1770s, and sometimes to the philanthropic nexus of the 1760s. Thomas Fenn was the son of a director of the Foundling, and had himself donated to the Book Society in 1774.135 Eagle Willett and Richard Hanbury Gurney were members of the interlinked Quaker families of Gurney, Lloyd, Hanbury, Buxton, and Barclay, and each had brothers-­in-­law or fathers-­in-­ law, as well as cousins, who appear on the lists of London societies. The strengths of these family traditions suggest that there was more to their involvement than R. J. Morris’s assessment that urban discipline motivated an insecure elite.136

129 J.S.  Reynolds, The Evangelicals at Oxford, 1735–1871: A Record of an Unchronicled Movement, with the Record Extended to 1905 (Abingdon, 1975). Dolben was a member of the Marine Society, Debt Society, and the Royal Society. 130 His grandfather, the first Baron Huntingfield, had been a founding director of the Marine Society. His first cousin was Thomson Bonar. 131  On the committee of the Bettering Society, and an activist for Catholic emancipation. See Susan Mitchell Sommers, ‘Sir John Coxe Hippisley: That “Busy Man” in the Cause of Catholic Emancipation’, Parliamentary History, 27(1) (2008), pp. 82–95. 132  Only two, Aldborough and Beccles, certainly had no link to these banking networks—­ the other three have not been positively identified. 133  Pigot’s Commercial Directory: Suffolk (1830). 134 J. Raw, History of the County of Suffolk (1814), pp. 8ff. 135 Andrew, Philanthropy, p. 216. 136  Morris, ‘Voluntary Societies’, pp. 101, 109–11.

96  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World The ease with which bankers could remit money to the parent society was important, but equally vital was their role as trustworthy mediators.137 Auxiliaries were deliberately structured to prevent the money raised being spent in local contexts, and to minimize the control of local committees and auditors.138 With a geographically distributed structure, general meetings that could change locations from year to year, and in many cases an absence of regular annual reports, auxiliaries bypassed all the mechanisms of accountability developed for the associational model. The reputational risk to a country banker’s business relationships with London therefore became a vital check that all the funds would reach their destination. As William Dealtry argued before the meeting forming the St Alban’s Auxiliary Bible Society, none would risk ‘violating their professions and engagements’ or ‘risk his reputation upon such a desperate cause’.139 In exchange for this ­centralization however, members of auxiliaries were brought into a larger imaginative world. Prominent features of the reports published by auxiliary societies were the expansive visions of the work of the parent society repeated in speeches by local dignitaries and visiting secretaries. At the second meeting of the Leicester Auxiliary Bible Society in 1812, Henry Ryder spoke of the Society’s expansion through Europe, asking his audience to imagine ‘Livonia and Lithuania, inhabited by some millions of nominal Christians, but such as are in a peculiar degree destitute of religious instruction’, where ‘Not one family in an hundred possess a Bible’,140 while Aulay Macaulay invited his audience to see their efforts as contributing to a lin­ eage of ongoing reformation including John Wycliffe, Martin Luther, and the Oxford martyrs.141 Just as country banks allowed their clients to access a far greater world of credit, so auxiliary societies allowed their supporters to participate in a larger world of philanthropy. In the process, this built ties of identity and trust—­ understood by central directors as intrinsic to the 137  The social and economic rise of bankers as a financial class can be seen in comparing the names of these Suffolk bankers with those who had donated to the 1782 Suffolk naval subscriptions. See Yasushi Aoki, ‘To Be a Member of the leading Gentry: The Suffolk Voluntary Subscriptions of 1782’, Historical Research, 76(191) (2003), pp. 78–92. 138  From 1812, the parent committee began a series of efforts aimed at ensuring that all associations were under the control of auxiliaries, and ensuring that auxiliaries were primarily engaged in supporting the work of the central society, not local philanthropy. CUL BSA/B1/5, p. 344: Committee minutes, 5 Oct. 1812. 139  Report of the Proceedings at the Institution of the St Albans Branch Bible Society (1812), p. 17. 140  Speeches delivered at the second anniversary meeting of the Leicester Auxiliary Bible Society (1812), p. 6. 141  Leicester Auxiliary Bible Society (1812), pp. 22–3.

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   97 function of auxiliaries. In a speech on the topic of Bible Society auxiliaries, Thornton, who as treasurer might have been expected to emphasize their importance as vehicles for fundraising, instead spoke at length on how aux­ il­iar­ies created ties between supporters of more modest means and those who led the society. He emphasized how the ‘localization’ of philanthropic activism served to ‘connect [the lower orders] with their superiors, and to produce a feeling of mutual regard and general philanthropy,’ and that this gave a common ‘bond for our own good behaviour’.142 Nevertheless, the growth of auxiliaries was the indispensable factor in the expansion of philanthropy during the 1810s, as can be seen by comparing the income growth of those societies that developed expansive auxiliary networks with those that did not. The Philanthropic Society, for example, experienced rapid growth in annual income from £858 in 1789, rising to £2,489 two years later and to £3,405 by 1796. However, having expanded through the social networks of its directors, the society’s income plateaued, and by 1815, annual income had diminished to £2,618.143 Similarly constrained was the African Institution, which raised £4,374 in its first accounting period covering late 1807 and 1808. In each of 1809 and 1810 income hovered around £1650, but with the failures of initial projects and the diversion of attention to the CMS, income slumped to £367 in 1811, recovering to £732 in 1814.144 In contrast, the Religious Tract Society, after an initial influx of donations, experienced steady growth from its London fundraising, but this had largely plateaued by the early 1810s, with fluctuating highs in donations caused by special appeals for the publication of Chinese tracts in 1812, 1815, and 1817. Disregarding these appeals, the base annual income drawn to the central committee fluctuated between £1,000 and £1,200 for most of the 1810s. As Figure 2.6 shows, however, growth occurred in the years 1812 to 1815, as the Society developed its own small network of aux­il­ iar­ies.145 Leading the auxiliary revolution, and representing a larger scale was the Bible Society. Figure 2.7 shows the growth in the number of auxiliary societies and the annual expenditure of the society, with the dramatic effects of the systematization of the auxiliary system in 1811 evidenced in the sharp increase in the rate of growth in expenditure in the subsequent

142  Christian Observer (1812), pp. 315, 615. See discussion in section 4.3. 143  Philanthropic Society Reports (1789, 1791, 1796, 1815). 144  African Institution Reports (1808–14). 145  Proceedings of the First Twenty Years of the Religious Tract Society (1820).

98  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World 2000 1800 All other income

1600 1400 1200 1000 800

Income from auxiliaries

600 400 200 0

1800 1806 1807 1808 1809 1810 1811 1812 1813 1814 1815 1816 1817 1818 1819

Figure 2.6  Religious Tract Society income, 1800–1819 120000

100000

80000

250 Number of auxiliaries 200

Income

150

60000 100 40000 50

2000

0

1805 1806 1807 1808 1809 1810 1811 1812 1813 1814 1815 1816

Figure 2.7  BFBS annual expenditure vs number of auxiliaries, 1805–1816

0

‘ The Vast Machinery Established amongst Us ’   99 35000

30000

25000

20000

15000

10000

5000

0

1802 1803 1804 1805 1806 1807 1808 1809 1810 1811 1812 1813 1814 1815 1816 1817 1818 1819 1820

Figure 2.8  CMS annual income, 1802–1820

financial year.146 Most dramatic however was the experience of the CMS. Figure 2.8 shows starkly the shift following the Society’s campaign in 1812 and 1813 to establish a national network of auxiliaries. Annual income, which had fluctuated around £2,000 between 1805 and 1812, exceeded £10,000 in 1814 and was nearly £30,000 by 1820.147 The growth of associational philanthropy between the 1750s and 1810s was therefore driven by periods of experimentation and reorganization during periods of commercial and national uncertainty. The leadership nexus of philanthropy evolved from a directorate comprising individuals whose activism was largely an extension of their mercantile or religious sociability, through an intermediate stage where clusters of philanthropists innovated by interacting with each other, to the ‘age of societies’ in which philanthropic association became increasingly expansive. Intergenerational con­ tinu­ ity was sustained across this period through inheritance and the growing sense of philanthropic vocation. The transitions between each of these phases 146  The dip of 1814–15 was an effect of the disruption of the last year of the war—­with renewed disruption on the continent, the Bible Society temporarily reduced the quantity being printed for distribution in Europe, with outputs quickly recovering in 1816. Data drawn from the annual BFBS Reports, and Dudley, Analysis. 147  Data drawn from table in Tennant, Corporate Holiness, p. 99.

100  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World occurred earlier than the growth that they created, as organizational realities adapted from commercial and religious networks took time to have effect in the public sphere. What follows from this is the question of how these organizational factors interacted with philanthropic culture—­how groups sharing some degree of common cultural formation, operated as collectives within the wider associational milieu.

PART II

THE C L A PHA M SE CT

3 ‘The Society of the Excellent of the Earth’ Reframing the Clapham Sect

In 1807, Marianne Thornton wrote from Battersea Rise to Charemile Grant: Amongst our mercies I think that of having valuable friends one of the greatest—­while I was at breakfast this morning & looked round, first on Mr H Thornton then on Lord Teignmouth and then on Mr Venn ar­ran­ ging plans for Mr Wilberforce coming down to dinner, I could not but think with gratitude & humility how I was honoured to be thus admitted into the Society of the Excellent of the Earth.1

In such gatherings in homes around Clapham Common, friendship and philanthropy intermingled. The attractive scenes of sociability and col­lab­or­ ation over meals or in the Thornton family’s library are found throughout the letters, journals, and recollections of those involved, and have formed a core of many historical narratives. Here, long-­standing cooperation in phil­ anthropic projects and reforming causes was informed by the full range of human relationships—­family connections, shared religion, commercial ties, and the cheerful enjoyment of friendship and collegiality. It is challenging for historians to assess the explanatory possibilities of such dense nodes of connectivity in wider contexts, but rewarding for what it can tell us about how close-­knit networks operated, and about the interactions between ­religious, economic, and social impulses. The ‘Society of the Excellent of the Earth’ at breakfast was also the pre-­eminent instance of collective agency in contemporary philanthropy. Though neither comprehensive nor representative of the whole, they exercised a coordinating role within phil­ an­thropy and reform in this period. As heirs themselves to the multiple 1  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, fo. 643: Marianne Thornton to Charemile Grant, 11 Aug. 1807. Charemile was daughter to Charles and Jane Grant. ‘The Excellent of the Earth’ derived from Psalm xvi and was prevalent in religious literature. To Marianne Thornton, it appears to have been a kind of code to describe a religious philanthropist. See fos. 86–7, Marianne Thornton to Hannah More, 8 Oct. 1798, describing Elizabeth Bouverie. British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World: Entrepreneurs and Evangelicals, 1756–1840. Roshan Allpress, Oxford University Press. © Roshan Allpress 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198887195.003.0004

104  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World trad­itions of vocational philanthropy that had emerged since the 1750s, they were able to call on the trust and loyalties of many of the acknowledged leaders of philanthropic societies. A self-­consciousness about their orches­ trating role was central to their collective self-­understanding, expressed in commercial, ecclesiastical, political, and even military metaphors. Yet, to what extent did this group, influential as they were, shape the evolution of philanthropy? The aim of this chapter is to reconsider the usefulness of the ‘Clapham Sect’ as an explanatory concept in this period, and to consider its distinctiveness within wider philanthropic networks. In the Clapham Sect, the vocational and collaborative culture of philanthropy came together in a group who were well positioned to take advantage of both commercial and religious connections, giving a greater, though temporary, cohesiveness to the philanthropic nexus. To argue for the importance of such a group is not to claim that their idiosyncrasies were or are necessarily representative of all philanthropy in this period, but that the example of the group, including to those in competition or opposition to their efforts, as well as their mo­tiv­ ations and techniques, is essential to understanding how philanthropy developed.

3.1  Between Battersea Rise and Holy Trinity The inauguration of the Clapham Sect is conventionally placed in early May 1792 when Henry Thornton bought Battersea Rise, and invited Wilberforce to live with him. This began what Thornton described to Charles Grant in 1793 as ‘our Clapham system’—a group of young men, and later their wives and families, who moved to houses on the Common to live near to each other.2 Days before Thornton’s purchase, the trustees of his father’s will had offered the living of Clapham to John Venn, son of Henry Venn and a rising star in Evangelical circles.3 Even in this small knot of details the threads of different networks centred on Clapham can be clearly seen. The village had long been home to the Thornton family, and Samuel Thornton now occu­ pied his father’s home on the south side of the Common, with Robert Thornton nearby. Clapham, with its growing population, lifestyle, and easy links to the City, was a popular suburban retreat for London’s mercantile and financial elites. Around the Common lived members of the Barclay, 2  Henry Morris, The Life of Charles Grant (1904), p. 200. 3 Michael M. Hennell, John Venn and the Clapham Sect (Cambridge, 1958), p. 172.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   105 Deacon, Esdaile, Hankey, Hoare, Lubbock, Martin, and Robarts families of bankers, making the parish a suburban counterpart to the City in the trans­ formation of the British credit economy and the emergence of a new finan­ cial elite.4 Clapham had also been home to important eighteenth-­century philanthropists. Henry Thornton bought Battersea Rise from John Lubbock, a City banker who had bought it in 1787 from Isaac Akerman, a china mer­ chant with close ties to the Baltic trade. Each of these men had been major donors to philanthropic societies and socially proximate to the shifting philanthropic nexuses of their day.5 Thornton’s ‘Clapham system’ was there­ fore ideally positioned to interact with and recruit from among Britain’s commercial elites. The circumstances of Venn’s appointment to Holy Trinity Clapham re­inforce too the vitality and density of Evangelical networks in Clapham and around London. The church had been built in 1774, largely through the efforts of John Thornton, and represented a prime opportunity among the Evangelical pulpits of the capital.6 The post had initially been offered to Henry Foster, a popular Evangelical lecturer in London, who was inclined to accept, but was persuaded at the intervention of Charles Simeon to step aside so that the younger man might have the opportunity of ministering in the strategic parish. While considering the offer, Venn visited Clapham, met with Charles Grant and Samuel Thornton, and conducted a private service in Robert Thornton’s house. His father and wife forwarded letters of encour­ agement from Evangelical clergy around the country, and it was arranged that he would be replaced as Rector of Little Dunham by Henry Jowett, with similarly impeccable Evangelical credentials.7 Venn quickly began meeting regularly with other local Evangelical clergy, as he had at Little Dunham; he joined in with meetings of the Eclectic Society, and once settled in his pul­ pit, provided opportunities for other Evangelicals to address the congrega­ tion, and appointed Evangelicals as his curates. His presence ensured Clapham’s position as one of the most influential of the Evangelically orient­ed ‘fashionable congregations’ in and around London.8 To this tan­ gible expression of Evangelical vision, Wilberforce brought with him his 4  Clapham Antiquarian Society, Occasional Sheet 147. 5 Andrew, Philanthropy, p. 90. See also Wakefield’s General Directory (1790), p. 3. 6  CUL Thornton Papers, 1/A/7: John Thornton to John Newton, 15 Mar. 1774, ‘We have got the Act passed for building a Church here & propose laying out £6500 . . . I expect when it is finished to put in a Rector & then the Tables will be turned. Those that go to Stockwell now will go to Clapham & vice versa.’ 7 Hennell, John Venn, p. 107. 8  Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, pp. 116–26; Atkins, Converting Britannia.

106  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World social connections to the world of rising young politicians, and his unique ability to unite acceptability in the fashionable world with active piety, not least through his friendships with William Pitt and his inner circle, but also in his memberships of London clubs and the welcome he received in fash­ ionable salons. Though not definitive for the Clapham Sect, these personal connections were critical to their early credibility and political influence and, as Gareth Atkins has shown, to much of Wilberforce’s strategic early patronage-­seeking.9 Adding to the picture were a small number of Evangelical friends of both the Thornton family and Wilberforce—­including the Gisbornes, Babingtons, and Mores—­who were welcomed to Clapham when they visit­ed, or as in the case of Charles and Jane Grant and their family, when they too relocated to the Common. Finally, there were the growing families—­wives, brothers-­in-­ law, and in time, children. Clapham was therefore by the mid-­1790s the residential centre of a circle of young friends and their families—­drawn together by the patronage, hospitality, and friendship of the Thornton family—­who were united to a degree in their religious sens­ibil­ities, who had imbibed the spirit of philanthropy, and were seeking to various degrees to make it their collective lives’ work.10 The outworking of this collective activ­ ity was accompanied between 1800 and 1815 by a number of shifts in the shape of the community. The departure of Samuel Thornton (never as overt in his Evangelicalism as his youngest brother) and his family for Albury Park in 1801 was part of the trend whereby the Clapham community became increasingly more Evangelical and less mercantile in the character of its membership. Wilberforce’s diaries show him spending less time meet­ ing socially with non-­Evangelicals in the 1800s than in the previous decade, especially after his marriage, and as the pressures of philanthropic cam­ paigns peaked. As philanthropic societies expanded in size and ambition after 1807, so too members of the Clapham Sect spent less time managing their business affairs and more time managing societies, and engaging in parliamentary campaigns. The village of Clapham became less important as a hub for political philanthropy as Wilberforce and his family moved to Kensington Gore to be nearer to Parliament. Historians have therefore tended to narrate a series of heightening political achievements until the East India Company Charter Act of 1813, when there was a pause while a new generation came to the fore, and to set 1815 as an end-­marker for the 9  Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, pp. 111–15. 10  See for these family interactions, Stott, Wilberforce.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   107 group.11 As the year in which both Henry and Marianne Thornton died, with John Venn having also died prematurely in 1813, it represents a defini­ tive close to the era of long working days at Battersea Rise, Sunday services at Holy Trinity, and regular dinner gatherings and overnighting at Clapham, for a revolving list of philanthropists and reformers.

3.2  The Clapham Sect within the Philanthropic Nexus To understand its significance in this context, however, the Clapham Sect needs to be located within a broader philanthropic nexus. As shown in Figure 3.1, by 1788, seven identifiable, overlapping clusters of philanthropic activity had emerged within the overlapping directorate. The cluster that became the Clapham Sect was unique in that its members intentionally

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108  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World formed connections between these clusters, such that by 1792 they formed a coordinating node. In 1788, between the committees of the Sunday School, Proclamation, Small Debts, Clergymen’s Relief, Philanthropic, Book, and Abolition Societies, the Magdalen Hospital, and the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge (SPCK), fifty-­seven names appear on more than one list; with fifteen on more than three lists. Clapham hosted the lar­ gest grouping, all linked to the Thornton family: John Thornton and his three sons, William Wilberforce who had use of a room at John Thornton’s house, and Charles Eyre, Robert Thornton’s father-­in-­law. A second group were those with close ties to the ‘Teston set’ that centred on Charles and Margaret Middleton and Elizabeth Bouverie. The importance of this cluster, based at Barham Court in Kent, to the origins of abolitionist campaigning has long been recognized, yet it is clear from looking at the degree of involvement by those with close ties to Teston that the links with metro­pol­ itan philanthropy extended beyond the ties between Hannah More, Beilby Porteus, Charles Middleton, Elizabeth Bouverie, and William Wilberforce.12 In addition to Charles Middleton, Viscount Folkestone (Jacob Pleydell-­ Bouverie),13 Elizabeth’s first cousin, and his son Philip Bouverie-­Pusey, were members of three and four committees respectively, and considering their wider philanthropic range, the ‘Teston set’ is best understood as phil­ an­throp­ists with ties to the Bouverie family.14 William Morton Pitt, relative of the prime minister and well known at Clapham, was also connected, being Margaret Middleton’s nephew through his marriage into the Gambier family of naval officers. Further involved was Gustavus Adolphus Kempenfelt, a committee member of the Proclamation and Debt Societies and a member of the SPCK since 1783, whose brother Richard (1718–82) had been a rear-­ admiral of the blue, a leading Evangelical in the Royal Navy, and a friend of Middleton.15 The Bouverie family had, like the Thorntons, moved from involvement in mercantile philanthropy to that motivated by Evangelical religion. The links between Clapham and Teston were therefore reflected in their shared Evangelicalism and abolitionism, and formed an important 12 Brown, Moral Capital, pp. 341–52; Beilby Porteus, A brief account of three favourite country residences (1808). A further excellent account of the ‘Middleton milieu’ can be found in Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, pp. 160–71. 13  See Ronald  K.  Huch, The Radical Lord Radnor: The Public Life of Viscount Folkestone, Third Earl of Radnor, 1779–1869 (Minneapolis, 1977), pp. 6–7. 14 See Jacob Radnor, A Huguenot Family: Des Bouverie, Bouverie, Pleydell–­ Bouverie 1536–1889 (Winchester, 2001), pp. 82–3. 15  Gentleman’s Magazine, 12 (1839), p. 143. See also J. K. Laughton (ed.), Letters and Papers of Charles, Lord Barham, 3 vols. (1907), i, p. 308.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   109 core in philanthropic societies, even before the Clapham Sect can be properly said to have formed. Rounding out the fifteen most active directors were William Drake, the MP and wealthy landowner (1723–96), and three with close ties to the older tradition of mercantile philanthropy—­Lord Willoughby de Broke (John Peyto-­Verney), who had been a major donor to the Marine Society; Thomas Raikes (1741–1813), Russia merchant, Evangelical, and later Governor of the Bank of England; and John English Dolben,16 son of Sir William Dolben.17 These, along with six other religious merchants, formed a distinct cluster—­active in moral causes such as the Proclamation Society. They had long-­standing family and Russia Company links to the Claphamites. A sec­ ond cluster of merchants—­Philip Sansom, Thomas Pattle, Samuel Hoare, Joseph Andrews, and James Pettit Andrews—­focused their joint efforts on abolitionist philanthropy, including the Abolition Society, and the Committee for the Relief of the Black Poor. Their ties to the Clapham Sect were strengthened by their involvement in the Sierra Leone Company (SLC). A further ‘literary set’ ­of philanthropists—­Bennet Langton, Thomas Bowdler, Hugh Percy, and George Montagu—­were all connected to the social circle that included Hannah More and Elizabeth Montagu, and which, though not exclusively Evangelical in sympathy, became connected to the Clapham Sect initially through More’s relationship with Wilberforce and Thornton. Abutting this set was another made up of Evangelically sym­ pathetic City notables with connections to Lord Dartmouth and John Thornton, including Brook Watson, Francis North,18 and the evangelical merchants William Marriott, William Wilson, and Thomas Hunt.19 Finally, there was the large grouping of religious bankers with ties to the London Clearing House, including James Sanderson, James Martin, Henry Hoare, and Ambrose Martin—­mostly resident at Clapham, and all friends of the Thornton family. During the 1790s, these groups converged through their association with the Clapham Sect, drawing both individuals and the insti­ tutions that they led closer together. While there were lateral connections 16 J. C. D. Clark, English Society, 1660–1832: Religion, Ideology and Politics During the Ancien Régime (Cambridge, 2000), p. 295. John English Dolben quite likely had pious leaning himself. See H. F. B. Compston, The Magdalen Hospital: The Story of a Great Charity (1917), p. 157. See also Gyles Isham, ‘A Northamptonshire Worthy: Sir John English Dolben, 4th Bart. of Finedon (1750–1837)’, Northamptonshire Past and Present, 4 (1966–71), pp. 277–80. 17  (1727–1814), MP for the University of Oxford, was listed by Reynolds as an Evangelical (p. 166). He had been active on philanthropic committees himself since the 1760s. 18  North was Dartmouth’s stepfather. 19  This group had the closest ties to Methodist circles.

110  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World between some of the different groupings—­unsurprisingly, for example, the circle around Lord Dartmouth was closely connected to the set of City bankers—­only the Claphamites had strong ties to all. Family links, shared Evangelical identity, and mercantile association overlaid and facilitated the Clapham Sect’s relational ubiquity within philanthropy. It was this ability to draw on and participate in these otherwise separate philanthropic and Evangelical networks that created the context for the Clapham Sect to operate. This positioning persisted across the turn of the century, drawing in other collaborators. Of 517 directors of thirteen representative societies around 1800,20 eleven served on more than four committees. Wilberforce, Samuel and Henry Thornton, Charles Grant, William Morton Pitt, and Philip Pusey were joined by five philanthropists who further illustrate how interconnected this world remained over multiple generations, but also how the Clapham Sect collaborated with individual philanthropists, who in an earlier generation might have been financially generous but focused their time and activism more narrowly. Each of these directors represented a trad­ ition of eighteenth-­ century philanthropy that now operated in the Claphamites’ philanthropic ambit. Shute Barrington, Bishop of Durham, was a long-­time supporter of Evangelical causes, whose support Wilberforce had actively sought for both Abolition and Proclamation. John Julius Angerstein, a Russia merchant with a long-­standing involvement in philan­ thropic causes, reaching back to his support of the Marine Society in 1756, had turned to vocational philanthropy in retirement, and was now diversi­ fying his involvement. Rev. Samuel Glasse, who had preached for philan­ thropic societies,21 now became active on more committees. Henry Hoare22 was continuing in his family’s tradition as banker and phil­an­throp­ist; and Thomas Bernard23 was by then several years into his second career as a phil­ an­throp­ist, and cooperating closely with the Clapham Sect. Supplementing those who served on many committees were others who belonged to fewer committees, but who can be seen in the minutes carrying much of the day-­ to-­day business. Richard Stainforth, for example, an Evangelical merchant

20 Bettering Society 1799; CMS 1799; Sunday School Society 1800; Vice Society 1803; Magdalen Hospital 1798; Proclamation Society 1799; Abolition Society 1800; BFBS 1804; Benevolent Institution 1799; Climbing Boys Society 1803; Foundling Hospital 1799; Religious Tract Society (RTS) 1800; Philanthropic Society 1797. 21  A sermon preached in the chapel of the Magdalen-­Hospital (1777). 22  (1750–1828). See Hutchings, Hoare, p. 95. 23  (1750–1818). J. Baker, The Life of Sir Thomas Bernard (1819).

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   111 and resident at Clapham, who had married Maria Baring, daughter of Francis Baring,24 was particularly active on the committee of the Church Missionary Society (CMS) in early 1807, during the period when the Saints were involved in passing the Abolition Act. George Wolff and Robert Steven, both of Clapham, and Anthony Wagner, performed a similar role for the Bible Society, between them chairing meetings and proposing most of the business in the absence of Lord Teignmouth during the same period from January to March 1807.25 In each of these cases, an individual’s own philanthropic impulse led them into one area of engagement, connecting them with the Clapham Sect, and through this link they became widely involved in a greater range of philanthropic societies.

3.3  Framing the Clapham Sect For the sake of clarity, it is important to understand how historians have used the idea of the ‘Clapham Sect’, before turning to a more detailed account of how they operated.26 Ever since Sir James Stephen misremem­ bered the name over his own breakfast in 1844, the group has offered a flawed but persistent synecdoche for a broad range of activism in the fifty years from 1783 to 1833, centred on the generation most active from the early 1790s to the mid-­1810s.27 The social reality behind Stephen’s nostalgic exercise in collective biography was not as neatly bounded as he portrayed. 24  William Betham, The Baronetage of England, 5 vols. (1801), iv, p. 255. Ford Brown lists him as a banker, though I can find no verification of this. He was the father of Rev. Richard Stainforth (1803–86); Frederick Stainforth who married Eliza Thornton, daughter of John Thornton junior; and Harriet, who married William Dealtry. See LCA, IV/104/4/7. Henry Venn junior later recalled his close childhood friendship with Charles Shore, and George Stainforth. Venn, Annals, p. 149. See also, CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, fos. 252–3: Marianne Thornton to Hannah More, 21 Jan. 1808. 25  CUL BSA B1/3, fos. 2–24. 26  For three recent depictions, see Wolffe, ‘Clapham Sect (act. 1792–1815)’; Stott, Wilberforce: Family and Friends, pp. 40–57; Catherine Hall, Macaulay and Son: Architects of Imperial Britain (New Haven, CT, 2012), pp. 56–7; Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, pp. 116–18. 27  For discussion of the origins of the name, see E. M. Howse, Saints in Politics: The ‘Clapham Sect’ and the Growth of Freedom (1971), pp. 187–9. Ironically, given the problematic historio­ graphical positioning of the group, Stephen introduced his original essay by exclaiming: What subtle theories, what clouds of learned dust, might have been raised by future Binghams, and Du Pins yet unborn, to determine what was The Patent Christianity, and what The Clapham Sect of the nineteenth century, had not the fair [Mary Milner] and the noble [Charles Shore] authors before us appeared to dispel, or at least to mitigate, the darkness! (‘The Clapham Sect’, Edinburgh Review, 80 (1844), p. 251)

112  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World His conflation of political and philanthropic activism, and causal equation between the efforts of a pious community and national transformation, require disentangling.28 Following Stephen is a long historiographical trad­ ition that emphasizes the group as a primary cause of historical change. The memorial plaque erected on the side of Holy Trinity Clapham recalls those who ‘laboured so abundantly for national righteousness and the conversion of the heathen, and rested not until the curse of slavery was swept away from all parts of the British Dominions’. John Telford wrote in 1907 that ‘English religion and philanthropy have no brighter page than the story of “The Clapham Sect” ’.29 E. M. Howse described them as a ‘brotherhood of Christian politicians’, forming ‘a very tiny company to stem the current of the times’,30 and Michael Hennell, who shaped his 1958 study of the Clapham Sect around the biography of John Venn as its pastor, claimed, ‘Never have the members of one congregation so greatly influenced the ­history of the world’.31 Even recent authors writing without the gloss of hagiography have retained the basic structure of ‘a group of courageous individuals . . . which would change the face of Britain and its empire’.32 These accounts have in common a high view of historical agency, maintain­ ing a strong link between intention and historical effect, though varying in the degree to which these are narratively proximate. For the majority of historians of philanthropy and reform who have not drawn so tight a causal connection, and have looked to explanations other than collective agency, the Clapham Sect has been imperfectly subsumed to other categories. David Owen, for example, while acknowledging that ‘So unwearied in well-­doing were certain groups . . . that in the public mind the word “philanthropist” became all but synonymous with “evangelical” ’, yet ascribed little specificity to their influence besides ‘reforg[ing] the link between philanthropy and religion’, and contributing to the ‘amazing prolif­ eration of charitable societies’. In neither case is the mechanism entirely clear—­the ‘fecundity of organizations’ seems to have been driven by both Evangelicals’ tendency towards sectarian division, and their ability to work 28  Stephen’s understanding of the Clapham Sect as co-­labourers in philanthropic pursuits was shaped by his own sense of lack in this regard. ‘No “Clapham Sect” nowadays’, quoted in C.  E.  Stephen, The Right Honourable Sir James Stephen, Letters with Biographical Notes (1906), p. 87. 29  John Telford, A Sect That Moved the World: Three Generations of Clapham Saints and Philanthropists (1907), p. 18. 30 Howse, Saints in Politics, p. 27. 31 Hennell, John Venn, p. 169. 32 Stephen Tomkins, The Clapham Sect: How Wilberforce’s Circle Transformed Britain (Oxford, 2010), back cover.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   113 with others.33 Even more explicitly committed to structural explanations is Michael Roberts’s Making English Morals, which offers an account of the diverse campaigns to reform the morals of the British nation. Roberts is attuned to the expansion of the Habermasian ‘public sphere’, a concept that works well to address his chief question, ‘Who needed to be convinced, and by what methods of persuasion?’,34 and which underpins his accounts of how Wilberforce, Teignmouth, Bernard, and others, were able to marshal support among elites for reforming causes in the context of national moral crisis. His explanatory interest however does not extend to whether there was anything intrinsic in how the several ‘circles’ that he identifies operated that might explain their influence.35 Despite historians’ rejection of the narrative of epoch-­making moral heroism, the name continues to have res­ on­ance as a proxy for the idea that there was a degree of intentional co­ord­ in­ation across much of the world of philanthropy, especially during the decade either side of the turn of the century. Conceiving of con­tem­por­ary philanthropy as a series of intersecting circles or clusters of leaders is a con­ ceptual approach that has a long historiographical pedigree, though it is usually incompletely developed in explaining how some circles came to operate more effectively, grew more dominant, or otherwise became more influential than others. That this was true to a degree for the Claphamite circle is clear: its members have left innumerable archival evidence of their shared ‘labours, & vigils’ beyond their role in unifying the philanthropic nexus from the late 1780s,36 and contemporary opponents decried the influence of the ‘Saints’ in Parliament, the perceived Evangelical fifth ­column within the Church, and the preferences sought and gained for Claphamite protégés in commercial and professional life. Among historians who have taken Evangelicalism as their organizing category in seeking to account for their effective realization of social change, 33 Owen, English Philanthropy, pp. 93–6. 34 Roberts, Making English Morals, p. 15. 35  For example, the ‘Middleton–­Porteus circle’ of the late 1780s (ibid., pp. 35–6) had become the ‘Porteus–­Wilberforce circle’ by the mid-­1790s (ibid., p. 69), but other than linking con­ servative and radical modes of moral reform in public perception, ‘personified in Wilberforce’, there is little indication of how these groups operated, and whether their operation had much effect on their reform. The best example where this is addressed is in the case of the ‘Spitalfields circle’ of the 1810s, which ‘gave continuity, financial stability and a sense of access to the world of national politics and policy formation which no other groups could match’, though with little discussion of how (ibid., p. 121). 36  Wren, 14b, fo. 132: Thomas Babington to Jean Babington, 7 June 1810. From a letter in which Babington describes several days spent alternating between Wilberforce’s house in Kensington Gore, and Thornton’s house at Battersea Rise, and an invitation from Marianne Thornton to relocate his family to the Thornton’s house in Old Palace Yard.

114  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Ford K. Brown’s chapter entitled ‘Ten Thousand Compassions’ portrayed a gathered multitude of philanthropic directors and supporters, showing how thoroughly Evangelical philanthropists had been accepted by respectable society, and how thoroughly respectable society had been co-­opted by phil­ an­throp­ists. Here, the relevant grouping, in Stephen’s words, were those ‘whom the second generation of the Evangelical party acknowledged as their secular chiefs’.37 However, while impressive in its prosopographical comprehensiveness, and still a point of reference (albeit critical), Brown’s narrative of the ‘accommodation’38 of this lay Evangelical leadership to elite society falls short on two counts. It does not account for how priorities and decisions were negotiated among this diverse assembled crowd of phil­an­ throp­ists, nor for how organizational practices were shaped by the com­ monalities he described. Further, while adopting the narrative conceit of Wilberforce’s public life as the implementation of a prefigured moral pro­ gramme offers a helpful unity39 in that it makes retrospective sense of how Evangelical philanthropy’s institutional and cultural legacy was conveyed to its heirs, it offers little insight into the relationship between these institu­ tional and social relationships and the evolving structures and agendas of philanthropy. Much more convincing in this regard is Gareth Atkins’s argu­ ment that the persistent deployment of patronage and the cultivation of respectability were the worldly means by which lay and clerical Evangelicals were able to expand from toeholds in critical institutions, in service of a wider project to ‘convert’ British public life. By focusing on delineating these networks and their methods without giving too much weight to nom­ in­al categories or the niceties of theological, ecclesiological, or political commitments, Atkins is able to negotiate both the cohesion and pervasive­ ness of Evangelicals within wider lay and clerical milieux.40 However, Atkins is concerned with the emergence and diffusion of distinctively Evangelical piety as it manifested in British public life. Personal loyalties were formed through family ties, commercial connections or theological agreement, and these increased the influence of Evangelical activists. Evangelical inter­ actions with institutions—­with Parliament as MPs, with the Royal Navy as

37  ‘The Clapham Sect’, Edinburgh Review, 80 (1844), p. 260. 38 Brown, Fathers, pp. 3, 69. By this, Brown meant both cultivation of respectability and selective compromises with other interest groups. 39  Brown has been repeatedly critiqued for overdrawing the boundaries of Evangelicalism: G.  F.  A.  Best, English Historical Review, 78, 309 (Oct. 1963), pp. 741–4; Standish Meacham, Victorian Studies, 5, 4 (June 1962), pp. 340–2; Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, p. 5. 40  Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’ and Converting Britannia.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   115 officers, with the Bank of England, East India Company, and SLC as in­vest­ ors and directors, with the Church of England as patrons and clergy, and with philanthropic societies—­allowed them to shape these institutions and co-­opt their functions with varying success. Little attention is given to the reciprocal influence of these interactions on Evangelical circles, nor their subsequent effects on wider philanthropy. The Clapham Sect as a collective were constituted as much by their collaborative behaviour in relation to these spheres of influence as they were by internal ties of family, business, and religion. For the story of philanthropy, then, the importance of the Clapham Sect is less about encroaching Evangelical influence—­which, as will be seen in Chapter  6, became more pronounced after Clapham’s role declined during the mid-­ 1810s—­ and more about the new possibilities opened to philanthropists by the confluence of different avenues of poten­ tial influence. The Clapham Sect were therefore more than just a grouping of philanthropists; they were a consciously cultivated philanthropic col­lect­ ive. Expanding on the relationship between vocational philanthropy and identity, they defined themselves as a group by their participation together in philanthropic activism. Balancing these internal and external factors is crucial to understanding the personal boundaries of the group, as well as their influence. The primacy of family was the original foundation of their mythos.41 As  E.  M.  Howse quipped, ‘Gisborne married Babington’s sister; and Babington married Macaulay’s sister. In addition Charles Elliott married John Venn’s sister; Stephen married Wilberforce’s sister; and, all the avail­able sisters having been taken, Macaulay married a pupil of Hannah More’s.’42 The most detailed study to date of these interactions, by Anne Stott, affirms the idea that operating at the heart of the Clapham Sect were several intersecting families, with all the emotional intimacies and risks that family relationships entailed. The argument first made by Noel Annan and later expanded by Christopher Tolley that they founded a dynastic ‘intellectual aristocracy’, remains cogent in explaining how ideas and preoccupations carried forward to subsequent generations.43 The arrival of new individuals and new fam­ ilies, and the departure of mainstays, as well as the shifting intensity of 41 John Venn, Annals of a Clerical Family (1904); E.  M.  Forster, Marianne Thornton: A Domestic Biography (1956). 42 Howse, Saints in Politics, p. 19. 43  Noel Annan, ‘The Intellectual Aristocracy’, in J. H. Plumb (ed.), Studies in Social History: A Tribute to G. M. Trevelyan (1955), pp. 243–87. Christopher Tolley, Domestic Biography: The Legacy of Evangelicalism in Four Nineteenth-­Century Families (Oxford, 1997).

116  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World political and philanthropic efforts, ensured that the character of the com­ munity was constantly changing. In 1802, John and Charlotte Shore, newly Lord and Lady Teignmouth, relocated to the Common, shortly after their return from India, as did Zachary and Selina Macaulay, moving into a house owned by Samuel Thornton in time for Macaulay to supplement his work­ load as secretary to the SLC with the editorship of the Christian Observer. Thomas Babington was a regular guest at Battersea Rise and at Wilberforce’s house at Broomfield during parliamentary sessions. On a typical week he might spend four nights at Clapham and three in London, travelling to the City for committee meetings of various societies, and back in evenings in time for dinners or evening lectures. Babington wrote to his wife in 1804, ‘So much time is consumed in society at Clapham & in passing between that place & London, that I find much less for writing than usual’.44 The Gisborne family were regular visitors between 1793 and 1800, and in return hosted Clapham residents at their country home Yoxall Lodge. Yet the Clapham Sect was never a closed domestic set, and the connec­ tion between their family networks and philanthropy needs some qualifica­ tion. Extended family ties provided one means by which those at the heart of the philanthropic nexus could extend their geographical reach. Wilberforce’s relationship to the Smith family of bankers, for example, was important in facilitating the role that the latter played in establishing regional auxiliary societies.45 However, it was more common in their case for philanthropic associates to marry or be otherwise incorporated into the inner circle of families, than it was for family members to transition to become leading philanthropic organizers. Charles Eyre (1732–94), for example, had been involved in philanthropic societies since the early 1780s, but became closely tied to the Clapham Sect when his daughter Maria mar­ ried Robert Thornton in 1786.46 Thomas Bowdler (1754–1825) did not share the Evangelical faith of the Clapham Sect, yet became friendly with the Thornton family and Wilberforce through his philanthropic work. Bowdler’s nephew John Bowdler (1783–1815) was introduced to the Clapham Sect by his uncle, converted to Evangelicalism, and became an intimate member of the inner circle, being ‘like a son’ to Henry and Marianne Thornton. He became engaged to Mary Gisborne, and would have managed the Thornton’s family’s financial affairs, including the banking 44  Wren, 13, fo. 164, 23 May 1804. 45  ‘Associations out of London, Hertfordshire’, Proceedings of the CMS (1824). 46  CUL Eyre Family Add. MS 7961/5: Charles Eyre to Elizabeth Eyre, 1 Nov. 1787.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   117 partnership, on the death of Henry Thornton had he not himself died two weeks later.47 Further complicating any account of the Clapham Sect solely in terms of family relations are those who were closely linked through busi­ ness and philanthropy, yet never became related. The banker Ambrose Martin (c.1744–1826), for example, had joined the Book Society in 1778, and had strong business connections to the Baltic trade through his bank­ ing partners the Mello family.48 By the end of the 1780s he was a founding committee member of the Sunday School Society, and was instrumental in establishing the Society for the Relief of Poor Pious Clergymen in 1788, serving as its treasurer. By the early 1800s he was thoroughly enmeshed in the philanthropic nexus, becoming a major donor and committee member of both the CMS and Bible Society, and, at least by 1815, a member of the Evangelical congregation at St John’s, Bedford Row.49 Martin’s path there­ fore mirrors the main trajectory of the philanthropic nexus, as its leadership shifted from dominance by freemen of the Russia Company, through City bankers, to lay Evangelicals. Similarly, Henry Thornton maintained long-­ standing business connections with the Boddington family, whose members appear repeatedly on philanthropic committee lists and as donors, yet their friendship appears not to have extended to family interactions, complicated by their involvement in the West Indian trade, and religious differences.50 The countervailing tendency towards reconstructing the group by their internal dynamics has been to consider their activism, especially in the realm of politics. In Ian Bradley’s analysis of voting patterns among evan­ gelical MPs, the relevant category is that of the ‘Saints’—those who followed Wilberforce, and later to a lesser degree Buxton, independent of either Whig or Tory party discipline.51 Politically, the emergence of the ‘Saints’ as a recognized voting bloc in Parliament appears to date from the mid-­1790s, when Wilberforce divided with the government on the issue of peace with France, and introduced his unsuccessful 1796 bill to abolish the slave

47  See Henry Thornton’s notes of December 1814 in RBS PT/2/7, 37; Stott, Wilberforce, pp. 180–2; Brown, Fathers, p. 490. 48 Martin’s banking partners, the Mello family, whom he appointed his executors, were closely linked to the Baltic trade, having migrated from Hamburg, and joining in partnerships with major Russia Company traders. See Robert Lee (ed.), Commerce and Culture: Nineteenth-­ Century Business Elites (Farnham, 2011), pp. 239–41. See also his will, TNA PRO PROB 11/1710/201. 49 Hole, Early History of the CMS, p. 634. 50  CUL Thornton Papers 1/L/6, fo. 49: Henry Thornton to Marianne Thornton. 51  Bradley, ‘Politics of Godliness’, pp. 272–9.

118  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World trade.52 By at least 1805, contemporaries were identifying them as a party in Parliament,53 and during that decade, Sydney Smith in the Edinburgh Review, and various authors in the Anti-­Jacobin Review, launched their famous attacks on the ‘patent Christianity which has been for some time manufacturing at Clapham’.54 While highly supportive of philanthropic societies, Evangelical MPs were not in Bradley’s assessment necessarily more supportive of philanthropically motivated domestic legislative agen­ das, excepting aspects of criminal law reform.55 However, while the Saints’ cohesion was variable, the pattern across all those MPs with clear com­ mitments to philanthropic causes reveals stronger than average support for legislation championed by other members of the directorate. Samuel Romilly, Henry Thornton, William Morton Pitt, Nicholas Vansittart, William Wilberforce, and George Holford were particularly prominent in speaking in favour of prison reform, with the latter four serving on the 1810 select committee.56 There were repeated efforts to legislate on behalf of younger workers, ranging from Sir Thomas Bernard’s efforts on behalf of chimney sweeps, to Sir Robert Peel’s 1802 bill regulating the employment of apprentices in factories, which attracted Wilberforce’s conditional support in speeches to the Commons, to Wilbraham Bootle’s 1816 measure pre­ venting the apprenticeship of children to Lancashire cotton mills by London parishes. While those that Bradley identifies as Evangelical ‘Saints’ had patchy voting records on these issues, including the broader set of philan­ thropic directors reveals a longer list of MPs who were members of major philanthropic societies, and tended to vote for philanthropic measures in Parliament.57 52  Ibid., pp. 292–4. This despite many of the ‘Saints’ having been in Parliament since the 1784 election. 53  Wren, 14, fo. 50: Thomas Babington to Jean Babington, 9 Apr. 1805. See also ‘Tenth Report’, Morning Chronicle, 8 Apr. 1805: ‘the worst business of all is the Saints. I much fear they have not yet had time enough to make up their minds on so tender a case of conscience’. 54  Smith continued: I would counsel my lords the Bishops to keep their eyes upon that holy village, and its hallowed vicinity: they will find there a zeal in making converts far superior to any thing which exists among the Catholics; a contempt for the great mass of English clergy, much more rooted and profound; and a regular fund to purchase livings for those groaning and garrulous gentlemen, whom they designate (by a standing sar­ casm against the regular Church) Gospel ­preachers, and vital clergymen. (Works of Sydney Smith, iii, pp. 414–15) 55  Bradley, ‘Politics of Godliness’, pp. 192–3. 56  Ibid., p. 200. 57  While beyond the scope of this book, a fascinating study would be to map the philan­ thropic and other associational commitments of MPs in this period to their voting and speaking records.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   119 What Bradley’s account also demonstrates, however, are the limitations of political voting patterns in pointing to the boundaries of ongoing co­oper­ ation. Despite Wilberforce’s comment that ‘various and extensive occasions of benefitting their fellow creatures [that] are presented to M.P.s in this highly favoured country’,58 vocational philanthropists, like ‘Saints’, were not seeking to create a permanent party, or embed themselves with the usual trappings of public life. Rather, there was a conscious effort to remodel the ‘public man’ and what it meant to participate in public life. Wilberforce wrote candidly in 1785, ‘my shame is not occasioned by my thinking that I am too studiously diligent in the business of life; on the contrary, I then feel that I am serving God best when from proper motives I am most actively engaged in it’.59 Intrinsic to this refashioned ideal of public leadership was a shift away from an individualized conception, towards a collective frame of reference. Differences in understandings as to what the appropriate role of an MP was, and the difficulty in garnering parliamentary interest and devel­ oping the informational foundation to advance a cause through legislation without the support of a society, makes it difficult to infer an absence of philanthropic intent from a failure to vote for a measure.60 Other modes of political support need to be set alongside voting patterns to show how par­ liamentary philanthropists supported each other as an integrated commu­ nity, for example, those in London who subscribed to Wilberforce’s 1807 re-­election campaign. Raised in two parts, the list of names offers a nearly comprehensive list of those who formed the political Clapham Sect. In the first subscription, John Bowdler, Charles Grant, and his two sons Charles and Robert, Samuel and Henry Hoare, Zachary Macaulay, Rev. John Owen, Edward Parry, James Stephen, Richard Stainforth, Samuel, Robert, and Henry Thornton, Samuel’s son John Thornton, John Shore, Samuel Smith, and George Smith, represented those who joined Wilberforce’s election committee who were contemporaneously on philanthropic committees. In the second subscription, which was raised more quietly, and thus drew on close friends, the largest single donation of £1,000 came from Matthew Montagu,61 an Evangelical, closely aligned with Pitt, and a long-­ time

58  Life of Wilberforce, iv, p. 359. 59  Ibid., i, p. 106. 60  Wilberforce’s cautions on Peel’s 1802 Bill, for example, largely related to the lack of infor­ mation available. 61  Montagu was also linked to the ‘literary and philanthropic’ circle described above in Section 3.2, through his aunt Elizabeth Montagu, whose propitious marriage and subsequent generosity funded his education and subsequent career. See  R.  Thorne, ‘Montagu, Matthew (1762–1831)’, in The History of Parliament: The House of Commons 1790–1820 (1986).

120  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World supporter of Wilberforce. All but £100 of the remaining £1,621 raised came from the Thornton brothers, Charles Simeon, Charles Grant, Zachary Macaulay, Thomas Babington, Isaac Milner, Thomas Gisborne, Thomas Bernard, and Isaac and William Spooner, Wilberforce’s father and brother-­ in-­law respectively. With the possible exception of the Spooners, possibly giving out of family duty, these lists provide a useful delineation of the political boundaries of the Clapham Sect, though without accounting for the complicating factor of Evangelical belief. In the field of politically led reform in which the Clapham Sect are best known—­anti-­slavery—­more than seven decades of historiographical con­ tro­versy have only recently brought clarity to this problem of the limits of politics in delineating membership. As parliamentary leaders of the aboli­ tion campaign, one interpretive tradition has followed those of their con­ tem­por­ary friends and immediate eulogizers in framing them as heroic labourers and sufferers in the cause of freedom.62 By contrast, those who have diminished the role of philanthropic activists in abolition and emanci­ pation have also tended to deprecate them in terms derived from frames used by contemporary critics, subsuming their motivations to other eco­ nomic or political interests. It is only as historians have repositioned the Clapham Sect among the panoply of groups inclined or sympathetic towards anti-­slavery that their distinctive motivations have become clear, and their unique contributions to the sequence of events leading up to abo­ lition can be seen.63 In Christopher Leslie Brown’s account, the Clapham Sect emerge as that group of Evangelical converts among elite society whose prior social positions allowed them little recourse but to find ways to recon­ cile their faith with public life, and in doing so, found themselves compelled to reform the latter. In this they can be distinguished from Methodist net­ works who, struggling to avoid the stigma of fomenting revolution, avoided the direct challenge to property and the political order between colony and metropole that collective action would entail, and the Teston set who focused their efforts on the amelioration of slavery through the reformation of the Church of England’s colonial presence.64 For the Clapham Sect, also

62  This tradition began with the speech of Samuel Romilly in Parliament, was continued in the decade after emancipation by the tussle between Thomas Clarkson and Wilberforce’s sons over who deserved primacy in memory, and was solidified by Sir James Stephen. Its twentieth-­ century exemplars are Reginald Coupland, The British Anti-­Slavery Movement (1933), and Roger Anstey, The Atlantic Slave Trade and British Abolition, 1760–1810 (1975). 63 Brown, Moral Capital, pp. 333–41, 379–81. 64  Ibid., pp. 338–77.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   121 aiming at ‘religious objectives’, anti-­slavery was ‘an opening salvo in a wider campaign against nominal Christianity’ that would entail the entire refor­ mation of British global society, and, by extension, it was the success of anti-­ slavery as part of that larger campaign that helps to explain the lasting influence of the latter.65 In this account, therefore, the Clapham Sect was both a kind of support group for those bearing the social costs of their con­ version to Evangelicalism and subsequent abolitionism, and the coordinat­ ing body for the alliance-­building necessitated by this larger ‘reformation of manners’,66 coming closest to reconciling the internal and external forces operating on the group. In addition to implying a boundary condition for the group—­as those who sought to foster philanthropists, in addition to philanthropic objectives—­their appetency for providing a rich social frame­ work in which vocational philanthropy might be cultivated and its costs mitigated, is an additional starting point in explaining how they came to be the common centre for multiple sets of philanthropists and their projects.

3.4  The Clapham Sect in Operation Within London’s philanthropic committees the Claphamites could, and did, rally in numbers to key committee votes, and sway decisions through nego­ tiation behind the scenes. When in late 1804 it emerged that Vice Society agents had been resorting to deception and paid informants to gain the ne­ces­sary evidence to secure convictions, with initially the implied, and later the explicit approval of committee members, the Claphamites began attending meetings more regularly, and stirred the issue into a con­tro­ versy.67 Babington’s letters for February 1805, interspersed with the usual accounts of dinners at Wilberforce’s and Samuel Thornton’s, and informa­ tion on the ongoing slave trade debate, describe a coordinated campaign of speeches in the debate. ‘On arriving in Town from Clapham I was obliged to go to the Society for suppressing Vice, where the question of employing Fraud for the detection of crimes was debated’, he wrote on 12 February, and listed Macaulay, Stephen and Wilberforce as the leading speakers, each 65  Ibid., pp. 335, 389. 66  Brown makes this explicit: ‘too many accounts have missed the ways that abolitionism gave rise to the Clapham Sect’ (ibid., p. 389). 67  See an account of the controversy in M. J. D. Roberts, ‘The Society for the Suppression of Vice and Its Early Critics, 1802–1812’, Historical Journal, 26(1) (1983), pp. 159–76, and in Making English Morals, pp. 85–8.

122  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World contributing ‘their different lines’.68 The committee met again three days later, and again on the 19th, when Babington, Wilberforce, and others spoke, and while aware that they were likely outnumbered had it come to a vote, they were able to elicit from the orthodox Churchman John Bowles69 a pledge to negotiate a compromise, which by May would lead to a private agreement that the Society might continue using agents, but ‘would not practice falsehood’. This crisis management by the Claphamites, and the wider public controversy on the practices of the Vice Society that it fed in to, sapped the Society’s ongoing vitality. Believing the Society to be com­ prom­ised, they constrained their future support for its endeavours, with key allies withdrawing their support, including Dartmouth who resigned the presidency in 1808. The Society was forced temporarily to suspend ac­tiv­ ities by 1809, which were only renewed in a very constrained form in 1812. While the controversy surrounding the Vice Society makes clear that there were clusters of philanthropists not aligned with Clapham, and presaged later rifts within philanthropic networks, it also shows how critical the Claphamites support could be, and the potentially crippling effect of their disapproval to those who sought to build broad-­based support for their philanthropic projects. The resolutions of the first annual general meeting of the Prayer Book and Homily Society (PBHS) offer another example of how this Claphamite core often operated distinctly from the remainder of the committee, especially in times of crisis. The PBHS was certainly enter­ ing a period of crisis in 1813, with financial overreach straining its budget, and controversies erupting with orthodox churchmen who rightly per­ ceived its activities to be in competition with the SPCK. Since the Secretary, Rev. Henry Budd, was unable to attend for health reasons,70 Thomas Babington chaired the meeting, and Zachary Macaulay presented the sub­ stance of the Committee’s Report, suggesting that he may have had a signifi­ cant role in writing it. Various motions were put forward by William Wilberforce, Lord Gambier, Henry Thornton, Lord Calthorpe, Daniel Wilson, Richard Stainforth, and Charles Simeon, and these were seconded by others close to the Clapham Sect. Three years later, with the society on a more stable financial footing, and the risks of opposition by orthodox churchmen greatly reduced, only Charles Elliott, Lord Calthorpe, and

68  Wren, 14a, fo. 4, 12 Feb. 1805. 69 See Orthodox Churchman’s Magazine, 3 (1803), p. 167. 70  Two months later he resigned. See A Sermon preached before the Prayer Book and Homily Society also the Report of the Committee (1813), pp. ix–­xii.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   123 Thomas Babington appear to have performed any formal function at the annual meeting.71 Supplementing these links between philanthropic societies were those to key British institutions. While not the systematic conspiracy imagined by Sydney Smith when he wrote that ‘The Methodists have made an alarming inroad into the Church, and they are attacking the army and navy. The prin­ cipality of Wales, and the East India Company, they have already acquired . . . they creep into hospitals and small schools, and so work their way upwards’,72 the interconnectivity between philanthropic circles and projects enjoyed by the Clapham Sect also greatly expanded their institu­ tional access. Philanthropists advancing religious projects cultivated sup­ port from leading sympathetic churchmen, including Shute Barrington73 and Beilby Porteus,74 and, by extension, other projects initiated by the Clapham Sect had means to seek their support. As the Teston set had ori­ gin­al­ly approached Wilberforce for his unique potential as a parliamentary leader for abolition, the Clapham Sect cultivated friendships with the likes of Charles Middleton, and William Pitt, in part for the influence that these carried in the Navy and Parliament respectively. The members of the group themselves represented a broad range of access to different institutions, including the Bank of England, the Board of Trade, and the East India Company. One informal gathering at Battersea Rise in 1812 involved a detailed discussion on: the state of India, Charter, character of natives, means of improving them &c. Sharpe let out very fully the state of opinion about Indian missions, Buchanan’s book &c &c & other subjects also . . . He came over from the house he said for five minutes, but staid two hours, evidently in conse­ quence of the information Grant especially conveyed to him.75

Access to multiple institutions allowed the Clapham Sect to seek patronage, but it also gave them as a group a privileged position that none individually would have possessed. Perhaps uniquely among contemporaries of their social standing, they had ways of gleaning inside information on matters of state and church, and means to ensure that their perspective was heard in 71  A Sermon preached before the Prayer Book and Homily Society also the Report of the Committee (1816), pp. xiii–­xiv. 72 Smith, Works of Sydney Smith, i, pp. 126–7. 73  Bishop of Durham, 1791­–1826. 74  Bishop of London, 1787–1809. 75  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, fo. 306: Henry to Marianne Thornton, 8 Jan. 1812.

124  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World these different institutions, giving them both a flexibility to pursue their objectives through multiple avenues, and a position as arbiters. This ubi­ quity in particular was what riled observers such as Smith, at the same time as it ensured that the group remained vital to the ongoing advancement of multiple philanthropic agendas. Beyond their positioning within associational philanthropy, the Clapham Sect included individuals of wealth, commercial reach, and credibility within the business community. Henry Thornton had begun his commer­ cial career in his uncle’s counting house, but left in 1785 to become a part­ ner in the banking house of his father’s old friend Richard Down, which then became Down, Thornton & Free. He also retained stakes in various Thornton family holdings, including the sugar refiners Thornton, Watson & Co, the Hamburg-­based merchant house Thornton & Power, and the soap­ making concern Crosse, Escreet & Co.76 He maintained voting-­level stocks in the Bank of England, Royal Bank of Scotland, East India Company, and various other corporations including farms, canals, docks, and bridges, especially the Vauxhall Bridge for which he was treasurer,77 and from its inception to collapse was the largest investor in the SLC, estimating his losses there to be between £2,000 and £3,000.78 In addition to his partner­ ships, Thornton’s major financial relationships were with his two brothers, and his brother-­in-­law Daniel Sykes, on whose behalf he held more than £10,000 in bank accounts. Wilberforce had similar connections, including a stake in the family firm of Wilberforce, Smith & Co, and shared business interests with his cousins the Smith family of bankers.79 The Clapham Sect’s support leveraged professional standing and monetary giving to expand the financial reach and capability of philanthropic societies. Reflecting the high degree of trust in which his financial acumen and probity was held within philanthropic networks, Henry Thornton’s bank held accounts in 1814 for at least twenty-­four philanthropic societies, including the Marine Society, London Hospital, Bible Society, Proclamation Society, and Sunday School Society—­many of which appear from the large balances held to have used

76  Henry Thornton appears to have had some involvement in business with the Bayley fam­ ily, and with Cornwall Smalley, but, unlike his brothers, did not enter into partnerships. RBS PT/2/20, ‘Henry Thornton in account with S, R & J Thornton’: in 1811 his account with the merchant partnership of his brothers and nephew (Samuel, Robert, and John Thornton), was in credit for more than £13,000. 77  RBS PT/2/84. 78  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N/fo. 34. 79  Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, pp. 129–34.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   125 Down Thornton as their primary bank.80 In addition, Down, Thornton & Free held accounts for a long roster of philanthropists, including most members of the Clapham Sect, and nearly all of those members of the phil­ anthropic nexus around 1815 who were not themselves bankers. Henry Thornton served as financial adviser to numerous individuals within phil­ anthropic networks, and was either executor or a trustee to funds left by others including Nathaniel Unwin, Elizabeth Bouverie,81 and the More sis­ ters. As philanthropy expanded through auxiliaries supported by country banks, the informal centralization provided by the Clapham Sect aug­ mented other connections between societies in London. Two examples serve briefly to further illustrate how these commercial connections could also facilitate philanthropic reach beyond London. Wilberforce had long-­standing links to Thomas Thompson (1754–1828), who had been a clerk in the family firm, later the bank of Wilberforce, Smith & Co in Hull, since 1770. Thompson was an astute manager, described as ‘a man of first character’, and by 1787 had risen to partner in the firm. He was a staunch Methodist, a prominent local philanthropist, and heavily involved in philanthropic societies in both Hull and Sussex where he became MP in 1807, as well as in the governance and structure of the Methodist connexion. Thompson was a key connection for Wilberforce, as treasurer to the Wesleyan Missionary Society, a speaker at auxiliary society meetings in Leeds and Hull, and as an active backer of Yorkshire’s anti-­slavery or­gan­ iza­tion in the 1820s, providing both a continued link to Yorkshire and encouraging ongoing cooperation between Evangelicals and Methodists.82 Similarly, through both family connections and his role as London agent for the Royal Bank of Scotland, Henry Thornton was connected to Robert Scott-­Moncrieff (1738–1814), a merchant, banker, and philanthropist in Glasgow and Edinburgh, who wrote to him in 1812 that he had ‘a sincere attachment to and concern about you, your own, and your Father’s famil[ies]’.83 Scott-­Moncrieff was involved in a number of philanthropic 80  RBS PT/2/6: ‘Pole, Thornton, Down & Free: Town and Country Ledgers, Balance Sheets, 24 Dec. 1814’. 81  RBS PT/2/78: Correspondence between Hannah More and Henry Thornton’s executors, 1817–22. 82  Thomas Jackson, Memoirs of the Life and Writings of the Rev. Richard Watson (1834), pp. 358–60. See also Geoffrey  E.  Milburn, ‘Piety, Profit and Paternalism: Methodism in Business in the North-­East of England, c. 1760–1920’, Proceedings of the Wesley Historical Society, 44, 3 (Dec. 1983), pp. 45–92, p. 88. Thompson was a firm opponent of the Methodist separation from the Church of England. His son Thomas Perronet Thompson (1783–1869) was recruited by Wilberforce in 1808 as the first governor of Sierra Leone as a crown colony. 83  CUL Thornton Papers, 1/I, 28, 4 Jan. 1812.

126  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World societies in Scotland, including as governor of the Edinburgh Orphans’ Hospital. His correspondence with Thornton records ongoing connections to Claphamite philanthropic projects, including as a founding director of the Edinburgh Auxiliary Bible Society, and as an enthusiastic distributor of Hannah More’s books and tracts.84 Even given their wealth, the Clapham Sect stand out for the extent of their financial contributions—­including those with which they were other­ wise not involved. Henry Thornton famously gave sixth-­sevenths of his wealth before marriage, reducing it to two-­thirds once he had a family to maintain, and allegedly never giving less than £2,000 per annum in total. Their growing celebrity as philanthropists led societies to seek their names on subscription lists as an aid to further fundraising. A critical role there­ fore played by the wealthy among the group was in providing financial backing for societies in their early years—­enabling them to begin op­er­ ations before raising funds more broadly. A generation earlier, this function had been largely performed by individuals such as John Thornton, or occa­ sionally philanthropic partnerships such as that between Jacob Bouverie and Robert Marsham.85 The Sunday School Society reported in 1788 that it had raised more than £1,800 in subscriptions in its first three years, with at least two-­thirds coming from donors with one degree of separation to the Thornton family.86 For the Society for the Relief of Poor Pious Clergymen in 1788 in its first year of operation, those who would form the Clapham Sect comprised nine of the seventeen members who subscribed more than 5 guineas annually.87 Henry Thornton and Philip Pusey were two of only four non-­aristocratic donors to donate more than £20 to the Philanthropic Society in its first two years.88 As the Clapham Sect distinguished itself within the philanthropic nexus, its members continued coordinating their donations, leading investment in the SLC, and underwriting expenses for the Abolition campaign. The first two donations to the fledgling CMS, which was to struggle for funds in its first years, were for £100 each from Ambrose Martin, and George Wolff, by that time living near Clapham

84  An Historical Account of the Orphan Hospital of Edinburgh (1833), p. 50. BFBS Reports (1806), ii, p. 112; BFBS Reports (1810), vi, p. 389. 85  Jacob Bouverie, ‘The First President’, Journal of the Royal Society of Arts, 102 (Nov. 1953), pp. 9–13. 86  Plan of a Society for the Support and Encouragement of Sunday-­Schools (1788), pp. 17–47. 87  Plan of a Society for the Relief of Poor, Pious Clergymen (1792). There were 745 guineas annually subscribed. 88  Including aristocratic donors, there were twelve overall at this giving level.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   127 Common, and attending Holy Trinity Clapham.89 Beyond this seed funding, as a group they also provided a kind of ready-­made committee when seek­ ing to form a new organization. For example, the short-­lived Society for Promoting the Civilization and Improvement of the North-­American Indians within the British Boundary, advertised in 1806 that interested potential supporters were to contact William Wilberforce, Henry Thornton. Henry Hoare, Robert Barclay, William Sharpe, Granville Sharp, Zachary Macaulay, or John Owen.90 The Clapham community also functioned as an informational centre for philanthropic networks. The abolition campaign had demonstrated clearly to its leaders the importance of credible information gathering to building a case for philanthropic action, including the value of localized research and the centralized collation and organization of this material into useful propa­ ganda. While James Ramsay and Thomas Clarkson pioneered the role of the travelling researcher, it was at Clapham that the capacity for organizing and deploying this material was most fully developed. This set the Clapham Sect apart from other groupings in previous iterations of the philanthropic nexus in that the spread of information and informational practices now became routine between the different organizations in which they participated. Wilberforce continually bemoaned his own failures at organization, and during the abolition campaign, relied heavily on Stephen, Babington, and Macaulay in particular, to curate the material necessary for the writing of pamphlets and speeches, with Macaulay especially developing an encyclo­ paedic knowledge of philanthropic matters. Correspondence suggests that it was common for ‘cabinet’ meetings to adjourn with one or several partici­ pants tasked with soliciting relevant information from their wider networks, especially clarifications about details of local philanthropy, which would then inform subsequent discussions. Individuals contributed their own spe­ cialized geographical and professional knowledge to this pool of expertise, including Charles Grant and John Shore on India, and Macaulay on Sierra Leone. Having accepted the value of informational philanthropy, the Claphamites led the way in fostering the spread of this kind of research and curation to other societies. The Bettering Society Reports of 1798, for ex­ample, contained thirty-­nine articles, mostly accounts of innovative new methods in philanthropy, or of new local initiatives that it was felt might be 89 Hole, Early History of the CMS, p. 39. 90  Proposal for forming a Society for Promoting the Civilization and Improvement of the North-­American Indians within the British Boundary (1806).

128  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World helpfully emulated. Of these, twenty-­ two were contributed by either Claphamites or their close associates, including Edward Parry, William Morton Pitt, William Wilberforce, Shute Barrington, and, naturally, Thomas Bernard, with nearly all of the remainder coming from others within their commercial or Evangelical networks.91 They encouraged the formation of libraries at society offices—­in which copies of reports could be made avail­ able for public reading, and books relevant to the society’s purpose could be stored. Further, when Clapham Sect members were invited to speak at soci­ ety meetings—­especially at the formation of auxiliary societies from around 1810—their contribution was usually to provide information drawn from their wide involvement across multiple societies, to explain why the new society was both necessary and unique in its stated objectives. This focus on informed decision-­making fed through in other areas of their activities, including their prominence in requiring and leading select committees in Parliament. This created a context rich in opportunities for philanthropic entrepre­ neurs, with Clapham operating as a kind of hub. The stories of Wilberforce receiving in his house those seeking advice, support, or merely blessing, for their own philanthropic initiatives, have been frequently repeated as an aid to his personal mythos as the ‘prime minister’ and ‘patriarch’ of British phil­ an­thropy, to whom the great and the good gave deference. Yet the more interesting reality is that the Clapham Sect, especially after receiving the credit for abolition in 1807, became a magnet for philanthropic initiatives—­ furthering the degree to which they were able to exercise influence over new organizations and coordinate the deployment of philanthropic resources. The move to found the Hackney and Newington Auxiliary Bible Society in late 1812, for example, was led by those with close Claphamite connections, primarily James William Freshfield (1775–1864), an Evangelical and a prominent lawyer whose clients included the Bank of England. Freshfield approached the Marquis of Downshire to be president, and as the Marquis accepted but was unable to attend the meeting, Thomas Furley Forster acted as chair.92 Vice presidents appointed included Freshfield, Forster, Thomas

91  This largely affirms Michael Roberts’s claim that Thomas Bernard was, ‘the most success­ ful co‑ordinator of information flow’ (Michael  J.  D.  Roberts, ‘Head versus Heart? Voluntary Associations and Charity Organizations in England, c.1700–1850’, in Cunningham and Innes, Charity, Philanthropy and Reform, pp. 66–86, p. 77. 92  Proceedings of the Public Meeting for the Purpose of Establishing an Auxiliary Bible Society for Hackney, Newington (1813), pp. 7–8.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   129 Boddington, Edward Forster, William Mellish,93 George Byng,94 James Heygate,95 and Joseph Stonard, all with strong ties to both commercial and philanthropic circles. In addition to the parent society’s secretaries, William Alers96 addressed the meeting, asserting that the confluence of new philan­ thropic schooling systems and the growth of missionary activities, now required that ‘systematic measures’ be adopted in printing bibles as a form of ‘Christian benevolence’.97 Even the Society of Friends of Foreigners in Distress, founded in 1806 to provide either temporary assistance or ongoing pensions to foreigners destitute in London, or means of passage home to those stranded came within the ambit of Clapham. The Society had been the initiative of ministers to European congregations in London, including C. F. A. Steinkopff and Rev. Schwabe, but its most persistent advocate was William Vaughan (1752–1850), its treasurer since 1808.98 Vaughan had Baltic mercantile interests, and was governor for the Royal Exchange Assurance, and a friend of the Foster and Kempenfelt families. He had been personally involved in philanthropic societies since the 1780s, belonging to the Marine Society, and become acquainted with the Clapham Sect—­ through the Claphamites becoming a supporter of missionary societies, and joining the committee of the Bettering Society. Seeking to expand the reach of the Friends of Foreigners Society beyond merchants and clergy with European connections, he turned to Wilberforce who helped recruit Philip Pusey and others from within the philanthropic nexus as vice presidents. Philanthropists such as James Neild sought out the support of the Clapham Sect, with Neild writing in 1812 to Thornton as one ‘foremost in every good work’, to ask him to read Neild’s State of Prisons, and consider promoting an alternative legislative approach to the reform of debtors’ prisons than the repeal of sustenance relief.99 This continual consultation by other phil­an­ throp­ists reinforced the Clapham Sect’s position at the core of philanthropic conversations, and gave them opportunities to involve themselves in pro­ jects not of their own design. 93 (c.1764–1838). Deputy-­Governor and later Governor of the Bank of England, MP, and lead partner in two mercantile houses in the Baltic trade; Mellish’s father and grandfather had been long-­standing supporters of philanthropic societies associated with the Russia Company. 94  (1764–1847). Bradley, ‘Politics of Godliness’, p. 281. 95 (1747–1843). 96  (1771–1859). Illegitimate but recognized son of Thomas Hankey (from 1816 he became William Alers Hankey), and a prominent banker and later minister. 97  Proceedings of the Public Meeting for the Purpose of Establishing an Auxiliary Bible Society for Hackney, Newington, p. 20. 98  William Vaughan, Memoir of William Vaughan (1839). 99  CUL Thornton Papers 1/I, fo. 29: 30 Dec. 1812. See F. G. Neild, ‘James Neild (1744–1814) and Prison Reform’, Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine, 74 (Nov. 1981), pp. 834–40.

130  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World With its surfeit of philanthropists, local expressions of philanthropy in and near Clapham bear consideration as they reveal how the leaders’ national and transnational philanthropy imagined its ideal outworking in localities, and for how they positioned Clapham as a model to phil­an­throp­ ists elsewhere—­with local iterations of the full range of philanthropic pri­ orities. John Venn in particular took the lead in seeking to ensure that his wealthy congregants cultivated the ‘proper duty of knowing and looking after the poor’ in their own parish.100 The Clapham Bettering Society, was organized by Venn and Robert Barclay to foster the sharing of ideas and fomenting of projects in the parish.101 His Sunday School attracted large numbers, and he supplemented classes in reading, writing, and religion with additional lectures and opportunities to participate in church worship. Venn preached a regular roster of annual charity sermons, raising money for established philanthropic societies, as well as for specific appeals, and maintained a rigorous schedule of parish visiting.102 He was active in the work of the local charity school, teaching regularly, encouraging Bell’s edu­ cational methods, and raising money for enlargements to the buildings.103 Thanks to the joint efforts of Venn and Samuel Thornton, the children of the parish were vaccinated against smallpox in 1800.104 Venn chaired the Poor Committee for the village until his death in 1813, when Charles Elliott took over.105 Through the combined efforts of the Clapham Sect, the village possessed a near complete set of societies replicating the various divisions of the philanthropic world, even before auxiliaries had spread widely across Britain. Henry Thornton sponsored the local Female Club.106 Samuel Thornton was President of the Auxiliary Bible Society from its formation in 1812, and ten of its seventeen vice presidents were to a greater or lesser degree part of the Clapham Sect.107 Local philanthropy was also an im­port­ ant setting in which Claphamite women could and did exercise leadership. The Bettering Society divided the area into nine districts, each with between one and seven visitors. These included Maria Stainforth (née Baring), Eling Elliott (née Venn), Lady Teignmouth and Maria Thornton (née Eyre), as well as Robert Barclay and John Venn.108 The proliferation of local phil­an­ thropy added to Clapham’s wider reputation, as an example of an improved social order. As Joseph Hughes, Secretary of the parent Bible Society expressed 100  John Venn, quoted in Hennell, John Venn, p. 142. 101 Ibid. 102  Ibid., pp. 130, 135. 103  Ibid., p. 136. 104  Ibid., p. 143. 105  Ibid., p. 147. 106  Ibid., p. 140. 107  Auxiliary Bible Society for Clapham and its vicinity (1812), p. 1. 108  Society for Bettering the Condition of the Poor at Clapham (1805), p. 11.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   131 at the founding meeting of the new Clapham Auxiliary, praising the Claphamites and their friends: ‘The name of Raikes is deservedly dear . . . The name of More will be fragrant for ages’, and describing his pleasure that ‘this charitable district is immediately secure’ for the cause of the Bible, and ‘adorned by the presence of a Perceval, a Teignmouth, a Wilberforce, and a Thornton’.109 The day-­to-­day realities of Claphamite cooperation in philanthropy have been well recounted, so require only a brief summary. Its basis was in a mutual enjoyment of the company of others within the group, which led to an easy intermingling of philanthropic work and socializing. In one letter, Thomas Babington recounted breakfasting with Clarke and Macaulay, plan­ ning with Charles Grant and William Marriott to attend a lecture by John Venn, visiting the Thornton home, and sitting with Wilberforce to provide comments on a draft of Stephen’s book on the slave trade.110 Committee minutes and correspondence sources suggest that it was common for only one Clapham Sect member to attend a particular meeting for the sake of efficiency, reporting back to those other Claphamite committee members, though where required, two or more might attend meetings together. Babington wrote to his wife in February 1805 that ‘Today I was kept at a Society [British and Foreign Bible Society [BFBS]] with Ly & Ld Teignmouth till 3 o’clock’.111 Common action was coordinated at ‘cabinet’ meetings, typ­ ic­al­ly held in the library at Battersea Rise, where strategic decisions were made and workload shared. While these meetings have regrettably left few traces in the archives, save some descriptions in correspondence and later recollections, it is reasonable to assume that many of the policy decisions later ratified at formal committee meetings were first discussed, and per­ haps decided, at these informal gatherings, allowing the group to present a united front in matters of controversy. As long as it remained the case that committees were elected from small annual meetings, groups like the Clapham Sect could maintain a degree of control by voting as a bloc. As enfranchised memberships swelled, however, and controversies arose, what mattered was having credible and persuasive speakers and pamphlet ­writers. Once established, Clapham’s dominance as the most credible and

109  Auxiliary Bible Society for Clapham and its vicinity (1812), pp. 9–11. 110  Wren, 14a, fo. 15: 26 Feb 1805: Thomas to Jean Babington. Babington’s letters provide a helpful and unique perspective on patterns of Claphamite life, as his wife and children remained at Rothley Temple during several parliamentary sittings in the early 1800s, for ­reasons of health. His correspondence therefore includes fuller details about comings and goings than the letters of his friends. 111  Wren, 14, fo. 20, March 4 1805.

132  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World best-­resourced voice within Evangelicalism and within wider philanthropy, allowed them a degree of discretion in preventing competing voices, includ­ ing the more radical evangelicalism of the Haldanes, from taking the lead in symbolically critical projects. Initiatives such as the CMS, Bible Society, and Christian Observer belong to a particularly concentrated window between the late 1790s and early 1800s when the Clapham Sect were consciously positioning themselves against these other potential voices. Similarly, the somewhat invidious conflation by critics like Sydney Smith of ‘the true Clapham breed’112 with ‘methodism’ and all varieties of evangelical religion, ironically increased their credibility among dissenting evangelicals, some of whom became therefore more willing to unite behind Clapham’s banner. Though not quite a ‘federation of country houses’,113 philanthropic net­ works beyond London were built on the foundation of an interlinked set of small communities in which religious piety and worldly wealth worked itself out in replicating these instances of local benevolence. It is remarkable how many of those who found prominence as philanthropic leaders found formative solace during or immediately after a transitional crisis in one or other of these communities: William Cowper with the Unwins and Newtons at Olney, Hannah More with Elizabeth Bouverie and the Middletons at Teston, William Wilberforce with the Thorntons at Clapham,114 and Zachary Macaulay with the Babingtons at Rothley Temple. Hannah More wrote of her friends at Teston, ‘Nothing can exceed the goodness of the inhabitants whose lives are spent in acts of beneficence’.115 In each of these communities, local philanthropy flourished through the cooperation of friends. The ‘Clapham Sect’ as first imagined by Henry Thornton when he bought Battersea Rise in 1792 was directed along these lines—­a place of rest and fellowship from the business of London. ‘I am in hopes some good may come out of our Clapham system.’116 In urban London, the geographical presence of these communities was in pious congregations,117 or in the meeting places of merchant philanthropists. Similarly, around the United Kingdom, they were largely the result of either Evangelical position-­seeking and networking, or confluences of local merchant families. As will be seen

112 Smith, Works of Sydney Smith, iii, p. 460. 113  H.  J.  Habakkuk, quoted in Harold Perkin, The Origins of Modern English Society (2nd edn, 2002), p. 42. 114  See also Bodleian Wilberforce Papers, c.43, fos. 28–9. 115  Quoted in Brown, Moral Capital, p. 344. 116  Quoted in Morris, Life of Charles Grant, p. 200. 117  Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, pp. 116–26.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   133 in Chapter  5, clusters of philanthropists formed outside the United Kingdom as well. Just as the Clapham Sect were able to draw together dif­ ferent philanthropic groupings, so their community came to represent these different scales of philanthropy—­ providing a replicable model for the expansion of auxiliaries. This section of the chapter considers the symbolic and practical importance of Clapham to these networks—­as an ac­know­ ledged strategic centre. The influence of the community at Clapham on organized philanthropy was as much aesthetic and cultural as it was about patronage and politics. Long before their children were reminiscing about the semi-­ paradise around the Common, visitors from London were being charmed by the life­ styles cultivated in aid of the philanthropic vision there.118 In contrast to society meetings in inns and offices in London, the convivial dinners, semi-­ rural outlook, and family environment, while no less intense in its busier periods, seemed to those who participated to be themselves an indication of divine favour, and in making these the centre of their collective activity, the Clapham Sect wrought a transformation in the style and depth of as­so­ci­ ation­al philanthropy. Thomas Babington’s accounts of informal dinners where philanthropy was the principal topic of conversation are reflected countless times in archives: ‘I dined yesterday at HT’s, where I met Wce, Mr Grant, Zachy, Mr Stephen, Mr W. Smith, & Mr Brougham. Mr R Thornton & Dr Milner’.119 Claphamite-­led societies replaced the annual fundraising dinners with the more sober annual sermons, and notably absent in the accounts of their committee expenses are the hospitality costs that had been ubiquitous in ongoing societies a generation earlier. The young men of the families, unlike their peers who joined gentlemen’s clubs and ribald dining societies, spent their leisure time attending lectures at the Royal Society or sermons and lectures from Evangelical pulpits. Unlike the speeches of earl­ ier societies, these sermons were suitable for publication. As related in Chapter 1, philanthropic networks were drawn together and became inter­ generational by the emergence of common liturgical patterns. These oper­ ated within the Clapham Sect, and were supplemented by even denser domestic and communal practices, which served to foster intimacy and collaboration. First among them were those associated with the Sabbath:

118  These cultivated lifestyles also included retreats and holidays for rest between periods of intense work, such as Babington’s visit to the scenes of Cowper’s life. See also discussion on Wilberforce’s love of the Lake District in Stott, Wilberforce, p. 31. 119  Wren, 14b, fo. 142: 14 Dec. 1810.

134  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Sunday worship at Holy Trinity Clapham, under the rectorship of John Venn from 1792 to his death in 1813, was often followed by gatherings at one or other of the family houses, in which parents, children, and guests played together, read to each other and engaged in conversation on ‘serious’ topics. Yet they also had their secular variants. Every second Thursday of the month, many of those living around the Common met at the Clapham Book Society, which rotated around the houses on the Common. Members included John Venn, Charles Grant, William Thornton Astell, the Thornton brothers, James Brogden, Robert Barclay and William Esdaile, and John Sharpe, the church lecturer, served as steward.120 While not an unusual form of sociability among contemporaries, the scarce records suggest that the Clapham Book Society was, by the inclinations of its members, invested in reading on topics of import to philanthropy.

3.5  Self-­understandings How then did those who were a part of this community understand their collectivity? What Marianne Thornton framed in the religiously evocative language of ‘the Excellent of the Earth’, was both consciously domestic and an active associational collective. The basic self-­conception of the Clapham Sect was fittingly of a community of mutual support in faithful living, based on Christian ideals of shared vocation. As Wilberforce reflected later in life, ‘I spent the greater part of my parliamentary business at the house of one friend or another, where I could have the command of my time & enjoying just as much society as would be desirable for maintaining my spirits & en­ab­ling me to continue my labour with cheerfulness & comfort’.121 Charles Grant shared with Thomas Babington some years later how he still looked to this kind of network for advice in critical decisions: ‘as we cannot resort to any general vote, we have no means but appealing to a few judicious friends, conversant with public life & affairs & sufficiently interested in the subject. Their knowledge & tact & principles will be the elements whence they will form their judgement.’122 The ordinariness of this mundane ideal translated into their philanthropic organization—­John Venn described the

120 David  H.  Knott, ‘An Eighteenth-­Century Book Club at Clapham’, The Library, 5(3) (1969), pp. 243–6. 121  Bodleian Wilberforce Papers, c.43, fo. 15. 122  Wren, 20, fo. 38: Charles Grant to Thomas Babington, 27 Aug. 1822.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   135 first committee of the local Bettering Society as a group who had agreed ‘to drink tea together in each other’s houses’ and improve their parish.123 One of the most common self-­descriptions used contemporaneously, and retrospectively, was that of conversation.124 Wilberforce had written in his journal in 1785, ‘I must endeavor to find Christian converse in the country’,125 a sentiment that had similarly inspired Henry Thornton in his purchase of Battersea Rise. That spoken interaction is strictly lost to his­tor­ ians, except through the suspect lens of written reporting and recollection, makes reconstructing this aspect of the Clapham Sect especially difficult. From their letters when geographically separate, we know that members of the group habitually consulted each other on personal and family matters, soliciting advice, and relaying other opinions proffered. Letters also include some record of the interplay, indicating that while friendly, there were often significant disagreements within the group as to courses of actions. Nevertheless, by resolving their disagreements in private gatherings, the Claphamites could present a unified presence in society committee meet­ ings. In domestic gatherings, we have accounts of formalized discussions—­ later in life, Stephen bemoaned childhood memories of a ‘liberal expenditure of wisdom immediately after dinner’126—and descriptions of free-­flowing, even peripatetic conversations, with topics ranging from the philanthropic, to the theological, to the playful. Henry Thornton described one such even­ ing to his wife in 1812, ‘There came to dinner Sam, W. Smith, Grants Jr & Sr, Stephen, Calthorpe, Kemp, Babington, Macaulay, & to tea W. Smith, Grants, Stephen, Sharpe. . . . The conversation so full of sense & information & limit­ed to the most important & interesting subjects’.127 The metaphor of conversation makes sense of the manner in which those of the Claphamite ‘diaspora’, especially Hannah More, participated in the collective. By writing frequently with multiple members of the community, especially Wilberforce and various Thorntons in the case of More, a kind of virtual presence could be maintained, which facilitated further intimacy when visiting. The outer bounds of the Clapham Sect can therefore be thought of as a conversation that began in the late 1780s, when Henry Thornton and Wilberforce first

123 Hennell, John Venn, p. 142. 124  See Kathryn Gleadle, ‘ “Opinions Deliver‘d in Conversation”: Conversation, Politics, and Gender in the Late Eighteenth Century’, in José Harris (ed.), Civil Society in British History: Ideas, Identities, Institutions (Oxford, 2003), pp. 61–78. 125  22 Dec. 1785, quoted in Life of Wilberforce, p. 103. 126 Stephen, Essays in Ecclesiastical Biography, p. 534. 127  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, fo. 305: Henry to Marianne Thornton, 8 Jan. 1812.

136  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World contemplated communal living, and continued strongly until disrupted by deaths and relocations in the mid-­1810s, fading into the 1830s. The Clapham Sect also understood their community in the language of Providence—­a community formed by divine guidance, shaped by con­tinued providential interference, even through tragedy, and intended for divine purposes.128 In Clapham, this formed a counterbalance to the fearfulness of divine judgement as, following the biblical pattern, God’s blessing was understood as conferring a vocation to bless.129 If one was called to reli­ giously formed and philanthropically oriented labours, then co-­labourers were God’s provision to enable these to be fully accomplished. As Wilberforce wrote in 1811 to Stephen, ‘I have long thought, that of all the manifold blessings which Providence has heaped on me, the greatest of this world . . . consists of kind and intelligent friends’,130 and later of those ‘with whom the providence of God connects me’.131 This was especially pertinent given the privileged position of most Claphamites—­efficacious divine bless­ ing, expressed in wealth, status, and connections, required greater efforts of the community. ‘All my friends considered my case . . . [yet] God’s provi­ dence calls me away’, wrote Wilberforce wistfully before ending a period of retreat at Yoxall.132 To him, Providence was the source of his vocation, as he explained to his mother, ‘if I were thus to fly from the post where Providence has placed me, I know not how I could look for the blessing of God upon my retirement’.133 Providence gave perspective to their many failed philan­ thropic projects, with Babington writing after a setback during t`he contest within the Vice Society in 1805, ‘The great thing is to do our duty. God will order events as he sees best.’134 When the crisis abated, he reflected, ‘Thank God, that we have done some good’.135 Just as Evangelical journal-­writing was both a self-­reflective and reinforcing technique—­seeking to balance the externalities of identity, whereof success or fame might breed pride and self-­ deception, with an internal narrative of humility and sober self-­ evaluation—­so the habit of making reference to Providence in letters and conversation provided a balance to the pressures and anxieties of philan­ thropic agency. Holding a high view of their agency in tension with a belief 128  For the significance of Providence in contemporary thought, see John Coffey, ‘ “Tremble, Britannia!”: Fear, Providence and the Abolition of the Slave Trade, 1758–1807’, English Historical Review, 127 (527) (2012), pp. 844–81; Richard Huzzey, Freedom Burning: Anti-­ slavery and Empire in Victorian Britain (2012), pp. 126–37. 129  Coffey, ‘”Tremble, Britannia!” ’, p. 846. 130  Quoted in Life of Wilberforce, iii, pp. 538; 440. 131  Ibid., p. 123. 132  Ibid., i, p. 324. 133  Ibid., i, p. 106. 134  Wren, 14a, fo. 5: 12 Feb. 1805. 135  Ibid., fo. 9: 19 Feb. 1805.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   137 in continual divine intervention, provided motivation to work, solace in setbacks, and gave proportion to individual egos as they contributed in very different ways and enjoyed very different fortunes. Retrospectively, they saw the guiding hand of Providence in the formation of their community, and in the inception of new projects and societies. As Patty More wrote in her journal, reflecting on the origins of the sisters’ philanthropy in Cheddar, ‘in the month of Aug. 1789, Providence directed Mr. Wilberforce and his sister to spend a few days at Cowslip Green’.136 Supplementing this providentialism, members described their relation­ ships with each other through the metaphors of partnership and collabora­ tive work. To belong to the community was to travail in the collective enterprise. Though the public face of Clapham was largely male, men and women worked together to read the extensive folios that needed summariz­ ing and framing into pamphlets, reports, and speeches. Children helped their parents as amanuenses, and were encouraged to develop their own parallel philanthropic projects. More so than even being welcomed into the family through marriage, to be invited to work together with the inner cir­ cle of the Clapham Sect, was to belong—­ the inner circle were those described arrayed in tasks around the library at Battersea Rise or Yoxall Lodge or Rothley Temple. As Wilberforce lamented to Hannah More on the death of Edward Eliot, ‘there is no one living with whom I was so much in the habit of consulting, and whose death so breaks in on all my plans in all directions. We were engaged in a multiple of pursuits together.’137 Wilberforce’s connection of his deep sense of loss with the idea of col­lab­or­ation reflected the degree to which the Clapham Sect placed their philanthropic work at the core of their identities. This extended to their conception of marriage, with Henry Thornton writing to his future brother-­in-­law his hopes that ‘the union of sentiments which there is between us [Henry and Marianne] will both endear us to each other & give effect to our labours to make our­ selves useful in the world’,138 later drawing on the biblical metaphor in describing his joy at a life lived as ‘a joint labourer with my wife in many a useful undertaking’.139 Especially once they became parents themselves, the Clapham Sect saw themselves as part of a developing tradition—­recognizing in their own words the degree to which their vocations had been taught to

136  Life of Wilberforce, i, p. 239. 137  Quoted in Hennell, John Venn, p. 174. 138 CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, fo. 54: Henry Thornton to Joseph Sykes, London, 26 Jan. 1796. 139  Ibid. fos. 87–91: Thornton to More, London, 8 Oct. 1798.

138  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World them, or gifted by the inspiration of others, and seeking to pass on a sense of participation in these labours to their children.140 Christian faith gave this intergenerationality an eternal dimension as well. As Sir James Stephen wrote to Thomas Babington on the death of Wilberforce, ‘whenever it shall be his pleasure to call you to Himself, it will be to be united with his fellow Labourers in his service who have gone before you’.141 Unlike individual philanthropists, the Clapham Sect were therefore significantly less vul­ner­ able to the vicissitudes of personal circumstance.

3.6  The Fading of the Clapham Sect In the years from 1807 to 1815, both the dynamics internal to the commu­ nity of the Clapham Sect and those that had allowed them to draw together different groups of philanthropists diminished. In the village of Clapham itself, the geographical and familial community that had provided a collab­ orative context for philanthropists dissipated by 1815. Samuel Thornton, Charles Grant, and their families had both left Clapham in 1802, and the Wilberforce family moved to Kensington Gore in 1808. John Venn’s wife Catherine died in 1803. Venn remarried in 1812, dying a year later, followed by Henry Thornton in January 1815.142 The group had diminishing connec­ tions to London’s merchant elites, as the Russia Company faded, the SLC became a crown colony, Wilberforce and Henry Thornton spent less time managing their own investments, and Robert Thornton’s financial misde­ meanours tarnished the family’s name. The Committee for the Relief of Sufferings in Germany (1814) represented the last major instance when the group, under the chairmanship of Henry Thornton, appealed directly to London’s merchant community, and while its members such as Charles 140  The Clapham Sect also took up the traditions of eighteenth-­century associational phil­ an­thropy. The letterbook of the Marine Society for the first years of the nineteenth century, for example, shows Samuel Thornton, Thomas Gisborne, and William Morton Pitt as active in correspondence on behalf of the society (National Maritime Museum, Marine Society Papers, MSY/G/1, ‘Letterbook, 1802–15’). 141  Wren, 20, fo. 87: James Stephen to Thomas Babington, 14 Oct. 1833. 142  On Thornton’s death, his nephew John Thornton, brother-­in-­law Daniel Sykes, as well as Zachary Macaulay and William Wilberforce, stepped in to arrange his estate so as to guarantee an income to Marianne Thornton, and an inheritance to the children, especially Henry Sykes Thornton, whom it was hoped would be able to enter into the banking partnership when he came of age. When Marianne herself became ill and died in October of 1815, this became an effort to simplifying Thornton’s many financial arrangements without loss to the children’s inheritance. Much of the archival material in RBA PT/2 was collated for this process.

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   139 Grant and Samuel Thornton continued to be involved at the highest levels in Britain’s major commercial institutions, the 1810s marked their transi­ tion to partial retirement. Perhaps most importantly, the informal conversa­ tions that had allowed the Clapham Sect to coordinate their activities now required much greater effort. Letters from Wilberforce, Grant, Babington, and others during the late 1810s and 1820s, by then living in separate coun­ ties, reveal a lack of the kind of serendipitous conversations possible while living nearby, and attempts to compensate, at the slower speed of the post. New clusters of philanthropic collaboration emerged in Spitalfields,143 Fulham,144 Hackney,145 and Cambridge.146 In the philanthropic nexus around 1815,147 only four of the twelve who were members of more than four committees were Claphamites—­ Wilberforce, Macaulay, Babington, and Teignmouth. The remainder were increasingly members of groups who shared common identity—­as Evangelicals or abolitionists—­with the Clapham Sect, but without the personal connections that fostered loyalty. The new clusters frequently modelled themselves on Clapham, intermixing family, friend­ ship, and professional life with common advocacy and col­lect­ive philan­ thropy. However, none drew together the disparate alliances that Clapham had achieved. Those who sought to succeed the Clapham Sect in unifying the philanthropic directorate found themselves in a more competitive en­vir­ on­ment, and an expanded and more diverse constituency, and narrowed their efforts. In Cambridge, Charles Simeon, Isaac Milner, and William Jowett formed a cluster coordinating the Evangelical community among the colleges, whose names are prominent in the founding committees of local societies.148 Their networks became more exclusively Evangelical in ­membership, in a context of more defined ecclesiastical parties. Similarly, the ‘Hackney Phalanx’, though supported by extensive commercial and eccle­ 143  The group that centred on the Gurney and Buxton families, and their Quaker connections. See Roberts, Making English Morals, pp. 121–132. 144  Including John Owen, and the families of Granville and William Sharp. 145  Mark Smith, ‘Hackney Phalanx (act. 1800–1830)’, ODNB, accessed 14 May 2015, www. oxforddnb.com/view/theme/52465. 146  Centred on Charles Simeon and Isaac Milner. Charles Smyth, Simeon & Church Order (Cambridge, 1940); H. E. Hopkins, Charles Simeon of Cambridge (1977), pp. 98–116. 147  Comparing the Bettering Society 1817, Philanthropic Society 1816, CMS 1816, Sunday School Society 1813, Climbing Boys Society 1811, RTS 1815, PBHS 1816, and Guardian Society 1816, as well as the African Institution 1815, the LSPCF 1819, the Society for the relief of Foreigners in Distress 1816, and the Committee for the relief of Sufferings in Germany 1814. See Figure 6.1, and discussion in Section 6.2. 148  Mary Milner, The Life of Isaac Milner (1842), pp. 463–71, 608–9. H.  H.  Norris, The Origin, Progress, & Existing Circumstances, of the London Society for Promoting Christianity among the Jews (1825), pp. clxxv–­clxxvi.

140  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World siastical networks, focused their efforts on a relatively narrow range of so­ci­ eties and projects, aligned with their ‘high church’ views.149 The 1815 committee lists are notable for the growth in the number of evangelical directors without close affiliation to the Clapham Sect, and for the increased involvement of the nobility—­often, though not exclusively, serving as vice presidents.150 Likely reflecting the increase in ecclesiastical partisanship, the proportion of senior clergymen, mostly bishops, nearly halved.151 Also prominent were those who, while never properly part of the inner circle of Clapham, nevertheless had been drawn into philanthropic engagement through relationships with the Claphamites. These included George Gough-­Calthorpe (Baron Calthorpe), Barbara Wilberforce’s cousin, to whose patronage Wilberforce owed his parliamentary seat from 1812 to 1825 in the pocket borough of Bramber, William Jenney,152 Joseph Gibbs Barker,153 and Joseph Hardcastle and Joseph Reyner, business partners and dissenting evangelicals. This trend away from Claphamite dominance in philanthropy can also be seen in Henry Thornton’s correspondence. During the mid-­1790s, nearly all of his letters are to members of Clapham Sect families, or to members of his own extended family and his business part­ ners in London and Yorkshire. By the period from 1805 to 1815, while Thornton continued to correspond with his extended family and business associates, the proportion of correspondence with Clapham Sect members had dropped significantly. The largest two groups of recipients replacing this shift were non-­Claphamite philanthropists, with whom he was cooper­ ating, including James Neild, and evangelical ministers, including William Jarvis Abdy, John Newton, and Nathaniel Rowland. The decline in cor­res­ pond­ence with Clapham Sect members does not necessarily indicate that these relationships had diminished, but probably that geographical proxim­ ity allowed more personal interaction. The upsurge in correspondence with non-­Claphamites however, was new, and shows both the growth in phil­an­ thropy in this period, and how Clapham was losing its relative significance. The decline of the Clapham Sect within the philanthropic nexus also led to the withdrawal of a number of associated individuals from committees. William Jarvis Abdy, Rector of St John’s Southwark, for example, who con­ 149  Smith, ‘Hackney Phalanx’; Clive Dewey, The Passing of Barchester (1991), pp. 125–42. 150  Of the directors in the 1787 sample, 9.4 per cent were either peers or from noble fam­ ilies. This rose to 11.2 per cent in 1800 and 12.7 per cent in 1815. 151  From 3.3 per cent of the total in 1787, to 3.1 per cent in 1800 to 1.8 per cent in 1815. 152 Hole, Early History of the CMS, p. 632; Brown, Fathers, p. 359. 153  See John B. Turner, ‘Barker, Alfred Charles’, Dictionary of New Zealand Biography (2013).

‘ The Society of the Excellent of the Earth ’   141 sidered Henry Thornton to be a ‘Friend & Patron’ over thirty years, stepped back from committee membership after Thornton’s death. William Morton Pitt similarly curtailed his involvement, though remaining on the commit­ tees of the non-­Evangelical Bettering Society and Philanthropic Society. Between 1792 and 1815 the Clapham Sect provided a hinge between the philanthropy of the eighteenth century and that of the 1820s and 1830s, mediating the transition from a religious–­philanthropic nexus enmeshed with the culture of London’s commercial community to one increasingly dominated by Evangelicals and other religious parties. A set of Evangelical families and friends, they were also heirs to the multiple traditions of mer­ cantile and religious philanthropy represented by John Thornton and the philanthropic nexus that arose in London in the mid-­eighteenth century. Their significance in this transition rests on the strength of their collective identity—­anchored in Evangelical faith and philanthropic vocation—­that underpinned trust and collaboration. This common identity allowed for highly coordinated collective action—­reinforcing their position within the philanthropic directorate, coordinating priorities, and acting to dampen or promote initiatives. As the following chapter argues, their activism was also informed by a developing intellectual framework that gave coherence to their activities, but it was the visibility of their influence within philan­ thropic networks and in wider public life that generated their enduring reputation. Beyond the reminiscences of Claphamite children, the Clapham Sect became in the imaginations of other philanthropic sets and the public mind a pattern for how philanthropic change might be orchestrated. In the following three decades, and arguably for much longer, philanthropy was shaped by attempts to emulate their model. This cultural memory should not be allowed to occlude their lived realities of friendship, shared vocation, and the trust built up by more than two decades of coordinating philan­ thropic projects together. It was their persistent negotiation of these that secured their influence, and led to the reputation that children, protégés, and competitors sought to emulate.

4 ‘The Cement of Society’ Trust and the Intellectual School of Clapham

In August 1800, Henry Thornton wrote to Hannah More asking for her opinion on a collaborative writing project: Pray tell me when you have leisure what you should think of a work . . . to be executed perhaps by some of the best modern hands joining together in it. I mean something in the way of a review of the modern English political & religious works . . . Perhaps Gisborne might lend a mite to the half political. Wilberforce & Canning ought to help in such a cause . . . partly from the warmth I trust of our mutual friendship, & partly from our hav­ ing too many objects in common, & so few people with whom we are in unison on all topics in this fighting & contending world.1

As his proposal suggests, Thornton and many of the members of the Clapham Sect were engaged in ongoing intellectual collaboration in add­ ition to their joint activism in philanthropy.2 Together they gave voice to many of the priorities of the philanthropic nexus, defending their common projects in public debate. Their writings covered a range of fields and spe­ cialist disciplines, and appeared as books, pamphlets, review articles, and in many other forms. From these, the authors of the Clapham Sect emerge as an intellectual ‘school’, diverse in their output but rooted in their shared Evangelical theology, and from which emerged a common intellectual framework, which gave unity to their writings, and provided a guiding principle for their philanthropic activism.3 1  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N/126–7: Henry Thornton to Hannah More, 13 Aug. 1800. The ‘work’ in question became the Christian Observer. 2  See account in Hennell, John Venn, pp. 190–4. 3  Bruce Hindmarsh has applied the metaphor of a ‘school’ to evangelical theological debates and artistic endeavours in the mid-­eighteenth century, explaining the way in which tensions and rivalries could generate creative dynamism within a common tradition. Bruce Hindmarsh, ‘The Inner Life of Doctrine: An Interdisciplinary Perspective on the Calvinist-­Arminian Debate Among Methodists’, Church History, 83(2) (2014), p. 383, especially n. 24. See Ford British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World: Entrepreneurs and Evangelicals, 1756–1840. Roshan Allpress, Oxford University Press. © Roshan Allpress 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198887195.003.0005

‘ The Cement of Society ’   143 The intellectual collaboration of the Clapham school was an emergent and slow-­developing feature of their professional and philanthropic lives. It stemmed from two imperatives: sharing what they believed to be a neces­ sary public apologetic for Evangelical theology’s explanatory power in mod­ ern societies; and establishing a framework by which moral living might be pursued in a complex, globalizing world. Thomas Gisborne’s Principles of Moral Philosophy (1789) was seminal—­both for its response to self-­interest as the foundation of morality, and for his application of its principles to ‘the constitution of civil society’. Key works followed by Wilberforce, Thornton, Thomas Babington, Charles Grant, James Stephen, John Venn, and others, each writing in their own fields of expertise, and while none constituted a singular ‘manifesto’, their commonalities were striking, and shaped the development of philanthropy. The Clapham school provided specialist input into each other’s publications, and set the tone for both Evangelicalism and philanthropy in their generation. Though eschewing much of the rhetorical stance and rivalries common to public intellectuals and celebrities at the turn of the century, they nevertheless sought to intervene expertly in public discourse, in conscious dialogue with other intellectual traditions. As such, they deserve recognition alongside other contemporary intellectual schools. Frederick Hayek entertained the possibility that they might ‘in their imme­ diate influence . . . at least rival their better-­ known contemporaries, the philo­soph­ic­al radicals’.4 There is an abundance of evidence for collaboration among the Clapham Sect, with the greatest intensity occurring between the years 1792 and 1807 when Wilberforce, Thornton, Grant, and their families lived in the village, and provided accommodation for their friends from outside London, espe­ cially during parliamentary sittings. Thomas Babington, for example, recorded reading and reviewing a draft of Wilberforce’s Practical View, with him and Henry Thornton sitting up late making suggestions and correc­ tions two months before it was published.5 Hannah More too read and dis­ cussed early material for the book, promising to remain ‘religiously secret’ on the development of Wilberforce’s opinions.6 Henry Thornton’s Enquiry

Brown quoting a contemporary Anti-­Jacobin reviewer on the ‘school of Mr Wilberforce’ (Fathers, p. 161). See also Annan, ‘Intellectual Aristocracy’. 4  F. A. Hayek (ed.), An Enquiry into the Nature and Effects of the Paper Credit of Great Britain ([1802] 1939), p. 12. 5  Wren, 13 fos. 82–3: 17 Feb. 1797. 6  Hannah More to William Wilberforce, 1794, quoted in William Roberts, Memoirs of the Life and Correspondence of Mrs Hannah More, 2 vols. (New York, 1834), i, p. 444.

144  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World received similar editing from his friends on the Common, though he may have needed it less than Wilberforce. Gisborne, for example, began his Enquiry into the Duties of Men, with the acknowledgement of having benefited from ‘the unreserved suggestions, advice, and animadversions of persons severally occupying the station, or belonging to the profession in question, and accustomed strictly to consider its duties in a conscientious light’.7 The Clapham Sect understood their own community as being made possible by the existence of strong bonds of trust. As Wilberforce wrote: But it is one of the best results, say rather of the best prerogatives of Christian principles & of two persons believing, each that the other is actuated by it, that they may say & so things to each other which are beyond the limits of the world by confidence but with a perfect persuasion that their words & actions will not be misconstrued or even be suspected to proceed from any other than the assigned motive.8

Within the collaborative community of Clapham, their contextual responses combined with individuals’ vocations to foster specialization. An example of how this could work can be seen in the clear influence that Henry Thornton’s thinking on currency had in the writings of the Clapham Sect. Wilberforce, for example, was impeccably Thorntonian in comparing the ‘applause even of good men’ in his Practical View to ‘precious metals . . . as having rather an exchangeable than an intrinsic value, as desirable, not simply in their possession, but in their use’.9 Similarly, Charles Grant’s description of economic changes in Bengal between 1769 and 1787, echoes Thornton’s economic thinking too closely to be coincidental.10 This chapter aims to recover the coherence of this collaborative ­intellectual work as a response to the well-­known crises experienced by eighteenth-­century and early-­nineteenth-­century Britons and the conse­ quent preoccupations of contemporary intellectuals. The unifying metaphor of their framework was a unique conception of ‘trust’ that was itself consti­ tutive of their collective agency, offering an inner perspective on the social and activist realities that centred on Clapham. Their use of the language of trust derived from attempts to reconcile the separate vocabularies of commerce and religion, and to address the fundamental questions of the 7 Gisborne, Duties of Men, p. vi. 8  BL Egerton MS 1964: William Wilberforce to Olivia Sparrow, 28 Sept. 1816. 9 Wilberforce, Practical View, pp. 188–9. 10 Grant, Observations (1813), p. 23.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   145 relationship between faith, morality, and society—­what Wilberforce called ‘the cement of society’.11 They applied the insights derived from this com­ mon framework in separate bodies of writing across multiple disciplines, but more tangibly in how they organized their public work. In Wilberforce’s Practical View, for example, there is both an Evangelical public apologetic for the role of religion in political life, and a framework for how he under­ stood the role of political leaders in society. In Thornton’s Enquiry, he applied similar ideas to the institutions and cultural assumptions of a credit economy—­laying the theoretical groundwork for modern reserve banking. Similarly, these ideas are equally present in James Stephen’s writings against slavery, and in how abolitionists organized and campaigned. Framing the Clapham Sect as a school highlights the influence of their intellectual work among philanthropic and reform networks more broadly—­showing how this framework makes sense of many of the decisions made by these philan­ thropists in their various particular roles.

4.1  Thomas Gisborne, Morality, and Interest Thomas Gisborne’s publications on moral philosophy laid the intellectual foundations for the ‘school’, providing a series of counterblasts to the moral scepticism of David Hume, and even more pointedly, against the utilitarian moral theory of William Paley. Gisborne’s Principles of Moral Philosophy, published in 1789, was a direct response to the 1785 appearance of Paley’s Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy, and was intended as a general treatise, though Gisborne’s treatment suffered somewhat from a lack of ana­ lytical perspicuity and of the rhetorical skills of Paley. Nevertheless, his reply to Paley established the parameters of Claphamite theological engage­ ment with questions of social theory and the common good. Like others within the Clapham school, Gisborne’s influence must be understood not only in terms of the originality of his ideas, but in his role as a trusted con­ sultant to others as they looked for a moral theology to ground their own thinking and writing.

11 William Wilberforce, A practical view of the prevailing religious system of professed Christians, in the higher and middle classes, contrasted with real Christianity (3rd edn, 1829), p. 413.

146  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World The central tenet of Paley’s philosophy was to construct morality on the foundation of self-­interest.12 His often quoted maxim that morality con­ sisted in ‘doing good to mankind, in obedience to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting happiness’, functioned by using God’s benevolent intending of human happiness to recognize that these three clauses were three ways of saying the same thing, conflating them into one imperative. For Paley, the duty to act morally could be derived from the duty to act self-­ interestedly in pursuit of one’s own happiness, properly understood. In this, Paley was part of a wider English intellectual culture that focused its atten­ tions on questions of immanent or temporal welfare, and sought to con­ struct an ‘anthropocentric theology’.13 To Evangelicals such as Gisborne, Paley failed to account for the debilitating effects of sin in two ways: on the human inability to know in advance whether the consequences of an action would be an increase in happiness,14 and on the deleterious effects of sin on the human will, whereby even individuals knowing the moral course of action may reject it.15 Gisborne’s alternative, however, bears consideration, for what it reveals of his assumptions about the operation of interest in soci­ ety. He explicitly diverted his argument away from the more direct scepti­ cism of Hume, maintaining with Paley the premise of divine authority. In Gisborne’s conception, human life and each individual’s interest therein is gifted by God—­a gift that does not abrogate but rather affirms the ongoing authority of the divine in matters of moral judgement.16 For the individual, this creates a duty of obedience to God’s continuing authority, and God continues to intend happiness for his creature. However, Gisborne’s concep­ tion of what this does to interest is natively social. Whereas for Paley, the impetus to philanthropy or indeed any interaction with others begins with a sense of inner satisfaction, and is premised on the belief that ultimately

12  Summaries of Paley’s thought can be found in D.  L.  LeMahieu, The Mind of William Paley: A Philosopher and His Age (1976); M.  L.  Clarke, Paley: Evidences for the Man (1974); Niall O’Flaherty, ‘William Paley’s Moral Philosophy and the Challenge of Hume: An Enlightenment Debate?’, Modern Intellectual History, 7(1) (2010), pp. 1–31. 13  O’Flaherty, ‘Paley’s Moral Philosophy’, p. 3. 14  Thomas Gisborne, The works of Thomas Gisborne, 9 vols. (1813), iv: ‘Principles of moral philosophy’, p. 28. 15  Wilberforce wrote in 1803 that ‘it ought to be the grand object of every moral writer . . . to produce in us that true and just sense of the malignity of sin (to use one of Paley’s own forcible terms), and of the real magnitude of our danger’ (Life of Wilberforce, i, pp. 251–2). The Christian Observer reviewer spoke of ‘original sin, a doctrine in which we cannot but think our divine [Paley] peculiarly defective’ (‘Review of Paley’s Sermons on several Subjects’, Christian Observer (1809), p. 238). 16 Gisborne, Works, iv, pp. 101–2.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   147 altruistic behaviour is also in one’s self-­interest,17 for Gisborne, the gift–­ response relationship with the divine is always conditioned by the existence of a third ‘other’. God’s gifts are given for a purpose, and that purpose includes a universal vocation to advance the interests of others. Gisborne’s conception of the human person in civil society therefore includes the idea that humans participate in God’s gift-­giving, and therefore come to partici­ pate in the general interest of all. Gisborne expanded this reasoning in the 1790s with two enquiries of his own: An Enquiry into the Duties of Men in the higher and middle classes (1795), and An Enquiry into the Duties of the Female Sex (1797).18 Intended as character manuals,19 but also as general treatises on vocational roles in a civil society, Gisborne derived the duties arising from occupying various roles—­monarchs, parliamentarians, judges, military officers, professionals, and clergy—­in terms of trust. The maintenance of ‘confidence’, for the pub­ lic man, is ‘essential to the success of all his subsequent exertions’.20 Gisborne deployed the word ‘credit’ to mean that which makes it possible for a profes­ sional to carry out his duties meritoriously, writing that: The term credit has different significations as it respects different men. When applied to a soldier, it chiefly regards courage; when to a lawyer, abilities. In commercial language it means the title which a trader is sup­ posed to have in the world to confidence in respect to his mercantile and more particularly his pecuniary transactions.21

Having defined the state of civil society as that wherein people come together in a state of mutual confidence, Gisborne then proceeded to derive moral duties from the particular trusts created by particular relationships. In commercial credit, the offering and acceptance of credit created a duty on the part of the debtor to deserve that credit—­through ‘property, integ­ rity, punctuality, industry, prudence, openness of dealing, freedom from

17  O’Flaherty, ‘Paley’s Moral Philosophy’, pp. 13, 23. 18 These three works all benefited from Claphamite collaboration. His Principles was ‘indebted’ to the ‘important observations’ of Thomas Babington, and both Enquiries were writ­ ten during the high point of Clapham Sect collaboration, drawing heavily on input from Wilberforce and Thornton. 19  The title and internal structure of the books also denote a connection with Henry Venn’s The Complete Duty of Man (1763). 20  Thomas Gisborne, An Enquiry into the Duties of Men (1795), p. 155. 21  Ibid., p. 453. His understanding of credit derived from his conversations with Henry Thornton. See particularly ibid., pp. 485–92.

148  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World extravagance, from a spirit of wild speculation, and from vice’, and through carefulness in choosing his other relational connections. In particular, Gisborne’s emphasis was not on property, but on behaviour subsequent to the extension of credit—­which would tend towards traders being ‘rewarded’ in times of crisis.22 While maintaining both divine revelation and natural rights, modified by consent to social contract, as appropriate bases for duty, Gisborne was add­ ing another possible foundation—­those duties that were created by rela­ tionships or habitual interactions. Where these derived not just from social interaction, but from the outworking of God’s gifts through vocation, they pointed to an interest outside the self. From this, he could assert that social and cultural customs could sometimes give rise to moral duty, merely by the common expectations that they created. Parents certainly had obligations towards their children, and all people towards their natural relatives.23 Customers of a bank might have a duty not to act on apparent self-­interest and withdraw their deposits upon slight scares, but to bear their share of the ‘common risk’ in the ‘maintenance of general credit’.24 Inversely, bankers should seek to treat customers equally, and not charge different rates of interest to those unfamiliar with customary practices.25 Similarly, company directors, in addition to the obligations that they undertook as the agents of stockholders, also had a duty not to take actions that would undermine the general trust that all investors had in their directors—­for doing so would increase overall social distrust.26 Gisborne continued to assert the necessary connection between individual piety and individual morality—­the latter, directing human relations, could not be maintained without the former connection to the divine. However, this did not mean that society was reducible to the sum of individual moralities. Thus, Gisborne could posit a general duty for all nations and individuals to ‘enlarge their views beyond the sphere of their own immediate advantage’, and for an individual to ‘advance the comforts, the prosperity, the intellectual, moral, and religious improvement, of his dependents, of his neighbours, of his countrymen and, if his line of life enables him, of foreign nations, even in the remotest cor­ ners of the globe’.27

22  Ibid., pp. 457, 481, 485: ‘the duty of a banker with respect to credit consists in striving actually to deserve it’. 23  Ibid., pp. 125–6, 296–7. 24  Ibid., p. 508. 25  Ibid., p. 516. 26  Ibid., pp. 546–9. 27  Ibid., pp. 428–33.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   149

4.2  William Wilberforce, ‘Real Christianity’, and Public Leadership Trust was deployed analogously throughout the published output of this collaborative community, providing underlying terms of analysis. As the ‘sun of the Clapham system’, but also the least inclined to academic ­scholarship, William Wilberforce was a beneficiary of the reflective output of his friends.28 His bestselling Practical View of the Prevailing Religious System . . . contrasted with Real Christianity, aimed at the ‘higher and middle classes’, was a sustained defence of public Evangelicalism, and a conversion­ ary call to his audience, in a context in which ‘enthusiasm’ in public life remained suspect to many. Impelled by his own strong sense of calling, Wilberforce drew heavily on Gisborne. Written with his usual alacrity, the text offers a helpful example of how pervasive the idea of trust could be as an analytical mode. Throughout, Wilberforce uses ‘faith’, ‘trust’, and ‘confi­ dence’ as both an individual and general measure of moral state. Wilberforce writes of the confidence an individual should seek in one’s actions after self-­ examination, of the conditions of trust that make a friendship affectionate, of the mutual confidence characteristic of Christian community, and of the ‘universal confidence’ engendered in international relations by the right actions of Christian nations.29 As is well attested, Wilberforce’s book ­presented the argument that ‘real Christianity’ begins with God’s grace in salvation, engenders a response of repentance, faith, and feeling, and subsequently emerges in outward holiness and good works. He framed religion in terms of the restoration of a relationship between the human and God, by reciprocation of God’s faith, following Bishop Butler’s conception in his Analogy of Religion, that ‘we are naturally trusted with ourselves: with our own conduct and our own interest’.30 In the book’s penultimate chapter, Wilberforce turned to considering the effect of true religion on society—­its ‘tendency . . . to promote the temporal

28 John Wolffe, ‘William Wilberforce’s Practical View (1797) and Its Reception’, in Kate Cooper (ed.), Revival and Resurgence in Church History (Woodbridge, 2008), p. 176. A coun­ terpoint to this however is Thornton’s comment that it was largely due to Wilberforce’s influ­ ence that defects in his own education were corrected. CUL Thornton Papers 1/N p. 34. 29 Wilberforce, Practical View, p. 269. 30 Joseph Butler, The Analogy of Religion (New York, 1849), p. 161. There is a clear ­parallel and possible causal connection here with Gisborne’s use, in his moral theology, of the gift–­giver relationship.

150  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World welfare of political communities’.31 Contemporary British society, according to Wilberforce, was suffering from a decline in public morals and manners, caused by a loss of underlying religious faith coupled with the conditions of an increasingly commercial and prosperous society. Wilberforce argued that this should be of concern to national leaders, as the Christian believer, when compared to the nominal Christian or mere citizen, had a distinctive mode of acting in society, ‘looking upon [all men] as members of the same family, entitled not only to the debts of justice, but to the less definite and more liberal claims of fraternal kindness’. The effect of individuals with such a distinctly philanthropic outlook in society was to promote the unob­ structed workings of the ‘frame of human society’, making it work ‘like the harmony of the spheres’. ‘Such a community . . . would be respected and beloved abroad. General integrity in all its dealings would inspire universal confidence’, and there would be no ‘mutual jealously and distrust’.32 Wilberforce then continued in comparing the physical operations of gravity to the moral operations of Christianity in ordering the world. The latter acts to ‘root out our natural selfishness’, and to reinforce the bonds of trust in ‘the different relations in which we stand’.33 The institutional Church rein­ forced these ties, as the ‘living representation of the opinions and habits of better times’, reminding people of their ties to each other. Should the Establishment be lost, ‘the cement of society being no more, the state would soon be dissolved into individuality’.34 Though highlighting religion’s role in social cohesion was nothing new, the characterization of society in terms of interdependent relationships, and Wilberforce’s insistence that reducing this to a matrix of external duties would result in erosion down to ‘individu­ ality’, was distinctive to the Clapham Sect. It expressed the mechanism by which general Providence operated within and between communities, with trust operating as a qualifier of relationships, and as an accumulated com­ mon good.

4.3  Henry Thornton, Currency, and Trust In 1802, Henry Thornton published his Enquiry into the Paper Credit of Great Britain. A sophisticated though technical intervention in the currency 31 Wilberforce, Practical View, p. 254. The chapter represents the longest un-­subdivided ­section in the book. 32  Ibid., p. 269. 33  Ibid., p. 274. 34  Ibid., p. 278.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   151 debate, it was also the most developed explication of the Claphamite under­ standing of how trust operated in society. Thornton grounded his Enquiry in a response to Adam Smith’s assertion that paper money merely ‘supplies the place’ of metallic currency.35 He argued that the quantity of paper cur­ rency circulating should not be understood as a representation of the circu­ lating property of a commercial community, but rather of the ‘confidence which subsists among commercial men in respect to their mercantile affairs’.36 Writing in 1939, Hayek commented that this marked ‘the begin­ ning of a new epoch in the development of monetary theory’,37 in which a recognizably modern framework for monetary management during fiscal crises was first articulated, and the cultural conditions and implications of a credit economy were first considered.38 Despite, or perhaps ironically because of, Hayek’s recognition, Thornton’s place in the political economy canon has been somewhat uncertain, until the recent global financial crisis, when his work on trust has proven prescient. Thornton began writing his Enquiry around the time of the 1797 suspension of Bank of England con­ vertibility—­a measure that he and his brother Samuel, Deputy Governor of the Bank, had recommended to Pitt.39 His immediate aims in writing a work of political economy appear to have been threefold. He sought to offer a corrective to earlier theories of currency, which saw paper credit as merely an efficient means of representing value in property, not as a constitutive socio-­economic practice of a credit society. He sought to generate informed support for a managed non-­metallic currency among Britain’s mercantile and political communities. Thirdly, he articulated a heuristic for the Directors and Ministers whose task it was to manage and oversee the Bank’s ongoing lending policies, that would direct their focus to what he saw as the

35  Adam Smith, An Enquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations (2 vols., 1778), i, p. 361: ‘The whole paper money of every kind which can easily circulate in any coun­ try never can exceed the value of the gold and silver, of which it supplies the place.’ 36 Thornton, Enquiry, pp. 13–14. Thornton took issue with Smith’s description of paper credit as increasing the ‘ease’ of circulation, insisting that it was not the quantity of circulation that mattered, but the rate of circulation—­how many transactions were facilitated (pp. 44–6). 37 Hayek, Enquiry, p. 36. 38  For further assertions of Thornton’s significance, see David Laidler, ‘Henry Thornton’, in J.  Eatwell, M.  Milgate, and P.  Newman (eds.), The New Palgrave: A Dictionary of Economics (1987), p. 634: ‘the most important contributor to monetary economics between David Hume (1752) and Knut Wicksell (1898)’; Antoin Murphy, ‘Paper Credit and the Multi-­personae Mr. Henry Thornton’, European Journal of the History of Economic Thought, 10(3) (2003), p. 430, ‘the most remarkable book on monetary economics of the nineteenth century’. 39  Most of the work was written in 1801 (Murphy, ‘Paper Credit’, p. 432).

152  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World core concern of business confidence, rather than the secondary effects of bullion supply and price fluctuations. Thornton’s Enquiry began by arguing that all forms of credit are merely customary and convenient representations of the all-­important ‘confidence which is in the mind’.40 In the first chapter, he took issue with the imagined distinction between ‘real bills’, which represent property, and ‘fictitious bills’, arguing that both held value because of confidence in ‘the general ability to pay of the giver of the bill’,41 and that even bills themselves were merely one contingent expression of this interpersonal trust, being interchangeable according to custom with other forms of credit.42 He explained to his ­readers how both bankers and merchants respond to increased confidence in commercial conditions, by issuing and parting with notes more freely, rather than holding them against eventualities. The effect of this confident liberality is an increase in the ‘speed’ of circulation—­that is, the number of transactions a bill effects before it comes due.43 Indeed, Thornton shows how it is the operation of interpersonal trust, not merely of interest, that characterizes all economic relationships, from barter up to banking.44 The highest rung in this ladder is dealt with in Thornton’s fourth chapter, where he explained the unique role of the Bank of England as he saw it: a lender of last resort, independent of the government,45 and managed by directors whose interest in the general credit of the British economy exceeded any potential gain or interest in temporary manipulation of the money supply.46 The remainder of the work he devoted to further considerations of political economy, explaining bullion flows and other commodity price fluctuations, credit crises, and the explosion of country banks, through the deployment of his central theme that a properly understood monetary system is not about the maintenance of value in instruments, but about managed responses to the loss and misplacement of business confidence. However, Thornton’s intellectual reach extended well beyond the themes and vocabulary of narrow conceptions of political economy. Conceived in juxtaposition to the writings of Locke, Montesquieu, Hume, Adam Smith, 40 Thornton, Enquiry, p. 14. 41  Ibid., p. 32. 42  Ibid., pp. 16, 27. 43  Ibid., pp. 44–53. An early expression of liquidity. 44  Thornton’s descriptions here owe much to stadial theory. In societies where the condi­ tions of trust are weak, ‘there will also be little commerce’ (ibid., p. 14). As commercial society establishes itself, credit moves through a middle stage of reliance on individual reputation, and eventually becomes a matter of habit. It is in this state that banks become critical, as arbiters of reputational information. 45  Ibid., pp. 62–4. See also Thornton, Substance, p. 27. 46 Thornton, Enquiry, pp. 61–8.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   153 and James Steuart, his Enquiry made claims on the nature of society. He was careful to maintain the voice of a practical man of business—­not a theorist—­ writing from his experience, reputation, and unique societal vantage point, as the son of a prominent merchant, brother to Bank of England directors, Member of Parliament and friend of the prime minister, and a leading banker in his own right. Nevertheless, while earlier writers had constructed their currency theories to reflect their societal models, Thornton inverted this, using his currency theory to illuminate his understanding of society. His political economic thought was throughout underpinned by his Evangelical theology.47 His writing style was convoluted in places, leading to some ambiguities, and the clarity of his argument was not aided by the density of his illustrations and his sparse or merely implied explanations of principle. Francis Horner’s review was admiring, but incisive: ‘It is to be regretted that it did not receive in every respect the form, as it contains the valuable substance, of a general treatise’.48 Like Locke, Hume, and Smith, Thornton was interested in the question of how trust can be rational, though his Enquiry was addressed to the more particular questions of whether paper credit, unsupported by convertibility, was an appropriate facilitator of Britain’s internal commerce, and whether the suspension of convertibility had negatively affected Britain’s inter­ nation­al credibility, causing an outflow of bullion.49 Common to all these thinkers was an understanding that the time displacement created by a credit transaction heightened the moral problem of trust implicit in all social interactions. With self-­interested actors, what was to prevent one party to an unsecured credit transaction refusing to pay if they subsequently came to believe that such an act and its consequences would be in their interest. More germanely, after 1797, what was to prevent either Bank of England directors or government ministers from manipulating a non-­ convertible currency? Locke had sought to sustain an external duty as the counter to both levels of hazard, and Smith had relied on human sympathy

47  Much of the relevant historiography is limited by a hermeneutical failure to see that an argument developed in the language of political economy may be intended to simultaneously intervene in debates on social theory, and vice versa. See discussion in Carl Wennerlind, ‘The Link between David Hume’s Treatise of Human Nature and His Fiduciary Theory of Money’, History of Political Economy 33(1) (2001), pp. 139–60. 48 Francis Horner, ‘Review of Thornton’s Enquiry’, Edinburgh Review, 1(1) (1802), pp.  172–201, p. 174. Horner felt the need to warn his readers to expect from Thornton ‘the confused statement of a just argument’. 49 Thornton, Enquiry, pp. 115–21.

154  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World to provide a barrier beyond the limits of reputation.50 It was Hume however, who had presented the problem of the rationality of trust most directly, imagining a ‘sensible knave’ for whom it might be rational to break his promise.51 Hume’s solution was that the ‘interest of our reputation’ encour­ ages a disposition towards virtue, in both the short term and long term, as any thoughtful individual would come to understand that the risk of repu­ tational catastrophe outweighed the benefits of dishonesty. However, he acknowledged the possibility that circumstances might arise in which a breach of morality might not entail a social breach, and that an individual consequently ‘conducts himself with most wisdom, who observes the gen­ eral rule, and takes advantage of all the exceptions’.52 Thornton’s position elegantly addressed this problem at all levels of par­ ticipation in the credit economy, by suggesting that in addition to individual self-­interest there was a general interest that came into being with any per­ sistent human interaction. This general interest existed between business partners, between individuals or partnerships who traded together over extended periods, within local communities and communities of mer­ chants, and, most saliently for questions of currency, within nations. General interest was not reducible to the reputation—­as an expression of self-­interest—­of the different parties, but to the degree to which their inter­ action constituted collectivity—­the extent to which individuals came to identify with social groups in terms of ‘we’. It is implied throughout Thornton’s Enquiry that what matters in determining whether trust is rational in a credit relationship is not the degree to which self-­interests align, but whether people trust the whole and maintain this common trust—­through actual knowledge of the market, or mere habit. Among the lower classes this might be limited to receiving wages and making purchases in the customary medium—­that is, coinage—­as actions by poorer in­di­vid­ uals would not significantly affect the general interest. Here, Thornton’s intimate knowledge of the enculturated practices of the banking world came to the fore in his explanation of how the daily recon­ ciliation of credit between banks in the London clearing house created the 50  John Dunn, ‘The Concept of “Trust” in the Politics of John Locke’, in Richard Rorty, J.  B.  Schneewind, and Quentin Skinner (eds.), Philosophy in History (Cambridge, 1984), pp. 279–302, p. 280. 51  David Hume, Treatise of Human Nature: Being an Attempt to introduce the experimental Method of Reasoning into Moral Subjects (1840), iii, p. 106. 52  For a summary of Hume’s position, see Luigino Bruni and Robert Sugden ‘Moral Canals: Trust and Social Capital in the Work of Hume, Smith and Genovesi’, Economics and Philosophy, 16(1) (2000), pp. 27–32.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   155 conditions for common interest.53 Thornton argued that it is by reciprocal groupings such as these, regardless of their formality, that bankers protect their general interest—­that of the London banking fraternity, and the nation at large—­through sharing information about the general state of credit in the wider community, and about specific borrowers. The end-­of-­day recon­ ciliation of accounts between London banking clerks, illustrates the smooth operating of an economy of ‘men having confidence in each other’.54 By this means, the collective risk of financial crises is diminished, speculative lend­ ing is discouraged, not merely by the reputational risk of failure, but also by the existence of a group acting on behalf of the ‘general credit’. The daily credit exchange in Thornton’s conception was important not just for its effi­ ciency in sparing the use of guineas. By habituating the various bankers to conceive of the ‘whole sum’ of credit owing between banks, it was more likely that credit would be ‘accurately dealt out in proportion to the desert of different persons’, ‘contributing to punctuality of payments’, and ‘condu­ cive to the interests of trade’.55 Conversely, Thornton understood that while paper notes represented a contract between individual interests, they also reflected this general credit—­Bank of England notes most fully because of their monopoly in London, and the widespread custom of country banks holding them in reserve to back their own issues of credit. While all economic actors in the Kingdom were invested in the general credit, there existed in the directors of the Bank of England a group committed to the maintenance of confi­ dence in the system. Among financial elites, the ‘general credit’ of the com­ munity could supersede individual self-­interest. It was this insight that led Horner to comment that ‘If the Bank of England must now be considered as a national establishment . . . guiding its movements according to views of public policy, an important revolution has taken place’.56 Should the Bank of England ever lose its monopoly, and therefore the imperative for its dir­ect­ ors to see themselves as guardians of the general interest, Thornton was pes­ simistic as to the result, though his reasoning in the Enquiry suggests the possibility of other kinds of collective management. Unlike Locke, Thornton was therefore conceiving of interest outside the self—­the more potent as it became more general. Unlike Hume therefore, it is not necessary to rely on a cultivation of ‘taste’ or sentiment to account for how individuals might act

53  Horner, ‘Review’, p. 189. 55 Thornton, Enquiry, pp. 55–6.

54  Ibid., p. 55. 56  Horner, ‘Review’, p. 196.

156  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World sympathetically towards the public interest,57 but rather the structure of a collective directorate managing the monetary system. This also grounded his critique of Smith’s conception of paper credit as the circulating represen­ tation of the wealth of a nation. For Thornton, paper credit correlated to the total trust of the commercial community—­arriving at something very similar to the modern conception of consumer and business confidence. Thornton’s insight was that the well-­being of a community could be meas­ ured in terms of aggregate trust, and this was denominated in the economy by the expansion or contraction of credit.58 Thornton’s monetary theory was therefore centred on the question of how best to continually assure trust. His belief that Britain would eventually return to convertibility was contingent on the cultural habit of viewing pre­ cious metals as a final store of value. His appreciation of gold’s economic importance is perhaps clearest when explaining why metal coinage should continue to be issued to make payments to ‘the common class of people . . . in the usual article of coin . . . [lest they] might be excited to some tumultuous proceedings’.59 What may at first read like class prejudice is paralleled in Thornton’s analysis of the merchant community, and even bank directors: what matters equally, regardless of position and wealth, is the degree of habituation to value expressed in common forms of credit. The consistent thread that carried through to his later speeches was the link between his understanding of a credit economy and trust-­based society, and the evi­ dence of experience. During the 1793 shock, for example, commercial fail­ ures abated, not when liquidity had been restored to the economy, but merely by the restoration of confidence.60 His anti-­deflationary stance in the first half of Paper Credit derived from his concern at the possibility of a general ‘state of distrust’, leading to hoarding and therefore credit failures.61 His cautions about inflationary pressure led him to his developed theory of a central bank that acts directly on aggregate confidence.62 His whole Enquiry was therefore at pains to show how commercial trust is merely one reflection of the mutual confidence that infuses all beneficial relationships.

57  See Bruni and Sugden, ‘Moral Canals’, p. 29. 58  Ibid., pp. 44–6. 59 Thornton, Enquiry, pp. 113–14. 60  Ibid., pp. 50–1. 61  Ibid., p. 52. See also discussion, p. 142, where Thornton argues for economic health, understood as the maintenance of confidence in the ‘old and accustomed system of paper credit’, as the aim of monetary policy. 62  The political oversight of king and Parliament is in the background of Thornton’s system, stepping in to restore trust where necessary.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   157 Thornton’s use of trust in this manner anticipated twentieth-­century thinkers on the role of trust in society, not least its role in monetary the­ory.63 His argument suggests Luhmann’s assertion that modern societies rely more on cognitive assumptions than normative experiences. Thornton argued that excess of paper issue was only a risk because ‘to the consequences of excess of quantity [of paper] distrust might add itself ’. In other words, the experience of depreciation was only a problem if it lasted long enough to change underlying cognitive habits.64 Whereas many of his contemporaries were framing their arguments in terms of normative understandings based on stadial theory, Thornton had a strong appreciation of the contingent nature of the credit practices he described, and while not offering a fully functionalist account, his willingness to move beyond psychological motives for economic action to consider the real cultural assumptions with which people engaged in trade was strikingly prescient. Further, while it is unsurprising to find a professional banker appreciating the role that trust played in managing the risks of investments, the generalizing nature of Thornton’s treatise is on display in how he conceived of trust as a means to manage political and social, as well as economic risk.65 Most intriguing are the similarities between Thornton’s ‘general’ credit or interest, as managed by a small, densely related group of elite bankers, and the thesis put forward by Martin Hollis, Robert Sugden, and others,66 that non-­egoistic concep­ tions of interest, or what Hollis calls ‘teamwork’,67 provide a better account for the rationality of social trust in general than those that rely on aligning 63  Since the mid-­twentieth century, there has been significant interest in trust among sociologists, including something of a discovery of the preoccupations of eighteenth-­century concerns. For example, see Niklas Luhmann, Trust and Power (Chichester, 1979); Robert Putnam, Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy (Princeton, 1993); Barbara Misztal, Trust in Modern Societies: The Search for the Bases of Social Order (Cambridge, 1996); Francis Fukuyama, Trust: The Social Virtues and the Creation of Prosperity (New York, 1996); Piotr Sztompka, Trust: A Sociological Theory (Cambridge, 1999); Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York, 2000). For an account of trust as an object of historical inquiry, see Geoffrey Hosking, ‘Trust and Distrust: A Suitable Theme for Historians?’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 16 (2006), pp. 95–115; Geoffrey Hosking, Trust: A History (Oxford, 2014). 64  See Luhmann, Trust and Power, pp. xiv, 87. Thornton, Substance, p. 45. See also Wicksell’s ‘pure credit’ framework: Knut Wicksell, Lectures on Political Economy, 2 vols. (1999), ii, p. 38. This parallels Luhmann’s position that trust allows the possibility of delayed gratification. 65 Sztompka, Trust, pp. 29–49. 66  Martin Hollis, Trust within Reason (Cambridge, 1998); Bruni and Sugden, ‘Moral Canals’. See also Preston King, Trusting in Reason: Martin Hollis and the Philosophy of Social Action (2003). 67 Hollis, Trust within Reason, p. 137. See also Robert Sugden, ‘Team Preferences’, Economics and Philosophy, 16(2) (2000), pp. 175–204; Michael Bacharach, ‘Interactive Team Reasoning: A Contribution to the Theory of Co-­operation’, Research in Economics, 53(2) (1999), pp. 117–47.

158  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World self-­interests alone. Hollis’s plea to avoid abstraction fits well with Thornton’s priorities. As Hollis asserts, ‘flesh-­ and-­ blood persons have reasons for action which are alien to their abstract counterparts. These reasons are not sentiments, which can be represented in utilities, but normative features of a situation which they have partly inherited and partly created.’68 A key extension of Henry Thornton’s thinking about society in terms of aggregate trust is therefore his analysis of the role of institutions in society. Thornton devoted the better part of three chapters of his Enquiry to discuss­ ing the role of banks in general and the Bank of England in particular in a credit society, writing: Through the creation of banks, the appreciation of the credit of number­ less persons engaged in commerce has become a science; and to the height to which this science is now carried in Great Britain we are in no small degree indebted for the flourishing state of our internal commerce, for the general reputation of our merchants abroad, and for the preference which in that respect they enjoy over the traders of all other nations. It is cer­ tainly the interest, and, I believe, it is also the general practice, of banks to limit not only the loan which any one trader shall obtain from themselves, but the total amount also, as far as they are able, of the sum which the same person shall borrow in different places; at the same time, recipro­ cally to communicate intelligence for their mutual assistance.69

Particular banks had an interest, not merely in limiting their own credit exposure to any one trader, but also in ensuring that the overall credit extended by lenders did not exceed that which reflected appropriate confi­ dence in that trader. They did this by sharing information with other banks. As the lender of last resort, the Bank of England was understood by Thornton to be that institution that was most completely interested in the maintenance of general credit. As such, its directors could be assumed not to act on their personal interest.70 Rather, as men who had a greater than usual stake in the overall prosperity of the nation, any individual gain that they could make by manipulating the currency would be wiped out by their stake in the confidence of the nation’s merchants. ‘They are men . . . most 68 Hollis, Trust within Reason, p. 141. 69 Thornton, Enquiry, p. 166. 70  Ibid., p. 68. See also Bernard Williams’s description of ‘a particular set of people, a government or elite group, in whom trust is invested’, in Bernard Williams, ‘Formal Structures and Social Reality’, in Diego Gambetta (ed.), Trust: Making and Breaking Cooperative Relations (Oxford, 1988), pp. 3–13, p. 12.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   159 deeply interested not merely in the increase of the dividends or in the main­ tenance of the credit of the Bank of England, but in the support of commer­ cial as well as of public credit in general.’71 This explains more clearly Thornton’s apparent change of mind while on the Bullion Committee—­it was caused by his realization that the proprietors and directors of the Bank did not sufficiently understand the effects that their paper issue had on commodity prices.72 In short, Thornton understood banks to be institutions that sought to increase the sum of rightly placed trust in a credit economy, as a means to their own and general prosperity.

4.4  Trust as an Explanatory Idea in Philanthropy To the Clapham school, philanthropic institutions—­analogous to banks in the economy—­took on a critical mediating role, in which all concerned, from central committee members to local auxiliary supporters, became involved in a web of mutual trust-­building. Particular projects themselves were also framed in these terms. The African Institution set about working to re-­establish trust between Africans and British traders following the abo­ lition of the slave trade, and looked forward to a future where African soci­ ety would be characterized by mutual confidence.73 As has been mentioned, auxiliary societies were understood by Henry Thornton and others not merely as engines for fundraising, but by bringing together members of local communities in common cause, as fostering critical trust between social classes.74 The Bible Society in particular was promoted as that society which was doing more than any other to draw together the disparate reli­ gious factions of British society. As Samuel Thornton described to the auxil­ iary meeting at Clapham: There are many points of doubtful policy; but we are assembled to-­day, for the consideration of an object in which, I think, there can be no difference of opinion among us; and I am happy to see persons of all persuasions 71 Thornton, Enquiry, p. 68. 72  In his Enquiry, Thornton describes the proprietors’ power over the directors as, ‘a power of which they have prudently forborne to make any frequent use’ (ibid., p. 68). See Thornton’s arguments in Substance, pp. 2, 14–39, especially comments on p. 29 regarding the importance of public confidence, and p. 37 on the need for active management of paper issue in response to exchange fluctuation. 73  Eleventh Report of the Directors of the African Institution (1817), pp. 142–4. 74  Christian Observer (1812) pp. 315, 615.

160  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World assembled on this occasion, who, I have no doubt, will cordially concur in the design for which this meeting is convened.75

Even when writing about the alleviation of poverty at a local level, Claphamite writers repeatedly deployed the concept of collective interest. In writing against workhouses and arguing for asylums for the unwell and non-­enclosed working schemes for paupers, Edward Parry wrote, ‘I think every thing should be done to give the labouring man an idea, that he has an interest in the prosperity of the parish he lives in’,76 for if a social support framework that relied on community contributions rather than workhouses was introduced into a context where such a belief existed, it would attract the ready support of all. The most salient outworking of the Clapham Sect’s understanding of trust was in their campaign against the slave trade. Historians have long sought an explanation for the rise of anti-­slavery sentiment in the changing economic realities of the late eighteenth century, and as John Coffey has recently illustrated, there is much about the ideological underpinnings and rhetoric of the two successive campaigns against the slave trade and for emancipation, that remains under-­explored.77 Since Seymour Drescher’s Econocide demolished the argument that slavery fell of its own economic non-­viability, a number of competing accounts have emerged.78 Roger Anstey stressed the tactical importance of appropriating national war inter­ est in 1806–7, and the motivating power of religious belief, although, as is also common among historians of evangelicalism, does not adequately explain the specificity of religious anti-­slavery activism, beyond an increased concern for the well-­being of others, and a greater will to act.79 David Brion Davis offered the displacement thesis that anti-­slavery sentiment was a diversionary response to the unjust economic conditions of Britain’s work­ ing classes.80 In seeking to tie economic change to the rise of a ‘humanitar­ ian sensibility’, Thomas Haskell suggested the development of new ‘recipes’ of promise keeping and causation at distance, as the essential ingredient in

75  Auxiliary Bible Society for Clapham and its vicinity (1812), p. 6. 76  Reports of the Bettering Society (1798), i p. 40. 77  Coffey, ‘ “Tremble, Britannia!” ’, pp. 844–81. 78  Seymour Drescher, Econocide: British Slavery in the Era of Abolition (Pittsburgh, 1977). For a historiographical summary, see Seymour Drescher, ‘Antislavery Debates: Tides of Historiography in Slavery and Antislavery’, European Review, 19(1) (2011), pp. 131–48. 79 Anstey, Atlantic slave trade and British abolition. 80  David Brion Davis, The Problem of Slavery in the Age of Revolutions (Ithaca, 1975).

‘ The Cement of Society ’   161 explaining the new moral climate.81 However, both Davis and Haskell have problems of chronology and geography, as the kind of economic causality that each describes were common for decades before the emergence of organized opposition, and existed in many more countries in which anti-­ slavery activism did not arise. Haskell also failed to account for what Ashworth called the ‘contradictory effects’ of market forces—­participation in global commerce does not unambiguously increase feeling for people at both ends of distant chains of exchange.82 It requires constant and sensitive attention to the particular qualities of connection. In the past decade, three further directions have been pursued. Christopher Brown has sharpened the religious dimension of motivations by tracing a shift from specific to general Providence, which facilitated the connection between anti-­slavery activism and national interest.83 David Brion Davis has moved away from his displacement thesis, arguing that the spread of Smithian free labour ideology introduced a critical economic argument to the cause, leading many to prefer the imagined benefits of a post-­slavery economy.84 Ongoing work on the appeal to ethical consump­ tion explains much in the popular spread of anti-­slavery, particularly out­ side political elite circles.85 Within the writings of the Clapham Sect, and the anti-­slavery organizations that they directed, each of these three vo­cabu­ lar­ies is well represented. However, and most fundamentally, the distinctive understanding of trust that has been suggested was widely deployed. Slave societies were uniquely devoid of the trust requisite for human flourishing. As James Stephen wrote in The Crisis of the Sugar Colonies, far from pos­ sessing ‘reciprocal confidence and goodwill’ they were founded on ‘no such confidence . . . but [were] perfectly compatible with mutual distrust and detestation’.86 Critical relationships—­between master and employee, within families, and between social elites and non-­elites—­were incapable under the conditions of slavery of becoming bonds of mutual confidence. Trade 81  Thomas L. Haskell, ‘Capitalism and the Origins of the Humanitarian Sensibility, Part 1’, American Historical Review, 90(2) (1985), pp. 339–61; John Ashworth, ‘The Relationship between Capitalism and Humanitarianism’, American Historical Review, 92(4) (1987), pp.  813–28; Thomas Bender (ed.), The Antislavery Debate: Capitalism and Abolitionism as a Problem in Historical Interpretation (Berkeley, 1992). 82  Ashworth, ‘Capitalism and Humanitarianism’, p. 820. 83 Brown, Moral Capital. 84  David Brion Davis, The Problem of Slavery in the Age of Revolution, 1770–1823 (new edn, Oxford, 1999); Seymour Drescher, The Mighty Experiment: Free Labour versus Slavery in British Emancipation (Oxford, 2002), pp. 19–33 and pp. 34–53 for discussion of the population dimension to this debate. 85  Bronwen Everill, Abolition and Empire in Sierra Leone and Liberia (Basingstoke, 2013). 86  James Stephen, The Crisis of the Sugar Colonies (1802), p. 32.

162  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World on the African coast between British merchants and African traders and tribes could not tend towards an increase of trust, but rather slavery cor­ rupted the beneficial power of commerce.87 Describing the long-­ term effects of slavery in Africa, Wilberforce asserted that slavery had ‘gradually imparted a taint to all the institutions and customs of Africa’,88 eroding trust in the justice system, in neighbouring tribes, in visiting traders, and even between members of a community. Conceptually, trust also enriched other arguments against slavery, and in African philanthropy. In Stephen’s explanation of why freed slaves in French West Indian islands did not return to work, he pointed to the habituating effects of enforced labour, whereby slaves were trained to improve their lot by working as little as possible, rather than exerting themselves. What was necessary was not just free labourers, but free labourers who had confidence that their employers would reward them for their labours. The problem was not merely Smith’s classic argument that enslaved workers would be less productive than free labourers, but that slavery reversed the cumulative ten­ dencies that work should have on character and on social bonds, especially those with family. Trust also underpinned many providential arguments. As the social bond that qualified all good relationships, it was understood by the Clapham Sect as the means by which God’s blessing was meted out on human communities. The effects of the continuation of slavery too would therefore be the means of God’s Providential judgement upon Britain. Slavery in the sugar colonies guaranteed that these societies would not ul­tim­ate­ly flourish, to the detriment of slaves and slaveholders alike, as social capital would not accumulate.89 Similarly, the global reputation of Britons as trustworthy traders was continually eroded by their ongoing engagement in the slave trade. The literature of the African Institution is also replete with references to trust in the restoration of Africa’s communi­ ties, and Britain’s relationship to the continent.90 87  See Wilberforce, Practical View, pp. 41–2: the very channels through which alone, according to all human calculation, Africa might have hoped to receive the blessings of religious and moral light, and social improvement, are precisely those through which her miseries flow in upon her with so full a tide. . . . our crime has been indisputably proved to us, in defiance alike of conscience and of reputation, we industriously and perseveringly continue. 88  Ibid., p. 37. 89  William Wilberforce, An Appeal to the Religion, Justice, and Humanity of the Inhabitants of the British Empire in behalf of the Negro Slaves in the West Indies (1823), p. 16. 90  For example, Report of the Committee of the African Institution (1811), pp. 43–50.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   163 As a developing intellectual framework, trust also aligns well with the chronology, geography, and sociology of anti-­slave trade and emancipation movements. The British banking and finance sector grew strongly in the decade following the peace of 1783, in the decade following the 1797 sus­ pension of convertibility, and in the few years leading up to the crash of 1825—periods which coincide with growth in anti-­slavery activism.91 As has been previously argued, bankers were overrepresented in philanthropic and reform activism, but these were also periods in which the dynamics of a credit economy were increasingly in the public mind and experience. Bankers, and others who participated in international credit were much more concerned than merchants with Britain’s long-­term collective reputa­ tion abroad, as this had direct influence on credit exchanges. Participation in a credit economy also heightened awareness of the moral hazards of eco­ nomic relationships—­in ways that mere exchange of property did not—­ perhaps increasing consciousness of the moral content of all economic engagements. Within the Clapham Sect, the recognition of slavery’s perni­ cious effects on social and moral conditions,92 beyond the violent brutality of the trade itself, which had arguably been a principle motivator among its first organized opponents,93 gave an additional impetus to abolishing the trade compared with those other contemporaries who saw it as merely a less efficient utilization of population and labour. These factors also explain the geographical specificity of anti-­slavery sentiment, as it was in Britain and the American North-­East that credit economies flourished earliest, and credit theory was most fully developed. The spread of this way of thinking about trust—­most cogently expressed in the work of the Clapham Sect—­ seems to offer a way around the problems faced by Haskell’s recipes. Trust offered not just a critique of slavery, but of slavery’s effects on colonial society and on Britain’s relationship with the world—­both ideas expressed widely in contemporary literature.

91  Crisis periods, such as the years between 1793 and 1797 also directly correspond to the nadir of abolition efforts in Parliament. 92  An additional question here is the persistent relationship between critiques of slavery framed in the language of credit, and similar arguments at around the same time for the relief of debtors and the reform of bankruptcy laws. 93 This appears to have been particularly true of Quaker opposition. See Brown, Moral Capital, pp. 391–424.

164  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World

4.5  Trust in Other Clapham Sect Writings Where this common conception of trust was expressed most clearly in theo­logic­al language was, unsurprisingly, in the sermons of John Venn. Appointed Rector of Clapham in June 1792, by John Thornton’s trustees, Venn was initially anxious at taking up the post of pastor and preacher to such a congregation. His induction sermon, on ‘the importance and diffi­ culties of the Christian ministry’, set out to explain his understanding of the role of the minister in his parish, and the role of the Gospel. Venn turned to two biblical narratives: that of God’s injunction to the prophet Ezekiel that if he did not warn Israel of their need to repent and return to the ways of the Law, then he would be responsible for their punishment; and the apostle Philip’s explanation of the Scriptures to the Ethiopian eunuch. In both, Venn argued that the intended audience for God’s message already had all that was necessary for the message to be communicated—­Israel had the books of the Law, and the Eunuch had Scriptural scrolls. Why then, Venn asked, were Ezekiel and Philip necessary? ‘But what is man, or the best and ablest of men, that he should be thus put in trust, as it were, with the glory of Him who sitteth above all, the Lord of heaven and earth?’94 Venn’s answer, beyond that it is ‘agreeable to the economy of Divine Wisdom’, was that God turns to human agents in order that the Gospel should not just save in­di­vid­ uals, but build and knit together human communities. In other words, God entrusts humans with delivering the Gospel in order that this might in turn generate social trust. Reciprocal trust then became one of the key character­ istics of true Christian community. Mutual faith in God became the com­ mon bond, which leads to ‘much actual intercourse and conversation in the world . . . they will often open their hearts, and will take sweet counsel together . . . with an interest which none except themselves can feel’.95 It was this dynamic that maintained in Venn’s exposition the balance between God as historical agent and the responsive activity of Christians—­ a subtle reworking of the classic theological controversy, without resorting to the volatile terms of even moderate Calvinism or Arminianism. Trust was therefore tied to Christian calling. God had revealed himself to be trustworthy by acting faithfully in history on behalf of his people. The proper response of the individual was ‘to trust in [God] confidently’,96 on the proper basis of ‘his general character or upon . . . the terms of the 94  John Venn, Sermons, 3 vols. (3rd edn, 1818), i, p. 6. 96  Ibid., ii, p. 109.

95  Ibid., i, p. 188.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   165 covenant of peace which he has made with us’.97 The minister of the Gospel had a special duty to inculcate this trust in his flock, fostering the ‘senti­ ments of filial confidence’ within the family of God, drawing his flock closer to the divine and to each other, and gathering them together to collective action in response.98 Within the national church, ‘the national character will, under the Divine blessing, be in a measure conformed to theirs [ministers]’,99 and therefore ministers had a further duty to contribute to social well-­being by fostering this kind of relational well-­being within their spheres, and among their charges. This was a distinctly Evangelical ecclesi­ ology, which also provided a theological underpinning for philanthropic activism. The extent of the social action required of the Christian was no longer determined by one’s office, but rather by circumstantial relationships. To the Clapham Sect, philanthropy was therefore the response of human agents to divine action, under the umbrella of the ultimate call to redeem humanity. A significant part of the strategy of philanthropists was therefore the imaginative task of describing relationships between Britons and needs around the world.100 Written initially as a serial for the Christian Observer, Thomas Babington’s A Practical View of Christian Education in its Earliest Stages applied the con­ cept of trust to the relationship between parent and child.101 Babington’s title echoed Wilberforce’s, as did his Evangelical concern for the conversion of the child from sin to faith, for the unification of thought and feeling, and his insistence on the ‘necessity of using means . . . for the attainment of spir­ itual ends’.102 As with other Clapham writers, he adopted the stance of a humble expert, drawing on long experience, ‘having been successful in the education and government of a numerous family of children, till they became heads of families themselves’. His surviving correspondence testifies to his reputation as an adviser on parenting, with evidence of frequent requests for advice from friends and friends of friends. Babington’s key con­ cerns were that education be tailored to the character of the child;103 that parents be directed towards gentleness and patience so that the child’s upbringing might be ‘marked by the absence of harshness and violence’;104 and that it be directed to the best interests, if not always the wishes of the 97  Ibid., ii, p. 112. 98  Ibid., i, p. 69. 99  Ibid., i, p. 3. 100  See discussion in Section 6.1. 101 Thomas Babington, A Practical View of Christian Education in its Earliest Stages (4th edn, Boston, 1818). The book first appeared anonymously in 1814, but was republished in 1817 under Babington’s name. 102  Ibid., p. 21. 103  Ibid., p. 28. 104  Ibid., p. 155.

166  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World child.105 Every relationship in Babington’s model was to be qualified by mutual trust. Parents were to work hard to earn the confidence of the child by studying their character, developmental needs, and preferences, and by modelling consistent virtue and reposing increased trust in the child as they aged. In return, it was expected that children would reciprocate by trusting the guidance of their parents. Mothers and fathers had to develop mutual respect for each other’s approach to child-­rearing, compromising where necessary, and tutors, governesses, and others involved, should have impressed upon them that their role was a ‘very important and delicate trust’.106 Although the connection between the family and participation in wider society—­by analogy, and as a preparation for adulthood—­was not new, what was innovative was Babington’s reframing of the parent–­child rela­ tionship in these terms. His model of a family is one supported by multiple trust relationships, including the ‘Divine Spirit’.107 It was in this web of rela­ tionships that mental, moral, economic, and spiritual formation occurred as an ongoing process.108 While, other than occasional references to consult­ ing Babington for parenting advice, there is little evidence that the parents of the Clapham Sect were directly following his system, it is not implausible that the nurturing domesticity reconstructed by Christopher Tolley and others owes much to his ideas.109 Two examples from Babington’s text illus­ trate how he conceived trust operating within the home. First, Babington suggested that instead of a ‘severe system’ of punishments, parents should offer rewards to their children for good behaviour.110 However, this should be done in such a way as to move the child’s mind ‘beyond the mere posses­ sion of a reward . . . to the love of the immediate donor, and, above all, to the love of [God]’.111 Children should be encouraged, upon receiving rewards, to see themselves as ‘trustees under God’, and thereby to turn their minds to the benefit of those around them.112 In an echo of paper credit, Babington recounted affirmingly one family that had replaced immediate rewards with ‘tickets . . . made of common pasteboard’, with the possibility of deduction for bad behaviour, and which further reinforced the relationship with the

105  Ibid., pp. 67–8. 106  Ibid., p. 170. 107  Ibid., p. 52. 108  The aim of this process was to quash selfishness (ibid., pp. 108–9). 109 Tolley, Domestic Biography; Stott, pp. 151–71. 110 Babington, Practical View, pp. 107, 111ff. 111  Ibid., pp. 111–12. 112  Ibid., p. 110.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   167 parent.113 Second, Babington strove to discourage ‘emulation’, as a means of education, meaning by this competition.114 Babington’s abhorrence for the use of rivalry, or ‘a desire of surpassing others’, which led him to critique both the Bell and Lancaster school systems, was due to his belief that it was ‘incompatible with loving our neighbour as ourselves’.115 ‘Emulation’ led to the breakdown of the basic forces of social cohesion—­between siblings, classmates, and with wider society—­as others become merely opponents to be bested.116 Similar views on education were expressed by other members of the Clapham Sect. Henry Thornton wrote in his ‘Recollections’, that on his death he would rather his children be educated by tutors, as ‘I now entertain a great objection to a system of education at a public school on account of that abatement of confidence and intimacy to which it almost necessarily leads.’117 His wife Marianne wrote to Hannah More that their aims as parents were to promote within their family, ‘unshaken harmony & unbounded confidence’.118

4.6  The Clapham School in Context Finally, consideration needs to be given to how context shaped the various rhetorical strategies adopted by Claphamite writers. Those of the school were writing in a landscape within which the disciplinary boundaries of such fields as political economy, moral, and natural theology, devotional piety, and educational theory had not yet become firmly established.119 Thornton’s recent recovery as an influential thinker has largely been by his­ torians of political economy, but this has not yet significantly informed other historiographies. Thomas Gisborne has received surprisingly little treatment although his writings in theology remained required reading at Cambridge until the middle of the nineteenth century. Similarly, Thomas 113  Ibid., p. 116. The ‘numerous family’ whose practice Babington describes quite likely may have been the Thornton family. 114  Ibid., p. 122. 115  Ibid., p. 123. 116  See also Gisborne’s chapter on imitation (Duties of the Female Sex, pp. 114–34). 117  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, p. 11. 118  Ibid., pp. 83–4: Marianne Thornton to Hannah More, 17 Nov. 179. 119  See discussion in A.  M.  C.  Waterman, Revolution, Economics and Religion: Christian Political Economy, 1798–1833 (Cambridge, 1991), p. 4. A similar point is made by E. V. Morgan regarding whether monetary debate should be seen as separate from, indistinguishable from, or a subset of political economy during the restriction period. Morgan argues against overly neat groupings. E. V. Morgan, The Theory and Practice of Central Banking 1797–1913 (1965), pp. 49–50. See also Skaggs, ‘An Inquiry’, p. 169.

168  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Babington appears in studies of child-­rearing and education, though usually understood incorrectly as either a mid-­point or anomalous tangent in the shift from Hanoverian sentimentality to Victorian domesticity. The hermeneutical challenges are increased by historians’ tendency to conflate two processes. First was the integrative tendency of Claphamite Evangelicalism, wherein theological assumptions were so deeply and habit­ ually rooted in developing thought and practices that they were not always explicated.120 Thus, the absence of theologically or biblically resonant lan­ guage does not necessarily reflect a loss of confidence in the validity of theo­ logic­al assumptions as foundational to intellectual discourse. This calls into question Pocock’s claim that late-­eighteenth-­century British writers were ‘for the first time engaged in fully secular discussion of their society and its destinies’.121 The second process—­not unique to Evangelicals—­was the increase during the 1790s and 1800s of different forms of rhetorical spe­ cialization. Contemporaries were more concerned with the maintenance of appropriate relationships between language, genre, audience, and authorial authority.122 Unlike more established fields of discourse such as divinity and law, commentators in emerging fields, such as colonial management or political economy, had fewer established routes to credibility and so relied more on proficiency in specialized vocabularies and conventions. Written to a literate but generalist elite, Thornton’s Enquiry is an excellent example of how some familiarity with the categories of analysis of writers such as John Locke and Adam Smith might be assumed in an audience of politi­ cians and merchants, but also how authors had to contend with partial or inadequate comprehension of the ideas that these writers conveyed. For the Clapham Sect, as philanthropists and reformers directing multiple sim­ul­ tan­eous projects and campaigns, each relying on a different alliance of sup­ porters, distinguishable vocabularies also served the tactically important function of maximizing support, and minimizing opposition for any one cause. The rise of ‘single-­issue’ organizations, such as the CMS, Bible Society, or Anti-­Slavery Society, was in this way paralleled by the rise of separate vocabularies—­of mission, education, and reform, among others.123 This 120  Claphamite Evangelicals were much more secure than their immediate forebears in their ecclesiastical positioning, and did not need to engage in nearly so much special pleading in religious language. 121 J. G. A. Pocock, Virtue, Commerce, and History: Essays on Political Thought and History, Chiefly in the Eighteenth Century (Cambridge, 1985), p. 33. See also Waterman, Revolution, pp. 4–5. 122  See, for example, Wilberforce, Practical View, p. 72. 123  This is not to suggest that these organizations had a monopoly on each of these lexicons.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   169 kind of specialization extended to class, regional, and vocational variations. As Sarah Trimmer wrote in 1787, ‘the higher and middling ranks are so refined, and the lower so vulgar, that their language is in many respects as unintelligible to each other as if they came from different regions of the world’.124 So, in Henry Thornton’s Enquiry, his Family Prayers, his political speeches, his writing in the Christian Observer, and his other writing and speaking output, there is very little overlap in style, vocabulary, and even content, between different audiences. This makes it necessary to look between genres and to other individuals, to reconstitute elements that con­ temporaries took as given. A second consideration is the Clapham school’s relationship to the ­troubled political and intellectual climate between 1783 and 1815, particu­ larly in the anti-­Jacobin atmosphere of the 1790s. For philosophical rad­ icals, conflation with revolutionary France was usually unavoidable and frequently embraced. However, the Claphamites are best understood not as navigating a middle path between radicalism and reaction, but a third dis­ tinct response to the political crises of the period, especially the American war and the French Revolution.125 If those who elevated concern for prop­ erty and the received social order belong broadly to the conservative reac­ tion, and those who adopted the language of the free consent of the governed characterized the radical response, this third strand was based upon the question of why British political leadership and institutions appeared to have failed to live up to expectations of trustworthiness. It is this concern that underpinned much of the support for the Yorkshire Association from the county’s mercantile families—­the social networks in which both Wilberforce and Thornton were much inveigled. The context of reaction against abstract ideological systems, coupled with Evangelicals’ emphasis on lived faith, led to the adoption of the adjective ‘practical’, as opposed to ‘system’ or ‘theoretical’, emphasizing both the empirical founda­ tions of a writer’s claim to be a field expert, and the incremental and grounded nature of any innovation advocated. The charge of abstract intel­ lectualism still had currency in 1819, when the authors of The London Tradesman wrote that ‘Adam Smith should be read coolly, and with large allowances for his want of practical knowledge’.126 124  Sarah Trimmer, The Œconomy of Charity, or An address to ladies concerning Sunday-­ schools, (1801), p. 11. 125 Waterman, Revolution, p. 6 on ‘tenable middle ground’. Compare with Bradley, ‘Politics of Godliness’, p. 20, describing Evangelicals as part of a ‘reaction and retreat’. 126  The London Tradesman: A Familiar Treatise on the Rationale of Trade and Commerce (1819), p. 27.

170  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Understanding the Clapham Sect’s intellectual output as a response to the question of trust during this period shines light on the distinctiveness of their approach. It retained Evangelicalism’s acute sense of human fallenness, and therefore of the futility of purely structural approaches to reform, while avoiding the moral isolationism that had led many pietists to focus exclu­ sively on personal redemption to the exclusion of wider engagement. So,  Wilberforce could reject the verse—‘To mend the world. A bad design, Reforming schemes are none of mine’—calling it ‘the world’s Philosophy . . . wretched Expedients for preventing disappointments’,127 while still looking to ‘Guard against being misled to ascribe to frame of gov­ ernment what arises from personal depravity’.128 Thinking about society in terms of self and general interests and aggregate trust relationships allowed a degree of independence between individual and social morality, without separating them entirely. Rather, the righteous individual or society was perpetually in tension with the unrighteous, but because righteousness led to the seeking of an increase of trust, and therefore the good, this tension was not merely a period of trial, but could be partially redemptive, regard­ less of its pedagogical effect on the other.129 It also sharply distinguishes the Clapham Sect from contemporary writers such as Malthus who very tightly linked individual and social morality and conditions, and from those later Evangelicals, especially Thomas Chalmers and John Bird Sumner, who maintained Locke’s two-­component individualist self and deontological social vision.130 A further concern that flows from the troubled climate was the need to avoid being too strongly identified in partisan terms in parlia­ mentary or ecclesiastical politics, while still maintaining cohesion. The ‘Saints’ were a well-­acknowledged parliamentary grouping, and various churchmen expressed their concerns about their Evangelical theology and ecclesiology with the epithet of ‘party’, both factors that hindered their pro­ jects. This may explain why many members of the group were reticent in publishing, and why they frequently wrote anonymously or pseudonymously. 127  British Library, Egerton MS 1964: William Wilberforce to Olivia Sparrow, 31 May 1814. 128  Bradley, ‘Politics of Godliness’, p. 11. 129  Cf. Paley, and the ‘intellectual party’ at Cambridge, Waterman, Revolution, pp. 120–1. See also Hilton, Age of Atonement, p. 32. 130 Hilton, Age of Atonement, pp. 33, 58. Chalmers’s position on the support of the urban poor reflects this distinction—­he relied on individual and corporate morality to the exclusion of institutional or structural philanthropy. It is necessary to distinguish here between ‘Clapham’ and ‘Cambridge’ Evangelicals—­with the latter, including those who were at King’s College under Simeon, taking the intellectual lead after 1815. See also Brian Stanley, ‘ “Commerce and Christianity”: Providence Theory, the Missionary Movement, and the Imperialism of Free Trade, 1842–1860’, Historical Journal, 26(1) (1983), p. 74, especially n. 18.

‘ The Cement of Society ’   171 A third necessary context for understanding the intellectual world of the Clapham Sect is that of expanding participation in global credit markets. Scholars have highlighted both the role of credit culture in the development of a distinctively anglophone modernity, and the long transformation of commercial culture from the late seventeenth century.131 The Clapham Sect, with their diverse vocational membership and transnational connections, were well positioned to reflect upon these changes. As Henry Thornton understood, the growth of credit culture had changed the temporality of commerce, freeing business cycles from agricultural seasons and shipping periods, and tying it to the dynamics of commercial relationships and confi­ dence. Britain’s social order was not immune to analogous changes. Property, title, and even intergenerational wealth were diminishing in importance relative to the building and maintaining of networks of trust, whether through patronage, influence, or commercial credit. Just as eco­ nomic roles relied on confidence, so social roles rested on a base of accumu­ lated trust, that could be eroded or improved. With increased social mobility, varying obligations could not be derived from rank alone—­there was a need for an intellectual apparatus that accounted for changing voca­ tion and role, especially among Evangelicals who felt acutely the need to respond faithfully to God’s grace in their conversion. This conception gave urgency to the philanthropic impulse for the Clapham Sect. Philanthropic action, and philanthropic institutions, were uniquely able to foster trust during periods of social change. Trust also redescribed the relationship between virtue and prosperity. Where present in a relationship, it repre­ sented a qualitative orientation that, if maintained, could be reasonably expected to lead to good outcomes. As Thornton explained regarding the benefits of trust in the economy, ‘the principle was always operative: its ten­ dency was uniform, though not always productive of an equal effect’.132 In collaborating as an intellectual ‘school’ the Clapham Sect were there­ fore more than just a coordinating group within philanthropy, but were attempting to shape the priorities of the movement, and to reposition its foundations on more stable intellectual bases than that of Paley’s moral equation. Their conceptualization of trust functioned further to give ­coherence between their own experiences of collective action and the

131  See for example Margot Finn, The Character of Credit: Personal Debt in English Culture, 1740–1914 (Cambridge, 2003), p. 4; Christine Desan, Making Money: Coin, Currency, and the Coming of Capitalism (Oxford, 2014), pp. 304 ff. 132 Thornton, Substance, p. 5.

172  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World philanthropic ends to which they worked. There is much to be done in exploring the implications of this conceptualization in other aspects of the specific philanthropy of the Clapham Sect and beyond. Henry Thornton’s attacks on the lottery, for example, appear to have been grounded at least partly in his assessment that, in addition to the moral hazard, the habits of gambling undermined interpersonal trust by and in the gambler.133 Similarly, aspects of Wilberforce’s compromises on the relief of Britain’s labouring classes seem to have been based on a concern for maintaining, not social order, but rather accumulated trust. In their conception of trust the Clapham Sect therefore had a common framework through which to prioritize their resources and align their efforts, and one that contributed further to the process of creating a unified sensibility within philanthropic societies.

133  Wren, 14b, fo. 132: Thomas Babington to Jean Babington, 7 June 1810. See also James Raven, ‘The Abolition of the English State Lotteries’, Historical Journal, 32(2) (1991), pp. 371–89, especially pp. 376–7.

PART III

T HE SPR E A D OF PHIL A N T HROP Y

5 ‘Every Region of the Globe Its Representative’ The Development of Transnational Philanthropy

In 1821, Josiah Pratt, Secretary of the Church Missionary Society (CMS), wrote to Samuel Marsden in Sydney, suggesting ideas for how the New Zealand missionaries might expand their schools for Māori, referring him to a recent report by the Society on a successful educational scheme developed by philanthropists in Bengal.1 Pratt’s letter illustrates how trans­ nation­ al networks connected a growing world of philanthropic projects—­facilitating the transfer of resources and models between dis­par­ ate geographies. Over the first quarter of the nineteenth century, the dir­ect­ ors of the metropolitan nexus were overseeing parallel projects on different continents, managed through multiple societies, such that according to Sir James Stephen, in the work of British philanthropists, and the Clapham Sect in particular: Every human interest had its guardian, every region of the globe its repre­ sentative. If the African continent and the Caribbean Archipelago were assigned to an indefatigable protectorate, New Holland was not forgotten, nor was British India without a patron.2

Understanding how British philanthropy grew into its global ambitions from the 1780s requires tracing how philanthropic networks formed, how ideas and individuals traversed these networks, and how projects were informed by the prior experience and informational networks of the philanthropic nexus. Building on earlier experiments, three case studies in Bengal, Sierra Leone, and New Zealand illustrate how philanthropy became transnational in the decades between 1780 and 1840. In each of these three 1  Hocken Library, University of Otago, MS 0498/001, Pratt to Marsden, 13 Mar. 1821. 2 Stephen, Ecclesiastical Biography, p. 553. British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World: Entrepreneurs and Evangelicals, 1756–1840. Roshan Allpress, Oxford University Press. © Roshan Allpress 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198887195.003.0006

176  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World sites, philanthropy underwent critical transformations that fed back into both metropolitan and global milieux. In each context philanthropists interacted with distinctive imperial, indigenous, religious, and commercial configurations. As experiments in managing philanthropic projects at distance, they can be placed in a sequence—­drawn together by the common core of directors and interactions between wider networks—­that il­lu­min­ates both the development of these networks and the evolution of phil­an­throp­ists’ shared understandings and organizational models. The interaction between these three sites in South Asia, West Africa, and the South Pacific, and the philanthropic nexus in London can be partially characterized in terms of the conventional interplay of imperial his­tori­og­ raphy between metropole and periphery, with initiatives and innovations frequently arising from the need of those in comparative isolation at the periphery to seek metropolitan attention and support.3 As Charles Grant wrote from Calcutta in 1787, seeking support from London for a proposal to establish a mission in Bengal: Such a scheme wants Patrons to promote it, rather than Arguments to rec­ ommend it . . . We who reside in these Provinces, are so much impressed with this consideration on the one hand, and so sensible on the other of the benefits, civil as well as moral . . . that we are at length induced to such a feeble Effort, as persons in our remote situation and private Condition can make, to draw attention to this subject.4

However, this should not overshadow the similarities between philan­ thropic clusters in the United Kingdom and those in colonial contexts as philanthropists cultivated a common vocabulary and organizational model. Philanthropy was both projected out from London and emulated, as periph­ eral communities sought to align themselves to better elicit support. Philanthropists in these settlements remitted subscriptions to London, received copies of reports and magazines, corresponded with secretaries, founded their own local societies in imitation of those in London, and later formed auxiliaries, in much the same way as those in towns around the United Kingdom. Despite this connectivity, the effects of distance 3 For a detailed discussion of historiographical debates over the structure of ‘imperial spaces’, see David Lambert and Alan Lester, Colonial Lives across the British Empire: Imperial Careering in the Long Nineteenth Century (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 3–24. 4  Quoted in Morris, Life of Charles Grant, p. 109: Charles Grant to William Wilberforce, 17 Sept. 1787.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   177 manifested themselves in two important ways. The costs and time delay of cor­res­pond­ence severely constrained the breadth of relationship that it was possible to sustain with the philanthropic nexus, with peripheral phil­an­ throp­ists tending to rely on one or two key correspondents, rarely maintain­ ing connection to more than one cluster of metropolitan philanthropists. For those who lived at the fringes, even the strongest relationships with particular organizations inevitably decayed over time as perspectives and priorities shifted unevenly at both ends, and changing personnel in London eroded the strength of personal ties. The effect of these extended inter­ actions of distant philanthropists with London, however, was that the philanthropic community as a whole developed its own characteristic geographies, distinct from those of merchants or imperial administrators.5 Conceiving of transnational philanthropic networks in terms of scattered clusters of philanthropists relating to distinct clusters within the metropolitan nexus avoids the oversimplification of the dichotomies of British and Foreign or metropole and periphery, while still acknowledging London’s role in imagining and coordinating the whole.6

5.1  The Origins of Transnational Philanthropic Networks While the rhetoric of philanthropists included a global perspective from the 1750s, it was not until the early 1790s that the associational and operational structures of philanthropic networks had developed the capacity to support the creation of transnational projects independently of the institutions of Church, state, and commerce. However, as with associations in London, earlier experiments and non-­philanthropic connections formed important precursors. Mirroring developments in metropolitan philanthropy, con­ nections were formed by personal travel and overlaid on mercantile ­networks. In contrast to the more established SPG and SPCK, these networks operated with some freedom outside British imperial borders—­supporting 5  See below, Section 6.3. 6  This approach is similar to Tony Ballantyne’s framing of the British Empire as a ‘web’: a ‘set of shifting linkages’ that ‘captures the integrative nature of cultural traffic’. Similarly to Ballantyne it acknowledges the financial and informational disparities between the centre and periphery, and the changing complexity of relationships. Unlike Ballantyne, whose focus is primarily on how this ‘web’ operated to construct imperial realities, here the interest is in how the changing structure of transnational philanthropy resulted from the particular conditions underlying philanthropic projects. See Tony Ballantyne, Webs of Empire: Locating New Zealand’s Colonial Past (Vancouver, 2012), pp. 16–17, 26–49.

178  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World in­di­vid­uals and small-­scale projects, and raising funds from local networks. In one instance in 1776, John Thornton requested in his capacity as treas­ urer that the EIC assist the Marine Society in the remittance of donations of 3857 pagodas that had been raised by a subscription in India, headed by the Nawab of the Carnatic.7 However, important precedents were set by philan­ thropic entrepreneurs seeking support from the London nexus, and per­sist­ent connections were formed through philanthropic patronage of transnational roles, and through friendships between philanthropists in London and individuals pursuing careers in imperial or company service. The short-­lived connection formed between Eleazar Wheelock’s Indian Charity School in Connecticut and its trustees in London, led by John Thornton, was an example of these connections and expectations in action, and shows the confusion arising from differing conceptions of what trans­ nation­al philanthropy entailed. Early on it became apparent that Wheelock saw the Trust as a mere expedient, whereas the trustees had imagined them­ selves operating as a governing body, akin to the Court of Assistants of the Russia Company, with Wheelock as their agent.8 This split exposed differing views of the relationship between the project and Britain’s colonial presence, with the trustees dismayed at Wheelock’s refusal to give priority to the edu­ cation of indigenous Indians over British settlers, and his shift away from Indian populations to New Hampshire. Wheelock’s 1767 Brief Narrative had argued that the stability of Britain’s North American colonies now pro­ vided a base from which to work to benefit Indian communities. The School was initially ‘purely intended for the Instruction of Indians, and of such English Youths only as are wholly to be devoted to their Service’,9 and its end was ‘their Qualification as Missionaries, Schoolmasters, and Interpreters among the various Tribes of Indians’.10 However, Dartmouth College, as it became, was aimed primarily at the education of British col­on­ists. The English trustees, who saw their philanthropy as separate from British eccle­ siastical and imperial ends, refused to endorse the reconceived project, withholding further funds. In the aftermath, John Thornton privately gave ongoing support to Whitaker, Occom, and other individuals who continued their work among Indian tribes, with a particular focus on supporting vernacular missionary preaching and the translation of texts into Indian

7  BL IOR/E/160/148, John Thornton to Directors of EIC, 10 Oct. 1776. 8  See the Minute Book of the Trust, RBS PT/1/21. 9  Ibid., pp. 6–7. 10  Ibid., p. 10.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   179 languages.11 In contrast, Wheelock definitively set his Narrative in an expansionary imperial frame, imagining the conversion of Indian tribes and the spread of English language literacy as resulting in an increase in British subjects, and resulting commercial growth, ‘a Source of Opulence to the whole Empire!’.12 As the breakdown caused by this agreement was made permanent by the arrival of war, the episode only offers a snapshot on how the metropolitan nexus understood their role and the relationship between philanthropy and empire, but one that established a precedent for subse­ quent developments. Outside of associational efforts, the transnational networks available to philanthropists grew in two ways. First, by the 1780s, the philanthropic directorate increasingly included those who had pursued professional careers or public service outside Britain. The social networks of this more diverse directorate were therefore increasingly transnational in reach. Colin Macaulay,13 for example, older brother to Zachary, followed a career in the East India Company’s army that intersected with philanthropy in multiple instances. Arriving in India in the late 1770s, he rose through the ranks of the Company’s army, becoming British resident in Travancore and Cochin, supporting Claudius Buchanan in his educational philanthropy. Returning to England he joined his family circle at Rothley, but stayed at Clapham for several months assisting Wilberforce in planning the EIC Charter cam­ paign. In both 1814 and 1822, he accompanied the Duke of Wellington to Paris, Vienna, and Verona, as his personal adviser on the issue of the slave trade, and one of the Clapham Sect’s informal ambassadors to the peace conferences.14 By the mid-­1810s he was a vice president of the CMS and committee member of the Prayer Book and Homily Society. Macaulay’s transition from a transnational career to the core of the philanthropic dir­ect­or­ate was not an isolated case: from the 1810s, those committees supporting distant projects included increasing numbers with personal experience of the relevant localities. Similarly, philanthropists found friends

11  See CUL Thornton Papers 1/A fo. 30: 18 May 1775. 12 Wheelock, Narrative, p. 8. 13  David R. Fisher, ‘Macaulay, Colin Campbell (?1759–1836), of Lowesby, Leics’, History of Parliament, accessed 11 July 2015, www.historyofparliamentonline.org/volume/1820-­ 1832/ member/macaulay-­colin-­1759-­1836. 14  See discussion of the campaign in David Turley, ‘Anti-­Slavery Activists and Officials: “Influence”, Lobbying and the Slave Trade, 1807–1850’, in Keith Hamilton and Patrick Salmon (eds.), Slavery, Diplomacy and Empire: Britain and the Suppression of the Slave Trade, 1807–1975 (Brighton, 2009), pp. 84–5; Bradley, ‘Politics of Godliness’, pp. 167–9. See also BL Egerton MS 1964, fos. 10–13: William Wilberforce to Olivia Sparrow, 31 May 1814, describing Zachary Macaulay’s separate mission to Lord Castlereagh.

180  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World and supporters among London’s scientific and cultural elite, especially during Joseph Banks’s presidency of the Royal Society,15 and among the growing Evangelical presence in the Royal Navy and Board of Trade, represented by Charles Middleton and Ambrose Serle, respectively.16 Strengthened by the ongoing support by leading merchant philanthropists, including the Thornton family, of the Royal Society, and the Society of Antiquaries, and by merchant collaboration with the Admiralty, these networks provided intermittent but critical support for  transnational philanthropy from the late 1780s. Supplementing these networks, however, were increasing attempts by religious philanthropists to place agents in mercantile and imperial settings, frequently as chaplains. As Evangelical patrons increasingly sought to place serious clergy in livings in England, they found greater success in the paral­ lel pursuit of appointments to these remote stations. Chaplains had long been a feature of British communities overseas, and those operating within merchant networks participated in the interpersonal dynamics of these net­ works. For merchants shaped by the Baltic trade, chaplaincies were one of the very few forms of company patronage available, and their appointment was unhindered by the presence of colonial governors or company officials in factories. There was thus a greater propensity for transition between the two vocations than in other spheres of Britain’s global presence. Family connections could gain a clergyman a paid chaplaincy when the prospect of a living in England was unattainable due to lack of connections or the odium of Evangelical sentiments, and the children of chaplains who grew up in mercantile communities frequently entered into trade themselves. Representative of those in this milieu directly connected to London’s phil­ anthropic nexus was Samuel Furly (1759–1829), who was a cousin of Edward Forster (1730–1812), whose family ties gained him the position of chaplain to the Russia Company’s factory at Kronstadt from 1783 to 1792. Inverting this trajectory, William Tooke (1777–1863), son of the Chaplain of the English Factory in St Petersburg, became a lawyer on his return to England in 1792, and, through his family’s mercantile connections, became 15 W.  Patrick Strauss, ‘Paradoxical Cooperation: Sir Joseph Banks and the London Missionary Society’, Historical Studies: Australia and New Zealand, 11(42) (1964), pp. 246–52. See also Sujit Sivasundaram, Nature and the Godly Empire: Science and Evangelical Mission in the Pacific, 1795–1850 (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 56–7, 100–2. 16  Richard Blake, Evangelicals in the Royal Navy, 1775–1815: Blue Lights & Psalm-­Singers (Woodbridge, 2008); Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, pp. 160–71; Gareth Atkins, ‘Religion, Politics and Patronage in the Late Hanoverian Navy, c.1780–c.1820’, Historical Research, 88 (2014), pp. 272–90.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   181 involved in a number of philanthropic societies, including as secretary for the Climbing Boys Society, and as solicitor to the Mendicity Society. The potential influence of chaplains was appreciated by philanthropists who made efforts to control their appointment in Britain and elsewhere, and to encourage young clergymen into appointments as chaplains. As patrons, wealthy Evangelical merchants had long practised a social and reli­ gious leadership usually unavailable to the laity. In the management of transnational philanthropy, which relied so much on holding dispersed communities together and legitimating their activities, this function became critical. Among Evangelical philanthropists with mercantile connections, patronage of clergy as chaplains led them to pursue overseas chaplaincy positions for their protégés and for other suitable Evangelical clergy, com­ plementing the patronage that they sought for home livings, though with comparatively greater success. These chaplains could be relative outsiders with no other promising sources of patronage, as colonial and company chaplaincies lacked strongly established patterns of patronage and were undesirable to many clergymen, especially if the posting was to a non-­ temperate region. During the 1780s, among his many attempts to secure appointments, John Thornton was instrumental in the appointment of Richard Johnson as chaplain to the Botany Bay colony, and David Brown as EIC chaplain in Calcutta. Following his collaboration with David Brown, on his return to England and the directorate of the EIC, Charles Grant orches­ trated the appointment of Evangelical chaplains to India, including Claudius Buchanan, Henry Martyn, Daniel Corrie, Thomas Thomason, and William Fraser, in addition to his ongoing qualified support of missionaries.17 The Botany Bay settlement, founded in 1788 as a penal colony, provides an example of the integration of chaplains and philanthropic activity. Richard Johnson (c.1753–1827), an Elland scholar who owed his appoint­ ment as chaplain to the First Fleet to John Thornton and William Wilberforce, highlighted the issues he faced in ministering to a dispersed and frequently hostile congregation in a printed circular distributed to the inhabitants in ‘what I call my parish’.18 In 1794, Samuel Marsden (1764–1838), a fellow Elland scholar, student of Joseph Milner, graduate of 17 Allan K. Davidson, Evangelicals & Attitudes to India, 1786–1813: Missionary Publicity and Claudius Buchanan (Abingdon, 1990), pp. 266–8. Joseph Hardwick, An Anglican British World: The Church of England and the Expansion of the Settler Empire, c.1790–1860 (Manchester, 2014), pp. 27–8. 18  Richard Johnson, An Address to the Inhabitants of the Colonies Established in New South Wales and Norfolk Island (1794), p. iv.

182  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Magdalene College Cambridge, beneficiary of Evangelical patronage, and acquainted with many in the philanthropic directorate, joined Johnson in the settlement. Both chaplains felt the pressures of reconciling their voca­ tions as chaplains with their duties to the order and sustainability of the colony, with Marsden writing to Miles Atkinson in Yorkshire a question to be put to the Elland Society: ‘How far is the duty of a clergyman in­com­pat­ ible with the duty of a civil magistrate?’19 Both men attempted to balance the competing demands of creating a sufficient economic base for their work outside the support of an English parish, their religious vocation, and the civil needs of the colony. Over three decades, the Botany Bay chaplains created a microcosm of philanthropic institutions in Sydney. In 1800, Johnson cooperated with the incoming Governor Philip Gidley King, to establish an orphanage for girls, with Marsden taking up efforts later to establish an equivalent institution for boys.20 In December 1813, in response to abuses by ship captains, Marsden formed the New South Wales Society for Affording Protection to the Natives of the South Sea Islands and Promoting their Civilisation.21 Mimicking in miniature the tactics of the Proclamation Society, Marsden sought a proclamation of protection for native peoples from Governor Macquarie, recruited the Governor and other leading figures in colonial society as officers, and sought financial support for ‘this Philanthropic Society’ from the various settlements in the jurisdiction. Marsden’s society became a focal point for indigenous complaints, gathering evidence for prosecutions against captains accused of fraud and violence. By 1819, Sydney had a small nexus of directors overseeing a Bible Society and CMS Auxiliaries, a hospital, a lunatic asylum, orphan houses for girls and boys,22 and a Benevolent Society, in addition to corresponding committees for vari­ ous missionary societies, most with committees led by Marsden or junior chaplains.23 Successive military governors of the colony delegated welfare responsibilities to the chaplains, resulting in a kind of supervisory function

19  Quoted in J. R. Elder, The Letters and Journals of Samuel Marsden (Dunedin, 1932), p. 30. 20  Dora Peyser, ‘A Study in the History of Welfare Work in Sydney from 1788 till about 1900’, Journal of the Royal Australian Historical Society, 25(2) (1939), p. 91. 21  Missionary Register, 2 (1814), pp. 459–62. 22 See Beryl  M.  Bubacz, ‘The Female and Male Orphan Schools In New South Wales 1801–1850’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Sydney, 2007). 23  Brian H. Fletcher, ‘Christianity and Free Society in New South Wales 1788–1840’, Journal of the Royal Australian Historical Society, 86(2) (2000), pp. 93–113.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   183 over other philanthropic associations.24 In 1813, for example, when the NSW Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge and Benevolence in these Territories and the Neighbouring Islands was formed, its progenitors real­ ized on approaching the Governor for support that he expected them to have consulted Samuel Marsden prior to establishing the society. The result­ ing reorientation led to this Benevolent Society restricting their activities to relief in Sydney, so as not to appear to be in conflict with the Society for Support and Relief of Natives of the South Seas, which Marsden had founded in the same year.25 As a result of this unique relationship to the colonial government, even when not initiating philanthropic projects in colonial contexts themselves, chaplains almost inevitably found themselves being invited to participate, becoming in some cases a microcosm of London’s philanthropic nexus. To the Clapham Sect, heirs to John Thornton’s programme of Evangelical patronage, chaplains were understood to be critical to the flourishing of philanthropic projects, as those best placed to promote morality and trust within the local community. Their relative independence and social stand­ ing made them ideal spokespeople for philanthropic agendas. In the words of Samuel Marsden, ‘The ministers of the Establishment must from the offi­ cial Rank which they hold in these settlements have very considerable influence.’26 Nevertheless, colonial chaplains were not typically wealthy, and the realities that had prevented them from making a career as clergymen in England also usually meant that their connections back to the philanthropic nexus rested on a small number of friendships. As initiators of philan­ thropic projects, the contexts in which they worked did not give them access to the collaborative communities or associational support that had allowed metropolitan philanthropy to grow. However, chaplains under the patron­ age of Evangelical philanthropists, as well as British merchants whose careers had taken them to the fringes of the British world, were well aware of the growing resources of metropolitan philanthropy. Following the peace with the American colonies, these networks of individuals began seeking ways to garner support from London, picking up the development of an organizational model where the Trust to support Wheelock’s Charity School had failed.

24  For further descriptions of Marsden’s involvement in philanthropic societies in NSW, see A. T. Yarwood, Samuel Marsden: The Great Survivor (Wellington, 1977), pp. 73–5, 148–51. 25  Peyser, ‘Welfare Work in Sydney’, pp. 103–4. 26  Hocken, MS 0498/001: Marsden to Secretary, 24 Mar. 1808.

184  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World

5.2 Bengal, c.1780–1790 The earliest attempt to form a more stable transnational connection follow­ ing the American war originated among the small philanthropic cluster that had formed between Evangelical merchants in Bengal. Most prominent among those who led this process was Charles Grant, later a leading mem­ ber of the Clapham Sect. Born in 1746, the son of a Jacobite soldier in Scotland, Grant was educated at the expense of his uncle and followed the path of many young Scots of his generation, becoming first a clerk in his cousin’s trading house in London, then gaining a cadetship with the East India Company’s army, arriving in Calcutta in June 1768. Grant’s arrival in Bengal coincided with a major shift in the Company’s administration: the introduction by Richard Becher27 of ‘the principle of consulting the welfare of the people’ in setting policy.28 Although coming too late to mitigate the effects of the Bengal famine, this dual mandate gave a foothold for phil­an­ throp­ists to advocate for the permissions necessary to pursue their projects. Grant, for example, was to argue in 1776 that a more costly supply bid should be accepted as it would allow higher wages to be paid to Indian workers, and the provision of social services.29 Increased official willingness to consider Indian welfare notwithstanding, initiative was left to in­di­vid­ uals, with Grant writing that he sought to make ‘inquiries into the evils that afflict the people and the means of addressing them’, making up the neglect of the Bengal government.30 Grant’s own personal journey through ill health, failed business forays, the loss of two young daughters, Evangelical conversion, and subsequent promotion to secretary to the Board of Trade, positioned him to promote philanthropic causes.31 As was necessary for ambitious young men in the EIC, Grant was assiduous at cultivating friends and patrons. His close connections included Richard Becher, through whom he received his first civil service posting, William Forsyth, Philip Francis, William Brightwell Sumner, William Chambers, and John Shore. Between intermarriages and business connections, these formed a commu­ nity that was smaller, though no less densely connected, than that from Yorkshire. During the 1770s he cultivated a friendship with Thomas Raikes, a prominent Russia merchant and Director, later Governor, of the Bank of 27  Counsellor to Harry Vereslt, Clive’s successor as Governor of Bengal in 1767. 28  Parliamentary speech by Charles Grant, 28 June 1813. Quoted in A. T. Embree, Charles Grant and British Rule in India (1962), p. 28. 29 Embree, Charles Grant, p. 75. 30 Morris, Life of Charles Grant, p. 96. 31  Ibid., p. 64.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   185 England, who on Grant’s return visit to London, introduced him to John Thornton and his children, with Grant eventually buying the house next to Henry Thornton in Clapham. Following his conversion, Grant also rapidly immersed himself in religious networks and reading. In correspondence with Christian Frederich Schwarz, the German Lutheran missionary in Tranquebar, for example, they shared comparisons between their methods in India and those of continental pietists.32 British philanthropy in Calcutta in the 1780s largely followed the same pattern as in North America: a growing associational culture within the European settlements, and some missionary efforts supported by metro­ politan societies, but with little connection between the two. With death and misfortune a perennial risk in Calcutta, supporting widows and orphans was a collective priority, and philanthropic publications were much more overt at calling the attention of their audience to the vulnerability of their own loved ones to destitution.33 By the early 1780s, some provision was available for Europeans and their children, including the Bengal Military Orphans Society, founded in 1782, which subscribed funds in its initial year to send approximately thirty children back to England to be educated and placed in situations.34 Calcutta was also a Company town, and those with the influence to effect philanthropic projects usually had some access to policy making. As seat of the Bengal presidency, and there­ fore from 1773 the administrative centre of the EIC’s operations in India, it was, like London, a site of policy determination and debate.35 With the Company’s putative duty to provide for the welfare of the Indian population of Bengal, it was in Calcutta that philanthropic entrepreneurs were earliest confronted with the complexities of local philanthropic activity on behalf of settled, mixed populations of Europeans and non-­Europeans—­complexities further compounded by religious, cultural, and legal differences.36 Philanthropists had to negotiate the policy tension of Becher’s dual mandate,37 taking up the uneasy role of being advocates for Indian welfare,

32  Ibid., p. 124: Grant to Schwartz, 15 Aug. 1786. 33  Original Papers of a Society in Bengal for the Protection of the Orphans of Officers (1784), p. 9. 34  Modelled on the Foundling Hospital in London. Morris, Life of Charles Grant, p. 125. 35 Carson, EIC and Religion, p. 29, comments on India being governed in India, not Leadenhall Street. 36  See Embree, Charles Grant, p. 28, and discussion in Carson, EIC and Religion, on the emergence of the concept of trusteeship, p. 20. 37  See discussion in P. J. Marshall, Problems of Empire: Britain and India, 1757–1813 (1968), pp. 59–67.

186  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World while avoiding perceptions that they were undermining the Company rule that permitted philanthropic projects to operate, lest they lose the goodwill of political leaders. The personal initiative essential to philanthropy in this context was ham­ pered by the size, dispersal, and transience of the anglophone population, and by a lack of stability in the EIC’s administration. The creation of a more stable and permanent regime occurred only gradually after the Regulating Act of 1773, with offices increasingly filled by professional governors, judges, and civil servants, rather than traders. By the early 1780s, small communities with philanthropic ambitions formed. In 1780, Charles Grant was appointed commercial resident at the English factory at Malda, and moved there with his young family—­a lucrative posting that allowed him to trade openly and profitably, including investing in indigo and silk produc­ tion. At Malda, through a combination of employment, conversion, and friendships, Grant was soon leading a small Evangelical community, using profits from his private trading to provide small-­scale relief of local poverty, and his official role as resident as a means to protect the community and validate its projects—­in many ways typical of how local philanthropy was supported. Of the internal working of these communities we know tantaliz­ ingly little, though shared religious belief was the norm. After Grant’s departure from Malda to Calcutta, George Udny assumed leadership of this ‘little company’ or ‘family’,38 which included by 1787 Grant’s brother Robert, John Obeck, a disciple of Schwartz, Henry Creighton, manager of the nearby indigo estate at Gaumalti, and a small number of local converts, some of whom were acting as ‘assistants’ in the Evangelical congregation. There was a close connection between the religious community and the Factory itself, with Grant repeatedly advancing members through employment,39 and efforts were made to provide education for the children of indigo plantation workers.40 By 1786, a similar community had formed in Calcutta, including Grant’s brother-­in-­law, William Chambers, and Grant himself, who recorded gath­ ering together with these in ‘the usual religious exercises . . . [as] friends’.41 This community contributed to a change in the religious culture of at least a portion of the European community in Calcutta, linked to the improving

38 Morris, Life of Charles Grant, pp. 72, 100, 126, 132. 39 Embree, Charles Grant, p. 75. 40  Ibid., p. 85. Morris, Life of Charles Grant, pp. 72, 100. 41 Morris, Life of Charles Grant, p. 131.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   187 moral climate of administration after the arrival of Cornwallis. When Cornwallis arrived as Governor-­General in 1786 with a mandate for reform, it was to Grant that he turned, as allegedly the only non-­corrupt adminis­ trator, appointing him to the Board of Trade.42 By 1800, public displays of piety, including churchgoing, were increasingly common, as Calcutta’s Europeans pursued respectability.43 Into this changing context, the appoint­ ment of a new Evangelical chaplain, David Brown (1762–1812), brought fresh energy to attempts by Grant and others to turn these religious com­ munities to philanthropic mission. Brown was born in Yorkshire in 1762, and educated privately through the generosity of a minister in Scarborough, before studying at Hull Grammar School under Joseph Milner, and entering Magdalene College Cambridge in 1782.44 In 1785, he was recruited as superintendent of the Bengal Military Orphans Asylum, which by then also included among its exertions ‘in the cause of humanity’45 an institution housing hundreds of poor children from the city, and became chaplain to the garrison at Fort William in 1786. He quickly volunteered to take charge of the Mission church, effectively becoming pastor to the small Evangelical community in the city. This position afforded him opportunities to pursue a number of small-­scale projects, including the collation of a vestry library at the church to promote literacy.46 Brown also established and taught a charity school for Indian orphans, continuing this teaching in different forms after over-­commitment forced him to resign from the Orphans Asylum in 1788. By his early death in 1812, Calcutta had a small constella­ tion of philanthropic societies, including two Orphan houses, a local Bible Society, and charity schools. Translation and publication work at Fort William College was expanding, with four translators, and a new wave of philanthropic institutions, including a college for educating Indian youth, was under consideration. By the late 1780s, Calcutta’s small community of philanthropists began seeking to establish formal associational links to philanthropy in London. Leveraging Grant’s connections to Evangelical merchants in London, and Brown’s links to Yorkshire Evangelicals, they began collaborating on a

42  Ibid., pp. 85–8. 43 Simeon, Memorial Sketches, p. 23. 44 Morris, Life of Charles Grant, p. 125: Grant to Schwartz, 15 Aug. 1786. ‘He is come from the midst of the lights that now shine in England.’ John Walsh, ‘The Magdalene Evangelicals’, Church Quarterly Review, 159 (1958), pp. 499–511. See discussion of the ‘Yorkshire–­Magdalene conveyor belt’ in Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, p. 35. 45  Original Papers of a Society in Bengal for the Protection of the Orphans of Officers, p. 8. 46 Simeon, Memorial Sketches, pp. 27–8.

188  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World proposal for the sending of missionaries to India, gaining the support of Baptists in Bengal and London through correspondence with John Thomas and Samuel Stennett, and of the Eclectic Society through John Newton. Figure 5.1 shows the known first- and second-­degree distribution of their joint work, A Proposal for Establishing a Protestant Mission in Bengal and Behar.47 It offered a transformative vision for Indian society framed not just in terms of the mass conversion of individuals, but as a new Reformation, stating that ‘It seems to us clear that no system which has not the Reformation of the morals of the People for its basis can be effective’.48 Called by Henry Morris the ‘bed-­rock on which the fabric of the Church Missionary Society was erected’,49 the Proposal argued for an intimate con­ nection between missionary philanthropy in Bengal and the long-­term for­ tunes of the EIC. As Grant wrote, ‘In every mission scheme for Bengal, the protection of Government is indispensably requisite . . . Those who live in England, remote from the springs of Government, will be hardly able to comprehend this. To us it is very clear.’50 Brown’s and Grant’s Proposal illus­ trates the extent to which the initiative behind missionary projects came from attempts by these small communities to divert metropolitan organiza­ tional capacity and resources to the needs they perceived around them.51 The careful selection of representatives from multiple potential communi­ ties of support, and judicious use of networking ensured that the Proposal was well received. The initial reception was promising, with Grant reporting that ‘It is rel­ ished at home, and we hear only wants to be set in motion by some that are in credit and able to answer objections’.52 However, the limitations of dis­ tance were expressed by Raikes’s less-­ than-­ sanguine assessment of the Proposal’s chances of success, that: nothing will be effectually done in your Scheme, until . . . a Person of true Zeal in the Cause, and of local Experience to answer all Objections, and explain the Chances of Success, may by proper Introductions and Attention to the People in Power, get the business put into a right Train.53

47 Morris, Life of Charles Grant, pp. 108–14. 48  Ibid., pp. 111–12. 49  Ibid., p. 108. 50 Simeon, Memorial Sketches, p. 243. 51 See Bayly, ‘The British and Indigenous Peoples’, in Danton and Halpern, Empire and Others, p. 22. 52 Morris, Life of Charles Grant, p. 127. 53  Thomas Raikes to Charles Grant, 5 Aug. 1788, quoted ibid., p. 117.

David Brown

Charles Grant George Udny

John Newton

William Pitt William Wilberforce Richard Watson Prime Minister Bishop of Llandaff Thomas Raikes Frederick Cornwallis Archbp. of Canterbury

Also consulted during writing

Samuel Stennett

Selina Hastings Cts. of Huntingdon

Richard Cecil William Romaine

George Gaskin Secretary, SPCK

Henry Foster

London residents

Bengal residents

John Thomas

Robert Robinson

Clergy Dissenters

Laity

Charles Simeon

George Livius

Clergy

Laity

Evangelical Anglicans

Rest of UK

Beilby Porteus Bishop of London

Clergy

Laity

Non-Evangelical Anglicans

Figure 5.1  Distribution of A Proposal for Establishing a Protestant Mission in Bengal and Behar

190  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Grant himself responded, ‘I should have thought the draft of a Scheme sent from this place might have given leading ideas . . . but it is probable things at this distance appear as through a mist, uncertain and indistinct’.54 Grant returned to England in 1790 determined to advance his proposal to send missionaries to India, and through the intervention of Wilberforce and Cornwallis was able to personally present his case to the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishop of London, and leading politicians. However, tur­ moil in Europe made any progress unlikely for fears that providing support for missionaries would generate instability in India. While unsuccessful in attracting the necessary support, the Proposal ­echoed the innovation of the Indian Charity School in seeking to create a new and permanent associational framework to provide support over oceanic distances. The Proposal called for the creation of a transnational association—­managing the mission directly and coordinating a broad range of financial and institutional support.55 The changes to the philanthropic nexus by the late 1780s—­particularly the confluence of religious and mer­ cantile circles—­can also be seen in the ways in which the Proposal was dis­ tributed, and in its reception. Two decades earlier, the School’s trustees had all been men in finance and trade, with the exception of Dartmouth who brought social prestige. The Proposal however was distributed to a select set of lay and clerical leaders, representative of the clusters of the philanthropic nexus. Those  with mercantile backgrounds included George Udny, Wilberforce, Raikes, and George Livius a pious Levant merchant who had also lived in India.56 Between them, they had connections into all of the major commercial institutions in London. Religious leaders approached included respectable representatives of dissenting communities, arguably the five best-­connected Evangelical clergy in England at the time, the Archbishop of Canterbury, two sympathetic bishops in Richard Watson and Beilby Porteus, both of whom had recently collaborated with Wilberforce in establishing the Proclamation Society, and George Gaskin, Secretary of the SPCK. Unlike the horizons of possibility for the Indian Charity School, it was therefore newly conceivable that projects such as the Proposal might be able to draw on the full range of London’s philanthropic world, as well as that of the commercial and religious establishments. 54  Charles Grant to Thomas Raikes, 10 Nov. 1789, quoted ibid. 55  See for the suggestion of a direct connection between the Proposal and Charles Simeon’s agitation to found the CMS in 1799, Abner Edmund Brown, Recollections of the conversation parties of Charles Simeon (1863), pp. 16–7. 56 Mason, Moravian Church, p. 81; Evangelical Magazine (1787), p. 514.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   191

5.3  Sierra Leone, 1791–1807 In parallel to the engagement of philanthropic networks with Bengal, Sierra Leone developed as a transnational expression of the Clapham Sect’s co­ord­ in­at­ing role within the philanthropic nexus. The Sierra Leone Company (SLC) was formed in late 1791, after parliamentary setbacks to abolition earlier that year persuaded Wilberforce and the Clapham Sect to broaden their efforts against the trade. In recent years the colony of Sierra Leone in its various iterations has received considerable attention from historians for its wider significance in the history of anti-­slavery and Atlantic migration and trade; however it is rarely situated within the broader philanthropic context, as the formative philanthropic experiment of the 1790s that estab­ lished the parameters of subsequent transnational philanthropy.57 During the period from 1792 to 1807 when the colony was managed by the SLC, it was the largest philanthropic experiment outside the United. At its peak as a Company possession the colony numbered nearly 1,700, raised a capital of £240,000, and was a major occupation for key philanthropists. Wilberforce wrote in his diary in December 1791, ‘At work on Sierra Leone business most of the day, Thornton has been at it the whole day for some months’.58 Sierra Leone’s place in the minds of philanthropic directors during the 1790s can be further seen in Wilberforce’s note in his journal during his courtship of Barbara Spooner that her suitability as a potential partner was enhanced as she was ‘for poor slaves and for abolition, for Sierra Leone, for missionary success’.59 Led by Henry Thornton as chairman and a Court of Directors drawn from the Clapham Sect and its closest allies in other philanthropic clusters, the SLC was an attempt to unite the perceived benefits of a chartered company—­in profit-­making and fostering of a regional trade—­with the philanthropic end of ending the slave trade. Its ‘leading object’ was ‘to intro­ duce a just and honourable commerce, with the extensive Continent of 57 Michael  J.  Turner, ‘The Limits of Abolition: Government, Saints and the “African Question”, c.1780–1820’, English Historical Review, 122(446) (1997), pp. 319–57. See also Robin Law, Suzanne Schwarz, and Silke Strickrodt (eds.), Commercial Agriculture, the Slave Trade and Slavery in Atlantic Africa (Oxford, 2013). 58  Quoted in Meacham, Henry Thornton, p. 104. Wilberforce, Thornton, Grant, and Edward Eliot spent much of June to August 1791 in intense discussions on the proposed Company. See also Life of Wilberforce, i, pp. 304–8: William Wilberforce to John Clarkson, 28 Dec. 1791; in 1805, Thomas Babington asked his wife to send all mail to him at the SLC office. Wren, 14a, fo. 51: Thomas to Jean Babington, 10 Apr. 1805. 59  Bodleian Wilberforce Papers, c. 41, fo. 106.

192  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Africa . . . to substitute in the place of that savage and disgraceful traf­ fick . . . an intercourse of another sort’.60 This commercial and philanthropic duality was reflected in those who bought shares in the first subscription that closed in June 1792. These proprietors included members of Britain’s commercial elite—­seven Assistants of the Russia Company, seven directors of the Bank of England, and six directors of the East India Company—­in addition to other prominent merchants and bankers,61 but also many less-­ experienced investors and those who saw their shares as a philanthropic donation. The 1791 report acknowledged that there were many who, ‘hav­ ing desired to become Members merely from a general notion of the benevolence of the undertaking, are still imperfectly acquainted with the nature and objects of the institution’.62 Of the ten merchants who served on the Court of Directors of the SLC between its first meeting in 1791 and 1800, half had close ties to the Baltic trade, and particularly to merchant finance and banking, having spent formative years in counting houses and warehouses trading to northern Europe. The influence of their Russia Company backgrounds was evident in how Henry Thornton and his col­ leagues envisaged the SLC, although there were differences between the two, with the SLC raising funds through the issue of stock and being led by a smaller committee so as to ensure continuity of control.63 The Company’s constitutional structure was largely based on the Russia Company’s struc­ ture, but with elements drawn from the EIC, including the separate Courts of Directors and Proprietors.64 The intention was for the Company’s capital to be invested to create the initial infrastructure in shipping and warehous­ ing, and for this to provide a basis for additional private trading. Thornton was an active chairman and served as ‘the channel of communication between the Company & the Government’. He and his fellow directors hoped that the Company’s relationship to the British state might develop akin to that enjoyed by the Russia Company, with the Company negotiating naval protection, providing local expressions of metropolitan institutions

60  Report of the SLC (1791), p. 28. 61 Taken from the list in C.  B.  Wadström, An Essay on Colonization, 2 vols. (1794), ii, pp. 341–53. 62  Report of the SLC (1791), p. 28. 63  The application process to buy shares in the SLC was similar to that for the freedom of the Russia Company. 64  In practice, the proprietors exercised very little control, unlike the EIC.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   193 through religious, educational, and charitable provision, and developing informal or even formal consular relationships with local rulers.65 Drawing on Baltic experience, plans were for the SLC to found a trading factory, from which the Company could stimulate local supply of new items of trade. Thornton as chairman initially conceived of the colony analogously to the Russia Company’s own trading factories at St Petersburg and Riga. Thornton wrote privately to John Clarkson in 1791 that Alexander Falconbridge, who had initially conceived of the colony, had been rejected as superintendent of the colony as his lack ‘of regular commercial habits has also made us think him unfit for the Leader in a commercial factory’.66 In shepherding the incorporating Act67 through Parliament, and defending the clause giving the Company a 30-­mile coastal monopoly, he argued for the necessity of setting aside a protected enclave—­akin to the St Petersburg factory—­to protect the property of investors.68 Aware of the risks of war, Thornton initially tried without success to secure Sierra Leone as a free port, with declared neutrality in the event of a European war—­analogously to what had been negotiated for Riga following the Great Northern war.69 Structurally, the initial governance of the colony closely reflected that of the factory at St Petersburg, with a small committee that included the Company’s superintendent, accountant, and the chaplains, and regular larger meetings. As problems of discipline continued, the directors again followed the pattern set in St Petersburg, restricting direct involvement in the Council to those whose wealth and reputation allowed them to trade on their own account.70 There were further differences between the two com­ panies, including that the majority of its directors were ‘of the stricter & religious sort’.71 Here too though it is telling that in his framing of the dual philanthropic and commercial aims of the SLC, Thornton articulated these

65  CUL Thornton Papers, 1/N p. 33. For discussion of the Russia Company’s ‘efficient infor­ mation and liaison system with the British authorities’, see D.S.  MacMillan, ‘The Russia Company of London in the Eighteenth Century: the Effective Survival of a “Regulated” Chartered Company’, Guildhall Miscellany, 4(4) (1973), p. 228. 66  BL Add. MS 41,262 A (Clarkson Papers), fo. 33: Henry Thornton to John Clarkson, 30 Dec. 1791. 67  31 George III, c.55. 68  Parliamentary Register, 29, p. 317. 69  BL Add. MS 41,262 A, fo. 88: 3 May 1792. 70  See Marie-­Louise Karttunen, ‘The British Factory at St. Petersburg: A Case Study of a Nineteenth-­Century NGO’, (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Helsinki, 2004), pp. 8–10. 71  BL Add. MS 41,262 A, fo. 33.

194  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World as ‘public spirit’ and a ‘spirit of speculation’—terms much more resonant with Russia Company than Evangelical rhetoric per se.72 However, the discovery of the plight of free black loyalists in Nova Scotia, brought to the attention of the directors by John Clarkson,73 while tangen­ tial to the Company’s commercial priorities, seemed a providential means to advance its broader philanthropic agenda. More than a pool of free labour, these American settlers would provide the means to create a new, permanent society on the West African coast—­a substantive shift from a commercial factory to a settler colony. Sierra Leone was therefore part of the broader set of new colonies proposed or founded in the years following the peace of 1783.74 The wide-­ranging motivations behind these included a concern to develop new sources of production and new markets for British merchants, a desire to export ‘surplus’ population to prevent domestic pov­ erty and social instability, and a continued eye towards Britain’s global popu­la­tion as a resort in times of war, especially her ‘marine nursery’ of sailors. The shift to a settler colony altered the planned economic model—­ from one in which trading revenue would be self-­sustaining, and would encourage small communities of traders to flourish under the auspices of the SLC, to one in which the colonists themselves would need to generate exportable goods in order to justify the Company’s expense in establishing and supporting them. The growing vision of the directors was that Sierra Leone would model not merely a new moral economy, but a moral society. In the words of Thornton’s biographer Standish Meacham, the SLC’s directors aimed ‘to make a colony remake men’.75 Much effort was now redirected to forming this new society, with the aim—­in line with the understandings of the Clapham Sect—­of fostering a trust-­based, ordered society with resilient

72  Parliamentary Register, 29, p. 317. In private correspondence he was much less circum­ spect, writing to Clarkson in 1792, of the SLC as ‘the first Company ever instituted for the Abolition of the Slave-­Trade, the Civilization of Africa, and the Introduction of the Gospel there’. BL Add. MS 41,262 A, fo. 63: Jan. 1792. 73  Brother of Thomas Clarkson, and an example of how those with military careers might connect with transnational networks. 74  Emma Christopher has argued that in 1787, Botany Bay and the ‘Province of Freedom’ in Sierra Leone were ‘twin’ yet ‘opposite’ colonial projects. This raises the further possibility that both the SLC and Marsden’s plan were responses to the failure of the transportation solution to population. Emma Christopher, ‘A “Disgrace to the Very Colour”: Perceptions of Blackness and Whiteness in the Founding of Sierra Leone and Botany Bay’, Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History, 9(3) (2008), accessed 9 January 2014, http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/journal_ of_colonialism_and_colonial_history/v009/9.3.christopher.html 75 Meacham, Henry Thornton, p. 107.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   195 institutions in the midst of the societal chaos wrought by the slave trade. In this, the role of religion, mediated by chaplains, was crucial. In December 1791, Wilberforce underlined in a letter to John Clarkson how helpful it would be to those selected as chaplains, Melville Horne and Nathaniel Gilbert, ‘to be taken notice of by the Superintendent’, and two days later, Henry Thornton wrote of his belief that both chaplains ‘will do great good among the Blacks & I am anxious that the example of all our Servants should be such as to give an idea to these poor People that their Governors are held by some principle of Religion’.76 However, these two elements—­the imperative for the new settlers to exceed self-­sufficiency to allow exports, and the obligation to religious conformity implied by the colonists’ im­agined role in redeeming Africa—­set unattainable parameters for the colony. The freed slaves were understandably unwilling to compromise their economic or religious independence, and as settlers were slow to achieve self-­sufficiency, unable to meet the demand from the SLC for exports and rents. They thus failed to develop into the hoped-­for philanthropic cluster dispensing broader moral benefits to the surrounding populations. Further compounding the challenges faced by the SLC was a paucity of effective leaders for the colony, who could also maintain transnational working relationships with the directors in London. In 1800, Henry Thornton bemoaned the ‘great difficulty in finding proper men to preside’,77 and in 1802 gave a written statement on behalf of the SLC to the Parliamentary Committee gathered to consider the Court’s petition for assistance, outlining his assessment of the challenges confronting the Company.78 Thornton emphasized the financial limitations to the SLC’s administration and exercise of authority, and the conditions of war—­ wherein the Company had been forced to spend money it did not have on defence, and had suffered the sack of Freetown by the French. However, in Thornton’s estimation, the greatest difficulty had been their failure to recruit effective managers ‘of good character, and of the requisite abilities . . . [as] a large portion indeed of that that class of men who were most adapted for the Company’s service, were engaged in the army or navy’.79 Sierra Leone was a forerunner among philanthropic projects in that it required profes­ sional administrators, especially those with business experience and 76  BL Add. MS 41,262 A, fos. 28, 33. William Wilberforce to John Clarkson, 28 Dec. 1791. Henry Thornton to John Clarkson, 30 Dec. 1791. See also Clarkson’s own description of the importance of the chaplains’ exhortations to the free Blacks (fo. 9). 77  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, pp. 132–3. 78  Report of the SLC (1804). 79  Reports from Committees of the House of Commons, X (1803), p. 738.

196  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World know­ledge of accounting, who had the requisite moral character, and were willing to accept hardship and risk. Despite difficulties in recruitment, Sierra Leone was notable for the fos­ tering of philanthropic careers among those who lacked the financial inde­ pendence or social position to work for societies without remuneration. Between 1791 and 1808, four men served as superintendent or governor: John Clarkson, William Dawes, Zachary Macaulay, and Thomas Ludlam, with Dawes and Ludlam each serving multiple non-­consecutive terms.80 Three commonalities can be seen in their appointments and ongoing careers. First, all were recruited through prior personal links to the social networks of the directors. Second, in each case, multiple ties to phil­an­throp­ ists and regular movement between Sierra Leone and London proved crit­ ic­al to sustaining the relationship with the Company’s directors. Third, for those who remained in good standing with metropolitan philanthropists, Sierra Leone became a launching point for professional engagement in a wide variety of philanthropic projects. Dawes, for example, was an Evangelical officer in the Royal Marines and had been a correspondent of John Thornton, it being possibly through Thornton’s influence that he vo­lun­teered to join the Botany Bay settlement.81 Dawes’s varied career path was an expression of the possibilities created by close ties to the philan­ thropic directorate. Compelled to return to England in 1791 after a dis­ agree­ment with the governor over indigenous rights, he was appointed governor of Sierra Leone from 1792 to 1794.82 After Wilberforce failed to secure him a posting to return to New South Wales, he served for a second term in Sierra Leone in 1795–6, then was mathematical master at Christ’s Hospital,83 before a third term as governor in 1801–3. Dawes returned to England to work for the CMS and then travelled to Antigua where he undertook anti-­slavery work for Wilberforce and served as a missionary until his death in 1836. Similarly, Zachary Macaulay first arrived in Sierra Leone in early 1791, becoming governor in 1794 and effectively managing

80 A. B. C. Sibthorpe, The History of Sierra Leone (4th edn, 1970), has a brief summary of their respective periods of office (pp. 9–19). 81  Jakelin Troy, ‘The Sydney Language Notebooks and Responses to Language Contact in Early Colonial NSW’ (1992), accessed 10 July 2015, www.williamdawes.org/docs/troy_ paper.pdf. 82  A.  Currer-­Jones, William Dawes, 1762 to 1836 (Torquay, 1930). Phyllis Mander-­Jones, ‘Dawes, William (1762–1836)’, Australian Dictionary of Biography, accessed 1 Aug. 2015, http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/dawes-­william-­1968/text2377. 83  Several Clapham Sect members, including the Thornton brothers and Thomas Gisborne were governors of the school at this time.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   197 the colony until 1799, when he returned to marriage and residence in Clapham and secretaryship of the SLC. Hannah More wrote of Macaulay’s courtship of Selina Mills that ‘His character and the sacrifice he has made of his friends and Country to the Cause of Sierra Leone is what has created her esteem for him’.84 In 1802, Macaulay took on the editorship of the Christian Observer and in 1804 became a member of the Abolition Society and an integral part of the parliamentary campaign that led to the 1807 Act, later becoming secretary of the African Institution and in 1823 a key organizer of the Anti-­Slavery Society and editor of the Anti-­Slavery Reporter. The scale of the SLC’s operations therefore provided a critical proving ground for a new generation of career philanthropists.85 As the colony progressed, this vision for transnational leadership became even more integral in the minds of the directors to the success of its moral society, and attention turned to educating potential African leaders. No aspect of the SLC reflects this more fully that the school founded in Clapham at which West African children were educated alongside the chil­ dren of the Clapham Sect. The SLC plan had from the outset promised that ‘Schools for reading, writing, and accounts will be set up by the company, who will be ready to receive and instruct the children of such natives as shall be willing to put them under their care’.86 However, difficulties in pro­ curing schoolmasters to travel to Sierra Leone, as well as a desire to broaden the range of instruction to include trades, crafts, and advanced scholarly pursuits made it more practical to transport the children to England, where they could develop friendships with the next generation of philanthropists, build sentimental attachments to England, and be educated in Christianity. The overarching goal was that these children be sent back to Sierra Leone to take positions of leadership and usher Africa into a new age. The ideation of the school came from the Rev. John Campbell in Edinburgh, who, reflecting

84  BL Add. MS 63,084 (Blakeney Collection), ‘Correspondence of Zachary Macaulay’, fo. 4. Hannah More to Thomas Babington, apparently 25 Jan. 1796. 85  Even after the failure of the SLC, the directors of the Company still had considerable sway over the appointment of colonial personnel, with Wilberforce securing the appointment in April 1808 of Thomas Perronet Thompson (1783–1869) to the governorship of Sierra Leone. Thompson’s father, Thomas Thompson, had worked for Wilberforce’s grandfather, becoming managing partner in the Wilberforce family trading firm, as well as embarking on a successful career as a banker in Hull and gaining election to Parliament in 1807, where he was an active abolitionist among the Evangelical Saints. Thompson had impeccable Methodist credentials, his maternal grandfather and both his parents having been friends of John Wesley. 86  Report of the SLC (1791), p. 26.

198  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World that ‘might we not bring over Africa to England; [and] educate her’;87 approached Jane Leslie-­Melville, Countess of Leven, and Henry Thornton’s older sister. The Countess introduced Campbell to Charles Grant, then in Scotland visiting relatives, who developed a stronger financial case for the scheme and proposed the idea to the Clapham Sect upon his return to London. Campbell briefly attracted the independent backing of the contro­ versial Robert Haldane, although Haldane’s desire to open the school in Edinburgh under his own control was resisted by both Thornton and Grant—­the latter having come into conflict with Haldane over his scheme to establish a Calvinist mission in Benares. Nevertheless, Haldane’s support encouraged Campbell to write to Zachary Macaulay in Freetown in 1798, their exchange resulting in ‘a Commission for 30 African boys & 5 Afrn Girls’.88 Macaulay had, with the approval of Thornton and other directors, established a school for the education of local children, and in particular was attempting to secure ‘to the Company’s schoolmasters the educational monopoly’ of the children of local chiefs.89 Instead of Edinburgh, a Society for the Education of Africans was established in London in 1800, with Henry Thornton, Charles Grant, William Wilberforce, George Wolff, Granville Sharp, Samuel Parker, John Venn, and Zachary Macaulay among its committee.90 At the same time, the SLC was seeking a new direction for educating African children, with Parliament’s annual grant of £4,000 for all civil pur­ poses having proved inadequate to the aims of creating schools to educate future leaders for the colony and region. A subscription was raised, to which Henry Thornton offered £200 per year, Wilberforce £100, and Robert Thornton £50.91 The school for boys opened under the schoolmaster William Greaves of Yorkshire, whilst the girls were educated separately at the expense of a lady in Battersea. The school operated as an early example of the monitorial system in England, with younger boys being taught by older students, the curriculum aiming at a broad education, but tailored to include additional religious teaching, instruction in accounting, and in

87 Quoted in Robert Philip, The Life, Times and Missionary Enterprises of the Rev. John Campbell (1841), p. 160. 88  Campbell papers, Thornton to Campbell, 28 Sept. 1798, quoted in Bruce Mouser, ‘African Academy—­Clapham 1799–1806’, History of Education, 33(1) (2004), p. 90. 89 Knutsford, Zachary Macaulay, p. 50. See comment, p. 35, of the Naimbanna’s use of his children’s education to determine his people’s religious allegiances. His pastoral duties to the native schoolchildren was Macaulay’s closest emotional tie to Sierra Leone (p. 203). 90  Mouser, ‘African Academy’, p. 95. 91  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N fo. 133.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   199 many cases, a trade—­boat-­building, surveying, and printing. For uncertain reasons, there were only six African boys left in Clapham by 1806—an unknown number having returned to Sierra Leone in late 1805, and some having died during the winter of 1805–6—and the school lost its African focus as the remaining boys were joined by the sons of the Clapham Sect, including Charles John Shore, William Wilberforce jnr, Henry Sykes Thornton, James Stephen jnr, and Charles Grant jnr. Although a failure in returning an educated elite to provide leadership to Sierra Leone, the school became a model in the eyes of philanthropists, and a symbolic effort in their wider attempts to promote abolition as the cause of humanity, not merely a British interest, in European negotiations. Henry Brougham wrote in 1804 from the Netherlands enclosing a ‘sketch of the Sierra Leone scheme which I have made it my business to render as much known in the proper circles here, as my recollection made me to do’, with particular reference to the school at Clapham—­which had elicited the greatest approbation.92 While the Clapham Sect never developed a singular theory of coloniza­ tion, their decisions were continually informed by their common under­ standing of trust in society. The pernicious effects of the slave trade pervaded all relations on the coast and those with the tribes in the interior. Set out in a pamphlet, Hints respecting the means of civilizing Africa, the Clapham Sect’s view was that West Africa was ‘A state of society more miserably dismembered, and in which the elements seem less capable of com­bin­ation, can scarcely be imagined’.93 Much has been made of the argu­ ment used by the Company that the growth of a market for free labour would eventually supplant that for slaves,94 but an even more common emphasis in SLC literature is on the strength of the interconnection between forming stable institutions, the fostering of trust, and the expected flourish­ ing of the colony. The Company’s 1794 report outlined how a ‘sense of inse­ curity’ among the settlers and the local tribes had led to a general loss of industry in the region, and favourably commented on the example of Muslim communities nearby whose ability to secure property rights and foster interpersonal trust had led to their relative prosperity.95 Thornton lamented the ‘too great a limitation of the Company’s Establishment’ that had prevented it from earning the trust of the colonists,96 and personal 92  Bodleian Wilberforce Papers, c.44, fo. 82: Henry Brougham to William Wilberforce, 12 Sept. 1804. 93  Hull History Centre (Papers of Thomas Perronet Thompson), DTH/1/39. 94 Ibid. 95  Report of the SLC (1794), p. 26. 96  Ibid., p. 17.

200  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World correspondence between directors and the Company’s servants frequently included comments about the value of mutual confidence with the colony’s leadership and wider community. Relations with surrounding tribes were also couched in this kind of language: the 1794 report described efforts to earn ‘the respect and confidence of the Natives’,97 and noted that ‘The Company’s government had also succeeded in some degree in extending its influence among the natives, whose confidence was strongly indicated by many circumstances, but particularly by the readiness with which they sent some of their children to the Colony, and even to this country, for education.’98 Although the SLC failed in its dual commercial and philanthropic aims, Sierra Leone did not discourage the directors from seeking further oppor­ tunities to form philanthropic settlements outside the United Kingdom. However, they adjusted their expectations about the extent of the ‘establish­ ment’ that they could support, and the timeframe of success. By at least 1802, it was clear to its directors that the SLC was unsustainable, and the  timing of its financial difficulties was significant—­coinciding with the ef­fect­ive loss of the roughly £10,000 raised for the prosecution of the London Missionary Society’s mission to Otaheite and the difficult financial conditions that had led to Pitt’s decision to suspend Bank of England con­ vertibility. While the loss of capital did not cripple the finances of leading London philanthropists, it was expensive enough to prevent future projects being funded by the raising of a joint capital for nearly twenty years.99 Critically, it provided an impetus for the auxiliary society model. Sierra Leone also represented a turning point in the composition of the philan­ thropic dir­ect­or­ate. The African Institution, founded in 1807, which took up the Company’s vision for the transformation of Africa, dared to express the hope that in centuries to come, Africa would be the leading continent in the civilized world. However, little of the commercial support that had underpinned the SLC transferred to the new Institution. Only seven—­fewer than one-­third—­of those who had served as SLC directors joined the African Institution’s committee, and all these were closely linked to the Clapham Sect. The Institution’s committee in 1809, with thirty-­five mem­ bers and a further nineteen vice presidents, was increasingly dominated by the Evangelical party, and much less closely connected with the commercial institutions of the City. 97  Ibid., p. 12. 98  Ibid., p. 9. 99  See discussion on Exeter Hall, Section 6.2.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   201 The experience of Sierra Leone was therefore formative in the planning of transnational projects by philanthropic directors from the early nine­ teenth century. In 1808, Henry Thornton, reflecting for the benefit of his children, summed up his feelings and conclusions on the experience: Our first opinions on this branch of the African subject were, as I now see very crude. We were all of us unskilled in colonization . . . We raised a sum of near £240,000 & gave to the subscribers far too much hope of pecuniary profit as well as general success . . . We have had to govern a most perverse body of black colonists from Nova Scotia. We have experienced great dif­ ficulty in finding proper men to preside over them. We have been unable to avoid confusion in the concerns of our trade thro’ the want of honest & competent accountants . . . it remains to be seen whether fruit worthy of the expence incurred in the culture will be produced. My own hopes are small & yet I often reflect it may possibly please Providence to deduce some great & important consequences to the interests of the negro race from this hitherto unsuccessful experiment.100

When the CMS was founded in 1799, nine of the eleven lay committee members were proprietors of the SLC,101 as were sixteen of the thirty-­six original committee members of the Bible Society.102 The controversies excited by news of colonial setbacks and criticisms of their policies led to a much more proactive stance on managing the public images of trans­ nation­al projects in the coming years. Where John Clarkson and later Thomas Perronet Thompson had brought their criticisms directly to the London press, later philanthropic employees, including missionaries such as Thomas Kendall, were strongly discouraged from airing their grievances in public. For many of those who invested in the Company, Sierra Leone, not the support of missionaries, was their first involvement in transnational philanthropy, and the ongoing work of philanthropic societies in the colony ensured that it remained at the forefront of the public imagination of phil­ an­thropy for decades. Even among the younger generation, the presence of African schoolchildren at Clapham left lasting impressions, including on the children of the Clapham Sect,103 many of whom became philanthropists

100  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, p. 33. 101 Hole, Early History of the CMS, p. 38. 102 Wadström, Essay on Colonization, ii, pp. 341–53; William Canton, A History of the British and Foreign Bible Society, 5 vols. (1904–10), i, p. 16. 103  Charles Shore, Reminiscences of Many Years (1878), i, pp. 1–3.

202  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World themselves later in life. As Henry Thornton concluded in his own reflec­ tions, ‘I have in particular learnt to feel for the African race. I hope that my children & my children’s children will take up the same cause.’104

5.4  New Zealand, 1808–c.1823 In 1808, another philanthropic opportunity arose through outreach by a branch of the transnational network.105 On furlough in England for four­ teen months between late 1807 and early 1809, Samuel Marsden immersed himself in London’s Evangelical circles, attending chapels and society meet­ ings, and meeting privately with key philanthropic leaders.106 Marsden was immersed in the small cluster of philanthropic institutions in New South Wales, and was also regional agent for the LMS, having established relations with their missionaries in 1798 and accepted a formal appointment as agent in 1804.107 He had sustained a regular correspondence with Wilberforce built on their shared upbringing in Yorkshire and common Evangelical faith. Marsden had returned to Britain partly in the hope of persuading the CMS to establish a mission settlement in New Zealand. To this end he met with Josiah Pratt, Secretary to the CMS, and wrote two letters, in March and April 1808, in which he outlined his plans for the proposed colony.108 Marsden’s proposal for a New Zealand colony was structured by a desire to avoid the perceived causes of the Sierra Leonean failure, and its language is strongly consonant with that of the contemporary reports issuing from the incipient African Institution.109 Indeed, a comparison between Henry Thornton’s reflections on Sierra Leone and Marsden’s proposals—­ particularly his revised second proposal—­offers strong circumstantial evi­ dence for a direct connection. Whereas Sierra Leone had been a scene of 104  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, 34. 105  An earlier version of the argument in this section was presented to the Oxford–­Princeton workshop ‘Subjects, Citizens and Global History’, 21 Sept. 2013, Princeton. 106  For example, Marsden’s name appears as a ‘visitor’ in the Minutes of the Bible Society’s Committee on 18 Apr. 1808. Committee members present included several SLC and CMS board members. CUL BSA B1/3/121–123. 107 Yarwood, Samuel Marsden, pp. 72–3. 108 Hocken MS 0498/001: Samuel Marsden to Secretary, 24 Mar. 1808; MS 0498/003: Samuel Marsden to Secretary, 7 Apr. 1808. 109  For a discussion of Marsden’s strategy for the settlement, see Malcolm Falloon, To Plough or to Preach: Mission Strategies in New Zealand during the 1820s (2010). See also Sarah Dingle, Gospel Power for Civilization: The CMS Missionary Perspective on Māori Culture 1830–1860 (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Adelaide, 2009), pp. 84–108.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   203 competing interests, and had no nearby British authority, although ‘New Zealand and its natural productions are little known to the civilized world’, it was only 400 leagues, or ‘easy communication’, from the ‘comfort and safety’ of Port Jackson, New South Wales.110 Further, the role of Church of England ministers in the colony’s administration ensured that they would be able to rely on the Governor ‘for his protection and support in the due performance of every moral and religious duty’, and Marsden believed that the problem of a lack of state authority would not apply, as a CMS mission would ‘be considered as a part of the civil Government of N.S.  Wales’.111 Whereas Thornton had bemoaned the expense of sustaining large numbers of colonists, the conflicts that arose between factions, and the problems in managing a large colony, Marsden’s plan called for a small number of English ‘mechanics’, whose trades would make them self-­sufficient, and who could quickly train local Māori in agriculture and in artisan industries for trade.112 Unlike the variable relations with tribes in Sierra Leone, the good­ will of Māori chiefs, some of whom had already been educated under Marsden at Parramatta, would allow these settlers to ‘place themselves under the protection of the Chief, as they will have no means of forming an independent Body’.113 New Zealand appeared to philanthropists interested in improving global humanity to be a blank slate, having ‘derived no advantages hitherto either from commerce or the Arts of Civilisation’,114 and in that state ‘which every nation must unavoidably be, who has had no connection with the Civil, Religious and Commercial part of mankind’.115 Marsden framed the oppor­ tunity as commercial as well as religious and concluded that ‘Every benevo­ lent mind acquainted with the ignorant state of these islanders, must feel a wish that some small attempt may be made towards their civilization and general improvement in the simple arts, and Christian knowledge.’116 His proposal was to send ‘lay settlers’117 who through education of Māori could begin to lay the framework for participation in the global economy and simultaneously begin the reform of Māori society and the building of national institutions.118 110  Hocken MS 0498/001. 111  Ibid. See also Hocken MS 0498/020: Marsden to Secretary, 9 May 1809. 112  Hocken MS 0498/003. 113 Ibid. 114 Ibid. 115 Ibid. 116  Hocken MS 0498/001. 117  In his second letter to Pratt, Marsden crossed out ‘missionaries’, and instead wrote ‘men’. 118  ‘Commerce and the Arts, having a natural tendency to inculcate industrious and moral habits, open a way for the introduction of the gospel, and lay the foundation for its continuance when once received’ (Hocken MS 0498/003).

204  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World However, Marsden chose to frame this new project in the language of ‘mission’. During the 1790s the rapid successive formation of the Baptist Missionary Society (BMS), London Missionary Society (LMS), and the Church Society for Missions to Africa and the East (CMS) in 1792, 1795, and 1799 respectively, brought new public prominence to the voluntary support of cross-­cultural missions among indigenous peoples. While the SPCK and SPG, as well as Moravians and other pietists, had been support­ ing anglophone missionaries for more than a century, these new missionary societies were unusually effective self-­narrators and promoters even com­ pared to other voluntary organizations of the time, presenting themselves as historical agents of a new era of Christian expansion and philanthropic outreach.119 Among Anglican Evangelicals in the second half of the eight­ eenth century, the vocabulary of ‘mission’ and ‘missionary’ already carried a rich set of connotations, although the priorities of those projecting mission­ ary activity evolved in relation to their shifting assumptions about the sup­ porting potential of commercial activities, and their perceptions of the surrounding social conditions. While many were broadly supportive of the SPCK and SPG, their discussion of missionary projects and priorities reflects the early influence of continental pietist examples. In 1776, John Thornton and John Newton exchanged letters on the sending of two German-­born Methodists from Bristol to Calabar, with instructions to ‘teach the Blacks the principles of Morality & Christianity’, with Newton adding that, ‘I hope they will come speedily to the point & tell them of Jesus’.120 Where missionary activity might reasonably be expected to be more sustained, the emphasis on missionaries as religious educators was superadded to that of missionaries as transmitters of the Gospel message, as in the 1767 power of attorney given by Eleazar Wheelock to Nathaniel Whitaker, for the purposes of raising money to support ‘a suitable number of Missionaries to be employ’d in the Indian Country for the Instruction of Indians in the Christian Religion’.121 Nearer the end of the century, Henry Thornton wrote to John Clarkson in 1791, offering a confidential briefing of his assessments of the Council members being sent out to lead the soon to be established Sierra Leone colony, that ‘Our Clergymen set off in the Spirit of Apostles & missionaries . . . for they are well impressed with the infinite

119 See Elizabeth Elbourne, Blood Ground: Colonialism, Missions, and the Contest for Christianity in the Cape Colony and Britain, 1799–1853 (Montreal, 2002), p. 37. 120  CUL Thornton Papers A/81: John Newton to John Thornton, 22 Aug. 1776. 121  RBS PT/1/21, fo. 1, ‘Minute Book of Trustees of the Indian Charity School’.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   205 importance of the scheme in a religious view’.122 Charles Grant, writing to the indigo manufacturer Henry Creighton in 1795 with advice about the management of plantation land near Malda, expressed doubt as to ‘whether I shall ever be able to render it subservient to a mission scheme as first intended . . . [as] the Missionary Spirit is very low here’. Grant had in a simi­ lar letter six years earlier expressed his understanding of the distinction between a missionary and a ministerial vocation—­the latter being a defined ‘office’123—writing, ‘how such a strict connection as was to be formed between the Minister and people could consist with the duties and labours of a Missionary, I am indeed at a loss to know’.124 Grant continued that it was his experience with ‘the religious world’ on returning to London that had increased his sensitivity and anxiety on the point of unity among the distant religious community.125 To this latter set of commercial Evangelicals, the language of missions while indisputably representing a noble cause, clearly suggested a hint of dissenting distrust towards the Established Church, and the dangers of enthusiasm; an uneasiness which increased to the extent that the missionaries found themselves unsupported by stable social, life, and commercial structures. There was therefore no firm categorical distinction between missions and the more commercial philanthropy of Sierra Leone, and comparisons between the two contexts abounded. The 1808 correspondence of Josiah Pratt, Secretary to the CMS shows Sierra Leone and New Zealand as the two main parallel projects in his portfolio. He wrote, for example, to CMS com­ mittee member Basil Woodd on 24 March 1808: We are in daily expectation of advices from Sierra Leone, that the four miss[ionaries] there are actually settled among the Susus or some other native tribe. Mr Marsden will, next meeting bring before us a proposal to establish a settlement in New Zealand; both the islands of which country, contain, it is supposed, 500,000 people.126

Similarly, in 1820, the CMS was writing that the New Zealand mission was to be conducted on the ‘general principles whereby the West-­Africa Mission is regulated; subject, however, in all things, to the approbation of Mr. Marsden, 122  BL, Add. MS 41,262 A, fo. 33: Henry Thornton to John Clarkson, 30 Dec. 1791. 123 Morris, Life of Charles Grant, p. 137. 124  Ibid., p. 136: Charles Grant to George Udny, 25 Apr. 1789. 125  BL IOR/MSS Eur D561 (Henry Creighton Papers): Grant to Creighton, 6 June 1795. 126  Hocken MS 0498/002: Secretary to Rev. Basil Woodd, 24 Mar. 1808.

206  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World and the friends who act with him, and the whole to be under their direction and controul’.127 In the management of the New Zealand settlement by the CMS, the influence of their experiences in Sierra Leone con­tinued to be felt throughout the 1810s. Having been severely embarrassed by the revelations that SLC employees and settlers had engaged in slave trading, and by allega­ tions that a state of slavery was openly tolerated within the colony itself, the directors were highly sensitive to any dubious activity by the mission set­ tlers in New Zealand, leading to the dismissal of two missionaries in 1819 for musket trading. Even administrative details, such as the accounting practices demanded of the New Zealand missionaries—­in which all goods and funds were minutely accounted for—­reflected the experience of mis­ management in Sierra Leone. Between the establishment of the first New Zealand settlement in 1814 and the mid-­1820s, increasingly successful attempts to solve the problem of local leadership reconfigured the philanthropic project, and reflected wider changes to transnational philanthropy. Marsden established a seminary for Māori in Parramatta in 1815, training young men sent from tribes in New Zealand in agriculture, literacy, and religion. Though he had mixed success at converting tribal leaders to Christianity, the attempt did aid the forma­ tion of relationships of patronage and protection with various tribes. A cor­ responding committee was formed in Port Jackson, with a degree of authority delegated from London. As Josiah Pratt wrote to Thomas Kendall, the leader of the mission in New Zealand, ‘Should an Auxiliary Society be formed in N.S. Wales, as we have suggested, there will be a body on the spot representing us, to whom you and all others sent out by us may look for direction and countenance’.128 Although conflict still sparked between the missionary settlers and their overseers, this greatly increased the speed with which decisions could be made. As part of the wider philanthropic world, the missionaries were also encouraged to participate in the growing institu­ tional memory of the philanthropic world, with printed materials including ‘Missionary Registers, Magazines, Newspapers’ being sent, and Pratt instructing that ‘The Magazines, and the Volumes of Annual Registers, should be preserved as constant additions to our Missionary Library, which we shall augment from time to time’.129 Following the end of the war in

127  Proceedings of the CMS (1820–1), Appendix I, p. 224. 128  Josiah Pratt to Thomas Kendall, 18 Aug. 1814, Marsden Online Archive, accessed 12 Feb. 2015, www.marsdenarchive.otago.ac.nz/MS_0054_045. 129 Ibid.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   207 1815, the reintroduction to the civilian population of numbers of naval officers on half-­pay also provided an ideal recruiting pool, with Henry Williams arriving in 1823 to take over leadership of the settlement among the first of these new recruits.130 These changes laid the foundation for the transfer into New Zealand during the late 1820s and 1830s of numerous philanthropic institutions and techniques—­ including a printing press, schools, and benevolent and reform societies.

5.5  Transfers and Translations As multiple projects continued to grow in parallel, philanthropists began to build a larger repertoire of successful techniques and models, and where gaps or failures appeared in one site, they were increasingly able to transfer insights between contexts. With Kendall in England and his relationship with the CMS board beginning to deteriorate, opening the possibility that the burgeoning education of Māori would founder for lack of a teacher, Pratt wrote to Marsden about the mission schools, before referring him to the model of schooling in Bengal: We beg to suggest, in reference to our New Zealand Schools, that the prin­ ciple which it seems, advisable to adopt is, to make the New Zealand Language the general basis of Instruction; and to teach the English only to Youths of superior parts, and to such as promise to become Catechists and Missionaries to their Countrymen . . . Perhaps a Central School may even­ tually be formed, at each Station, for the instruction in English of such youths as from rank, parts, or promising dispositions, may be deemed eli­ gible to enjoy such an advantage; in the same way as is practiced at Burdwan.131

The clearest examples of this intentional proliferation throughout these net­ works were the serial attempts at establishing ‘Christian institutions’. Modelled on Francke’s Institution at Halle that had inspired Evangelicals throughout the eighteenth century,132 the institutions were an attempt to 130  Robin Fisher, ‘Williams, Henry’, Dictionary of New Zealand Biography, accessed 12 May 2014, www.teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/1w22/williams-­henry. 131  Hocken MS 0175/001: Josiah Pratt to Samuel Marsden, 13 Mar. 1821. Pratt then referred Marsden to pp. 133–5 of the Society’s 20th Report. 132  See Sattler, God’s Glory, pp. 47–67.

208  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World ensure the longevity of philanthropic projects and to create an organiza­ tional focal point for a wide range of religious and philanthropic activities in each location. Their primary function was educational, and in practice this initially meant the translation, printing, and dissemination of books. As Buchanan wrote in 1807 in a letter to Colin Macaulay, brother to Zachary, and British Resident to Travancore and Cochin, the object in Calcutta was ‘to promote Christian knowledge in Asia by means of books; which institu­ tion shall be exclusively literary, and shall have no connection with any mis­ sion society’.133 Buchanan’s proposed institution was also an attempt to regulate the increasingly fractious missionary set in Bengal—­ to bring Baptist and other dissenting missionaries and their projects under Evangelical supervision, and to contain damage caused by official frustra­ tion at what the Governor-­General and Council saw as destabilizing enthu­ siasm. As singular ‘institution’ would under Buchanan’s proposal marshal the scarce resources, especially personnel, available for Bengal-­based phil­ anthropic projects. Buchanan’s proposal unsurprisingly found little support in Bengal, and by 1812 the establishment of the BFBS auxiliary society in Calcutta obviated the need, with its focus on drawing together a broad alli­ ance by focusing narrowly on the distribution of the Bible—­an aim that even the most suspicious officials could endorse. By 1816, the CMS was in the process of establishing a Christian institu­ tion in Sierra Leone. Endowed with 1,100 acres of land on Leicester Mountain, the Institution was to educate 300 African children—­mostly recaptives—­paid for by sponsors in Britain. In the same year, CMS mission­ aries in Calcutta reignited the plans for a Christian institution ‘as a Seminary for Students and Missionaries, with requisites for translating and printing’.134 Also in 1816, Josiah Pratt wrote to Samuel Marsden, suggesting that he too establish a ‘Christian Institution’ in Parramatta: to be called ‘the Xtian Institution of New South Wales, established and supported by the Church Missionary Society, for the education of the hea­ then youth, and for the diffusion of Christianity and of useful knowledge among the natives of the South Seas’. This appellation is analogous to that

133  Hugh Pearson, Memoirs of the life and writings of the Rev. Claudius Buchanan (4th edn, 1834), p. 275. 134  Missionary Register, 5 (1817), p. 12.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   209 which you will find in the last Report as applied to Sierra Leone, and describes the objects of such an Institution.135

In each of these contexts, the ‘Christian institution’ represented a local ini­ tiative. Marsden was already training young indigenous men in literacy and agriculture at his farm in Parramatta, and in Bengal the institution proposed did not involve any new kinds of activity. The rebranding of these as ‘Christian institutions’ therefore compellingly repackaged them for a supportive British audience and by encouraging comparisons, facilitated transfers between them. The movement of individuals was also critical to transfers within this network, especially those returning to London who could claim the author­ ity of some overseas experience. Charles Grant, impressed by the College of Fort William after 1800 as a vehicle and platform for key agents, a fillip to understandings of local culture and the critical work of translation, and a means to train local agents and in some cases convert them, became an inveterate encourager of the foundation of similar institutions. Grant was responsible as Chairman of the EIC for the formation of Haileybury, and the employment of a number of Evangelically or philanthropically minded scholars there. As director of the CMS, he attempted to found new colleges once mission stations had become established. This translation136 could also be facilitated by others outside the core network: Gov. Philip Gidley King’s efforts to establish an orphanage in Sydney with Richard Johnson in 1800 had been prompted by a similar institution he had established on Norfolk Island. The decision by New Zealand missionaries to circulate petitions to King William in 1831 appears to have been triggered by at least three long discussions on the subject between Henry Williams and Durrell de Sausmerez, the ‘blue light’ evangelical captain of HMS Zebra who conveyed the petition to New South Wales.137 Showing how persistent some of these connections could be, the work of John Paterson, Ebenezer Henderson, and others in the Baltic region and later in Russia, was supported by intermixed networks of Russia Company traders and Bible Society supporters, later reaching as far south as the Edinburgh Missionary Society’s settlement in 135  Hocken MS 0175/001: Josiah Pratt to Samuel Marsden, 5 Sept. 1816. 136  For a fuller discussion of the appropriateness of the metaphor of translation in this context see, Lamin  O.  Sanneh, Translating the Message: The Missionary Impact on Culture. (2nd edn, Maryknoll, NY, 2009). 137 J.  R.  Elder, The Letters and Journals of Samuel Marsden, 1765–1838 (Dunedin, 1932), p. 504.

210  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Astrakhan, which was described, in reference to the establishment of a printing press there and the wider global context, as ‘the Calcutta of Russia, and we mean to make it the Serampore of the South’.138 A final example of the outworking of the philanthropists attempting to speak to and shape national cultures can be seen in the intensive efforts devoted to language and to the translation and publishing of texts in mul­ tiple contexts. In the African Academy at Clapham, Rev. Henry Brunton found a ‘laboratory’ for studying the Susu language,139 publishing A Grammar and Vocabulary in 1802, and several interlinear tracts. It was believed that Susu was a widespread language of the region, making fa­mil­ iar­ity a necessary prerequisite for deeper contact into the interior, and the translation and publication of the Scriptures. Marsden committed hundreds of hours to learning Māori. While in England, Kendall arranged for Hongi Hika and Waikato, two Māori chiefs, to spend time with Samuel Lee, Professor of Arabic at Cambridge, whose education at Queens’ College had been facilitated by the CMS, a connection the resulted in the first dictionary of Māori. In India, Claudius Buchanan was an important sponsor of lan­ guage work, with several scholars working in parallel on different languages at Fort William College, with their work forming in the words of Ingham, ‘an important contribution to the establishment of structural unity among the vernaculars and to their uniform development’.140 The effects of this can be seen in the boost to Bengal’s print culture. By 1830, Bengal had eight vernacular papers, more than in the rest of India.141 In New Zealand, the arrival of William Colenso, a trained printer, and a printing press in 1834 began a fruitful period of translation and composition in the Māori language.142 Their early dominance of print culture in these vernacular languages, and the relatively prolific distribution of texts ensured a similar effect to the promotion of particular authors by John Thornton in the late eighteenth century—­ensuring comparative dominance of literate culture for decades, and thereby sustaining the cultural influence of philanthropists.

138  Christian Observer (1816), p. 192. 139  Mouser, ‘African Academy’, p. 100. 140  Kenneth Ingham, Reformers in India, 1793–1833: An Account of the Work of Christian Missionaries on Behalf of Social Reform (New York, 1973), p. 97. 141  Ibid., p. 104–5. 142 A.  G.  Graham and C.  G.  Peterson, William Colenso, Printer, Missionary, Botanist, Explorer, Politician: His Life and Journeys (Wellington, 1948).

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   211

5.6  Reconfigurations, 1813–1833 Charles Grant’s 1790 return to England and his membership of the Clapham Sect was part of a broader process whereby initiatives for transnational phil­ an­thropy increasingly derived from the metropolitan nexus rather than from peripheral philanthropists. This was reflected in the career of Claudius Buchanan, chaplain in Calcutta, for whom the impetus to transnational phil­an­thropy derived from participation in Evangelical communities in London. While Grant and Buchanan were early exemplars of centralization, the trend was for the importance of the metropolitan nexus to transnational philanthropy to increase throughout this period, and especially from the mid-­1810s. From a family of Scottish evangelicals, Buchanan was converted himself through John Newton in London, deciding within weeks to pursue Anglican ordination. He was introduced by Newton to Henry Thornton who agreed to fund the necessary studies at Cambridge on the condition that Buchanan would serve abroad and consider becoming a chaplain at Sierra Leone.143 On graduating in 1795 he was ordained by Porteus, and became Newton’s curate. In 1796, his influential friends encouraged him to apply for a chaplaincy in India, to which Charles Grant appointed him in 1796.144 After more than two years assigned to Barrackpore, using the com­ parative isolation to learn Persian and Hindustani, he was transferred to Calcutta where Lord Wellesley, impressed by his sermons, appointed him vice provost of the College of Fort William, about which Buchanan wrote, ‘The whole direction of the College lies with me’.145 During this time, Buchanan became a significant private sponsor of academic research in the East, funding essay competitions and the translation of the Scriptures. Returning to England in 1808, he threw himself into activism on matters relating to India, publishing Christian Researches in Asia (1811), and Colonial Ecclesiastical Establishment (1813), in both of which he argued for the necessity of educating the Indian populace. His sermon ‘The Star in the East’, first delivered in 1809 and subsequently published, was an influential rallying cry for the support of missionary activity, and important in mo­bil­ iz­ing Evangelical interest in the cause of Christianity in India. Unlike Grant, whose career in the philanthropic nexus came out of experiences in Bengal, or Marsden, who remained resident in New South Wales the remainder of 143  Ibid., pp. 81–2, 89. 144  Ibid., p. 133. 145 Penelope Carson, ‘Buchanan, Claudius (1766–1815)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, accessed 20 January 2015, www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/3831.

212  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World his life, Buchanan’s sojourn in India was a formative but nonetheless ­temporary step in his career within metropolitan society. The Proposal and the Grant family’s subsequent move to Clapham ele­ vated concern for India to the highest order of priorities for the Clapham Sect, and triggered a reorientation of philanthropic engagement with India. Grant himself was elected to the Court of Directors of the EIC in 1794, join­ ing Robert Thornton who had been elected in 1787. They were subsequently joined by William Thornton Astell, Edward Parry, and George Smith,146 forming an influential voting block of directors, supplying either the chair­ man or deputy-­chairman for all but two years between 1804 and 1815, with Grant being elected chairman in 1805, 1809 and 1815. While gaps in the archival record make it impossible to pinpoint the exact chronological evo­ lution of Grant’s views, he imagined the progress of missions suggested by the Proposal to be one strand in the country’s cultural and economic devel­ opment, a necessary complement to commercial developments. Following his return to Britain in 1790, his Observations on the State of Society Among the Asiatic Subjects of Great Britain: Particularly with Respect to Morals: and on the Means of Improving it, was, in the words of Ainslie Embree, ‘a serious attempt to find a sanction for permanent British rule in India through a comparative evaluation of the intrinsic merits of the two civilizations that were confronting each other’.147 Originally written in 1792, in an attempt to sway Dundas’s India policy prior to the 1793 Charter Act, and published in the debate leading up to the 1813 East India Company Act, the Observations constituted a comprehensive analysis of Indian society. Its starting point was that India had undergone a ‘revolution’ between 1757 and 1769, in which British intervention had disrupted the already weakened fabric of Indian society. Written with some ambiguity due to his need to persuade his audiences in Parliament and the Court of Directors, in Grant’s account, Indian religious systems had provided the foundation for a relatively stable social order, albeit one that was inherently limiting of individuals who lived within it. British profiteering and mismanagement had callously, if uninten­ tionally, destabilized this system, creating injustices and corrupting Indian society. The solution was not to revert to Hindu or Muslim norms, but for the Government and Company actively to foster Christianity.148 In line with 146  (1765–1836); fifth son of Abel Smith (1717–88), of the Smith family of bankers. 147 Embree, Charles Grant, p. 142. 148  Moreover, Grant saw the Company’s duty to work on behalf of Indians arising from, among other sources, its position ‘as part of a Christian community’. Charles Grant, Observations on the State of Society among the Asiatic Subjects of Great-­Britain (1813), p. ii.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   213 the rest of the Clapham Sect, Grant saw Christianity as the basis for social trust—­fostering honesty in commercial dealings, integrity among officers, and general benevolence within communities. India’s reserves of interper­ sonal confidence had been depleted by this ‘revolution’, and only by long effort could these be replenished. According to Grant, the EIC’s being ‘part of a Christian community’, implied ‘peculiar superadded obligations’ to its commercial operations.149 These were to be manifest by the establishment of Company-­supported philanthropic institutions, analogous to the func­ tion of the Church of England in their provision of social support and edu­ cational services. Ever the Director, Grant believed that these efforts would serve to make British rule in India permanent, as it would bind rulers and subjects together in bonds of mutual trust—­giving them a common lan­ guage, piety, and morality. Grant further elaborated his vision for India in his Observations on the Question of enlarging the Trade of British subjects between India and Europe, which was never published but was circulated in manuscript within both Cabinet and the Company’s Court. In this he argued stridently for the preservation of the Company’s monopoly on British trade to India, on the grounds that to introduce free trade would be to expose Indian society to unscrupulous British traders, to the detriment of both Indian and British interests. During the first decade of the new century it became increasingly clear that conflict between the different voices within the Company and the ‘religious world’ in Britain would come to a head over the issue of missionaries in India. Crises such as the Vellore mutiny and the publication by the Baptist press in Serampore of incendiary pamphlets against Islam and Hinduism generated controversy between factions in the Court of Directors and between the Court and the administration in Calcutta. The three central questions that divided both the philanthropic community and the public were whether to restrict or encourage the further migration of missionaries, whether to remove the EIC’s monopoly or allow free trade, and whether to create an ecclesiastical establishment for India. Even within the Clapham Sect, Wilberforce initially favoured the promotion of free trade, while Grant, understandably given his position within the EIC, favoured preserv­ ing the Company’s monopoly. As Penelope Carson has argued, much of the success of the subsequent campaign to reform the EIC’s Charter was the result of the careful mobilization by the Clapham Sect of the opinion of

149 Ibid.

214  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Evangelical and other religious networks, and of skilful negotiations by Wilberforce, Grant and others with the Company Court and the British Government.150 However, central to this alliance-­building was not merely a generalized desire to promote Christianity in India, nor even a purely con­ versionary agenda, but a consensus that institutional realignment was ne­ces­sary for philanthropic ends. This reflected an evolution within the philanthropic directorate, built upon the intellectual framework established by the Clapham Sect. Grant’s vision had been of the EIC reformed as a kind of perpetual institutional guardian of both Indian interests and what he per­ ceived as the common interests of trade between Britain and India. Analogously to the ways in which Henry Thornton had conceived of banks functioning as informational purveyors, Grant imagined the EIC dispens­ ing educational benefits to India, and managing cultural interactions, thereby increasing mutual trust and social bonds. Grant’s vision in this regard was further expressed in his efforts to establish and strengthen col­ leges, which he believed were ultimately justified for the role they would play in building mutual understanding between British and Indian society. Wilberforce and Thornton did not share Grant’s optimism as to the EIC, but rather imagined a Church of England Establishment, resourced by Company revenue, and a compromise was reached by which a new Bishopric of Calcutta would be established and resourced from Company revenue. The Act as passed stated that the Company had a duty ‘to promote by all just and prudent means, the interests and happiness of the inhabitants of the British Dominions in India; and that, for these ends, such measures ought to be adopted as may gradually tend to their advancement in useful knowledge, and to their religious and moral improvement’.151 The process of the passing of the 1813 Act therefore reflected three important shifts that occurred in the first decade of the nineteenth century in how philanthropists operated transnationally. First, the locus of initiative passed to the metropolitan nexus. While philanthropic clusters continued to operate in Bengal, their ability to shape events was thoroughly eclipsed by decisions made in London, with political campaigning, the ability to mobilize through auxiliary societies and sympathetic publishers and preachers, and the deliberations of central committees supplanting the more incremental work of autochthonous local societies. Second, largely through the work of the Clapham Sect, philanthropists were now 150 Carson, EIC and Religion, pp. 124–5. 151  53 George III, c.155.

‘ Every Region of the Globe Its Representative ’   215 committed to a vision of political economic argument, institutional reform, and societal transformation—­not just the correction of particular ills—­and this led them inevitably into engagement with the major institutions of the Empire. Third, in parallel to wider changes within elite British society, the philanthropic directorate was becoming more partisan. The societies that sought to expand their work in India following the 1813 Act included denominational missionary societies and competing educational societies, reflecting the increasing fractures within the philanthropic nexus. The effects of these growing fractures within the metropolitan nexus on philanthropic projects at the periphery can be seen in New Zealand during the 1830s. Ideas and models continued to propagate, disseminated by regu­ lar correspondence with central societies and by the distribution of pub­ lished reports and periodicals. The tiny community of Europeans in New Zealand’s Bay of Islands, perhaps the most isolated arm of the network, had its own Temperance Society in August 1835, barely four years after London.152 However, as the correspondence of philanthropic societies was increasingly handled by professional secretaries, whose tenure might last only a few years, the personal connections that had been critical to the early success of settlements diminished. With the death of Samuel Marsden in 1838, for example, missionaries and philanthropic societies in New Zealand and New South Wales no longer had anyone who had attended the commit­ tee meetings of multiple societies in London. Younger missionaries and agents commissioned from the mid-­1820s received formal, standardized training at new colleges established for that purpose, and therefore did not have the same opportunities to form personal friendships with the directors of societies, who in earlier decades had carefully interviewed each candi­ date. Further, changes to the culture and priorities of metropolitan phil­an­ thropy were not easily communicated to those who had spent decades living abroad. The growing popularity of philanthropic societies in London, the expansion of auxiliary societies, and the collective cultural output that this activity generated simultaneously diminished the influence of distant phil­ anthropic clusters while requiring that returning reports and narratives be more standardized so as to be more easily packaged for redistribution to the expanding mass audience. As this centralization progressed, accompanied by the diminished role of the Clapham Sect in setting the agenda of the philanthropic directorate, the 152  Report of the Formation and Establishment of the New Zealand Temperance Society (Paihia, 1836).

216  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World collective memory of these earlier experiments was increasingly committed to paper—­in minutes and reports—­rather than held in common among directors who had overseen them. The purpose of these narratives shifted from the sharing of experience to the garnering of mass support. From the early nineteenth century, the accounts of societies in these reports, written in the face of greater competition for the attention of supporters than their earlier counterparts, were increasingly centred entirely on the distinctive aim of the society—­missions, Bibles, Africans, schools, tracts. Unlike in Sierra Leone, for instance, where anti-­slavery, missions, and economic development had been held together, allowing the African Institution and CMS to pick up where the SLC left off, the organizational categories of transnational philanthropy achieved a kind of self-­evident distinctness. Thus, while the features of philanthropy formed by these transnational experiments continued, the memory of the process was frequently dis­ torted. Philanthropists of the 1820s were therefore likely to imagine a singu­ lar model for transnational philanthropy, remembered as arising from a heroic phase of missionary endeavour,153 with little recognition of its many complex sources.

153  See Gareth Atkins, ‘Christian Heroes, Providence and Patriotism in Wartime Britain, 1793–1815’, Historical Journal, 58(2) (2015), pp. 393–414.

6 ‘Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts’ Philanthropy and the Reimagining of the World

While Providence enjoins to every soul A union with the vast terraqueous whole . . . Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts that share The fears and hopes of a commercial care. (William Cowper, 1782)1 In 1822, twelve years after compiling Pietas Londoninensis, Anthony Highmore published a successor volume, Philanthropia Metropolitana, list­ ing seventy new societies recently established in London that he concluded ‘have now formed an almost new, at least a considerable feature, in the national character’.2 Highmore observed three growth areas in philanthropy represented by these new institutions of the 1810s: the expansion of so­ci­ eties with transnational aims, the increasing localization of philanthropic activity in the United Kingdom, and the growth in public awareness and engagement with philanthropy.3 These three observations frame how philanthropy developed in the years between 1815 and 1840, and how the cultural concerns of philanthropists suffused and informed wider British society. By the early nineteenth century, philanthropists’ correspondence networks had grown to the extent that they were able to present an increas­ ingly detailed picture of the globalizing world—­through a philanthropic lens—­to the British public. This cultivation of philanthropy in the wider public imagination fuelled the expansion of philanthropic societies. As Charles Sumner argued in an address on the expansion of philanthropy: Nor is the consummation of this work to be the consequence of any vast and violent revolution, changing at once by sudden impulse the 1  Cowper, ‘Charity’, Poems, pp. 186, 194. 2  Anthony Highmore, Philanthropia Metropolitana (1822), p. 627.

3  Ibid., pp. 627–8.

British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World: Entrepreneurs and Evangelicals, 1756–1840. Roshan Allpress, Oxford University Press. © Roshan Allpress 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198887195.003.0007

218  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World dispositions and habits and feelings of mankind. It will rather result from the lively influence of Christian principles gradually diffused, and insensibly extending their beneficial effects over a wider circle.4

The influence exercised by the Clapham Sect was eclipsed by the emergence of new clusters of directors, and the social ties that had held the philan­ thropic nexus together were diluted, with new fault lines emerging by the late 1820s. The spread of auxiliaries also standardized philanthropic or­gan­iza­tion as it localized, limiting the diffusion of local innovations. Philanthropic engagement increasingly became one part of life, not a core vocation, for most of those involved. In 1823, Highmore’s work, with its ‘cumbrous size’ suited to the ‘province of the encomiast and historian’, was supplemented by a field guide to The annual subscription charities and public societies in London, that aimed to give ‘practical notices more immedi­ ately useful to those who are engaged in the habit of attending public meetings in general’.5 By the 1820s, it was possible to experience the philan­ thropic directorate as a social calendar of ‘sermons, dinners, concerts, balls, and meetings of every description’.6 Through this wider cultural dissemination, the amassed audiences of philanthropic supporters, and their nationwide and transnational network of auxiliary societies, the philanthropic societies of the 1820s and 1830s were able to mobilize and influence on a larger scale than those of earlier decades. Many well-­placed contemporaries saw their work as a con­tinu­ ation of an increasingly unified and mature tradition, and anticipated a fur­ ther smoothing of the path towards the culmination of their philanthropic vision. However, philanthropy in fact experienced significant setbacks dur­ ing these decades, not least from controversies that fractured consensus within the nexus. Historians’ attempts to balance this pervasive and grow­ ing influence of philanthropic societies with the eruption of division, too often rely on a singular turn during these decades: whether in shifts in theo­ logical or eschatological emphases, the rapid change in political climate during the 1820s from repressive reaction to tolerance and reform, renewed attention by philanthropists to the problems of urban society, or in the case

4 Charles R. Sumner, The duties of a maritime power, a sermon (1824), pp. 22–3. 5  (1823). Though published anonymously, it seems most likely that the book was edited by the publisher, John Murray, seeing the commercial opportunity exposed by Highmore (pp. vi, x). 6  Highmore was secretary to the Small-­Pox Hospital from 1784 and later a director of the Jennerian Society, Pietas Londoninensis, pp. 291–7. See Gray, English philanthropy, pp. 273–4.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   219 of colonial or missionary philanthropy, the opening up of new global opportunities for British investors and migrants.7 The 1820s and 1830s have been largely seen as a period during which the assembled societies proved too large a fleet to sail in unison through the various shifts experienced by British society during these decades.8 By contrast, the argument of this chapter is that, though subject to multiple pressures, philanthropic culture and objectives were carried forward intergenerationally into the 1840s in complex ways that are most readily explained by shifts internal to philan­ thropic networks. These are illustrated in this chapter from four different angles. First, in the transnational intelligence of the Christian Observer, by which the global imagination of philanthropists was repackaged for a popu­ lar audience. Second, by the career path of Sir James Stephen in the Colonial Office, illustrating how individual philanthropists engaged with the major institutions of the British world. Third, by changes within the metropolitan nexus; and fourth as contemporaries sought to explain both successes and failures, in the emergence of a historiography of philanthropy. While con­ temporary commentators lauded the more visible features of organized philanthropy—­its mass appeal, reforming successes, and co-­expansion with empire—­a more indelible, if less triumphal, legacy was being wrought, by which the earlier sense of philanthropy as a vocation found new audiences and new expressions.

6.1 The Christian Observer and the Cultivation of a Philanthropic Worldview If there is a single document that best comprehends the humanitarian world view at the ascent of Victoria it is the Report of the Parliamentary Select Committee on Aboriginal Tribes, written under the direction of Thomas Fowell Buxton, and published in 1837 by the newly formed Aborigines’ Protection Society.9 The report was deeply critical of the impact of Britain’s 7  R. J. Morris, ‘Urban Associations in England and Scotland, 1750–1914: The Formation of the Middle Class or the Formation of a Civil Society?’, in Graeme Morton, Boudien de Vries, and R. J. Morris (eds.), Civil Society, Associations and Urban Places (Aldershot, 2006), pp. 143–7; Owen, English Philanthropy, pp. 143–8; David Lambert and Alan Lester, ‘Geographies of Colonial Philanthropy’, Progress in Human Geography, 28(3) (2004), pp. 320–41. 8  Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, pp. 237–45; Owen, English Philanthropy, pp. 95–6, 163–6; Hilton, Age of Atonement, pp. 10–19; Bradley, ‘Politics of Godliness’, pp. 251–70. 9  Early versions of some of the arguments in this section were presented to the ‘Global Knowledge’ workshop in Oxford on 10 May 2013. Report of the Parliamentary Select Committee on Aboriginal Tribes (1837). For an account of the composition of the report, see Zoë Laidlaw,

220  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World global presence, while holding out hope for its reform. Its authors intended it to be comprehensive in its geographical and cultural scope, presenting it as a judicious, empirical catalogue of the decline of indigenous populations within the spheres of British administrative control and colonial settlement in North and South America, Africa, Australia, and the Pacific. In each context, the narrative pattern presented was similar—­the introduction of a uniquely destructive trade,10 coupled with destabilizing violence by Europeans, and a failure to fulfil Britain’s duty to spread Christianity and civilization, led to the ‘degradation’ of indigenous social conditions, and population decline.11 In recent years, historians have shown how the Report articulated and defined what would become the agenda of Victorian humanitarians, calling it the movement’s ‘brightest moment’,12 and have emphasized the importance of philanthropic networks, especially of ­anti-­slavery activists, missionaries, and the Buxton family, in the Report’s composition.13 While the Report itself involved original research and com­ pilation, its organizing categories owed their origins to a long process of collation in the first three decades of the century. Philanthropic and reli­ gious publications during this period, had familiarized their readers with the places, peoples, and arguments of the Report. As argued by David Lambert and Alan Lester, ‘colonial philanthropists’ such as Buxton fostered a vision of empire that ‘bridge[d] the imaginative distance between “here” and “there”, transforming the economic and political networks of empire into webs of moral responsibility’,14 yet this imaginative bridge was not new

‘ “Aunt Anna’s Report”: The Buxton Women and the Aborigines Select Committee, 1835–37’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 32(2) (2004), pp. 1–28; Laidlaw, Colonial, pp. 28–30. 10  The fur trade in North America, slaves in British Guiana, unsupervised convict labourers in Australia, and the trade in muskets and human heads in the South Pacific. For further dis­ cussion of parallels, see Zoë Laidlaw, ‘ “Justice to India—­Prosperity to England – Freedom to the Slave!” Humanitarian and Moral Reform Campaigns on India, Aborigines and American Slavery’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 22(2) (2012), pp. 299–324. 11  Report of the Committee on Aboriginal Tribes, p. 10. 12  Laidlaw, ‘Aunt Anna’s Report’, p. 6. 13 Ibid. For further assessments of the significance of the Report, see Andrew Porter, ‘Trusteeship, Anti-­slavery and Humanitarianism’, in A.  Porter (ed.), Oxford History of the British Empire (Oxford, 1999), iii, pp, 198–221, especially pp. 207–9; Elbourne, Blood Ground, pp. 284–92; Andrew Porter, ‘ “Commerce and Christianity”: The Rise and Fall of a Nineteenth-­ Century Missionary Slogan’, Historical Journal, 28 (1985), pp. 597–621, especially pp. 611–16; Hannah Robert, ‘Satisfying the Saints’—Colonial Entrepreneurs in the 1830s and 1840s and the Elasticity of Language’ and Zoë Laidlaw, ‘Integrating Metropolitan, Colonial and Imperial Histories—­The Aborigines Select Committee of 1835–7’, in J.  Evans and T.  Banivanua-­Mar (eds.), Writing Colonial History: Comparative Perspectives (Melbourne, 2002), pp. 7–21, 75–91. 14  Lambert and Lester, ‘Geographies’, p. 331.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   221 in the 1830s but had been consciously cultivated since the turn of the cen­ tury. The Report drew on the expertise of local philanthropists who had become skilled at communicating to a metropolitan public over the previ­ ous three decades. Information regarding British official action and policy relied on the cooperation of sympathetic colonial administrators, many of whom had embarked upon and advanced in their careers due to prior involvement in philanthropy. Thus, the Report needs to be seen not merely as marking the opportune reshaping of a tradition of activism, but as the fruition of an extended epistemological project to describe a global human community in need of global philanthropy, and to create an audience attuned to the philanthropic categories in which it was framed.15 Leading this project were the editors and contributors of the Christian Observer, the monthly magazine that functioned as the mouthpiece of the Clapham Sect.16 The first issue of the Christian Observer was published in January 1802 under the editorship of Josiah Pratt. As with so many projects in this period, the magazine was established through the confluence of philanthropic and religious networks. William Hey, a surgeon from Leeds, conceived of an Evangelical equivalent of the Leeds Mercury that would promote philanthropy and reform with a less radical voice.17 Pratt brought the idea before the Eclectic Society in January 1799, asking ‘How far might a Periodical Publication be rendered subservient to the interest of Religion?’18 Between 1798 and 1800 Henry Thornton had been promoting the idea of a collaborative writing project, and on learning of the plans for the magazine, became its largest financial supporter.19 With Pratt’s commitments as secre­ tary of the CMS proving too high a workload for him to continue as editor, he was replaced within three months by Zachary Macaulay, who added it to his other work on abolition and as secretary for the SLC. Priced at one shill­ ing, the magazine was inexpensive enough to ensure a readership among Evangelical clergy, but twice the price of its dissenting rivals. This increased its social respectability but limited its commercial success and circulation, 15  See also Richard Huzzey, ‘The Moral Geography of British Anti-­Slavery Responsibilities’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 22 (2012), pp. 111–39. 16  See accounts in Josef Altholz, The Religious Press in Britain, 1760–1900 (1989), pp. 16–19 and Balleine, pp. 152–3. Called by Sir James Stephen in a letter to Marianne Thornton, the ‘Clapham Common Magazine’, quoted in Tolley, Domestic Biography, p. 171. 17  Purchased in 1801 by Edward Baines, the Leeds Mercury under his proprietorship was a nationally prominent mouthpiece for liberal, radical, and dissenting views. For a description of Hey’s importance in Yorkshire Evangelical circles, see Walsh, ‘Yorkshire Evangelicals’, pp. 282–4. 18 Pratt, Evangelical Leaders, p. 92. 19  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N fos. 126–7: Henry Thornton to Hannah More, 13 Aug. 1800.

222  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World which has been estimated at 1,000 mid-­ century, though was probably higher in its first decades.20 Though addressed to a religious readership, the Christian Observer was unusually broad in the scope of its content. It combined critical reviews and commentary with a ‘miscellanies’ section that included detailed articles on topics of philanthropic interest, as well as cultural analysis, and every month featured regular reporting on global ‘intelligence’.21 This section, which under Pratt’s editorship was called the ‘Historical Department’,22 was con­ tinued by Macaulay in its divisions of ‘religious intelligence’, ‘literary and philosophical intelligence’, and a ‘view of public affairs’, which discussed contemporary events. Where earlier magazines such as the Evangelical Magazine had reprinted missionary news and travelogues on occasion, the Christian Observer took a systematic approach to educating its readers as to ‘Particulars respecting the State of Man throughout the World’,23 and was unique in its sustained contextualization of philanthropy in the broader contexts of public and international affairs. Drawing on the lessons of the abolition campaign, the Christian Observer embarked on a comprehensive education of its readership in geography, history, and current affairs. For many readers, its accounts of ‘Otaheite’ or ‘Astrachan’, were their first ex­pos­ ures to richly detailed accounts of these geographies. The magazine was distinctive in its ability to draw on an educated, and frequently scholarly, pool of contributors for these longer articles, as well as on a genuinely global network of correspondents. Its editorship and core contributors—­many of them writing pseudonymously—­were invariably Evangelical phil­an­throp­ ists themselves. Its readership included a cross-­section of influential metro­ pol­itan society, including Members of Parliament, and it functioned as a source of sermon illustrations for Evangelical clergy, ensuring that many non-­subscribers would be exposed to its ideas. The Christian Observer offers a single corpus through which to trace the shifting priorities of lead­ ing philanthropists during the first decades of the nineteenth century, and how they sought to shape the global imaginations of their readers. Taking ‘humanity’ as its organizing category, and seeking to inform, elicit empathy, and mobilize its readership, the Christian Observer frequently overlaid

20 Altholz, Religious Press, p. 46. 21  Not replicated elsewhere until the Quarterly Review was founded in 1809, with some cooperation from the ‘Saints’. Jonathan Cutmore (ed.), Conservatism and the Quarterly Review: A Critical Analysis (2007), pp. 15, 49, 68. 22  Christian Observer (1802), p. 51. 23  Ibid., p. iv.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   223 representative individual biographies over more abstract reporting. It ran a series of extracts introducing the Indian convert Abdool Messee during the 1813 EIC charter campaign, which showed how an Indian converted to Christianity had become quickly familiar with the literary and philo­soph­ ic­al debates of Europe, and was making material contributions to the pro­ gress of missions in India.24 These extracts, accompanied by information about the economy, climate, demographics, and culture of India, encour­ aged the reader to conceive of the conversion of the individual in relation to the transformation of their society.25 The core audience to which the Christian Observer directed itself were the upper and middle classes, and the magazine devoted significant space to educating this sector on topics that reflected the Clapham Sect’s interests. The ‘literary and philosophical intelligence’ section included matters of economic and scientific interest, with a distinct bias towards debates in the­ology and political economy. It included a monthly miscellany of notices regarding new inventions, investments, and trade opportunities, reinforcing the connection between economic development and philanthropy. The magazine also encouraged readers to see moral questions in economic debates, and to engage with works of political economy by Thomas Malthus, John Weyland, Samuel Whitbread, and others, frequently with an eye to their implications for philanthropy. Public affairs reporting was supple­ mented by extended analyses, such as that provided on the report of the Bullion Committee.26 The integration of this kind of analysis into the maga­ zine provided a broad intellectual and moral framework for global engagement. Under Zachary Macaulay’s editorship, the magazine functioned as a sort of house publication for the Clapham Sect, reflecting their priorities. In early 1807, for example, as the debate on abolition reached its climax, one-­ third of the Christian Observer’s reviews were of books relating to the slave trade, and a special two-­page postscript was inserted in February celebrat­ ing the passage of the Bill.27 The Preface to the 1810 edition un­apolo­get­ic­ al­ly avowed that ‘The Slave Trade . . . was one of the first specific objects to which the labours of this work were consecrated’.28 A more sustained

24  Christian Observer (1813), p. 841. See also Yong Sam Tak, Christian Observer (1804), p. 773. 25 Atkins, Converting Brittania. 26  Christian Observer (1810), pp. 653–9; (1811), pp. 266–7. 27  Christian Observer (1807), pp. v, 143–4. 28  Christian Observer (1810), p. v.

224  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World c­ ampaign was developed following 1807 in the build-­up to the EIC Charter Act debate, beginning with an extended article entitled ‘Design of Providence Respecting India’ in 1808, followed by the ‘Probable Design of Providence in subjecting India to Great Britain’ in 1809, and a review of Claudius Buchanan’s sermon ‘The Star in the East’.29 Initially framed in the defensive, in 1810 the Christian Observer’s stated aim was to ‘erect some barrier to the unwarranted attacks of a body of men, invested with the armour of supposed local knowledge, upon the Missionaries of Christianity in the East’.30 By 1811, profiles of activity in India were prioritized in the various intelligence sections, and Henry Martyn’s ‘Appeal for 900  000 Christians in India’ was reviewed. In 1812, an extended essay by ‘A Christian’ was published, ‘On the Duty of Great Britain to Christianize India’, which extensively cited the work of Lord Teignmouth, as well as further pieces rebutting arguments for the status quo.31 The editorial campaign peaked in the early months of 1813, as the Bill was being debated in Parliament, with the religious intelligence section being dominated by Indian themes—­ juggernaut, idolatry, translations of religious texts into local languages, and new schools in Calcutta—­the publication of a review of Buchanan’s Colonial Ecclesiastical Establishments, and an essay ‘On Christianizing India’.32 Smaller campaigns were also continued over some years, with the cause of chimney-­sweeps being raised periodically through a combination of report­ ing on the ac­tiv­ities of the Society for superseding the necessity of Climbing Boys and the reprinting of repeated anecdotes of the dangers and miseries of the life of the boys involved.33 Macaulay had gained the editorship in typically Claphamite fashion: at a dinner at Wilberforce’s home, about which the latter wrote in his diary, ‘Dined at home. Ludlam, Henry Thornton, Stephen, &c. Talked about Sierra Leone, and in the evening about Christian Observer. Fixed Macaulay should take management. He, Pearson, and Babington with us.’34 In keeping with Macaulay’s conception of what constituted the aim of ‘supply[ing] a sort of stage, on which the production of pious and cultivated minds might be dis­ played to the public’,35 over its first decade, books reviewed included most 29  Christian Observer (1808), pp. 645, 702; (1809), pp. 220, 297ff. 30  Christian Observer (1810), pp. v–­vi. 31  Christian Observer (1811), pp. 1, 642–9; (1812), pp. 261–72, 353–6. 32  Christian Observer (1813), pp. 148–9, 239–53, 255–63. 33  Christian Observer (1810), pp. 181, 614. Strange, Climbing Boys. See Peter Kirby’s com­ ment on the effect of this in the public imagination (Child Labour in Britain, 1750–1870 (2003), pp. 19–20, n. 2). 34  Life of Wilberforce, iii, p. 43: 26 Mar. 1802. 35  Christian Observer (1810), p. v.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   225 of those authored by members of the Clapham Sect, including Teignmouth’s Memoirs of Sir William Jones, Milner’s Church History, and works by Gisborne, Babington, and Wilberforce. Macaulay’s own networks, devel­ oped through his work with the SLC and on the committees of the Bible Society, CMS, African Institution, and German Relief Committee, helped in gathering correspondence about the progress of philanthropy, though as important in this process was his exhaustive capacity for reading and research, with much of the supplementary material drawn from secondary sources. In contrast, the accession of Samuel Charles Wilks (1789–1872) to the editorship in 1816 coincided with the fruition of the expansion undergone by leading philanthropic organizations in the preceding decade. Wilks was born into a family well immersed in philanthropic networks—­his father and grandfather having both worked for the EIC at Leadenhall Street, and having been active in philanthropic societies during the second half of the eighteenth century.36 With Macaulay’s attention absorbed by his expanding business interests and continued anti-­slavery work, Wilks became in effect the lead house writer for Claphamite philanthropy: publishing two volumes of Christian Essays dedicated to Hannah More in 1817, essays in favour of missions (1819) and of an Established Church (1821), a sermon on The Duty of Prompt and Complete Abolition of Colonial Slavery in 1830, and memoirs of Basil Woodd (1831) and Lord Teignmouth (1835). Reflecting the broadening of the philanthropic nexus, under Wilks’s edit­ or­ship the Christian Observer became less a roving spotlight, and more a survey of wider philanthropy. In 1821, the first summary ‘Receipts of the Principal Religious Charities’ was published, covering fifteen organizations for that year, totalling more than £295,000. In the following year’s accounts, thirty-­one societies were listed, representing £351,000 in income.37 Arguing for systematic reporting, ‘A Friend to Simplicity’ wrote in 1822 some ‘hints respecting the qualities which ought to characterize a Report of a religious and charitable society’, as ‘this class of compositions is at present very numerous’, and ‘few persons comparatively can find time to read the Reports’.38 During Wilks’s early editorship, the Christian Observer became much more consistent in profiling philanthropic endeavours over longer periods. For example, under Macaulay the Christian Observer had reported 36 Bowen, Business of Empire, pp. 140–1. 37  Christian Observer (1821), p. 530; (1823), p. 458. 38  Christian Observer (1822), pp. 221–3.

226  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World on the founding of an academy in Paris for the ‘Deaf and Dumb’ in 1802, but this area of philanthropic activity was then ignored until Wilks pub­ lished short pieces in 1818 and 1819 on deaf education and sign language.39 In the publishing world, accounts of specific societies or fields of philan­ thropic activity multiplied. John Owen published a history of the BFBS in 1816, Josiah Pratt, as secretary to the CMS, launched the Missionary Register in 1813, and the first monthly Anti-­Slavery Reporter came out under Zachary Macaulay’s editorship in 1825. The shifting geographical focus of reporting provides a record of phil­an­ thropy’s changing global networks. Maps 6.1 to 6.5 show the locations over five-­year periods of correspondents mentioned in the magazine where they can be positively determined, and places named by correspondents as part of either first-­hand accounts, or reporting from a second-­degree cor­res­ pond­ent.40 They show an early reliance on a small number of cor­res­pond­ ents concentrated in anglophone territories, and in places with active philanthropic or missionary communities in that period—­Sierra Leone, South Africa, India, and Sydney being examples.41 By 1807–11, ongoing missionary expansion, especially in the Pacific, Western Africa, Southern Africa, and in India, can be seen, as can the expansion of Bible Society con­ nections in both northern and southern Europe. By 1812–16, the end of the wars led to an explosion of reporting from the continent, particularly as national Bible societies were founded and attempts to include provisions against the slave trade in the peace process resulted in increased cor­res­ pond­ence between the Clapham Sect and continental travellers and friends. The EIC charter campaign led to a proliferation of reporting of Indian social and cultural conditions. Geopolitical shifts were also implicitly represented. By the early 1810s, British naval supremacy in the Mediterranean opened the way for greater coverage of the eastern Sea and the Middle East. A fur­ ther spreading of the geographical range is shown in 1822–6, but fewer dense clusters, as reporting became less reliant on personal networks and more synoptic. The transnational dimensions of philanthropy were also increasingly being integrated into the work of metropolitan societies. In 1803, religious 39  Christian Observer (1802), p. 190; (1818), pp. 784–6; (1819), pp. 646–8; (1824), pp. 226–8. 40  As has been mentioned, successive editors’ reliance on trustworthy correspondents in particular regions meant that information was frequently passed through two degrees of separation. 41  The northern European connections also appear to have been facilitated, though now indirectly, by ongoing involvement in trade.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   227

Map 6.1  Correspondents and informants of the Christian Observer, 1802–6

228  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World

Map 6.2  Correspondents and informants of the Christian Observer, 1807–11

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   229

Map 6.3  Correspondents and informants of the Christian Observer, 1812–16

230  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World

Map 6.4  Correspondents and informants of the Christian Observer, 1817–21

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   231

Map 6.5  Correspondents and informants of the Christian Observer, 1822–6

232  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World intelligence from outside Britain covered between one and five pages monthly, and in no month covered more than three foreign regions. Ten years later in 1813, the section ranged between three and eight pages monthly, and, although it often covered multiple regions, was limited each month to the work of between one and five societies. By 1823, the section was never less than four pages long, and often exceeded ten pages in a given month, covering several regions and societies in abstract, with an extensive appendix summarizing the annual reports of thirteen societies. By 1833, the scope of activity had become so vast that a separate ‘religious intelligence’ section had been largely abandoned, appearing in only three months of that year.42 Instead, ‘miscellaneous communications’, which had hitherto con­ tained most of the extended discussions of foreign philanthropy, had now been merged into the main section of the magazine, effectively acknowledg­ ing the degree to which transnational philanthropy had become normative. While in the Christian Observer’s early years, reporting on any one region had relied entirely on a particular society, and was therefore shaped by the peculiar emphasis of that society, by the late 1810s regional surveys docu­ mented constellations of local projects, and local societies. The relationship between societies and the Christian Observer, as well as other similar publi­ cations, also changed. Wilks was not a regular attendee of philanthropic committee meetings, nor did he have Macaulay’s networks or experience. The magazine’s sources were therefore increasingly mediated by the profes­ sional secretaries of societies. Written largely to an audience awakened to philanthropic aims, and cover­ing, even synoptically, a diverse range of philanthropic projects, phil­an­throp­ists developed in the Christian Observer a central rhetoric of ‘unanimity’. This served first to smooth over the differences between the various groupings that supported philanthropic projects. Regarding dis­ senters, Henry Thornton’s wife Marianne wrote, ‘They are not to be driven or argued with, but gently led to acquiesce in sentiments which terminate in principles differing from their own. It is in this way that Mr T has laboured at them in the Christian Observer.’43 This approach reflected the style and intellectual assumptions of the Clapham Sect, particularly their focus on trust-­building. So, Thomas Babington, speaking at the forma­ tion of the Leicester Auxiliary Bible Society, proclaimed: 42  Although a much more selective ‘supplement’ at the end of most months included short commentaries on the annual reports of different societies. 43  CUL Thornton Papers 1/N, fos. 250–2.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   233 the example of the metropolis has been followed in several of our principal towns and cities, and there is room to hope that similar Institutions will, ere long, be formed in every part of the kingdom. . . . Its formation will, we trust, constitute a new æra in the history of Religion, which may be styled the Æra of Unanimity. It affords a rallying point for the piety of the age.44

These claims of univocality and their historical meaning, aimed to preserve in the philanthropic public the unity that was in fact fraying even within the directorates of the philanthropic nexus. However, even during the 1810s in which it was most prominent, unanimity no longer reflected the social or economic realities within the philanthropic nexus or between London and the growing network of auxiliaries.

6.2  New Centres, New Fault Lines In 1823, the Christian Observer reported the establishment of a ‘Religious and Charitable Societies’ House’, set up as a separate trust, to provide office space, committee rooms, and library services to new philanthropic so­ci­ eties.45 This was followed quickly by the formation of a society in 1824 to raise £20,000 for the construction of a building to house 3,000 people for the anniversary meetings of major societies. Opened in 1831 as Exeter Hall, the building became a metonym for Evangelical philanthropy during subse­ quent decades, hosting the annual general meetings of flagship societies.46 The provisional committee of twenty-­seven behind the Hall included repre­ sentatives of the committees of most of London’s philanthropic societies, but no members of the Clapham Sect or their children. The Exeter Hall project showed how metropolitan philanthropy now lacked a singular dis­ tinctive cultural voice, but was increasingly a coalition whose members held strong conflicting convictions. The four MPs on this list, while all very close to Wilberforce, represented the different ecclesiological and political direc­ tions that philanthropists were taking: Sir George Rose was a Privy Councillor and remained staunchly loyal to the government during the 1820s, Sir Thomas Baring remained a Whig but became associated during 44  Christian Observer (1810), p. 185. 45  Christian Observer (1823), pp. 736–7. 46  See ‘Plan of an Association for erecting and superintending a Building in which the Meetings of Religious and Charitable Institutions may be held’, in Norris, Origin, Progress, pp. cliv–­clix. Diarmid A. Finnegan, ‘Exeter-­Hall Science and Evangelical Rhetoric in Mid-­ Victorian Britain’, Journal of Victorian Culture, 16(1) (2011), pp. 46–64.

234  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World the 1830s with the Recordites, Sir Robert Harry Inglis was notable for his high Toryism, and Joseph Butterworth remained a Methodist, and opposed Catholic emancipation. The list also included Henry Drummond, absent from Parliament at the time, but a key figure in the Irvingite movement, and William Allen, a leading Quaker.47 Bankers remained prominent—­Baring, Allen, Drummond, W. M. Forster, and W. A. Hankey were all partners in major banking concerns, and others were involved in finance and insur­ ance. Joseph Butterworth and John Hatchard were leading booksellers, and major publishers of philanthropic literature. In contrast to the nexus during the eighteenth century, philanthropy was the primary—­in some cases the only—­point of connection between directors. Their reach into the world of philanthropy derived from being the metropole’s leading representatives of different identity and interest groups within philanthropy—­a kind of phil­ anthropic parliament—­rather than as the intersection points of het­ero­ge­ neous networks themselves. For the wider public, philanthropy’s associational machinery, which might have been encountered sporadically during the eighteenth century, was now nearly impossible to avoid. In London or elsewhere, constellations of auxiliaries managed by local variations on the interlocking directorates raised money, coordinated volunteers, and disseminated literature, and drew an increasing number into their ambit—­often having imbibed some variation on the philanthropic global vision. Perhaps the most salient example of this can be seen in inquiry letters to the CMS from prospective mission­ aries. While in its first decade, the CMS had struggled to find recruits, by the 1820s volunteers from a wide variety of social backgrounds were offer­ ing their services to the secretary.48 Common to the life narratives of these applicants was an imagination shaped by attendance at Sunday school, reading missionary magazines, and other points of engagement with phil­ anthropic societies. Missionary expansion from the 1810s recruited heavily from those formed by philanthropic societies from the 1780s. Where Exeter Hall represented a reassertion of a kind of federal nexus of philanthropic communities, diversity within auxiliary societies, and within the new philanthropically minded reading public created by publications like the Christian Observer led to a proliferation of different voices. No longer debated behind closed doors in close-­knit committees and at small 47  Bradley, ‘Politics of Godliness’, pp. 276–85. 48  Brian Stanley, The Bible and the Flag: Protestant Missions and British Imperialism in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries (Leicester, 1990), pp. 78–81.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   235 social gatherings, the issues raised by these voices were aired publicly, and were raised as controversies by committee members at meetings whose pro­ ceedings were distributed in print, shattering any facade of unanimity. The Abolition Society of the 1780s had been able to conduct its debates over strategy largely within the association’s membership. They were opposed publicly in print, but not subject to broad and persistent critiques from friends who differed on strategy.49 During the 1790s and 1800s, dissension within abolitionist ranks came largely from disillusioned individual activ­ ists. By the 1820s, however, membership of auxiliary committees greatly expanded the pool of those with both the inclination and credibility to criti­ cize central committees. Elizabeth Heyrick’s Immediate, not gradual abolition, published in 1824, epitomized this new climate. Heyrick had established a public voice during the 1800s by imitating aspects of other contemporary philanthropic writing, adapting the premonitory tone and domestic tropes of writers such as Hannah More. By the 1820s, she was gar­ nering support for immediate emancipation, working with her own net­ works inside organized anti-­slavery, particularly among ladies’ auxiliaries, at odds with Anti-­Slavery directors in London, who responded slowly to these new voices. A similar structural phenomenon occurred within the Bible Society. Originally perceived as the most unified of Christian endeavours, for its simple project of distributing the Bible ‘without note or comment’. By the mid-­1820s, it too experienced significant internal rupture over the inclu­ sion of the Apocrypha in bibles printed for Lutheran and Catholic countries on the continent.50 This contest between pragmatists and purists led to first the secession of Scottish and some English auxiliaries, and then after attempts to establish a doctrinal test, the formation of the competing Trinitarian Bible Society in 1831.51 While it is tempting to frame the contro­ versy only in sectarian terms, it must also be located within the tensions that had existed between the parent society and auxiliaries since the system’s inception in the first decade of the century. Local societies initially saw themselves as operating independently, interacting with the central

49  See David Turley’s distinction between the ‘arguments in common’ of the 1780s and the ‘tensions’ within the anti-­slavery movement in the 1830s, Turley, Culture, pp. 17, 94–101. 50  For an account of the earlier controversy with the SPCK, see Owen, History of the BFBS (1816), i, pp. xiiff. 51  David Turley’s description of Anti-­Slavery as devolving into ‘contending sects more con­ cerned with maintaining their own kinds of purity than achieving anything practical’ might have been written about the Bible Society (Culture, p. 99).

236  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World committee to buy bibles, but remitting money and support by local initia­ tive. The systemization of the auxiliary system, with its centralization of financial control, did little to prevent local committees making public repre­ sentations of views that might differ from those of the parent committee. Local activists could and did build their own platforms and followings through auxiliary committees. This dynamic was already present during the early 1810s, primarily in Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Dublin auxiliaries, and it took only the voices of sympathetic members of the central committee—­ primarily Robert Haldane, who had strong connections to Scotland—­to boil over into full-­blown controversy. A third aspect of this kind of fracturing can be seen in the emergence of new cultural voices and schools competing within and against Evangelicalism. While the story of the hardening of an Evangelical party, and the similarly partisan reactions of its ecclesiastical and political op­pon­ ents, has been well told, the eclipse of the privileged cultural voice that had evolved during the late eighteenth century specifically within philanthropy had significant implications. As has been seen, recognition of common cul­ tural sensibilities was critical to the persistence of philanthropic networks—­ distinguishing those who had travelled to the far reaches of British influence for philanthropic purposes from those around them. The conscious adop­ tion of collaborative techniques by groups such as the Hackney Phalanx in the 1810s, the Recordites in the 1820s and the Irvingites and Oxford Movement in the 1830s, as well as the solidification of the Simeonites at Cambridge as a source of Evangelical intellectual life and activism, created new centres that generated their own audiences. The vast materiel produced by societies was also increasingly standardized, with society reports taking on a homogeneity in tone and content.52 Patterns of cultural patronage within Evangelicalism changed during this period as well. By the end of the first quarter of the nineteenth century, patronage was now almost entirely moderated through institutions, and through access to the audiences that these institutions gathered. Donations by wealthy philanthropists to so­ci­ eties also largely superseded those given to individual activists and entrepreneurs.

52  The BFBS distributed ‘specimen reports’ to its auxiliaries, formalizing layout and content, in addition to a rulebook with suggested templates for meeting agendas, accounting practices and constitutions. Dudley, System, pp. 89–94.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   237 These shifts can be seen in Figures 6.1 and 6.2 which show changes in the interconnectivity between society directorates between 1815 and 1825.53 Whereas in 1815 the high connectivity of directors of religious societies such as the CMS and PBHS was matched by that of the African Institution and Bettering Society, by 1825 the predominance of the Evangelical party can be clearly seen in the relative density of connections between the CMS,

Figure 6.1  The philanthropic nexus, c.1815 53  The thirty-­six names shown for 1815 and thirty-­one names for 1825 are those directors who belonged to three or more committees, from total pools of 456 in 1815 and 377 in 1825. The list of societies has been adjusted to account for changes in societies. The Anti-­Slavery Society, founded in 1823, supplanted much of the work of the African Institution, as did the British and Foreign Philanthropic Society for the Philanthropic Society. The committees of newly founded societies, such as the Prison Discipline and Mendicity, also give a better account of the most active directors, in contrast to longer-­standing committees such as that of the LSPCJ where activity had slowed.

238  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World

Figure 6.2  The philanthropic nexus, c.1825

BFBS, and PBHS, and in the strong ties between these societies and the pro­ visional committee of Exeter Hall. In 1825, there was little commonality in personnel between those societies that aimed at different models of moral reform—­the Vice, Mendicity, and Prison Discipline Societies—­but rather each was separately linked to a different subset of directors of the religious societies. Philanthropists without a religious agenda were still integral to the nexus in 1815; by 1825, they were marginal. The names of merchants and bankers still appeared in great numbers on committees, but these usually served on only one, and, by 1825, there was no discernible collaborative group arising from prior commercial sociability. The relative decline of the Baltic trade from its peak in the 1790s and the consolidation of London banking houses after the peak of 1810 diminished the features of these contexts that had previously sustained strong traditions of philanthropic

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   239 collaboration, and the strength of the sociability of the philanthropic core largely precluded the emergence of new independent traditions. The effects of the auxiliary model on metropolitan connectivity are also suggested by comparing the African Institution of 1815, which operated without aux­il­ iar­ies, and the Anti-­Slavery Society of 1825, which relied on them. While a minority of Anti-­Slavery directors, including Wilberforce, Macaulay, and Babington, served on other boards and thus provided links to other philan­ thropic societies, the majority had been invited for their political influence or for their connections to particular regions or communities. The shared rhetoric within philanthropic networks at this time, including that of ‘una­ nimity’, may have been in part a response to this overall thinning of con­ nectivity in London.54 No single grouping of directors possessed the cohesion or the numerical strength to effectively influence multiple com­ mittees, as the Clapham Sect had done as late as the early 1810s, and so cooperation and sharing between societies with very different missional priorities waned. These changes illustrate a major shift in the ways in which phil­an­throp­ ists operated as committee members. As late as 1815, many committees were still essentially collaborative bodies, meeting to share the workload of administration. By 1825, most of their time was spent on governance and policy. In part, this was a consequence of scale. The Mendicity Society had in the seven years between its foundation in 1818 and 1825 assisted more than 20,000 street beggars, and distributed more than 192,000 meals.55 Of the total annual budget of £3,685, more than £1,500 was spent on direct staffing costs, including salaries.56 In part, this shift in function was a result of the professionalization of philanthropic administration. In the CMS report of 1812, for example, nearly all of the organizational activity was described as being performed collectively by the ‘Committee’ or by deputa­ tions of committee members, with the sole exception being the Secretary’s calling of a special general meeting. In contrast, in the report of 1825, most of the ancillary activity recorded was the work of the three secretaries, the ‘Official Agents of the Society’, and of other paid professionals. Within each society, the language of unanimity now reflected a shift to a form of

54  Those directors by 1825 who were most connected, including Wilberforce, Sir Thomas Baring, Dudley Ryder, and Thomas Babington, were less involved in organizational manage­ ment, acting more as elder statesmen. 55  Seventh Report of the Society for the Suppression of Mendicity (1825), p. iii. 56  Ibid., p. 31.

240  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World col­lect­ive governance rather than collaborative action, with initiatives largely arising from professional offers—­an important shift in how philanthropic directors understood their role within organizations.

6.3  New Career Paths The generational transition within the leadership of philanthropic societies that began in the 1810s, hastened by the early deaths of John Venn and Henry Thornton, and by the continuing decline of Wilberforce’s health, cre­ ated new opportunities for the children of the Clapham Sect and their peers. However, unlike their fathers, for whom the coming of age in philanthropic societies had been one step in a path of vocational formation, this new gen­ eration found the path to influence within the philanthropic nexus much more crowded, and complicated by elevated expectations. The larger com­ mittees and reliance on professional secretaries and clerks for the manage­ ment of the day-­to-­day running of societies created fewer opportunities for young men to distinguish themselves through service as junior committee members. Conversely, the expansion in committee size was largely from the elevation of a large number of vice presidents drawn from the upper classes and older philanthropists. These formed a respectable elite and added pres­ tige to proceedings, but left little space for younger philanthropists to create a reputation through innovative activism. The practice of having philan­ thropic elders as vice presidents created new dynamics, as committees of younger activists had to contend in decision making with the added dimen­ sion of considering the views of their seniors. The growing fundraising machines of these societies, and their promotional engines, also ensured that new societies had to actively compete for space and attention, unless they were able to co-­opt existing machinery. By the 1820s, where newly formed societies did rise to national prominence, it was largely with the support of existing societies or the explicit blessing of their committees. Mass membership turned annual meetings into stage-­managed public rela­ tions events, with dignitaries on stage facing audiences, and speaking slots carefully allocated. Here, opportunities did exist for young men to raise their profiles, with a good platform speech marking one’s coming of age as a philanthropist in much the same way as it did for Members of Parliament.57 57  Ian Bradley, The Call to Seriousness: The Evangelical Impact on the Victorians (Oxford, 2006), pp. 138–44.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   241 The younger Charles Grant gave a ‘speech of distinguished ability’ to the Bible Society in 1816, five years before he joined the committee,58 and Charles Shore, offered a chance to speak at the same meeting as the son of the president, ‘rejoiced in the opportunity now afforded him of giving his public testimony’ in favour of the Society.59 The workload of philanthropic societies also increased significantly in this period, and became increasingly burdensome to those whose profes­ sional life or financial resources did not sufficiently free them from workday obligations. Unlike the philanthropic societies of the 1760s or 1780s, these meetings were not being held explicitly within a context of wider commer­ cial and religious sociability. They were no longer held at public houses con­ venient to banks and merchant houses, nor were they timed to avoid encroaching too heavily on office hours. In January 1807, the committee of the Bible Society met once, with twenty-­seven committee members in attendance.60 Twenty years later, in January 1827, the committee met four times, with between thirty-­two and fifty-­eight members present, and up to fourteen visitors at one meeting.61 The meeting in 1807 generated six pages of minutes, whereas a typical meeting in January 1827 required eighteen. The overall trend was for committee business increasingly to derive not from the individual initiative of committee members, but from issues and policy questions raised by the secretaries and agents, and the kind of detailed and lengthy discussions that had a generation before deepened social connection were increasingly being delegated to small committees of specialists. Thus, a young man could no longer easily come to the notice of leading committee members by developing in a specialist domain. The diaries of philanthropists also show this shift—­as meetings took longer, individuals attended fewer meetings overall, and for fewer societies. Attending a different society committee daily, as some leading phil­an­throp­ists, includ­ ing many of the Clapham Sect, had been able to achieve even as late as the early 1800s, became impossible. Among this generation the behavioural distinction between those who had come to see philanthropy as a vocation, and those for whom phil­an­ thropy was incumbent upon wealth and social standing remained distinct, though it was complicated in several ways. Many children of active phil­an­ throp­ ists of the late eighteenth century found themselves without the

58  Christian Observer (1816), p. 401. 59  Ibid., p. 399. 60  CUL BSA B1/3, fo. 1. 61  CUL BSA B1/16, fo. 338–74.

242  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World financial independence to devote themselves as their parents had to the various societies. This was especially true for sons whose fathers had ­prioritized their philanthropic work to the detriment of family finances. Henry Sykes Thornton on joining his father’s banking firm as partner in 1825, found the house heavily compromised by poor investments made by other partners during periods when Henry senior’s attention had been diverted away from the business. Though Henry Sykes Thornton’s financial career was saved by the timely intervention by friends of his father when the bank was forced to stop during the crisis of that year, his obligations to his siblings forced him to rebuild his fortunes, and proscribed him committing his time to significant involvement in philanthropic committees.62 Even less fortunate were the younger sons without significant inheritance. Both John Venn junior and Charles Babington used their family connections to seek patronage for careers in India, and a number of others sought careers in the church.63 By comparison, John Thornton the younger (1783–1861), eldest son of Samuel Thornton, and therefore cousin of Henry Sykes Thornton, found financial security like his father in the Baltic trade, and continued in the footsteps of his father, uncle, and grandfather, serving as treasurer of at least eight so­ci­eties. In 1807 he married Eliza Parry, daughter of Edward Parry of the EIC, and joined the Court of Assistants of the Russia Company in 1810. For the younger John Thornton’s fellow Assistants at the Russia Company, most of whom were from prominent merchant families, philanthropic involvement was patchy. A small number, such as Isaac Solly,64 served on the committees of multiple societies, but the majority appear only infre­ quently in donor lists, and then contributing in entirely conventional ways—­donating standard amounts alongside their social peers. Claude George Thornton, for example, son of Godfrey Thornton, was a steward and donor to the Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, but his name does not appear

62 See ‘Henry Sykes Thornton’, Three Banks Review, 69 (1966), pp. 29–37, especially pp.  32–3. Thornton’s absence from committees was temporary, and once re-­established in financial security, he, like his father, acted as treasurer for philanthropic societies. See, for example, his involvement in the Association for Promoting the General Welfare of the Blind, founded in 1854. Frances Martin, Elizabeth Gilbert and Her Work for the Blind (1887), p. 101. 63 BL IOR J/1/33/374–80; Babington 20/40, Charles Grant to Thomas Babington, 14 Apr. 1823. 64  (1769–1853). Solly appears to have been an example of a wealthy and commercially con­ nected man whose patronage and associational involvement was individual, not as part of a collective. See his obituary in The Christian reformer, or, Unitarian magazine and review, 9 (1853), pp. 259–61.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   243 on any committee lists.65 Andrew Henry Thomson, from one of the wealthi­ est Russia trade families, who was related to both the Sumner and Barclay families, does not appear to have served on any committees. Similarly, James Brogden, whose father John had been an early and significant donor and steward for the Book Society, appears to have donated to local causes in his home town of Narborough, but no other records of philanthropy have been found.66 Those Assistants whose names do appear on philanthropic committees were those where family involvement in philanthropy coin­ cided with strong religious faith—­as it did for the Raikes, Forsters, and John Thornton senior’s branch of the Thornton family. Younger men who sustained family traditions of philanthropy had grown up socializing primarily with the children of other leading philanthropists. Most of the boys of the Clapham Sect, for example, had studied under William Greaves, before continuing study under a small set of private tutors and commencing at Cambridge. Henry Venn junior, Charles Shore, Francis Baring, George Robert Smith, and others met as a weekly Debating Society during the 1810s and early 1820s at the house of William King.67 Their friendship circle was intentionally modelled on their parents’ experience, and encouraged them as they pursued careers in philanthropy. Henry Venn developed the policy of indigenization that transformed the CMS from the 1840s, and William King promoted the principle of cooperatives as a means for the working classes to achieve economic self-­sufficiency. Yet their sup­ port derived from existing philanthropists and did not draw new social networks into their projects. The need to support themselves, coupled with a desire to ‘do good’, led many of the children of philanthropists to seek careers in fields of public service that might give them opportunities to further philanthropic causes. The most prominent example of these, James Stephen (1789–1859), ­­had taken the role of legal adviser to the Colonial Office in 1813, with a view to assist efforts to ameliorate the conditions of slaves through reviewing and commenting on all acts passed by colonial legislatures.68 This sentiment continued to guide his career, as he took up a permanent position at the

65  List of the Governors and Officers of the Asylum for the Support and Education of the Deaf and Dumb Children of the Poor (1817), p. 177; (1821), p. 180. 66  James Cracraft, ‘James Brogden in Russia 1787–1788’, Slavonic and East European Review, 47(108) (Jan. 1969), p. 1. 67 Venn, Annals, p. 157. 68 See Paul Knaplund, James Stephen and the British Colonial System 1813–1847 (Madison, 1953).

244  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Colonial Office in 1823,69 writing to a cousin in 1829 that he would only consider leaving it if ‘the slaves wanted no more aid, or that there was no longer any opportunity for me to be useful to them’.70 Stephen’s own immer­ sion in the world of philanthropy was thorough, having been raised amidst the Clapham Sect and having served on the committee of the CMS, he attracted a deserved reputation as ‘a partisan in favour of the Abolition of Slavery’.71 An able lawyer and administrator, Stephen was instrumental in the administrative reform of the Colonial Office under the leadership of Robert Wilmot-­Horton,72 which replaced those clerks who were capable of little more than ‘transcribing Despatches and other papers . . . for younger men, who would be able to execute intellectual as well as manual labour’.73 In his evolving role, which culminated in appointment as permanent under-­ secretary in 1836, he also provided a ‘philosophical’ perspective on the wider business of empire, becoming one of what Charles Greville called those ‘few obscure men of energy and ability’ who controlled the depart­ ments of government.74 Though Stephen’s Evangelicalism was not typical of his colleagues on the permanent staff, several of the most capable of them shared his humanitar­ ian leanings, including Henry Taylor (1800–86), senior clerk for the West Indies. Taylor’s comments later in life on the Colonial Office’s role in anti-­ slavery activism are worth quoting at length, for their illustration of the interactions between official servants, activists, philanthropic publications, and public sentiment: in the Colonial Office we knew what we were about. We had established protectors of slaves in the few colonies in which we had legislative power; they made their half-­yearly reports in which every outrage and enormity perpetrated on the slaves was duly detailed . . . we wrote despatches in answer, careful and cautious in their tone, but distinctly marking each atrocity, and bringing its salient points into the light; we laid the reports and despatches before Parliament as fast as they were received and writ­ ten; Zachary Macaulay forthwith transferred them to the pages of his 69 For a fuller account of the beginnings of Stephen’s permanent employment, see D. M. Young, The Colonial Office in the Early Nineteenth Century (1961), pp. 58–61. 70 Stephen, Life, p. 16. 71  Wellington, 1829, quoted in Young, Colonial Office, p. 113. 72  Ibid., p. 115, argues that Stephen and Wilmot-­Horton had planned the reforms together, and that Stephen’s subsequent changes were made ‘with a view to continuing the improvement in administrative organization’. 73  Ibid., pp. 64–5. 74  Ibid., p. 258.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   245 ‘Monthly Anti-­Slavery Reporter,’ by which they were circulated far and wide through the country; the howlings and wailings of the saints were seen to be supported by unquestionable facts officially authenticated; the cry of the country for the abolition of slavery waxed louder every year.75

The implication that officials saw themselves in their professional lives as an integral part of a wider philanthropic machinery, reflects a development in the relationship between philanthropy and the state.76 Philanthropy aimed at the inside-­out transformation of the machinery of empire—­repurposing it to align with philanthropic ends by making its capabilities serve philan­ thropic organizations. While clerks were usually appointed through govern­ ment patronage,77 Stephen had some hiring latitude, especially after 1836, and frequently appointed those with strong connections to the intersecting worlds of Evangelicalism and philanthropy. Of the nine clerks appointed in the first years of Stephen’s under-­secretaryship to 1840, three had connec­ tions to noble families, but five came from Evangelical families closely linked to the Clapham Sect. Herbert Venn Stephen was his son, John Hensleigh Allen came from a family closely associated with the Wedgwoods, William Dealtry was the son of the Rector of Clapham, Edward Pennington was the churchwarden of Holy Trinity Clapham,78 and Charles Forbes Septimus Money’s family had strong links to both Evangelicalism and the EIC.79 Though younger clerks had little direct input into policy, their cumu­ lative effect in the Colonial Office, under the direction of sympathetic lead­ ers, contributed to the humanitarian climate in the Office, and to philanthropy’s influence on the categories and processes of colonial administration. Horton and Stephen’s administrative reforms in the 1820s owed much to the world view of philanthropy. They reorganized the responsibilities of the new senior clerks into four nominally geographical areas, for Eastern, North American, Mediterranean, and West Indies colonies, but the responsibilities of each section seems to have derived from the priorities of philanthropy. Sierra Leone and other sites where slavery continued to dominate colonial priorities were included in the West Indian portfolio. In two further areas, Stephen’s influence in the Colonial Office appears to owe much to his

75  Henry Taylor, Autobiography of Henry Taylor, 1800–1875, 2 vols. (1885), i, pp. 122–3. 76 Andrew, Philanthropy, p. 4. 77  See discussion in Young, Colonial Office, pp. 96–8. 78 J. W. Grover, Old Clapham (1892), pp. 80–1. 79  See Atkins, ‘Wilberforce and His Milieux’, p. 140.

246  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World background in associational philanthropy. In drafting instructions to colo­ nial governors, he brought the lessons of the CMS and SLC to bear, allowing local discretion within clear principles, and requiring frequent standardized reporting and accounting.80 In his management of the office itself, Stephen modelled administrative practices on philanthropic patterns.81 The office staff operated with a ‘sense of Social equality’ with underlings free to bypass the chain of command to speed up decision-­making, on the understanding that all was recorded and duly reported.82 Stephen’s position within the Colonial Office, under highly sympathetic political oversight in Lord Glenelg, Earl Grey, and others, led to philan­ thropic ideals suffusing official policy, especially during the 1830s. Separate studies of the crisis in the Cape Colony, the Aborigines’ Select Committee, the formation of the Aborigines’ Protection Society, colonial policy on the Gold Coast, and the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, have all affirmed the strong humanitarian tendencies of the Office, which was expressed in attempts to extend legal protection to indigenous peoples, especially as to land, and in articulations of ‘dual mandates’ in instructions to governors.83 However, interactions during these episodes between officials, politicians, and philanthropic societies show how philanthropic networks were losing cohesion. Stephen’s pattern of information-­gathering, reliant on sustained, friendly, and confidential correspondence, differed from the more formal style of reporting preferred by associational secretaries. Local cor­res­pond­ ents were reporting formally to the secretaries of relevant societies, including Dandeson Coates of the CMS or Thomas Hodgkin of the APS, though Stephen still received correspondence through personal channels.84 By the late 1830s, many of those with personal ties to the philanthropic nexus had died or retired, leaving Stephen more reliant on formal information channels. In the machinery of government and the branches of the civil service, these philanthropists were positioned to effect change that did not rely on 80 Young, Colonial Office, p. 73. 81 See further discussion of Stephen’s ‘information revolution’ in Laidlaw, Colonial Connections, pp. 169–87. For a comparative account of the EIC’s administrative practices, see Bowen, Business of Empire, pp. 151–81. 82 Young, Colonial Office, p. 99. 83  Peter Adams, Fatal Necessity: British Intervention in New Zealand, 1830–1847 (Auckland, 1977), pp. 33–48; Elbourne, Blood Ground; George  R.  Mellor, British Imperial Trusteeship, 1783–1850 (1951). 84  An excellent example of this is in Thomas Buxton’s forwarding of information from John Philip in the Cape Colony to Stephen during 1834–7, which, as Laidlaw points out, contrasted with the ‘infrequent, sparse and combative’ despatches from Governor D’Urban, leading the Colonial Office to rely more heavily on these informal channels of information. Laidlaw, ‘Aunt Anna’s Report’, p. 4.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   247 associational structures, and this was increasingly the means by which phil­ anthropic and humanitarian ideals had transnational effect. During the 1830s, the major victories for transnational philanthropists—­in constrain­ ing the worst excesses of the post-­emancipation apprenticeship scheme, in limiting the spread of war in the Cape Colony, and in the protections extended to New Zealand Māori under the Treaty of Waitangi—­were compromises worked out by philanthropically minded officials, though still informed by the information networks of chaplains, missionaries, and others.

6.4  Philanthropy and History By the 1840s, the emergence in Britain over the previous generation of a philanthropic ‘eleemosynary government’, with a global vision and trans­ nation­al presence, appeared to many as a kind of moral and cultural ­mir­acle—­a divine intervention through human agency to create and ­repurpose an infrastructure that would bring blessing to the whole of humanity. By celebrating the role of individuals and small collectives such as the Clapham Sect, a narrative was cultivated which abstracted philanthropic action from its roots, and placed it solely within a wider context of duty to humanity and to God. Unlike earlier merchant or religious philanthropists, whose philan­ thropic work had been understood by their direct successors as a response to success within a particular commercial community or arising from per­ ceptions of faithfulness to a particular tradition or religious vocation, the motivation of the generation of the Clapham Sect was remembered by their immediate heirs in relation to expansive global needs. As a corol­ lary, each founding of a flagship philanthropic society was conceived of as a historical inauguration, dividing the era of slavery from that of free­ dom, the era of global heathenism from that of spreading global Christianity, and the era of ignorance from that of improving knowledge and moral literacy. Within Evangelicalism these perspectives coalesced in a turn to the writing of individual hagiographies and of new forms of religious historiography wherein faith and faithful action were lauded for their beneficial effects on behalf of others.85 More generally, the individ­ ual biographies of philanthropy were appropriated by those framing

85 I have written elsewhere about these: Roshan Allpress, ‘William Wilberforce & “the Saints” ’, in Gareth Atkins (ed.), Making and Remaking Saints in Nineteenth-­Century Britain (Manchester, 2016).

248  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World patriotic and imperial narratives, often as a way of adding a moral or ­teleological gloss to economic and social innovations.86 This turn relied on a new basic narrative shape for philanthropy, in which philanthropists moved from developing new socio-­economic systems that would both relieve and prevent suffering, to plans to stamp out entire cat­ egor­ies of human affliction, and to transform entire cultures, markets, and states. Efforts in the 1750s and 1760s on behalf of children, including the Foundling Hospital and the Marine Society, aimed to create sustainable sys­ tems to draw children out of poverty into moral sociability and usefulness. In contrast, in 1803 the Climbing Boys Society labelled itself a society ‘for superseding the necessity of Climbing Boys, by encouraging a new method of sweeping chimnies, and improving the condition of children and others employed by chimney sweepers’.87 The primary objective of the latter soci­ ety was to incentivize ‘such an invention as shall cleanse Chimnies . . . and which shall be equally cheap and convenient, so as to render the adoption general’.88 The account of the Magdalen Hospital explained in 1770 that ‘there will always be brothels and prostitutes . . . Any attempt to prevent this evil, would be no less impossible than impolitic . . . yet surely there is no necessity, that . . . the unhappy women assigned to this base service, should endure all the extremities of misery . . . as if they were not fellow-­creatures’.89 However, the Guardian Society, founded in 1815, set about ‘affording to such of them [prostituted women] as are destitute employment and relief ’, and sought to gain ‘a considerable knowledge of the various sources of the evil’, so that they might change the conditions by which women resorted to prostitution.90 By the early nineteenth century, even those new societies that might reasonably be assumed to continue indefinitely, such as the Bible Society or the Vice Society included in their publications the idea that if their plans were properly prosecuted, they too might no longer be needed. Connected to millennial understandings, especially in the case of mission­ ary societies whose ultimate success would entail global conversion, this imaginative framework was historical, not necessarily eschatological. It was in this vein that the Christian Observer first called its survey of intelligence the ‘historical department’. The importance of the passing of the Slave Trade Act to this shift cannot be easily overstated. Abolition entailed a very visible 86 J.  R.  Oldfield, Chords of freedom: Commemoration, Ritual and British Transatlantic Slavery (Manchester, 2007), especially pp. 33–87. 87  Society for Superseding the Necessity of Climbing Boys (1803). 88  Ibid., p. 15. 89  An Account of the Rise, Progress, and Present State of the Magdalen Hospital (1770), p. 1. 90  Report of the Provisional Committee of the Guardian Society (1816), pp. i, 9.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   249 success—­the persuading of the legislature marking a historical turn after which it was assumed that slavery would diminish. Samuel Romilly’s remarks in the House of Commons on the passing of the Act included ‘an eloquent representation of the gratitude the vote of this night would call forth from posterity’.91 Philanthropists now not only sought to do good: they sought to change history. As philanthropic societies matured during the first decades of the nine­ teenth century, their promoters conscientiously advanced tailored versions of this vision. According to an 1811 account of the African Institution in The Philanthropist, the abolition of the slave trade had served to ‘remove the barrier which has so long obstructed the natural course of social improve­ ment in Africa; and thus open a way for introducing the comforts and arts of a more civilized state of society’.92 The Anti-­Slavery Society claimed ‘in taking the field against Colonial Slavery’ that they ‘proceed under the con­ duct of the same veteran Champions who had first led the battle against the African Slave Trade, and who had pursued it to its final extinction’.93 The Bible Society had caused ‘the light of Revelation’ to ‘[burst] forth . . . to con­ sole, and cheer, and animate the universal family of man’,94 and John Owen, after listing over three pages the names of the places from Europe to Australasia where the Bible Society had operated, ended by quoting Wilberforce’s speech that ‘the Institution . . . is productive of individual improvement and comfort, of domestic peace and happiness, of social delight and enjoyment; and that it goes on enlarging its sphere, till it enlightens kingdoms, and forms the cement of political society . . . the world at length becomes too narrow for its operations’.95 Even those societies with more modest aims of relieving local suffering, such as the Spitalfields Institution, wrote in 1816 that ‘employment is the only permanent and effectual remedy for the evils they deplore . . . they will be thankful for any suggestions that may tend to open new channels for labour. But in the mean time the liberal aid of charity . . . [is] urgently required, to alleviate the hor­ rors of the approaching winter’.96 Because of the importance of agency in effecting these changes, philan­ thropic memorialization began with biographical accounts of exemplary 91  Hansard, 1st series, 1807, viii, 978: 23 Feb. 1807. 92  The Philanthropist, 1 (1811), p. 44. 93  Report of the Committee of the Society for the Mitigation and Gradual Abolition of Slavery (1824), p. 2. 94 Dudley, System, p. i. 95 Owen, History of the BFBS, iii, pp. 510–11. 96  Report of the Spitalfields Association (1816), p. 20.

250  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World philanthropists. Four in particular across the period illustrate the changes in how philanthropy was understood and remembered. Henry Venn’s 1776 biography of Sir John Barnard offered an account of one of the key mem­ bers of the philanthropic nexus of 1760 who intersected both mercantile and religious philanthropy, and was prominent in City governance.97 Venn’s aim was to foster an ‘affectionate reverence for his memory’, and to ‘excite an imitation’, towards which he described Barnard’s ‘various plans of public utility, originally proposed by him, or vigorously promoted’, concluding that ‘his ruling intention was to prove a permanent benefactor to society’.98 While Venn was attentive to how Barnard’s work left an indelible mark on London and Britain, and insistent that Barnard’s example offered a better model for societal leadership, there was no account of significant social change beyond his effects on individual lives.99 A quarter-­century later, The Love of Christ the source of genuine philanthropy, a memorial published after the death of John Thornton, made a similar case: this friend of mankind, in the exercise of his beneficence, not only con­ tributed his money . . . but he devoted his time and thoughts very much to the same object; doing good was the great business of his life, and may more properly be said to have been his occupation, than even his mercan­ tile engagements, which were uniformly considered as subservient to that nobler design . . . his commerce itself was oftentimes an introduction to the knowledge of the wants, calamities, and deplorable condition of mankind in distant regions of the earth; and a medium through which to communi­ cate to their necessities.100

While John Thornton was held up as an exemplar of one led to make phil­ an­thropy his vocation, there was very little by way of celebrating the effects of his work. Instead the memorial concluded, ‘Even our degenerate times may boast of a Howard, and a Thornton, who in different ways have caused astonished multitudes to applaud their disinterested, and generous philanthropy’.101 By 1835, when Samuel Charles Wilks published a memoir of Lord Teignmouth as a preface to a reprint of the latter’s Memoirs of Sir William Jones, he argued that while Teignmouth’s life ‘presented interesting ma­ter­ials for biography . . . as a Statesman’ and ‘his character and conduct furnish a 97 Venn, Memoirs. 98  Ibid., pp. 2, 9, 12. 99  Ibid., p. 9. 100  The Love of Christ the source of genuine philanthropy, pp. 8–9.

101  Ibid., p. 48.

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   251 picture which deserves contemplation’,102 the true justification for the appearance of a biography was to record his philanthropic work ‘in the soci­ ety of men distinguished for talent, philanthropy, and piety . . . [by which he] contributed much to accelerate that moral revolution which is gradually and successfully extending its progress throughout the world’.103 Wilks asked his reader to begin by ‘looking back . . . at the circumstances of the times . . . [when] India was almost hermetically sealed against Christian mis­ sionaries . . . the circulation of the Holy Scriptures . . . was opposed’, and to imagine Teignmouth ‘triumphing over the general prejudice . . . contending for the wisdom, duty, and safety of that great experiment’,104 and ultimately succeeding in an Ecclesiastical Establishment for India, as well as the gen­ eral ‘history of . . . triumphs’ of the Bible Society.105 This new relationship between the philanthropist and society was epitomized in Sir James Stephen’s Essays in Ecclesiastical Biography. Written originally as essays for the Edinburgh Review, Stephen’s accounts of William Wilberforce and of the Clapham Sect, from which the structure of their subsequent hagiographical treatment by historians until the mid-­twentieth century derived, emerged from the conviction that these philanthropists had inaugurated a new his­ torical era for Britain. He had previously expressed this view to Thomas Babington in 1833, writing months after Wilberforce’s death that: I can scarcely forego the Conviction that great Changes in human Society are impending, and that the greatest of all, will consist in a growing Conformity between the Laws of God and the Policy of man. I have often thought what noble a topic W.  Wilberforce’s Biographer would have, in tracing the Extent to which his Life and Labours had conduced to that result.106

In approaching this biographical task himself, Stephen emphasized the caus­al­ity between these philanthropists and the reforms that they sought, as well as the ennobling influence on British society and identity. In his sweep­ ing rhetoric, the philanthropic societies that were founded, and the projects that were attempted, were not merely new pillars to the institutional frame­ work of British national and imperial society, nor were they continuing operations to ameliorate systemic faults. Rather, they represented a new 102  John Shore and Samuel Charles Wilks, Memoirs of the life, writings, and correspondence of Sir William Jones, 2 vols. (1835), i, pp. 3–4. 103  Ibid., p. 12. 104  Ibid., pp. 50–3. 105  Ibid., p. 35. 106  Wren, 20 fo. 87: Sir James Stephen to Thomas Babington, 14 Oct. 1833.

252  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World historical category of society: Christian, wealthy, global, and directed towards the flourishing of humanity. By the end of the 1830s, philanthropy suffused public and private life in the British world. A cursory survey of contemporary publications of the 1820s and 1830s reveals countless encomiums such as William Seward Hall’s allegory of The empire of philanthropy, which proclaimed: Divine Philanthropy, arise! Ascend a high imperial throne, And make th’ extensive world thine own; . . . The jubilating congregation join, To welcome in the Philanthropic Reign!107

More sombre was Thomas Chalmers who had written in the previous year that philanthropists and public men suffered from ‘a blinded imagination’ making it ‘difficult to say whether the cause of philanthropy has suffered more from the temerity of projectors, or from the phlegmatic inertness of men, who, unable to discriminate between the experimental and the vision­ ary, are alike determined to despise all and to resist all’.108 This tension between generous imagination and cautious reality, between global human­ ity and local auxiliaries, between unanimously acclaimed rhetoric and the practical difficulties of managing people and projects, was perhaps best diagnosed in William Hazlitt’s less-­than-­flattering portrait of Wilberforce in The spirit of the age.109 Stopping short of accusing Wilberforce of hypocrisy, Hazlitt nevertheless ascribed ‘mixed motives’ to the philanthropist.110 Hazlitt’s Wilberforce was caught between the desire to do right and the desire to maintain the ‘fair fame’—with ‘loyal and pious’ supporters, gov­ ernment, and the general public—­that undergirded his influence. What Hazlitt wrote of Wilberforce was truer of the philanthropic directorate in

107  William Seward Hall, The empire of philanthropy. With a portraiture of British excellence (1822), p. 6. 108  Thomas Chalmers, The Christian and civic economy of large towns, 3 vols. (1821–6), ii, p. 299. 109  William Hazlitt, The spirit of the age (2nd edn, 1825), pp. 324–30. This is not to comment on the fairness of Hazlitt’s portrait of the man, but rather on Wilberforce as synecdoche for the philanthropic world. 110  Ibid., p. 327: ‘A hypocrite is one who is the very reverse of, or who despises the character he pretends to be: Mr. Wilberforce would be all that he pretends to be, and he is it in fact, as far as words, plausible theories, good inclinations, and easy services go.’

‘ Teach Mercy to Ten Thousand Hearts ’   253 general. They had tried to carve out between the institutions of the British world, ‘a sort of no-­man’s ground of humanity . . . [where] reputation for benevolence and public spirit may spring up and flourish, till its head touches the clouds, and it stretches out its branches to the farthest part of the earth’.111 The reality was that as transnational networks flourished and philanthropic societies grew larger and more capable, they abutted and intersected the British imperial state. The sense of philanthropic vocation cultivated in the eighteenth century was commodified by societies compet­ ing to expand their base of support. The language of philanthropy became a commonplace in narratives of empire and nation, leaving, if not the ‘great Changes in human Society’ hoped for by Stephen, at least an enduring imprint on the public imagination.

111  Ibid., p. 326. Pointedly alluding to Nebuchadnezzar’s dream of a tree in Daniel iv.

  Conclusion The swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind, Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands, A rich deposit, on the bordering lands (William Cowper, 1782)1 In November 1813, Thomas Babington (1758–1837), MP for Leicester, took a short break from London before the opening of a new parliamentary session to visit with friends in Emberton. While there he made a personal pilgrimage to nearby Olney and Weston Underwood to see the places where the poet William Cowper (1731–1800) had lived and found inspiration.2 Babington wrote to his wife: How poetic pictures often change their colour when compared with the real scenes from which they are taken; or rather how different are the impressions made by the scenes in the pictures . . . I had great pleasure in finding myself in his favourite walk, in walking in the long Avenue of Limes described by him, in sitting in his alcove, in turning my eye on his ‘rustic Bridges’.

Although Cowper’s house was, to Babington’s eyes, ‘clumsy & uncouth’ and ‘an anti-­poetic place of residence’, he found the visit deeply moving for the contrast between the humble, ‘human’ setting, and the ‘poetic fire’ by which Cowper had influenced ‘in no small degree the fate of others of his species during endless ages by the use he made of his time & faculties during his short residence here’.3 In taking the time to reflect on the ‘real scenes’ of the philanthropic poet’s life, Babington had interrupted a busy week of

1  William Cowper, ‘Charity’, Poems: by William Cowper, of the Inner Temple, Esq (1782), pp. 180–211, p. 192. 2  See Thomas Wright, The loved haunts of Cowper (1894). 3  Wren, 14b, fos. 188–91: Thomas Babington to Jean Babington, 3, 5–6, and 8 Nov. 1813. British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World: Entrepreneurs and Evangelicals, 1756–1840. Roshan Allpress, Oxford University Press. © Roshan Allpress 2023. DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198887195.003.0008

Conclusion  255 attendance at philanthropic committee meetings.4 However, there was a further symbolism to his visit. As a friend and correspondent of many in the philanthropic nexus, Cowper’s poetry had played a significant role in inspiring the shared vision of the movement—­in imaginatively linking Britain’s growing prosperity and imperial reach with benevolence on behalf of global humanity. Both men—­the rural poet and the gentleman activist—­ were acutely aware of the degree to which the philanthropic impulse, including its expansive rhetoric and associational vitality, was built on the inner life and social networks of the philanthropist, and on the tension between a globalizing vision and what Babington described as the ‘little world that passed along . . . under his windows’.5 From its emergence as a distinct movement and vocation in the middle of the eighteenth century, philanthropy has existed in tension between the individual and the global; between the desire to see social change, and the means of effecting this on behalf of others. By experimenting with imaginative and organizational ways to bridge this duality, philanthropists created a cultural tradition. From the 1750s, philanthropic entrepreneurs, exemplified by John Thornton, intersected mercantile and religious networks, and drew together the distinctive strengths of these networks into an evolving organizational model. Evangelical networks—­comprising local clerical societies linked together by a small number of highly connected clergymen and lay patrons—­were uniquely positioned to cultivate and disseminate experiments in philanthropy at a parish level, allowing local philanthropic experiments to be refined by repetition, and provided contexts for the fostering of a common cultural sensibility. Merchant communities possessed the resources and networks to support more ambitious philanthropic projects, to build sustainable institutions, to fund the production of formative cultural material, and to aid dissemination. Within London, a small group of these entrepreneurs formed a new wave of philanthropic societies beginning with the Marine Society in 1756, creating a nexus of directors whose interactions led to transfers and innovations in the organization of philanthropic projects. A significant subset of this nexus were merchants involved in the Russia Company—­participants in a collaborative, voluntarist internal culture, benefiting from a confluence of favourable conditions in the 4  Freya Johnston, ‘William Cowper, the Task’, in Christine Gerrard (ed.), A Companion to Eighteenth-­Century Poetry (Oxford, 2006), pp. 316–28; Joanne Tong, ‘ “Pity for the Poor Africans”: William Cowper and the Limits of Abolitionist Affect’, in Stephen Ahern (ed.), Affect and Abolition in the Anglo-­Atlantic, 1770–1830 (Farnham, 2013), pp. 129–50. 5  Wren, 14b, fo. 191.

256  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World Baltic trade. They developed philanthropic organizational practices that closely mirrored their distinctive practices in trade. Some of those involved in this nexus began to imagine philanthropy as their primary vocation, devoting greater time and energy to philanthropic efforts, but also going beyond mere recruitment in actively fostering philanthropic instincts in others. The intergenerational traditions of merchant families, particularly those of a cluster deriving from Yorkshire, coupled with Evangelical patterns of conversion and formation, and with the Russia Company’s distinctive internal culture, provided a powerful engine for the intergenerational transfer of philanthropy. During the late 1760s, growth in the banking sector sparked short-­lived attempts to formalize mechanisms of fundraising beyond the use of the personal accounts of directors, and also led to experimentation in transnational philanthropy, although both of these temporary moves were cut short by the credit crisis of 1772–3 and the outbreak of war with the American col­ onies. Nevertheless, the philanthropic nexus grew to include directors of newly formed City banking houses, many of whom had originally built up their capital through merchant trade in the Baltic. This began a shift away from funds remitted entirely through personal networks, towards a greater systemization of fundraising beyond the ceilings implied by the social networks of society directorates. During the 1770s, the integration of religious and mercantile philanthropic networks progressed, with several clusters of directors emerging who bridged different philanthropic endeavours of the kind that had been conducted separately two decades prior. From the 1780s, the expansion of philanthropic societies that has usually been attributed to Britain’s post-­war reorientation was built on new patterns of organization that had solidified over the preceding decade. Simultaneously, younger philanthropists who had been exposed to formation in philanthropic ­culture during childhood, especially within Evangelical circles, came of age and began filling the boards of a wave of new societies. During the 1780s, an influential cluster of philanthropists gathered around the Thornton family and their Evangelical friends and banking associates in the village of Clapham outside London. These were uniquely positioned to exercise a coordinating role within the philanthropic nexus, and did so for nearly two decades, guiding the priorities of associational philanthropy and demonstrating the potential of collective activism. During this period, philanthropy was shaped by the intellectual and cultural vision of the Clapham Sect, and particularly by their innovative conception of the operation of trust in society, derived from attempts to reconcile the

Conclusion  257 relationship between the individual and society on bases other than self-­ interest or external duty. The Clapham Sect also oversaw a series of experiments in transnational philanthropy, turning dispersed networks within the British world to the development of a common model for the support of projects and philanthropic employees at distance, that drew on elements of chartered companies and religious networks. By the first decade of the nineteenth century, the confluence of banking and philanthropy, centred on the Clapham Sect, also saw the repurposing of the relationships between London banks and country affiliates to the creation of nationwide networks of auxiliary societies. From the mid-­1810s, auxiliary networks greatly increased the resources available to metropolitan philanthropy, supporting an exponential increase in expenditure on philanthropic projects and mobilization for reforming ends. However, the consequent expansion of the community of those involved in philanthropy led to first the diffusion and then the fracturing of consensus within philanthropic circles. With the Clapham Sect diminished by deaths and dispersal and no longer coordinating the efforts of multiple societies, and with new distinct clusters of philanthropists emerging, each with their own idiosyncratic agendas, philanthropic societies found it increasingly difficult to maintain unity within their ranks. Between 1815 and 1825 the philanthropic directorate increasingly became dominated by those whose primary networks were others involved in philanthropy, and opportunities for innovation by entrepreneurs outside the established ­centre were diminished by the scale of activity and the necessity for new organizations to compete in what had become a crowded marketplace. Increasing religious partisanship in response to the relative dominance of Evangelicalism, and the redirection of attention towards maintaining auxiliary networks and sustaining transnational projects also diluted the cohesion of the metropolitan nexus. During this period too, philanthropic societies engaged in transnational philanthropy increasingly centralized their administrative control, integrating the lessons learned from earlier experiments into a singular organizational model. Philanthropists found wider audiences for the picture of the world constructed from these experiments and the information gleaned from the transnational networks that facilitated them. Thus, philanthropic societies became a pervasive source of global imagination within the British world, as philanthropists themselves found new avenues beyond organized societies to pursue their ends, with mixed success in shaping the institutions that mediated the global British world.

258  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World This reworked chronology partially refocuses attention away from the major shifts in Britain’s global and domestic situation during this period. The opportunities available to philanthropic entrepreneurs were as much conditioned by shifts in the financial sector and by changes in related cultural production and dissemination, as they were by the tone, preoccupations, and fitful expansion of the public sphere. Philanthropy grew because of innovations in organizational techniques and through the cultivation of a shared imaginative and intellectual framework, both of which drew on sources external to philanthropic networks but familiar to leading phil­an­ throp­ists. These emphases have present-­day relevance to debates about the conditions under which social entrepreneurship can flourish and effect beneficial change, as they expose the importance of entrepreneurial and experimental processes to the creation of effective philanthropic organizations, and the critical necessity of personal formation to the flourishing of integrated networks. This story is one that reveals the importance of what went on inside philanthropic networks and organizations, and in the inner lives of phil­an­ throp­ ists. Philanthropy was not a closed system, but the social and organizational structures within philanthropic networks facilitated the creation of new possibilities by drawing together in creative proximity directors with very different experiences and resources. Philanthropists were able to adapt features from mercantile, banking, and religious sources, and turn them to their own purposes. The shifting interactions between different clusters of philanthropists, within the metropolitan nexus, and interlinked throughout the British world, drove the development of the movement, and created patterns of social change and for-­purpose organization that have continued in subsequent generations. Mapping the social connections of directors also helps to fill out the relational picture of philanthropy. The resulting account relies less on retrospectives of ­ Victorian Evangelicals or the recollections of domestic biographers as a starting point, and therefore draws a more complete picture of the ­characteristics of philanthropists and of the intergenerational relational worlds of groups like the Clapham Sect. The self-­conceptions and daily practices of vocational philanthropists were as important to the flourishing and transmission of philanthropy as the public rhetoric by which their ends were promoted. In the transitions between the pious merchants of the 1750s, the Clapham Sect of the 1790s and the Society secretaries and imperial administrators of the 1830s, traditions were maintained and transmitted. While collective memories were

Conclusion  259 continually reinterpreted, the experiences of earlier generations still had purchase on the imaginations of their grandchildren and other successors. The motivations and decisions of philanthropists of later generations can only be fully understood by looking at this evolving tradition, as it existed within London, the United Kingdom, and the wider British world. Similarly, the expansive world view that philanthropists and humanitarians presented in print and from pulpits and platforms during the 1820s and 1830s, was genealogically related to the intellectual and cultural synthesis developed in Clapham during the 1790s and 1800s, and earlier, to the cultural preferences and liturgical practices of philanthropists in the second half of the eighteenth century. Attention to the internal culture of philanthropic networks highlights continuities in the significance that philanthropists assigned to their work, complementing accounts of their shifting mo­tiv­ ations. It also preserves both the pervasiveness of religious concerns within philanthropic discourse, and the importance of specific commercial competencies, especially those relating to the credit networks of ­merchants or bankers, which allowed philanthropists to build effective organizations. Some weeks after the death of William Wilberforce in 1833, Sir James Stephen wrote to Thomas Babington: As the shadows grow longer, and the evening of this transient existence closes in upon us, the hopes which then draw nearer their accomplishment must be greatly sustained by the Recollections of such a friend. In him you have a Proof of the truth and the value of the Principles on which you so long acted together, which it was impossible to possess with equal force and distinctness while you and he were younger. For the happiness of your own immediate Circles, I trust it may yet please God to give a prolongation of life, but whenever it shall be his pleasure to call you to himself, it will be to be reunited to the fellow Labourers in his Service, who have gone before you. There are children and grandchildren to follow in their appointed Order, many of whom have been confidently guided by your Counsels and animated by your Example to engage in the same Warfare with Evil from without and from within, in which your lamented friend was made more than conqueror. With such Prospects, and with such remembrances, I should esteem you a very happy man even if the pressure of bodily infirmity were more severe than it is. It has however been the gracious dispensation of Providence, not only to keep round you those whom you have loved the best and the longest, but to impart to you

260  British Philanthropy in the Globalizing World a Serenity of Mind and a sleepless interest in all that concerns the Happiness of your fellow creatures, which are still more fertile sources of Enjoyment.6

To Stephen and to the other children of the Clapham Sect, the 1830s represented the ending of a historical moment as the last of the leading lights among those who had shared in the labours and fellowship around the Common passed away. In 1845, he wrote to his wife, ‘Oh where are the ­people who are at once really religious, and really cultivated in heart and in understanding—­the people with whom we could associate as our fathers used to associate with each other. No “Clapham Sect” nowadays!’7 Ironically, while accurately pointing to many of the features of the phil­ an­thropy of Clapham—­intergenerationality, the dynamic between inner life and outer activism, and an enjoyment of collaborative work on behalf of others—­Stephen’s longing for the fellowship in which he spent his childhood has served to obscure in historiography the very diversity in the origins of philanthropic networks that led to the vitality and wide-­ranging influence of the Clapham Sect. The emerging tradition of philanthropy was a product of the dinners of the Russia Company, the discussions of Evangelical clerical societies, and of small gatherings at the fringes of empire, as it was of the ‘cabinet’ meetings at Battersea Rise. John Thornton tallying accounts on the back of committee reports in his warehouse office in the 1750s, or William Cowper in his den, aiming to inspire through his poems a philanthropic vocation in others, could scarcely have imagined what Thomas Chalmers called in 1821 ‘that philanthropy which moves on the elevated walk of city committees, and great national societies’,8 or a gathering of North East Hampshire auxiliary Bible Society members writing of their participation in ‘a Society, the limits of whose operations are the limits of the globe’.9 Yet philanthropy did grow, and in its subsequent influence, deserves consideration among the major cultural traditions of the 6  Ibid., 20, fo. 87: 14 Oct. 1833. Stephen’s letter may have been prompted by the first anniversary of his own father’s death four days previous. Earlier in the letter he had written: My own disposition to communicate with you and with the rest of the now quickly contracting Circle of those whom I have revered and loved from my Childhood, as my own and my father’s friends, is constantly checked, by the necessity under which I labour of sparing my Eyes to the utmost possible extent. 7  Sir James Stephen to Jane Catherine Stephen, 15 Jan. 1845, quoted in Stephen, Sir James Stephen, p. 87. 8 Chalmers, Christian and civic economy, ii, p. 62. 9  Report of the Proceedings of the North East Hants Auxiliary Bible Society (1813), pp. 59–60.

Conclusion  261 modern anglophone world. These different scenes are snapshots of the complex personally engaged philanthropy of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, that existed as much in the minds as in the organizations of those united in their vocational intent to pursue social change on behalf of global humanity.

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Index For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Abolition of the Slave Trade  47–8, 81–6, 107–9, 120–1, 123, 126–9, 139–40, 145, 160–3, 191, 221–5, 248–9 see also Anti-Slavery Act for the Abolition of the Slave Trade (1807)  128–9, 248–9 Society for Effecting the  81–7, 107–11, 197–9, 235–6 Aborigines’ Protection  1, 7–8, 219–21 Society  7–8, 246 Parliamentary Select Committee on Aboriginal Tribes  2, 219–21, 246 Academies see African Academy see Dissenting Academies Admiralty, see Navy Africa  20–1, 50–1, 86, 159, 161–2, 175–6, 191–210, 215–16, 219–21, 226 African Academy (African School)  53n.93, 210 African Institution  237 Anti-Slavery  7–8, 47–8, 85–6, 120–1, 139–40, 145, 160–3, 225, 243–5 see also Abolition of the Slave Trade see also African Institution General Anti-Slavery Convention 1 Reporter  196–7, 225–6 Society  2–3, 196–7, 238 Slavery Abolition Act (1833) 2 Arminian  35–6, 47n.72, 142n.3, 164–5 associational culture  3–4, 6–7, 9–12, 14, 19, 24, 38–44, 49–51, 57, 111–34, 167–72, 188, 234–5, 245–7, 254–7 Astrakhan  210, 222–3 Australasia  23, 249 Australia  175, 181–3, 196–7, 209–10, 219–21, 226 auxiliary societies  2–3, 86–100, 116–17, 125–31, 159, 200, 206–8, 214–15, 218–19, 232, 234–9, 256–7, 260–1

Baltic Trade  19–20, 29–31, 44–5, 58–62, 64–6, 76–7, 105–6, 116–17, 128–9, 180–1, 191–4, 210, 237–9, 241–2, 255–6 see also Russia Company banks, bankers  7, 11, 31, 50–1, 58–100, 107–10, 116–17, 124–5, 148, 150–9, 191–3, 214–15, 234, 237–9, 241–2, 256–9 Bank of England (BoE)  76–81, 113–15, 124–5, 128–9, 155–6 bankruptcy  74–5, 163n.92 Baptist Missionary Society (BMS)  187–8, 204–5, 208, 213–14 Battersea Rise  103–7, 113n.36, 115–16, 123, 131–8, 260–1 Bell, educational system, see Monitorial system Bengal  20–1, 23, 144–5, 175–6, 184–90, 207–8, 210–12, 214–15 Bettering Society  10–11, 21–2, 86–8, 128–31, 134–5, 141, 237–9 Bible Society, British and Foreign (BFBS)  1–3, 16–17, 34–5, 74–5, 86–8, 90–9, 110–11, 116–17, 124–6, 128–32, 159, 168–9, 201–2, 202n.106, 205, 207–8, 215–16, 224–6, 232–3, 235–41, 248–51, 260–1 see also Naval and Military Bible Society Birmingham  40–2, 45–7, 91–2 Board (Society, Company), see Director Book Society, Society for the Promotion of Religious Knowledge Among the Poor (SPRK)  49–51, 72–5, 79–82, 89–90, 95, 107–9, 116–17, 242–3 Botany Bay  181–3, 194n.74, 204–5 see also Sydney, Australia Bristol  36–7, 84n.91, 85–6, 94, 204–5 British and Foreign Bible Society, see Bible Society Buxton Report, see Aborigines’ Protection

300 index Calcutta  54–5, 176, 181–2, 184–90, 207–14, 223–4 Calvinism  35–6, 47n.72, 142n.3, 164–5, 197–8 Cambridge  40–2, 45–7, 139–40, 167–8, 170n.130, 181–2, 187–8, 211–13, 236, 243 Cambridge Evangelicals  170n.130, 181–2, 187–8, 194 Cape Colony  246–7 Chair (company), see Director Chapels  18–19, 43–5, 202–3 Chaplain, chaplaincy  33, 51, 93, 180–3, 186–7, 193–5, 211–12, 246–7 Cheddar, Somerset  137–8 Chimney Sweeps  51, 78–9, 88, 110–11, 117–18, 181, 223–5, 237–8, 248–9 Church Missionary Society (CMS)  13–14, 54–5, 74–5, 87–9, 93–5, 97–9, 110–11, 116–17, 126–7, 131–2, 168–9, 175, 179–80, 182–3, 187–8, 190n.55, 196–7, 201–13, 215–16, 221–2, 225–6, 234, 237–40, 243–6 Christian Observer  13, 23, 115–16, 131–2, 142n.1, 146n.15, 165–6, 168–9, 196–7, 218–35, 248–9 civilization, civilizing  16–17, 126–7, 182–3, 199–200, 202–3, 212–13, 219–21, 249 see also stadial theory Clearing House, London  77–8, 107, 109–10, 154–5 Climbing Boys, see Chimney Sweeps Colonial Office  16–17, 20–1, 168–9, 180–1, 218–21, 240–7 colonization, colonial, colonies  11–12, 15–17, 23, 65–6, 71–2, 75, 120–1, 138–9, 161–3, 168–9, 176–207, 211–16, 218–21, 223–4, 243–4, 246–7, 249 conversion  6–7, 33–6, 52, 54–5, 111–12, 149, 165–6, 171, 178–9, 184–8, 222–3, 248–9, 255–6 Correspondence, see Information networks Dartmouth College, see Indian Charity School Deaf and Dumb Asylum 242–3 Education 225–6 death  10, 40, 116–17, 137–8, 166–7, 249–50, 259–60 see also memorialization

Debt  47–8, 128–9, 147–8, 163n.92, 171 Society for the Discharge and Relief of Persons Imprisoned for Small Debts (Small Debts Society)  79–82, 107–9 devotional study  18–19, 48, 52–4, 167–8 Director (Society, Company), directorates, boards  4, 6, 12–13, 22, 34–5, 38–9, 57, 107–11, 113–15, 117–18, 125–7, 139–41, 148, 150–9, 175–6, 179–82, 184–5, 191–200, 205–6, 209–10, 212–15, 218, 233–5, 237–9, 252–3, 255–8 Dissenting Academies  74–5 Diwanni 65–6 Domesticity, domestic piety  14, 48, 50–4, 104–7, 115–17, 133–6, 166–8, 235–6, 258 see also Family Dublin  84–5, 236 East India Company (EIC)  15–16, 63–4, 66–8, 106–7, 113–15, 123–5, 177–81, 184–90, 193–4, 207–16, 242–3, 245 Charter(s)  106–7, 123, 179–80, 212–14, 222–4, 226 Eclectic Society  36–7, 105–6, 188, 201–2, 221–2 Edinburgh  94, 117–18, 125–6, 134–5, 197–8, 235–6 Education  27–8, 37–8, 43–6, 71–2, 75, 130–1, 165–8, 175, 178–80, 186, 191–3, 197–200, 203, 207–9, 214–15, 222–3, 225–6 Elland Society  36–7, 40–2, 181–2 Emancipation, see Anti-Slavery Empire  3–4, 7–8, 16–17, 21–2, 58–9, 65–6, 111–12, 175–81, 214–15, 218–21, 243–5, 247–8, 251–5, 258–61 Emulation 166–7 Enquiry into the nature and effects of the Paper Credit of Great Britain, Henry Thornton  77–8, 143–5, 150–9, 168–9 Evangelical, Evangelicalism networks  22–3, 28–51, 54–5, 59–60, 63, 82–3, 104–10, 113–15, 127–8, 139–40, 180–1, 183, 236, 256–7 relationship to philanthropy  6–7, 10–14, 28–9, 31 Revival  6–7, 22, 33–4, 47–8 theology  143, 145, 152–3, 170, 223 Exeter Hall, The Strand  1, 4, 7–8, 11–12, 233–5, 237–9

index  301 Family  18–20, 22–3, 28–38, 104–7, 113–16, 133–4, 138–41 In Anti-Slavery thought  161–2 Business and partnerships  28–38, 58–9, 63, 66–7, 113–15, 124–6, 241–3 Education within  52–6, 165–7 Networks  2, 18–19, 22, 27–42, 45–6, 52, 58–9, 66–7, 73–4, 79–80, 85–6, 93–7, 107–11, 116–17, 132–3, 143–4, 179–81, 219–21, 225 Tradition  4, 6, 29, 38–9, 43–4, 48, 69–70, 103–4, 115–16, 126–7, 245, 255–6 see also Domesticity fashionable congregations  28–9, 105–6 Financial Revolution  7, 58–9, 76–7, 86–100, 155–6, 171 Foundling Hospital  38–40, 60–2, 67–71, 84–5, 87–8, 95, 185n.34, 248–9 Freetown, Sierra Leone  195–8 French Prisoners of War, Committee for Cloathing  60–3, 69–70 French Revolution  15–16, 22, 169 Germans, Germany  29–31, 64–5, 64n.21, 71–2, 124–5, 138–40, 185–6, 204–5, 224–5 Glasgow  91, 94, 125–6, 236 Good Samaritan (parable)  12–13, 39–40 Governor (company), see Director Governor (colonial)  180–3, 186–7, 196–8, 203, 207–8, 245–6 Hackney Phalanx  139–40, 236 Haileybury College  209–10 Haldanes 131–2 Halle  49–50, 207–8 Hamburg  29–31, 64–5, 117n.48, 124–5 Historiography 247–53 Holy Trinity, Clapham  104–7, 111–12, 126–7, 133–4, 245 Huddersfield  33–4, 44–5 Huguenots  19–20, 37–8, 59–60, 63, 107–9 Hull  29–32, 34–5, 40–5, 125–6, 186–7, 197n.85 Humanitarian, humanitarianism  7–8, 16–17, 219–33, 245–7, 258–9 Humanity  1, 4–7, 12–13, 16–18, 24, 35–6, 39–40, 164–5, 187–8, 198–9, 203, 222–3, 247–8, 251–5, 260–1

Hume, David (moral philosophy)  145–7, 152–6 Hymns, hymnology  21–2, 27–8, 47–50 Imperial, Imperialism, see Empire Improvement, improving  11, 18n.65, 22–3, 52–6, 123, 126–7, 148, 162n.87, 203, 212–14, 244n.73, 247–9 Indian Charity School  73–5, 77–8, 90, 178–9, 190, 204–5 Indigenous peoples  1, 7–8, 51, 123, 176, 178–9, 182–3, 196–200, 204–5, 208–9, 219–21, 246 see also Aborigines’ Protection information networks  11–12, 18–21, 23, 29–31, 33–4, 36–7, 40–51, 68–9, 84–5, 90, 93, 119–20, 123–9, 131–2, 140–1, 152n.44, 155–6, 158–9, 175–6, 177n.6, 184–5, 187–8, 199–200, 202–3, 205, 213–15, 217–23, 226–32, 246, 248–9 Intergenerational  2, 4, 6–7, 12–13, 21–2, 29–32, 52–5, 57–9, 86, 99–100, 138–9, 171, 218–19, 255–6, 258, 260–1 Intelligence, see information networks Irvingites  233–4, 236 Joint stock  58–9, 66–7, 76–7, 148 Kingston-upon-Hull, see Hull Lancaster, educational system, see Monitorial system Levant Company  66–7, 93–5, 190 Lock Asylum  83–4 Locke, John (political economic thought)  4–5, 152–6, 168–70 London Clearing House, see Clearing House London Missionary Society (LMS)  200, 204–5 Lottery 171–2 Lutherans  71–2, 184–5, 236 Lying-In Hospital  51, 60–3, 67–8 Magdalen Hospital  60–3, 67–70, 81–3, 89–90, 107–9, 248–9 Malda, Bengal  186, 204–5 Manners  120–1, 149–50 Societies for the Reformation of  6–7, 38–9, 69–70 Māori  175, 207–10, 246–7

302 index Marine Society  1–3, 10, 12–13, 16–17, 35–6, 39–40, 51–2, 60–3, 67–71, 84–5, 109–11, 124–5, 128–9, 138n.140, 177–8, 248–9, 255–6 memorialization  7–8, 111–12, 249–50 Mendicity Society  181, 237–40 merchants, mercantile networks  1, 6–7, 19–20, 22–3, 28–32, 34–5, 38–9, 43–7, 50–7, 104–5, 107, 109–11, 124–6, 128–9, 132–3, 138–9, 150–9, 177–202, 240–7, 258–9 Methodism, Methodists  109–10, 120–1, 123, 125–6, 131–2, 197n.85, 204–5, 233–4 see also Wesleyan Missionary Society Minutes, minute-taking, minute books  22–3, 50–1, 67–9, 73–4, 91–2, 110–11, 131–2, 205–6, 215–16, 241 Missions  1, 16–17, 23, 75, 123, 184–210, 212–16, 218–19, 225 Missiology  16–17, 23, 168–9 Missionaries  178–9, 181–2, 185–6, 190, 196–7, 201–3, 209–10, 221–4, 226, 234, 246–7 Mission societies  13–14, 54–5, 61, 72–3, 82, 87–8, 91, 110–11, 125–6, 130–1, 168–9, 175–7, 182–3, 187–8, 200, 208, 227, 238, 248–9 monetary theory  150–9 see also Enquiry into the nature and effects of the Paper Credit of Great Britain Monitorial system, education  130–1, 166–7, 198–9 Moravians  37–8, 46–7, 204–5 see also Pietism Native, see Indigenous peoples Naval and Military Bible Society  49–50, 80–1 Navy  1, 15, 63–5, 107–9, 113–15, 123, 179–80, 196–7, 209–10 North American Indians  73–5, 77–8, 90, 126–7, 178–9, 190, 204–5 New South Wales  181–3, 196–7, 202–3, 206–12, 215 New Zealand  175, 202–7, 209–10, 215, 246–7 nexus, see Philanthropic nexus Nova Scotia  194, 201–2 Observations of the State of Society among the Asiatic Subjects of Great-Britain, Charles Grant  144–5, 212–13

Olney, Bedfordshire  27–8, 47–50, 132–3, 254–5 Olney Hymns  27–8, 47–8 Organizational models  2–3, 11, 14–18, 22, 57 Orphanages  71n.56, 125–6, 182–3, 185–8, 209–10 Otaheite, see Tahiti Oxford Movement  236 Pacific, see South Pacific Palatines, see Germans Paley, William (moral philosophy)  143–7 Pamphlets  1, 70–1, 90, 127–8, 131–2, 137–8, 142, 199–200, 213–14 paper credit, see Enquiry into the nature and effects of the Paper Credit of Great Britain Parish, parishes  2–3, 7n.18, 11, 15, 27–8, 33–7, 44–8, 71n.56, 79–80, 104–6, 130–1, 134–5, 160, 164, 181–2, 255–6 Parliament, Westminster  15–19, 40, 65–6, 68–9, 71, 82–3, 86, 106–7, 112–21, 123, 127–8, 134–5, 140–1, 143–4, 153–4, 170, 191–4, 196–9, 212–13, 219–25, 233–4, 240–1, 244–5, 254 Parramatta, NSW  202–3, 206–9 patronage  2, 8–9, 15, 18–19, 27–9, 33–4, 37–8, 44–8, 55, 66–8, 70–1, 74–5, 105–7, 113–15, 123–4, 133–4, 140–1, 171, 175–8, 180–5, 206–7, 236, 241–2, 245, 255–6 Petition, petitioning  66–7, 85–6, 195–6, 210 Philanthropic nexus  4, 6, 8–9, 16–17, 20–3, 29, 31–2, 57–8, 60–75, 82, 85–7, 99–100, 103–4, 107–11, 124–9, 139–42, 175–83, 237–41, 255–8 Pietism, pietists  48–9, 170, 185–6, 204–5 Poetry, poet  5n.14, 21–2, 24, 47–8, 53n.93, 55–6, 254–5, 260–1 Polite, politeness, police  3–4, 15–16 political economy  19–20, 144–5, 150–9, 161–2, 167–9, 223 Poor Pious Clergymen, Society for the Relief of  81–4, 107–9, 116–17, 126–7 poor relief  1, 3–4, 6–11, 13–17, 37–8, 43–8, 50–1, 55, 57–8, 60–2, 81–4, 107–10, 128–31, 160, 170n.130, 171–2, 182–3, 186–7, 248–9 see also Debt

index  303 Practical View . . . contrasted with Real Christianity, William Wilberforce  144–5, 149–50, 161–2, 168–9 prayer  18–19, 36–7, 43–6, 52–4, 168–9 Prayer Book and Homily Society (PBHS)  121–3, 179–80, 237 Principals of Moral Philosophy, Thomas Gisborne  143, 145–8 print culture  22–3, 27–8, 47–50, 52–4, 71, 78n.77, 84–5, 93, 96–7, 143–4, 149, 170, 176–7, 206–7, 210–12, 214–15, 221–35 Prison Discipline Society  237–9 Proclamation, Society for Carrying into Effect His Majesty’s Proclamation for the Encouragement of Piety and Virtue  81–3, 86–8, 107–11, 124–5, 182–3, 190 Promoting Christian Knowledge, Society for (SPCK)  6–7, 16–17, 33–6, 38–9, 61–3, 72–3, 81–3, 91–2, 107–9, 121–3, 177–8, 189–90, 204–5, 235n.51 Promotion of Religious Knowledge Among the Poor (SPRK), see Book Society Propagating the Gospel in Foreign Parts, Society for (SPG)  6–7, 16–17, 61–3, 72–3, 177–8, 204–5 prostitution  69–70, 248–9 see also Magdalen Hospital Providence  11, 24, 136–7, 149–50, 161–2, 201, 217, 223–4, 259–60 publishing, see print culture Quakers  19–20, 37–8, 59–60, 63, 69–70, 72, 88–90, 93–5, 107, 139–40, 163n.93, 233–4 Recordites  233–4, 236 Reformation of Manners, see Manners Religious Tract Society (RTS)  87–8, 97–9, 215–16 repentance  52–4, 149, 164 Riga  66–7, 193–4 Rothley Temple  131n.110 Royal Navy, see Navy Russia Company  15, 19–20, 29–31, 34–5, 58–72, 78–9, 83–4, 86, 93–5, 107, 109–11, 116–17, 138–9, 178–81, 184–5, 191–4, 209–10, 241–3, 255–6, 260–1 Sabbath  106–7, 133–4 Saints, the (political grouping)  110–13, 117–20, 170, 197n.85, 244–5

Salvation  6–7, 33–6, 47–9 Scandinavia  64–5, 91–2 Serampore, Bengal  209–10, 213–14 Serious (evangelical)  34–5, 74–5, 133–4, 180–1 settler colonization, settlers  7–8, 65–6, 71–2, 176–7, 181–3, 194–7, 199–200, 202–3, 205–6, 215, 219–21 see also colonization shipping  1, 29–31, 43–4, 63–4, 171, 191–3 Sierra Leone  23, 86, 93, 125n.82, 127–8, 175–6, 191–206, 208–9, 211–12, 215–16, 224–6, 245–6 Sierra Leone Company (SLC)  19–20, 86, 93–5, 109–10, 113–16, 124–7, 138–9, 191–202, 202n.106, 205–6, 215–16, 221–2, 225, 245–6 Sign language  225–6 Simeonites, see Cambridge Evangelicals Slave Trade, see Abolition of the Slave Trade Slavery, see Abolition of the Slave Trade Small Debts Society, see Debt Smallpox vaccination  130–1 Smith, Adam (political economic thought)  150–6, 161–2, 168–9 soap manufacturing  29–31, 34–5, 43–4, 124–5 Societies, see associational culture Society of Friends, see Quakers South Pacific  20–1, 176, 191, 219–21, 226 SPCK, see Promoting Christian Knowledge SPG, see Propagating the Gospel in Foreign Parts SPRK, see Book Society Sphere (of influence)  27, 35–6, 43–5, 113–15, 148, 164–5, 249 Spitalfields  113n.35, 139–40, 249 St. Petersburg  29–31, 65–7, 91–2, 180–1, 193–4 Stadial theory, history  152n.44, 157–8 sugar refining  29–31, 34–5, 124–5 Sunday Schools  2, 37–8, 130–1, 234 Societies  81–2, 85–6, 89–90, 107–9, 116–17, 124–7 Superintendent (colonial)  193–7 see also Governor (colonial) Susu people  205, 210 Sydney, Australia  175, 182–3, 210, 226 Tahiti  200, 222–3 Task, The, William Cowper  47–8, 254–5

304 index Temperance Society  215 Teston Set  82–3, 107–9, 120–1, 123, 132–3 tracts  49–50, 79–80, 92n.119, 97–9, 125–6, 210, 215–16 see also Religious Tract Society trans-Atlantic trade  63–6, 191 transnational networks  2–3, 14, 19, 23, 37–8, 75, 86, 177–83 travelogues 222–3 Treaty of Waitangi, see Waitangi, Treaty of Truro 36–7

103–4, 110–11, 113–15, 119–21, 136–8, 141, 218–19, 255–6, 258–61 voluntarism, voluntary associations  3–4, 9–10, 60–2, 67–8, 71n.56, 204–5, 234, 255–6

Vice, Society for the Suppression of  10n.29, 86–90, 121–3, 136–7, 237–9 vocation  2, 52–4, 134–7, 144, 146–8, 168–9, 171, 180–2, 204–5, 240–7 vocational philanthropy  10–11, 14, 18–19, 21–3, 28–9, 40, 58–9, 88, 99–100,

Yorkshire  19–20, 22–3, 29–32, 34–5, 40–8, 52–5, 125–6, 140–1, 169, 181–2, 184–7, 198–9, 202–3, 221n.17, 255–6 Yoxall Lodge  115–16, 136–8

Waitangi, Treaty of  246–7 Wales 123 Wesleyan Missionary Society (WMS)  125–6 West Indies  116–17, 161–2, 244–6

Zebra, HMS  209–10

Index of Names For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Abdy, William Jarvis  83–4, 140–1 Agutter, Paul  107 Akerman, Isaac  104–5 Alexander, Dykes  93–5 Alleine, Joseph  49–50 Allen, John Hensleigh  245 Allen, William  233–4 Andrews, James Pettit  107, 109–10 Andrews, Joseph  107, 109–10 Angerstein, John Julius  110–11 Asgill, Charles  78–9 Astell, William Thornton  32, 47–8, 133–4, 212–13 Atkinson, Ebenezer  74–5 Atkinson, Miles  36–7, 40–2, 181–2 Aufrere, George  70–1 Babington family  106–7, 132–3 Babington, Jean  115–16 Babington, Thomas  115–16, 119–39, 143, 147n18, 164–8, 224–5, 232, 237–9, 250–1, 254–5, 259–60 Baines, Edward  221n17 Barber, John  74–5 Barber, Susannah (nee Gines)  74–5 Barclay family  104–5, 242–3 Barclay, Charles  95 Barclay, Robert  126–7, 130–2 Baring, Francis (1740–1810)  110–11 Baring, Francis (1796–1866)  243 Barker, Joseph Gibbs  140–1 Barnard, John (c. 1685–1764)  33n22, 38–9, 55, 63, 249–50 Barrington, Shute (Bishop of Durham)  110–11, 123, 127–8 Bayley family  124n76 Becher, Richard  184–6 Berkeley, George  62–3

Bernard, Thomas  110–13, 117–20, 127–8, 128n91 Berridge, John  44–50 Bird, John (d. 1804)  31–2 Bird, Elizabeth  31 Bird, Judith (nee Wilberforce)  31 Bird, Mary  31 Boddington, Thomas  92n121, 107, 117–18, 128–9 Boehm, Edmund  60–2, 66–7, 69–70 Bohun, G.W.  95 Bootle, Wilbraham  117–18 Bouverie, Elizabeth  107–9, 124–5, 132–3, 103n1 Bowdler, John  116–17, 119–20 Bowdler, Thomas  107, 109–10, 116–17 Bowles, John  121–3 Bray, Thomas  6–7, 38–9 Brogden, James  133–4, 242–3 Brougham, Henry  133–4, 198–9 Brown, David (1762–1812)  181, 186–9 Brunton, Henry  210 Buchanan, Claudius  123, 179–81, 207–8, 210–12, 223–4 Budd, Henry  121–3 Burnet, John  2n4 Burnett, George  36–7 Burrows, John  78–9 Butler, Joseph  149 Butterworth, Joseph  233–4 Byng, George  128–9 Buxton family  95, 139n143, 219–21 Buxton, Thomas Fowell  7–8, 117–18, 219–21, 247n85 Campbell, John  197–8 Canning, George  142 Cecil, Richard  83–4, 189

306  Index of Names Chalmers, Thomas  170, 252–3, 260–1 Chambers, William  184–7 Clarke, Thomas  74–5, 131–2 Clarkson, John  193–4, 196–7, 201–2, 204–5 Clarkson, Thomas  84–5, 120n62, 127–8 Coates, Dandeson  246 Cobbold, Thomas  93–5 Colenso, William  210 Collett, Cornelius  95 Conyers, Jane (nee Thornton)  33 Conyers, Richard  33–4, 42–3 Cook, James  55–6 Coram, Thomas  6, 38–9 Cornwall, John (1713–1800)  29–33, 60–2 Cornwallis, Charles (Marquess Cornwallis) 186–7 Cornwallis, Frederick (Archbishop of Canterbury) 79–80 Corrie, Daniel  181–2 Cowper, William  5n14, 24, 27–8, 40, 47–9, 53n93, 55–6, 132–3, 254–5, 260–1 Creighton, Henry  186, 204–5 Crosse, John Norman  43–4 Darracott, Risdon  48–9 Daubeny, George  85–6 Dawes, William  196–7 de Berdt, Dennis  73–4 de Sausmerez, Durrell  209–10 de Warville, Brissot  84n92 Dealtry, William (1775–1847)  96–7, 111n24 Dealtry, William (Colonial Office official) 245 Delavell, Thomas  34–5 Dingley, Charles  60–2, 66–7 Dolben, John English  107, 109–10 Dolben, William  93–5 Dornford, Thomas  107 Dorrien, John  79–80, 83–4 Down, Richard  73–4, 74n65, 77–8 Drake, William  107, 109–10 Dundas, Henry  212–13 Elford, William  85–6 Eliot, Edward  137–8, 191n58 Elliott, Charles  115–16, 121–3, 130–1 Elliott, Eling (nee Venn)  115–16, 130–1 Ellis, Bethia  74–5

Esdaile, William  133–4 Eyre, Charles  107–9, 116–17 Falconbridge, Alexander  193–4 Fenn, Thomas  95 Fludyer, Samuel  38–9 Fordyce, Alexander  73–4 Forster, Edward  180–1 Forster, Thomas Furley  128–9 Forster, W.M.  233–4 Forsyth, William  184–5 Francis, Philip  184–5 Francke, Auguste Hermann  48–9, 207–8 Fraser, William  181 Freeman, Thomas E.  107 Freshfield, James William  128–9 Fuller, William  74–5, 79–80 Furly, Samuel  180–1 Gambier family  107–9 Gambier, James  121–3 Gaskin, George  189–90 Gilbert, Nathaniel  194–5 Gisborne family  106–7, 115–16 Gisborne, Mary  116–17 Gisborne, Thomas  106–7, 115–16, 119–20, 138–9, 142–9, 167–8, 224–5 Glasse, Samuel  110–11 Godin family  31 Godin, Stephen Peter  60–2, 66–7 Gosling, Francis  38–9, 63 Gough-Calthorpe, George (Lord Calthorpe)  121–3, 135–6, 140–1 Grant, Charemile  103, 103n1 Grant, Charles (1746–1823)  54–5, 104–7, 110–11, 119–20, 123, 127–8, 131–6, 138–9, 143–4, 176, 181–2, 184–91, 197–8, 204–5, 209–14 Grant, Charles (1778–1863, Lord Glenelg)  135–6, 198–9, 240–1, 246 Grant, Jane (nee Fraser)  106–7 Greaves, William  198–9, 243 Grey, Henry George (Earl Grey)  246 Griffiths, John  80–1 Gurney family  139n143 Gurney, Richard Hanbury  96–7 Gwilt, John  70–1 Haldane, Robert  197–8, 235–6 Hallifax, Thomas  69–70

Index of Names  307 Hanbury family  95 Hankey, Joseph  38–9, 61, 63, 69–70, 78–9, 104–5 Hankey, William Alers  104–5, 128–9, 233–4 Hanway, Jonas  1, 5n14, 10, 12–13, 16n59, 38–9, 60–3, 66–7, 69–71, 69n47, 78–9, 84n91 Hardcastle, Joseph  140–1 Harford family  85–6 Hastings, Selina (Countess of Huntingdon)  33–4, 189 Hatchard, John  48–9, 233–4 Hazlitt, William  252–3 Heald family  85–6 Henderson, Ebenezer  209–10 Hey, William  221–2 Heygate, James  128–9 Heyrick, Elizabeth  234–5 Highmore, Anthony  57–8, 217–18 Hika, Hongi  210 Hill, Arthur (Marquis of Downshire)  128–9 Hippisley, John Cox  93–5 Hoare family  38–9, 69–70, 78–9, 88–9, 104–5, 110–11, 119–20 Hoare, Benjamin (1693–1750)  39n43 Hoare, Henry (1677–1725)  38–9 Hoare, Henry (1705–1785)  33n22, 79–80, 110–11, 119–20 Hoare, Samuel  32, 85–6, 93–5, 109–10, 119–20 Hodgkin, Thomas  246 Holford, George  117–18 Horne, Melville  194–5 Horner, Francis  153–6 Horton, Robert Wilmot  243–6 Howard, John  250 Hughes, Joseph  130–1 Hunt, Thomas  107, 109–10 Inglis, Robert Harry  233–4 Jefferys, Thomas  80–1 Jenney, William  140–1 Johnson, Richard  181–2, 209–10 Jowett, Henry  105–6 Jowett, William  139–40 Keen, Robert  73–4 Kempenfelt, Gustavus Adolphus  107–9, 128–9 Kempenfelt, Richard  107–9

Kendall, Thomas  201–2, 206–7, 210 King, John  40–5 King, Philip Gidley  182–3, 209–10 King, William  243 Knipe, Randolph  38–9 Ladbroke, Robert  33n22, 63 Langston, Stephen  74–5 Langston, Rebekah (nee Gines)  74–5 Langton, Bennet  107, 109–10 Lee, Samuel  210 Legge, William (Earl of Dartmouth)  28–9, 33–4, 33n22, 109–10, 121–3, 190 Leslie-Melville, Alexander (Lord Balgonie, Earl of Leven)  52–4 Leslie-Melville, Jane (nee Thornton, Lady Balgonie, Countess of Leven)  52–4 Livius, George  189–90 Lloyd family  95 Long, James Tylney  107 Lubbock, John  105–6 Ludlam, Thomas  196–7, 225 Macaulay, Aulay  96–7 Macaulay, Colin  179–80, 207–8 Macaulay, Thomas Babington  86–8 Macaulay, Selina (nee Mills)  115–16, 196–7 Macaulay, Zachary  91–2, 115–16, 119–23, 126–7, 131–3, 135–6, 138n142, 139–40, 179–80, 196–8, 207–8, 221–32, 237–9, 244–5 Macquarie, Lachlan  182–3 Madan, Martin  33n22, 79–80 Maitland, Alexander  74n64 Maitland, Ebenezer Fuller  74–5 Maitland, John  85–6 Maitland, Samuel Roffey  74n64 Malthus, Thomas  170, 223 Marratt, John  107 Marsden, Samuel  175, 181–3, 194n74, 202–8, 210–12, 215 Marsham, Robert  107, 126–7 Martin family  104–5 Martin, Ambrose  83–4, 107, 116–17, 126–7 Martin, James  85–6, 107, 109–10 Martin, John  61, 63, 85n97 Martyn, Henry  181, 223–4 Mathias, James  60–2 Matthew, Job  107, 126–7 Mellish, William  128–9

308  Index of Names Mello family  116–17 Messee, Abdool  222–3 Middleton, Charles (Lord Barham)  82–3, 107–9, 113n35, 123, 132–3, 179–80 Middleton, Margaret (nee Gambier)  107–9 Milner, Joseph  21n69, 42–3, 181–2, 186–7, 224–5 Milner, Isaac  119–20, 133–4, 139–40 Money, Charles Forbes Septimus  245 Montagu, Elizabeth  109–10, 119n61 Montagu, George  107, 109–10 Montagu, Matthew  119–20 More, Hannah  3–4, 92n119, 106–10, 115–16, 125–6, 132–3, 135–8, 142–4, 166–7, 197–8, 225, 235–6, 103n1 More, Patty (Martha)  136–7 Muilman, Peter  66–7 Muir, William  91 Naimbanna (Obai of Koya Temne)  198n89 Neale, Henry  74n65 Neild, James  128–9, 140–1 Nettleton, Robert  60–2, 69–72 Newton, John  27–9, 45–9, 54–5, 74–5, 79–80, 83–4, 132–3, 140–1, 187–9, 204–5, 211–12 North, Francis  107, 109–10 Obeck, John  186 Occom, Samson  50–1, 178–9 Owen, John  119–20, 126–7, 139n144, 225–6, 249 Paley, William  145–7, 171–2 Parker, Samuel  197–8 Parry, Edward  119–20, 127–8, 160, 212–13, 241–2 Paterson, John  93, 209–10 Pattle, Thomas  107, 109–10 Philip, John  247n85 Pead, Benjamin  29–31, 34–5 Pead, Mary  34–5 Peel, Robert  117–20 Perceval, Spencer  130–1 Percy, Hugh  107, 109–10 Peyto-Verney, John (Lord Willoughby de Broke)  107, 109–10 Phillips, James  84–5 Phillips, Richard  91–2 Pike, Samuel  74–5

Pitt, William  105–6, 120–1, 150–2, 189, 200 Pitt, William Morton  85–6, 107, 109–11, 117–18, 127–8, 138n140, 140–1 Pleydell-Bouverie, Jacob (Viscount Folkestone)  107–9 Porter family  31 Porteus, Beilby (Bishop of London)  107–9, 123, 189–90, 211–12 Pratt, Josiah  175, 202–3, 205–8, 221–2, 225–6 Pusey, Philip Bouverie  107, 109–11, 126–9 Raikes, Thomas  107, 109–10, 130–1, 184–5, 188–90, 242–3 Ramsay, James  127–8 Rennard, Joseph  34–5 Reyner, Joseph  140–1 Richardson, George  78–9 Richardson, William  40–2, 48–50 Robarts family  104–5 Robarts, Josiah  74–5, 89–90 Robarts, Nathaniel  74–5 Robinson, Robert  189 Roffey, Mary  74n64 Roffey, Samuel  73–4 Rogers, Samuel  74–5 Rogers, Thomas  74–5 Romilly, Samuel  117–18, 120n62, 248–9 Rowland, Nathaniel  140–1 Rush, Benjamin  84n92 Ryder, Henry  96–7 Ryder, Dudley  239n55 Sanderson, James  88–9, 107, 109–10 Sansom, Philip  85–6, 107, 109–10 Savage, Samuel  73–4 Schwarz, Christian Frederich  184–5 Scott-Moncrieff, Robert  125–6 Secker, Thomas (Archbishop of Canterbury) 69–70 Serle, Ambrose  179–80 Sharp, Granville  126–7, 139n144, 197–8 Sharpe, Gregory  12–13 Shore, Charlotte (nee Cornish, Lady Teignmouth)  115–16, 130–1 Shore, John (Lord Teignmouth)  92n121, 103, 110–13, 115–16, 130–1, 139–40, 223–5, 250–1 Simeon, Charles  5n13, 105–6, 120–3, 139–40, 170n130, 189, 190n55, 236 Smalley, Cornwall  124n76

Index of Names  309 Smith family  31–2, 116–17, 124–5, 212–13 Smith, Abel (1717–1788)  31–3 Smith, Adam  150–9, 161–2, 168–9 Smith, George (1765–1836)  119–20, 212–13 Smith, George Robert  243 Smith, John (c.1765–1842)  31 Smith, Joseph  85–6 Smith, Samuel  119–20 Smith, Sydney  10n29, 117–18, 123, 131–2 Smith, William  135–6 Spooner, William  119–20 Stainforth, Maria (nee Baring)  110–11, 130–1 Stainforth, Richard  110–11, 119–23 Steinkopff, C.F.A.  128–9 Stennett, Samuel  187–9 Stephen, Herbert Venn  245 Stephen, James (1758–1832)  115–16, 119–23, 127–8, 131–4, 136–7, 143–5, 159–64 Stephen, James (1789–1859)  3–4, 56–8, 111–15, 135–8, 175, 198–9, 218–19, 240–7, 252–3, 259–60 Steven, Robert  110–11 Stillingfleet, James  48–9 Stokes, Henry  34–5 Stonard, Joseph  128–9 Storry, Robert  44–5 Sumner family  31n 14, 242–3 Sumner, Charles Richard  31n 14, 217–18 Sumner, John Bird (Archbishop of Canterbury)  31n14, 170 Sumner, William Brightwell  184–5 Sykes family  31–2 Sykes, Daniel  124–5, 138n142 Sykes, Joseph  32, 42n51 Symonds, Joshua  46–7 Taylor, Henry (1800–1886)  244 Thomason, Thomas  181 Thompson, Thomas (1754–1828)  32, 125–6 Thompson, Thomas Perronet (1783–1869)  125n82, 197n85, 201–2 Thomson, Andrew  60–2 Thomson, Andrew Henry  242–3 Thornton, Claude George (1766–1866)  32, 242–3 Thornton, Eliza (nee Parry)  241–2 Thornton, Elizabeth (nee Milnes)  35n30, 80–1 Thornton, Godfrey (1701–1751)  29–32, 242–3

Thornton, Henry (1760–1815)  3–4, 18–20, 29, 32, 34–5, 52–6, 77–8, 80–100, 103, 142, 191–203, 211–14, 221–2, 224–5, 232, 240–1 Thornton, Henry Sykes (1800–1881)  31, 32, 138n 142, 198–9, 241–2 Thornton, John (1664–c.1731)  31–2 Thornton, John (1720–1790)  1, 3–4, 10, 18–19, 22, 24, 27, 60–86, 105–10, 126–7, 141, 164, 177–8, 181, 183–5, 196–7, 204–5, 210, 260–1 Thornton, John (1783–1860)  66n34, 241–2 Thornton, Lucy (nee Watson, 1722–1785)  29–31, 33–4, 50–1, 80–1 Thornton, Maria (nee Eyre)  130–1 Thornton, Marianne (nee Sykes, 1765–1815)  42n51, 106–7, 113n36, 116–17, 137–8, 138n142, 166–7, 232 Thornton, Marianne (1797–1887)  103, 134–5 Thornton, Robert  29, 32, 34–5, 61, 82–3, 104–5, 119–20, 124n76, 138–9, 198–9, 212–13 Thornton, Samuel  29, 32, 34–5, 82–3, 104–7, 110–11, 115–16, 119–23, 124n76, 130–1, 138–9, 159–60 Tooke, William  180–1 Trimmer, Sarah  169 Udny, George  186, 189–90 Unwin, Nathaniel  125–6 Vanneck, Joshua  93–5 Vansittart, Nicholas  117–18 Venn, Catherine (nee King)  138–9 Venn, Henry (1725–1797)  28–9, 33–4, 36–7, 40–2, 44–5, 55, 79–80, 147n19, 249–50 Venn, Henry (1796–1873)  111n24, 243 Venn, John (1759–1813)  13–14, 103–7, 112–13, 115–16, 130–4, 138–9, 143–4, 164–7, 197–8, 240–1 von Bogatsky, Carl Heinrich  48–9, 52–4 Wagner, Anthony  110–11 Waikato (Māori rangatira)  210 Walker, Samuel  36–7 Wallajah, Muhammad Ali Khan (Nawab of the Carnatic)  177–8 Waschel, Gustav Anton  71–2 Watson family  31–5, 124–5 Watson, Brook  107, 109–10

310  Index of Names Watson, Richard (Bishop of Llandaff)  189 Watson, Samuel  32 Wedgwood family  245–6 Welch, George  74–5 Wellesley, Arthur (Duke of Wellington)  179–80 Wellesley, Richard (Marquess Wellesley)  212–13 Wesley, John  33–4, 197n85 West, Daniel  54–5 Weyland, John  223 Wheatley, Phillis  50–4 Wheelock, Eleazar  73–5, 178–9, 204–5 Whitaker, Nathaniel  50–1, 178–9, 204–5 Whitbread, Samuel  223 Whitefield, George  33–4 Wilcox, Thomas  48–9 Wilkes, John  66–7 Wilks, Samuel Charles  225–32, 250–1 Williams, Henry  206–7, 209–10

Wilson, Ann Collett (nee West)  54–5 Wilson, Daniel  121–3 Wilson, William  54–5, 107, 109–10 Wilberforce, Barbara (nee Spooner)  140–1, 191–3 Wilberforce, Hannah (nee Thornton)  32–3 Wilberforce, Robert  31–2 Wilberforce, Sarah (nee Thornton)  31, 33 Wilberforce, William (1690–1776)  29–32 Wilberforce, William (1724–1788)  32–3 Wilberforce, William (1759–1833)  3–4, 15–16, 32–3, 52–5, 63, 82–8, 103–40, 149–50, 179–80, 189–203, 213–14, 224–5, 233–4, 237–41, 249–53 Willett, Eagle  95 Winterbottom, Abraham  60–2 Wolff, George  110–11, 197–8 Wombwell, George  70–1 Wood, Spencer  80–1 Woodd, Basil  205, 225