The Anglican tradition in eighteenth-century verse [Reprint 2019 ed.] 9783111343877, 9783110992021

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DE PROPRIETATIBUS L I T T E R A R U M edenda curat C. H. VAN SCHOONEVELD Indiana University

Series Practica,

33

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY VERSE by

H. GRANT SAMPSON Queen's University

1971

MOUTON THE

HAGUE-PARIS

© Copyright 1971 in The Netherlands. Mouton & Co. N.V., Publishers, The Hague. No part of this book may be translated or reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publishers.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 79-165149

Printed in Hungary.

To my

Mother

and to the memory of my Father this essay is affectionately

dedicated.

PREFACE

For a man to set u p as a writer, when the press swarms with a plethora of publications, is a presumption scarcely to be endured. Writers need justification for inflicting yet another critical study upon their hoped-for public beyond the personal passion for publicity or promotion. And of late, the long-deserted field of the eighteenth century has been ploughed and harrowed with increasingly sophisticated critical equipment. To expect the land to yield another significant crop seems to be unnecessarily optimistic. But having various studies of the same field is good because they bring different perspectives to bear on it and may unearth some valuable material which has hitherto been ignored. I n the past, writers have tended to create the impression t h a t religious verse during the eighteenth century was either most meagre or non-existent, and t h a t the poets showed virtually no interest in religious matters. The century and a half following the Restoration is often treated as a low point in the history of Anglicanism and a period in which the strong and imaginative hold which religion and the Established Church had upon the poets of the early seventeenth century suddenly faded, leaving an appalling vacuum, both emotionally and creatively. Critics have written of the almost total decay of religious art through the eighteenth century, and this they have traced to the emergence of a type of mind which they classified generally as Puritan over t h a t which is called Anglo-Catholic. Other historians see the eighteenth century as fundamentally secular in its sensibility. These interpretations seem to support the usual impression t h a t religious art in any genre attracted very little serious at-

8

PREFACE

tention during the century and a half following the Restoration, and t h a t the literary output turned from the appreciable number of religious poems of the seventeenth century to the descriptive, social, and moral verse of the eighteenth. But it seems unreasonable to believe t h a t in 1660 all religious poetry stopped, just as it is unreasonable to believe t h a t in 1642 all dramatic productions ceased. Habits and conventions of a lifetime are not cut off by legislation or historical event, and climates of opinion take decades to emerge and disintegrate. I t is clearly unsound to treat this period as the reserve of a dull and prosaic Christianity. Research has shown t h a t religious controversy, church attendance, and the reception of communion were continued with genuine devotion throughout the century. The Anglican Church produced an impressive number of capable, scholarly, and fervent writers. I n other words, the traditions of the seventeenth century were maintained throughout the eighteenth. The purpose of this essay, therefore, is to explore what happened to the vigorous tradition of religious — particularly Anglican — verse which had influenced the writing of Donne and Herbert, Vaughan and Traherne. A method of cross-trenching will be used for this excavation. In one direction some attention needs to be given to the Anglican tradition itself, for while it changed from decade to decade, it also remained the same. The outstanding characteristic of the Established Church has been its adaptability t o changing conditions without losing its sense of tradition and continuity. I t represents a definite attitude and atmosphere, yet it remains sensitive to changes in style. I n the other direction attention needs to be given to the various ways in which this Anglican tradition was felt by the poets: in subject matter, in structure, in values, in imagery. The conclusions are not difficult to guess: (1) religious poetry did continue during the eighteenth century; (2) it continued in appreciable quantity, often among minor writers whom many critics have not had the occasion to read; (3) the range of religious concern was very wide, extending from moral sentiment, through rigorous mysticism and meditation, to nice theological issues; (4) the general in-

PREFACE

9

fluence of religious belief and doctrine upon life and literature was significant throughout the Restoration and the eighteenth century. Many of the poems discussed in the course of this essay have not been reprinted since their first publication over two hundred years ago, and so I assume they are not either particularly familiar or easily available to most readers. For this reason I have tried to quote them fully, if not entirely. This technique upon occasion slows down the argument, but I hope it is justified by providing the important primary evidence within the text of the essay itself. My thanks are due to a number of people who have assisted me in the preparation of this essay. Professor A. J . M. Smith of Michigan State University was particularly helpful in the preparation of an early version. I also owe much gratitude to the librarians at several libraries who have assisted, permitted, and tolerated my probing in dusty stacks and rare-book rooms for little-read volumes, especially at Bishop's University, Queen's University, Harvard University, and the University of Virginia. And I acknowledge the assistance of a number of librarians at other universities who have answered my questions and requests for transcripts. For the typing of this book, much of it directly from the unusual markings which serve as my handwriting, I am particularly indebted to my secretary Mrs. Elaine Pollock, and to her predecessor Mrs. Charlene Hartwell. Finally, and financially, I acknowledge a Queen's University Research Grant in the summer of 1959, which allowed me time to do much of the theological and historical reading necessary as background, and a Canada Council Grant in the summer of 1960, which permitted me to spend a number of stimulating weeks doing research at Harvard. Kingston, Ontario May 1969

CONTENTS

Preface I. The Anglican Tradition I I . The Anglican Attitude

7 13 42

I I I . The Anglican Atmosphere

68

IV. The Liturgical Tradition

109

V. The Meditative Tradition VI. The Mystical Tradition VII. The Rationalistic Tradition VIII. The Theological Tradition I X . The Anglican Style

147 189 234 261 340

Bibliography

354

Index

374

I THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

The Church is a Hill, and t h a t is conspicuous naturally; b u t t h e Church is such a Hill, as m a y be seene everywhere . . . trouble not thyselfe t o know t h e formes and fashions of forraine particular Churches; neither of a Church in t h e Lake, nor a Church upon seven hills; b u t since God h a t h planted thee in a Church, where all things necessary for salvation are administered t o thee, and where no erroneous doctrine (even in t h e confession of our Adversaries) is affirmed and held, t h a t is t h e Hill, and t h a t is t h e Catholique Church. J o h n Donne, LXXX

Sermons

A speculative religion is only calculated for a few philosophers, and not t h e gross vulgar . . . . For this reason t h e popish priests amuse t h e m with pictures, shows, and images; t h e presbyterian parsons with apish gestures, fantastic expressions, and sordid similies, t h a t are full as gross as images: The church of England goes t h e middle way t o work, and gives t h e m half in surplices and organs, and t'other half in good sense and reason. The Works of Mr. Thomas

Brown

The Anglican tradition, like all clusters of beliefs and feelings, is difficult to isolate and describe. Historically it has assumed varying guises, and even some of its own adherents have accused several of

14

THE ANGLICAN

TRADITION

these guises of being disguises. Yet spiritually the tradition has offered a central unity which has held these guises and disguises together. This central unity is expressed in the theology, in the liturgy, and in the attitudes of its communicants. B u t these, in turn, are difficult to describe because the tradition has incorporated a certain amount of flexibility to allow for an adaption as well as an adoption of the ideas and feelings of the age. And so in writing about the Anglican tradition the historian must keep in mind, not only the central tenets and rituals, but also the infinite variety tolerated within the bounds of the Anglican church. The complex history of the development of the Anglican Church has often been told. The central fact is t h a t it is not merely a product of the continental reformers; it emerges from several centuries of struggle as a distinctive and unique national cultus, neither Catholic in the sense t h a t the Church of Rome considered itself Catholic nor Protestant in the sense t h a t the three other major religious groups in England were Protestant. Miss Evelyn Under hill has argued t h a t " t h e peculiar character of Anglicanism arises in part from the operation of history; the conflict within her own borders, both before and after her cultus took form, of Puritan and Catholic ideals". The historical process which gave rise to the development of this cultus was both lengthy and involved; it did not spring, fully albeit discretely robed, from the Tudor settlement. The gradual separation of the Church in England from the direct and centralized control of Latin Catholicism was marked by various stages of rebellion against the influence and aims of mediaeval scholasticism and doctrine. B u t this was the beginning, Miss Underhill argues, of the formation of a real national cultus, "vindicating in all essentials the continuity of Catholic tradition whilst giving expression to the peculiar religious temper of the English soul". This cultus emerged as the product of certain forces of history as well as of certain paradoxical attributes of the English mind. These she lists as "its tendency to conservatism in respect of the past, and passion for freedom in respect of the present, its law-abiding faithfulness to established custom, b u t recoil from an expressed dominance; its reverence for the institutions which incorporate its life, and inveterate individualism in the living

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

15

of t h a t life; its moral and practical bent". 1 These seemingly contradictory attributes need to be kept in nice balance by the Anglican mind. For those who are able to perceive and maintain this balance the uniquely Anglican cultus becomes the most significant path of Christendom: Many people have held and hold that the Anglican Reformation was the greatest thing that ever happened in the history of the English people, that it found the exact middle point between not going far enough and going too far, and that the Church of England is suspended on the perfect point of balance between 'the meretricious gaudiness of the Church of Rome, and the squalid sluttery of a fanatical conventide.' This was the view of almost all Anglicans between about 1633 and 1833 . . . .2 This suspension between the poles of Catholicism and Puritanism has widened the arc of the Anglican tradition perhaps further than any other tradition. I n an article on the Holy Communion in the Anglican Church, Stephen Neill has pointed out t h a t two extreme views are excluded: the Zwinglian doctrine t h a t the Holy Communion is a bare memorial of the death of Christ, only a pledge of faith, and the Roman Catholic doctrine of Transubstantiation. But, "within these very wide limits", he points out, "many forms of eucharistic doctrine can be professed without disloyalty to the Church of England". 3 These very wide limits map the via media of the Anglican tradition, ranging from the High Church Toryism of the reign of Queen Anne to the evangelical Methodism of the reign of George I. I n spite of splits over matters of polity, the Church during this century and a half was able to comprehend most Englishmen who wanted to belong. The Church itself is not so much a physical organization as a "society of believers". Its structure and buildings are less essential than the sincere faith of its members. This is necessary, W. H . Griffith Thomas points out in a detailed examination of the Anglican 1 Worship (New York, 1937), 316—321. * Stephen Neill, Anglicanism, (Harmondsworth, 1958), 31—32. 3 The Holy Communion, ed. Hugh Martin (London, 1947), 54.

16

THE ANGLICAN

TRADITION

tradition, because the members of the Church are in direct relation with Christ because of His redemption of them as sinners. The establishment can be brought about only by a church which (1) includes all the instruments which God has ordained as the regular means of human salvation, (2) offers these universal instruments of salvation to all men, and (3) offers them to all men throughout all the generations. 4 These are the criteria necessary for an essentially complete or "Catholic" church: The "One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church" was founded by Our Lord Jesus Christ in His Life and in His Passion on the Cross to provide all men with such a purpose throughout the ages of history. One of the living branches of this universal Church is the worldwide Anglican Communion . . . . 5 I t is by means of offering the sacraments to all men everywhere, both geographically and historically, t h a t the Anglican church lays claim to Catholicity. Its prayers and ritual, its whole language of worship, is the language of the Bible, translated into the living language of the country. And the Bible, if properly understood, presents the essential kernel of Christianity which is expressed in the sacraments offered to all men. Thus, when carefully guarded and assimilated under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, the theology, the liturgy, and the feelings of the Anglican communion preserve unity of doctrine throughout the flux of time. This view of the Anglican tradition was expressed by William Sherlock, dean of St. Paul's 1691 — 1707, in his Vindication of the Doctrine of the Trinity: The Catholic Faith, I grant, is so called with relation to the Catholic Church, whose Faith it is, and the Catholic Church, or all the true churches in the world, which are all but one whole Church, united in Christ their Head. A true church, Sherlock points out, depends upon profession of the true Faith and Worship of Christ, and the One Catholic Church comprises all true churches, whether they be spread over all the 4 5

The Catholic Faith (London, 1952), 123 f. What Is the Anglican Communion? (Cincinnati, n.d.), 1.

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

17

world, or shut up in any one corner of it. B u t no church is the Catholic Church of Christ, regardless of size, unless it profess the true faith of Christ; "it is downright Popery", he warned, "to judge of the Catholic Church by its multitudes or large extent, or to judge of the Catholic Faith by the vast numbers of its professors".® The true Catholic Church is a unified church professing a sincere belief in the true Faith. This concept of the Anglican tradition, while occurring frequently in the apologetics of the Restoration and eighteenth century, was not restricted to this particular period in the development of the Anglican Church. A similar attitude toward the nature of the Church had been expressed earlier by John Hales (1584— 1656), whose meaningfulness for the eighteenth century is evidenced by the publication of his collected works in a three-volume edition in 1765: Marks and notes to know the Church there are none, except we will make true profession — which is the form and essence of the Church — to be a mark. And as there are none, so it is not necessary there should be. For to what purpose should they serve ? That I might go seek and find out some company to mark. This is no way necessary; for glorious things are in the Scriptures spoken of the Church. Not that I should run up and down the World to find the persons of the profession; but that I should make myself of it. This I do by taking upon me the profession of Christianity a,nd submitting myself to the rules of belief and practice delivered in the Gospels — though besides myself I know no other professor in the world.7 Thus one of the central characteristics of the Anglican tradition is the absence of the church as a physical body, yet a concern with the act of profession itself; the church is bound, not by administrative power, but by "mutual loyalty sustained through the common counsel of the Bishops in conference", as the Lambeth Conference phrased it. But to some extent any church, and particularly a national church, is bound to be the product of very real physical and historical forces. This is certainly true during the eighteenth century when the influence of Convocation as a legislative counsel was con6 7

(London, 1690), 35—6. (Glasgow, 1765), vol. I, 104.

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THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

siderably weakened and sometimes completely obliterated. The situation in which the Established Church found itself at the opening of the eighteenth century was, in part, the product of some remarkable historical forces. Even before he landed on English soil, Charles I I showed a breath of toleration which gave hope to the Presbyterians. The Declaration of Breda promised "liberty to tender consciences, and that no man shall be disquieted or called in question for differences of opinion in matters of religion, which do not disturb the peace of the Kingdom". However cynically this document should have been viewed, it was accepted by most as a sincere statement of the Anglican position, and men maintaining a wide variety of positions found themselves together as part of the same church. Jeremy Taylor, with his respect for tradition, was matched by the Latitudinarian Edward Stillingfleet; Calvinist George Morley of Winchester was counter-balanced by Catholic Henry Thorndike; and the great Puritan Richard Baxter indicated he could find himself within an episcopal Church on certain conditions. But the optimism of the Presbyterians was dampened by the Savoy Conference, called in 1661, when the Puritan objections to The Book of Common Prayer were rejected except for a number of relatively minor points. Yet the new Book, which came into force on St. Bartholomew's Day 1662, has been described as a "moderate, sensible, and practical revision, well calculated to secure the assent of all except such as were wedded to the Geneva way". 8 The Act of Uniformity enforced this prayer-book, and over 1,750 Puritan ministers refused to conform. Yet in spite of the "course of sinning"9 which the Clarendon Code inflicted upon the Church, serious gestures were made towards comprehension. In 1667 a compromise on ordination was proposed but a bill never reached Parliament; the following year there was another abortive attempt. The Popish Plot and the behaviour of James I I — for instance he expelled the Fellows of Magdalen College, Oxford, for not selecting a papist as President — caused fear and suspicion 8 9

Neill, Anglicanism, 164. Neill, Anglicanism, 165.

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

19

throughout the country during the 1680's, so that the King's Second Declaration of Indulgence of May 1688 was not greeted with the enthusiasm it might have received a decade earlier. When Archbishop Sancroft of Canterbury and six colleagues were tried for their objection to this Indulgence, the populace was on their side and greeted the verdict of "not guilty" with open joy. 10 And so, even though the attempts by James II to win toleration for Roman Catholics would also have meant increased toleration for Dissenters, there was little grieving when he was forced into exile. The landing of William and Mary at Torbay on 5 November 1688 seemed to symbolize the arrival of a new era. Stephen Neill has suggested that "if one date is to be chosen as marking more than any other the passage from the medieval to the modern world, that date must be 1688".11 The essential characteristic of this new world was a new confidence in the human and the knowable. Man looked toward himself and his own potential for support. Humanism had begun long before the Renaissance, but its impact upon society generally was not significant until much later: Renaissance humanism is so gradual a revolution that it is impossible to see its beginnings (since, of course, there was humanism, both in the sense of classical learning and of self-awareness, long before the Fall of Constantinople) and it cannot be said to control the organization of society, until 1688 — in France, not until 1789.12 With this general attitude current it appeared as though the Established Church might be able to widen its doors to Dissenters and again become a truly national church; Cragg summarizes the forces which led in this direction: The Revolution of 1688 had important results for English religious life. The old relationships between church and dissent would clearly have to be changed. James's rash policy had drawn Protestants closer together than they had been at any time during the past generation. A measure 10

The fascinating and complicated history of the period 1649—1662 is well laid out in R. S. Boeher's The Making of the Restoration Settlement (London, 1951). 11 Neill, Anglicanism, 169. n M. M. Mahood, Poetry and, Humanism (London, 1960), 18.

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TRADITION

of toleration was inevitable. Public opinion was ready to support it, and the political situation made it necessary. Archbishop Sancroft and other leading churchmen believed that the moment was auspicious for an attempt to bring back the moderate nonconformists to the church. The toleration was passed; the Comprehension Bill was not. Henceforth dissenting ministers who registered their places of worship, took the necessary oaths, and accepted the doctrinal portion of the Articles of Religion could preach openly and without molestation. The penal acts were not repealed; their operation was merely suspended.13 The Toleration Act of May 1689 proved to be a satisfactory temporary solution to the immediate situation; Macaulay has pointed to it as a typically British compromise, apparently illogical yet eminently practical. There was reason for hoping for comprehension. B u t one problem soon became clear and insurmountable: all clergy had sworn allegiance to King James and he was still living. While to some, like Burnet who had actually come from Holland with the Prince and had preached in Exeter Cathedral on William's first Sunday in England, this was no major problem. To others, like Ken of Bath and Wells, this was a fundamental matter of conscience. I n spite of the removal of the phrase "lawful and rightful" to describe their majesties, the Non-jurors felt t h a t they were unable to swear allegiance and were deprived of their cures. Nine bishops lost both their sees and their seats in the House of Lords. The wisdom of their action has been debated fully; even the Whig historian Macaulay goes out of his way to be fair to them, and Trevelyan suggests t h a t their real significance lies in their insistence on " t h e spiritual independence of the Church of England as a self-contained body, not a mere appendage of the State". 1 4 For these Non-jurors, theirs was the only true Church because it had not been subjected to the pressure of political expediency; the Church of England was regarded as being, in the words of the remarkably outspoken George Hickes, "in mortal schism". The saintly Ken never claimed t h a t his deprivation was illegal; his criticism was based upon the violation of canon law: 13

G. R. Cragg, The Church and the Age of Reason (Harmondsworth, I960), 59—60. 14 G. M. Trevelyan, England Under Queen Anne, vol. I (London, 1930), 64.

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

21

I, at the time, in my Cathedral, which was the proper place, from my pastoral Chair, publically asserted my Canonical Right, professing that I esteemed myself the Canonical Pastor of the Diocese, and that I would be ready at all times to perform my Pastoral Duty. His will confirms his a t t i t u d e towards t h e Anglican t r a d i t i o n : I dye in the faith of the Holy Catholic and Apostolick Faith, professed by the whole Church before the dis-union between East and West; more particularly I dye in the Communion of the Church of England as it stands distinguished from all Papall and Puritan Innovations, and as it adheres to the doctrine of the Cross.15 K e n ' s a t t i t u d e was generally similar t o t h a t of t h e other Nonjurors. T h e Church h a d been again split a n d t h e Schism remained u n t i l t h e d e a t h of Charles Booth in 1805. B u t this schism is typical of t h e development of t h e Anglican tradition. While vigorous differences of opinions a n d doctrine could develop — as t h e y were t o during t h e Evangelical Revival — m o s t participants continued t o maintain a firm adherence t o t h e Church of England, however peculiarly t h e y chose t o define it. The Congregationalist pastor Simon Browne (1680 — 1732), for instance, expressed a warm, if n o t uniquely poetical, affection for t h e Church in his " P r a y e r for t h e British Church a n d N a t i o n " : Shall I And Where And

the British church forget, God's own holy hill: he hath fixt his royal feat, makes his dews distil!

No, I'll prefer the best abode, To ev'ry other place: Here Jesus sheds his love abroad, And shews his glorious grace. 15 These two extracts from the writings of Thomas Ken are quoted in S. C. Carpenter's Eighteenth-Century Church and People (London, 1959), 61 and 62. For a detailed study of the Non-jurors, see T. Lathbury's A History of the Non-jurors (London, 1845); J. H. Overton's The Non-jurors (London, 1902); J. W. C. Wand's The High Church Schism (London, 1951); and F. William Cock's article "A List of Non-jurors", published in Notes and Queries, CLVI (1929), 39—43.

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Here he his holy will declares, In soft and melting sounds: And sov'reign balsam here prepares, To all our bleeding wounds. Here frequent visits he affords, To poor and contrite hearts: Admits them often to his board And life to them imparts. Whilst by his kind protecting care, We live exempt from fear: Nor foreign nor intestine war, Make desolations here. Here ever may the gospel shine, And God vouchsafe to dwell: Whilst mighty proofs of Love divine, Both foes and fears dispel. He may his spirit grace dispense, And holy life inspire: May sin and strife far off from hence, With all their train retire. May peace on balmy wings descend, And bless the fav'rite isle: May God from threat'ning ills defend, And on his people smile. In warm requests I'll breathe my love Nor supplication cease: 'Till Britain's God propitious prove, And grant us lasting peace. While Browne maintains t h e Nonconformist's position t h a t '"Tis f a i t h t h a t purifies t h e heart, /And kindles holy love" (Book I, H y m n X X X I ) , he still expresses strong a t t a c h m e n t t o t h e Established Church a n d t h e Anglican tradition. A similar sentiment is expressed in his H y m n C L X X I I : " P r a y e r for Britain U r g ' d " . These poems b y Browne are not so very different in a t t i t u d e f r o m " T h e British Church" b y George H e r b e r t , whom Stephen Neill describes as "par excellence t h e poet of Anglicanism". 1 8 This fine 16

Anglicanism,

149.

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

23

poem provides a kind of touchstone for establishing both what is meant by the Anglican tradition and what influence it had upon the poets of the eighteenth century: I joy, deare Mother, when I view Thy perfect lineaments and hue Both sweet and bright. Beautie in thee takes up her place, And dates her letters from thy face, When she doth write. A fine aspect in fit array, Neither too mean, nor yet too gay, Shows who is best. Outlandish looks may not compare: For all they either painted are, Or else undrest. She on the hills, which wantonly Allureth all in hope to be By her preferr'd, Hath kiss'd so long her painted shrines, That ev'n her face by kissing shines, For her reward. She in the valley is so shie Of dressing, that her hair doth he About her ears: While she avoids her neighbours pride, She wholly goes on th' other side, And nothing wears. But, dearest Mother, what those misse, The mean, they praise and glorie is, And long may be. Blessed be God, whose love it was To double-moat thee with his grace, And none but thee. To Herbert the British Church represents one of the constants in the world of flux. His values derive from an authority both Scriptural and traditional. He presents a moderate and rational way of life which accepts both the flesh and the spirit, both "doctrine and life", as Herbert puts it in "The Windows":

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Doctrine and life, colours and light, in one When they combine and mingle, bring A strong regard and awe. Through this combining of forces the Church is kept from extremes and self-distinctive exclusiveness. I t is this vital principle which has animated the progress of the Church traced in "The Church Militant". The progress, like that of the sun, was from east westward, through Spain and Germany, both of which allowed corruption to set in, until the Church settled in England: Spain in the Empire shar'd with Germanie, But England in the higher victorie: Giving the Church a crown to keep her state, And not go lesse then she had done of late. Constantines British line meant this of old, And did this mysterie wrap up and fold Within a sheet of paper, which was rent From times great Chronicle, and hither sent. Thus both the Church and Sunne together ran Unto the farthest old meridian. The argument that the Church and State are essentially co-extensive is, of course, directly compatible with the views of Hooker, and it was upon this point that many of the Nonconformists, with their belief in election and conversion, leveled harshest criticism. The reflection of Hooker's polity in Herbert's poems is clear. Ross has said that '"the British Church' contains the congealed thought of Hooker". 17 This traditional Anglican attitude is expressed in all Herbert's works: One who wishes to know what Anglicanism is and has not much time for study cannot do better than to pay attention to the life, the poetry, and the prose of George Herbert.18 His writings reflect that media via between the Church of Rome and the Continental Reformed Churches which historians and Anglicans such as John Donne and Thomas Brown perceive as an essential 17 18

Malcolm M. Ross, Poetry and Dogma (New Brunswick, 1954), 149. Neill, Anglicanism, 149.

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characteristic of t h e Anglican t r a d i t i o n : "Neither too mean, n o r yet too g a y " . H e r b e r t ' s poem is in contrast with "Divine W o r s h i p " b y t h e Quaker poet T h o m a s Ellwood (1639 — 1713); his is a long poem, b u t excerpts sufficiently indicate his a t t i t u d e : 13 But yet, e'er Christ would abrogate A Worship so long Time in Use, And disannul the legal State, He did a better introduce; This Law was not in Marble cut, But in the Heart and Conscience put. 20 Types, Shadows, Sacraments and Signs, Did on this Dispensation wait; Who to the Gospel-worship joins, Shadows must leave to t h ' shad'wry State: 'Tis not the fatted Calf that skips, Is offer'd now, but Calves of Lips. 21 Thanks and Praise, Sacrifices are To God most pleasing, when they spring From a pure Heart He doth prepare, And then excites His Acts to sing: True Christ'ans use both Heart and Tongue, Where'er a Hymn or Psalm is sung. 22 Not chanting, in a formal Note, States touch'd in ancient Song, Perverting what the Psalmist wrote, Whose Case cannot to all belong; 'Tis who their own Experience bring, With Spirit and with Judgment sing. 23 Instead of Incense to perfume The Altar, from the Soul arise

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In Flames (that warm but not consume) Sighs, Supplications, Groans and Cries, Which tho' but weak, do never fail, At Mercy's Fountain to prevail. Ellwood's rejection of Incense, Sacrifice, Chants, and Ritual in favor of the law of heart and conscience is, of course, an essentially Puritan characteristic. I t is, in effect, a rejection of all sacrament and tradition. This is the simple directness, the worshipping of God in t h e spirit without any intervening medium, which is reflected in the Puritan attitude toward art. And it contrasts with t h e Anglican tradition which centers upon those various media of tradition and sacrament which Ellwood rejects. Although these media were not acceptable without some qualification by Congregationalists, Presbyterians, and Baptists, they were rarely rejected by them. Browne, as well as Herbert, believed t h a t the people of England were maintaining a tradition of worship, both unified and purified, which traced its lineage through the Mediaeval Church Fathers to St. Peter. This belief is also expressed by Thomas Ken (1637—1711). I n "Providence" he writes: Britannia's faithful Sons, who next appear'd, Were to Ecclesia most endear'd; She welcom'd them, they th' ancient Faith retain'd, As first traduc'd, with Novelties unstain'd. These poets, like their ecclesiastical counterparts, saw the Church as a continuing fellowship, upholding and propagating the Catholic and Apostolic faith and order as they are set forth in the Book of Common Prayer, bound together by a loyalty sustained through the common counsel of the Bishops in conference. The Established Church, it became clear soon after the Restoration, favoured uniformity over inclusiveness, and the Act of Uniformity and the Oath of Allegiance were instances of this preference. This failure to achieve comprehension may not have been a totally unfortunate development. Carpenter judges t h a t "comprehension of the uniform kind which was envisaged in 1689 would have involved the complete cohabitation of two very different and, it might have proved, quite incompatible partners". The Anglican position, he points out, has

27

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

always been t h e via media, " b y which is meant not a mechanically drawn line equidistant from two extremes, b u t an a t t e m p t t o preserve t h e old essentials a n d to include t h e new desirables". 1 9 Without legislation or force t h e Anglican tradition maintained its continuity a n d without metamorphosis or loss retained its character through t h e stormy controversies of t h e Restoration a n d Revolution. "Eighteenth-century man lived in a universe in which it was possible t o be a t home, even comfortable". 2 0 B u t t h e comfort of t h e century was not really a complacency, a n d it was regularly troubled by vigorous controversies. One of these, which h a d a number of i m p o r t a n t implications and which attracted a fair a m o u n t of attention, concerned t h e doctrine of t h e Trinity. The mystery of t h e Incarnation a n d t h e relationship of Christ t o other members of t h e Trinity — this mental mystery of t h e Church h a d always been a target for rationalistic criticism a n d heretical writing. Specifically, such criticism a n d writing usually focused upon t h e Athanasian Creed, with its unequivocal doctrine of t h e Trinity a n d Incarnation: Whosoever would be saved needeth before all things to hold fast the Catholick Faith. Which Faith except a man keep whole and undefiled, without doubt he will perish eternally. Now the Catholick Faith is this: that we worship One God in Trinity, and the Trinity in Unity. *

*

*

Furthermore it is necessary to eternal salvation: that he also believe faithfully the Incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ. During t h e late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries this doctrine came under a t t a c k from several sources. There was a growing movement within t h e Church itself, as well as f r o m outside, t o regard Christianity as a reasonable a n d commonly acceptable set of beliefs, provable b y experience and understandable b y all men. J o h n Locke's The Reasonableness of Christianity (1695) laid a con19 S. C. Carpenter, Eighteenth-Century Church and People (London, 1959), 23. 20 Anglicanism, 172. For an interesting collection of various views held during the century, especially the religious life, see Alfred Plummer's The Church of England in the Eighteenth Century (London, 1910), 25—28.

28

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

venient foundation upon which succeeding rationalists of varying degree could build. The theme of this book is the great topic of postreformation theology: Justification by Faith. Locke claims t h a t subtle theological arguments must be ignored in favor of t h e one central belief in Jesus as Messiah. Faith alone is essential, and Faith is conceived in primarily personal and intellectual terms: Thus from the Consideration of our selves, and what we infallibly find in our own Constitutions, our Reason leads us to the Knowledge of this certain and evident Truth, That there is an eternal, most powerful, and most knowing Being; which whether any one will please to call God, it matters not (Book IV, Chapter X). In Christianity not Mysterious (1696) John Toland adopted a position very similar to t h a t of Locke, but he went beyond Locke in saying t h a t truths revealed to any faculty other than Reason are not admissible. But I demand to what end should God require us to believe what we cannot understand? . . . But if by Knowledg be meant understanding what is believ'd, than I stand by it that Faith is Knowledg: I have all along maintain'd it, and the very Words are promiscuously us'd for one another in the Gospel (Section II, Chapter I). When he wrote this book Toland was a member of the Church of England, and in spite of his attacks upon other churches and in spite of his implied heresies, he did not openly criticize the Established Church. But the clergy were not unaware of the implications of Toland's arguments, and in 1701 the Lower House of Convocation requested the Upper House to suppress this work which contained passages described as "pernicious, dangerous and scandalous positions and destructive of the Christian faith". The bishops hesitated, fearing to do anything without licence from the king. They faced the same problem in more acute form a decade later with the publication of An Historical Preface to Primitive Christianity (1711) by William Whiston (1667 — 1752). In this work Whiston argued t h a t a study of the pre-Nicene fathers yielded evidence to conclude t h a t their doctrine of the Trinity was not Athanasian but "Eusebian" or Arian. This time, under the careful leadership of Tenison, Convocation censured the book, without touching the person of the author.

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

29

But in the following year complaints were again heard in the Lower House because of the publication of Scripture Doctrine of the Trinity (1712) by Samuel Clarke (1675—1729). Again, the taint of Arianism was discovered in this work, and the controversy was resumed. The writings of Clarke were admired by Bishop Hoadly who collected and edited them. In part this kept alive the name of Clarke as an Arian threat. In 1715 Stephen Nye, rector of Little Hermead, published The Explication of the Articles of the Divine Unity, The Trinity, and Incarnation, commonly received in the Catholic Church, asserted and vindicated: by occasion of the late Books of Dr. Samuel Clarice and his Opposers. And as late as 1763 the controversy still raged around Clarke's book; John Landon, rector of Newstead and Ifield in Kent published An Answer to a Book, entitled, An Appeal to the Common Sense of all Christian People, with regard to an Important Point of Faith and Practice Imposed upon their Consciences by Church Authority; wherein the Author's Erroneous Notions Concerning the Doctrine of the Trinity and Incarnation of Jesus Christ, together with his Mistakes in Expounding the Holy Scriptures are fully laid open: and in which likewise several Texts of Dr. Clarke's Scripture Doctrine of the Trinity, with his arguing upon them are occasionally considered. The issues of the Incarnation and the Athanasian Creed remained open for discussion during the entire century. For example, in 1769 Francis Lloyd published A Vindication of the Athanasian Creed, in respect to the explicit Explanation of the three distinct Persons in the Godhead, and of the Incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ. And in 1785 Samuel Horsley published his A Sermon on the Incarnation. This concern over the theological subtleties of the doctrine of the Trinity and Incarnation was not confined to only one part of the Anglican Church, or to the high church party within it. The Athanasian Creed was accepted without grave hesitations by the group which later came to be known as Latitude-men. A Brief Account of the New Sect of Latitude-Men (1662) by Simon Patrick recorded t h a t concerning the theology of the Established Church "they do cordially adhere to it, as doth sufficiently appear by their willingness to subscribe to the Thirty-Nine Articles, and all other points of doc-

30

THE ANGLICAN

TRADITION

trine contained either in the Liturgy or Book of Homilies; and particularly (whatsoever may be privately whispered to the contrary) they do both devoutly adore the blessed Trinity in the Litany, and make solemn profession of their orthodox faith, both concerning it and other points, in the three Creeds, not excepting t h a t which is commonly ascribed to Athanasius, nor is there any article of doctrine held forth by the Church, which they can justly be accused to depart from, unless absolute reprobation be one, which they do not think themselves bound to believe". Indeed, it was not until the end of the eighteenth century t h a t attacks upon the value of theological niceties were expressed by members of the Established Church, and then, as in the case of Richard Watson, these were prompted as much by Biblical interpretation and rejection of patristic authority as by the spread of nationalism. Throughout the history of this tortuous controversy the Anglican position was periodically colored by the feelings of the times, but three principal points emerge as constant: (1) the Established Church accepted the Athanasian Creed, with its doctrine of the Trinity, (2) Arian and, later, Socinian interpretations were regarded as heresies, and (3) the Athanasian doctrine t h a t belief in the Trinity is necessary for salvation was possibly qualified in relation to savages and those who could not have known Christ. The implications of this position are numerous, but four deserve attention: (1) t h a t the Anglican accepted tradition as well as Scripture as having final authority over conscience, (2) t h a t reliance for salvation must not be placed upon individual conversion and faith alone, (3) t h a t the sacraments, the liturgy, prayers and meditation all play an import a n t part in worship, and (4) t h a t an extreme and violent awareness of personal guilt and sin and a throwing of oneself upon the mercy of God do not form the central ritual of the religious experience. These attitudes towards religious experience, it is obvious, differ considerably from those of the Puritans and Quakers. The Anglican tradition is equipped with many media for expressing their worship of God. And these are enclosed within a framework of quiet reason and moderation which shuns exhibition and indulgence in much emotion. I t is "neither too mean, nor yet too gay".

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

31

"The via media", Miss Underhill has reminded us, "eludes not only the extremes of Catholic and Protestant cultus, but also the heights and deeps of the spiritual life". 21 This does not mean religious indifference; Herbert's poetic aim was to record a "picture of the many spiritual Conflicts t h a t have past betwixt God and my Soul". But it does mean- a reluctance to abandon oneself to a solely emotional experience. Again, the ideal was a balance between the intellectual and the emotional. I t is because of this sensitivity to balance t h a t Augustan Anglicans regarded the Enthusiasts with such disdain. 22 Social and political factors also entered into this attitude, b u t they reflected a basically religious set of values which distinguished the Anglican tradition from t h a t of the Dissenters. The best expression of this Augustan attitude is found in an anonymous poem published about 1730, and usually ascribed to Thomas, sixth Earl of Harrington. "The Apocrypha" is very long, but because of its subject matter and style it is worth quoting in full: It is very odd to see how zeal Over sense and reason doth prevail, And makes its votaries commit A thousand actions are unfit, And, following that hair-brained guide, Virtue and morals lay aside. To prove the truth of what I've said, I'll give an instance of a maid, Who lived in Glasgow at the time When conventicling was a crime Severely punished by the law, Which made most people stand in awe; But Janet trudged from hill to hill, And thought she never could get her fill. In frosts and snows, in winds and rains, Would six hours hear their raving strains; And such her zeal that she did call The legal clergy priests of Baal; Bishops were an abomination, 21

Worship, 324. For a thorough examination of the movement, see Ronald Knox's Enthusiasm: A Chapter in the History of Religion (New York, 1961).

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

Whose pride, she said, would sink the nation. An aunt, who heard of Janet's game, To see her niece to Glasgow came; Janet bewailed the evil times, Broke convenants and crying crimes, Then freely railed at church and state, At whoring Charles and Popish Kate; Nor let the Duke of York alone, But called him imp of Babylon. The whining aunt was pleased to find Her niece so zealously inclined; And, that she might continue true, Gave her a Bible bound in blue, A neatly gift; on this they part. The present pleased her to the heart; She looked upon it with delight; But soon she saw a dreadful sight, For as she turned it over with care Behold, the Apocrypha was there. On this, her joy was turned to rage, And she tore out each guilty page. But zeal oft carries folks too far, And they may do, ere they're aware, What they may afterwards repent, As I shall show you in the event. Next Sunday morning, long ere day, Janet from Glasgow took her way, To hear a preacher of renown For railing at the church and crown. The way was long, she had no guide, But her looped Bible by her side; The place of meeting, well she knew, Was at a hill above Renfrew. At last she reached the longed-for place, And heard the man brimful of grace; With so much energy he spoke, As would have rent a heart of oak. He had the scriptures at command, And said that God would judge the land By them, his dear and chosen people, WTho would demolish every steeple; Pull out their bishops, tear their gowns, And bind their troopers and dragoons;

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

But peace and wealth to them would grant, Who stood firm by the covenant. Six hours in such discourse he passed, But let his hearers go at last; Who left the hill with great content, And to their homes rejoicing went; While zealous Janet, for her part, Declared the sermon reached her heart. But, as through Crookstone wood she came, An accident befell the dame, A handsome fellow, young and strong, Who had in vain loved Janet long, Lay fast asleep beneath an oak, But Janet soon his slumbers broke. She called his name; he raised his eyes, And looked on Janet with surprise; Then, starting up, cried out, "My dear, I did not dream to see you here; Will you sit down and rest a while;" Then gazed upon her with a smile. The pious Janet was content, But slyly to the thicket went, He kissed her hand, and nothing said, Then with her lovely bosom played; Upon her lips he seized in haste, And threw his arms around her waist: He feared he might offend the dame, But she, whose blood was all on flame, With open lips received the kiss, And did at once his fears dismiss: Their mouths were close together glued, His purpose he with warmth pursued; Upon the grass he gently laid The lovely and consenting maid: He could not stay to view her charms, But rushed at once into her arms; Then laid her charming legs aside, While Janet had no power to chide; But did in every thing comply, And seemed to give a single cry. This rapture took their speech away, And out of breath they silent lay; But, after a long burning kiss,

33

34

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

He mounted to renew the bliss; And, smiling, let his dearest know Her lovely buttocks lay too low. The fair one, listening to his speech, Her Bible clapped below her breech; And, as she heaved, she, sighing, said, "Alas ! I am a silly maid: A curse upon the luckless day, I tore the Apocrypha away, And threw it in the cruel fire, I t would have raised my buttocks higher, And might have helped me at the pinch; But now my zeal has lost an inch. The Enthusiasts were merely an extreme form of t h e Evangelicals a n d t h e Methodists, both of whom for many years found a h a p p y home within t h e Established Church. The hymns of Addison, Newton, and Cowper, as well as of t h e Wesleys, express t h e same theology as t h e poems of Herbert and K e n . The Anglican Church based its criterion for comprehension, not upon specific details of doctrine, b u t upon t h e more nebulous values of a t t i t u d e and atmosphere. The Enthusiasts simply did not share these qualities whereas t h e Evangelicals and Methodists usually did. 23 The century continued to be racked by spirited controversies in spite of t h e so-called indifference to religious matters. Deism, which a t t r a c t e d much interest in t h e early years, was vigorously opposed by Bishop Joseph Butler, whose Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of Nature (1736) has been called " t h e most formidable and t h e most decisive work t h a t t h e Deistic controversy called forth". 2 4 His attitude toward Enthusiasm is contained in his comment to J o h n Wesley: "Sir, t h e pretending to extraordinary revelations and gifts of the Holy Ghost is a horrid thing, a very horrid thing". 2 5 His handling of the Deists is similar; 23

For a convenient introduction t o these groups, see L. E . Elliot-Binn's The Early Evangelicals: A Religious and Social Study (London, 1953), and R u p e r t E . Davies' Methodism (Harmondsworth, 19G3). 24 Cragg, The Church and the Age of Reason, 165. 25 Wesley, Works, vol. X I I I (London, 1*31), 464—6. Wesley denied claim t o a n y such extraordinary gifts.

35

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

with logical progression he showed how their arguments for Natural Theology were as fallacious as they claimed those for Revelation were. After the Analogy was published, little remained of the Deist party. The Bangorian Controversy, of which Kennett wrote " t h e paper war about the Bishop of Bangor draws a dreadful deal of ink, black and bitter", 2 6 gradually died once the Non-juror William Law had reaffirmed the traditional Anglican position. The century was also troubled by specific issues such as the Sacheverell case and by general worries such as the beginnings of Biblical criticism. These, controversies, which attracted widespread concern and reaction coupled with the many major religious writings of the period, give pause to the consideration of the eighteenth century as one of sloth, indifference, and incoherence. Even the statement by Plummer in his history of the eighteenth-century church comes under question: I t is quite true that the history of the English Church during the eighteenth century is the history of a steady and grievous decline. But it is also true that a great deal of that decline, perhaps far the greater part of it, was due much more to the ill-treatment which it received than to its own spontaneous negligence and misconduct.27 The historical forces which moulded the nature of the Anglican tradition during the eighteenth century did not inevitably work for ill. The controversies, the criticisms, the politicking, and the pondering — all these indicate a vital and energetic Anglican tradition which continued to have real meaning and significance to t h e majority of Englishmen. The Evangelical Movement alone is proof of the vitality of the tradition, and its influence was felt on all levels of English life. This movement and the public controversies brought about a comprehension which earlier legislation could never have accomplished. The Anglican tradition, incorporating this vast spectrum of thought and feeling, achieved its diversity by recognizing and adjusting to historical forces. I t was this ability to adjust which kept it a viable tradition. 86 See S. C. C a r p e n t e r , Eighteenth-Century which includes this quotation. 27 A l f r e d P l u m m e r , The Church of England

Church

and People,

in the Eighteenth

130—136,

Century,

4.

36

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

I n addition to adjusting t o historical forces, by which it produced a particular national cultus a n d certain stylistic characteristics, t h e Anglican tradition maintained a continuity which related it t o t h e Church Fathers a n d t h e great Churchmen of the seventeenth cent u r y . I n 1655 H e n r y F e m e offered a definition of t h e Established Church which would have been as acceptable to Churchmen a t t h e end of t h e eighteenth century as it is today: Lest there be any mistake in names (because all the sects in this nation call themselves . . . Churches of England) . . . by the Church of England is understood the Church of Christ in this land established upon the Reformation, holding out her doctrine and government in the 39 Articles, her liturgy and public divine service in the Book of Common Prayer: and all those are called "Sectaries" and are proved so to be who (of what persuasion soever) have departed from, or refused to hold communion with this Church upon dislike of doctrine, government, liturgy, rites, and ceremonies, or any of these. 28 This definition is similar to Sir Thomas Browne's acknowledgment in Eeligio Medici: . . . there is no Church whose every part so squares unto my conscience; whose Articles, Constitutions, and Customs seem so consonant unto Reason, and as it were framed to my particular Devotion, as this whereof I hold my belief, the Church of England. W h a t these writers, like other Anglicans before them, found in t h e Established Church was a balanced set of values which were given outward and visible signs in a number of ways: in t h e traditions of liturgy, of meditation, of mysticism, and of reason, as well as of doctrine. Chapman, in his continuation of Marlowe's Hero and Leander, expressed t h e feeling t h a t ceremony was essential t o religion: The goddess Ceremony, with a crown Of all the stars . . . Her flaming hair to her bright feet descended, By which hung all the bench of deities. And in a chain, compact of ears and eyes, She led Religion. 28

A Compendious Discourse upon the Case (London, 1655), If.

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37

Although Tillotson in 1689 was willing t o let ceremonies be " a m a t t e r of indifference", he maintained his firm belief in t h e Anglican tradition: I do in my conscience believe the Church to be the best constituted Church this day in the world; and that, as to the main, the Doctrines of Government and Worship of it are exactly framed to make men soberly religious, securing on the one hand from the wild freaks of Enthusiasm and on the other from the gross follies of Superstition. 29 The love of ceremony never dropped from t h e Anglican Church, a n d throughout t h e eighteenth century it exerted considerable influence upon t h e poets. I n particular, t h e observance of special days of celebration kept alive t h e seasons of t h e ecclesiastical year with its ritual of redemption. Robert Nelson's Companion for the Festivals and Fasts of the Church of England continued t o be reprinted throughout t h e century, a n d an anonymous hymn of 1774 for Whitsuntide sums up t h e general a t t i t u d e towards such special days: Spirit of mercy, truth, and love, 0 shed thine influence from above; And still from age to age convey The wonders of this sacred day. Similar continuity of feeling can be detected in other aspects of t h e Anglican tradition. I n 1616 Christopher Goodman published his treatise Fall of Man in which he describes an "ecstasis of soul" which Donne, Cowper, a n d Smart also knew: Though the present condition of man be earthly, made of the earth, feeds on the earth, and is dissolved to the earth, and therefore the soul doth less discover herself by her proper actions than doth the material body; yet it is not unknown to philosophy that there is an ecstasis of the soul, wherein she is carried in a trance, wholly and only intending the intellectual functions, while the body lies dead like a carcass, without breath, sense, motion, or nourishment, only as a pledge to assure us of the soul's return. This balance of t h e earthly a n d t h e spiritual was considered t h e essential nature of man, and all t h a t his religion a n d his a r t showed 29 "The Hazard of Being Saved in the Church of Rome".

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

38

him was based upon this balanced nature. Such issues as those brought up during the great Trinitarian controversies had been raised in earlier periods, yet the Anglican position remained the same. In the Elizabethan Age, Davies of Hereford had expressed it in his Mirurn in Modum: These powers or persons make one Trinity, Yet but one substance indivisible; Which perfect Trinity in unity, Both being spiritual and invisible, Do make the soul her God so right resemble. In tone, style, and thought this extract sounds as though it had been written in the eighteenth century. These are the undefinable characteristics which the Anglican tradition encouraged in its poets. And these are also characteristics which a poet at the end of the century, in trying very hard to express the tradition and the style of the Anglican Church, presents in his verse. The exact nature and sincerity of William Wordsworth's religious views do not concern this essay, but his Ecclesiastic Sonnets indicate something about what was regarded as the Anglican tradition. Helen Darbishire writes that "as the transcendent experiences of his early life ebbed away, he turned deliberately to seek support in the doctrines of the Anglican Church . . . . He chose as a poetic task to trace the history of the Anglican Church in a series of Ecclesiastic Sonnets". 30 Havens supports this suggestion of a deliberate change in Wordsworth's attitude to the Church: "In his later years he attached great importance to the church as an institution and tried, but with imperfect success, to accept its doctrinal teachings". 31 The reason for this imperfect success seems to lie in Wordsworth's contemplative frame of mind; by middle age a kind of remoteness had set in which made ideas remain separate from the burning vision of experience: Wordsworth never actually saw angels. His sanity and distrust of strong emotions have been noted by Dean Inge, who comments upon his mystical qualities: 30 31

Wordsworth ( L o n d o n , 1955), 33. R . D . H a v e n s , The Mind of a Poet, vol. I ( B a l t i m o r e , 1941), 198.

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

39

The greatest prophet of this branch of contemplative Mysticism is unquestionably the poet Wordsworth. It was the object of his life to be a religious t e a c h e r . . . . He was a loyal Churchman, but his religion was really almost independent of any ecclesiastical system. His ecclesiastical sonnets reflect rather the dignity of the Anglican Church than the ardent piety with which our other poet-mystics, such as Herbert, Vaughan, and Crashaw, adorn the offices of worship. His cast of faith, intellectual and contemplative rather than fervid, and the solitariness of his thought, forbade him to find much satisfaction in public ceremonial.32 Perhaps because of what appears to have been an assumed, rather than a spontaneous, acceptance of the doctrines of the Church of England, Wordsworth does not totally succeed in presenting a traditional attitude toward both the Church and its history. But the dignity and ritual of the Church Calendar — a subject of much appeal for poets — are praised in "The Liturgy": Yes, if the intensities of hope and fear Attract us still, and passionate exercise Of lofty thoughts, the way before us lies Distinct with signs, through which in set career, As through a zodiac, moves the ritual year Of England's Church; stupendous mysteries ! Praise for Archbishop Laud (unusual during Wordsworth's day) and for other Anglican divines is expressed in "Laud", "Latimer and Ridley", "Cranmer", and the two sonnets on "Eminent Reformers". A spirit of reasonable toleration colors "Latitudinarianism", and "Sacheverel" idealizes "the golden mean, and quiet flow/Of truths t h a t soften hatred, temper strife". The services of the church are supported in the sonnets of the various parts of The Book of Common Prayer and in "Sacrament". Restraint and dignity color Wordsworth's "Ejaculation": Glory to God! and to the Power who came In filial duty, clothed with love divine. Similar continuity of approach and feeling is found in the verse of other poets throughout the century. 32

W. R. Inge, Christian Mysticism

(New York, 1956), 305.

40

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

I n writing about the poetry of George Herbert, Lord David Cecil notes a number of characteristics which, he feels, mark Herbert as a peculiarly Anglican and British poet. These characteristics appear to form what expresses itself in poetry as the Anglican tradition. Herbert has an additional interest as the most complete exponent in our poetry of the peculiar genius of the English Church. His piety is an eminently Anglican piety; refined, dignified, with a delicate appreciation of the values of style and ceremony, but subdued and restrained; its pure outline and quiet tints, a strong contrast to the rich colours and perfumed incense-flames of Crashaw.33 This description of "eminently Anglican piety" affords a convenient touchstone for detecting those nebulous poetic qualities which are a reflection of the Anglican tradition, and our essay will have many occasions for returning to this passage. As has been seen, the attempt to define the Anglican tradition is bound to be frustrated by the subtle nature of the matter and the constantly new lights under which succeeding generations view it. Somewhat like the chameleon, it changes to blend with its immediate environment, while still remaining the creature it is. I n his book on Anglicanism, Stephen Neill has faced the ultimate question, " W h a t is Anglicanism?" His answer clearly recognizes the difficulty of definition: The answer is that there are no special Anglican theological doctrines, there is no particular Anglican theology. The Church of England is the Catholic Church in England. It teaches all the doctrines of the Catholic Faith, as these are to be found in Holy Scripture, as they are summarized in the Apostles', the Nicene, and the Athanasian Creeds, and as they are set forth in the decisions of the first four General Councils of the undivided Church.34 He points out that, relying upon the Scriptures as containing all things necessary to salvation, the Church will accept any doctrine t h a t can be proved from Holy Writ, and rejects as unscriptural and erroneous doctrines added upon other evidence. Further, it re33 34

Oxford Book of Christian Verse (Oxford, 1940), xx. Anglicanism,, 417.

THE ANGLICAN TRADITION

41

gards as erroneous any limitation of t h e doctrines presented through t h e Scriptures, particularly such doctrines as Socinianism. I n these views Neill is echoing Archbishop Wake, who in his An Exposition of the Doctrine of the Church of England (1686) stated t h e Anglican approach toward authority: We receive with the same veneration whatsoever comes from the Apostles whether by scripture or tradition, provided that we can be assured that it comes from them. And if it can be made to appear that any tradition which the Written Word contains not, has been received by all churches and in all ages, we are ready to embrace it as coming from the apostles. Because of this approach, Neill admits t h a t considerable b r e a d t h of interpretation is permitted within t h e Church. B u t " t h e faith of t h e Church is t o be found in t h e Bible and in t h e Prayer Book; and on t h a t faith t h e Anglican Churches have, in t h e four centuries since t h e Reformation, never compromised". His resolution to t h e dilemma of isolating t h e Anglican'tradition or cultus is worthy of notice: In the strict sense of the term there is, therefore, no Anglican faith. But there is an Anglican attitude and an Anglican atmosphere. H e admits t h a t this itself is incapable of precise description: " I t must be felt and experienced in order to be understood". His method will be t h e method of this study, for t h e influence of religious tradition upon verse seems to be in terms of t h e beliefs themselves a n d of t h e kind of m a t t e r noticed, t h e way things are said, t h e tone of t h e poem. Neill says t h a t "All t h a t can be done is to isolate and comment on certain elements on which Anglicans throughout t h e world would probably agree as characteristic of their own faith a n d experience". 3 5 Therefore, it will be well to look at some poems in t h e a t t e m p t t o achieve a kind of mutual qualification: t o see what elements in t h e m emerge as p a r t of t h e Anglican tradition, and t o see to what extent t h e Anglican tradition has determined what sort of creatures t h e y are.

35

Anglicanism,,

418.

II THE ANGLICAN ATTITUDE

S h o w m e deare Christ, t h y spouse, so b r i g h t and clear. W h a t ! is it She, w h i c h on t h e other shore Goes richly p a i n t e d ? or w h i c h rob'd and t o r e L a m e n t s and mournes in G e r m a n y and here ? Sleepes she a thousand, t h e n peepes u p one y e a r e f I s she selfe t r u t h and errs ? n o w new, n o w o u t w o r e ? D o t h she, and did she, and shall she e v e r m o r e On one, on seaven, or on n o hill appeare ? D w e l l s she w i t h us, or like a d v e n t u r i n g k n i g h t s F i r s t t r a v a i l e w e t o seeke and then m a k e L o v e ? B e t r a y kind h u s b a n d t h y spouse t o our sights, A n d let m y n e a m o r o u s soule c o u r t t h y mild D o v e , W h o is m o s t t r e w , and pleasing t o thee, t h e n W h e n she'is e m b r a c ' d and open t o m o s t m e n . J o h n D o n n e , Holy Sonnet XVIII W h i l e m i g h t y L e w i s finds t h e P o p e t o o g r e a t , A n d dreads t h e Y o k e o f his imposing Seat, O u r Sects a m o r e T y r a n n i c k P o w ' r assume, A n d w o u ' d for Scorpions change t h e R o d s o f R o m e ; T h a t Church detain'd the L e g a c y Divine; F a n a t i c k s c a s t t h e P e a r l s of H e a v ' n t o S w i n e : W h a t t h e n h a v e honest t h i n k i n g Men t o do, B u t chuse a Mean between t h ' U s u r p i n g t w o 1 E a r l o f R o s c o m m o n , On Mr. Dryden's "Religio Laid"

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Because the Anglican tradition is marked by such variety and flexibility and because it has been characterized by comprehension rather t h a n exclusion — because (as Stephen Neill admits) it is difficult to maintain any unity in the far-flung Anglican communion 1 — for these reasons the historian will do well to select termini for his investigations however arbitrary these may have to be. This procedure will also enable him to distinguish and sift those concerns in the literature which are distinctive of the period. Two poems stand at either end of the present study, defining its scope with a convenience and consideration for the critic which are almost unheard-of among literary works. I n 1682 John Dryden wrote his Religio Laid: or A Layman's Faith. This work has been described by some critics, notably Bredvoid, 2 as an expression of the author's basically Roman Catholic sympathies; in spite of the author's deliberate intentions perhaps, he argues t h a t it became a Roman Catholic poem. Evidence for this argument is found in Dryden's apparent anti-rationalism and his willingness to submit independent judgment to authority in ultimate matters of faith. Bredvoid treats together both Religio Laid and The Hind and the Panther (an accepted statement of Roman Catholic belief): Religio Laid and The Hind and the Panther are so closely allied in their philosophy that the earlier poem might be regarded as a sort of prelude or introduction to the later; both are basically skeptical and fideistic.3 Earlier he had classified Religio Laid as belonging "historically rather to Roman Catholic t h a n to Anglican apologetics", 4 and he had said that, "Protestant though it be, it gives a clear and forceful expression of the main Catholic criticism of the Protestant doctrines regarding religious authority". 5 However, partly prompted, no 1

Anglicanism (Harmondsworth, 1958), 427. Louis I. Bredvold, The Intellectual Milieu of John Dryden (Ann Arbor, 1934), 121. 3 Ibid., 121. 4 Ibid., 47. 5 Ibid., 14. 2

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doubt, by the author's own statement t h a t it is an expression of the Anglican position, several critics have examined Beligio Laid as an Anglican poem. Douglas Grant has called it Dryden's "great defence" of the Church of England; 6 A. W. Verall has seen it as expressing Anglican doctrine; 7 in it, David Nichol Smith says, "a decision is come to, and we are provided with a good statement for the via media of the Church of England". 8 More recently, Thomas H . Fujimura has examined the evidence for these critical views of the poem and feels t h a t the Roman Catholic interpretation, most fully presented by Bredvold, is untenable: My opinion is that Bredvold's ideas on Religio Laid are completely unsound, and that Dryden's poem is, in most respects, a conventional work of Anglican apologetics.9 His conclusion is similar to t h a t of Smith quoted above: Essentially, Dryden asserts the via media of the Church of England of his time. 10 Fujimura's view of this poem appears to be both sensitive and reasonable. H e has shown the close correspondence between the thinking of Dryden and t h a t of such eminent Anglican writers as Taylor and Hooker. I n the present study we shall see this correspondence in relation to contemporary apologetics as well. I n both his qualified confidence in rationalism and his willingness to submit to authority Dryden was, as Fujimura has shown, safely within the bounds of the Anglican via media. One hundred and fourteen years after Dryden's poem — t h a t is, in 1796 — Religio Clerid: or The Faith of A Clergyman of The Church of England was written by William Mason. Mason was a poet, musician, scholar, critic of painting, and priest of the Anglican Church. Through Gray's influence, he was elected fellow of Pembroke College, 6 7 8 9

Dryden: Poetry, Prose and Plays (Cambridge, Mass., 1952), 17. Lectures on Dryden (Cambridge, 1914), 2—3. John Dryden (Cambridge, 1950), 61. "Dryden's Religio Laiei: an Anglican Poem", PMLA, L X X V I (1961),

205. 10

Ibid., 217.

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Cambridge, and he was a friend to both Bishop Hurd and Bishop Warburton. In 1762 the King presented Mason to the canonry and prebend of Driffield in the cathedral church of York, together with the precentorship of that church, which had been made vacant by the promotion of Dr. Newton to the bishopric of Bristol. The biography of Mason in Chalmers' Works of the English Poets says that his life "appears to have been principally devoted to the duties of his profession, occasionally relieved by the cultivation of the fine arts". 1 1 Religio Glerici is a statement of the same tradition of the Anglican Church as that expressed in Religio Laid. The work itself, as well as the title, is in imitation of Dryden's poem. To examine these two works in some detail may be helpful in understanding more thoroughly the nature of the Anglican tradition and the aspects of it which caught the inward eye of poets during the century. In his Preface to Religio Laid Dryden admits that although he is attempting to make a confession of only his own faith, yet he has derived help from the "Works of our Reverend Divines of the Church of England" and has submitted the paper to a "judicious and learned Friend, a Man indefatigably zealous in the service of the Church and State". Thus the Religio Laid is more than the personal expression of the author's beliefs; its concerns reflect the immediate concerns of those in the English Church during the later seventeenth century. One of these concerns is the statement in the Preface to the Athanasian Creed which Dryden complained was "of too hard digestion for my Charity". The statement apparently asserts that no heathen unknowing of Christ can be saved: Whosoever will be saved, before all things it is necessary that he hold the Catholic faith. Which faith except everyone do keep whole and undefiled without doubt he shall perish everlastingly. This seems to be a Bill of Exclusion, legislated against the fathers, but which did not bar the sons from the succession; or it seemed 11

Vol. XVIII, 314. For a fuller treatment of Mason, see John W. Draper, William Mason: a Study in Eighteenth-Century Culture (New York, 1924).

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" t h a t so many Ages had been deliver'd over to Hell, and so many reserv'd for Heaven, and t h a t the Devil had the first choice, and God the next". Although Dry den never phrased it in these particular terms, this reads like the Anglican objection to the Calvinist doctrine of predestination. And the argument in each instance is similar: the doctrine places greater emphasis upon an unjust — and, one suspects they felt, un-British — decree of guilt and punishment, rather than upon the possibility of salvation for each individual. Dryden is aware t h a t many texts from Scripture support this statement by Athanasius, but he will not go as far as the Earl of Roscommon, who in his poem in praise of Dryden's ReligioLaici wrote: Nor can th' Egyptian Patriarch blame my Muse, Which for his Firmness does his Heat excuse; Whatever Councils have approv'd his Creed, The Preface sure was his own Act and Deed. Dryden, rather, looks for a "kinder, and more mollified interpretation". He suggests t h a t "whosoever will be saved" may be taken to distinguish between "Heriticks" and "True Believers" and not between Christians and Pagans, who at the time t h a t the Creed was formulated were not in the least involved in the whole problem. I n other words, he approaches this paragraph of the Creed historically: the Creed is a part of the struggle against Arianism, a heresy which J o h n Wild quotes as an example of the perpetual danger of corrupting and diluting forces within the Church: Thus in the fourth century the early Church was almost conquered by the heresy of Arianism, which attracted a majority of those calling themselves Christians, and was only just saved from giving way by the courage and zeal of Athanasius and his small party of devoted Catholics.12 At the end of the seventeenth century Dryden finds the Creed useful for the same reason: "opposition to the Socinians, as there was t h e n against the Arians; the one being a Heresy, which seems to h a v e been refin'd out of the other". This historical approach provides Dryden with the means to overcome his difficulty in accepting a s 12

What Is the Anglican Communion? (Cincinnati, n.d.), 17—18.

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literally t r u e t h e passage declaring t h e d a m n a t i o n of all unbelievers. D r y d e n a d m i t s t o possessing a h u m a n k i n d of compassion: For though his Creed Eternal Truth contains, 'Tis hard for Man to doom to endless pains All who belie v'd not all, his Zeal requir'd; Unless he first cou'd prove he was inspir'd. And so he offers two alternatives: (1) acceptance b y F a i t h , or (2) t h e interpretation t h a t t h e Creed was refuting Arianism: Then let us either think he meant to say This Faith, where publish'd, was only way; Or else conclude that, Arius to confute, The good old Man, too eager in dispute, Flew high; and as his Christian Fury rose Damn's all for Hereticks who durst oppose. I n adopting this position D r y d e n has worked out a solution unique neither t o himself nor t o his age. H e is rephrasing t h e questioning b y J e r e m y Taylor thirty-five years earlier in A Discourse of the Liberty of Prophesying (1647): If I should be questioned concerning the Symbol of Athanasius . . . I confess I cannot see that moderate sentence and gentleness of charity in his preface and conclusion, as there was in the Nicene Creed. Nothing there but damnation and perishing everlasting, unless the Article of the Trinity be believed, as it is there with curiosity and minute particularities explained. Taylor is well aware of t h e criticism which such a position called f o r t h u p o n t h e a u t h o r b y his contemporaries: Indeed, Athanasius had been soundly vexed on one side, and much cried up on the other; and, therefore, it is not so much wonder for him to be so decretory and severe in his censure; for nothing could more ascertain his friends to him, and disrepute his enemies, than the belief of that damnatory appendix. B u t this historical detection of loyalties does n o t justify t h e creed; Taylor a d o p t s t h e a t t i t u d e which was followed later b y D r y d e n :

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For the articles themselves, I am most heartily persuaded of the t r u t h of them, and yet I dare not say all t h a t are not so, are irrevocably damned . . . . 13 T h e historical i a n Creed h a d early y e a r s of his awareness

influences u p o n t h e t o n e a n d p h r a s i n g of t h e A t h a n a s b e e n recognized even earlier; J o h n Overall, d u r i n g t h e t h e s e v e n t e e n t h c e n t u r y D e a n of St. P a u l ' s , r e c o r d e d in T h e Convocation B o o k of 1606:

Also, with the same resolution and faith before mentioned, we receive and believe all and every one the several points and articles of Athanasius' Creed, made a little after the Council of Nice, against such blasphemous opinions as in these times were either directly or indirectly published in corners, and spread here and there to the seducing of many. 1 4 I n f a c t , W . H . Griffith T h o m a s h a s r e c e n t l y suggested t h a t t h e A t h a n a s i a n Creed "is n o t really a Creed, b u t a n exposition of t h e m e a n i n g of t h e Nicene Creed on t h e t w o g r e a t p o i n t s of t h e H o l y T r i n i t y a n d o u r L o r d ' s I n c a r n a t i o n . Originally it does n o t seem t o h a v e b e e n i n t e n d e d f o r use as a Creed, b u t only as a m e a n s of ins t r u c t i o n a n d as a w a r n i n g a g a i n s t false d o c t r i n e " . 1 5 This two-fold division of t h e A t h a n a s i a n Creed is deliberately followed b y William Mason in t h e s t r u c t u r e of his Beligio Clerici. I n a n a n n o t a t i o n t o a line in t h e Second P a r t , h e explains: The first part of this Poem having inculcated the Scripture-doctrine concerning the divine union of three persons in the Deity, this second proceeds to draw from the sacred fount what is to be believed concerning the incarnation of the second person, herein pursuing the plan of the Athanasian Confession of Faith, which is divided in the same two-fold manner. A f t e r a n i n t r o d u c t i o n praising D r y d e n ' s style, Mason begins his p o e m b y discussing his creed; it is n o t " l a i c a l " , y e t free, he t r u s t s , f r o m "theologic p e d a n t r y " . H e a d m i t s its similarity t o t h e views of Athanasius:

13 14 15

Works, ed. C. P. Eden (London, 1850), V, 405—6. Ed. L.A.C.T., 82—86. The Catholic Faith (London, 1952), 24.

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Nor blame him Mason, if its import be the same With that, which bears th' Egyptian Bishop's name, Whose rigid preface though the Bard [Dryden] arraign'd, He own'd "the creed eternal truth contain'd." Mason, not fully understanding Eeligio Laid, says Dryden thought t h a t Athanasius expected to be believed solely on t h e authority of his own word. I n an annotation to p. 428, ver. 40 of his poem Mason quotes 11. 212 — 217 of Dryden's poem (without much care, for he changes t h e word baulk of t h e first three editions t o hurt a n d alters considerably t h e punctuation and typographical detail) a n d t h e n he adds: We see, therefore, that it was what are called the damnatory clauses in the Confession of Athanasius, that solely offended Dryden, and which he thought ought not to have been inserted by any but an inspired person. Then he explains his own position regarding t h e authority of these clauses: I t is the business of this Poem, from v. 63 to v. 69, to show that they are founded on the parabolic declaration of Christ himself. First, Mason admits t h a t m a n y shared Dryden's sensitivity to these clauses: . . . we find Many good churchmen still of Dryden's mind: Indeed so many mid a sceptic crowd, I scarce can wonder Tillotson avow'd His wish 'twere from the Liturgy remov'd. This wish was expressed in a letter from Tillotson t o Bishop Burnet, a n d Mason admits in his annotation to p. 429, ver. 46 t h a t t h e Socinians a n d Theophilus Lindsey (1723 — 1808), who opened a unitarian chapel in London and wrote several treatises and a liturgy for unitarian congregations, boast having such a divine as Tillotson on their side. B u t Mason holds up several of Tillotson's sermons as clear evidences t h a t he accepted t h e Athanasian position on t h e divinity a n d incarnation of Christ, and concludes t h a t he must have

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expressed this wish in his letter only so t h a t t h e r e might be less occasion for discord: (he wished it removed) Not because false: he ne'er suppos'd it so, But if remov'd (vain hope) that it might draw, By firmer cords of unity and love, To one true faith, that creed who disapprove. If t h e Preface t o t h e Athanasian Creed were not supported b y Scripture, he, too, would neglect it, Mason says; no foreign doctrine can be added t o t h e T r u e F a i t h : But why arraign the preface ? if it came From man, if Scripture did not say the same; Or if discordant from its gen'ral code, With Dryden I'd refuse the Pharisaic load. Yet if in Christian soil, and that alone, The tree must spring, that by its fruit is known; And if its root be Faith, all must agree To take the scion from the parent tree; No foreign stem, if grafted there, can shoot; No truth can bloom on error's baneful root: All hope to save it is a vain desire, Down it is dash'd, and flung into the fire. Mason's first a r g u m e n t is t o show t h a t t h e clauses of t h e P r e f a c e t o t h e Creed are not designed t o t h r e a t e n man. The basic teaching of Christ is t o have f a i t h ; while t h e rejection of this means t h e loss of immortality, t h e Scriptures teach t h a t immortality has been bought for all: If from his word I learn, That faith in him is my supreme concern; If wanting that, I lose the blessing high, His blood has purchas'd, immortality, What may I hope? And nothing can save t h e unbeliever who has been misdirected by reason: If I from reason draw Conclusions unsupported by his law, Misstate, abridge the doctrines he has given,

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I lose all place in my Redeemer's heav'n; And, whether I or Athanasius speak, The prize is lost, he purchas'd for my sake. B u t faith means t h a t , although man is of Adam's sinful race, he m a y still hope for Charity, a n d only those still unheeding of t h e means of salvation will receive punishment: Yet still may Christian Charity aspire, To nurse a modest hope that those who lie Uncherish'd by the Day-spring from on high May still be blest, ev'n though a tenfold shade Of Pagan darkness now involves their head; And only those, the obstinately blind, Will meet the doom intail'd in lost mankind. Therefore, t h e Athanasian Creed, he argues, cannot be viewed as an a t t e m p t to threaten those who dare dissent from a faith established not by Heaven b u t b y m a n ; it is founded firmly upon t h e scriptural doctrine of Charity a n d Hope. Secondly, Mason argues t h a t his interpretation of t h e Creed is supported b y history. An annotation t o p. 432, ver. 126 outlines t h e backgrounds of t h e controversy during t h e f o u r t h century. And Mason quotes f r o m Hooker's Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity in support of t h e contemporary acceptance of t h e Creed "as a jewel of inestimable price". The acceptance, according to Mason, marked a freeing of Christians f r o m scholastic controversy: But he, who duly marks t h ' historic page, Will find my creed confess'd in that same age, When Arius triumph'd now, was now subdu'd. As emp'rors or as empresses allow'd, When common-sense was scorn'd, and quibbling pris'd, When myst'ry found itself more mysticis'd, Will sanely judge a creed, whose ev'ry phrase Was form'd to free from the scholastic maze Well-meaning Christians: might securely fix Their faith on Scripture, not on schismatics. Mason, then, in his arguments for t h e interpretation of t h e Preface t o t h e Athanasian Creed as a charitable a n d acceptable document calls upon Scripture as a final authority. This same foundation for

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authority is expressed by Dryden: "the Scripture is a Rule; . . . in all things needful to Salvation, it is clear, sufficient, and ordain'd by God Almighty for t h a t purpose". Scripture is a written record of the will of God — "How God may be appeas'd, and Mortals blest". The evidence for this authority comes from five sources. The first is an argument which is logically invalid because it is expressed in the form of an alternative syllogism in which the minor premise affirms one of the alternatives: Either the Bible was ordained by God, or it would not have been written by men in various places at various times and yet have agreements. The Bible was written by men in various places at various times and does have agreement. No logically valid conclusion can'follow, although Dryden's rhetoric is designed to elicit confirmation of the authority of Scriptures: Whence, but from Heav'n, cou'd men unskill'd in Arts, In several Ages born, in several parts, Weave such agreeing Truths ? The second evidence is presented as a rhetorical question: Or how, or why Shou'd all conspire to cheat us with a lye ? The heathen, Dryden argues thirdly, prove the story true because what heaven teaches in doctrine and miracles appears to them to be human sense: And though they prove not, they Confirm the Cause, When that is Taught agrees with Natures Laws. Fourthly, the style bespeaks God in every line: Then for the Style; Majestick and Divine, I t speaks no less than God in every line. Finally, the Bible is evidently divine because it commands man to curb his lust and sin, for human reason or nature alone would not so guide:

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To what can Reason such Effects assign Transcending Nature, but to Laws Divine ? This position of D r y d e n is, of course, a r e s t a t e m e n t of Article V I : Holy Scripture containeth all things necessary to salvation: so that whatsoever is not read therein, nor may be proved thereby, is not to be required of any man, that it should be believed as an article of the Faith, or be thought requisite or necessary to salvation. In the name of the holy Scripture we do understand these Canonical Books of the Old and New Testament, of whose authority was never any doubt in the Church. D r y d e n ' s contemporary, William Beveridge (1637 — 1708), Bishop of Asaph, wrote a n exposition of t h e Thirty-Nine Articles, 1 6 Ecclesia Anglicana Ecclesia Catholica, a n d his comments u p o n Article V I follow t h e same t r a i n of a r g u m e n t as did those in D r y d e n ' s Religio Laid: This Holy Scripture, thus written in Hebrew and Greek, in those languages wherein it was written, containeth nothing but the will of God and the whole will of God; so that there is nothing necessary to be believed concerning God, nor done in obedience unto God by us, but what is here revealed to us; and therefore all traditions of men which are contrary to this word of God are necessarily to be abhorred, and all traditions of men not recorded in this Word of God are not necessarily to be believed. What is here written we are bound to believe because it is written; and what is not here written we are not bound to believe because it is not written. I say "are not bound to believe it," but I cannot say we are bound not to believe it; for there be many truths which we may believe, nay, are bound to believe, because truth, which not withstanding are not recorded in the Word of God. But though there be many things we may believe, yet is there nothing we need believe in order to our everlasting happiness which is not here written; so that if we believe all that is here spoken, and do all that is here commanded, we shall certainly be saved, though we do not believe what is not here spoken, nor do what is not here commanded. B u t in basing doctrine u p o n Scriptures, Beveridge is aware of t h e easy possibility of controversy a b o u t m a t t e r s of interpretation. As a n example he quotes t h e controversy between Arius a n d A t h a n a 16

See also Gilbert B u r n e t ' s Exposition

1699).

of the Thirty-Nine

Articles (London,

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sius, "whether Christ was very God of the same substance with the Father". Both disputants claimed the right teaching of Scripture on their side, and therefore Scripture itself could not decide the controversy. "Now how can this question be decided better or otherways", Beveridge asks, "than by the whole Church's exposition of the Scripture, which side of the controversy it is for, and which side it is against?" Thus it is necessary for the Church, as a body of all members, to offer interpretation of the Scriptures, just as it is necessary for the individual to pass his judgment upon any piece of Scripture. "And as the exposition that any particular person passeth upon the Scripture is binding to that person so that he is bound to believe and act according to it, so whatsoever exposition of Scripture is made by the Church in general, it is binding to the Church in general". 17 Dry den, also, recognizes this possibility of diversity and corruption of the text: . . . the Scriptures, though not every where Free from Corruption, or intire, or clear, Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, intire, In all things which our needful Faith require. Thus, like Beveridge and Taylor,18 Dryden turns to Scripture as a just and sufficient guide. And like them he asserts that within carefully constructed bounds tradition is needed and helpful: Must all Tradition then be set aside ? This to affirm were Ignorance, or Pride. Are there not many points, some needful sure To saving Faith, that Scripture leaves obscure? These points left obscure will be seized upon by various Fanatics, like the 'bold Socinian'19 who draws from the Scripture that Christ " Works, ed. L.A.C.T. (London, 1842—6), V I I , 378f. " T h a t the Scripture is a full and sufficient rule to Christians in faith and manners, a full and perfect declaration of the Will of God, is therefore certain, because we have no other." A Dissuasive from Popery (London, 1667), P a r t I I , B o o k I, 2. 19 F o r a detailed discussion of Socinianism during the eighteenth century, see Basil Willey, The Eighteenth-Century Background (London, 1957), Chapter X . 18

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is but a man. While Dryden suggests t h a t in his opinion many have been saved who have never heard of this sort of theological controversy, he finds tradition convenient in these matters in establishing precedents: Not that Traditions parts are useless here: When general, old, disinteres'd and clear: That Ancient Fathers thus expound the Page, Gives Truth the reverend Majesty of Age: Confirms its force, by biding every Test; For best Authority's next Rules are best. But the authority of tradition is not sufficient to be considered proof. Originally it may well have been, but corruption by the descent through time has weakened it from t r u t h to probability: Thus, first Traditions were a proof alone; Cou'd we be certain such they were, so known: But since some Flaws in long descent may be, They make not Truth and Probability. Since tradition has a limited authority and since this authority is denied from a general interpretation by the whole Church, only t h a t tradition is sound which is based upon the agreement of the whole Church. I t is upon this reasoning t h a t Dryden rejects the claim of the Papists to be the sole judge of any Scriptural passage: The partial Papists wou'd infer from hence Their Church, in last resort, shou'd judge the Sense. But they are not the whole Church, but just a part: But first they wou'd assume, with wondrous Art, Themselves to be the whole, who are but part Of that vast Frame, the Church. This view, like the others we have examined in Religio Laid, is also in keeping with the Anglican tradition. John Wild has recently summed up the complex issues of authority within the Church in his pamphlet What Is the Anglican Communion ?: As to the charge that the Anglican Communion possesses no unrestricted, irrevocable, individual, oracular judge of Faith and Order, if

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it is a charge, this must be admitted. The Anglican doubts whether any such authority has ever really existed particularly since the division of the Eastern Church from the Western in the eleventh century. In the present abnormal state of the Church, there is no one office or single representative body that can speak out infallibly on matters left undecided by the individual Church of the first five centuries. Nevertheless, this is far from admitting that all authority has been abrogated. The Anglican Communion is committed to the ancient Catholic view of authority as residing only in the whole body of the Church. She has faith in modern official declarations and pronouncements only in so far as they may really represent the final judgment of this whole body through the ages.20 Thus an appeal to the whole Church is the only adequate basis for the establishment of a tradition: In doubtful questions 'tis the safest way To learn what unsuspected Ancients say: For 'tis not likely we shou'd higher Soar In search of Heav'n, than all the Church before. Having established this principle of authority, Dryden can now restate his belief in the limitations of Reason as a religious guide, and so his attacks upon the Deists in the more frequently quoted passages from Religio Laid fall more easily into a careful and consistent pattern. I n his Preface Dryden makes the statement t h a t "we have not lifted up ourselves to God, by the weak Pinions of our Reason, but he has been pleased to descend to us". And in the body of his poem, he asks, "Dar'st offend Infinity ?/And must the Terms of Peace be given by thee ?" Man's reason is limited, and the failure to recognize and accept this is a form of religious pride. "That there is something above us, some Principle of motion, our Reason can apprehend, though it cannot discover what it is, by its own Virtue." Indeed, since man cannot understand his own real nature by use of his reason, he cannot presume to come to know 'Supream Nature'. "They who would prove Religion by Reason, do but weaken the cause which they endeavour to support." And Dryden comes to 20

Op. cit., 21.

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the conclusion that we must rely upon God's own methods, not our own, to know Him: Let us be content at last, to know God, by his own Methods; at least so much of him, as he is pleas'd to reveal to us, in the sacred Scriptures; to apprehend them to be the word of God, is all our Reason has to do; for all beyond it is the work of Faith, which is the Seal of Heaven impres'd upon our humane understanding. Christianity, in spite of Toland's book, does remain mysterious, and the reason must not be looked to as the great de-mystifier. Jonathan Swift, in "A Letter to a Young Clergyman", wrote in the same vein: I do not find that you are anywhere directed in the canons or articles to attempt explaining the mysteries of the Christian religion. And indeed since Providence intended there should be mysteries, I do not see how it can be agreeable to piety, orthodoxy or good sense, to go about such a work. For to me there seems a manifest dilemma in the case: if you explain them, they are mysteries no longer: if you fail, you have laboured to no purpose. What I should think most reasonable and safe for you to do upon this occasion is, upon solemn days, to deliver the doctrine as the Church holds it and confirm it by Scripture.21 Read against this background of the Anglican tradition, the opening lines of Religio Laid acquire increased significance: Dim, as the borrow'd beams of Moon and Stars To lonely, weary, wandering Travellers, Is Reason to the Soul: And as on high, Those rowling Fires discover but the Sky Not light us here; So Reason's glimmering Ray Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, But guide us upward to a better Day. And as these nightly Tapers disappear When Day's bright Lord ascends our Hemisphere: So Pale grows Reason at Religions sight; So dyes, and so dissolves in Supernatural Light. As he phrases his point of view several lines later, "Reason saw not, till Faith sprung the Light". His objection to the Deists rests principally upon their seeming confidence in reaching Heaven through 21

Prose Works of Swift, ed. Temple Scott (London, 1898), III, 213.

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their own efforts; t h e y do not a t t e n d u p o n F a i t h , b u t charge a h e a d believing Reason alone is a d e q u a t e artillery for t a k i n g t h e K i n g d o m of H e a v e n : Thus Man by his own strength to Heaven wou'd soar: And wou'd not be Oblig'd to God for more. Vain, wretched Creature, how art thou misled To think thy Wit these God-like Notions bred! T h e great T r u t h s are not sieged a n d captured by man, b u t are bestowed u p o n him f r o m above: These Truths are not the product of thy Mind, But dropt from Heaven, and of a Nobler Kind. T h e Deists, on t h e other h a n d , assume t h a t t h e T r u t h s a n d Rules are " d i s t r i b u t e d alike t o all b y H e a v e n " . Mason, writing one h u n d r e d a n d fourteen years later, does n o t concern himself with t h e Deists, b u t his concept of t h e range a n d power of Reason is essentially t h e same as t h a t f o u n d in D r y d e n . Reason is limited: No more of Deity, than Gospel light Reveals, can ere be plain to Reason's sight Is more reveal'd, than clearly she conceives? Calm she submits, yet piously believes. A n d in an a n n o t a t i o n t o these last t w o lines he traces his source f r o m Locke: This sentiment is taken from Mr. Locke's opinion of the provinces of Faith and Reason. "Whatsoever (says this philosopher) is divine revelation ought to over-rule all our opinions, prejudices, and interests, and hath a right to be received with full assent. Such a submission as this of our reason to faith takes not away the landmarks of knowledge: this shakes not the foundations of reason; but leaves us that use of our faculties, for which they were given." See Essay on Human Understanding, Book IV. Chap. XVIII. Sect. 10. Earlier in t h e first p a r t of his poem Mason h a d said t h a t F a i t h relieves Reason f r o m error:

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That he is One, plain Reason can descry; And when his word presents him to the eye, Reliev'd by faith from error, still must shine One Being indivisibly divine. But in spite of this limitation and in spite of this need for correction from error, Reason is still capable of both necessary and valuable guidance; it must not be completely rejected: But, though she here perceives herself confin'd, Let none but Atheists dare to call her blind. She still is Reason, still exerts the pow'r, By which she fixt her premises before, That God is truth, and this conclusion drew Justly, that all he speaks must needs be true, Though all not clear alike to her contracted view. I t is Reason which draws man to a number of conclusions: (1) t h a t creative Power, redeeming Love and sanctifying Grace are from above; (2) t h a t veneration is due the Son as the Father; (3) t h a t the Comforter is sent from the Father and the Son; and (4) t h a t though the three are equal and uncreated, the Son proceeded from the Father before all worlds. These conclusions are, of course, doctrines expressed in both the Nicene and the Athanasian Creeds. The first part of Mason's poem concludes with an eleven-line summary of his intention: Thus for some truths, all Christians should receive Who hope salvation, I have try'd to give In careless metre . . . . I trust, at least, that the impartial few Will find that doctrine, they before thought true, Not here disguis'd, though clad in vesture new. Earlier in P a r t One, Mason examines the word T R I N I T Y ; he had been avoiding it because he knew t h a t it would offend Lindsey and other members of the Socinian movement. But it is a necessary term, and meaningful if always used concurrently with U N I T Y ; otherwise, Mason says, they call us Papists and Idolators who pray to three gods, while the Socinians admit only one and become Unitarians. The Anglican Faith does not refer to Trinity alone; it is

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involved with "one undivided, one exalted pow'r" which resides in Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The Anglican Faith holds this "as Scripture held before". " B u t wherefore holds?" Mason asks. Man can understand this concept, the answer is given, only within the limited resources of Reason: only as far as man Thy mystic height of godliness may scan. The ultimate awareness is a mystical experience partaken in a realm beyond the reach of Reason. While Mason does not discuss the nature of the mystical experience itself, his view of religious awareness allows for a consideration of its vitality and importance. Man may conceive t h a t God gives salvation, "not for merit, but from grace", and reason alone is not sufficient. This is the attitude also expressed in his short poem titled "Morning H y m n " : I That, from refreshing sleep I rise With health and reason blest, Accept, great God, the sacrifice Of thanks that warms my breast. II And 0 ! may thy assisting grace Conduct me through the day, Lest Passion tempt, or Vice debase, Or Vanity betray. Ill Correct each thought, each wish control Save those thy laws approve, And pour on my repentant soul Thy pardon, peace and love. This slight hymn is interesting as further evidence of Mason's firmly Protestant bias in the controversy about the nature of grace and good works. And for him t h e reception of grace could not be an earned benefit, b u t a bestowed privilege. Man may conceive both t h a t God gives salvation, "not for merit, but from grace", and t h a t "from the Son divine Redemption

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springs". The Holy Spirit "on dove-like wings" still designs to d a r t "its secret aid on each submissive heart". This 'secret aid' is what his "Morning H y m n " is asking for. These blessings of grace, redemption, and secret aid really come from one source, and hence the trinary Divine nature becomes unified: Thus, though deriv'd from one exhausting spring Three plenteous streams abundant blessings bring, The fountain head united with them all We may not three, but one conjointly call. Mason suspects t h a t the Socinian may call this a metaphor, rather t h a n an explanation, and his answer is "Yes; But, if a false one, prove me t h a t it is". Mason develops this belief t h a t all three are "one comprehensive sole Divinity", and in an annotation to p. 434, ver. 185 he adds a further commentary: As a comment to my Poem, let me add to this note, that the lines which follow from ver. 193 to ver. 215 are intended as a concise exposition of the Confession of Athanasius in part; and that after a digression, principally historical, that exposition is resumed at ver. 277, and continued to ver. 298 where all asserted concerning the trinal union of the Godhead is concluded. During his 'digression, principally historical', he sums up well the trinary manifestation of the one God: God in trinal persons, trinal ways, His one eternal majesty displays. And, as is to be expected from an orthodox clergyman in the Anglican tradition, Mason bases these attitudes upon Scripture as t h e final authority: I take with confidence the certain road, That leads through Scripture up to Scripture's God. The second part of Mason's Religio Clerici emphasizes a concern largely ignored in Dry den's poem; in accordance with the plan of the Athanasian Creed this part is to deal with the Incarnation. After a

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brief introduction Mason states his position, and again appeals t o Scripture for authority: And here assent, just as I first begun, That all, who Scripture's genuine sense would scan Must hold the Son of God both God and Man. Christ is perfect man and Deity: Inferior only to his Sire on high But as invested with humanity: Thus when with heav'nly earthly we compare, Both soul and body claim an equal share In our formation; so in his were join'd Terrestrial substance with celestial mind. "But is such union possible?" Mason is asked, and in answer he refers to Bishop Butler's Analogy of Religion (1736), a reply to the Deists and opponents of Revealed Religion, and an a t t e m p t to reconcile Revelation and Nature. 22 Butler had sought a solution in the finiteness of man's capacities, and had been led to postulate a necessary leap to some other order of awareness; Mason advances t h a t as the method to be followed: Take Butler's road; Travel the path of plain analogy, 'Twill lead at least to probability, And sure, when demonstration is deny'd, Reason should in the next best thing confide. Like Butler, Mason finds evidence for Christ's divinity in miracles and the events of His life; he charges the reader to find insufficient justification for his conclusions: Come, ye vain worldly disputants, and read This single portion of my general Creed! Then say, if here I paint his portrait true, First in an earthly, then a heav'nly view; 22 F o r a careful e x a m i n a t i o n o f Butler's Analogy a n d i t s place i n eight e e n t h - c e n t u r y t h o u g h t , see especially B a s i l Willey, The Eighteenth-Century Background, Chapter V, a n d E . C. Mossner, Bishop Butler and the Age of Reason ( N e w Y o r k , 1936).

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And when each sacred feature I define, From scripture copying closely line by line, I am not justified, one reason's plan, To deem my Saviour God, as well as Man, And with him to the Sire and Spirit raise One undivided hymn of equal praise ? Those who are not able to accept these obvious conclusions from Scriptures must, says Mason, go to America or Essex Street for the 'lean' doctrine of Socinianism, and those who cannot accept the aid of 'grace internal' must turn to Reason — such solutions are rarely satisfying for long. Mason, like David, gives himself to prayer, "the true solace of the sickly soul,/When rul'd by Resignation's meek control". And so he resigns himself with humility and gratitude to the grace of his Creator and Redeemer, and Comforter: Father, Redeemer, Comforter Divine ! This humble off'ring to thy equal shrine Here thy unworthy servant grateful pays Of undivided thanks, united praise, For all these mercies, which at birth began, And ceaseless flow'd through Life's long-lengthen'd span; Propt my frail frame through all the varied scene, With health enough for many a day serene; Enough of science clearly to discern How few important truths the wisest team; Enough of arts ingenious to employ The vacant hours, when graver studies cloy; Enough of wealth to serve each honest end, The poor to succour, or assist a friend; Enough of faith in Scripture to descry, That the sure hope of immortality, Which only can the fear of death remove, Flows from the fountain of Redeeming Love. And so Mason's poem concludes with a resignation to calmness of mind and to contentment, with a quiet acceptance of the limitations as well as of the potentials of mankind, and with a recognition of the mysterious or mystical element of the Anglican tradition. Dryden's Religio Laid received attention, not only from Mason, but also from the Earl of Roscommon, whose poem On Mr. Dryden's

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"Beligio Laid" is a significant comment u p o n t h e a t t i t u d e s expressed b y D r y den: Begon you Slaves, you idle Vermin go, Fly from the Scourges, and your Master know; Let free, impartial Men from Dryden learn Mysterious Secrets of a high Concern, And weighty Truths, solid, convincing Sense, Explain'd by unaffected Eloquence. What can you (Reverend Levi) here take ill? Men still had Faults, and Men will have them still; He that hath none, and lives as Angels do, Must be an Angel; but what's that to you? While mighty Lewis finds the Pope too great, And dreads the Yoke of his imposing Seat, Our Sects a more Tyrannick Pow'r assume, And wou'd for Scorpions change the Rods of Rome; That Church detain'd the Legacy Divine; Fanaticks cast the Pearls of Heav'n to Swine: What then have honest thinking Men to do, But chuse a Mean between t h ' Usurping two ? Nor can t h ' Egyptian Patriarch blame my Muse, Which for his Firmness does his Heat excuse; Whatever Councils have approv'd his Creed, The Preface sure was his own Act and Deed. Our Church will have t h a t Preface read (you'll say) 'Tis true, But so she will t h ' Apocrypha; And such as can believe them freely may. But did that God (so little understood) Whose darling Attribute is being good, From the dark Womb of the rude Chaos bring Such various Creatures, and make Man their King; Yet leave his Fav'rite, Man, his chiefest Case, More wretched than the vilest insects are ? 0 ! how much happier and more safe are they ? If helpless Millions must be doom'd a Prey To Yelling Furies, and for ever burn In that sad Place from whence is no Return, For Unbelief in one they never knew, Or for not doing what they cou'd not do !

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The very Fiends know for what Crime they fell; (And so do all their Followers that Rebell:) If then, a blind, well-meaning Indian stray, Shall the great Gulph be show'd him for the Way ? For better Ends our kind Redeemer dy'd, Or the fall'n Angels Rooms will be but ill supply'd. That Christ, who at the great deciding Day (For He declares what He resolves to say) Will Damn the Goats, for their ill-natur'd Faults, And save the Sheep, for Actions not for thoughts, Hath too much Mercy to send Men to Hell, For humble Charity, and hoping well. To what Stupidity are Zealots grown, Whose inhumanity profusely shown In Damning Crowds of Souls, may Damn their own I'll err at least on the securer Side, A convert free from Malice and from Pride. This poem is interesting here because of its firm declaration of the Anglican tradition as a media via as well as its concern with the problem of Athanasius' Preface. Roscommon's objection to the literal meaning of the clause from the Preface (and, unlike Dryden and Mason, he makes no attempt to attach a metaphorical meaning to the passage) is on the grounds that it is unreasonable. T o him, as to other writers in the Anglican tradition, 'right reason' affords a powerful guide; that which is against it is to be regarded with suspicion as smacking of the non-essential in the extreme. In his hatred of the Extremists and Zealots (particularly the Puritans) Roscommon echoes Dryden in his Preface: "Since the Bible has been translated into our Tongue, they have us'd it so, as if their business was not to be sav'd but to be damn'd b y its Contents." Fanatics and Schismatics have brought back from Geneva " t h e rigid opinions and imperious discipline of Calvin, to graffe upon our Reformation", and have subverted the Scriptures to support their own strange beliefs. "Thus Sectaries, we may see, were born with teeth, foul-mouth'd and scurrilous from their infancy: and if Spiritual Pride, Venome, Violence, Contempt of Superiours and Slander had been the marks of Orthodox Belief; the Presbytery

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and the rest of our Schismaticks, which are their Spawn, were always the most visible Church in the Christian World." This is a particularly violent attitude, partly political in impetus, but it does express the Anglican dislike to Extremists of any sort. Roscommon's desire to walk a middle way — "What then have honest thinking Men to do,/But chuse a Mean between th' Usurping t w o ? " — is reminiscent of Herbert's concept of the British Church: "A Fine aspect in fit array,/Neither too mean, nor yet too gay ./Shows who is best." Thus although there have been many changes which shifted and redecorated the immediate interests of the Anglican Church, there emerges from a study of these works an awareness of a tradition which, though incapable of definition and difficult of description, does continue throughout the eighteenth century. The attempt to articulate a media via for the Church of England is usually confined by historians and literary critics to the seventeenth century and even, upon occasions, to an earlier period. Grierson has suggested t h a t Queen Elizabeth had committed the Church to a via media, not so much as a deliberate return to primitive Christianity, but as convenient political compromise, and t h a t it was Richard Hooker (1554? —1601) who "gave the English Church a philosophical basis". 23 B u t re-examination and re-articulation of its position continued with considerable fluidity and vigor long after the Elizabethan Settlement of 1559. I t was Joseph Glanvill (1636—1680) who summed up much of the controversy which had gone on before by stating t h a t the Anglican Church stood "on the grounds of Scripture, right Reason, and the best and purest Antiquity". 2 4 These are precisely the characteristics of the Anglican tradition — "Scripture, right Reason, and the best and purest Antiquity" — with which Dryden in 1682 and Mason in 1796 were both immediately concerned. During the eighteenth century the media via of the Anglican tradition was neither so sufficiently established t h a t it could be uncritically taken for granted nor so disinterestedly accepted t h a t it could be completely ignored. I n 23 84

Cross-Currents in llth-Century English Literature (New York, 1958), 207. Zealous and Impartial Protestant (London, 1681), 7.

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spite of controversies about toleration, Church polity, and natural morality, the Church was still concerned with articulating its position on the traditional issues of religious experience. The brief quotations from contemporary theologians have indicated that this concern was not confined to Dry den and Mason alone. Nor was it of no interest to other poets of the age, and an exploration of the extent and kind of this interest will be the intention of the rest of this study. The brief quotations from contemporary theologians have also shown that the attitudes expressed by Dryden and Mason have been in keeping with those of the Anglican tradition. This tradition remains vital during the century, and colors much verse in terms of what Neill calls 'attitude' and 'atmosphere'. Concerning the Creed of Athanasius, the authority of Scipture and of Tradition, the role of Reason, the Trinity, Mysticism, the Incarnation, Prayer and Resignation, both Dryden and Mason reflect what perhaps most conveniently can be called Anglican 'attitudes'. Other poets during the century reflect more pronouncedly an Anglican 'atmosphere'.

Ill T H E A N G L I C A N ATMOSPHERE

While I to nobler themes aspire, T o nobler subjects tune m y lyre; Those Saints m y numbers grace W h o to their Lord were ever dear, T o whom the church each rolling year Her solemn honours pays. Samuel Johnson, Upon the Feast of St. Simon and St. Jude King of glory, Soul of bliss, Everlasting life is this, Thee to know, T h y power to prove, Thus to sing, and thus to love. Charles Wesley, For

Easter-Day

An Anglican atmosphere is perhaps even more difficult to describe than an Anglican attitude. Whereas — following Stephen Neill's dichotomy — I have used ATTITUDE to apply to that kind of writing which, at least to a certain extent, indicates an awareness and a concern with some of the issues of belief, I should like to use ATMOSPHERE to apply to the structure, tone, and emotional intensity of the poems. This sounds like a convenient and simple distinction between content and form, but something more is implied. As we shall examine in a later part of this essay, the religious verse of the eighteenth century maintained a tight relationship between its content and form, and — as is true with most good writing of any period — the one is a reflection of the other. In other words, style is

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a commentary on subject matter. But style is also more than personal. Wylie Sypher has said that "a style is a vocabulary", and has then pointed out that this vocabulary, like that of a national language, is not just an idiolect, but is a means of communication for a society; "it may well be the most sensitive and explicit vocabulary of any society". The society understands because of the vocabulary, but the vocabulary includes more than arrangements of phonemes; it includes gesture, pause, and intonation. So in poetry, the vocabulary includes arrangement of imagery, rhythm, and contrast. And these are given structural significance by a morphology and order by a syntax. Sypher goes on to say that "if style is a vocabulary, it is also syntax; and syntax expresses the way in which a society feels, responds, thinks, communicates, dreams, escapes. B y tracing changes in literary syntax we are able to interpret the varying modes of consciousness in different eras of European culture". 1 This method of exploring the mode of consciousness of a period seems to operate successfully because it draws attention to those more quiet and subtle aspects of the literary work which the historical approach tends to lose. Those aspects of feeling and structure seem to be best caught from the perspective of 'atmosphere' containing the religious poems. But here we must give some consideration to the question of religious poetry. Charles Glicksberg, elaborating upon the wellknown dictum by Samuel Johnson that piety and poetry don't mix, has gone so far as to say that "religious poetry is actually a contradiction in terms, unless we mean by it poetry that is explicitly designed for purposes of indoctrination". But whenever this kind of writing takes place, the product, he says, ceases to be poetry and becomes virtual dogma. "Hence the paradoxical conclusion that all religious poetry, despite its subject matter, is 'secular' in meaning". Obviously this conclusion is based upon a precise poetic theory, and upon an equally careful statement of the relationship between the religious experience itself and the expression of it. Glicksberg elaborates upon his understanding of this relationship: 1

Four Stages of Renaissance Style (Garden City, 1956), 16.

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The realm of "spirit" lies outside the reach of the creative imagination. If it is to be captured and communicated, it can only be done by means of dramatic suggestions, pregnant hints, audacious metaphors, sensory images, and a system of what Baudelaire called symbolic correspondences. The "spirit", in other words, must be brought down to earth, given flesh and blood, body and roots and a local habitation, before it can be comprehended.2 I n general, Glicksberg's theory seems to be perfectly sound; the central impetus to all creative work is, in varying degrees, to capture a kind of awareness t h a t is not readily expressed. In religious arts S P I R I T is as handy a term as any to suggest the realm of the ultimately incomprehensible and inexpressible. The attempt at expression, at crystallization, must be, as Baudelaire suggested, by means of an elaborate system of correspondences. But here a refinement to this theory may be helpful. This system of correspondences is determined by the tradition in which the poet is writing. I t is characterized by the proclivity to notice certain aspects of the religious experience and to ignore others, to comment in a certain way, to elect specific materials for poetic office. I n other words, the tradition will color what kind of suggestions are dramatic, and just how dramatic, what kinds of hints can healthily carry the meaning, what kind of metaphors appear audacious a n d what images are sensory. The realm of the spirit must be brought down, but it must be brought down in some form and shape. The form and shape elected give evidence of the tradition. Form seems to provide the distinguishing characteristic of art. "Art is indeed expressive", Ernst Cassirer has written, "but it cannot be expressive without being formative". 3 Even the lyric poet cannot rely entirely upon emotion, upon the 'thing' he is describing. I n the world of art "all our feelings undergo a sort of transubstantiation with respect to their essence and their character". Cassirer goes on to suggest t h a t "the passions themselves are relieved of their material burden". 4 I t is at this level t h a t the poet, perhapB 2

Literature and Religion: A Study in Conflict (Dallas, 1960), 81—83. An Essay on Man (Garden City, 1953), 181. 'Ibid., 190. 3

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unconsciously, is enveloped in a religious atmosphere, for in this he can perceive the ritualistic and the liturgical forms for this 'power of passion'. Traditional forms of visioning are not static, but allow the spirit of the poem to formulate its own rhythms and images. Thus the style, reflecting the tradition, is in turn reflected in the form at the level of atmosphere. Verse, however much it may be virtual dogma, can reflect a religious atmosphere beyond the immediate factor of content or attitude. I t is convenient t h a t two works of similar material and interest, one at the beginning of the century and one towards the end, present themselves as illustrations of the significance of this atmosphere. These are the Hymns for all the Festivals in the Year by Bishop Thomas Ken, published in 1721 as part of the first volume of his complete poetical works, and the Hymns and Spiritual Songs of the Fasts and Festivals of the Church of England by Christopher Smart, 1765. These two collections are basically similar, although, as we shall see, the poems included do not cover exactly the same occasions. They have many points of resemblance and a number of points of difference. These latter are the result, obviously, of two main forces: (1) the personal style of the poet, and (2) the sensibility of the society in which he lived. For the present essay, since it is not a close examination of the development of individual poets, these points of difference can be pretty well ignored. The immediate interest is the discovery of just what characteristics these two collections of poems have in common. Also, it will be worthwhile to explore how these characteristics relate to other writers of the Anglican tradition and how they are reflected in various other writers during the century. This is again a rather elementary scientific procedure of observing things which claim to belong to a group, of attempting to describe their more outstanding characteristics, and of then concluding t h a t the presence of these characteristics provide the criterion for determining whether others belong in the same group. I t is not to be expected t h a t much dogma will be found in these particular collections of poems; in no sense are they ostensibly apologetic. The peculiarly Anglican characteristics will emerge in

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structure, tone, imagery, and feeling — hence the use of the word ATMOSPHERE in connection with this chapter. I t may, indeed, seem strange to rely for this kind of valuable information upon collections by two quite different men, yet both Ken and Smart were thoroughly devoted to God and to the Established Church. Thomas Ken was born in 1637, and attended Oxford where he received his M. A. in 1664 and his D. D. in 1679; he was consecrated Bishop of Bath and Wells on 25 J a n u a r y 1685 — the Feast of St. Paul's Conversion — in Lambeth Palace Chapel by Archbishop Sancroft. On t h a t occasion his contemporary, Bishop Burnet, recorded the following description: Ken succeeded Mews in Bath and Wells — a man of an ascetic course of life, and yet of a very lively temper, but too hot and sudden. He had a very edifying way of preaching; but it was more apt to move the passions than to instruct, so that his sermons were rather beautiful than solid; yet his way in them was very taking. The King seemed fond of him; and by him and Turner the Papists hoped that great progress might be made in gaining, or at least deluding, the clergy.5 Ken did have a strong 'Catholic' tendency — Fairchild notes it in the poet's belief t h a t the supreme vehicle of grace is the Holy Eucharist, expressed in his poem "On the Eucharist", and in his reverence for the Mother of God 6 — but it did not extend to favoring Papists, either in Church or State; Burnet's fears, coming from a Whig at a critical period in Church history, are understandable, but they proved to be unfounded. Ken became a devout and active bishop; he was one of the seven who petitioned against the Declaration of Indulgence in 1688, and in April 1691, because he had refused to take the oath of allegiance to William and Mary, he was deprived of his see. Along with the other Non-jurors he went into virtual retirement, although he continued to write and became

5 History of My Own Times, quoted in H u g h A. L. Rice, Thomas Ken: Bishop and Non-Juror (London, 1958), 65—6. 6 H . N. Fairchild, Religious Trends in English Poetry, I (New York, 1938), 104, 102.

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involved in Church m a t t e r s whenever possible. T h u s his life was one of active concern with t h e Church, b o t h as a profession a n d as a source of spiritual fulfillment. Fairchild says " K e n not only believes in t h e doctrines a n d practises [sic] of Holy Church, b u t finds t h e m ever-flowing springs of poetic stimulation". 8 K e n represented t h e ideal of service a n d lively concern with t h e Church which characterized so m a n y ministers a t t h e t u r n of t h e century. Christopher S m a r t , on t h e other h a n d , emerged as a religious poet half-way t h r o u g h t h e century, in 1750, when he was already t w e n t y eight. I n t h a t year he won t h e first Seatonian prize. This prize was an a n n u a l award m a d e possible b y a legacy left b y Thomas Seaton (1684 — 1741), vicar of Ravenstone. Seaton himself h a d published a collection of religious verse, The Devotional Life Bender'd Familiar,

Easy, and Pleasant, in Several Hymns upon the Most Common Occasions of Human Life (1734), a n d he appears t o have been a devout a n d public-spirited clergyman. B u t little is known of his biography; t h e editor of Musae Seatonisnae (1772) records t h a t " t h e anecdotes of his life which are known are b u t few, a n d indeed not very interesting". His main achievement was t h e Prize, established b y his Will. The p e r t i n e n t p a r t of t h a t Will reads: I give my Kislingbury estate to the University of Cambridge forever; the rents of which shall be disposed of yearly by the vice-chancellor for the time being, as he the vice-chancellor, the master of Clare-Hall, and the Greek professor for the time being, or any two of them, shall agree. Which three persons shall give out a subject, which subject shall for the first year be one or other of the perfections or attributes of the Supreme Being, and so the succeeding years, till the subject is exhausted; and afterwards the subject shall be either Death, Judgment, Heaven, Hell, Purity of Heart, etc., or whatever else may be judged by the vicechancellor, master of Clare-Hall, and Greek professor to be most conducive to the honour of the Supreme Being and recommendation of virtue. And they shall yearly dispose of the rent of the above estate to that master of arts, whose poem on the subject given shall be best approved by them. Which poem I ordain to be always in English, and to be 7

Ken: 8

For a recent biography of Bishop Ken, see Hugh A. L. Rice, Thomas Bishop and Non-Juror (London, 1958). Op. cit., 102.

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printed, the expense of which shall be deducted out of the product of the estate, and the residue given as a reward for the composer of the poem, or ode, or copy of verses.9 Smart won the first prize in 1750, and won again in 1751, 1752, 1753 and 1755. Much of this poetry is written in an inflated Miltonic blank verse, b u t several things in t h e poems are w o r t h y of attention; Havens, for example, points out t h a t " S m a r t ' s Seatonian prize poems had considerable influence on t h e religious blank verse of t h e late eighteenth century". 1 0 I n their study of Smart, Ainsworth and Noyes have noticed t h a t "especially successful in t h e Seatonian prize poems are t h e sections t h a t describe the more sublime creations of t h e Supreme Being, or t h e more terrifying aspects of His power". 1 1 I t is this acute awareness of t h e divine forces around a n d outside him t h a t we notice in his Hymns and Spiritual Songs. I n spite of t h e usual description of him as a bibulous and irresponsible hack who spent a number of years in a madhouse, S m a r t was an intensely devout a n d devoted man. H e has been described b y one critic as " a plump, cheerful, lively little man; a Tory and an Anglican, b u t neither t o excess . . ,". 12 I n spite of this apparent religious moderation, Fairchild has noticed t h e sincerity of Smart's religious feeling: "One can argue t h a t Smart's Christianity was incomplete and imperfectly balanced, b u t one cannot deny t h a t it was authentic within its limits . . .", and later; " H e was always, however, a deeply pious man". 1 3 B u t t h e best comment upon Smart's acceptance and reputation as a poet who, in spite of a somewhat ill-regulated life, did catch t h e glory of God, is t o be found in " A n Epigram, W r i t t e n b y Mr. G — " included in A Collection of Original Poems (1755) b y Samuel Derrick. I t is a light-hearted comparison of Derrick (1724 — 1769), translator, critic a n d editor of Dryden's works, with S m a r t : 9

Quoted in Chalmers, Works of the English Poets (London, 1810), XVI, 28. Raymond D. Havens, PQ, X X I V (1945), 159. 11 Edward G. Ainsworth and Charles E. Noyes, Christopher Smart: A Biographical and Critical Study (Columbia, 1943), 85. 12 D. J. Greene, "Smart, Berkeley, the Scientists and the Poets: a Note on Eighteenth-Century Anti-Newtonianism", JHI, X I V (1953), 330. 13 Op. cit., I I (New York, 1942), 162 and 163. 10

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Contradiction we find both in Derrick and Smart, Which manifests neither can write from the heart; The latter, which readers may think somewhat odd, Tho' devoted to wine, sings the glories of God: The former lives sober, altho' no divine; Yet merrily carols the praises of wine; Here let us a moment lay by our surprise; And calmly survey where the preference lies; Derrick foolishly revels in fancy'd delights; But Smart, for the sake of a legacy, writes. Smart, then, although not committed to the Church as a profession nor dedicated to the 'ascetic course of life' which Burnet noted about Ken, was early involved in orthodox religious poetry and was fundamentally sensitive and serious about the 'glories of God'. This characteristic was recognized during his lifetime, and his can be taken as an authentic voice of the Anglican tradition. The two collection have some immediate and important differences. Ken's Hymns is slightly shorter than Smart's collection. I t contains 32 hymns, covering the usual and expected feasts of the Church calendar. Most of these hymns are long, and so the entire collection runs to over 200 pages in the 1721 edition. 14 Smart's collection contains 35 hymns. Of these, 5 are on subjects not directly related to the Scriptures; 4 of them take their beginnings in political and patriotic occasions: "King Charles the Martyr" (Y), "The King's Restoration" (XVII), "The Accession of King George I I I " (XXVI), and "The Fifth of November" (XXIX); the first hymn of the series is on the "New Year". Ken's collection included only 2 hymns on these occasions: "On King Charles the Martyr" and "On the 29th of May, being the Day of the King's Restoration". This 14

In 1868 a considerably lengthened edition of Ken's Hymns was published under the title, Bishop Ken's Christian Year, or Hymns and Poems for the Holy Days and Festivals of the Church. It contained 91 hymns, arranged in order of the Church calendar, from "Advent" through "Trinity" (including 25 hymns for the Sundays therein), plus hymns for special Saint-days. Two of the more political poems from the 1721 edition are omitted: "On King Charles the Martyr" and "On the 29th of May, being the Day of the King's Restoration". For the text of Ken's Hymns this 1868 edition of Ken's poems has been used in the present essay.

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means t h a t in Ken's collection there is 1 poem which has no parallel version in Smart's collection — "On the Purification" — and t h a t there are 4 in Smart's collection for which there are no parallels in Ken's. There are 31 poems common to both. I t is these 31 which will attract most of our attention. Ken's hymns seem to follow no particular order. I t opens with "On the Annunciation" and continues to "On Christmas Day", b u t "On Whitsunday" (9) and "On Trinity Sunday" (10) come before "On Ash Wednesday". This failure to arrange the poems in order of the cycle of the ecclesiastical year is not unusual; both Gillman and Jefferson found a chronological arrangement in Heber's Hymns (1827) a significant innovation. 15 But Heber was anticipated in his arrangement by Smart, whose collection opens with a hymn to the New Year, and continues via "Circumcision" and "Epiphany". The final hymn is "The Holy Innocents" (28 December), which in Ken's collection is number 15. One of the poems to have parallel versions in the two collections is t h a t in celebration of Christ's birth; in Ken's collection it is number 2, "Christmas"; in Smart's it is number X X X I I , "The Nativity of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ". Ken opens with an invocation: Celestial Harps prepare To sound your loftiest air; You choral Angels at the throne, Your customary hymns postpone; Of glorious spirits, all ye orders nine, To sute a hymn, to study chords combine. This is a formal and austere beginning for a poem celebrating what is later claimed as a startling and intensely moving instant of history. I t indicates the developing classical tradition in which Ken wrote, but which he qualified by his own Christian background. The Muses are alluded to, but they are carefully kept within the framework of the Christian firmament. The poem continues with a charge to perform this day music of a nobler ring: 15

F. J. Gillman, The Evolution of the English Hymn (New York, 1927), 241, and H. A. L. Jefferson, Hymns in Christian Worship (New York, 1950), 111.

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You all your happy days, Pay tributary praise, God's mighty works you fully view, And give your Maker praises due; This day a nobler theme your powers employs Deserving noblest hymn, chord, love and joys. This day (for you well know, Our time in flux below), You Sons of God together met, On flx'd day which Godhead set; This day God sent His Son to save mankind, You to adore this rising are enjoin'd. There is t h e n a s t a n z a mentioning t h e first announcement t o t h e shepherds, a n d this is related t o m a n a t t h e present time: You wish your heavenly ray, Gild the expanse this day, You overlooking all the earth, To all sang God Incarnate's birth; Fill with your splendours the expanse again, Re-sing this day the same angelic strain. T h e h a r p s are commanded t o h y m n , n o t t h e crucifixion, b u t t h e b i r t h . They are urged t o "lead t h e w a y " t o Bethlehem a n d t o describe t h e wonder of t h e Christchild. T h e poet will retire in quiet worship: I'll to my cell retire, In silence God admire, Who vilest sinners to redeem, Thus veil'd this Majestatic beam; And while I in prostration speechless lie, My love up to the Mystery shall fly. I t is love which is offered t o Christ as worship. The Angels sing t h e glories of t h e b i r t h , b u t so do t h e Saints who "love God m o s t " a n d "sing t h e noblest l a y " : Love on ambitious wing Soar'd up to hear them sing; And though it could not reach the height, Yet when it met the Sons of Light, I t irresistibly would them entreat The hymns of competition to repeat.

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Love would strict notice take Of a Saint's heaven-ward wake, Watch openings of the heavenly gate, Through that to eye the blissful state; How God this day in brightest glory shines, Fresh joys diffusing o'er the heavenly lines. Love is n o t just an offering, b u t also a w a y of understanding; b y watching t h e 'openings of t h e heavenly gate' it comes t o know t h e heavenly K i n g d o m ; it affords a way of salvation. God himself is love, and so t h a t a m o u n t of love which m a n shares is a p a r t of t h e eternal. B u t love, however genuine, however quietly profound, m u s t discover expression: My love when back it came, Brought supplemental flame; Yet could not Jesus' Love conceive, But my despondence to relieve, Since hymns all fell too low, said, Love would best By copying Jesus' graces be exprest. T h e poet would combine b o t h h y m n s a n d imitation of J e s u s in his praise: My love would yet incline, Together both to join; All praise to God, Who for our sake, Of man's frail nature would partake; Born poor, to teach us riches to despise, Which worldly souls insensate idolize. Then follow three s t a n z a s of praise for t h e sinless presence of t h e 'God-man'. H e t a u g h t m a n t o rise above lust a n d t h e senses, a n d gave himself as an example of a heavenly mind: God-man I thee adore, And from thy Love implore, Against all sin a flagrant zeal, Yet joys of pardon when I feel, Sin tempts me to rejoice, which drew God down, To raise vile sinners to a heavenly crown.

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The poem ends with a formal declaration of praise for t h e God who took it u p o n himself t o come in all humility into t h e world which God h a d created, a n d t o share in it with m a n : With joy I praises sing, To our great humble King; Thou Heaven didst leave for love of me, May I leave all for love of Thee, With Saints above this day I'll bear my part, 0 may I Thee incarnate in my heart. This incarnation of Christ in t h e believer's heart, as H e was incarnated in t h e believer's own world, is also t h e context of t h e final stanza in S m a r t ' s h y m n " T h e N a t i v i t y of our Lord a n d Saviour Jesus Christ": God all-bounteous, all-creative, Whom no ills from good dissuade, Is incarnate, and a native Of the very world he made. T h e mystery of t h e b i r t h lies in Christ, as God, humbling himself t o become man, in t h e p a r a d o x of t h e powerful Saviour coming as a helpless child: 0 Most Mighty ! 0 Most Holy! Far beyond the seraph's thought, Art thou then so mean and lowly As unheeded prophets taught ? 0 the magnitude of meekness ! Worth from worth immortal spring; 0 the strength of infant weakness, If eternal is so young ! This magnanimous mystery has t h e effect of resolving d o u b t a n d evoking love: If so young and thus eternal, Michael tune the shepherd's reed, Where the scenes are ever vernal, And the lives be love indeed!

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See the God blasphem'd and doubted In the schools of Greece and Rome; See the pow'rs of darkness routed, Taken at their utmost gloom. And through participation in this mystery nature assumes new colour and life: Nature's decorations glisten Far above their usual time; Birds on box and laurels listen, And so near the cherubs hymn. Boreas now no longer winters On the desolated coast; Oaks no more are riv'n in splinters By the whirlwind and his host. Spinks and ouzles sing sublimely, "We too have a Saviour born," Whiter blossoms burst untimely On the blest Mosaic thorn. This final stanza has been called by J . M. Murry "a glimpse of simple and incredible purity", 1 6 and Ainsworth and Noyes quote it as the most lyric of all of Smart's passages concerning themselves with the spirit of nature and with God's creatures. 17 I t is certainly representative of Smart's acute awareness of the divinity in the objects around him and of his sensitivity to the glory of God. The Incarnation has always appeared, especially to poets, to be the most perfect expression of the mystery of man's nature. The terrible burden of both mortality and eternity is here symbolized. This union of two conflicting natures supplies the tension for the human predicament, and an aesthetic for the bringing down, as Glicksberg put it, of the spirit into the local habitation. J o h n Livingston Lowes has elaborated upon this poetic process; "Whatever else religion may be", he has written, "it involves the attempt somehow to grasp the unseen and t h a t which we designate as the eternal. But the unseen and the eternal. . . must, in order t o be 16 17

Discoveries (London, 1924), 186. Op. cit., 149.

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intelligible to finite minds, be translated into terms of the seen and the t e m p o r a l . . .". This is the mystical problem to which the poet is acutely sensitive. The imaginative transformation of the experience of the unseen, eternal world into terms of such physical concreteness t h a t we can know it — this is the level at which the poetic and the religious gestures of expression become similar, for it is exactly this gesture, Lowes concludes, "which underlines the central doctrine of Christianity, the profoundly imaginative conception of the Incarnation . . . the supreme translation of infinite into finite, of unseen into seen". 18 This relationship is common as well as it is basic. I t is found, for example, in the Mediaeval English poem called "Divine Paradox": A God and yet a man? A Maid and yet a Mother ? Wit wonders what wit can Conceive this or the other. A God, and can He die ? A dead man, can He live? What wit can well reply? What reason Reason give? God, truth itself, doth teach it. Man's wit sinks too far under By reason's power to reach it. Believe, and leave to wonder. This is a divine paradox, but it is a divine paradox perceived by man. The knowledge and the power put on by Mary at the Annunciation is also the knowledge and the power of men. J o h n Byrom (1692—1763), who praised Bishop Ken as a man and as a poet, shows he is fully aware of the theological implications of the Incarnation in the third stanza of his first' 'Hymn for Christmas D a y " : Mary, prepar'd for such a chaste embrace, Was destin'd to this miracle of grace; In her unfolded the mysterious plan Of man's salvation, God's becoming man; His power with her humility combin'd, Produc'd the sinless Saviour of mankind. 18

Harvard, Alumni Bulletin, X X , 410.

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The burden placed upon Mary is, metaphorically, placed upon man as well. The same religious matter of poetry is also found among twentieth-century poems in Yeats's "Mother of God". The attempt to formulate, to understand, and to answer this question — the attempt to grasp man's predicament in relation to God — provides a major impetus and atmosphere for religious poetry. A single example of a poem from the early Restoration on this subject will give an indication of the tradition to which these poems by Ken and Smart belong. I t is called "Upon Christ's Nativity, or Christmas", and is by Rowland Watkyns, a Brecknockshire vicar whose single volume of verse, Flamma sine Fumo: or Poems Without Fictions was published in 1662: From those dark places Christ came forth this day, First from his Father's bosome, where he lay Concealed till now; then from the typic Law, Where we his manhood but by figures saw; And lastly from his mother's womb he came To us a perfect God and perfect Man. Now in a Manger lies the eternal Word; The Word he is, yet can no speech afford. He is the Bread of Life, yet hungry lies, The living Fountain, yet for drink he cries; He cannot help, or clothe himself at need, Who did the Lillies cloath and Ravens feed: He is the Light of Lights, yet now doth shroud His glory with our nature as a cloud: He came to us a little one, that we Like little children might in malice be; Little he is, and wrapped in clouts, lest he Might strike us dead, if clothed with majesty. Christ had four beds, and those not soft, nor brave, The virgin's Womb, the Manger, Cross and Grave. The Angels sing this day; and so will I That have more reason to be glad than they. The straight-forward style, the concern with the Bible story, the rejoicing in the mystery of the 'God-man', the abstaining from effusion of personal emotion — these are the characteristics t h a t go to make up the Anglican 'atmosphere' in verse.

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The full e x t e n t of this poetic impetus can be explored later on in t h i s essay, b u t we can notice here t h a t this a t t i t u d e t o w a r d t h e I n c a r n a t i o n is also f o u n d in t h e purely theological writings of t h e churchmen. To t h e m also t h e Incarnation is t h a t 'imaginative t r a n s f o r m a t i o n ' of t h e eternal into t h e sensuous. F o r example, this wonder is expressed b y a contemporary of K e n , R o b e r t South (1634 — 1716), in his sermon " J e s u s of N a z a r e t h P r o v e d t h e T r u e a n d Only Promised Messiah": But how was there ever any wonder comparable to this ! To behold Divinity thus clothed in Flesh! The Creator of all things humbled not only to the company, but also to the cognition of His creatures ! It is as if we should imagine the whole world not only represented upon, but also contained in, one of our little artificial globes; or the body of the sun enveloped in a cloud as big as a man's hand, all which would be looked upon as astonishing impossibilities, — and yet as short of the other as the greatest finite is of an infinite, between which the disparity is immeasurable. For that God should thus in a manner transform Himself, and subdue and master all His glories to a possibility of human apprehension and converse, the best reason would have thought it such a thing as God could not do, had it not seen it actually done. I t is as it were to cancel the essential distances of things to remove the bounds of Nature, to bring Heaven and Earth, and (what is more) both ends of the contradiction, together. And so, during t h e eighteenth century — t h a t century so o f t e n t h o u g h t of as wholly secular a n d rationalistic — t h e mystery of t h e Incarnation was held firmly by t h e imaginations of men. The effect of this imaginative belief will be examined later in other poems of t h e century which share several characteristics with t h e works of K e n a n d S m a r t , a n d which m a y be said t o belong within t h e same tradition. I n t h e poems b y these two eighteenth-century poets whom we h a v e been examining we have noticed several o u t s t a n d i n g qualities: a formality of approach t o t h e m a t t e r of t h e verse, a historical awareness, a n emphasis upon love as a central a n d m u t u a l relationship between God a n d man, a quiet humbling of t h e personality a n d emotions of t h e poet, an acceptance of t h e m y s t e r y of t h e Incarnation, a n d a sharing of t h e historical f a c t b y n a t u r e . There is little

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involved or highly colored imagery, little vivid description, little personal comment by the poet. When contrasted with the intensely personal poems of a Donne or a Crashaw, the poems appear to be rather objective; they are not a recording of the poet's personal ecstatic and emotional religious life. One important aspect of atmosphere is seen in the form or structure of the poems, not necessarily in the formal characteristics of versification, b u t in the operation of the shaping spirit which 'brings down' the experience to tangible terms. The recurrent structure can be interestingly seen by examining several poems on the feast of Whitsunday; both Ken and Smart include such a work in their collections, and the arch-Anglican George Herbert also wrote a poem on this subject. We can begin by a reading of his poem. Herbert's "Whitsunday" opens with a formal invocation: Listen sweet Dove unto my song, And spread thy golden wings in me; Hatching my tender heart so long, Till it get wing, and flie away with thee. The second stanza concerns itself with the Biblical story: Where is that fire which once descended On thy Apostles ? thou didst then Keep open house, richly attended, Feasting all comers by twelve chosen men. The next two stanzas show how nature participated in the event: Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow, That th' earth did like a heav'n appeare; The starres were coming down to know If they might mend their wayes, and serve here. The sunne, which once did shine alone, Hung down his head, and wisht for night, When he beheld twelve sunnes for one Going about the world, and giving light. The fifth and sixth stanzas illustrate the significance of the event:

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But since these pipes of gold, which brought That cordial water to our ground, Wore out and martyr'd by the fault Of these, who did themselves through their side wound. Thou shutt'st the doore, and keep'st within; Scarce a good joy creeps through the chink: And if the braves of conqu'ring sinne Did not excite thee, we should wholly sink. T h e final s t a n z a is a colloquy a n d application t o t h e poet a n d his world: Lord, though we change, thou art the same; The same sweet God of love and light: Restore this day, for thy great name, Unto his ancient and miraculous right. These same divisions, elaborated a n d extended, can be seen in K e n ' s poem on " W h i t S u n d a y " . I t opens with a formal invocation presenting a specific immediate event: 0 Fountain of all Grace Divine, Third of the co-eternal Trine, We on Thy sacred day To Thee devoutly pray, To Thy full praise to time our hearts, That we with saints above may bear our parts. For Thou to all the saints above, Art Author of both hymn and love, Thou dost exalt their sight To beatific light, Eternal hymn, love most intense, Rise from clear view of loveliness immense. Then, as is usual in these poems b y K e n , t h e r e follows an extended section in which t h e Biblical story, t h e significance, a n d t h e sharing by n a t u r e r u n parallel. First, K e n records how all n a t u r e received power f r o m t h e H o l y Spirit: On chaos, dark, inactive, rude, Thou with creating force didst brood, Thou art to everything

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Of life and motion Spring, And when the world was made anew, From Thee all ghostly life and motion drew. Man, like n a t u r e , m u s t draw 'life a n d motion' f r o m t h e H o l y Spirit; only this b a p t i s m can free m a n f r o m t h e native stain of sin. Christ has sent t h e Holy Spirit t o form, erect a n d control t h e Church: Next to the Love God-man display'd, When on the Cross our Victim made; He none to us below, More infinite could show, Than when essential Love He chose, In whose soft care His Church He would repose. The t h e m e of love — divine, redeeming, unifying — is f r e q u e n t in K e n ' s poems. I t supplies a central focus for his p o e t r y as love supplies a central focus for t h e relationship of God a n d man. T h e love is m u t u a l ; it p r o m p t s b o t h t h e love of God for m a n as His creature, a n d t h e love of m a n for God as his creator a n d redeemer. Six times in this poem alone he speaks of it as "Essential love". I n this particular stanza it is explored in t e r m s of t h e 'tongues of flame': Essential Love from Glory came To saints, in cloven tongues of flame, And resting on each head, All gifts, all graces shed, Sublimed them to celestial Light, And warm'd their love to a seraphic height. Three stanzas are t h e n devoted t o t h e illuminating consequences of this love; gifts of divine understanding a n d ability: These gifts essential Love bestow'd, When Jesu's votaries He o'erflow'd, Gifts which divinely shined On teachable mankind, And of the mysteries they taught An irresistible conviction wrought. Several stanzas present t h e significance a n d worth of copying t h e qualities of love, concluding with a general s u m m a r y :

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Essential Love enlivens, leads, With sighs, groans, ardours, intercedes, Our frailties He relieves, Our slidings He retrieves, Devotion fervent He instils, And turns to God the pondus of our wills. There is an extended section explaining love as "oil, water, wind, a n d fire", a n d t h e n a final two stanzas of application, or colloquy: May we, Thou God of Love, in prayer Persist, till in Thy Love we share; Thou canst no filth endure, Dost dwell in spirits part, O may we, wash'd in tears contrite, To Temple in our souls Thy Love invite. From Thee the grace of hymn proceeds, Its streams Thy fontal effluence feeds All love, all praise to Thee, Since we Thy temples be, Within Thy hallow'd Temple's bound, Heaven-emulating hymns shall daily sound. I n contrast with K e n ' s poem of 174 lines, S m a r t ' s h y m n of 32 lines appears a t first t o be a very slight work. Y e t again we notice in it those elements discovered in t h e poems on t h e same occasion b y H e r b e r t a n d K e n . S m a r t ' s " W h i t s u n d a y " opens with a statem e n t of t h e promise fulfilled: King Thou That That

of sempiternal sway, has kept thy word to-day, the Comforter should come, gainsayers should be dumb.

Then t h e r e are references t o t h e Biblical story: While the tongues of men transfus'd With thy spirit should be loos'd, And untutor'd Hebrew speak, Latin, Arabic, and Greek. The second stanza gives t h e reason for this event:

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That thy praises might prevail On each note upon the scale, In each nation that is nam'd On each organ thou hast fram'd; Every speech beneath the sun, Which from Babel first begun; Branch or leaf, or fiow'r or fruit Of the Hebrews ancient root. T h e n e x t section tells of t h e significance of t h e event: This great miracle was wrought, That the millions might be taught, And themselves of hope assure By the preaching of the poor. The final stanza a n d a half is a prayer a n d application of t h e event t o t h e poet a n d his world, a n a d m i t t e d l y colonizing application which is generally t h o u g h t of as representing t h e chauvinistic sentiments of t h e following century: 0 thou God of t r u t h and pow'r Bless all Englishmen this hour; That their language may suffice To make nations good and wise. Yea, the God of truth and pow'r Blesses Englishmen this hour; That their language may suffice To make nations good and wise— Wherefore then no more success— That so much is much to bless— Revelation is our own, Secret things are God's alone. Certain basic similarities can be noticed in t h e s t r u c t u r e of these poems: an examination (usually immediate a n d vivid) of t h e event of t h e Biblical story, an examination (careful a n d usually theologically alert) of t h e significance of t h e event, a n d finally a n application t o t h e times a n d conditions of t h e writing. This s t r u c t u r e has occurred, with reduction a n d extensions, in most of t h e poems of this s t u d y ; f u r t h e r examples will emerge later on. So usual does this basic structure appear t o be, t h a t it gives evidence of a unifying

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t r a d i t o n behind t h e writing of these poems. I n p a r t , t h e appeal was one of convenience: it provided a framework which placed emphasis u p o n t h e word of t h e Scriptures a n d allowed for a discussion a n d colloquy. These characteristics have already been noticed in Beligio Laid a n d Beligio Clerici t o be peculiar t o t h e Anglican tradition. T h e s t r u c t u r e shows t h e kind of thing which t h e poets were t r y i n g t o do with religious verse. B u t a f u r t h e r significance m a y be noted. Louis Martz has discovered this three-fold structure in much of t h e religious verse of t h e previous century, a n d has related it t o t h e J e s u i t traditions a n d methods of meditation. 1 9 F r o m Luis de la P u e n t e ' s Meditations wpon

the Mysteries of our Holie Faith, with the Practise of Mental Prayer touching the same, which appeared in a two-volume translation b y J o h n H e i g h a m in 1619, Martz quotes a passage outlining t h e struct u r e of meditation: 1 . . . . with the memory to be mindefull of God our Lorde, with whom wee are to speake, and to negociate; and to be mindefull also, of the mysterie that is to bee meditated, passing through the memorie, with clearnesse, and distinction, t h a t which is to be the matter of the meditation . . . . 2. . . . with the understanding to make severall discourses, and considerations about that mysterie, inquyring, and searching out the Verities comprehended therein, with all the causes, proprieties, effectes, and circumstances that it hath, pondering them very particularly. I n such sort that the Understanding may forme a true, proper, and enttire conceipt of the thing t h a t it meditateth, and may remaine convinced, and persuaded to receive, and to embrace, those truthes that it hath meditated, to propound them to the Will, and to move it therby to exercize its Actions. 3. . . . with the freedom of our will to draw forth sundry Affections, or vertuous Actes, conformable to that which the Understanding hath meditated . . . as are Hatred of our Selves; Sorrowe for Sinners; Confusion of our owne misery; Love of God; trust in his mercye; prayses of God; thankesgiving for benefits received; desire to obtaine true vertues . . . resignation of our selves to the Will of God . . . .20 19 20

The Poetry of Meditation Ibid., 34—35.

(New Haven, 1954).

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This threefold division is followed and assumed by other writers upon the art of meditation. "Without expecting any hard and fast divisions", Martz concludes, "we should expect to find a formal meditation falling into three distinguishable portions, corresponding to the acts of memory, understanding, and will — portions which we might call composition, analysis, and colloquy". The reason for the enormous popularity of the method of meditation, even among writers with little direct sympathy for the Roman Catholic Church, Martz finds in the fact t h a t "it satisfied and developed a natural, fundamental tendency of the human mind — a tendency to work from a particular situation, through analysis of t h a t situation, and finally to some sort of resolution of the problems which the situation has presented". This structure operates, therefore, on a pretty basic level. The poet, like the mystic, uses a traditional form to help give his vision a feeling of order, to help objectify the experience. I t answers the impulse to achieve a perspective on the experience by 'concretizing' it in some impersonal mold. The process of meditation, Martz argues, "is not an isolated factor in their poetry; it exists, I believe, as a fundamental organizing impulse deep within the poetry". 2 1 During the central part of his book Martz brings forth an impressive number and range of poems which provide evidence for this tradition. In the final chapter he considers modern poetry against this background and discovers a strong similarity in t h e works of Yeats, Hopkins, and Eliot. He explains this similarity: But perhaps this general movement of a poem only shows that meditative and poetic method are inevitably similar; that this movement from concrete place, to "question", to emotional resolution is a natural, common movement of the mind. As I have noted in the opening chapter, my point is not that meditative method created this tendency, but rather that meditative discipline cultivated this tendency of the mind; with the result that poetry written under such discipline shows a more explicit, more deliberate structure of this kind than can be found, for example, in Wordsworth.22 But, although Martz is primarily concerned with the poetry of the seventeenth and the twentieth century, there is no evidence t h a t he 21 22

Ibid., 38 and 39. Ibid., 326.

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means it to be confined to these two periods. The meditative tradition does not only emerge from the wells of the seventeenth century into the pool of the twentieth, it also flows abundantly through much of the verse of the eighteenth century, and merges with other traditions to produce an Anglican atmosphere. The three sections of the meditative form, as outlined by Martz, can be redescribed in terms of the poems on the holy-days already examined. The 'concrete place' is a Scriptural event, not infrequently, as has been seen, the occasion of a feast day. The 'question' is an exploration of the religious significance of this event. The 'emotional resolution' is a colloquy or prayer for divine guidance and assistance. This, in part, explains the interest in the feasts and festive occasions of the Church of England, for the theological awareness, and for the use of prayer and moral directive during the century. These aspects of the religious verse will be examined more fully later in this study. The immediate conclusion is t h a t what Martz has traced as a meditative tradition in seventeenth-century verse can also be discovered in the religious verse of the next century, and t h a t its more important characteristics can be seen through an examination of the basic structure of this verse. In addition to those works by Herbert, Ken and Smart which have been read, one further example of the meditative tradition can be quoted to illustrate both the obvious tripartite structure and those aspects of the Anglican atmosphere noticed earlier, since this poem is also about the birth of Christ and therefore offers elaboration on the theme of Incarnation. The poem is Henry More's "An H y m n Upon the Nativity of Christ". More (1614—1687) has come to be known as a theologian and leader of the Cambridge Platonists. However, during his lifetime he shrank from contemporary theological controversy and refused preferment within the Church, including the offer of two bishoprics. His life and works are a superb model of the scholarly and self-effacing Anglican clergyman. His "Hymn Upon the Nativity" provides poetic, as well as theological, evidence of his belonging within the Anglican tradition. I n this poem More himself marginally glosses the first 4 stanzas as "The Historical Narration":

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The Holy Son of God most High, For Love of Adam's lapsed Race, Quit the sweet Pleasures of the Sky, To bring us to that Happy Place. His Robes of Light he laid aside, Which did his Majesty adorn, And the frail state of Mortals tried, I n Humane Flesh and Figure born. Down from above this Day-Star slid, Himself in living Earth t'entomb, And all his Heav'nly Glory hid In a pure lowly Virgin's Womb. Whole Quires of Angels sing The Mystery of his Sacred Birth, And the blest News to Shepherds bring, Filling their watchful Souls with Mirth. Then he glosses t h e final 6 stanzas as " T h e Application t o t h e I m provement of L i f e " : The Son of God thus Man became, That Men the Sons of God might be, And by their second Birth again, A likeness to His Deity. Lord give us humble and pure Minds, And fill us with thy Heav'nly Love, That Christ thus in our Hearts enshrin'd, We all may be born from above. And being thus Regenerate Into a Life and Sense Divine, We all Ungodliness may hate, And to thy living Word encline. That nourish'd by that Heav'nly Food To manly stature we may grow, And steadfastly pursue what's good, That all our high Descent may know. Grant we thy Seed, may never yield Our Souls to soil with any Blot, But still stand Conquerors in the field, To shew his Power who us begot.

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That after this our Warfare's done And travails of a toilsome Stage, We may in Heav'n with Christ thy Son Enjoy our promis'd Heritage. Here in this seventeenth-century Anglican poem are the characteristics which have been noticed, developed and extended, in the religious poems of the eighteenth: the form, with its division into historical narrative and application, the refraining from exaggerated or highly colored imagery, the unobtrusive rhythmic and rhyme schemes, the devotion to "Heav'nly Love", the importance of the Incarnation or "Mystery of his Sacred Birth", the failure to exhibit the personality or the emotions of the poet, the tone of quiet dignity and reverence. These are the rather nebulous qualities which can best be summed up as the 'Anglican atmosphere', and which we have found in Ken and Smart and which can be found in many poets between them. These are the qualities which were noted in an extract by Lord David Cecil quoted earlier in this study. H e is discussing George Herbert: Herbert has an additional interest as the most complete exponent in our poetry of the peculiar genius of the English Church. His piety is an eminently Anglican piety; refined, dignified, with a deliberate appreciation of the values of style and ceremony, but subdued and restrained; its pure outline and quiet tints, a strong contrast to the rich colours and profound incense-flames of Crashaw.23 This critical description, then, seems applicable, not only to the poems of Herbert, but also to those of Ken and Smart: to — in other words — a tradition. I t is a tradition of, as K e n p u t it in his "Holy Innocents", love, prayer, meditation, and praise: Both by their humble Infant taught, No worldly joy, wealth, honour sought, To raptures ne'er aspired, Lived humble, and retired, In love, prayer, meditation, praise, Form'd by His inimitable rays. 23

Oxford

Booh

of Christian

Verse

( O x f o r d , 1940), x x .

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Or, as Charles Wesley p u t it in his h y m n " F o r E a s t e r - D a y " , it is a tradition of experiencing God, knowing H i m , singing His praises, a n d recognizing His love: King of glory, Soul of bliss, Everlasting life is this, Thee to know, Thy power to prove, Thus to sing, and thus to love. A f u r t h e r expression of t h e same atmosphere is f o u n d in S m a r t ' s " H y m n X X X I : St. T h o m a s " : Lo ! those of God are blessed most, Which, simple and serene, Believe the Holy Ghost, That operates unseen. *

*

*

Tho' seventeen hundred years remote, We can perform our part, And to the Lord devote The tribute of our heart. 0 Lord, the slaves of sin release, Their ways in Christ amend, Our faith and hope increase, Our charities extend. Make thou our alter'd lives of use To all the skirts around, And purge from each abuse Thy Church, so much renoun'd. * * * Thy people in that choir employ Whose business is above, In gratitude and joy, In wonder, praise, and love. This last line f r o m t h e end of t h e eighteenth century echoes t h e tradition expressed b y J o h n Donne in t h e seventeenth: "All divinity is love, or wonder". The recurrence of these references t o 'love', 'praise', a n d 'wonder' m a k e t h e reader suspect t h a t their use is more t h a n casual. While

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these terms do not have precise theological connotations, they do bear a significant meaning in the Anglican atmosphere. The relationship between 'meditation' and the structure of many of these poems has already been examined, but allied with this is the reaction of the poet. One of the recurrent terms suggesting this reaction is 'love'. In the poem "Christmas" by Ken, which was read earlier, the central role of love as a religious experience was noted. And this aspect of the Anglican atmosphere has permeated the other poems read in this chapter. In his Cross-Currents in 17th-Century English Literature Sir Herbert Grierson talks of " t h e temper of Herbert and Vaughan and Traherne and Walton and many another for whom Christianity was not an insurance against Hell-fire but a new experience of love for God and Man". 24 This can also be read as a comment upon many writers of the eighteenth century. Although almost all of Ken's poems celebrating the holy-days of the Christian year are in some way related to this central experience, it receives its fullest expression, as to be expected, in the hymn for "St. John's Day". The first stanza declares the theme: Faith, hope, and tear within my breast, Shall, Lord, this day in silence rest, 0 raise my love upon the wing, While I the loved Disciple sing; For Love can best the song indite, Love only can of lovers write. This love is a humbling quality, conditioning the relationship with both God and man: To God's high friendship, love ascends, And dear communion used by friends; Love gave you noblest heat and light, You seem'd below to live by sight, You lessen'd in self humbling view The more, the loftier heights you flew. This love by John was a form of divine love:

24

(New York, 1958), 218.

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God-man who in pure love decreed For sinners on the Cross to bleed In you excited a fresh flame, For all who from lapsed Adam came; A love which copied Love Divine, Of Jesus' lovers made the sign. Finally, the experience of this love becomes a totally absorbing, totally consuming, way of life: In all your writings every line Was dictated by Love Divine; Your love the more vivacious grew, The nearer it to glory drew; When you a century had reach'd, Love was the only thing you preach'd. And we have noticed this same atmosphere in poetry by Smart, where it is most obviously seen in Jubilate Agno, but where it is also seen clearly in such passages as this final stanza from " H y m n X X V I I I : All Saints": There are thousand thousands more, Like the sand upon the shore, Through the love of Christ reveal'd, All in heav'n receiv'd and seal'd. During the eighteenth century this theme of divine love provided the matter of religious poetry, both direct and indirect, to such an extent t h a t the temper of Herbert and Vaughan and Traherne and Walton which Grierson described did, in fact, build up a continuous tradition. I t is interesting to note, as well, t h a t in the poetry of Ken and Smart we have not discovered the use of Christianity as an 'insurance against Hell-fire', to use Grierson's phrase; instead there is quiet acceptance of the sacraments of the Church as a means of grace and salvation. I n Smart's poem on the feast of St. John, "The Nativity of St. John the Baptist", a further characteristic is noteworthy. Like Ken, Smart recognized the controlling role played by love in the life of the saint:

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John beheld the great and holy Hail'd the love of God supreme. Yet this love is translated into the love of nature, not in a Wordsworthian sense, but as the love which nature has for man. Following a trite and static opening, five stanzas are introduced to describe the operation of this love. The picture of abundant autumn, swelling with the fruits of summer and warm in the gentle rays of nature, is the more meaningful and vivid because of its religious context: Lo the swelling fruits of summer, With inviting colours dy'd, Hang, for ev'ry casual comer, O'er the fence projecting wide. See the corn for plenty waving, Where the lark secur'd her eggs — In the spirit then be saving, Give the poor that sings and begs. Gentle nature seems to love us In each fair and finish'd scene, All is beauteous blue above us, All beneath is cheerful green. Now when warmer rays enlighten And adorn the lengthen'd time, When the views around us brighten, Days a rip'ning from their prime. She that was a barren reckon'd Had her course completely run, And her dumb-struck husband becon'd For a pen to write a son. I t is not until the seventh stanza of this thirteen-stanza poem t h a t there is mention of the saint; this, as we have seen from the consideration of meditative structure, is unusual. But t h a t stanza follows the pattern established in other poems by giving the brief, major facts of the subject's importance: John, the child of Zacharias. Just returning to his earth, Prophet of the Lord Messias, And fore-runner of his birth.

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The n e x t two stanzas, as has come t o be expected, explain t h e significance of his mission: He too martyr'd, shall precede him, Ere he speed to heav'n again, Ere the traitors shall implead him, And the priest his God arraign. John beheld the great and holy, Hail'd the love of God supreme; 0 how gracious, meek, and lowly, When baptiz'd in Jordan's stream ! Stanzas 10, 11, a n d 12 are a curious u n i t in t h e poem. Technically t h e y form one sentence, although t h e r e is no principal clause; t h e y are, in fact, a series of conditional introductory adverbial clauses: If from honour so stupendous He the grace of pow'r deriv'd, And to tyrants was tremendous, That at fraud and filth conniv'd; If he led a life of rigour, And t h ' abstemious vow obey'd; If he preach'd with manly vigour, Practis'd sinners to dissuade; If his voice by fair confession Christ's supremacy avow'd; If he check'd with due suppression Self-incitements to be proud. T h e effect of this u n i t is obviously n o t grammatical; t h e passage is intended t o convey a feeling r a t h e r t h a n a rational argument, t o elicit a n affirmation r a t h e r t h a n a n acknowledgment. I t represents t h e poet's reaction r a t h e r t h a n his t h o u g h t . And it is this affirmation of t h e power a n d glory of God, especially as it is manifested in n a t u r e , t h a t provides t h e impetus for m u c h of S m a r t ' s verse. T h e h y m n , "St. J o h n t h e Evangelist", opens with such an assertion: Hosanna! yet again, Another glorious day, Ye cherubs sing and play, Ye seraphs swell the strain.

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T h e h y m n on t h e feast of St. Stephen contains a direct s t a t e m e n t oí t h i s glory: God ! great and manifest around, In earth, and air, and depth profound, In every movement, animals that breathe, And all the beauties visible beneath. Love is for S m a r t , as well as K e n , t h e experience which recognizes t h e power of God, a n d so commands man's t h a n k s a n d praise. S m a r t t h a n k s "Almighty J e s u s " , t h e "sole original a n d cause/Of all heroic actions p a s t " , in his h y m n on t h e King's Restoration. H e gives t h a n k s for ' t h y pow'r divine', a n d offers praise for t h e glory of t h e event: Thy glory to thy name we yield, By which the vast exploit was done. These lines echo t h e reaction expressed in t h e final stanza of K e n ' s h y m n on Septuagésima Sunday: All praise to God Who joys and woes Will in just lots dispose; Whose justice, shining in true light, Will saints to hymn excite; 0 then, with conscience clear, May I my joyful Absolution hear! T h e debt of worship owed God is recognized in t h e opening s t a n z a of K e n ' s h y m n on Quinquagesima Sunday: All praise to Thee, great God, we owe, To Thee, from Whose inspirings flow Our souls immortal, unconfined, For Heaven design'd. This poem also contains K e n ' s clearest s t a t e m e n t of t h e centrality of love as a religious experience in m a n ' s life: Love was God's native, prime design, In mutual love with souls to join: But God and souls sin disunites, And hate excites.

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These sentiments by Smart and Ken are, admittedly, neither very surprising nor unique to these writers. The foregoing quotations are not intended to be understood as characteristic of these poets alone. Indeed, any reaction as general as 'love' or 'praise' cannot be confined within the bounds of a single tradition, however comprehensive that tradition may be. But the point here is t h a t these words, and the reactions suggested by them and their imagery, do occur with such frequency as an essential part of the works of these two writers, t h a t their use seems more than accidental. Praise and prayer and thanks become symptomatic of the Anglican reaction to the universe. When contrasted with contemporary poems by the Non-Conformists, these works seem strangely restrained and unemotional. There is an impersonal quality which avoids the extremes of private neurosis or public confession. The reaction of the Anglican poet has been channeled into a tradition which is almost a ritual, a kind of poetic adaption of the liturgy. The interest in the feasts and fasts of the ecclesiastical year is not merely to provide the necessary subject matter for a further versified endeavor, but it acts as a target to focus one's own experience and reaction, and in so doing, to objectify it. This subject matter, like the meditative structure and the concept of love, offers a method for resolving one's personal feelings into a larger context, for merging one's self with the tradition. The individual fear of hell-fire and brimstone is not the predominant tone of these poems. Their piety is t h a t of Herbert. Before beginning a more searching exploration for these characteristics in the labrynths of verse written during the eighteenth century, we might do well to note how they operate in a poem by another writer who belonged firmly within the Anglican tradition. Charles G. Osgood, in an essay from his collection Poetry As a Means of Grace, has written t h a t "this eighteenth century London, so multifarious yet so single an embodiment of its tranquil and sanguine time, was incarnate in Johnson as in no other man". 2 5 His High Churchmanship and his practical sincerity represented a rigorous tradition of religious belief, even during a period which is sometimes 26

(Princeton, 1941), 106.

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regarded as secular. Neill, in his exposition of Anglicanism, feels t h a t "it is inconceivable t h a t Samuel Johnson should have been anything but an Englishman; and the life of this great and good man shows t h a t , even in her worst days, the Church of England was still, what she has ever been, Ecclesia Anglicana mater sanctorum,". And he finds Johnson in many ways typical of Englishmen of the eighteenth century: Johnson was typical in his sincerity, his dislike of cant and hypocrisy, his rough common sense; and in nothing was he more typical than in his vigorous, wholly unsentimental, practical Christian faith. He was regular in his attendance at divine worship, and prepared himself with almost painful earnestness for participation in the Holy Communion. The prayers that he composed breathe a spirit of deep penitence for sin, of manly resolution, and of a tender confidence in the mercy of God.26 Johnson's adherence to the Established Church was (as he said about t h a t of his ideal clergyman, Zachariah Mudge) though studious, yet popular; though argumentative, yet modest; though inflexible, yet candid; and, though metaphysical, yet orthodox. This orthodoxy led him to support the expulsion from Oxford of six students who were Methodists and would not desist from publicly praying and exhorting: I believe that they might be good beings; but they were not fit to be in the University of Oxford. A cow is a very good animal in the field, but we turn her out of a garden. Both his high church orthodoxy and his fair-mindedness are seen in his attitude towards the evangelical preacher George Whitefield, leader of the Calvinistic Methodists: Whitefield never drew as much attention as a mountebank does; he did not draw attention by doing better than others, but by doing what was strange . . . . I never treated Whitefield's ministry with contempt; I believe he did good. He had devoted himself to the lower classes of mankind, and among them he was of use. As with John Byrom and a number of other men, the greatest influence in Johnson's religious life seems to have been his reading of 26

Stephen Neill, Anglicanism

(Harmondsworth, 1968), 201—2.

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William Law's A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life (1728). From t h a t time, Carpenter says, he was "a devoted, humble and orthodox Christian, intolerant, with no mercy for Deists or otherwise misbelievers, tormented by the fear of hell, constantly examining and constantly accusing himself, especially of the sin of sloth, but never doubting t h a t the Church of England pointed him in the true way of faith and life". 27 His fear of hell and his self-accusations are confined to his prose writings; they apparently were not felt to be appropriate matter for verse. Because an interpretation based solely on the poetry would be misleadingly incomplete, Fairchild excluded him from his consideration of religious trends in English poetry. 28 B u t Johnson's shorter poems include 12 which are ostensibly religious. One is a "Prayer on Christmas Day, 1779". I n reduced form it reflects the same historical/applicative structure noticed as a characteristic of the poems already read in this chapter. The restraint and quiet dignity are also present; the poet's 'torment by the fear of hell" — such a strong impetus in Nonconformist verse — is held within rigorous bounds: Nunc dies Christo memoranda nato Falsit, in pectus mihi fonte punem Gaudium sacro fluat, et benigni Gratia Coeli! Christe, da tutam trepido quietem, Christe, spem praesta stabilem timenti; Da fidem certam, precibusque fidis Annue, Christe. Johnson's "Upon the Feast of St. Simon and St. J u d e " reflects these common qualities upon a larger screen. He opens with a rejection of the classical heroic tradition: Of Fields with dead bestrew'd around, And Cities smoaking on the ground Let vulgar Poets sing, Let them prolong their turgid lays With some victorious Hero's praise Or weep some falling King. 27 28

S. C. Carpenter, Eighieenth-CenturyChurch and People (London, 1959) 154. Op. cit., II, viii.

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T h e poet will t u r n t o nobler themes, inspired b y t h e Church calendar: While I to nobler themes aspire, To nobler subjects tune my lyre; Those Saints my numbers grace Who to their Lord were ever dear, To whom the church each rolling year Her solemn honours pays. This parallels S m a r t ' s opening stanza in his h y m n t o St. Simon and St. J u d e : Peace be to the souls of those Which for Jesus Christ have bled, Or that triumph'd o'er their foes With the coals upon their head. K e n ' s opening stanza of his h y m n on t h e same occasion is similarly a formal invocation t o comprehend t h e example of t h e saints: 0 Holy Church, whom we respect, As Mother of all souls elect, Even angels, who repair To your resorts of prayer, To turn your catechumens, all combine, And learn the wisdom of the gracious Trine. His second stanza even applies t h e word 'meditation' t o t h e means of comprehension: Two Saints this festival are join'd, For meditation both design'd; J o h n s o n t h e n includes two stanzas which tell of t h e devotion a n d love of t h e saints for God: In vain proud tyrants strove to shake Their faith, or force them to forsake The Steps their Saviour trod; With breasts resolv'd, they follow'd still Obsequious to his heav'nly will Their master and their God.

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When Christ had conquer'd Hell and fate And rais'd us from our wretched state, O prodigy of Love ! Ascending to the skies he shone Refulgent on his starry throne Among the Saints above. S m a r t outlines their devotion within a single s t a n z a : Which for him have undergone Any other dread or death, Crucify'd, or stabb'd, or sawn, Blessing to their latest breath. K e n , on t h e other h a n d , elaborates this t h e m e t h r o u g h several stanzas, b u t he precisely identifies t h e central impetus of t h e i r actions as celestial love: Celestial Love entirely both enflamed, Both co-harmonious at God's glory aim'd. No wilful sin they could endure, Both kept for God His temples pure. Both the vain world forsook, Both fix'd on Heaven their look, And Like the saints in beatific light, Both would each other to God's praise excite. T h e following stanzas in J o h n s o n ' s poem are devoted t o t h e script u r a l narrative of t h e saints: Th' Apostles round the world were sent, Dispersing blessings as they went, Thro' all the spacious ball; Far from their happy native home They, pleas'd, thro' barb'rous nations roam To raise them from their fall. Where Atlas was believ'd to bear The weight of ev'ry rolling sphere, Where sev'n mouth'd Nilus roars, Where the dark visag'd Natives fry, And scarce can breath t h ' infected sky, But bless the Northern shoars.

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Simon by gen'rous Zeal inspir'd, With ardent love of virtue fir'd, There trod the Lybian sands, Though fierce Barbarians threaten'd death And Serpents with their poys'nous breath Infest the barren Lands. Nor there confin'd his active Soul; But where the Realms beneath the Pole In clouds of Ign'ranee mourn, Thither with eager haste he runs And visits Britain's hardy Sons Ah ! never to return ! Nor whilst she Simons acts persues Art thou forgotten by the Muse, Most venerable J u d e ! Where Tigris beats his sounding shore The haughty Persian in thy gore His wrathfull sword imbru'd. Smart, treating t h e hagiography of each separately, requires eight stanzas, a n d K e n , writing as usual in an e x p a n d e d form a n d style, uses several pages. The final stanza b y J o h n s o n follows t h e wellestablished tradition of proclaiming poetic inability t o do justice t o t h e loftiness of t h e m a t t e r : Thrice happy Saints — where do I rove ? Where do t h ' extatick fury move My rude unpolish'd Song; Mine unharmonious verse profanes Those names which in immortal strains Angelick choirs have sung. This humility is more t h a n a convention, as J o h n s o n ' s " P r a y e r s " a n d "Meditations" show. S m a r t ends with t h e same tone; t h e significance of t h e events is comprehended, a n d t h e reaction is a h a r m o n y of praise: Let us therefore well provide This good festival to hold, Lest to us they be apply'd As to wand'rers from the fold.

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Lo ! the church herself attires For the work of pray'r and song; To the strains that Christ inspires Crowds of either sex shall throng. Ken's final stanza is similar: We treble praise, Lord, sing below, For joys which those bright saints o'erflow; May we, like that bless'd two, Give Thee all honour due, Though martyr and apostle are too high, 0 may we learn like saints to live and die. The parallels between these various poems are remarkable. Not only in structure, but also in the pattern and control of the feeling are the similarities significant. Behind each of these poems seems to lie a tradition which somehow gives them their peculiar atmosphere. B u t just what the tradition is, or how it influenced them, is hard to say. Each of these writers, of course, in turn has influenced, in varying subtle ways if not directly, the tradition of his time. The process of mutual influence is particularly observable in the writing of Johnson. " I t would be hard to overestimate the influence, direct and indirect, which Johnson exercised on the whole attitude of his contemporaries towards religion". 29 This influence, recognized by the Reverend Mr. Cairns, was both widespread and powerful. I t is difficult to discover a book dealing with religion in the eighteenth century which does not mention him. 30 Alfred Plummer, in his history of the Church of England during this century, says t h a t "it was as a moralist t h a t he was specially respected during t h e last twenty years of his life (1764—84), and his moral influence was closely connected with his religion". And he quotes Edmund Gosse (History of Eighteenth-Century Literature) and Lord Mahon (History of England) in support of this widespread influence: 29

William T. Cairns, The Religion of Dr. Johnson and Other Essays (Oxford, 1946, )21. 30 See, in particular, P. H. Houston, Dr. Johnson: A Study in EighteenthCentury Humanism (Cambridge, Mass., 1923), and Bertrand H. Bronson, "The Double Tradition of Dr. Johnson", ELH, XVIII (1951), 90—106.

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His influence was so wide, and withal so wholesome, t h a t . . . he had raised a standard of personal conduct that every one admits. . . . though not in Orders, he did the Church of England better service than most of those who at that listless era ate her bread.31 This influence, like that of Bishop Ken, permeated much of eighteenth-century society. There is no evidence for believing that it founded a revival or a new school of religious belief. Indeed, much of it was not of a strictly theological kind; it appertained to the more indefinable yet indelible qualities of humility, dignity, restraint and reliance upon love. These are the qualities which have emerged with almost tiresome regularity in the poems by Ken and Smart, these are the themes which are heard, sometimes in counterpoint, in poems by More, Herbert, Johnson, and, as we shall see, in the poems by many other writers during the century. The discussion of a tradition is difficult, then, because of the nebulous and intangible qualities with which the scholar is dealing, and because of the interplay of personal and contemporary style and sensibility. There is the further difficulty of presuming to mutilate, and frequently even to dissect, a poem to get at its tradition. Such operations do destroy the work of art as a living organism. Yet, so long as this difficulty is recognized both by scholar and reader, it seems worthwhile to explore the kind of basic assumptions and feelings, in terms of attitude and atmosphere, upon which a considerable body of eighteenth-century verse was written. Amos Wilder, in a consideration of modern literature, raises this difficulty and attempts a solution: No doubt it is misleading to characterize works of the imagination in terms of theme or content. Nevertheless, for the moment let us look at the matter from this confessedly partial point of view. We can find some temporary justification when we recall how many critics have used a poem like Yeats' "The Second Coming" not merely for an aesthetic discussion, but as a kind of cultural document; or have discussed the novels of Kafka, not to mention those of Malraux or Silone, in a social context;

31

The Church of England

in the Eighteenth

Century

( L o n d o n , 1910), 25.

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or have drawn connections between such paintings as those of Dali, Chirico, Braque, and a supposed dissolution of an older kind of personal consciousness; or have pointed to D. H. Lawrence's analogous disgust with an outworn conception of plot and character belonging to a static and devitalized social order. There is surely some validity in making such cultural inferences from the work of the artist, or identifying particular social judgments implicit in poem or novel.32 I t is impossible t o divorce poetry — especially religious poetry — from its context, and from a close examination of Dryden's Beligio Laid, Mason's Beligio Clerici, K e n ' s Hymns and Poems for the Holy Days and Festivals of the Church of England, a n d miscellaneous poems by several writers of t h e late seventeenth a n d eighteenth centuries, certain cultural influences a n d social judgments seem to be validly deducible. The first of these is an affirmation of Stephen Neill's statement t h a t "in t h e strict sense of t h e term there is, therefore, no Anglican faith. B u t there is an Anglican a t t i t u d e and an Anglican atmosphere". 3 3 The second is t h e historically novel, although logically obvious, conclusion t h a t this a t t i t u d e and atmosphere continue during t h e eighteenth century t o influence most strongly a considerable body of verse. A precise description of this influence is, as we have seen, impossible. B u t it would center around such phrases as t h e limitations of reason, t h e incarnation, t h e mystery of t h e trinity, t h e efficacy of prayer a n d meditation, t h e virtues of love a n d humility, t h e authori t y of t h e scriptures a n d of tradition, a n d t h e means of salvation. Y e t these phrases are in themselves meaningless; only a discovery of t h e m in t h e poetry itself has given t h e m t h e flesh a n d blood of overtones a n d implications necessary for understanding. Contemporary theological writings a n d earlier poetry have shown t h a t there is a uniformity a n d a consistency which can be called a tradition. B u t a tradition which is vital will manifest itself in more t h a n a few poems, and so it will be useful t o go exploring for these elusive qualities in a number of minor writers a n d a number of scattered poems.

32 83

Theology and Modem Literature (Cambridge, Mass., 1958), 24. Op. cit., 418.

IV THE LITURGICAL TRADITION

When to his Doctrine, and his Life Divine, His super-human Miracles we join, Thy Love and Admiration, both excite, Conviction will attain its utmost height. Thomas Ken, On the Life of Christ The Gospel is no history of any absent, distant, or foreign thing, but is a manifestation of an essential, inherent, real life and death in every son of Adam; grounded on the certainty of his first angelical nature, on the certainty of his real Fall from that into an animal, earthly life of impure, bestial flesh and blood, and on the certainty of an inward redemption from it by the divine nature given again 1 into him. William Law, The Way to Divine

Knowledge

In exploring the extent to which the tradition of the Established Church in England influenced poets during the eighteenth century, several things must be kept in mind. It has already been seen that because the tradition is incapable of precise definition, either in terms of attitude or of atmosphere, important aspects will have to be detected in the nuances of tone and sensibility, of subject matter and doctrine. These areas reflect the tradition and are given a kind of unity and continuity by it. But the poems must not be treated merely as tracts for illustrating the tradition. Each poem moves within a fairly generous boundary, and as works of art they themselves have some influence upon the shape of the tradition. The in-

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fluence of religious beliefs and feelings upon poetry is both complex and difficult of sorting. The relationship has always been close, and if given the slightest opportunity, a sort of osmosis sets in between them. For the scholar concerned with the history of ideas their mutual influence is interesting. Basil Willey, in the "Foreword" to his Seventeenth Century Background, has set the stage for the study of the two together, and his subsequent books have supported the value of this approach: I hope I need offer no apology for thus classifying poetic and religious beliefs together. Both, at any rate, seem to have been similarly affected by the 'philosophic' spirit, and those who are interested in the fate of either can hardly avoid feeling some concern for that of the other. 1 And borrowing t h a t fine phrase from the seventeenth-century Anglican apologist, Joseph Glanvill, Willey advances the view t h a t they are both conditioned by contemporary 'climates of opinion'. I t has been said t h a t the religious feelings expressed by the poet are different from those expressed by the theologian. J u s t how the poet acquires and assimilates theological, or even religious, knowledge is usually a matter of biographical or psychological concern. The present essay will attempt to avoid this personal element of the issue as much as possible, for it does not claim to offer a definitive or exhaustive study of any single author. But there are general ways in which the relation of religion and poetry can operate on a more public level. W. Boyd Carpenter has listed three. A poem may be considered religious in t h a t it reveals the deep religious feelings of the writer; or the poetry and the religion may be inseparably intertwined through a 'strong natural relation'; or the relation may depend upon historical factors. These classifications are of greater value as descriptions t h a n as schemata, but they are helpful in attracting attention to the general ways of relationship — ways which are more valuable for the poet precisely because they avoid the dogma of a theological system: Theological treatises appeal to the speculative intellect; but they do not carry much nourishment to the soul. They are useful, but more from 1

(Garden City, 1953), 5.

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a rational than a spiritual point of view. They are valuable at times in clearing the mind, but they seldom feed the heart.2 Feeding the heart so that it would grow into a productive plant is a metaphor of the poetic process which is not uncommon. The Rev. Stopford Brooke uses it in tracing kinds of relationships set up between poetry and religion: The theology of the poets is different from that of Churches and Sects, in this especially, that it is not formulated into propositions, but is the natural growth of their own hearts.3 This proves to be a convenient metaphor because it underlines the importance of what we have earlier been calling 'atmosphere' in maintaining a religious tradition. Whatever may have been their theological concern, both Ken and Smart reflected the 'natural growth of their own hearts' in their verse. But it is perhaps an unfortunate metaphor in that it places the emphasis upon the poet rather than upon the poem. It is typical of the nineteenth-century concept of the poetic process, and it leads to dangerous conclusions if applied to other centuries. In her study of the romantic element in religious verse during the last thirty years of the eighteenth century, Sister Mary Eulogia Horning located the essence of romanticism in the three characteristics of mystery, incompleteness, and aspiration. She then relates these to the religious impulse. The unseen Deity who created the world and all that therein is from naught must necessarily remain mysterious, as must his manifestation in the flesh and his resurrection; man's own nature and his understanding of the Deity remain incomplete; yet his restless desire to unravel this ultimate mystery and to comprehend his own relationship urges him toward an ideal which is beyond his physical and social limitations. These, Sister Mary Eulogia argues, indicate the close relationship which may exist between romanticism and religion, although, she admits, "this does not mean that all religious poetry 2 3

The Religious Spirit in the Poets (London, 1900), 11. Theology in the English Poets, 4th ed. (London, 1880), 1.

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is romantic, or t h a t all romantic poetry is religious". 4 This identification is unfortunate, as we have seen, because it stresses the picturesque aspect of Christian art, and tends to preclude a serious concern for structure and form. I t might be closer to the t r u t h t o suggest t h a t the eighteenth-century religious poet sought to feed not his heart b u t his soul. To him the matter at hand was also at mind and soul, not just at heart. Religious poetry as a genre in itself was taken seriously during the century, and there unconsciously emerged certain structures which reflected t h e Anglican tradition. The purpose of this chapter, then, will be to explore the extent to which poems show the influence in attitude and atmosphere of the Anglican tradition: to survey the range of poetic interest in the festivals of the liturgical year, and to study what shape these works take. Having done a fairly close reading of the poems b y Dryden, Mason, Ken, and Smart, we can examine a number of works by various writers, covering a wider range of the eighteenth-century spectrum. Partly the evidence for this influence is a statistical statement; no complete listing of this sort of thing is ever possible, but a sufficient number of poems will be read to indicate t h a t quantitatively the influence was considerable. Because, as has been suggested, the manner of influence was complex and difficult to unravel, no completely clear-cut categories can be established. But certain independent, if not mutually exclusive, topics can be organized for exploration. These are aspects of what has been seen in the previous chapter to be the Anglican tradition: (1) concern for the festivals of the Church calendar, (2) the doctrine of the Incarnation, (3) meditations and prayers, (4) humility and love, and (5) divine justice. The wider topics of mysticism and of the Anglican concept of rationalism will be examined separately. I t must be emphasized t h a t while the five categories listed here will be examined separately, each poem will reflect a number of them at once and no rigorous distinctions can be maintained. The best method will be to discover 4

Evidences of Romantic Treatment Century Minor Poetry (1770—1800)

of Religious Elements in Late (Washington, 1932), 13.

Eighteenth-

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parallel characteristics in several poems, and to estimate how significant to the tradition these characteristics are. There is, for example, an interesting parallel between "AscensionH y m n " by Henry Vaughan (1622 — 1695) and a poem by Smart. Vaughan's glimpse of eternity revealed not just a great ring of pure and endless light but also a firm comprehension of the value and integrity of the Anglican Church. From a number of angles he is a central figure in the cross-currents of religious poetry. Several critics have detected a set of qualities unifying Vaughan with an Anglican tradition of the late seventeenth century. Louis Martz has suggested t h a t "in their habit of meditating on the 'creatures' it is possible to find a fundamental link between Vaughan, Marvell, Traherne, and even Milton". 5 And Rose MacAulay, after discussing the Anglican verse of Herbert, had already come to a similar conclusion: Vaughan carried on this new Anglican tradition. Indeed, he modelled his religious poetry too closely on that of 'that blessed man, Mr. George Herbert,' which gave it probably a more ecclesiastical note than was natural to his own temper. And later in her essay she suggests t h a t while Vaughan is "less ecclesiastically Anglican than Herbert, he is more English, for he carries on to some degree the English poetic tradition of seeking images and inspiration in fields, woods, flowers, and streams". 6 His "Ascension-Hymn" reveals many of these characteristics. I t is based upon the sensitive awareness of the historical fact, a n d upon an awareness of the very great difference between eternity (still described in imagery of light) and the human predicament: They are all gone into the world of light! And I alone sit lingring here; Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear. This resignation to the sad thoughts of the human dilemma is a reaction of considerable significance within the Anglican tradition. s 6

The Poetry of Meditation (New Haven, 1954), 3. Some Religious Elements in English Literature (London, 1931), 99.

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As we shall see later, many poets deliberately select it as the theme for their poems, and a number of poets treat it as a mystical response. To define precisely the nature and intensity of this response in the poetry of Vaughan is particularly difficult because, as Garner has pointed out, "Vaughan's characteristic and most intense expression of religious experience may be described as longing rather than as realization", and, Garner adds later in his study, Yaughan "nowhere carries his longing to the point of equating it with its mystical object, as does Crashaw". 7 The exact nature of Vaughan's mystical experience is not of immediate concern to this study, 8 but the generally accepted comments upon it establish two things of value: (1) a mystical response to the flesh and the spirit forms an important and central part of the Anglican tradition, and (2) this mystical response differs from the more intense and more extreme Roman Catholic tradition. The extent of this strain of mysticism during the eighteenth century will be explored in a later section of this study; the immediate concern is the detection of the atmosphere of quiet moderation, indeed mediation, between the flesh and the spirit as an essential and valuable part of the Anglican tradition. For, while the response looks towards the illumination of eternity, it also has the machinery to provide the poet with the valuable means of bringing down the world of the spirit for comprehension. Unlike extreme views, the Anglican tradition does not blind itself to the world of the flesh by a passionate gesture towards eternity. I t seems to be this ability, both in terms of imagery and — more important — in terms of sensibility, to discover the eternal in the temporal which permits poetry to be a vital vehicle of Anglican expression. Vaughan's "Ascension-Hymn" is marked by the turning to nature for imagery: 7

R o s s Garner, Henry Vaughan: Experience and the Tradition (Chicago, 1959), 129 and 139. 8 F o r a detailed s t u d y see I t r a t H u s a i n , The Mystical Elements in the Metaphysical Poets of the Seventeenth Century (London, 1948), Chapter V , VI, and VII.

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I t glows and glitters in my cloudy brest Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or these faint beams in which this hill is drest, After the sun's remove. A n d this understanding of t h e spiritual t h r o u g h its manifestation in t h e n a t u r a l shapes t h e imagery of t h e following stanza: He that hath found some fledg'd birds nest, may know At first sight, if the bird be flown; But what fair Well, or Grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. The poem commends t h e virtues of humility a n d love: O holy hope ! and high humility, High as the Heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have show'd them me To kindle my cold loveT h e concluding two stanzas form a prayer for t r u e spiritual freedom, again using imagery of n a t u r e . 0 Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under thee ! Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty. Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My perspective (still) as they pass, Or else remove me hence unto that hill, Where I shall need no glass. Other poets t h r o u g h o u t t h e period sought images a n d inspiration in fields, woods, flowers, a n d streams, a n d f o u n d in these objects t h e symbols of a creative a n d organizing force beyond t h e power of man. The final two stanzas of S m a r t ' s " H y m n X I V . T h e Ascension of Our Lord Jesus Christ" are an expression of t h e Infinity of Christ. His suffering led f r o m t h e indignities of His passion t o His triump h a n t ascension into heaven:

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The song can never be pursu'd When Infinite's the theme — For all to crown, and to conclude, He bore and bless'd ingratitude, And insult in its worst extreme. And having then such deeds achiev'd As never man before, From scorn and cruelty repriev'd, In highest heav'n he was receiv'd, To reign with God for evermore. At t h e basis of this s u m m a r y , of course, lies t h e awareness of t h e powers of m a n being unable t o f a t h o m completely t h e mysteries of God: " T h e song can never be persu'd/When Infinite's t h e t h e m e . " The gulf between m a n a n d God is recognized, a n d quietly a n d realistically accepted; it is assimilated as p a r t of a divine order. This means t h a t t h e emphasis, t h e focus, of these poems is n o t u p o n either a n idealized world quite removed f r o m t h e present one or an anguished image of m a n ' s predicament. " T h e Aspiration" b y J o h n Norris, George H e r b e r t ' s successor a t Bemerton, reveals t h e cont i n u a t i o n of this atmosphere into t h e eighteenth century: How long, great God, how long must I Immured in this dark prison lie; * * * How cold this clime ! And yet my sense Perceives e'en here Thy influence. At t h e end of t h e eighteenth century Christopher S m a r t ' s poem on " T h e Ascension of Our L o r d Jesus Christ" reveals t h e recurrence of t h e same characteristics. The poem opens with a recording of t h i s great influence — an influence so great t h a t it cannot be t o t a l l y recorded: 'And other wond'rous works were done No mem'ry can recall; Which were they number'd every one, Not all the space beneath the sun Cou'd hold the fair detail of all.'

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The text is full, and strong to do The glorious subject right; But on the working mind's review The letter's like the spirit true, And dear and evident as light. The closeness of this first stanza with its Scriptural origin is n o t obvious a t first reading t o a n y b u t t h e most well-versed scholar. As Miss K a r i n a Williamson has traced it, 9 t h e stanza derives f r o m t h e story of Christ's t h i r d appearance t o His disciples a f t e r t h e Resurrection, as told in t h e Gospel according t o St. J o h n , Chapter xxi, verse 25: And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written. I n t h e tradition t h a t t h e Scriptures contain all t h a t is needful t o salvation, S m a r t , like K e n in so m a n y of his poems, has been cont e n t t o versify t h e facts, without embroidering t h e m with his personal perspective or psychosis. The scriptures record t h e influence which extended t o all nature. " T h e tiniest a n d meanest, t h e forgott e n of God's creatures", as Ainsworth a n d Noyes note, "were ever in S m a r t ' s m i n d " : 1 0 . . . all that dwell in depth or wave, And ocean — every drop — Confess'd his mighty pow'r to save, When to the floods his peace he gave And bade careering whirlwinds stop. And all things meaner from the worm Probationer to fly; To him that creeps his little term, And countless rising from the sperm Shed by sea-reptiles, where they ply. T h e final s t a n z a of K e n ' s "Ascension-Day, or Holy T h u r s d a y " is a similar expression of this desire t o reach t o w a r d Christ f r o m this 9

"Christopher Smart's Hymns

(1959), 420. 10

Op. cit., 148.

and Spiritual

Songs",

PQ,

XXXVIII

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'dark prison', yet a prison sufficiently lighted by Christ's life and ascension to indicate a way of salvation: May we our souls to Jesus rear, While in this vale of tear, Long to our heavenly home to go, While strangers here below; A heavenly mind can never miss, To sit like Jesus enthronized in bliss. These poems reflect many of the characteristics we can come to recognize as belonging to the Anglican tradition. Most obvious is their serious concern with the feasts and fasts of the liturgical year. I n this concern they are not alone, for many poems written throughout the century reflect a similar serious interest in the celebrations of the saints and the occasions of the church calendar. As William Law emphasized in The Way to Divine Knowledge, "the Gospel is no history of any absent, distant or foreign thing"; it is the narrative of a drama inherent in every life, and as such the actors and actions deserve commemoration. Law's sentiments were echoed and supported throughout the century in such works as Joseph P o t t ' s Three Sermons on the Festivals and Fasts of the Church (1794). After the hearty struggles over reformation and counter-reformation principles during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the Church of England emerged between the Puritans and the recusants as a Catholic faith as delineated in the Scriptures, the Creeds, and the decisions of the first few General Councils. One aspect of this moderate reformation was the retention of the liturgical order of the Christian year, with a simple pattern expressing the progress of development from one season to the next. Special services are provided for the thirty-six "Red Letter Saints' Days" which commemorate significant events in the life of Christ and those closely associated with His work; each has its own Collect, Epistle, Gospel, and Lesson. This material, then, can easily provide traditional and familiar subject matter for the poet. And these Holy Days provided a major interest for eighteenth-century Churchmen. The purpose and value of these days was explained by Richard Hooker in the fifth book of his Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity:

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The sanctification of days and times is a token of that thankfulness and a part of that public honour which we owe to God for admirable benefits. Whereof it doth not suffice that we keep a secret calendar, taking thereby our private occasions as we list ourselves to think how much God hath done for all men, but the days which are chosen out to serve as public memorials of such. His mercies ought to be clothed with these outward robes of holiness whereby their difference from other days may be made sensible. The services a n d duties for these Holy Days were not allowed to become so burdensome t h a t t h e spirit of t h e occasion would be lost. They became festive days, rapidly turning themselves into holidays. Francis White, writing in 1635, offered a shrewd reason for this deliberate a t t e m p t to make t h e Holy Days popular: And this seemeth to me to have been a prime motive to our religious governors of allowing the people of the land some recreations (not prohibited by our laws) upon the Holy Days. For if they should (upon Puritan principles) restrain them wholly from all repast, the Holy Days would be more unwelcome to them than the plough day; and besides it might engender in people's minds a distaste of their present religion and manner of serving God.11 The object of this aspect of t h e English reformation was not only t o widen t h e popular support for t h e British Church, b u t also to emphasize what St. Peter called the 'many coloured' grace of God. The Christian year is divided into two parts: t h e remembrance of Christ's life and accomplishments in those weeks f r o m Advent to Trinity, and observance of man's response to these events in those weeks following Trinity. Hooker, again in t h e fifth book of his Laws, explained how these Holy Days "have relation all unto one head": We begin therefore our ecclesiastical year with the glorious Annunciation of His Birth by angelical embassage. There being hereunto added His Blessed Nativity itself, the Mystery of His legal Circumcision, the testification of His true Incarnation by the Purification of her which brought Him into the world, His Resurrection, His Ascension into heaven, the admirable sending down of His Spirit upon His chosen, and (which consequently ensued) the notice of that Incomprehensible Trinity thereby given to the Church of God. 11

A Treatise

of the Sabbath

Day (London, 1635), 265f.

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In addition to these festivals the Church has deemed it wise to include in its liturgical year a number of Holy Days honouring a number of martyrs and saints connected with either the English or the Gallican Church. The basis for their selection seems uncertain; partly local customs and traditions — even secular anniversaries — may have played a part. They served a practical function in reminding the people of various dates in an age without commercial calendars and almanacs. These occasions were not marked by special services, and hence acquired the name of "Black Letter Saints' Days". Hooker also provides the rationale for these Holy Days: Again forasmuch as we know that Christ hath not only been manifested great in Himself, but great in His other Saints also, the days of whose departure out of the world are to the Church of Christ as the birth and coronation days of kings or emperors, therefore especial choice being made of the very flower of all occasions in this kind, there are annual selected times to meditate of Christ glorified in them which had the honour to suffer for His sake, before they had age and ability to know Him. To this number, by the end of the eighteenth century, popular fancy had added such festivals and fasts, commemorated in Smart's set of hymns, as King Charles the Martyr, the King's Restoration, and the F i f t h of November. Taken together these various Holy Days comprise a full and vital tradition of the liturgical year. The life of Christ and the passing of the seasons, spiritual victories and political triumphs, great martyrs and heroic folk — all these are brought together to illustrate the cycle of religious experience. Because of the popular activities which became associated with them, they were not merely remote ceremonies celebrated by an elite clergy, but living events affecting the lives of the citizens. I t is not surprising, therefore, t h a t poets through the century should find in this subject matter a rich source of inspiration and tradition. Although there were few complete sets of poems for these occasions, the more outstanding occasions drew the attention of a number of writers. John Bennet, described as 'a journeyman shoemaker' on the title page of his Poems on Several Occasions (1774),

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sums up the importance of commemorating certain recurring feasts and seasons in a poem called "Sunday". This work also illustrates another characteristic encountered regularly in these poems: t h a t the spiritual approach of the poet and the right reader is one of contemplation or meditation — " t o meditate of Christ glorified in them which had the honour to suffer for His sake" was Hooker's phrase: The holy morn is come, the solemn bell Bids man prepare, and worldly thoughts expel; Bids him arise on Contemplation's wing, And to Omniscience grateful praises sing: To sing the kindness of a Saviour's love, Who dy'd to fix him with the blest above; Who rent the grave, man's enemy to quell, And rise triumphant over Death and Hell. This extract from the opening of Bennet's poem capsulizes much of the subject matter and the approach of other poems. "A H y m n for Good-Friday" by W. Stroud, D. D., included in Samuel Philips' Miscellanae Sacra: or, a Curious Collection of Poems, Chiefly Original, upon Divine and Moral Subjects, is similar in many ways. I t concentrates upon the scene itself; the imagery emerges from this scene; there is no personal agonizing. The form is a simplified version of the composition-analysis-colloquy structure which was noticed in Henry More, Ken, and much of Smart, and which shows the extension of what Martz has called the 'meditative tradition' into the eighteenth century. The appeal of this kind of subject matter to poets who were not directly connected with the Church can be seen, for example, in a work by George Jeffreys (1678 — 1755), a poet and dramatist, fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, whose Miscellanies in Verse and Prose was published a year before his death. "On the Resurrection" reveals little more than a conventional re-telling of the narrative, but this emphasis in itself has been seen as a characteristic of the Anglican tradition, just as is the concept of the priest primarily as one who reads the Bible directly rather than as one who preaches his own commentary upon it:

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Proof of his Goodness by his Death he gave; To his own Laws for others Crimes a Slave; Nor less his Pow'r, when, of himself releas'd, The Man he rescu'd, and the God confess'd. Thus therefore Death by his own Dart destroy'd, He triumph'd in the Grave, and ev'n the Cross enjoy'd; Reveng'd, to Ground, like Samson, did he go, And in his proper Mansion crush'd the Foe. The Fabric Samson shook, and fell beneath; Here shakes the World at its Creator's Death. Convulsions Earth, for his Reception, rend, And Angels at his empty tomb attend: Thus to each Truth is Testimony giv'n; Earth owns his Death; his Resurrection, Heav'n. This a t t i t u d e t o w a r d t h e use of Biblical material is paralleled b y t h e writing of paraphrases, particularly of t h e psalms; a great n u m b e r of which were published in E n g l a n d during this period. Indeed, t h e altering of t h e psalms during t h e process of translation in order t o apply t h e m t o a 'Christian State' was criticised b y Samuel Wesley t h e Younger. A more intense passage on this same topic is f o u n d in Samuel Wesley's " O n t h e Passion of Our Saviour". Wesley ( 1 6 9 1 - 1 7 3 9 ) — whose f a t h e r h a d t h e same name, was also in holy orders, a n d shared his son's poetic impulse — became master of Blunchell's School. Fairchild describes him as " a n excellent example of t h e sterile a n d querulous High Churchmanship of t h e period". 1 2 His poems, Fairchild says, "furnish a clear, energetic, a n d somewhat acidulous s t a t e m e n t of his religious position. B u t do his beliefs kindle his imagination a n d m a k e him wish t o sing ? They do so only infrequently, a n d never with results t h a t command h e a r t y admiration . . . On the Passion of Our Saviour has somewhat more personal vitality". 1 3

12

H . N . Fairchild, Religious 1939), 295. 13 Ibid., 301.

Trends

in

English

Poets,

I (New

York,

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123

See streaming from th' accursed Tree His all-atoning Blood! Is this the Infinite? 'Tis he ! My Saviour and my God. For Me these Pangs his Soul assail, For Me the Death is born ! My Sin gave Sharpness to the Nail, And pointed every Thorn. The personal involvement of t h e opening stanzas belong to t h e dramatic tradition of Donne and Yeats. I n large measure Wesley is here spurred by a sharp sense of sin and of the powerful wrath of God — doctrines which, strengthened b y t h e Calvinist tradition within t h e Church of England, provoked an intense reaction from later writers like Byrom and Cowper. B u t this 'personal vitality' is rare, and the poem immediately following — "Ode upon Christ's Crucifixion" — in Wesley's Poems on Several Occasions (1736), although by t h e same author on t h e same subject, is a much more controlled and impersonal work, as are his hymns on Easter-Day, and his hymns on t h e personages of t h e Trinity. The appeal of this kind of subject m a t t e r occasionally extended even to poets who were members of various dissenting groups. Evangelists, in their varying degrees of sober sincerity, rarely paid attention to t h e festive occasions, arguing t h a t t o do so was t o revert t o either Popism or Paganism, both of which t h e y regarded as decidedly undesirable. However, some dissenting writers did draw upon Church festivals for their poems. One of t h e most interesting of those is "The Conversion of St. P a u l " , and it shows most of t h e marks of t h e Anglican tradition as well as an undue simplicity of r h y t h m a n d rhyme. I t is by Samuel Say (1673 — 1743), a dissenting minister who for nine years was pastor at Long Ditch, Westminster. His h y m n for t h e festival of t h e Conversion of St. Paul (25 J a n u a r y ) opens with a traditional retelling of t h e historical narrative: When Saul of old, with Impious Zeal, Pursu'd the Christians and their God: From Land to Land envoy'd he goes; But Jesus meets him on the Road.

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Heaven opens, and Celestial Light Pours a bright Deluge all around: Breaks on His Head the Flood, and strikes The trembling Sinner to the Ground. When first a Wondrous Voice is heard! Saul! Saul! why persecut'st thou Me ? Who are Thou, Lord ? the Wretch replies, And Jesus answers, I am He — That Jesus I — whose wounded Breast In every Martyr'd Saint does mourn: Forbear — nor madly lift thy Foot Against the pointed Goad to spurn. Confounded and Disarm'd He lies; And to the Heavenly Voice resign'd: For — with the Voice, a Power Divine Had reach'd his Heart, and chang'd his Mind. What would'st Thou, O much-injur'd Lord ! Command; I'm ready to obey; To Do, or Suffer — Here I am: Thy Pleasant, Awful Vision — Say — I n t h e concluding two stanzas t h e poet t u r n s t o God a n d gives t h e application t o t h e contemporary predicament: Lord! with like Power, This Day, arrest Each Sinner in th'Assembly Here: Descend, and let the Force once more Of Heavenly Light and Grace appear! We tremble when we view our Crimes; How Great the Guilt! how Vast the Sum ! Oh! change our Hearts; forgive our Sins: Come, Jesus, Mighty Saviour, Come ! I n t h e play upon t h e double meaning of Say in stanza 6 we are reminded of J o h n Donne's similar p u n in " H y m n t o God t h e F a t h e r " . I n t h e humble recognition of guilt a n d t h e prayer for grace, we are reminded of t h e final two lines of Stroud's " A H y m n for Good-Friday". B u t in structure we are reminded (more significantly) of t h e meditative mould into which so m a n y Anglicans poured t h e i r poetry.

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Some statistical indication of the extent to which eighteenthcentury poets used the Church festivals as the impetus for verse can be got from a collection published in London in 1821. The title page reads: Poems Divine and Moral, Many of Them Now First Published: Selected by John Bowdler, Esq. This collection is divided into ten sections, of which the first is headed: "Hymns". This section contains 32 pieces, most of them without indication of authorship. Among them are "The Lord's Day", "The Sabbath" by Mason, "2nd Sunday in Advent", "4th Sunday in Advent", "Christmas Day", "Innocents' D a y " , "Easter D a y " by Bishop Home, and "The Sabbath". This collection also included thirty-seven pages devoted to a paraphrase of the psalms and twenty pages devoted to "The Scriptures Versified". One of the major figures who turned to the Church calendar for the immediate subject matter of poems was John Byrom (1692— 1763). He was known mainly as a teacher of shorthand, and Fairchild suggests t h a t the line, "Let us mix Metaphysics, and Shorthand and port", symbolizes the amiable, uncritical clutter of his life.14 Yet a sensitive mystical strain and a genuine devotion to the Established Church give a depth and significance to his many religious poems. He shows an awareness of the implications of contemporary religious issues and feelings which cannot be passed over lightly by the historian. The list of works for special occasions is extensive: "The Collect for Advent Sunday", "Hymns for Christmas Day", "On the Epiphany", "Meditations for every Day in Passion Week", "The Collect for Easter Day", "Hymns for Easter D a y " , "On Whitsunday", "On Trinity Sunday", another for Trinity Sunday: "On the same", and "On the Conversion of St. Paul". His version of "On the Conversion of St. Paul" raises several interesting points. In contrast with Say's poem on the same topic, this work is comparatively long, running to some forty-eight lines. Because of this difference in length a more extensive range of attitude and feeling can be expected. But between these two works there are still some significant similarities which help to indicate the 14

Op. cit., II (New York, 1942), 152.

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influence of the Anglican tradition on eighteenth-century poets generally. Byrom begins his work, not with a paraphrase of the narrative, but with an explanation of the importance of Saul's early behaviour. This he attributes to the misdirected use of reason. I n doing this he thus introduces the limitations of the reason in religious experience — an issue discussed by Dryden in Religio Laid and by Mason in Religio Clerici, and which this study will examine more closely in a later section: In Paul's conversion we discern the Case Of human Talents, wanting heavenly Grace: What Persecutions, 'till he saw the Light, Against the Christian Church did he excite! By his own Reason led into Mistake, Amongst the Flock what Havock did he make! Within himself when, verily, he thought, That, all the while, he did but what he ought. The second stanza shows t h a t Saul was ignorant and unenlightened, rather than perverted. And this problem of what can be done with the unenlightened who never had the chance to know God was another issue distressing both Dryden and Mason: members within the Anglican tradition are united partly because they worry over the same problems: His Use of Reason cannot be deni'd, Nor legal Zeal, nor moral Life beside; Blameless as any Jew, or Greek could claim, Who show'd Aversion to the Christian Name; His Fund of Learning some are pleas'd to add; And yet, with all th'Endowments which he had, From Place to Place, with eager Steps, he Trod, To persecute the real Church of God. The next stanzas tell, as to be expected in this tradition, the Biblical narrative; the tone of impersonal observation here is not dissimilar to t h a t in Say's poem: When to Damascus, for the like intent, With the High Priest's Authority he went, Struck to the Ground, by a diviner Ray, The reas'ning, legal, moral Zealot lay;

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To the plain Question put by Jesus: — why Persecute me ? had only to reply, What shall I do ? — his Reason, and his Wrath Were both convinc'd, and he embrac'd the Faith. His outward lost, his inward Sight renew'd, Truth in its native Evidence he view'd; With three Days Fast he nourish'd his Concern, And, a new Conduct well prepar'd to learn, Good Ananias, whom he came to bind, Was sent to cure, and to baptise the Blind: A destin'd Martyr, to his Jewish Zeal, Of Christian Faith confess the sacred Seal. T h e f i f t h stanza develops B y r o m ' s concept of reason a n d revelation — a concept which provides t h e material for m a n y of his poems: Of nobler Use his Reason, while it stood Without a Conference with Flesh and Blood, Still, and submissive; when, within, begun The Father's Revelation of the Son; Whom, 'till the Holy Spirit rise to show, No Pow'r of Thought can ever come to know; The saving Mystery, obscur'd by Sin, Itself must manifest itself, within. The mystery of God's grace, t h e possibility of His mercy — these are t h e questions of redemption. The t r u t h of t h e conversion is clarified in t h e final stanza. Thus, taught of God, Paul saw the Truth appear To his enlighten'd Understanding clear: The Pow'r of Christ himself, and nothing less, Could move its Persecutor to profess: He learn'd, and Told it from the real Ground, And prov'd, to all the Christian World around, That true Religion had its true Foundation, Not in Man's Reason, but God's Revelation. This is t h e understanding of recognition a n d acceptance of salvation. This revelation is mysterious I V : Conversion of Saint P a u l "

man's experience: t h a t a h u m b l e t h e revelation of God m a y lead t o a n d full of power; S m a r t ' s " H y m n lists a n u m b e r of wondrous t h i n g s

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accomplished by t h e Word. B u t greater was t h e mighty deed of God's all-powerful grace to effect t h e conversion of t h e sinner: But greater is the mighty deed To make a profligate recede, And work a boist'rous madman mild, To walk with Jesus like a child. To give a heart of triple steel The Lord's humanity to feel; And there, where pity had no place, To fill the measure of his grace; To wash internal blackness white, To call the worse than dead to light; To make the fruitless soil to hold Ten thousand times ten thousand fold. To turn a servant of the times From modish and ambitious crimes; To pour down a resistless blaze, 'Go, persecutor, preach and praise.' The same theme of God's mysterious redemptive power is found in Byrom's "Collect for Advent S u n d a y " : Almighty God, thy heav'nly Grace impart, And cast the Works of Darkness from our Heart; Send us thy Light, and arm us for the Strife Against all Evils of this mortal Life; O'er which our Saviour Jesus Christ, thy Son, With great Humility, the Conquest won: That when, in Glory, our victorious Head Shall come to judge the Living and the Dead, We may, thro' Him, to Life immortal spring, Wherein he reigns, the everlasting King; The Father, Son and Spirit may adore, One glorious God Triune, for evermore. This poem is, of course, a close rendition of t h e Advent Collect in The Book of Common Prayer: Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armour of light, now in the time of this mortal life (in which thy Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility);

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that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious Majesty, to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who liveth and reigneth with thee, and the Holy Ghost, now and ever. This comparison of the two versions shows how very closely Byrom copied his source — the greatest changes occur in end-of-line phrases for the sake of rhyme and length: "the Conquest won", "our victorious Head", "the everlasting King". Fairchild accuses him of thinking of verse "chiefly as a means of expressing ideas with memorable compactness", 15 but this in itself may not be a very devastating criticism. The comparison is more significant in t h a t it shows Byrom's desire to remain orthodox in his sentiments. I t would have been much easier, either not to bother with this Collect at all, or to elaborate upon it as the spur-of-the-moment fancy suggested. That Byrom did go to the bother of writing this poem and t h a t he was careful to remain faithful to the Anglican tradition — these are evidences of the seriousness with which poets during the eighteenth century did take the tradition, and of the attractiveness which the services for Holy Days held for the poet and reader. This same method is found in Byrom's "Easter Collect" which is a slightly less imitative version of the Collect in The Book of Common Prayer. As Miss Williamson has shown, this close relation between liturgy and verse was also a deliberate characteristic of Christopher Smart's Hymns and Spiritual Songs,16 and the reason for this method was the same for Smart as it was for Byrom and other writers. Byrom's "Hymns for Christmas D a y " both celebrate what he calls in the first hymn, "this Miracle of Grace": Mary, prepar'd for such a chaste Embrace, Was destin'd to this Miracle of Grace; In her unfolded the mysterious Plan Of Man's Salvation, God's becoming Man; His Power, with her Humility combin'd, Produc'd the sinless Saviour of Mankind. 15 16

Ibid., 151. Op. cü., 4 1 3 — 2 4 .

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Here again we are reminded t h a t these poems, like the Holy Days they celebrate, are designed to commemorate the 'many coloured' grace of God as witnessed in all events of the Christian year. Worship has been defined by Evelyn Underhill as "the total orientation of life towards God; expressed both through stylized liturgical action, and spontaneous common praise". 17 These are poems of worship rather than self-expression. The manifestation of Divine grace through the nativity was one of the most vivid events of the liturgical year, and so the Incarnation assumes a central place in acts of worship. Byrom's poem expresses an orthodox expression of the doctrine of the Incarnation, as it concerned Mason in the second part of Religio Clerici : True, as the turnsole to the orb of light, The genuine Christian keeps his faith in sight, Nor doubts the fact, because he knows the end, For which that God did from his Sire descend, Disrob'd himself of Glory, and became A man in substance, and a man in name; Of woman-born, in whom each mortal eye Saw all itself, save its impurity: Thus, while a perfect man on earth he shone, The perfect Deity was still his own; Inferior only to his Sire on high But as invested with humanity: Thus when with heav'nly earthly we compare, Both soul and body claim an equal share In our formation; so in his were join'd Terrestial substance with celestial mind. Thomas Ken's "On the Incarnation" also approaches this event as an act of worship. The doctrine of the Incarnation is developed in the fifth stanza of Byrom's first "Christmas H y m n " : That Way to this, unless it had been trod By the new Birth of an incarnate God ? Birth of a Life, that triumphs over Death, A Life inspir'd by God's immortal Breath; For which Himself, to save us from the Tomb, Did not abhor the Virgin Mother's Womb. " Worship

( N e w York, 1936), 84.

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The second Christmas hymn has entered the Hymn Book in a badly garbled version. I t also presents the mystery of the Incarnation, and attributes it to God's love: Christians awake, salute the happy morn, Wherein the Saviour of the World was born: Rise, to adore the Mystery of Love, Which Hosts of Angels chanted from above: With them the joyful Tidings first begun Of God incarnate, and the Virgin's Son. Byrom's "Meditations for every Day in Passion Week" form his most extended series of poems for special days of the liturgical year; they combine two strains within the Anglican tradition which have been examined: concern with the holy days of the Church calendar and concern with the contemplation of the objects of religious experience. The first meditation, for Monday of Holy Week, carries the rubric, "God in Christ is all Love". This is the theme of the meditation, stated in the first stanza: Behold the tender Love of God ! — behold The Shepherd dying to redeme his Fold ! Who can declare it ? — Worthy to be known— What Tongue can speak it worthily? — His own: From his own sacred Lips the Theme began, The glorious Gospel of God's Love to Man. Because of His Love, He gave His son to save, not to condemn, mankind. Condemnation is the result of man's deliberate refusal to follow the example provided for his guidance: . . . if Men reject the Light, They, of themselves, condemn themselves to Night; God, in His Son, seeks only to display, In ev'ry Heart, an everlasting Day. Christ's death is a perpetual reminder of this love of God, and sufficient evidence for man's way of life: The Ground to build all Faith, and Works upon; For God is Love — says the beloved John — Short Word — but Meaning infinitely wide,

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Including all that can be said beside; Including all the joyful Truths above The Pow'r of Eloquence — for — God is Love. Here is the Anglican reconciliation, to be examined later more fully, between Faith and Works. Both are resolved in terms of love and according to Scripture, which, in Dryden's phrase, "in all things needful to Salvation . . . is clear, sufficient, and ordain'd b y God Almighty for t h a t purpose". Byrom says, "Think on the Proof, t h a t J o h n from Jesus learn'd,/In this was God's amazing Love discern'd,/ Because he sent His Son to us". The Tuesday meditation is upon the overcoming of God's wrath: "the Saviour di'd, according to our Faith,/To quench, attone, or pacify a Wrath". The rubric to the poem reads, "How Christ quencheth the W r a t h of God in us". The source of this wrath is human nature; as we shall examine more fully later in this essay, Byrom avoids any suggestion of a Hebraic orCalvinist interpretation: God, of his own pure Love, was pleas'd to give The Lord of Life, that thro' him it might live; Thro' Christ; because none other could be found To heal *the human *Nature of its * Wound: He did, he suffer'd ev'ry Thing, that we From Wrath, by Sin enkindl'd, might be free, The Wrath of God, in us, that is, the Fire Of burning Life, without the Love-Desire; Without the Light, which Jesus came to raise, And change the Wrath into a joyful Blaze. Wrath was unknown by man "till he had lost his first Perfection". But now he needs redemption and restoration from his fallen state. I t is the desire of God to save, not punish — an Arminian, as opposed to strict Calvinist, view. Salvation, and this escape from wrath, is effected through Christ: All that, in Nature, by his Act is done Is to give Life; and Life is in his Son: When his Humility, his Meekness finds Healing Admission, into willing Minds, All Wrath disperses, like a gath'ring Sore; Pa^n is its Cure, and it exists no more.

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Man must be willing to accept; the characteristics are humility and meekness. Wednesday's is a meditation upon justice: "Christ satisfieth the Justice of God by fulfilling all Righteousness". The second stanza is a restatement of the previous theme of man's fallen state: Man had departed from a righteous State, Which he, at first, must have, if God create: 'Tis therefore call'd God's Righteousness; and must Be satisfy'd by Man's becoming just: Must exercise good Vengeance upon Man, 'Till it again its Rights in them again. Justice was satisfied through the righteousness of Christ and his offering himself as sacrifice for men, a sacrament for salvation: 'Twas tender Mercy — by the Church confess'd, Before she feeds the sacramental Guest; Rememb'ring him, who offer'd up his Soul A Sacrifice for Sin, full, perfect, whole, Sufficient, satisfactory. The theme of sacrament is examined in the final stanza: And when receiv'd his Body, and his Blood, The Life enabling to be just, and good, Off'ring, available thro' him alone, Body, and Soul, a Sacrifice her own: From Him, from His, so justice has its due; Itself restor'd — not any thing in Lieu. This poem expresses an approach to the crucifixion which can be detected in many poems by Anglican writers of the eighteenth century. I t s most thorough expression is found in "A H y m n on the Sacrament" by Elizabeth Singer Rowe (1674—1737). Her poems were enthusiastically praised by Samuel Johnson, and during her lifetime she was a friend to Bishop Thomas Ken. This poem reflects an attitude of symbolic acceptance of the crucifixion; the Holy Day which it commemorates is not just a historical celebration. The significance of the act becomes more important than the details:

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And art thou mine, my dearest Lord? Then I have all, nor fly The boldest wishes I can form Unto a pitch more high. Yes, thou art mine, the contract's seal'd With thine own precious blood; And ev'n almighty pow'r's engag'd To see it all made good. My fears dissolve: for o ! what more Could studious bounty do? What farther mighty proofs are left, Unbounded love to show? My faith's confirm'd, nor would I quit My title to thy love, For all the valu'd things below, Or shining things above. Nor at the prosp'rous sinners state Do I at all repine; No, let 'em parcel out the earth, While Heav'n and thou art mine. B y way of contrast, t h e r e is a general tendency for writers in t h e R o m a n Catholic t r a d i t i o n t o emphasize t h e details of t h e crucifixion: Crashaw's " U p o n t h e Bleeding Crucifix", " U p o n t h e Thorns t a k e n down f r o m our Lord's head bloody", " O n t h e wounds of our crucified L o r d " , a n d " O n our crucified L o r d N a k e d a n d b l o o d y " present themselves t o mind. Austin W a r r e n has t r a c e d t h i s t o a Marinistic m e t h o d : The wounds, like the Magdalen's tears, are abstracted from their psychological context and, viewed as objects of sense perception, find metaphorical counterparts in other equally palpable things. Even more than the emblem-like grotesqueness of the "blood-shot eye," it is this externality which has repelled many readers . . . . 18 On t h e other h a n d , it generally might be said t h a t Evangelicals a n d Nonconformists t e n d e d t o revel in t h e emotional lushness of t h e imagined event. T h o m a s Ellwood (1639 — 1713) spent a n u m b e r of years travelling t h r o u g h t h e west of E n g l a n d with George F o x 18

R i c h a r d Crashaw, A Study in Baroque Sensibility

( A n n Arbor, 1957), 130.

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organizing the Quakers and was a well-known controversialist. His poem " A g o n y " is somewhat unrestrained in both sentiment and style: I faint; my dying Breath will not suffice To midwife forth my Words; my fait'ring Tongue Resigns its Office to my weeping Eyes; Speak Eyes, and do my faithful Heart no Wrong. Y e crystal Fountains set your sluices wide, Stream forth your Tears like a full flowing Tide; Draw up the Flood-gates, let the Torrent flow In its right Current, whether fast or slow. Viewed against these two extremes of Crashaw and Ellwood, poets in the Anglican tradition appear to produce little of spectacular nature. B u t this is their most noteworthy characteristic, reflecting, it seems, the media via of their Church. Elizabeth Singer Howe's " A H y m n on the Sacrament" lacks both the pictorial vividness of Crashaw's " O n the wounds of our crucified L o r d " and the emotional intensity of Ellwood's " A g o n y " , yet it does have a vividness and intensity of its own. These stem from its impersonality, from the refusal of the poet to indulge in public woe, from a firm faith in the significance of the crucifixion. In this sense the Anglican tradition is a pragmatic tradition in that it searches out the value of the event to contemporary society; it tends to perceive the symbolic world of the Biblical story. As in Byrom's Wednesday meditation, Christ is viewed, not solely as a suffering god descended to earth, but as a 'sacramental Guest'. To the meditation for Thursday of Holy Week B y r o m has affixed the rubric, "Christ the Beginner and Finisher of the New Life in Man". The poem meditates upon the extremes of man as A d a m and man as Christ: Dead as Men are, in Trespasses and Sins, Whence is it in them that new Life begins ? 'Tis that, by God's great Mercy, Love, and Grace, The Seed of Christ is in the Human Race; That inward, hidden Man, that can revive, And, dead in Adam, rise in Christ alive.

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To m a k e m a n k i n d blessed t h e r e must be a combination of 'Life n a t u r a l ' a n d 'Life divine'. Since t h e fall 'Life divine' has been rejected, b u t Christ came t o reclaim it for m a n : "This, for our Sakes, incarnate Love could do;/Great is t h e M y s t e r y " . T h e F r i d a y meditation is a continuation of this t h e m e : " H o w t h e Sufferings a n d D e a t h of Christ are available t o Man's Salvation". With Hearts deep rooted in Love's holy Ground Should be ador'd this Mystery profound Of God's Messiah, suff'ring in our Frame; The Lamb Christ Jesus — blessed be his Name ! Dying in this Humanity of ours, To introduce his own Life-giving Pow'rs. Reference t o t h e actual cross is brief; t h e picture of agony is n o t dwelt upon; t h e a c t u a l h u m a n element is reduced b y a depersonification of Christ as Innocence, a n d t h e referring t o him as IT : Nail'd to a Cross it suffer'd and forgave; And show'd the Penitent its Pow'r to save: It's Majesty confess'd by Nature's Shock; Darkness — and Earthquake — and the rented Rock, An opening Graves — the Prelude to that Pow'r, Which rose in suff'ring Love's momentous Hour. The abstraction of t h e victim f r o m sacrifice t o sacrament, t h e awareness of t h e sharing t r a n s f o r m a t i o n of nature, t h e resulting power of love — these are t h e characteristics noticed earlier in other poems within t h e Anglican Tradition. The final meditation — t h a t for S a t u r d a y — is concerned with t h e Christian p a r a d o x t h a t Christ t h r o u g h d e a t h overcame d e a t h . The mystery of this victory is explored in t h e opening s t a n z a : Jesus is crucifi'd — the previous Scene Of our Salvation, and his glorious Reign: Mysterious Process ! tho', by Nature's Laws, Such an Effect demanded such a Cause: For none but He could form the grand Design, And raise, anew, the human Life divine. U p o n this mystery s t a n d s t h e d e m a n d for faith a n d belief:

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No less a Mystery can claim Belief, Than what belongs to our redeeming Chief; Divine, and supernatural indeed The Love that mov'd the Son of God to bleed; But what he was, and did, in each Respect, Was real Cause producing its Effect. T h e d e a t h a n d agony are n o t relished in themselves, b u t only as a sacrament, as an essential p a r t of a plan which is b o t h divine a n d necessary: Children of Adam needs must share his Fall; Children of Christ can re-inherit All: This was the one, and therefore chosen Way, For Love to manifest its full Display: Absurd the Thought of arbitrary Plans: Nature's one, true Religion this — and Man's. A u t h o r i t y of Scripture is evidenced b y 'all t h a t we know of God, a n d N a t u r e too'; these prove t h e 'Salvation of t h e Gospel' t o be true. T h e reclaiming of m a n ' s fallen n a t u r e b y his divine n a t u r e was a restoration of t h e ' H e a v ' n in Man' t o w h a t it was before; God's image, 'clos'd in D e a t h b y Sin', is once more raised t o its original place t h r o u g h t h e 'Light of Life': The one same Light that makes angelic Bliss; That spreads an Heav'n thro' Nature's whole Abyss: The Light of Nature, and the Light of Men, That gives the Dead his Pow'r to live again. This series of meditations concludes in t h e S a t u r d a y meditation with a reaffirmation of t h e crucifixion as t h e only way t o salvation; B y r o m sub-titled it " H o w Christ b y His D e a t h Overcame D e a t h " : The Way, the Truth, the Life — whatever Terms Prefer'd, 'tis Him that ev'ry Good affirms; The one true Saviour; all is Dung and Dross, In saving Sense, but Jesus and his Cross: All Nature speaks; all Scripture answers thus Salvation is the Life of Christ in us. The 'Life of Christ' as commemorated in this set of poems is n o t presented as appearing with t h e t o r n a d o terror of an emotional

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conversion. I t is a way of life and of death, quietly (almost indifferently) announced. These meditations have not led to a stirring line of action; we are reminded once again of Lord David Cecil's comment upon the 'eminently Anglican' piety of George Herbert: "refined, dignified, with a delicate appreciation of the values of style and ceremony, but subdued and restrained". 19 These are the characteristics of the Anglican tradition examined in this set of poems for the days of Holy Week. The selection of these occasions, as the selection of other Festivals of the Church calendar, shows a nice awareness of ceremony. No critic could believe t h a t each festival day inspired Ken or Smart or Byrom with intense passion to write. But it is not characteristic of the tradition to depend upon intense inspiration or passion. The spirit is moved in more subdued and restrained colours t h a n are the emotions. What have been called earlier in this study the 'attitude' and the 'atmosphere' of Anglican writing, then, emerge here in the kind of poems written, in the occasions which prompted them, in the style, in the form and, more nebulously and also more importantly, in the general tone of the poems. Byrom's "Four Epistles to the Rev Mr. L —, late Vicar of Bowden, upon the Miracle at the Feast of Pentecost", while they take their start from a particular Holy Day and illustrate the active concern which eighteenth-century writers had in these festivals, t u r n out to be little more than conventional and rather ordinary verse epistles. They are written in couplets reflecting no particular sense of structure or liturgy such as is evident in his other poems. Their concern is essentially intellectual or philosophic in t h a t they raise questions and discussions which invite debate, where the poems previously examined as forming a significant segment of the Anglican tradition treat the historical narrative as a vehicle for concentrating the act of worship. All of the events of Holy Days bear witness to the life of Christ. To celebrate them is to help conviction attain the 'utmost height', as Ken put it in his poem "On the Life of Christ". The final stanza of Byrom's poem "On the Epiphany" sums up this purpose: 19

Oxford Book of Christian

Verse ( O x f o r d , 1940), x x .

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In his redeeming Process all concur'd To give sure Proof of the prophetic Word; Jesus, Emanuel, the inward Light Of all Mankind, who seek the Truth aright, Forms in the Heart of all the Wise on Earth The true Day Star. The Token of his Birth. I n other words, in these poems t h e act of remembering t h e saints is itself a n act of worship. Their lives a n d victories symbolize t h e mysterious grace of God a n d provide t h e p a t t e r n for m a n ' s individual growth. This a t t i t u d e is perhaps best expressed in a h y m n b y Isaac W a t t s , now included in t h e Anglican H y m n Book as appropriate for "Festivals of Martyrs, a n d Other Holy D a y s " : Give me the wings of faith to rise Within the veil, and see The saints above, how great their joys, How bright their glories be. Once they were mourning here below, And wet their couch with tears; They wrestled hard, as we do now, With sins, and doubts, and fears. I ask them whence their victories came; They with united breath Ascribe their conquest to the Lamb, Their triumph to his death. They marked the footsteps that he trod; His zeal inspired their breast; And, following their incarnate God, Possess the promised rest. Our glorious Leader claims our praise, For his own pattern given; While the long cloud of witnesses Show the same path to heaven. I t is n o t fair t o judge this h y m n , deliberately designed for congregational singing, with t h e same standards applied t o p r i v a t e verse. As a popular h y m n this m a y work very well, recording easy sentiments in unambiguous regularity. Although its subject m a t t e r expresses b o t h t h e widespread interest in t h e festivals of t h e Church year a n d

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the liturgical approach to these Holy Days manifested by eighteenth-century Anglican writers, this hymn is obviously much more emotional and personal than those verses written by members of the Established Church. Closer to the tradition of Anglican Church are the hymns by the Wesleys. Their attitudes and their training, if not the final results of their ministry, were conditioned by the Church of England. J o h n Wesley's definitive hymn-book was the Collection of Hymns for Use of the People called Methodists, published in 1780. I t includes many hymns by his brother Charles and by Isaac Watts, as well as some by lesser known writers. Since this work is intended to reflect the complete Christian way of life, it reflects the contemporary concern with the liturgical year and the parallels with the stages of Christian development. Charles Wesley himself wrote a good number of hymns celebrating the major festivals of the church season. The most famous, in garbled version, is his Christmas-Day h y m n ; it can provide a single example of the characteristics of this tradition carried over into congregational verse: Hark, how all the welkin rings, "Glory to the King of kings; Peace on earth, and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled !" Joyful, all ye nations, rise, Join the triumph of the skies; Universal nature say, "Christ the Lord is born to-day !" Christ, by highest heaven adored, Christ, the everlasting Lord: Late in time behold Him come, Offspring of a virgin's womb ! Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see, Hail the incarnate Deity ! Pleased as Man with men to appear, Jesus, our Immanuel here ! Hail, the heavenly Prince of Peace, Hail, the Sun of Righteousness ! Light and life to all He brings, Risen with healing in His wings.

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Mild He lays His glory by, Born that man no more may die; Born to raise the sons of earth; Born to give them second birth. Come, Desire of nations, come, Fix in us Thy humble home; Rise, the woman's conquering seed, Bruise in us the serpent's head. Now display Thy saving power, Ruined nature now restore; Now in mystic union join Thine to ours, and ours to Thine. Adam's likeness, Lord, efface, Stamp Thy image in its place. Second Adam from above, Reinstate us in Thy love. Let us Thee, though lost, regain, Thee, the Life, the Inner Man: 0, to all Thyself impart, Formed in each believing heart. As has been detected, there are certain similarities in all these poems by Ken, Smart, More, Johnson, Byrom, and a host of lesser writers of the eighteenth century; these characteristics persist regardless of the festival for which the poem was written. This is not to be wondered at, for the purpose of all the Holy Days was to trace the working out of t h e 'many coloured' grace of God as evidenced in the life of Christ and His martyrs. The attitude towards these days, therefore, becomes one of liturgy: the observance of the festivals of the Christian year becomes itself an act of worship. And like all acts of worship, this is accompanied by a sense of form, of conventional procedure. The individual poems are divided into a narrative of the events, an aspiration towards being able to share in a blessed life, and an application to the life of the Christian in the world. This form itself, as we shall examine later, is significant, but the Anglican tradition is not characterised by a consciousness of form and liturgy per se.The poems, like the Holy Days they celebrate, are then grouped according to their commemoration of the life of

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Christ or of man's response to it. These comprise a great annual cycle of birth and rebirth. I t is this ritualistic attitude which distinguishes the Anglican tradition. A sensitive awareness of form has always been, of course, an important aspect of the Anglican tradition. Pamphlets and sermons explaining its value can be found throughout the literature of the Church. On 27 November 1681, for example, William Beveridge (1637 —1708) preached a sermon at the Parish Church of St. Peter's, Cornhill, which was printed the following year and frequently reprinted. I t was a sermon upon I Corinthians xiv 26: How is it then, brethren ? when ye come together, every one of you hath a psalm, hath a doctrine, hath a tongue, hath a revelation, hath an interpretation. Let all things be done unto edifying. Beveridge proposed to "show t h a t t h a t form of religious worship, which is prescribed by our Church, established by the laws of the land, and therefore to be used now in this place, agrees exactly with this rule or canon of the Holy Apostle, even t h a t all things in it are done to edifying". 20 He first proves t h a t 'the prescribing a form in general' is agreeable to this Apostolical rule, and then proceeds to prove t h a t the forms of the Established Church are particularly agreeable. The central arguments for the need for form are based upon the acute awareness of man's corruption and diversity: If every minister of a parish should be left to his own liberty to do what he pleaseth in his own congregation, although some, perhaps, might be so prudent as to observe this rule as well as they could, yet, considering the corruption of human nature, we have much cause to fear that others would not; at least, the Church could be no way secured that all would and, therefore, must needs be obliged to consider of an appoint some such form to be used in all her congregations, by which she may be fully assured that this Apostolical rule is everywhere observed, as it ought to be. The advantage of established prayer is t h a t "by a set form of public devotions rightly composed . . . we are continually put in mind of 20

Works,

ed. J. Bliss (London, 1842—46), V I , 370.

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all things necessary for us to know or do"; this is done "by the same words and expressions, which, by their constant use, will imprint the things themselves so firmly in our minds, t h a t it will be no easy matter to obliterate or rase them out; but, do what we can, they will still occur upon all occasions; which cannot but be very much for our Christian edification". This argument for Christian edification, or beatific brain-washing, is seconded by a further one of the occasion for concentration in devotion: If I hear another pray, and know not beforehand what he will say, I must first listen to what he will say next; then I am to consider whether what he saith be agreeable to sound doctrine, and whether it be proper and lawful for me to join with him in the petitions he puts up to God Almighty; and if I think it is so, then I am to do it. But before I can well do that, he is got to another thing; but which means it is very difficult, if not morally impossible, to join with him in every thing so regularly as I ought to do. This argument is evidence of the very high seriousness in both attitude and doctrine which can be discovered among the Anglican writers of the period. To them the performance of the service was not another Sunday sport. The careless Englishman, turbulent b u t placable, took his religion with an easy assurance t h a t has been mistaken for indifference. But much evidence can be found to show t h a t he was not indifferent. The strain of basic seriousness, the belief in the necessity of form for prayer as a guide for concentration, the distrust of instantaneous prayer — these themes of Beveridge are echoed in a poem by Samuel Wesley (1691 — 1739), "On Forms o f P r a y e r " . I t is an answer to the desire for freedom from prescribed form Isaac Watts had expressed earlier: Form stints the Spirit, Watts has said, And therefore oft is wrong; At best a Crutch the Weak to aid, A Cumbrance to the Strong. Of human Liturgies the load Perfection scorns to bear, Th'Apostles were but weak when God Prescrib'd his Form of Prayer.

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Old David both in Prayers and Praise A Form for Crutches brings, But Watts has dignify'd his Lays, And furnish'd him with Wings. Ev'n Watts a Form for Praise can chuse, For Prayer who throws it by; Crutches to walk he can refuse, But uses them to fly. This question of set forms for prayers remained a liturgical lance for attacking other church groups throughout t h e century. Concern a n d discussion are evident in such works as Thomas Comber's A Scholastical History of the Primitive and General Use of Liturgies in the Christian Church (1690), William Fleetwood's A Letter to an Inhabitant of the Church of St. Andrew's, Holborn, about New Ceremonies in the Church (1717), a n d t h e anonymous Remarks on the Public Service of the Church, with Directions for our Behaviour there, by a Clergyman of the Church of England (1768). The a t t i t u d e expressed by Samuel Wesley is t h a t of t h e Anglican tradition, a media via between t h e controlling personal frenzy of Ellwood a n d t h e conventionalized indifference of Wordsworth. One of t h e most obvious manifestations of this feeling for form is t h e use of t h e litany, with its repetitive invocation a n d reply. I t is used in a poem called " L i t a n y " f r o m J o h n Bowdler's selection of Poems Divine and Moral, Many of Them Now First Published (1821). The poem is not a t t r i b u t e d to any a u t h o r : Saviour, when in dust to Thee Low we bend the adoring knee; When, repentant, to the skies Scarce we lift our weeping eyes: Oh, by all thy pain and woe, (Suffered once for man below,) Bending from Thy throne on high, Hear our solemn Litany ! By Thy helpless infant years, By Thy life of want and tears, By Thy days of sore distress In the savage wilderness;

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By the dread mysterious hour Of the insulting tempter's power, Turn, oh turn, a favouring eye, Hear our solemn Litany ! By the sacred griefs that wept O'er the grave where Lazarus slept; By the boding tears that flowed Over Salem's loved abode; By the anguish'd sigh that told Treachery lurk'd within thy fold; From thy seat above the sky Hear our solemn Litany ! By Thine hour of dire despair, By Thine agony of prayer, By the cross, the nail, the thorn, Piercing spear, and torturing scorn, By the gloom that veil'd the skies O'er the dreadful sacrifice; Listen to our cry, Hear our solemn Litany ! By Thy deep expiring groan, By the sad sepulchral stone, By the vault, whose dark abode Held in vain the rising God; Oh! from earth to heaven restor'd, Mighty, re-ascended Lord, Listen, listen to the cry Of our solemn Litany ! T h e cross, t h e nail, t h e thorn, t h e vault, t h e pain a n d woe — all these are realistic details of t h e crucifixion b u t t h e y are also symbolic of t h e God's suffering as sacrament for man. T h e agony of prayer a n d t h e deep expiring groan are b o t h h u m a n a n d divine. Like t h e L i t a n y itself, t h e poem is in t h e language of common experience. P a r t l y , t h e simplicity of style within t h e Anglican tradition is due t o t h e a t t e m p t t o conceive of m a n ' s redemption in t e r m s which everyone can comprehend. T h e sacrament is offered t o all men, not just t o t h e elect. I t is t h e style, n o t t h e experience nor t h e a t t i t u d e t o w a r d it, t h a t is simplified. The dread hour still remains mysterious a n d t h e L i t a n y still remains solemn.

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The fasts and feasts of the Christian year, therefore, did more t h a n supply the topic for a number of poems. These occasions were indeed used for this purpose, and certainly by writers who had little or no connection with the Church of England. B u t the Anglican tradition found in these Holy Days a means of celebrating the ritualistic development of each year, and the poets inherited this approach. Not only were they commemorating historical events, they were also participating in a religious worship. The yearly cycle of worship required a form and this sense of form gave the poems within the Anglican tradition a certain shape and atmosphere. So, in the broadest sense, the fasts and feasts provided both a subject matter and a structure. But however strong a general feeling for form may have been within the Anglican Church, many of these poems reflect a structure which is more precise and conscious than 'general feeling' would suggest. I t is a structure developed from the technical exercises for meditation known in England during the seventeenth century, and used a t t h a t time by Anglican poets. So this structure itself becomes an important part of the Anglican tradition.

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Dear Contemplation, m y divinist joy, When I thy sacred mount ascend What heavenly Sweets m y soul employ ! Why can't I there my days for ever spend f When I have conquer'd thy steep heights with pain What pity 'tis th&t I must down again. John Norris, The Return Contemplative — on God to fix His musings, and above the six The sabbath-day he blest; 'Twas then his thoughts self-conquest prun'd, And heavenly melancholy tun'd, To bless and bear the rest. Christopher Smart, A Song to David

Although Liturgical Prayer, especially since the publication of The Book of Common Prayer, has always held an important place in the Church of England, private prayer also has maintained a unique place. Public worship must be balanced by private contemplation. The example of Christ and the urges of man's psychological as well as spiritual being underline the need for periods of quiet withdrawal and prayer. " I n his humble meditations on the mysteries of the Faith, his deliberate picturings of the senses of the Incarnation and Passion", writes Evelyn Underhill, "the devout Christian truly experiences the tender mercy of the Absolute, inviting the soul to life-giving acts of faith, hope, and love". 1 The purpose of private 1

Worship (New York, 1936), 175.

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prayer, as Christopher Smart put it, is "on God to fix his musings". The inspiration for private prayer need not necessarily spring solely from within the individual. I t was from a recital of t h e psalms t h a t the hermits achieved spiritual elevation. The Liturgy of the Anglican Church has long provided its members with the material and the shape of many of their private devotions. I n one sense, indeed, there are no private devotions, for the Christian always feels t h a t he is praying as a member of the universal church, and t h a t his prayers have meaning beyond his immediate requests. I n t h e Church of England the private devotions were deliberately and carefully interwoven with the service of public worship. Solitary meditation was designed to complement services for Sundays and Holy Days. The contemplative life has played an important role in the history of the Church because it answers a very real and basic need in mankind. To withdraw and to renew strength and to clarify the perspective — these are felt by non-Christians as vividly as by the most devout. To be able to shut the door on the claims of the world and to experience a full awareness of the self have always been desires of the poet as well. And so these two strains unite in Anglican verse to form a significant part of the Anglican tradition in the eighteenth century. Meditation has come to include many different kinds of worship. But during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries a narrower and more precise meaning was intended. I t was a method of training the soul in the knowledge of God by focusing attention upon the narrative of God and the facts of His grace. I t demands a discipline from the whole worshipper. "The three great faculties at the disposal of the worshipping spirit", according to Miss Underhill, "are, of course, those of feeling, imagination, and reasoning mind". 2 " I n true meditation, considered as a form of worship", she adds, "the contribution of mind, will, and emotion is fairly equal". 3 I n this process God is seen as a personal and a living God, not as a philosophical abstraction. I t becomes possible to talk about Him in con2

Ibid., Ibid.,

3

178. 180.

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crete and specific imagery. H e is a living God and an immediate God, and therefore He can be described vividly and intensely. He is a God of complete awareness. This concept of God and this demand for involvement are essential to the Anglican tradition and it can easily be understood how great would be the appeal of this tradition to religious poets. The use of meditation and of its technique and style has long formed a part of the Anglican tradition. I n The Catholoic Faith: A Manual of Instruction for Members of the Church of England Griffith Thomas writes t h a t "in order t h a t the Bible may be a means of grace to us, we must ever bear in mind the necessity and power of Meditation". This he supports by Biblical passages, and then he attempts a definition: "Speaking generally, it is the brooding of mind, heart, and conscience over the Word of God". True meditation contains four elements: (1) attention, in which the mind is fixed on the verse or passage which is before it; (2) aspiration, in which the heart turns the thought into a prayer and aspires towards God — "Every promise is to be turned into a petition, every exhortation into an aspiration, every appeal into a longing desire to experience its full meaning" — (3) application, in which the verse or passage is read against our own lives and present needs; and (4) action, which is a summing up of everything — "We must yield ourselves to God and seek His grace to put into practice what we have been taught in the secret of His presence". Thomas concludes, "When these four elements are combined — attention, aspiration, application, action — we shall know what meditation means, and what it means profitably to hide God's words in our hearts. 4 This four-fold analysis cannot be found in all treatises on meditation. A C T I O N belongs more properly to the realm of morality and practical affairs than to a method of training the soul in the knowledge of God. The Ignation method, possibly the most familiar and influential of the methods, also has a four-part division into (1) preparation, (2) preludes (composition of place, etc.), (3) points, and (4) colloquy (which contains a resolution). B u t here the preparation, while 4

Revised edition (London, 1952), 99—100.

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certainly an essential part of the religious experience, lies slightly outside the central act of discipline. The Ignation method, as Miss Underhill points out, is closely related to the observance of the festivals of the Church calendar: The continued success of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, as a means of 'procuring the Love of God,' and with it the transformation of life, depends almost entirely on the way in which the soul is thus brought in its solitude into direct imaginative contact with the mysteries of the Life of Christ; and through and in this searching experience is compelled to a total capitulation to the Divine. In particular, the imaginative realization of the Passion has always held a high place in the Christian devotional life.5 But the Ignation method was not the only one familiar to eighteenth-century writers. The Sulpician method, taught by the French Cardinal, de Berulle, was systematized and popularized by his pupil Olier. I t consists of three parts: (1) Adoration, (2) Communion, and (3) Co-operation referred to as "Jesus before the eyes", "Jesus in the heart", and "Jesus in the hand". The emphasis of t h e prayer is always upon God Incarnate, and the subject matter for meditation is always one of the mysteries of the Lord's life. This actual prayer is followed by another three-fold act: (1) thanksgiving for God's attention and illumination given to us, (2) penitence for our limitations, and (3) recollection of the central thoughts of the prayer. These methods had always formed an important part of Roman Catholic tradition and they received renewed interest during the Counter Reformation. " I n the middle of the sixteenth century", Martz points out, "under the stimulus of the Counter Reformation and its spearhead, the Jesuit order, new treatises on meditation began to appear by the dozens, and after the opening of the seventeenth century, by the scores and by the hundreds". 6 These works soon became familiar in England through translations and adaptations made by recusants and by Anglicans, and they contributed 5 6

Op. cit., 175. Louis Martz, The Poetry of Meditation

(New Haven, 1954), 5.

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significantly t o t h e o u t b u r s t of religious concern t h r o u g h o u t E n g land: These continental practices of meditation combined with the older traditions of primer and private prayer, and with the inward surge of Puritanism, to produce in the seventeenth century an era of religious fervor unmatched in English history. 7 T h e r e t u r n of t h e exiled clergy f r o m t h e continent in 1660 m a r k e d a f u r t h e r resurgence of interest in t h e meditative tradition a m o n g t h e court a n d H i g h Church p a r t y . B u t t h e influence of these methods of meditation stretched b e y o n d t h e religious life of England. Louis Martz has carefully t r a c e d t h e influence u p o n contemporary poets; The Poetry of Meditation examines in detail t h e historical evidence for such a n influence a n d t h e ways in which it affected t h e form a n d style of English verse: From all such evidence it seems clear that there were easy ways by which the continental methods of meditation could, and did, reach a large body of educated Englishmen, particularly those of a High Church tendency, who were by no means averse to all things Roman. There is, then, reason to consider the thesis that English religious poetry of the seventeenth century represents the impact of the continental art of meditation upon English poetical traditions. That impact was exerted to some extent through the example of continental religious poetry: Southwell and Crashaw make this plain. But fundamentally, I shall argue, the Counter Reformation penetrated to English literature through methods of religious meditation that lay at the heart of the century's spiritual life and provided a radiant center for religious literature of every kind. 8 His thesis is " t h a t English religious p o e t r y of t h e seventeenth century represents t h e impact of t h e continental a r t of meditation u p o n English poetical traditions". 9 This impact seems t o have been b o t h widespread a n d lasting. Throughout t h e sixteenth a n d sevent e e n t h centuries, Martz has shown, various poems reflect an a t t i ' Ibid., 9. Ibid., 13. »Ibid., 13. 8

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tude and structure derived from this source. And he has traced the tradition to New England where it influenced the verse of Edward Taylor: "the meditative discipline that lies behind and within the poetry has enabled Taylor to give many of his poetical meditations a firm and operative structure". In this they belong to a continuing tradition in English verse: Like the "Divine Meditations" (Holy Sonnets) of John Donne, the sonnets of Gerard Manley Hopkins, or the poems of George Herbert, Taylor's Meditations represent the peaks and pinnacles of the meditative process on which the poet's spiritual life is based."10 He finds in Taylor's poems evidence to consider him the final exponent of this tradition in exile: he calls him "the last heir of the great tradition of English meditative poetry that arose in the latter part of the sixteenth century, with Robert Southwell, as its first notable example, continued on through the religious poetry of John Donne (and also in those of his secular poems that have powerful religious elements), reached a fulfillment in the Temple of George Herbert, went abroad to include the baroque motifs of Richard Crashaw, found another home in Henry Vaughan's uneven but inspired meditations on the 'creatures', strengthened the fiber of Andrew Marwell's slender muse, and, so far as England was concerned, died at the death of Thomas Traherne in 1674, with both his prose meditations and their companionate poems unpublished". 11 Actually, the deaths of Taylor and of Traherne do not seem to have brought an end to this tradition. Many of its characteristics can be found in the verse of David Henry Thoreau, and, like the Anglican tradition itself, it continued in England long after 1674. The use of the meditation as a prose vehicle for religious instruction appears to have been common: Francis Crow's Mensalia Sacra: or Meditations on the Lord's Supper (1693), John Lightfoot's Meditations upon Some Abstruser Points of Divinity (1700), Edward Wetenhall's A View of our Lord's Passion, with Meditations Thereon 10 The Poems oj Edward Taylor, 1960), xxxi. 11 Ibid., xxv.

ed. Donald E. Stanford (New Haven,

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(1710), George Fenwick's Help for the Sincere: or Plain Meditations (1737), Benjamin Parker's Philosophical Meditations, with Divine Inferences (1738), Henry Lee's Divine Meditations, or a Key to the Scriptures (1751), Charles Howe's Devout Meditations, or a Collection of Thoughts upon Religious and Philosophical Subjects (1752), Hugh Innes's Meditations and Reasonings on Various Important and Divine Subjects (1756), John Willison's Sacramental Meditations and Addresses (1769), and Daniel Turner's Meditations on Select Passages of Scripture (1771). In 1781 a writer, identified only as 'a clergyman' published Scriptural Meditations, Intended Chiefly for the Seasons of Sickness and Melancholy: To Which Are Added Several Prayers, Poems, Etc. on Divers Subjects, Collected from Some of the Most Pious and Learned Writers and in 1805 J . M. A. Bull published a work entitled Husbandry Improved by Religious Meditations, with Some Forms of Prayer for the Instruction and Comfort of the Lower Classes of Society. Writing for a somewhat more limited audience, Richard Taprell in 1789 published his Meditations for Pregnant Women. These works, like well-known Meditations upon a Broomstick and Yorck's Meditations upon Various Important and Interesting Subjects, serve to indicate the range and familiarity of this tradition to eighteenth-century writers. One of the most popular of the works of this sort was, of course, Meditations and Contemplations by James Hervey (1714 —1758). Shortly after its appearance in 1746 — 7, its influence began to be felt. Thomas Gibbons (1720 — 1785) praised its illumination of the divinity within nature and outlined Hervey's purpose in the second and third stanzas of his poem "To the Reverend Mr. James Hervey, A. B. on his Meditations": To chase our sensual Fogs away, And bright to pour th' eternal Ray Of Deity, inscrib'd around Wide Nature to her utmost Bound, Is Hervey's Task: and well his Skill Celestial can the Task fulfil: Ascending from these Scenes below, Ardenthe Maker's Praise to show, His sacred Contemplations soar, And teach our Wonder to adore.

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Now he surveys the Realms beneath, The Realms of Horror and of Death; Now entertains his vernal Hours In flow'r Walks, and blooming Bow'rs: Now hails the black-brow'd Night, that brings Aetherial Dews upon her Wings; Now marks the Planets, as they roll On burning Axles round the Pole: While Tombs, and Flow'rs, and Shades, and Stars, Unveil their sacred Characters Of Justice, Wisdom, Pow'r, and Love, And life the Soul to Realms above, Where dwells the God, in Glory crown'd, Who sends his boundless Influence round. After a Homeric simile involving J a c o b a n d his ladder, a n d a f t e r a stanza developing t h e theme of N a t u r e bearing man 'in seraphic E x t a s y ' t o t h e 'Throne on high', t h e poem concludes: So, if small Things may shadow forth, Dear Man, thy Labours and thy Worth, The Bee upon the flow'ry Lawn Imbibes the lucid Drops of Dawn, Works them in his mysterious Mould, And turns the common Dew to Gold. Gibbons was a dissenting minister of rather evangelical choler, a n d his approach t o Hervey's work tended t o be somewhat flamboyant. B u t , like all t h e readers of Meditations and Contemplations, he recognized the spiritual t r u t h t h a t "small things may shadow f o r t h " , he assented to t h e spiritual value which " t u r n s t h e common Dew t o Gold". Dr. Nathaniel Cotton (1707 — 1788), while a friend t o several dissenting ministers, was a member of t h e Established Church. His t r i b u t e — "To t h e Rev. J a m e s Hervey, on his Meditations" — is quieter and more restrained t h a n t h a t b y Gibbons: there is no 'Monarch of t h e Golden D a y ' , no ' E a r t h in Spring's E m b r o i d ' r y drest', no 'Th'eternal R a y of Deity', no 'seraphic E x t a s y ' , a n d no Homeric simile. B u t what he comments on in Hervey is basically, like Gibbons, t h e power of n a t u r e t o body forth t h e divinity of its

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creator if it is properly viewed: "To trace the genial source we Nature call,/And prove the God of Nature friend to all". Most of this 54line tribute is devoted to expressing the vision of nature caught by Hervey's 'mental landscape': The azure fields that form th'extended sky, The planetary globes that roll on high, And solar orbs, of proudest blaze, combine To act subservient to the great design, Men angels, seraphs, join the gen'ral voice, And in the Lord of Nature all rejoice. The perception of the meditation is t h a t "The same who smiles in Nature's peaceful form,/Frowns in the tempest, and directs the storm". God is seen in everything, what man suspects to be bad as well as good. Yet the religious feeling does not narrow itself into pantheism. Hervey's world is described to be a place "where artless piety pervades the whole,/Refines the genius, and exalts the soul". The poem ends with the kind of apologia for religion which is found not infrequently within this tradition: For let the witling argue all he can, It is religion still that makes the man. 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright; 'Tis that that gilds the horrors of the night. When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few; When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue, 'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart Disarms affliction, or repels its dart; Within the breast bids purest rapture rise; Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies, When the storm thickens, and the thunder rolls, When the Earth trembles to th'affrighted poles, The virtuous mind no doubts nor fears assail; For storms are zephyrs, or a gentler gale. And when disease obstructs the lab'ring breath; When the heart sickens, and each pulse is death; E'en then religion shall sustain the just, Grace their last moments, nor desert their dust. The attention attracted by Hervey's work is only one instance of the continuing interest in meditation throughout the eighteenth century.

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In a more technical sense meditation continued to be linked with prayer as a fundamental aspect of the act of worship. A goodly number of treatises including both meditations and prayers were produced during the period; among them being Lawrence Smith's Conversation in Heaven, Being Devotions Consisting of Meditations and Prayers (1693), Benjamin Jenks's Meditations, with Short Prayers Annexed (1701), James Bonnel's Meditations and Prayers (1705), and Thomas Allen's The Practice of a Holy Life, or the Christian's Daily Exercise in Meditations, Prayer, and Rules of Holy Life (1716). The most familiar to literary scholars are the Prayers and Meditations by Samuel Johnson, whose inner turmoil and Very great terror' at the thought of death reflect the religious anguish which lay at the core of his age. The need for prayer and meditation to quell this terror — or at least to ameliorate it — was felt with particular vividness as a by-product of the revivalist movement of mid-century. In attempting to fulfill this need the writer frequently turned to poetry. The ritualistic aspects of verse — aspects which we have seen to be important to the Anglican tradition — provided t h e sense of form and discipline which meditation requires. Evelyn Underhill lists three ways in which poetry is particularly suited to religious experience; each of them recognizes these similar characteristics of poetry and meditation: (1) I t is the carrying-medium of something which otherwise wholly eludes representation: the soul's deep and awestruck apprehension of the numinous. (2) I t can universalize particulars; giving an eternal reference to those things of time in and through which God speaks to men. (3) I t is a powerful stimulant of the transcendental sense: a function in which the ancient hymns embodied in the Greek liturgy excel.12 These characteristics of poetry and prayer combine to provide a certain attitude and atmosphere congenial to the meditative tradition. In 1698 Thomas Lyster brought out Divine Poems and Medi11

Op. cit., 112—113.

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tations; John Disney published Primitiae Sacrae, The Reflections of a Devout Solitude, Consisting of Meditations and Poems and Divine Subjects in 1701; Roger Wolcott's Poetical Meditations were published in 1725; and at the end of the century Jonathan Richardson published Morning Thoughts, or Poetical Meditations, Moral, Divine, and Miscellaneous (1776), William Tans'ur produced a set of meditations on the Four Last Things (1740); John Byrom wrote meditations for each day of Holy Week; early in the century Richard Bockett, junior, published Fruits of Early Piety, Consisting of Several Christian Experiences, Meditations, and Admonitions (Very Profitable for the Perusal of Youth) ; in 1767 Walter H a r t e published The Amaranth, or, Religious Poems, Consisting of Fables, Visions, Emblems, Etc. I n addition to these sets of poems, many writers throughout the century turned out single poems which bore the title or the characteristics of a meditation. The distribution of these poems among the writers is interesting in t h a t they do not occur in the collections by evangelical or enthusiastic sympathizers. The attitude of discipline and tradition and the atmosphere of humble self-effacement seem inappropriate for the spontaneous passions which the revival tended to arouse. The meditative poems are private, unlike hymns designed for congregational use, and they reflect the values of the contemplative life. They are more closely related to mental, than to vocal prayer. Martz has outlined the formal characteristics of meditation: Without expecting any hard and fast divisions, then, we should expect to find a formal meditation falling into three distinguishable portions, corresponding to the acts of memory, understanding, and will — portions which we might call composition, analysis, and colloquy.13 He also offers an explanation for the popularity of meditation in t h a t it appeals to a basic sense of ordering in the human mind: . . . the enormous popularity of methodical meditation in this era may be attributed to the fact that it satisfied and developed a natural, fundamental tendency of the human mind — a tendency to work from

O p . cit., 38.

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a particular situation, through analysis of that situation, and finally to some sort of resolution of the problems which the situation has presented. 14 This tripartite structure accords with b o t h t h e Ignatian a n d t h e Sulpician method. The tradition of silent prayer within t h e E s t a b lished Church combined with t h e Christian virtues of retirement a n d humility t o create an essentially Anglican atmosphere. This is described in " A n Epigram upon P r a y e r " , an anonymous work published in t h e thirteenth number of a religious periodical, The Monitor, which appeared weekly from 2 March 1712 t o 24 April 1713: Prayer Highest soars when She most Prostrate lies, And when she Supplicates, she storms the Skies, Thus to gain Heav'n, may seem an easy Task, For what can be more easy than to Ask ? Yet oft we do, by sad Experience, find That, clogg'd with Earth, some Pray'rs are left behind; And some, like Chaff, blown off by ev'ry Wind. To kneel is easy, to pronounce not Hard; Then why are some Petitioners debarr'd ? Hear what an Ancient Oracle declar'd. Some sing their Pray'rs, and some their Prayers say, He's an Elias who his Pray'rs can Pray. Reader remember when you next repair To Church or Closet, this Memoir of Pray'r. This central virtue of humility also provides t h e theme for another piece f r o m Poems on Several Occasions (2nd ed. with additions, 1743) b y Samuel Wesley. The humility which he, as an Anglican, describes is quietly realistic a n d logically comprehended; it is not an emotional groveling in exaggerated baseness; depravity, also, is placed upon a media via: neither total nor imaginary, b u t grounded in man's n a t u r e a n d remediable through men's ability t o rise above his merely h u m a n station. The feeling of " O n H u m i l i t y " is based upon a precise understanding of t h e limitations of man in comparison with God, b u t also upon an understanding t h a t LIMITATIONS 14

Ibid.,

39.

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means t h a t t h e r e are definite powers which can a n d do operate within t h e limitations. 'Tis not because I sprung from nought, I bow with Lowliness of Thought; All but the Trinity Most High Was nothing once as well as I. 'Tis not because I dwell in Clay, Subject to Sickness and Decay; This Flesh if rightly I controul, 'Tis no Pollution to my Soul. 'Tis not because this outward Skin Contains unseemly Stench within; Conceal'd, 'tis well, as if all o'er I breath'd Perfume at ev'ry Pore. 'Tis not because this Carcass dead Will Worms and Putrefaction breed; 'Tis well, as if from thence should come The Violet's and the Rose's Bloom. No, I shall ne'er deject my Heart By thinking in my mortal Part; Tho' mean, tho' base, tho' vile it be, 'Twill put on Immortality. 'Tis not because dependent here, I poorly fill a narrow sphere: To cast our destin'd Lot aside, Is not Humility, but Pride. 'Tis not because in Life below I little act, and little know; In Knowledge and in Pow'r there's none Unlimited, but God alone. W h a t ! in Myself then can I find No Cause for Lowliness of Mind ? Ah, Yes ! for Sin what thought can bear! 'Tis there I sink ! 'tis wholly there ! H e r e orthodox acceptance of t h e Trinity a n d of m a n ' s predicament are central. H u m i l i t y is carefully described. I t is a recognition of m a n ' s 'narrow Sphere' a n d of only God's unlimitedness in Knowledge a n d Power. This sort of humility, as we have seen in D r y d e n ' s

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Beligio Laid and shall see more fully later in this essay, led to the beliefs concerning the role of reason in man's salvation. The style of Wesley's poem, with its simplicity and language of common speech, lacking both classical allusions and ornate vocabulary, recalls Martz's commentary upon meditative style: Thus the self of meditative poetry speaks a language based on that of common men, but including whatever in its own experience is unique and individual. If the self is learned and theological in its bent, then common speech will be infused with learned, theological terms and ways of thought, as in the case of Donne. If this self is deeply devoted to the English Bible and English liturgy, this language will glow through common speech, as in Herbert. Or if, in turn, the self finds itself inflamed with the hagiographic devotions of the Counter Reformation — this too will find its way through common speech and create the baroque style of a Crashaw. And if the self has been molded, in large part, by the writing of an earlier poet, that poet's idiom will make its way into the later poet's speech, as Herbert's language speaks through Vaughan. The poems of Anglicanism are closer to the Book of Common Prayer than to Paradise Lost. This, as has been examined, is partly t h e result of the early eighteenth-century Rococo style, but the characteristics of this style seemedto be especially suited to the demands o f t h e Anglican tradition, and so a positive and felicitous literature emerged. In so far as it is ever possible to list the characteritics of a tradition in any art, it might be said t h a t the meditative tradition is marked by an attitude of humility and self-effacement, a tripartite structure which moves from an event through an analysis to a resolution, a simple and direct style, an atmosphere of ritual and petition, and a belief t h a t contemplation may lead to some kind of mystical vision and the achievement of Divine Love. We have already seen how strongly the poems for the Holy Days of the Christian year reflect many of these characteristics, particularly those of structure and style. The more personal characteristics of attitude, atmosphere, and belief emerge in a number of poems on various subjects written during the eighteenth century. These elements are found in Poetical Meditations on the Four Last Things, viz. on Death and Judgment, Heaven and Hell published in London in 1740. I n his "Preface" William Tans'ur comments:

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As to the Work itself, the Four first Sections are on Things of the greatest Importance, viz. on Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell: on which every Soul ought hourly to consider, that their Ends may be well. These first four sections consist of 4 line stanzas, each n u m b e r e d a n d supported b y one or two marginal Biblical references. T h e style is simple, t h e language of t h e common m a n , a n d t h e sentiments centre a b o u t such themes as redeeming Love, Guilt, a n d Grace. The "Meditations on D e a t h " picture t h e horrors of t h e u n j u s t a n d t h e fortunes of t h e j u s t : xiii The righteous Man will now be counted wise, Who fear'd the Lord; 'tis he who wins the Prize: He of eternal Glory ne'er shall miss, But be Partakers of e'erlasting Bliss. xiv This Man, Death cannot kill, he hath on Arms, Satan can't hurt him, with Sin's pow'rful Charms; His Head is helm'd, with Breast-plate on his Heart, In Hand a Shield, which blunteth ev'ry Dart. xv Truth girds his Loins, his Sword is on his Thigh, His Feet go Paths of Peace and Purity; His Heart doth thirst for God, who hears his Call, And gives him strength, whereby he conquers all. xvi Thus, fortify'd with Love, he keeps the Field, And then lies down upon his aiding Shield: He stands his Guard, 'Till Death is gone and fled, His Shield's his Aid, 'till Christ doth raise the Dead. Stanza viii of t h e "Meditations on t h e L a s t J u d g m e n t " contains t h e application: Each Heart shall ope, before the Judge most high, Who'll bring each Thought to Judgment 'suredly: With as much Justice, that each one shall say, By Sin, I threw my precious Soul away.

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T h e "Meditations on H e a v e n " picture t h e joys of t h e Righteous: ix All Mysteries known, and ev'ry Knot unty'd, Electing Love shall shine on ev'ry Side: By Wisdom, we shall all Things know and see, By Strength, do all, * * when we * in Glory be. xxvii Here, Musick's Strings are tun'd in Harmony; Each Spirit's perfum'd with perfect Sanctity: Here, we by Love, untie the Glory-Chain, And Streams of Life o'erflow each Heart and Vein. The following stanza — xxix — is an aspiration, a prayer t o 'experience t h e full meaning' of t h e possibility of salvation: Inspire our Hearts, 0 Lord, with thy good Grace; Take us to Thee, in this thy heav'nly Place. Lord, at the last, do thou our Souls befriend, And then preserve with Thee, World without End. T h e first stanza of t h e "Meditations on Hell" says t h a t it is really impossible t o bring t o our full attention t h e horrors of Hell: Hell is a State so fearful and forlorn, None can relate the Pangs that there are borne. Instead of Life, a Living Death is found, And endless Sorrows ever to abound. B u t t h e meditations, supported b y Biblical references, do succeed in drawing a vivid picture: iv Hell's deem'd a Lake, a hot and fiery Flame, Also an Ov'n, that all may know the same; Which is God's Wrath, incensed by the Sin Of guilty Souls, who take Delight therein. v This Wrath will so torment and prick the Soul, As if in Burnings it did hourly roll. God's Absence doth as burning Brimstone make The Pangs of Hell — This is its stinking State.

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Death, one of t h e four last things, frequently provided t h e m a t t e r for poetical composition during t h e eighteenth century. The subject seemed to provide appropriate material for meditation. I n t h e meditations is an actual reliving of t h e process of understanding, a n d an apparent retracing of the steps of illumination. Thus these poems tend t o be more logical, more reasoned, t h a n m a n y others, especially those by dissenting and revivalistic writers, which present a previously digested sentiment. And they tend to be more immediate t h a n m a n y poems which express an absolute certainty. They are less confident, and t h e imagery a n d language is more carefully thought-out; because they are less cliche-riddled, t h e y appear more appropriate and vivid. These poems may be personal in t h a t they do talk about t h e poet's experience, and in t h a t t h e style does contain t h e individual poet's voice. B u t they are also a questioning of t h e poet's experience, with t h e focus upon t h e experience and not upon t h e poet. There is a restraint and quiet dignity about them. I n 1735 was published a collection of poems dealing in various ways with these subjects. I t was titled The Christian Poet, or Divine Poems on the Four Last Things: (viz) Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell. I t contained works by Elizabeth Singer Rowe, t h e E a r l of Roscommon, Dean Swift, Pope, Gay, Defoe, and a number of works unidentified. The "Preface" provided a raison d'etre for t h e collection: Whoever is Irreligious more from Custom than Principle, may be Redeem'd by a serious Prospect of Death and Eternity; Subjects, which it might reasonably be imagined, though we are every Day convinced of the contrary, no Man could think of without the deepest Concern, or without making some Provision for a State, into which he is, perhaps, the next Moment to enter, and in which he is to continue to Eternity. B u t , t h e "Preface" points out, this serious concern is ignored by 'the Gay, t h e Airy, a n d Voluptuous'; they trifle away life without a due regard to t h e last four things: This Aversion from Contemplation so violent and so destructive, can only be overcome by joining Diversion with Advantages, and making what is most Salutary most Agreeable . . . . I have therefore chosen to lay before the Reader, a Collection of Poems

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in which his Removal from this World, and existence in another, are consider'd as well in a Philosophical as a Religious L i g h t . . . . Several poems in this collection show strong influence of t h e meditative tradition. One is an unidentified work titled " T h o u g h t s on D e a t h " : I'm almost to the Fatal Period come, My forward Glass has well nigh run its last; E'er a few Moments I must hear the Doom, Which ne'er will be recall'd when once its past. Methinks I have Eternity in View, And dread to reach the Edges of the Shore, Nor doth the Prospect the less dismal shew For all the Thousands that have launch'd before. Why weep, my Friends ? What is their Loss to mine ? I have but one poor doubtful Stake to throw And with a dying Pray'r my Hopes resign, If that be lost, I'm lost for ever too. 'Tis not the painful Agonies of Death, Nor all the gloomy Horrors of the Grave; Were that the worst, unmov'd I'd yield my Breath, And with a Smile the King of Terrors brave. But there's an After-day, 'tis that I fear: Oh, who shall hide me from that angry Brow? Already I the dreadful Accent hear, Depart from me, and that for ever too. This poem has a general t o n e of quiet resignation. There is nothing in this poem's experience for tears, nothing t o wail or knock t h e breast. Nor is there simple comfort in t h e sure consideration of t h e after-life. I t is realistic in its inevitability, in its uncertainty, in its fear. To achieve this tone, t h e t i m e span has been concentrated. There is t h e sense of inevitability in t h e image of t h e Glass. T h e association of this image with t h e hour-glass suggests t h e grave shortness of m a n ' s life. This is reinforced b y t h e line, " E ' e r a few Moments I must hear m y D o o m " . The tone of u n c e r t a i n t y is centered around t h e image of t h e u n k n o w n shore. E t e r n i t y is linked with t h e ocean, t h e edges of which are dreadful t o reach. The image is con-

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tinued in the pharse, "all the Thousands t h a t have launch'd before'' death is a journey into the unfamiliar. This uncertainty leads to the poem's fear. I t is a 'Fatal Period', and there may be intended a pun on this word: P E R I O D as a length of time, man's life; and P E R I O D as an ending to a statement. This image of the unappeasable ending is strengthened by the line, "Which ne'er will be recall'd when once it's past". A further pun may be intended o n ' a dying P r a y ' r ' : the person praying is dying, and the prayer itself may die before being completed, since he is not too sure what can be prayed for. The resolution is resignation. Man cannot know what reefs or tides lie beyond the shores of death. The feeling, when facing the awful presence of Eternity, is one of humility: " I have but one poor doubtful Stake to throw". This, indeed, may possibly be a gamble. If the promise of Eternity is empty, hope is empty, too. But then there is an additional twist in the logical structure of the poem. Having reasoned t h a t if Eternity is lost, he is lost for ever too, the poet then realizes t h a t if Eternity is not lost, he may just the same be lost for ever. The voice of damnation may speak in the orthodox dictum of damnation as isolation from God: "Depart from me". This second conclusion is reinforced stylistically by paralleling the first conclusion with the end-of-line phrase, "for ever too". The stanza structure, the rhyme scheme, the length of line — the whole pattern, in other words — is of interest and service as a device for presenting the matter of the poem. W h a t appears to be a relatively ordinary little verse can be shown to possess a number of technical niceties which suggest t h a t it was the product of a certain intensity and attention. These qualities are reflected in the technical details because they are, so t o speak, endemic to the meditative tradition. I n contrast, intensity and attention are not characteristic of another work in the same collection. I t is an unidentified sonnet, "Death": When Life's first Bloom affords untainted Joy, And Youthful Spirits warm the bounding Heart, Death shakes his Dart in vain, his Terrors fly Before the Scoffer's Jest, or Reasoner's Art.

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How chang'd the scene when raging Pains assail, And fainting Nature feels her Period near, Nor Reason's Powers nor Fancy's Charms avail, Mirth learns to Sigh, Philosophy to fear. Tho' Reason's Lamp, and Fancy's wand'ring Fire Amidst the Horrors of that Night expire, Religion kindly lends a steadier Ray; Her bright Effulgence dissipates the Gloom, Expels the Terrors of the yawning Tomb, And Guides the Joyful Soul to lasting Day. This poem is interesting as a combination of the Italian and the English sonnet form. The three stages in the poet's progression are clearly marked, and concluding sentiments are noble and praiseworthy. But they are also empty and abstract. The dissipating qualities of religion's bright effulgence seem hardly adequate for expelling the terrors of the yawning tomb, if these terrors are more t h a n a poetical pose. The success formula for the joyful soul has been, it appears, to accept religion. Precisely what this involves is not made clear, or even implied. I n other words, this poem affords a worthwhile contrast for poems of the meditative tradition in t h a t its tone is one of simple-mindedness rather than simplicity, of abstraction rather than experience, of loose and hackneyed language rather than concrete and detailed imagery. The real difference between these poems which marks one as belonging to the meditative tradition cannot really be described; it lies in the combination of many things; basically, perhaps, these can be viewed in terms of attitude and atmosphere. Another poem from The Christian Poet which contrasts with the sonnet "Death" is by John Norris (1657 — 1711), the successor to George Herbert as rector of Bemerton. Fairchild's praise of him is heavily qualified:

On the whole, however, he was not unworthy of becoming rector of George Herbert's old parish of Bemerton. In him the noble tradition of seventeenth-century religious poetry, though decadent, retains some

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of its old beauty. He writes well enough to remind us that Henry Vaughan did not die until 1695.15 But, recently Geoffrey Walton has published a plea for a wider recognition of his virtues. 16 H e describes Norris as a "not unworthy successor of George Herbert", and while he recognizes t h a t the individual voice of Herbert cannot be expected to be the identical individual voice of Norris, he sees a continued Metaphysical tradition in much of Norris's verse: In Norris one finds a Metaphysical wit, which, though the emotional and intellectual tension is relaxed, is still recognizably Metaphysical, as the dominant quality of much of his poetry. In his elaboration of this point of view Walton comes very close to Martz, who has suggested t h a t the tradition of meditation played a fundamental part in the development of the poetic qualities we have been noticing, and t h a t with this realization the literary critic and historian may then see the metaphysical poets, not as Donne and his school, but as " a group of writers, widely different in temper and outlook, drawn together by resemblances t h a t result, basically, from the common practice of certain methods of religious meditation". 1 7 The substitution of a meditative for a metaphysical grouping of poets is more convenient for the present study because of its more immediately religious bias. Yet is is remarkable t h a t without this substitution Walton notices the same qualities in Norris's "Content" t h a t have been noticed in such poems as the unidentified "Thoughts on Death": This is devotional poetry written in the dawning age of Reason, Truth and Nature, yet with a trace remaining of an earlier and finer attitude; one notices the mingled pride and hesitancy in "perhaps." 18

15

H. N. Fairchild, Religious Trends in English Poetry, I (New York, 1939), 108. 16 Metaphysical to Augustan: Studies in Tone and Sensibility in the Seventeenth Century (London, 1953), Chapter VII. 17 Metaphysical to Augustan, 2. ls Ibid., 152.

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These are also the qualities in Norris's "The Meditation", reprinted in the 1735 collection The Christian Poet: It must be done, my soul, but 'tis a strange A dismal and mysterious change, When thou shalt leave this tenement of clay, And to an unknown somewhere wing away; When Time shall be Eternity, and thou Shalt be thou know'st not what, and live thou know'st not how. Amazing state! No wonder that we dread To think of Death, or view the dead. Thou'rt all wrapt up in clouds, as if to thee Our very knowledge had antipathy. Death could not a more sad retinue find, Sickness and Pain before, and Darkness all behind. Some courteous ghost, tell this great secrecy, What 'tis you are, and we must be. You warn us of approaching death, and why May we not know from you what 'tis to dye ? But you, having shot the gulph, delight to see Succeeding souls plunge in with like uncertainty. When Life's close knot by writ from Destiny, Disease shall cut, or Age unty; When after some delays, some dying strife, The soul stands shiv'ring on the ridge of life; With what a dreadful curiosity Does she launch out into the sea of vast Eternity! So when the spacious globe was delug'd o'er, And lower holds could save no more, On th'utmost bough th'astonish'd sinners stood, And view'd th'advances of th'encroaching flood. O'er topp'd at length by th'element's encrease, With horrour they resign'd to the untry'd abyss. The similarities between this poem and "Thoughts on Death" are noteworthy. The tone of inevitability, of uncertainty, of fear; the final resignation; the exploration of the real meaning of Eternity to the dying soul; the imagery of the unknown ocean — these we have seen are all marks of the tradition. The opening two lines — "it must be done, my soul, but 'tis a strange/A dismal and myste-

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rious change" — may be taken as an emblem of one characteristic of the Anglican tradition. At the back of, or indeed permeating, man's experience is the mysterious; God's intention for man is not completely knowable, and this awareness brings forth the virtues of humility and resignation. This is in contrast with many of the nonconformist writers: Carpenter quotes James Foster (1697 — 1753) as saying, "Where mystery begins, religion ends". 19 This element of mystery was, during the eighteenth century, interpreted in a number of ways. Later this study will examine some of the implications which such a view had for the writers in an "Age of Reason". I t has already been shown t h a t the relation between meditation and mystical experience is often very close, and this relation can be seen here. Walton has described Norris as "obviously not a man of the world, but a scholarly poet writing in retirement". 2 0 His retirement has apparently allowed him to see more fully and more completely. The mystical elements in his poetry are both central and genuine. The use of meditation as a way of knowing and self-understanding is praised in the final stanza of Norris\s "To Himself": But thou my soul thy strong conviction shew, And never reach at bliss again. Our best good here is Nature's bounds to know, And those attempts to spare, which else would be in vain. Here then contain thy self, nor higher good In this inchanted place pursue. And pity those short-sighted souls that do; The world is best enjoy'd, when 'tis best understood. For Norris, of course, best understanding of the world is the recognition of its limitations and of man's relation to it. There was always a particularly strong strain of mysticism in Norris, and he was conscious of the charms of escaping from the world where "Vice and Folly keep their court". The mystical tendency in eighteenth-century verse will be examined later, but here we might notice the 19

S. C. Carpenter, Eighteenth-Century

20

Op. cit.,

92. 142.

Church

and People

( L o n d o n , 1959),

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realistic balance which Norris maintains between his desire t o escape on the wings of contemplation and the realization t h a t the life of pure vision cannot be maintained: So angels, tho they heaven's glories know, Forget not to attend their charge below. The influence of this meditative tradition is widespread; it, like any tradition, was not confined to the subject matter for which it was originally designed. An interesting example of this extension is found among the works of Henry Baker (1698 — 1774), known mainly as a naturalist and teacher of the deaf and dumb. His closest relation to literary fame seems to be t h a t he married Defoe's youngest daughter. But in 1725 and 1726 he published a collection of verse in two parts, Original Poems: Serious and Humorous, which contains much worthwhile material. Largely he writes of secular — sometimes exceedingly secular — matters: his "To Flora Drest" is a superb bit of amorous bantering in the Cavalier vein. B u t this remarkable collection includes some poems of genuine religious feeling. His "On Content" expresses the quintessence of the many poems written during the century on the same subject, and sums up the final state of acceptance and grace which meditation should produce: Give me, O God! (for all Things come from Thee) Content, that richest Cordial of the Soul: Possessing This, I happier shall be, In my neglected low Degree, Than He who does in Heaps of Riches roll. Chymists, long in vain, have sought The Philosophic-Stone to find, What Labour had been spar'd! if They had thought To look for't where it is, in a contented Mind. This theme and attitude, already sharing the characteristics of humility and simplicity, are developed in a longer poem called "The Meditation":

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If Wealth produc'd Content, if Heaps of Gold Could Happiness insure, I too would toil, And break my Rest: wou'd seek the busy World And bustle thro' the Crowd; no Labour spare, No Danger shun, but resolute, through all Urge on, impetuous, 'till I might obtain An ample store of Metal: Fortune's Smiles Would count, obsequious, and to her prefer My daily Adorations. But since she, With all her Gifts of Power, Wealth, and Name, From Care and wretchedness cannot secure Her darling Minions: Since that gaudy Glare Which strikes the vulgar Eye, is all a vain Imaginary Good: Since Gold increas'd, Is but increas'd Anxiety, and Power To endless Fears obnoxious; much more blest Beneath this spreading Beech, am I than He Whose Brows a Coronet circles. Here unknown, Unenvy'd, undisturb'd, the Muse and I Enjoy an humble Quiet: 0 you Powers All-over ruling ! Long may we enjoy This humble Quiet, lowly, yet content! And, thou, my Muse ! Companion best belov'd! Remote from Courts and Noise, still, still, may'st thou Chant forth thy Strains, harmonious, in the Praise Of Virtue, and of Beauty: but not deign, O never may'st thou deign to sooth the Great! Or stoop to servile Flattery ! — sincere Honest, without Ambition, still bestow, What little Share of Fame thou canst bestow, On those who best deserve ! where Virtue calls, Or Beauty shines, or Gratitude inspires. The outstanding characteristic of this poem is, of course, its logical structure. The paragraph-like division, with the if and since introductions to each premise, provides a framework in which the poem can explore the consequences of experience. This is a major characteristic of the tradition, and it establishes that the influence of the syllogism upon poetry did not cease with the Restoration. In fact, the syllogism, with its structure of progression, was ideally

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suited t o meditation. F o r m a n d discipline were usually felt t o be necessary — especially, as Samuel Wesley argued, in t h e Anglican tradition — a n d t h e general syllogistic s t r u c t u r e provided t h e most convenient framework. An early example is f o u n d in " T h e Petit i o n " b y Thomas Beedome, published in t h e p o s t h u m o u s volume Poems, Divine and Humane (1641): Heare mee, my God, and heare mee soone, Because my morning toucheth noone, Nor can I looke for their delight, Because my noone layes hold on night. I am all circle, my morne, night and noone Are individable; then heare mee soone. Thou art all time my God, and I Am part of that eternity; Yet being made, I want that might To be as thou art, Infinite: As in t h y flesh, so be thou Lord to mee, That is, both infinite, and eternity. But I am dust; at most, but man, That dust extended to a span: A span indeed, for in thy hand, Stretcht or contracted, Lord, I stand; Contract and stretch mee too, that I may be Straightn'd on earth-, to be enlarg'd to thee. But I am nothing; then how can I call my selfe, or dust, or man? Yet thou from nothing all didst frame, That all things might exalt thy name, Make mee but something, then, my God to thee; Then shall thy praise be all in all to mee. A similar playing b a c k a n d f o r t h of t h e argument a n d a similar shifting in t h e point of view, reminiscent of much of t h e p o e t r y b y J o h n Donne, is also t o be f o u n d in Beedome's " E p i g r a m 14: Being a Meditation t o My Selfe". This characteristic is still common in poems a t t h e end of t h e eighteenth century. I n 1821 J o h n Bowdler (1746 — 1823), one of t h e founders of t h e Church Building Society a n d a u t h o r of religious pamphlets, produced a n extensive collection of poems called Poems

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Divine and Moral, Many of Them Now First Published. His religious enthusiasm, unfortunately, tended to get the better of his responsibilities as an editor, as be candidly admitted in his "Preface": . . . my object was not to produce a collection of elegant poetry, but to do good; and that having entered my seventy-sixth year, I had no time to lose. I therefore hastened my work, and extracted and abridged freely, and even ventured, in a few instances, to alter a word or phrase when not suited to my purposes. But his choice of material is interesting, both in its appropriateness to his intention and its wide range of authors included. Among them was his son, John Bowdler (1783 — 1815), whose "Prayer" shares many characteristics with Beedome's "Petition": Father of Good, to whom belong My morning vow, my evening song; Again, with trembling joy to thee, A wayward child, I bend my knee. Myriads of angels, guard thy throne, And I am little, I am one; Yet all Thy works Thine eyes survey: Then hear and help me while I pray. Thy gifts my days with gladness crown; Sin, only sin, hath bowed me down. Lord, touch my heart, and make me know My Saviour's worth, my Saviour's woe ! Then shall my angry will be tame; Then shall I learn and weep my shame; The weight of wrath in judgment due Shall feel, and feel Thy mercy too. Yet not for pard'ning grace alone I breathe a suppliant sinner's groan: Pardon and love are both divine: Then give me both, and make me Thine. Thy pard'ning grace my fears shall quell; But love shall pride and sin expel; While faith, in every danger nigh, Gives strength, and peace, and liberty.

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So as I walk my earthly way, Thy mercy, Lord, my steps shall stay; Brighten with hope my saddest hours, And strew the pilgrim path with flowers. And so, while life and breath are mine, Shall ev'ry power in concert join To praise the God, to whom belong My morning vow and evening song. The attitudes a n d atmosphere of this poem are similar t o those already noticed in a considerable number of poems of t h e eighteenth century. The awareness of sin, which " h a t h bowed me d o w n " ; man's t o t a l devotion to God, " t o whom belong/My morning vow, m y evening song"; t h e hope for mercy as well as wrath, " t h e weight of wrath in judgment due/Shall feel, a n d feel Thy mercy t o o " ; t h e prayer for grace and love, " T h y pard'ning grace m y fears shall quell;/But love shall pride a n d sin expel"; t h e sense of form in t h e circular p a t t e r n of t h e verses — these lines, a p a r t from intonations of t h e individual poetic voice, are representative of m a n y written in t h e Anglican tradition which we have been examining. The aspect of private prayer, of t h e poet talking for himself, emerges clearly in t h e poetry of Thomas Scott. His Lyric Poems, Devotional and Moral (1773) contain one hundred a n d four works, all of t h e m religious in intention. "Confession" is a "lamenting sinner's sigh" for not having yielded to "reason's voice". Forgiveness is not claimed as a right; complete humility recognizes his f a t e t o be condemned, b u t there is hope of God's undeserved mercy: Lord, I am worthy to receive The dreadful sentence, "Thou shalt die": But ere the fatal stroke thou give, Turn, turn thy face to Calvary. The atmosphere of "Soliloquy" is somewhat more restrained t h a n is usual for Scott. The autobiographical subject m a t t e r ensures t h a t t h e work is terribly sincere, if not terribly profound. The meditative tradition is seen in its process of questioning and reasoning r a t h e r t h a n of flat statement:

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Deep, deep into thyself, my soul descend; God calls aloud, with rev'rent ear attend. Strokes he in vain? Unmeaning was the blow? Sudden it fell, and menac'd death and woe; Death to a life in which my life is bound, Woe, woe to me, and never-healing wound: She lives ! She lives ! But Ah ! is Heav'n appeas'd ? Or, next, am I the victim to be seized? Does old offense to his remembrance rise, And bid the tear repentant fill my eyes ? My heart relents, my broken spirit mourns, To thee, 0 Lord, my broken Spirit turns. Forgiving God, cast, cast, my sins away, Far as the rising from the setting day. Spare me, 0 Lord, my tender offspring spare, Let not the child the father's burden bear. Avert the direful past. 0 heal my son, Bid life's warm fluid through its channels run; With heathful vigour bid the lungs inhale, Eas'd of their load, thy vivifying gale. With balmy hope erect his drooping mind, With patience arm, and give the will resign'd. Keep his youth pure, to shining virtue rise, And crown that virtue with celestial praise. Scott's exclusion f r o m t h e p a r t h a n o n of great English poets seem3 secure; this work is typical of t h e h u n d r e d odd verses he published. However undistinguished his p o e t r y m a y be, it is interesting in showing t h e a t t i t u d e a n d atmosphere of t h e meditative t r a d i t i o n among t h e minor poets of t h e century. His poem on "Religious C o n t e n t m e n t " actually expresses t h e a t t i t u d e towards contemplation a n d retirement which are f o u n d in similar poems b y Baker, Bennet, or even P a r n e l : I Envy not the worldly Great Their costly viands and their pride of show. Tnchantment all; delusion's bait; Fools rush along, and plunge in death and woe. Give me the peasant's clay built cell, On a coarse pillow rest my weary head. If there with me my God will dwell, With cheerful heart I'll bless my homely bread.

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The lofty majesty of God, Who in Eternity of Glory reigns, In visits to a mean abode, Descends to commune with adoring swains. 0 happy souls, in humble feat! What transports from divine communion flow ! Angels will you as brethren greet, And hail the type of their own heav'n below. I t may be unfair to suggest t h a t the more flamboyant and extravagent elements in his verse derive from his Dissenting background: he succeeded Samuel Say as independent minister at St. Nicholas Street Chapel in Ipswich, where he served for many years of his life, assisted by various colleagues. DNB says t h a t he "met with some success as a hymn-writer", and describes one work as having 'great power' and another as having 'great beauty'. I t is this aspect of his background and work which distinguishes him from a writer completely within t h e Anglican tradition. That nebulous element of atmosphere, which cannot really be defined in any precise terms, is missing. I t is partly the gentle restraint of George Herbert, partly the genuine humility of Samuel Wesley, partly the spirituality of John Norris. Scott's verse shows the influence of the meditative tradition upon persons quite outside the major stream of the Established Church, but it also shows the modifications made in t h e essence of the tradition when it moved outside Anglicanism. An interesting comparison might be made between the final stanza of Scott's "Religious Contentment" and the initial stanza of "Resignation" by the Reverend Henry Moore: Ye wild tumultuous passions cease To toss my troubled breast! 0 some kind Angel whisper peace, And smile my soul to rest! Both stanzas have the same rhyme scheme and metrical form. Both fill in feet by adding " 0 " to the beginning of a line. Both use the imagery of Angels to suggest the contentment which each seeks. B u t several fundamental differences also are apparent. Whereas Moore seeks a cessation of 'wild tumultuous passions', Scott seems to

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approve of t h e 'transports' which he derives f r o m divine communion: t h e religious experience seems t o produce a kind of frenzy. Scott's Angels are on a social p a r with t h e ' h a p p y souls': t h e y will greet t h e m as brothers. Man has risen t o angelic s t a t u s a n d has achieved a ' t y p e of their own h e a v ' n ' . Moore does n o t presume t o a n y such achievements. His Angel remains above m a n a n d t h e agent of God's grace. T h e use of 'whisper' is significant: t h e Anglican t r a d i tion seems t o be quieter t h a n t h e Dissenting. Moore's last line suggests a resolution which is different f r o m Scott's. Whereas Scott rejoices in accomplishment, Moore is content with acceptance. This t o n e is f o u n d in other poems b y Moore: " O n R e t i r e m e n t " , " P e a c e of Mind: An Ode", " O d e t o C o n t e n t m e n t " . An equally interesting comparison occurs between Scott's "Religious C o n t e n t m e n t " a n d H e n r y Baker's " T h e P e t i t i o n " , for m a n y of t h e phrases are similar even t h o u g h t h e over-all t o n e is n o t :

Grant me, You Gods! before I die, An happy Mediocrity; I envy not the Man that's Great; His Floors inlaid, his Coach of State; To me an humble Quiet's more Than all the Statesman's dearly purchas'd Store. Nor Rank, nor Wealth, I ask: But let me be Above Contempt, and wantful Poverty. Give me a Mind not anxious to encrease, But able to enjoy my little Stock in Peace; Be it unruffl'd, calm, sedate, Not rais'd above, but equal to my Fate. Good-Nature still in my Behaviour shine, And be Humanity for ever mine: May true Religion, that unerring Guide, Direct my Flight To Heav'n aright, But let me lay Its empty Forms aside. Health and sound Reason give me still, To judge unbias'd what is Good or 111. Obedient let my Passions be To all the Rules of strict Morality.

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Now, You Heav'nly Pow'rs above ! Benign, indulgent, full of Love, If in all your boundless Store A Blessing so unprizable there be, Crown whate'er you gave before With a true Friend, full of Sincerity: Be He th'Adviser of my rising Thoughts, Able and willing to correct their Faults. Grant me this, and wheresoe'er Phoebus shews his Golden Ray, Underneath the frozen Bear, Or in the sultry Wilds of Africa, Place me wheresoe'er you please, On th'extended Continent, Or some Island dasht with Seas, Still shall I praise You, and be well content. The acceptance of his role in this life, t h e contentment with a ' h a p p y mediocrity', t h e lack of ambition for self improvements or for a mind 'anxious t o encrease', t h e virtues of 'Good-Nature' a n d ' H u m a n i t y ' — these are values which Scott did n o t seem t o prize. They t e n d t o sound unambitious a n d complacent, b u t in context of t h e poem a n d t h e Anglican tradition t h e y do not lead t o t h a t smugness of which t h e Victorian age is sometimes accused. This same atmosphere of humility a n d acceptance permeates J o h n B e n n e t ' s simple little poem " C o n t e n t m e n t " : What greater happiness below Can we poor mortals find; Than sweet Contentment here to know Join'd with a pious mind. Regardful of the present hour, Let life pass on with ease; Cherish Content; that precious flow'r Is comfort in disease. Frail is the state we now enjoy; But blessings are in store For those who thus themselves employ, When swift-wing'd Time's no more.

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The second stanza in particular crystalizes much of the atmosphere of this tradition. I t is outlined by the title of a poem by Walter Harte: "Contentment, Industry, and Acquiescence under the Divine Will". The meditative tradition, in various forms, shaped the sensibility of many poets during the eighteenth century. I t led easily to the feeling for contentment and retirement which characterized the age. In a most simplified and secularized form it appeared a what Norman Callan has called Augustan Reflective Poetry. 2 1 The passage by Nahum Tate, which he quotes as a rubric to his essay, serves well to sum up this particular trend: Grant me, indulgent Heaven! a rural seat Rather contemptible than great! Where, though I taste life's sweets, I still may be A thirst for immortality ! I would have business; but exempt from strife ! A private, but an active life ! A conscience bold, and punctual to his charge ! My stock of health; or patience large ! Some books I'd have, and some acquaintence too; But very good, and very few! Then (if a mortal two such gifts may crave !) From silent life I'd steal into the grave. This trend represents the secularization of the tradition and leads to any number of poems dealing with individual contentment and self-fulfilment. Throughout the nineteenth century these developed into verses on the poet's present state of emotion, and usually they were totally divorced from any religious focus. The eighteenth century maintained the meditative tradition by identifying the method of contemplation with a divine focus rather than allowing it to centre upon the poet himself. This is clearly seen, of course, in the Meditations by Samuel Johnson, as well as in the several meditations by Richard Bockett. H e published four poems

21

From, Dryden 346—71.

to Johnson,

ed. Boris Ford (Harmondsworth,

1957),

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with this title in his Fruits of Early Piety (2nd ed. 1735); the second of these is very short: 0 may my Eye be to the Lord In what I go about, That I his approbation may In all Things have throughout The whole Course of my Conversation: Be it even so, That his sweet love and Clemency My Soul may ever know. The same obvious dependence upon the 'love and clemency' of God occurs in the fourth of these meditations: Lord, ever keep me on a constant watch, That Sin in any kind may not me catch. When any contrary to thy Mind, On me prevails, it trouble brings, I find, Wherefore I covet that I kept may be, From every Thing, Lord, that offendeth thee; That solid Comfort, Peace, and Quietness, 1 may in Soul continually possess. And when my Time shall have expired be, May then a Portion have allotted me, Where Joy and Peace abounds perpetually. Where thy redeem'd completely happy are, And no Disturber may to them come near. But in the Fountain of celestial Peace, Can they rejoyce and rest in perfect ease. That this my Portion may hereafter be, Lord help me faithfully to follow thee; That after all these Exercises here, Of divers kinds whereof I've had some share, My Soul may solace in the Joy that's there. While Bockett is not renowned for his use of imagery, he has certainly mastered syntactical inversion in order to get a rhyme. But, as the Preface by his parents points out, he was very young when he died after a long period of suffering, and the critic cannot rightly expect much sophistication. Suffice it to note t h a t his deliberate employment of meditation as a poetical form and his attitude of humility and hope — shown especially in the understatement and

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use of 'may' in the last line of each work — illustrate the widespread impact which the meditative tradition had upon eighteenth-century poets. I n many of these poems dealing with religious contentment, we have noticed t h a t grace is the result, not of a rightful demand, but of the mysterious and unwarranted love of God. The Anglican Church has always been careful to maintain a subtle balance between justice and love. Neither does it concentrate upon God's wrath and punishment, nor does it preach man's innate perfection. Both Justice and Love are qualities which are shared by God and man. I t is a divine Justice and a divine Love, and therefore they are beyond man's immediate grasp; but man, because he is part divine, can come to know and to understand them, at least in some small measure. They are not sudden or arbitrary, imposed by an inexplicable power acting on impulse. Because of this concept much Anglican verse reflects, in various ways, a sense of progression, of unfolding, of growth. All these are images of man's gradual wisdom. Thus much verse is concerned with the mysterious paradoxes of the Church, particularly the paradox of the union of God and man in Christ: Two Natures in one Being to unite, Singulariz'd by what is Infinite: Strange Union ! not conceiv'd by bounded Mind, Which God and man unmix'd together join'd. These Unes from Ken's "On the Incarnation" express one of the main mysteries of the Church. Upon it much prayer and contemplation and meditation dwell. Because of it the other great mystery of the sacrament of the Crucifixion was possible. Again, the Cruxifixion is felt as an experience shared by all mankind. I t did not remain solely a historical event, necessarily causing man's redemption. I t was, rather, a vehicle of redemption. The important aspect of these experiences is found in their ability, their need, to be shared. Mutual illumination, not personal introspection, set off the Anglican tradition from the Puritan. In this sense the Church thinks of itself as Catholic. Such parts of the liturgy as the Venite and the Te Deum

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are performed by the whole congregation in union with the entire Communion of Saints. Justice, Love, the mystery of the Incarnation and the Redemption — these are the themes of the "Meditations on Christ's Death andPassion: A n E m b l e m " by Walter Harte (1709 — 1774). Harte's Poems on Several Occasions (1727) contained only three divine poems: two paraphrases from the Psalms and a version of a short piece by Chaucer. However, in 1767 he brought forth The Amaranth: or, Religious Poems: consisting of Fables, Visions, Emblems, ¿sc. These forms, as he explains in the "Preface", "are the most ancient method of conveying t r u t h to mankind. Upwards of forty of the finest and most poetical parts of the Old and New Testament are of this cast, and force their way upon the mind and heart irresistibly, tho' they are written in prose". His "Meditations on Christ's Death and Passion" is divided into seven sections, related and continuous, but each focuses upon a special facet of the experience: I Haste not so fast, on worldly cares employ'd, Thy bleeding Saviour asks a short delay: What trifling bliss is still to be enjoy'd, What change of folly wings thee on thy way ? Look back a moment, pause a while, and stay. For thee thy God assum'd the human frame; For thee the Guiltless pains and anguish try'd; Thy passions (sin excepted) His became: Like thee he suffer'd, hunger'd, wept, and dy'd. II Nor wealth nor plenty did he ever taste, The moss his pillow oft, his couch the ground; The poor man's bread completed his repast; Home he had none, and guiet never found, For fell reproach pursu'd, and sin'd the wound: The wise men mock'd him, and the learned scorn'd; Th'ambitious worldling other potions try'd; The power that judg'd him, ev'ry foe suborn'd; He wept un-pity'd, and un-honour'd dy'd.

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III For ever mournful, but for ever dear, 0 Love stupendous ! glorious degradation ! No death of sickness, with no common tear — No soft extinction claims, our sorrows here; But anguish, shame, and agonizing passion! The riches of the world, and worldly praise, No monument of gratitude can prove; Obedience only the great debt repays, An imitative heart, and undivided love ! IV To see the image of all glorious Pow'r Suspend his immortality, and dwell In mortal bondage, tortur'd ev'ry hair; A self-made pris'ner in a dolesome cell, Victim for sin, and conqueror of hell! Lustration for offences not his own ! Th' Unspotted for t h ' impure resign'd his breath; No other ofF'ring could thy crimes atone: — Then blame thy Saviour's love, but not his death. V From this one prospect draw thy sole relief, Here learn submission, passive duties learn; Here drink the calm oblivion of thy grief: Eschew each danger, ev'ry good discern, And the true wages of thy virtue earn. Reflect, 0 man, on such stupendous love, Such sympathy divine, and tender care; Beseech the Paraclete thine heart to move, And offer up to Heav'n this silent pray'r. VI Great God, thy judgements are with justice crown'd, To human crimes and errors gracious still; Yet tho' thy mercies more and more abound, Right reason, spares not fresh-existing ill, Nor can thy goodness counter-work thy will. Ah no ! The gloom of sin so dreadful shows, That horror, guilt, and death the conscience fill: Eternal laws our happiness oppose; Thy nature and our lives are everlasting foes !

183

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VII Severe thy truth, yet glorious is thy scheme; Complete the vengeance of thy just desire; See from our eyes the gushing torrents stream, Yet strike us, blest us with celestial fire; Our doom, and thy decrees, alike conspire. Yet dying we will love thee and adore: — Where shall the flaming flashes of thy ire Transpierce our bodies? Ev'ry nerve and pore With Christ's immaculate blood is cover'd o'er and o'er. " Y e t dying we will love t h e e a n d a d o r e " — this line expresses t h e reciprocity of t h e relationship of m a n with God. Because H e created him a n d can forgive him, God loves man; because H e did create him a n d has offered forgiveness, m a n loves God. " G o d f r o m all E t e r n i t y was infinitely blessed a n d desired t o make one infinitely blessed. H e was infinite Love, a n d being lovely in being so, would prepare Himself a most lovely object. H a v i n g studied f r o m all E t e r n i t y , H e saw none more lovely t h a n t h e I m a g e of His Love, His own Similitude, 0 Dignity u n m e a s u r a b l e " ,22 This excerpt f r o m T h o m a s Traherne's Centuries of Meditations is a t h e m e upon which t h e r e was constant o r n a m e n t a t i o n : " T h y pard'ning grace m y fears shall quell;/But love shall pride a n d sin expel", as Bowdler p u t it. W e have already seen how central a role was played b y Love in t h e poems of Thomas K e n . This is also reflected in such prayers as t h e controversial 'Invocation' t o t h e saints in his Manual of Prayers for t h e use of t h e boys of Winchester College. The 'revised' 1687 version appears t h u s : O ye blessed Host of Heaven, Who rejoice at the conversion of one single sinner, adore and praise my crucified Saviour, who died for the sins of the world; adore and praise that unknown sorrow, that wonderful Love, which you yourselves must needs admire. This centrality a n d this concept are also found during t h e sevent e e n t h century in t h e six cantos of E d m u n d Waller's "Of Divine L o v e " (1685) a n d in George H e r b e r t ' s several poems dealing with divine love. They continue t h r o u g h o u t t h e eighteenth century in, 22

E d . B e r t r a m Dobell ( L o n d o n , 1928), 49.

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for example, J o h n B y r o m ' s poems on similar themes. J o h n Norris's poem " L o v e " is a sensitive clarification of t h e experience a n d its value: Imperial passion ! Sacred fire ! When we of meaner subjects sing, Thou tun'st our harps, thou dost our souls inspire, 'Tis love directs the quill, 'tis love strikes every string. But where's another Deity T' inspire the man that sings of thee ? W' are by mistaken chymists told, That the most active part of all The various compound cast in Nature's mould, Is that which they mercurial spirit call. But sure 'tis love they should have said, Without this even their spirit is dead. Love's the great spring of Nature's wheel, Love does the mass pervade and move, What 'scapes the sun's, does thy warm influence feel, The Universe is kept in tune by Love. Thou Nature giv'st her sympathy, The center has its charm from thee. Love did great Nothing's barren womb Impregnate with his genial fire; From this first parent did all creatures come, Th' Almighty will'd, and made all by desire. Nay more, among the sacred three, The third substance is from thee. The happiest order of the blest Are those whose tide of love's most high, The bright seraphick host; who're more possest Of good, because more like the Deity. T' him they advance as they improve That noble heat, for God is love. Shall then a passion so divine Stoop down and mortal beauties know? Nature's great statute law did ne're design That heavenly fire should kindle here below; Let it ascend and dwell above, The proper element of love.

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God becomes t h e omnipresent a n d inescapable love, m u c h like Francis Thompson's h o u n d of H e a v e n . I t is love which "directs t h e quill", quickens t h e spirit, a n d moves N a t u r e . " T h e Universe is k e p t in t u n e b y love", b u t this is obviously a different force f r o m t h a t which merely makes t h e world go round. H e r e Love is t h e H o l y Ghost, a n d t h e creator of all things. Man's good is seen in t e r m s of sharing this divine love. These images of God have been t r a n s f o r m e d t h r o u g h m a n y religious poems; it is difficult t o appreciate t h a t "God is love" is itself a m e t a p h o r a n d not a definition. P r a y e r is a gesture of meditation u p o n this metaphor, a n d a t t e m p t t o enter into a relationship which cannot really be achieved with a power which cannot really be described. B u t t h e act itself is an a t t e m p t t o know a n d t o u n d e r s t a n d . The poem is t h e corporate voice for t h i s act, a n d as such rises beyond individual worship. Evelyn U n d e r hill has examined t h e n a t u r e of adoration a n d t h e way in which it brings together t h e person within t h e framework of t h e Church: Hurried advocates of corporate religion have sometimes tended to regard such hidden and personal lives of prayer as exclusive, other-worldly, lacking in social value and open to the charge of spiritual selfishness. But this superficial view does not bear examination. In obeying the first and great commandment, the life of personal worship obeys the second, too. Its influence radiates, its devoted self-offering avails for the whole. Indeed the living quality of the great liturgic life of the community, its witness to the Holy, depends in the last resort on the sacrificial lives of its members; and it is only from within such intensive lives that intercessory power — the application to particulars of the Eternal Love — seems to arise.23 Through this means t h e practical, pragmatic, value of E t e r n a l Love is realized. Evidence for this Love, of course, is f o u n d in t h e historical story of God's involvement with man. This is w h y m a n y of t h e Anglican poets sought inspiration in t h e festivals of t h e Church a n d in t h e celebrations of this historical revelation. " E a c h of t h e m " , says Miss Underhill, "mediates God, disclosing some divine t r u t h or aspects of divine love t o u s " . H e r e lies t h e importance of t h e ordered devotion of t h e Church, with its recurrent memorials of t h e B i r t h , 23

Op.

tit.,

164—5.

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t h e Manhood, t h e D e a t h a n d t h e T r i u m p h of Jesus. " B y a n d in t h i s ancient sequence, with its three great moments of E p i p h a n y , E a s t e r , a n d Pentecost, its detailed demonstration in h u m a n t e r m s of t h e mysteries of I n c a r n a t i o n a n d Redemption, t h e Christian soul is led out t h r o u g h succession t o a contemplation of t h e eternal action of God". 2 4 Y e t even in history t h e fullness of t h e love of God remains mysterious a n d metaphorical. This awareness of t h e action a n d devotion t o t h e fact of God's love, a n d this concept of love as a reciprocal relationship, p o t e n t y e t inexpressible — these are qualities in J o h n Norris's " T h e Divine A m o r i s t " , in t h e Reverend H e n r y Moore's " T o Divine L o v e " a n d " H y m n : Divine L o v e " f r o m his Poems, Lyrical and Miscellaneous (1803), Thomas Blacklock's " A n H y m n t o Divine Love: in imitation of Spencer", a n d even (perhaps not unexpectedly) in series of poems — "Love's Original", "Love's Definition", " L o v e C a v e a t " , a n d " I n t e g r i t y " — b y t h e Quaker poet T h o m a s Ellwood. T h e y are also qualities in t h e seventh of Elizabeth Singer Rowe's " D e v o u t Soliloquys in Blank Verse": I love thee — Here the pomp of language fails, And leaves th'unutterable thought behind; The eloquence of men, the muse's art, Their harmony and tuneful cadence sink. Whatever names of tenderness and love, Whatever holy union nature knows, Are faint descriptions of celestial fires. But o h ! may sinful breathing dust presume To talk to thee of love and warm desires ? To t h e e ! who sit's supreme enthron'd on heights Of glory, which no human thought can reach ? Shall wretched man, whose dwelling is with dust, That calls corruption his original, And withers like the grass, shall he presume, With heart and lips unsanctified, to speak On subjects, where the holy Seraphim Would stop their lutes; and with a graceful pause Confess the glorious theme too great for words, For eloquence immortal to express? 24

Ibid.,

73.

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Yet I must aim at subjects infinite, For oh ! my love-sick heart is full of thee. In crowds, in solitude, the field, the temple, All places hold an equal sanctity; While thy lov'd name in humble invocation Dwells on my tongue, and ev'ry gentle sigh Breathes out my life, my very soul to thee. Fairchild comments t h a t "religious ideas, as such, are of small concern t o h e r " . H e r poems, unlike some works within t h e Anglican tradition, as we shall see later in this s t u d y , reflect little concern with theological controversy or issues. They reflect mainly a simple love for Jesus a n d a longing for union with him. " I n order t o e n j o y this spiritual love", Fairchild continues, "it is necessary t o w i t h d r a w f r o m t h e crowd. Accordingly Mrs. Rowe is a great believer in medit a t i v e retirement". 2 5 At moments, like m a n y other poets of intense, concentrated love, she verges u p o n t h e mystical. H e r contemplation of divinity unites t h e individual will with t h a t of God.

25

Op. cit., I, 136.

VI T H E MYSTICAL T R A D I T I O N

I soar, t h y m a t c h l e s s Self t o trace, B e y o n d pure E m p y r e a n Space, T o thee, n o t spotless clean; W h o s e piercing E y e c a n F o l l y find, E v ' n in t h e h o l y Seraph's Mind, B y all b u t t h e e u n s e e n . L e m u e l A b b o t t , An Hymn

to the

Deity

T a k e w i n g — m y soul — a n d u p w a r d s bend t h y flight, T o t h y originary fields o f light. H e r e ' s nothing, n o t h i n g here b e l o w T h a t c a n deserve t h y longer s t a y ; A secret whisper bids t h e e g o T o purer air, and b e a m s o f n a t i v e d a y . T h ' a m b i t i o n of t h e tow'ring lark o u t - v y , A n d like h i m sing as t h o u d o s t u p w a r d fly. J o h n Norris, The Elevation

Contemplation of divinity as a way of uniting t h e individual will with t h a t of God has always formed t h e core of t h e mystical experience. Martz has pointed out t h a t meditation operates on a lower level t h a n does t r u e mystical activity: Meditation, then, cultivates the basic, the lower levels of the spiritual life, it is not, properly speaking, a mystical activity, but a part of the duties of every man in daily life. It is not performed under the operations of special grace, but is available to every man through the workings of ordinary grace. 1 1

L o u i s Martz, The Poetry

of Meditation

( N e w H a v e n , 1954), 1G.

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B u t , as he later admits, " t h e incentive for meditation offered by some of t h e most popular writers of t h e time was t h e possibility of achieving t h e highest reaches of mystical experience". 2 T h e m e t h o d of meditation a n d contemplation becomes a vehicle for vision, for t r y i n g t o achieve t h e closer presence of God. Elizabeth Singer R o w e uses meditation in this way in " T h e Vision": 'Twas in the close recesses of a shade, A shade for sacred contemplation made, No beauteous branch, no plant, or fragrant flow'r, But flourish'd near the fair delicious bow'r; With charming state its lofty arches rise Adorn'd with blossoms, as with stars the skies; All pure and fragrant was the air I drew, Which winds thro' myrtle groves and orange blew; Clear waves along with pleasing murmur rush, And down the artful falls in noble cat'racts gush. 'Twas here, within this happy place retir'd Harmonious pleasures all my soul inspir'd; I take my lyre, and try each tuneful string, Now war, now love, and beauty's force would sing; To heav'nly subjects now in serious lays, I strive my faint unskillful voice to raise; But as I unresolv'd and doubtful lay, My cares in easy slumbers glide away; Nor with such grateful sleep such soothing rest, And dreams like this, I e'er before was bless'd; No wild, uncouth chimeras intervene, To break the perfect intellectual scene. The place was all with heav'nly light o'erflown, And glorious with immortal splendor shone; When, lo ! a bright ethereal youth drew near, Ineffable his motions and his air. A soft, beneficient, expressless grace, With life's most florid bloom, adorn'd his face; His lovely brows immortal laurels bind, And long his radiant hair fell down behind, His azure robes hung free, and waving to the wind. Angelic his address, his tuneful voice Inspir'd a thousand elevating joys: * Ibid., 18.

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191

When this the wondrous youth his silence broke, And with an accent all celestial spoke. To Heav'n, nor longer pause, devote thy songs, To Heav'n the muse's sacred art belongs; Let his unbounded glory be thy theme, Who fills th'eternal regions with his fame; And when death's fatal sleep shall close thine eyes, In triumph we'll attend thee to the skies; We'll crown thee there with everlasting bays, And teach thee all our celestial lays. This spoke, the shining vision upward flies, And darts as lightning through the clearing skies. This poem is not a complete expression of t h e mystical way: t h e unitive stage is not implied, a n d t h e act of falling t o sleep links it more closely with t h e medieval dream tradition. Indeed, it would be fascinating t o explore why t h e direction of t h e writer's experience took such a turning, landing t h e poetess with a vision, not of God, b u t of a 'wondrous y o u t h ' . Nevertheless t h e r e are several characteristics of mystical verse shared by this poem; t h o u g h not a complete expression of t h e tradition, it owes much t o it. T h e final vision produces a special kind of knowledge; in this case r a t h e r finite a n d literary, b u t nevertheless a kind of knowledge. T h e vision comes unbidden; it is not t h e result of good works, b u t of grace. This problem of t h e general accessibility of t h e mystical experience t o m a n k i n d has long perplexed t h e mystical theologian; t h e usual feeling, though, is t h a t in some qualified sense t r u e mystical vision cannot be acquired by a deliberate act of t h e will. A t most, m a n m a y prepare himself for t h e possible reception of this grace; this means retirement, contentment, and contemplation. W i t h proper preparation t h e h u m a n situation t a k e s u p o n itself a meaning, t h e appearance of t h e stranger on t h e road t o E m m a u s provides a purpose t o t h e traveling which had h i t h e r t o been an escape. T h e religious experience transforms all of m a n ' s life. These divisions, or steps, in mystical awareness m a r k t h e paragraphs of Elizabeth Rowe's " T h e Vision". T h e first poetic p a r a g r a p h described t h e withdrawal into t h e 'close recesses of a shade', where contemplation was possible. The second describes t h e concentration

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upon various means of preparedness, waiting for t h e possible reception of grace. The advent of t h e vision is marked by t h e 'heav'nly light' and 'immortal splendor' of t h e central paragraph. Finally t h e vision expresses its knowledge, a n d departs 'through t h e clearing skies'. Mrs. Rowe had a strong and sincere mystical impulse, although the sensuousness of her imagery often tended to suggest a particularly voluptuous f r a m e of mind. Her various works, published during t h e early p a r t of t h e century, were collected a n d reprinted in 1796. These included The Christian Pattern, Or the Imitation of Jesus Christ, Being an Abridgement of the Works of Thomas A. Kempis (1744), Devout Exercises of the Heart in Meditation and Soliloquy, Prayer and Praise (2nd ed., 1738) and t h e unusual Friendship in Death, in Twenty Letters from the Dead to the Living (3rd ed., 1733), in addition to a considerable number of poems. Her Devout Soliloquies are two series of short, personal meditations, twenty-two poems in rhyming couplets and forty-two in blank verse, which often reflect her desire for mystical union. Fair child has suggested t h a t "religious ideas, as such, are of small concern to her", 3 and certainly her works are less concerned with theology t h a n with the ritual of mysticism. The ninth soliloquy in couplets expresses this concern: From thee, my God, my noblest pleasures spring, The thoughts of thee perpetual solace bring. How does my soul, from these exalted heights, Condemn the world, and all its poor delights; And wing'd with sacred rapture, pass the rounds Of circling skies, and all created bounds ! Celestial prospects, visions all divine, Unfold their glories, and around me shine. Thus let me live, nor hear, nor see nor know What mortals, in their madness, act below. Be thy refreshing consolations mine ! And I the world, with all its boasts, resign: Deluding shews, I give you to the wind! My soul a nobler happiness must find. 3

H . N. Fairchild, Religious

1939), 13G.

Trends

in English

Poetry,

I (New York,

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193

This search for 'nobler happiness' becomes the theme of most of her poems, as indeed it does of many poems throughout the century. Richard Lely, for example, wrote a short emblem poem expressing the same concern; "To a Contemplative Lady, With a Present of a Small Amber Hour-Glass" was published in his Poems and Translations of 1727: Behold this Emblem of our fleeting Years Alike unstain'd by Menaces or Tears ! See how the Sands in solemn Motion glide ! The Godly's Comfort, and the Scorge of Pride. Thrice happy you ! who thus with Joy survey The warning Prospect of your well-spent Day: Whose pious thoughts and constant Tenour bear, And count for every Sand a sacred Prayer. Th'Apostle thus by holy Zeal possest, And fir'd with hopes of everlasting Rest, On Earth with Pain regretted his Abode, And heavenly-minded long'd to be with God. These works do little more than express the desire for escape from t h e materialism of this world and a final union of the will with the will of God. There is faith t h a t this union brings supernatural emancipation from ordinary limitations and t h a t the soul receives a new liberty. Contemplation and meditation bring a clearer vision of the eternal and so the poet longs to 'be with God'. This confrontation of God 'face to face' is the object of the mystical way. Understanding and illumination have led to a state of being. The implication is t h a t this final vision imparts a special kind of grace. I t is interesting to note how common during the eighteenth century were expressions of this concern and how frequent were poems which claimed in some way to be a vision: "Moses's Vision" by John Byrom, Thomas Gibbons's "Triumph of Religion: a Vision", Walter Harte's "Vision of Death", "The Vision of Slander and Innocence" by J o h n Walters, "A View of Heaven" by Thomas Harrison, Nathaniel Cotton's "Visions in Verse". Most of these works bear little relation to the unitive stage of the true mystic. They tend toward the moralistic attitude candidly admitted by Cotton in Vision I I I :

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THE MYSTICAL TRADITION

Attend my visions, thoughtless youths, Ere long you'll think them weighty truths; Prudent it were to think so now; Ere age has silver'd o'er your brow. There is no evidence t h a t the vision was ever thought of as a precise literary form during the eighteenth century. I t inherited some of the tradition of the mediaeval dream-vision, but its relationship was to the tripartite structure of meditation. Both of these methods developed a discipline which was similar. I n his study of the mystical theology of John Donne, I t r a t Husain offers a convenient summary of the elements of the mystical experience : Mystical theology has been defined as a "Science which treats of acts and experiences or states of the soul which cannot be produced by human effort or industry even with the ordinary aid of Divine grace." It mainly comprises of: 1. Various forms of prayer. 2. Purification. 3. Illumination. 4. The dark night of the Soul and 5. The Mystical Union.4 His definition, quoted from the Catholic Encyclopaedia, emphasises t h a t the individual cannot will a mystical experience; at best he may sense t h a t he is prepared to receive it. He can only wait in full humility; hence the 'may' used in referring to the coming of grace in many of the poems of meditation. The elements of the experience are described variously according to the view of mysticism which the writer holds. The Prayers are really a preparation, and, as we have seen, form a major part of the meditative tradition. The dark night of the soul often seems to be more a kind of experience than a definite stage in the process, even though it has prompted much of the most moving literature of mysticism and is extremely important for literary critics. Looked at from another perspective, therefore, the Purification, the Illumination, and the Mystical Union assume particular signi4

The Dogmatic

and Mystical

Theology

of John Donne (London, 1938), 120.

THE MYSTICAL TRADITION

195

ficance. I n his classic lectures on Christian mysticism Dean Inge outlined these stages: The mystic, as we have seen, makes it his life's aim to be transformed into the likeness of Him in whose image he was created. He loves to figure his path as a ladder reaching from earth to heaven, which must be climbed step by step. This scala perfectionis is generally divided into three stages. The first is called the purgative life, the second the illuminative, while the third, which is really the goal rather than a part of the journey, is called the unitive life, or stage of perfect contemplative. H e warns t h a t we find some differences in this classification, " b u t this tripartite scheme is generally accepted". 5 E a c h of these steps is characterized by certain predominant states of mind. The purgative step includes contrition, confession, self-discipline. I t involves, as Miss Underhill has p u t it, " a getting rid of all those elements of normal experience which are not in harmony with reality: of illusion, evil, imperfection of every kind". 6 I n other words, t h e purgative step is a cleansing through recognition and self-control of oneself from t h e world of false values about one, and thus purging oneself from sin. The self-discipline does not necessarily mean masochism, b u t the step does mean a breaking away f r o m w h a t has been so wellknown. I t is a dreadful joy. St. Teresa's plea — " L e t me suffer or d i e ! " — gives t h e two alternatives t h e mystic has chosen. Miss Underhill comments, "However harsh its form, however painful t h e activities t o which it spurs him, t h e mystic recognizes in this break-up of his old universe an essential p a r t of the Great Work: a n d t h e act in which he turns to it is an act of loving desire, no less t h a n an act of will". 7 This experience is poetically dramatized in Norris's "The Divine Amorist": Lay down proud heart the rebel Arms, And own the Conquerour Divine, In vain thou dost resist such Charms, In vain the Arrows of his Love decline. 6 6 7

Christian Mysticism ( N e w Y o r k , 1956), 9 — 1 0 . E v e l y n U n d e r h i l l , Mysticism ( N e w Y o r k , 1955), 198. Ibid., 201.

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THE MYSTICAL TRADITION

There is 110 dealing with this potent Fair, I must my God, I must love thee; Thy Charms but too Victorious are, They leave me not my Native Liberty. A Holy force spreads through my Soul, And Ravishes my Heart away; The World it's motion does controul, In vain, the happy Captive will not stay. No more does she her wonted Freedom boast, More proud of thy Celestial Chain, Free-will it self were better lost, Than ever to Revolt from thee again. Sun of my Soul! What shall I do, Thy Beauties to resist, or bear? They Bless, and yet they Pain me too, I feel thy Heart too strong, thy Light too clear. I Faint, I Languish, I almost expire, My panting Heart dissolving lies: Thou must shine less, or I retire, Shade thou thy Light, I cannot turn my Eyes. T h e imposition of love is fearful, t h e b e a u t y is terrible, t h e light blinding. A n d in these paradoxes a n d plays of t h e imagery of light a n d darkness are f o u n d t h e paradoxes a n d t u r n i n g of t h e mystic's terrifying vision of God. A quiet preparedness does not m e a n sluggard inactivity; t h e willingness t o accept t h e gift of grace m a y be followed b y great pains of b i r t h . Divine love is not mild, t h e German mystical writer Ruysbroeck reminds us: The possession of God demands and supposes active love. He who thinks or feels otherwise is deceived. All our life as it is in God is immersed in blessedness: all our life as it is in ourselves is immersed in active love. And though we live wholly in ourselves and wholly in God, it is but one life; but it is two fold and opposite according to our feeling — rich and poor, hungry and fulfilled, active and passive. 8 T h e a t t e m p t t o reconcile these forces is t h e agony of mystical awareness, t h e price of divine love. Y e t t h e mystic a n d t h e p o e t h a v e believed in t h e inestimable worth of this awareness. 8

De Caleulo (Cologne, 1652), cap. IX.

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197

The second stage, the illuminative life, is the concentration of feeling and intellect upon God; it is a kind of consciousness marked by an intensity peculiar to the mystic. Supreme communion, the 'marriage truly spiritual and sacred' mentioned by St. Bernard, has not yet been achieved. " I n the traditional language of asceticism he is 'proficient' but not yet perfect. He achieves a real vision and knowledge, a conscious harmony with the divine World of Becoming: not yet self-loss in the Principle of Life, but rather a willing and harmonious revolution about Him, t h a t 'in dancing he may know what is done'. This character distinguishes almost every firsthand description of illumination: and it is this which marks it off from mystic union in all its forms". 9 The awareness of this stage is for the inner life; virtue relates to t r u t h rather than to nature. This stage is suggested in these lines from Thomas Harrison's "A View of Heaven": M'aspiring Thoughts now on swift Wings Of stedfast Faith, and flaming Love, Mount to the King of Kings, Who dwells in pure, unmixed Light above. The two ingredients necessary for illumination are Faith and Love. I n the mystical tradition these terms have acquired rather special meanings and each receives a fair amount of individual attention from the poets. I n the final stage, of course, man is joined with God. I t is a consummation of the self with t h a t of God, though it is devoutly to be wished; it is a final sharing with God of divine nature; it is a participation in absolute love. Miss Under hill has attempted a description: The Unitive Life, though so often lived in the world, is never of it. It belongs to another plane of being, moves securely upon levels unrelated to our speech; and hence eludes the measuring powers of humanity. We, from the valley, can only catch a glimpse of the true life of these elect spirits, transfigured, upon the mountain. They are far away, breathing another air: we cannot reach them. Yet it is impossible to overa

U n d e r h i l l , op. cit., 234.

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THE MYSTICAL TRADITION

estimate their importance for the race. They are our ambassadors to the Absolute. They vindicate humanity's claim to the possible and permanent attainment of Reality: bear witness to the practical qualities of the transcendental life. 10 This is a heavy imposition u p o n t h e mystic a n d t h e poet. T h e mystic f r e q u e n t l y feels t h a t it is impossible or undesirable t o express this final awareness. The poet, on t h e other hand, feels it needful t o bring down his vision t o some set of concrete t e r m s a n d a t t e m p t s t o crystalize or communicate w h a t he has experienced, although when he has done so he f r e q u e n t l y finds he has failed a n d has c o r r u p t e d t h e intensity of t h e insight. P e r h a p s for this reason, few good poems expressing this final stage of t h e mystical activity can be f o u n d in literature. As D e a n Inge has warned, t h e r e is variation in t h e classification a n d description of these stages, a n d seldom has t h e poet sufficient technical vocabulary a n d discipline t o follow deliberately a n y definite arrangement of experience. B u t J o h n Norris did a t t e m p t j u s t such a n d arrangement in one of his poems, " T h e E l e v a t i o n " . A note t o this poem explains his intention: The general design to the precedent poem is to represent the gradual ascent of the soul by contemplation to the supreme good, together with its firm adherency to it, and its full acquiescence in it. All which is done figuratively, under the allegory of a local elevation from the feculent regions of this lower world. The poem follows with care t h e progress f r o m purgation a n d illumination t o union; it opens with a rejection of t h e t r a n s i t o r y trifles of t h e world. Take wing — my soul — and upwards bend thy flight, To thy originary fields of light. Here's nothing, nothing here below That can deserve thy longer stay; A secret whisper bids thee go. To purer air, and beams of native day. Th'ambition of the tow'ring lark out-vy, And life him sing as thou dost upward fly. 10

Ibid., 414.

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199

How all things lessen which my soul before Did with the groveling multitude adore ! Those pageant glories disappear, Which charm and dazzle mortal's eyes: How do I in this higher sphere, How do I mortals, with their joys despise ! Pure, uncorrupted element I breath, And pity their gross atmosphere beneath. How vile, how sordid here those trifles show That please the tenants of that hall below But a h ! I've lost the little sight, The scene's remov'd, and all I see Is one confus'd dark mass of night. What nothing was, what nothing seems to be: How calm this region, how serene, how clear! Sure I some strains of heavenly musick hear. On, on, the task is easie now and light, No streams of earth can here retard thy flight. Thou needest not now thy strokes renew, 'Tis but to spread thy pinions wide, And thou with ease my seat wilt view, Drawn by the bent of the eternal tide. 'Tis so I find; How sweetly on I move, Nor let by things below, nor help'd by those above ! The arduous t a s k of ascent is accompanied b y t h e purer a n d clearer perspective of t h e world a n d eternity. The soul, t h u s illuminated, recognizes its rightful abode. But see, to what new regions am I come? I know it well, it is my native home. Here led I once a life divine, Which did all good, no evil know A h ! who wou'd such sweet bliss resign For those vain shews which fools admire below ? 'Tis true, but don't of folly past complain, But joy to see these blest abodes again. The final stanza is an a t t e m p t — recognized b y poets as well as b y mystics as ultimately impossible — t o capture t h e vision a n d presence of God; t h e traditional imagery of light is used:

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A good retrieve: but lo, while thus I speak, With piercing rays, th'eternal day does break, The beauties of the face divine, Strike strongly on my feeble sight: With what bright glories does it shine! 'Tis one immense and ever-flowing light. Stop here my soul; thou canst not bear more bliss, Nor can thy now rais'd palate ever relish less. Rarely can the poet achieve the just arrangement of images to suggest, with any adequate approximation, the beauty of the unitive stage. This stage is beyond men, beyond the passions. Yeats has written :' 'But the passions, when we know t h a t they cannot find fulfilment, become vision; and a vision, whether we wake or sleep, prolongs its power by rhythm and pattern, the wheel where the world is butterfly. We need no protection but it does, for if we become interested in ourselves, in our own lives, we pass out of the vision". "The world is butterfly" — this is the real theme of Norris's poem; this is both the spur and the direction of elevation. This poem incorporates in itself the full ritual of mysticism. The Anglican Church had always recognized the centrality of mysticism to religious life. The Reformation and the subsequent media via altered little in either focus or theology, although English mystics tended to centre less of their attention upon the Eucharist. The seventeenth century witnessed the flourishings of a strong mystical tradition led by such famous men as St. John of the Cross (1542—1591), Jacob Boehme (1573—1624), George Fox (1524— 1690), and Augustine Baker (1575 — 1641) as well as the group of Cambridge Platonists. I t r a t Husain finds this tradition continued by such men as John Norris ("in whom the mystical tendencies are harmoniously blended with the humanism and piety of the Anglican Church") 1 1 and Henry Vaughan ('a mystic of the Anglican Church'). 12 The mysticism of these writers, and of those other poets who wrote at this time, was the product of their intensely Christian faith and 11

The Mystical Element in the Metaphysical (London, 1948), 20. 12

Ibid., 22.

Poets of the Seventeenth

Century

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201

their peculiarly Anglican doctrine. I n writing a b o u t Vaughan, Ross Garner develops this point: My argument is that, as Christian mysticism, Vaughan's experience of the transcendent God grew out of Christian dogma, and that at the same time the essential orientation of his personality, the attitude which dogma initiated, was similar to that of Christians all over Europe, whatever their particular creed, who felt in their own lives the Being of the transcendent God. If Vaughan's theology was peculiarly Anglican, his mysticism was nonetheless peculiarly Christian; Bunyan, Baxter, and Blair, Protestants, were peculiarly Christian; and J u a n de Valdes and St. John of the Cross, Roman Catholics, were peculiarly Christian too. The genuineness of Christian mysticism depends not upon the mystic's theology but on his experience. Nevertheless, his theology is a necessary antecedent. 13 T h e same a r g u m e n t applies t o t h e poets of t h e following century. Byrom, Cowper, Tans'ur, a n d Rowe reflect in their mystical emphasis t h e theological background of their faith. These writers, a n d t h e m a n y others who b y image or s t r u c t u r e or sensibility reflect some aspect of t h e mystical p a t h , are evidence of t h e keeping alive, t h r o u g h o u t a century usually described as particularly anti-mysterious, of a t r a d i t i o n which h a d for centuries been a m a j o r moving force within t h e Anglican Church. T h e importance of recognizing this other side of eighteenthcentury religious experience was implied b y Turberville in his outline of t h e social life of t h e period: The religious life of the eighteenth century — particularly in the Church of England — has often been condemned as cold, listless, and barren. There is a good deal of truth in the charge. Religion t h a t is unemotional is apt to be phlegmatic. But this is only a half-truth. The teaching of comprehensiveness and brotherly love among sects of differing doctrinal views is a great religious achievement. And the coldness and lifelessness that undoubtedly did exist in the Church of England produced its reaction — in the mysticism of William Law and the evangelicalism of the Wesleys and Whitefield. The eighteenth century contains both — Burnet and Law, Wake and John Wesley. 14 13

Henry Vaughan: Experience and Tradition (Chicago, 1959), 145. A. S. Turberville, English Men and Manners in the Eighteenth Century (New York, 1957), 6. 14

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Through Law this mystical tradition passed to the poet John Byrom. But earlier than Byrom, poetry by such writers as Elizabeth Singer Rowe and John Norris had reflected a strong mystical element, and at the end of the century Christopher Smart and Lemuel Abbott showed signs of intense mystical experience. In 1764 the Reverend Thomas Hartley published his Short Defence of the Mystical Writers. Nicholson, in writing about the poet William Cowper and the influence of the leaders of the Revival upon him, has suggested a debt of the Evangelicals to the earlier Mystics: The revolt of the Evangelicals was anticipated by the Mystical Movement of the earlier eighteenth century, of which the most important, though not the most extreme, figure in England was that of William Law.15 Later he comments on the relation of Charles Wesley to this Mystical Movement: Wesley's distrust of those manifestations of Enthusiasm (gaspings and groanings, contortions, hearing of voices, etc.) and indeed his distrust of the entire Mystical Movement, did not alter the fact that he owed much to it.16 Interest in the mystical movement is seen in Cowper's translations of the poems of Madame Guyen (1648 — 1717). This French lady restated an attitude toward contemplative prayer reminiscent of t h a t of Saint Teresa. I n spite of support by Eenelon, her exaggerated claims brought upon her much cruel and harsh treatment. Miss Underhill has described her as "an example of the unfortunate results of an alliance of mystical tendencies with a feeble surface intelligence". 17 But her sincerity and her devotion attracted many readers and followers. As an illustration of the character of her quietism, Dean Inge, in his study of Christian mysticism, quotes Cowper's translation of her hymn, "The Acquiescence of Pure Love": 1 8 15

N o r m a n N i c h o l s o n , William Ibid., 34. 17 E v e l y n Underhill, op. cit., 18 Op. cit., 235.

Cowper

16

472.

( L o n d o n , 1951), 2 9 — 3 0 .

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203

Love ! if thy destin'd sacrifice am I; Come, slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires; Plung'd in thy depths of mercy, let me die The death, which ev'ry soul that lives, desires ! I watch my hours, and see them fleet away; The time is long, that I have languish'd here; Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey, With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere. To me 'tis equal, whether Love ordain My life or death, appoint me pain or ease; My soul perceives no real ill in pain; In ease, or health, no real Good she sees. One Good she covets, and that Good alone; To chuse thy will, from selfish bias free; And to prefer a cottage to a throne, And grief to comfort, if it pleases Thee. That we should bear the errors, is thy command, Die to the world, and live to self no more; Suffer unmov'd beneath the rudest hand, As pleas'd when shipwreck'd, as when safe on shore. 19 T h a t Cowper was familiar a n d concerned with t h e t h e m e s a n d t h e imagery of mysticism is seen in these translations. B u t it is also likely t h a t his familiarity with mystical p o e t r y went b a c k m u c h earlier. H e owned a copy, now preserved in t h e National L i b r a r y of Wales, of t h e 1650 edition of H e n r y Vaughan's Silex Scintillans. L. C. Martin has shown how his reading of V a u g h a n — o f t e n a careful reading indicated b y underscored lines — influenced passages in " R e t i r e m e n t " , " T h e T a s k " , a n d "Yardley O a k " . Martin a d m i t s he has n o t examined how far Vaughan's poems m a y have been a determining influence in Cowper's later development, b u t " t h e probability t h a t t h e r e was n o t only some spiritual kinship b u t an a c t u a l contact or communication of poetic ideas between V a u g h a n a n d a writer so influential in his time as Cowper is scarcely negligible b y

19

This p o e m h a s been transcribed f r o m t h e 2nd edition ( N e w p o r t - P a y n e l , 1802), w i t h t h e correction of s t a n z a 4,1. 3 f r o m " A n d t o prefer a c o t t a g e ro a throne".

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t h e historian of literature". 2 0 Hodgson has said t h a t "if ever an Anglo-Catholic mystic existed a f t e r t h e Reformation, H e n r y Vaugh a n was one". 2 1 This t r a d i t i o n of Anglican mysticism continues vital during t h e eighteenth century in t h e p o e t r y of Cowper. Other critics as well have called a t t e n t i o n t o t h e influence of t h e Mystics u p o n some of Cowper's writings; Quinlan, without discussing his reading a n d t h e influence of Yaughan, suggests t h a t t h e r e is a similarity in t h e personal intensity of t h e two poets: While Cowper's distinctive personal note appears most often in his shorter pieces, it frequently breaks out in his longer poems, imparting to particular passages an intensity which, though never mystical, has the inspired fervor of the mystics. 22 As a n example of this mystical fervor of Cowper's personal verse Quinlan quotes a passage f r o m Book V oiTTie Task: Tell me, ye shining hosts, That navigate a sea that knows no storms, Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, If from your elevation, whence ye view Distinctly scenes invisible to man, And systems of whose birth no tidings yet Have reach'd this nether world, ye spy a race Favour'd as our's; transgressors from the womb, And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise, And to possess a brighter heav'n than your's ? As one who long detain'd on foreign shores Pants to return, and when he sees afar His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocks, From the green wave emerging, darts an eye Radiant with joy towards the happy land; So I with animated hopes behold, And many an aching wish, your beamy fires, That show like beacons in the blue abyss, Ordain'd to guide th'embodied spirit home From toilsome life to never-ending rest. 20

"Vaughan and Cowper", MLR, X X I I (1927), 80. G. E. Hodgson, English Mystics (London, 1922), 226. 22 Maurice J. Quinlan, William Cowper: A Critical Life (Minneapolis, 1953), 217. See also Lord David Cecil, The Stricken Deer: or, The Life of Cowper (London, 1929). 21

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Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires That give assurance of their own success, And that, infus'd from heav'n, must thither tend. (11. 822-44) This passage reflects t h e personal note which Quinlan finds in Cowper's poetry, a n d this personal note is close t o t h e inspired fervor of t h e mystics. B u t this passage also reflects several specific characteristics which can be associated with t h e Mystical tradition. Earlier in t h e poem Cowper has urged t h e reader t o experience t h e conversion t o God: Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'st taste His works. (11. 779-80) This experience will illuminate a hitherto u n k n o w n world: Admitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before: Thine eye shall be instructed; and thine heart, Made pure, shall relish, with divine delight Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. (11. 780-84) The world, t h e flesh a n d t h e heavens are seen in a new way; t h e divinity of creation is viewed t h r o u g h t h e vision of divinity: " T h e place was all with heav'nly light o'erflown". N a t u r e is transformed, a n d becomes a symbol of t h e power a n d glory of its creator. N o longer does t h e landscape, r a t h e r t h a n its shaper, h a v e t h e praise. W i t h o u t this vision, m a n brutishly ignores t h e inherent splendor; b u t t h e vision changes this reaction: Not so the mind that has been touch'd from heav'n, And in the school of sacred wisdom taught To read his wonders, in whose thought the world, Fair as it is, existed ere it was. *

*

*

The soul that sees him, or receives sublim'd New faculties, or learns at least t'employ More worthily the pow'rs she own'd before; Discerns in all things, what, with stupid gaze Of ignorance, till then she over look'd —

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A ray of heav'nly light, gilding all forms Terrestrial in the vast and the minute; The unambiguous footsteps of the God Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. (11. 796-99; 805-14) According to Cowper, the mind has received a special gift, has been 'touch'd from heav'n'; the gift is a kind of knowledge, it teaches in 'the school of sacred wisdom'; and the gift is a practical, a usable kind of knowledge: it permits the receiver to 'read his wonders' which had never before been suspected. The result of receiving this gift of knowledge is the perception of a whole universe of power and glory: " t h e soul t h a t sees him . . . Discerns in all things, what, with stupid gaze/Of ignorance, till then she over look'd". This perception is really the perception of God "Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing,/And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds". Nature and 'rolling worlds' are manifestations of God, symbols of his power and glory. As the "Argument" to Book V put it, this is the "happy freedom of the man whom grace makes free". The elevated vision allows a firmer perspective of man's destiny. I t is a return of the violated spirit to its proper home, as a traveler "darts an eye/ Radiant with joy towards the happy land". The spirit unintellectually senses certainty of its proper centre: " I feel desires/That give assurance of their own success,/And that, infus'd from heav'n, must thither tend". I t has broken through the bounds of mortality. The vision produces an immediate and practical reaction. Man knows that, while "transgressors from the womb,/And hasting to a grave", yet he is 'doom'd to rise'. His existence has been infused with a divine love. He has been invited to God. These passages in themselves (as Quinlan admits) are never completely mystical; as in Rowe's "The Vision" the final unitive state is not adequately achieved. Yet there are several characteristics worth noting in relation to the ritual and nature of the mystical experience. The language and organization -— the feeling these passages represent — are equally close to mysticism as is the intensity which Quinlan notes. His use of the word elevation in line 825

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m a y carry precise overtones f r o m t h e technical vocabulary of mysticism. A n d t h e progress outlined suggests close parallels with t h e usual three-fold progress of t h e mystic way. The e x t e n t t o which a n y critic is going t o a d m i t mysticism in t h e p o e t r y of a n y a u t h o r will depend as much upon his understanding of MYSTICISM as upon a close reading of t h e poems. E v e n t h e t r u e mystical experience in t h e p o e t r y of V a u g h a n has been questioned. Garner has reviewed t h e critical opinion a n d quotes Helen W h i t e ' s conclusion: (Vaughan's mysticism) is ultimately a question of what one means by mysticism, depending on whether one is primarily impressed by the range of a man's awareness of and sensitiveness to mystical elements, or whether one insists, rather, on the central core of real, developed mystical experience. 23 I n general Garner accepts t h e older view of Vaughan's mysticism — t h a t if he were n o t as fully a mystic as, for example, St. J o h n of t h e Cross, he was well on t h e w a y — a n d t h e n he raises a second question b y quoting I t r a t Husain's conclusions a b o u t V a u g h a n . I have tried to show, by giving parallel quotations from such great mystics as St. Augustine, St. Bernard and St. John of the Cross, that Vaughan had passed through those phases of mystical life (which have been conveniently divided into the three stages of conversion or the awakening of self, purgation or the purification of the self, and the illumation of the self) which these great mystics have also experienced. But of the higher stages of mystical life (i.e., the "dark night" of the soul and the unitive stage) we do not find any clear record either in Vaughan's poetry or prose. Though he has described the "dazzling darkness' of the "dark night" of the soul he does not claim to have experienced it himself; it was only an expression of his intense longing for such an experience. 24 D e a n Inge has warned us t h a t t h e unitive stage is, in a sense, never achieved in this life, it is a 'continual b u t unending approximation' of t h a t complete sharing of divine love a n d divine n a t u r e t o which prayer a n d meditation a n d purgation point. " W e must therefore 23 24

R o s s G a r n e r , The Mystical Ibid., 235.

Poets ( N e w Y o r k , 1936), 305.

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beware of regarding t h e union as a n y t h i n g more t h a n an infinite process . . .". 25 Therefore, t h e failure of t h e poet t o express more t h a n a longing for this union is perhaps not an u n u s u a l limitation. B u t , secondly, t h e critic m u s t g u a r d against letting his material slip f r o m literature t o biography. W h e t h e r t h e poet, in t a l k i n g a b o u t certain kinds of experience, has actually h a d these experiences is quite irrelevant t o t h e historian of literature or ideas. So long as t h e poet believes himself t o be writing within a certain tradition, his 'real' beliefs are of no consequence; indeed these 'real' beliefs can probably never be known, even with t h e help of a s t u t e a n d scholarly psychological guessing. The actual poems b y V a u g h a n reflect t h e various stages of t h e mystical tradition. I n " T h e Men of W a r " he prays for humility a n d contentment: Give me humility and peace Contented thoughts, innoxious ease, A sweet, revengeless, quiet mind, And to my greatest haters, land. I n " R e t i r e m e n t " he t u r n s t o n a t u r e a n d solitude: But rural shades are the sweet sense Of piety and innocence; They are the meek calm region, where Angels descend and rule the sphere. I n " T h e D a y of J u d g e m e n t " he expresses t h e urgency for purgation of t h e old A d a m a n d preparation t o receive God's grace: Prepare, prepare me then, O God! And let me now begin To fill my loving father's Rod Killing the man of Sinne. I n " T h e Call" he prays for t h e p u r i t y a n d sanctification of t h e elect: Then make my soule white as his owne, My faith as pure, and steddy, And deck me, Lord, with the same Crowne, Thou hast crowned him already. 25

Op. cit., 12.

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And in "Regeneration", having removed himself to a place apart, he hears a mysterious rushing wind, and recognizing it as the grace of God he pleads for death in ecstasy: But while I list'ning sought My mind to ease By knowing where 'twas, or where not, It whisper'd; where I please Lord, then said I, on me one breath, And let me dye before my death! This preparation and progress, then, allows him to conclude, as in "The World": I saw Eternity the other night Like a great Ring of pure and endless light. These extracts indicate the general influence which the mystical tradition can have upon a poet and upon individual poems.26 Martz has shown that Vaughan's " I Walkt the Other D a y " has the explicit tripartite structure of the meditative tradition.27 These characteristics in Vaughan are to be found in poems throughout the eighteenth century, and Vaughan's poetry can be taken as a kind of touchstone for later verse. This outline of the mystical experiences of Vaughan can be applied to other poets. At best their final stage seems to be an intense desire for complete union; but this incompleteness does not invalidate the sincerity of their experience or its mystical origins. The important fact is that Norris, like Vaughan, believed himself to be sharing in the mystical progress. From Itrat Husain's summary, it would seem that he is even further along this path than Vaughan. Norris has experienced conversion: "Take wings — my soul—and upwards bend thy flight,/To thy originary fields of light". He has purged himself from the claims of the sinful world: "How all things lessen which my soul before/Did with the groveling multitude adore!" He has 26 F o r a d e t a i l e d s t u d y o f V a u g h a n a s a m y s t i c , see i n p a r t i c u l a r I t r a t H u s a i n , The Mystical Element in the Metaphysical Poets of the Seventeenth Century, C h a p t e r s V a n d V I .

" Op.

cit.,

64—67.

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even entered t h e d a r k night of t h e soul: " t h e scene's remov'd, a n d all I see/Is one confus'd d a r k mass of n i g h t " . A n d he has looked u p o n t h e face of God: " T h e beauties of t h e face divine,/Strike strongly on m y feeble sight:/With w h a t bright glories does it shine !" Norris's " H y m n t o D a r k n e s s " is a development of t h e light/dark paradox. Darkness is traditionally associated with suffering, with evil a n d ignorance. Y e t it yields t o light a n d victory. T h e mourning of t h e night is following b y t h e morning of illumination. A n d darkness was before light, a n d so, in one sense, is symbolic of eternity. The opening stanza outlines this p a r a d o x : Hail thou most sacred venerable thing ! What Muse is worthy thee to sing ? Thee, from whose pregnant universal womb All things, even light thy rival, first did come. What dares he not attempt that signs of thee, Thou first and greatest mystery? Who can the secrets of thy essence tell ? Thou like the light of God art inaccessible. This p a r a d o x is picked u p again in stanza 3: Thy native lot thou didst to Light resign, But still half of the globe is thine. Here with a quiet, and yet awful hand, Like the best emperors thou dost command. To thee the stars above their brightness owe. And mortals their repose below. To t h y protection Fear and Sorrow flee, And those that weary are of light, find rest in thee. F r o m light a n d glory t h e Almighty has his r a d i a n t beauty, b u t f r o m darkness he has " H i s terror a n d His m a j e s t y " : Thus when He first proclaim'd His sacred Law, And would His rebel subjects awe, Like princes on some great solemnity, He appear'd in's robes of state, and clad Himself with thee. T h e poem concludes with praise t o t h e awful power of darkness: Hail there thou Muse's and Devotion's spring, 'Tis just we should adore, 'tis just we should thee sing.

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I n its taking up the imagery of light and darkness, mysticism was actually drawing upon a tradition extending beyond Christianity. Gillis Wetter, in his book Phos (1915), argues t h a t this imagery, while it existed in earlier literatures, emerged most strongly in the literature of what he calls "Hellenistic Piety". But in a less refined sense darkness and light record a primitive reaction of men. Darkness hides both terrifying monsters and man's deeds which should not be made known. Lightness warns us of the sudden terror, b u t also exposes us to ourselves. These paradoxes are carried over into the New Testament: Men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For everyone that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved. But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.28 The imagery of the poet is both part of the Christian tradition and a primitive response to his universe. The indescribable is made manifest through metaphor; and like all metaphors, t h a t of the highest vision, or Eternity, as light is not a complete correspondence. I n Symbolism and Belief Edwyn Bevan has outlined the significance of this recurrent imagery. We can supply the metaphor to that which God reveals of Himself within the range of our earthly experiences. There are moments, which come no doubt to poets and mystics oftener than to us ordinary men, when the natural world round us is seen clothed in a glory, analogous, in the feeling it arouses, to bright concentrated light. Still more, as the highest expressions of the spirit of man, may the great utterances and heroic deeds be regarded as manifestations of the glory of God. But, he recognizes, we cannot perceive God directly or rationally as we do natural objects; perception itself is an act of faith. If our idea of God, as a whole, is an act of faith, our attribution of glory to God will necessarily be part of such an act, not a matter of demonstration. What we mean is that we believe that, if we could have a more perfect apprehension of God's being than we can have under earthly 28

St. John, iii 19—21.

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conditions, that earthly apprehensions would involve something analogous to the feeling now aroused in us by bright concentrated light, something which cannot possibly be described in human language, except by our pointing to that feeling. And so the imagery develops as a conventional way of organizing our perception. Thus the light metaphor would not here be the use of a figure for mere poetical or imaginative embellishment, in order to say something which we could say more precisely in other terms: it would be the most precise way in which the Reality can be expressed in human language. And yet, while we use it, we have to recognize that it is only a figure, not a literal description.29 The delicate balance between the imagery of light and its literalism is what gives mystical writing its tension. In the practice of life it presents itself as alternatives. "Thus God, in the manifestation of Himself in and by nature, sets before every man fire and water, life and death". 3 0 Norris, like William Law ( 1 6 8 6 - 1 7 6 1 ) , saw life and eternity in these terms, and helped to continue the mystical tradition into the eighteenth century. Many of his poems start from a vivid impulse to achieve contentment. But Norris is fully aware that man cannot ignore his human ambitions and responsibilities. "The Reply" asks who is the truly wise man; a number of popular possibilities are rejected: he who " b y the culture of the arts refin'd", he who "with a clear and piercing sight/Can see through niceties as dark as night", he "to whom kind Heaven/A secret cabala has given", he that "does the science know/Our only certainty below", he that can "confess the stars", and even he whose "busy pate/Can dive into the deep intrigues of state". Norris's answer sums up superbly the nice balance which he and the Anglican tradition pursued between the world of the flesh and the realm of the spirit:

29 (Boston, 1957), 149—50. F o r a more specific treatment, see M. A . Ewer, Survey of Mystical Symbolism (London, 1933). 30 Selected Mystical Writings of William Law, ed. Stephen Hobhouse (London, 1938), 150.

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Who then is by the wise man meant ? lie that can want all this, and yet can be content. T h e Augustan age was an age of balance, o f t e n perilously maintained in fact, b u t nevertheless a n age in which all aspects of m a n ' s n a t u r e were recognized. I t was an age of order a n d meaning a n d value because it did not see life divided into conflicting c o m p a r t m e n t s ; all places were holy, as L a w p u t it in t h e f o u r t h chapter of A Serious Call to A Devout and Holy Life: As a good Christian should consider every place as holy, because God is there, so he should look upon every part of his life as a matter of holiness, because it is to be offered unto God. Because of this a t t i t u d e , contentment is clearly available a n y place; it is a s t a t e of spirit, not a location. T h e Anglican tradition o f t e n urged rural retirement because there t h e distractions, t e m p t a t i o n s , a n d corruptions were fewer a n d not because t h e country per se offered more exciting vistas. This withdrawal t o t h e country for bett e r contemplation r a t h e r t h a n for enjoying t h e wild life a n d picturesque scenes, forms t h e background for Norris's " T h e I n v i t a t i o n " . I t opens with t h e invitation t o t h e beloved t o come away f r o m t h e city: Come thou divinest object of my love, This noisy region don't with us agree; Come let us hence remove, I cannot here enjoy myself or thee. Then follows a vividly modern description of t h e city: Here Vice and Folly keep their court, Hither their chiefest favourites resort, Debauchery has here her royal chair, This is her great metropolis, What e'er we see or hear contagion is; Their manners are polluted like the air, From both unwholesome vapours rise And blacken with ungrateful steams the neighbouring skies. The second stanza t h e n praises t h e country as t h e " n a t i v e home of Innocence a n d L o v e " . T h e final stanza unites t h e withdrawal with contemplation a n d c o n t e n t m e n t :

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In fields and flow'ry meadow, woods and groves, The first and best delights of human kind, There we'll enjoy our loves All free, and only to ourselves confin'd. Here shall my eyes be fixt on thee, Till every passion be an extasie. Each hour to thee shall be canonical; The sweets of Nature shall not stay My Soul, but only shew to thee the way; To thee ! thou beauty's great original. Come my Beloved, let's go prove These sweet advantages of peace, content, and love. This poem shows, not only many of the characteristics of the mystical tradition found in Vaughan, but also the combination of the religious and the amorous found in Donne. Fairchild has attempted to outline the mystical influence upon Norris. 31 He recognizes that Norris was an enthusiastic disciple of Malebranche, whom he regarded as a fellow-Platonist. Norris's Essay toward the Theory of an Ideal and Intelligible World (1701—4) was an attempt to refute Locke by using Malebranche's spiritualization of Cartesianism. I n it he held t h a t the world is conceived as divine ideas, which are part of nature. In this he has adopted a position which allows him to "realise the presence of the living God in the soul and in nature", as Dean Inge described the attempt of the mystics. 32 The world is charged with divinity, and it is basically an ideal world. Fairchild has suggested t h a t "Norris is a link between the Neo-Platonism of the Cambridge school and t h a t of Shaftesbury. The very different Platonism of Berkeley's later writings may also, in measure, reflect his influence." 33 Greene has seen this relationship in suggesting a 'Berkeley—Smart—Blake—Yeats' tradition of poetry. 34 And Drennan, in tracing a link between James Thomson and Norris, said t h a t "like Shaftesbury, Needier and 31

Op. ext., I, 108. Op. cit., 5. 33 Op. cit., I, 108. 32 34

D. J. Greene, "Smart, Berkeley, the Scientists and the Poets: A Note on Eighteenth-Century Anti-Newtonianism", JHI, X I V (1953), 327—52.

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Thomson, Norris loved to escape from the world of 'business' in order to woo inspiration in the world of solitude", 35 and t h a t Norris's love of infinite beauty (such as expressed in "Seraphic Love") is also found in Henry Needier (1685 —1760), another 'careful reader' of Norris. 36 The mystical aspects in Needier show themselves in his acute awareness of the transformed glory of nature when viewed by a person illuminated with the true knowledge of God: Whate'er of Goodness and of Exellence In Nature's various Scene accost the Sense, To Thee alone their whole Perfection owe, From Thee, as from their proper Fountain, flow. Also from "A Vernal H y m n in Praise of the Creator" is the clearest expression of his awareness of God's omnipotence and glory: Incapable of Bounds, above all Height, Thou art invisible to Mortal Sight; Thy-self thy Palace ! And, sustain'd by Thee, All live and move in thy Immensity. His praise for Sir Richard Blackmore's "The Creation" is based on the feeling t h a t it captures these two qualities and implants them upon the reader's mind: Th' extensive Knowledge You of Man enjoy, You to a double Use of man employ; Nor to the Body is your Skill confin'd, Of Error's worse Disease You heal the Mind. But in general he reflects little of the consuming intensity t h a t has been noticed in the verse of Norris. Norris's mystical orthodoxy is accepted by Miss Underhill who lists him with Benjamin Whichcote and Peter Sterry among the Cambridge Platonists. 37 The completeness and uniformity of his 35 Herbert Drennan, "James Thomson and John Norris", PMLA, (1938), 1100. 36 Ibid., 1097. 37 Mysticism, 470.

LIII

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desire t o achieve union with God is seen in " T h e Aspiration", in which he looks forward t o a t i m e when he will be 'all mind, all eye, all ear'. Because n a t u r e a n d t h e world are divine ideals, t h e y are good. There is not an a b r u p t breach between flesh a n d spirit which is sometimes popularly associated with mysticism. F o r Norris mysticism was t r u l y " t h e a t t e m p t t o realise, in t h o u g h t a n d feeling, t h e immanence of t h e temporal in t h e eternal, a n d of t h e eternal in t h e temporal". 3 8 The senses are good a n d t h e final coming t o know God will be t h r o u g h t h e m . " T h e Aspiration" is an expression of this experience of awakening t o t h e desire for purgation: How long, great God, how long must I Immured in this dark prison lie; Where at the gates and avenues of sense, My soul must watch to have intelligence; Where but faint gleams of Thee salute my sight, Like doubtful moonshine in a cloudy night: When shall I leave this magic sphere, And be all mind, all eye, all ear? How cold this clime ! And yet my sense Perceives e'en here Thy influence. E'en here Thy strong magnetic charms I feel, And pant and tremble like the amorous steel. To lower good, and beauties less divine, Sometimes my erroneous needle does decline, But yet, so strong the sympathy, I t turns, and points again to Thee. I long to see this excellence Which at such distance strikes my sense. My impatient soul struggles to disengage Her wings from the confinement of her cage. Wouldst thou, great Love, this prisoner once set free, How would she hasten to be link'd to Thee ! She'd for no angels' conduct stay, But fly, and love-on, all the way. This poem represents t h e most common influence of t h e ritual of mysticism u p o n t h e poet: t h e initial stages of purgation a n d t h e desire t o see God anew — t h e change in t h e world brought a b o u t , 38

I n g e , op. cit.,

5.

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not through reform, but through a change in the person, a transformation of the act of perception itself. This widening of the poet's realm provides the basis for Norris's "My E s t a t e " : While you a spot of Earth possess with care, Below the notice of the Geographer, I by the freedom of my soul, Possess, nay more, enjoy the whole; To th'Universe a claim I lay. I n "Seraphick Love" he records the final achievement of this intensified vision: Through Contemplation's optic I have seen, Him who is "fairer than the sons of men": The source of good, the light archetypall, Beauty in the original. Having seen the source of Beauty, he understands more vividly the nature of the world. "My E s t a t e " concludes with this realization: Throughout the works divine I cast my eye, Admire their beauty, and their harmony, I view the glorious host above, And Him that made them, praise and Love, The flowery meads and fields beneath, Delight me with their odorous breath. Thus is my joy by you not understood Like that of God, when He said all was good. This attitude toward nature is quite different from the Romantic's passion for escape into a neutral nature for its own beauty or emotional appeal, just as it is different from his desire to use nature to contemplate his own being rather than the power of God. The 'Berkeley-Smart-Blake-Yeats' tradition of poetry, as suggested by Greene, views nature in a more orthodox way, as symbolic of certain forces beyond man. These symbols, whether they be the 'flowery meads and fields beneath', 'each valley, grove, and coast', or 'Old Rocky Face', become vehicles for driving behind the appearances of the geographer's or cartographer's universe. Once the gyre of normal perception has been pierced, man understands t h e

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calm and bright eternity behind the flux of usual life. Because of this special awareness he hears the voice out of the cavern saying "Rejoice": Rejoice in God, 0 ye Tongues; give the glory to the Lord, and the Lamb. Nations, and languages, and every Creature, in which is the breath of Life. Let man and beast appear before him, and magnify his name together. (Smart, "Jubilate Agno") This tradition presents nature as a symbol of divine creation and not as an ultimately valuable thing in itself. As the eighteenth century drew towards its close, the religious origin and responses of nature tended to become forgotten and it came to be worshipped for its own sake. But this attitude is technically a heresy, and certainly one for which the Anglican Church could tolerate no sympathy. But the true mystic recognized t h a t the achievement of this heightened vision does not come easily; there are many obstacles which bar most men from experiencing it and which lead them astray. "All is so false and treacherous here", wrote Norris in "The Honest", "That I must love with caution, and enjoy with fear". The mystics realized t h a t habitation upon the heights of perception is not, for the mortal, the solution to his spiritual housing problem. Norris recognizes t h a t ecstasies to which mysticism may lead, but he also recognizes the need 'to attend the charge below' in "The Return": Dear Contemplation, my divinest joy, When I thy sacred mount ascend, What heavenly Sweets my soul employ ! Why can't I there my days for ever spend ? When I have conquer'd thy steep heights with pain What pity 'tis that I must down again! And yet I must; my passions would rebel Should I too long continue here: No, here I must not think to dwell, But mind the duties of my proper sphere. So angels, tho they heaven's glories know, Forget not to attend their charge below.

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Like t h e t r u e mystic, Norris is aware t h a t heightened vision cannot be maintained for long; it is too blinding a n d t o o powerful for cont i n u e d contemplation. Man, being mortal, m u s t descend t h e mount a i n of perfection. Thomas Harrison's " T h e D r e a m " also concludes with a similar r e t u r n t o t h e claims of this world: But suddenly the pleasing Vision fled; Awak'd I lay lamenting on my Bed That still I must remain Without Relief amidst perplexing Cares, Encompassed by num'rous hidden Snares, And drag a heavy Chain. Harrison (1693 — 1745) was born a B a p t i s t f r o m a minister f a t h e r . I n 1719 he published Poems on Divine Subjects; t e n years later he became an Anglican a n d wrote no more poetry. B u t his early verse expresses no views peculiar t o t h e Baptist creed. Indeed, t h e r e are certain indications t h a t in his mystical tendencies a n d longing for quiet contemplation he h a d long harboured s y m p a t h y for t h e Anglican tradition. " A View of H e a v e n " sums u p t h e initial impulse of t h e mystic: M'aspiring Thoughts now as swift Wings Of stedfast Faith, and flaming Love, Mount to the King of Kings, Who dwells in pure, unmixed Light above. The imagery of wings a n d flight, of pure radiance, of flaming love — these are t h e recurrent images of t h e mystical tradition. Elizabeth Singer Rowe's "Seraphic L o v e " is a fuller development of t h e m : Thou beauty's vast abyss, abstract of all My thoughts can lovely, great, or splendid call; To thee in heavenly flames, and pure desires, My ravish'd soul impatiently aspires. With admiration, praise, and endless love, Thou fill'st the wide resplendent worlds above; And none can rival, or with thee compare Of all the bright intelligences there.

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What vapours then, what short liv'd glories be The fairest idols of our sense to thee ? Before the streaming splendour of thine eye; The languid beauties fall away, and die. Farewell then, all you flat delights of sense ! I'm charm'd with a sublimer excellence, To whom all mortal beauty's but a ray, A scatter'd drop of his o'erflowing day. How strongly thou my panting heart dost move With all the holy ecstacies of love ! In these sweet flames let me expire, and see Unveil'd the brightness of thy Deity. Oh! let me die ! for there's no earthly bliss My thoughts can even relish after this; No, dearest Lord, there's nothing here below, Without thy smiles, to please, or satisfy me now. While Mrs. Howe's rapturous language at times seems excessive and out of keeping with the impersonal restraint of much of the better known eighteenth-century verse, it is not all t h a t unusual, and it is certainly not excessive for writers in the mystical tradition. The reverend Lemuel Abbott's "An H y m n to the Deity" from Poems on Various Subjects published eleven years before his death in 1776 employs the same imagery and tone: I All lonely, pure, and perfect Mind, In whom all Graces are combin'd, And Source of ev'ry Grace ! My Soul, from thee an active Ray, Tho' darken'd by surrounding Clay Was form'd to view thy Face. The second stanza develops the imagery of this world as a reflection of the 'Lunar Light' from the heavens; this reflection is used to argue the existence of God as initial creator. Therefore, the beauties of the world, however variegated, are not ultimately satisfying since man wants to perceive the source of this power:

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IV I soar, thy matchless Self to trace, Beyond pure empyrean Space, To thee not spotless clean; Whose piercing Eye can Folly find, Ev'n in the holy Seraph's Mind, By all but the unseen. The next stanza expresses the usual devotion to God, 'the only lov'd, admir'd'. The next stanzas pray for the reception of grace through purgation so t h a t the purity of the divine spirit may be miraculously understood: VII Thy healthful Spirit, oh ! impart, From Folly, Vice, to purge my Heart, By Error led amiss; From low Desires to purify, And all that keeps the mortal Eye From thee, the Real Bliss. The final stanza expresses the rapture of the mystic's desire to be united with the Godhead: VIII 0 thou, my great Beginning, End; Creator, Father, Lover, Friend; The highest, fairest, best! Thee give me as thou art to see, To lose my raptur'd Soul in thee, And be supremely blest. The mystical tradition encouraged the state of ecstasy if not of enthusiasm. While the fine dividing line between these two was often blurred, especially by the more evangelical writers, the Anglican tradition focused upon the concrete details of man's experience rather t h a n upon the emotional, and in so doing attempted t o illustrate the stages through which man might achieve a greater union with God. Stephen Neill, in Anglicanism, has explained this by saying t h a t , "all perfectly orthodox in intention, these mystics

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sought their consolation not in pantheistic imaginings, b u t in intense devotion to the passion of the crucified Saviour". 39 This passage is an excellent description of the "Meditations on Christ's Death and Passion: An Emblem" by Walter Harte (1709 — 1774), examined earlier in this essay. The first meditation is a call to the awakening of the self, and to contemplation of Christ's sacrifice: Haste not so fast, on worldly cares employ'd, Thy bleeding Saviour asks a short delay: What trifling bliss is still to be enjoy'd, What change of folly wings thee on thy way ? Look back a moment, pause a while, and stay. For thee thy God assum'd the human frame; For thee the Guiltless pains and anguish try'd; Thy passions (sin excepted) His became: Like thee he suffer'd, hunger'd, wept, and dy'd. Fairchild feels t h a t the use of contemplation in his "An Essay on Painting" probably means no more than t h a t Harte is trying to be Miltonic, 40 but his relation to the mystical tradition is sufficiently close to believe t h a t he understood the implications of t h a t word. His lack of sympathy with Behmen is indicated in t h e line from "An Essay on Satire" (1730): "And Jacob Behmen ! most obscurely wise". But, like Lemuel Abbott and other eighteenth-century writers, he was objecting in part to the abuse and distortion of mystical knowledge and to the obscure expression of whatever insights the mystical vision afforded. I n contrast with the mystical poems by Norris, Abbott, Needier and Rowe, the works by Lady Mary Chudleigh provide a convenient comparison to help clarify the tradition. "The Elevation" deals with the same subject material as the similar poem by Norris. B u t the stanzaic structure and the rhythm and rhyme scheme of Lady Chudleigh's poem are much simpler. This simplicity seems t o indicate a parallel simplification in the intensity of the feeling. The 39 40

(Harmondsworth, 1958), 28. Op. ext., I I (New York, 1942), 59.

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speaker in her poem seems t o be an a s t r o n a u t r a t h e r t h a n a t r u e mystic: 0 how ambitious is my Soul, How high she now aspires ! There's nothing can on Earth controul, Or limit her Desires. Upon the Wings of Thought she flies Above the reach of Sight, And finds a way thro' pathless Skies To everlasting Light. From whence with blameless scorn she views The Follies of Mankind; And smiles to see how each pursues Joys fleeting as the Wind. Yonder's the little Ball of Earth, It lessens as I rise; That Stage of transitory Mirth, Of lasting Miseries: My Scorn does into Pity turn, And I lament the Fate Of Souls, that still Bodies mourn, For Faults which they create. Souls without Spot, till Flesh they wear, Which their pure Substance stains: While they th'uneasie Burthen bear, They're never free from Pains. I n spite of t h e astronomical simplification of feeling in this poem, t h e framework still owes much t o t h e mystical tradition. This t r a d i t i o n has here been m a d e literary, t h e experience of t h e elevation has become an a t t i t u d e , y e t t h e f r a m e w o r k a n d t e r m s of sensibility are those of Norris's poem. F r o m one point of view t h e aspect of other-worldliness in L a d y Chudleigh's poems should be expected t o be small. I n t h e " P r e f a c e " t o her Poems on Several 'Occasions: Together with the Song of the Three Children (1703) she wrote: 'Tis impossible to be happy without making Reason the Standard of all our Thoughts, Words, and Actions, and firmly resolving to yield a constant, ready, and cheerful obedience to its Dictates. Those who are

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gov ern'd by Opinion, inslav'd to Custom, and Vassals to their Humors, are objects of Pity, if such as are wretched by their own Choice, can be properly said to deserve Commiseration. They act by no steady Principles, are always restless, disturb'd, and uneasie; sometimes agitated by one Passion, and sometimes by another, fretting about Trifles, and lamenting the Loss of such things, as others would think it a part of their Felicity to be without. What we generally call Misfortunes, what we fancy to be Miseries, are not really so; they exist on in the Imagination, are Creatures of the Brain, Troubles of our own forming, and like phantoms vanish as soon as Ileason shines clear. A t first this passage sounds like t h e popular s t a t e m e n t of eighteenthc e n t u r y confidence in Reason. B u t it becomes clear t h a t for L a d y Chudleigh, Reason is a more complex agent for escaping f r o m individualism in b o t h personal a n d religious values. I t is contrasted with, n o t F a i t h or Religion, b u t Opinion. And, m u c h like t h e mystical awareness, it shines clear t o show t h e triviality of m a n y things of t h e world. This mystical concept of Reason is expressed in "The Resolve": For what the World admires I'll with no more, Nor count that airy nothing of a Name: Such flitting Shadows let the Proud adore, Let them be Suppliants for an empty Fame. If Reason rules within, and keeps the Throne, While the inferior Faculties obey, And all her Laws without Reluctance own, Accounting none more fit, more just than they. If Virtue my free Soul unsully'd keeps, Exempting it from Passion arid from Stain: If no black guilty Thoughts disturb rny Sleeps, And no past Crimes my vext Remembrance pain. If, tho' I Pleasure find in living here, I yet can look on Death without Surprize: If I've a Soul above the Reach of Fear, And which will nothing mean or sordid prize. A Soul, which cannot be depress'd by Grief, Nor too much rais'd by the sublimest Joy; Which can, when troubled, give it self Relief, And to advantage all its Thoughts employ.

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Then am I happy in my humble State, Altho' not crown'd with Glory nor with Bays: A Mind, that triumphs over Vice and Fate, Esteems it mean to court the world for Praise. Thus, even in the mystical tradition, Reason need not be wholly rejected. Faith and Reason, Mysticism and Rationalism are not mutually exclusive categories. The rational element in the Anglican will be examined later. I t is significant here to note that Reason is not conceived as contradictory or antithetical to the mystical experience, but rather it keeps a just balance on the emotional aspect to prevent it from lapsing into the excess of enthusiasm. The poetry of John Byrom reflects much of this struggle for balance within the mystical tradition. His sympathy for mysticism came largely from Law, but his own temperament encouraged this interest. The final stanza of " A Penitential Soliloquy" expresses the ultimate purpose of the mystic's way: 'Tis to infuse a salutary Grief, To fit the Mind for absolute Relief: That purg'd from ev'ry false and finite Love, Dead to the World, alive to Things above, The Soul may rise, as in its first form'd Youth, And worship God in Spirit and in Truth. The ritual of purgation and illumation is here outlined; all false and finite Love must be replaced by Divine Love. The final step is expressed in a line from "On Attention": And human Will unite to the divine. This higher union of man and his creator becomes the aim of the mystical ritual. Byrom is aware of the three stages in mystical progression, and of the significance of purgation, discipline, rejection of this world, and the need for Love through Divine Grace. In these he shows himself to be a major exponent of the mystical tradition in verse; theologically, he is one of the most complete exponents of it in English. The vision has always been an essential element in the mystic's illumination. With the hearing of voices or seeing of angels it has

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been part of the media by which the 'seeing self' truly approaches the Absolute. These are the "formulae under which ontological perceptions are expressed; are found by t h a t self to be sources of helpful energy, charity, and courage. They infuse something new in the way of strength, knowledge, direction; and leave it — physically, mentally, or spiritually — better than they found it". 4 1 The awareness from the vision is, in some way, the awareness of God, a product of a degree of union. I t is concerned with the beatific life, with a power beyond the goodness or ethical practicality of this world's 'perfect freedom'. At the beginning of this section of the study we read Elizabeth Singer Rowe's poem "The Vision", and noted the aspects of the mystical tradition which it shared. Mrs. Rowe was, of course, not the only eighteenth-century poet to write of the appearance of divine messengers. The divine message in her poem, a metaphorical recording of the initial phases of the purgative stage, is similar to t h a t received by Moses, and described in J o h n Byrom's poem "Moses's Vision": Moses, to whom, by a peculiar Grace, God spake (the Hebrew Phrase is) Face to Face, Call'd by an heav'nly Voice, the Rabbins say, Ascended to a Mountain's Top one Day; Where, in some Points perplex'd, his Mind was eas'd, And Doubts, concerning Providence, appeas'd. The vision dealt with the finding of a purse containing gold by the lad, and the stabbing by the soldier who had lost the purse of an old man who happened to be resting on the spot. The theme of the vision is the exact, if sometimes uncomprehended, justice of God, because the old man, in a like fit of passion, had murdered the father of the child. The evil of the world springs from a yielding to the passions. Man, in his unenlightened stage, clings to those things which the wise man should deem it fortunate to be without. I t was against the irresponsibility and the inconstancy of the Passions t h a t Lady Chudleigh in her "Preface" erected the control of Reason. The excesses of the Passions led man into sin and damnation; they produced selfishness and pride. 41

Underhill, Mysticism,

270.

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Because of this a t t i t u d e toward t h e Passions, m a n y religious poems swing to t h e mystical tradition in an a t t e m p t to discover a symbolism for expressing their control or purgation. From this impetus grow t h e numbers of eighteenth-century poems dealing with t h e control a n d disciplining of man's passions. One poem from Poems and Miscellaneous Pieces (1751) by J o h n Free shows this background. The poem is titled "On t h e Government of t h e Passions": Say, Love, for what good End design'd Wert thou to Mortals given? Was it to fix on Earth the Mind ? Or raise the Heart to Heav'n? Deluded oft we still pursue The fleeting Bliss we sought, As Children chase the Bird in view, That's never to be caught. 0 ! who shall teach me to sustain, A more than manly Part ? To go thro' Life, nor suffer Pain Nor Joy to touch my Heart. Thou blest Indifference, be my Guide, I court thy gentle Reign; When Passion turns my steps aside Still call me back again. Teach me to see through Beauty's Art, How oft its Trappings hide A base, a lewd, a treacherous Heart; With Thousand Ills beside. Nor let my gen'rous Soul give way, Too much to serve my Friends; Let Reason still controul their Sway, And show where Duty ends. If to my Lot a Wife should fall, May Friendship be our Love; The Passion, that is Transport all, Does seldom lasting prove:

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If lasting, 'tis too great for Peace, The Pleasure's so profuse; The Heart can never be at ease, Which has too much to lose. Calm let me estimate this Life, Which I must leave behind, Nor let fond Passions raise a Strife, To discompose my Mind. When Nature calls, may I steal by, As rising from a Feast; I've had my fill of Life, and why Should I disturb the rest. The sentiment of this poem is s u m m e d u p in a few lines f r o m F r e e ' s longer heroic poem, " J u d i t h " : The wise Composure of an holy Mind, That fixt, obedient to its Maker's Will; Unruffled hears, and sees, and judges still. T h e symbolism of Love, Bliss, t h e pursuit of t h e Bird, t h e indifference of t h e H e a r t t o P a i n a n d J o y , t h e quiet p a n t i n g — this is in accordance with t h e traditional symbolism a n d imagery of mysticism. 42 A n d here too, in embryo, is t h e asceticism of t h e mystical tradition. A n d so various aspects of a mystical tradition are a t t h e b a c k of t h e m a n y poems on religious satisfaction a n d contentment, poems of t h e t y p e of " T h e W i s h " b y Josiah Relph ( 1 7 1 2 - 1 7 4 3 ) , Cumberland poet a n d curate of Sebergham: If some good-natured Pow'r divine Shall deign to see this shade of mine, And if that God (as Gods have been Delighted with a rural scene) Well-pleased shall promise to impart The bliss that heaves my longing heart, This wish I'll readily present; "Make me in every state content." 42

For a discussion of this aspect of mystical symbolism, see E v e l y n Underbill, Mysticism, Chapter VI.

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I n these poems t h e desire is for an immediate reaping of t h e rewards of t h e unitive stage of t h e direct encounter with God. Religious contentment is wished as a safe investment f r o m t h e fluctuating market of man's passions. I t is the desire for a mystical experience with t h e necessity for a ladder to the unknown removed; t h e stages are telescoped into one, and this accounts for t h e strange twodimensional quality in both t h e sensibility a n d t h e style of these poems. B u t t h e awareness of t h e flux in t h e world is inescapable, a n d although few poems present a complete p a t t e r n of mystical reaction t o this awareness, some symbolically open a window upon this reality, and suggest an ironical depth to man's existence. Bowdler's collection, Poems Divine and Moral includes an emblematical poem called "The L e a f " by George H o m e (1730-1792), Bishop of Norwich: See the leaves around us falling, Dry and withered, to the ground; Thus to thoughtless mortals calling, In a sad and solemn sound. Sons of Adam, once in Eden, Blighted when like us he fell, Hear the lecture we are reading, 'Tis, alas ! the truth we tell. Virgins, much, too much presuming On your boasted white and red; View us, late in beauty blooming, Numbered now among the dead. Griping misers, nightly waking, See the end of all your care; Fled on wings of our own making, We have left our owners bare. Sons of honour, fed on praises, Flutt'ring high in fancied worth, Lo ! the fickle air, that raises, Brings us down to parent earth. Learned sophs, in systems jaded, Who for new ones daily call, Cause, at length, by us persuaded, Ev'ry leaf must have its fall.

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Youths, tho' yet no losses grieve you, Gay in health and manly grace, Let not cloudless skies deceive you, Summer gives to Autumn place. Venerable sires, grown hoary, Hither turn th'unwilling eye, Think, amidst your falling glory, Autumn tells a Winter nigh. Yearly in our course returning, Messengers of shortest stay, Thus we preach this truth concerning, "Heaven and earth shall pass away." On the tree of life eternal, Man, let all thy hope be staid, Which alone, for ever vernal, Bears a leaf that shall not fade. The control of rhyme and meter and the technical mastery in this poem carefully distinguish it from those expressing a generalized and sentimentalized feeling toward religion. But the Housman-like style contains an un-Housman-like turning to an eternal absolute. Man has come to understand the human predicament. To the eighteenth-century Anglican it was one of neither irremediable depravity nor unqualified perfection. Cassirer, in An Essay on Man, underlines the paradoxical nature of man's position: All the so-called definitions of man are nothing but airy speculations so long as they are not based upon and confirmed by our experience of man. There is no other way to know man than to understand his life and conduct. But what we find here defies every attempt at inclusion within a single and simple formula. Contradiction is the very element of human existence. Man has no "nature" — no simple or homogeneous being. He is a strange mixture of being and nonbeing. His place is between these two opposite poles.43 The eighteenth-century Anglican would have accepted Cassirer's description. Life is a paradoxical and uncertain pilgrimage toward death and resurrection. The third stanza of "The Sabbath" by John Bowdler, Junior, is a reflection of this feeling: 43

(Garden City, 1953), 28.

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For, not in vain, by twilight here, With many a doubt, and many a fear, Our pilgrim path we trod; A little learn, a little do, Observe, discover, hope, pursue — And mingle with the dead. The way of t h e mystic might offer some insight of t h e reality beyond t h e twilight of this world. This is t h e lasting appeal of mysticism: it provides a technique for seeing more vividly t h a t which is permanent in life, even though this vision is neither continuous nor unclouded. Bishop Thomas K e n in 1685 published The Practice of Divine Love, Being An Exposition of The Church Catechism in which t h e doctrine of t h e Anglican Church is interpreted in t h e light of t h e mystical concept of Love. During his lifetime K e n was accused of harbouring too great a s y m p a t h y for Rome, b u t Rice has shown t h a t this charge was based on a misunderstanding of Ken's beliefs; " W h a t did appeal to him about t h e Church of R o m e (as to m a n y another convinced a n d completely loyal Anglican), was t h a t Church's historic ritual, and t h e wealth of her ascetic a n d mystical theology". 4 4 K e n expresses his a t t i t u d e a n d t h a t of t h e Anglican Church, in his "Meditation on J e s u s " : Of thee, Lord, in this Vale of Tear, I cannot hope for Vision clear, Yet thou with me still present art, Deigning to temple in my Heart, 0 may my intellectual eye See and revere thee ever nigh ! The awareness of man's pitiful predicament, caught between mortality and eternity, b y twilight mingling with t h e dead b u t occasionally seeing Eternity, 'like a great Ring of pure a n d endless light' — this awareness was as strong in t h e eighteenth century as in a n y other. All too obvious was t h e inescapable fact t h a t , like t h e leaves, innocence, wealth, honour, knowledge, youth, a n d experience will pass away. True contentment — a subject for m a n y poems 44

R i c e , op. cit., 181.

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during the century — can be found only in a quiet contemplation of the Eternal. This may manifest itself in the creations of God: nature, the human mind, or the universe. But this alone 'bears a leaf t h a t shall not fade'. The gesture of recognizing this impermanence and of purging oneself of its attractions is a gesture toward mysticism. When combined with the desire for pure union with God, a direct communion without need or benefit of sacrament, the gesture becomes t h a t of complete mysticism. Both directly, and by various subtle influences, mysticism remained an important aspect of eighteenth-century sensibility. I t emerged forcefully and deliberately in several writers, it colored the concepts of Reason and man's capacity to know and by what devices he can know, it brought emphasis upon theological doctrines of Love, Grace, and Faith, and it encouraged the use of prayer and meditations. I t s importance as part of the Anglican tradition can best be suggested by an extract from Anthony Horneck's The Fire of the Altar (1683), which, though intended for the inhabitants of St. Mary le Strand and the precinct of the Savoy, became extremely popular, and by 1718 had reached a thirteenth edition. In attitude and atmosphere, intensity and imagery, it reflects the asceticism and the ecstasy of the mystical tradition: 0 whither shall I go but to Thee, who hast words of Eternal Life ! Thou art my Sun; by Thee I shall be enlightened, by Thee my soul shall be warmed. O how comfortable are Thy beams ! What a progress must the soul make on which Thou shinest, and dartest Thy glorious rays ! Thou art that lofty cedar, whose boughs overspread the believing world! Under the shadow of that tree will I rest. It is the healing of the nations. 1 will be glad in the Lord and rejoice in my bleeding Jesus. While the world despises Thee, I will honour Thee. While great men pass by and regard Thee not, I that am poor and needy will wait to be refreshed by Thee. Go ye fools! Be enamoured with your trifles. Admire your butterflies. Doat on your sensual pleasures. Here is One that looks charming in His years, lovely in His blood, amiable in His wounds, and is more beautiful in the midst of all His distresses than the brightest virgin's face, adorned with all the glittering treasures of the East!

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This exhortation expresses much of the religious feeling of the eighteenth century. As the reading of a wide range of poems has indicated, the eighteenth-century poet was influenced by the mystical tradition; he was aware of the more technical terms and patterns of t h a t tradition; and he adjusted his concept of Reason to it. These conclusions help to clarify the perilous balance in the relation between F a i t h and Reason during the century. But, while the religious temperament was not exclusively and narrowly in support of Reason, it was also not exclusively in support of private or esoteric sensations. There was throughout the century a carefully maintained concept of Reason which was unique to the Anglican tradition.

VII T H E RATIONALISTIC TRADITION

Reason is our Soules left hand, Faith her right, B y these wee reach divinity . . . . John Donne to Countess of Bedford Assuredly, though Faith be above Reason, yet there is a reason to be given of our Faith. He is a Fool that believes he knows neither what nor why. Among all the Diversities of Religion that the world holds, I think we may stand with most safety, to take that, which makes most for God's glory and Man's quiet. I confess, in all the Treatises of Religion that ever I saw, I find none that I should so soon follow, as that of the Church of England. Owen Felltham, Resolves

The Anglican Church of the eighteenth century inherited from a variety of sources a necessary concern with the proper role of Reason in spiritual matters. Although the Church talked of Reason together with Faith, in many ways its concern with Reason has been allowed to overshadow the role of Faith and the century has come to be popularly thought of as an 'Age of Reason'. But this emphasis on Reason alone is misleading. Throughout the century writers continued to remind their contemporaries of the need to strike a balance between Reason and Faith, and theologians were careful t o define the limits of each. If less was written about Faith, it was not because they underestimated its importance, but because they took it for granted in the scheme of epistemology. The eighteenth century generally maintained a just balance between the two, and the

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E s t a b l i s h e d Church, w i t h its nice feeling f o r such balance, contributed greatly t o articulating and maintaining this balance througho u t t h e c e n t u r y . Because of its basic a s s u m p t i o n s of F a i t h a n d its failure t o build a u n i v e r s a l summa which r a t i o n a l l y a n d logically explained all knowledge, t h e eighteenth c e n t u r y , m o r e so t h a n t h e Middle Ages, m i g h t j u s t l y b e called t h e 'Age of F a i t h ' ; t h e organized r a t i o n a l i s m of t h e high Middle Ages m a r k t h a t period as t h e p r o p e r 'Age of R e a s o n ' . L a n c e l o t Andrewes, in a series of lectures p o s t h u m o u s l y p u b l i s h e d in 1630 as A Pattern of Gatechistical Doctrine, h a d clearly s t a t e d t h e Anglican position: " T o come t o G o d t h e r e a r e t w o w a y s — b y reason, or b y f a i t h " . T h e Manichees, h e explained, held t h e heresy t h a t c u n n i n g a n d reason alone were sufficient — f a i t h was n o t n e e d e d ; " w h i c h opinion is n e x t u n t o A t h e i s m " . R e a s o n is, indeed, t h e w o r s t w a y t o come t o G o d : 1. If by knowledge only and reason we could come to God, then none should come but they t h a t are learned and have good wits, and so t h e way to God should be as if many should go one journey, and because some can climb over hedges and thorns, therefore the way should be made over hedges and thorns; but God h a t h made His way viam regiam, 'the King's highway.' 2. Many are weak natured, and cannot take the pains t h a t is needful to come to knowledge, and many are detained b y the affairs of the commonwealth. 3. Many are cut off before they come to age to understand reason and to attain knowledge. And so we see t h a t few b y reason can come to God. B y a similarly s y s t e m a t i c m e t h o d Andrewes shows t h a t t h e r e is n o o t h e r w a y t o come t o God b u t b y belief: 1. If they should in any matter be driven to prove everything b y reason, it would drive them into madness. 2. No man can make demonstration of every thing, no not in matters of the world; a man cannot make a demonstration t h a t his father is his father, or t h a t he is his son; so t h a t there must needs be belief. 3. If a man should say he h a t h seen such and such a place, he can make no demonstrative reason of it; for the circumstances are not capable of demonstration, and no more is God, being the end of our journey.

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I n stating this position, Andrewes is merely repeating w h a t Angli can churchmen h a d been saying for centuries. The division between Reason a n d F a i t h h a d been maintained as p a r t of t h e Anglican tradition, a n d was clearly expressed, for example, b y J o s e p h H a l l in his Meditations and Vows, Divine and Moral (1606): The School of God and Nature require two contrary manners of proceeding. In the School of Nature, we must conceive, and then believe; in the School of God we must first believe, and then we shall conceive. He t h a t believes no more than he conceives can never be a Christian; nor he a Philosopher that assents without reason. I n Nature's school, we are taught to bolt out the truth by logical discourse. God cannot endure a logician. In His School, he is the best scholar that reasons least and assents most. In Divine things, what I may, I will conceive; the rest I will believe and admire. Not a curious head, but a credulous and plain heart, is accepted with God. This relationship between Reason a n d F a i t h did n o t m e a n t h a t either could contradict t h e other; t h e y complement each o t h e r b y remaining distinct. B u t t h e r e was always present t h e danger t h a t t h e balance between t h e m would be violated b y u n d u e emphasis u p o n one element. Hooker was sensitive t o this danger when he contrasted as t w o opposite a n d equally erroneous extremes t h e Catholic doctrine t h a t Scripture is n o t a sufficient rule of faith, a n d t h e P u r i t a n belief t h a t Scripture is sufficient as t h e grounds of b o t h f a i t h a n d all religion. During t h e late seventeenth century b o t h J o h n Locke a n d Archbishop Tillotson r e s t a t e d these relationships in equally unambiguous terms. Locke a d m i t t e d t h e supremacy of F a i t h over Reason in some areas: " W h a t e v e r Proposition is revealed, of whose T r u t h our Mind, b y its n a t u r a l Faculties a n d Notions, cannot judge, t h a t is purely M a t t e r of F a i t h , a n d above R e a s o n " . Tillotson defined F a i t h in a similar w a y : "As it is a Term of A r t used b y Divines, it signifies t h a t particular kind of assent which is wrought in us b y Testimony or Authority. So t h a t Divine F a i t h , which we are now speaking of, is an Assent t o a Thing u p o n t h e Testimony or A u t h o r i t y of God; or, which is all one, an Assent t o a T r u t h u p o n Divine R e v e l a t i o n " . These views agree with t h e writings of Hooker a n d Andrewes a n d Hall, a n d form t h e traditional a t t i t u d e held b y t h e Anglican Church. A f t e r quoting t h e passages f r o m

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Locke and Tillotson, Bethell, in his important study of the cultural revolution of the seventeenth century, concludes t h a t these writers "reproduce on this subject the traditional teaching of Anglican theologians, itself founded upon medieval scholasticism". 1 I n other words, by the time of the Restoration there existed a clear and unambiguous tradition within the Anglican Church concerning the range, limits, and function of Reason. I t might be expected t h a t this tradition would continue unchallenged for a further century. But a necessary concern was imposed upon the Anglican Church from a variety of sources. On the one hand was the pressure of skepticism which severely questioned the power of reason to accomplish anything of value in the sphere of knowledge and hence of morality. "Neither Dryden nor his age", Bredvold pointed out in his thorough study of this tradition, "can be fully understood apart from this Pyrrhonism, diffused in every department of thought, lending itself to the most diverse purposes, appearing sometimes in strange guises and in the most unexpected places". 2 Both mysticism and meditation had always curtailed the use of Reason in religious experience, and both had subjugated it to the less empirical awarenesses of vision. The Restoration witnessed a wider questioning of the use of reason as an organ of knowledge. On the other hand, the scientism of the seventeenth century appeared to increase the use of Reason. The very basis of the new experimental method was dependent upon Reason, and the virtuoso found no difficulty in finding a religious justification for this basis. Robert Boyle, to all evidence a sincerely religious and orthodox member of the Established Church, presented such a justification in the first book on natural philosophy which he wrote (The Usefulness of Experimental Philosophy) when he talks about the need to study the world:

1

S. L. Bethell, The Cultural Revolution of the Seventeenth Century (London,

1951), 17. 2

Louis I. Bredvold, The Intellectual Milieu of John Dryden (Ann Arbor,

1956), 15.

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It is the first act in religion and equally obliging in all religions; it is the duty of man as man, and the homage we pay for the privilege of reason, which was given us, not only to refer to ourselves, but the other creatures that want it, to the Creator's glory. I n 1690 Boyle explored more fully this problem of t h e relation of Christianity a n d scientific investigation in his Christian Virtuoso. His conclusion, as t h e reader could anticipate, was t h a t there is no necessary conflict; t h e training in collecting facts a n d verifying d a t a will cause t h e virtuoso to find t h e t r u e a n d absolute evidence for Christian belief, a n d therefore he will not be led astray b y false arguments against Christianity. B u t Boyle's wise concern for t h e preservation of Christianity was not shared by all t h e virtuosi, a n d there was widespread fear for t h e spread of atheism, as evidenced by t h e m a n y Restoration tracts against it. These two possibly conflicting concepts of t h e importance a n d validity of Reason — t h e one clearly lowering it to a position of impotence a n d fallacy, t h e other raising it to t h e lone criterion of t r u t h — were f u r t h e r complicated b y what appears to be a shift in t h e meaning of t h e term itself. George Herbert, for example, uses t h e word in his poem "Divinitie": As men, for fear the starres should sleep and nod, And trip at night, have spheres suppli'd; As if a starre were duller then a clod, Which knows his way without a guide: Just so the other heav'n they also serve, Divinities transcendent skie: Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve. Reason triumphs, and faith lies by. B u t t h e connotations which surround this use are quite different from those which surround it in t h e summary to Book IV of Pope's "Essay on M a n " : That urged by thee, I turned the tuneful art From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart; For Wit's false mirror held up Nature's light; Showed erring Pride, Whatever Is, Is Right;

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That Reason, Passion, answer one great aim; That true Self-Love and Social are the same; That Virtue only makes our Bliss below; And all our Knowledge is, Ourselves to Know. Such a difference in poetic climate is not merely an accidental contrast in the temperaments of two poets; it is a reflection of changes in the 'climate of opinion' and of the style of the period. J u s t how the traditions of skepticism and of scientism contributed t o these changes, and — in t u r n — how verse was influenced by them may deserve some closer attention to understand their significance to the Anglican tradition. The general development of rationalism in England has been examined very thoroughly on a number of occasions. 3 Deism, tracing its roots to the early seventeenth century at least, became an increasingly popular attitude as the following century went on. I n religious terms it seemed to offer the sensible explanation for the variety and diversity of experience which surrounded man without resorting to all-out materialism. But it was founded on a rejection of the basic doctrine of original sin, and philosophers as well as churchmen had to rethink their positions on this issue most conscientiously. "The concept of original sin", wrote Cassirer in his classic study of the Enlightenment, "is the common opponent against which all the different trends of the philosophy of the Enlightenment join forces". I n this struggle, he points out, " H u m e is on the side of English deism, and Rousseau of Voltaire; the unity of t h e goal seems for a time to outweigh all differences as to the means of attaining it". 4 Indeed, the central and revolutionary problem for the eighteenth century was the rejection of the doctrine 3

See in particular William E. H. Lecky, History of the Rise and Influence of the Spirit of Rationalism, in Europe, 2 vols. (New York, 1866); Sir L. Stephen, History of English Thought in the Eighteenth Century (London, 1876); Ernst Cassirer, The Philosophy of the Enlightenment (Boston, 1955); E. C. Mossner, Bishop Butler and the. Age of Reason (London, 1936); Basil Willey, The Eighteenth-Century Background (London, 1940); D. G. James, The Life of Reason: Hobbes, Locke, Bolingbroke (London, 1949); and G. R. Cragg, The Church and the Age of Reason (Harmondsworth, 1960). 4 Ernst Cassirer, The Philosophy of the Enlightenment (Boston, 1955), 141.

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of original sin; it h a d implications not only for t h e conclusions t h e y accepted on a variety of topics, b u t also for t h e means t h e y would accept for arriving at these conclusions. Skepticism has always been a p a r t of t h e philosophy of man. Bredvold has traced its prevalence among t h e Greeks, a n d has pointed out t h a t "various medieval developments, such as Nominalism a n d mysticism h a d already popularized a distrust of t h e reason as an organ of religious knowledge" 5 long before Gian-Francesco Pico della Mirandola, alarmed over t h e growth of humanism, published his assault on h u m a n Reason in 1520. Similar works followed Pico's Examen, including Montaigne's influential Apology for Raymond Sebond (1580). To t h e P u r i t a n s of t h e seventeenth century skepticism presented some appeal. While t h e y never committed themselves t o a platform of total skepticism, t h e P u r i t a n s were sympathetic t o t h e skeptic's a t t a c k on t h e power of Reason. Their concept of t h e fall was total; it included Reason, along with Will, Nature, a n d all aspects of t h e physical world. And so t h e y h a d a theological reason for agreeing with t h e skeptic's distrust of Reason. B u t t h e y also were able to use skepticism t o support their own a t t a c k upon t h e scholasticism of t h e R o m a n Church. Their attitude was roughly t h a t t h e R o m a n Church was founded upon t h e writings of t h e medieval theologians, a n d t h a t these writings were dependent upon t h e workings of Reason. Therefore, if Reason could be shown to be undependable, t h e foundation a n d t h e R o m a n Church itself would crumble. Along with this a t t i t u d e went t h e feeling t h a t t h e increasing materialism of t h e day was somehow linked to rationalism, a n d therefore a n y attack upon Reason would help t o curb materialism. These various Puritan attitudes, if not officially and with any planned program, continued t o be felt as p a r t of t h e 'climate of opinion' throughout t h e Restoration a n d eighteenth century. B u t t h e Restoration witnessed a f u r t h e r cause for t h e spread of skepticism. The disillusionment and cynicism of t h e period spread t o a questioning of all aspects of man, a n d of man himself. J o h n 5

B r e d v o l d , 16ff.

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Wilmot, E a r l of Rochester, is t h e most significant writer in this tradition. His Satyr against Mankind (1675) stands as a classic expression of these varied views; t h e opening fines sum u p t h e cynic's disgust with man and t h e skeptic's mistrust of Reason: Were I, who to my cost already am, One of those strange, prodigious Creatures Man, A Spirit free, to chuse for my own share, What sort of Flesh and Blood I pleas'd to wear, I'd be a Dog, a Monkey or a Bear, Or any thing, but that vain Animal, Who is so proud of being rational. The Senses are too gross; and he'll contrive A sixth, to contradict the other five: And before certain Instinct, will preferr Reason, which fifty times for one does err — Reason, an Ignis fatuus of the Mind, Which leaves the Light of Nature, Sense behind. Pathless, and dangerous, wand'ring ways, it takes, Through Errour's fenny Bogs, and thorny Brakes: Whilst the misguided Follower climbs with pain, Mountains of Whimseys, heapt in his own Brain, Stumbling from thought to thought, falls headlong down Into Doubt's boundless Sea, where like to drown, Books bear him up a while, and make him try To swim with Bladders of Philosophy, In hopes still to o'ertake the skipping Light: The Vapour dances, in his dazzled sight, Till spent, it leaves him to eternal night. Then old Age, and Experience, hand in hand, Lead him to Death, and make him understand, After a search so painful, and so long, That all his Life he has been in the wrong. Huddled in Dirt, [the] reas'ning Engine lies, Who was so proud, so witty, and so wise: Pride drew him in, as Cheats their Bubbles catch, And made him venture to be made a wretch: His Wisdom did his Happiness destroy, Aiming to know the World he should enjoy. Pinto comments t h a t " t h e Satyr against Mankind opens with t h e most memorable lines t h a t Rochester ever wrote".

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They are an attack on Man, but still more an attack on Reason, the idol of Hobbes and the freethinkers of the age. Hence they are in some measure a recantation, a turning-back of Rochester on himself. "Reason," naked rationality, has led Man only to misery, and Rochester sees the process in a moment of vision as the picture of a wanderer misled by a will-o'-the-wisp, through all kinds of difficulties to a miserable death. 6 This vision of man's inconsequential place in the universe was seen by writers other t h a n Rochester. Tamerlane in Nicholas Rowe's play expresses a similar view: Shall man, this pigmy, with a giant's pride, Vaunt of himself and say, "thus have I done this" ? Oh ! vain pretense to greatness ! Like the moon We borrow all the brightness which we boast, Dark in ourselves and useless. B u t already in the Rowe extract we begin to see the more orthodox direction in which the skeptical strain within the Anglican Church was to move. While it is admitted t h a t man by himself cannot aspire to greatness, it is conceded t h a t he does borrow a 'brightness'. Man, in religious terms, is totally dependent upon God; this doctrine was both orthodox and widely accepted. The cynic and skeptic of the Restoration were searching for a man who reflected this borrowed brightness. Rochester particularly represents this search for a resolution to the skepticism of his age. In some editions of the poem, an Epilogue to the Satyr against Mankind is included. I n it he asks the question which had been troubling him for several decades: Is there a Mortal who on God relyes ? Whose Life, his Faith, and Doctrine Justifies ? Like other Restoration skeptics, Rochester was searching for the true Christian: . . . a meek humble Man of modest sense, Who preaching peace does practice continence; Whose pious life's a proof he does believe, Misterious truths, which no Man can conceive. 6

Vivian de Sola Pinto, Enthusiast

in Wit (London, 1962), 152.

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By the end of his own life he had exhausted the implications of materialism and skepticism, and was forced to acknowledge the Anglican communion. Francis Tallents' A View of Universal History (1695), concludes with the line, "1680 — the Earl of Rochester dies penitant". Rochester's search is similar to William Cowper's, and the object in each case was the same: to find a balanced life in which the means of knowledge was in harmony with the means of grace. I t is significant t h a t the original version of the Satyr against Mankind drew a number of responses. One of the most carefully presented is by the Reverend Mr. Griffith, called An Answer to the Satyr against Mankind (1679). I n it the author shows the way which John Dryden and the Anglican Church were to follow by attempting to reconcile 'Sense' and 'Reason'. The clearest verse expression of this reconciliation occurs in a poem by Robert Luck (1674— 1749); A Miscellany of New Poems published at London in 1736 includes "The Wisdom of Believing". This poem is an explanation of the way in which man must cope with the mystery of existence for he, himself 'such a Mystery', does not easily know even the elementary conditions of life. To achieve such knowledge, Sense, Reason, and Faith must be combined: To give no Knowledge human and divine, Sense, Reason, Faith, their friendly Forces join. Each to the Mind becomes a faithful Guide, When to their proper Objects they're apply'd. Later he explains just how the application of these faculties work: Sense to the Mind God's Oracles conveys: Their Import Reason next maturely weighs. That they are true by Faith the Mind agrees. Distinct their Powers, distinct their Office is. What Reason can't demonstrate, Faith reveres. This last line recalls the couplet from Dryden's Religio

Laid:

So Pale grows Reason at Religions sight; So dyes, and so dissolves in Supernatural Light. A similar attitude is expressed in Samuel Boyce's poem "On Reading Dr. Hill's Thoughts Concerning God and Nature, in Answer to

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t h e Philosophy of Lord Bolingbroke" 7 f r o m his collection of poems published in 1757; t h e poem is another attack upon skepticism and materialism: St. John, thy system must decay, Before religion's light; Truth breaks, resistless as the day, And falsehood fades like night. Let infidelity no more The damning page applaud: See, Hill the wrested facts restore, And vindicate the God ! Divine Ecclesia, from her throne, Looks smiling with esteem; Wishing her mitred sons had done, Like Warburton and Him. The a t t a c k upon rational and materialistic systems also furnishes t h e substance of a longer poem published anonymously in 1761. The Vanity of Philosophick Systems: A Poem Addressed to the Royal Society dismisses t h e skeptics with harsh disdain: Short-sighted skepticks of inglorious fame, And beasts triumphant I disdain to name; Minute Philosophers, a graceless crew, Who knew not God, and wrote more than they knew. B u t it is obvious t h a t t h e connotations of t h e word 'skeptic' have changed somewhat from t h e time of Dryden. Pyrrhonism h a d questioned Reason as t h e absolute tool for divine knowledge. Within these limits it could be viewed as an ally t o religion and a supporter of t h e mystical tradition. B u t during t h e eighteenth century, with t h e growth of scientism as a popular philosophy as well as a method, skepticism became associated with t h e materialism of Hobbes a n d t h e mathematics of Newton. The Vanity of Philosophick Systems attacks these men as well as t h e skeptics: 7

For a study of Bolingbroke's rationalism, see D. G. James, The Life of Reason (London, 1949).

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Dogmatiok Hobbes with impudence profess'd To make an immaterial God a jest; Taught all is body, variously combin'd, And spirit, but the phantom of a mind. Sagacious Newton last with pond'ring thought, To mathematick rules a system wrought; God, as an eastern Monarch, left for show; His viceroy, Gravity, the God below. The criticisms of the products of skepticism are in part criticisms of the products of scientism. Running parallel with the questioning of the power of Reason to achieve knowledge was a stream of thought which was based upon confidence in that very power. The Restoration virtuoso was a product of both rationalism and empiricism. He rejected scholasticism, not by advancing a new philosophy to replace it, but by changing the basic terms of investigation. The 'why' of the scholastic was replaced by the 'how' of the empiricist. "Galileo typifies the direction of modern interests, in this instance, not in refuting St. Thomas, but in taking no notice of him", wrote Basil Willey in his comparison of these two towering figures in the history of scientific method, 8 and other writers have similarly traced this history. 9 When Joseph Glanvill, famous as apologist for the Anglican Church, signalled the rejection of scholasticism by the Restoration with the publication in 1661 of his Vanity of Dogmatizing, he foresaw no conflict between the religion of his fathers and the rationalism of his contemporaries. This harmony was maintained a decade later when he published Philosophia Pia, or a Discourse of the Religious Temper and Tendencies of the Experimental Philosophy of the Royal Society. In this work Glanvill argued that natural philosophy aided theology by proving the existence of God by irrefutable evidence and by showing that the superstitions 8

The Seventeenth-Century Background (Garden City, 1953), 25. See particularly E. A. Burtt, The Metaphysical Foundations of Modern Physical Science (London, 1925); R. F. Jones, Ancients and Moderns (St. Louis, 1936); and R. S. Westfall, Science and Religion in Seventeenth-Century England (New Haven, 1958). A helpful anthology of extracts from major works has been edited and introduced by Norman Davy under the title British Scientific Literature in the Seventeenth Century (London, 1953). 9

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and the excesses of enthusiasm were not founded upon a reasonable basis. Glanvill was obviously using Reason as the best and surest foundation for religious belief. A few years later — in 1675 — John Wilkins seemed to go a step forward in his Principles and Duties of Natural Religion. " I t cannot be denied", he wrote, "but that in this dark and degenerate state into which mankind is sunk there is great want of clearer light to discover our duty to us with greater certainty and to put it beyond all doubt and dispute what is the good and acceptable will of God, and of a more powerful encouragement to the practice of our duty by the promise of a supernatural assistance and by the assurance of a great and eternal reward". While he thereby acknowledges the necessity of " t h a t clear and perfect revelation which God has made to the world by our Blessed Saviour" he suggests that recognition of this necessity depends upon Reason: The nature of man (besides what is common to him with plants and brutes) consists in that faculty of reason whereby he is made capable of religion, of apprehending a Deity, and of expecting a future state of rewards and punishments. But although Reason was fast becoming the touchstone for certainty, no open hostility between religion and rationalism was declared. In 1679 Glanvill examined the subject in Seasonable Recommendation and Defense of Reason in Affairs of Religion against Infidelity, and concluded that both Faith and Reason are complimentary and necessary: No principle of reason contradicts any article of faith. This follows upon the whole. Faith befriends reason, and reason serves religion, and therefore they cannot clash. They are both certain, both the truths of God; and one truth does not interfere with another. This is the Anglican position, asserted by Hooker and Taylor, Dryden and Mason, and eventually assented to by Rochester and Cowper. Reason and Faith must achieve a just balance. The Restoration virtuosi generally articulated this position, partly because this seemed to be the obvious means of expressing the harmony of the universe, partly — perhaps — because they had inherited the

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powerful legacy of the Anglican tradition which provided them with the categories for approaching the problem. Indeed, it is worth noting t h a t a number of the most distinguished virtuosi were priests of the Church: Thomas Sprat, Joseph Glanvill, John Flamsteed, William Whiston; both Isaac Barron and John Mapletoft left the sciences to enter the ministry. The Restoration virtuoso was closely related to the Anglican tradition, and so it is not surprising t h a t his concept of rationalism was conditioned by the Anglican view of Reason. Glanvill had expressed this view, and the traditional theology of his Church, in The Zealous and Impartial Protestant (1681): the Anglican Church stands on "the grounds of Scripture, right Reason, and the best and purist Antiquity". By 'right' reason was meant a balanced reason, co-existent with Faith, and leading to t r u t h within its own sphere. The similarity between this qualified concept of Reason and t h a t p u t forward in the "Preface" to John Dryden's Religio Laid is immediately obvious. Dryden's position is indicated in a passage in which he advocates humility in knowing God, and dependence upon Grace rather than man's own abilities: Let us be content at last, to know God, by his own Methods; at least so much of him, as he is pleas'd to reveal to us, in the sacred Scriptures; to apprehend them to be the word of God, is all our Reason has to do; for all beyond it is the work of Faith, which is the seal of Heaven impressed upon our humane understanding. While Walter Charleton in 1682 could publish The Harmony of Natural and Positive Divine Laws and John R a y in 1692 could deliver Physio-Theological Discourses, three essays showing the harmony of natural philosophy and religion, the contentment to know God by his own methods tended to be disrupted by man's drive to push the methods at his own disposal as far as they could take him. Reason and Faith were put asunder. First Reason, and later Faith, was used as the sole method for achieving divine knowledge. Locke's Essay concerning Human Understanding was published in 1690; Charles Blount's Oracles of Reason appeared in 1693; two years later Locke produced The Reasonableness of Christianity; and

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in 1696 Toland summed up this tendency towards rational Christianity in Christianity Not Mysterious. Toland met with official disapproval of the Anglican Church. Pattison has suggested that "the title of Locke's treatise, The Reasonableness of Christianity, may be said to have been the solitary thesis of Christian theology in England for the greater part of a century", 1 0 but this thesis must be challenged. I t was the psychological implications of Locke's treatise which attracted the theologians as well as the poets, and they found little in Locke's writing to alarm them concerning his orthodoxy. Carpenter has described him as "what would today be called a Broad Churchman". 1 1 Blount's deism was substantially attacked by Charles Leslie and by Samuel Clarke, and the two great treatises of mid-eighteenth-century theology — Law's The Case of Reason, or Natural Religion, Fairly and Fully Stated (1731), and Butler's Analogy of Religion (1736) — both were designed to show the insufficiency of Reason to explain all branches of knowledge. John Byrom's poem, "Thoughts upon Human Reason, occasioned by Reading Some Extravagant Declamations in Its Favour", expresses this same Anglican attitude: Yes, I have read them — but I cannot find Much Depth of Sense in Writers of this Kind: They all retail, as they proceed along, Or superficial Sentiments, or wrong: Of Reason ! Reason ! they repeat the Cries, And Reason's Use — which Nobody denies. All Sharers in it follow, I suppose, Each one his Reason, as he does his Nose; When he intends to reach a certain Spot, Whether he finds the Road to it, or not: With equal Sense a Postulatum begs The Use of Reason, as the Use of Legs.

10 11

37.

Mark Pattison, Essays (Oxford, 1889), II, 45. S. C. Carpenter, EigMeenth-Oentury Church and People (London, 1959),

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Full well these rational Adepts declaim On Points, at which their Reason can take Aim; But when they talk beyond them, what Mistakes, Of various Kind, their various Reason makes ! All are for one same Rule; and in its Use All singly clear, and mutually abstruse. What plainer Demonstration can be had, That their original Pretence is bad; Who say — Their own, or human Reason's, Light Must needs direct them to determine right? What greater Proof of a superior Skill Needfull to Reas'ners, reason how they will ? Sense to discern, and Reason to compare, Are Gifts that merit our improving Care; But want an inward Light, when all is done, As Seeds, and Plants do that of outward Sun: Main Help neglected, tasteless Fruits arise; And Wisdom grows insipid in the Wise. Tho' all these Reason-Worshippers profess To guard against fanatical excess, Enthusiastic Heat — their fav'rite Theme Draws their Attention to the cold Extreme; Their Fears of Torrid Fervors freeze a Soul; To shun the Zone they send it to the Pole. The very Sound of rational, and plain, Contents, where Sense is neither of the twain, A World of Readers; whose polite Concern Is to be learned, without Pains to learn: To please their Palates, with a modish Treat, Cheap is the Cost — and here is the Receipt — "Let Reason, first, Imagination, Passions, "Be clean drest up in pretty-worded Fashions; "Then let Imagination, Passions, Reason, "Change Places round, at each commodious Season; "'Till Reason, Passions, and Imagination "Have prov'd the Point, by their compleat Rotation. The limitation of h u m a n Reason became a m a j o r t h e m e in m a n y of B y r o m ' s poems. I t is introduced as t h e significance of t h e strange experience in t h e concluding lines of " O n t h e Conversion of St. Paul":

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He learn'd, and told it from the real Ground, And prov'd, to all the Christian World around, That true Religion had its true Foundation, Not in Man's Reason, but God's Revelation. "A Contrast between Human Reason and Divine Illumination" develops this theme. The "humble Christian, to whose inward/Sight God shows the t r u t h " is contrasted with a "sharp Philosopher, who thinks to find/By his own Reason, his own Strength of Mind,/ Sublimer Things", and the poem explains how Revelation in religious matters (represented by Behmen) is a surer guide than Reason (represented variously by Bolingbroke and Hay): Fond of his Reason as a Man may be, He should confess its limited Degree; And, by its fair Direction, seek to find A surer Guide to Things of deeper Kind: The most sharp-sighted seek for other Men, Who may have seen what lies beyond their Ken; And in religious matters, most Appeals Are made by Men to that, which God reveals. Byrom senses, in an earlier stanza, the difficulty which has developed in the use of this word by theologians and religious writers. 'Reason' has come to take on varying connotations. Like other key words in the language of a culture, it is used by different writers with slightly different implications, and over a period of several decades it had come to be less associated with t h a t faculty of the divine which links man with God, and more with an independently natural ability of man himself. This shift obviously reflects another aspect of the central cultural change in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries: the loss of a sense (as well as the doctrine) of original sin. Related with man's theological independence must be some device for asserting and directing t h a t independence. Reason was called upon — as was Nature and Common Sense — to perform that function. I t is this arrogation to which Byrom objects: Such Words as Nature, Reason, Common Sense, Furnish all Writers with one same Pretence;

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Altho', in many an acknowledg'd Case, They must fall short, without superior Grace: So that, in Things of more momentous kind, Nature itself directs us not to mind, If sacred Truth be heartily desir'd, The greatest Reas'ners, but the most inspir'd. Byrom's attitude is repeated in the contemporary Vanity of Philosophic Systems, A Poem Addressed to the Royal Society, mentioned earlier. The theme of this 202-line poem is again the limitation of Reason and its dependence upon God: From God alone all active pow'r proceeds, Ev'n human reason his assistance needs. Images from music, the dance, and the function of the body are introduced to illustrate the dependence of separate and powerful parts upon one central guiding force. I n a sustained metaphor comparing man to a ship, Reason is likened to the rudder. Yet, while all the crew is waiting and the ship is trimmed, both must await Providence to supply the moving gale. Several lines further on he picks up this metaphor: Reason may choose which way its course to bend, Superior pow'r must guide it to its end. This theme is then applied directly to scientific and mechanic systems of the universe. Their value is to be found in the way they describe the universe; they can never explain it. The final explanation must come from the single activating principle — God: No vital energy to matter's given, A passive mass, all actuated from heav'n: For laws of motion are but idle things, Unless the maker agitate the springs: Bodies are motionless as mere machines, The operator hid behind the scenes; One single actor on this worldly stage, Was, is, and will be God from age to age. As has already been seen, the skeptics are identified with the virtuosi, to whom he gives this advice:

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Proud Virtuosi, vain conjectures cease: Tho' right you calculate, yet wrong you guess. And the poem concludes with the orthodox conclusion: Man, that with Reason's eye attentive views, Observes the path, the Deity pursues, Marking the steps his wisdom has outcast, And so foresees *the *future * in the past. Darkness must vanish at approach of light, And Truth, when seen victorious, strike the sight: Let Reason judge — vain Systems are o'erthrown, And God, without a rival, reigns alone. God remains supreme, and both Faith and Reason are required to aid in the search for true knowledge; neither is rejected, and neither is relied on exclusively. The refusal to accept Reason as the total method had, of course, been a major aspect of the mystical tradition within the Anglican Church. But it extended beyond mysticism to encompass a questioning of Reason in all spheres and to produce a constant reassertion t h a t Reason is subservient to God and Faith. This is what Glanvill means by 'right Reason', and, similarly, what the Anglican would mean by 'right Faith'. B u t the eighteenth century witnessed the spread of what, from the Anglican viewpoint, was decidedly not 'right Faith'. The traditional Anglican horror of Enthusiasm has been traced at the beginning of this essay. During the century such Enthusiasm grew, especially among the poets who found in it an easy source for inspiration. From serious and scholarly works, such as the Calvinist William Romaine's trilogy, The Life of Faith, The Walk of Faith, and The Triumph of Faith, the term 'Faith' degenerated into a popularized word for personal belief. The experience was always entirely emotional, and generally seemed to have very little relation to anything outside itself. Much of this experience was no doubt sincere, but to the Anglican it lacked the balance with Reason necessary for a total and viable commitment. A fine example of this single-visioned perspective is a poem called " F a i t h " by the unitarian minister Henry Moore; although it is a sonnet in form, it clearly shows the

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picturesque- style in its imagery, its language, and its appeal to t h e emotional and visual rather than the rational: Life's ceaseless labours, and illusive joys, Its storms and waves, what brazen breast could bear, Did not the Cherub's Faith's reviving voice Sound its sweet music in Affliction's ear? See she waves high upon the heav'nly shore Her flaming brand, that guides me to the blest! Ye foaming billows roll — ye tempests roar ! Your rage but drives me sooner to my rest. The Seamen thus, long tost by stormy seas, Worn out with toil, and sinking with disease, With looks of rapture eyes the black'ning land, Forgets the past, and smiles at present pain, Feels a new vigour thrill through ev'ry vein, And leaps exulting on the welcome strand. I t is not surprising t h a t the eighteenth-century Anglican took a dim view of this concept of Faith as a panacea to revive the tired, listless blood of religious experience. " I t is reason", pointed out Oliver Elton in an article examining the clash between Reason and Enthusiasm, "not in the philosophical meaning, but in the guise of positive common sense, t h a t sunders the typical high Churchman of the time like Samuel Johnson from the dissenter or evangelical and from their variety of religious experience". 12 This fear of the excess to which Faith, unbridled by Reason, can lead man was not new to the Anglican tradition. Locke, in the Essay Concerning Human Understanding clearly foresaw what could happen, and in emphasising Reason he was attempting to curb the already well-established area of faith: For men having been principled with an opinion that they must not consult reason in the things of religion, however apparently contradictory to common sense and the very principles of their knowledge, have let loose their fancies and natural superstition, and have been by them led into so strange opinions and extravagant practices in religion 12

131.

" R e a s o n a n d E n t h u s i a s m in t h e E i g h t e e n t h C e n t u r y " , E &

X (1924),

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that a considerate man cannot but stand amazed at their follies and judge them so far from being acceptable to the great and wise God, that he cannot avoid thinking them ridiculous and offensive to sober men. So that in effect religion, which should most distinguish us from beasts and right most peculiarly to elevate us, as rational creatures, above brutes, is that wherein men most often appear most irrational and more senseless than beasts themselves. Glanvill, in A Blow at Modem Sadducism (1668), had expressed a similar view. Reason was used as the antonym and antidote of the Enthusiast's 'imagination' or 'Faith'. Only by balancing the two could divine t r u t h and wisdom be achieved. Neither the intellectual tools of Reason nor the emotional surges of Faith could provide it. Reason was needed to provide the knowledge and Faith, the assurance. Almost a century later — in 1746 — an anonymous poem published in London repeated this Anglican position. "Free Thoughts upon Faith: or, The Religion of Reason" opens with an Invocation to God, 'progressive un-beginner'. Once again the theme of the vastness and complexity of the universe is touched upon, and again, the need for God's sustaining power: Require not these vast Works of God's Grace, Proportion'd to their Vastness ? To claim to know this vastness by the power of one's own insight is to presume too much: Whence had Man's insect Arrogance of Guess Such impotent Out-starting — to presume, His momentary Nothingness of Grasp Cou'd know, task, limit, and describe — His God. This passage sounds like the similar attacks upon the presumptions of Reason. I n many ways they are similar: the one attacks the belief t h a t man's Reason alone and unaided can lead him to t r u t h and salvation; the other attacks the belief t h a t unaided Faith can provide a private and positive guide: Say, bigot Boaster of un-manner'd Zeal, Those, that art impudently sure, of Heaven !

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Personal revelation cannot be accepted as a d e q u a t e evidence u p o n which t o ground a u t h o r i t y : Is it in Revelation's aweful Claim, That Dust should dare mis-plead t h ' Almighty's Will, For Insult on his Justice? — Dare Men pass For Intimates of Heaven, who, thus, degrade Th' all-gladd'ning Lord of All those wid'ning Worlds ? A n d t h e n t h e poem goes on t o point out t h a t systems built on such personal F a i t h without t h e external prop of Reason do not last: Hum, from t h y dusky Hive, unreas'ning Drone, Stretch thy tame Wings — heave t h y dull Search along; Leave thy curs'd Home behind — and look, more wide. See'st thou not, everywhere, Earth's emmet Swarms, Scheming their busy Mount's loose-crumbling Hope — For the next Cataract Shower — that sweeps down All. — Such are the Toils, of Muftis, Popes, Pauwaus, Lhamas and Rabbis, Motabuhts, Bonzees, All the long-labouring Props, of Faith's lost Boast; Fabricks of tow'ry Air — that fright — and die ! These doomed systems were built u p o n m a n ' s p r i v a t e dreams, sustained b y his single vision, and justified b y t h e n a m e of Revelation: Alas ! 'tis Man's proud Heart — that, idly fill'd, With self-paid Rev'rence, for Desert mis-claim'd, Grown impious, in imagin'd Rectitude, Hugs his own Day-Dreams, idoliz'd within — And styles 'em Revelation ! A n o t h e r insubstantial foundation u p o n which religions are based is t h e assertion of Miracle: Since then, t h ' extremest Polar Tracts of Faith, Where Reason's One Eye winks, unbeam'd for Day, Plead Miracles in Proof — which none can try, Because but heard, not seen — let Learning shun Such hoary Feebleness of palsied Plea: Which Error must assert — or Truth disclaim.

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Similar devices to 'drain soft Reason's evidence' are Infallibility and the Tradition of Faith passed on without rational questioning for seventeen centuries. All these sources of authority are brought forth to support Faith, but all ultimately prove unreliable because without the balancing and restraining influence of Reason, Faith remains nothing more than private and totally personal vision, subject to the aberration of the beholder. This is why the mystics of the Anglican tradition were careful to relate their experience to external forms so t h a t there would be a convergence of their various visions. Where Faith is left alone, there can be no impersonal certainty: Where are Faith's Certainties — if Time's best Boasts, Sacred to Arts, Arms, Numbers, Learning — All! — All, fam'd, beyond Fate's Dread, found, All, Unsure? "What, then, must be believ'd?" the poet asks, and the answer ia simply, "Believe God Kind". Salvation depends upon accepting God and His 'felt Laws', reverencing His Power, judging Him by His Works, Knowing Him in His Mercies. The guide for all these is Reason: . . . hear strong Reason's Voice, Tongu'd, by the Power who loves it. This conclusion repeats the Anglican orthodoxy of Hooker and Taylor, Dryden and Byrom. Reason is seen as a necessary counterbalance to Faith, and Faith in a narrow, private, or sectarian role is condemned. The "Preface" to the poem explains this distinction: The Hazarder of these Free Thoughts, where-ever he names Faith, means Faith upon a narrow Botom. He was forc'd to use That Word, because no other comprehends, with like Extent, what Every different Species of it would insist on calling Revelation. The broader, more impersonal concept — t h a t subscribed to by the Anglican Church — he supports completely: For the really Such, this Writer feels more Reverence than he cou'd express: and only wishes the whole World concurr'd as freely, in confessing which it is — as He, to think of it respectfully.

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The final p a r a g r a p h of this " P r e f a c e " sums u p succinctly t h e Anglican rationalistic tradition: Then — as Truth oft'nest is observ'd to hold the middle Road — how very happy wou'd the Author think his Error, shou'd it tend to strike out that all-pleasing Medium — which betwixt two wide Extremes, finds Faith and Reason balanc'd ! ' F a i t h a n d Reason balanc'd' — this is t h e essence of t h e Anglican a t t i t u d e . E a c h has its own sphere and its own authority, b u t neither alone is sufficient t o provide t r u t h . E x t r e m e Rationalism, E n t h u s i asm, or Empiricism 1 3 is inadequate as a final philosophy, yet each does have a role t o play within t h e t o t a l understanding of m a n ' s experience. These t h r e e faculties are defined a n d explained in a poem b y Byrom: There is a threefold correspondent Light, That shines to Faith, to Reason, and to Sight: The first, Eternal; bringing into View Celestial Objects, if the Faith be true; The next, Internal; which the reas'ning Mind Consults in Truths of an ideal Kind; The third, External; and perceiv'd thereby All outward Objects that affect the Eye. Each Light is good within its destin'd Sphere; Nor with each other do they interfere: Faith does not reason, Reason does not see, Nor Sight extend beyond a fixt Degree: Yet Faith in Light of a superior Kind Cannot be call'd irrational, or blind; Because an higher Certainty, display'd, Includes the Force of all inferior Aid. As Body, Soul, and Spirit make a Man, Each has the Help of its appointed Plan; Sight, Hearing, Smell, and Taste, and feeling Sense, What the corporeal Nature wants, dispense:

13 See D o n a l d Greene, " A u g u s t i n i a n i s m a n d Empiricism", Century Studies, I, i (September 1967), 33—68.

Eighteenth-

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Thinking, Comparing, Judging, and the whole Of reasoning Faculties, assist the Soul: Faith, and whatever else may be exprest By Grace celestial, makes the Spirit blest. To heal Defect, or to avoid Excess, The greater Light should still correct the less; And form, within the right obedient Will, A seeing, reas'ning, and believing Skill: While Body moves as outward Sense directs; And Soul perceives what Reason's Light reflects; And Spirit, fill'd with Lustre from above, Obeys by Faith, and operates by Love. A sober Person, tho' his Eyes are good, Slights not the Truths by Reason understood; Nor just Conclusions, under the Pretence Of Contradiction to his seeing Sense; Knowing the Limits too that Reason hath, He does not seek to quench the Light of Faith; But rationally grants, that it may teach What human Stretch of Reason cannot reach. As Sight to Reason, in the Things t h a t lie Beyond the Ken of the corporeal Eye, Unhurt, uninjur'd, yields itself of course, So well-taught Reason owns a higher Force; By Faith enlighten'd, it enjoys a Rest In clearer Light to find its own supprest; Suffering no more, for want of its Display, Than Moon and Stars in full meridian Day. To make the reas'ning Faculty of Man Do more, or less to help him, than it can, Is equally absurd; but worse to slight, Or want the Benefits of Faith, than Sight: If he who sees no outward Light be blind, How dismal dark must be the faithless Mind! The one is only natural Defect, The other wilful, obstinate Neglect. Pretence of Reason for it is Pretence Foolish and fatal, in the saddest Sense; For Reason cannot alter what is true, Or any more prevent, than Eyes can do;

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Both, by the Limits which they feel, proclaim The real Want of a celestial Flame: How is it possible to see, in fine, The Things of GOD, without a Light divine ? This t r i p a r t i t e concept of m a n ' s faculties was n o t u n u s u a l in Anglic a n theology. William L a w , following Boehme, describes t h e K i n g d o m of H e a v e n a n d t h i n g s c r e a t e d b y G o d as h a v i n g t h r e e manifestations: The Kingdom of Heaven stands in this threefold life, where three are one, because it is a manifestation of the Deity, which is three and one; the Father has His distinct manifestation in the fire, which is always generating the light; the Son has His distinct manifestation in the light, which is always generating from the fire; the Holy Ghost has His manifestation in the spirit, t h a t always proceeds from both, and is always united with them . . . . And hence it is t h a t all angels and the souls of men are said to be born of God, sons of God, and partakers of the divine nature, which is the unbeginning majesty of God, the Kingdom of Heaven or visible glory of the Deity. 14 I t is highly p r o b a b l e t h a t B y r o m derived his concept of t h e t r i p a r t i t e n a t u r e of m a n ' s faculties f r o m his r e a d i n g of L a w , b u t it is f o u n d elsewhere in religious writings; t h e G e r m a n m y s t i c R u y s b r o e c k a d v a n c e s t h e image of God as triple m a n i f e s t a t i o n s of light, a n d b o t h St. A u g u s t i n e a n d Anselm h a d p u t f o r w a r d a view of m a n as a n i m a g e of t h e H o l y T r i n i t y . This idea also is f o u n d in C h r i s t o p h e r S m a r t ' s poems; in Song to David, xlii: Open, and naked of offence, Man's made of mercy, soul and sense; God armed the snail and wilk: Be good to him t h a t pulls t h y plough; Due food and care, due rest, allow For her t h a t yields thee milk.

Selected Mystical Writings of William Law, ed. S t e p h e n H o b h o u s e (London, 1938), 46. See also t h e brief article on "God a n d Man as Trinity", 3 2 4 — 5 . For further discussion of Law's influence, see S t e p h e n H o b h o u s e , William Law and, Eighteenth-Century Quakerism ( L o n d o n , 1927); and J o h n H . Overton, William Law, Nonjuror and Mystic ( L o n d o n , 1881). 14

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And in " H y m n on Trinity Sunday" he slightly changes the terms, but retains the trinitarian concept: Man, soul and angel join To strike up strains divine; 0 blessed and ador'd, Thine aid from Heav'n afford; Holy, Holy, Holy Three, Which in One, as One agree. For angel, man and soul Make up upon the whole, One individual here, And in the Highest sphere; Where with God he shall repose, From whose image first he rose. I n the "Introduction" to his edition of the poems of Smart, Robert Brittain described this tripartite concept as a heresy, b u t Karina Side has carefully shown t h a t it was neither a heresy according to the Catholic Church, nor was it peculiar to Smart. 1 5 That it was, indeed, acceptable to Anglican thought is further established by the writings of Law and Byrom. The tradition of Anglican rationalism remains intact and consistent throughout the Restoration and eighteenth century in spite of the pressures from skepticism, empiricism, and enthusiasm. The relation of Faith and Reason was scrupulously examined by Edward Stillingfleet in Origines Sacrae (1662) and his conclusions were acceptable to such major writers as Dryden, Addison, Swift, J o h n son, 16 Mason, Byrom, and Smart. All of these, and many more, were strongly influenced by the tradition of Anglican rationalism as they were by the Anglican theological tradition.

15

"Christopher Smart's H e r e s y " , MLN, L X I X (1954), 3 1 6 — 1 9 . F o r particular consideration o f t h e religious v i e w s of S w i f t a n d J o h n s o n , see Phillip H a r t h , Swift and Anglican Rationalism (Chicago, 1961); K a t h l e e n Williams, Jonathan Swift and the Age of Compromise (Lawrence, "Kansas, 1959); L o u i s A . L a n d a , Swift and the Church of Ireland (Oxford, 1954); a n d Sir S. C. R o b e r t s , "Dr. J o h n s o n a s a Churchman", Church Quarterly Review ( O c t o b e r — D e c e m b e r 1955). 16

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An English Divine is obliged to preach to the People of England, and to defend the Faith and Discipline of the Church of England against all Opposers. The Manner of our preaching now, which is come to an admirable height, is chiefly to be learnt from the Preachers since the Restoration of King Charles II and among them Archbishop Tillotson is unquestionably the greatest Man in that way. W i l l i a m W o t t o n , Some Thoughts Concerning Proper Method of Studying Divinity

a

Vain speculative Noise, and Party Flame, Have long disgrac'd the peaceful Christian Name, Enkindling Pride, Suspicion, Censure, Strife, Ills, each destructive of the heavenly Life. Moses Browne, "To the Rev. Dr. William Harris"

Within the Established Church in England during the eighteenth century there could be found, not only the stream of theology formulated by Richard Hooker, but also that formulated by Jean Calvin. Books two, three, and four (1594) of Hooker's Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Politie are a defense of the Anglican position against the Puritan charges of popish corruption and failure to rely exclusively upon the Scriptures; the fifth book (1597) is a defense of the Book of Common Prayer which had been the centre of doctrinal

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controversy since Pentecost S u n d a y of 1549. 1 The fact t h a t , during little more t h a n a century, some of t h e a t t i t u d e s a n d beliefs dismissed b y Hooker could r e t u r n to prominence within t h e Established Church is, of course, not surprising t o t h e historian of ideas. I n t h e writings of Hooker himself t h e r e is t h e t e n d e n c y towards inclusiveness which grew t o become a principal characteristic of eighteenthcentury religious t h o u g h t . Indeed, D o m Gregory Dix, himself an Anglican monk, has a d m i t t e d this almost chaotic diversity: We have to face the facts that though the Church of England has an official liturgy more rigidly and minutely prescribed in its details than that of almost any other church in Christendom and although its observance is fortified by a most complicated and formidable system of courts and legal penalties, such as no other religious society in history has ever found necessary to secure the observance of its rites, yet the Church of England to-day presents a liturgical disorganization such as is found in no other christian body, and exhibits a liturgical diversity not commonly found in bodies which do not profess to have any set liturgy at all.2 This diversity, in fact, has been praised a n d encouraged b y t h e Church f a t h e r s as an essential virtue of t h e Anglican communion. J e r e m y Taylor in his A Discourse of the Liberty of Prophesying (1647) examined in detail t h e varying beliefs of t h e Christians of t h e world, t h e firm sincerity with which those beliefs were held, a n d t h e danger t o heresy t o which t h e y are liable, a n d he looked t o w a r d general toleration a n d acceptance as t h e only reasonable p a t h : If this consideration does not deceive me, we have no other help in the midst of these distractions and discussions, but all of us to be united in that common term, which as it does constitute the Church in its being such, so it is the medium of the Communion of Saints; and that is the Creed of the Apostles; and, in all other things an honest endeavour to find out what truths we can, and a charitable and mutual permission to others that disagree from us and our opinions.

1 For a detailed discussion, from an interesting, if not wholly sympathetic point of view, see The First of the Puritans and The Booh of Common Prayer (Milwaukee, 1949) by Paul R. Rust, O.M.I. 2 The Shape of the Liturgy (Westminster, 1945), 700.

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Should we choose to do otherwise we are putting ourselves in an assailable and an extreme position: . . . no man can be reasonably persuaded or satisfied in anything else, unless he throws himself upon chance, or absolute predestination, or his own confidence, in every one of which it is two to one, at least, but he may miscarry.3 This conclusion, with its feeling of gentle toleration and its appeal to what is reasonable, sounds as though it might well have come from the middle of the eighteenth century rather than from the seventeenth. The attitude it expresses provided the debate material for the ardent diplomacy which went on in the 1670's,4 and the delicate balance it maintains between the general belief that "by the Law of Nature every man has a right of worshipping God according to his own conscience" and the belief that a commonly established and uniform religion supported by some civil authority was beneficial is precisely the grounds for William Warburton's defense of the precarious stalemate of the 1730's: The Alliance between Church and State; or, The Necessity and Equity of an Established Religion and a Test Law, demonstrated from the essence of Civil Society, upon the fundamental principles of the Law of Nature and Nations (1736). Diversity and toleration, then, were both acceptable if not actually recommended to the sensibility of the Established Church in t h e eighteenth century; that is, while we can find few passages actually praising these characteristics (while, in fact, we can find passages condemning them) the average Anglican of the eighteenth century was not likely to be on a perpetual look-out for things in the shapes and colors of heresies, nor was be likely to be righteously indignant should he discover apparent inconsistencies. I t was this embracing sensibility which permitted (for example) Richard Hooker

3

Works, ed. R. Heber (London, 1882), VII, 416—23. For a brief and convenient exposition of the issues of toleration and uniformity during this period, see Chap. I l l of Norman Sykes's From Sheldon to Seeker (Cambridge, 1959). 4

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in his fifth book of the Laws to argue for what Paul Rust has described as a Puritan Prayer Book 5 against what Hooker, and others, regarded as Puritan attacks. The diversity within the Anglican tradition, particularly as it is seen in relation to a number of doctrines, will, then, be examined in this chapter. Stephen Neill, whose excellent work on Anglicanism has already been referred to a number of times during the course of this essay, has described " a general Anglican willingness to tolerate for the time being what appears to be in error". 6 And earlier in this study we quoted his statement t h a t "there are no special Anglican theological doctrines, there is no particular Anglican theology". 7 But while this willingness has permitted doctrines to change and develop during the century, there always has been a number of theological questions to which the Anglican Church has adopted certain attitudes. In general, the influence of the theology of Calvinism was stronger than might be guessed at first glance. Already examined in some detail has been the attitude toward the Athanasian Creed and the doctrine of the Trinity, toward authority, and toward The Book of Common Prayer as these were dealt with in the poetry of Dryden and Mason. And an Anglican atmosphere was found in poems on the Church festivals, on prayer and meditation, on love and sacrifice. Similarly, the considerable number of poems reflecting influence of mystical thought and practices were seen to form part of an Anglican tradition. Having examined these 'constants' the essay can now look at a number of poems which are concerned with several basic doctrines of Christianity: the concept of God, and His relation to Christ, the extent and nature of wrath, the doctrines of Good Works and of Grace, the concept of depravity, of election, and of predestination. Because these doctrines are inter-related and the attitude adopted toward one influences the attitude toward the others, and because poets refuse to be as systematic as theologians, water- tight 5

Op. tit., 177. ' Anglicanism, (Harmondsworth, 1958), 422. ' Ibid,., 415.

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divisions in t h e considering of these poems cannot be maintained. To begin, it m a y be most helpful t o apply t o a couple of poems t h e distinctions between Anglican a n d P u r i t a n which were sketched a t t h e beginning of this essay. I n t h e m can be seen b o t h differences of style a n d differences in t h e concept of God. On one h a n d t h e r e is this poem by Thomas Gibbons (1720 — 1785): To Thee, my God, whose Presence fills The earth, and seas, and skies, To Thee, whose Name, whose heart is Love, With all my powers I rise. Troubles in long succession role; Wave rushes upon wave; Pity, 0 pity my distress ! Thy child, Thy suppliant, save ! 0 bid the roaring tempest cease; Or give me strength to bear Whate'er Thy holy will appoints, And save me from despair! To Thee, my God, alone I look, On Thee alone confide; Thou never hast deceived the soul That on Thy grace relied. Though oft Thy ways are wrapt in clouds Mysterious and unknown, Truth, Righteousness, and Mercy stand The pillars of Thy throne. A n d on t h e other hand, t h e r e is this poem on t h e same t h e m e by J o h n Newton ( 1 7 2 5 - 1 8 0 7 ) : Why should I fear the darkest hour, Or tremble at the Tempter's power ? Jesus vouchsafes to be my Tower. Though hot the fight, why quit the field? Why must I either fly or yield, Since Jesus is my mighty Shield? When creature-comforts fade and die, Worldlings may weep, but why should I? Jesus still lives, and still is nigh.

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Though all the flocks and herds were dead, My soul a famine need not dread, For Jesus is my living Bread. I know not what may soon betide, Or how my wants shall be supplied; But Jesus knows, and will provide. Though Sin would fill me with distress, The throne of Grace I dare address, For Jesus is my Righteousness. Though faint my prayers, and cold my love, My stedfast hope shall not remove, While Jesus intercedes above. Against me earth and hell combine; But on my side is Power divine; Jesus is all, and He is mine! B o t h of these poems ARE acceptable to Church of England sentiment; in fact, both are included in Roundell Palmer's collection of religious verse. 8 The attitude of each poem is humble and the reliance on God is sincere. E a c h poem looks towards Righteousness. The style of the two poems is similar. Y e t , it is interesting to note that Thomas Gibbons was a dissenting minister, and t h a t John Newton was the perpetual curate of Olney and afterwards Rector of St. Mary Woolnoth in the city of London. R e a d against this awareness, certain significant differences seem to emerge. Gibbon's poem is more Puritan; that is, it is written in a more customary and readable form; the language, except for several inversions (especially of verbs a t the end of the line for the advantage of rhyme and emphasis), is that of ordinary composition; there is little imagery: " W a v e rushes upon w a v e " has some symbolic value, as does " O bid the roaring tempest cease", but in neither does the symbolism reach beyond the arc of the common sensibility and vocabulary, and Truth, Righteousness and Mercy are personified, but again with slight literary or dramatic effect. W h a t Gibbon's poem does, then, is express an unambiguous and simple sentiment in a style reflecting this sensibility; the mysterious and un8

The Book of Praise (London, n.d.).

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known ways of God are recognized, but scarcely felt; they do not pose the emotional dilemma of, say, Gerald Manley Hopkins' "Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord". This unadorned, uncomplicated directness of style reflecting a similar directness of experience is what critics like to view as symptomatic of Puritan art.9 Newton's poem, on the other hand, can be read as a more involved and complex work. The imagery is immediately recognizable as both more frequent and more essential to the structure of the poem. "Darkest hour", with its overtones of the Shadow of Death and the dark hour of Christ's agony, is a standard religious symbol. But "Tower" is less of a stock image. It serves its primary function in the line "Jesus vouchsafes to be my Tower" as a symbol of guidance (the pillar of fire by night and of smoke by day) and of support (the tower of strength). But it also carries itself over into the next line by contrast to the field of everyday struggle; Christ, above the conflict, gives guidance and hope; awareness of his presence makes the poet on the battlefield below feel that he is set off from the 'worldlings' who may weep. He believes himself to be, in Calvinist terms, one of the elect. This basic contrast is carried throughout the poem by means of the four metaphors of Christ's nature. While in the poem by Gibbons the presence of God is acknowledged, its existence is named rather than made manifest: To Thee, my God, whose Presence fills The earth, and seas, and skies, To Thee, whose Name, whose heart is Love, With all my powers I rise. In the poem by Newton there has been the subtle shift from God to Jesus, from the creator to the redeemer. Christ's nature cannot be accurately named; the metaphors of the Tower, the Shield, the Bread and Righteousness are intended to carry this awareness. The choice of metaphor itself is interesting; neither the Tower nor the Shield was a poetic cliche in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century verse; the abstract image of Righteousness is both usual and vague; For a stimulating differentiation between Puritan and Catholic art, see G. K . Chesterton's George Bernard Shaw (London, 1909). 9

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but the image of Bread immediately relates to the nature of Christ as sacrifice, and source of spiritual sustenance and presents a much richer symbolic universe than anything in the Gibbon's poem. Partly this richness is due, then, to the shift to mediation through Christ, to the more complex and integral imagery, and to the more personal, less hymn-like, form. This significant difference in style suggests a difference in thought and feeling. To Gibbons the ways of God remain wrapt, mysterious and unknown, in clouds; God is apart, austere and supported by the abstract pillars of Truth, Righteousness and Mercy. His God is less personal, less an experience to participate in. There is almost none of the intimate involvement which is found in, for example, the Holy Sonnets of John Donne, or the Jubilate Agno of Christopher Smart, or the Temple poems of George Herbert. While, on the other hand, the poem by Newton is not the personal document of either Donne, Herbert or Smart, neither is it the expected expression of Gibbon. Because it is Christ whose power is sought, the involvement is more immediate. God's mysterious and unknown ways, so to speak, have been made manifest in Christ. Gibbons' poem reflects the Old Testament; Newton's, the New. This distinction is, of course, epigrammatic, but it serves a useful critical turn in the attempt to perceive the range of sensibility in eighteenthcentury religious verse and especially to distinguish the threads within the Established Church itself. Gibbons must rely on the Truth, Righteousness and Mercy of God; he can only look to God's grace. Newton has Jesus as mediator: My stedfast hope shall not remove, While Jesus intercedes above. The power of intercession is felt, and so he dares address the throne of grace, though conscious of his sinful state. He has a claim for justification. This contrast between the two poems — richness on the one hand and a straightforward simplicity on the other, personal involvement versus a rather remote and austere concept of God, the total dependence upon the will of God versus the presumption upon

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grace, t h e direct awareness of God versus a n elaborate s t r u c t u r e of mediation — this contrast fulfils neatly G. K . Chesterton's comments a b o u t t h e P u r i t a n , and, b y implication, t h e Catholic: This is the essential Puritan idea, that God can only be praised by direct contemplation of Him. You must praise God only with your brain; it is wicked to praise Him with your passions or your physical habits or your gesture or instinct of beauty. Therefore it is wicked to worship by singing or dancing or drinking sacramental wines or building beautiful churches or saying prayers when you are half asleep. We must not worship by dancing, drinking, building or singing; we can only worship by thinking. Our heads can praise God, but never our hands and feet. That is the true and original impulse of the Puritans. 10 And this distinction in styles is also elaborated b y W. R . Inge, echoing Dowden a n d Sypher quoted elsewhere in of this essay: The Protestant, in his preoccupation with ethics, undervaluates the aesthetic side of life, and thereby loses the sympathy of most persons who have the artistic temperament. Poetry plays a much larger part in life than the Protestant is willing to admit. For him a myth must be a hard fact or a wicked lie; sacramental symbolism is fraudulent magic; all the petty world of half-belief which the Catholic imagination spreads between the self and hard reality must be swept away ruthlessly. 11 As t h e feeling is t h u s defined, t h e P u r i t a n will produce a less personal a n d less ornate a r t ; Imagism is n o t a P u r i t a n style. P u r i t a n feeling will lend t o produce a logical a n d ethical verse, one concerned with doctrine a n d behaviour, with orthodoxy a n d s a l i fication. The Catholic, in a general sense, will a t t e m p t a more sensuous a n d more symbolic a r t . This is obviously a convenient dichotomy, a n d it is f r e q u e n t l y used in one shape or a n o t h e r b y critics wanting t o differentiate styles. B u t such dichotomies m u s t not be used too absolutely. I t is helpful t o recall t h a t while T h o m a s Gibbons was a dissenting minister, J o h n Newton who was t h e perp e t u a l curate of Olney a n d a f t e r w a r d s Rector of St. Mary Wooln o t h was also a Calvinist a n d an Evangelical; his influence u p o n William Cowper was strong, and, as Carpenter p u t s it, " i t was his 10 11

George Bernard Shaw (New York, 1956), 31. Protestantism (Garden City, 1928), 75.

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example and advice t h a t brought Thomas Scott the commentator from a careless Socianism to an earnest Calvinistic Evangelical faith". 1 2 Thus, the usual dichotomy of Puritan versus Anglican — a dichotomy largely encouraged by Edward Dowden's study of seventeenth-century literature 13 — is not really adequate for a careful study of eighteenth-century verse. Indeed, Summers has warned against applying our "fairly rigid modern conceptions of Puritan and Anglican, or of high, broad, and low" to most of the figures of the seventeenth century: During the years of George Herbert's maturity, the members of the Church of England were troubled chiefly by questions concerning church government, ritual, theology, and the proper conduct of the personal life. On none of these issues was there simply one Puritan and one Anglican position.14 And, as has been seen, the positions during the eighteenth century became even more involved as the attitudes toward various doctrines evolved and developed. What was written by a Puritan is frequently acceptable to an Anglican (on many issues one would naturally expect Christians, though of different sects, to agree) and — more interesting — what is written by an Anglican is possibly not completely acceptable to another Anglican. I t is wiser, in spite of the nice points of theology involved, to differentiate thought, feeling, and style in terms of Calvinist rather than Puritan. Theoretically Puritans should have been Calvinists; certainly most of them were. But the question of church polity rather t h a n of doctrine was frequently the separating mark of the eighteenthcentury Puritan. The theology of Calvin, although frequently regarded as forming a minor part of Anglican doctrine, had actually influenced an important train of English religious thought from an early period. 12

S. C. C a r p e n t e r , Eighteenth

Century

Church and People

( L o n d o n , 1959),

227. 13

Puritan and Anglican: Studies in Literature ( N e w Y o r k , 1901). J o s e p h H . S u m m e r s , Oeorge Herbert: His Religion and Art ( L o n d o n , 1954), 50. 14

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I t influenced such m a j o r works as Alexander Nowell's Catechism (1570) a n d T h o m a s Rogers' The Catholic Doctrine of the Church of England (1587), a n d Helen W h i t e has described t h e English Church before 1640 as officially accepting t h e main t e n e t s of Continental P r o t e s t a n t i s m : Justification b y F a i t h , Predestination a n d Election, a n d t h e appeal t o t h e final a u t h o r i t y of Scripture. During t h e lifet i m e of J a m e s I Calvinism was regarded as t h e m a j o r theology of universities a n d Court. B u t in actual practice, she points out, " n o one of these theories was applied with t h e vigor a n d literal consistency which a Calvin or J o h n K n o x h a d contemplated". 1 6 Charles Davis Cremeans has examined t h e reception of Calvinistic t h o u g h t in E n g l a n d during t h e sixteenth century, a n d has come t o this conclusion: The extent of the acceptance of Calvinism in the Church of England is attested not only in the doctrinal content of that Church's belief, but in the acts that reveal church policy. The Institutes superseded Bullinger's Decades as the recognized manual of the clergy and the textbook used by students of divinity in Oxford and Cambridge . . . . Calvin's Catechism was ordered by statute to be used in the universities in 1587 . . . . Thus we may agree with Philip Schaff who wrote: "it is not too much to say that the ruling theology of the Church of England in the later half of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century was Calvinistic." (Creeds and Christendom, vol. I, (New York, 1896), 604.) We would add, however, that Calvinism was the ruling theology of all England rather than of the Church of England alone. I t must be added, too, that Calvinism consists of more than theology, and that in certain other fields of thought, mainly those dealing with church government and the relation of church to state, the nonconformists' interpretation of Calvinism differed greatly from the Conformists'. 17 The Calvinistic t r a d i t i o n continued during t h e seventeenth century, a n d emerged during t h e eighteenth century in such i m p o r t a n t works as t h e Theologia Beformata: or, the Body and Substance of the 15

Alexander Newell, Nowell, or Noel (1507 ?—1602), dean of St. Paul's. Helen C. White, English Devotional Literature (Prose), 1600—1640 (Madison, 1931), 187. 17 The Reception of Calvinistic Thought in England, Illinois Studies in the Social Science Series, X X X I , No. 1 (Urbana, 1949), 82. 16

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Christian Religion, Comprised in distinct Discoveries or Treatises upon The Apostles Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and The Ten Commandments (London, 1713) by John Edwards, the Calvinistic divine who became minister of St. Sepulchre's, Cambridge, and the scholarly and devout trilogy by William Romaine (1714 — 1795): The Life of Faith, The Walk of Faith, and The Triumph of Faith. The acceptability of this tradition to Anglican writers is seen in the curious version by Selina, Countess of Huntingdon (1707 — 1791) of a couple of poems by John Mason (d. 1694), the Calvinist preacher whom Richard Baxter called "the glory of the Church of England''. Lady Huntingdon was herself a member of the Established Church, and, like her close friends the Wesleys, she regarded herself as a loyal supporter of it. 18 Her separation from the Establishment was a forced issue on the basis of legal standing. Plummer records that "in 1781, Lady Huntingdon's chapels were declared to be dissenting meeting-houses, in which no minister of the Church of England might officiate. But the Methodists were as yet very indignant at being called Dissenters, and the English Dissenters gave them little sympathy". 1 9 The poem is a compilation of two stanzas taken from No. 23 (with slight changes) and two taken from No. 28 of Mason's Songs of Praise: The world can neither give nor take, Nor can they comprehend The peace of God, which Christ has bought, The peace which knows no end. The burning bush was not consumed Whilst God remained there; The Three, when Jesus made the Fourth, Found fire as soft as air. 18 John Wesley, in the last year of his life, wrote, "I live and die a member of the Church of England, and no one who regards my judgment or advice will ever separate from it". For a detailed study of Wesley's orthodoxy, see William R. Cannon's The Theology of John Wesley: With Special Reference to the Doctrine of Justification (New York, 1946). 19 Alfred Plummer, The Church of England in the Eighteenth Century (London, 1910), 121.

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273

God's furnace doth in Zion stand; But Zion's God sits by; As the refiner views his gold With an observant eye. His thoughts are high, His love is wise, His wounds a cure intend; And, though He does not always smile, He loves unto the end. This poem is on t h e same t h e m e as t h e two, b y Gibbons a n d Newton; already examined. God is still m a n ' s sole support, a n d Christ has bought t h e means of grace. B u t L a d y H u n t i n g d o n proceeds t o a d d t h e final two stanzas with their peculiar imagery. The world has become much more t h a n Newton's field of struggle; it is now God's furnace, a n d m a n is n o t a contestant shielded b y Christ, b u t raw ore for t h e melting down. God is present, of course, b u t n o t as p a r t of t h e earth, a n d seas a n d skies; he is overseeing t h e smelting " A s t h e refiner views his gold / W i t h an observant eye". Righteousness a n d Mercy are not mentioned. God has become t h e just God, t h e w r a t h f u l God; his wisdom overrides his compassion a n d his 'wounds a cure intend'. Although he loves, he 'does not always smile'. T h e feeling of t h e poem is far removed f r o m this poem on t h e same subject m a t t e r b y Bishop Thomas K e n : By various names we thy perfections call, But pure, unfathom'd Love, exhausts them all; By love all things were made, and are sustain'd, Love all things, to allure man's love ordain'd; Love vengeance from lapsed human race suspends, Love our salvation, when provided, intends; Love, Lord, the infinite perfections join'd, Into all forms of love to save mankind; Enlightening wisdom, and supporting might, Grace to forgive, compassion to invite; Thy bounty in regards which thought exceed, Munificence to promise all we need; Truth to perform, paternal, tender care, A patient mildness long to wait, and spare; A justice, to chastise love's hatefull foes, With jealousy, cursed rivals to oppose;

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THE THEOLOGICAL

TRADITION

Benignity, to hear a sinner's cry, Unbounded all-sufficience, to supply; They all are love, love only is their aim, My verse shall love, and hymn Thee by that name. T h e feeling expressed b y K e n is close t o t h a t of John D o n n e in its emphasis upon t h e encompassing nature of God's love. This feeling, as has been seen earlier, is closely related t o the mystical tradition. I n several of his sermons Donne dwelt upon the communicableness of God, upon his relation w i t h man which makes it possible for man to know him and his w a y s : Our first step in this first part, is the sociableness, the communicableness of God; He loves holy meetings, he loves the communion of saints, the household of the f a i t h f u l l . . . . They say we cannot name God, but plurally; so sociable, so communicable, so extensive, so derivative of himself, is God, and so manifold are the beames, and the emanations that flow out of him.20 A n d on another occasion he warned t h a t failure to appreciate this communicableness would lead to a God who was austere and remote, essentially separated from man w h o could scarcely communicate w i t h him: For it is not enough to find Deum, a God; a great and incomprehensible power, that sits in luce, in light, but in luce inaccessibili, in light that we can not comprehend. A God that enjoys his owne eternity, his owne peace, his own blessedness, but reports not us, reflects not upon us, communicates nothing to us.21 This close relation between God and man, a relation made conceivable through a concentration upon t h e nature of charity and love rather t h a n upon justice and wisdom, has been f o u n d to be t h e prod u c t of the meditative and mystical tradition in the A n g l i c a n Church; it provides the background of the poem " L o v e - j o y " b y George Herbert:

80

L Sermons (1649), 32.

" LXXX

Sermons (1640), 74.

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275

As on a window late I cast mine eye, I saw a vine drop grapes with J and C Anneal'd on every bunch. One standing by Ask'd what it meant. I, who am never loth To spend my judgement, said, it seem'd to me To be the bodie and the letters both Of Joy and Charitie. Sir, you have not miss'd, The man reply'd; it figures Jesus Christ. To say t h a t t h e tradition suggested here b y K e n , Donne a n d Herb e r t represents t h e only set of attitudes of t h e Established Church, is, of course, t o grossly over-simplify t o t h e point of unscholarly inaccuracy. B o t h Cremeans a n d Schaff have argued for t h e recognition of t h e importance of Calvinistic doctrine in England, a n d M. M. K n a p p e n has supported these findings b y tracing t h e influence of t h e R e f o r m e d Churches in impressing a religious a t t i t u d e u p o n t h e average communicant: It was the attention given to the layman, and the responsibility put upon him, that made the Reformed Churches such efficient instruments for the inculcation of religious attitudes. 22 F o r t h e understanding of eighteenth-century religious verse of t h e Established Church it is necessary, therefore, t o read some of t h e works against a background of Calvinistic t h o u g h t a n d feeling. J o h n Mason's lines, as arranged b y L a d y H u n t i n g d o n , represent t h e Calvinistic concept of God; in fact, Mason's God seems t h e God of J o n a t h a n E d w a r d s ' famous sermon, "Sinners in t h e H a n d s of an Angry G o d " : . . . thus it is that natural men are held in the hand of God, over the pit of hell; they have deserved the fiery pit, and are already sentenced to it; and God is dreadfully provoked, his anger is as great towards them as to those that are actually suffering the executions of the fierceness of his wrath in hell, and they have done nothing in the least to appease or abate that anger, neither is God in the least bound by any promise to hold them up one moment; the devil is waiting for them, hell is gaping for them, the flames gather and flash about them, and would fain lay hold on them, and swallow them; the fire pent up in their own hearts is struggling to break out: and they have no interest in any Mediator, 22

Tudor Puritanism

(Chicago, 1939), 92—93.

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there are no means within reach that can be any security to them. I n short, they have no refuge, nothing to take hold of; all t h a t preserves them every moment is the mere arbitrary will, and uncovenanted, unobliged forbearance of an incensed God. T h i s description of t h e w r a t h of G o d is e x t r e m e f o r a n y writer, w h e t h e r within or w i t h o u t t h e E s t a b l i s h e d Church, b u t it does s u m u p t h e e m o t i o n a l lengths t o which Calvinism can lead. D u r i n g t h e second half of t h e e i g h t e e n t h c e n t u r y , t h e f e a r s o m e Calvinist William G r i m s h a w is r e p o r t e d as h a v i n g i n t e r r u p t e d a s o m e w h a t conciliatory sermon t o his congregation b y t h e visiting Whitefield w i t h t h e warning, " F o r G o d ' s sake do n o t s p e a k so. I beg you, d o n o t flatter t h e m . T h e greater p a r t of t h e m are going t o hell w i t h t h e i r eyes open". 2 3 A n d in so saying, G r i m s h a w w a s echoing Calvin's own s o m b r e c o m m e n t on m a n ' s p l i g h t ; in t h e Institutes h e defined original sin as " a h e r e d i t a r y c o r r u p t i o n a n d d e p r a v i t y of our n a t u r e e x t e n d i n g t o all p a r t s of t h e soul, which first m a k e s u s g u i l t y of t h e w r a t h of God, a n d t h e n p r o d u c e s in u s works which in S c r i p t u r e a r e t e r m e d works of t h e flesh".24 A l t h o u g h n o t as u n nerving, t h i s experience of religious awe is f o u n d in a w o r k b y Charles Wesley (1707 — 1788), who considered himself a full m e m b e r of t h e Anglican Church; it is a version of a p o e m b y I s a a c W a t t s (1674 - 1 7 4 8 ) : Before Jehovah's awful throne, Ye nations, how with sacred joy; Know t h a t the Lord is God alone, He can create, and He destroy. His sov'reign power, without our aid, Made us of clay, and formed us men; And when like wandering sheep we strayed, He brought us to His fold again. We'll crowd Thy gates with thankful songs, High as the heavens our voices raise; And earth, with her ten thousand tongues, Shall fill Thy courts with sounding praise. 23 24

R e p e a t e d b y S. C. Carpenter, op. cit., E d . H e n r y B e v e r i d g e , I I , i, 8.

231.

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277

Wide as the world is thy command, Vast as eternity Thy Love; Firm as a rock Thy truth must stand When rolling years shall cease to move. The experience of t h e poet is not one of grateful humility; there is no awareness of t h e mediatory powers of Christ. The emphasis is again upon God alone. W h a t he has done has been without our aid and without our covenant. His power is sovereign; his command is world-wide. H e is t h e God of power, not of mercy. And, in fact, Wesley has softened t h e tone from W a t t s ' original; in omitting t h e first stanza of t h e original poem, Wesley also changed t h e opening lines of t h e second stanza which read: Nations attend before His throne With solemn fear, with sacred joy. To t h e Non-conformist W a t t s ' solemn fear is a more important religious a t t i t u d e t h a n it is to Wesley. B u t it conditions t h e whole poem. The austerity of t h e feeling is again reflected in t h e austerity of t h e language a n d form; t h e seriousness of t h e meaning can afford no confusion because of elaborate expression. The awful majesty of God is a simple experience, and so must be its expression. The fear of God's wrath, and t h e discovery of it in unusual tempests of nature, produced an a m o u n t of verse warning man of incipient damnation. An earthquake on 8 March 1749 provided Thomas Gibbons with t h e title and illustration of God's wrath, b u t also (since t h e earthquake proved not to be a complete cataclysm) of God's mercy: And Gracious too, since, limited by none, He his own Might restrain'd, and only prov'd In Hints of Wrath th'Omnipotence behind. I n t h e same tradition is An Essay on the Conflagration (1720) by t h e Reverend Samuel Catherall, fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. Contemporary 'infidelity, heresie, and profane scoffing a t religion' have become so widespread t h a t the day of judgment is conceivably close a t hand. I n Book I I Catherall suggests t h a t a f t e r t h e saints are received into heaven, and the sentence is passed upon t h e wicked,

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" t h e world shall kindle into flames, a n d m a k e a Hell for t h e m " . All this will h a p p e n because of God's w r a t h . B u t n o t all poets were prepared t o agree with such a violent a n d immediate interpretation of t h e w r a t h f u l God which t h e more strict Calvinists proposed. J o h n B y r o m (1692—1763) devoted several stanzas of philosophic verse t o exploring t h e grounds for accepting a concept of wrath, a n d t h e means of reconciling it with t h e concept of God as love. The title outlines t h e intention of t h e verses: " O n the Meaning of t h e W o r d W r a t h , as applied t o God in Scripture". That God is Love — is in the Scripture said; That He is Wrath — is nowhere to be read; From which, by literal Expression free, "Fury (he saith himself) is not in me:" If Scripture, therefore, must direct our Faith, Love must be He, or in Him; and not Wrath. And yet the Wrath of God, in Scripture Phrase, Is oft express'd, and many different Ways: His Anger, Fury, Vengeance, are the Terms, Which the plain Letter of the Test affirms; And plain, from two of the Apostle's Quire, That God is Love — and a consuming Fire. If we consult the Reasons that appear, To make the seeming difficulty clear, We must acknowledge, when we look above, That God, as God, is overflowing Love: And wilful Sinners, when we look below, Make (what is call'd) the Wrath of God to flow. Wrath, as St. Paul saith, is the treasur'd Part Of an impenitently harden'd Heart: When Love reveals its own eternal Life, Then Wrath and Anguish fall on evil Strife; Then lovely Justice, in itself all bright, If burning Fire to such as hate the Light. If Wrath and Justice be indeed the same, No Wrath in God — is liable to blame; If not; if righteous Judges may, and must, Be free Themselves from Wrath, if they be just, Such Kind of Blaming may, with equal sense, Lay on a Judge the Criminal's Offence.

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God, in Himself unchangeable, in fine, If one, eternal Light of Love divine; In Him there is no Darkness, saith St. John, In Him no Wrath — the Meaning is all one: 'Tis our own Darkness, Wrath, Sin, Death, and Hell, Not to love Him, who first lov'd us so well. This kind of verse — a philosophic argument, possibly revolving around an apparent paradox — is as rare in eighteenth-century verse as is the solution to the problem which Byrom offers. Fairchild has called him 'seldom more t h a n a versifier of ideas', 25 b u t this is not a completely fair judgment. To him, as to many eighteenthcentury writers, the issues of religion and of religious controversy were more than material for idle speculation. These were, indeed, the very staff of life and death. And so involvement in theological controversy became more than abstract discussion; it became personal involvement as well. The versifying of ideas frequently became powerful literature because the ideas themselves were powerful ideas. And the ideas were often fused with this personal involvement to produce an alloy of considerable value. A convenient example of this transformation can be seen by looking at another poem by Byrom. I n "The Meaning of the Word W r a t h " Byrom is exploring the reconciliation of the God of love with the God of wrath. His solution is to discover wrath as a depravation within man: "'Tis our own Darkness, Wrath, Sin, Death and Hell, / Not to love Him". This material appears in his "Meditations for Every Day in Passion Week: Tuesday": i The Saviour di'd, according to our Faith, To Quench, attone, or pacify a Wrath — But — God is love — he has no Wrath his own; Nothing in him to quench, or to attone: Of all the Wrath, that Scripture has reveal'd, The poor fall'n Creature wanted to be heal'd. * 26

H . N . Fairchild, Religious 1042), 129.

*

Trends

*

in English

Poetry,

I I (Now York,

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iii He did, he suffer'd ev'ry thing, that we From Wrath, by Sin enkindl'd, might be free, The Wrath of God, in us, that is, the Fire Of burning Life, without the Love-Desire; Without the Light, which Jesus came to raise, And change the Wrath into a joyful Blaze. iv The Wrath is God's; but in himself unfelt; As Ice, and Frost are his, and Pow'r to melt: Not even Man could any Wrath, as such, Till he had lost his first Perfection, touch: God has but one immutable good Will, To bless his Creatures, and to save from ill. *

*

*

vi All that, in Nature, by his Act is done If to give Life; and Life is in his Son: When his Humility, his Meekness finds Healing Admission, into willing Minds, All Wrath disperses, and like a gath'ring Sore; Pain is its Cure, and it exists no more. As Fairchild has pointed out, most of the third stanza is an explanation of God's anger in Behmenistic terms. 26 And from this Byrom is led into mysticism; the imagery of fire, light and burning pertaining to the consuming love of God is typically mystical symbolism. B u t his concern with the conflict of love and wrath shows him as stemming from a religious situation in which the dogmatic tenets derived from Calvinism were still a vital force. Even though his final resolution is partly mystical and not wholly Calvinistic, it is within the bounds of traditional Christianity and Anglicanism. The invocation of wrath is part of the Fall: "Not even Man could any Wrath, as such, / Till he had lost his first Perfection, touch". But history has progressed to a remedy for wrath. Byrom's fifth stanza develops the not unusual image of Christ as Physician; like the physician, he has come to cure what is evil; like the sore, wrath is 86

Ibid,.,

156.

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281

dispersed, although suffering is involved. I t is this emphasis u p o n t h e action of Christ in relation t o t h e w r a t h of God which remains central in t h e Calvinistic tradition. F o r example, in his collection Poems Divine and Moral (1821) J o h n Bowdler quotes an extract f r o m a poem b y D r . Roberts, in which t h e t h e m e of mediation once more is present: "On Me, on Me," Exclaimed the Son of God, "on Me alone "Let all Thy wrath be poured: their's was the offense, "Be mine the punishment." He spake, and left The golden city's hyacinthine walls; And thro' the middle of the eastern gates, Heav'n from one solid emerald, as he pass'd, The angel bowed obeisance. Earth receiv'd Her gracious visitant. By Him subdued, Legions of spirits accursed their mangled prey Reluctant quitted, and with horrid yell Howled hideous: touch'd by Him the palsied hand, Long wither'd, felt his genial warmth return, Circling thro' every vein. He spake, and straight From the thick film was purg'd the visual ray. Awed by His potent word, the grave op'd wide His marble jaws, and yielded back to life His putrid dead. But what could all avail? Insulted, scorn'd, betray'd by those He lov'd, He fell. Yet bleeding on the accursed tree, While the last breath hung quivering on His lips, His mercy still endured. Towards heaven He cast The last faint glares of His closing eye, Forgive them, 0 forgive! — He bowed, and died. W h a t happens in this poem is a reflection of w h a t h a d happened much earlier in t h e sensibility of m a n y writers. The God of ire is appeased b y t h e sacrifice of Christ. T h e feeling of terror, t o which t h e strict Calvinistic doctrines could easily lead, has been balanced with t h a t of relief. The doctrines of wrath, guilt a n d Hell are still felt, a n d o f t e n felt most painfully a n d precisely, b u t t h e y are pushed t o t h e background. I n p a r t t h e over-wrought a n d over-simplified emotion of t h e poem has caused an excessively d r a m a t i c a n d uncontrolled style.

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Awareness of sin, on one hand, and the possibility of salvation, on the other — these offer a violent contrast of feeling ready for poetic material. The 'boding Conscience' of rigorous Calvinism is mitigated by the mercy of the 'injur'd Savior'. But both the guilt and the mercy are felt; both are real; both are burned into the marrow of the religious sensibility. While the Calvinistic doctrine of wrath, which could cause the believer to "shriek at the glare of Hell's impending fire", was being weakened, or slighted, or ignored in favor of emphasis on Christ's redemption of the world, there was briefly during the eighteenth century a period of clear consciences and untroubled religious practice. Basil Willey's summing u p is typical: One meets everywhere a sense of relief and escape, relief from the strain of living in a mysterious universe, and escape from the ignorance, and barbarism of the Gothic centuries.27 What is here said is true, but it must not be understood as a complete description of the feeling of the age. Throughout many of the major writers, as well as throughout the Tory satirists, there is t h a t gloom which Bredvold has examined. 28 The century could not succeed in escaping totally from the demanding and austere concept of eternity and its God which Calvinism had brought. At the back of much of the sensibility and much of the verse it hovers faintly. I t took more than a Restoration and Newton's laws to exorcise this spirit. The combination of the Calvinistic doctrine of wrath and guilt with the liberal one of general atonement is found in "A Midnight Thought in Sickness" by Robert Luck (1674-1749): Who knows the Horror and Despair, Which is the Dark unwholesome Cell, Of Inquisition, Papal Hell, The wretched Pris'ners bear? If innocent, himself can only guess What weighty Woes a guilty Soul oppress. 27

The Eighteenth Century Background (London, 1957), 1. See L o u i s I. B r e d v o l d , "The G l o o m of t h e T o r y Satirists", Pope and His Contemporaries: Essays Presented to George Sherburn, ed. J a m e s L. Clifford and L o u i s A. L a n d a (Oxford, 1949). 28

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See o'er the Waves the Gaily ride ! A hundred Slaves incessant strain, Whose whip-gull'd Sides and rattling Chain Proclaim their Tyrant's Pride. Then pamper'd Tyrants, who vile Lusts obey, Are faster bound, are veryer Slaves than they. Ten thousand Spots the Leopard mark, Which Time itself cannot displace. The sable Moor, as Midnight dark, Shall never change his Face. But what's sable Moor, the spotted Brute To him, whose Soul invet'rate Sins pollute! A h ! who the weight of Guilt can ease ? Its Wo remove, O Lord, but Thee ? Sin's shackled Slave who can release, And set the Captive free? O Gracious change, (for Thou canst all things do,) The Leopard's Spots, and Ethiopian's Hue. Happy the Man, whose wand'ring Heart Thou deignest to reclaim by Smart, A Father's Fondness for a Son Is in th'Almighty shewn. I'll bless Thy chast'ning Hand, whilst Pain denies Rest to my Limbs, and Slumber to my Eyes. My conscious Heart, e'en sunk with Fear, When e'er thou seem'st to hide thy Face, Revives, when Mercy makes me hear The sweet Returns of Grace. Then such refreshing Streams of Pleasure flow, As none but pardon'd Penitents can know. So when black Storms the Sun o'er-cast, The Herds forsake the flow'ry Lawn, The frighted Birds to Covert haste, 'Till the dark Veil's withdrawn. His beams more glorious for th'Eclipse appear, And J o y o'erspreads the brightened Hemisphere. T h e imagery of t h e first t h r e e stanzas is unusual for a poem of t h i s d a t e (Luck's A Miscellany of New Poems, On Several Occasions was published in 1736). The initial m e t a p h o r of t h e sinner, as b o u n d captive as is t h e galley-slave, plunges t h e reader into t h e m a t t e r of

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the poem without the abstract or conventional opening which is often associated with eighteenth-century verse. The opening line is ambiguous; it can be either literal or metaphoric. From the second and third line it appears to be metaphoric: Who knows the Horror and Despair, Which is the Dark unwholesome Cell, Of Inquisition, Papal H e l l . . . . But by the end of the second stanza it has become apparent t h a t a strange thing is happening to this imagery. The direction seems to have reversed. Originally it compared the horror and despair of the slaves to t h a t of the sinner in hell; this, presumably, was to intensify the plight of the slaves; the 'wretched Pris'ners' whose 'whip-gall'd Sides and rattling Chain' proclaim their subjection to the Tyrant are to be pitied as a sinner in the depth of 'Papal Hell'. Yet it is the sinner who emerges as the center of the poem's concern. The galley-slave becomes the thing compared with. Subject and object of the metaphor have changed place. This is possible because the poet can accept with equal reality both terms of the metaphor. The sense of sin is, to Luck, as strong and vivid as the horror of the slaves. Each clarify each, although Lust is a more commanding tyrant. The thing compared turns out to be more vivid and more horrifying than the object with which it is compared. The very purpose of metaphor is shown to be useless. Then the poem looks to the miracle of God's forgiveness. I t is given to some individuals, not earned, nor deserved. Here, again, is the Calvinistic influence. Grace is bestowed upon a limited and chosen few. Through the 'Father's Fondness for a Son' some may be saved; but they must be penitent. Luck also introduces the idea of pain as a cleansing experience; it purifies and yields the "refreshing Streams of Pleasure" which "none but pardon'd Penitents can know". Suffering, in the imagery of nature in the final stanza, is withdrawn, and " J o y o'erspreads the brightened hemisphere". I t is this latter aspect of the experience which attracts the attention of a number of writers during the century. Because it is, generally, a single aspect of experience which is being written about, the

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verse does not have t h e complexity or intensity of either structure or imagery t h a t was noticed even in Luck, hardly a poet of supreme achievement. As t h e acceptance of the doctrines of religion weaken, so t h e religious sensibility becomes less intense, precise and real. A n d so t h e verse becomes more general, more abstract, and more moral. Most of t h e verses so far considered have h a d little concern with morality, or the doing of acceptable things, as such. Their concern was usually with a more involved set of awarenesses; a n d t h e Calvinistic doctrine of justification by F a i t h alone prevented a legalistic relationship with God. B u t as t h e doctrine becomes less rigid, legalism sets in, and the doing of acceptable things assumes a prime importance. The question naturally arises, acceptable t o whom? and there seem t o be two stages in t h e answer. On one hand, t h e y may be acceptable to God, in which case there is implied either a Catholic doctrine of Good Works or a legalized Calvinism. On t h e other hand, t h e y may be acceptable to society, in which case there is a basically secular sensibility. I n describing t h e eighteenth century, too m a n y critics have passed over t h e first of these alternatives, and have failed to give full recognition t o an important range of feeling. 29 They have recognized t h e weakening of Calvinistic doctrines, b u t have assumed too a b r u p t a conversion. The reasons for t h e changes within t h e Established Church of t h e concept of t h e God of ire are woven into t h e complex p a t t e r n of t h e thought of t h e age. On one hand, it was t h e inevitable result of an increased awareness of t h e implications of what has come t o be called felix culpa. Since the publication in 1937 of A r t h u r O. Lovejoy's article on t h e paradox of t h e fortunate fall, 30 scholars have been sensitively alert to signs of this concept in various works. Herbert Weisinger, for example, has seen in it a ritual which can be related to tragedy and which can be discovered in t h e civilizations of different early peoples. But, perhaps not surprisingly, little atten29 See, for e x a m p l e , M. M. R o s s , Poetry and Dogma ( N e w Brunswick, 1954) 3; a n d H o r t o n D a v i s , Worship and Theology in England (Princeton, 1961), 19. 30 "Milton and t h e P a r a d o x of t h e F o r t u n a t e Fall", ELH, I V (1937).

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tion has been paid to the possible occurrence of this concept in the writings of the eighteenth century. Indeed, it has been suggested t h a t 1660 ushered in the 'age of secularism', and the eighteenth century is not noted as an age particularly concerned with religious issues. Yet the influence of Milton's Paradise Lost on such works as Richard Jago's Adam: or, the Fatal Disobedience has been long known. And the precision with which John Byrom's verse expresses his views of man's depravity and God's wrath is indicative of the remarkable theological awareness found in a number of eighteenthcentury poems. One of these poems is particularly interesting, and deserves some attention for several reasons. I t is The Thanksgiving Hymn of Adam, on His Recovery from Sickness, a version from Oessner by Samuel Boyce (d. 21 March 1775). This work was published in 1762, combined with An Ode in Honour of his Majesty's Birth Day; the Thanksgiving Hymn occupies pages 5 through 13 of this nineteen-page volume. This poem deals with the experience of gratitude expressed by Adam after he has been ill. Here is the basis for one of the matters of interest in the poem. Adam is a post-lapsarian figure; he does not inhabit Eden, but lives in a cottage with his daughters; there is no mention of Eve throughout the poem. And as a post-lapsarian figure he is aware of his punishment; he refers to his 'tenement of earth', and 'obstructing dust', but says t h a t his soul will still praise God even though it is encased in clay, 'corruption's seat'. The actual fall is referred to in stanzas xi and xii: This is the dull abode of death, And sin, with epidemic breath, Has here incessant birth. Defil'd by that its centre shook; Th' Almighty cast an angry look; His dear regard was o'er. "'Twas Heav'ns decree, 'twas Adam's lot" so to be made to suffer. But the paradox emerges from the wonderful forgiveness and aid which God is also prepared to show: "Yet, oh, behold what wonder's wrought!"

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Since the situation of the poem presents him sometime after t h e fall, the artistic problem arises of how to suggest any reason which Adam would have to praise God and so imply a happy resolution of man's immediate affliction. The poet overcomes this tricky dilemma by use of the imagery of illness. On the narrative level the poem tells only of Adam's thankfulness at recovery from 'racking pain': Oh, by my God ador'd ! That God who form'd me, and sustains, Who chac'd my sickness, and my pains, And welcome Health restor'd. But this central image, because of the way it is handled and the language used to describe it, implies clearly both the fall and the more joyous redemption: Where now those agonizing pains, Which pierc'd my bones, and scorch'd my veins ? They're flown, and life's retriev'd; Tho' grief and anguish rack'd my mind, My soul to God was all resign'd; It hop'd, nor was deceiv'd. Th' Almighty lent a gracious ear, The groans and cries of sin to hear; He heard a worm complain; Now sore affliction, torture ceas'd, And Health, like Phoebus from the East, Resum'd her wish'd domain. The 'gracious ear' harkened to, not only affliction, but sin; the redemption was both health and salvation. The next stanza exclaims t h a t 'tyrant Death' shall not triumph yet. And thus the imagined incident of Adam's illness acts as the artistic center of a rather precise and historically important religious awareness. Yet this poem is also interesting for another reason which merits some attention, for it reflects an attitude towards Nature which was emerging more clearly during the eighteenth century and which eventually reflected significant changes in theological thought. The temporal framework for the situation in this poem is the ending of day when "behind the azure hills, the sun / His daily circuit

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nearly run, / Was sinking in the west". Adam's relationship with Nature during this crucial experience is reflected in this opening description and in the final four stanzas; these sections are given over primarily to an expression of the status of Nature and of man's involvement with her. In these passages a curious balance is maintained between an orthodox theology and the stream of sentimentalism which is generally assumed to have flooded eighteenth-century thought before the first half of the century was over. The significance of this balance is seen most clearly against the background of the religious trends outlined by Hoxie Fairchild. The first volume of his substantial Religious Trends in English Poetry deals with what he calls the 'cult of sentiment'; he draws the following conclusion from his evidence: During the first forty years of the century there is a decline, both qualitative and quantitative, of poetry expressing intelligent antireligious ideas, of poetry entirely indifferent to religion, of poetry mingling political passions with some degree of religious feeling, and of poetry embodying an emotional and imaginative response to orthodox Christianity. On the other hand, there is a marked growth of the cult of sentiment — sometimes frankly deistic, more often expressed in terms of latitudinarian Christianity.31 This cult of sentiment was based, in large part, upon the concepts of stability and variety in the created universe which had been expressed almost a century earlier in the series of lectures delivered by John Ray at Trinity College in 1659 and 1660. I t manifests itself most articulately in the concept of Nature which it presents. This concept has been classified by Lovejoy in his summary of the multiplex meanings of the word as number C: " 'Nature' in general, i.e., the cosmical order as a whole, or a half-personified power (natura naturans) manifested therein, as exemplar, of which the attributes or modes of working should characterize human art". 32 This Nature, says Professor Fairchild, "is the universe as permeated by this benign spirit". And from this generally accepted premise the sentimentalist develops his concept of the relationship between Nature 31 32

Op. tit., II, 5. " 'Nature' as an Aesthetic Norm", MLN, X L I I (1927), 446.

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and man: "since the deity is revealed only in nature and in t h a t most godlike part of nature, the human breast Nature and God are almost synonymous terms". But, as Professor Fairchild points out, " a careful sentimentalist prefers to speak of 'Nature' and 'Nature's God'." 3 3 This faith in a sentimentalized Nature found poetic expression in an increasing number of works during the latter half of the century; a fine example occurs in the fifth stanza of Thomas Blacklock's "On the Refinements in Metaphysical Philosophy, An Ode": But you, who would be truly wise, To nature's light unveil your eyes, Her gentle call obey: She leads by no false wand'ring glare, No voice ambiguous strikes your ear, To bid you vainly stray. To some extent, then, The Thanksgiving Hymn of Adam seems to reflect the cult of sentiment. Stanza xxii opens, " I hail thee, Nature, all entire; / But Nature's God adore, admire." But the rest of the stanza emphasizes the theistic focus of the work: In Him alone I trust! 'Twas He, to whom I'll ever pray, 'Twas He restrain'd this mortal clay From crumbling into dust. And we have already seen t h a t the central situation of the poem is Adam's genuine thankfulness at having been saved by God from sickness or damnation. I n this respect, also, this poem is in contrast with the cult of sentiment as described by Professor Fairchild: Christianity preaches the redemption of sinful man through Incarnate God; but since the sentimentalist stands in no need of redemption the entire groundwork of Christianity is cut away, and the Saviour becomes irrelevant.34 33 34

Op. tit., II, 6. Ibid., 6—7.

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As we have seen above, although the Saviour is not mentioned in this work, the central situation reenacts the redemption; the reader is clearly invited to associate the recovery from sickness with the recovery from death. Adam refers to Nature on one occasion as 'the dull abode of death'; but this dreary state — paralleling Adam's sickness — has been cured — again paralleling his sickness — by God's 'wond'rous Love': His plenteous stream of Mercy flows And will for evermore. I n his isolation Adam appealed to God, and the restoration of physical health is reflected in the restoration of Nature. The atmosphere of uncertainty which surrounds the dying day as it is described in stanza i is resolved in the final stanza of triumph: Nature herself was pleasure all; She own'd a sympathetic call; The warblers round him throng; Pour forth their softest, sweetest notes, Exulting strain their liquid throats, And hail him in their song. This expression of confidence in renewed Nature also contrasts with what has been called Renaissance pessimism. "Probably no single factor", R. F. Jones has written, "was so responsible for the feeling of modern inferiority as the belief t h a t all nature was decaying in its old age". 35 George Hakewell's An Apologie or Declaration of the Power and Providence of God in the Government of the World . . . was published in 1627 to refute this pessimism. But he, as a theologian, did not allow himself to be driven to the other extreme of an optimistic sentimentalism. Rather, he succeeded in achieving a balance in which man leaned neither backwards upon the examples of his ancestors nor forward upon the uncertainty of his descendants. Man's own redemption was his immediate religious concern, and this concern was reflected in the operations of Nature. 35 Ancients and Moderns: A Study of the Background for the Battle of the Books, Washington University Studies in Language and Literature, New Series Number C (St. Louis, 1936), 23.

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And so, Samuel Boyce's The Thanksgiving Hymn of Adam is an interesting work to have been published in 1762. I t reflects a serious concern with the problem of man's redemption from sin; the poetic problem of representing the more wondrous healing after the fall has been ingeniously solved. And the work reflects a concept of Nature which belongs to neither the tradition of Renaissance pessimism nor the contemporary cult of sentimentalism. I t reflects, rather, a much larger tradition of Christian awareness and ritual — a tradition which did continue with rigor during the age of sentimental secularism. A further reason for the changes in the concept of a God of love lies with the strange history of the relationship between the Calvinists and the evangelicals. From the beginning of the religious revivals, especially in Wales under Griffith Jones (1683 — 1761) and Howell Harris (1714 — 1773), whom Belden described as " t h e cofounder with Whitefield of Welsh Calvinistic Methodism", 36 there was a strong element of Calvinism in the evangelical movement; Carpenter calls them "for the most part moderate Calvinists". 37 But in concentrating upon the Atonement rather than the Incarnation as the basis for Christian belief, they appealed to the hopeful and optimistic side of man. God was not just the Hebraic God of punishment, vengeance and wrath, he was also the God who saved. And salvation was more assured than was being withheld without covenant from the flaming pits of hell. I n more theological language, the doctrine of the absolute and just sovereignty of God was shadowed by t h a t of irresistible grace. The aspect of conversion, of a complete change of heart in which God is no longer man's enemy, receives attention. This development can be traced in the work of Augustus Montague Toplady (1740-1778), author of "Rock of Ages", and of The Historical Proof of the Doctrinal Calvinism of the Church of England (1774). In spite of his Calvinism he claimed no longer to fear the terror and wrath of God. He recorded t h a t "though awaken36 37

A. D. Belden, George Whitefield: Op. tit., 218.

The Awakener

(London, 1930), 145.

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ed in 1755 I was not led into a full and clear view of all t h e doctrines of grace, till t h e year 1758, when, through t h e great good of God, m y Arminian prejudices received an effectual shock, in reading Dr. Manton's Sermons on t h e xvii t h of St. John". 3 8 F r o m t h a t time he was a vigorous Calvinist, engaging in several controversies, and writing several important works supporting his position: The Doctrine of Absolute Predestination stated and asserted; with a preliminary Discourse in the Divine Attributes; accompanied with the Life of Zaccheus (1760), The Church of England vindicated from the charge of Arminianism (1769), and t h e two-volume masterpiece Historical Proof. Yet, with this Calvinistic background he is able to write t h e following: A debtor to mercy alone, Of covenant-mercy I sing; Nor fear, with thy righteousness on, My poem and offerings to bring: The tenors of law and of God With me can have nothing to do; My Saviour's obedience and blood Hide all my transgressions from view. The work, which his goodness began, The arm of his strength will complete; His promise is Yea and Amen, And never was forfeited yet: Things future, nor things that are now, Not all things below nor above, Can make him his purpose forego, Or sever my soul from his love. My name from the palms of his hands Eternity will not erase; Impressed on his heart it remains, In marks of indelible grace: Yes, I to the end shall endure, As sure as the earnest is given; More happy, but not more secure, The glorified spirits in heaven. 38

616.

Quoted by Edwin F. Hatfield, The Poets of the Church (New York, 1884),

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I n this poem t h e t h e m e is not t h e awareness of t h e power of God a n d experience of his w r a t h . God is still powerful: " N o t all things below nor above / Can m a k e him his purpose forego." B u t t h e emphasis has swung t o two doctrines which J o n a t h a n E d w a r d s ' sermon passed by. First is t h e older P u r i t a n interest in a covenant relation with God. This was most clearly expressed in The Covenant of Grace b y Thomas Shepherd (1605 — 1649), a g r a d u a t e of E m m a nuel College, Cambridge, who came t o America in 1635: The blessed God hath evermore delighted to reveal and communicate Himself by way of Covenant. He might have done good to man before his fall, as also since his fall, without binding Himself in the bond of C o v e n a n t . . . . But the Lord's heart is so full of love (especially to His own) that it cannot be contained so long within the bonds of secrecy — viz. from God's eternal purpose to the actual accomplishment of good things intended — but it must aforehand overflow and break out into the many streams of a blessed Covenant. The Lord can never get near enough to His people, and thinks He can never get them near enough unto Himself, and therefore unites and binds and fastens them close to Himself, and Himself unto them, by bonds of a Covenant. And therefore when we break our Covenant, and that will not hold us, He takes a faster bond and makes a sure and everlasting Covenant, according to Grace, not according to Works; and that shall hold His people firm unto Himself, and hold Himself close and fast unto them, that He may never depart from us.39 The Covenant becomes a kindness t h r o u g h which m a n m a y lay a claim on God; it becomes a vehicle t h r o u g h which t h e poet can feel God's presence, a n d be confident of his concern. This aspect of Calvinism was one of t h e things which contributed t o t h e religious confidence a n d optimism already noted in t h e eighteenth century. The second emphasis is in t h e poet's feeling for t h e atonement. Christ has redeemed m a n : " M y Saviour's obedience a n d blood I H i d e all m y transgressions f r o m view." E x a l t a t i o n is possible because Christ has suffered for us. Conversion of t h e poet has allowed him t o realize this. This second placement of emphasis is t h a t which was noticed during t h e consideration of t h e poems b y Gibbons a n d b y Newton. 39

145.

Quoted in The American Puritans,

ed. Perry Miller (Garden City, 1956),

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Gibbons, t h e dissenting minister, saw himself a n d m a n in t e r m s of God: To Thee, my God, alone I look, On Thee alone confide. His dependence is possible because he has faith in God's justice: Thou never hast deceived the soul. That on Thy grace relied. Although he m a y not u n d e r s t a n d t h e incommunicable ways of God, he will t r u s t t h e m : Though oft Thy ways are wrapt in clouds Mysterious and unknown, Truth, Righteousness, and Mercy stand The pillars of Thy throne. Basically this is t h e feeling expressed in the well-known poem b y William Cowper ( 1 7 3 1 - 1 8 0 0 ) : God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never failing skill; He treasures up his bright designs, And works his Sovereign will. Ye fearful saints fresh courage take,, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning providence, He hides a smiling face. His purposes will open fast, Unfolding ev'ry hour; The bud may have a better taste, But sweet will be the flow'r.

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Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain. Cowper was a close friend and disciple of Newton. Yet his poem has more of the characteristics and feelings of a 'Puritan' work, as seen in the Gibbons poem, than of the Evangelical Newton. But as a critical tool, rather than as a scholarly statement, it can be generalized t h a t the Established Church tradition during the eighteenth century emphasized the Atonement and Christ, whereas the dissenting tradition emphasized what Chesterton has called 'the essential Puritan idea' t h a t God can be praised only by direct contemplation of him and its assumption t h a t only God can be praised. The vitiation of the critical distinction comes with the transference of the power of redemption from Christ to God. Calvin said t h a t the true knowledge of God depended upon a knowledge of him as creator and also as redeemer. Men are consumed by their awareness of guilt; then "feeling how destitute they are, they take refuge in his mercy, rely upon it, and cover themselves up entirely with it, renouncing all righteousness and merit and clinging to mercy alone as offered in Christ to all who long and look for it in true faith. I n the precepts of the Law, God is seen as the rewarder of only perfect righteousness and the stern avenger of wickedness. But in Christ his countenance beams forth full of grace and tenderness towards poor unworthy sinners." 40 Since all are poor unworthy sinners, all must rely upon mercy through Christ. But because of the strong Calvinistic emphasis upon the total and absolute sovereignty of God, Christ tended to be felt as rather a pawn in God's celestial game of chess. This is not to imply t h a t Calvinism led to Socianism; in doctrine the two were completely separate. But the writer, especially when more concerned with intensity of feeling rather than orthodoxy of dogma, easily attributed what theologians regarded as Christ's self-sacrifice to the necessary operation of God's will. The failure to distinguish clearly between God the creator 40

Institutes,

E d . H e n r y B e v e r i d g e (Edinburgh, 1845), I I , vii, 8.

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and Christ the redeemer is again found in this stanza from Cowper's poem on "Grace and Providence": Almighty King ! whose wond'rous hand, Supports the weight of sea and land; Whose grace is such a boundless store, No heart shall break that sighs for more. The power of God (in the earlier symbolism of regality) sustains the earth, and it appears to be the same power which bestows grace, but not through the person of Christ; the poem does not maintain the careful distinction found in the poem from Songs of Praise by the earlier writer John Mason: " T h e peace of God, which Christ has bought". This failure on the part of writers to maintain a nice theological distinction was, as has been suggested, due largely to the climate of feeling throughout the eighteenth century. B u t it emerges most clearly in the works of Cowper. His praise of both God and Christ at the same time — a sort of trinity-minus-one — is explained in a poem called "Jehovah-Jesus": My song shall bless the Lord of all, My praise shall climb to his abode; Thee, Saviour, by that name I call, The great Supreme, the mighty God. Without beginning, or doctrine, Object of faith, and not of sense; Eternal ages saw him shine; He shines eternal ages hence. As much, when in the manger laid, Almighty ruler of the sky; As when the six days' works be made Fill'd all the morning-stars with joy. Of all the crown Jehovah bears, Salvation is his dearest claim; That gracious sound well-pleas'd he hears, And owns Emmanuel for his name. A cheerful confidence I feel, My well-plac'd hopes with joy I see; My bosom glows with heav'nly zeal, To worship him who dies for me.

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As man, he pities my complaint, His pow'r and truth are all divine; He will not fail, he cannot faint, Salvation's sure, and must be mine. I n this poem are the various shifting concepts of God which have been detected as forming part of the background for the experience, the feeling, and the style of other poems examined. Like Pope in his "Universal Prayer", Cowper praises 'the Lord of all'; he calls him the 'great supreme, the mighty God'; and he calls him 'saviour'. Thus in the one stanza Cowper is addressing God as creator, as orderer, and as redeemer. I t is this general embracing of all aspects of religious sentiment which weakens the intensity of much Calvinistic and Enthusiastic verse of the eighteenth century. The strict distinctions and rigid dogma of Calvinism have broken down and in their place is a reliance on sincerity. Emotional appeal has replaced intellectual accuracy. The Enthusiasts are saved because they feel right, rather than because they either know what is right or do what is right. Emotionalism has been substituted for both theology and ethics. From the literary point of view this shift of interest has meant a vaguer and more generalized style. The imagery is understandably limited and customary. Since the poets were exploring a pleasantly pedestrian concept of God, one boasting both simplicity of comprehension and unambiguity of meaning, the poems were built of simple and unambiguous blocks. The opening stanza from Cowper's "Jehovah-Jesus", with its inclusion of God as creator, ruler and redeemer, records an awareness much vaguer and more generalized than does this poem on the same theme by N. Ingels, D. D. which is included in Samuel Philips' Miscellanae Sacra: We bless Thee God, the Father of us all, And celebrate the World's Original. The Heav'ns and Earth made and restor'd by Thee, Joyn Praises in a grateful Harmony. Accept our thankful Hymn, though such poor Lays Fall infinitely short of worthy Praise. And since, great Source of Being, we can never Praise Thee enough, we'll sing and Praise Thee ever.

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Both poems express the desire to praise God. But whereas in Cowper's the desire is a vague recognition of the greatness and might of this Jehovah-Jesus group, in Ingels' the desire is made more immediate. Precisely what is being praised is clarified; the third line illustrates the feeling of the first. The reference to 'Harmony' in the fourth opens up the overtones of the great chain of being and the order of the world as sustained by its creator. In other words this poem by Ingels is unified by a firmer concept of the deity and an attempt to be precise and accurate. Cowper's stanza reflects no such definite attitudes or feelings. The concluding stanzas of Cowper's poem reflect unmitigated optimism. This is in contrast with the guilt-ridden awareness of Calvin's teachings. According to his view man is utterly incapable of doing good, and undeserving of salvation: "For our nature is not only utterly devoid of goodness but is so prolific in all kinds of evil that it can never be idle." 41 Thus man is totally depraved and liable to the wrath of God. The high optimism found in Cowper and most of the Calvinistic Enthusiasts is possible, of course, because of their strong sense of being one of the elect. Calvin has explained this particular doctrine: God by his eternal and immutable counsel determined once for all those whom it was his pleasure one day to admit to salvation, and those whom on the other hand, it was his pleasure to doom to destruction. We maintain that this counsel, as regards the elect, is founded on his free mercy, without any respect to human worth, while those whom he dooms to destruction are excluded from access to life by a just and blameless but at the same time incomprehensible judgment. In regard to the elect, we regard calling as the evidence of election, and justification as another symbol of its manifestation, until it is fully accomplished by the attainment of glory. But as the Lord seals his elect by calling and justification, so by excluding the reprobate either from the knowledge of his name or the sanctification of his Spirit, he by these marks in a manner discloses the judgment which awaits them.42 In other words, the Lord chooses some for salvation, and ignores others. This stands in contrast with the orthodox Catholic position, 41 42

Ibid., Ibid.,

II, i, 8. I l l , xxi, 7.

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but Calvin has honestly .admitted the inequality stated by his doctrine: The covenant of life is not preached equally to all, and amongst those to whom it is preached does not always meet with the same reception. This diversity displays the unsearchable depth of the divine judgment, and is without doubt subordinate to God's purpose of eternal election.43 While those who did not receive election were condemned to an existence of gloomy misery — we do not have a religious library of how they felt; they presumably went on and enjoyed themselves while they could — those who were members of the elect were condemned to an eternity of ecstasy. This experience seemed sufficiently close to a poetic frenzy to supply the basic feeling of much verse. Both conversion and poetry have at times been attributed to inspiration. But by the eighteenth century the rigor of this doctrine of election and predestination had pretty well broken down. I t had never been as strong in England as it had been in New England, and the pressure of the age was against it. But the ecstasy of salvation was still strong, and came to be related, not so much to irresistible grace, as to conversion. The register of acceptable candidates has considerably lengthened, and the motivation was the overwhelming desire for salvation, manifested in a complete conversion. I t is this experience of conversion, a making-over, which Simpson finds as the essence of Puritan life: The essence of Puritanism — what Cromwell called the "root of the matter" when he surveyed the whole unruly flock — is an experience of conversion which separates the Puritan from the mass of mankind and endows him with the privileges and the duties of the elect. The root of the matter is always a new birth, which brings with it a conviction of salvation and a dedication to warfare against sin.44 Yet, while the Puritans certainly stressed the form of sudden conversion, the experience cannot be said to be limited solely to

43 44

Ibid., I l l , xxi, 1. Alan Simpson, Puritanism

in Old and New England

(Chicago, 1955), 2.

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Puritans. William Cowper records a similar experience in his Memoir.45 H e had been obsessed by the awareness of guilt: Conviction of sin and expectation of instant judgment never left me. Eventually his physician Dr. Cotton believed t h a t Cowper was feeling better — he called it a recuperation — b u t t h e poet was still deeply troubled. H e found t h a t he was not even capable, as some sinners whom he envied, of wallowing in all the delights of evil and thus deserving t h e damnation t o which he believed he was assigned. 46 From this spiritual agony he apparently found the first step of emergence during a visit by his brother to Dr. Cotton's hospital. J o h n Cowper had a t t e m p t e d to console his brother a f t e r his a t t e m p t s at suicide in December of 1763, b u t he was not successful, and withdrew when Cowper called for help from an Evangelical clergyman, a cousin on his father's side of t h e family, t h e Reverend Martin Madan. This earlier contact with evangelical religious experience had brought temporary relief; during t h e visit of J o h n in J u l y 1764, t h e brother told him t h a t he had as sufficient an opportunity for salvation as anyone. Here for Cowper was a break with the strict Calvinistic doctrine of election. J o h n Cowper, as an ordained clergyman of t h e Established Church, was articulating t h e doctrine of Free Grace which had been held b y the majority of Anglican priests. The Synod of Dort in 1619 had condemned the views of t h e Dutch theologian Jacob Harmensen (d. 1609), particularly those which rejected predestination, and t h e responsibility of God for evil. I n spite of this condemnation, his views spread and were embraced, in whole or in part, by m a n y of the Reformed Churches. And as early as 1625 t h e tenets of t h e Synod of Dort had been rejected by Anglican writers; for example Richard Montague (1577 — 1641): 15

Memoir of the Most Remarkable and, Interesting Parts of the Life of William Cowper, Esq. (London, 1822), 6 0 — 8 . 46 P a r t o f h i s feeling of guilt seems t o h a v e s t e m m e d f r o m h i s h a v i n g c o m m i t t e d t h e u n p a r d o n a b l e sin o f Scripture. See Maurice J. Quinlan, " W i l l i a m Cowper a n d t h e U n p a r d o n a b l e Sin", Journal of Religion, X X I I I (1943), 110—16, a n d h i s discussion in William Cowper: A Critical Life (Minneapolis, 1953), 3 4 — 4 4 .

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Those that like the Decrees of that Synod, or are bound to maintain the Decrees of that Synod, let them maintain them if they like them. Non equidem invideo. I have no part nor portion in them. I am not tied to uphold them farther than they consent unto that which I am bound to maintain, the doctrine of the Church of England . . . . For my part, I nor have, nor ever will, subscribe that Synod absolutely and in all points (for in some, it condemneth, upon the bye, even the discipline of the Church of England), but so far forth only, as their determinations shall be found and made comfortable unto the doctrine of our Church; nor I think will the ferventest amongst you subscribe it in every point. For sure I am your Divines, as you call them have disavowed sometimes some things resolved of in that Synod; as, for instance, Co-operation of Free-Will and Grace, Reprobation negative rather than positive. But, as I said, the Synod of Dort is not my rule . . . .47 And in Peter Heylyn's historical account of the controversy with Calvinists over the Five Articles put forward in 1600 and condemned by the Synod of Dort — Historia Quinquarticularis ; or a Declaration of the Judgement of the Western Churches and more particularly of the Church of England in the Five Controverted Points reproached in These last times by the name of Arminianism: Collected in the Way of an Historical Narration out of the Public Acts and Monuments and Not Approved Authors of those Several Churches — there is a sustained attack on the Calvinistic position. I t is an important document because it states clearly and forcibly the position of the Established Church at the time of the Restoration, and sums up the main trend of Anglican thought until the eighteenth century and the publication of, for example, J o h n Edwards' Theologia Reformata (1713). Heylyn, who had been ordained in 1624 and was a sympathizer with the policies of Laud, 48 was opposed to the doctrine of Calvin which made God the author of sin: For not content to travel a known and beaten way, he must needs find out a way by himself which neither the Dominicans nor any other of the followers of St. Augustine's vigours had found out before, in making 47 Appello Caesarem: A Just Appeal from Two Unjust Informers, Part I (London, 1625), 107—8. 48 John Williams, Bishop of Lincoln, refused to institute him for this reason after he had been appointed Rector of Hemingford in 1630.

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God to lay on Adam an unavoidable necessity of falling into sin and misery, that so He might have the opportunity to manifest His mercy in the electing of some few of his posterity, and His justice in the absolute rejecting of all the rest.49 Thus, within the Established Church there was a general rejection of the Calvinistic doctrine of unconditional election, and yet in the background was always felt its shadow, coloring the feeling, if not the doctrine, of many writers. This peculiar combination of Calvinism and Arminianism helped to produce the Evangelical revival in the mid-eighteenth century of which Cowper was a part. This combination meant that, on the one hand, the century inherited a deep and moving feeling of guilt. Even those who did not consider themselves to be Calvinists were aware of the profound soul stirrings to which man could be subject; they were aware of the knowledge of sin for which they were responsible. Few felt eternally damned because of this awareness, and few worried about the justice of damnation. As has been seen, the concept of a wrathful God plays a minor role in the theatre of eighteenth-century man's sensibility. Yet, while this concept was neither frequently accepted as part of dogma nor frequently articulated as part of belief, it was frequently a feeling which acted as an assumption upon which to base other concerns and other actions. For example, Samuel Clarke (1675 — 1729), the leading Low Church divine and most prominent English philosopher during the latter part of the reign of Queen Anne and the reign of George I, represented generally the optimistic tradition usually associated with the century. His Boyle lectures for 1705 were a contribution to the current discussion about the claims of natural religion and revelation. His argument is t h a t "considering the manifold wants and necessities of Man, and the abundant Goodness and Mercy of God" it is reasonable to believe t h a t God has and does provide man with help and guidance; both natural religion and revelation are mutually co-operative and from these all men are able to achieve direction for a pleasant and happy salvation. Yet, in spite of this optimism, Clarke shows overtones 49

Historia Quinquarticularis

(London, 1681), 520.

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of t h e doctrine of election; it is t h e eighteenth-century theological version of t h e political theory which says t h a t all men are born equal, t h o u g h some more equal t h a n others: The Truth is: As God was not obliged to make all his Creatures equal; to make Men, Angels; or to endue all Men, with the same Facilities and Capacities as Any; So neither is he bound to make all Men capable of the same Degree or the same kind of Happiness, or to afford all Men the very same means and opportunities of obtaining it. There is ground enough, from the consideration of the manifest corruption of Humane Nature, to be so far sensible of the Want of a Divine Revelation . . . . But it does not at all from hence follow, either that God is absolutely bound to make such a Revelation; or that if he makes it, it must equally be made to all Men . . . .50 T h e combination of Calvinism a n d Arminianism m e a n t , on t h e other hand, t h a t t h e century inherited an equally deep a n d moving feeling of conversion. The Arminian view t h a t each m a n could be saved if he was appropriately converted allowed for a widening of hope, a n d for a most powerful rejoicing when t h e individual believed himself t o be saved. The Evangelicals within t h e Established Church were all t h e more jubilant because of their Calvinistic inheritance of depravity a n d election. This was Cowper's joy in J u l y of 1764. The morning a f t e r his brother h a d told him he could be saved as readily as anyone Cowper picked u p a copy of t h e Bible a n d came u p o n verse 25 of t h e t h i r d chapter of St. P a u l ' s Epistle t o t h e Romans: Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God. This passage, with its reminder t h a t t h e sacrifice of Christ has effected forgiveness for mankind, struck Cowper as t h e answer t o his agony. F r o m t h e reading of it he measured his conversion. And 50

A Discourse Concerning the Unchangeable Obligations of Natural Religion, and the Truth and Certainty of the Christian Revelation (Boyle Lectures, 1705), Prop, vii, 4.

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a r o u n d it center m a n y of his p o e m s a n d m a n y of his t h e m e s . I n t h e long p o e m " T r u t h " h e uses Biblical i m a g e r y of t h e t e m p e s t 5 1 t o describe a soul r e d e e m e d a f t e r t h e u n c e r t a i n j o u r n e y : 'Tis done — the raging storm is heard no more. Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore. (11. 275-6) H i s best k n o w n h y m n on t h i s t h e m e is " P r a i s e f o r t h e F o u n t a i n Opened": There is a fountain fill'd with blood Drawn from Emmanuel's veins; And sinners, plung'd beneath t h a t flood, Lose all their guilty stains. The dying thief rejoic'd to see T h a t fountain in his day; And there have I, as vile as he, Wash'd all my sins away. Dear dying Lamb, t h y precious blood Shall never lose its pow'r; Till all the ransom'd church of God Be sav'd, to sin no more. E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply; Redeeming love has been my theme, And shall be till I die. Then in a nobler sweeter song I'll sing t h y power to save; When this poor lisping stammering tongue Lies silent in the grave. Lord, I believe thou hast prepar'd (Unworthy tho' I be) For me a blood-bought free reward, A golden harp for me ! 'Tis strung, and tun'd, for endless years, And form'd by pow'r divine; To sound in God the Father's ears, No other name but thine. 61

For a detailed study ofCowper's 'tempest' imagery, see Quinlan, William

Cowper, 194—9.

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The most striking characteristics of this poem are its intensity and concreteness. Many hymns, not only of the eighteenth century, are concerned with moral platitudes. But those by Cowper and the Evangelicals usually avoid these common limitations. The principal reason, of course, is t h a t the subject matter of their work is itself highly personal and intense. These hymns remind one of the intense and personal lyrics of Herbert and Donne. But two major differences mark the change in sensibility from the seventeenth century to the eighteenth. I n the Evangelical verse the emphasis is upon the certainty of having been redeemed; the conversion is past; t h e salvation has been attained. The eighteenth century was a century t h a t had been saved; the seventeenth was not sure, though it very much wanted to be. This is a theological explanation for the thread of optimism which ran throughout the tapestry of the age, politics, philosophy and economics as well as literature. This shift of concern is seen if this hymn by Cowper is read against "Redemption" by George Herbert: Having been tenant long to a rich Lord, Not thriving, I resolved to be bold, And make a suit unto him, to afford A new small-rented lease, and cancell th'old. In heaven at his manour I him sought: They told me their, that he was lately gone About some land, which he had dearly bought Long since on earth, to take possession. I straight return'd, and knowing his great birth, Sought him accordingly in great resorts; In cities, theatres, gardens, parks and courts: At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth Of theeves and murderers: there I him espied. Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, & died. Herbert is focusing his experience upon the process of redemption; Cowper is focusing his upon the accomplished fact. This is a change of focus, not of subject matter. Yet it is a significant change. I t is found developing early in the century, even among the High Church party. For example, Samuel Wesley the Younger (1692—1739) wrote both "On the Passion of our Saviour", which focuses on t h e

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agony of Christ as shared by the poet, and "The Resurrection", which emphasises the jubilant and triumphant effects of the accomplished fact: The Sun of Righteousness appears, To set in blood no more ! Adore the healer of your fears, Your rising Sun adore. The Saints, when He resign'd his breath, Unclosed their sleeping eyes, He breaks again the bonds of Death, Again the dead arise. Alone the dreadful race he ran, Alone the wine-press trod; He died and suffer'd as a man, He rises as a God! In vain the stone, the watch, the seal, Forbid an early rise, To Him who breaks the gates of Hell, And opens Paradise. This optimistic faith in the resurrection is an attitude commonly found later in the century among the Evangelicals. The same is true of the simple, undecorated style of the verse. Wesley deliberately eschewed pagan allusion and mythology, and warned against it in his Advice to One Who was about to Write, to Avoid the Immoralities of the Antient and Modern Poets. Fairchild does not think much of the poems of Wesley, and contrasts them with those of the High Churchman Thomas Ken (1637 —1711).52 But this comparison is itself a historical comment which shows the change in poetry as it reflects the change in religious doctrine and tradition. The more complex and symbolic work of Ken belongs to an earlier sensibility. I t slowly yielded to the unadorned style of Wesley, and it is this simple directness which then allowed the later Evangelicals to celebrate the highly personal experience of redemption in a highly immediate language. This unadorned, unparadoxical stylistic tradiM

Op. eil., I ( N e w Y o r k , 1939), 302.

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tion is the second difference which sets off the eighteenth-century Evangelical writers from the seventeenth-century metaphysicals. The poem by Herbert is constructed upon the extension of the tenant-lord relationship; the languages and images obtain their vitality and direction from this central metaphor. The source of the imagery in Wesley's poem is split; there is both the symbol and the statement. The "Sun of Righteousness" is itself a pun; then it travels from son to sun by the verb set. The realistic level then enters with blood. The third line can be taken as a literal description of the work of Christ. Thus in the opening stanza of Wesley's poem is the disintegration of the symbolic or metaphoric center of a religious lyric as the feeling involved becomes itself less ornate, less embellished, less paradoxical. To Cowper, as to the Calvinists, salvation was not the complex problem it was to Herbert. I t was closer to an either-or proposition. The intensity of the experience of conversion precluded paradoxical expression. B u t poetry of the Evangelicals is marked by a singular vividness of imagery. The paradox and the wit and the conceit are gone, but left is an immediate, direct concreteness. This is what has attracted readers to Cowper's opening stanza: There is a fountain fill'd with blood Drawn from Emmanuel's veins; And sinners, plung'd beneath that flood, Lose all their guilty stains. The images are almost morbid in their perversion of the rite of baptism, although mild in comparison with some of the conceits by Crashaw. Yet it is this strength t h a t gives the verse artistic sincerity. Nicholson has devoted attention to this particular hymn: Cowper's mind was less Miltonic than that of Watts — his effects are rarely grand and never sonorous. Even in this hymn, which combines sacramental and anatomical imagery with a boldness equal to that of Donne, there is the same emotional reticence, the same ruminative tenderness which we find in "Oh! for a closer walk with God." But while Cowper cannot equal Watts in his scenic effects, he is able, being the greater poet, to penetrate much more deeply to the inner meaning of his symbols. In this poem we are aware, not only of the rituals of the

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Old Testament, but of the sub-strata of significance which cannot be explained by rational exegesis. There are hints and quiverings of meaning and of experience which go far beyond the conventional religious life of eighteenth century Anglicanism. It may be true that Cowper's poetry on the whole is lacking in unconscious context; that his images too rarely become symbols; but here, at least, this is not so. His final evaluation is one of praise for it, b o t h as a poem a n d as a n example of Evangelical sensibility: For my own part, there are few poems in the English language which evoke such a response in the lower layers of consciousness: it seems to set root-tips moving and searching in my mind, drawing on the hidden stores of unrememberable memory. It may make the agnostic groan and the humanist shudder, but it remains a superb hymn and a remarkable expression of Evangelical piety at its purest. 53 This is very high praise for a h y m n f r o m t h e eighteenth century, a n d a very high estimate of its aesthetic value a n d of personal appeal t o t h e individual reader. Y e t its f r e q u e n t reprinting testifies t o its popularity. The reason for this popularity is suggested b y Nicholson's final sentence* " . . . it remains a superb h y m n a n d a r e m a r k able expression of Evangelical piety a t its p u r e s t " . T h e sincerity of t h e expression of conversion has f o u n d meaning b e y o n d t h e sensibility of orthodox Calvinism. The Calvinistic t r a d i t i o n which grew within t h e Established Church during t h e eighteenth c e n t u r y gave t o poets a central experience of b o t h personal integrity a n d universal significance. This f o r t u n a t e combination accounts for t h e aesthetic validity which Nicholson feels. I t is this combination which Quinlan notes in commenting u p o n this h y m n : The particular beliefs of the authors are expressed rather in the tone of certain hymns and in the emphasis accorded certain doctrines. Thus when Cowper speaks of faith, he shows that by faith he means the strong assurance which, according to the Evangelicals, a convert should experience at the new birth. He writes:

53

Norman Nicholson, William, Cowper (London, 1951), 79.

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E'er since by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming love has been my theme, And shall be till I die. Perhaps Cowper was not here thinking of his own conversion but he clearly had in mind the transformation that occurred upon the Evangelical's sudden realization of the significance of the atonement. 54 Again, t h e strength of t h e Calvinistic influence in t h e Anglican Church can be felt if in contrast t o this 'sudden realization of t h e significance of t h e a t o n e m e n t ' we examine t h e poem " L o v e " b y t h e non-Calvinistic George H e r b e r t . Once more t h e contrast is between t h e 'sudden realization' in Cowper — a realization which produces a verse of vividness a n d great personal intensity — a n d t h e gradual, reflective 'process' in H e r b e r t : Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back, Guiltie of dust and sinne. But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, If I lack'd anything. A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here: Love said, You shall be he. I the unkinde, ungratefull? Ah my deare, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I ! Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame? My dear, then I will serve. You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat. Although in H e r b e r t is t o be f o u n d t h e emphasis u p o n guilt a n d d e p r a v i t y f r o m t h e original s t a t e of m a n which is acceptable t o Calvinism, there is not t h e instantaneous joy of conversion. " L o v e " is a reflective poem b y comparison; t h e experience a n d feeling which 54

Maurice J. Quinlan, op. cit., 81—2.

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it describes are quiet a n d introspective. The language of Calvinistic verse is simple a n d lacking in conceit because t h e poet's senses haven o t been given t i m e t o reflect or argue t o salvation. T h e basic emotion is t h a t of joy; " J o y in t h e H o l y G h o s t " b y J o h n Mason, rector of W a t e r Stratford, is an early example in this tradition: There is a stream, which issues forth From God's eternal throne, And from the Lamb a living stream, Clear as the crystal stone ! This stream doth water paradise, I t makes the angels sing: One cordial drop revives my heart, Hence all my joys do spring. Such joys as are unspeakable, And full of glory too; Such hidden manna, hidden pearls, As worldlings do not know. Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, From fancy 'tis conceal'd, What Thou, Lord, hast laid up for thine, And hast to me reveal'd. I see t h y face, I hear t h y voice, I taste thy sweetest love; My soul doth leap: but, 0 for wings, The wings of Noah's dove ! Then should I flee far hence away, Leaving this world of sin: Then should my Lord put forth his hand, And kindly take me in. This t h e m e of conversion a n d of joy in its reality is repeated during t h e mid-eighteenth century in "Praise for Redeeming L o v e " b y Cowper's friend J o h n Newton (1725—1807): Let us love, and sing, and wonder, Let us praise the Saviour's Name, He has hush'd the Law's loud thunder, He has quench'd Mount Sinai's flame: He has wash'd us with his blood; He has brought us nigh to God.

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Let us love the Lord who bought us, Pitied us when enemies, Called us by his grace, and taught us, Gave us ears, and gave us eyes; He has wash'd us with His blood, He presents our souls to God. Let us sing, though fierce temptations Threaten hard to bear us down! For the Lord, our strong salvation, Holds in view the Conqu'ror's crown; He, who washed us with his blood, Soon will bring us home to God. Let us wonder, Grace and Justice Join and point to Mercy's shore; When through grace in God our trust is, Justice smiles, and asks no more. He who wash'd us with his blood, Has secured our way to God. Let us praise and join the chorus Of the saints enthroned on high, Here they trusted Him before us, Now their praises fill the sky; "Thou hast wash'd us with Thy blood! Thou art worthy, Lamb of God 1" Hark ! the Name of Jesus sounded Loud from golden harps above ! Lord, we blush, and are confounded, Faint our praises, cold our love ! Wash our souls and songs with blood, For by Thee we come to God. The degree a n d power of t h e conversion provide t h e material for " T h e H e a r t E n l a r g e d " b y Thomas Harvey: 5 5 What a blessed change I find, Since I entertain'd this guest! Now, methinks, another mind Moves and rules within my breast; 55 Not in D.N.B. "The Heart Enlarged" is included in English Sacred Poetry, of the Sixteenth, Seventeenth, Eighteenth, and Nineteenth Centuries (London, 1861), selected and edited by Robert A. Willmott, 132.

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Surely I am not the same That I was before He came; But I then was much to blame. All the ways of righteousness I did think were full of trouble; I complained of tediousness, And each duty seem'd double; While I served Him but from fear, Every minute did appear Longer far than a whole year. But the case is alter'd now; He no sooner turns His eye, But I quickly bend and bow, Ready at His feet to lie; Love hath taught me to obey All his precepts, and to say Not "to-morrow," but "to-day." These t h r e e works b y Mason, Newton a n d H a r v e y afford a convenient contrast with " R e d e m p t i o n " a n d " L o v e " b y George Herbert, q u o t e d earlier. Much of t h e imagery is derived f r o m similar sources: t h e redeeming and forgiving love, t h e willing death, t h e undeserving guest or t e n a n t . J u s t as it is impossible t o classify verse as Anglican or Non-conformist on t h e grounds of its imagery, so it is also impossible t o classify verse within t h e Calvinistic or t h e Arminian tradition on t h e grounds of doctrine. Quinlan, already quoted, has shown t h a t there is not a uniqueness of imagery or doctrine in verse of t h e Evangelical school: What, if anything, is peculiarly Evangelical in the hymns? Not the references to the sacrifice of Christ, for the atonement is a likely theme for any hymn-writer. Nor is there anything necessarily Evangelical in celebrating faith and hope, in finding comfort in prayer, or in asking for grace. The particular beliefs of the authors are expressed rather in the tone of certain hymns and in the emphasis accorded certain doctrines. 56 While t h e imagery in Calvinistic a n d non-Calvinistic verse m a y be similar, t h e way it is handled sheds significance on t h e works t h e m selves a n d on t h e sensibility which produced t h e m . I n H e r b e r t ' s 56

Op. cit., 81.

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poem love is personified; it is described as being 'quick-ey'd'; it is an abstraction for a divine characteristic or set of behaviour patterns, but this abstraction has been fleshed and made man. George Ryley read the poem as concerned with the soul's reception into heaven because of its position in The Temple ; 57 Summers qualifies this by saying t h a t however we read it, the poem is moving, but it gains immensely in richness when we recognize the relationships it establishes between this world and the next, between 'abstracted and incarnate Love'. 58 Incarnation of the images is characteristic of seventeenth-century religious verse; we find it again in Donne's famous "Death, be not Proud". I n Newton's poem love remains a verb: "Let us love the Lord who bought us"; in Mason's it remains an object of attention: " I taste t h y sweetest love". The images in these Calvinistic verses remain abstractions of divine characteristics. The kind of religious tradition has pushed the concentration upon different aspects of the experience. Both Herbert and Newton express personal feelings. B u t in the works of Herbert they remain private. I n those of Newton, they are shared by all the elect. Conversion is not only a private experience, but also a corporate one. Writers of his tradition were able, in fact were forced because of the nature of their religious experience, to generalize their feelings. "The devotional poets of the seventeenth century had not been able to do this", argues Nicholson: Then poems remained peculiarly their own, and could not be adapted to the expression of a corporate emotion. When their poems are included in our hymn-books they are rarely popular with congregations. The conceits of Herbert are too involved, too intellectual, while the passion of Donne seems almost indecent in the pew. It is easy enough to say that we have left undone those things which we ought to have done, and we have done those things which we ought not to have done; but it is not easy to say:

57 "Mr. Herbert's Temple and Church Militant", dated 24 March 1715; MS in Bodleian; quoted in J. H. Summers, George Herbert (Cambridge, Mass., 1954), 89. 58 Ibid., 89.

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Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which is my sin, though it were done before ? Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run, And so do still: though still I do deplore ? When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done, For I have more. This is intensely private — a matter between God and the sinner and no one else; it is an emotion which belongs to this one sinner alone.'* B u t while it is accurate to point out the private nature of Donne's or Herbert's feeling, these words have to be qualified again before they are a help as critical terms. Qualification is especially necessary because critics have frequently tended to imply t h a t the personal element of seventeenth-century religious poets contrastsswith the public dress of eighteenth-century verse. Such a contrat is too superficial and inaccurate to be a helpful critical tone. Forexample, Thomas writes t h a t "some of his 'hymns' are poems of personal doubt and conflict rather than songs of faith and assurance". 60 And Thomas is describing, not the poems of Herbert or Donne, b u t of Cowper. This critical observation is extended in an introduction to a collection of religious verse; in the Olney Hymns, it is written, the emotion is too personal to be appropriate to congregational singing. But in their unemphasized poignancy they are the "perfect mirror of their author's religious mood, tender, strained, expressing an agonized longing for faith rather than faith itself". 61 Summers, in the passage quoted above, has commented upon the leaping between this world and the next inherent in Herbert's "Love". Leishman has noted a similar dichotomy in Donne: " I n Donne as a young man there seems to have been a, to us, strange mixture of worldliness and other worldliness, an intense love of life and, at the same time, a certain detachment from life, a certain sense of the shadowiness and vanity of this world and its shows." 62 This detach59

Op. cit., 68. Gilbert Thomas, William Cowper and the Eighteenth Century, 2nd ed. (London, 1948), 190. 61 Lord David Cecil, "Introduction", Oxford Booh of Religions Verse (Oxford, 1940), xxiv—xxv. 62 The Monarch of Wit, 4th ed. (London, 1959), 246—7. 60

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ment Leishman has explained earlier in his chapter with particular reference to the Anniversaries: In these poems . . . there is something especially characteristic both of Donne and of his age, or of part of his age, that comparative detachment from this life and that longing for the next, which, if we are to believe the Preface to Biathanatos, seems to have been his even during his brilliant youth, and that sense of vanity and shadowiness which seems to have been his even when he seemed most immersed in the pursuit of vanities and shadows — these characteristics, which had been deepened by the long period of isolatedness and hope deferred which followed the ruin of his fortunes, find their completest verse-expression in the two Anniversaries . . . . For Donne here expresses something of what one might call the disenchantment of the later Renaissance — the disenchantment of men whose outlook was still half-medieval, but for whom the medieval world-order had been shaken and the medieval world-picture partly antiquated—shaken and partly antiquated, but neither superseded nor replaced.63 Disenchantment and a shaken or even questioned world-order are kept in the background of the eighteenth-century Evangelicals. Their writing reflects an easily achieved certainty and confidence, rather than the affirmation of Donne or the faith of Herbert. The Jacobean figure of death is no longer hovering perpetually in the background. The experience of conversion has brought about the joy recorded b y Mason and Newton and H a r v e y . A n d so there is the critical paradox that the verse of the E v a n gelicals is more personal than that of the metaphysicals, and y e t that it is more corporate. B u t the explanation lies in the fact that the metaphysicals felt a disintegration in the absoluteness of their beliefs which the Evangelicals apparently did not. Donne and Herbert recorded their questioning and their faith; the Evangelicals recorded their certainty. A n d the certainty was a more observable and sharable feeling than the detached disenchantment of the metaphysicals. I t is b y means of this apparent paradox that Cowper, the recluse and refugee from a mechanistic world of the philosopher and the industrialist, was able to express the experience of many of his contemporaries. 63

Ibid.,

238—9.

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Nicholson has outlined Cowper's position of violation and eccentricity, and asks, "How it is that, afflicted as he was, he yet could make this contact with the common man of his time?" The answer, Nicholson says in an argument which he develops elsewhere, 64 must be given in terms of the religious background: It was because, through the Evangelical Revival, he was able to join in a great movement of popular thought. In the Revival he was able to share the fears and excitements of people from many different levels of society; in the Revival he was able to forget much of his self-consciousness and much of his sense of isolation. Though he still remained a solitary, he had the knowledge that his views were shared, and shared with great fervour, by many to whom, in the ordinary way, he would have been a stranger. In fact, Nicholson argues, so important is the religious tradition in which he found himself that the whole of Cowper's poetry is dependent upon it: Without the Revival Cowper would have been able to gain little understanding of the world outside Olney; without the Revival it is hard to imagine what sort of poetry he would have written; it is hard, indeed, to imagine that he would have wanted to write poetry at all.65 64 Nicholson, op. cit., 71—2: "Cowper h a s little of Wesley's s u p e r b technical virtuosity a n d n o t h i n g a t all of his uninhibited f e r v o u r . H e was s h y a n d diffident, a n d even w h e n h e joined in w h a t one m i g h t call t h e m a s s enthusia s m s of t h e Evangelicals, he never quite merged his emotions w i t h t h o s e of t h e others. Y e t , like Wesley, h e w a s able t o bridge t h e g a p b e t w e e n t h e devotional p o e m (the personal expression of a personal feeling) a n d t h e h y m n . H e did this, as Wesley did, b y expressing t h e emotion so t h a t it could be shared b y t h e congregation, each one of w h o m associated himself w i t h t h e " I " of t h e h y m n . This is all t h e m o r e r e m a r k a b l e since h e did n o t deal w i t h t h e stock emotions of t h e Revival. H i s verses h a v e n o n e of t h e c r u d i t y a n d violence of t h e p o p u l a r preacher, a n d t h e y rarely reinforce their a p p e a l b y reference t o t h e b e t t e r - k n o w n passages of Scripture. T h e y tell, in f a c t , of spiritual experience which m i g h t o f t e n h a v e been beyond t h e range of m a n y of t h e singers, y e t t h e y a r e able t o evoke a n i m m e d i a t e response. E a c h one feels t h a t here is a n experience which, a t least, he m i g h t h a v e h a d , a n experience h e can u n d e r s t a n d a n d accept. Wesley identifies himself with t h e singer; Cowper calls on his s y m p a t h y " . 65

Ibid., 7—9.

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I n his final chapter Nicholson returns t o this issue, a n d a d o p t s a firm position: . . . without the Revival he would never have become a poet, for it gave him a deep emotional experience, a prolonged fervour which for many months lifted him like a love affair above the compromises and consequences of everyday life. At the heart of this experience, life took on a new significance, and was valued in a new way, so that his physical weakness and his comparative failure in the world no longer mattered at all. In the doctrine of total depravity he found, for a time, something very like self-respect, and in the gospel of salvation of Christ he found not only self-confidence but life-confidence.66 And so t h e p o e t r y of Cowper, like t h a t of most religious writers, can only be properly understood with reference t o ' t h e m o v e m e n t which influenced him so greatly'. The personal element in t h e verse of D o n n e a n d H e r b e r t is different f r o m t h a t in t h e verse of Cowper a n d Newton. The style of their verse is different because t h e style of their religious t r a d i t i o n is different. A n d within each tradition f u r t h e r distinctions are possible. Thomas, f r o m an examination of t h e Olney H y m n s (1779), has concluded t h a t " h i n t s of pure Calvinism — or, in milder degree, of an Old T e s t a m e n t religion based u p o n fear — are proportionally much more evident in Cowper's t h a n in Newton's contributions": . . . while Cowper is characteristically preoccupied with personal salvation and characteristically stresses the need of a vicarious sacrifice to appease a jealous God, Newton in practice often gives an ethical interpretation to the Movement. 67 As an example of Newton's ethical interpretation Thomas quotes t h e first twelve lines of his " I n Evil Long I Took D e l i g h t " : In evil long I took delight, Una wed by shame or fear, Till a new object struck my sight, And stopp'd my wild career: I saw one hanging on a Tree In agonies and blood, Who fix'd His languid eyes on me, As near His Cross I stood. 66 67

Ibid., 162. Op. cit., 187 and 188.

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Sure never till my latest breath Can I forget that look: I t seem'd to charge me with His death, Though not a word He spoke; My conscience felt and own'd the guilt, And plunged me in despair; I saw my sins His Blood had spat, And help'd to nail Him there. Alas ! I knew not what I did! But now my tears are vain: Where shall my trembling soul be hid? For I the Lord have slain ! —A second look He gave, which said, " I freely all forgive; This Blood is for thy ransom paid; I die, that thou may'st live." Thus, while His death my sin displays In all its blackest hue, Such is the mystery of grace, It seals my pardon too. With pleasing grief, and mournful joy, My spirit now is fill'd, That I should such a life destroy, — Yet live by Him I kill'd! Thomas argues t h a t N e w t o n ' s 'own very individual accent' is n o t f o u n d in t h e more rigorous Calvinistic s t a t e m e n t he made, t h a t he, unlike Cowper a t t h e time, was b r o a d m i n d e d enough t o associate with dissenters, a n d t h a t " t h r o u g h o u t Newton's pages t h e r e is f a r more of love t h a n of fear". 6 8 B u t beside this liberal kindness of Newton, t h e r e are t h e traditional central beliefs of t h e Calvinist: If we admit the total depravity of human nature, the only way we can account for the conversion of a soul to God is by the doctrine of election. I t is impossible for the sinner to seek the Lord, for he is so steeped in sin he is at enmity against God. (Moreover, his will is depraved, probably, so he can't.) Since the sinner can't seek God, God seeks him and sheds grace upon him. But all do not come to a knowledge and love of God, for all do not receive grace; therefore only some are elected.69 68

Ibid., 172, 181 and 189. John Newton, Forty-one Letters on Religious Subjects (London, 1869), 256. See also the following extracts quoted by Thomas, op. cit., 171: "We find 69

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I n this brief passage is conveniently expressed in Calvinistic t e r m s t h e doctrine of d e p r a v i t y a n d conversion. B o t h t h e dogma a n d t h e language are orthodox. T h e broad-mindedness which Thomas notes is due t o Newton's belief t h a t personal experience, r a t h e r t h a n theological exposition, m u s t be responsible for conversion. A knowledge of election could be achieved only a f t e r an awareness of one's guilt, a t u r n i n g t o God, an acceptance of t h e a t o n e m e n t a n d t h r o u g h it one's salvation. Because this p a t t e r n alone led t o sanctification, Newton a d m i t t e d he seldom preached u p o n t h e nicer points of Calvinistic theology: I am an avowed Calvinist; the points which are usually comprised in that term seem to me so consonant with Scripture, reason (when enlightened), and experience, that I have not the shadow of a doubt about them. But I cannot dispute; I dare not speculate. What is by some called High Calvinism I dread. I feel much more union of spirit with some Arminians than I could with some Calvinists; and if I thought a person feared sin, loved the word of God, and was seeking after Jesus, I would not walk the length of my study to proselyte him to the Calvinist doctrines. Not because I think them mere opinions, or of little importance to a believer — I think the contrary; but because I believe these doctrines will do no one any good till he is taught them by God.70 H e r e lies t h e explanation for t h e question of t h e vigour of N e w t o n ' s Calvinism; in fact, here lies t h e explanation for t h e peculiar colourd e p r a v i t y so deep-rooted in our nature, t h a t , like t h e leprous house, t h e w h o l e fabric m u s t be t a k e n d o w n before w e c a n be freed f r o m its d e f i l e m e n t . " " I believe t h a t sin is t h e m o s t h a t e f u l t h i n g in t h e world; t h a t I a n d all m e n are b y n a t u r e in a s t a t e of w r a t h and d e p r a v i t y , u t t e r l y u n a b l e t o sustain t h e p e n a l t y , or t o fulfil t h e c o m m a n d s of God's h o l y law; a n d t h a t w e h a v e n o sufficiency o f ourselves t o t h i n k a g o o d t h o u g h t . " A g a i n s t t h e s e e x t r a c t s T h o m a s q u o t e s t h e following lines: L o v e and fear are like t h e s u n and m o o n , s e l d o m seen t o g e t h e r . God's word is certainly a restraint, b u t it is such a restraint a s t h e irons w h i c h p r e v e n t children g e t t i n g i n t o t h e fire. D o n ' t tell m e o f y o u r feelings. A traveller w o u l d like fine weather, b u t if h e be a m a n of business, h e will g o on. T h o m a s concludes (p. 174) t h a t N e w t o n ' s Calvinism w a s c o m p a r a t i v e l y mild, a n d h i s character w a s sincere a n d charming. 70 J o s i a h Bull, ed., John Newton (London, 1864), 212.

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ing of Calvinistic thought within the Establishment during the eighteenth century. The orthodoxy of Calvinism had combined with the Evangelical spirit. The Evangelical movement was a more embracive one than strict Calvinism; it opened the door to all believers by accepting a wider candidacy for conversion. And since it gave more people the chance to be saved, the tone it acquired was one of optimism. The penalty of damnation was felt to be due, not to the inexorable laws on high fixed of old, but to the obdurate perversity of the individual. The doctrine of total depravity, supported by the Synod of Dort, was changing to t h a t of total perversity. In other words, the issues of theological controversy, waged intensely during the early part of the century, especially among the High Churchmen, were generally glossed over by a certain section of the Church membership in favor of direct experience of God and of conversion. This section saw their distinction from the High Churchmen in terms of renewed sincerity which they reintroduced through their contacts with such groups as the Moravians and Methodists. Stevens, in his history of Methodism, has called Newton "one of the chief founders of the Low Church party which was then, through the influence of Methodism, rapidly rising in the Establishment, and of the great 'Benevolent Enterprises' which, organized in the latter part of his life in London, embodied there the moral energies of England to be p u t forth in the ends of the earth". 7 1 The qualifications given the Calvinistic tradition by the Revivalist Movements of the eighteenth century produced a type of religion which was related to a sensibility different from either the High Churchmanship of Samuel Johnson or the Evangelicalism of George Whitefield. This sensibility felt its way along a central path, retaining most of the doctrines of Calvinism, but modifying them by disregard or by decree whenever the occasion seemed to be auspicious. This is not to say t h a t all Evangelicals within the Church of England were Calvinists: Bishop Beiby Porteus (1731 — 1808) supported the evangelical movement in his see of Chester and then of London without identifying himself with the Calvinistic doctrines 71

A b e l S t e v e n s , History

of Methodism

(London, 1878), I I , 70.

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of these groups. I n his long poem " D e a t h " , for example, w r a t h is qualified b y mercy, t h e horror of d e a t h is qualified b y t h e hope of salvation, a n d ruin brought a b o u t t h r o u g h m a n ' s greed a n d ambition is qualified b y t h e beneficence of n a t u r e : Man sent to till the ground From whence he rose; sentenced indeed to toil As to a punishment, yet (even in wrath, So merciful is Heaven) this toil became The solace of his woes; the sweet employ Of many a live-long hour, and surest guard Against disease and * *death * Such in the infancy of time was man So calm was life, so important was death! 0 had he but preserved these few remains, The shatter'd fragments, of lost happiness, Snatch'd by the hand of Heaven from the sad wreck Of innocence primaeval; still had he lived In ruin great; tho' fallen, yet not forlorn; Though mortal, yet not every where beset With death in every shape I But he, impatient To be completely wretched, hastes to fill up The measure of his woes. — 'Twas man himself Brought death into the world; and man himself Gave keeness to his darts, quicken'd his pace, And multiply'd on mankind. * destruction * * 'Twas not enough By subtle fraud to snatch a single life, Puny impiety ! whole kingdoms fell To sate the lust of power: more horrid still The foulest stain and scandal of our nature, Became its boast. One murder made a villain; Millions a hero. *

*

*

Still Monarchs dream Of universal empire growing up From universal ruin. Blast the design Great God of Hosts, nor let thy overtures fall Unpitied nations at ambition's shame !

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This particularly modern sounding lament for the unnecessary slaughter of mankind is based upon essentially the same assumptions as most modern laments. Man himself is responsible for his ruin, because he himself has willed it. That is, man has had a free will. I t is through his own corrupt desires or ambitions t h a t he has willed evil: "'Twas man himself / Brought death into the world." This is not the Calvinistic view stated by Newton: " I t is impossible for the sinner to seek the Lord, for he is so steeped in sin he is at enmity against God. (Moreover, his will is depraved, probably, so he can't.)" Indeed, strict Calvinists would omit Newton's limiting 'probably'. With original sin the will, according to Calvin, became perverted. Not only had man fallen, but also had his desires. Thus on his own, through his own efforts, he could do nothing. The most well-intentioned deed by man is still displeasing to the sight of God. I t was necessary for the Calvinists to emphasize this doctrine in order to avoid the Roman Catholic reliance on good works. Torrance, in his exposition of Calvin's doctrine of man, argues t h a t Calvin's insistence upon total corruption was to combat "the teaching of Rome t h a t , when man was deprived of supernatural gifts at the fall it did not really make any difference to his nature as man, and t h a t while his natural gifts were corrupted, t h a t was held to mean only in the sensual part of man's nature so t h a t reason remained entire and the will was scarcely impaired". Torrance says t h a t against this view "Calvin insists t h a t when man was deprived of the spiritual image, t h a t entailed the corruption of his whole nature, of mind and all, so t h a t there was nothing in the heart of man but perversity." 72 This doctrine of the perversity, and accompanying irresponsibility, of the will is central to Calvinistic theology. Further on in his consideration of Calvin's doctrine of man Torrance returns to the question of man's ability to achieve anything by himself: Calvin's position would seem to be that God allows sufficient light to reach man in his perverse will that he may see the distinctions between good and evil, but he cannot see his way out to God as long as he remains in his perversity. It is as if the light shines through a frosted glass such that it enables men to walk and order their lives in the world not in 7?

T. F. Torrance, Calvin'a Doctrine of Man (London, 1949), 90.

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total darkness, but such nevertheless that they are unable of themselves to trace the light back to its true source, and so to know God.73 This view of m a n as an ill-illuminated battle-ground of good a n d evil is rarely f o u n d expressed during t h e century b y Anglican writers, although it does supply t h e imagery for Cowper's " T h e New C o n v e r t " . B u t it is present in verse b y some dissenting writers; for example in this h y m n , "Danger a n d Dependence", b y Thomas Gibbons: Man is a Structure built by Heav'n Upon this earthly waste, And to the Heart, the Charge is giv'n To * keep the *Entrance fast. * Almighty God, around me spread Thine adamantine shield, Smite each intestine Rebel dead, And clear th'embattl'd Field. B u t t h e Anglican t r a d i t i o n does maintain t h e severe limitations of man, although it does not usually express these limitations in t h e language a n d imagery of Calvinistic depravity. As a comparison with Gibbons's " D a n g e r a n d Dependence" t h e r e is " t h e Ignorance of M a n " b y J a m e s Merrick (1720—1769), a scholar, poet, a n d a u t h o r of a well-known versification of t h e Psalms, who was an ordained priest, b u t chose t o live in college r a t h e r t h a n accept a parish: Behold yon new-born infant, griev'd With hunger, thirst, and pain; That asks to have the wants reliev'd, I t knows not to explain. Aloud the speechless suppliant cries, And utters, as it can, The woes that in its bosom rise, And speaks its nature man. That infant, whose advancing hour Life's various sorrows try, (Sad proof of sin's transmissive power) That infant, Lord, am I. ™ Ibid.,

158.

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A childhood yet my thoughts confess, Though long in years mature; Unknowing whence I feel distress, And where, or what its cure. Author of good ! to Thee I turn; Thy ever-wakeful eye Alone can all my wants discern, Thy hand alone supply. 0 let Thy fear within me dwell, Thy love my footsteps guide: That love shall vainer loves expell, That fear all fears beside. And O, by error'd force subdu'd, Since oft my stubborn will, Preposterous, shuns the latent good, And grasps the specious ill; Not to my wish, but to my want, Do Thou Thy gifts apply: Unask'd, what good Thou knowest, grant; What ill, though ask'd, deny. The similarity of these two works reminds us of the warning at the beginning of this study t h a t it is not critically wise to set u p any mutually exclusive standards in terms of an Anglican/Dissenting antithesis. Many of the basic doctrines of both groups were derived from the same Calvinistic source, and many were accepted by each, with only minor changes of emphasis and colouring. The concept of man, with his limitation through ignorance, his proclivity to danger, and his dependence upon God — this concept was widespread throughout the eighteenth century, both within and without the Established Church. This had led to T. E. Hulme's definition of classicism in terms of the belief t h a t man is essentially finite and limited, 74 but it must be reconciled with the view of the eighteenth century as an age of optimistic enlightenment. Doumergue, in his biography of Calvin, finds this doctrine of the limitations of man central to even those of Providence and Predestination: 74

See his essay " R o m a n t i c i s m a n d Classicism", Speculations 1924).

(London,

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325

Personne ne contestera que les trois doctrines de la Providence, du Serfarbitre, et de la Prédestination ne soient, au moins en un sens, les trois doctrines caractéristiques de toute la théologie des Reformateurs. Le Serf-arbitre, c'est le centre du centre; la Providence y aboutit; La Predestination en part 75 This central doctrine, then, states t h a t human virtue is completely overthrown so t h a t the great power of God in man may be allowed to operate. Limits are set to the two fields in which force might operate: (1) a power of reason to distinguish good and evil, and (2) a power of will to choose good rather than evil.76 Man is totally dependent upon God's mercy for Grace. This is the theme of Cowper's "Submission" and "Dependence", of many hymns written during the eighteenth century, and of this short work by Toplady (1740 — 1778), who had written in defense of the Calvinism of the Articles: Lord! it is not life to live, If Thy presence Thou deny; Lord 1 if Thou Thy presence give, 'Tis no longer death — to die. Source and Giver of repose Singly from Thy smile it flows; Peace and happiness are Thine, — Mine they are, if Thou art mine. The attitude towards the relationship between man and God expressed in a number of these poems shows the direct influence of the Calvinistic doctrine of Justification by Faith, as opposed to good works. "Thus we simply interpret justification", says Calvin, "as the acceptance with which God receives us into his favour as if we were righteous; and we say that this justification consists in the forgiveness of sins and the imputation of the righteousness of Christ". 77 This is the nature of justification. Dakin, in his outline of Calvinistic theology, continues from this quotation by saying t h a t "this can be only because God has so willed it and made it 75 76 77

E. Doumergue, Jean Calvin (Lausanne, 1899—1927), IV, 155. Calvin, Institutes, II, ii, 1; 4. Calvin, Institutes, III, xi, 2.

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possible in Christ. So t h a t our salvation depends solely and entirely on his mercy." He sums up this relationship through Christ between man a n d God: The position is that man has no righteousness of his own and no possibility in this life of getting any. But there is a righteousness in Christ made available for him. Such he can receive by faith, and once he has received it, God then accepts him as righteous, the actual righteousness of Christ being imputed to him in the sense that it counts as his. Thus is God able to forgive and take even sinful man into his favour.78 The nature of this relation, then, is t h a t of one-sidedness; man has no power to demand, let alone deserve, forgiveness. The righteousness which is obligatory to salvation may be received only through faith in the righteousness of Christ. No sort of good works, the Calvinist points out, will suffice. Nor will Calvin admit t h a t justification might be earned by a mixture of faith and works. Good works are not the cause but the evidence of justification. This doctrine is part of Anglican theology; Article X I I reads: Albeit that good works, which are the fruits of Faith, and follow after Justification, cannot put away our sins, and endure the severity of God's judgment; yet are they pleasing and acceptable to God in Christ, and do spring out necessarily of a true and lively Faith; insomuch that by them a lively Faith may be as evidently known as a tree discerned by the fruit. 79 And t h e inefficacy of good works to produce justification is more clearly developed in Chapter XVI of the Westminster Confession, which Curtis describes as "the last great Creed-utterance of Calvinism, and intellectually and theologically it is a worthy child of the Institutes, a stately and noble standard for Bible-loving men". Curtis, outlining the background of this Confession, continues, "While influenced necessarily by Continental learning and controversy, it is essentially British, as well by heredity as by environment; for not only is it based upon the Thirty-Nine Articles, modi78

A. Dakin, Calvinism, (Philadelphia, 1946), 68. For a full discussion of this Article in relation to Anglican history and theology, see W. H. Griffith Thomas, The Principles of Theology: An Introduction to the Thirty-nine Articles (London, 1956), 199—209. 79

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fied and supplemented in a definitely Calvinistic sense at Lambeth and at Dublin, but it literally incorporates Ussher's Irish Articles, accepting their order and titles, and using, often without a word of change, whole sentences and paragraphs." 8 0 The second paragraph of the chapter on good works makes clear the Calvinistic stand: These good works, done in obedience to God's commandments, are the fruits and evidences of a true and lively faith: and by them believers manifest their thankfulness, strengthen their assurance, edify their brethren, adorn the profession of the Gospel, stop the mouth of the adversaries, and glorify God, whose workmanship they are, created in Christ Jesus thereunto; that, having their fruit unto holiness, they may have the end, eternal life. This is the background for Cowper's hymn " N o t of W o r k s " : Grace, triumphant in the throne, Scorns a rival, reigns alone; Come and bow beneath her sway, Cast your idol works away: Works of man, when made his plea, Never shall accepted be: Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm) Are the best he can perform. Self, the god his soul adores, Influences all his pow'rs; Jesus is a slighted name, Self-advancement all his aim: But when God the Judge shall come, To pronounce the final doom, Then for rocks and hills to hide All his works and all his pride! Still the boasting heart replies, W h a t ! the worthy and the wise, Friends to temperance and peace, Have not these a righteousness ? Banish ev'ry vain pretence Built on human excellence; Perish ev'ry thing in man, But the grace that never can. 80

W . A . Curtis, A History

1911), 275.

of Creeds and Confessions

of Faith

(Edinburgh

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Thomas, quite rightly, identifies this hymn as "Calvinism almost indebited". 8 1 The last four lines are a paraphrase of the idea in Calvin's Institutes t h a t human virtue is totally overthrown so t h a t the power of God in man may be exalted. 82 The same theme of disdain of physical or spiritual deeds is to be found throughout much of Cowper's poetry — for example, in his versification of Calvinistic doctrine in " T r u t h " . A knowledge of this same tradition is essential to an understanding of the second and third stanzas of Toplady's well-known hymn "Rock of Ages": Not the labours of my hands Can fulfil Thy law's demands; Could my zeal no respite know, Could my tears for ever flow, All for sin could not atone; Thou must save, and Thou alone. Nothing in my hand I bring; Simply to Thy Cross I cling; Naked, come to Thee for dress; Helpless, look to Thee for grace; Foul, I to the Fountain fly; Wash me, Saviour, or I die ! Here neither the labors of man's hands nor offerings of man's gifts can avail anything. I t is solely man himself, unadorned with good deeds or claim to justification, who must be presented to the Cross in search of salvation. Nothing he can do or bring can atone for his sin. Here the rigorous doctrine of justification by faith combines with the vigorous doctrine of the atonement as central to man's redemption. But while this combination is inherent in Church of England doctrine, the clarity it receives in the Thirty-Nine Articles, let alone in the directly Calvinistic Westminster Confession, has not always been maintained by religious poets. Within the Established Church there was a movement which tended toward placing equal emphasis 81 82

Op. cit., 187. II, ii, 1.

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upon b o t h F a i t h and Works. As early as t h e first half of t h e seventeenth century this tendency can be found. I n his Table Talk, J o h n Selden, who has t a k e n p a r t in t h e discussions by the Westminster Divines in 1643 a n d recorded a practical a n d sometimes cynical commentary on their accomplishments, 8 3 wrote, " I t was an unh a p p y division t h a t has been made betwixt faith a n d works, — though in m y intellect I m a y divide them, just as in t h e candle I know there is b o t h heat a n d light. B u t yet p u t out t h e candle, a n d t h e y are b o t h gone; one remains not without the other. So it is betwixt faith and works." 8 4 This is t h e a t t i t u d e expressed b y J o h n Byrom (1692 — 1763). " A Soliloquy, on reading a Dispute about F a i t h and Works" begins: What an excessive Fondness for Debate Does this dividing Faith from Works create ! Some say, Salvation is by Faith alone — Or else, the Gospel will be overthrown: Others, for that same Reason, place the Whole In Works, which bring Salvation to a Soul. B u t , with what is often felt t o be typically eighteenth-century disinterest in theoretical theological controversy, Byrom t u r n s to t h e Bible where he finds (he believes) t h a t t h e two can be reconciled: Gospel of Christ, consistently appli'd, Unites together what they both divide: It is itself, indeed, the very Faith That works by Love, and saves a Soul from Wrath: A new Dispute should some thrice Party pave, Nor Faith, nor Works, but Love alone would save. H e t h e n writes a stanza showing how evidence from Paul is used t o contradict evidence f r o m James. I n this fourth stanza, however, he points out t h a t Faith, Works and Love are really t h e same: 83 F o r a detailed a c c o u n t of t h e h i s t o r y a n d a discussion of t h e s e D i v i n e s , see S. W . Carruthers, The Everyday Work of the Westminster Assembly (Philadelphia, 1943). 84 Table Talk, ed. S. H . R e y n o l d s (Oxford, 1892), 69.

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There is no End of jarring System found, In thus contending not for Sense, but Sound; For Sound, by which th'inseparable three Are so distinguish'd, as to disagree; Altho' Salvation, in its real Spring, Faith, Work, or Love, be one and the same thing. One Pow'r of God, or Life of Christ within, Or Holy Spirit washing away Sin; Not by Repentance only; or Belief Only, that slights a penitential Grief, And its meet Fruits, and justifies alone A full conceiv'd Assurance of its * * * own. God has a never-ceasing Will to save, And Men, by Grace, may savingly behave: This would produce less Fondness for a Sect, And more Concern about the main Effect; Then Faith alone might save them from the Fall, As one good Word, in Use, that stood for all. By native Union, all the blessed Pow'rs Of Grace, that makes Salvation to be ours, One in another, spring up in the Breast, No Soul is sav'd by one without the rest: Since then they all subsist in any one, Division ceases, — and Dispute is gone. T h e theological ambiguity in these stanzas is a f u r t h e r sign of t h e weakening of strict Calvinistic t h o u g h t which so easily t a k e s place. T h e a t t e m p t e d resolution of b o t h F a i t h a n d Works onto a plane of Love reflects a sensibility more concerned with Benevolence t h a n with W r a t h . I t is, as was seen earlier in this essay, a resolution in t e r m s of mysticism — a n approach for which B y r o m h a d great s y m p a t h y . W i t h i n t h e f r a m e w o r k of t h e orthodox Calvinistic tradition t h e r e has come a b o u t a mitigating of t h e ardor of accepting t h e doctrines in f a v o u r of a generalized a n d practical Biblism. F r o m t h i s it is easy t o u n d e r s t a n d why, when J o h n Wesley p r e a c h e d before t h e University a t St. Mary's Oxford on 11 J u n e 1738, he chose t h e topic "Salvation b y F a i t h : A Gospel for Sinners". There was a current feeling t h a t a n imprecise a n d certainly undoctrinaire sanctification awaited all men. To this extent B y r o m did n o t go;

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although he did not take holy orders he remained a firm and sincere member of the Established Church. His range of religious verse testifies to his continual and well-informed concern. Yet another of his poems on this theme reflects a similarly unorthodox attitude. "On the Nature of Free Grace, and the Claim to Merit for the Performance of good Works" begins with perfectly traditional doctrine: Grace to be sure is, in the last Degree, The Gift of God, divinely pure and free; Not bought, or paid for, merited, as claim'd, By any Works of ours that can be nam'd. What Claim, or Merit, or withall to pay, Could Creatures have before creating Day? Gift of Existence is the gracious one, Which all the rest must needs depend upon. All boasting then of Merit, all Pretence Of Claim from God, in a deserving Sense, Is in one Word excluded by St. Paul — Whate'er thou hast, thou hast receiv'd it all. While man cannot claim anything as his, since all was given to him in the initial act of creation and to offer the creator a gift would be to return what had been given originally, man may, nevertheless, use his given powers as well as he is able: But sure the Use of any gracious Pow'rs, Freely bestow'd, may properly be ours; Right Application being ours to chuse, Or, if we will be so absurd, refuse. I n this sense, man is responsible for his works, and so they deserve reward. The sixth stanza sums up this theme: Grace is the real saving Gift; but then, Good Works are profitable unto Men; God wants them not; but if our Neighbours do, Flowing from Grace, they prove it. to be true. I t also sums up a great deal more. Theologically this stanza is sound; Grace is recognized as the central gift upon which all virtues depend. But the very practical swing from what God wants to the

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business of w h a t our neighbours w a n t belies a not completely doct r i n a l commitment. The d u s t y points of theology are being swept a w a y t o get a t t h e floor of Christianity. Man, as Pope's proper s t u d y of mankind, is being considered. This poem ends: When human Words ascribe to human Spirit Worthy, Unworthy, Merit or Demerit, Why should Disputes forbid the Terms a place, Which are not meant to derogate from Grace? All comes from God, who gave us first to live, And all succeeding Grace; 'tis ours to give To God alone the Glory; and to Man, Impow'r'd by Him, to do what Good we can. A n d so t h e rigorous Calvinistic t r a d i t i o n which is a t t h e b a c k of Cowper's poem is here weakened. T h e doctrine of Justification b y F a i t h is slowly being changed t o a justification t h r o u g h benevolence as t h e religious sensibility of t h e periods changes. Although works of mercy are only t h e evidences of sanctification (or, as B y r o m calls it, ' t r u e religion'), it is a good t h i n g t o perform, because, while t h e y do n o t aid justification, t h e y do m a k e life pleasanter for one's fellow beings. This is t h e feeling a n d t h e t h e m e of B y r o m ' s " O n Works of Mercy a n d Compassion, considered As t h e Proofs of T r u e Religion": Of true Religion, Works of Mercy seem To be the plainest Proof, in Christ's Esteem; Who has himself declar'd what he will say To all the Nations, at the Judgment Day: Come, or depart, is the predicted Lot Of brotherly Compassion shown, or not. Then, they who gave poor hungry People Meat, And Drink to quench the thirsty Suff'rer's Heat, Who welcom'd in the Stranger at the Door, And with a Garment cloath'd the naked Poor; Who visited the Sick to ease their Grief, And went to Pris'ners, or bestow'd Relief — These will be deem'd religious Men, to whom Will sound — ye blessed of my Father, come, Inherit ye the Kingdom, and partake

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Of all the Glories founded for your Sake: Your Love to others I was pleas'd to see, What you have done to them was done to me. On the other hand, Byrom says, there are those who have offered no assistance to those in need: Then, they who gave the hungry Poor no Food; Who with no Drink the parch'd with Thirst bedew'd; Who drove the helpless Stranger from their Fold, And let the Naked perish in the Cold; Who to the Sick no friendly Visit paid, Nor gave to Pris'ners any needful Aid — These will be deem'd of irreligious Mind; And hear the — Go, ye Men of cursed Kind, To endless Woes, which ev'ry harden'd Heart For its own Treasure has prepar'd — depart: Shewn to a Brother, of the least Degree, Your merciless Behaviour was to me. Byrom is assuming t h a t deeds to man will be interpreted as deeds t o God; there is a legal relationship taken for granted, and one which ignores the inequality between man and God — an inequality which can be repaired through atonement. Here, all ye learned, full of all Dispute, Of true and false Religion lies the Root: The Mind of Christ, when he became a Man, With all its Tempers, forms its real Plan; The Sheep from Goats distinguishing full well — His Love is Heav'n; and Want of it is Hell. Byrom's view of the problem of Grace and Election, and the use he makes of these in his poems, cannot be understood as typical, either of Calvinism or of Anglicanism. The compromise is pretty much his own, and his feelings always tend towards what can best be thought of as mysticism. But others besides Byrom unequivocally rejected the narrow interpretation of the doctrine of Grace imposed by orthodox Calvinism. For example, John Bowdler the younger (1783 — 1815), son of one of the founders of the Church Building Society and nephew of the notorious editor of Shakespeare, in the fourth stanza of his

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" F o r a Charity S e r m o n " emphasizes t h e universal quality of Divine Grace: No bounded Love, no partial grace, The heavenly heralds sing; They told of joy to every race, Of praise in every tongue. Mercy is open t o everyone. The supreme virtues are becoming kindness a n d benevolence. All men are invited t o share in a ration of mercy. Life has been given a meaning. For, not in vain, by twilight here, With many a doubt, and many a fear, Our pilgrim path we tread; A little team, a little do, Observe, discover, hope, pursue — And mingle with the dead. This t h i r d stanza f r o m Bowdler's " T h e S a b b a t h " is based u p o n t h e traditional image of m a n as a pilgrim in this world, b u t for him life has become more tolerable a n d enjoyable; few men of t h e eighteenth century, even within t h e Established Church, felt t h a t t h e y were strangers in t h e world around t h e m . While maintaining t h e supremacy of F a i t h , m a n y writers altered t h e general concept. Calvin has explained it in precise a n d careful terms. D a k i n sums u p t h e Calvinistic position: Man needs the saving knowledge of God. This is given in Scripture, Scripture pointing to Christ. Christ is the mediator, divinely appointed, by whom our salvation is wrought. The salvation is apprehended by faith which enables us to get both the requisite knowledge and the assurance. Faith leads to repentance which issues in regeneration. This however is never completed in our earthly life nor can the good works which are the outcome of faith and the evidence of regeneration in any sense command us to God. We are commended to him solely by the work of Christ in our behalf. This work of Christ is the one ground of our justification, and so far as we are concerned it is ours by faith and faith alone.85

85

Op. cit.,

66.

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There is a definite pattern to this process; it is almost ritualistic in nature. B u t the stations are subject to individual and social qualification. Thus the concept of Faith can assume moralistic overtones. This happened particularly among the dissenting writers, who as a group tended to adopt moral attitudes. One example is this hymn by the congregationalist Simon Browne: 'Tis gross mistake to dream of heav'n, And make a foolish boast, Of saving faith, and sin forgiv'n, Whilst we are slaves to lust. The moralistic tone in much of this verse is the result of a weakened doctrine of election — one in which the believer, having been sanctified by Divine Grace, allows his faith to degenerate into either idle self-assurance or moralistic justification. Joseph H a r t (1712? — 1768), an independent preacher, warns of this danger in "Of Sanctification": The Holy Ghost in scripture saith Expressly in one part, Speaking by Peter's mouth, "By faith "God purifies* the heart." * * But here, my friends, the danger lies; Errors of diff'rent kind Will still creep in; which dev'ls devise To cheat the human heart. " I want no work within, (says one) "'Tis all in Christ the head," Thus careless he goes blindly on, And trusts a faith that's dead. '"Tis dangerous (another cries) "To trust to faith alone; "Christ's righteousness will not suffice, "Except I add my own." The orthodox-Calvinistic attitude toward election is also expressed during this period in several poems. A limited number of people have been chosen for salvation, according to Calvin. Those who have been are set apart from both the rest of mankind and the cor-

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ruptions of the earth. I t is not surprising to discover this feeling in the congregationalist Browne: I now look down with vast disdain On all inferior things: In vain wealth shews its charms, in vain Soft pleasures hide their stings. Grandeur and state I now despise, In all their pomp array'd: Whilst to my glad believing eyes A brighter scene's display'd. For heav'n mine heart is fully fix'd, Nor will its hopes forego: There boundless treasures, joys unmix'd, And living pleasures flow. But Cowper also displays little sympathy for the unelect; they have deliberately neglected to know God. Although, in Book V of The Task he implies that salvation is open to all: Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'st taste His works. Admitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before; Thine eye shall be instructed; and thine heart, Made pure, shall relish, with divine delight Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. (11. 779-84)

The doctrine is more rigorous in "Abase of the Gospel": Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace, In this licentious day; And while they boast they see thy face, They * turn their * own away. * Ah Lord, we know thy chosen few Are fed with heav'nly fare; But these, the wretched husks they chew, Proclaim them what they are. In this stanza the doctrine and the feeling of the Calvinist is fundamental. The number of the elect is few and they are specially nourished. As has already been seen, Cowper's belief in the quali-

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fication for election wavered; sometimes it was predestination, sometimes conversion. Byrom, in "Thoughts on Predestination a n d Reprobation: A F r a g m e n t " unequivocally rejects predestination. When God declares, so often, that he wills All sort of Blessings, and no sort of Ills; That his severest Purpose never meant A Sinner's Death, but that he should repent: For the whole World, when his beloved Son Is said to do whatever he has done; To become Man, to suffer, and to die, That all might live, as well as you, and I; Shall rigid Calvin, after this, or you, Pretend to tell me that it is not true ? I n general t h e Established Church during t h e eighteenth century tended t o loosen these doctrines of predestination and election. Robert Sanderson (1587 — 1663), bishop of Lincoln, had before t h e Restoration come t o admit " t h e harshness of t h a t opinion which Calvin and Beza are said t o have held, and m a n y learned men in our Church have followed, concerning t h e Decrees of Election a n d Reprobation". 8 6 And, as Cragg has traced this doctrine, there was an 'eclipse' during t h e century. 87 B u t t h e eclipse did not mean a complete blackout. Joseph H a r t has written two poems (numbers 42 a n d 60 of Hymns