Three Apostles of Quakerism: Popular Sketches of Fox, Penn and Barclay
by Benjamin Rhodes · English · Gutenberg #48973 · 310,058 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Three Apostles of Quakerism: Popular Sketches of Fox, Penn and Barclay
Author: Benjamin Rhodes
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE APOSTLES OF QUAKERISM: POPULAR SKETCHES OF FOX, PENN AND BARCLAY ***
THREE
APOSTLES OF QUAKERISM,
POPULAR SKETCHES OF
FOX, PENN AND BARCLAY,
By B. RHODES,
Author of "JOHN BRIGHT, Statesman and Orator," &c.
WITH INTRODUCTION BY J. STOUGHTON, D.D.,
AUTHOR OF "ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND,"
"LIFE OF WILLIAM PENN," &C., &C.
* * * * *
"They pleaded only for broad, unfettered, spiritual
Christianity."--_J. J. Gurney. Memoirs, vol. ii, p. 27._
* * * * *
PHILADELPHIA:
HENRY LONGSTRETH,
NO. 723 SANSOM STREET.
1886.
INTRODUCTION.
I have been requested by the Author of this Volume to write a few
introductory lines; with that request I cheerfully comply. Having read
the proof sheets, I can testify to the diligence, care, and ability,
with which the work has been executed. The perusal has been to me very
interesting and very pleasant; and I have felt much satisfaction at
finding that the historical conclusions here presented are, in general,
coincident with my own.
It might be supposed that a book of this limited size, and intended for
popular circulation, would be based chiefly, if not entirely, on the
larger and best known biographies and histories relative to the men and
the period described. But this is by no means the case. I find in these
pages numerous signs of original research, and abundant evidence that
the writer has formed an independent judgment of the questions coming
before him in his enquiries. He has had access to some unpublished
correspondence, of which he has made good use. Fourteen letters, not
printed before, are laid under contribution, and they add much to the
value of the volume.
Mr. Rhodes has evidently much sympathy with the life and labours of
the early Quakers; and not being a member of that Society, he is free
to judge impartially of certain points in their singular history. That
judgment he has wisely exercised. I am fully persuaded in my own mind
that Quakerism was a salutary reaction against the formalities, and the
hard theological systematising of the age; that it called attention
to forgotten truths; and that its excitements, though clouded by some
smoke, yet burnt with fire from heaven; also I quite concur with the
writer in thinking that the Society of Friends have still a place for
good amongst religious agencies at work in this nineteenth century. May
they have grace successfully to accomplish their mission!
I may add, that whilst all three of these biographical sketches are
valuable contributions to our ecclesiastical literature, the last,
which treats of Robert Barclay, is the fullest, most original, and best
of all.
JOHN STOUGHTON.
PREFACE.
The demand of this busy age is for small books, containing the pith and
marrow of important subjects. As regards my subject, I have endeavoured
to meet this demand. I hope that the volume supplies at once sketches
of three leaders in early Quaker history, and an informal manual of the
rise and tenets of the Society.
A few years ago, I was led to re-examine the journal of George Fox,
and I was surprised to find him an evangelist of a rare order, with a
heart burning and throbbing with pity for sinners and with zeal for
the Master. His ardent nature was laid hold of by the gospel in its
fulness, and the result was a spirituality at once delicate and strong.
The same features attracted me in William Penn. He also had many of
the gifts of the evangelist. He could collect and hold a crowd almost
as well as Fox, and preach them as full a gospel. If other schemes had
not claimed so large a share of his life, I think he might have done an
evangelistic work equal to that done by George Fox.
Robert Barclay deserves to be highly honoured as one who truly devoted
his all to Christ. And he had much to devote--an honoured name and
titled connections, rare intellectual gifts and great acquirements,
social position and wealth. Yet if I understand his life aright, there
was no half-heartedness in his decision. But I miss in him that glowing
and vigorous assertion of gospel truths which delights us in the pages
of Fox and Penn. The pungent and arousing appeals which stud like gems
the writings of his two brethren are not to be found in his pages.
Silent waiting on God is urged, entire self-surrender to God on the
part of the Christian is insisted on with great earnestness. But the
reader will look in vain, even in passages which seem to invite them,
for earnest calls to repentance or to diligent service of the gospel of
Christ.
The Quakerism of the eighteenth century followed Barclay. The work
of Fox was dropped. No one continued his vigorous aggression, but
repression of activity was advocated openly. To this I venture to trace
the decline of the Society in those days. In the Quakerism of to-day, I
think I see Fox's spirit, and I would fain help the healthy reaction,
however feebly, by these sketches. I hope they will also introduce to
some Christians of other denominations three beautiful examples of
spiritual-mindedness.
In the preparation of the sketches of Penn and Barclay, I have had
access to numerous unpublished letters in the keeping of a member of
the Barclay family. For these I desire to express my warmest thanks. I
have used them sparingly. A list of those from which I give extracts
will be found on the next page. To the best of my knowledge these
extracts have not been printed before.
It is not probable that I shall continue the series of sketches to
which this trio forms an appropriate introduction. But I am glad thus
to acknowledge my indebtedness to a Society to which I owe more than I
can ever repay. None of its members long more fervently than I do that
the spirit and labours of its first days may distinguish it again.
Batheaston,
near Bath.
LIST OF LETTERS
(HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED).
_From which extracts are given in this volume._
_From_ Geo. Fox to Robert Barclay, dated 16. X. 1675,
quoted pp. 84, 113
" Geo. Keith to R. Barclay, 12. III. 1676 54, 114
" D. Barclay to R. Barclay do. 113
" R. Barclay to the Princess Elizabeth, 6. VII. 1676 121
" the Princess Elizabeth to R. Barclay, Dec. 1, 1676 122
Do. do. Mar. 1, 1677 126
Do. do. July 6, 1677 126
" R. Barclay to the Princess Elizabeth, 6. V. 1679 127
" the Duke of York to R. Barclay, June 27th, 1680 131
" Geo. Fox to R. Barclay, 31. IV. 1680 129
" Christian Barclay to Friends in Aberdeen, 15. VI. 1693 95
" Wm. Penn to R. Barclay, junr., 7. XII. 1694 71
" Hy. Gouldney to R. Barclay, junr., 28. XII. 1694 70
" Sir D. Dalrymple to R. Barclay, junr., July 4th, 1710 76
* * * * *
R. Barclay's "Vindication" quoted pp. 91, 120, 137, 138.
GEORGE FOX,
THE
FIRST OF THE QUAKERS.
"This man, the first of the Quakers, and by trade a
Shoemaker, was one of those to whom, under ruder or purer
form, the Divine Idea of the Universe is pleaded to manifest
itself."--_Carlyle._
"That nothing may be between you and God, but
Christ."--_George Fox._
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
The Author has long believed that a popular sketch of the Life and Work
of George Fox was wanted. His noble labours in the Gospel, and the
many excellences of his character are not known as they deserve to be.
The story of his life is full of dramatic interest, and the author has
endeavoured to tell it with sympathy and yet with faithfulness.
Too few outside the Society of Friends are aware of the great and
happy change which has lately come over it. The cramping influence
of custom and precedent is yielding to the free spirit which first
made the Society a power. In the present remodelling of its "Practice
and Discipline," the study of its early days is of great importance.
And for a fervent and constraining piety, for free and large-hearted
devotion to "the truth" wherever it leads, few men are more worthy of
study and imitation at the present day than George Fox.
Should this effort prove a success, companion sketches of Penn and
Barclay will shortly follow.
The Manse,
Batheaston, near Bath;
_September, 1883_.
PREFACE TO THE PRESENT EDITION.
That "a popular sketch of the Life and Work of George Fox was wanted,"
was proved by the sale of 1500 copies of this pamphlet within six
months of its publication. The opinions expressed by competent judges
made me feel that I had not laboured in vain. Ministers of various
denominations wrote to thank me, and to confess that they had not
understood George Fox before.
This Second Edition contains little that is new, but in the sketch of
Barclay will be found several extracts from Fox's letters hitherto
unpublished.
GEORGE FOX,
THE
FIRST OF THE QUAKERS.
The Protestant Reformation was at once a revolt against the claims of
Popery, and an assertion of the authority of the New Testament. In
neither particular did it satisfy the early Quakers. In their opinion
it retained some remnants of Popery to its great disfigurement, whilst
it was timid and halting in its acceptance of some of the teachings of
the Christian dispensation. They regarded it as their work to reject
the forms and ceremonies and "priestly pretentions" that had been
retained, in order to reproduce the spiritual worship and simple church
life of the apostolic days. Especially they believed themselves raised
up to assert the living presence of Christ with his church by his Holy
Spirit. They protested that feeble life, however orthodox its creed,
was as dishonouring to Christ, and as unworthy of these days of the
large outpouring of the Holy Ghost, as was formalism itself. The first
and chief exponent of these views was George Fox.
George Fox was born at Fenny Drayton, in Leicestershire, in 1624. His
parents were pious members of the Church of England, and he tells with
satisfaction that his father was generally denominated "righteous
Christer," whilst his mother sprung from "the stock of the Martyrs."
His religious life seems to have commenced almost in infancy. His
childhood and youth were marked by a sober bearing, a precocious
thoughtfulness, and a love of solitude, which made many notice him;
and it was proposed to make him a clergyman. Accordingly, Nathaniel
Stevens, the parish priest, seems to have regarded him hopefully, until
his deepening experience made the youth aware how blind his guide was,
when the former friend became a bitter persecutor. But as some of
George's friends objected to his entering the church, he became, in the
mingling of businesses so common in that day, shoemaker and shepherd,
excelling in the latter contemplative employment, which his friend,
William Penn, regards as a fit emblem of his future work. Though he had
received only the plainest English education, yet the keen cravings
of his strong mind, together with his earnest Bible-reading and much
careful thought, soon made him at home in Christian truth, the great
topic of conversation and theme of discussion in that age. A noble,
severe truthfulness foreshadowed his future teachings, and indicated
the stamp of the man. It "kept him to yea and nay," refusing all
asseveration or other strengthening of his statements, excepting his
favourite "verily." But people remarked that if George said "verily" it
was impossible to move him. His own strict and pure life made him feel
keenly the poor living of some who made great professions.
But his great preparation for his future work was soon to begin. In his
20th year, his soul began to be racked with conflicts, the nature and
source of which he could not understand. This crisis in Fox's history
is generally spoken of as his conversion. In some respects it resembles
more the deepening and intensifying of a life which already existed.
His spiritual nature was waking up to vigorous life. The slight and
ill-grasped views which had satisfied the boy did not satisfy the man.
They seemed to give no real and sufficient answer to his questionings.
He wanted to understand the meaning of life, the plans of God, and
his own part in them. In religion he felt that there should be the
clearest and strongest mental grasp, insight into the very heart and
core of things. He had only seen as in a mist. Where was the seer that
could show, by his apt and living words and his accent of conviction,
that the veil had been lifted up for him, and that he had verily seen
the Shekinah? To such a one he would listen reverently if he could find
him; all others seemed mere triflers to his earnest mood. Then again,
if God was a real Father, he felt that real and close relations with
him must be possible, but he sadly owned that he did not enjoy those
relations, and asked himself and others "Why am I thus?" He began to
look facts intently in the face, to find out their meaning. He looked
at himself and saw only sin; he looked into the professing church, and
even there saw the same sad sight. It made him ask, was the gospel a
mistake and Christ powerless? Or was he worse than others that his soul
should be in such darkness and distress? Was he worse than in former
days when he enjoyed comfort, and when the Lord shewed him some of his
truth? Had he sinned too deeply to be allowed to enjoy peace? Had he
sinned against the Holy Ghost?
In his anguish, like a good churchman he went to his vicar, and asked
him to explain his condition to him, but he could not. Then he sought
other clergymen, who had a name for strict living or wisdom, but they
could give him no help, though he went as far as London in the quest.
Some of the advice which he received, he mentions with a pity that is
keener than the severest sarcasm. One bade him sing psalms and chew
tobacco; another wished to bleed him, but his large frame had been
brought into such a condition by his distress, that no drop of blood
would flow from him. Such blindness was not peculiar to the clergy. His
friends proposed to relieve his sorrows by excitement, and by diverting
his attention. Some recommended him to marry, but he sadly replied
he was but a lad and must gain wisdom. Others would have him enlist
and seek diversion in the exciting events of the civil war; but says
Marsden, the historian of the Puritans, "though the bravest man in
England, perhaps, if moral courage is bravery, he detested the business
of the soldier. Far other thoughts possessed his mind. He had been
religiously educated by Puritan parents of the Church of England, and
he was now awaking to the consideration of his eternal state."
Meanwhile he fasted often and searched the Scriptures with desperate
earnestness. He wandered in solitary places, and spent hours in the
trunks of hollow trees in meditation and prayer. Disappointed in the
clergy, he turned to the dissenters with no better success. Evidently
the thing was of God, for he missed men like Baxter, who could have
given him at least good counsel and Christian sympathy. Fox was for
some time in Coventry, in 1643, when Baxter was preaching there, one
part of the day to the garrison, and the other to the civilians.
But possibly if they had met, Baxter's hatred of heresy might have
overborne his charity, and obscured his spiritual vision, and he
might have branded Fox as a heretic, just as he afterwards dubbed his
followers "malignants."[1]
[1] A similar experience is to be found in the unpublished memoir
of that pious and accomplished Quakeress, Miss P. H. Gurney, p. 43.
"I was painfully struck with the want of any sign of true devotion
or spiritual mindedness in the several congregations I attended in
London, both in preachers and hearers. Had I gone, as I once felt some
inclination to do, to that called St. Mary Woolnoth, (Jno. Newton's) I
might have found an exception to this description; but being accidently
prevented, I have sometimes thought it was in the ordering of
Providence that whatever of spiritual religion was then circulating in
the national church, I was not permitted to find it, though I sought it
with the most earnest desire of success." Miss Gurney took these facts
as a proof that God intended that she should turn Quakeress; but surely
the true explanation of these providences is that God will have us look
to Him, and not rest unduly on any man or human system. He spoils our
idols that we may worship only Him.
Every experienced pastor must have met with such cases. Until God
satisfies the soul the words of men are vain; when His hour has come,
the truth which brings light and peace is often one that has been
explained and urged before. George Fox had to learn that it is God's
work to enlighten, that there is still to be enjoyed a real guidance
of the Holy Spirit, resulting in the solution of difficulties and
mysteries, in a clear apprehension of the truth, and a soul-satisfying
sense of its power. And if the lesson was slowly and hardly learnt, it
resulted in a clearer insight into the truth, and more fitness to deal
with other tried souls.
At times during these days of trial the dark clouds broke, and for a
time the sun shone through. But until he learnt that Christ was to
be his Teacher and Comforter, it was but for a time. It was a short
respite to gather strength, a brief foreshadowing of the coming joy.
Hear his touching thanksgiving for the goodness that did not break
the bruised reed. "As I cannot declare the misery I was in, it was so
great and heavy upon me, so neither can I set forth the mercies of
God to me in my misery. Oh! the everlasting love of God to my soul
when I was in distress. When my torments and troubles were great, then
was His love exceeding great. Thou, Lord, makest the fruitful field a
wilderness, and a barren wilderness a fruitful field. Thou bringest
down and settest up. Thou killest and makest alive. All honour and
glory be to Thee, O Lord of Glory. The knowledge of Thee in the Spirit
is life." But the clouds finally passed away, and abiding sunshine
settled on him, when Christ revealed Himself to him as the Great
Physician, for whom he had been longing so earnestly. His troubles had
lasted three years, and, no doubt, had been aggravated by his morbid
fears and mistaken loneliness. But through life his nature was keenly
susceptible; for example, the sins of the nation at the Restoration
made him blind and seriously ill with grief, in spite of active work
and much society. No wonder then that his anguish wore him out at the
time when his soul was in the dark, and when that which appeared to him
alone worth living for seemed denied him. But now that he was weaned
from trusting in an arm of flesh, came the time of divine deliverance.
"When all my hopes in them (the dissenters) and in all men were gone,
so that I had nothing outwardly to help me, nor could I tell what to
do, then, O! then, I heard a voice which said, 'There is one, even
Jesus Christ, that can speak to thy condition,' and when I heard it my
heart did leap for joy. Then the Lord did let me see why there was none
upon the earth that could speak to my condition, namely, that I might
give him all the glory. For all are concluded in sin and shut up in
unbelief as I had been, that Jesus Christ might have the pre-eminence,
who enlightens and gives grace, faith, and power. Thus when God doth
work who shall let it? And this I knew experimentally. My desires after
the Lord grew stronger, and zeal in the pure knowledge of God and of
Christ alone, without the aid of any man, book, or writing. For though
I read the Scriptures that spake of Christ and of God, yet I knew Him
not but by revelation, as He who hath the key did open, and as the
Father of Life drew me to His Son by His Spirit."
This discovery was to Fox what the unfolding of the great doctrine of
justification by faith was to Luther. It was not only the commencement
of a new life, it was the theme of his life-long ministry, and the
special message which he was raised up to deliver to the world. In
neither case was there the revelation of a new truth, only an old truth
was to be emphasized, and to take its right place in the minds and
hearts of men.
To this grand truth, that Christ is still with us to guide us by His
Holy Spirit into all truth, Fox henceforth trusted to clear up all
doubts, and to unfold all truths, and to explain the Holy Scriptures.
So in our day has Mr. Moody set forth prayer as the all-sufficient
practical commentator on the Bible. Henceforth, Fox expected Divine
prompting to every service and Divine guidance in its performance,
and without these he would not move. He had already been convinced
of several points afterwards prominent in Quakerism, especially that
no place or building can properly be called "holy ground," and that
a University training was not a sufficient qualification for the
ministry. As to the last point, just as the modern Quaker apostle,
Stephen Grellet, said he could no more make a sermon than he could make
a world, so did Fox protest against a man-made minister. As he was
ever the enlightened and persistent advocate of sound education, this
contention must not be mistaken for a contempt of human learning in its
right place. It was but an emphatic assertion that the only availing
spiritual knowledge comes not through human teaching but through the
teaching of the Holy Spirit; and that, on the other hand, where He
calls a man to the office of the ministry, the absence of a scholastic
training was an utterly insufficient reason for interfering with the
call. The abundant blessing which attended the preaching of Fox, Bunyan
and other "unlearned and ignorant men," gave emphasis to this doctrine
in that age. To these views the other Quaker "testimonies" were
speedily added, and soon the whole scheme of doctrine was complete in
his mind.
Two points must here be insisted upon:--1st, neither George Fox nor any
of the early Friends, though their language is sometimes hazy, ever
claimed to be inspired. Says a recent authority, [Fielden Thorp, B. A.,
in the Friends' Quarterly Examiner for April, 1870,] "It has often been
a cause of satisfaction to us that nowhere in the authorised documents
of our society is the word (inspiration) applied to the ministry of
Friends." Secondly, notice that Fox was most careful to note how his
convictions corresponded with Holy Scripture. So he says, "When I
had openings they answered one another, and answered the Scriptures,
for I had great openings of the Scriptures."[2] Whilst, then, the
fallibility of the ministry is acknowledged, and the infallibility of
the Bible asserted, surely the doctrine of the Divine Guidance is not
perverted through insufficient safeguards. But we are not prepared
in all points to defend Fox's application of the doctrine. Possibly
he sometimes mistook the workings of his own mind for the promptings
of the Holy Spirit. Nor are his theology and his interpretations of
Scripture beyond criticism. His ideas on the Divine In-dwelling took
the form of the famous doctrine of the Seed or Light within. But though
the teaching and guidance of the Holy Spirit are taught by Friends as
distinctly as ever, it is questionable whether the doctrine of the
Light within _in the precise form in which Fox preached it, and Barclay
developed it theologically_, has obtained the general acceptance
of the Society. It certainly is not to be found in its authorised
publications, such as the official "Doctrine, Practice and Discipline."
It speaks well for the independence of thought in the society, that the
pet-child of its great leaders should be abandoned when it failed to
secure their conscientious assent.[3]
[2] The following passage from an American life of George Fox, coming
from a reliable Quaker source, corroborates this assertion. Speaking
of the early Friends the writer says:--"Their belief in a divine
communication between the soul of man and its Almighty Creator, through
the medium of the Holy Spirit, by which the Christian may be 'led
into all truth,' did not at all lessen their regard for the authority
of the Holy Scriptures _as the test of doctrines_. They constantly
professed their willingness that all their principles and practices
should be tried by them; and that whatsoever any, who pretended to
the guidance of the Spirit, either said or did which was contrary to
their testimony, ought to be rejected as a Satanic delusion; and also,
that 'what 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
faith.'" Page 357.
[3] The reader will not mistake this for an assertion that Friends
have surrendered the doctrine of the Divine guidance and indwelling.
For a fuller discussion of the question see the close of the sketch of
Barclay.
Since Macaulay so grossly caricatured Fox, it has been assumed that
Penn and Barclay added to Fox's ideas whatever was meritorious in
Quakerism. On the contrary, not only the theology of the society and
its polity, but also its philanthropy and its enlightened views on
religious liberty, must be ascribed to him as their chief exponent.
If the Quakers object to call him their Founder, it is only because
they wish to honour God, rather than the human instrument. They never
hesitate to give him his due, nor do they falsify their own teachings
by seeking to win favour for them by great names. There is no clearer
testimony than that of Penn, that Fox's services received full
recognition in the Society during his life-time. Indeed the position
accorded him moved the envy of some, in spite of his own meekness and
humble carriage.
Fox's personal spiritual experience may be regarded as the laying of
the foundation-stone of Quakerism. Now let us turn to the rearing
of the superstructure. Having learnt where to look for help and
enlightenment, his heart soon found rest. His bodily strength returned,
and his mind as well as his soul received a vast impulse. He seemed
to have a sympathetic insight not only into the hearts of men, but
also into the secrets of nature, so that at one time he questioned
whether he ought not to practice medicine. To the end of his life he
remained an ardent lover of nature and of science, so that his friend,
William Penn, calls him "a divine and naturalist too, and all of God
Almighty's making." But soon he settled down to his true life-work as
an itinerant preacher of the gospel. His patrimony was sufficient to
enable him to devote himself freely to the work. In his wanderings in
search of light, he had made the acquaintance of many anxious seekers
after truth. To these he naturally went in the joy and ardour of his
heart, to tell them what God had taught him; and many of them received
"the truth." His first convert was a woman, Elizabeth Hooton, who
also became the first lady preacher in the new Society, and after much
service died in the West Indies, whilst accompanying Fox and others on
a preaching tour. Soon we find him preaching in ordinary congregations,
and in the conferences common in that day, and gaining a name for
spiritual discernment.
Though but a youth of 23 when he began to preach, there was a spiritual
power attending his ministry that was remarkable. Macaulay speaks
of his "chant" in preaching; many Welsh preachers now "chant" the
gospel with great effect, and the recitative in Mrs. Fry's ministry
was acknowledged to be wonderfully impressive. But it must not be
supposed that it was deliberately chosen, it is probable that he fell
into it unconsciously. The intensity of his emotion too added to the
impression; his large frame quivered and shook with his strong feeling.
Charles Lamb has given a vivid description of what he calls "The Foxian
orgasm:" probably the description would accurately apply to Fox. We can
judge from his Journal how keen and penetrating his appeals must have
been, and how exultant his praises and thanksgivings.
Then again he preached, not metaphysics, nor formal theology, but a
living, present Christ. He told his experience with pathos and power.
No wonder that people wept and laughed for joy, for they felt it was
true glad tidings that he brought. His word was literally "in power and
in the Holy Ghost, and in much assurance," and many received it as the
word of God to them. Soon his converts were numbered by hundreds. In
1647 he first began to preach publicly, and in that and the next year
several "meetings" were gathered.
Any one who passes along the East Lancashire Railway from Colne to
Burnley, must be struck by the towering grandeur of Pendle Hill; and
if he climbs it, he will be rewarded by a glorious panorama. Whilst
looking on this magnificent view, George Fox tells us he had a vision,
in which he saw that this region would be the home of thousands of
Quakers; and certainly nowhere did Quakerism find such a stronghold,
and receive such sturdy helpers and gifted preachers. Alas! the glory
has departed! Partly as the result of extensive emigration, many of the
meeting-houses then so full of devout worshippers are now empty, whilst
in some others a formal few, whom Fox would hardly acknowledge as his
followers, meet in cold silence sabbath by sabbath.
Fox did not long work single-handed; in a few years, especially from
this district on and about the Penine Range, a band of preachers
gathered round him whom Quakers still delight to honour. In 1654 he
tells us there were sixty preaching in all parts of England and Wales.
Some of his helpers had been ministers, like Francis Howgill and John
Audland. But it was not taken for granted that they would still preach,
unless there was the manifest call. Thus Thomas Lawson, a clergyman
at Ramside near Ulverston, a man of considerable learning, seems to
have relinquished preaching when he was converted by Fox. He was a
great botanist, and says Sewel, "one of the most skilful herbalists
in England," so he seems to have gained his livelihood by this skill
and by tuition. Yet the authoress of "The Fells of Swarthmoor Hall"
calls him a man of fervid eloquence, so that it was not lack of gifts
that kept him from preaching, but it must have been the persuasion
that he was not called to the work. So in our own day, that master of
eloquence, John Bright, though a man of strong religious feeling, never
preaches, in spite of the freedom which Quakerism allows.
Besides clergymen and other ministers, the converts included
magistrates, like Justice Hotham and Anthony Pearson, author of "The
Great Case of Tithes;" and officers in the army like Col. West and
Capt. Pursloe, besides gentlemen of substance and standing like I.
Pennington, and scholars like Samuel Fisher and Thomas Lawson just
mentioned. But among them all Fox stood chief, not only as the father
of the fathers among them, but also in his firm and clear grasp of
the truth, his entire devotion, his gifts of leadership, his many
labours and sufferings, and his God-given success. "I notice," says a
contemporary letter, "that in any company when George is present all
the rest are silent;" and a joint letter by Edward Burrough and Francis
Howgill says, "Oh but for one hour of his company! what a treasure it
would be to us!" Even those who had held similar views before they met
with him, often gained from him more clearness of view and fulness of
knowledge.
The manner of conducting the Quaker "meetings for worship," was the
result of practical conviction rather than of theory. They thought that
for Christians to meet together in order to go through a stated form of
service, was at once to cramp the outpouring of the heart to God, and
to interfere with the Holy Spirit in his direction of the utterances
of Christ's ministers. When they met in silence, each could speak to
God what was in his heart, and each could hear in his spirit "what God
the Lord would speak;" and if any one was "moved" to declare any truth,
the way was clear. Thus Christ was owned practically as a present Lord,
and the Holy Spirit trusted as a real and practical guide. They read
in their New Testaments that when the saints met together, all the
gifted might prophesy one by one as anything was revealed to them; and
that each might contribute to the service his psalm of thanksgiving,
or hymn of adoration, or edifying doctrine. It seemed to them that
in the "apostacy" of the churches not only the rights of private
Christians, but the claims of the Holy Spirit had been interfered
with by the "one-man ministry." And probably none of them, whatever
his gift of discernment, imagined in those days of burning zeal and
abundant labours, that the time would come when their simple system
would prove a rigid bond, which would leave half their meetings without
ministry of any kind. Encouragement of a true ministry is as needful as
discouragement of the spurious.
Very early in the history of the Society, the distinguishing views of
Friends on the Sacraments were clearly enunciated. In 1656, Fox sent
out a manifesto clearly stating his views, especially on the Lord's
Supper. He thought the outward rites were simply adaptations of Jewish
customs, temporary condescensions to the weakness of the converts
from Judaism until the destruction of Jerusalem, and even during that
period, optional, not obligatory. If the early Christians kept up the
old custom of sipping the wine and breaking the bread, then they must
do it in remembrance of Christ's death, and not of the deliverance from
the bondage of Egypt. But he believed the outward rite Jewish in its
style, and foreign to the pure spirituality of Christianity. So also
with regard to Baptism.[4]
[4] The other leading "testimonies" of Friends were against all war,
and against oaths, even in a court of justice.
There were two kinds of service which the devoted leader rendered to
Christian truth--he preached it with zeal and unction, and he suffered
for its sake. His sufferings were unquestionably often the result of
his own unwisdom. Many Friends themselves now lament his want of a
conciliatory spirit. He could not put himself in the place of others,
so as to see how they viewed himself, his conduct and his claims.
Thus he was constantly led to impute dishonest and impure motives to
others if they did not agree with him. All but his own unpaid ministers
were "priests" and "hirelings" and so on. But nothing can justify the
treatment he received, often through the connivance, sometimes from the
instigation, of clergymen and magistrates. Whitefield's hootings and
peltings were nothing, in comparison with Fox's stonings, and brutal
beatings, and horrible imprisonments. As Marsden says, "He rebuked sin
with the authority of a prophet, and he met with a prophet's reward."
We must remember in extenuation of his admitted faults that he aimed
to be a reformer, appealing afresh to first principles in conduct, and
seeking to arouse others to feel their force. He purposely set himself
against mere conventionalism, especially when it fostered pride or
cloaked some rottenness in society. When persecuted, he never resorted
to flattery or depended on wheedling, but appealed to conscience and to
the humane or Christian feelings which ought to have been in the breast
of the persecutor.
He proved to the full the power of passive endurance. Smitten on the
one cheek, he literally turned the other. He believed that a large
share of his work for the Master was in the testimony of suffering,
and he was more anxious to be obedient than to avoid what seemed to
him the pains and penalties of obedience. He would not walk out of
prison unless he could do it not only honourably, but conscientiously,
satisfied that he was not flinching from his appointed testimony.
He truly gloried in afflictions for Christ's sake. While refusing
to honour an unchristian statute by keeping it, he bore patiently
and unresistingly the legal penalties, unshaken in his loyalty to
the government and unsoured in his disposition towards mankind. But
further, Fox clearly saw that endurance was sure to end in victory,
and he inspired his friends with the same conviction. "The more they
imprison me," he writes triumphantly, "the more the truth spreads." In
the same spirit said William Penn at a later date, "I will weary out
their malice. Neither great nor good things were ever attained without
loss and hardship. The man that would reap and not labour must perish
in disappointment." No wonder that men grew weary of punishing those
who endured in this spirit. No wonder that the lofty conscientiousness
of the Quakers was felt to be the salt which had a large share in
counteracting the corruption of the Stuart reigns, and in preserving
our civil and religious liberties. Says Orme in his Life of Baxter,
"The heroic and persevering conduct of the Quakers in withstanding the
interferences of government with the rights of conscience, by which
they finally secured those peculiar privileges they so richly deserve
to enjoy, entitles them to the veneration of all the friends of civil
and religious liberty." And again he says, "Had there been more of
the same determined spirit among others which the Friends displayed,
the sufferings of all parties would sooner have come to an end. The
government must have given way, as the spirit of the country would have
been effectually roused. The conduct of the Quakers was infinitely to
their honour."
Meanwhile Fox abounded in labours, sparing no exertions to make known
the truth and to plead for righteousness. He sought a purer life
as much as a purer faith. He went into public houses to plead for
temperance, and into fairs to plead for uprightness and honesty, and
into courts to plead for justice, as well as into churches to plead for
spiritual religion. We must not forget that in those fermenting times
it was no uncommon thing for questions and remarks to be thrown at the
preacher during divine service, and it was considered quite in order
for any one to address the people after the clergyman had finished his
sermon. Thus when Fox was speaking in the Ulverston Church, Justice
Sawrey cried, "Take him away," but Margaret Fell interposed, "Let him
alone; why may not he speak _as well as any other_?" So that these
interruptions were not considered so strange and disorderly then as
they seem to us now. But public feeling was against the man and against
the truths he preached, and to that public feeling he could not and
would not yield. He could not take off his hat before the great, for
that was an honour which he reserved for God alone. He felt bound to
protest against all flattering titles and speeches, which, though the
world counts them harmless civilities, seemed to his sober spirit and
delicate conscience such as should neither be given nor received by
the followers of the lowly Nazarene. His "thee and thou," and plain
speaking, and sober dress, and keen rebukes, brought on him a perfect
storm of anger and abuse. He felt that he stood in the forefront of the
battle against worldliness, and bore the brunt of it; and he was meekly
thankful for such an honourable post.
His first imprisonment was at Nottingham, for interrupting divine
service; but he had his triumph, the very Sheriff was converted, and
compelled by his new-found zeal to go forth into the market-place, and
take up the imprisoned preacher's work. His second term soon followed
at Derby, on a charge of blasphemy. He believed in the doctrine of
perfection, and told those who opposed him that they pleaded for sin.
The Derby Magistrates asked him if he was sanctified, and he answered,
"Yes." "Then they asked me if I had no sin? I answered 'Christ my
Saviour has taken away my sin and in Him there is no sin.' They asked
how we knew that Christ did abide in us? I said, 'By His Spirit that
he has given us.' They temptingly asked if any of us were Christ? I
answered, 'Nay, we were nothing, Christ is all.'" Yet they found him
guilty of blasphemy, confounding him with the fanatical, antinomian
Ranters. But if he taught perfection, Oh! how he lived! Let those that
reject his teaching excel, or at least equal, his living. In Derby, his
jailer was converted, to strengthen and comfort him in his sufferings.
Whilst in prison his busy pen poured forth many letters of advice to
Friends, and "testimonies" against all forms of iniquity, including war
and capital punishment.
Before he was 27, Fox had passed through more varied experience than
many have in a long life-time. Honour and revilings, converts and
imprisonments, love for the gospel's sake and cruel beatings by the
mob, nearly ending in death--these had already been his portion. But
his work was now bearing much fruit. In one twelve-months, 1650-1,
he gained such staunch helpers as Richard Farnsworth, James Nayler,
William Dewsbury, Justice Hotham, and Captain Purslow. Soon afterwards
the Fells of Swarthmoor were led to Christ by his preaching and became
the most devoted of adherents. Soon his followers could be numbered by
thousands. It was not the strength of his arguments that gained them;
the age was overdone with reasoning. Fox mocked their syllogisms with
grim humour. There was a wonderful spiritual power about him. He spoke
naturally, with simple, direct earnestness, and overwhelming vehemence,
right to the conscience of the hearers. He made people both listen
and understand him, and feel the power of the truth in a way which
many did not like. He was a wonderful evangelist. What his cultured
convert, Isaac Pennington, the Rutherford of Quakerism, said of Friends
generally, is applicable to him. They might offend his taste and move
him to contempt by their intellectual poverty, but they compelled him
to respect their spiritual power and their deep acquaintance with the
things of God.
Then again the new Society was a real brotherhood. The members stood
shoulder to shoulder as fellow servants of the one Master. Their only
emulation was which should do most and suffer most cheerfully. Their
great question was "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do? Where wilt
Thou have me to go?" The Jesuit was ready to go at an hour's notice
wherever the Pope sent him. The Quaker was as ready in his obedience
to the voice within. Not only Great Britain, but Italy, Turkey, Syria,
and Egypt heard the truth before 1662. John Stubbs, "a remarkable
Oriental scholar," and Henry Fell, who was also "well versed in Arabic
and Hebrew," set out for the land of Prester John, but were stopped
by the English Consul at Alexandria. Their leader was chief simply
through gifts and devotedness. So strongly were Friends attached to
him that when he was in Launceston gaol, one of them went to Cromwell
and offered to lie in prison in his stead; which made the Protector
turn to those around him and ask, "Which of you would do as much for
me if I were in the same condition?" And Fox showed himself worthy of
such devotion by always seeking the post of danger and the most arduous
work. Urgent he might be, for he was tremendously in earnest, but to
speak as Hepworth Dixon does of his "imperious instincts" simply shows
ignorance of the man.
For centuries no such zealous and noble-spirited evangelism had been
seen. No wonder that it won its way. Many who had been rich, like Isaac
Pennington, were content to become poor by fines and distraints for
"the truth's sake." Most nobly did they help each other. If they did
not insist on community of goods as a theory, they carried out the
spirit of it in practice.
There are two marked stages in Fox's work; first the Evangelistic
Stage, and then the Organising Stage, which was, of course, overlapt by
the other. Let us trace the salient points in his evangelistic work.
In 1654 he was brought before Cromwell, and made a good impression on
that keen judge of men. His sincerity stood testing, his zeal for God
was manifestly genuine, and the grand, though not faultless Protector,
learnt heartily to respect him. As he was turning to leave him,
Cromwell caught him by the hand and said, "Come again to my house, for
if thou and I were but an hour of a day together, we should be nearer
one to the other." Next year he visited him again, to lay before him
the ill-treatment to which Friends were subjected.
The meetings now gathered, wherever "the man in leather breeches"
went were immense. At one in Bristol, he tells us, 10,000 people were
present, and often 2000 or 3000 are mentioned as collecting to hear
him. The energetic evangelist often had periods of grudged but not
useless interruption of his labours by imprisonment. Indeed, as Mr. W.
E. Forster says, he "would have been qualified to draw up a report of
the state of the gaols of the Island, so universal and experimental
was his acquaintance with them." But his imprisonments did not make
him cease from labour. He wrote innumerable letters and tracts, and he
preached the gospel to those that came to see him with such effect,
that one of Cromwell's Chaplains said they could not do him a greater
service for spreading his principles in Cornwall, than to imprison him
in Launceston gaol.
In 1656 occurred the sad episode of James Nayler's fall. He had been
one of the most popular of the Quaker preachers, and had enjoyed the
warm friendship of Fox and other leaders. But extravagant praise turned
his head so far that he listened to blasphemous songs and invocations
addressed to him by excited women, allowed them to kneel before him,
and even to welcome him to Bristol with a horrible parody of our Lord's
triumphal entry into Jerusalem. These miserable proceedings he did not
like, but he excused them as honors done, not to him, but to Christ his
Lord. The way in which Fox and other Friends acted in this matter was
most praiseworthy. Many of the enthusiasts who misled Nayler were not
truly Friends at all, and yet the Society was credited with fanaticism
on account of their proceedings. Their enemies exulted in a clear case
against them, and the religious world seemed justified in regarding
them with suspicion. But in spite of all this, the Friends clung to the
deluded man, and tried every means to open his eyes. George Fox visited
him in Exeter gaol, and used every power of reason and persuasion,
and at last finding he could do nothing with him, sadly gave him to
understand that their friendship was at an end, and that Friends could
no longer regard him as one of them. Yet still they visited him, and
tried hard to gain the Protector and Parliament to their humane view of
the right way of dealing with the case, and they had their reward. The
cloud that obscured his mental vision passed away, and he deeply and
truly repented of his sad error. He published a full recantation, took
upon himself the whole blame, absolving the Society from all share; and
endeavoured in every way to undo the mischief he had done. But whilst
their love and gentleness had thus conquered, the barbarous spirit of
the age had vindicated orthodoxy, by passing and executing the horrible
sentence of branding and tongue boring. And it is sad to think, that
the man who endured this torture was already a repentant man, won by
love, not by severity, to confess and renounce his sin. The Quakers at
once received him into full confidence and esteem, and helped him, in
truly Christian fashion, to bear the results of his fall. Thus early in
their history, in the midst of an age of much persecution and bigotry,
were established those habits of loving Christian discipline, which
have so nobly distinguished the Society ever since. But the reclaimed
wanderer was not long allowed to continue his resumed preaching. In the
summer of 1660 he was taken ill, and died in his 44th year.
In the same year 1656, Fox tells us that more than 1000 Friends were
in prison for conscience sake. But though he had not been long out
of prison, and was in continual danger of arrest, he would not relax
his labours. He extended the range of his evangelistic efforts into
Wales, and gained a rich harvest there, as he had before amongst the
equally fiery-souled Cornish men. The style of his own preaching may
be judged from his exhortation to his fellow-ministers, penned whilst
in Launceston gaol. "Dwell in the power, life, wisdom and dread of
the Lord God of life and heaven and earth, spreading the truth abroad,
awakening the witness, confounding the deceit, gathering up out of
transgression into the life, the covenant of light and peace with
God. Let all the nations hear the sound by word or writing. Spare no
place, spare no tongue nor pen. Go through the work, and be valiant
for the truth upon earth." How like Wesley's assertion that the world
was his parish. Like him, Fox might have boasted that his followers
were _all_ at work, and _always_ at it. Like Wesley, too, he wrote as
he travelled, by which alone we can account for the wonderful amount
that he wrote. He had no gift for literary composition; his spelling
was erratic, and his sentences, like Paul's, were long and involved,
probably because they both dictated their letters hastily to some
secretary. But if his letters bear marks of haste, they are pithy, and
pointed, and full of gracious unction. Any spiritually-minded Christian
may greatly enjoy his fervent appeals and powerful statements of Gospel
truth. His letters and tracts served the practical purpose for which
they were intended, and he was satisfied.
The year 1657 saw him enter Scotland, where he had a presentiment
that a glorious vintage was to be gathered. He was met by determined
opposition from ministers and others, who smelt heresy in his
teachings, especially as he was an Arminian. What they hated in him
may be seen from the following curses, which, in the fiery style of
that age, were pronounced in kirk, the people pronouncing the response.
"Cursed is he that saith, Every man hath a light within him sufficient
to lead him to salvation: and let all the people say, Amen. Cursed is
he that saith, Faith is without sin: and let all the people say, Amen.
Cursed is he that denieth the Sabbath-day: and let all the people
say, Amen." But for all this terrorism, within ten years there was a
body of Friends in Scotland, that, by their earnest piety, and solid
consecrated learning, gladdened the heart of the devoted leader.
The troubled times after the death of Cromwell tried Friends in many
ways. The Committee of Public Safety sought to induce them to join the
army, many of them having been brave and efficient soldiers before
their convincement, but they unanimously refused. Attempts were made
to identify them with the Fifth Monarchy men, and other disturbers of
the public peace, for they were disliked by almost every one; but the
prudence and energy of Fox and others avoided these snares, and gained
the confidence of the powers that were.
When Charles II. ascended the throne he proved even more friendly than
Cromwell had been. Dr. Stoughton says, "Charles had a sort of liking to
the Quakers for their harmlessness and their oddity. He was not afraid
of their taking up arms against the throne, and to quiz them in their
queer dresses and with their quaint speech, was to him a piece of good
fun." It suited the merry Monarch to have pretty Quakeresses like Sarah
Fell coming with their petitions, enduring his bantering demurely, and
going away delighted with the clemency he so often showed. In 1666
he granted the release of George Fox from the sentence of premunire.
He had once before set him at liberty, only to fall again into the
clutches of the law. In March, 1664, Fox had been brought before
Justice Twisden, and after a sham trial that was an outrage on both
law and humanity, the extreme sentence of the law in such cases, the
sentence of premunire, was passed, and he languished in Lancaster gaol
and Scarborough Castle for nearly three years. But at last the royal
ear was gained, and Fox, ill with hard treatment in the foul cells
at Scarborough, was restored to his liberty, his property, and his
civil rights. In prison he had been busy writing in exposition of the
views of Friends. After his release, for some time he was principally
engaged in modelling the discipline and church government of the
Society.
Before passing on to consider the organisation of the Quaker community
into a compact and well regulated church, we must notice their
conduct in the question of marriage. "Marriage," said Fox, "is God's
ordinance," believing literally the common saying that marriages are
made in heaven. But the solemn compact ought to be publicly ratified,
and what more fitting than that public worship should attend that
celebration. If Fox denied that ministers could marry, if he insisted
that the ceremony should consist simply of a mutual pledge publicly
given, he was very careful that all should be done in good order. The
marriage customs which obtain amongst Quakers to-day represent his
views. The young people must show that they are clear of other marriage
engagements, and have the consent of their parents or guardians to
their union. Sufficient public notice must be given of the coming
event, so as to prevent all scandal and disorder. Then the marriage
is celebrated during a week-day service. In the early days of the
Society the publication of the intended marriage was no easy matter.
"Many a joke must have passed through the merry crowd, when, from the
market-cross of a country town, the expecting bridegroom proclaimed
his forthcoming nuptials--but no arrangements of a loose or evasive
character, would have saved the marriages of Friends from the double
brand of public opinion and of national law." In 1661 the legality of
Quaker marriages was tested in Nottingham before Justice Archer, and
the point was forever set at rest.
Now let us turn to the work of Fox in the organisation of the Society.
That the organisation was principally planned and carried out by him
is past all doubt. We will quote two out of numberless authorities.
Marsden says--
"To understand Quakerism the reader must comprehend the character of
George Fox; for no institution ever carried more thoroughly impressed
upon it the features of its chief."--_Marsden's Christian Churches_, p.
424.[5]
[5] For this quotation and other valuable matter the writer is indebted
to the writings of Alderman Rowntree, of York, whose "Two Lectures
on George Fox" and prize essay on "Quakerism, Past and Present" are
standard works on Quakerism.
T. Hancock says, in his prize essay on the causes of the decline of
Quakerism--
"The master spirit and chief builder of Quakerism was undoubtedly
George Fox.... When we come to the second period, to the modelling
of the Quaker constitution and discipline to the Society of Friends,
to Quakerism as an _ism_, the hand of George Fox is still more
evident."--_The Peculium_, pp. 68, 69.
The views of Fox as to the church polity were exceedingly simple.
He had no intention of forming a sect; he only met the needs of his
friends, as the exigences of the hour dictated. The less machinery the
better; the simpler the arrangements the more they commended themselves
to his judgment. His mind was not hampered by theories. His aim was to
recognize the gifts of all, and not to have the life bound by man's
rules.
But there must be discipline in the church. The disorderly must be
dealt with. The weak must be helped. Many were thrown into prison or
even banished; they must be relieved or cared for in the best way their
circumstances allowed. Many had lost all for conscience sake; they must
not be allowed to want. None so full of pity for these sufferers, as he
who suffered so readily himself. Almost his last words were, "Remember
poor Friends in Ireland."
The New Testament was his only conscious rule, prayerful waiting upon
God for light his only expositor of it. He might ask his learned
friends for side-lights from church history, might ask them about
the practice of the early church, or the history of the corrupting
influence of certain false doctrines. But he was emphatically a man
of one book, and he read that book with his heart, more than with his
penetrating mind.
That competent authority in all matters concerning Quakerism, Mr. J.
S. Rowntree, thus describes the origin and progress of the Quaker
discipline. "With the rapid growth of the Society, George Fox
increasingly perceived the necessity for taking steps to repress
the outbursts of fanatical and misguided zeal, and for placing the
government of the church on a more systematic basis. This decision
was undoubtedly expedited by the occurrence of a heresy fomented by
John Perrott.... He had the satisfaction of seeing most of Perrott's
adherents make a public acknowledgment of their error, and immediately
afterwards, he initiated a national system of disciplinary meetings,
to be held monthly. They consisted of the most experienced Friends
within a given district; and had the charge of the affairs of the body
within such district. The Quarterly Meetings (many of which we have
seen were already in existence) were gradually put on a different
basis, and consisted henceforth of representatives from a number of
associated Monthly Meetings, whose decisions in some cases were liable
to revision by the superior meeting. It was not till a somewhat later
date that a central body--the 'Yearly Meeting' of London--consisting
of representatives from all the Quarterly Meetings in the country,
was established as the top stone of this elaborate disciplinary
system.... To the settlement of these Monthly Meetings, George Fox
most assiduously devoted himself in 1667-68; and ere long, wherever
meetings for the worship of God were held after the manner of Friends,
little church synods were also held, ministering to the wants of the
poor, alleviating the sorrows of the prisoners, seeking to reclaim
disorderly walkers, and when failing in this, disuniting them from the
body." ("Two Lectures on Macaulay's Portraiture of George Fox," pp.
40-42.) It speaks volumes for the sagacity of Fox that so little has
needed to be added to or altered in the Quaker polity since his day.
In 1666 the Barclays joined the society, and in the next year William
Penn was added to their number. The learning of Robert Barclay, and
social position and administrative ability of William Penn, were soon
appreciated by the leader with whom they worked so loyally.
In 1669 Fox visited Ireland, and in the same year he was married to
Margaret, widow of Judge Fell, of Swarthmoor Hall. She had been one
of his early converts, and was one of his most vigorous helpers. She
wrote almost as many letters, and printed almost as many appeals as her
husband; she visited the imprisoned, and sent relief to their families.
Her house was the home of all Quakers visiting the neighborhood, and
her purse was at the service of all who needed money to serve the
cause. Her judgment was reliable and her energy untiring; she was
the Countess of Huntingdon of the Society. She even endured long
imprisonments, and risked, and for a time endured, the loss of all her
property by premunire for the truth's sake. She was therefore a fitting
help-meet for George Fox. She had four daughters who were ministers in
the Society, and the whole family regarded him with reverence, except
the scapegrace elder son. He not only opposed the marriage, but with
the basest ingratitude, he endeavoured, after it was accomplished,
to turn his mother out of her own home; and he rests under at least
grave suspicion of being a party to the plot to have her sentenced to
premunire.[6]
[6] The penalties of this sentence were, to be put out of the King's
protection, to forfeit lands and goods to the King, and to be liable to
imprisonment for life or at the King's pleasure.
Fox acted throughout this affair with the greatest prudence and
magnanimity. He would not even be suspected of seeking worldly gain,
but carefully secured to his wife and her family, the property which
was hers before their marriage. No wedding could be more simple than
his own. "Afterwards," he says in his journal, "a meeting being
appointed on purpose for the accomplishing thereof, in the public
meeting-house at Broadmead in Bristol, [the site cannot now be
certainly determined,] we took each other in marriage.... Then was a
certificate, relating both the proceedings and the marriage, openly
read and signed by the relations, and by most of the ancient Friends of
that city, besides many other Friends from divers parts of the nation."
Evidently the ceremony caused considerable excitement. His wife was ten
years his senior.
But of home life they had little enough; in little more than a week
they parted, that the husband might continue his labours, and soon
after, the wife was cast into prison, where she remained until 1671.
Then through the intercession of her daughters with the king she was
released, and the premunire, which had rested on her for ten years, was
removed. They had a few days together before Fox sailed for the West
Indies, and again on his return, and so on.
Men and women who give their most intense and sustained sympathies
to Christian enterprises, often have to suffer for it in their home
relations. "We were very willing both of us," says Mrs. Fox after her
husband's death, "to live apart for some years upon God's account and
His truth's service, and to deny ourselves of that comfort which we
might have in being together, for the sake of the service of the Lord
and His truth; and if any took occasion, or judged hard of us because
of that, the Lord will judge them, for we were innocent."
In the summer of 1671, George Fox and some other Friends visited
the West Indies and the continent of America, to push the work of
evangelisation and of organising the societies there. They landed
in Barbadoes, after a voyage enlivened by constant dangers from the
leakiness of the vessel, and once by an almost miraculous escape from
capture by a Sallee man-of-war. Fox's son-in-law, John Rous, was in
the company, and on landing he was at once taken to the house of Mr.
Rous, senior, who was a wealthy sugar planter. Fox's health had been
so injured by the ill-usage which he had endured at different times,
and he suffered so keenly from the climate, that he had to remain at
Mr. Rous's, whilst his friends held meetings all around. But though
crippled in body his mind was vigorous. The marriage regulations
and discipline of the Society, and the duty of giving Christian
instruction to the negroes, engrossed his attention. The question of
slavery stirred his heart to its depths; and his vigorous language and
action not only did good then, but laid a right foundation for the
future action of the society. When the time came that Friends had to
consider the question of the abolition of slavery, few things exerted
so much influence in the right direction, as Fox's clear statement
of the issues involved. His words were quoted, his reasonings were
expanded and enforced, and it was largely through his influence that
abolitionist principles became identified with Quakerism.
Here, as elsewhere, the doctrines of the society had been greatly
misrepresented, so the famous letter to the governor of Barbadoes was
drawn up to explain them. It is still often quoted as an admirable
statement of the views of the society. It is as near an approach to
a creed as anything can be, which originated from a society which
recognises only the Bible as authoritative, and which objects to all
human formularies.
The society in Barbadoes gained greatly in numbers and strength by this
visit. Jamaica, Maryland, North Carolina and Virginia were next visited
in the same manner and with similar results. Large numbers were won
to a christian life. The Indians and negroes were recognised as having
a claim to christian sympathy and religious instruction. The societies
were weeded of unworthy members, and their organisation successfully
accomplished. Then the party returned in safety to England after an
absence of a year and a half.
In 1677 Fox carried these operations into Holland, having with him
his illustrious friends, Penn and Barclay. "This visit of the three
great apostles of Quakerism," says Hepworth Dixon, "seems to have
made a great sensation; scholars, merchants, government officers,
and the general public crowded to hear them preach, and the houses
of the most noble and learned men in the city of Van der Werf and
Erasmus were thrown open to them freely.... Their journey through the
country was like a prolonged ovation." The interesting episode of the
interview with the enlightened and large-hearted Princess Elizabeth,
granddaughter of James I., scarcely belongs to this sketch, as Fox did
not join in it. But he wrote a lengthy epistle of Christian counsel,
and sent it by his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Yeamans, and the Princess
returned him this brief but kindly reply:--
"Dear Friend, I cannot but have a tender love to those that
love the Lord Jesus Christ, and to whom it is given, not only
to believe in Him, but also to suffer for Him; therefore your
letter, and your friend's visit, have been both very welcome
to me. I shall follow their and your counsel as far as God
will afford me light and unction; remaining still your loving
friend, Elizabeth."
He spent some time in Amsterdam "writing in truth's account," and then
returned home by Harwich. In 1684 he paid another visit to Holland, the
last of his longer missionary journeys.
After this, finding his health shattered by his long imprisonment
and arduous labours, he settled down in London, quietly, though not
uselessly, awaiting the end. His correspondence was most extensive,
and he wrote many tracts and pamphlets as was his habit. One of his
last letters was written to the lately-bereaved widow of Barclay,
the Apologist, and is a model of Christian consolation. He tells
her:--"Thou and thy family may rejoice that thou hadst such an offering
to offer up unto the Lord as thy dear husband; who, I know is well in
the Lord in whom he died, and is at rest from his labours, and his
works do follow him." He signs himself one "who had a great love and
respect for thy dear husband, for his work and service in the Lord, who
is content in the will of God, and all things that he doeth--and so
thou must be." But besides this literary work, he laboured zealously in
the pastoral work, visiting the sick and afflicted, and endeavouring to
"bring into the way of truth such as had erred."
He watched the passing of the Toleration Act with the deepest interest.
It was a most welcome relief to Friends, especially those in Ireland.
The losses sustained by the Irish Quakers were enormous. In one year
(1689) they were estimated at £100,000, many being stripped of all they
had (see Besse's Sufferings). George Fox not only collected such facts
as these for publication, but, even in his last days of suffering and
prostration, attended at the House of Commons to interest the members
in the sufferings of his brethren, and to see that the Toleration Act
was "done comprehensively and effectually."
He was equally zealous in his attendance on public worship. When so
infirm that he could hardly sit through a service, he would not desist,
and often afterwards had to lie down on a bed until recruited. He
was determined, if possible, to die in harness, and God gave him his
heart's desire.
He was especially anxious lest spiritual religion should decline, now
that persecution had ceased, and Friends began to prosper in business.
He wrote them an epistle of loving, but earnest expostulation, warning
the young against the fashions of the world, and the old against the
deceitfulness of riches. To the latter he pointedly says, "Take heed
that you are not _making your graves_ while you are alive outwardly."
To some ministers who had gone to America he writes similar stirring
words of counsel:--"And all grow in the faith and grace of Christ,
_that ye may not be like dwarfs_; for a dwarf shall not come near to
offer upon God's altar, though he may eat of God's bread that he may
grow by it."
On the Sunday preceding his death, he preached with great power at the
meeting in Gracechurch Street, but soon afterwards had to take to bed,
complaining of cold and weakness. His wife had been to see him some
little time before, and finding him enjoying better health than usual,
was unprepared for his death, so that no near relative seems to have
been with him at the time of his decease. It was indeed a consecrated
chamber. Those who stood round him were struck with the triumph of
faith over bodily weakness. He exulted in the power of Christ. "All
is well--the Seed of God reigns over all, and over death itself." His
thoughts were calmly fixed on the arrangement of Society affairs; his
mind was clear, his habitual disregard of his bodily sufferings still
marked him. Towards the last all pain left him. Feeling death coming,
he closed his own eyes and extended his limbs; and in sweet composure,
resting on Christ his Saviour, his spirit entered into rest on Tuesday,
13th December, 1690 (o.s.)
Three days after, some 2000 persons (one witness says 4000) gathered
to lay him in his grave. For two hours they worshipped in that same
meeting-house in Gracechurch Street, in which he had preached only on
the previous sabbath. William Penn, George Whitehead, Stephen Crisp,
and other leaders amongst them, thanked God for the gifts and services
of their departed leader, and exhorted and encouraged each other to
faith in that Lord, who raised him up and sustained him in his work.
Then the body was conveyed to Bunhill-fields, and interred in the
Friends' Burial Ground there.
On the day of his death, William Penn wrote to Swarthmoor to tell the
news of his decease. His letter reminds us of the inscription of the
Carthaginians on the tomb of Hannibal. "We vehemently desired him in
the day of battle." He sadly says to Mrs. Fox, "I am to be the teller
to thee of sorrowful tidings, which are these:--that thy dear husband
and my beloved friend, George Fox, finished his glorious testimony this
night about half-an-hour after 9 o'clock, being sensible to the last
breath. Oh! he is gone, and has left us with a storm over our heads.
Surely in mercy to Him, but an evidence to us of sorrows coming.... My
soul is deeply affected with this sudden great loss. Surely it portends
to us evils to come. A prince indeed is fallen in Israel to-day!" and
in a postscript he adds, "He died as he lived, minding the things of
God and His church to the last, in a universal spirit."
Fox's Journal was published soon after his death, with a lengthy
preface by his friend William Penn, containing a warm tribute to his
personal worth and Christian labors. The Journal gives us a better and
more vivid idea of the man than any biography that has been written.
An intelligent and liberal-minded Baptist minister thus describes the
impressions it left on his mind:--
Rev. Wm. Rhodes to his wife:
"'My dear heart in the truth and the life which are immortal
and change not;'
"So George Fox usually addressed his wife. I have finished
his life of 650 folio pages since you have been gone. It
afforded me much amusement, but its chief impression is
that of the highest veneration and delight, for so holy and
noble a servant of Christ. I have hitherto regarded Penn as
the most beautiful character which that sect has produced,
and perhaps it is the most beautiful, because his mind was
more polished and cultivated than that of his friend; but
Fox's character is by far the most venerable and magnificent.
He reminds me of the inspired Tishbite in his stern majesty
and fidelity, but he seems to have surpassed him in all the
patient, gentle, compassionate, suffering, laborious virtues.
If inspiration has been granted since the apostles departed
from the world, I think he possessed it. I have read few
things more truly sublime than some of his letters to Charles
II."--_Memoir of W. Rhodes, Jackson and Walford, p. 179._
Ellwood, the friend of Milton, has left us a glowing testimony to the
value of George Fox's Life and Work. But the eulogies of William Penn
and Thomas Ellwood are not portraits. One of the best estimates of his
character ever given to the world is that by J. C. Colquhoun in "Short
Studies of some Notable Lives." In it he says (p. 88-90):--
"The truth is that Fox's character had, like that of many others,
two sides; and the contrast between these is so great that one can
hardly believe them to belong to the same man. On the one side we have
strange thoughts and words, fanciful imaginations, the illusions of an
unlettered mind. But such things are not unusual. Dr. Johnson believed
in second sight, in dreams and ghosts; and his case presents to us the
credulity of a child, with the intellect of a giant.
"But if we turn to the other side of Fox's character, we find this man
of fancies and visions confronted with controversialists, Jesuits, and
lawyers, puzzling them with his subtlety, and with his logic beating
down their fence. Now in a court of justice he confronts the judge,
defies the bar, picks flaws in the indictment, quotes against them
adverse statutes, and wrings from baffled judges a reluctant acquittal.
Then he is in the Protector's court, to meet a man hard to dupe. There
he plants himself, his hat on his head, at Oliver's dressing table,
engages him in long discourse, sets before him his duty, presses on
him the policy of toleration, till the iron-hearted soldier, first
surprised, then attentive, at length interested, extends his hand to
the Quaker, bids him repeat the visit, and tells him if they could meet
oftener they would be firmer friends.
"No less remarkable are his courage and skill. As storms thicken, he
is always in the front of the battle; wherever the strife is vehement
there he is; now in Lancashire, now in Leicester, in Westmoreland or
Cornwall; meeting magistrates and judges, braving them at Quarter
Sessions, vanquishing officers, governors of castles, and judges.
Then he sits down calmly to organise, with a forecast equal to that
of Wesley, the scheme of Quaker polity which has lasted to our times.
And if we smile at the oddity of his language, at the curious missives
which he hurls at mayors and magistrates, jailors and judges, we find
at times a caustic style worthy of Hudibras or Cobbett, in which he
lashes the frippery of the court, or meets the casuistry of the Jesuits
or Ultra-Calvinists; and as we dwell on those words of wisdom in which
he tells us of his faith, and cheers the heart of Cromwell's daughter,
we perceive that he is no common man, but one who, with strange
training and singular notions, rose by the strength of genius and piety
to a wide command over men."
But though honoured by the Society which he founded, Fox has not
received his due from the religious world in general, nor from the
friends of civil and religious liberty. It is significant that whilst
his friend, William Penn, has found at least three respectable
biographers outside his own sect, Fox has found but one; and whilst
Penn has been defended again and again from Macaulay's charges,
the only defence of George Fox against his groundless sneers that
is well-known, is from the vigorous pen of Mr. J. S. Rowntree. Fox
has received scant justice from all but "Friends;" _their_ loyalty,
as we have seen, has been beautiful, unfaltering and enthusiastic.
Most writers seem to have been too much afraid of his peculiar views,
and repelled by his uncouth style, to be just to his large heart and
mind, and to his wonderful services as an evangelist. The man who
advocated general education, who was anxious that Philadelphia should
have a botanical garden, who battled for perfect religious liberty,
who pleaded for the rights of the negro and for the reform of prison
discipline, who organised the polity of Quakerism, and associated
philanthropy inseparably with its system, was a remarkable man, far in
advance of his age, and worthy of more regard from the country that has
been so greatly blessed by his labours.
Lord Macaulay has thought fit to speak of George Fox as not mad enough
for Bedlam, but too mad for liberty, as "not morally or intellectually
superior to Ludovic Muggleton or Joanna Southcote," he has termed his
journal "absurd" and his letters "crazy." Unfortunately, Hepworth
Dixon, whilst correcting Macaulay's gross misrepresentations of
Penn, has confirmed those concerning Fox. He speaks of his spiritual
struggles with a sneer, credits him with "imperious instincts," and
is evidently ashamed that Penn was in any way allied with him. It
will, therefore, be simple justice to Fox, to ask the reader who
may be prejudiced against him, by the vigorous epithets and dashing
portraiture of the historian, to set against his caricature some
opinions of men less biassed, and well worthy of confidence. Let him
remember that if Macaulay speaks with unmeasured contempt, Kingsley,
Carlyle, and a host of others speak of Fox with respect.
And first, as to his Journal, listen to the words of Coleridge
and Sir James Mackintosh. Coleridge in his _Biographia Literaria_
observes:--"There exist folios on the human understanding and the
nature of man which would have a far juster claim to the high rank and
celebrity if in the whole huge volume there could be found as much
fulness of heart and intellect as bursts forth in many a simple page of
George Fox."
Sir James Mackintosh describes his "absurd" book as "one of the most
extraordinary and instructive narratives in the world, which no reader
of competent judgment can peruse without revering the virtue of the
writer, pardoning his self-delusion, and ceasing to smile at his
peculiarities."--_Miscell's Works_, vol. II. p. 182.
Is not the testimony of these witnesses preferable to the manifest
prejudice of Macaulay?
Now as to George Fox's powers of mind and high moral character, place
against Macaulay's sarcasm the good opinion of other competent judges.
We will not quote the elaborate eulogy of Ellwood, the friend of
Milton; of William Penn's warm tribute we will only quote the saying
that he had never seen him "out of his place, or not a match for every
service or occasion." But these were personal friends. Let us hear
others. Marsden in his "Later Puritans," speaks of his "penetrating
intellect." The accomplished Alfred Vaughan speaks thus of Fox, in what
Charles Kingsley calls his "fair and liberal chapters on Fox and the
early Quakers," in his "Hours with the Mystics:"--
"Oppression and imprisonment awakened the benevolent, never the
malevolent impulses of his nature,--only adding fervour to his plea
for the captive and the oppressed. His tender conscience could know
no fellowship with the pleasures of the world; his tender heart could
know no weariness in seeking to make less its sum of suffering. He is a
Cato Howard.... In the prison experiences of George Fox are to be found
the germs of that modern philanthropy in which his followers have
distinguished themselves so nobly. In Derby gaol he is 'exceedingly
exercised' about the proceedings of the judges and magistrates,
concerning their putting men to death for cattle, money, and small
matters,--and is moved to write to them, showing the sin of such
severity, and, moreover, what a hurtful thing it was that prisoners
should lie so long in gaol; how that they learned badness one of
another in talking of their bad deeds; and therefore speedy justice
should be done.... As to doctrine again, consider how much religious
extravagance was then afloat, and let us set it down to the credit of
Fox that his mystical excesses were no greater."
The historian Bancroft says:--"His fame increased; crowds gathered like
flocks of pigeons to hear him. His frame in prayer is described as the
most awful, living, and reverent ever felt or seen; and his vigorous
understanding, soon disciplined by clear convictions to natural
dialectics, made him powerful in the public discussions to which he
defied the world.... The mind of George Fox had the highest systematic
sagacity."--_Bancroft's History of the U. S._, Vol. II. pp. 508-9.
But finally let us appeal to the high authority of Carlyle, who
estimated truly the spirit and aim of Fox's life. There was much in
common between them in their sturdy love of truth and reality, leading
to a hearty hatred of empty forms and mere conventionalities. Both had
a striking directness of thought and purpose, going right to the heart
of things; an intense earnestness that did not stop nicely to weigh
words, but hit hard at all unrighteousness. There was in both a strong
sense of personal responsibility that made them indifferent what others
might think or do. Carlyle gives us in "Sartor Resartus" (Popular
edition, pp. 144, 5) a striking eulogium on George Fox, from which we
will select the following characteristic passage:--"Perhaps the most
remarkable incident in modern history is not the diet of Worms, still
less the Battle of Austerlitz, Waterloo, Peterloo, or any other battle;
but an incident passed carelessly over by most historians, and treated
with some degree of ridicule by others; namely, George Fox making to
himself a suit of leather. This man, the first of the Quakers, and
by trade a shoemaker, was one of those to whom, under ruder or purer
form, the divine idea of the universe is pleased to manifest itself;
and across all the hulls of ignorance and earthly degradation, shine
through in unspeakable awfulness, unspeakable beauty on their souls;
who therefore are rightly accounted prophets, God-possessed, or even
Gods, as in some periods it has chanced."
The length of these quotations needs some apology; but the influence
of the vigor and cleverness of Macaulay's caricature needs to be
counteracted; and the confidence with which he pronounces judgment will
doubtless lead many unwary readers to accept his opinion. It should at
least be known that men equally able, and more competent to estimate a
nature like Fox's, have admired his character and valued his work. But
after all the best testimony to his worth is contained in the devoted
life which we have been endeavouring to sketch.
WILLIAM PENN,
THE
FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA.
PREFACE.
The story of William Penn has been told so often and so well that it is
impossible to introduce novelty into it without introducing falsehood.
This Macaulay found out to his cost, his representations doing more to
expose his liability to prejudice than to damage the stable reputation
of Penn. No wonder such a beautiful and eventful life has attracted
many biographers. If Clarkson did not possess all the information
that is now in existence, he is accurate and sympathetic. Hepworth
Dixon is brilliant but not always accurate, and he fails altogether
in the religious portion of his story from utter want of sympathy and
insight. In Dr. Stoughton both these qualities are joined to that
broad acquaintance with the religious history of the age which is so
essential to the just portraiture of such a man. He has added to the
biography many interesting details. Dixon complained that the memoirs
of Quakers are transcendental and lacking in human interest. No book
can deserve the censure less than Dr. Stoughton's life of Penn.
WILLIAM PENN,
THE
FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA.
William Penn was born in London, in 1644. His father was the famous but
time-serving admiral Sir William Penn; his mother, Margaret Jasper,
the beautiful and intelligent daughter of a Rotterdam merchant. His
father's ambition was high. He had gained wealth and the royal favour
by his daring and ability; his son should work out a grand career, and
should be a peer, Viscount Weymouth. But man proposes, God disposes.
The stout Admiral lived to find the strong, handsome, quick-witted
child, on whom he built so much, a very sword in his soul, the last
stroke that brought down his proud self-willed nature to the very dust
before God, and made him at last think seriously of that religion which
he had despised when in health and gaiety.
The child of such hopes received a careful training. First, he was sent
to Chigwell School in Essex, which was near the home of his childhood
at Wanstead. After that, he entered Christchurch College, Oxford,
where he met some of the friends of his after years, including Robert
Spencer, afterwards Earl of Sunderland, and John Locke. Already, signs
of strong religious feeling had manifested themselves in the boy. When
a child at Shangarry Castle, a Quaker preacher--Thomas Loe, destined to
play such a prominent part in his history--came to Cork. His father,
little suspecting the results that would follow, invited him to the
Castle, and gathered the neighbours to hear him. His preaching deeply
impressed the whole gathering; it made Sir William weep freely, and
left an impression on the mind of his child-hearer which was never
effaced. That impression was deepened by a singular vision which he had
at Chigwell School. "Alone in his chamber, being then eleven years old,
he was suddenly surprised with an inward comfort, and, as he thought,
an external glory in the room, which gave rise to religious emotions,
during which he had the strongest convictions of the being of a God,
and that the soul of man was capable of communication with Him. He
believed also, that the seal of Divinity had been placed upon him at
this moment, or that he had been awakened, or called upon to a holy
life." Again at Oxford, he was greatly influenced by Dr. Owen, with
whom Penn corresponded when he was removed from his position as Dean,
to make way for a more pliable instrument of the schemes of the court.
Penn's attainments were already considerable for his years, yet
his College course was doomed to be a failure. The most noteworthy
occurrences in it were, his again hearing the Quaker preacher, Thomas
Loe, and his vigorous opposition to the Ritualistic innovations of
the Stuarts. The authorities insisted on the gown being worn by all
under-graduates. Penn and others, recognising this as the thin end
of the Popish wedge, not only would not wear it themselves, but tore
it from the backs of those who did. This led to his expulsion for
rioting.[7] His father was most annoyed at the disgrace attending the
punishment, until he found that his son's conduct resulted from settled
convictions, already firmly rooted. Then the Admiral at once understood
the serious issues involved. He must vanquish these conscientious
scruples or his ambitious plans would be ruined. He never planned a
sea-fight more carefully. In the first moment of anger he had soundly
whipped his son, and turned him out of doors; now he tried gentler
and more insinuating means. Like a true man of the world, he had full
confidence in the power of a gay life to cast out such thoughts, and he
sent his son to Paris. The most interesting incident of the trip is his
treatment of a French gallant, who insisted on fighting him over some
supposed insult. In vain did Penn politely explain that no insult had
been offered. They must fight. Penn not only excelled in athletics, but
was a skillful fencer. He soon disarmed the man, but instead of then
punishing him for his quarrelsomeness, he only returned him his sword
with a polite bow.
[7] He tells us that his expulsion resulted from his writing a book,
which "the priests and masters did not like." Probably both reasons
were combined.
Sir William Penn, delighted with what he heard of the success of
this expedient, determined that his son should finish his education
in France, after which he destined him for the army. But in God's
providence, the chosen tutor, the learned divine Moses Amyrault, if
he did not deepen the gracious impressions already received, grounded
him thoroughly in theological studies, which were very useful to him
afterwards. Leaving him, Penn travelled for some time, and returned
home, says Pepys, "a fine gentleman." He then studied law awhile in
Lincoln's Inn, and to good purpose, as we shall see.
The great plague of 1665 drove him from London, and probably revived
his serious thoughts, which were further strengthened by intercourse
with serious people and the reading of serious books. His father again
remarked the dreaded relapse, and again tried what change would do.
This time he sent his son to Ireland, to the sprightly court of the
Lord Lieutenant, the Duke of Ormond. Again, he reckoned without his
host. There were Quakers in Ireland, and the very plan to which the
astute Admiral trusted to get his son out of danger, led to his joining
their Society. At first, indeed, nothing seemed less likely than such
a result. He was beginning to despair of finding "the Primitive Spirit
and Church upon Earth," and was ready recklessly to give himself up to
the glory of the world. He was so flattered by the cordial recognition
of the spirit and the success with which he assisted in quelling a
petty insurrection, that he was inclined to fall in with his father's
plan, and adopt the profession of arms. He even went so far as to apply
for a captaincy. But God had other things in store for him. Happening
to hear that Thomas Loe, the Quaker by whom he had been so impressed
in Oxford, was visiting in Cork, he went to hear him. His ministry is
said to have been singularly lively and convincing. The sermon was
wonderfully suited to Penn's case, and made him weep much. The opening
sentence cut him to the quick: "There is a faith that overcomes the
world, and there is a faith that is overcome by the world." From that
night he determined that, by God's grace, his faith should not be
overcome by the world. He began to attend Quaker meetings regularly.
At one of these, in November 1667, a soldier came in, and made a great
disturbance. Penn, like Phineas in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," not having yet
thoroughly subdued the old nature, took him by the collar, and would
have thrown him down stairs, had not Friends interfered. The soldier
went away, and gave information to the authorities, who came and broke
up the meeting, haling several, including Penn, before the magistrates.
His cavalier dress, so unlike that of his companions,[8] led the
mayor, before whom the party was taken, to offer to release him upon
bond for his good behaviour. Penn denied his right to demand such bond,
and challenged the legality of the arrest. When committed, he appealed
to his friend the Earl of Orrery, Lord President of Munster, by whom he
was speedily set at liberty. But that gentleman wrote the news to his
father, who at once summoned him home. He reasoned, he stormed, then,
proud and haughty as he was, he condescended to plead. Finally, finding
his son still unyielding, and hearing complaints of his preaching at
different meetings in town and country, he turned him out of doors,
telling him also that he should leave his estates to those that pleased
him better. He was then twenty-three years of age.
[8] He did not at once adopt the Quaker dress, and continued for some
time to wear a sword. When this non-compliance with Quaker customs
was reported to George Fox, it is said that he simply replied, "let
him wear it as long as he can." He mentioned years afterwards how the
peculiar garb was a stumbling-block to some, "It telleth tales, it is
blowing a trumpet and visibly crossing the world; and this the fear
of man cannot abide" (_Travels_, p. 121). Probably this very fact
commended the peculiarity to his bold and decided spirit.
Henceforth William Penn's time and strength were given to Quakerism.
There was neither hesitation nor half-heartedness. The welfare, work,
and sufferings of Friends he made his own. He wrote and preached with
untiring energy, and suffered, counting it joy.
Though turned out of doors by his father, he was not allowed to want.
His mother privately supplied his needs to the utmost of her ability,
and what she could not do was made up by several kind friends. The
situation was painful in the extreme; separated from home and parents,
his father grieved and mortified at his conduct. He tells pathetically
afterwards of "the bitter mockings and scornings that fell upon me,
the displeasure of my parents, the invectiveness and cruelty of the
priests, the strangeness of all my companions, what a sign and wonder
they made of me." But his conscience approved of the line he had
adopted, and his resolute nature was troubled by no waverings. He
set himself earnestly to do his duty. He united himself closely to
the Friends, and took up his pen on their behalf. His first work was
entitled "Truth exalted."
"The Guide Mistaken," soon followed. It was a reply to "A Guide to the
true Religion," in which the Quakers were treated with great severity.
Shortly afterwards he was drawn into a public discussion with the Rev.
Thomas Vincent, a Presbyterian minister in Spitalfields. Some of his
congregation having become converts to Quakerism, Vincent said some
slanderous things about the Friends. So George Whitehead and Wm. Penn
waited upon him, and insisted that as he had publicly misrepresented
them, he was bound in fairness to give them an opportunity publicly to
set themselves right. After some demur, Vincent agreed to meet them in
his own chapel on a certain day. The discussion lasted until midnight,
and turned principally upon the question of the Trinity. Friends have
always asserted that the doctrine, as taught by the orthodox, is an
attempt to explain the inexplicable, and goes beyond what is revealed
in the Scriptures. This contention in their early days cost them much
reproach; now the chief remnant of it is the annoyance of having their
authors, especially Penn, quoted as believers in the Unitarianism of
to-day.
The debate was one-sided and bitter, and the Friends only retired
at last on condition of having another opportunity to vindicate
themselves. But as Vincent plainly showed that he had no intention
of redeeming his promise, the only satisfaction left was the press.
In "The Sandy Foundation Shaken," Penn gave the public his view of
the matter. But he did not stop with the doctrine of the Trinity, he
went on to the Atonement. He advanced such arguments against "Imputed
Righteousness" as Barclay has elaborated in his Apology. He also
produced arguments against the method in which in those days the
necessity of a satisfaction to the Divine justice was taught. His
expressions unfortunately resemble those of modern Unitarians, but
his position is vitally different. Penn believed the death of Our
Saviour on the cross a real Sacrifice, that "Jesus Christ was our holy
sacrifice, atonement and propitiation, that he bore our iniquities,"
but that Christ is not the cause but the effect of God's love. (See his
"Primitive Christianity revived.")
This book brought down on Penn the anger of Dr. Sanderson, Bishop of
London, and led to his being sent to the Tower. But that only "added
one more glorious book to the literature of the Tower," "No Cross, No
Crown," of which Hepworth Dixon, more trustworthy in literature than in
religion, says, "Had the style been more condensed, it would have been
well entitled to claim a high place in literature." Whilst there he
also replied in a treatise entitled "Innocency with her open face," to
many strictures on the "Sandy Foundation Shaken."
This imprisonment revealed in two ways the stuff of which William Penn
was made. First severity was tried, and one day his servant brought
him the report that the bishop was determined he should recant or die
in prison. He only smiled and said, "They are mistaken in me; I value
not their threats. I will weary out their malice. Neither great nor
good things were ever attained without loss and hardship." Then they
sent Stillingfleet, the future bishop, to try his powers of persuasion,
but they, too, utterly failed. "Tell my father, who I know will ask
thee, that my prison shall be my grave before I will budge a jot, for
I owe my conscience to no mortal man." Such spirit, combined with the
ability his books were revealing, revived the admiral's pride in his
son. The court, too, began to take interest in him, and shortly after
Stillingfleet's visit he was released, having been in the Tower more
than eight months.
He at once resumed his preaching, and having been partially reconciled
to his father, was employed by him to attend to his Irish estates. On
his return home, his father received him fully into his favour, to the
great delight of his mother's heart.
But soon trouble again overtook him, though only again to place him
on a pedestal where his virtues and power would be more manifest,
and where his voice would reach a larger audience. Going to the
meeting-house in Gracechurch Street, London, he found it closed and
guarded by soldiers. However the Friends held their service in the
street, and for this W. Penn and W. Meade were indicted under the
Conventicle Act. Hepworth Dixon regards this as "perhaps the most
important trial that ever took place in England," and speaks of Penn as
the great vindicator of the old charters and of trial by jury. He met
the browbeating of the city magistrates with spirit and dignity, and
encouraged the jury to do the right manfully. After twice returning an
evasive verdict, and being locked up for forty-eight hours, the jury
finally acquitted the prisoners. The court was greatly annoyed, and
vindictively fined the jury for contempt. They refused to pay the fine
and were sent to prison. Penn encouraged them to test the legality of
this imprisonment, and the highest legal authority in the land decided
against it and released the gallant jury.[9] A full account of the
whole proceedings was published, and helped materially to encourage
resistance to illegal interference with liberty.
[9] In his second trial "Lord Chief Justice Vaughan pronounced his
noble vindication of the right of jurors to deliver a free verdict,
which by giving independence to juries, made the institution so
effectual a protection to the liberty of the subject."--W. E. FORSTER.
But important as this trial undoubtedly was, the full benefit of it was
only secured by long years of bitter sufferings endured by the whole
Quaker community. (See sketch of Fox.) Let us who enjoy the spoils
remember gratefully those who fought the battle.
We have spoken of the marked individuality in William Penn's character
which led him to continue to wear the court costume after he became
a Friend, until his own conscience demanded that he should adopt
the Quaker garb. The same individuality led him to diverge from the
ordinary type of Friend in another and more important matter. They were
bent on fighting out the battle of religious liberty by religious,
rather than by political weapons. They might, when on trial, quote a
statute or plead a precedent as a sort of argumentum ad hominem, but
in political and constitutional affairs, as such, they as a class took
no delight. Penn was an exception. He felt a keen interest in the
political affairs of his country. He saw that it was a mistake to lose
the benefit of the old charters and statutes which secured the liberty
of the subject, and he appealed to them on all occasions. This appeal
served two purposes. It acknowledged the civil duties of Christians,
which some Christians are slow to recognise. It also secured the
sympathies of many in their struggles to whom the religious aim was
incomprehensible. Both these objects seemed to Penn of the highest
importance; they influenced his whole career. In the words of W. E.
Forster, "the form of his religion, his feelings as a Quaker, did
not seem to him to interfere with the fulfilment of his duties as a
citizen. Had it done so, that form would have been changed rather than
the work left undone, for he was not a man to make one duty an excuse
for shirking another; within his conscience there was no conflict
between religion and patriotism; he did not fly from the world, but
faced it with true words and true deeds."
Admiral Penn was lying on his death-bed whilst this trial was in
progress, and it added greatly to the sufferings of his son, that he
could not be with his father at such a time. But on his release he
hastened home, and very touching was the final converse between father
and son. The high spirit was humbled; the worldly heart had learnt the
emptiness of earthly honours. "Son William," he said only a day or
two before his death, "I am weary of the world. I would not live my
days over again if I could command them with a wish, for the snares
of life are more than the fears of death. This troubles me that I have
offended a gracious God. The thought of this has followed me to this
day. Oh, have a care of sin! It is that which is the sting both of life
and death." We can imagine with what feelings the Christian son would
hear this tardy confession, and would endeavour to point such a father
to the source of his own hopes and consolation. The old sailor was
buried with due honours in the fine old church of St. Mary's, Redcliff,
Bristol. He left the bulk of his property, some £1500 a year--a great
sum in those days--to his eldest son, who thus found himself in spite
of the risks he had run for conscience sake, a wealthy man, able to
devote money as well as time and strength to the cause of his adoption.
The king and his brother, the Duke of York, afterwards James II., had
promised the dying man to be guardians to his son--a promise sought
by him because he foresaw the many troubles into which that son's
conscientious scruples would lead him in such an age. This fact is
the key to the relations in which William Penn and the royal brothers
often stood to each other--relations otherwise puzzling, but creditable
to both sides when thus explained. The Stuarts were faithful to this
promise when interest pointed another way. Penn was true to James
especially, in spite of faults which greatly tried him; true, even when
his throne tottered, and finally fell.
The Penns had an ancient family seat in Buckinghamshire. Not far away
at Chalfont lived William Penn's friend, Isaac Pennington, and his
wife, and his step-daughter, Gulielma Maria Springett. There also
lived Thomas Ellwood, quaintest of Quaker rhymesters, and his great
master, Milton. No wonder Penn found the place attractive. But the
great attraction soon came to be Guli Springett, beautiful and spirited
and accomplished, and yet a true Quakeress. He had met her first at a
friend's house where he called when returning to his father's house, to
the interview which ended in his expulsion from home. Her father was
Sir William Springett, who was killed at the early age of twenty-three,
after a chivalrous defence of Arundel Castle for the Parliament.
Guli was born a few weeks after his death. After losing her husband,
who like most of the best officers of the Parliament was a staunch
Puritan as well as a good soldier, Lady Springett passed through a
time of great spiritual unrest. At last she found a home amongst the
Friends. She afterwards married Isaac Pennington, attracted to him
by the spiritual ties of a similar religious experience. They were
both examples of the numerous class of those who were almost Quakers
before they were aware that such a Society existed. In 1672, William
Penn made Guli Springett his wife. The interval after his father's
death had been filled up by writing several books, preaching, holding
a public discussion with one Jeremy Ives on the universality of the
Divine Light, a short visit to Holland, and of course the inevitable
imprisonment, six months in Newgate for attending Wheeler Street
Meeting.
In his wife he found a true help-meet, both in piety, zeal for
Quakerism, and large-minded sympathy with all Christian and patriotic
causes. He loved her deeply and tenderly, and found in her love the
brightest feature of his chequered life. After his marriage he had a
long, sweet rest, and then plunged deep into work again.
He visited the Court, for the first time since his father's death, to
plead for George Fox's liberty. It was an errand on which for the next
fifteen years he was often to go. He seems to have had a wonderful
power of drawing out the best side of the royal brothers; and no nobler
sight can be pictured than the courtly Friend, hating the court for its
worldliness and sin, but frequenting it to speak bold words of truth
or gentle pleas for mercy; feeling that his influence there was a
trust not to be neglected, but wielding it with constant watchfulness
and wonderful self-control. Meanwhile, writing and preaching were
not forgotten. Amongst other engagements, he had, in 1675, a public
discussion with good Robert Baxter, of which, unfortunately, very few
details are preserved. Perhaps, the most competent and charitable
opponent of Friends at this time was Dr. Henry More. The combined
wit and seriousness of Penn's pamphlets overcame his dislike to
controversy, and led him to go carefully through the discussion which
he had had with John Faldo. He was also at this time in communication
with George Keith, then, perhaps, the most learned defender of the
doctrine of Immediate Revelation. The intercourse led to mutual regard
and respect. "If thou happen to see Henry More," writes George Keith
to Robert Barclay, when the latter was in London, "remember my dear
love to him. Notwithstanding of his mistakes, I would have Friends be
very loving and tender to him, as indeed I find a great love to him in
my heart. But as for his paper I see no difficulties in it at all to
weaken in me anything I have written to him."
Before proceeding to speak of the great work of Penn's life, the
founding of Pennsylvania, we must anticipate a little to refer to his
manifold labours for his own religious Society. His well-balanced
nature found no difficulty in rightly blending the sacred and the
secular. Whilst electioneering for Sidney, whilst gathering facts and
making business arrangements for New Jersey, or taking interest in
the Royal Society, his religious life was still full and fervent. At
the time that he was living at Worminghurst, almost overwhelmed with
business, we are told that his spirit was so warm and eager, that when
the Friends assembled for worship, he could hardly wait to reach his
seat before beginning to pour forth the fulness of his soul.
He watched with lively interest the work of organisation which Fox
was carrying on in so masterly a fashion. When John Perrott caused a
disturbance, by refusing to remove his hat whilst praying in public,
or William Rodgers obstructed Fox's path, mistaking discipline for
tyranny, none were more ready than he to rally round the trusted
leader. In 1677, he joined Fox, Barclay, and others, in a visit to
Holland, to organise and consolidate the Society there, and to visit
such promising enquirers as the Princess Elizabeth, the Countess de
Hornes, and the courtly Van Helmont. He published a full and glowing
account of the religious services in which they were engaged, which
gives us a vivid picture of the "times of refreshing" which the
brotherhood enjoyed in its early days.
The next year, 1678, when reports of Popish plots kept the nation in
a constant alarm, he was twice heard before a committee of the House
of Commons, in support of a petition which he presented on behalf
of the Society of Friends. Their inability to take an oath, led to
their being caught in the meshes of an Act intended for Catholics.
William Penn explained their position with dignity and great candour.
With characteristic boldness, though asking for a favour, he did not
flinch from pleading for full liberty of conscience even for the
hated Papists. The committee listened respectfully, and adopted his
suggestions for the relief of Friends; but the sudden prorogation of
Parliament prevented the bill from being carried.
It shows the perfect independence of Penn's mind that though he was
on good terms with the King, he risked giving offence by his open and
hearty sympathy with Algernon Sidney. That patriot, after long years
of banishment was allowed to return home in 1677. Soon after, he
yielded to the representations of his republican friends, and sought
a seat in Parliament. First he tried Guildford, and then Bramber;
but was not only hotly opposed by the court, but dishonourably and
illegally tricked out of the seat. All through the struggle he had
the enthusiastic and vigorous support of Penn, although at the time
the affairs of Pennsylvania were far from settled, and he had so much
reason to wish to keep the royal favour. Usually Penn kept clear of
party politics, but on this occasion he canvassed and spoke for his
friend with great zeal; so that the French Ambassador speaks of him
and Sidney as the two trusted leaders of the republican party. But
though Penn's action proves that he did not share the scruples of most
of his brethren against participating in political affairs, yet it was
probably the man and his principles that won his confidence, rather
than the party with which he acted. Probably, Penn would have endorsed
the early opinion of his father-in-law, Isaac Pennington, who wrote,
(1651) "Whoever they are, whom I saw fitted for it (Government) and
called to it, they should have my vote on their behalf." In the midst
of politics and schemes of emigration, the stream of his polemical
works still continued to flow, and every year saw one or more pamphlets
from his pen.
Turning to his private life, in 1680, he lost his beloved
father-in-law, Isaac Pennington. Though gifted with a refined mind and
a loving heart, he had a nature far less robust and vigorous than his
son-in-law, who shortly after his death edited his collected works. But
a heavier blow followed. In 1682, Lady Penn died, and her death seems
to have made him seriously ill for some time. She had clung to him
when his adoption of Quakerism turned his father against him, and she
took care of him when he was turned out of doors. She never accepted
Quakerism, yet probably her gentle and loving nature had an influence
with her son that the stern father never had.
Now begins the story of Pennsylvania. As boy and youth it had been his
favourite dream that in America might be planted a new England, without
the faults of the old--a home of civil and religious freedom. Events
now ripened the scheme. On the one hand, fierce persecution urged
him on; England and Germany seemed to be bent on driving out their
most energetic and high-souled children. On the other, the way opened
gradually and safely. In 1675, he was induced to become a manager of
West New Jersey. After five years experience he bought East New Jersey
in 1681, and in the same year the King granted him, by charter, the
fine tract adjoining, now called Pennsylvania. This was in lieu of
£16,000 due to his father for pay, and for money advanced in desperate
times to strengthen the navy. We are told that the Admiral obtained
the promise of this tract, having heard from a relative glowing
accounts of its richness. From the first, the "holy experiment," as
Penn called it, was popular. Algernon Sidney, with whom he kept up
constant correspondence, and whom he loved as a brother, helped him to
sketch a constitution for it. The Quakers, who had long been discussing
(especially since George Fox's visit to America in 1672) some scheme
of colonisation, were ready to supply emigrants of the right class
in large numbers. He had but to publish a sketch of the intended
constitution, and a statement of the resources and attractions of the
colony, and the response was immediate.
The constitution which he gave to Pennsylvania, and which he spent
many of the best years of his life in reducing to practice, has been
universally admired. Hepworth Dixon has sought for the genius of it
in the experiences of ancient Greece, and in the dreams of More and
Sir Philip Sidney. Penn was, indeed, acquainted with these, but his
inspiration was found in the instincts and aims of Quakerism. Plato
and Sir Thomas More, and even Algernon Sidney, had less to do with his
constitution than had George Fox. He found in the Society to which he
belonged a body combining a rare amount of freedom with admirable
organisation--a Society with abundant elasticity yet with excellent
discipline and cohesion. Quakerism not only acknowledges that methods
and governments exist for the sake of men, it believes that manhood,
especially sanctified manhood, is the great security of liberty and
justice. Its aim is to give scope to the individual to live out the
dictates of his own conscience, and to contribute his utmost share to
the general well-being. We are greatly mistaken if this was not also
the aim of Penn in the constitution which he gave Pennsylvania.[10]
[10] "In the constitution of the colony he was assisted by Algernon
Sidney, and at Worminghurst and Penshurst the two friends drew up its
several articles. That it established perfect freedom of conscience, it
is needless to remark. It established also a no less absolute freedom
of trade; Penn sacrificing to this desire the sums which he might have
received from the sale of monopolies. The constitution was democratic;
a council of seventy-two, elected for three years, formed the Senate,
which Penn intended to be the deliberative body; an assembly, elected
by ballot and universal suffrage, and paid [they received threepence
per mile for travelling expenses, six shillings a day while in the
assembly, and the Speaker ten shillings a day] confirmed or rejected
the Acts of the Council. Trial by jury gave scope to public opinion,
but the provision that the judges were chosen only for two years, and
could then be removed by the Assembly, impaired the administration of
justice. Religion was left to voluntary efforts. [State] education was
carefully provided for. The Indians were treated on principles of such
manifest justice, that they became the friends of the new Colony, and
no Quaker blood was shed by them." Short Sketches, pp. 151-2.
Unfortunately for the perfect realisation of his hopes, such a
scheme, like Quakerism, needs grand men to work it. The maxims of
Heaven cannot be worked out by the instincts of earth. Had the other
Friends in Pennsylvania shared his spirit of lofty self-sacrifice, the
story of this State might have been more noble and stimulating even
than it is. But from the first, Quakers shrank from the turmoil and
cares of official life. But this shrinking only makes more striking
the unconquerable spirit that animated Penn. He could suffer and be
strong. He could "scorn delights and live laborious days." To the
end, he retained the reins of Pennsylvania affairs in his own hands
as proprietor, though he might have got rid at once of his burden of
growing debt and of the corroding care, by selling out. But one thing
restrained him; says his noble wife, "My husband might have finished
it [the deed of surrender] long since had he not _insisted so much on
gaining privileges for the people_." (Logan's Life, p. 56). And so
even when the load was crushing him he continued to bear it rather
than mar the "holy experiment," the great ambition of his life. This
power of resolute and skilful persistence until his ends were gained,
had won for his father wealth and honours. He, recognising it as his
noblest gift, chose it as the fittest offering which he could place
on God's altar. His life thus stands as a rare instance of thankless
toil for the honour of God and the welfare of man, persisted in through
weariness, suffering, and loss, and resulting in unsurpassed usefulness.
The first band of emigrants left England in 1682, under the charge of
Penn's cousin, Colonel Markham, who was appointed Deputy-Governor. Penn
himself followed on the 1st of September, landing at Newcastle, on the
27th of October. He left behind him a farewell letter to his wife, full
of tender assurances of love, and of wise and highly characteristic
advice as to the training of their children. He at once summoned the
General Assembly to adopt the constitution he had prepared. "There
was little talk and much work in the first Pennsylvanian Parliament.
On the third day their session was completed, and Penn prorogued them
in person. They had left their ploughs for half-a-week, and had met
together and founded a State."
Penn soon won the hearts of the Red Indians. "A lady who lived to be
a hundred, used to speak of the Governor as being rather of a short
stature, but the handsomest, best looking, lively gentleman she
had ever seen." "He endeared himself to the Indian by his marked
condescension and acquiescence in their wishes. He walked with them,
sat with them on the ground, and ate with them of their roasted acorns
and hominy. At this they expressed their great delight, and soon began
to show how they could hop and jump; at which exhibition, William Penn,
to cap the climax, sprang up and beat them all." No wonder that some
of the very staid Quakers thought him "too prone to cheerfulness for a
grave 'public Friend,'" that is, a minister of the Gospel. But without
that elasticity that led to the ready jest and the hearty enjoyment of
simple pleasures, the burdened brain must have collapsed before it did.
His was an intense nature, keen both in suffering and in enjoyment,
doing with its might whatsoever it found to do.
Shortly after this he concluded his memorable treaty with the
Indians--"the only treaty," says Voltaire, "between those people and
the Christians that was not ratified by an oath, and that was never
broken." "The treaty," says Dr. Stoughton, "was probably made with the
Delaware tribes as 'a treaty of amity and friendship,' and not for the
purchase of territory." But the details of the story seem wrapped in
impenetrable mystery. "The speeches made, the dresses worn, and the
surrounding scene, appear now to be altogether fictitious."
A society had been formed in Bristol, called the "Free Society of
Traders of Pennsylvania." To them William Penn wrote an account of
his province that is now full of interest. Says Dr. Stoughton, "It
indicates great power of observation, a wide range of knowledge, much
skill in grouping facts, and an unaffected yet vigorous style of
description on the part of its author." Besides facts about the natives
of the country, he speculates about their origin, and thinks they may
be the descendants of the lost ten tribes.
After spending some two years in Pennsylvania and seeing Philadelphia
grow until it had 2,500 inhabitants, William Penn returned home in
1684. He had two special reasons for doing so. He had had many disputes
with Lord Baltimore, the Roman Catholic proprietor of Maryland,
respecting boundaries, and having failed to come to terms, he was
applying to the Lords of Plantations to decide the case. Then again
the persecution of the Quakers was very bitter, and he hoped he might
be able by means of the royal favour to check its severity. He reached
home early in October. As to the persecution nothing was done to
purpose until James II. ascended the throne, when 1200 Quakers were
liberated from prison. But the credit of inclining the royal mind to
clemency must not be given to Penn alone. Barclay and George Whitehead
had much to do with it (see sketch of Barclay).
James at once showed Penn marked favour. He would converse with him
whilst peers were kept waiting. He told him frankly "he would deal
openly with his subjects. He himself was a Catholic, and he desired
no peaceable person to be disturbed on account of his opinions; but
... with the new parliament would rest the power legally to establish
liberty of conscience." No way of gaining the king's ear would compare
with securing the Friend as advocate. So greatly was he sought that
we are told by Gerard Croese (certainly not a very trustworthy
authority) that two hundred applicants sometimes thronged his house at
once to secure his interest. We must remember however that Barclay's
influence was almost as great. The king was bent on securing the good
will of the Quaker leaders. They alone amongst Protestants demanded
religious liberty for Catholics; they alone showed them charity.
Besides, to shew kindness to the Quakers gave a colour to the king's
profession that he was for general toleration, not merely for favour to
the Catholics. Whilst James II. was king, therefore, Penn exerted great
influence at court. Rightly or wrongly he believed that James and some
of his friends, notably the duke of Buckingham, were disposed to labour
heartily for liberty of conscience. His friend Barclay had the same
confidence as regards the king. It is easy for us to be wise after the
event, and to believe that in all this James was scheming for Catholic
ascendancy; but that must not prevent our giving Penn credit for good
faith. Penn used his utmost influence to strengthen this disposition.
In 1686, when on a "religious visit" to Holland, he undertook a
commission from the king to the Prince of Orange to induce him to
favour a general toleration of religious opinions in England, and the
removal of all tests. This commission brought him into collision with
Burnett, who was at the same court pleading for toleration but for
retaining tests. Their intercourse left such a bitterness in the mind
of Burnett that he can never mention Penn but with acrimony.
For this attendance at court he had to pay the penalty of being
suspected a Papist. At his very first public discussion with Vincent,
the nickname Jesuit had been given him and had stuck to him ever
after. The Quakers were many of them branded with the same opprobrious
name. In the case of Barclay, there was his early training and boyish
conversion to Romanism, and the fact that many of his family were
Catholics, to give plausibility to the charge. As to the body at large,
"it was believed that the doctrine of the inner light was taught by
Jesuit, and that a Franciscan friar had said no churches came so
near his own as the Quakers."[11] The Friends could not accept the
ordinary teaching of the supremacy of the Bible as a rule of faith,
and sometimes on this point their destructive criticism was welcome to
Catholics but galling to Protestants. Then they could not take the oath
of allegiance and supremacy. So the popular charge was not without some
plausible though utterly delusive pretexts.
[11] Penn himself writes "There is a people called 'the silent' or
'people of rest' in Italy, at Naples and at Rome itself, that come
near Friends; an inward people from all ceremonies and self-worship,
[he means worship unprompted and unaided by the Holy Spirit,] seekers,
the Pope and two cardinals favour them. A poor Spanish Friar, called
Molino, is the first of them. A thousand in Naples it is thought."--DR.
STOUGHTON'S LIFE, p. 228.
Now the impression that Penn was a Jesuit at heart, in spite of his
Quaker dress and profession, gained ground fast. Tillotson had his
fears that the charge was true, and said so; but on Penn assuring
him that there was no truth in the charge, he fully and honourably
apologised. But for long the suspicion clung to Penn and would not
be cast off. That he was determined in all things to keep a clear
conscience at all costs is manifest from his conduct in connection
with James' efforts to secure Magdalen College, Oxford, for one of
his tools. Penn had several times before strained his favour with the
king to the last point of endurance, until in one instance the king
threatened to turn him out of the room. In this case he wrote a letter
so bold and uncompromising as to fill us with amazement. He calls the
act one which could not in justice be defended. Such mandates as the
king addressed to the fellows he calls a force to conscience and not
very agreeable to his other gracious indulgences. Yet because in this
matter Penn at first, before he fully understood the case, thought some
concessions might be made by the College, Macaulay charges him with
simony of the very worst kind. The only other ground for such a charge
is the jesting remark of Penn to the deputation that waited on him at
Windsor. "If the Bishop of Oxford die, Dr. Hough may be made bishop.
What think you of that, gentlemen?" This might have been understood as
a hint that, if Dr. Hough would withdraw his opposition, it might be
better for him, _if it had not been for Dr. Hough's own words_. But
whatever Penn may have said in jest (possibly not wisely) we should
remember that Dr. Hough after the interview thanked God that _he did
not hint at a compromise_.
Penn had already used his influence with the king in favour of John
Locke. On his return from Holland, he obtained a pardon for "such
exiled Presbyterians as were not guilty of treason." One of these was
Sir Robert Stuart, of Coltness, who on returning home found his estates
in the hands of James, Earl of Arran. The two friends met in London,
and Penn congratulated the restored exile. "Ah! Mr. Penn, Arran has got
my estate, and I fear my situation is about to be now worse than ever."
"What dost thou say?" exclaimed Penn, "thou surprises and grievest me
exceedingly. Come to my house to-morrow, and I will set matters right."
Penn at once sought the Earl of Arran. "What is this, friend James,
that I hear of thee? Thou hast taken possession of Coltness' estate.
Thou knowest _that it is not thine_." The Earl replied, "That estate I
paid a great price for. I received no other reward for my expensive and
troublesome embassy to France except this estate, and I am certainly
much out of pocket by the bargain." "All very well, friend James, but
of this assure thyself, that if thou dost not give this moment an
order on thy chamberlain for £100 to Coltness, to carry him down to
his native country, and £100 to subsist on till matters are adjusted,
I will make it as many thousands out of thy way with the king." The
earl complied, and after the Revolution Coltness recovered his estate.
The earl had to refund all the rents he had received, less by the £300
he had advanced. This may be justice, but it was carried out in rather
high-handed fashion.
At the Yearly Meeting in May, 1687, the Quakers at Penn's instance
expressed their gratitude to the king for the declaration of liberty
of conscience for England which he had issued in the previous month.
Mindful however of the strain of royal power by which the relief was
obtained, they inserted in the address this significant clause:--"We
hope the good effects thereof for the peace, trade, and prosperity of
the Kingdom will produce _such a concurrence from the Parliament_ as
may secure it to our posterity in after times." The King in his reply
to the deputation who presented the address, said he hoped before he
died to settle it so that after ages shall have no reason to alter it.
Events now rapidly developed the Revolution of 1688. Penn had enjoyed
the favour of James, and had felt for him some real regard in spite of
his faults. So when William became King, his position was difficult
in the extreme. He met the danger with characteristic truthfulness
and openness. In his maxims, he says, "Nothing needs a trick, but a
trick, sincerity loathes one." So he now acted. He avowed his past
relations to the dethroned Monarch. He did not pretend to have changed,
but he should accept the result of events, and certainly could not
conscientiously plot against the Government. He was several times
arrested and examined, but his perfect innocence was always clearly
established. It might be proved by an intercepted letter that James
had written to him, but he answered that he could not prevent that; it
did not prove that he had treasonable designs. William, who had been
favourably impressed by him at the Hague, believed his assertions.
In 1689, he had the joy of seeing his labours crowned by the passing
of the Act of Toleration. For this he had toiled and suffered, written
books and held conferences. Now the end was gained, and his friends and
other Dissenters might worship God in peace. Yet strange to say, from
this time the number of Quakers so far from increasing, diminished.
They had thriven in adversity, in prosperity they declined. But
probably one great reason was that quietism overspread the Society, and
its aggressive efforts languished. Its members continued faithful to
their "testimonies," but became sadly careless about the unconverted
around them. Their grandest evangelist, Fox, was their strongest
bulwark against the quietistic spirit. He not only worked indefatigably
himself, but was very successful in stirring up and directing others.
In 1690, he was called to his rest. Penn hovered around his dying bed,
and when all over, he sent the news to Fox's widow in a letter full of
warm sympathy and generous appreciation of his leader, or "honourable
elder," as Friends preferred to call him. In spite of Fox's very
noticeable imperfections, none could appreciate better than Penn his
many excellencies and his energetic and noble-spirited labours. Only a
few weeks before, Robert Barclay was laid to rest in his own grounds
at Ury. As a gentleman and a scholar, no doubt there were points of
sympathy between him and Penn which did not link Fox and Penn. But in
aggressive energy, in evangelistic labours, and in entire freedom from
the taint of quietism, Fox was much more after Penn's own heart than
was Barclay. He edited Fox's journal and Barclay's works, supplying
each with an elaborate preface.
During the next four years, he was mostly "in retirement" in private
lodgings, in London, to avoid the warrants issued against him at the
instance of an infamous informer, named Fuller. This man was afterwards
denounced by Parliament as a notorious cheat and impostor. Yet, it
is evident that he was really dangerous, for one of his victims was
actually executed. So Penn deemed it wisest to live in privacy till
the storm blew over. But he was far from idle. Besides the work
already mentioned, he wrote his famous "Maxims" and other books. Other
calamities befel him one after another, until his condition was indeed
forlorn. The King deprived him of the government of Pennsylvania.
Roguish agents robbed and defrauded him, until neither his colony nor
his Irish estates yielded him anything. He was reduced to such straits,
that when once he thought of going to Pennsylvania he had not the
means. Friends looked coldly on him, in spite of his pathetic appeal to
them not to forsake him in his hour of need. To fill up the bitter cup,
in 1693 he lost his wife, the joy and consolation of his days of trial,
the constant, indefatigable, and undaunted sharer of his labours. He
had the melancholy knowledge that her end was hastened by her taking to
heart her husband's crushing cares and unmerited ill-usage.
The coolness of the Quakers needs explanation. There was then, as now,
a strong feeling amongst some religious people against Christian men
taking an active part in public affairs. Penn was too strong a man to
yield to it, but it caused him much trouble and suffering. And now that
William reigned, and that Penn's position, instead of being a help and
a protection to Friends, caused them to be suspected of disloyalty,
this feeling was intensified. George Fox's son-in-law, Thomas Lower,
even sketched a form of apology, which Penn was to sign to satisfy the
weaker brethren. Penn once joined some Friends in Pennsylvania when
they had given him up, supposing that opposing winds and tide made his
coming impossible. When they expressed their astonishment at seeing him
under the circumstances, he answered with that ready pleasantry which
ever characterised him, "I have been sailing against wind and tide all
my life."
But, with sublime Christian heroism, he accepted his lot. He
strengthened himself by much waiting on God, and by such intercourse
with the best spirits around him as circumstances permitted. In
his Maxims we have not only whatever of his own prudence could be
crystallised; we have also clear evidence of his own habit of looking
at earthly things in heavenly light, and of endeavouring to discover
their spiritual meaning and use.
At last, in God's mercy, the tide turned. The night had been very dark,
but the tardy dawn came at length, and ushered in a bright though not a
cloudless day. Cruelly deserted by the colonists, for whom he had done
and suffered so much, he found gratitude amongst "worldly" statesmen
and courtiers. The Earl of Rochester, Lord Somers, and others took
the case in hand. He asked them to gain him a full and public hearing
before the King and Council. His defence was completely successful.
The charges against him were quashed. It was proved that he had done
nothing to forfeit his patent, and was restored to his government and
proprietary. This consolation came to him at a time when it was greatly
needed. He had lost his wife, and now his favorite son, Springett, was
slowly dying of consumption.
We must not pass by the death of his wife so briefly. No doubt, the
sad event was hastened by her wifely sympathy with her husband in his
great troubles. Yet she had the happiness of seeing the bulk of them
removed before she died. "She quietly expired," says Penn, "in my arms,
her head upon my bosom, with a sensible and devout resignation of her
soul to Almighty God. I hope I may say she was a public as well as
private loss, for she was not only an excellent wife and mother, but
an entire and constant friend, of a more than common capacity, and
greater modesty and humility, yet most equal and undaunted in danger."
Their wedded life had been a beautiful blending of romantic passion
with sober Christian usefulness. Religion, and culture, and practical
philanthropy had gone hand-in-hand in their social life.
Whilst speaking of this bitter cross, it will be well to anticipate a
little, and record the death of his favorite son, Springett. This noble
and gifted youth died of consumption. Penn did all that a father's love
could suggest, all that personal attention could do to lengthen his
days. But the end, though slow in its approach, was yet too sure, and
the darling boy expired in his father's arms early in 1696.
The younger son, William, was of a very different stamp. Cavalier
grace, and sensuousness which degenerated into sensuality, marked his
character. Martial and generous in disposition, with no mean capacity
for business, he early shewed a tendency to idle frivolousness and
then to gross indulgence, which caused his father the keenest pain.
The refined enjoyments of his home were not to his taste, so he sought
in foreign cities the worst indulgences they could afford. And when
his father was far away in Pennsylvania, he launched out into riot and
excesses which filled that father's heart with shame and dismay.
Early in 1696, William Penn married as his second wife Hannah
Callowhill of Bristol, a woman of great energy and ability. She was an
admirable helper in all good works.
For six years after his restoration to his rights, Penn was content to
leave Pennsylvania in the hands of his cousin, Colonel Markham. His
principal employments then were literary and ministerial.
In 1694, we find him using his new-found liberty to preach in the West
of England. His standing in the Society of Friends had been re-assured;
the usual certificate given by the brethren to all their preachers who
travel, stating that he was a "minister in unity and good esteem among
us," could be freely given, and he visited his brethren with comfort
and acceptance. He travelled, therefore, in the Western counties,
"having meetings almost daily in the most considerable towns and other
places in those counties, to which the people flocked abundantly;
and his testimony to the truth answering to that of God in their
consciences was assented to by many." We are told that the Mayors of
these towns generally consented to their having the Town Halls for
their meetings, "for the respect they had for him, few places else
being sufficient to hold the meetings." Returning to London, he had
a more painful duty to perform, which the following extract from a
contemporary letter describes.
Henry Gouldney, of London, to Robert Barclay, junr.,
28th of 12th mo., 1694.
"Being now a writing, I think it not unfit to acquaint
thee in a brief hint what passed at Ratcliff meeting, last
First-day (Sunday) week, where was William Penn, John
Vaughton, and George Keith. The latter having had no time
till the breaking up of the meeting, he then desired to
be heard. Friends all stayed. After a short appologie, he
fell a reflecting on the manner of John Vaughton's going
to prayer, calling it a hasty sacrifice, comparing to
Saul's. Then he fell upon doctrinall points, reflecting on
our unsoundness, particularly the epistle of John i. 7;
saying that the blood there mentioned was by us preacht
only misticall, whereas, he affirmed, it had no such
signification, neither did any there say to the contrary.
In short, the tendency of all he said was to expose Friends
as unsound. 'Twas a great and mixt meeting. William Penn
grew uneasy; after about a quarter-of-an-hour, he stood up,
saying to this purpose, 'In the name of the Lord, he was
concerned to sound the truth over the head of this apostate
and common opposer.' After a few words, George Keith was
silent. William Penn opened to the people our belief of the
virtue and efficacy of the blessed blood shed on the Cross;
and also shewed the people the reason why we did not so
frequently press Christ's death and sufferings as in the
Apostles' days, they being concerned among such as believed
not his outward coming, but among Christiandom was the
notion generally held, but that of the inward denied and
opposed. When he had done, George Keith would be speaking,
but Friends went away, and left him in a great anger and
quarrell."
In Barclay's "Inner Life, &c.," it is rightly said that Keith's
expulsion was not for unsound doctrine, though he charged the brethren
with being unsound, but for contempt of authority. He tried to gather
a congregation in London, but his following seems to have very soon
dwindled, for a letter to Robert Barclay, junr., dated London, 22nd of
December, 1696, after speaking of the fierce counterfires of pamphlets
concerning his controversy, says "Last Fifth-day (Thursday) George
Keith had but 10 or 12 at his meeting. His show is much over. But his
enmity remains. Oh, that he might see his declension, and repent of the
evil he hath done, if it be the Lord's will."
George Keith had been Penn's fellow-labourer and fellow-sufferer. To
see him now attacking his old friends, and manifesting such a bitter
and factious spirit, was most painful. In 1696, after Keith was
disowned by the Society Penn endeavoured to neutralize the effect of
his misrepresentations by a work entitled "More work for George Keith."
In this, he reproduces from Keith's former publications abundant
replies to his present statements. There is ample proof that, as in
Nayler's case, Friends clung lovingly to the misguided man to the very
last.[12] [For his after confession of his fault see sketch of Barclay.]
[12] To this period belongs also the following letter, inserted as a
specimen of Penn's familiar correspondence with his brethren. The three
or four months service, to which he refers, is the journey in the West,
already spoken of.
W. Penn to R. B., junr.
London, the 7th of the 12th mo., 1694.
Dear and well-beloved Friend,
My heart is much affected with the Lord's goodness to thee
and thy dear relations, that he has remembered you, among
the many in Israel, whom this day he is visiting with his
loving power and spring of life, so that they had have
sitten dry and barren, are now blossoming as a rose and
bringing forth to the praises of Him that has called them.
Wherefore, dear Robert, let thine eye be above the world
and the comforts that fade, to the unfading glory, and keep
close to the Lord, that thou mayest come through openings
and visions to possessions, and like a good souldier
encounter the enemy in his appearances as well to ensnare
by the lawful as the unlawful things; and approve thy
heart to the Lord in the way of the Cross and daily dying
and living. O! great is the mystery of godliness, but the
grace is sufficient! I rejoice at Peter Gardiner's good
service; the Lord will work when, how, and by whom He will.
I have had three or four months sore travel with blessed
success; blessed be His Name.... Dear Robert, in the love
of the precious truth, in which I desire thou maist grow up
to fill thy dear and honorable father's place, I bid thee
farewell. I am,
Thy reall and affectionate friend,
WILLIAM PENN.
P. S.--My journey for Ireland will not be soon, as I hoped,
but shall inform thee. Vale.
It has ever been a custom of the Quakers to seek the presence of the
great and the powerful, not for personal advantages, but in order
to urge on them the claims of religion, and the opportunities and
responsibilities of their position. In many instances, the results of
these interviews speak for themselves, but as they justly hold, duty
does not depend on results. In such a spirit, William Penn sought Peter
the Great, in 1696, when he was working as a shipwright, at Greenwich.
The young Czar asked many questions about the Friends and their views.
It is amusing to find him asking Thomas Story of what use would they be
to any kingdom if they would not fight. That he was more than amused
by the peculiar views and manners of the Friends, is evident from his
remark after a sermon preached by a Friend in Denmark, that whoever
could live according to such doctrines, would be happy.
Penn made a second, and as it proved, a final voyage to America, in
1699. He intended to settle there with his wife and family, and made
his arrangements accordingly. But events were too strong for him, and
he returned in about two years, and never again crossed the Atlantic.
It is certain, however, that even after this, he intended to return and
spend the rest of his days in the colony. In a letter written three
years afterwards, he said, "Had you settled a reasonable revenue, I
would have returned and laid my bones among you, and my wife's, too,
after her mother's death."
Yet, in this short time, he had done much for Pennsylvania. Bills
against piracy and smuggling, and for the just treatment of negroes,
had been passed; better arrangements for the health and improvement of
Philadelphia had been made, and a new Charter or frame of Government,
and a just system of taxation had been introduced, the expense of
governing the Province having, hitherto, fallen on the Governor. Even
now, no provision was made for his claims as proprietor. Treaties
were made with the Susquehannah and other tribes of Indians; and
finally, just on the eve of the Governor's departure, Philadelphia
was incorporated. Many minor acts were passed, some of them curiously
illustrating the colonists' ideas of a paternal and religious
government. Not only were sins against purity and honesty to be
punished, but, amongst others, bills were passed on the following
matters: the spreading of false news, the names of the days and months
of the year, to prevent cursing and swearing, against scolding, for the
dimensions of casks, and true packing of meat, against drunkenness and
drinking healths, and against selling rum to the Indians. This much was
accomplished by the Assembly; probably, more would have been done, but
for abounding jealousies. The Province and the other Territories (the
districts purchased from the Duke of York) were jealous of each other,
and both were jealous of the Governor.
In July, 1701, Penn received a communication from the king, which
sorely puzzled him. It demanded that the American proprietaries should
unite for the defence of the Colonies, and that Pennsylvania should
contribute £350 for the defence of the New York frontier. Apostle of
peace though he was, he could do no otherwise than lay the letter
before the Assembly. That body delayed and finessed, and finally,
saying nothing of peace principles, pleaded their poverty as a reason
for postponing the further consideration of the matter, until it was
more urgent. Thus, this question of peace, which so long divided
Pennsylvania, was for the present shelved. But it is the boast of
Friends that for 70 years Pennsylvania had no army, and though so
near both Indians and Frenchmen, suffered nothing through the lack of
one. That State "subsisted in the midst of six Indian nations," says
Oldmixon, "without so much as a militia for her defence. Whatever the
quarrels of the Pennsylvanian Indians were with others, they uniformly
respected and held as it were sacred, the territories of William Penn.
The Pennsylvanians never lost man, woman, or child by them, which
neither the colony of Maryland, nor that of Virginia could say, no more
than the great colony of New England." To complete the argument for
non-resistance, see what occurred when Pennsylvania got an army. "From
that hour the Pennsylvanians transferred their confidence in Christian
principles to a confidence in their arms; and from that hour to the
present they have been subject to war." (Dymond's Essays, 4th edition,
p. 192.)
But it must not be supposed that the refusal to fight meant either
unwillingness or inability to use moral means for self-protection. In
1701, Penn heard of a riot in East Jersey, and set off at once with
some friends to quell it. It was put down before he reached the spot,
but gave him occasion fully to state his views. "If lenitives would not
do, coercives should be tried. The leaders should be eyed, and some
should be forced to declare them by the rigour of the law; and those
who were found to be such should bear the burden of such sedition,
which would be the best way to behead the body without danger."
Amidst all this care and work, Penn found time to make preaching tours
in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Maryland. He and his family won a warm
place in the hearts of the Friends here, as well as elsewhere. He might
have a large and handsome house at Pennsbury, and his style of living
might be superior to that of his neighbours; but he could pick up a
bare-legged Quaker girl and give her a ride behind him to "meeting,"
and he had a kindly word and pleasantry for the poor as much as
for the rich. "The Governor is our pater patriæ," writes one of the
Colonists, "and his worth is no new thing to us. His excellent wife is
beloved of all."
As Pennsylvania was the birthplace of Abolition, the German Friends
at Germantown first raising the question, it is interesting to see
what Penn did in the matter. He passed a Bill for regulating the trial
and punishment of negro wrong-doers. But he wished to go further, and
proposed that negro marriages should be legal, and that the rights
of negro-women should be secured by law; but the Assembly threw out
these Bills. In 1696 the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting had resolved that
buying, selling, and holding slaves was contrary to the teachings
of Christianity. Penn followed up this resolution by urging on the
Society of Friends in Pennsylvania the recognition of the spiritual
claims of negroes. Henceforth, until the Society insisted on its
members liberating their slaves, they were taught the Scriptures, and
encouraged to attend divine worship.
Penn arrived at Portsmouth, in the middle of December, 1701, after a
voyage of about six weeks. The chief business that called him home,
was the scheme of William III. for amalgamating all the American
provinces as regal Governments. To his intense relief, that scheme was
dropped. Soon after this, the king died, and Queen Anne, the daughter
of Penn's friend and guardian, James II., ascended the throne. He
once more enjoyed royal favour in a marked degree. He was chosen to
present to the Queen the Quaker address, thanking her for promising
to maintain the Act of Toleration. After the address was read, "Mr.
Penn," said the Queen, "I am so well pleased that what I have said is
to your satisfaction, that you and your Friends may be assured of my
protection."
Of the remaining years of Penn's life, we have very imperfect accounts.
He edited the works of two Quaker ministers, those of John Whitehead
in 1704; those of John Banks, in 1711. In 1709, he wrote "Some account
of the Life and Writings of Bulstrode Whitlocke, Esq.," the famous
lawyer and stout Puritan, whom he had known and greatly esteemed. He
also travelled repeatedly as a minister, and took an active interest
in the affairs of the Quakers. Thus, in 1710, Sir D. Dalrymple writes
to R. Barclay, junr., who had written to him about the sufferings of
Edinbro' Friends:--"I have written fully to Mr. Penn by this post, who
had written to me upon the same subject, to whom I refer you." Again,
in 1711, he with others waited on the Duke of Ormond (whom he had known
before he became a Friend) to thank him for the kindness which he had
shewn to Friends in Ireland during his Lord Lieutenancy.
Meantime had occurred the sad troubles with his late agent Philip
Ford, which crippled his resources, broke down his health, and even at
one time made him a prisoner in the Fleet for debt. Oldmixon states
the fact thus:--"The troubles that befel Mr. Penn in the latter part
of his life are of a nature too private to have a place in a public
history. He trusted an ungrateful, unjust agent too much with the
management of it; and when he expected to have been thousands of pounds
the better, found himself thousands of pounds in debt: insomuch that
he was restrained in his liberty within the privilege of the Fleet by
a tedious and unsuccessful law suit, which together with age, broke
his spirits, not easy to be broken, and rendered himself incapable
of business and society, as he was wont to have been in the days of
his health and vigour both of body and mind." The story is a very sad
one. Ford was a Quaker lawyer, and undoubtedly Penn had been far too
trustful and careless with him. He had even borrowed money from him
on the security of his colony. Ford repaid his kindness and trust by
cheating him out of thousands, and his widow and son went farther, and
tried to snatch the colony from Penn's grasp. But it was ruled that "it
would not be decent to make Government ambulatory," and their claim was
not allowed.
The trouble thus caused resulted in Penn having several apoplectic
fits, which left him thoroughly shattered. For six years he lingered
in second childhood, lovingly nursed by his wife. The best account of
his last days occurs in the Journal of Thomas Story, a distinguished
Quaker minister, a scholar and a naturalist, whom he had made the first
recorder of Philadelphia.
The end came very gently and peacefully. After the long and stormy
voyage, the vessel came into harbour through unwonted calms and
waters almost without a ripple. He was laid in his grave in Jordan's
meeting-house beside his dearly loved Guli, and not far from his mother
and Isaac Pennington. Many gathered there to pay the last honours. And
since that day, the spot hallowed by his dust has been a well-visited
shrine, where many have not only thought admiringly of his deeds, but
have also thanked God for the grace that was in him.
If Macaulay was prejudiced against Penn, his testimony to his
world-wide fame is the more reliable. We will quote it as it stands.
"Rival nations and hostile sects have agreed in canonising him. England
is proud of his name. A great commonwealth beyond the Atlantic regards
him with a reverence similar to that which the Athenians felt for
Theseus, and the Romans for Quirinus. The respected society of which
he was a member honours him as an apostle. By pious men of other
denominations he is usually regarded as a bright pattern of Christian
virtue. Meanwhile admirers of a very different sort have sounded his
praises. The French philosophers of the eighteenth century pardoned
what they regarded as his superstitious fancies in consideration
of his contempt for priests, and of his cosmopolitan benevolence,
impartially extended to all races and to all creeds. His name has thus
become, throughout all civilised countries, a synonym for probity and
philanthropy."
"Nor is this reputation altogether unmerited. Penn was without doubt a
man of eminent virtues. He had a strong sense of religious duty, and
a fervent desire to promote the happiness of mankind. On one or two
points of high importance he had notions more correct than were in his
day common, even among men of enlarged minds; and as the proprietor
and legislator of a province, which, being almost uninhabited when it
came into his possession, afforded a clear field for moral experiments,
he had the rare good fortune of being able to carry his theories into
practice without any compromise, and yet without any shock to existing
institutions. He will always be mentioned with honour as the founder of
a Colony, who did not in his dealings with a savage people abuse the
strength derived from civilisation, and as a law-giver who in an age of
persecution, made religious liberty the corner-stone of a polity."
This testimony is bare justice, indeed it needs supplementing. Macaulay
has done justice to his fame, but not to his usefulness or to his
beautiful character. For to use the beautiful figure which the Rt. Hon.
W. E. Forster employs, "like as the citizens of Philadelphia are even
now building the streets which he planned on the unpeopled waste, so
are the workmen in the temple of freedom yet labouring at the design
which he sketched out." And in the work they have not only his designs
to assist them, but the inspiration of his noble life to stimulate them.
The story of Penn's life, so noble and yet so sad in many parts, has
touched many hearts. "He reminds me of Abraham or Æneas more than
any one else," says Professor Seeley. "I find him," says Tennyson,
(writing Mar. 3rd, 1882, to the Historical Society of Pennsylvania),
"no comet of a season, but the fixed light of a dark and graceless
age, shining into the present--a good man and true." In Caroline
Fox's "Memories of Old Friends" we read,--"He (Ernest de Bunsen) has
been translating William Penn's life into German and sent a copy to
Humboldt, from whom he received two charming letters about it, in one
saying that he has read every word, and that the contemplation of such
a life has contributed to the peace of his old age."
Such testimonies could be multiplied indefinitely. The character and
life that inspire such feelings need no defence and no eulogy.
ROBERT BARCLAY,
THE
APOLOGIST OF QUAKERISM.
PREFACE.
This sketch was outlined as a companion sketch to those of Fox and
Penn. But the opportunity of embodying in it extracts from unpublished
letters in the keeping of members of the Barclay family, (for which
the author cannot be too grateful,) led to its being enlarged to a
disproportionate size. But the reader will not regret this, when
he finds himself furnished with new materials throwing light on a
character so little understood. To most readers, Barclay is merely a
name; the author has attempted to realise the man and his work, as far
as the still very imperfect information will allow.
ROBERT BARCLAY,
THE
APOLOGIST OF QUAKERISM.
George Fox, that fervid evangelist who anticipated Wesley in claiming
the whole world as his parish, visited Scotland only once. This
was in 1657. But some years previously, several Quaker ministers,
including two lady-evangelists, Catherine Evans and Sarah Cheevers,
had preached "the truth" there, and meetings had been gathered, says
Sewel the Quaker historian, in Edinburgh, Aberdeen, and other places.
James Nayler preached in Scotland as early as 1651, with his usual
fervour and success. But no church of professed "Friends" was formed
in Aberdeen until 1662, when Alexander Jaffray sometime provost of
Aberdeen, one of the Scottish Commissioners to King Charles, and a
member of Cromwell's Parliament, was led along with others to a full
and open acceptance of Quakerism by William Dewsbury. The number of
the names was small, but they were men and women whose energy and
sterling worth made them noteworthy. Their decision may be measured
by their daring the contempt so profusely accorded the "Friends" by
the orthodox; "possessed with the devil, demented, blasphemous deniers
of the true Christ" being some of the expressions hurled at them by
the neighbouring pulpits. In 1666, they were strengthened by the
accession of Colonel David Barclay, and a little later by that of his
son, Robert Barclay, the future Apologist of Quakerism. Fully then was
the expectation of George Fox realised, of which he afterwards told
Robert Barclay, in 1675, "As soon as ever my horse set his foot upon
the land of the Scottish nation, the infinite sparkles of life sparkled
about me; and so as I rid with divers friends, I saw the seed of the
seedsman Christ that was sown; but abundance of clods--foul and filthy
earth--was above it; and a great winter and storms and tempests of
work." "Thick cloddy earth of hypocrisy and falseness atop," says the
corresponding passage of his journal, "and a briary brambly nature,
which is to be turned up with God's Word, and ploughed up with his
spiritual plough, before God's seed brings forth heavenly and spiritual
fruit to his glory. But the husbandman is to wait in patience."
David Barclay represented an ancient and honourable family, supposed
to be a branch of the Berkeleys in Gloucestershire. He was a lineal
descendant of Theobald de Berkeley, born about 1110, who held a large
estate in Kincardine, and was conspicuous in the court of David I. In
the 15th century, Alexander Berkeley began to spell the name Barclay,
and his descendants followed his example.[13] They were a powerful,
sometimes a turbulent race, with an occasional instance of a literary
or scholarly scion. David Barclay's father having wrecked his fortune
by spendthrift and easygoing habits, his sons had to shift for
themselves. Three of them died before their father, two in infancy, the
third, James, falling at the battle of Philiphaugh, whilst fighting
under his brother David. Of the two survivors, the younger, Robert,
became a Catholic priest, and flourished in Paris, becoming Rector of
the Scottish College there. Of David, the elder and the father of the
subject of this sketch, we must speak more at length.
[13] Of the father of this Alexander de Barclay, whose name was
David, we read that he was the "ringleader of the savage barons who
exaggerated the atrocities of a reckless age by actually boiling an
obnoxious sheriff of the Mearns in a cauldron, and then 'suppin' the
broo'." Yet the son was something of a poet, and some lines full of
good advice, said to be from his pen, are given in the "Short Account
of R. Barclay."
David Barclay was born at Kirtounhill, in 1610. The only patrimony
he got from his father was a good education: for in 1633, the old
family estates were sold to pay off his father's debts. Finding that
he had to make his own way in the world, with all the energy of his
race he "flung himself into the saddle of opportunity as a soldier
of fortune," and rose to the rank of major in the army of Gustavus
Adolphus, specially distinguishing himself at Lutzen. Returning home
with substantial gains as well as honours, when the civil war broke
out he became a colonel in the Royal Army. He fought under Leslie
at Philiphaugh, and effectively assisted Middleton in holding the
north, until Cromwell removed him from command, after his victory
at Preston-pans. Then he retired from military service, bought the
Ury estate, and with his wife and son Robert settled there. He had
contracted an advantageous marriage in the spring of 1648, with
Catherine, daughter of Sir Robert Gordon, of Gordonstown. The father
was the second son of the Earl of Sutherland and second cousin to James
I. He was a man of great parts, and held various high offices under
the Crown. After his marriage, David Barclay sat in Parliament for
Sutherland, and then for Angus and Kincardine. He used his influence to
regain possession of his Ury estate which had been seized by General
Monk, and to befriend other gentlemen who were in similar trouble, and
his success in these efforts made him very popular. Then he retired
into private life. In 1663, he lost his excellent wife when Robert was
not fifteen. But before her death, she took one step of the greatest
moment to Robert. He had been sent to Paris, to finish his education
under his uncle's eye. But though his progress must have satisfied
even a mother's pride, she, herself a staunch Protestant, felt a great
anxiety lest he should adopt the Romish faith. So, when dying of
consumption, she obtained from his father the promise that he should
be recalled home. This step was farther urged by her mother, good
old lady Gordon, in an earnest letter which still exists. Accordingly
Col. Barclay visited his brother in Paris in 1664, and after vigorous
opposition from him, brought his son home.
But the time had come for a complete change in the tone and tenour of
David Barclay's life. He had gained renown and position, and had allied
himself with a branch of the Royal family, but these had brought him
neither peace nor satisfaction. Royal blood is no guarantee against
disease and death, and he had had to see his beloved wife fade away
and die at the early age of forty-three. He had risked limb and life,
and had striven with hand and brain to win renown, and position,
and wealth, only to find that these things expose their possessor
to special trials and dangers. He had found out by hard experience
how uncertain was his tenure of earthly good. His sorrows and
disappointments prepared his heart for more earnestness about spiritual
truth than he had hitherto manifested, and Quakerism was to present
that truth in a form which would satisfy his mind and heart.
Perhaps it was whilst on the journey to fetch home his son, that he
became closely acquainted with the Quakers. He tells us how he had
heard of their simple and conscientious living, and "he considered
within himself that if they were really such as even their enemies were
forced to acknowledge, there must be something extraordinary about
them." Whether or not this knowledge was gained in Aberdeen, where a
meeting had been gathered now more than a year, we do not know. But,
"being in London" on some errand or other, he had opportunities to
enquire into the Quaker principles and practises, which he did to
such purpose, that his mind became convinced that their tenets were
according to the Scriptures. Still, the cautious Scotchman did not
immediately join them.
Immediately afterwards we find David Barclay in prison in Edinbro'
Castle. Although he had suffered for the king, he was accused of having
held office under Cromwell, and it might have gone hardly with him had
he not been befriended by his old chief, the Earl of Middleton. Through
the influence of that nobleman the proceedings were quashed, and he was
liberated.
This imprisonment, in the ordering of God's providence, brought to
the right issue the great crisis of his life. In the same room with
him in Edinbro' Castle was imprisoned Sir John Swintoune, who from a
soldier and a Presbyterian had become a thorough Quaker. He was so
zealous in propagating his opinions that the only way to silence him
was to keep him in solitary confinement, which was at one time done for
several weeks. No wonder, then, that he urged on David Barclay the full
acceptance of the truth.
On leaving the Castle, the colonel seems to have remained in Edinbro'
even after he had sent his son, in company with a Quaker, David
Falconer, to Ury. In Edinbro' he came out as an acknowledged Friend.
He tells us what points satisfied his sober and careful judgment that
the Quakers were right. He was struck with the correspondence between
their peace principles and Isaiah's prophecy, that in Gospel times
they would beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into
pruning-hooks. Then again, they were all as brothers, loving and
standing by each other, and had not Christ said, that his disciples
should be known by their mutual love? The courageous soldier was in
sympathy with those who, whilst others worshipped God by stealth,
bravely dared all persecution by openly assembling to worship God as
their consciences dictated. So he thought within himself, that "if the
Lord Jesus Christ had a visible Church on earth these must be they."
But all this merely cleared the ground for the final and decisive
proof, without which he would never have made a Friend. Feeling
his judgment satisfied by these tests, he yielded his heart to the
influence of the truth, and he experienced a peace which insults and
sufferings could not disturb, and gained an experimental acquaintance
with God that satisfied the cravings of his soul.
He became distinguished for his solemn fervour in prayer, his deep
piety and uncomplaining meekness in ill-usage--the latter, "a virtue,"
says one of his descendants, "he was before very much unacquainted
with." "One of his relations, upon an occasion of uncommon rudeness,
lamenting that he should be now treated so differently from what
formerly he had been, he answered, that he found more satisfaction as
well as honour in being thus insulted for his religious principles,
than when, some years before, it was usual for the magistrates as he
passed through Aberdeen, to meet him several miles, and conduct him to
a public entertainment in their town-house, and then convey him so far
out again, in order to gain his favour." This noble testimony is the
subject of one of Whittier's most spirited ballads. The old soldier
lived to a ripe old age, his son only surviving him four years.
We have thus traced the career of the father, that we may better
understand the influences through which the son passed before his
hearty acceptance of Quakerism. He belonged to a family divided in
religious opinions, some of the Catholic faith, some Protestant to
the core. His abilities, connections, and worldly expectations, all
invited him to a distinguished career. Yet from the noblest and purest
motives he turned away from brilliant prospects, and from older and
more respected churches, and linked himself with a new, despised and
persecuted sect.
Robert Barclay was born at Gordonstown, Oct. 23rd, 1648. From both
sides of his parentage, he seems to have inherited scholarly ability
and literary tastes. His grandfather, Sir Robert Gordon, was a man
of culture and refinement, and his great-grandfather, John Gordon
(father-in-law of Sir Robert), was Dean of Sarum, a good classical
scholar and a keen theologian. On the other side, the Barclays seem
to have supplied the Catholic church with several theologians and
scholars. From early years he gave promise of great intellectual
powers, which were sedulously cultivated at the best schools that
Scotland possessed. His uncle Robert offered to look after his
education, and took him in hand, as he tells us, when he had "scarcely
got out of his childhood." But early as he left Scotland for Paris, he
carried with him such impressions of the narrowness and bigotry of his
Calvinistic countrymen as remained with him through life. In Paris,
his uncle and others so skilfully assailed his Protestant instincts
that they succumbed, and he became an avowed Catholic. He was a great
favourite with his uncle, who purposed making him his heir, and who
watched him through his brilliant college course with the greatest
delight.
But whilst his uncle was thus satisfied, his mother's heart was
filled with dismay at the thought of her son growing up a Catholic--a
consummation for which his scholarly proficiency was poor compensation.
She therefore on her death-bed obtained from his father a promise that
her son should be brought home.
On this errand the Colonel went to Paris, in 1664. But he found his
brother stoutly opposed to parting with his nephew. He met the argument
of worldly welfare by offering to buy Robert a larger estate than his
father's, and put him in possession immediately. But the boy had a
noble reverence for his father in spite of his long absence from home,
and his wish settled the question with him, and he replied to all
pleas, "He is my father and must be obeyed." So father and son returned
home together, and the uncle's property eventually enriched the College
of which he was Rector, and other religious houses in France.
When David Barclay was passing through that crisis in his spiritual
history which resulted in his embracing Quakerism, he made no efforts
to win his son to the same view. No doubt he had all a new convert's
confidence in the power of "the truth." Probably he had also a Quaker's
persuasion that though such efforts might sway the understanding, they
could not "reach" the soul. He said he wished the change to come from
conviction, not from imitation. The early Friends never considered
themselves a sect, and did not seek proselytes so much as they sought
to spread deep spiritual life. In the end at least, the laissez-faire
method resulted in what the father wished. The son quietly looked
around on the different classes of professed Christians. He felt his
old repugnance to the Calvinists invincible. The latitudinarians, with
all their professed charity and condemnation of "judging," pleased him
no better. Finally, he gave his hearty allegiance to Friends within
twelve months of his father's admission to their fellowship.
It is an interesting question, "What led such a clear and powerful mind
to accept Quakerism?"
It could not fail to impress such a nature to see the great change
which had passed over his father. The warrior and the man of the world
had become a consistent Friend, trusting God to plead his cause,
anxious most about spiritual wealth, careful most to walk closely and
humbly with God. Further, it seemed to him that whilst others were
wonderfully strict in creed, the Friends, whom they called heretics,
far surpassed them in holy and exemplary living. Lastly, came the
evidence that so often in those days turned the scale decisively in
favor of the new brotherhood. The very first time that Robert Barclay
attended a Friends' meeting he was struck by the awful Presence there;
he felt that God was in that place. Some minister who was present
used these epigrammatic words, which are said to have made a great
impression on him. "In stilness there is fulness, in fulness there is
nothingness, in nothingness there are all things." It is true that we
are told that Sir John Swintoune and another Friend named Halliday
were specially helpful to him at this critical time. But we have the
clearest evidence that what most impressed him and attracted him to
Friends was not their ministry, but the marvellous divine influence
enjoyed in the period of silent waiting upon God. His intimate friend,
Andrew Jaffray, bears testimony that he was "reached" in the time of
silence. His own words, too, in his apology are unmistakable; they are
introduced into his glowing description of an ideal Friends' meeting,
as a personal testimony to the value of silent worship. Speaking of
his own conversion, he says, "Who not by strength of argument, or by
a particular disquisition of each doctrine, and convincement of my
understanding thereby, came to receive and bear witness to the truth,
but by being secretly reached by this Life. For when I came into the
silent assemblies of God's people, I felt a secret power amongst them
which touched my heart; and as I gave way unto it, I found the evil
weakening in me, and the good raised up; and so I became thus knit
and united unto them, hungering more and more after the increase of
this power and life, whereby I might find myself perfectly redeemed."
Apology, Prop. XI., Sect. 7.
Boy as Barclay was when he returned from Paris, in spite of his
precocity it may be questioned whether his surrender of Catholicism
cost him much conflict of soul, though he assures us in his
"Vindication," he did "turn from that way not without sincere and
real convictions of the errors of it." But beyond question, it would
cost him a severe struggle to surrender his proud vantage ground as a
scholar, and to join a sect who taught not only that learning was not
necessary to a saving knowledge of Christ, but also that it had small
share in the efficient ministry of the Gospel. The battle was first
fought out in his own search for peace and light. From his childhood
he had been ambitious of scholarship. Conscious, as he tells us in
the introduction to his treatise on "Universal Love," of abilities
beyond the average, he had a pleasure in intellectual pursuits which
led him to follow them up with keen relish for their own sakes. But
now the appetite was to receive a check, not only that it might ever
afterwards keep its right place, but that he might learn how much more
effectively God can teach than can the best of men. George Fox had to
learn from sad experience that even enlightened Christians cannot stand
instead of God. Robert Barclay had to learn by a shorter, but no doubt
sharp experience, that his favourite books could do nothing for him
in spiritual religion without Christ, and that in spiritual power and
spiritual discernment illiterate men might be by far his superiors.
He has described the experience in his Apology, when speaking of the
insufficiency of learning to make a true minister, and the possibility
of being a true minister without it.
"And if in any age since the Apostles' days, God hath
purposed to show his power in weak instruments, for the
battering down of the carnal and heathenish wisdom, and
restoring again the ancient simplicity of truth, this
is it. For in our day, God hath raised up witnesses for
himself as he did the fishermen of old, many, yea most
of whom are labouring and mechanic men, who, altogether
without that learning, have by the power and spirit of God,
struck at the very root and ground of Babylon; and in the
strength and might of this power have gathered thousands by
reaching their consciences into the same power and life,
who, as to the outward part, have been far more knowing
than they, yet not able to resist the virtue that proceeded
from them. Of which I myself am a true witness, and can
declare from certain experience; because my heart hath
often been greatly broken and tendered by that virtuous
life that proceeded from the powerful ministry of those
illiterate men.... What shall I say then to you who are
lovers of learning and admirers of knowledge? Was not I
also a lover and admirer of it, who also sought after it
according to my age and capacity. But it pleased God in his
unutterable love, early to withstand my vain endeavours,
while I was yet but eighteen years of age, and made me
seriously to consider (which I wish may also befal others)
that without holiness and regeneration no man can see God;
and that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom,
and to depart from iniquity a good understanding; and how
much knowledge puffeth up, and leadeth away from that
quietness, stillness and humility of mind, where the Lord
appears and his heavenly wisdom is revealed.... Therefore,
seeing that among them (these excellent, though despised,
because illiterate witnesses of God) I with many others,
have found the heavenly food that gives contentment, let my
soul seek after this learning, and wait for it for ever."
Truth Triumphant, p. 426.
In the means and mode of his conversion Robert Barclay was like many
of his co-religionists in Scotland. It is an interesting feature of
Scottish Quakerism that a number of its adherents were not gained by
preaching. Many of the early Friends tell us that they adopted the
Quaker views before they knew of the existence of any society which
held such views. Their hearts yearned after an ideal which they did not
find in any existing sect. But when Quakerism was presented to their
view, they recognised in it the features which they had learned to
love. The case of Alexander Jaffray is fairly representative of others,
and his diary enables us to watch the process in minute detail in most
of its stages. The awakened soul gets disgusted with chopping logic,
and with manipulating the dry bones of a formal theology. It longs
for bread and is offered a stone. It longs for pure spiritual life
and for true holiness, and for an experimental acquaintance with God
that shall satisfy its quickened instincts; and instead it finds the
sects around it mostly busied with preparations for living rather than
with life, ever constructing scientific scaffolding but not building,
keenly discussing the right attitude of the soul towards God rather
than having actual dealings with Him. Quakerism comes on the scene and
at once commends itself to such a soul by dealing with the practical
life, putting the teaching and promises of the Bible to the test of
experience, and finding that they actually work and lead to assured
conviction, hearty consecration, and holy living. Modern Quakerism has
come to be associated with a few negations; primitive Quakerism won its
triumphs by a robust and full-blooded spiritual life. The Assembly's
catechism correctly defined the chief end of man to be "to glorify God
and to enjoy Him forever." The Friends exemplified the definition in
actual life. Most professing Christians, in spite of their beautifully
finished creed, were still in bondage to questions like these: "Shall
we succeed in life, and what will men think of us, and how will they
treat us, if we act up to our convictions?" Such questions troubled
the Quakers very little. They acted as if they believed religion a
sufficient end and object in life, worth living for, and worth dying
for. This was the way in which they glorified God, and so they did
enjoy Him even in this life. They had great peace and joy in believing.
The power of God was in their gatherings and attended their ministry.
They were mighty in prayer, and did wonders through their strong faith.
Their acquaintance with experimental religion was astonishing, and
their knowledge of the word of God extensive and practically useful,
such as might be expected from men who searched it lovingly, and relied
upon its counsels in the affairs of life. Above all they were enabled
to do what they most aspired to do, to live a holy life. They were rich
not only in gifts but in grace. All this commended Quakerism to such
men as Swintoune and Jaffray and the Barclays. It was better proof than
the exactest syllogism, and far more satisfying to the soul than the
best compacted creed.
Henceforth Robert Barclay's life is closely connected with the history
of Quakerism, and especially of Quakerism in northern Scotland. He
did not travel so much as many Friends beyond his own country in the
service of the gospel, but his position, wealth, and learning were
freely devoted to the service of "the truth." It is not clear that the
same earnest evangelising spirit prevailed in Scotland which inspired
the English Friends. For some reason the society never gained such
numbers north of the Tweed as it did in England. Possibly they were
too jealous of activity. In a letter of Christian Barclay's, written
after her husband's death, I find a sad instance of that mischievous
overvaluing of silence, which did so much harm amongst the Quakers
in the eighteenth century. Writing to Friends in and about Aberdeen,
she says, after a warning against "needless jesting,"--"in the bowels
of motherly love is my heart towards you all, desiring we may all
travel more and more into silence, for it is a safe place. Let all our
conversations be more and more in it. Let us all in whatsoever state or
station we be in, remember ourselves to be in it. As we are gathered in
our minds in it, we shall less and less desire the best of words; _for
inward silence as far exceedeth the best of words as the marrow exceeds
the bone_." Certainly, as she goes on to say "the sensible knows beyond
expression." But "how forcible are right words!" The spread of this
Quietistic spirit amongst Friends effectually stopped the evangelistic
work which marked and glorified the early years of their society. It
also so dwarfed and discouraged true ministry that the marvel is that
the Society survived.
Barclay's life belongs to the sad list of bright biographies as it
seems to us too soon cut short by death. He died in his prime, when
every year seemed to bring increased usefulness and influence for
good. He was but eighteen when he was converted, but nineteen when he
began to preach; his first controversial work was written when he was
twenty-two, and almost the whole of his writings were produced during
the next nine years, and yet they fill nine hundred folio pages!
The little band of Scottish Friends contained several remarkable men,
with whom he had close and continued intercourse. For several years
after his conversion, until 1673, ALEXANDER JAFFRAY (see pp. 83 & 93)
survived, infirm in the body, but bright and happy in soul. His long
unrest was ended; he had found amongst the Friends the close walk,
the pure life, and the godly and loving brotherhood that he had long
sought. The only thorns in his dying pillow were the persecuting spirit
of the churches, and the non-conversion of his beloved wife. She,
however, was so impressed by his death-bed experiences and testimony
that she soon afterwards joined the Society. GEORGE KEITH, a graduate
of Aberdeen University, was a zealous advocate of Quakerism by tongue
and pen, doing and suffering with a loving zeal, on which he looked
back with regretful glances after his decline and perversion. He
became a Friend in 1663, and for thirty years was a pillar amongst
the brotherhood. His treatises on "Immediate Revelation" and on the
"Universal Light, or the Free Grace of God asserted" were highly
valued by Friends. He settled in Pennsylvania; but changing his
social and religious opinions, he quarreled with his brethren and
with the authorities there; and after an attempt to form a new sect
of "Christian Friends," he came to England and joined the established
church. He was put forward as a resolute opponent of his old allies.
But Gough in his History of Friends gives reasons for believing that he
was conscious at the last that he had declined in grace at this time.
To a Friend who visited him on his dying bed, he is reported to have
said, "I wish I had died when I was a Quaker, for then I am sure it
would have been well with my soul." JOHN SWINTOUNE, already mentioned,
was a frequent visitor at Ury, at Monthly Meetings and other special
times. Sir Walter Scott claims him as one of his ancestors. He, like
Jaffray, turned from a life of political activity and honours, to a
life of hearty devotion to Quakerism. He was of very good family,
baron of Swintoune, and at one time one of the Lords of Sessions. He
had been so mixed up with the affairs of the commonwealth, that at the
Restoration he was thrown into prison, and was in great peril. But in
the meantime the light of divine truth shone into his heart, and when
brought to trial, he was more ready to condemn himself than his judges
could be, and only anxious to tell of the goodness of God to his soul.
Bishop Burnet says "He was then become a Quaker, and did with a sort
of eloquence that moved the whole house, lay out his own errors, and
the ill-spirit he was in, when he did the things that were charged on
him, with so tender a sense, that he seemed as one indifferent what
they should do with him; and without so much as moving for mercy,
or even for a delay, he did so effectually prevail on them, that
they recommended him to the king as a fit object for his mercy." His
estates, however, seem not to have been restored to him, for in 1682 we
find Robert Barclay opening his liberal purse to assist him. We have
seen how useful he was to David Barclay and again to Robert Barclay at
the time of their convincement; for besides his religious experience,
he had, says the Biographia Brittanica, "as good an education as almost
any man in Scotland, which, gained to very strong natural parts,
rendered him a most accomplished person."
Amongst the pious if not prominent members of the little church at
Aberdeen were Bailie Molleson and his wife. The latter died young, but
her death-bed was surrounded by a halo of glory through her triumphant
faith. Her daughter, Christian, had joined the Friends in her sixteenth
year. She won the favourable regard and then the warm affection of the
young laird of Ury, and he addressed to her the following religious
love-letter.
28th of 1st month, 1669.
"Dear Friend,
Having for some time past had it several times upon my
mind to have saluted thee in this manner of writing, and
to enter into a literal correspondence with thee so far as
thy freedom could allow, I am glad that this small occasion
hath made way for the beginning of it.
The love of thy converse, the desire of thy friendship,
the sympathy of thy way, and meekness of thy spirit, has
often, as thou mayst have observed, occasioned me to take
frequent opportunity to have the benefit of thy company;
in which I can truly say I have often been refreshed, and
the life in me touched with a sweet unity which flowed
from the same in thee, tender flames of pure love have
been kindled in my bosom towards thee, and praises have
sprung up in me to the God of our salvation, for what he
hath done for thee! Many things in the natural will occur
to strengthen and encourage my affection toward thee, and
make thee acceptable unto me; but that which is _before
all and beyond all_ is, that I can say in the fear of the
Lord that I have received a charge from him to love thee,
and for that I know his love is much towards thee; and his
blessing and goodness is and shall be unto thee so long as
thou abidest in a true sense of it."
After speaking of Christian contentment, "from which there
is safety which cannot be hurt, and peace which cannot
be broken," he warns her against the dangers to which
they were both exposed from their easy circumstances, and
concludes--"I am sure it will be our great gain so to be
kept, that all of us may abide in the pure love of God, in
the sense and drawings whereof we can only discern and know
how to love one another. In the present flowings thereof I
have truly solicited thee, desiring and expecting that in
the same thou mayst feel and judge.
ROBERT BARCLAY."
The reader accustomed to modern Quaker phraseology, will be astonished
to find it so purely spoken by so young a convert at this early date
of the Society's history. But he must remember what is too often
overlooked in studying the writings of the early Friends, that the
Friends simply adopted in many things the religious phraseology of the
times (See Barclay's Inner Life, p. 214). But he cannot fail also to
be charmed with the blending of love and piety in this epistle. Within
a few months of the mother's death, the young couple were married in
the simple Quaker fashion. This was the first wedding of the kind in
Aberdeen, and it roused in the minds of many ministers and others much
unnecessary alarm and irritation. The Bishop of Aberdeen was stirred up
to procure letters summoning Robert Barclay before the Privy Council
for an unlawful marriage; but, says the Ury record, "the matter was so
overruled of the Lord that they never had power to put their summons
into execution, so as to do us any prejudice."
The conversion of the Barclays to Quakerism seems to have fanned
into a flame the fires of persecution both amongst Presbyterians
and Episcopalians. The Presbyterians, though suffering persecution
themselves, zealously preached against the heretics, and were resolute
in excommunicating all who joined them. There is a sad story of one
minister who, against his own conscience, was being compelled to
excommunicate his own daughter, but fell dead in the pulpit whilst
pronouncing the sentence. But the clergy was especially bitter. The
Bishop of Aberdeen, Patrick Scougal, and his primate, Archbishop
Sharpe, were bent on extirpating the sect, and carried out the system
of fine and imprisonment with the utmost vigour. Scougal (father of
Henry Scougal, professor of Divinity in Aberdeen University, and whose
"Life of God in the soul of man" ranks high amongst our religious
classics) was too good for such dirty work. Burnet says of him,
contrasting them with his scandalous brother bishops: "There was indeed
one Scougal, Bishop of Aberdeen, that was a man of rare temper, great
piety, and prudence, but I thought he was too much under Sharpe's
conduct, and was at least too easy to him." Sharpe was just in his
element in the work. A pervert from Presbyterianism for no other reason
than interest, he was a suitable tool for thrusting Episcopacy on
those who hated it. The wanton insults and high-handed violence which
he practiced, roused the bitterest hatred on the part of the populace,
and led to his murder. But from the Quakers he had no violence to
fear. They would only reason, protest, and pray for him; and on a
coarse spirit like his their noble Christian conduct was thrown away.
At last in 1672 the declaration of indulgence cut the claws of these
persecutors and gave their victims relief.
In England the Quakers had a grand service to perform for the
nation, in bearing the brunt of the fierce assault made on liberty
of conscience. Whilst other dissenters temporised and resorted to
stratagems to conceal the fact that they still continued to meet to
worship God, the Quakers openly dared the wrath of the authorities,
and took gladly the penalties of their faithfulness. In Scotland
this faithful service was somewhat varied. In 1662 Episcopacy was
established by law, and Presbyterianism put down. But the Covenanters
were not easily coerced. They took up arms in defence of their
religious liberties. They met to worship God with pistols in their
belts, to defend themselves from the troopers sent to break up their
meetings and to arrest their preachers. The consequences were conflict
and bloodshed. Loyalty to God was confounded with disloyalty to the
crown. The Quakers were not slow to condemn this mode of asserting the
rights of conscience. Besides complicating the issue, they deemed it
inconsistent with faith in God, who was quite competent to vindicate
his own cause without appeal to the sword. They set the example of
passive endurance of persecution, using only spiritual and peaceful
means in resisting interference with the conscience. They appealed to
the consciences of their judges; they petitioned the king's council,
asserting their loyalty to the throne. But whilst these assertions of
loyalty and condemnations of arms won clemency from the Council, they
exasperated the Presbyterians; so that in spite of the fact that they
had a common foe to fight, they wasted their strength in persecuting
their stoutest allies, the Quakers. In 1661 the "drunken parliament"
had met in Edinbro, and vested all executive authority in the king;
so that the power of the Council was unlimited. We see, then, the
profligate ministers of a dissolute monarch, with Lauderdale at their
head, extending protection to the Quakers whom they despised and
ridiculed; and checking the rage of exasperated Covenanters, and the
violence of domineering clergy.
Soon after his marriage, Robert Barclay narrowly missed a first taste
of prison life. The "monthly meeting" at Aberdeen (the gathering of the
local congregations for denominational business, always preceded by
worship) was entered by officers sent by the magistrates to disperse
the assembly. They violently dragged to the Council House all the men
who were present. There the magistrates endeavoured by fair words to
induce them to give up their meeting, and then let them go. If they
had had more experience of Friends they would have anticipated what
followed. In spite of their recent arrest, the released Friends simply
returned to the meeting, and resumed their worship. Soon the officers
"appeared again, and with greater fury than before dragged them back
to the Council House, where the provost and council reprimanded them
for contumacious resistance of civil authority, using much threatening
language. But Friends were preserved in a tranquil and innocent
boldness, so that 'neither the big words nor yet the barbarous deeds'
of their opponents could make them flinch from an honest confession
of the true reasons for their conduct." They were all sent to prison,
except Patrick Livingstone, and the young laird of Ury. To the eager
martyr spirit of the latter, this exemption was quite disappointing.
Young as he was, and so recently married, he would gladly have shared
the hardships of his brethren.
Christian Barclay became a minister of the Society of Friends, but how
early we are not told. She was an admirable wife, and an exemplary
mother to her seven children, all of whom not only survived their
father, but by a remarkable longevity were alive fifty years after
his death. She was a noted nurse, and the poor for many miles round
sought her advice in sickness. No doubt she used these occasions like
a true medical missionary to minister to both body and soul. She lived
to be seventy-five years of age, and was greatly lamented, not only
by her numerous descendants, but by the poor to whom she had been
such a friend, and by the Society to which she belonged, and in whose
spiritual welfare she took a deep and life-long interest.
Robert Barclay was now fairly settled with his young wife at Ury under
his father's roof. His life seems to have been one of retirement and
scholarly research. The fathers and theologians engaged his attention,
as well as the study of the Holy Scriptures in the original tongues, so
that when in 1670 he was drawn into controversy, we find him furnished
with a wealth of material with which to illustrate and enforce his
arguments. There has been found a MS. volume, dated 1670, consisting of
controversial letters addressed by him to one of his uncles, Charles
Gordon, and going over the whole ground of the Quaker controversy.
This correspondence would form a valuable stepping-stone to his future
work. Though his uncle died before the series of letters was complete,
Barclay carried out his plan to the end, and preserved the letters on
both sides as a memorial of his deceased relative.
The occasion of his first work is fully stated in its preface. In
September, 1666, the Rev. Geo. Meldrum, of Aberdeen, one of the leading
ministers in northern Scotland, preached a sermon specially attacking
the Quakers, towards whom he seems to have had a hatred not quite
proportioned to his knowledge of them. He laid many grievous charges
against them, but was suspiciously anxious that they should not get a
copy of his discourse. Soon after this, proceedings were instituted
to excommunicate Alexander Jaffray. But his friends raised the sound
objection that no attempt had yet been made to reclaim him. So the
bishop offered to confer with Jaffray in the presence of Meldrum
and his colleague Menzies. But Jaffray, suspicious of one who could
attack people in the dark, refused the interview unless he could have
witnesses. "At length, Friends being objected to, Jaffray's brother
and son who were not Friends were allowed to be present, when the Lord
remarkably assisted him in declaring the truth, and defending himself
and it against their unjust allegations." One result was that the
Bishop directed Meldrum to give Friends a copy of the sermon preached
against them, that they might reply to his statements. But instead of
complying, Meldrum sent thirty Queries to be answered, and a paper
entitled, "The state of the controversy between the Protestants and
the Quakers." Jaffray was ill at the time, but George Keith on his
behalf answered the Queries at once, and some time afterwards also
replied to his paper, and to the sermon, of which they had at last
obtained a copy from one of the congregation who heard it. No wonder
that the future Apologist questions the honesty of the man who first
condemns, and then makes enquiries, "that he might know in what things
we did differ, and in what things we only seemed to differ." After
giving the desired information, the Friends waited for two years for
some reply, or otherwise for a retraction of the charges made. But
they waited in vain. At last appeared a "Dialogue between a Quaker and
a stable Christian," which Barclay ascribed to a William Mitchell, a
neighbouring catechist with whom Patrick Livingstone had had some
disputation. Upon him therefore Robert Barclay fell with all the energy
of honest indignation, and with all the resources of a fertile and
well stored mind. He entitled his book "Truth cleared of Calumnies."
Though bearing the marks of a "prentice hand," many of the qualities
of his later style are found in this production. William Penn says "It
is written with strength and moderation." If the reader is disposed to
question the moderation, he must remember the habits of the age.[14]
[14] There is in this work an interesting passage ("Truth Triumphant"
pp. 29, 30), in which the view of singing held by the early Friends
is set forth, which will correct some mistaken impressions. Barclay
maintains "that singing is a part of God's worship, and is warrantably
performed amongst the saints, is a thing denied by no Quaker so-called,
and is not unusual among them, whereof I have myself been a witness,
and have felt the sweetness and quickening virtue of the spirit
therein, and at such occasions ministered." But they object to a mixed
congregation of be
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