Chapter VII: Part 7

It is true that we have to act by delegation, because we cannot meet to legislate _en masse_. It is also true that the authority of the people is veiled and masked by antiquated forms and customs, which, perhaps, are wisely retained. 'Why, every one,' says Monarchicus, 'calls it a monarchy.' 'It may be very audacious,' says Aristocraticus, 'but I consider it a republic. By a republic, I mean every government in which sovereign power is distributed in form and substance among a body of persons.' This was the language of the late lamented Sir George Cornewall Lewis before Mr. Disraeli's democratic change. How would he have made Aristocraticus describe the Constitution now? Not, surely, as a republic, but as a democratic republic. So, on the 17th of February, 1870, Lord Lyveden, speaking in the House of Lords, said,--'The real truth is that the _government is in the House of Commons_.' If it be argued that the well-settled Crown and the hereditary peerage are incidents which still distinguish our constitution from those of republican and democratic states, we answer that the constitution does not depend upon names, forms, and symbols, but upon the answer to this question, 'Where does the real power reside?' No candid and well-informed person would now attempt to contend that either the Crown or the peerage, or both, can offer any permanent obstruction to the measures desired and indicated by the popular will. With reference to the Crown, the _Times_ has recently held the following remarkable language:--'What can one say but that the Crown has no right or will in this free country but that which is consistent, and does not clash with the rights and will of the people as represented in Parliament?' With reference to the House of Lords, it would be easy, if space were at our command, to cite sentence after sentence from speeches in that highly-educated assembly, which would show the opinion of its leading members that its functions are now limited to amendments, to modifications, and to postponements of measures, and do not extend to the act of thwarting or nullifying the clearly-expressed will of the representative House, with respect to any important subject. It is true that in one respect the democratic power seems to be kept in abeyance. We do not see the working man in Parliament. Plutocracy, or the money power, has still great influence in the representative House. The elections and the social position are too expensive for busy working people. But the pecuniary obstacles will be gradually removed, and many men of humble position, but real ability, will make their way into the House. This is a mere question of time. For the present, the representatives of the people must needs be wealthy. But the day is not distant when many a borough, and even some counties, will be represented by men of the class and order which form the basis of the constituencies. There cannot be a doubt that the work of a very few years will diminish, if not abolish, the expenses of elections, and make the all-powerful House almost as democratic as the constituencies.

It is under these circumstances that we approach two great questions, the public discussion of which cannot be much longer deferred. First, can the continuance of a purely hereditary and ennobled branch of the legislature be reconciled with the state of things we have portrayed? Secondly, ought the further and continuous creation of hereditary social honours to be permitted by the people of a free and substantially democratic state?

In dealing with the first of these inquiries, the thought that naturally comes into the mind is this--what a wonderful anomaly and apparent departure from sound sense is the creation of an _hereditary_ legislature! The function of making laws for millions of free people is calculated to tax to the utmost the mental energy of the ablest men. The high duties of a lawgiver have always, in theory at least, been entrusted by civilized states to their best and wisest citizens. But our knowledge of the laws of succession does not teach us that as a rule the wise beget the wise. On the contrary, experience continually confirms the truth of Solomon's lamentation, 'I hated all my labour which I had taken under the sun: because I should leave it unto the man that shall come after me, and who knoweth whether he shall be a wise man or a fool?'[30] 'Fortes creantur fortibus et bonis,' said Horace. No doubt that is physically true to a great extent, but the transmission of intellect is a very different matter. We have heard it asserted that no bishop ever left an eminent son. The present Lord Ellenborough, a son of the late Bishop Law, is a signal exception; but where is another to be found? How many British peers whose honours are derived from ancestors of genius and capacity, who in their day rendered good service to the nation, are now contributing anything to the legislative power of the House of Lords? Do we now hear the senatorial utterances, or obtain any political counsels, from our contemporary Portland or Wellington, Bedford or Leeds, Exeter or Camden; Macclesfield or Oxford, Somers or Effingham; Sandwich, Hardwicke, Mansfield, or Eldon; Hood, St. Vincent, Exmouth, or Bridport; Kenyon, Erskine, Tenterden, or Wynford; Rodney, Abinger, Hill, or Keane? Yet all these are honourable titles held and enjoyed by men who inherited them from ancestors who deserved well of their country. Nor are these all the peers who have never done anything in public life to justify the hereditary honours bestowed on their meritorious ancestors. The list might be greatly enlarged. Others, again, may be counted by the hundred, whose honours have no nobler origin than Court favour or Parliamentary influence, and who utterly abdicate their legislative functions. In truth, the working department of the House of Lords is generally in the hands of five or six aged barristers, who have won their coronets by their brains, and a dozen or so of active peers, whose high attainments attract the confidence of their fellows. Is it possible to contend that this is a healthy organization of a co-ordinate branch of the imperial legislature? It is true that there are many men of great ability in the House, and many more of truly noble but retiring character, who reside wholly or for the most part on their estates. But of these a very small proportion take the trouble to attend the debates, and even in the present session, Lord Granville was obliged to remark, that 'the large number of peers _who do not attend the debates_ ought to be called upon to serve on committees.' There is no doubt that the peerage contains excellent materials for a senate, and that practically the power of the whole is now delegated to a part. But though this is the case under ordinary circumstances, it cannot be right that the majority of the House, idle hereditary legislators, should lie dormant and apart from the working bees during the ordinary days of the session, and only wake up and rush to town under the extraordinary pressure of a great party division. It may be argued, however, that a second chamber is a valuable element in the Constitution, and that the hereditary principle is of the very essence of our political system. As to the importance of a second chamber, we make no dispute. On the principle of a division of labour, it is wanted for the despatch of business, and it is also required for the interposition of discussion and delay between the hasty introduction of bills and the final act of legislation. As to the hereditary element, it cannot be denied that for several centuries it has been fully recognised and established. But there are good reasons to believe that it is part and parcel of a comparatively modern Constitution, and that it did not prevail in those days when the germs of our institutions were in their early growth. The fact is that all our titles of honour seem to have been originally derived _from offices_. That of duke, the highest of the hereditary titles, is evidently derived from 'dux' and 'duc;' words used to signify a leader, and a man of merit. But this was a foreign use of the word which never obtained in England, and it was not introduced at all before the time of Edward the Black Prince. The title of 'marquess' designated originally the persons who had charge of the 'marches' of the country; that is, the boundaries, _marks_, or border lands between Scotland and England, and England and Wales. An earl derives his title from the earldorman of the Anglo-Saxons, and the earle of the Danes. It was afterwards adopted by the Conqueror, and both in his time and previously, was the designation of certain high officials. The viscount or vicecomes, was originally the deputy of the earl, count or comes, but its adoption as an English dignity is involved in some obscurity. The lowest of our hereditary titles is that of 'baron,' which originally designated those persons who held lands of a superior by military and other services, and who were bound to give attendance in the court of the superior, and assist in the business there transacted. In plain language, these ancient titles indicated _appointments_ for life of various kinds, or duties connected with property which, as a rule, had been bestowed as a reward for merit.

'From virtue first began,
The difference that distinguished man from man;
He claimed no title from descent of blood,
But that which made him noble made him good.'[31]

Such being the origin of the British titles of nobility, we pass to the origin of the aggregate peerage in their position as a separate and hereditary branch of the legislature. It is well ascertained that the Saxon kings were not authorized to make new laws or impose taxes without the sanction of the 'witan,' in which the Thanes and the prelates of the church had seats. It is also certain that in Normandy there was a council of Norman barons, which the dukes were bound to consult on all important occasions. The Anglo-Norman kings of England continued to recognise the custom, and duly summoned and consulted their great council. All who held land immediately from the Crown had a right to attend, and these were originally designated the king's barons. Besides these, the prelates and the principal abbots and priors were expected to attend. No other persons had the right to appear except in the attitude of petitioners. It is probable that many of the Crown tenants found it inconvenient and expensive to be present as regularly as the great proprietors, and by degrees the title of 'peer' and 'baron,' which at first had been common to all the king's immediate tenants, came to be applied to a few great feudatories of the Crown. This state of things is actually recognised in Magna Charta in these words,--'We shall cause the archbishops, bishops, abbots, earls, and _greater barons_ to be separately summoned by our letters.' Here, then, we have the origin of the temporal peers of the realm in their own House. The temporal peerage was evidently a body of the most powerful landowners. Now, at that time and for many years after, there was no legal power of devising real estates by will. The estates descended from heir to heir, and the successor of a great feudal baron came in course of time to be regarded as standing in the position of his predecessors as to the right to be summoned by letters patent to the royal council. Thus the notion of hereditary descent became associated with the position and privileges of a great baron. At a later period the status of peerage was extended to others, who were not tenants in chief, but were summoned by writ to take their places in the council. Still later, the sovereign took upon himself to _create_ peerages by letters patent, which seem to have conferred the privilege of hereditary descent. Finally, it became a fixed maxim in constitutional laws that the person summoned by royal writ to the House of Lords acquired a right not only to sit in that particular parliament, but the right for himself and certain heirs to become hereditary peers of the realm. Thus a complete inroad was gradually made upon the early connection between the peerage and the tenure of property; and the general result was that Lords of Parliament took their seats by virtue of tenure, of writs, of letters patent, and, in a few isolated cases, by Act of Parliament.[32] In the time of Lord Coke the number of peers was about 100; at the time of the Revolution of 1688 the House consisted of about 150 lay and 26 spiritual peers, and at the present time it reckons nearly 500 members. We found no argument upon the special privileges possessed by the order of nobles. With the exception of their appellate jurisdiction, they are neither numerous nor important, and the judicial functions which are now very efficiently exercised by some of the ablest lawyers of the day will probably be remodelled in the course of the reforms in the administration of justice which are now very near at hand.

The facts and circumstances thus briefly stated form the materials for an answer to our first question, namely, Can the continuance of a purely hereditary branch of the legislature harmonize with the vast democratic change which was described in the earlier pages of this article? The answer is short and simple. Considering the spread of education, the increasing circulation of literature and newspapers, the growing influence of commerce and manufactures, the omnipotent force of public opinion, and the increasing importance of the middle classes, it certainly appears that the House of Lords is not now satisfactorily constituted for a senate. It consists of a large number of members who feel themselves under no obligation to take part in its deliberations. It is acted upon only _indirectly_ by public opinion. Its members belong almost exclusively to one class and interest, and all stand on the same social platform. Moreover, two out of the three chief interests of the nation--that is, the manufacturing and commercial interests--are scarcely represented in that House. Under these circumstances, it appears to us that some alteration in the constitution of this noble House is a mere question of time. In the famous debate of April, 1866, upon Lord Russell's project of reform, Mr. Lowe, in one of the cleverest speeches ever delivered in the House of Commons, used the following words:--

'Let us suppose democracy established more or less in this
country: with what eyes would it look upon institutions
such as I have described--what would be the relation of
this House to the House of Peers? I shall call a witness
who will tell you. Eight years ago the honourable member
for Birmingham inverted the course he is now taking; he now
seeks to secure the means, he then proclaimed the end. Then
he said, "See what I'll do for you if you give me reform."
Now he says, "Give me reform, and I shall do nothing." His
words were, "As to the House of Peers, I do not believe
they themselves believe that they are a permanent
institution." What do you suppose would become of the House
of Peers with democratic franchises?'

Such was the prophecy of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Its realization may be distant, but we venture to say it is certain. What the nature of the change ought to be, we can but faintly hint. And, be it remembered, that it is in no wild spirit of revolution, but rather in the temper of sober conservation, that even a suggestion of this kind is hazarded. We believe, then, that the needful change may be made in perfect harmony with recognised principles of the present Constitution. Surely a more serviceable House would be secured by introducing the same system of election and delegation amongst the peers of the realm that now prevails among the peers of Scotland and Ireland. In the next place, a certain number of high offices of State might be connected with life-seats in the House of Lords. The Crown might be empowered to introduce a limited number of peers for life. Lastly, it might be practicable, though doubtless very difficult, to import into the House the direct influence of public opinion by some kind of public election. The composition of the Herrenhaus, or House of Lords of Prussia, offers the model of a very useful assembly. It consists of princes of the royal family; sixteen chiefs of certain other princely houses; about fifty heads of the territorial nobility; a number of life peers chosen by the king from the class of rich landowners, great manufacturers, and _national celebrities_; eight titled noblemen _elected_ in the eight provinces of Prussia by the resident landowners of all degrees; the representatives of the Universities; the heads of religious chapters; the mayors of towns of more than 50,000 inhabitants; and a few other peers nominated by the king, under certain limitations, for a less period than life. The Upper House in Spain is partly composed of hereditary peers, and partly of peers for life. The peerage of Portugal is for life. And thus we might go on, from Chamber to Chamber, and prove that the British House of Lords is the only legislative Chamber in the world in which the hereditary system alone prevails. This fact alone, taken in connection with the rapid progress of political events, and the other circumstances which have been slightly touched upon, may suffice to justify us in affirming that the continuance of a purely hereditary House of Lords, unmodified by delegation or election, is not in harmony with the rest of our Constitution.

The last question to be answered is this: Ought the further creation of hereditary dignities to be permitted by a people enjoying the wide and liberal franchises of this country? It must not, however, be supposed that this inquiry must needs touch or involve the advantages or disadvantages of an hereditary sovereign. The king or reigning queen of these realms has special functions by virtue of the Constitution, which, under any circumstances, must be intrusted to some hands, and it is hard to imagine any order of affairs more beneficial to the people than the present; for our sovereign is not merely entrusted with attributes which affect the imagination, she holds a position not less useful than splendid as the visible head of this mighty Commonwealth. There ought to be the least possible latitude for the jealousies and rivalries of the leading spirits of the State. But if the most exalted position is open to competition, the most powerful minds may be diverted by evil influences from the line of duty. The hereditary office of the sovereign ought to be tenderly and loyally upheld as being not merely a picturesque decoration of the State, but subserving most important purposes, by preventing intrigue, and by visibly representing the nation in a form most attractive to society. The present question, therefore, has no reference to the sovereign. The inquiry is, whether the _minor_ hereditary dignities can be continuously and freshly created consistently with our apparent advances towards social and political equality. The answer may be found in the lines of Dr. Johnson:

'Let observation with extensive view,
Survey mankind from China to Peru.'

He who thus looks from the watch-tower must perceive that the political movement of nations is almost everywhere in _one_ direction. He might suppose that one transcendental law was slowly overruling the world--the law under which equality is advancing, and artificial inequalities disappearing. It would seem that the desire for equality marches hand in hand with civilization. Nowhere in the world will the inquirer discover that _hereditary_ privileges _are being created_ except in England, though the order of ancient nobility is by no means rare. The defenders of the order of nobility will urge that the distinction of rank is necessary for the reward of public services, and to stimulate and encourage others. Virtuous ambition is, doubtless, a spring of action which produces excellent results. Blackstone says that 'a body of nobility creates and preserves that gradual scale of dignity which proceeds from the peasant to the prince, rising like a pyramid from a broad foundation, and diminishing to a point as it rises. It is this ascending and contracting proportion _which adds stability_ to any government.'[33] Historical research can alone determine the amount of truth contained in these assertions. The general proposition that public honours of some kind are valuable incidents in every country can hardly be disputed. But does it necessarily follow that those honours should be hereditary? We know that many of the truest patriots in ancient and modern times have desired no other reward than posthumous fame and the esteem of their fellow-citizens. Was Washington, for example, moved by the glitter of any hereditary honours to devote himself to the good of his country? Or Pericles, Epaminondas, or Tell; Pym, Hampden, Peel, or Cobden? Peel had inherited his baronetcy, and by will forbade his heirs to accept the hereditary peerage. Take the case of Mr. Peabody. Society regretted that he declined the riband of the Bath, but how unsuitable a reward for his grand Christian munificence would a coronet and a title have been. It was natural to ask in his case, 'What shall be done to the man whom the king delighteth to honour?' The only answer is, 'Let his memory be embalmed in the loving esteem of two great nations.' To him virtue was its own reward. The mass of mankind are of less elevated quality. It would be unwise, and even dangerous, to dispense with public rewards for public services. But surely it is an unreasonable method of recompensing the services of a great citizen to confer title, dignity, and rank, not only upon himself, but upon his descendants for ever. The services of the great Duke of Marlborough may have merited a high recompense, but it is strange that one hundred and fifty years after his decease his great-great-grandson should be born a duke on the score of his ancestor's merits--

'Honours best thrive
When rather from _our_ acts we them derive
Than our foregoers.'[34]

It seems monstrous that in a State in which the power of the people is fully recognised, any artificial exaltation of one family above another should be perpetuated apart from personal merit. Far be it, however, from the writer of these pages to desire the abolition of existing dignities. They are vested interests which it becomes us to respect, though it is difficult to tolerate any longer the fresh and needless elevation of more families above the rest in perpetuity. The political exigencies of the State cannot possibly require it, and if it is not necessary it is unjust. It may be said that the House of Lords must be recruited by the infusion of fresh blood; but it has been shown that the House is already too full, and rather needs reduction than expansion. At all events, the grants of peerages for life would enable the Crown to place many 'national celebrities' in the Upper House who, from want of fortune, would decline the honour if it must necessarily descend to a poor son. It may also be urged that the objection to a further creation of hereditary honours has its source in the envy of the human heart; but in truth the objection is simply founded upon a sense of the abstract _injustice_ of the inheritance of honour, title, and exalted social rank unless it be justified by merit of some kind. How can it be _just_ that if neither policy nor merit justify the ordinance, the State should make one family superior in perpetuity in all the social incidents of precedence and rank to thousands of other families? It is affectation to deny that social circumstances of this nature are greatly valued. They influence the life and fortunes of the men and women of the ennobled families in a high degree. _Cæteris paribus_, the son of the nobleman and the son of the commoner do not start in the race of life upon equal terms. The younger son of a peer will, in all probability, attain any object he may have in view with less difficulty than the son of a plain esquire. He will have a better chance of entering the diplomatic service, of becoming a member of the House of Commons, of obtaining a nomination for the civil service, of entering the navy, of getting a commission in one of the best regiments, and of preferment in the Church. Is it just that these purely artificial advantages should be accorded to more families than those which already accidentally possess them? There may be enthusiastic admirers of the order of nobles, who will affirm that they are necessary for the safety and balance of society. But such enthusiasts will do well to listen to the weighty words of Bacon, who, treating of 'nobility,' wrote thus: 'For democracies, they need it not, and they are commonly more quiet, and less subject to sedition than where they are stirps of nobles. For men's eyes are upon the business and not upon the persons.... We see the Switzers last well, notwithstanding their diversity of religion and of cantons. For utility is their bond and not respects. The United Provinces of the Low Countries in their Government excel. For where there is equality the consultations are more indifferent, and the payments and tributes more cheerful.'[35]

Thus this great man goes further than the present argument is intended to advance. It is not suggested that a flat social equality is practicable or desirable in civilized life. It may exist in theory, but it fails in practice. Dr. Johnson proved this in his peculiar fashion to a lady who was an enthusiastic republican,--'Madame,' said he, 'I am become a convert to your way of thinking; I am convinced that all mankind are upon an equal footing; and to give you an unquestionable proof that I am in earnest, here is a sensible, civil, well-behaved fellow-citizen--_your footman_; I beg that he may be allowed to sit down and dine with us. I thus, sir, showed her the absurdity of the levelling doctrine. She has never liked me since.' So Count Mirabeau was unable to tolerate his own theory of equality. Returning one day from the assembly in which he had pressed that doctrine with great power, he ordered and entered a warm bath. 'More hot, Antoine.' 'Yes, citizen,' said Antoine. Whereupon Mirabeau seized his man by the head and plunged it into the bath. It may be that Dr. Johnson, who was an earnest advocate for the subordination of ranks, was sound in his views with reference to general happiness. But it must be admitted that the greatest experiment ever made of theoretical equality--that of the United States--has not been unsuccessful. It may be true, as affirmed by De Tocqueville, that 'the men who are entrusted with the direction of public affairs in that country are frequently inferior, both in capacity and morality, to those whom aristocratic institutions would raise to power. But their interest _is identified with that of the majority_ of their fellow-citizens. They may frequently be faithless, and frequently mistaken; but they will never systematically adopt a line of conduct opposed to the will of the majority.' If we turn to our own great political experiments--those of our principal colonies--the result is upon the whole satisfactory. No local dignities are there created or inherited. It would, perhaps, be expedient that great public services should be rewarded by the creation of baronetcies for life in the colonies. But though nothing of this kind is known in any of them--except by the casual importation of some poor cadet of a noble British family--prosperity, good order, and all the elements of social and political well-being, are secured and developed more and more. The great colonies of Australia, which enjoy the full rights of autonomy, and are only connected with the mother country by one slender thread, through which no maternal influence really passes, have thus furnished evidence that liberty, equality, and order may exist together.

We have already averred that this article is not intended to promote any levelling assault upon any existing dignity. Nor do we think it is expedient that a flat table-land of social equality should be created in this old country. Let public services be rewarded not only by gratitude and esteem, but by dignities and honours coincident with the life of the grantees. Honorary decorations, too, might be more extensively conferred, and would surely be worn with as much gratification by the deserving plebeian as the blue or red ribbon by the noblest aristocrat of the bluest blood. Let sculpture, painting, and architecture do their best to perpetuate the memory of 'national celebrities.' Let us construct a Walhalla of worthies in which Englishmen shall deem it the highest attainable honour to be reckoned. And as Pericles nobly said to the Athenians,--'I shall begin with our forefathers, for it is fair and right that the honours of commemoration should be accorded to them. For the same people constantly dwelling in this land did by their valour hand it down in freedom to posterity. Well worthy of praise were they, and still more worthy are our own fathers; for they, in addition to their inheritance, won by the sweat of their brow the imperial position we now hold, and transmitted it to us of the present generation.' So let us recall and commemorate every unselfish public life, all genius dedicated to the nation's good, and all those _quasi_ inspirations of the native mind which set a mark upon their age, and tinge the thought of successive generations. Nor let us shrink and shiver as we see the irresistible advance of the democratic wave. The most timid may take courage by studying the attempted legislation of the Commonwealth. To that period may be traced the source of nearly all our best laws and largest reforms. The reactionary powers blighted the attempted work of enlightened men, and it has only come to maturity within living memory, or is even now ripening. Let us never forget that it is our first duty to educate the democracy, to purify its morals, and so to modify the distribution of public honours that merit and its reward may never be severed. Exalted rank derived from birth alone must be permitted to die out by flux of time, and meritorious industry must be warmly cherished.

'The smoke ascends
To heaven, as lightly from the cottage hearth
As from the haughty palace. He whose soul
Ponders this true equality may walk
The fields of earth with gratitude and hope.'[36]

FOOTNOTES:

[22] 'Quiet reigned at home; the public offices kept their old titles;... Tiberius initiated all his measures under the mask of the consuls, as if it was the old republic.... Yet at Rome there was a race for servitude; consuls, senators, and knights alike.'

[23] See 'Merivale,' vol. iii. p. 464.

[24] Roscoe's 'Life of Lorenzo de Medici,' p. 6.

[25] 'Macaulay's Speeches,' p. 36.

[26] 'Civil Correspondence of the Duke of Wellington' (Ireland), pp. 28 and 627.

[27] 'Shooting Niagara,' p. 12.

[28] 'De Tocqueville,' vol. i.

[29] Rudd's 'Aristophanes,' 'The Knights.'

[30] Ecclesiastes ii. 18, 19.

[31] Dryden.

[32] Creasy 'On the Constitution.' Hallam's 'Middle Ages,' vol. ii., p. 319.

[33] Stephen's 'Blackstone,' vol. ii., p. 361.

[34] 'All's Well that ends Well.'

[35] 'Essays,' p. 45.

ART. V.--_The Genius of Nonconformity and the Progress of Society._

Archbishop Laud, in his conference with Fisher, the Jesuit, when he was Bishop of St. David's, sets forth the ample basis and justification of Nonconformity. It is impossible that the platform can be laid for our principles and action more broadly and firmly than by this highest of High Churchmen in the following admirable and explicit words:--

'Another Church may separate from Rome if Rome will
separate from Christ. And so far as it separates from them
and the faith, so far may another church sever from it....
The Protestants did not get that name by protesting against
the Church of Rome, but by protesting (and that when
nothing else would serve) against her errors and
superstitions. Do you but remove them from the Church of
Rome, and our protestation is ended, and the separation
too. The Protestants did not depart, for departure is
voluntary; so was not theirs. I say, not theirs, taking
their whole body and cause together.... The cause of
schism is yours, for you thrust us out from you because we
called for truth and the redress of abuses. For a schism
must needs be theirs whose the cause of it is. The woe was
full out of the mouth of Christ, ever against him that
gives the offence, not against him that takes it, ever....
It was ill done of those, whoever they were, that made the
first separation. But then A. C. must not understand me of
actual only, but of causal separation. For, as I said
before, the schism is theirs whose the cause of it is. And
he makes the separation, that gives the first just cause of
it; not he that makes an actual separation upon a just
cause preceding.'--(Works, vol. ii. sec. 21.)

We cordially adopt the definitions and allegations of the great Anglican. He describes perfectly the necessity which has constrained and the spirit which has animated the great party, which seems at length to stand on the very borders of that Canaan of religious liberty and equality towards which for three centuries it has been struggling through the wilderness, and in which it hopes to find rest and the free play of its life at last.

'Schism is separation--cutting off; cutting ourselves off
from that to which we ought to be united. The root of
schism is the separation of man from God. He is thereby out
of harmony with the universal and ruling system of things.
In this way he is out of harmony with all that remains
under that presiding system. And the crime of schism lies
in this; that it is a contest with Him who has instituted
that system--that it arises out of our repugnancy to Him,
or (to take the lowest view of it) out of our want of
understanding of the principles which he has established
for the unity of the world which He has made.'--(A. J.
Scott, 'Discourses,' p. 230.)

Schism, then, is separation from that with which God made us to be united. The only schism about which we need be anxious is separation from the truth which can make Divine order in our lives; to which by inward affinities we are related; to which we are bound to attach ourselves, or rather to maintain our attachment, under penalty of perpetual unrest, harm, and loss. The fundamental question of schism is truth--the truth which God has made known as the one basis of the vital fellowships and activities of mankind.

The only principle which could fairly rob us of the justification which the Anglican Archbishop's words afford to us would be, that the State is absolutely the highest expression of the Lord who made and who rules the world, as to the conduct of man's life in the spiritual as well as in the secular sphere. There are secular sects in Europe who lay down this dogma as the fundamental principle of the constitution of society. The State, in their view, has the sole right and the sole power to organize everything, from industry to worship, and there is no higher will than that of the community known to or knowable by man. But this principle presupposes the abolition of the spiritual. Worship and the whole region of man's religious activity must have been already relegated to the domain of senseless superstition, before such an idea could reign. Religion ceases to be an intrusive and disturbing element in the secular realm under such conditions, because it has already ceased to have an independent life. We have no need to spend time in controverting this position. Amongst Christian politicians, lay or ecclesiastical, there can be no need to demonstrate the falseness of a principle which would make Christ and His Apostles the chief schismatics of the world. Even Mr. Arnold, who is as hard upon Nonconformity as a man can be, allows that there _are_ things which may compel separation; and where those are found, by Laud's own definition, the word schism can no longer apply.

Man, like all things, animate and inanimate, is made in concord. There are relations with beings and with things, with the world, with man, and with God, in which his nature moves freely and all his powers are drawn forth to their full strain of work. The secret of free movement in the universe is equipoise. It is not otherwise with man. He is made to sustain certain relations, to exchange certain influences, to fulfil certain functions. There is a condition conceivable in which man would be in entire harmony with all things around him, would move with perfect freedom, and give full expression to all the functions and possibilities of his life. Out of that condition he has fallen; to it he hopes and aspires to return. Schism is that which breaks the harmony, which places him in a wrong relation with all around him, and sets him at war with himself. The first, the fundamental schism, as we have seen, is sin. The Archschismatic, the father of schism, is the Devil. Next, that is of the essence of schism which prevents man struggling back into the harmony; which introduces any unnatural limitations or compulsions into the movements of his soul with regard to that Being, the righting of his relations with whom sets him right with himself and with all the world. Whatever hinders the free movement of man's spirit in relation to God, or limits or thwarts the relations with his fellow-men into which he is drawn by the Spirit; whatever, in fact, makes an order which is not spiritual in the sphere of his duties and life, is schismatic. The first condition of the higher order, the order of the Spirit, is liberty; the free movement of the spiritual element, the free play of the spiritual life, is the essential condition of that unity of the Church for which the Saviour prayed, and for which the Spirit is striving still. When human orders or forms are established as essential bases of communion, schism is inevitable, simply because no human arrangement of man's relations can be co-extensive and conterminous with the plan by which the Spirit is working out the unity of the Church, and which is realizable only through the entire freedom of the movement of His energy in individual human hearts. The cause of schism, adhering to Laud's definitions, is inherent in the very constitution of a system like that of our national Established Church. It is but the repetition, within the limits of a nation, and under national auspices, of the Roman endeavour to found and to govern a church which should be conterminous with Christendom. That which broke up the Roman system and shattered the Roman idea of the Church, was the development of a true national life in the countries of the west, which, speaking roundly, we may date from the thirteenth century. The national development of France in that century really broke up the Mediæval idea of unity, whether conceived of, as by the nobler spirits, under the form of the Holy Roman Empire, or by the commoner under the form of the Holy Roman Church. The great Papal schism which immediately followed, and the seventy years' captivity at Avignon, were the beginning of the end. The dream was dreamed out. The vision of the unity of Christendom under a visible vicar of Christ vanished for ever.

The vision which has replaced it is that of a Federal Christendom--a confederation of national churches, each under its national head, establishing in the spiritual some such order as the Commune dreams of establishing in the political sphere. But it is the same enterprise. We wish our able advocates of Establishment would consider it. It is the endeavour to build the Church on a basis of authority, whether external to the nation, as the Pope, in the ages in which Christendom was conceived of as a visible kingdom, or internal to the nation, as is necessary when the nation rises to the consciousness of individuality, and the assertion of the independence of the national life. It is an aiming at a kind of order in Christ's kingdom which has the root of all disorders in the heart of it; and it has for three centuries blocked the way of the true successor to the Mediæval idea of the unity of Christendom, a unity of spirit unexpressed in formularies or organizations, reigning in all the provinces of man's social, political, and national life.

The Mediæval idea of the unity of the Church was a noble and beautiful vision; far nobler and more beautiful, broader, deeper, grander, than anything that is proposed or that can be proposed under the conditions of a Law-established National Church. The movement of the Reformation both in England and in Germany was a grand step of progress as regards the actual condition and relations of men. The overthrow of the Roman System, the branding it as of the Devil and not of Christ, was an unspeakable gain and progress. But, yet as regards the idea of the Church, in the form which the Reformation assumed in both countries, we hold that it was distinctly a fall. That which England had to substitute for the idea of a Church co-extensive with the Christian name, ruled by a power which professed and was believed to rest its rights and to draw its influence from a sphere beyond this world, perpetuating in Christendom the tradition and the right of apostolic rule, was a miserably narrow, shallow, and selfish assertion of the right of a class to represent Christ in legislating or the Church, and of a James I. to represent Him in ruling it. The inner life of the Church System which the Reformation established in England shines brightly only against the background of Roman atrocity; it is dark enough against any conception of Christ's Kingdom inspired by the Spirit or drawn from the word of God.

If the Establishment principle, as some of its passionate advocates seem to imagine, is to be the permanent form of church life which is to supplant in Christendom the idea which the Roman Church enshrined, but marred and murdered in embodiment, then we say deliberately, Europe, in the long run, will have lost immensely by the Reformation; then the hope of the establishment of a Kingdom of Christ, in which the weary heart of humanity shall realize the fulfilment of the hope which poets and prophets have kept bright before the mind of the world, will be forever dead.

The words Dissenter and Non-conformist are in one sense ugly words; and Protestant must be put in the same category. They define unhappily by negation, that which in its essential nature is strongly affirmative, that which has the spirit of the 'Everlasting Yea' in it as fully as any belief which has ever been formulated by or promulgated among men. It is most unfortunate that the creeds and principles which are most closely related to the political and industrial, as well as to the spiritual progress of mankind, have by accident, as it were, assumed this negative shape in their proclamation of themselves to the world. It is their aspect to their opponents which has become their definition; and this has affixed to them a kind of stigma which has acted most injuriously on their progress. We little realize how this negation has stood in our way. The 'Dis' or the 'Non' is the essential part of us in the estimation of a large number of Churchmen; while the Romanist still finds in the word Protestant a perpetual justification of his antipathy, and a mark for the shafts of his scorn. We have in all generations been regarded as a dissatisfied and dissident race; strong only in opposition, and living by envy and hatred of that which commands the support of the great majority of mankind. It has been believed, in fact, that we rather nurse our grievances, and make the most of them, lest if they were to cease, our _raison d'être_ would at once expire. We believe that this has been to a very large extent the popular notion of us among the members of the Establishment; and the main reason for the impression, were it probed, would be found to be the negation implied in our name. To this day the term Protestant is perhaps the gravest difficulty in the way of the spread of Evangelical ideas and of the Evangelical spirit among the Latin nations of the West.

But in truth the 'yea' is with us rather than with our opponents. The Establishment is the natural home of the true 'Negative Theology.' 'The moderation of the Church of England' is the chief boast of her children--that is, of those who are most loyal to her principle of Establishment, and to whom the term Erastian conveys nothing of which they feel the slightest disposition to be ashamed. And it describes something which is very characteristic of her policy, and which fills a large place in the various 'Apologies' which several schools of Essayists have recently given to the world. Moreover, it seems to us to set forth something which must be maintained if the Established Church is to endure. Just in the measure in which Church parties feel themselves possessed by very positive convictions, and inspired by burning zeal, so the limits of the system grow irksome; while the strongest parties which have arisen within her communion, those with the most intense convictions and the most spiritual aims, have been driven to develope themselves outside her pale.

At this moment the party in the Church which is the most strongly devoted to the Establishment principle is, theologically, the most colourless. The most solid argument, as it seems to us, which sustains the Establishment platform, would lead us to regard its ministers as a kind of Levitical order--the clerisy, as Coleridge has it--which would aim at little higher than a civilising, humanizing mission to the ignorant, the vicious, and the wretched in the land. God forbid that we should for a moment speak slightingly of such a service, rendered by such men as are now at the disposal of the State for this most blessed work. But it is no longer specially clerical work. The world is busy about it by a thousand agencies, which more than compete with the clerical; and it is hardly a question whether the world at large would be prepared to maintain a costly and highly-favoured order of men to do the work which in these days is the general charge of society. But the work of the Gospel, of which St. Paul strikes the key-note in the first chapters of his first Epistle to the Corinthians, is of a widely different order. The school of which we have spoken deals chiefly with the diffused light of Christianity which is abroad in the atmosphere of a Christian state; the preacher after the Pauline type (and the world cannot spare him yet) unveils the solar light and fire. The affirmative force, the penetrating, searching fire of Christianity, has from the first been mainly with the communities which have been unable to find room within the bosom of the moderation of the Church of England for their truth and for their zeal. The moderation paled the one and chilled the other, and drove them forth into a separation which seemed to them in those days as bitter and unnatural as the violent disruption of a Christian home, so strongly did the idea of the family life of a nation possess men's hearts, so strongly did man's imagination cling to the visible unity of the Church.

Few who love the truth of the Gospel would, we imagine, be disposed to question that the higher life of the Church, that which makes its gospel the power of God unto salvation, was more fully represented in the early days of King James by men like Dr. Rainolds than by Bancroft and the party which he and Whitgift represented at the Conference at Hampton Court; by the Nonconforming clergy rather than by the Court party in the early days of the Restoration; by the Methodists rather than by the bishops and clergy of the Georgian Church; by the Free Churchmen rather than by the residue of the Established clergy of Scotland in the early days of our Queen. The affirmative side, the energy of strong belief, strong assertion, strong purpose and endeavour, has been seen mainly in the Nonconformist communities; while the Established Churchmen have on the whole cultivated, with a fair measure of energy and with conspicuous ability, the broad fields of thought and life which the energy of more enterprising and earnest communities has won. We claim for our fathers that they represented on the whole the affirmation of the Gospel; the belief which sets a man's face like a rock against the tide of worldly temptations and seductions, which so few churches find strength to stem, while it nerves his arm to wield effectually that sword of the Spirit which cuts its way most deeply into the camp of the Devil, which the Lord came to storm and to destroy. Apology and exposition have been the main strength of Anglican Church literature and activity. The words which have been the advanced guards as it were of liberty and progress; the pointed, pungent, vivid, stirring treatises which have laid hold most powerfully on the popular heart, and have been the chief auxiliaries of the Gospel in turning men from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God, have come forth mainly from the Nonconformist schools. Not that there has been, or can be, any monopoly of gifts or functions in a country in which classes and orders are so happily mixed and forced into association as in England. The Church has not neglected the Sword of the Spirit, the Nonconformists have not laid by the implements of culture; but still, on the whole, taking a broad view of the character and work of the two communions, we believe that there is substantial justice in the distinctions which we have laid down.

The culture of the Church of England is a favourite topic with her apologists. And most justly. On the whole, she has probably been the most learned, polished, and politic Church in Christendom. We Nonconformists have no long list of names of the first eminence in the ranks of scholarship which may compare with the long line of able scholars and champions of the faith whom the Anglican Church has sent forth. But then the conditions of life in the Church of England are precisely those which are most favourable to this special development; and unfavourable, we think, in no small measure, to the growth and free activity of yet higher things. Our men in all generations have had in the main yet higher work on hand than theological scholarship; and work, we venture to think, still more profoundly important to the best interests of the community. The exiles in Holland in the early years of the 17th century produced works of scholarship which may compare with anything, save such a master-piece as Hooker's, which emanated from the Anglican divines of their time. Henry Ainsworth was one of the ablest Biblical scholars in Europe. He was 'living on ninepence a week and some boiled roots' as a bookseller's porter, when his master discovered his skill in Hebrew, and put him in the way of more congenial work. In Moreri's Dictionary full justice is done to Henry Ainsworth--'the able commentator on the Scriptures;' while he is carefully distinguished from 'Ainsworth the heresiarch, one of the chiefs of the Brownists;' nothing being more indubitable than that the two were the same man. John Robinson, too, was a man of large culture as well as conspicuous intellectual power. His controversial works reveal a learning, a wisdom, a breadth of view, a foresight, a large-hearted charity, joined to the most intense conviction on the points which made him a separatist, which are rarely to be found in a great theological champion in any age of the world.