To the Editor of the St. James’s Gazette
Sir,—Would the British public—that genial and simple-minded abstraction that stands for ever on the broad grin, with its hands in its pockets, always ready for a game of “Open your mouth and shut your eyes!”—would that amiable and ecstatic infant be deeply surprised to learn what are the “wheels within wheels” that move that great moral enigma, the Church Association? Would it shudder, or simply chuckle, to be told that among the most influential supporters of that Society—not its most prominent members, observe; not those whose names are flaunted like a banner in the eyes of an admiring world; but those far more powerful background figures, the wire-pullers—are to be found: first, certain advanced Ritualists, bold spirits whose further advance is only checked by the thought that the next step would be to Rome; secondly, certain actual members of the greatest, the most secret, and the most unscrupulous of all fraternities, the Jesuits?
The battle is set in array, and the Church Association advances to the fight. In the foreground caper the band of skirmishers, yelling with Protestant enthusiasm, haunted by no shadow of a doubt but that the cry “To gaol with them!” so stealthily suggested by an invisible prompter, is the war-cry that must shortly change into the pæon victory. But glance a little further back into that dark tent where certain figures in masks and cloaks are gathered in secret consultation. Why do these warriors hide their faces? Dare they not face the light of day? And what mean these constant relays of messengers that leave them ever and anon, and, creeping through the brushwood and carefully skirting the edges of the fight, go off at full speed to the headquarters of the foe? Is there treachery in the camp? The thing is possible.
If it be not so, then who is it—in the name of outraged common sense I ask the question—who has invented this worse than suicidal policy, the imprisonment of Ritualists? Does any sane man suppose that any persecuted Ritualist does not thankfully seize the opportunity of posing as a martyr? Does any sane man doubt, when the English Church Union hold their monster indignation meetings, and loudly protest against the imprisonment of their champions, that each of the furious orators is really thrilled with a secret delight? “Oh, let us be joyful!” would be the opening chorus of all such meetings if only they dared show the “hand” they hold in this deep and dangerous game. Let all who love the Reformed Church of England pause and ponder.
And do not be taken in, oh too-easily-gullible British public, by all these piteous outcries. “Why, oh, why do you imprison us?” cries the orator. “We are the lambs and you the wolves! We do but stand up for Truth, for the Right, for the Church! Why will you not let us alone? We never persecute you! We never drive you into prison!” And the wail rises into a shriek; but as it dies away, if you put your ear close and hold your breath, you may chance to hear him mutter, in quite another tone, “We are such fools!” And if you watch him narrowly you may even be lucky to catch the crafty smile that flits like a dream across those quivering lips, and to detect a quiet twinkle in the eyes so lately brimming over with crocodilian tears.
Such was the tone of a recent manifesto, issued by the president of the English Church Union, where he spoke of those who have suffered legal penalties for disobeying their Bishops, in language that would not have been out of place if he had been describing martyrs who have chosen death rather than abjure their faith.
Moreover, in a speech of his, reported in the papers of December 16, the improvement of Mr. Green is the one dominant idea to which he again and again recurs—the one haunting melody which he cannot get out of his head. Wander as he may among the verdant meads of theological polemics, sparkling with the flowers of rhetoric and tuneful with the notes of controversy, this is his first love, to whom he ever faithfully returns; and still the burden of his song shall be “And Mr. Green is in prison!”
“And in prison,” so chorus the delighted English Church Union, “because he conscientiously refuses obedience to a secular court!” It is mere waste of breath to point out to these impassioned orators that he also refuses obedience to his ecclesiastical superior, the Bishop whom he has solemnly sworn to obey: the argument has no more hold upon them than a syllogism has upon a lady, or a drop of rain upon a duck. They have even discovered a new and most astonishing axiom in morals—that whatever you are ordered to do by any one to whom you owe no allegiance you may rightly refuse to do, even if it be also ordered by a lawful authority. This is very much as if some sturdy Briton should vindicate his freedom from French control by obstinately refusing obedience to English laws wherever the two national codes happened to agree.
The only consolation, which the Protestant portion of the English Church (under which title I include all, whether High, Low, or Broad, who hold to the principles of the Reformation) are likely to find in the present miserable state of things, is the thought that now at last we have a crucial test as to whether Ritualism is or is not suited to the genius of the English nation. “You have had every chance,” they can now say to the Ritualists: “your choral services have charmed our ears, your rich vestments our eyes, and even your incense our noses! And now you have the darling wish of your heart: you are persecuted: you can appeal to the ineradicable instinct which ever impels John Bull to side with the persecuted, be he right or wrong. Fortune can do no more for you: you must stand or fall by your present chance: if persecution will not popularize Ritualism, nothing will!”
Let me quote in conclusion the following sentence from an unpublished work—a Revised Version of the English Prayer Book. I entirely decline to say how I obtained it, and will merely remark that important documents sometimes see the light sooner than their authors intended:—
Q. Will you reverently obey your Ordinary, and other chief Ministers, unto whom is committed the charge and government over you: following with a glad mind and will their godly admonitions, and submitting yourself to their godly judgments?
A. I will reverently obey them (when they order that which I desire to do); I will gladly follow their godly admonitions (when they admonish those who oppose me); and I will submit myself to their godly judgments (whensoever and wheresoever they will submit their godly judgments to me).
If these few words should cause even only one of the supporters of the Church Association to “take stock,” and to cast a wary look around him before he again lends his voice to the insane cry of “Imprison them!” this little trumpet-blast will not have been blown in vain.—I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
Lewis Carroll.
December 24.