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One thing I think I can point out in your present mode of life, as unfavourable to spiritual comfort, and that is, the exclusive pursuit of a professional object. You say, 'I make it a rule hardly to look at these books, except on Sundays, and am as much as possible engaged with [my work] in some shape or other from morning to night.' This you seem to have proposed to yourself as a duty, as I did once in a somewhat similar case, when I was at work at Arabic abroad, and wished to shorten the time in which I was engaged in a study bearing so indirectly on theology; but I should say from my own experience, that the engrossing pursuit of any study is unhealthy to the spirit, because engrossing; that one becomes unawares engrossed with the means in a degree instead of the end; that the mind (as the very words imply) cannot be in that disengaged, free state, sitting loose to the things of this world, that it ought; that, in fine, it is an unnatural state, and so disarranges the mind, making it restless and unquiet, throwing it off its balance, and making it feverish and distracted. There seems to be a degree of self-will in proposing to do in a given time more than we can naturally do, which is chastened by consequent disarrangement of mind; if it is necessary for a given end, and that end is also necessary and to be accomplished by our means, then, of course, the self-will disappears, but one ought to be very sure of this, and then seek to cure it by other means-self-discipline. One very obvious one is continued mental prayer not to be engrossed by that wherewith one was occupied ; but this will not do, if one is all the while occupying one's-self more than one ought to be, because one is then praying against the consequences which have been annexed as a warning against what one is doing. I should rather, in your case, recommend the diminishing the degree of occupation, and employing it, at intervals if possible, in religious exercises. An hour a day gained in this way would be an act of faith, and, if given up readily (supposing that under the circumstances, which I do not know, it seemed right), would, I doubt not, have an accompanying blessing. The observation of the ancient hours, or the chief hours of the day-9, 12, 3—if it were but short prayers (such as are in Bishop Cosin) learnt by heart in relation to the wants of those hours, is very healthful.

And now, since you have made me in a sort a spiritual adviser, I will mention two things to you, and you will not be mortified at my naming them, or at my having seen or heard of them. Not to keep you in suspense, I would say at once (with all affection for your general character) that there is one prominent fault, which people least like to be charged with, though so many have it,-over-self-esteem, or to speak very plainly, vanity. Knowing very little of your early life, I have no grounds, as I have no reason to judge, how much of a fault this is; nor could I say precisely on what it turned, what was its principal subject: I might suspect perhaps even 'personal appearance,' or something about the person or connected with it, was a subject (as it is a most capricious quality, and they said of an eminent linguist, Schlegel, VOL. II.

E

that he was vain of everything which was his, down to his elbow-chair). This you can tell far better than myself; whether it be this, or conversation, or general ability, or acquirements, or whether it floats about different things, it will in some shape or other constitute your trial for some time. And it is of course a very important one, because it has a tendency to corrupt everything we do by infusing self-satisfaction into it. It is easier to write than to say this, though you will believe I have some reluctance even in writing it; but having seen good sort of people in whom it has grown up even to advanced life, and knowing what a bane it is to spiritual progress, and a hindrance altogether, I could not but think it right to name it. It is often useful that a person should know that any given quality is perceptible to others; it makes them realize more the degree in which it is in them; and I doubt not that, in earnest as you are about yourself, you will set yourself vigorously to correct it.

The other point I have heard of only, and cannot tell wherein it exactly consists: it amounts to this-I know not whether in disputing, or speaking, or objecting-you have said 'strong' latitudinarian things, which have given pain to serious people. I could be sure that you had done this: I do not know how long ago it was, but I imagined it recent : perhaps you saw that what you said about the inscriptions on the Cross in the four Evangelists pained me. I should be sorry if you were less open with me in consequence; but there was a sort of off-hand, matterof-fact way which pained me. You will recollect that I answered strongly, not as to yourself, but as to the school which used such arguments. (I have offended in this way formerly myself, I know; so one ought to be the more patient as to the same in others.) Now you have changed not only your habits of mind, I imagine, but your views in some sort on theology; you do not adopt those which we aver to be Catholic, but you have probably parted with some which you held, or hold them less peremptorily, or have modified them, and hold others which you did not hold. In a word, your mind has been undergoing a change. But this ought to make you less decided as to those points which you still hold, but which belong to the same peculiar school, some of whose opinions you have modified or abandoned: you ought, at least, to hold your mind in suspense, and not maintain, or give vent to them, except for the purpose of gaining clearer insight, not in mixed societies as matters of discussion, but privately and quietly. For if they be untrue (as you must suppose possible), then as far as this goes, you would be (though ignorantly) yet upholding or circulating untruth, perhaps bringing it to the knowledge of those unacquainted with it, or impressing it on those who know it, or retarding those who are getting rid of it. This necessity of uncertainty upon some points need not make you fear forming a sceptical habit of mind, so that you but distinguish between what is Catholic and private: having found one modern teacher in error, in whom you placed confidence, does not at all involve doubting what has been held, not by one, but by all. But,

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besides the possible injury to others, you must do certain injury to yourself, if what you thus speak of is erroneous. For it is not the way to obtain fresh accessions of truth from God, to utter things which (though you know it not) are against His truth; and the more, if they be such, as, if untrue, are irreverent also, and strike soberminded people as being such. Thus I have seen cases in which the habit of talking against those who held what they called the 'literal inspiration' of Scripture, did the whole mind a great deal of harm and put it in an irreverent state: as, on the other hand, if it be true that there are great depths in the sayings of the Bible, and manifold truths may be evolved out of them, this way of speaking would indispose a person to receive it, and so keep hidden from him much truth. Secretly also, but necessarily, this theory involves regarding much in the composition of the Bible as human, as the theory of the Fathers looks on every jot and tittle divine, and the whole as in a higher degree divine; whereas that other system unravels the divinity of Holy Scripture, some making the history, some the arguments, others the moral sayings (as the Psalms), others what does not seem to them good (as the Canticles), human, and having in the end no criterion of divine and human but their own private judgement.

My advice then on this head would be, (1) not to speak of any of these subjects for mere theory or argument's sake, but for edification; (2) to put restraint upon yourself in mixed societies; (3) (which is involved in these) to be very watchful for what end you speak of them; (4) to endeavour to keep your mind in suspense as to the theories of moderns which you have reason to think may be at variance with the teaching of the ancient Church.

I have now written, as you asked me, 'very plainly,' and I trust, and indeed doubt not, that this plainness, which one would use the rather in correspondence, will open the way for unreserved intercourse, when it pleases God that we should meet.

CHAPTER XXI.

BISHOP BAGOT'S CHARGE OF 1838-PROPOSED MARTYRS MEMORIAL-PUBLIC LETTER TO BISHOP BAGOT.

1838-1839.

THE year 1838 was, as will appear later, full of anxieties to Pusey in his home circle; it was marked also by two public events, of no great importance in themselves, but very important in their bearing on his relation to the Oxford movement. Of these the first was the Charge of Dr. Bagot, Bishop of Oxford, in the summer of 1838. In one of the letters which Newman wrote to Pusey at Weymouth informing him of the state of ecclesiastical affairs, he told him that the Bishop of Oxford was delivering a Charge in favour of the Tracts. On August 14th he heard the Charge himself; and the first sanguine impression was succeeded by another. But in consequence of Pusey's anxiety about his wife's health, Newman delayed writing to him for a week.

REV. J. H. NEWMAN TO E. B. P.

Oriel, August 21, 1838.

.. And now I must tell you about the Bishop's Charge and the Tracts-it has been all the wrong way. He said in it that having been troubled with anonymous letters he felt it right to speak about a particular development of opinion, &c. in one part of the diocese. Then after speaking about observances, &c. in Church, and saying he could find nothing to censure, he went on to speak of the Tracts, and said that in them were expressions which might be dangerous to

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certain minds-that he feared more for the scholars than for the Masters; but this being so he conjured the latter to mind what they were about. It was extremely mild, and he has allowed us turning to the East, &c. (implicitly), and recommended Saints' Days, fasting, &c. It was altogether very good, but it did the very thing I have always reckoned on-took our suggestions, but (as far as it went) threw us overboard.

After thinking about it, I thought that since the 'expressions' in question were not mentioned, an indefinite censure was cast over the Tracts, and that I could not continue them under it. I wrote to Keble, and he, apart from me, agreed in this opinion. Accordingly I wrote to the Archdeacon stating this, and saying that a Bishop's lightest word ex cathedrâ was heavy, and that judgment on a book was a rare occurrence. Therefore under the circumstances I must stop the Tracts, and recall those which were in circulation. However, if the Bishop would be kind enough privately to tell him what Tracts he objected to, I would withdraw them without a word, and the rest would be saved. He said he had not seen the Charge before it was delivered, and referred me to the Bishop. I have had an answer from the Bishop this morning-very kind, as you would expect. I think (between ourselves) the case is as I thought. He did not fully consider the power of a Bishop's word, nor fancy we are so bound by professions (to say nothing else) to obey it. He meant to check us merely, not having a distinct view of what the 'expressions' were, and not duly understanding he has a jurisdiction over me. If he says one thing, I another, we cannot remain parallel to each other, he merely indirectly influencing me. He cannot but act upon me. His word is a deed. I am very sorry, but I see no alternative yet between his telling me to withdraw some and my withdrawing all. I suppose he will put something into his printed Charge to soften matters; but I do not see how. He is, as you know, particularly kind, and I am quite pained to think that I have put him (apparently) into a difficulty, but I do not see how I could help it. (Keep all this quite secret.) You are quite out of it-first because your name is to the Baptism, and he did not mean you; next, because I have excepted the tract on Baptism in my letter.

Ever yours affectionately,

JOHN H. NEWMAN.

Pusey was vexed-vexed at what the Bishop had said, but still more distressed at Newman's view of what it involved. He did not understand Newman's serious estimate of the disapprobation of his Bishop. This estimate was based on Newman's peculiar theory of the authority of an individual Bishop. My own Bishop was