Phases of Faith by Francis William Newman

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PHASES OF FAITH

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PASSAGES FROM THE HISTORY OF MY CREED.

Francis William Newman, 1874

PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION.

This is perhaps an egotistical book; egotistical certainly in its
form, yet not in its purport and essence.

Personal reasons the writer cannot wholly disown, for desiring to
explain himself to more than a few, who on religious grounds are
unjustly alienated from him. If by any motive of curiosity or
lingering remembrances they may be led to read his straightforward
account, he trusts to be able to show them that he has had _no choice_
but to adopt the intellectual conclusions which offend them;--that
the difference between them and him turns on questions of Learning,
History, Criticism and Abstract Thought;--and that to make _their_
results (if indeed they have ever deeply and honestly investigated
the matter) the tests of _his_ spiritual state, is to employ unjust
weights and a false balance, which are an abomination to the Lord. To
defraud one's neighbour of any tithe of mint and cummin, would seem
to them a sin: is it less to withhold affection, trust and free
intercourse, and build up unpassable barriers of coldness and alarm,
against one whose sole offence is to differ from them intellectually?

But the argument before the writer is something immensely greater
than a personal one. So it happens, that to vindicate himself is to
establish a mighty truth; a truth which can in no other way so well
enter the heart, as when it comes embodied in an individual case.
If he can show, that to have shrunk from his successive convictions
_would_ have been "infidelity" to God and Truth and Righteousness; but
that he has been "faithful" to the highest and most urgent duty;--it
will be made clear that Belief is one thing and Faith another; that to
believe is intellectual, nay possibly "earthly, devilish;" and that
to set up any fixed creed as a test of spiritual character is a most
unjust, oppressive and mischievous superstition. The historical form
has been deliberately selected, as easier and more interesting to
the reader; but it must not be imagined that the author has given his
mental history in general, much less an autobiography. The progress
of his _creed_ is his sole subject; and other topics are introduced
either to illustrate this or as digressions suggested by it.

_March 22nd, 1850._

PREFACE TO SIXTH EDITION

I had long thought that the elaborate reply made for me in the
"Prospective Review" (1854) to Mr. Henry Rogers's Defence of the
"Eclipse of Faith," superseded anything more from my pen. But in the
course of six years a review is forgotten and buried away, while Mr.
Rogers is circulating the ninth edition of his misrepresentations.

As my publisher announces to me the opportunity, I at length consent
to reply myself to the Defence, cancelling what was previously my last
chapter, written against the "Eclipse."

All that follows p. 175 in this edition is new.

_June_, 1860.

CONTENTS.

I. MY YOUTHFUL CREED

II. STRIVINGS AFTER A MORE PRIMITIVE CHRISTIANITY

III. CALVINISM ABANDONED

IV. THE RELIGION OF THE LETTER RENOUNCED

V. FAITH AT SECOND HAND FOUND TO BE VAIN

VI. HISTORY DISCOVERED TO BE NO PART OF RELIGION

VII. ON THE MORAL PERFECTION OF JESUS

VIII. ON BIGOTRY AND PROGRESS

IX. REPLY TO THE "DEFENCE OF THE ECLIPSE OF FAITH"

APPENDIX I

APPENDIX II

PHASES OF FAITH.

CHAPTER I.

MY YOUTHFUL CREED.

I first began to read religious books at school, and especially the
Bible, when I was eleven years old; and almost immediately commenced
a habit of secret prayer. But it was not until I was fourteen that I
gained any definite idea of a "scheme of doctrine," or could have
been called a "converted person" by one of the Evangelical School.
My religion then certainly exerted a great general influence over
my conduct; for I soon underwent various persecution from my
schoolfellows on account of it: the worst kind consisted in their
deliberate attempts to corrupt me. An Evangelical clergyman at the
school gained my affections, and from him I imbibed more and more
distinctly the full creed which distinguishes that body of men; a
body whose bright side I shall ever appreciate, in spite of my present
perception that they have a dark side also. I well remember, that one
day when I said to this friend of mine, that I could not understand
how the doctrine of Election was reconcilable to God's Justice, but
supposed that I should know this in due time, if I waited and believed
His word;--he replied with emphatic commendation, that this was the
spirit which God always blessed. Such was the beginning and foundation
of my faith,--an unhesitating unconditional acceptance of whatever was
found in the Bible. While I am far from saying that my _whole_ moral
conduct was subjugated by my creed, I must insist that it was no mere
fancy resting in my intellect: it was really operative on my temper,
tastes, pursuits and conduct.

When I was sixteen, in 1821, I was "confirmed" by Dr. Howley, then
Bishop of London, and endeavoured to take on myself with greater
decision and more conscientious consistency the whole yoke of Christ.
Every thing in the Service was solemn to me, except the bishop: he
seemed to me a _made-up_ man and a mere pageant. I also remember that
when I was examined by the clergyman for confirmation, it troubled me
much that he only put questions which tested my _memory_ concerning
the Catechism and other formulas, instead of trying to find out
whether I had any actual faith in that about which I was to be called
to profess faith: I was not then aware that his sole duty was to try
my _knowledge_. But I already felt keenly the chasm that separated
the High from the Low Church; and that it was impossible for me
to sympathize with those who imagined that Forms could command the
Spirit.

Yet so entirely was I enslaved to one Form,--that of observing the
Sunday, or, as I had learned falsely to call it, the Sabbath,--that I
fell into painful and injurious conflict with a superior kinsman, by
refusing to obey his orders on the Sunday. He attempted to deal with
me by mere authority, not by instruction; and to yield my conscience
to authority would have been to yield up all spiritual life. I erred,
but I was faithful to God.

When I was rather more than seventeen, I subscribed the 39 Articles at
Oxford in order to be admitted to the University. Subscription was "no
bondage," but pleasure; for I well knew and loved the Articles, and
looked on them as a great bulwark of the truth; a bulwark, however,
not by being imposed, but by the spiritual and classical beauty which
to me shone in them. But it was certain to me before I went to
Oxford, and manifest in my first acquaintance with it, that very few
academicians could be said to believe them. Of the young men, not one
in five seemed to have any religious convictions at all: the elder
residents seldom or never showed sympathy with the doctrines that
pervade that formula. I felt from my first day there, that the system
of compulsory subscription was hollow, false, and wholly evil.

Oxford is a pleasant place for making friends,--friends of all sorts
that young men wish. One who is above envy and scorns servility,--who
can praise and delight in all the good qualities of his equals in
age, and does not desire to set himself above them, or to vie with his
superiors in rank,--may have more than enough of friends, for pleasure
and for profit. So certainly had I; yet no one of my equals gained
any ascendancy over me, nor perhaps could I have looked up to any for
advice. In some the intellect, in others the religious qualities, were
as yet insufficiently developed: in part also I wanted discrimination,
and did not well pick out the profounder minds of my acquaintance.
However, on my very first residence in College, I received a useful
lesson from another freshman,--a grave and thoughtful person, older
(I imagine) than most youths in their first term. Some readers may
be amused, as well as surprized, when I name the delicate question
on which I got into discussion with my fellow freshman. I had learned
from Evangelical books, that there is a _twofold_ imputation to every
saint,--not of the "sufferings" only, but also of the "righteousness"
of Christ. They alleged that, while the sufferings of Jesus are a
compensation for the guilt of the believer and make him innocent, yet
this suffices not to give him a title to heavenly glory; for which
he must over and above be invested in active righteousness, by all
Christ's good works being made over to him. My new friend contested
the latter part of the doctrine. Admitting fully that guilt is atoned
for by the sufferings of the Saviour, he yet maintained, there was no
farther imputation of Christ's active service as if it had been our
service. After a rather sharp controversy, I was sent back to study
the matter for myself, especially in the third and fourth chapters of
the Epistle to the Romans; and some weeks after, freely avowed to him
that I was convinced. Such was my first effort at independent thought
against the teaching of my spiritual fathers, and I suppose it had
much value for me. This friend might probably have been of service
to me, though he was rather cold and lawyerlike; but he was abruptly
withdrawn from Oxford to be employed in active life.

I first received a temporary discomfort about the 39 Articles from
an irreligious young man, who had been my schoolfellow; who one day
attacked the article which asserts that Christ carried "his flesh and
bones" with him into heaven. I was not moved by the physical absurdity
which this youth mercilessly derided; and I repelled his objections
as on impiety. But I afterwards remembered the text, "_Flesh and blood
shall not inherit the kingdom of God_;" and it seemed to me as if the
compiler had really gone a little too far. If I had immediately
then been called on to subscribe, I suppose it would have somewhat
discomposed me; but as time went on, I forgot this small point,
which was swallowed up by others more important. Yet I believe that
henceforth a greater disposition to criticize the Articles grew upon
me.

The first novel opinion of any great importance that I actually
embraced, so as to give roughness to my course, was that which many
then called the Oriel heresy about Sunday. Oriel College at this time
contained many active and several original minds; and it was rumoured
that one of the Fellows rejoiced in seeing his parishioners play at
cricket on Sunday: I do not know whether that was true, but so it
was said. Another of them preached an excellent sermon before the
University, clearly showing that Sunday had nothing to do with the
Sabbath, nor the Sabbath with us, and inculcating on its own ground
a wise and devout use of the Sunday hours. The evidently pious and
sincere tone of this discourse impressed me, and I felt that I had no
right to reject as profane and undeserving of examination the doctrine
which it enforced. Accordingly I entered into a thorough searching of
the Scripture without bias, and was amazed to find how baseless was
the tenet for which in fact I had endured a sort of martyrdom. This, I
believe, had a great effect in showing me how little right we have at
any time to count on our opinions as final truth, however necessary
they may just then be felt to our spiritual life. I was also
scandalized to find how little candour or discernment some Evangelical
friends, with whom I communicated, displayed in discussing the
subject.

In fact, this opened to me a large sphere of new thought. In the
investigation, I had learned, more distinctly than before, that the
preceptive code of the Law was an essentially imperfect and temporary
system, given "for the hardness of men's hearts." I was thus prepared
to enter into the Lectures on Prophecy, by another Oriel Fellow,--Mr.
Davison,--in which he traces the successive improvements and
developments of religious doctrine, from the patriarchal system
onward. I in consequence enjoyed with new zest the epistles of St.
Paul, which I read as with fresh eyes; and now understood somewhat
better his whole doctrine of "the Spirit," the coming of which had
brought the church out of her childish into a mature condition, and by
establishing a higher law had abolished that of the letter. Into this
view I entered with so eager an interest, that I felt no bondage of
the letter in Paul's own words: his wisdom was too much above me
to allow free criticism of his weak points. At the same time, the
systematic use of the Old Testament by the Puritans, as if it were
"the rule of life" to Christians, I saw to be a glaring mistake,
intensely opposed to the Pauline doctrine. This discovery, moreover,
soon became important to me, as furnishing a ready evasion of
objections against the meagre or puerile views of the Pentateuch;
for without very minute inquiry how far I must go to make the defence
adequate, I gave a general reply, that the New Testament _confessed_
the imperfections of the older dispensation. I still presumed the Old
to have been perfect for its own objects and in its own place; and
had not defined to myself how far it was correct or absurd, to imagine
morality to change with time and circumstances.

Before long, ground was broken in my mind on a still more critical
question, by another Fellow of a College; who maintained that nothing
but unbelief could arise out of the attempt to understand _in what
way_ and _by what moral right_ the blood of Christ atoned for sins.
He said, that he bowed before the doctrine as one of "Revelation," and
accepted it reverentially by an act of faith; but that he certainly
felt unable to understand _why_ the sacrifice of Christ, any more than
the Mosaic sacrifices, should compensate for the punishment of our
sins. Could carnal reason discern that human or divine blood, any
more than that of beasts, had efficacy to make the sinner as it were
sinless? It appeared to him a necessarily inscrutable mystery, into
which we ought not to look.--The matter being thus forced on my
attention, I certainly saw that to establish the abstract moral
_right_ and _justice_ of vicarious punishment was not easy, and that
to make out the fact of any "compensation"--(_i.e._ that Jesus really
endured on the cross a true equivalent for the eternal sufferings
due to the whole human race,)--was harder still. Nevertheless I had
difficulty in adopting the conclusions of this gentleman; FIRST,
because, in a passage of the Epistle to the Hebrews, the sacred
writer, in arguing--"_For_ it is impossible that the blood of bulls
and goats can take away sins," &c., &c....--seems to expect his
readers to see an inherent impropriety in the sacrifices of the Law,
and an inherent moral fitness in the sacrifice of Christ. SECONDLY:
I had always been accustomed to hear that it was by seeing the
moral fitness of the doctrine of the Atonement, that converts to
Christianity were chiefly made: so said the Moravians among the
Greenlanders, so Brainerd among the North American Indians, so English
missionaries among the negroes at Sierra Leone:--and I could not at
all renounce this idea. Indeed I seemed to myself to see this fitness
most emphatically; and as for the _forensic_ difficulties, I passed
them over with a certain conscious reverence. I was not as yet ripe
for deeper inquiry: yet I, about this time, decidedly modified my
boyish creed on the subject, on which more will be said below.

Of more immediate practical importance to me was the controversy
concerning Infant Baptism. For several years together I had been more
or less conversant with the arguments adduced for the practice; and
at this time I read Wall's defence of it, which was the book specially
recommended at Oxford. The perusal brought to a head the doubts which
had at an earlier period flitted over my mind. Wall's historical
attempt to trace Infant Baptism up to the apostles seemed to me a
clear failure:[1] and if he failed, then who was likely to succeed?
The arguments from Scripture had never recommended themselves to
me. Even allowing that they might confirm, they certainly could not
suggest and establish the practice. It now appeared that there was no
basis at all; indeed, several of the arguments struck me as cutting
the other way. "Suffer little children to come unto me," urged as
decisive: but it occurred to me that the disciples would not have
scolded the little children away, if they had ever been accustomed
to baptize them. Wall also, if I remember aright, declares that the
children of proselytes were baptized by the Jews; and deduces, that
unless the contrary were stated, we must assume that also Christ's
disciples baptized children: but I reflected that the baptism _of
John_ was one of "repentance," and therefore could not have been
administered to infants; which (if precedent is to guide us) afforded
the truer presumption concerning _Christian_ baptism. Prepossessions
being thus overthrown, when I read the apostolic epistles with a view
to this special question, the proof so multiplied against the Church
doctrine, that I did not see what was left to be said for it. I talked
much and freely of this, as of most other topics, with equals in age,
who took interest in religious questions; but the more the matters
were discussed, the more decidedly impossible it seemed to maintain
that the popular Church views were apostolic.

Here also, as before, the Evangelical clergy whom I consulted were
found by me a broken reed. The clerical friend whom I had known at
school wrote kindly to me, but quite declined attempting to solve my
doubts; and in other quarters I soon saw that no fresh light was to be
got. One person there was at Oxford, who might have seemed my natural
adviser; his name, character, and religious peculiarities have been so
made public property, that I need not shrink to name him:--I mean
my elder brother, the Rev. John Henry Newman. As a warm-hearted and
generous brother, who exercised towards me paternal cares, I esteemed
him and felt a deep gratitude; as a man of various culture, and
peculiar genius, I admired and was proud of him; but my doctrinal
religion impeded my loving him as much as he deserved, and even
justified my feeling some distrust of him. He never showed any strong
attraction towards those whom I regarded as spiritual persons: on the
contrary, I thought him stiff and cold towards them. Moreover, soon
after his ordination, he had startled and distressed me by adopting
the doctrine of Baptismal Regeneration; and in rapid succession worked
out views which I regarded as full-blown "Popery." I speak of the
years 1823-6: it is strange to think that twenty years more had to
pass before he learnt the place to which his doctrines belonged.

In the earliest period of my Oxford residence I fell into uneasy
collision with him concerning Episcopal powers. I had on one occasion
dropt something disrespectful against bishops or a bishop,--something
which, if it had been said about a clergyman, would have passed
unnoticed: but my brother checked and reproved me,--as I thought, very
uninstructively--for "wanting reverence towards Bishops." I knew
not then, and I know not now, why Bishops, _as such_, should be more
reverenced than common clergymen; or Clergymen, _as such_, more than
common men. In the World I expected pomp and vain show and formality
and counterfeits: but of the Church, as Christ's own kingdom, I
demanded reality and could not digest legal fictions. I saw round
me what sort of young men were preparing to be clergymen: I knew the
attractions of family "livings" and fellowships, and of a respectable
position and undefinable hopes of preferment. I farther knew, that
when youths had become clergymen through a great variety of mixed
motives, bishops were selected out of these clergy on avowedly
political grounds; it therefore amazed me how a man of good sense
should be able to set up a duty of religious veneration towards
bishops. I was willing to honour a Lord Bishop as a peer of
Parliament; but his office was to me no guarantee of spiritual
eminence.--To find my brother thus stop my mouth, was a puzzle; and
impeded all free speech towards him. In fact, I very soon left off the
attempt at intimate religious intercourse with him, or asking counsel
as of one who could sympathize. We talked, indeed, a great deal on the
surface of religious matters; and on some questions I was overpowered
and received a temporary bias from his superior knowledge; but as
time went on, and my own intellect ripened, I distinctly felt that his
arguments were too fine-drawn and subtle, often elaborately missing
the moral points and the main points, to rest on some ecclesiastical
fiction; and his conclusions were to me so marvellous and painful,
that I constantly thought I had mistaken him. In short, he was my
senior by a very few years: nor was there any elder resident at
Oxford, accessible to me, who united all the qualities which I wanted
in an adviser. Nothing was left for me but to cast myself on Him who
is named the Father of Lights, and resolve to follow the light which
He might give, however opposed to my own prejudices, and however I
might be condemned by men. This solemn engagement I made in early
youth, and neither the frowns nor the grief of my brethren can make me
ashamed of it in my manhood.

Among the religious authors whom I read familiarly was the Rev.
T. Scott, of Aston Sandford, a rather dull, very unoriginal,
half-educated, but honest, worthy, sensible, strong-minded man, whose
works were then much in vogue among the Evangelicals. One day my
attention was arrested by a sentence in his defence of the doctrine
of the Trinity. He complained that Anti-Trinitarians unjustly charged
Trinitarians with self-contradiction. "If indeed we said" (argued he)
"that God is three _in the same sense_ as that in which He is one,
that would be self-refuting; but we hold Him to be _three in one
sense, and one in another_." It crossed my mind very forcibly, that,
if that was all, the Athanasian Creed had gratuitously invented an
enigma. I exchanged thoughts on this with an undergraduate friend, and
got no fresh light: in fact, I feared to be profane, if I attempted
to understand the subject. Yet it came distinctly home to me, that,
whatever the depth of the mystery, if we lay down anything about
it _at all_, we ought to understand our own words; and I presently
augured that Tillotson had been right in "wishing our Church well rid"
of the Athanasian Creed; which seemed a mere offensive blurting out
of intellectual difficulties. I had, however, no doubts, even of a
passing kind, for years to come, concerning the substantial truth and
certainty of the ecclesiastical Trinity.

When the period arrived for taking my Bachelors degree, it was
requisite again to sign the 39 Articles, and I now found myself
embarrassed by the question of Infant Baptism. One of the articles
contains the following words, "The baptism of young children is in any
wise to be retained, as most agreeable to the institution of Christ."
I was unable to conceal from myself that I did not believe this
sentence; and I was on the point of refusing to take my degree. I
overcame my scruples by considering, 1. That concerning this doctrine
I had no active _dis_-belief, on which I would take any practical
step, as I felt myself too young to make any counterdeclaration: 2.
That it had no possible practical meaning to me, since I could not
be called on to baptize, nor to give a child for baptism. Thus I
persuaded myself. Yet I had not an easy conscience, nor can I now
defend my compromise; for I believe that my repugnance to Infant
Baptism was really intense, and my conviction that it is unapostolic
as strong then as now. The topic of my "youth" was irrelevant; for,
if I was not too young to subscribe, I was not too young to refuse
subscription. The argument that the article was "unpractical" to me,
goes to prove, that if I were ordered by a despot to qualify myself
for a place in the Church by solemnly renouncing the first book of
Euclid as false, I might do so without any loss of moral dignity.
Altogether, this humiliating affair showed me what a trap for the
conscience these subscriptions are: how comfortably they are passed
while the intellect is torpid or immature, or where the conscience is
callous, but how they undermine truthfulness in the active thinker,
and torture the sensitiveness of the tenderminded. As long as they
are maintained, in Church or University, these institutions exert a
positive influence to deprave or eject those who ought to be their
most useful and honoured members.

It was already breaking upon me, that I could not fulfil the dreams of
my boyhood as a minister in the Church of England. For, supposing that
with increased knowledge I might arrive at the conclusion that Infant
Baptism was a fore-arranged "development,"--not indeed practised in
the _first_ generation, but expedient, justifiable, and intended
for the _second_, and probably then sanctioned by one still living
apostle,--even so, I foresaw the still greater difficulty of Baptismal
Regeneration behind. For any one to avow that Regeneration took place
in Baptism, seemed to me little short of a confession that he had
never himself experienced what Regeneration is. If I _could_ then
have been convinced that the apostles taught no other regeneration,
I almost think that even their authority would have snapt under the
strain: but this is idle theory; for it was as clear as daylight to me
that they held a totally different doctrine, and that the High Church
and Popish fancy is a superstitious perversion, based upon carnal
inability to understand a strong spiritual metaphor. On the other
hand, my brother's arguments that the Baptismal Service of the Church
taught "spiritual regeneration" during the ordinance, were short,
simple, and overwhelming. To imagine a _twofold_ "spiritual
regeneration" was evidently a hypothesis to serve a turn, nor in any
of the Church formulas was such an idea broached. Nor could I hope for
relief by searching through the Homilies or by drawing deductions from
the Articles: for if I there elicited a truer doctrine, it would never
show the Baptismal Service not to teach the Popish tenet; it would
merely prove the Church-system to contain contradictions, and not to
deserve that absolute declaration of its truth, which is demanded of
Church ministers. With little hope of advantage, I yet felt it a duty
to consult many of the Evangelical clergymen whom I knew, and to ask
how _they_ reconciled the Baptismal Service to their consciences.
I found (if I remember) three separate theories among them,--all
evidently mere shifts invented to avoid the disagreeable necessity of
resigning their functions. Not one of these good people seemed to have
the most remote idea that it was their duty to investigate the meaning
of the formulary with the same unbiassed simplicity as if it belonged
to the Gallican Church. They did not seek to know what it was written
to mean, nor what sense it must carry to every simpleminded hearer;
but they solely asked, how they could manage to assign to it a sense
not wholly irreconcilable with their own doctrines and preaching. This
was too obviously hollow. The last gentleman whom I consulted, was the
rector of a parish, who from week to week baptized children with the
prescribed formula: but to my amazement, he told me that _he_ did not
like the Service, and did not approve of Infant Baptism; to both of
which things he submitted, solely because, as an inferior minister of
the Church, it was his duty to obey established authority! The case
was desperate. But I may here add, that this clergyman, within a few
years from that time, redeemed his freedom and his conscience by the
painful ordeal of abandoning his position and his flock, against the
remonstrances of his wife, to the annoyance of his friends, and with a
young family about him.

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