Ecclesiastical History of England, Volume 2—The Church of the Commonwealth

by John Stoughton

Walton's Polyglott.

Before leaving Oxford, notice should be taken of a learned work published during the Commonwealth, and in which Oxford scholars took a principal part. A prospectus for the publication of "Walton's Polyglott" appeared in 1652; the publication was completed in 1658, having occupied four years. Pocock, the professor of Hebrew and Arabic, was one of Walton's principal helpers. Walton, himself—a Cambridge man, who had fled to Oxford during the wars, and lost all his preferments by the changes of the times,—employed his leisure from public duties by the indefatigable toil which has immortalized his name. Other ejected Episcopalians shared prominently in the undertaking,[261] and their names are found attached to the prospectus; but perhaps no one yielded so much literary assistance as did Professor Pocock. The credit of the enterprise and of its admirable accomplishment belongs to the Episcopalians,—with whom Pocock, although permitted to hold office at Oxford under the reign of Independency, was identified. In the hour of their humiliation they achieved what deserves the gratitude and praise of posterity; and, at the same time, it is much to the honour of Cromwell that he patronized and assisted them in their work—notwithstanding they were his political antagonists, and the work itself upon which they were engaged crossed the prejudices of some of his favourite theologians. The duty on the paper which was employed in the printing of the volumes was, through the influence of the Protector,[262] remitted by an order of the Council of State; and the same favour was granted to Bee, the editor of the "Critici Sacri." This favour induced Castell, the author of the "Heptaglott Lexicon," to seek the like indulgence. That work, however, was not published until after the Restoration.

Owen's Criticism.

When Walton's Magnum Opus left the press,[263] it awakened great interest in the critical world. The science which has been so much advanced by the discoveries of a Mill, a Griesbach, and a Tischendorf, was then only in its infancy. Jealously watched by the old-fashioned students of Hebrew and Greek, who feared injury to the authority of the Bible and the cause of religion, from any reflection on the perfect integrity of the textus receptus, no wonder that "the voluminous bulk of various lections as nakedly exhibited"—and likely, it was thought, "to beget scruples and doubts in the minds of men"—excited alarm in some who were deeply anxious for the welfare of the Church. Dr. Owen was of this number, and his are the words just quoted. Zealous alike for the purity of the text, and the authority of the points, he followed Buxtorf and Glassius; and looked upon Capellus and Grotius as dangerous innovators. He went so far as to say: "What use hath been made and is as yet made, in the world, of this supposition, that corruptions have befallen the originals of the Scripture, which those various lections at first view seem to intimate, I need not declare. It is in brief the foundation of Mahometism, the chiefest and principal prop of Popery, the only pretence of fanatical anti-scripturists, and the root of much hidden Atheism in the world."[264] This is a curious passage in the history of literature. That so learned and liberal a man as Dr. Owen should have talked thus, may in our time provoke a smile from tyros in criticism. But he who wrote after this fashion must be judged by the state of things existing in his own time, not by the state of things at present. Owen, although as an Independent he would be deemed a revolutionist, really was in theology, and in some ecclesiastical respects likewise, a very decided Conservative. Zealous for what he counted reform, he dreaded removing old landmarks. Let him have the credit as well as the reproach of Conservatism. In his treatise on the integrity and purity of the Scripture text—from which the above passage is extracted—he animadverted upon the Polyglott, its prolegomena and appendix. The essay shews that he was more of a theologian than a critic—a fact of which he seems to have been conscious himself. It would have been better for his fame if he had not touched the subject: and most of his admirers will regret that, so far, he can be quoted as one of a class, too numerous still, who, trembling without cause for the ark of God, set themselves in opposition to the progress of Biblical enquiry. Without attempting to defend the Vice-Chancellor in this matter, we may add, that the tone of his criticisms is respectful and modest, and will bear honourable comparison with other controversial productions of that age.[265] Pocock answered Owen with critical learning, such as Owen had not at his command, and with a force of reasoning which Owen could not repel; but with a contempt and violence which Owen had done nothing to provoke.

To pass from Oxford to Cambridge, of which it has been said—and it is equally true of the sister University—that "separated as yet from the capital of the kingdom by a tedious horse journey of two days, and destitute of any better conveyance for letters than its well-known carrier," it was "still one of the great centres of the literature, the science, the talent, and, unhappily also, the religious strife of the nation."[266]

The Engagement was pressed upon the Masters and Fellows. The majority were Presbyterians, with some Episcopalians who, through private influence, had retained office without subscribing the Covenant. Opposed in almost equal degrees to the new test, both parties found their position and emoluments in immediate jeopardy. At first the enforcement was gentle, but in June, 1650, a committee received authority to examine those who had not taken the oath, and to fill up vacancies caused by their ejection. Yet, before the end of the month, Cromwell being at Cambridge, received the Vice-Chancellor and others, to whom he gave an assurance that there should be no further proceedings against non-subscribers, for he had used his influence with Parliament to put a stop to them.[267] Probably that influence checked the intended severity; for, during the next twelve months, persons who did not submit to the Engagement, were allowed to retain their fellowships. For a time friendly intercession prevailed: learning, piety, and social virtue shielded Episcopalian delinquents. It was a season of great suspense and excitement. Letters passed on the subject between Cambridge men and their distant friends. The former discussed University affairs in quadrangles, halls, and chambers, and in their walks by the banks of the Cam. Fellows of different parties were narrowly watched. Staunch Episcopalians were anxious to see whether boasters about decision would be true to their principles; and sad discouragement came from men who kept their fellowships by at last taking the oath, after having stoutly denied that they would ever do so. This we learn from the letters of Sancroft, whose conscientiousness then in his refusal of the Engagement—and afterwards at a still more critical period of his life as a non-juror—every one ought to honour. His own case illustrates in part what has been just remarked, inasmuch as friendly interference deferred his ejectment for a season. "The Committee," he writes to his brother, November the 17th, 1650, "sat last week here, and summoned some of St. John's to appear at London; but I heard nothing of them. Some would persuade me, and I am sometimes prone to believe it, that I have some secret friend who doth me good offices, though I know it not." When danger became imminent, and the Committee sat at the "Bear" and summoned Sancroft, he would not go;—he playfully describes himself as "trussing up his baggage, i.e., a viol wrapped in a dozen flannel napkins, two towels and two table-cloths, two old shirts, and a carpet; also a little box with his hanging watch; also an alarum with lines and weights." He was expelled in July.[268]

Cambridge University.

It is somewhat startling, amidst this story of anxieties, ejections, and impoverishments for conscience' sake, to turn to the oration delivered by young Isaac Barrow, on Commencement-day, the following year, 1651, and to hear him speaking thus:—"If it be true, as rumour tells, that you have so tired of all substantial fare as to nauseate the banquet of eloquence and the feast of sound philosophy—that nothing has for you any relish except painted comfits and unmeaning trifles—that not even wisdom will please you, unless without its own peculiar flavour; nor truth, unless seasoned with a jest; nor reason, unless soaked in fun; then in an unlucky hour have I been assigned as your purveyor, neither born nor bred to such a frivolous confectionary. The insatiable appetite of laughter keeps itself within no bounds. Have you crowded to this place for the purpose of listening and studying, and making progress; or only for the sake of laughing at this thing, and making a jest of that other? As if folly herself kept court amongst us—as if here were the market-place and universal emporium of nonsense, you drink in with greedy ears jibes, and squibs, and ribaldry, and then, when well considered and improved, set them all a-circulating again. There is nothing so remote from levity which you do not instantly—such is your alchemy—transmute into mirth and absurdity. And let a discourse be such as to move no laughter, nothing else will please—neither dignity, nor gravity, nor solidity—neither strength, nor point, nor polish."[269]

One cannot suppose that this description applies to the Fellows or older members. But it must have been true of undergraduates and other young men. They—unless Barrow has gone beyond all bounds in his declamation—were a very noisy, boisterous, laughter-loving set. In truth, undergraduates were then what undergraduates have been ever since, full of fun, which at times leaped up in unseemly forms. Cambridge and Oxford commemorations, in the middle of the seventeenth century, were no contrasts to Cambridge and Oxford commemorations in the nineteenth. On reading Barrow's grandiloquent speech, it is easy to fancy shouts rolling round the hall in wit and humour—not unlike what our newspapers report of University festivals in our own time. And although Heads of houses and Fellows would decorously behave themselves on those occasions—from official prudence no less than from Puritanical propriety—let it not be supposed that the Puritans were men who never laughed and joked; for it is remarkable how often in their memoirs we find allusions to the "facetiousness" of persons, who, judged of from their portraits, were as solemn as the grave.