In 1832, when Hare left Cambridge, his friend succeeded him as assistant tutor, to give classical lectures to the undergraduates on Whewell’s ‘side.’ For a time all went well. His lectures were exceedingly popular with those capable of appreciating them, as was shown by the large attendance not only of undergraduates, but of the best scholars in the college, men who had already taken their degrees, and who were working for the Fellowship Examination or for private improvement. They were remarkable for translations of singular excellence, and for an exhaustive treatment of the subject, as systematic as Hare’s had been desultory, as we learn from traditions of them which still survive, and from two volumes of notes which now lie before us, taken down at a course on the Ethics of Aristotle. Moreover Thirlwall was personally popular. He was the least ‘donnish’ of the resident Fellows, and sought the society of undergraduates, inviting the men who attended his lectures to walk with him or to take wine at his rooms after Hall. He delighted in a good story, and used to throw himself back in his chair, his whole frame shaking with suppressed merriment, when anything struck his fancy as especially humorous. He had one habit which, had it been practised with less delicacy, might have marred his popularity. He was fond of securing an eager but inconsiderate talker, whom he drew out, by a series of subtle questions, for the amusement of the rest. So well known was this peculiarity among his older friends that after one of his parties a person who had not been present has been heard to inquire from another who had just left his rooms, ‘Who was fool to-day?’
In 1834 Thirlwall’s connection with the educational staff of the college was rudely severed by a controversy respecting the admission of Dissenters to degrees. This debate has been long since forgotten in the University; but the influence which it exercised on Thirlwall’s future career, as well as its own intrinsic interest, point it out for particular notice. We had occasion in a recent article[[47]] to sketch the changes which took place in the University between 1815 and 1830. It will be remembered that the stormy period of our political history which is associated with the first Reform Bill fell between those dates. It was hardly to be expected that Cambridge should escape an influence by which the country was so profoundly affected. Indeed, it may be cited as a sign of the absorbing interest of that question, that it did affect the University very seriously; for there is ample evidence that in the previous century external events, no matter how important, had made but little impression. In 1746 we find the poet Gray lamenting that his fellow academicians were so indifferent to the march of the Pretender; and even the French Revolution excited but a languid enthusiasm, though Dr Milner, the Vice-Chancellor, and his brother Heads, did their best to draw attention to it by expelling from the University Mr Frend, of Jesus College, for writing a pamphlet called Peace and Union, which advocated the principles of its leaders. With the Reform Bill of 1830, however, the case was very different. Sides were eagerly taken; discussions grew hot and angry; old friends became estranged; and, years afterwards, when children of the next generation asked questions of their parents about some one whose name was mentioned in their hearing, but with whom they were not personally acquainted, it was not unusual for them to be told: ‘That is Mr So-and-so; he used to be very intimate with us before the Reform Bill; but we never speak now.’
One of the grievances then discussed was the exclusion of Dissenters from participation in the advantages of the Universities. The propriety of imposing tests at matriculation, and on proceeding to degrees, especially to degrees in the faculties of law and physic, had been from time to time debated, both in the University and in the House of Commons. The ancient practice had, notwithstanding, been steadily maintained. On one occasion, in 1772, the House had even gone so far as to decline, by a majority of 146, to receive a petition on the subject. In December 1833, however, Professor Pryme offered Graces to the Senate for appointing a Syndicate to consider the abolition or the modification of subscription on graduation. The ‘Caput[[48]]’ rejected them. In February of the following year, Dr Cornwallis Hewett, Downing Professor of Medicine, offered a similar Grace to consider the subject with special reference to the faculty of medicine. This also was rejected by the ‘Caput’ on the veto of the Vice-Chancellor, Dr King, President of Queens’ College. These two rejections, following so closely upon each other, made it evident that the authorities of the University were not disposed so much as to consider the subject. It was therefore determined to extend the field of the controversy, and at once to apply to the Legislature. A meeting was held at Professor Hewett’s rooms in Downing College, at which it was agreed to present an identical petition to both Houses of Parliament. The document began by stating the attachment of the petitioners to the Church of England, and to the University as connected therewith; and further, their belief ‘that no civil or ecclesiastical polity was ever so devised by the wisdom of man as not to require, from time to time, some modification from the change of external circumstances or the progress of opinion.’ They then suggested—this was the word employed—
‘“That no corporate body, like the University of Cambridge, can exist in a free country in honour and safety unless its benefits be communicated to all classes as widely as may be compatible with the Christian principles of its foundation”; and urged “the expediency of abrogating by legislative enactment every religious test exacted from members of the University before they proceed to degrees, whether of Bachelor, Master, or Doctor, in Arts, Law, or Physic.”’
This petition was signed by sixty-two resident members of the Senate. Among them were two Masters of Colleges, Dr Davy, of Caius, and Dr Lamb, of Corpus Christi; and nine Professors, Hewett, Lee, Cumming, Clark, Babbage, Sedgwick, Airy, Musgrave, Henslow; some of whom were either Conservatives, or very moderate Liberals. It was presented to the House of Lords by Earl Grey, and to the House of Commons by Mr Spring-Rice, member for the town of Cambridge. As might have been expected, it was met, after an interval of about ten days, by a protest, signed by 110 residents; which was shortly followed by a counter-petition to Parliament, signed by 258 members of the Senate, mostly non-residents—a number which would no doubt have been greatly enlarged had there been more time for collecting signatures[[49]]. These expressions of opinion, however, which showed that even resident members of the University were not unanimous in desiring the proposed relief, while non-residents were probably strongly opposed to it, did not prevent the introduction of a Bill into the House of Commons to make it ‘lawful for all his Majesty’s subjects to enter and matriculate in the Universities of England, and to receive and enjoy all degrees in learning conferred therein (degrees in Divinity alone excepted), without being required to subscribe any articles of religion, or to make any declaration of religious opinions respecting particular modes of faith and worship.’ The third reading of this Bill was carried by a majority of 89; but it was rejected in the House of Lords by a majority of 102.
It will easily be imagined that these proceedings were watched with the greatest interest at Cambridge. Public opinion had risen to fever-heat, and a plentiful crop of pamphlets was the result. It is difficult nowadays to read without a smile these somewhat hysterical productions, with their prophecies of untold evils to come, should the fatal measure suggested by the petitioners ever pass into the Statute-book. Among these pamphlets that which most concerns our present purpose was by Dr Thomas Turton, then Regius Professor of Divinity, and afterwards Lord Bishop of Ely, entitled, Thoughts on the Admission of Persons, without regard to their Religious Opinions, to certain Degrees in the Universities of England. Dr Turton was universally respected, and his pamphlet attracted great attention on that account, and also from the ability and ingenuity of the argument. He adopted the comparative method; and endeavoured to prove that evils would ensue from the intercourse of young men who differed widely from one another in theological beliefs, by tracing the history of the Theological Seminary for Nonconformists, commenced by the celebrated Dr Doddridge, in 1729, at Northampton, and subsequently removed to Daventry in 1751. The gauntlet thus thrown down was taken up by Thirlwall, who lost but little time in addressing to him a Letter on the Admission of Dissenters to Academical Degrees. After stating briefly that what he was about to say would be said on his own responsibility, and that he did not come forward as ‘the organ or advocate’ of those who had taken the same side as himself, many of whom, he thought, would not agree with him, he proceeded to attack the analogy between Cambridge and Daventry which Dr Turton had attempted to establish. ‘Our colleges,’ he boldly asserted, ‘are not theological seminaries. We have no theological colleges, no theological tutors, no theological students.’ The statement was literally true; it might even be said to be as capable of demonstration as any simple mathematical proposition; but uttered in that way, in a controversial pamphlet, in support of a most unpopular cause, it must have sounded like the blast of a hostile trumpet. This, however, was not all. Dr Turton had claimed for the Universities the same privilege which was enjoyed by Nonconformists, viz. the possession of colleges where ‘those principles of religion alone are taught which are in agreement with their own peculiar views.’ Thirlwall, therefore, proceeded to inquire whether the colleges, though not theological seminaries, might be held to be schools for religious instruction. This question again he answered in the negative; and his opponent having placed in the foremost rank among the privileges long exercised by the Universities (1) the relation of tutor to pupil, (2) the chapel services, (3) the college lectures, he proceeded to examine whether these could ‘properly be numbered among the aids to religion which this place furnishes.’ To him it appeared impossible, under any circumstances, to instil religion into men’s minds against their will. ‘We cannot even prescribe exercises, or propose rewards for it, without killing the thing we mean to foster.’ The value of the three aids above enumerated had been, he thought, greatly exaggerated; and compulsory attendance at chapel—‘the constant repetition of a heartless, mechanical service’—he denounced as a positive evil.
‘My reason for thinking that our daily services might be omitted altogether, without any material detriment to religion, is simply that, as far as my means of observation extend, with an immense majority of our congregation it is not a religious service at all, and that to the remaining few it is the least impressive and edifying that can well be conceived[[50]].’
He had no fault to find with the decorum of the service, but he criticised it as follows:
‘If this decorum were to be carried to the highest perfection, as it might easily be, if it should ever become a mode and a point of honour with the young men themselves, the thing itself would not rise one step in my estimation. I should still think, that the best which could be said of it would be, that at the end it leaves every one as it found him, and that the utmost religion could hope from it would be to suffer no incurable wounds.
‘As to any other purposes, foreign to those of religion, which may be answered by these services, I have here no concern with them. I know that it is sometimes said that the attendance at chapel is essential to discipline; but I have never been able to understand what kind of discipline is meant: whether it is a discipline of the body, or of the mind, or of the heart and affections. As to the first, I am very sensible of the advantage of early rising; but I think this end might be attained by a much less circuitous process; and I suppose that it will hardly be reckoned among the uses of our evening service, that it sometimes proves a seasonable interruption to intemperate gaiety. But I confess that the word discipline, applied to this subject, conveys to my mind no notions which I would not wish to banish: it reminds me either of a military parade, or of the age when we were taught to be good at church[[51]].’