Literary work—‘Tancred; or, the New Crusade’—Modern philosophy—The ‘Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation’—‘Life of Lord George Bentinck’—Disraeli’s religious views—Revelation as opposed to science—Dislike and dread of Rationalism—Religion and statesmanship—The national creed the supplement of the national law—Speech in the theatre at Oxford—Disraeli on the side of the angels.

As Disraeli’s public life grew more absorbing his literary work was necessarily suspended. But before the weight of leadership was finally laid upon him he had written two more books—‘Tancred; or, the New Crusade,’ the third of the series of novels which he called a trilogy, and the biography of his friend and comrade Lord George Bentinck.

‘Tancred’ of all his writings was that which he himself most esteemed. When it was composed he was still under the illusion of a possible regenerated aristocracy. He saw that they had noble qualities, but they wanted the inspiration of a genuine religious belief. Tancred, the only child and heir of a ducal family, is an enthusiastic and thoughtful youth with high aspirations after excellence. He is a descendant of the Crusaders, and his mind turns back to the land which was the birthplace of his nominal creed. There alone the Maker of the universe had held direct communication with man. There alone, perhaps, it was likely that He would communicate with his creature again. Christian Europe still regarded the Israelites as the chosen people. Half of it still worshipped a Jew and the other half a Jewess. But between criticism and science and materialism, and the enervating influence of modern habits, the belief which lingered in form had lost its commanding power.

Before the diseases of society could be cured the creed must be restored to its authority. The Tractarians were saying the same thing in tones of serious conviction. Disraeli, the politician and the man of the world, was repeating it in a tone which wavered between mockery and earnestness, the mockery, perhaps, being used as a veil to cover feelings more real than they seemed.

Tancred, on leaving the University where he had brilliantly distinguished himself, is plunged into the London world. He meets attractive beings, whose souls, he imagines, must be as beautiful as their faces. One illusive charmer proves to be a gambler on the Stock Exchange; another has been studying the ‘Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation,’ called here ‘Revelations of Chaos,’ and expounds the great mystery to him in a gilded drawing-room.

‘“The subject is treated scientifically,” said the Lady Constance. “Everything is explained by geology and astronomy, and in that way it shows you exactly how a star is formed. Nothing can be so pretty, a cluster of vapour, the cream of the Milky Way, a sort of celestial cheese churned into light. You must read it. ’Tis charming.”

‘“Nobody ever saw a star formed,” said Tancred.

‘“Perhaps not. You must read the ‘Revelations;’ it is all explained. But what is more interesting is the way in which man has been developed. You know all is development. The principle is perpetually going on. First there was nothing; then there was something; then—I forget the next. I think there were shells, then fishes. Then came—let me see—did we come next? Never mind that; we came at last, and at the next change there will be something very superior to us, something with wings. Ah, that is it! we were fishes. I believe we shall be crows; but you must read it.”

‘“I do not believe I ever was a fish,” said Tancred.

‘“Oh! but it is all proved. Read the book. It is impossible to contradict anything in it; you understand it is all science. Everything is proved by geology, you know. You see exactly how everything is made, how many worlds there have been, how long they lasted, what went before, what comes next. We are a link in the chain as inferior animals were that preceded us. We in time shall be inferior. All that will remain of us will be some relics in a new Red Sandstone. This is development. We had fins; we may have wings.”’

The theory thus airily sketched has been established since, in a more completed argument, by Darwin. Such solid evidence as there is for it has been before mankind for thousands of years, and has not seemed unanswerable. The Jews and the Greeks knew as well as modern philosophers that human bodies are built on the same type, and are bred and supported by the same means as the bodies of animals; that the minds of animals are in the same way clumsy likenesses of ours. Compared to the real weight of these acknowledged facts the additions of Darwin, or of the author of the ‘Vestiges,’ are relatively nothing. If the doctrine of development has passed into popular acceptance, if it has been received into Churches and adapted to Catholic theology, the explanation is not in the increased form of evidence but in a change in ourselves. Candid consideration of our natures, as we now find them makes it appear not so improbable that we are but animals after all. Tancred, fresh from Tractarian Oxford, is unconvinced. He hurries to Palestine, sees a vision of angels on Mount Sinai, falls in love with a Jewish maiden who is an embodied spirit of inspiration, and is interrupted at the moment of pouring out his homage by the arrival of ‘the Duke and Duchess at Jerusalem.’ Whether the coming of these illustrious persons was to end in a blessing on his enthusiasm or in recalling him to a better recognition of what was due to his station in society the story is silent.

The ‘Life of Lord George Bentinck’ is an admirably written biography of the friend who had stood by Disraeli in his conflict with Peel, and who, after living long enough to show promise of eminence, had suddenly and prematurely died. To the student of the Parliamentary history of those times the book is of great value. To the general reader the most interesting parts of it are those which throw light on Disraeli’s own mind.

The most important fact to every man is his religion. If we would know what a man is we ask what notions he has formed about his duty to man and God. The question is often more easily asked than answered, for ordinary persons repeat what they have learnt, and have formed no clear notions at all; and the few wise, though at bottom they may be as orthodox as a bishop, prefer usually to keep their thoughts to themselves. Disraeli, however, in this book invites attention to his own views. An insincere profession on such a subject forfeits the respect of everyone, and we are entitled to examine what he says and to enquire how far he means it.

Those who cannot bear suspense and feel the necessity of arriving at a positive conclusion, make their choice between two opinions—one, that God created the world and created man to serve Him, that He gave to man a revelation of His law and holds him answerable for disobedience to it: the other, that the world has been generated by the impersonal forces of nature: that all things in it, animate and inanimate, find their places and perform their functions according to their several powers and properties; that man having ampler faculties than other animals, discovers the rules which are good for him to follow, as he discovers other things, and that what he calls ‘revelations’ are no more than successive products of the genius of gifted members of his race thrown out in a series of ages. The second of these theories is what we generally call the ‘creed of science;’ the first is the religious and is represented by Judaism and Christianity. Disraeli, with a confessed pride in belonging himself to the favoured race, desires us to understand that he receives with full and entire conviction the fact that a revelation was really made to his forefathers, and rejects the opposite speculation as unsupported by evidence and degrading to human nature. The subject is introduced in an argument for the admission of the Jews to Parliament. He does not plead for their admission on the principle of ‘toleration,’ which he rejects as indifferentism, but on the special merits of the Jews themselves, and on their services to mankind. He regards Christianity as simply completed Judaism. Those who profess to be Jews only he considers unfortunate in believing only the first part of their religion, but still as defending and asserting the spiritual view of man’s nature in opposition to the scientific, and as holding a peculiar place in the providential dispensation. He speaks of the mysteries of Christianity in a tone which, if not sincere, is detestable. ‘If,’ he says, ‘the Jews had not prevailed upon the Romans to crucify our Lord, what would have become of the atonement? But the human mind cannot contemplate the idea that the most important deed of time could depend upon human will. The immolator was preordained, like the Victim, and the holy race supplied both.’ The most orthodox divine could not use severer words of censure than Disraeli used for the critical rationalism which treats the sacred history as a myth—for Bishop Colenso, for the Essayists and Reviewers. His words have not the ring of the genuine theological metal. Artificial and elaborate diction is not the form in which simple belief expresses itself. Yet the fault may not be entirely in Disraeli. Even when most in earnest he was inveterately affected. It is to be remembered also that in his real nature he remained a Jew, and his thoughts on these great subjects ran on Asiatic rather than on European lines. We imagine that the Scriptures must be read everywhere into the same meaning; we forget how much European thought has passed into them through the traditions of the Church and through the various translations. In the English version St. Paul reasons like an Englishman. A Jew reads in St. Paul’s language allusions to oriental customs and beliefs of which Europeans know nothing; we have therefore no reason to suspect Disraeli of insincerity because he did not express himself as we do.

Perhaps the truth may be this: He was a Conservative English statesman; he knew that the English Church was the most powerful Conservative institution still remaining. Criticism was eating into it on one side, and ritualism on the other, breaking through the old use and wont, the traditionary habits which were its strongest bulwarks. He wished well to the Church. He was himself a regular communicant, and he desired to keep it as it was. He believed in the religious principle as against the philosophic; and from the nature of his mind he must have known that national religions do not rest upon argument and evidence. When forms vary from age to age and country to country no one of them can be absolutely free from error. Plato, having drawn the model of a commonwealth with a code of laws as precise as positive enactment can prescribe, goes on to say that for conduct in ordinary life which law cannot reach there is the further rule of religion. Religion, however, is a thing which grows and cannot be made. The central idea that man is a responsible being is everywhere the same; but the idea shapes various forms for itself, into which legend, speculation, and prevailing opinions necessarily enter. As time goes on, therefore, questions rise concerning this or that fact and this or that ceremony, which if indulged will create general scepticism. Such enquiries must be sternly repressed. In religion lies the only guidance for human life. The wise legislator, therefore, will regard the Church of his country as the best support of the State. The subject will reflect that although observances may seem offensive and stories told about the gods may seem incredible; yet as a rule of action a system which has been the growth of ages is infinitely more precious than any theory which he could think out for himself. He will know that his own mind, that the mind of any single individual, is unequal to so vast a matter, that it is of such immeasurable consequence to him to have his conduct wisely directed that, although the body of his religion be mortal like his own, he must not allow it to be rudely meddled with. He may think as he likes about the legends of Zeus and Here, but he must keep his thoughts to himself: a man who brings into contempt the creed of his country is the deepest of criminals; he deserves death and nothing less. Ta??t? ?????s??, ‘Let him die for it’ a remarkable expression to have been used by the wisest and gentlest of human lawgivers.

Disraeli’s opinions on these subjects were perhaps the same as Plato’s. He too may have had his uncertainties about Zeus and Here, and yet have had no uncertainty at all about the general truth of the teaching of the Church of England, while as a statesman he was absolutely convinced of the necessity of supporting and defending it, defending it alike from open enemies and from the foolish ecclesiastical revivalism into which Tractarianism had degenerated. The strength of the Church lay in its hold upon the habits of the people, and whoever was breaking through the usages which time had made familiar and consecrated was equally dangerous and mischievous. The critics were bringing in reason to decide questions which belonged to conscience and imagination. The ritualists were bringing back pagan superstition in a pseudo-Christian dress. He despised the first. He did what he could to restrain the second with a Public Worship Bill as soon as he had power to interfere. Late in his career, when he was within view of the Premiership, he used an opportunity of expressing his feeling on the subject in his own characteristic manner.

Oxford having produced the High Churchmen, was now generating rationalists and philosophers. Intellectual society was divided into the followers of Strauss and Darwin and those who believed that the only alternative was the ‘Summa TheologiÆ.’ Both streams were concentrated in support of the Liberal leader, who was Disraeli’s political antagonist; one because he represented progress, the other because in matters spiritual he was supposed to hold the most advanced Catholic doctrines. In the year 1864 Disraeli happened to be on a visit at Cuddesdon, and it happened equally that a diocesan conference was to be held at Oxford at the time, with Bishop Wilberforce in the chair. The spiritual atmosphere was, as usual, disturbed. The clerical mind had been doubly exercised by the appearance of Colenso on the ‘Pentateuch’ and Darwin on the ‘Origin of Species.’ Disraeli, to the surprise of everyone, presented himself in the theatre. He had long abandoned the satins and silks of his youth, but he was as careful of effect as he had ever been, and had prepared himself in a costume elaborately negligent. He lounged into the assembly in a black velvet shooting-coat and a wide-awake hat, as if he had been accidentally passing through the town. It was the fashion with University intellect to despise Disraeli as a man with neither sweetness nor light; but he was famous, or at least notorious, and when he rose to speak there was general curiosity. He began in his usual affected manner, slowly and rather pompously, as if he had nothing to say beyond perfunctory platitudes.

The Oxford wits began to compare themselves favourably with the dulness of Parliamentary orators, when first one sentence and then another startled them into attention. They were told that the Church was not likely to be disestablished. It would remain, but would remain subject to a Parliament which would not allow an imperium in imperio. It must exert itself and reassert its authority, but within the limits which the law laid down. The interest grew deeper when he came to touch on the parties to one or other of which all his listeners belonged. High Church and Low Church were historical and intelligible, but there had arisen lately, the speaker said, a party called the Broad, never before heard of. He went on to explain what Broad Churchmen were.

It would not be wise to treat the existence and influence of this new party with contempt.... It is founded on the principle of criticism. Now doubt is an element of criticism, and the tendency of criticism is necessarily sceptical. It is quite possible that such a party may arrive at conclusions which we may deem monstrous. They may reject inspiration as a principle and miracles as a practice. That is possible: and I think it quite logical that having arrived at such conclusions they should repudiate creeds and reject articles of faith, because creeds and articles of faith cannot exist or be sustained without acknowledging the principle of inspiration and the practice of miracles. All that I admit. But what I do not understand, and what I wish to draw the attention of this assembly and of this country generally to, is this: that, having arrived at these conclusions, having arrived conscientiously at the result that with their opinions they must repudiate creeds and reject articles, they should not carry their principles to their legitimate end, but are still sworn supporters of ecclesiastical establishments, fervent upholders of or dignitaries of the Church.... If it be true, as I am often told it is, that the age of faith has passed, then the fact of having an opulent hierarchy, supported by men of high cultivation, brilliant talents and eloquence, and perhaps some ambition, with no distinctive opinions, might be a very harmless state of affairs, and it would certainly not be a very permanent one. But, my Lord, instead of believing that the age of faith has passed when I observe what is passing round us, what is taking place in this country, and not only in this country, but in other countries and other hemispheres, instead of believing that the age of faith has passed I hold that the characteristic of the present age is a craving credulity. My Lord, man is a being born to believe, and if no Church comes forward with its title-deeds of truth sustained by the traditions of sacred ages, and by the convictions of countless generations to guide him, he will find altars and idols in his own heart, in his own imagination. And what must be the relations of a powerful Church without distinctive creeds with a being of such a nature? Before long we shall be living in a flitting scene of spiritual phantasmagoria. There are no tenets, however extravagant, and no practices, however objectionable, which will not in time develop under such a state of affairs, opinions the most absurd and ceremonies the most revolting....

Consider the country in which all this may take place. Dangerous in all countries, it would be yet more dangerous in England. Our empire is now unrivalled for its extent; but the base, the material base of that empire is by no means equal to the colossal superstructure. It is not our iron ships, it is not our celebrated regiments, it is not these things which have created or indeed really maintain an empire. It is the character of the people. I want to know where that famous character of the English people will be if they are to be influenced and guided by a Church of immense talent, opulence, and power without any distinctive creed. You have in this country accumulated wealth that has never been equalled, and probably it will still increase. You have a luxury that will some day peradventure rival even your wealth; and the union of such circumstances with a Church without a distinctive creed will lead, I believe, to a dissolution of manners and morals, which prepares the tomb of empires.

The opinions of the new school are paralysing the efforts of many who ought to be our friends. Will these opinions succeed? My conviction is that they will fail.... Having examined all their writings, I believe without exception, whether they consist of fascinating eloquence, diversified learning, or picturesque sensibility exercised by our honoured in this University [Dean Stanley], and whom to know is to admire and regard; or whether you find them in the cruder conclusions of prelates who appear to have commenced their theological studies after they have grasped the crozier [Bishop Colenso]; or whether I read the lucubrations of nebulous professors [Frederick Maurice] who, if they could persuade the public to read their writings, would go far to realise that eternal punishment which they deny; or, lastly, whether it be the provincial arrogance and precipitate self-complacency which flash and flare in an essay or review—I find the common characteristic of their writings is this: that their learning is always second-hand.... When I examine the writings of their masters, the great scholars of Germany, I find that in their labours [also] there is nothing new. All that inexorable logic, irresistible rhetoric, bewildering wit could avail to popularise these views was set in motion to impress the new learning on the minds of the two leading nations of Europe [by the English and French deistical writers of the last century], and they produced their effect [in the French Revolution]. When the turbulence was over, when the waters had subsided, the sacred heights of Sinai and of Calvary were again revealed, and amidst the wreck of thrones, extinct nations, and abolished laws mankind, tried by so many sorrows, purified by so much suffering, and wise with such unprecedented experience, bowed again before the Divine truths that Omnipotence had entrusted to the custody and promulgation of a chosen people....

The discoveries of science are not, we are told, consistent with the teachings of the Church.... It is of great importance when this tattle about science is mentioned that we should attach to the phrase precise ideas. The function of science is the interpretation of nature, and the interpretation of the highest nature is the highest science. What is the highest nature? Man is the highest nature. But I must say that when I compare the interpretation of the highest nature by the most advanced, the most fashionable school of modern science with some other teaching with which we are familiar, I am not prepared to admit that the lecture-room is more scientific than the Church. What is the question now placed before society with a glib assurance the most astounding? The question is this: Is man an ape or an angel? I, my Lord, I am on the side of the angels. I repudiate with indignation and abhorrence the contrary view, which I believe foreign to the conscience of humanity. More than that, from the intellectual point of view the severest metaphysical analysis is opposed to such a conclusion.... What does the Church teach us? That man is made in the image of his Maker. Between these two contending interpretations of the nature of man and their consequences society will have to decide. This rivalry is at the bottom of all human affairs. Upon an acceptance of that Divine interpretation for which we are indebted to the Church, and of which the Church is the guardian, all sound and salutary legislation depends. That truth is the only security for civilisation and the only guarantee of real progress.

Mr. Disraeli is on the side of the angels. Pit and gallery echoed with laughter. Fellows and tutors repeated the phrase over their port in the common room with shaking sides. The newspapers carried the announcement the next morning over the length and breadth of the island, and the leading article writers struggled in their comments to maintain a decent gravity. Did Disraeli mean it, or was it but an idle jest? and what must a man be who could exercise his wit on such a subject? Disraeli was at least as much in earnest as his audience.

The phrase answered its purpose. It has lived and become historical when the decorous protests of professional divines have been forgotten with the breath which uttered them. The note of scorn with which it rings has preserved it better than any affectation of pious horror, which indeed would have been out of place in the presence of such an assembly.