Letter V

On the Anglican Religion

England is the land of sects: “In my Father's house are many mansions.” An Englishman, as a free man, goes to heaven by whatever road he pleases.

Yet although everyone here may worship God in his own way, their true religion, the one in which fortunes are made, is the sect of the bishops, called the Anglican Church, or simply the Church. No one can hold office in England or Ireland without being among the Anglican faithful; this reason, an excellent proof, has converted so many nonconformists that today not a twentieth part of the nation remains outside the fold of the established Church.

The Anglican clergy have retained many Catholic ceremonies, above all the practice of collecting tithes with the most scrupulous attention. They also cherish the pious ambition of being masters: for what village vicar would not wish to be pope?

Moreover, they foster in their flocks, as far as they can, a holy zeal against nonconformists. This zeal ran fairly high under the Tory government in the last years of Queen Anne; but it went no further than occasionally breaking the windows of heretical chapels: for sectarian fury ended in England with the civil wars, and under Queen Anne one heard only the low rumble of a sea still troubled long after the storm. When the Whigs and Tories tore their country apart, as the Guelphs and Ghibellines once laid Italy waste, religion inevitably entered the rival parties. The Tories stood for the episcopate; the Whigs wished to abolish it, but contented themselves with diminishing it when they came to power.

When Harley, Earl of Oxford, and Lord Bolingbroke were drinking to the health of the Tories, the Anglican Church regarded them as the defenders of its sacred privileges. The assembly of the lower clergy, a sort of House of Commons composed of churchmen, then possessed a certain influence; it enjoyed at least the freedom to meet, to debate points of controversy, and from time to time to have a few impious books burned—that is, books written against it. The ministry, now Whig, does not permit these gentlemen to hold their assembly; confined to the obscurity of their parishes, they have the melancholy duty of praying to God for the government, which they would not be sorry to disturb. As for the bishops, twenty-six in all, they sit in the upper house despite the Whigs, because the custom, or abuse, of regarding them as barons still survives. One clause in the oath sworn to the state sorely tests these gentlemen's Christian patience.

In it they promise to belong to the Church as it is established by law. There is scarcely a bishop, dean, or archpriest who does not believe his office to be his by divine right; it is therefore a great mortification for them to have to admit that they owe everything to a wretched law made by profane laymen. A learned cleric (Father Courayer) recently wrote a book to prove the validity and succession of Anglican ordinations. The work was proscribed in France; but do you think it pleased the ministry of England? Not at all. The accursed Whigs care very little whether the episcopal succession was interrupted among them or not, or whether Bishop Parker was consecrated in a tavern (as some maintain) or in a church; indeed, they would rather the bishops derived their authority from Parliament than from the apostles. Lord B. says that this notion of divine right would serve only to make tyrants in capes and surplices, whereas the law makes citizens.

As to conduct, the Anglican clergy are more disciplined than the clergy of France; and here is why. All churchmen are educated at the University of Oxford or that of Cambridge, far from the corruption of the capital: they are called to the dignities of the Church only very late, at an age when men have no passion left but greed, once their ambition has nothing to feed on. Here appointments reward long service in the Church as in the army; one does not see young men made bishops or colonels on leaving college. Moreover, the priests are almost all married. Their awkwardness, acquired at the university, and their scant acquaintance with women here mean that a bishop is usually obliged to content himself with his wife. Priests sometimes go to the tavern, because custom allows it; and if they get drunk, they do so earnestly and without scandal.

That indefinable creature who is neither a churchman nor a layman—in a word, what is called an abbé—is a species unknown in England; churchmen here are all reserved and almost all pedants. When they learn that in France young men notorious for their debaucheries, raised to the prelacy through women's intrigues, openly pursue love affairs, amuse themselves by writing tender songs, give elaborate, protracted suppers every day, and then go to implore the light of the Holy Spirit and boldly call themselves successors of the apostles, they thank God that they are Protestants. But they are vile heretics fit to be burned by all the devils, as Master François Rabelais says; and so I do not meddle in their affairs.

On the Anglican Religion

England is a country of sects: There are many rooms in my Father's house. An Englishman is a free man, and takes whatever road to heaven he likes.

Yet while everyone here can worship God in his own way, the real religion—the one that helps you get ahead—is the sect of the bishops. It is called the Anglican Church, or simply the Church. You cannot hold a position in England or Ireland without being one of the Anglican faithful. This reason, which makes an excellent argument, has converted so many nonconformists that today not even a twentieth of the nation is outside the dominant Church.

The Anglican clergy have kept many Catholic ceremonies. Above all, they are very careful to collect tithes. They also have the pious ambition to be in charge: what village vicar would not want to be pope?

They also do all they can to stir up holy zeal against nonconformists among their flocks. This zeal was quite strong under the Tory government in Queen Anne's last years. But it went no further than occasionally breaking the windows of heretical chapels. The fury between sects ended in England with the civil wars. Under Queen Anne there was only the low rumble of a sea that stays rough long after a storm. When the Whigs and Tories tore their country apart, as the Guelphs and Ghibellines had once ravaged Italy, religion inevitably joined the parties. The Tories supported bishops; the Whigs wanted to abolish them, but once in power settled for reducing their standing.

When the Earl of Oxford, Harley, and Lord Bolingbroke were drinking to the Tories' health, the Anglican Church saw them as defenders of its holy privileges. The assembly of the lower clergy, a kind of House of Commons made up of churchmen, then had some influence. At least it was free to meet, debate religious disputes, and occasionally burn a few impious books—that is, books written against it. The present Whig ministry does not allow these gentlemen to hold their assembly. They are confined to the obscurity of their parishes and the sad task of praying to God for the government, which they would not mind upsetting. As for the bishops, twenty-six in all, they sit in the upper house despite the Whigs, because the custom, or abuse, of regarding them as barons still survives. There is a clause in the oath of allegiance to the state that really tests these gentlemen's Christian patience.

In that oath they promise to belong to the Church as established by law. There is hardly a bishop, dean, or archpriest who does not believe his office exists by divine right. It is therefore deeply humiliating for them to have to admit they owe everything to a wretched law made by laypeople with no religious office. A learned member of a religious order (Father Courayer) recently wrote a book to prove the validity and unbroken succession of Anglican ordinations. His work was banned in France. But do you think it pleased the English ministry? Not at all. Those accursed Whigs care very little whether the succession of bishops in England was broken, or whether Bishop Parker was consecrated in a tavern, as some claim, or in a church. They would actually prefer bishops to get their authority from Parliament rather than from the apostles. Lord B. says that this idea of divine right would only create tyrants in clerical capes and robes, while the law makes citizens.

In their behavior, Anglican clergy are more restrained than French clergy, and here is why. All churchmen are educated at Oxford or Cambridge, far from the capital's corruption. They are only promoted to high positions in the Church quite late in life, at an age when men have no passions left but greed, if their ambition has nothing to feed on. Positions here reward long service in the Church, just as they do in the army. You do not see young men made bishops or colonels straight out of school. Also, nearly all the priests are married. Their awkwardness, acquired at university, and the little contact they have with women here mean that a bishop usually has to make do with his wife. Priests sometimes go to the tavern, because custom allows it. If they get drunk, they do it in earnest and without causing a scandal.

That hard-to-define creature who is neither a clergyman nor a layman—in short, what we call an abbé—is unknown in England. The churchmen here are all reserved and almost all pedantic. When they hear that in France young men known for their debauchery are promoted to high church office through women's intrigues, openly have love affairs, amuse themselves by writing love songs, give elaborate, lengthy suppers every day, and then go to ask the Holy Spirit for guidance and boldly call themselves successors to the apostles, they thank God they are Protestants. But they are dreadful heretics who should be burned to all the devils, as Master François Rabelais says. That is why I do not meddle in their affairs.