THE PARSON OF THE FUTURE.
AMODERN country parish is very hard to please in the matter of a parson. Rich and poor are almost equally difficult to conciliate. The atmosphere of the country—of the home counties at any rate—has very much changed. It is permeated by the intellectual smoke of the city. A few landowners at the top and a few labourers at the other end of the social scale used to make up a parish, and if a country parish still consisted of these elements only, the conscientious parson would have an easier task. But now he must reckon with all the villa-dwellers and the regiments of servants they employ in their gardens and stables and garages, and he, perhaps, ought to reckon also with all the tramping labour which is gradually lessening the number of the agricultural labourers. Most of the clergy disregard these awkward birds of passage altogether. Their conduct in this matter is approved by the poor and disapproved by the rich, who do not, however, bestir themselves in the least to remedy the omission they deprecate. No one gives a thought to the welfare of the " machine men" except the doctor, whose duty it is to be everybody's friend.
Leaving out this rough element, however, the parson has enough to do, and it is very hard for him to do right in the eyes of the parish. Apart from his services, which are as a rule badly attended (unless he is a particularly good preacher), how is he to please his people ? They have one and all become terribly critical. Probably the few landowners will judge him solely in his relation to the poor. By the poor he is to make himself liked ; if he fails to do so he has in the eyes of these superior critics failed altogether. But how to make the poor like him P—that is the question. High churchmen among the educated begin with a prejudice in favour of a high churchman, and low churchmen incline to like a man who holds their views. But views are no introduction to the poor. They do not care one pin about the differences over which superiors fight. A high churchman who takes many services is said "not to spare himself," but a low churchman who shuts the church from one Sunday night till the next Sunday morning will not be objected to if he gives other proof of industry. They all like that a clergyman should work. But what would they like him to work at P That it is not so easy to say. "Clubs" and classes may be multiplied to any extent, but they do not seem to give great satisfaction. He must "visit," that is a sine qua non, but his visiting by no means always gives pleasure. A strong interest in human affairs and in the whole drama of the parish will not infrequently earn him the reputation of a gossip or "a talker." If on the other hand he regards his work as entirely spiritual and speaks to his hearers of religion only, he will as a rule produce a sense of embarrassment which used to be con-
fined to the more educated members of a congregation. His hosts would far rather talk of their physical than their spiritual symptoms, and if he persists in his unwelcome conversation he will probably not be asked in next time he comes to the door. "I liked the parson in my last parish," said a friend of the present writer, the wife of a labourer. "He never used to breathe `church' except in the proper place for church,' and that is in church." She liked sermons very well in the pulpit, but she would not endure them in the parlour.
Among the poor we think it is the sick who finally pro. nounce judgment upon the clergyman; if the sufferer feels the better for his visit, the parson has in his eyes and those
of all his relations performed his duty. The athletic parson who plays with the boys is, strange as it may seem, often supposed to be amusing himself and does not get a great deal of gratitude. But it is in the parson's own rank of life that he finds his hardest critics. He must, if he is to do what is expected of him, throw himself into the social life of the parish, but he must stop short of getting any real enjoy- ment from its whirl of tea-parties, charitable theatricals, dances, and " bridge." He must work for the parish amuse- ment, but be very careful how he participates in it—unless he is willing to be called frivolous. From those feasts of reason which the more intellectual of his parishioners spread for each other he will in all probability find himself shut out. By a curious irony of etiquette, it is bad manners in the ordinary middle-class society of a village to talk of religious subjects before a clergyman. All serious talk is apt to tend in that direction, unless it is political, and for obvious reasons it is better that a parson should maintain on political matters some reserve, especially if he happens to differ completely from the larger half of his parishioners. Nevertheless the parson will be blamed for his ignorance of the layman's point of view and for a want of interest in the newspapers. A shy scholar who lives among his books, visits the poor in trouble, reads the services, and has nothing to do with the villa-dwellers except to ask them to help the poor, comes in for far less criticism than a man of a more sociable turn ; on the other band, such a man, even if he be a saint, will hardly be regarded as an ideal parish priest. Everyone will say of him that he takes no part in the life of the place.
Small wonder if so much criticism reacts upon its objects, and produces in sensitive men that superabundance of caution which destroys all force of character. This quality may be forced upon a conscientious man till it permeates every fibre of his being. In his anxiety to do nothing and say nothing which can give offence to anyone he becomes a wet blanket and a drag in every society, utterly uncompanionable to rich or poor. Gossip he effectually suppresses by words which cool praise and damp indignation. No conviction other than religious is ever allowed to escape his mouth ; his whole mind becomes given over to the considera- tion of what it will be most discreet to say. Such a man receives no confidences and can know nothing of the real life of his people. No one asks anything—but money—from those who never give themselves away.
Do the laity know what they want themselves ? There was a time, and that not long ago, when it was easy enough for a parson to be liked; and there was a type, and a common type, of parson to be found in the country who gave complete satis- faction to the whole parish, though be was not ruled by them. The present writer can remember a typical instance. He belonged to the landed class, with whom the poor are on traditionally familiar, though by no means always affec- tionate terms. He was a Conservative, and never hesitated to say so. It seemed to him impossible that he should be anything else. He loved his Church and the social status quo which he called his country; but he was far too much interested in human nature, and far too indulgent towards it, to be offensive about any of his convictions. While he lived, rich and poor in his parish had what they called "someone to go to" for sympathy, for advice, or for a chat. Among the poor he found his work and his recreation, talking of them always as though they were his children, with tenderness and amusement. Indulgent by nature, had he been a less good Christian he would have been cynically indulgent, but he was a very good Christian indeed. Towards the religious institution of which he spoke affectionately as "she," he maintained an attitude of obedience,looking upon " her " rivals with a strange patronizing kindness not altogether free of contempt. When he mentioned " her " dogmas he prefaced his words with " we know." How far be felt that he knew, his talk, when his mood was sad, sometimes led one to wonder. His sincerity, however, was not impaired by his doubts any more than a mother's sincerity is impaired who offers to her children the image of truth in a metaphor. One saw that he thought about dogma as little as he could, yet more, one suspected, than he desired. He was the recipient of many confessions, and he always absolved his penitents from his heart—a fact which gave him more than a semblance of sacerdotal authority. He knew the private affairs of everyone in the Tillage, and with seeming candour he was as secret as the grave. Well as he knew it, he had a good opinion of the world, but his standard was elastic, and be looked to forgive rather than to approve. Such a man would not exactly suit the Church it is to-day, but we cannot but think that the parson of the future, if he is once more to be popular, will be, so to speak, built on these lines.
The Church of England is a compromise—a compromise, its enemies would say, not only between Catholicism and Puritanism, but between the Church and the world. The friends of all great institutions should learn from their enemies. There is a sense in which these enemies prob- ably speak the truth, though they may put the truth in a bad light. There is room in the ministry of the Church of England for men of all kinds. Among her clergy may be found the most fervent enthusiasts, the dryest scholars, and the greatest saints. But we doubt if saintliness, scholar- ship, or enthusiasm are the typical products of a State Church. Neither is it for these that the ordinary layman looks when he considers the qualities of his parson. He would like him to be what in his better moments he himself would like to be—a godly man of the world, and within the limits of his duty he would like him to do as he likes and let his critics talk. A variety of causes, many of which may truly be described as reforms, have tended to sweep this type out of the way for the moment ; but the peculiar position of independence which "the compromise" conferred upon the English clergy tends to produce this type, and, with alterations in accordance with the spirit of the age, to reproduce it again and again.
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