THE ARCHBISHOP

GEORGE ABBOT

"Justum et tenacem propositi virum
non civium ardor prava jubentium,
non vultus instantis tyranni

mente quatit solida, neque Auster

dux inquieti turbidus Hadriae,

nec fulminantis magna manus Jovis;
si fractus illabatur orbis,
impavidum ferient ruinae.”

HORACE, Odes, III. iii. 1-8.

Fall the men in authority in our land, there is perhaps no one who, by duty and conscience, is more bound to act with scrupulous justice and spotless integrity than the Archbishop of Canterbury. He is the natural representative and the practical head of the national Church, whose watchful observation is, or ought to be, over all that is done within its borders. He it is who has to decide the perplexing problems put forth by the contending sections of its various branches, and the reins of compromise, by which alone it can be driven straight, are in his hands. Like Justice, though not blindfold, he is constrained to hold the balance between the Rock on the one side and the Church Times on the other; and if he finds the one somewhat sandy and the other a little acrid, by force of his position he is compelled to keep his opinions discreetly to himself. Truly he requires the keen eye of the lynx and the calm wisdom of Solon, the strong hand of Themistocles and the discretion of Pericles, the brilliant dash of Alcibiades and the equal temper of Socrates; indeed, he must combine within himself all the Christian virtues with profound learning and supreme skill in diplomacy if he is to discharge his complicated functions with anything approaching to universal satisfaction. On him the responsibility largely rests of the harmonious and effective working of the great institution committed to

his care; and though he must often sink beneath the weight of his burden, he is expected by his critics to bear it unflinchingly to the end of his life. Indeed, he receives little sympathy until he rests in the Abbey, when men begin to wonder how he contrived to do his duties so well, and he is honoured just at the time when he could most easily spare the tardy tribute of posthumous praise.

But great as is the archbishop's responsibility to-day, it was in some directions greater in the seventeenth century. Then he was compelled by the unkindness of fate, or moved by his own ambitious desires, to assist the king in his political, no less than in his ecclesiastical, government. His was a voice of supreme importance at the table of the Privy Council, and in the more arbitrary Court of the Star-Chamber; while he was ex-officio president of the Court of High Commission. It was the last of these offices which caused him most searching of heart and legal precedents too; by its instrumentality he was entrusted with the arduous task of solving the problems and settling the differences which continually disturbed the peace of the Church. The Romanists, on the one hand, were a powerful and aggressive party, who had to be coerced by harsh penal laws; while the Puritans, on the other, were no less difficult to persuade, and infinitely more stubborn in the resistance of repression. Appointed as often as not by the king on his single responsibility, and sometimes in opposition to the known wishes of the bishops, he was in the main dependent upon the king alone, as head of the Church, though he did not on that account escape the frequent censures of the leaders of the nation. Should he commit an indiscretion, or an absolute sin, and thus be rendered uncanonical, it was the king alone who could absolve him in conformity with, or in opposition to, such public opinon as then existed. In his own sphere he was as absolute, though not so infallible, as the Pope himself; and if any man is to exercise absolute power, he must be endowed with the wisdom and purity of an angel. Moreover, the king looked to him for advice in such worldly matters as the procuring and administration of the royal revenue, to give discreet counsel on grave political questions, to punish contumacious Nonconformists, whether Romanists or Puritans, and to keep strict order and tranquillity throughout the Church.

One further and by no means easy duty fell to the

The

archbishop's lot in a disreputable Court like that of James I. He was expected to be in frequent attendance, and to keep a blind eye to the vices of the great courtiers without sacrificing any of his archiepiscopal dignity and purity of life. Furthermore, a certain amount of flattery was deemed necessary by the great ones of the country, and a liberal quantity by the vain king. The primate was almost forced to use a well-oiled tongue, and at the same time to forfeit none of the respect which was due to his high office. If he could laugh at the coarse jests of the ribald monarch, he fared better than if he felt himself compelled to request that not over-cleanly Solomon to pay proper regard to his cloth. So, too, it was part of his duty to preach before the king without wounding the royal vanity. Moreover, he had to hold his own against unscrupulous favourites of, to say the least, questionable morality. That James, when left to himself, really meant to govern justly may well be conceded; but never king was more susceptible than he to the plausible flattery of evil men. last impression held its place in his fickle mind; and however good his former intentions had been, he was apt to forget them under the influence of a handsome and sometimes infamous courtier. He had the highest opinion of his own shrewdness in the judgment of character, yet few of our sovereigns have been so easily and so completely duped by the appearance of strength in the impetuosity of overbearing weakness. When, then, the archbishop was compelled to hold his position and influence against men of this kind, he stood at a grave disadvantage. He owed his high place commonly to his profound scholarship, and not many scholars are men of affairs. Hence it came to pass that he often saw himself overborne by men who had not a tithe of his academic learning, but who understood the length of the king's foot. However much he may have coveted the office from a distance, when he had once obtained it he found himself not by any means reclining on a bed of roses, or at all events the roses of his consolation were thickly strewn with the thorns of frequent annoy

ance.

Whether George Abbot fulfilled, or could have fulfilled, these various and exacting requirements, or whether he failed to a certain extent to discharge the duties of the office with which he was entrusted, remains to be seen. But whatever his shortcomings may have been, it cannot