Frederick denison maurice, christian socialism And the future of social democracy

FREDERICK DENISON MAURICE,CHRISTIAN SOCIALISM AND THEFUTURE OF SOCIAL DEMOCRACY

JOHN MARSDEN

Kildare, Ireland

I. ORIGINS OF THE CHRISTIAN SOCIALIST MOVEMENT

For more than a generation after the first flowering of English ChristianSocialism in the period from 1848–54, F. D. Maurice remained theprimary inspiration for those who identified with this tradition. Mauricewas a theologian of stature whose influence it would be difficult toexaggerate. A sharp critic of party divisions within the Church ofEngland, he argued that ‘parties’, with their neat ‘systems’, missed thesubtlety and substance of theological truths. In contrast, Maurice stressedthe unity of humanity under the Triune God, articulating a highlyinclusive and strongly incarnational theological vision. His socialteaching flowed directly out of his theology, and it was the theologicalbasis he provided for a Christian social ethic for which he was to be bestknown.

Maurice’s advocacy of Christian Socialism was a collaborative enter-prise with John Ludlow (1821–1911), Charles Kingsley (1819–1875) andseveral others.1 The times were propitious for such a development. Thespread of socialist ideas in the early nineteenth century, and the rise ofChartism following disappointment with the Reform Bill of 1832, hadalready elicited some response in what was, admittedly, a largelycomplacent church. Sympathy with Robert Owen’s early attempts tomitigate some of the more destructive features of the factory systemextended to Christian circles; significant parts of Methodism had allieditself with the newly emerging working class; the Chartist movementwas not without religious elements and there existed some Chartistchurches.2

What were termed the ‘hungry’ forties saw a growth of working classsolidarity and self-consciousness, developments which were paralleled onthe continent with the revolutions throughout Europe in 1848. The sheervitality of the Chartist movement is captured by John Stuart Mill, whodescribes it as ‘the revolt of nearly all the active talent, and a great part of

r The Editor/Blackwell Publishing Ltd, Oxford, UK and Boston, USA.

HeyJ XLV (2004), pp. 137–157

the physical force, of the working classes, against their whole relationto society.’3 Chartism may not have led to the calamitous tumult fearedby many, and went into steep decline after the much heralded massdemonstration at Kennington Common ended in disarray as torrentialrain descended, but to the more sensitive minds within the ChristianChurch the conditions of industrial workers posed a series of pressingissues that could no longer be ignored. There was also the fear that ifsome action was not taken the Chartist menace may well re-emerge. It isthus a mixture of genuine concern and acute anxiety which forms theimmediate context in which we should see Maurice’s partnership withLudlow and Kingsley. To judge by Maurice’s comment in a letter toLudlow, there was certainly a good deal of apprehension on his part:

The necessity of an English theological reformation, as the means of averting anEnglish political revolution and of bringing what is good in foreign revolutionsto know itself, has been more and more pressing upon my mind.4

To understand more fully whatMaurice had in mind when he spoke of an‘English theological reformation’, it is necessary to examine in some detailMaurice’s own intellectual development.

II. FROM POLITICAL TO THEOLOGICAL RADICALISM

Maurice, the son of a Unitarian minister, was born in 1805 and died in1872. Along with his Unitarian belief he quickly acquired a strong interestin social and political questions. His chosen career was law and he alsoentertained parliamentary ambitions within the reform movement. Hefound Cambridge rather moribund, though his thinking was sharpenedby his associations with the Utilitarianism of Jeremy Bentham and JamesMill – an influence that was soon to be balanced by his reading of SamuelTaylor Coleridge. When Maurice abandoned his intention to become abarrister, it was to journalism that he turned, writing articles for theprestigious organ of Philosophic Radicalism, The Westminster Review.Discussing the ideas of the Irish republican Theobald Wolfe Tone,Maurice lamented ‘the want of a legislature which should express thefeelings of the people’5, and declared his sympathies for Wolfe Tone.Despite this democratic zeal Maurice was increasingly keen to distancehimself from the Utilitarian reformers. He disliked their atomisticconception of society, and in line with Coleridge’s romantic metaphysics,emphasized the existence of a spiritual realm beyond that of immediatesense experience.

Coleridge had proved himself both an original thinker in his own rightand an interpreter of German debates surrounding the RomanticMovement. In many respects his service to English theology was notwithout its similarities with that of Friedrich Schleiermacher on the

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continent. For Coleridge, the Christian religion is concerned with an all-pervasive spiritual reality which impresses itself upon us and speaks at thevery deepest experiential level to the human condition. ‘Evidences forChristianity!’, he once declared, ‘I amweary of the word.Make a man feelthe want of it; rouse him if you can to the self-knowledge of his need of it;and you may safely trust it to its own evidence.’6 Against deism and anarrowly rationalist theism, Coleridge insisted that reason must beunderstood to also include feeling and imagination. Abstract proofs ofGod’s existence are rather beside the point for him, since religious truthsare encountered through experience and discerned spiritually. Coleridgeconstantly stressed the immediacy of the divine, which encounters thesoul both in the depths and in a fashion that involves the whole of aperson’s being.

In like manner, Maurice saw the human subject, indeed the wholeuniverse, as always living in the presence of the divine. In the mid-1820sMaurice deployed Coleridge’s romantic metaphysics with great effectagainst the Utilitarians both in articles and at the London DebatingSociety. Despite these impressive achievements, as the decade progressed,he was beginning to feel restless and seeking fresh inspiration.

A religious crisis in 1828 was to set him on a new course. He had leftLondon to be with his dying sister, and moved by her faith, he felt his ownshallow by comparison. Theology now took centre-stage as he turned tothe Bible and the Creeds. His labours were to lead him to a deeplyincarnational faith, where Christ is seen as the head of a Kingdom or‘Divine Order’, in which every human being is a participant by virtue ofthe ‘constitution of humanity in Christ’.7 In this expansive theologicalhorizon his intellect, it would seem, had at last found a resting place.Maurice proceeded to membership and then ordination in the Church ofEngland. He found much in its Articles which he could prize andembraced its teachings with enthusiasm, applying all his considerableingenuity to defend his new adherence. Several years later when the issueof mandatory subscription to the Articles at Oxford and Cambridge wasraised, without embarrassment, Maurice defended the practice in apamphlet entitled Subscription No Bondage. Through his religiouscrisis Maurice had acquired a new estimation of the Church. He wasnow ready to draw upon aspects of the Coleridgean inheritance he hadhitherto rejected and we find him espousing an elevated view of theorganic relatedness of Church and State and the role of the NationalChurch.

Coleridge had combined a Tory paternalism with a ChristianRomanticism which viewed society in organic and hierarchical terms.In a healthy commonwealth the monarchy and aristocracy provide thestability in which mercantile and manufacturing interests may flourish.The strength of the British constitution was that it was well suited topreserving the best balance between the various parts of body politic. The

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distinctive role of the National Church was to serve the higher spiritualand cultural interests of the nation.8

All this was very different to the democratic radicalism Maurice hadformerly espoused; indeed one commentator has described him as ‘aprogressive turned reactionary’.9 Maurice’s attachment to existingpolitical institutions certainly placed him firmly in the camp of a Burkeanconservatism. In his first major work, The Kingdom of Christ or Hints onthe Principles, Ordnances, and Constitution of the Catholic Church InLetters to a Member of the Society of Friends (1838), he is very critical ofdemocratic social contract theories and the individual rights tradition,and points to the degeneration that followed the French Revolution. Onseveral occasions he speaks with enthusiasm of Burke’s contribution andcritically of Rousseau. As regards the French Revolution, he records: ‘Itwas impossible for anyone to deny that Burke and the Constitutionalistshad gained much for their argument by that experiment.’10 Without ahierarchy and sovereign, Maurice feared despotism, and instead ofsupporting radical democratic reforms he was now content to stress theChurch’s role in calling the different sections of society to fulfil theirrespective obligations.11 If it is crucial for a healthy body politic that dueweight is given to tradition and ancient institutions, it follows that theChurch must safeguard all that is best in the State through imbuing itwith spiritual vitality and power. His idea of a National Church thusclearly had a distinctly Burkean rationale.

These observations should not be taken to justify the description ofMaurice as a reactionary. Burke wanted to preserve what he saw as thebest in the past and was ready to countenance change when it was needed– witness his opposition to the Protestant Ascendancy in Ireland. Themovement from radical democrat to a Burkean conservatism was theintellectual trajectory of many others besides Maurice. As the nineteenthcentury progressed the Paine/Burke debate was, however, to be overtakenby the gathering pace of the industrial revolution and the rise of the newscience of Political Economy. By the 1840s, with an increasingly confidentbourgeoisie at the centre-stage, ‘conservative’ was acquiring a newmeaning. In this context, Maurice’s disenchantment with some of thecentral tenets of Classical Political Economy, would mean that even thedescription of him as a conservative needs to be qualified.

Maurice’s ecclesiology stemmed from his highly inclusive theologywhich called on society to recognize Christ as its head and thebrotherhood and sisterhood of all. The universality of the Church shouldnot be viewed as justifying the dissolving of national bonds. Nationalcommunities are ordained by God and the National Church is called toimbue the life of the nation with spiritual values. The Church is thusuniversal but also should be adapted to the national life of each country.To make his point, Maurice stressed that the Church should be seen asboth Catholic and Protestant, with the former denoting the universal

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aspect and the latter the national aspect reflecting the relation of everynation and person to God.

The glory of the Church of England lay not in its particular synthesisof reformation teachings, but rather its endeavour to unite all within thelife of the nation. To unite a group of people around a set of opinionswould be to create a sect. Despite all its failings, under the mercy andprovidence of God, the English Church had borne witness to the fact thatthe ties of both universal and national unity lie not in agreed systems ofdoctrine but in common membership of the Kingdom of Christ. ForMaurice, Church unity is promoted not by all agreeing a sharedconfession, but through recognition of the ground of unity that alreadyexists in the Divine Order of the Kingdom of Christ.12

The wish to do away with the distinction between the sacred andsecular implicit in so much of what Maurice had to say is thoroughlycommendable. The same can be said of his ideal of a national Churchserving the spiritual interests of the nation and united around itsconfession of Christ’s universal kingdom. The difficulties only arise whenin practice this gets entangled with a specific denomination that has aprivileged relation to the State and is to a significant extent composed ofpeople with particular class interests. Maurice would have hated thedescription of the Church of England as a denomination and came toespouse a much greater flexibility on adherence to the Articles. Thesociological and political shortcomings of Maurice’s perspective are,however, less easily rebutted. His Burkean conservativism seems to haveprevented him from seeing the all too partial Church-State compact of theEnglish State, which co-opted ecclesial support for what was essentially aclass system. The answer to this lay not in a retreat into the sectariandivision which Maurice rightly resisted, but in the emergence of a lessencumbered and more prophetic church that was eager to embrace theecumenical spirit that – before its time – Maurice in so many respectsexemplified.

It is in The Kingdom of Christ (1838) that the main features ofMaurice’s exceptionally inclusivist kingdom-centred theology are to befound. Averring parties and divisions in the Church, he identifies the bestinsights of differing traditions in ways that always brings this back to adiscussion of the grounds for unity. Maurice maintains that, in Christ, auniversal kingdom in which all humanity is incorporated has beenestablished. ‘Jesus Christ came upon earth to reveal a kingdom’, he says,‘founded upon a union established in His person between man and God’.This kingdom is seen by Maurice as an already existing reality. ‘Men arenot to gain a kingdom hereafter, but are in possession of it now.’ InChrist’s kingdom a fellowship exists which has the self-sacrificial love ofChrist as its norm. Maurice’s theology constantly emphasized thenearness of God and the all-encompassing nature of the Divine Orderof Christ’s kingdom. Through being in Christ all people and the whole


created universe is included within the divine life. The Church’s task is notto separate itself from the world, but to proclaim this eternal relationshipbetween God and humankind. It must therefore look outward and seek topromote the ideal of fellowship and co-operation.13

With a resourcefulness rooted in a rich pastoral ministry and a stylereflecting the manner of a preacher, Maurice’s Theological Essays,published in 1853, again expound his central theological convictions. It isnot enough ‘to bring the sinner, weary, heavy-laden, and hopeless, toChrist’, we must also proclaim ‘that Christ is in every man – the source ofall light that ever visits him, the root of all righteous thoughts and actsthat he is ever able to conceive or do’. In view of this status, Mauriceinsists that the Spirit that is received cannot be one that exalts any oneman above others, since ‘in so far as they confess that it is the Spirit ofChrist, they confess that it is meant to make them brothers’. Respectful ofthe divine sovereign initiative whereby ‘God presents Himself as Fatherof a Family’, we should not ‘forget our relations to each other’. Thus it isthat for Maurice the sense of sin comes to a man ‘when he recollects howhe has broken the silken cords which bind him to his fellows.’14

Despite this impressive presentation of our human equality in Christ,as we have already seen, Maurice’s organic conception of society wasfully consistent with an acceptance of hierarchy. The various estates mustcarry out their duties for the benefit of all. ‘The Church is to be thesupporter of the existing orders’, he writes, ‘a teacher and example tothose orders respecting their duties and responsibilities.’15 It wasselfishness and individualism which violated the true order of humansociety and denied the universal fellowship in which Christ was the head.

The two emphases which were to so strongly characterize Maurice’stheological thought were a realized eschatology and a high doctrine ofhuman nature. He was an enthusiast for Plato and his eschatologycertainly had a definite Johannine-Platonic cast.16 In his view of humannature he was influenced by the Scottish theologian, Thomas Erskine,who rejected the Calvinist belief in double predestination as incompatiblewith the love of God and emphasized the universal election of allhumanity in Christ.17 Although Maurice did not wish to deny humanfalleness, like Erskine he would not allow it to become the basis oftheology and take priority over the truth that ‘every man is in Christ’.18

Maurice fully recognized that people may neglect or even oppose this in-heritance, and that we know not where the justice and mercy of Godbegins or ends, nonetheless the inheritance remains as gift to all humanity.

With the stress so firmly upon what God has already done in Christ forthe whole human race, Maurice’s teaching is very much along the lines ofthe Pauline indicative to become what we are. Given this emphasis onwhat God has already established, it is not surprising that whendescribing the theological enterprise in a letter to Ludlow, we find thatit is ‘digging’ which becomes Maurice’s chosen metaphor:

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my business, because I am a theologian, and have no vocation except fortheology, is not to build, but to dig, to show that economics and politics ymust have a ground beneath themselves, that society is not to be made anew byarrangements of ours, but is to be regenerated by finding the law and ground ofits order and harmony the only secret of its existence in God.19

III. MAURICE AS CO-FOUNDER OF THE CHRISTIAN

SOCIALIST MOVEMENT

Maurice’s theology was already well-formed when in the headyatmosphere of 1848 he entered into alliance with Ludlow and Kingsley.At his home in Queen’s Square the three stayed up until the small hourscomposing a manifesto, entitled, Workmen of England.20 Thus began thefirst phase of Christian Socialism, which lasted until 1854, though it wasnot until 1850 that the designation ‘socialist’ was actually adopted. Whenit was adopted, Maurice made it clear that his intention was both toappropriate the word for theology and insist on the importance ofChristianity for socialism. ‘Christian Socialism’, he declared ‘is, it seemsto me, the only title which will define our object, and will commit us atonce to the conflict with the Unsocial Christians and the UnchristianSocialists’ [my italics].21

Socialism was understood by Maurice as primarily the ideal of co-operation and association, which stood opposed to the pervadingindividualism espoused by the advocates of laissez faire. Adam Smith,David Ricardo and the Utilitarians, had all made competition and thefree market the central precept of Political Economy. Although Smithhad put in certain caveats regarding areas in which the State might haveresponsibilities, these had been conveniently forgotten by the followinggeneration. Maurice was appalled by the conditions of the poor, which hesaw as resulting from the way in which the principle of competition hadcome to govern economic relations. It was against the dominantorthodoxy of laissez faire that Maurice defined his socialism:

The watchword of the Socialist is co-operation; the watchword of the anti-Socialist is competition. Anyone who recognizes the principle of co-operationas a stronger and truer principle than that of competition has the right to thehonour and disgrace of being called a socialist.22

The reaction to laissez faire had of course been gathering pace prior toMaurice. Coleridge and Robert Southey had assailed the PoliticalEconomists for their neglect of moral considerations and lack ofcompassion.23 The social consequences of unrestrained capitalism hadbeen denounced by Thomas Carlyle, who labelled Political Economy asthe ‘dismal’ science, and railed against competition as licence for the richto oppress the poor and a situation where ‘Cash Payment’ had become‘the sole nexus between man and man’.24


In 1848 it was Ludlow’s schemes for associative co-operatives thatprovided the means of advancing the ideal of co-operation, and a series ofpractical initiatives were soon established. For Maurice, associationismwas not so much a political strategy as a means of securing a greaterdegree of social harmony. He accepted the various strata of society frommonarchy, aristocracy, the middle classes to the workers, and merelysought to promote co-operation within the existing social structure.Hierarchy fitted in with his particular conception of the organic nature ofsociety, the human order of society reflecting the distinction of personswithin the Trinity, though any hint of subordinationism in Maurice mustbe balanced by his emphasis upon the ‘Trinity in unity’.25 Maurice(despite his earlier democratic fervour) had become decidedly antipa-thetic concerning the readiness of the working class for the franchise; heregarded strike action as unworthy of the nobility of the workers; and heconsidered the rights of property to be inviolable.26

Ludlow, it must be said, did give a more recognizably socialist contentto the fledgling Christian Socialist Movement. Born in 1821, he spentmost of his youth in Paris, which in the 1830s was the cradle of socialistideas. Ludlow’s first-hand acquaintance with the ideas of CharlesFourier, Henri Saint-Simon and other French socialists meant that hewas later to be a channel for these influences upon English ChristianSocialism. Although wary of the more unruly aspects of Chartism,Ludlow was nonetheless an advocate of the extension of the franchise. Hewelcomed the overthrow of Louis-Philippe in the revolution of 1848, andwas impressed by what he saw of French socialistic experiments andworkers’ associations. Ludlow became convinced that the success ofdevelopments in France depended on whether socialism could be infusedwith Christian principles, and for some time he contemplated staying inParis. When he joined withMaurice andKingsley, his Christian Socialismwas very much the product of the vision that had inspired him in Paris,hence his enthusiasm to promote co-operative associations and attemptsto bring Christian influence to bear on what he saw as the newly emergingsocial order. Ludlow was the only layman among the triumvirate and histraining in law proved invaluable in enabling him to provide a legalframework for the co-operative workshops.

Kingsley’s contribution was as publicist and acute observer of thesocial conditions of the working class. His novels helped stir theconscience of the nation and promote the case for social reform. Whilefrom his vicarage in Eversley Kingsley may have shocked the well-to-do,his socialism remained essentially paternalist in character. It largelyconsisted of calls for moral and spiritual regeneration, and he wasunabashed in advising the workers that their suitability for democracydepended on education and improvement.

The six years from 1848–54 brought forth a series of practicalinitiatives in co-operative production. Although these met with only

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limited success, they made an important contribution to the co-operativemovement in the nineteenth century. Maurice was also instrumental inestablishing a Working Men’s College at Camden Town. Ludlowparticipated in this development, but was disappointed that Mauricehad not given more support to the workers’ associations. By 1854,Maurice’s interest in economic action had waned, Kingsley’s passionswere moving in other directions, and despite Ludlow’s continuing efforts,the movement’s impetus had gone. In many ways, since what each ofthem actually understood by Christian Socialism diverged considerably,the surprising thing was that it lasted as long as it did.

IV. CHRISTIAN SOCIALISM AFTER MAURICE

Later in the century the Christian Socialist Movement was to re-emergewith the formation of the Guild of St Matthew at Bethnal Green in 1877.The Guild was founded by Stewart Headlam (1847–1924). Headlam hadattended Maurice’s lectures while at Cambridge and had been deeplyimpressed with what he heard. The nature of the debt is evident when hestates that it was from the doctrines of the Incarnation and Atonementthat Maurice ‘derived what unified his social teaching’.27 Whilst Headlamdrew inspiration from Maurice’s theology, his socialism did not proceedon Maurician lines. He favoured democracy and wanted substantialreforms in the existing social structure, and was thus responsible formaking Christian Socialism more recognizably socialist.

One especially distinctive feature of Headlam’s Christian Socialismwas the strong emphasis which he placed on the social significance ofsacramental worship. The sacraments proclaim that the divine presenceand purpose embraces and sanctifies all things including the whole socialorder. Baptism bears testimony to the equality of every human being inChrist. In the celebration of the incarnation at the Lord’s Supper, whichtakes the place of the Jewish Passover, ‘we keep festival in honour ofChrist the Deliverer from all tyrants, the Emancipator of oppressednations and classes everywhere’.28 Tractarianism had been too concernedwith saving individual souls and had failed to produce a social theology; ithad also rejected biblical criticism and the new scientific thinking. In allthese matters Headlam was well in advance of developments from withinthe Tractarian Movement that resulted in the publication of Lux Mundiin 1889. It is therefore no surprise to find that a decade before this theGuild should include among its aims the following commitment: ‘Topromote the study of social and political questions in the light of theIncarnation’.29

From 1873–78 Headlam was curate at Bethnal Green. His contro-versial views eventually led to his dismissal – Edward Norman cites hisappearance on a platform in Hyde Park with the Fenian Michael Davitt


as one of the reasons for his incurring episcopal displeasure.30 After 1878Headlam’s formal priestly ministry was confined to the altars ofsympathetic friends. In addition to his involvement with the Guild, hewas an enthusiast for the arts and a great supporter of the theatricalprofession. His support for the stage was considered inappropriate for aclergyman and attracted severe criticism. Much of his later life wasdevoted to educational work.

The Guild advocated democratic rights and the redistribution ofwealth. A resolution passed in 1884 stated:

the present contrast between the great body of workers who produce much andconsume little, and of those classes which produce little and consume much iscontrary to the Christian doctrines of brotherhood and justice.31

Like other members of the Guild of St. Matthew, Headlam wasinfluenced by the American economist Henry Georges’ campaign for aland tax, and strongly supported land reform. He also favoured otherwidespread changes in the economic system and measures for thesocialization of capital. His membership of the Fabian Society wouldindicate that his socialism involved a substantial role for the State inredistributing wealth. When the Guild reached its peak in the mid-1890sit had 99 clerical members and a total membership of 364. Afterthis it declined and, troubled by dissension, was eventually dissolved in1909.32

Headlam was more of a popularizer of Christian Socialist ideas thanan original thinker. His theology was mainly Maurician in inspiration,though there were some significant variations. For example, the under-standing of the Kingdom of God as an already existing reality was centralto Headlam’s socialism, but he was more adept at combining bothrealized and future emphases. Maurice’s exclusively realized eschatologyinhibited the development of a more substantial social critique, whereasHeadlam seems to have linked the extension of the Kingdom on earth as afuture prospect with socialist advance to transform existing conditions.The different note struck by Headlam is evident in his very unMauriciancall for the disestablishment of the Church of England: ‘a completeChristian Socialism cannot be brought about until the Church is free touse influence and discipline for the establishment of the Kingdom ofHeaven upon earth’.33

Headlam’s achievement was to have, at critical points, brought toChristian Socialism a much greater affinity with the mainstream socialisttradition. What he lacked was the ability to build new theologicalfoundations. Maurice showed him that the Gospel must be related to thewhole of life and helped him appreciate the Christian case againstindividualism and laissez faire, but when Headlam’s politics took himonto new terrain, Maurice’s eschatology became an encumbrance as wellas an asset. Although he left no substantial theological work of his own,

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Headlam at least had the good sense to know when to distance himselffrom his mentor.

Alongside Headlam’s Guild of St Matthew, the desire for a morebroadly based and moderate Church association to promote socialreform had led in 1889 to the founding of the Christian Social Union. Thenew body eschewed party politics, but sought ‘to apply the moral truthsand principles of Christianity to the social and economic difficulties of thepresent time’.34 Sometimes in its literature the word socialism was used,though what this meant more often than not did not go far beyond arejection of individualism, a condemnation of injustice and an affirmationof the common good. Three of the leading figures in the new organizationwere Charles Gore, Henry Scott Holland and Brooke Foss Westcott.35

The incarnational theology associated with Lux Mundi, which Goreedited in 1889, provided a powerful motif for justifying Christian socialinvolvement.36 Since the divine Logos incarnate in Christ is universallypresent, social, democratic and scientific advancement should bewelcomed as part of the work of the divine Word. The two dominantinfluences which shaped the ethos of the Christian Social Union wereMaurice’s theology and the idealism associated with T. H. Green.37

The Christian Social Union saw its role as that of educating Churchopinion and the public at large. It alerted people to grave injusticesthrough campaigns like the one it mounted against sweated labour. Inthese limited aims it was largely successful. Membership soon overtookthat of the Guild of St Matthew, reaching several thousand, and theUnion proved to have a strong influence on the leadership of the Churchof England. Indeed, many of its members were appointed to theepiscopate during the twenty years in which it flourished. After 1909the organization went into decline and as the new century unfolded itsprogressive idealism was to prove increasingly inadequate.38 Despitethese failings a social theology was still desperately needed, and theinfluence of the Christian Social Union was to extend well into thetwentieth century, most notably through its younger members likeArchbishop William Temple.

V. THE LEGACY OF F. D. MAURICE

Maurice’s lasting contribution was the substantial theological basis heprovided for a Christian social ethic. The gradual demise of the MedievalChurch’s social teaching under the changed conditions ushered in bymercantile growth and the spread of industrial capitalism, had meant thaton social questions the Church’s message had been reduced toindividualistic pleas for charity. The Christian Socialist Movement atleast brought an end to this state of affairs and with it the process wherebythe claims of the Gospel had less and less bearing upon public life.39


Christian Socialism and Anglican social thought still look to Maurice forinspiration and his deeply incarnational theology has undoubtedly helpednurture the prophetic voice of the church.

Despite this achievement, Maurice’s theological vision and socialcritique, though certainly daring, remained in significant respects in themold of the conservatism of his age. He had followed Coleridge’sdisillusionment with republicanism and retreat into a Tory paternalism.Thus it is no surprise to find that in The Kingdom of Christ, which beginswith a dedication to Coleridge, he praises Coleridge for ‘the noblerecantation of his hopes from a republican ascendancy’.40 This reactionto the excesses of the French Revolution undoubtedly impeded thesubsequent development of his thought.

The wish to see the existing social structure and political institutionspreserved had major implications for Maurice’s eschatology. As hasalready been noted the stress upon the ‘Kingdom of Christ’ as a presentreality was such that his eschatology was lacking in sufficient futurereference. Witness again the letter to Ludlow previously cited:

To preach the Gospel of that Kingdom, the fact that it is among us, and not tobe set up at all, is my calling and businessy. if ever I do any good work, andearn any of the hatred, which the godly in Christ Jesus receive, and have a rightto, it must be in the way I have indicated, by proclaiming society and humanityto be divine realities, as they stand, not as they may become, and by calling uponthe priests, kings, prophets of the world to answer for their sin in having madethem unreal by separating them from the living and eternal God who hasestablished them in Christ for His glory.41

But surely, as well as being already manifest, the Kingdom must alsoremain a future hope for the historical transformation of existingconditions? The rather unqualified Platonist reduction of eschatology inwhichMaurice engaged has in fact been called into question following there-emergence of interest in eschatology with Johannes Weiss and AlbertSchweitzer at the turn of the twentieth century. There is an irony here inthat Maurice’s work was in many ways remarkably prescient in thisregard. His entire theological enterprise was constructed with eschatologyas its foundation. Sounding more like Jon Sobrino than a VictorianAnglican, Maurice says of Christ’s proclamation of the Kingdom: ‘Everyact and word which is recorded of him has reference to this kingdom’.42 Inhis Lectures on the Apocalypse he insists that ‘the hope of good for thisearth is essentially involved in all the promises of God’.43 Maurice’sthinking in this regard had been influenced by Joseph Stephenson and hehad come to warmly acknowledge the contribution of millenarianism toChristian theology:

the Millenarians are right, and practical, and in harmony with scripture whenthey bid us think more of Christ’s victory over the earth and redemption of it toits true purposes, than of any new condition into which we may be brought

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when we go out of the earth. By doing so, they make all our feelings andinterests social y[Millenarianism only becomes false when it does not begin] with acknowledgingChrist as the King over men’s spirits, as their Redeemer from the evil spirit, asthe ruler over the universe now, and therefore have substituted for therevelation or unveiling of Him, which the Apostles speak of, the notion of anexternal advent or descent y (my italics).44

In making eschatology central to his theology, Maurice anticipated thechallenge Weiss and Schweitzer posed to twentieth-century theology. Hecould also be credited with having successfully articulated many featuresof the realized eschatology associated with Rudolf Bultmann and C. H.Dodd. Where he failed was in no longer retaining in his eschatology anadequate future reference. Thus in his Lectures on the Apocalypse hefollows the established orthodoxy and equates the millennium with theChurch.45 In eschatology a right balance between the ‘already’ and the‘not yet’ is needed. The value of the traditional belief in the millennium ora third age is that it affirms the possibility of a higher realization of thekingdom of God within history. Without this prospect the hope for amore just and human society is surely threatened.

Christian dogma sometimes carries with it social implications and thisis true of Maurice’s theology in other areas beside his eschatology. As wehave already seen, his Trinitarianism at times sat a little too comfortablywith a hierarchical view of society. In his ecclesiology, his Coleridgeaninterpretation of the organic relatedness of Church and State impeded theexercise of a prophetic judgement that might strike at the heart of the veryinstitutions which in fact maintained exploitation and class divisions.Fortunately, Maurice’s Christology was much better, since his insistenceon the equality implied in everyone’s inclusion in Christ did not sit wellwith an uncritical acceptance of hierarchy.

The idea that socialism might be defined in the minimalist terms ofMaurice would certainly stretch most people’s definition of the term. Itwould seem that the socially conservative aspects of his theological visionhad its counterpart in a socialism that was scarcely distinguishable froman idealist paternalism. He saw the productive associations solely in termsof the example they might set and had little enthusiasm for state actioneven for the purposes of amelioration. It was only when the franchise wasextended in the late 1860s that he came to support electoral participationof the working classes.46

Maurice certainly sought to apply Christian principles to society, but itwould be wrong to think of him as a social thinker. He wanted to speakprimarily as a theologian. Unfortunately, he did not seem to realize thatsooner or later this would require moving beyond theological affirma-tions concerning God’s relation to the world or the annunciation ofgeneral principles. He did not see the need for theology to engage in amore sustained wrestling with the social and political issues of the day.


Maurice seems to have shared the general optimism of the Victorian age,which combined with his at times over sanguine doctrine of humannature, made him too enthusiastic about the prospects for humanprogress. His Christian Socialism was flawed by its complete lack ofeconomic analysis or political prescription. Although writing contempor-aneously with John Stuart Mill and Karl Marx, we find no attempt toaddress issues of class polarization and the worker’s plight beyond thedenunciation of the competitive principle. Opposition to laissez faire stillleaves the legitimate question of the scope and limits of the market. Evenif the competitive principle may be a poor master, social democrats wouldstill see a place for market mechanisms and competition. All this leavesMaurice open to the charge that moral exhortation is of little valuewithout a realistic political programme.

It is also interesting to note the irony that despite the opposition toindividualism implied in Maurice’s criticism of competition and laissezfaire, he saw the remedy of social evils exclusively in terms of an appealfor individual repentance. In doing so he failed to appreciate thestructural dimension of social evils. The rejection of subservience to thecompetitive principle warranted a more sustained critique of PoliticalEconomy than Maurice would seem to allow in his reliance on moralpersuasion and this opens up inconsistencies in his thought. Had heacquainted himself with John Stuart Mill’s discussion of the limits of thecompetitive principle his thinking might have acquired greater discrimi-nation. Mill came to accept the case for action by the State to redistributewealth. The classical system was not sacrosanct – reform was bothpossible and necessary.47

These strictures should not blind us to the moral force of the ideal ofco-operation and association. For all the shortcomings of his eschatol-ogy, Maurice’s insistence upon an already established divine order withthe equal dignity of all deriving from their inclusion in the Kingdom ofChrist, stood resolutely opposed to the idolatry of a society that makescompetition its sole ruling principle. When confronted with Christianswho claimed divine sanction for the competitive principle and laissezfaire, Maurice rejected this as a monstrous lie.

There is clearly an important sense in which Maurice is quite right thatco-operation is the law of the universe as ordained by the divine will. Thefact that individual or whole societies may flout this law does not alterwhat God has set forth as the path to human redemption. When viewedfrom the perspective of God’s saving purposes it is co-operation and self-sacrifice that produce the harvest that shall bear the weight of eternity.Thus we find that in his discussion of Christ’s sacrifice, Maurice movesbeyond the polarization of debate between penal substitution orexemplarist interpretations, and talks about how Christ’s sacrificialdeath points to the way in which the law of sacrifice lies at the heart of theuniverse.48 Our dealings with others, our expectations of the State and

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our understanding of God’s purposes – whatever we may actually observeto the contrary in human society – should always be seen in this light.

Maurice’s theological opposition to individualism and laissez faire wasto have a considerable influence on his contemporaries and succeedinggenerations. We must give Maurice the credit for a message which despiteits limitations proved to be timely and prophetic. The laws of economicswere regarded by many as immutable divine laws and there was noshortage of Christian ‘moralists’ ready to defend them. The Irish Faminewas the most extreme example of the cruelties to which this doctrine couldlead. The fact that from within the Established Church a firm note ofdissent was sounded helped open up a space for debate and nurture aculture of opposition to the reigning orthodoxy. Richard Tawney wasperhaps the most notable successor to Maurice in the Christian attackupon laissez faire. Tawney insisted that the arrangements that prevail inthe economic order of society should be subject to ethical criteria, and notregarded as though they were the product of impersonal forces andautonomous laws. Against the belief in ‘mystical economic necessity’, itmust be affirmed that human society ‘can organize its social system eithermore justly or less justly’.49

The notion that the market should somehow be seen as a morally freezone is in fact unsustainable.50 The effective operation of a market orderrequires a moral foundation to ensure that contracts are honoured. Legalregulation alone will not suffice for the efficient maintenance of marketactivity. Even as staunch an advocate of the market as Francis Fukuyamarecognizes that ‘trust’ is essential in the promotion of prosperity.51 Alongwith this underlying moral dimension, it is also widely accepted that thereare moral limits to the scope of market activity (e.g. the trade in bodyparts between rich and poor countries). There is no warrant for viewingthe market as though it is autonomous since it is a human institution andmust therefore be subject to human purposes and ends.52 Moral concernscannot be excised and the assumption that addressing issues of socialjustice and redistribution constitute unacceptable interferences must bechallenged.

The claim that it is inappropriate and unworkable to apply the notionof social justice to the market does not stand up to scrutiny.53 ‘Injustice’ itis argued is a deliberate act, whereas markets are impersonal. But this issurely too restricted a definition since injustice is also involved when weomit to do certain things – like helping an endangered child. Moreover,although markets may be impersonal, aggregate outcomes of marketactivity are both evident and foreseeable, and moral obligations arisefrom them. The view that conceding this point would lead to an unlimitedproliferation of such obligations should not be made an excuse for rulingout all intervention, since within a political framework there aredemocratic mechanisms and means for deliberating upon how admittedlylimited resources might be allocated.


In respect of economic theory, as a result of the work of JohnMaynardKeynes, central elements of Classical Political Economy have in fact beensuccessfully challenged. Keynes rejected the exclusive reliance on themarket and the denial of the possibility of overproduction through a lackof purchasing power – both of which characterized classical orthodoxy.Left to itself the economy may, through lack of effective total demand,operate at an equilibrium below its optimal level, with a consequent lossof output and employment. In these circumstances the State mustintervene to increase ‘aggregate demand’ by public spending and borrow-ing. With increased demand output rises and unemployment falls. Higheremployment increases purchasing power, with further beneficial effectson demand, and tax revenues also rise. In short, a virtuous circle,introducing a new dynamic with advantageous effects on economicactivity is established. At a later more buoyant stage of the economiccycle, when confidence and economic growth has returned, governmentfinances can be restored.54 It is worthy of note that in his analysis Keynesincludedmoral as well as technical considerations and this is evident in hisinsistence upon the desirability of maintaining full employment.55

Keynesian policies can of course be poorly applied with debt allowedto rise too sharply and in a more internationally traded economycountries need to act in concert if intervention is to be effective. Since theend of the long post-war expansion in the 1970s economic difficulties haveled to some hostility to Keynesian economics. With the collapse of thecollectivist command economies of Eastern Europe and the curtailmentof much of post-war social democracy there has emerged a reneweddominance of an unrestrained free-market style of capitalism. Theseevents have certainly induced a loss of confidence on the left, but cannotbe said to have altered the moral case against the subjection of humanrelations to an unregulated market. Such policies have had particularlyhorrendous consequences for many of the poorer countries which havebeen forced to adopt them under pressure from powerful bankinginstitutions. In the advanced industrialized world free-market policieshave often failed to impact significantly on poverty and unacceptablyhigh levels of unemployment. The Maurician message has therefore lostnone of its pertinence, not least to those wishing to see a recovery of amore social democratic perspective that might effectively challenge thefree-market consensus.

Arguing for such a recovery, economists like John Kenneth Galbraithare right to insist that large tax cuts for those in high income brackets,especially when financed by large borrowing deficits, prejudice thejudicious use of state intervention to reduce unemployment throughincreasing aggregate demand at the appropriate point in the economiccycle. He makes a good case that the full range of traditional Keynesianpolicies have far more to offer than an exclusive reliance on interest ratepolicy. There is strong evidence that more equitable fiscal policies which

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increase the purchasing power of the less well-off lead to more optimallevels of economic activity and thereby reduce unemployment. Galbraithstrongly contests the reduction of the role of the State, which is in anycase unevenly applied, since the interests of the more affluent areinvariably strongly supported by government.56 This is a good pointbecause it shows the inconsistencies between the rhetoric and the actualpolicies, which is also evident when right-wing administrations tend to beintensely pragmatic when strong recessionary pressures mount.

The real question is not so much whether there should be stateintervention but rather its quality and purposes. This is where moral andeconomic arguments should be combined and appropriate lessons drawnfrom the past. In Europe much of the post-war expansion would not havebeen possible without the dirigiste policy that was adopted. This surelysuggests at least some role for long-term economic planning and strategicaction by the State. It is ironic that the demise of the totalitarian regimesof the Eastern bloc has discredited state intervention at the very timewhen, because of new challenges arising from developments in the globaleconomy, it is arguably more needed than ever. Social democratic policieswill no doubt need to be re-envisioned in the light of changedcircumstances but that is the task of every generation. The alternativereliance upon purely free-market solutions has entailed enormous socialcosts, not least through the abandonment of any vestige of thecommitment to maintaining full employment. Reduced state spending,higher unemployment and depressed wages are not likely to make theadvanced countries more competitive because the gap in wage and socialcosts with the poorer nations is too wide. Insofar as such policies aresuccessful they are leading to what Noam Chomsky has called ‘theglobalization of the Third World’, whereby islands of pronounceddeprivation exist within the heartland of metropolitan Europe andAmerica.57 Investment in high technology, education and creating a moreskilled workforce provide the more secure path to economic well-being.

Western industrialized countries have of late shown a remarkablecapacity for the relatively affluent majority to acquiesce with conditionsof social deprivation which mean a sizeable proportion of society are, ineconomic terms, relatively excluded. In this regard John KennethGalbraith has rightly warned of the dangers of what he calls ‘the cultureof contentment’, whereby the economically successful ignore the needs ofothers.58 In the more automated society of the future a choice will need tobe made between a two-tier society or one which spreads wealth and theopportunity to work more equitably. The frequent reluctance tosubscribe to social legislation within the European Union restrictingworking hours and enforcing minimum standards is a reminder of howmuch attitudes need to change on such matters. The moral dimension ineconomic choices is too readily factored out. Immediate self-interestshould not be seen as the only determinant in economic behaviour. People


on good incomes would be being very shortsighted if they were not readyto make some sacrifices for a more just and caring society, and one whichis therefore more socially cohesive and holds out the prospect of a betterfuture for their children.

The failure of the churches – especially in the West – to articulate anadequate prophetic critique of society that addresses these issues, in theend must come back to a failure in theology. Maurice’s legacy, it must besaid, runs in refreshing contrast to some of the more insular tendencies inmodern theology. The expansiveness of the ‘Divine Order’ establishedthrough Christ’s Kingdom, gives redemptive purpose (even whentempered by an awareness of fallen human nature) a much widerreference than the more restricted scope entailed in the Barthian idea ofprimal history or salvation history (Heilsgeschichte) and the associateddegree of social disengagement that went with it.59 Similar concerns arisein relation to narrative theologies like that of Stanley Hauerwas, which inresponse to post-modernist influences have retreated to more narrow andexclusively Christian discourses.

In contrast to these two significant trends in contemporary theology,Maurice would be in a far better position to sustain a dialogue with thesecular world in terms of affirming shared basic human values and actingupon their implications for how we organize society. Divine revelationhad the widest possible reference for Maurice. Witness his treatment ofthe Book of Job, where he speaks of Job’s protestation despite his sins ofan original righteousness, and of the ultimate vindication of this figurewho stood outside the House of Israel.60 We see here in Maurice elementsof natural law, yet he is surely right that Christians should embrace somesense of our common humanity and the dignity we share as humanbeings, and if this view of human nature entails a meta-narrative ormetaphysic then so be it. The metaphysical sceptics who have sounded theretreat under the post-modernist clamour are no less metaphysicallycommitted in their damaging abandonment of the wider social realm.

At the popular ecclesial level the narrow moralism and preoccupationwith personal salvation that characterizes so much of present dayChristianity means that we cannot afford to disregard Maurice’scontribution but must rather build upon it. Through the breath of scopeof his eschatology, which can be readily adapted to include a strongerfuture reference, Maurice points the way to a wider engagement. Anydefensive concerns of the Church with preservation must not be allowedto distract attention from the need to sustain a robust challenge to anincreasingly secular culture. Peter d’A. Jones gives a succinct summary ofMaurice’s achievement in identifying the appropriate starting point forany social theology:

InMaurice’s view the Kingdommust encompass nothing less than the whole ofGod’s creation, and religion cannot stand aloof; it must concern itself

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intimately with the fate of all mankind and with the condition of the secularworld.61

Maurice indeed gives us more than a starting point, and thosecommitted to the marshalling of theological resources for sustaining avision for social democracy in our own generation will find thatarticulating what is best in his theological vision, and substantiating histreatment of laissez faire, leaves a fertile legacy that can still informcontemporary Christian social reflection.

Notes

1 Most notably Edward Neale and Thomas Hughes. Neale was to provide much of thefinance for the co-operative experiments. For a history of the Christian Socialist Movement andits leading figures the two best sources on this are T. Christensen,Origins and History of ChristianSocialism 1848–54 (Aarhus: Universitetsforlaget I Aarhus, 1962) and E. Norman, The VictorianChristian Socialists (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987).

2 See A. Vidler, The Church in an Age of Revolution: 1789 to the Present Day(Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1961), pp. 40ff; G. Binyon, The Christian Socialist Movement inEngland: An Introduction to the Study of its History (London: SPCK, 1931), pp. 40ff; S. Mayor,The Churches and the Labour Movement (London: Independent Press, 1967), pp. 242ff. Foropposing views on Methodism and the working class see R. Wearmouth, Methodism andWorking-class Movements of England 1800–1850 (London: Epworth, 1937) and E. P. ThompsonThe Making of the English Working Class, 2nd ed. (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1968).

3 D. Winch (ed.), Principles of Political Economy (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970), p. 31.4 See F. Maurice (ed.), The Life of Frederick Denison Maurice, 2 Vols (London: Macmillan,

1884), Vol. I, p. 459.5 T. Christensen, Origins and History, p. 17.6 See M. Ramsey’s discussion of Coleridge in his F. D. Maurice and the Conflicts of Modern

Theology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951), pp. 14ff. (14). Also Vidler, TheChurch in an Age of Revolution, pp. 79ff.

7 See F. D. Maurice, The Kingdom of Christ or Hints on the Principles, Ordnances, andConstitution of the Catholic Church In Letters to a Member of the Society of Friends, 2 Vols(London: Dent and Co, no date), Vol I, pp. 248ff. and 256ff.

8 A. Vidler, F. D. Maurice and Company (London: SCM Press, 1966), pp. 212ff.9 T. Christensen, Origins and History, p. 11.10 Maurice, The Kingdom of Christ, especially Vol I, pp. 185ff. (196).11 Maurice, The Life of Frederick Denison Maurice, Vol. II, p. 129.12 Maurice, The Kingdom of Christ, Vol. II, pp. 319ff. Also A. Vidler, F. D. Maurice and

Company, pp. 161ff. and 181ff.13 Maurice, The Kingdom of Christ, especially Vol I, pp. 248ff. (261 and 259).14 Maurice, Theological Essays (Cambridge: Macmillan, 1853) pp. 65, 419, 30.15 Maurice, The Kingdom Of Christ, Vol. II, p. 322.16 Maurice was dismissed from his professorship at King’s College over the controversy

surrounding his teaching about eternal life which differed from the popular belief in ‘everlasting’punishment. See Ramsey, F. D. Maurice, pp. 48ff.

17 See Vidler, F. D. Maurice and Company, pp. 242ff.18 Maurice, The Life of Frederick Denison Maurice, Vol. I, p.155. See also Ramsey, F. D.

Maurice, p. 22 and B. Reardon, FromColeridge to Gore: A Century of Christian Social Thought inBritain (London: Longman, 1971), pp. 173f.

19 Maurice, The Life of Frederick Denison Maurice, Vol II, p. 137.20 C. Raven, Christian Socialism 1848–1854 (London: Frank Cass and Co, 1920), pp. 105ff.21 Ibid., pp. 154ff. (155).22 Ibid., p. 156.23 Ibid., pp. 48–50.


24 A. Shelston (ed.), Thomas Carlyle: Selected Writings (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971),p. 199.

25 For an interesting passage on the divine relations see Maurice, The Life of FrederickDenison Maurice, Vol II, pp. 349ff.

26 See Norman, The Victorian Christian Socialists, pp. 17–22.27 F. Bettany, Stewart Headlam: A Biography (London: John Murray, 1926), p. 20.28 Peter d’A. Jones, The Christian Socialist Revival 1877–1914: Religion, Class, and Social

Conscience in Late-Victorian England (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968), p. 160.29 Bettany, Stewart Headlam, p. 80.30 Norman, The Victorian Christian Socialists, p. 99.31 Bettany, Stewart Headlam, p. 83.32 Ibid., pp. 79ff. (at p. 81). Also K. Leech, ‘The Christian Left in Britain (1850–1950)’ in

R. Ambler and D. Haslam (eds.), Agenda for the Prophets: Towards a Political Theology forBritain (London: Bowerdean Press, 1980), pp. 61ff.

33 Quoted in Norman, The Victorian Christian Socialists, p. 113.34 Ibid., p. 173.35 Westcott, who became Bishop of Durham in 1890, was the first President, while Gore

and Holland were prominent members of the ‘Holy Party’ of Oxford dons largely behindthe formation of the Christian Social Union. See Jones, The Christian Socialist Revival,pp. 164ff.

36 SeeM. Ramsey, FromGore to Temple: The Development of Anglican Theology between LuxMundi and the Second World War (London: Longmans, 1960), pp. 14f.

37 See Ramsey, F. D. Maurice, pp. 105ff.38 See M. Reckitt, Maurice to Temple: A Century of the Social Movement in the Church of

England (London: Faber, 1946), pp. 136ff; and R. Preston, Church and Society in the LateTwentieth Century: The Economic and Political Task (London: SCM Press, 1983), pp. 20ff. Onepiscopal appointments Reckitt writes: ‘Between 1889 and 1913, out of fifty three episcopalappointments, sixteen went to members of the C. S. U.’ (p. 138).

39 Preston, Church and Society, pp. 15f.40 Maurice, The Kingdom of Christ, Vol 1, p. 3.41 Maurice, The Life of Frederick Denison Maurice, Vol II, pp. 137f.42 Maurice, The Kingdom of Christ, Vol. I, p. 248.43 Maurice, Lectures on the Apocalypse, 2nd ed. (London, Macmillan, 1885), p. 303.44 Maurice, The Life of Frederick Denison Maurice, Vol II, pp. 243f. On Maurice’s

relationship with Stephenson see Vol I, pp. 147ff. and also F. McClain, Maurice, Man andMoralist (London: SPCK, 1972), pp. 54ff.

45 Maurice, Lectures on the Apocalypse, pp. 300ff.46 See N.Masterman, ‘F.D.Maurice: Progressive or Reactionary?’, Theology, Vol 76, no. 641

(1973), pp. 575–85 (at p. 584).47 D. Winch (ed.), Principles of Political Economy (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1970). Winch

deals with these matters in his excellent introduction.48 M. Ramsey has a good treatment of Maurice on sacrifice in F. D. Maurice, pp. 58ff.49 ‘A Note on Christianity and the Social Order’ in The Attack and Other Papers

(Nottingham: Spokesman, 1981), pp. 167–92 (173).50 The following discussion draws upon Raymond Plant’s Politics, Theology and History

(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 177ff.51 Ibid., pp181ff.52 The recognition of the limitations of the market and the need for a political framework is

stressed by Ronald Preston in ‘The Moral Order of a Free Society’ in R. John Elford and Ian S.Markham (eds.), The Middle Way: Theology, Politics and Economics in the Later Thought ofR. H. Preston (London: SCM Press, 2000), pp. 218–30ff (especially p. 227).

53 Here I am again indebted to R. Plant, Politics, Theology and History, pp.196ff.54 The classic text in this regard is J. M. Keynes, General Theory of Employment, Interest and

Money (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1936).55 For a lucid appraisal of the moral dimension of Keynes’ thought see R. Preston, ‘The

Ethical Legacy of John Maynard Keynes’, in D. Reese (ed.), The Legacy of Keynes(San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1987), pp. 146–165.

56 J. K. Galbraith, The World Economy Since the Wars: A Personal View (London:Sinclair-Stevenson, 1994), especially chapter 7.

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57 This phrase of Chomsky’s is quoted by Terence McCaughey in ‘Hope and the Failure ofIdeology: Insight and Vision in Tension’ in M. Junker-Kenny, Christian Resources of Hope(Dublin: Columba Press, 1995), pp. 67–80 (at p. 71).

58 The Culture of Contentment (London: Sinclair-Stevenson, 1992).59 Wolfart Pannenberg is particularly critical of this failure to deal with the totality of history.

Some of these issues are discussed in Plant, Politics, Theology and History, pp. 79ff.60 Maurice, Theological Essays, pp. 56ff.61 Jones, The Christian Socialist Revival, p. 12.


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Frederick denison maurice, christian socialism And the future of social democracy