The Conference
It was clear, almost at the first breath, that Wesley’s work was charged with strange forces and unguessed possibilities, and, as we have seen, it quickly took a great scale. Within the brief period of five years (1739-44) it was visibly stirring England. It found everywhere htarers in multitudes; its converts were to be counted by thousands. What was in progress was not so much a revival as a religious revolution.
At this stage Wesley himself seems to become vaguely conscious of the momentum of the forces stirring about him. He sees new agencies springing to existence under his hands. He catches a dim and broken vision of the possibility of his work. And with the true instinct of a great leader he sets himself to create a sort of regulating centre for the movement. It was necessary to give clearness to its theology, method to its zeal, order to its energies, discii)line to its results. Wesley was by natural genius intolerant of confusion. He must weave into one close-knitted, methodical plan all the forces and agencies of which he was the personal centre. So on June 25, 1744, he called his first Conference; a council in which, with a few spirits most akin to his own, he may formulate plans for the spiritual campaign now in progress.
It consisted of just ten men, the two Wesleys themselves and four other clergymen — Hodges, rector of Wenvoe; Piers, vicar of Bexley; Taylor, vicar of Quintin, and John Merriton. To these were added later four lay preachers who had not the status of ministers — Thomas Maxfield, John Downs, Thomas Richards, and John Bennet. This little company met in the Foundry. Its members were, in one sense, an unpicturesque group, and no one at the moment could have discovered in their meeting any special significance. They met under the shadow of great events. The country was at war with France. The young Pretender was preparing to land in Scotland; civil war was on the point of breaking out. The Habeas Corpus Act was suspended. One Cabinet was tottering to its fall, another about to be formed.
It was at the moment when great events of this scale were in the air, and amid the clash and dust of stormiest politics, that this tiny group, most of them utterly unknown men, met day by day to discuss points of theology. No gathering could well seem more insignificant. Yet, judged by its historical consequences, that unpicturesque gathering in the Foundry is the most important even 1744 witnessed. It was the first Methodist Conference! It created unconsciously the most remarkable, and in some senses the most powerful, ecclesiastical council modern Christianity knows; a machinery which is to-day the efi’ective instrument of government for a Church of nearly 30,000,000 people.
Who looks with meditative eyes at that little cluster of grave-faced men may see in it a curious reflex of Wesley’s work at the moment, and a prophecy of its coming development.
Methodism at this stage was a movement within the Anglican Church itself. It was a spiritual revival which found its inspiration and its leadership in a group of Anglican ministers. So of the ten persons who formed the first Methodist Conference six were, fitly enough, Anglican divines. But the movement was destined to run far beyond the boundaries of the Anglican Church. It was to give a new development to the Christian ministry itself, and to confer on laymen a partnership in church life and work hitherto unknown. And so, with prophetic fitness, of the ten men four were lay preachers, upon whose heads no ordaining hands had yet been laid.
The laymen, it is true, were in that first Conference only by sufferance. The six clergymen met together first. The earliest question asked was, “Shall any of our lay brethren be i)resent at this Conference?” When contemplated through ecclesiastical spectacles Wesley’s helpers were still only “lay brethren,” although they were given up to the work of preaching. The recorded and suflSciently cautious answer to the question is, “We agree to invite from time to time such as we think proper.” Then came the question, “Which of them shall we invite to-day?” The answer is the four names given above. When the second Conference was held in Bristol a year later, it consisted again of ten men, and of these seven were laymen, and one was not even a preacher, and never became one. For a wide space of sad years in later time laymen had no place in Methodist Conferences; but it must never be forgotten that they formed part of their original constitution.
The first Conference makes its appearance amid the fervours of a great spiritual work, and, as might be expected, its temper was intensely earnest. Its earliest recorded resolutions run: —
“That all things be considered as in the immediate presence of God. That we meet with single eye, and as little children, who have everything to learn. That every point which is proposed may be examined to the foundation.’”
It was asked again: “How may the time of this Conference be made more eminently a time of watching unto prayer?” The answer is: “1. While we are conversing, let us have an especial care to set God always before us. 2. In the intermediate hours, let us visit none but the sick, and spend all the time that remains in retirement. 3. Let us therein give ourselves to prayer for one another, and for a blessing upon this our labour.”
This Conference was plainly no mere debating society. It was to work as well as argue!
The first stage of the Conference — it lasted six days — was spent in very keen and earnest discussion of the question of “What to teach?” And who reads the “conversations” which follow, and which range over such great subjects as justification, faith, sanctification, &c., might well conclude that this first of all Methodist Conferences was setting out on a cruise in search of a creed. Here was a group of divines painfully occupied in rediscovering Christianity! But this is not so. These serious-faced divines and laymen had no theology which wandered outside the limits of the Thirty-nine Articles. But what they were doing was very significant. They were testing and re defining these doctrines in the light of conscious spiritual experience. The definitions of justification, repentance, faith, &c., which they record, are curiously simple and direct. Here are examples: —
•Myles, p. 36, “Q. What is It to be justified? A. To be pardoned, and received into God’s favour, into such a state, that if we continue therein, we shall be finally saved. Q. Is Faith the condition of Justification? A. Yes; for every one who believes is justified.... Q. What is Faith? A. Faith in general is a divine supernatural Elencbos (demonstration) of things not seen; i. e. of past, future, or spiritual things: it is a spiritual sight of God and the things of God. Therefore, Repentance is a low species of Faith — i. e. a supernatural sense of an offended God. Then, a sinner is convinced by the Holy Ghost. ‘Christ loved me and gave Himself for me.’ This is the faith by which he is justified or pardoned the moment he receives it. Immediately the same Spirit bears witness, ‘Thou art pardoned. Thou hast redemption in His blood.’ And this is saving faith, whereby the love of God is shed abroad in His heart.’”
Here is theology, not in the form of metaphysics, but of verified human experience. Every syllable of these definitions has for this group of men been tested in the alembic of consciousness.
It is still amusing to notice how that first Conference tried to maintain its theological equipoise amid the shocks of controversy. Thus it proceeds to painfully interrogate itself, in the form of question and answer, as to the correctness of its own views: —
“Q. Have we not, unawares, leaned too much towards Calvinism? A. We are afraid we have. Q. Have we not also leaned towards Antinomianism? A. We are afraid we have.”
But the second Conference met when the horizon was clearer and the heats of controversy had begun to cool. It finds that the pendulum has swung too far in one direction. The points of agreement rather than of difference have now to be emphasised. So we have a new record: —
“Q. Does not the truth of the Gospel lie very near both to Calvinism and Antinomianism? A. Indeed it does: as it were, within a hair’s-breadth. So that it is altogether foolish and sinful, because we do not quite agree with one or the other, to run from them as far as we can. Q. Wherein may we come to the very edge of Calvinism? A. (1) In ascribing all good to the free grace of God. (2) In denying all natural freewill, and all power antecedent to grace; and (3) In excluding all merit from man; even for what he does by the grace of God. Q. Wherein may we come to the edge of Antinomianism? A. (1) In exalting the merits and love of Christ. (2) In rejoicing evermore. Q. Does faith supersede (set aside the necessity of) holiness or
‘Myles, p. 27. good works? A. In no wise. So far from it that it implies both, as a cause does its effects.”
Where else in history can we find a company of theologians, just emerging from a controversy, so honestly anxious to sober their own views in this wise fashion! How intensely practical, and how closely personal, again, was the test by which these early Methodist preachers tried their theology, may be judged from a fragment of one of the conversations in the Conference of 1745, at Bristol : —
“Q. Do we empty men of their own righteousness, as we did at first? ... A. This was at first one of our principal points. And it ought to be so still. For, till all other foundations are overturned, they cannot build upon Christ. Q. Did we not then purposely throw them into convictions? Into strong sorrow and fear? Nay, did we not strive to make them inconsolable? Refusing to be comforted. A. We did, and so we should do still. For the stronger the conviction, the speedier is the deliverance. And none so soon receive the peace of God as those who steadily refuse all other comfort. Q. Let us consider a particular case. Were you, Jonathan Reeves, before you received the peace of God, convinced that notwithstanding all you did, or could do, you were in a state of damnation? J. R.: I was convinced of it as fully as that I am now alive. Q. Are you sure that conviction was from God? J. R.: I can have no doubt it was. Q. What do you mean by a state of damnation? J. R.: A state wherein if a man dies he perisheth for ever. Q. How did this conviction end? J. R.: I had first a strong hope that God would deliver me, and this brought a degree of peace. But I had not that solid peace of God till Christ was revealed in me.’”
These, it is clear, are theologians of quite a new type. They keep their feet on the solid earth. The articles in their creed beat in perfect rhythm with the facts of their consciousness. And yet they recognise quite frankly the law of development in their beliefs. Thus the second Conference asks: —
“Q. Wherein does our doctrine now differ from that we preached when at Oxford? A. Chiefly in these two points: (1) We then knew nothing of that righteousness of faith, in justification; nor (2) of the nature of faith itself, as implying a consciousness of pardon.”
The first Conference discussed some questions which belong to the realm of casuistry, such as: “How far the
‘Myles, p. 47.
Christian man may submit his judgment to others;” “Whether it is lawful to bear arms;” “How far it is a duty to obey a bishop,” &c. It discussed at length “The Society and its OflBcers,” and prepared rules which are practically the marching orders for the Methodist soldiery for all time, the translation into spiritual terms of, say. Lord Wolseley’s “Soldier’s Pocket-Book.” But one subject debated was of what may be called prophetic importance — the relation of the new movement to the Anglican Church, and the probable developments in those relations which lay in the future. The debate went with admirable directness to this, the most important of all problems: —
“Q. Do we separate from the Church? A. We conceive not: we hold communion therewith, for conscience’ sake, by constantly attending both the Word preached, and the sacraments administered therein. Q. What then do they mean who say, ‘You separate from the Church’? A. We certainly cannot tell. Perhaps they have no determinate meaning, unless by the Church they mean themselves — i e. that part of the clergy who accuse us of preaching false doctrine. And it is sure we do herein separate from them, by maintaining that which they deny. Q. Is it not probable that your hearers after your death will be scattered into all sets and parties? Or, that they will form themselves into a distinct sect? A. 1. We are persuaded that the body of our hearers will, even after our death, remain in the Church unless they be thrust out 2. We believe, notwithstanding, either that they will be thrust out, or that they will leaven the whole Church. 3. We do, and will do, all we can to prevent those consequences which are supposed likely to happen after our death. 4. But we cannot, with a good conscience, neglect the present opportunity of saving souls while we live, for fear of consequences which may possibly or probably happen after we are dead.”’
It would be diflScult to surpass for cool-headed and practical wisdom the words of that closing resolution.
No one can read the minutes of that first Conference without seeing that already — though quite unconsciously as far as the persons most affected were concerned — a Church, singularly practical and complete in organisation, was crystallising into shape. All the permanent features of Methodist organisation are clearly visible within five years of Wesley preaching his first open-air sermon. That first Conference, for example, asked the question: “What oflScers belong to this Society?” and the answer shows how nearly complete, even at that stage,
‘Myles, p. 4T.
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was the organisation of Methodism. As early as 1747 Wesley laid down “Rules for the Stewards of the Methodist Societies,” and these are an exquisite reflex not only of his business sagacity, but of his consideration for the poor. They might very happily govern the Church affairs of Methodism to-day: —
“1. You are to be men full of the Holy Ghost, and of wisdom, that you may do all things in a manner acceptable to Godt
2. You are weekly to transact the temporal affairs of the Society.
3. You are to begin and end every meeting with earnest prayer to God for a blessing on all your undertakings. 4. You are to do nothing without the consent of the minister, either actually had or reasonably presumed. 5. You are to consider whenever you meet, ‘God is here.’ Therefore be serious. Utter no railing word. Speak as in His presence, and to the glory of His great Name. 6. When anything is debated, let one at once stand up and speak, the rest giving attention. And let him speak just loud enough to be heard, in love and in the spirit of meekness. 7. In all debates, you are to watch over your spirits, avoiding, as fire, all clamour and contention, being swift to hear, slow to speak; in honour every man preferring another before himself. 8. If you cannot relieve, do not grieve the poor. Give them soft words, if nothing else. Abstain from either sour looks or harsh words. Let them be glad to come, even though they should go empty away. 9. Put yourselves in the place of every poor man, and deal with him as you would God should deal with you.’”
Some of the early agencies of Methodism have not survived the test of time. The band meetings, for example, represent the swing of the spiritual pendulum in a dangerous direction. They came perilously near the confesssional, and had some of the mischiefs of the confessional. They have disappeared. But the main features of Methodism, as Wesley even at this early stage of his work shaped them, have survived, and amongst these the most conspicuous is the Conference, whose genesis is here described. A whole sisterhood of such Conferences is in energetic operation to-day; and each remains, in substance if not in detail, faithful to the original type.
The Conference, indeed, as a bit of ecclesiastical machinery, is perhaps the most original contribution that Methodism has made to church history. Methodism itself to-day would be a mere jumble of unrelated fragments but for this great court, which is at once the symbol and the instrument of its unity. In the Methodist
‘Myles, p. 36.
system the Conference is the thinking organ of the Church; the instrument of government; the nerve-centre that co-ordinates all the forces of the spiritual organism, and puts them under the government of a single purpose. No other council known to religious history has quite the functions of the Methodist Conference. It is a parliament clothed with all the functions of legislation; a cabinet of administration; a court of discipline; the machinery by which the great system of the itinerancy, which is characteristic of the pastorate of the Methodist Churches, is regulated. Hidden in the itinerancy, it may be added, is a silent, unplanned, almost unrecognised but most effective instrument of discipline; a force which secures all the ends without the forms of disciplinary process, and which goes far to explain the doctrinal purity of the Methodist Church.
Methodist Churches exist to day under every sky, and they are naturally affected in many details by their social and geographical environment. In Great Britain, for example, the parent Conference itself runs some risk of suffering, in order and energy, by mere congestion of numbers. A public meeting of nearly a thousand men, all trained talkers, is the worst instrument for the discharge of business the wit of man ever invented, or the patience of man ever suffered. We must go to Poland with its “liberum veto” for its analogue. In the British Conference, by the mere necessity of its scale, the work has to be done by committees; and the Conference itself, except on broad matters of policy, is practically a mere registering instrument for its own committees. This is not a wholesome state of things, for it represents a certain divorce of power from responsibility; the committees have power without responsibility; the Conference has responsibility without power. The system, in a word, is apt to become Venetian, and to give power to a few who meet and decide without the tonic of publicity.
In the United States the episcopal system modifies the Conference; yet the bishops are the creation of the Conference and remain its servants. In Canada and Australia, the mere scale of geography has modified the structui’e and functions of the Conference. In Australia, for example, the annual Conferences are purely administrative bodies. The General Conference, which meets every four years, is a representative body, acts as a court of 1 review, and is the sole depository of legislative power. The separation of functions represents, scientifically, the highest stages of any organism. And in actual practice the separation of the administrative and legislative functions in the Conference is attended with many happy results. Administration is more effective than under the old system; while the fact that legislation is confined to a body which meets only once in four years has some I obvious advantages. The opportunity of making legislative experiments comes only at long intervals.
But under all skies, and all geographical and social conditions, the Methodist Conference still bears the stamp of the providential impulse from which it sprang, and of the masterful will, and the statesman-like intellect, of the great leader who gave it form. It is not a mere debating society. It is not a bit of unqualified democracy. Laymen, it is true, as far as the finances and business interests of the Church are concerned, have been taken into frankest partnership; but, speaking generally, the pastoral office is strictly conserved, and all that relates to the training and discipline of ministers, and their distribution over the pastoral charges of the Church, is in the hands of the ministers.
And where in all ecclesiastical history is to be found so effective an instrument of government? The great Councils of the Middle Ages, like so many modern ecclesiastical assemblies, were in the main huge debating societies. They emerge in the crisis of some heresy; they settle — or fail to settle — some dispute about doctrine, ind they ’ vanish. Under an episcopal form of Church government the Church Council can hardly have any other than debating functions. Churches, again, of the Congregational I type, or Presbyterian Churches, with a fixed pastorate, 1 can have no governing court with a range, both of un- / challenged authority and of practical work, which belongs I to the Methodist Conference. In its Conference the Methodist system reaches its natural and highest expression. It is a body which does not merely reign; it governs. And it governs effectively and without challenge.