William Penn. A Life.
Andrew R. Murphy. Oxford University Press, £25.00
Review by Jonathan Wright
Pennsylvania, the colony founded by William Penn in the late
seventeenth century, has long been revered as a bastion of religious
freedom, as a safe harbour for dissenters, and, as the famous saying
goes, a “holy experiment.” And quite right, too: the extent of
religious toleration afforded to the populace was, while far from
absolute, unprecedented in colonial American history. But we should
not become too dewy-eyed when contemplating Pennsylvania’s history. As
Andrew Murphy explains, it was also a place riddled, from the outset,
by factionalism. Penn described the colony as the “seed of a nation”:
but there were weeds in the garden, too.
Perhaps this is fitting since Penn was likewise a character defined
by contradictions. No one could deny his piety or religious passion
and his unshakeable belief in an expansive understanding of liberty of
conscience. But this was also a man who easily made enemies and was
adept at holding grudges. Nor should we forget that while the colony
was devised as a haven for Penn’s fellow Quakers, and those of many
other faiths, economic and political motives were also conspicuous.
Penn was winningly candid on this score: “I desire to extend religious
freedom, yet I want some recompense for my trouble.” The second half
of that ambitious project did not go quite according to plan. Penn had
found himself incarcerated for matters of conscience on an alarming
number of occasions during his life, but he did his last prison
stretch, in the Fleet, because he was so deeply in debt. Radical
thinkers are often lousy businessmen and, by the end, the colony Penn
founded had become, in his own sad phrase, “the cause of grief,
trouble and poverty.”
It all adds up to a challenging and instructive story and we
have been waiting a long time for a rounded portrait of Penn.
Murphy has provided one and it is an outstanding achievement. The
usual caricatures of Penn are banished and we are offered as much
biographical detail as anyone could desire. The reader will learn all
about the well-heeled youth with a naval hero for a father who got
into trouble at Oxford for his flirtations with unorthodox religious
beliefs. Next, it was off to the continent since a rather angry dad
thought some grand-touring was in order. For a little while, Penn
soaked up Parisian pleasures but, before too long, he was drawn into
the orbit of outspoken advocates of religious tolerance. A short spell
at the Inns of Court was next on the agenda, but this fell flat and it
was off to the family’s Irish estates and then something momentous
occurred. Penn was won over to the Quaker cause.
These were tough times for the Quakers. Their conventicles were
made illegal and a stream of diatribes attacked their allegedly
subversive ideas: their disdain for social rank (doffing hats and the
rest), the rectitude of taking oaths, the need for mighty church
buildings, and their many controversial theological positions. Murphy
does a wonderful job of recounting Penn’s efforts, in print and on the
podium, to champion the Quaker cause. But we all know what we are
waiting for: that epochal moment when he managed to secure the right
to establish a colony across the Atlantic. It all looked so promising
but it turned out to be a quagmire.
Penn proved to be an excellent publicist, luring potential
settlers with sweet words: “the soil [was] good, the springs many and
delightful. The fruits, roots, corn and flesh as good as I have
commonly eaten in Europe.” In many ways, this worked a treat and the
colony had a population of roughly 18,000 settlers by 1699.
Regrettably, deep divisions also emerged within the Quaker community,
and Penn’s attempt to govern the place in absentia for long spells –
at one stage he was back in England for fifteen years – hardly helped
the cause. At times he essentially lost control, his lack of financial
nous became ever more apparent, and squabbles with neighbouring
colonies were a constant problem.
Oddly, though, the fact that Penn was no kind of saint makes his
heartfelt commitment to his beliefs more significant and believable.
He was not some innocent idealist. He had “an inordinate capacity for
self-pity,” Murphy writes, and he was entirely capable of attacking
his enemies: the idea of Pennsylvania as a paradise of toleration can
easily be pushed too far. Penn also possessed “a conventional, even
austere notion of personal morality.” As he put it, “there can be no
pretense of conscience to be drunk, to whore, to be voluptuous, to
game, swear, curse blaspheme and profane.” Philadelphia was certainly
not a party town.
For all that, Penn was a giant. He advocated an idea of
religious freedom that moved beyond the easy business of believing
what you chose, to acting and worshipping as you saw fit. He realised
that coercion in matters of faith was pointless: it only led to
cowards and hypocrites. He has found a fine biographer in Andrew
Murphy, who realises that Penn could be both wonderful and more than a
little annoying. In the end, the self-righteousness and the selfless
devotion collide. During one spell in prison Penn declared that “my
prison shall be my grave before I budge a jot, for I owe my conscience
to no mortal man.” Such words were a little boastful, but you still
want to applaud them and admit that Penn deserves his 37-foot bronze
statue atop Philadelphia City Hall.
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