Austen and “The Ministry”

Jane Austen embodied the famous advice “write what you know” many decades before anyone put that into words. As the daughter of a popular cleric who no doubt socialized with his patrons, she must have witnessed the fashions, manners, and quirks of the “landed gentry” of her era.

She also had a unique view of the advantages and disadvantages of a cleric’s life in Regency England. In spite of growing up in frequent company of her “betters,” when her father died, she and the women in her family were suddenly reduced to an income of 500 pounds a year, the exact amount that the Dashwood women are forced to survive on in Sense and Sensibility. Had she lived longer, she might have found herself in the same position as Emma’s Miss Bates, the spinster daughter of a deceased parson, growing poorer every year.

To modern readers, especially to modern Americans, the odd relationships between the clergy and the landed gentry Austen describes can seem obscure, if not confusing. This is an attempt to make things at least a little clearer.

It all goes back to systems that Henry VIII set up (in some cases inadvertently) when he broke with the church of Rome.

Before Henry had himself declared the supreme head of the English Church in 1534, the Roman Catholic church was a prosperous political entity with enough resources and devout followers to rival the king’s control of the country. Henry, frankly, turned what we now call the Anglican (or Episcopalian) church from an independent religious and political force into a very weak arm of the government.

Eventually, all rectors, vicars, and curates in the Church of England essentially became civil servants, something like, say, the Department of Motor Vehicle employees in your county. Many of them were about as devoted to the spiritual welfare of their assigned congregations as the DMV people are devoted to making sure you get to your ex’s to pick up your children on time.

Theoretically the clergy reported through regional bishops to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who probably would have hoped for some semblance of religious commitment among the clergy. But for centuries, he had little control. In many localities, the landed gentry really determined who would be standing in the neighborhood pulpit. In fact many of the churches and parsonages stood on grounds owned by the estate. Favoritism and nepotism became the driving force behind many “religious vocations.” Toadies like Emma’s Mr. Elton and P&P’s Collins had just as good a chance at securing a “living” with a comfortable parsonage as anyone of equal class who was sincerely wishing to serve for more spiritual reasons. Maybe more.

For men like Elton, “the ministry” was mostly about a guaranteed income and domicile, enough prestige to dine with wealthy families frequently, and, frankly, little accountability for how well or badly they did their job. Yes, mercenary Elton is only one of at least twelve clergy mentioned in Austen’s six novels, but my guess is that he’s representative of a “type” Austen knew all too well.

It’s no accident that preachers like the Wesleys led their revivalistic movements outside of the established church. Or that Britain eventually reached a point where less than 2% of its people regularly attend religious services of any kind.

Jane Austen, of course, does not seem particularly interested in whether the church was failing its congregants on a spiritual level. But she seems very interested in the place of the clergy in society. Not to mention that the “happy ending” for three out of six of her heroines (spoiler alert) is marriage to a country parson (spoiler alert!):

    • Sense and Sensibility’s Edward Ferrars
    • Northanger Abbey’s Henry Tilney, and
    • Mansfield Parks’ Edmund Bertram.

In addition to those objects of romance, and the toadies Elton and Collins, at least six other clergy are mentioned, as well as Mrs. Bates’ husband, who dies before Emma’s plot begins.

Not listed so far are:

    • Catherine Morland’s father, who supports his family by serving two parishes at the same time.
    • Catherine Morland’s brother James, whose decision to complete his training for the ministry before marrying causes Isabella second thoughts.
    • Reverend Norris, whose chief achievement in Mansfield Park is dying young, freeing Mrs. Norris to move into the main house, where she can better assert her pernicious control over the household.
    • Dr. Grant, who succeeded Reverend Norris, and who hosted (and unintentionally enabled) his young wife’s half-siblings, Henry and Mary Crawford.
    • Charles Hayter, Henrietta Musgrove’s intended in Persuasion, whom Mary Elliot Musgrove dismisses as “a country curate,” in spite of a promising future.
    • Captain Wentworth’s brother, Edward Wentworth, curate of Monkford, barely mentioned except for Sir Walter Elliot considering him a “nobody.”

Levels of Respectability and Resources in Regency Pastorates

The men who fill the pulpits in Austen’s novels fall into three general categories, rector, vicar, and curate. Though their jobs were all similar, their situations in life were very different.

A curate was the lowest form of clergy. Paid badly, if at all, often in temporary positions, or substituting for the church’s “official” vicar or rector when he chose to skip out on his responsibilities, in some cases for years at a time.

It seems to me that curates were a lot like adjunct professors in US universities, having all the responsibilities of full professors, but a tithe of the salary and none of the respect. Many curates worked for two or more parishes, or did other work such as teaching or tutoring to make ends meet.

Some, like Charles Hayter, may have been doing it as a “stop-gap” while they were waiting for something better.

Ferrars’ eventual £200 living, on Colonel Brandon’s estate is so low as to probably put him in the curate class, though becoming an in-law of Brandon will likely help balance out any shortcomings.

At the top of the “food chain” was the rector, including Collins and Dr. Grant. Rectors whose “living” included prosperous parishes could often afford to live elsewhere and pay a curate to do the work of the parish. Say what you want about Collins, but at least he seems to work for his living. Dr. Grant seems to preach two good sermons each Sunday, but he pays a curate to do all of the other work of the parish.

When Edmund Bertram eventually assumes the living held by Dr. Grant, he will be a rector as well, although he may be considered a vicar (below) at his first, far less prestigious placement. To Edmund’s credit, he does seem to plan to move into that parsonage and do the work of the church once he is ordained, which was hardly a “given” in Austen’s day.

Henry Tilney’s exact status is undefined. But his “living” seems to include a nice stone house that he seldom inhabits, as well as excellent grounds, expanded and improved by his father when there was more money in the family. While Henry is spending summers in Bath with his family or most weeks in the abbey, he can afford to pay a curate to help with most of the church business in Woodston, although writer Irene Collins suggests that those funds may be coming from his personal income. It is implied that when (spoiler alert) Henry cuts off all connection with his father, he will retreat to the parsonage and – perhaps – begin serving as an actual pastor to the country flock there. Collins calls Henry a rector, and she is most likely correct.

Ironically, the living that Wickham turned down was probably a well-paid rector’s position. But his temperament would not permit him to prepare for such a role, in spite of its potential for prestige and – if he wished – a life of leisure.

In between are the vicars, who earn a living but are not particularly prosperous. That’s why Elton, covetous of a better lifestyle than he can afford, needs a wealthy wife. (And as Brenda Cox mentions, explains why Mrs. Bates, widow of Elton’s predecessor, lives on such a small stipend.)

Catherine Moreland’s father may have been a vicar, though he served two parishes to support his large family. The fact that he can afford to offer one of the livings to James on his ascension to the ministry (with £400 income attached), implies that he has more control and income than most curates.

Second Sons and “the Ministry”

With church “livings” being, essentially, civil service positions with a predetermined guaranteed income, little accountability, and – in many cases – some sort of house to live in, many men chose that career for reasons that were other than spiritual. Of course, training for the ministry required literacy, plus the ability to absorb at least a smattering of Latin and theology, which automatically disqualified most of the men in England.

It didn’t disqualify the sons of merchants and tradesmen whose fathers were wealthy enough to send them to boarding schools. But most of them had been exposed to other means of making a living and avoided the pulpit.

So what class of men had the prerequisite education and no exposure to the notion of working for a living? The sons of gentlemen. In most cases, the estate would pass in its entirety to the oldest son, and the others needed to fend for themselves. Knightley’s brother John chose the law. Others might choose the military or politics. But a large percentage of “second sons” chose the church.

If you had wealthy relatives who could guarantee you a “living” close to your family home, you could still share most meals with your family – stretching your budget. And you might not even have to move out of the mansion.

Back to Wickham – the fact that Darcy’s father has set aside money for Wickham to study for the ministry, and offered him a prestigious “living” is tangible proof that he really did see Wickham as a “second son.” General Tilney and Sir Thomas Bertram have done exactly the same for their own “second sons.” But of course, Henry Tilney and Edmund Bertram seem to have a better temperament for the job.

So does Edward Farrars, who is a first son of a wealthy family. He is expected to distinguish himself in some career more prestigious than the church, but hesitant to do so. Ironically, he achieves his dream in spite of his family, but there you have it.

Conclusion

Okay, this is all more than you wanted to know. But you should also know that Austen’s first-generation English readers knew all of this before they turned the first page. So they understood early on why some of the would-be clergy embraced their destinies, while others did not. And why those choices, which seem so unrelated to society’s dynamics today, affected everything else in the book.

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