As with a lot of my research and writing, this book is a result of serendipity. It was in the Codrington Library at All Souls College in the summer of 2003 when I was researching Matthew Tindal for part of my PhD, that I came across the animated correspondence of Bernard Gardiner. Over the next decade, whenever I made trips to Oxford and London, I collected material piecemeal while I worked on other projects. It has been over the last few years that I have been able to focus completely, if somewhat sporadically, on this colourful warden, his disputes within All Souls, and the wider political world of eighteenth century England. This resulted in two earlier articles (I thank Oxford University Press for permission to reuse some material in the present book):
“The Battle for Religion in Eighteenth-Century Oxford: All Souls College, the Warden, the Fellows, the House of Commons, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Queen of England,” History of Universities 26/2 (2012): 150–195.
“Of Gowns and Governments: The Spectre of James II at the University of Oxford in the early Eighteenth Century,” History of Universities, 27/2 (2013): 116–145.
After completing these pieces, I remained convinced that a more robust story could be told, one that merited a book-length examination. I hope readers will agree with me.
Like many modern academics I experience external pressure with respect to the worthiness and merit of my profession in an age that increasingly questions the value of the liberal arts. I have no doubt that this environment of government and public demands for job-ready graduates influenced my interest in Gardiner’s wardenship. I read his enthusiastically argued defenses of the value of the traditional place of Oxford and All Souls within post 1688-England with an understanding eye. In many cases I felt for Gardiner and empathized with his frustrations, even thought I acknowledge that the world he wanted to maintain is not one in which I would want to live. Gardiner was no doubt quick-tempered, sharp tongued, fast to the fight (spoiling in fact) and in many ways entirely disagreeable. But it was his passion for the position that education and universities in England, which to his mind carried a somewhat timeless mission of imparting scholarly aptitude and intellectual rigour, should be at arm’s length from the vicissitudes of government, that I admired. There is something captivating about him and his experiences. Writing in 1874, Montagu
While it is not my intention to draw concrete parallels between Gardiner and the modern age, it is worth reflecting briefly on the contemporary situation of British universities because the present always shapes conceptions of the past and my view of Gardiner is no exception. In a scathing commentary, published in the Chronicle of Higher Education (April 2015), noted English scholar Terry Eagleton criticized the current state of Britain’s universities and the pressures these institutions face. With his usual deftness of prose, Eagleton bemoaned the emphasis on job training, driven by market factors and industry need, in universities that used to see the goal of education as creating well-rounded individuals who are able to conceptualize the human condition within multiple scholarly frameworks. This focus on jobs, employability, and offering courses that carry a “measurable impact on society,” in Eagleton’s view, converted universities from centres of higher learning into training centres that will create human capital for the nation’s business ventures. “Senior professors are now senior managers, and the air is thick with talk of auditing and accountancy,” he noted. What is more, “As professors are transformed into managers, so students are converted into consumers.” Outside pressure is dictating curriculum and subject matter. In a somewhat sarcastic predication, Eagleton envisioned that, “If English departments survive at all, it may simply be to teach business students the use of the semicolon….”3
In his analysis Eagleton mentioned that the University of Oxford and its various colleges have remained rather insulated from these changes and “stood firm” against suggestions of modernization. These colleges, he wrote, are “premodern institutions” that reward inward thinking rather than outward glances at labour markets and employment statistics. While a lovely thought, it is not quite borne out in either practical or historical experience. Since the 1950s, and indeed earlier, Oxford has been a modern university in which the majority of students pursue various sciences. But, at the same time, outside observers see Oxford as a medieval antique, a vestige of a bygone age where wealthy young
It was in the aftermath of World War One that the University Grants Committee (UGC) was set up to distribute a modest amount of funds to the nation’s universities with the hope of increasing the number of students. But it was following World War Two that such efforts came to fruition when the optimism of victory led to thoughts of an egalitarian and prosperous British society. When this did not happen, successive governments and opposition politicians demanded a reassessment of universities such as occurred in 1963. This was also the time of the Anderson Committee report (1960) that established student grants.6 Under the Conservative administration of Margaret Thatcher (1979–1990), the process of bringing universities inline with government priorities—what Stefan Collini dubbed “the Thatcher government’s Kulturkampf against universities”—was entrenched.7 Both Thatcher and her education minister, Sir Keith Joseph, saw Oxford as an “anti-business and snobbish” institution that needed to be brought to heel. The UGC was abolished and block grants replaced by line item funding, which was focussed in targeted directions and to fulfill specific government wants.8 Oxford now dealt directly with the minister. John Major, Thatcher’s heir, continued in the same vein: increased enrolment and decreased funding; thereby reducing the per-student cost of university education on the public treasury. Subsequent governments have shown little appetite to turn back the clock and restore Oxford’s historic autonomy.
But what autonomy did Oxford and its colleges really possess, historically? When the national character changed after 1688, how was this borne by Oxford and All Souls College? While the motives of those involved were not identical, modern demands on universities are made within a secular framework compared to the deeply religious convictions that characterise the near-confessional state of early-eighteenth century England, the end game was similar. It is such a history that I address in this book by considering a specific moment, the lingering political and religious uncertainly in England resulting from the traumas engendered by the 1688 Revolution, within a particular college at the University of Oxford: All Souls and its warden Bernard Gardiner who held the post from 1702–1726.
For their generosity in Oxford, I am grateful to Janet McMullin and Judith Curthoys at Christ Church; Julian Reid and the student assistants at Merton College; Jennifer Thorp at New College; and Norma Aubertin-Potter, Gaye Morgan, along with the wonderful staff at the Codrington Library, All Souls. At the Bodleian Library, Collin Harris was generous with his time. Staff members at the British Library were always helpful. Many enjoyable hours were spent in these archives. I thank the anonymous readers from Brill for their observations and criticisms on an earlier version of this book, which improved it in many ways. I also thank Moti Feingold and John Clarke for their astute comments. I am very appreciative of the work done by my research assistant Carmen Cookson-Hills. A Standard Research Grant from The Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and the Professional Development Fund at Red Deer College supported this research.