1772: On The Proper Management Of Perpetual Devotion; Or, How To Worship By The Calendar
Being a Practical Scheme for the Ordinary Regulation of the Extraordinary Soul by John Mallard, Rector of Ducks-on-Ponds
Dedicated, with filial admiration, to my brother the Duke of Mallard, whose only religion is punctuality.
Prefatory Letter to the Reader
If the Almighty had intended worship to be spontaneous, He would never have permitted the invention of the bell. The purpose of religion, as I have observed both privately and from the pulpit, is not to arouse emotion but to suppress it in orderly intervals. The theory of Perpetual Devotion, which I now lay before an intelligent and no doubt congenial readership, proceeds from this principle: that the faith most certain is the faith most scheduled.
The present work fills what I have long perceived as a lamentable void in divine literature. We have manuals of prayer, treatises upon theology, and sentimental letters on virtue; but nowhere, to my knowledge, has there been published a complete system for the mechanical, tasteful, and continuous management of belief. That defect I now correct.
Of Religion Considered as a Gentlemanly Habit
It has often been said that faith is a matter of the heart. This, like most popular sentiments, is demonstrably false. True religion resides in the calendar. The heart is changeable, but the calendar, once printed, is fixed and respectably silent.
A gentleman who relies upon his feelings for inspiration will inevitably fall into enthusiasm—the moral equivalent of perspiration. He becomes irregular, unpredictable, and worst of all, original. I maintain—and my parish confirms the success of my method—that religion, once reduced to coordinated gestures of precision, produces not salvation perhaps, but symmetry, which is far more useful in society.
I recall with pleasure the argument advanced by Archdeacon Fallowes in his invaluable though unfortunately banned treatise, The Church as a Machine for the Regulation of Simple Persons. “The truly pious man,” he writes, “does not feel holy; he operates holiness.” Exactly so. Belief should be worn as one wears a waistcoat—daily, uniformly, and seldom inside-out.
Of the Calendar as the Clockwork of Grace
The secret of Perpetual Devotion lies in dividing eternity into convenient quarters. The Book of Common Prayer accomplishes this with admirable foresight, providing prayers for every season, saints for every moral, and collects for every conceivable nuisance. Each week winds the mechanism anew; each holy day provides a calculated tightening of the moral spring. The faithful, thus regulated, live in perfect imitation of the planets: revolving suitably, shining moderately, colliding never.
It is, therefore, essential that a rector conduct his parish as a watchmaker conducts his workshop. Every worshipper must know his part, not from inclination, but from timetable. Religion conducted by routine is like love conducted by correspondence—safe, continuous, and free from excessive ardour.
When I remark the influence of this discipline upon my villagers, I confess myself gratified beyond self-congratulation. They are punctual to a fault, docile as meaningful furniture, and incapable of questioning anything that occurs regularly. Several of the duller sort now appear to experience repentance automatically, like clockwork striking grace.
On the Danger of Improvisation in Prayer
Improvised prayer is the screaming of theology. No gentleman engages in it. Such biblical improvisation as adorned the Apostles might have been tolerated in a barbarous age, but in a polite kingdom it is positively indecent. I tremble to recall a dinner where a Nonconformist curate, called upon for grace, invented one on the spot. It contained within three sentences a participle, a metaphor, and an exclamation. The effect upon digestion was catastrophic.
I rely, rather, upon the Prayer Book Proper, preferably in the 1662 printing, that climax of grammatical sanctity. The virtuous sentence length itself confers grace—the worshipper having fully submitted by the time the verb arrives.
On Maintaining Constant Piety Without Fatigue
It is the mark of an uneducated faith to tire of its devotions. Yet I observe that even among clergy, enthusiasm decays between harvest and Advent. To counteract such decline, I have devised what I call The Devotional Rotation Method, described in detail in Appendix B of this volume. Briefly:
* Monday: Self-reproach and modest charity.
* Tuesday: Slight moral superiority, tempered with correctness.
* Wednesday: Meditation upon sin (others’, if accessible).
* Thursday: Ecclesiastical administration.
* Friday: Self-pardon, with wine.
* Saturday: Light reading, preferably The Sanctity of Silence; or, Why Nothing Is Safer Than Nothing by Dean Wilberforce Curle.
* Sunday: Entire presentation of moral perfection to the public, between 10:00 and luncheon.
By faithful adherence to this simple diagram of divinity, the soul rarely requires reproof and never, under any circumstances, surprise.
Of Other Clergymen and Their Mistakes
Most clergy err by attempting to feel their office, when they should instead fulfil it. They confuse sincerity with performance, a blunder condemned by every principle of good breeding. For example, one Reverend Haskett in the neighbouring parish insists upon preaching from inspiration, a practice which, by all evidence, inspires only himself. The congregation remains motionless, apparently awestruck, though I suspect asleep.
I, however, maintain that the best sermon is that which least interrupts the congregation’s calm. The sermon, like the tea service, must display polish, not heat. The Bible may contradict itself; a polished rector never must.
Of the Advantages of Superficial Piety in Civil Governance
The Crown, that stately receiver of grace, has discovered the highest application of religion: not as revelation, but as regulation. As my brother the Duke (to whom this book is affectionately dedicated) observes, “A punctual people cannot rebel.” He applies his punctuality to dinners; I apply mine to doctrine; the results are indistinguishable.
Where the monarch reigns by inheritance, the parson must reign by habit; and habit, once sanctified, is indistinguishable from faith. From this perspective, Perpetual Devotion is the spiritual equivalent of taxation: unavoidable, quietly progressive, and always due upon the same day each year.
Declaration
Let the world waste itself in fervour. I am content to serve Heaven as its administrator, not its prophet. By the precise and unwavering management of worship, we may escape the vulgar novelty of personal revelation and achieve the serenity of perpetual rehearsal.
Let the saints stand for ecstasy; I stand for exactitude. In my parish, salvation keeps perfect time.
To the Almighty, therefore, I commend my programme—not as plea, not as passion, but as schedule.
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